Cormac McCarthy's THE ROAD – This Trek is not for the Faint of Feels

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Reviewed by Mary Ann

I have always regarded literature as contrary to what many see as the time-honoured tradition of fiction – escapism. Whether it be the intriguingly cold mysteries of Sherlock Holmes, Tolkien's quaint Shire landscape, or even a brief skimming of Chatelaine for just the right way to consume brownies and lay off the pounds; emerging from a good reading often leaves us with a sensation akin to dark waters. We have come back from another world unlike our own.

And while I too have the same mentality, I also highly disagree. One may immerse oneself in a fictional realm for the sake of rewinding from real-world troubles, but there is also a deeper meaning to most literature that leaves me vigorously believing that these worlds so unlike our own reality exist to help us understand our reality.

Philosophies aside, this is still a review, and I bring up all this jargon solely because Cormac McCarthy's The Road displays what seems to be almost a symbol of what I was just blabbering on about to your poor little retinas.

Following the journey of a father and son known only as “the man and the boy”, it's a post-apocalyptic novel that spans over a period of several months, across a landscape blasted by an unspecified cataclysm that has destroyed most of civilization and, in the intervening years, almost all life on Earth. They are each other's “world entire,” and exist only out of love and dedication. The land is filled with ash and devoid of living animals and vegetation. Many of the remaining human survivors have resorted to cannibalism, scavenging the detritus of city and country alike for flesh. And . . . that's about as much of the plot that I can detail without really delving into what might be spoilers, or parts of the story that would demand more explaination.

And that sounds like a cop-out, I know, but trust me when I tell you that this is one of those rare reads that has a plot that can only described as “living”. The entire book itself has no chapters, no quotation marks, no pauses; only paragraphs – and I know that removes the whole virtue of giving readers a breather now and then, but that's the whole point. It feels like a long, treacherous, grey journey. It drags forward with each and every conviction, and forces you to drag with it. In the end, you are left with that bitterness and the ashes in your lungs. But you'll love every minute of it.

These unnamed protagonists project unto you what seems like a character study. And, yes, it's a grim one. This isn't a novel that romanticizes oblivion, or gains your facination through beautiful teens and sparkling vistas. It weaves a plot that just seems to happen. Like life, you've got two characters attempting to exist in an unpredictable state of chaos. They have been dealt a horizon and are now simply trying to live, the same way anyone else does no matter the state of the world. And the entirety of this novel revolves around how they do it, or at least try to.

Which brings me back to my first point – in The Road, you will not be escaping reality. Instead, this novel attempts to give narration and plot to human existence, not to a synthetic creation of one. You become these faceless characters, come back to the journey each time you open the book. You're still becoming immersed in a different world, but this is one that will leave you truly contemplating the one you live in.

So, if you're the type for glamourous or optimistic or safe reading, this may not be the book for you. It really is unforgiving in how dark human nature can get, but also how deeply compassionate. So if you've got loins of steel and the daring to play with your emotions, give this book a try. It may not speak to blue birds and the colour yellow, but you may just come to appreciate the pallet of McCarthy's landscape and your own morality - painted in various shades of grey.