I wouldn't have met Piti if it hadn't been for a chichigua. To translate chichigua as a kite does not do justice to these beautiful creations of...
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Some books are remembered for their complexity. Cormac McCarthy chilled me to the bone because of disturbing simplicity. The Road is an odyssey story, following a man and his boy across the wasteland that was once a familiar and 'civilized' nation of wealth and promise. McCarthy doesn't need a government conspiracy or a trail of riddles. His narration trudges on just as the two characters do, urged on by the greatest driving force life or literature can capture: survival. Guillermo del Toro-style monsters are not required as the most terrifying of creatures calmly converse with the protagonists on the road, their true intentions only clear in their starving eyes.
The movie isn't necessary for this kind of visual. The Road is a relatively 'easy' read in that the writing style is simple and broken up into short, manageable segments of narration, day by day, hour by hour, as the man and his boy make their way to the ocean. But wait. Why the ocean? McCarthy evoked the cynic in me, but also the fellow human being who can't help but pray that the emaciated pair somehow, someway, make it to their destination (whether or not salvation is actually there). But this novel is not to be confused with the fluff that rocks you to sleep after a long day when a novel that would rival Tolstoy doesn't look appealing anymore. After finishing The Road for the first time I sat quietly and thought for a good 10 minutes before moving. The thoughts and emotions it evokes vary from person to person, probably, but all I wanted to do once I came back to the land of the living was to walk out on that road, find that boy, and hug him until the world was right again.
As that wasn't possible, I just picked up The Road and read it again.
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The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Hannah Mueller, September 1, 2011
Some books are remembered for their complexity. Cormac McCarthy chilled me to the bone because of disturbing simplicity. The Road is an odyssey story, following a man and his boy across the wasteland that was once a familiar and 'civilized' nation of wealth and promise. McCarthy doesn't need a government conspiracy or a trail of riddles. His narration trudges on just as the two characters do, urged on by the greatest driving force life or literature can capture: survival. Guillermo del Toro-style monsters are not required as the most terrifying of creatures calmly converse with the protagonists on the road, their true intentions only clear in their starving eyes.The movie isn't necessary for this kind of visual. The Road is a relatively 'easy' read in that the writing style is simple and broken up into short, manageable segments of narration, day by day, hour by hour, as the man and his boy make their way to the ocean. But wait. Why the ocean? McCarthy evoked the cynic in me, but also the fellow human being who can't help but pray that the emaciated pair somehow, someway, make it to their destination (whether or not salvation is actually there). But this novel is not to be confused with the fluff that rocks you to sleep after a long day when a novel that would rival Tolstoy doesn't look appealing anymore. After finishing The Road for the first time I sat quietly and thought for a good 10 minutes before moving. The thoughts and emotions it evokes vary from person to person, probably, but all I wanted to do once I came back to the land of the living was to walk out on that road, find that boy, and hug him until the world was right again.
As that wasn't possible, I just picked up The Road and read it again.