36% done with Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West

God speaks in bones and rocks. Those are his words.

They seem to have passed through into a world like ours but misshapen, malformed, put together wrong.

In the rain the world is almost melting.

Why is the book written to be so beautiful? Is it what draws men to violence: a beauty in the violence? Not much really happens in the novel except descriptions of violence, so what are we to make of this? Poetry?