Riveting. A cache of money and drugs is found in the desert by a passing hunter, who scoops it up and is then caught in the crossfire between Mexican drug dealers, Southern drug dealers, a psychotic desperado and an earnest sheriff whose faith in the world is eroding. Since it's Cormac McCarthy we're talking about here, the prose delivers the violence (bloodsoaked streets, bloody motel rooms, bloody murders, you name it) eloquently, turning it into something like poetry. I read it in the space of twelve hours. Couldn't put it down. Can't wait to get to Blood Meridian next. And no, I haven't seen the movie yet. Is it as good?