LITERATURE: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I couldn't help it this time, I think. What between work and editing The Greats, and trying to eke out some form of social existence along the way, the reviews have gone sadly by the wayside.

But a new resolution is to post much more regularly.

Starting...now.

So let's take a look at a book I polished off today, home sick from work with a migraine. Cormac McCarthy's The Road isn't exactly what most people might pick up for some light reading. On the one hand, it was, I thought, pretty disturbing and had some moderately horrifying and extremely violent details.

Case in point: the body of a headless infant being roasted on a spit over a fire.

I couldn't even type that without feeling my flesh crawl.

But this is getting off on the wrong foot. What I'm trying to say is that despite details that were graphic and explicit--both of physical and emotional turmoil--I think this book is an incredible testament to the nature of goodness and the persistence of compassion, especially that of children, even in the most excruciating circumstances.

So, starting with that lofty little affirmation, what is The Road about, exactly? Unfortunately, I'm not able to tell you, exactly. That is, the gist is that the world has been ravaged by something that caused the sun to effectively go out (or perhaps by the sun's own flares, which, biologically speaking, could, potentially, cause it to go out).It's cold. It's dark. When it snows (which is does a whole lot) it's grey. And, to add insult to post-apocalyptic injury, the few people that are left are largely a sick, almost tribal species that loots, kills, rapes, enslaves, and cannibalizes.

But amid all this, there's a nameless father and son trying to survive. The father does whatever it takes--heroic and incredibly touching--to defend and nourish his child. The boy, for his part, is only about 9 or 10, and has little to no memory of what the world used to be. Despite that, though, he still holds out hope for the goodness of humanity, and has an incredible empathy for everyone they meet that seems to transcend (or perhaps illustrate?) his age.

What I loved about the book was, undeniably, the style (even the paragraphs are blocks of text, with nary a decoration--even at the expense of apostrophes in conjunctions), and the exquisite hopelessness with which it was written. In the grand scheme of things, not a whole ton happens. They scavenege for food everywhere, they avoid and sometimes run into some really brutal people, and some really unfortunate ones, they run out of food, they make camp, etc. But the writing is so taught and airtight, so incredibly full of the expectation of something horrible, that every page turn leaves you on edge. It completely captured the world they lived in--where danger lay in wait and you had to expect the worst everywhere.

It also really got to an ugly, ugly core of humanity, and brought it, glistening in all of its pus and decay, to the forefront of the story. I think, speaking theoretically, if the world ended tomorrow for all save, perhaps, a hundred or so people in total, we would all like to think that those hundred people would find each other and build a community and start the world anew. I think we'd all expect that, to some extent, the idea that you were the last ones standing would somehow bond you together in a way that allowed you to put aside notions of power and race and greed. But McCarthy very deftly allows for a situation where those aspect of society aren't simply brushed away by disaster. Instead, they're magnified to the extent that women are kept around and impregnated constantly so that the children can be eaten. Certain groups and characters in the novel effectively turn humans into nothing more than sources of food. It's sick. It's disgusting. But as you read, part of you really wonders whether or not every one of those last hundred or so people would be able to do the "good" thing, and try to rebuild instead of take advantage and pollute. McCarthy's answer, it seems, is both yes and no. Some people would reveal the most criminal parts of themselves, while others, like the father and son, maintain their identities as "good guys."

Part of me, on reflection, thinks that that's due to the presence of the boy. There were times in the novel where it looks like the father would have killed / stolen / etc on behalf of their survival, but the boy's conscience always keeps them from doing anything that might be anything less than good. It's a beautiful notion--the overcoming of fear and starvation and the distrust of virtually all other people to arrive at a place where you do everything you can to maintain your "goodness." And so that's the running question in the boy's mind: Are we still the good guys? Are we carrying the light?

In the end, they ARE carrying the light.
And (lest I try to escape a post without indelible cheesiness), I'm holding a flame for this book.

FINAL VERDICT:
***** out of *****

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LITERATURE: Franny and Zooey by JD Salinger

I initially bought this book because (luck of all luck!) I'd heard good things about it and I happened to be at a bookstore, and it happened to be on sale. One of the joys of my life is when bookstores have sales. And it was sort of a cult classic, particularly around Princeton, as most things that feature it in some way, shape, or form, often are.

So I was reading it, and, after devouring Catcher in the Rye in, like, I don't know, 9th grade or so, I was eagerly awaiting the moment when Salinger would sweep my off my feet and carrying me away to literary la-la-land.

I'd be lying if I told you that I "got" this book. I didn't. I'm not sure anyone would really "get" it. I can appreciate his whole shtick re: enlightenment and zen buddhism and whatnot, but, while I found the characters delightfully real, and, as is typical of JD, blissfully intelligent, I also found them cold and only half-formed in the context of the story.

What I mean to say isn't that they're not full fleshed out; on the contrary, they're seriously fleshy. Fat, even. They've got so much emotional baggage that a Boeing jet would have trouble. But that's precisely the problem for me, here, in this case. We get only a tiny glimmer of the two title characters from their own eyes. We see them from the perspectives of everyone else, even though the story is technically told in third person omniscient. It's just a little frustrating because I found myself reading and reading and waiting for the "AHA" moment that never comes. Another fantastic example of literary blueballing. Oh. Dear.

I guess, ultimately, I'd have to chalk this up to an exersize more than a finished work because it seems just like a very long slice of life rather than a complete narrative. And I really did try to understand this. I'm the first one to admit when I've missed something in literature. But even wikipedia gave me nothing I didn't already know from reading it. So I'm left wondering what exactly the point was. Maybe it's supposed to give me more context for examining the Glass children who apparently appear in more Salinger texts. Or maybe it's Salinger ultimately making fun of the reader for salivating over a relatively long story in which not very much happens.

I like Franny's part for more than Zooey's, mostly because within Zooey's I felt as though I was slipping into the realm of Zooey's insanity, a place I'd really rather not enter.

Ultimately, I enjoyed the vocabulary lesson (JD's always fantastic with words. I learned, in particular, the meaning of the words rancor and obstreporous :)) but found the plot difficult to swallow, and had an even harder time wondering why I should care about the characters, who seem sort of full of themselves, in the first place.

Although, I must concede that if I feel this strongly about a work I don't feel I even understood properly, I can only imagine the way I'd feel if I loved it. Good job, JD.

FINAL VERDICT:
** out of *****

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LITERATURE: Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides

Oh Jeff. Love you, boo.

Beautiful, very lyrical prose and a fairly gripping story about a man named Cal, and how he journeyed from being a young Greek girl (Calliope) to realizing that he had both, erm, parts, and identified more with the male form. More or less, I guess you'd have to classify this as a coming-of-age, but also as one of those family history sort of texts, a la "If I Told You Once" by Judy Budnitz (brilliant), or even something like "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn," since the vast majority of the story, though it's being narrated by Cal, focuses on events that happened before his birth.

Particularly, he traces his "condition" back to the very familial "mistakes" that caused it. (Incest, much?) which gives the reader a very thoughtful account of landscapes like Greece and Detroit at the turn of the century.

There are alternating moments of mirth, grief, and salacious scenes between adolescents just budding over with repressed sexuality, all of which makes this a great read. There are also a ton of "Forest Gump"-like moments, where the family's adventures intersect with historical figures or events, which adds to the pleasure of reading this book through slowly.

My only criticism might be that, for me, the ending didn't quite seem to match up. All too quickly, it seemed to disconnect from the rest of the plot re: Cal's family, and the very end was a little underdeveloped for me. I wanted a more about adult Cal, though I can definitely see what Eugenides accomplished by leaving the plot openended. IMHO, though, I feel like the adult Cal should have been more developed since the whole plot is sort of his explanation of his current life.

But then again, it won a Pulitzer, so what do I know?

The only other thing I will say is that, for me, at least, it was a fairly slow read. I was definitely able to put it down, (I read Twilight in a day in the middle of this one), and I'm not sure whether that's a boon or a bore. I was glad, ultimately, that I read it, but I suppose that it wasn't the best beach book out there. Although, to be fair, 4 separate people on the beach in the group that I was with were all reading it. So there.

FINAL VERDICT:

**** out of *****

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