The hype with this one was strange. It was hard sci fi written in poetic prose by a man who has spent most of his life writing southern/western gothic. And yet, every Oprah reader and less-than-equipped soccer mom ate it up like Grandmother Delia's Christmas pisatchels (Irish thing). To that I say: GOOD. This is exactly the kind of hit book we need as a culture. It is verbose, dense, beautiful, and yet so accessible even a sorority girl who would rather read Lauren Conrad's latest self-aggrandizing yarn could find her meaning in it. Sorry for the harsh language. I feel the discussion about this book has mostly centered around McCarthy's genius and I feel that may be the wrong place to have it - this is far from McCarthy's best book. You want to see McCarthy's real genius, go read "Suttree" or "Blood Meridian". What is important about this book is its place in our culture as a phenomenon, a Zeitgeist if you will. This book alone propelled one of American literature's long unappreciated high talents into the spotlight and in doing so not only inspired what will undoubtedly be the next generation of great writers but also rejuvenated a lost art: reading not only for pleasure, but for reverence of the craft.