The Road
Cormac McCarthy
This book is not for the faint of heart or for those looking for a quick pick-me-up. Though it reads quickly, The Road just as quickly absorbs itself into your soul and refuses to let go, leaving the reader stunned and strangely hungering for more of the bleak and barren landscape of the road. McCarthy's style may here defy conventions and seem simple, but this book is an elegant masterpiece cloaked in the clothes of simplicity. All of the aspects that would hurt any other book come together to form a panoramic view of a hopeless post-apocalyptic environment that tugs at the heartstrings and is so passionately real. McCarthy doesn't need flashy language or complex constructions to tug at the heartstrings and to evoke utter despair and desolation- indeed, the simplicity of the text makes it that much easier to relate to and allows the book to permeate and linger, a careful meditation on human frailty that is ultimately beautiful in its complete destruction.
McCarthy's style is, to say the least, incredibly understated. Dialogue is unmarked and contractions are often missing apostrophes. Rather than rendering the book unreadable, however, these small stylistic considerations (they are obviously far from oversights) create an atmosphere that transcends the book and allows it to become an independent environment actually experienced by the reader. The conversations between the unnamed protagonist and his son, for example, often resolve in ambiguities that open up vastly different and intellectually interesting possibilities. Though the portraits of the two main characters are heart-wrenchingly complete, they remain elusive and general enough to apply at once to everyone and no one else at all. Occasionally they seem extraordinary for surviving thus far; at other times, they are reflections of humanity's deepest and darkest moments. They are brilliantly inconsistent and each conversation, each snatch of description adds to their portraits and force the reader to look inward. There is something about these characters that is eerily resonant and haunting, a perfect tone that matches the plot.
The plot, while a bit tedious at the beginning, weaves itself in amongst the character developments and prevents the book from becoming a simple character study. Though events may seem interchangeable or intermittently excessive, each in fact adds to the legend and builds upon the previous events to create an actual narrative. It would be far too easy to begin at the apocalypse and end with salvation; instead, McCarthy begins in the middle and gives his starkly rendered landscape no direct cause. The apocalyptic event remains shrouded in mystery and heightens the generally tense tone of the book; it simply does not need to be explained. It has happened, and events follow as such.
The Road lingers in the mind and in the heart, at once deeply touching and incredibly disturbing. It achieves so much in part because it works solely in subtlety- the scarce shock scenes that do appear don't seem for a minute out of place and fit in perfectly with the world McCarthy has created. The book manages to be understated while touching strongly on themes of morality throughout: there are no grand moral pronouncements, only two characters trying (for whatever reason) to survive and doing the best they can. It may seem strange that a pre-apocalyptic audience could find such cohesion with these characters and their incredibly distant situation, but McCarthy's incomparable talent makes the barren, bleak road appear before us. The Road may be the emotionally heaviest book I have read in a long time, but it is achingly poignant and worth its weight.
Grade: A
Cormac McCarthy
This book is not for the faint of heart or for those looking for a quick pick-me-up. Though it reads quickly, The Road just as quickly absorbs itself into your soul and refuses to let go, leaving the reader stunned and strangely hungering for more of the bleak and barren landscape of the road. McCarthy's style may here defy conventions and seem simple, but this book is an elegant masterpiece cloaked in the clothes of simplicity. All of the aspects that would hurt any other book come together to form a panoramic view of a hopeless post-apocalyptic environment that tugs at the heartstrings and is so passionately real. McCarthy doesn't need flashy language or complex constructions to tug at the heartstrings and to evoke utter despair and desolation- indeed, the simplicity of the text makes it that much easier to relate to and allows the book to permeate and linger, a careful meditation on human frailty that is ultimately beautiful in its complete destruction.
McCarthy's style is, to say the least, incredibly understated. Dialogue is unmarked and contractions are often missing apostrophes. Rather than rendering the book unreadable, however, these small stylistic considerations (they are obviously far from oversights) create an atmosphere that transcends the book and allows it to become an independent environment actually experienced by the reader. The conversations between the unnamed protagonist and his son, for example, often resolve in ambiguities that open up vastly different and intellectually interesting possibilities. Though the portraits of the two main characters are heart-wrenchingly complete, they remain elusive and general enough to apply at once to everyone and no one else at all. Occasionally they seem extraordinary for surviving thus far; at other times, they are reflections of humanity's deepest and darkest moments. They are brilliantly inconsistent and each conversation, each snatch of description adds to their portraits and force the reader to look inward. There is something about these characters that is eerily resonant and haunting, a perfect tone that matches the plot.
The plot, while a bit tedious at the beginning, weaves itself in amongst the character developments and prevents the book from becoming a simple character study. Though events may seem interchangeable or intermittently excessive, each in fact adds to the legend and builds upon the previous events to create an actual narrative. It would be far too easy to begin at the apocalypse and end with salvation; instead, McCarthy begins in the middle and gives his starkly rendered landscape no direct cause. The apocalyptic event remains shrouded in mystery and heightens the generally tense tone of the book; it simply does not need to be explained. It has happened, and events follow as such.
The Road lingers in the mind and in the heart, at once deeply touching and incredibly disturbing. It achieves so much in part because it works solely in subtlety- the scarce shock scenes that do appear don't seem for a minute out of place and fit in perfectly with the world McCarthy has created. The book manages to be understated while touching strongly on themes of morality throughout: there are no grand moral pronouncements, only two characters trying (for whatever reason) to survive and doing the best they can. It may seem strange that a pre-apocalyptic audience could find such cohesion with these characters and their incredibly distant situation, but McCarthy's incomparable talent makes the barren, bleak road appear before us. The Road may be the emotionally heaviest book I have read in a long time, but it is achingly poignant and worth its weight.
Grade: A
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