McCarthy once said that there’s no such thing as life without bloodshed, and the novelist’s proper occupation is with death. Does the same apply to an actor or director?
No.
(Pause, then vigorously)
No! An actor’s occupation is frequently with absolute frivolity, and the same thing for a director. Death is just one of many things on the counter.

So why is a novelist different?
I don’t know why Cormac said that, and in what context. Cormac is very funny, and he will tease us. Like Bill Faulkner did. If you read Mr. Faulkner’s work you’ll ultimately find yourself getting teased. It’s an invitation to think and feel. As you would with a puppy or a child.

Where did you spend your own childhood?
I grew up in Midland, Texas, and Dallas.

You went to St. Mark’s School of Texas and then Harvard. Why Harvard?
It had a good reputation.

Lots of places do.
But it had the best reputation. I was heavily recruited by colleges and military academies all over the United States when I started to graduate from prep school. I looked at them all, and when I visited Cambridge, that’s the place I felt most comfortable.

Was that a culture shock?
Oh, no. The culture shock was going from Midland to Dallas, to that fancy prep school. I call it “fancy”—I love it with all of my heart. It’s not fancy, it’s just awfully damn good. It seemed fancy at the time. I was very well-prepared for Harvard when I left there.

You were at Harvard from 1965 to 1969, and now Vietnam is an undercurrent in both No Country and Elah. Does Vietnam still influence your thinking?
There wasn’t anybody at Harvard College or in college anywhere that was untouched by Vietnam.

The year of your graduation, University Hall was taken over by students.
I think that was the first time in the history of the institution that police other than university police entered the Yard and committed acts of violence on the student body. That had never happened before. I dare say it won’t happen again.

Today’s students seem far less political. Is there a connection between today’s lack of activism and the fact that Elah never caught on?
Well, about eight months ago, [New York Democratic congressman] Charlie Rangel came out advocating the reinstitution of the draft, and people were shocked. “Congressman Rangel,” they said, “why would you argue for the reinstitution of the draft?” He said, “It’s very simple. We have a volunteer army. We’re sending ’em back tour after tour after tour. We’re running our military into the ground, and if we would just reinstitute the draft so that it had some impact on American people—those who don’t do a lot of thinking—this war would be over in six months.”

Do you agree?
I think that’s right. We had the draft in ’68, we had a bullshit war, and it ultimately ended. And there were terrific repercussions throughout the government. The Bush administration has escaped those repercussions because the American people have a way to turn their head and say, “It doesn’t really affect my family. My daughter is in no threat of having her legs blown off. My son is in no threat of coming back with no face, no ears, no nose—because he didn’t volunteer.”

If somebody were making them incur those risks, the votership might change radically.

It’s such a cliché to ask you about the fact that you roomed with Al Gore that I’m almost embarrassed to do it …
(Not smiling)
Well, don’t embarrass yourself.

I’ll try not to. But lately it seems that you and Vice President Gore are both issuing warnings.
Warrants?

Warnings. You’ve picked serious, provocative projects; Gore is trying to save the planet. Are things you discussed in college manifesting themselves decades later?
No. We had a lot of friends, a lot of roommates, and we were all pretty much of a single mind about what was going on in the late ’60s. We lived through the assassinations and the fraudulent war. Our thinking was good and we haven’t changed our minds.

Let’s talk about upcoming projects. I hear there may be another McCarthy adaptation, Blood Meridian.
I was hired by Sony to write a screenplay of Blood Meridian and I did that and I was paid well for it, and it’s a brilliant screenplay.

Will it be made?
I don’t have a clue.

Jones’ publicist joins us, after which he starts asking the questions.

Is 02138 your magazine? Or do you just work for it?
I came to the magazine after writing about Lawrence Summers.

You think he got a raw deal?
Yes and no.

What’s the yes part?
I don’t think that his remarks about “innate differences” as an explanation for gender disparity in math and science reflected any actual disrespect for women.

And what’s the no part?
At Harvard, he was not an effective leader.

Do you think he got a raw deal?
Yeah, I did. I think this politically correct dog shit is self-important and stupid. Somebody must have hated him a lot to try to make an issue of that remark. It was a dumb-ass remark, but it was not the kind of remark that fells empires and kingdoms. Somebody was out to kill him and seized on it. Seized on it. And the thing that bothered me—yeah, it was a stupid-ass remark. Of course it was. But you shudder to think that the pillars of the empire could be shaken by such a triviality.

Jones’ publicist asks if he really wants that last part on the record. Jones says that indeed he does. He stands up, shakes my hand, says that he hopes he didn’t make an ass of himself, and is gone.

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