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Review 226: The Road

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

There should be a name, I think, for the type of book that you’ve absolutely heard of, that pretty much everyone has read, but that you have, somehow, managed to miss.

Well, now I have no choice but to read it, since I’ve decided to teach it this year. I know – a bold move to choose to teach a book that I haven’t actually read to impressionable youngsters. I’m a risk-taker, as the IB would have it.

As you recall from your encyclopedic knowledge of this blog and my many reviews, I have a soft spot in my heart for end-of-the-world fiction. I grew up reading The Stand by Stephen King, I’ve read Swan Song multiple times, and even enjoyed tongue-in-cheek apocalypses like Good Omens. Before going into this book, I would have considered myself an authority on all the various ends of the world.

You see, most apocalypse stories share basic qualities. They have secrets and prophecies, they have good guys and bad guys and hope for a better world after they’re over. We can easily look at the problems of our own times and extrapolate them, see how they could be so much worse, and we need to be able to hope that goodness and civilization will win out against even the most terrible of times.

Cormac McCarthy has decided not to do any of this.

In this story there is a man and a boy. They’re traveling through the ruined, ash-strewn ruins of America, looking for a place that is safe. They freeze and starve and hide from the cannibals and slavers that rove the land. They travel through ruined cities and desolate forests, never sure if the next day will bring them a respite from their misery or the finality of death.

They are moving south, down the titular road. They have a busted shopping cart and some knapsacks full of whatever they’ve managed to scrounge, some rags and remnants of clothes, and that’s about it.

Oh, and a gun. With – briefly – two bullets in it. The Man might need it to kill The Boy and himself with it. Or The Boy can use it on himself, if worse comes to worse. Dying of hunger or hypothermia is bad, sure, but there are so many things worse than dying, a final bullet doesn’t even break the top ten.

The Man, The Boy, the Cart and the Gun.

That’s pretty much all McCarthy gives us, at least as far as the plot goes. We don’t know how the world ended, or why. There is no one in charge of this post-apocalyptic hellscape. The man and the boy are not special in any real way – there is no prophecy of greatness or some hidden store of old world knowledge that can be used to bring back the golden years from before the world ended. The Man and The Boy are not trying to accomplish anything other than not dying, even though that seems to be what their entire world really wants them to do.

So if this book isn’t about un-ending the world, like so many other apocalypse stories are about, what is McCarthy doing here?

The essence of the book is the greatest existential question there is: why should we choose to live when we could choose to die instead?

In our world, of course, there are plenty of reasons to continue to live. We have cats and sunsets and taco trucks and at least another season of Wheel of Time to look forward to. We have music and dancing, true love and juicy gossip and good books and friends and family.

The Man and The Boy have absolutely none of this. They have the opposite of all this.

They have a gun. And two bullets.

When you step back and look at it, they’re in an objectively horrible situation and yet they continue to move forward. They continue to survive – to “carry the fire” as they put it – in the hope that maybe somewhere in this blasted land there will be good people that they can finally survive with. Even that hope is thin and tenuous, though, as there is very little indication that such good people exist anymore.

What’s keeping The Man going is The Boy. He’s the last thing The Man can hold on to that keeps him human, reminds him of what good can look like in the world. His purpose is to protect The Boy, and he carries out that purpose like a holy oath. Without it, he has nothing.

What’s keeping The Boy going is The Man. The Man is, of course, stronger, more knowledgeable and more capable, able to do the tasks that need doing in order to survive. The Man is his protector in a world that can be very, very unkind to little boys. And, more importantly, The Boy knows how much The Man needs him. He knows what The Man would become without him, and he can’t bear to see that happen.

The book isn’t about the world or how it ended. The book is about the two of them, and that’s it. It’s about how they survive for each other, carry each other’s fire through a cold and indifferent land.

It’s about love.

The reason to live is simply to live. To endure in the world even when things go bad. Life itself should be appreciated and protected, and that’s all the reason you need to keep going.

For all the grimness, it’s a surprisingly comforting message from the man that brought us Blood Meridian, of all things, and should lead us to ask ourselves if we truly understand the value and preciousness of the lives we lead. Life itself has value, simply by existing, and we’ll miss it when it’s gone.

Especially the cats.


“Once there were brook trouts 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 be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.”

Cormac McCarthy on Wikipedia
The Road on Wikipedia
The Cormac McCarthy Society

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Filed under apocalypse, fathers, fiction, sons

Review 45: To Kill a Mockingbird

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

What is there to say about this book that hasn’t already been said? I mean, it’s one of the most critically acclaimed novels of the last fifty years, and is considered a classic of American literature. It’s required reading in nearly every high school in America – and at the same time it’s a regular guest on the American Library Association’s “Most Banned Books” list.

A lot of minds, many better than mine, have turned their thoughts to this book, and have no doubt picked every last shred of meaning, metaphor and symbolism from it. So what’s left for me to say about it? Sure, I can talk about how it’s a classic coming-of-age tale, about how Scout Finch, a young girl living in a small, insular town in Alabama, saw her world shaped and changed by the goodness and integrity of her father, Atticus. We can look at the family dynamics of the story – a family without a mother, save for the surrogate matriarch roles played first by the maid, Calpurnia, and then by Aunt Alexandria, Atticus’ sister. We can analyze how the power in that family structure changes and shifts, and ultimately rests in Atticus’ capable hands.

Or we can look at the elements of symbolism in the book – the mad dog, foreshadowing the vicious Bob Ewell, whose hatred for Atticus costs him his life. Or the title, as we wonder throughout the book, “Who is the mockingbird?” Is it a person, even, or could it be something as intangible as Innocence? Of course we find out, in the end – it’s the shut-in neighbor, Boo Radley, who must be protected as a mockingbird would be.

And who is Boo, anyway? What does he mean to the America of the 1930s, in which the book was set? Or the 1960s, in which it was published? Or the Aughts, in which I’m reading it? Is he a metaphor for America at that time, too consumed by its troubles to venture out, yet willing to protect those it holds dear, an intentional foreshadowing of the Great War that lays only six years in the future? Or is he the ghostly antithesis of Atticus Finch, a man who does the right thing only once in his life, rather than every day?

It’s also a defense of the American legal system. The trial of Tom Robinson is hopelessly unwinnable, but Atticus knows that it is something to be marveled at that Tom even gets a chance. A thin chance, yes, but in so many other times and places, Tom would have just been killed right on the scene of his alleged crime, and no one would have done anything about it. But in America, the courts are the great levelers. Even a black man, who in that time and that place was a citizen only on sufferance, can still have his day in court. He had very little chance, but with a lawyer like Atticus, who believes wholeheartedly in the purity of Law, he had a better chance than most. “Our courts have their faults,” he says, “as does any human institution, but in this country our courts are the great levellers, and in our courts all men are created equal.” Without this system, however, even a man of Atticus’ talents and integrity wouldn’t have been able to help Tom Robinson.

I guarantee – someone, somewhere has thought about all of these things, and has probably written more about them than I ever could. And with more passion and skill. So I’ll just write about what the book made me think, and hope I can put that into words that sound good to all of you.

I want to be Atticus Finch when I grow up.

As much as the book may be narrated by Scout, and Boo Radley haunts it like an unquiet ghost, the story is about Atticus – a good man in a small town who tries to do everything he can to make his part of the world a better place.

The central event of this book, which echoes from first page to last, is a trial in which Atticus has to do an impossible thing – defend a black man from charges of raping a white woman. By taking this case, Atticus knowingly risks his reputation, his safety and his life, as well as those of his family. It’s hard for us here, in an age when the United States has a black President, to truly understand just how racially broken the country used to be. Not that everything is hunky-dory now – anyone who claims that the election of President Obama somehow solved the problem of race in America has a lot of re-thinking to do. But it was so much worse back then.

Atticus Finch is a man with an unshakable moral compass, who knows the difference between right and wrong and how to make sure he does the right thing. He knows that he is a role model not only for his children, but for the people of his town – in several parts of the book, he’s likened to a savior.”We are so rarely called on to be Christians,” says Miss Maudie, a rather progressive neighbor of the Finch’s, “but when we are, we’ve got men like Atticus to go for us.” He exhorts his children to spend time in another’s skin, to really look at the world from their perspective, in order to understand why they do what they do. He values intellect and reason over emotion and fighting, but is not afraid to take action when it’s absolutely necessary. He bears an immense responsibility on his shoulders, not only for the people of his town – black and white – but for his family, that he may raise his children to be good people as well.

Probably my favorite Atticus moment in the book comes in chapter eleven, with the redemption of Mrs. Dubose. A cantankerous old woman living down the street, Mrs. Dubose is a terror to Scout and her brother Jem. She eventually provokes Jem into a fury, whereupon he destroys her camellias, the punishment for which is that Jem must go to her home and read to her for a month. He does, as he’s Atticus’ son and therefore keeps his promises, but it’s not a pleasant duty. She drifts off into nearly comatose states by the end of their reading sessions, which last longer and longer as what Jem believes must be further punishment for his crime.

It is only later, after Mrs. Dubose dies, that Atticus reveals the real reason Jem was sent to go read to her – so he could help her overcome a crippling morphine addiction before she died. She wanted to die free of her burden, and Atticus wanted his son to see what it means to truly be brave. It was important that Jem understand, before the trial got into full swing, that, “It’s when you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.” Mrs. Dubose won, thanks to Atticus, and his son learned what it means to be brave.

The only real criticism I can think of with regards to Atticus Finch is that he’s too good. It’s hard to find a flaw in the man, other than his nearly unbending insistence on doing the right thing, even if it should put his family in danger. He’s kind of like Superman in that regard – his greatest flaw is his unwillingness to compromise on what is right, even if it hurts those close to him.

Of all the flaws one could have, though, that’s not too bad.

I am reminded that one of the greatest questions of philosophy is “Why should we do good?” Atticus knows why. Because it’s the only thing he can do and still live with himself. He doesn’t need to justify what he does to anyone else. He doesn’t need to convince anyone that he’s doing what is right. He only needs to convince himself. As long has he can look his children in the eyes, he knows that what he’s doing is right, and that’s all he requires. And perhaps he is an idealist, yes. But he’s an idealist who lives up to his ideals, who lives through those ideals every day. He knows that what he does won’t necessarily change his little town, much less the world, but he does it anyway. Because that’s what living a good and honest life means, and that’s what I learned from Atticus Finch.

What surprises me, honestly, is that this is the only book Harper Lee’s written. It’s so rich, so gripping, just so damn good that it’s hard to believe she never had another story she wanted to tell. Her entry in Wikipedia says that she’s written some essays and started a few novels, but never finished them, which saddens me. But then, perhaps some writers have countless stories in them – some of them great, some of them not – and others just have one. And in Lee’s case, it was a humdinger.

If you’re going into high school and you’re reading this – you will be required to read this book at some point. I know how irritating it is to be forced to read a book, and I know that anything an adult tells you is good must automatically suck. Nevertheless, I’m going to ask you to trust me on this one and give it a fair shake. There’s a lot to learn from this book, and it’ll stick with you for years.

If you haven’t read this one since high school – read it again. It’s far better than you remember.

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“The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.”
– Atticus Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird
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To Kill a Mockingbird on Wikipedia
Harper Lee on Wikipedia
To Kill a Mockingbird on Amazon.com
To Kill a Mockingbird on Wikiquote
To Kill a Mockingbird at the Encyclopedia of Alabama
The Boo Radleys on Wikipedia

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Filed under children, classics, coming of age, family, fathers, fiction, Harper Lee, made into movies, murder, racism