The Road

Finished "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy today (I had read another of his, "No Country for Old Men," during the school year). He is an incredible author, although I don't think he has terribly much range. His books all take place in the border desert between Mexico and the US, all the settings barren and characters simple in that their goals are simply to stay alive.

"The Road" tracks a father and son making their way south (no explicit reason stated) in a US/Mexico after essentially Armageddon (again, no explination for it is given). The novel revolves around two elements, which are so simple that they sustain it and make it an interesting read by themselves. The first is the father-son relationship, incredibly delicate and fragile but with invisible strength like a spider's web. It gives immediacy to all conflicts they encounter, the ever-elusive "why should I care?" The second element is McCarthy's power of description. He is as much a painter as a storyteller, as is able to describe desolate nothingness with such detail and precision that it becomes intensely real.

This book didn't so much make me think as it did make me experience and feel...and for that reason, perhaps unfairly, I enjoyed it tremendously but don't value it that much, i suppose because i associate "lit'rature" with "deep thought". A good book, although it defies how I try to measure the books I've read.