The cities have all burned. The world is covered in soot. Gray snow falls from the sky. How can something so sad and depressing be so wonderful?

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.


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