| REVIEW: CORMAC MCCARTHY, THE ROAD |
Reading Cormac McCarthy is akin to looking down a tunnel with no light at its end. His novels are microscopic examinations of individuals whose lives have gone explicably or inexplicably awry, characters caught in exquisite tsunamis of self-torture or futility. Occasionally, one will have come to grudging terms with the chaos of his own existence. But only occasionally. McCarthy’s writing is brilliant. McCarthy is brilliant. His books will make you think. They will make you suffer. But after two or three, you need a rest. The Road is a rest. Of sorts. Not that it gives you an easy time. That’s not McCarthy’s way. It’s quite a grueling read. About a frightened, trusting, hopeful child; a dying, determined father; an authentic world that alternates between doom and reprieve over and over again. The world is dead. But a few people aren’t. Yet. And there is this child who carries the light. How can such a child not survive? And what is this light? Is it nothing more than a fairy tale told to keep two small legs moving? Or is it real? Is there room in McCarthy’s view of the human consciousness for transcendence…something beside dogged will, an anthropoid instinct for survival, ennui, regret? Yes, it would seem so. It makes one wonder…what next?
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