There are three contemporary authors writing in English whom I find extraordinarily engaging: Cormac McCarthy, Tim Winton and Colm Tóibín . They are all stylistically brilliant and all three weave worlds that address significant issues regarding the human condition. All, also, have received significant recognition for the quality of their production. Among that recognition, McCarthy by Pulitzer; Winton and Tóibín , by Man Booker.
Cormac McCarthy’s writing is probably the more unconventional. He is less attentive to traditional grammar, punctuation and style. And the worlds he created are categorically darker, disheartening. Even in the comparatively brighter Border Trilogy (brighter than, say, “The Orchard Keeper”, “No Country for Old Men” or “Blood Meridian”), John Grady Cole and Billy Parham in the final volume are clearly marching into the postapocalyptic future of “The Road”. Hope and redemption dissipate in the ravaged earth.
Hope—or at least thoughtful resignation and conditional redemption—survive in Tim Winton and in Colm Tóibín’s worlds. The futures their people face are not suffocatingly black. It would be difficult to imagine one of McCarthy’s people writing about his life in retrospect as did Bruce Pike in “Breath”: “And though I’ve lived to be an old man with my own share of happiness for all the mess I made….”
Tim Winton, compared to McCarthy is a more academic writer—at least in terms of the mechanics of writing. But like McCarthy, his prose is ultimately lyrical. It is clear and expressive—beautifully poetic that never misses a beat. So is Tóibín’s writing poetic. Tóibín’s writing, however, is also more elliptical than that of the other two writers. It moves quietly—stealthfully—page to page, focusing on what appears to be the mundane, on minutiae. In “The Blackwater Lightship”, Tóibín describes, at the beginning of the novel, Helen’s preparations for a party. The preparations seem to be limited to the delivery and the final pick up of chair and tables. But that economy of description ultimately explodes in the reader more than the words would seem to do. Tóibín , with his words, is a bit like Picasso with his brushes during his cubist period. He throws them out on the page, seemingly disordered and unrelated but re-structured to have them recomposed in the reader’s mind, infused with sudden insights and complex visions.
The physical environment also plays a different role with each of the three. For Winton, the physical environment is integral to his plots. With the exception of “The Riders”, his novels unfold in Western Australia—in the narrow stretch of land sandwiched between the western sea and the eastern desert. It is a within that littoral that the bulk of Western Australians live. But that said, the waters of the ocean and of the rivers that empty into it are a living presence in Winton’s writings. In “Breath”, the ocean and its waters dominate. But they play a role in his other works as well, linked often to the very souls of his characters.
In contrast to Winton, the physical environment for McCarthy and Tóibín are more simply stages on which their stories unfold. McCarthy’s plots play out in specific regions in the United States—in the Appalachians and, starting with Blood Meridian, the American Southwest and Northern Mexico. Tóibín is more varied, with stories set in Argentina, the United States and Europe. But Toíbín and McCarthy’s characters are not entwined inexorably to their environments as are Winton’s. For Tóibín and McCarthy, place helps define the themes but it does not control them.
With their differences, the three writers are similar in regard to their voices. For example, Tóibín’s “Blackwater Lightship”, “Brooklyn” and “The Story of the Night” are more about emotion, thought and communication than about action. But the same is also true of McCarthy and Winton’s novels. All three tell engaging and compelling stories. But those stories engage and compel because they embroil the reader in the very themes of life. They all translate into words the same questions Paul Gauguin asked in paint: Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?