So, I just finished “The Road”. My mom wants my brother (a Philosophy professor) to lead a discussion on it sometime in Denver (where she lives, he teaches in Chicago). So, I got it for my birthday. Everyone on this side of the family has read it.
I wish I had read it before I had a daughter, even though it is easier to understand now.
I am glad I have read McCarthy before (Blood Meridian), and was aware of how dark of a writer he is.
It is the saddest book of fiction I have ever read. Although I did not cry – it was too stark of a sadness to cry, too well done, too many ashes everywhere “If I’m not allowed to cry you’re not…” I am moved I suppose. But, I think I stereotype “being moved” as a good thing. I was moved at Dachau. Fiction cannot capture the reality of Dachau, but I suppose The Road might be one of the closest.
The two books that did make me cry – A Severe Mercy (twice) and the Killer Angels (when Chamberlain makes his men salute their confederates). See why I didn’t cry? I cry at weird stuff.
They make a lot of McCarthy’s books into movies, and this one was an Oprah pick (I will have to find out what she thought. Seriously) so it will certainly be a movie. I will not want to see it, but I will probably see it.
Why are we so obsessed with the end of the world? How many movies and stories exist about it? My brother eventually wants to write about how Apocalyptic works serve to display what we think is of ultimate value. This is apparently a brand of philosophy known as aesthetics. I thought I knew what aesthetics were… things have too many meanings.
I hope that there is more hope than darkness upon the Road. Caroline exists to show me that there is.