McCarthy’s “The Road”

Here at TDOV our main squeeze is obviously dank tunes. And though we love to rock out, we also appreciate the ability to get our read on. Not that we’re smart asses or nothing, we just understand a good story when we see one.

Cormac McCarthy’s The Road has been delighting us since we first split its spine. Now in the twilight of his career, McCarthy comes at us with some of his best work yet (it did win the Pulitzer in 2007, afterall). Indeed, it is somewhat of a departure from his previous yarns which chronicle tales of exploration into the West and are written in a Southern Gothic style.

The Road takes us through post-apocalyptic America struck by an unnamed cataclysm. Barren and burned lands abound, and life-as-we-know-it ceases to manifest itself. The sun fails to shine now that clouds, dust and debris block its rays leaving the air “cold, cold enough to crack stone.”

But like most of McCarthy’s work, paradox abounds—in both the story and his writing. Caught in the midst of the lifeless burning hills travels a father and son. Determined to head south and east in hopes of finding warmer climate near the sea, the two plod along methodically, struggling to push a shopping cart with three wheels through the ash filled with their only possessions. They are the “good guys, carrying the fire” hoping to avoid the marauding bands of thieves who capture the unfortunate to harvest their bodies for any form of sustenance.

Theirs is an emotionally gripping and wrenching relationship. The boy is young and possesses a restrained zest for life—he’s aware of his situation but still has hope of finding salvation. The father—older, greyer, weathered—contrasts his son’s zeal with a sobering dose of reality: that they will not survive. Indeed, the father’s feels the greatest protection for himself and his son is the pistol they carry with only two bullets; two to commit suicide with should true misfortune befall them.

The relationship is minimalist in nature. And so too is the writing. But the beauty of McCarthy’s prose is that his raw, bare, and rough language is the channel through which most communication takes place. In a sense, more is revealed in what is not said rather than what is. He refuses to use standard punctuation—that’s right, no commas, question marks, or quotation marks here. Dialogue flows in and out of narration and there are no chapter breaks. Moreover, the characters lack names and are instead referred to as mearly “the man” and “the boy.” This style pairs particularly well with the story itself—the earth itself is cold, bone-bare, and course and so too is the writing. McCarthy’s prose leaves the reader truly feeling the story in a way that has fallen by the wayside in much of today’s writing.

This is a truly great book and we at TDOV endorse it to the fullest. But don’t be scared by the apparently depressing nature of the book. Despite the despair that fills the scenes McCarthy leaves the reader with a glimmer of hope at what can be. You’ll have to dive in head first to find out.
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In the meantime, check out these cuts. Perfect for chilling out, or for pleasant night ride. Get into it!

Explosions In the Sky– Your Hand In Mine
Explosions In The Sky– First Breath After A Coma
Explosions In The Sky– So Long, Lonesome

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