Cormac McCarthy rocks. He has rocked (in my eyes, at least) ever since I read All he Pretty Horses (which even ended up being a good movie with Matt Damon and Penelope Cruz in the lead roles), and he's still on a roll. His latest book, No Country for Old Men is just as disturbing and chillingly, thoughtfully beautiful as All the Pretty Horses and Blood Meridian (which I couldn't put down until I was done reading it, and gave me nightmares, but I keep rereading it anyway), for example. I love McCarthy's disregard for punctuation and his brilliant, sparing use of words. If you haven't read any of his books, now is as a good time to start.

from All the Pretty Horses:

It was dark outside and cold and no wind. In the distance a dalf bawled. He stood with his hat in his hand. You never combed your hair that way in your life, he said.
Inside the house there was no sound save the ticking of the mantel clock in the front room. He went out and shut the door.
Dark and cold and no wind and a thin gray reef beginning along the eastern rim of the world. He walked out on the prairie and stood holding his hat like some supplicant to the darkness over them all and he stood there for a long time.