My mom and I went for a walk yesterday, ’round Wilde Lake. It was a lovely day. The last day of the year. Gloriously warm and sunny, in the mid-50s. A fine day to be out.
We passed a Little Free Library positioned along the path, and I popped over to check out the books in it. Cormac McCarthy’s The Road popped out at me. I’d read one of his books, The Crossing, some 25-and-counting years ago and was so taken by the combination of desolation, despair, ill luck, determination, and a sliver of heart and hope. Such a mix of ingredients he blended together so well in one bleak story.
When I mentioned the book title, my mom said she’d listened to the audiobook reading of it, and said it was a great book.
So, I took it, went home, read it, went to bed, woke up, and finished it. It’s not a long book. It’s chapter-less, which makes sense, given the apocalyptic background and the way the story is told.
Once again: this combination of desolation, despair, determination and a bit of heart and hope McCarthy wielded so masterfully … adding in this time, a bit of luck, a bit of “the fire.”
So gripping. So devastating. So begging for hope. So Cormac McCarthy.