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The Road (2006)

by Cormac McCarthy

Other authors: See the other authors section.

MembersReviewsPopularityAverage ratingConversations / Mentions
32,705137973 (4.06)1 / 1523
America is a barren landscape of smoldering ashes, devoid of life except for those people still struggling to scratch out some type of existence. Amidst the destruction, a father and his young son walk, always toward the coast, but with no real understanding that circumstances will improve once they arrive. Still they persevere, and their relationship comes to represent goodness in a world that is utterly devastated.… (more)
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    psybre: Earth Abides, a classic post-apocalyptic novel published in 1949, is a bit less dark, and as an ecological fable, contains more science than The Road. When pondering to read The Road again, read this book instead.
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    hazzabamboo: Two post-apocalyptic masterpieces, with much of their power coming from their focus on a couple of characters and the exotic horrors that threaten them.
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    tottman: Both are dystopian novels with engaging and driven main characters. They are bleak but extraordinarily moving and compelling.
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    Stbalbach: Kosinski & McCarthy were born 5 weeks apart in 1933 and were ages 6-12 during WWII. Both books are dark violent fables told from a child's view.
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    klarusu: Far North is less harrowing than The Road but equally thought provoking

(see all 44 recommendations)

AP Lit (315)
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» See also 1523 mentions

English (1,298)  French (20)  Spanish (15)  Dutch (8)  Italian (6)  German (5)  Swedish (5)  Danish (4)  Catalan (3)  Norwegian (2)  Finnish (2)  Czech (1)  Bulgarian (1)  Hebrew (1)  Polish (1)  Portuguese (Portugal) (1)  All languages (1,373)
Showing 1-5 of 1298 (next | show all)
Diario fanta-apocalittico con tonalità horror, il romanzo può essere immediatamente inquadrato come un racconto di lotta per la sopravvivenza, con annesse riflessioni sulla follia dell'uomo, sull'importanza di non spezzare il legame con la Natura, ecc. ecc. Non a caso tutti i personaggi adulti (buoni compresi) presentano qualche deformità fisica, riflesso di un più grave (e gravoso) malanno morale.

Personalmente preferisco leggerlo però come una descrizione coraggiosa e lucida dell'attuale condizione morale della società occidentale. Essere padre oggi significa muoversi in un contesto privo di punti di riferimento e dover condurre il proprio figlio nel freddo e nella sporcizia (morale) che alligna ovunque, lungo la retta via (la strada) che porta ad una verità piú grande (il mare). Verità ahimè ridotta oramai ad una poltiglia grigia e morta poiché anche le vecchie sicurezze sono state svuotate del loro piú intimo significato in questa società malata e disfunzionale.

Il passato oltretutto è un'eredità ancipite. L'immagine dell'uomo che al tramonto legge un vecchio giornale mentre il bambino sta dormendo esprime eloquentemente l'assoluta inanità della conoscenza pre-catastrofe: la scienza di un tempo ora è favola, buona solo per tirar sera. Viceversa nulla di quanto prodotto nel post-catastrofe è utile alla sopravvivenza, ciò che aiuta a tirare avanti sono invece i pochi resti del tempo andato, ciò che i previdenti hanno pensato bene di conservare (cibi, bevande, suppellettili, ecc.).

Il sole dietro la coltre di polvere si è liquefatto in una lattiginosa luminescenza incolore non più localizzabile. Le mappe del vecchio mondo, consultabili con grande difficoltà, sono decomposte in un puzzle di quadretti che consentono a malapena di procedere a vista.
Esiste solo l'oggi e il qui. L'altrove, temporale, spaziale e perfino onirico è bandito. Forse per sempre.
I viveri per affrontare il viaggio sono scarsi e sovente scadenti: non c'è nutrimento per lo spirito.
Perfino l'identità si è dissolta: tutti i personaggi sono senza nome, tranne Ely, un vecchio mezzo cieco che parla in modo sconnesso e si dice profeta di un Dio che non esiste.
Eppure la spinta ad andare avanti è forte. Fortissima. E del tutto immotivata.

Il protagonista, nel breve tempo che gli rimane, prova con tutte le sue forze ad adempiere al disperato compito di indicare al figlio la strada e le regole per una nuova vita.
Evitare gli altri prima di tutto.
Perché gli uomini, ben che vada, vogliono derubarti o peggio divorarti, spolparti il midollo. Fino a lucidarti le ossa.
E rimanere sempre uniti.
Rileggendo il precetto evangelico "Ama il prossimo tuo come te stesso", l'autore lega padre e figlio in modo così stretto da escludere qualsiasi altra presenza. Perfino la figura della madre è lasciata nell'ombra di un ricordo dolorosamente ambiguo. A dire il vero la componente femminile è assente in tutto il libro ed è richiamata archetipicamente solo nella forma delle cavità naturali e dei rifugi di fortuna in cui i due protagonisti trascorrono i momenti migliori (le imboccature delle grotte, il rifugio antiatomico, ecc.). E non può essere diversamente perché il paradiso è non essere mai nati: l'uscita al mondo è sofferenza e disperazione e una madre, qualsiasi madre, non porta che a questo.

Ciò che conta è tenere sempre acceso il fuoco interiore (unica nota di colore in tutto il libro!), che non si sa di dove venga e in che cosa consista, ma c'è e guai a lasciarlo spegnere. In antitesi al "fuoco mobilissimo" di Eraclito, legato a doppio filo alla parola-ragione (logos), il fuoco di McCarthy è confinato nel non-detto, non voce ma respiro, non gesto ma vicinanza e si alimenta della quotidianità di un rapporto fatto di piccole attenzioni, di rispetto, di cura reciproca e di fedeltà al difficile compito di rimanere uomini.

Ma forse l'insegnamento più grande sta nelle ultime, semplici parole del padre al figlio prima di morire: "Fa' tutto come lo facevamo insieme".
Perché l'esempio e la condivisione sono la lezione più efficace e sincera.
Perché la vita si sviluppa per cicli e ripetizioni. E ciò che non si ripete muore.
"Fa' tutto come lo facevamo insieme".

Di impianto più semplice dei romanzi precedenti, La strada si dipana per accostamenti di immagini e sequenze racchiuse in paragrafi di lunghezza variabile, da poche righe a qualche pagina, frantumate testimonianze di un'esistenza che ha cessato di accrescersi e che si ripiega su sé stessa rantolante. A una narrazione tanto frammentaria giova come non mai l'impeccabile stile dell'autore, asciuttissimo e quasi refrattario, non scalfibile.

In tanta devastazione l'unico flebilissimo segno positivo si intravede nel divario che piano piano si va creando tra padre e figlio e, per quanto cupo, il finale è aperto alla speranza. Morto il padre, il bambino, piú ingenuo e indifeso ma anche più aperto verso gli altri, ripone la sua fiducia nell'uomo col fucile: la società nasce dalla reciproca collaborazione anche se si è circondati dai cannibali e questo atto di fiducia può essere compiuto solo dai giovani perché le vecchie generazioni, responsabili della catastrofe, sono incapaci di costituire nuovi solidi rapporti. E' dunque tempo che muoiano e che altri procedano più avanti lungo la strada.

Già me lo vedo McCarthy che al mattino presto si alza, va alla porta di casa col bicchierone di caffé americano in mano e nel deserto del New Mexico che si spalanca oltre la soglia legge la desolazione della società attuale. Rientra, dà un'occhiata nella camera del suo figlioletto, lo ascolta respirare, magari gli sistema le coperte. Lui è vecchio e sa che non lo vedrà crescere. E che non potrà accompagnarlo molto piú in là lungo la strada che attraversa il niente.
E poi scrive.
Scrive di questo fuoco che è dentro ciascuno di noi, consapevole che forse non avrà il tempo di comunicare al suo piccolo l'importanza di tenerlo vivo quel fuoco.
E spera che dopo di lui ci sia qualcuno che nonostante tutto se ne prenda cura.

Chissà, forse il finale è aperto alla speranza proprio perché McCarthy stesso ha bisogno di quella speranza.

E noi con lui.

---
Precedente: [b:Blade Runner|9853690|Blade Runner|Philip K. Dick|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1312794538l/9853690._SY75_.jpg|830939]
Successivo: [b:Ehi, prof!|3972405|Ehi, prof!|Frank McCourt|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1413288428l/3972405._SY75_.jpg|3060322]

Seconda lettura
Precedente: [b:Ehi, prof!|3972405|Ehi, prof!|Frank McCourt|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1413288428l/3972405._SY75_.jpg|3060322]
Successivo: [b:Un albero cresce a Brooklyn|3927372|Un albero cresce a Brooklyn|Betty Smith|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1424087119l/3927372._SY75_.jpg|833257] ( )
  Demistocle | May 19, 2023 |
McCarthy’s most hopeful book. Not being cheeky. ( )
  tsvi | May 4, 2023 |
I...don’t....know....it was amazing, it was emotional, it was frightening and breathtaking. I couldn’t put it down, but I was disappointed when I finished. I needed more...I needed more backstory, I need the rest of the story. Where does it go, where did it come from, why do I feel like I read the second book of a trilogy but the first and last book were never written...argh!


Edit to add: this says nothing about the style, which I found quite odd, I don’t think I’ve ever read anything like it, although it seemed to enhance the reading experience, at least for this book...I think. ( )
  MrMet | Apr 28, 2023 |
2.3 ( )
  NicolasHoyle | Apr 23, 2023 |
Let's just start off by saying that books don't make me cry. Ever. Until now.

This book is beautiful in the same way the Alaskan landscape is beautiful . . . simple, bare, stark, bleak, cold, rugged, and yet somehow still exquisite. The writing is very spare, but it so fits the book. The way the words are put together reflect the story itself.

At its heart, this book is about the love between a father and son as well as an insightful treatise on the cynicism of adults versus the innocence of children.

The story is very simple about a man and his son trying to make their way in an extremely inhospitable post- apocalyptic world. There's really nothing to live for, yet their will and drive to survive continues. As they try to make their way to someplace, anyplace more hospitable, we can feel every ounce of their pain and desperation. It's a story of survival, but it is also so much more than that.

If you can possibly read this book in one sitting, I'd highly recommend it. I didn't have the time to do that, but I think it can be read in 3 hours (probably 2 hours by folks who read faster than I do), and once you get into it, you'll feel reluctant to put it down. It brings you so forcefully into another world that it is hard to exit and re-enter it. The emotional impact is huge . . .and I think it would have been even bigger had I not been putting the book down and then picking it up.

It is very hard to describe the details in this book that impacted me so strongly without spoiling the story. So please, if you haven't read it, give it a shot. I know some folks didn't like it, but it really isn't a book you read to like. It's a book you read because it is so powerful and so moving and because it encapsulates what it means to be alive.

I think this book is destined to be a classic . . .it's timeless, brilliant, scary, and breathtaking. ( )
1 vote Anita_Pomerantz | Mar 23, 2023 |
Showing 1-5 of 1298 (next | show all)
But McCarthy’s latest effort, The Road, is a missed opportunity.
 
With only the corpse of a natural world to grapple with, McCarthy's father and son exist in a realm rarely seen in the ur-masculine literary tradition: the domestic. And from this unlikely vantage McCarthy makes a big, shockingly successful grab at the universal.
added by eereed | editSlate, Jennifer Egan (Oct 10, 2006)
 
“The Road” is a dynamic tale, offered in the often exalted prose that is McCarthy’s signature, but this time in restrained doses — short, vivid sentences, episodes only a few paragraphs or a few lines long, which is yet another departure for him.
 
Post-apocalyptic fiction isn't automatically better when written by Cormac McCarthy, but he does have a way of investing genre clichés with fine gray tones and morose poetry.
added by eereed | editA.V. Club, Noel Murray (Oct 5, 2006)
 
But even with its flaws, there's just no getting around it: The Road is a frightening, profound tale that drags us into places we don't want to go, forces us to think about questions we don't want to ask. Readers who sneer at McCarthy's mythic and biblical grandiosity will cringe at the ambition of The Road . At first I kept trying to scoff at it, too, but I was just whistling past the graveyard. Ultimately, my cynicism was overwhelmed by the visceral power of McCarthy's prose and the simple beauty of this hero's love for his son.
added by eereed | editWashington Post, Ron Charles (Oct 1, 2006)
 

» Add other authors (19 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
McCarthy, CormacAuthorprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Borràs, RosaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Chabon, MichaelAfterwordsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
DuBois, GérardIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Golüke, GuidoTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Hansen, JanTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Hirsch, FrançoisTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Murillo Fort, LuisTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Oates, Joyce CarolIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Preis, ThomasTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Stechschulte, TomNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Testa, MartinaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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Important events
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Epigraph
Dedication
This book is dedicated to
John Francis McCarthy
First words
When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him.
Quotations
He'd not have thought the value of the smallest thing predicated on a world to come. It surprised him. That the space which these things occupied was itself an expectation (149).
From daydreams on the road there was no waking. He plodded on. He could remember everything of her save her scent. Seated in a theatre with her beside him leaning forward listening to the music. Gold scrollwork and sconces and the tall columnar folds of the drapes at either side of the stage. She held his hand in her lap and he could feel the tops of her stockings through the thin stuff of her summer dress. Freeze this frame. Now call down your dark and your cold and be damned.
He pulled the boy closer. Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that.

You forget some things, don't you?

Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.
It took two days to cross that ashen scabland. The road beyond fell away on every side. It's snowing, the boy said. He looked at the sky. A single gray flake sifting down. He caught it in his hand and watched it expire there like the last host of christendom.
He thought if he lived long enough the world at last would be lost. Like the dying world the newly blind inhabit, all of it slowly fading from memory.
Last words
(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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Wikipedia in English (1)

America is a barren landscape of smoldering ashes, devoid of life except for those people still struggling to scratch out some type of existence. Amidst the destruction, a father and his young son walk, always toward the coast, but with no real understanding that circumstances will improve once they arrive. Still they persevere, and their relationship comes to represent goodness in a world that is utterly devastated.

No library descriptions found.

Book description
The Road follows a man and a boy, father and son, journeying together for many months across a desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape, some years – the period of time almost the same as the age of the boy – after a great, unexplained cataclysm.
Haiku summary
His world burned away,
A man walks seaward;
Tries to save the son.
(miken32)

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