Last night I laid in bed and cried to Abel. Not over worries about his job or my health (which is fine, BTW), or about anything in our lives. Rather, I cried about the book I had just put down. "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. I'm reading it for my book club. I suggested it. Right now I can't figure out why. I read it about a year ago and it was one of the only books that I've ever read that I literally finished then went back to the first page to start again. Only I didn't read it again then. It was too painful.
I think the first time I read it, I spent most of the book just trying to follow along and figure out what the heck was happening. This time I know. And this time every single sentence rips my heart apart.
I suggested it to my book club because I was desperate to discuss it. It didn't get voted in and I think I was probably secretly relieved. In the next round of voting a friend suggested I put it up for consideration again. This time it was chosen by the members of our group. I remembered the premise but wanted to read it again before the October book club meeting. I've been reading it the last few nights and it is awful. Just awful. And, at the same time so incredibly beautiful. The beauty and the darkness wrench my heart. Every line breaks my heart. I think the New York Times review says it best, "'The Road' would be pure misery if not for its stunning, savage beauty."