I’m reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Road and am astounded by the beauty of the story, an uncanny kind of beauty found amidst the darkness and the gloom. Ash, soot. Ghastly remnants of trees and buildings, of things burned in the early days of apocalypse. Dead nature. Grayness, grayness, grayness. The emptiness. The hollowness. The hopelessness.
And at the centre of the story – the raw love of a father, the precious son, the fragile yet indestructible relation between father and son. Their endless strife to survive, to get through yet another day. There is no yesterday. There is no tomorrow. There is onlynow.
I’m not even halfway yet, but I’ve been captivated since page one.