"...These places in my dreams have a precise topography, but they are completely different. They may be mountain paths or swamps or jungles, it doesn't matter: I know that I am on a certain corner in Buenos Aires. I try to find my way."
- "Nightmares", SEVEN NIGHTS, Borges, Jorge Luis.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

THE ROAD. McCarthy, Cormac. Read: August 2008.

"A father and his son walk alone through burned America. Nothing moves in the ravaged landscape save the ash on the wind. It is cold enough to crack stones, and when the snow falls, it is gray. The sky is dark. Their destination is the coast, although they don't know what, if anything, awaits them there."

So states the blurb on the back cover of the paperback version of THE ROAD by Cormac McCarthy.
This is the first - and, so far, only - book I've read by McCarthy, and I'm terribly impressed. I read this in two days flat. I simply could not put it down. I stayed up late reading it in bed, and I never stay up late reading anymore.
The gist of the story is stated above, but although the tale is universal and so general, really, that we're never informed why the world is the way it is - in fact, we're never even told the man and boy's names - it is also an immensely personal story, a common story shared between a child and his parent.

Highly, highly recommended. One of the best novels I've ever read, period. I am in awe of McCarthy's narrative genius. So much that it's hard to define.

A warning that it's somewhat depressing.

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