theroad(cormacmccarthy)

 Synopsis:Asearing,postapocalypticnoveldestinedtobecomeCormacMcCarthy'smasterpiece.AfatherandhissonwalkalonethroughburnedAmerica.Nothingmovesintheravagedlandscapesavetheashonthewind.Itiscoldenoughtocrackstones,andwhenthesnowfallsitisgray.Theyskyisdark.Theirdestinationisthecoast,althoughtheydon'tknowwhat,ifanything,awaitsthemthere.Theyhavenothing;justapistoltodefendthemselvesagainstthelawlessbandsthatstalktheroad,theclothestheyarewearing,acartofscavengedfood—andeachother.TheRoadistheprofoundlymovingstoryofajourney.Itboldlyimaginesafutureinwhichnohoperemains,butinwhichthefatherandhisson,eachtheother'sworldentire,aresustainedbylove.Awesomeinthetotalityofitsvision,itisanunflinchingmeditationontheworstandthebestthatwearecapableof:ultimatedestructiveness,desperatetenacity,andthetendernessthatkeepstwopeoplealiveinthefaceoftotaldevastation.TheproseisquintessentiallyMcCarthy:spare,desolate,unemotional,reservedofbothunnecessaryvocabularyandpunctuation(herecognizedthenecessaryevilofperiodsdenotingtheendofasentence.Somecontractionsaresodesignatedwithanapostrophe,somenot.Exclamationpointsareavoidedwiththesamevigilanceaswouldbeshowntobeanieswithpropellers).AlthoughmostEnglishteachersI'vebeenacaptiveaudiencetowouldconsiderhimSatanincarnate,hestillcanturnaphraseofalmostunbearablebeauty. THEROADByCormacMcCarthy Copyright©M-71,Ltd.2006 ThisbookisdedicatedtoJOHNFRANCISMCCARTHY  Whenhewokeinthewoodsinthedarkandthecoldofthenighthe'dreachouttotouchthechildsleepingbesidehim.Nightsdarkbeyonddarknessandthedaysmoregrayeachonethanwhathadgonebefore.Liketheonsetofsomecoldglaucomadimmingawaytheworld.Hishandroseandfellsoftlywitheachpreciousbreath.Hepushedawaytheplastictarpaulinandraisedhimselfinthestinkingrobesandblanketsandlookedtowardtheeastforanylightbuttherewasnone.Inthedreamfromwhichhe'dwakenedhehadwanderedinacavewherethechildledhimbythehand.Theirlightplayingoverthewetflowstonewalls.Likepilgrimsinafableswallowedupandlostamongtheinwardpartsofsomegraniticbeast.Deepstoneflueswherethewaterdrippedandsang.Tollinginthesilencetheminutesoftheearthandthehoursandthedaysofitandtheyearswithoutcease.Untiltheystoodinagreatstoneroomwherelayablackandancientlake.Andonthefarshoreacreaturethatraiseditsdrippingmouthfromtherimstonepoolandstaredintothelightwitheyesdeadwhiteandsightlessastheeggsofspiders.Itswungitsheadlowoverthewaterasiftotakethescentofwhatitcouldnotsee.Crouchingtherepaleandnakedandtranslucent,itsalabasterbonescastupinshadowontherocksbehindit.Itsbowels,itsbeatingheart.Thebrainthatpulsedinadullglassbell.Itswungitsheadfromsidetosideandthengaveoutalowmoanandturnedandlurchedawayandlopedsoundlesslyintothedark.  Withthefirstgraylightheroseandlefttheboysleepingandwalkedouttotheroadandsquattedandstudiedthecountrytothesouth.Barren,silent,godless.HethoughtthemonthwasOctoberbuthewasntsure.Hehadntkeptacalendarforyears.Theyweremovingsouth.There'dbenosurvivinganotherwinterhere.  Whenitwaslightenoughtousethebinocularsheglassedthevalleybelow.Everythingpalingawayintothemurk.Thesoftashblowinginlooseswirlsovertheblacktop.Hestudiedwhathecouldsee.Thesegmentsofroaddownthereamongthedeadtrees.Lookingforanythingofcolor.Anymovement.Anytraceofstandingsmoke.Heloweredtheglassesandpulleddownthecottonmaskfromhisfaceandwipedhisnoseonthebackofhiswristandthenglassedthecountryagain.Thenhejustsatthereholdingthebinocularsandwatchingtheashendaylightcongealovertheland.Heknewonlythatthechildwashiswarrant.Hesaid:IfheisnotthewordofGodGodneverspoke.  Whenhegotbacktheboywasstillasleep.Hepulledtheblueplastictarpoffofhimandfoldeditandcarrieditouttothegrocerycartandpackeditandcamebackwiththeirplatesandsomecornmealcakesinaplasticbagandaplasticbottleofsyrup.Hespreadthesmalltarptheyusedforatableonthegroundandlaideverythingoutandhetookthepistolfromhisbeltandlaiditontheclothandthenhejustsatwatchingtheboysleep.He'dpulledawayhismaskinthenightanditwasburiedsomewhereintheblankets.Hewatchedtheboyandhelookedoutthroughthetreestowardtheroad.Thiswasnotasafeplace.Theycouldbeseenfromtheroadnowitwasday.Theboyturnedintheblankets.Thenheopenedhiseyes.Hi,Papa,hesaid.I'mrighthere.Iknow.  Anhourlatertheywereontheroad.Hepushedthecartandbothheandtheboycarriedknapsacks.Intheknapsackswereessentialthings.Incasetheyhadtoabandonthecartandmakearunforit.Clampedtothehandleofthecartwasachromemotorcyclemirrorthatheusedtowatchtheroadbehindthem.Heshiftedthepackhigheronhisshouldersandlookedoutoverthewastedcountry.Theroadwasempty.Belowinthelittlevalleythestillgrayserpentineofariver.Motionlessandprecise.Alongtheshoreaburdenofdeadreeds.Areyouokay?hesaid.Theboynodded.Thentheysetoutalongtheblacktopinthegun-metallight,shufflingthroughtheash,eachtheother'sworldentire.  Theycrossedtheriverbyanoldconcretebridgeandafewmilesontheycameuponaroadsidegasstation.Theystoodintheroadandstudiedit.Ithinkweshouldcheckitout,themansaid.Takealook.Theweedstheyfordedfelltodustaboutthem.Theycrossedthebrokenasphaltapronandfoundthetankforthepumps.Thecapwasgoneandthemandroppedtohiselbowstosmellthepipebuttheodorofgaswasonlyarumor,faintandstale.Hestoodand