Having already seen and loved the Coens' adaptation of the book, it was really hard not to view the original text through their changes and the thematic through-lines they chose to emphasize. As a consequence, the portions they excised—Moss's backstory, the runaway, extra flesh to most of the conversations—feel sorta extraneous, like an extended cut of the story. But McCarthy's language is hypnotic enough that you're glad to spend more time there, especially in delving deeper into each character's worldview. It's curious that some of the visually memorable moments in the film are just as memorable on the page, like Chigurh gazing into the blank television in the abandoned Moss trailer.

Of course, the elements shared with the film were all excellent as expected. There's sort of an Old Testament morality to a lot of the Coens' work, shared with McCarthy (in this book at least), but the shape of the story seems to suggest the Greek myths where a mortal accidentally tampers with ill-tempered gods and becomes at their whims. Moss can't admit that, while Bell can (and at least in the movie, seems to survive explicitly because he's willing to admit it). The book is a lot more explicit about the near-omnipotence of ALL narco parties involved, while the film is limited to depicting Chigurh's clockwork evil that serves no master.

In the book, there's more room to have multiple storylines, so we get the teenage runaway curlicue and more explicit and descriptive treatment of how that plot-thread ends. But in the film, all must serve the Bell journey that bookends the whole thing and lends the title. Moss deliberately doesn't have any conventional emotional resolution: the Coens' way of putting a big flashing sign saying, "this isn't what you're supposed to be paying the most attention to." Bell's final two dreams were lifted directly for the film, and they're just as powerful on the page as an ending as they were in the theater. A damn near perfect coda if you ask me.