Another poem! It’s official. I’ve got Poeticitis 😉
I’ve finally finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy, just to see what the fuss is about. I would dearly love to write an extensive review but sadly have things to do! And so I shall summarise my thoughts on the book:
Man leads boy through hell
of gray, gray ash, dead babies.
It took me a while to get used to the book’s clipped sentences and the lack of commas and apostrophes, and in the end had to concede that perhaps the author was trying to convey a sparse, starved sense of the setting. It wouldn’t have killed him to use less ‘he’ all the time, or anything else to distinguish dialogue between father and son better.
Otherwise, beautiful, haunting book. Rather convenient bit of good luck at the end, I thought, but lovely writing.
Phrases I Enjoyed
“They set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other’s world entire.”
“The chary dawn, the cold illucid world. In the distance what looked to be a pine wood, raw and black. A colorless world of wire and crepe.”
“Perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. The silence.”
“Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not to be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived, all thing were older than man and they hummed of mystery.”