For Valentine's Day, of all things, my lovely wife bought and wrapped me a copy of Cormac McCarthy's new hardback, The Road. It's an apocalyptic tale of a father and son wandering the burned American landscape, to what end I know not.
I think the cover says it all, don't you?
Needless to say, I look forward to starting this book, though I do not do so lightly. I've not cracked the cover yet, as I know from reading Blood Meridian, heretofore considered by me to be both his masterpiece and his darkest work of all, that when I do so I need to be prepared to spend the reading's duration in a very unlovely and disturbing place of waking unsettledness and terrible nightmares. Really, you can't help it.
Despite this, or perhaps because of it, I await the time of reading eagerly, though with some caution. I'm still visited by horrific images from both Blood Meridian and Outer Dark, and I read both of these years ago in a very different place, both geographically and personally. From all reports, this book could be his best ever, his true masterpiece.
Soon.
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