The Road

Cormac McCarthy is trying to kill me.  I've had The Road on my bookshelf for years and for some reason I picked it up today and read it cover to cover.  I feel like I just watched the Hurt Locker on speed.  My pulse is racing and I think I may be permanently psychologically damaged.  There should be a surgeon general's warning on the book cover alerting you to the fact that reading it may be hazardous to your health.

That said, it was obviously awesome. What haunting, sparing language.   What horror and desolation.  I'm so glad that I've read it, but I now banish myself from ever reading anything like it ever again.  Maybe.  It was awfully good.  I swear, though, I think when you become a parent something shifts in you and makes it absolutely unbearable to be exposed to the merest suggestion of a world where children may be harmed in any way.  You kind of feel the need to stick your head in the sand and believe in a world filled with rainbows and unicorns.  McCarthy clearly doesn't entertain such illusions.

I do love it when a book grips you utterly and immediately.  I knew from the first sentence that it'd be an absolutely horrifying read, but once I started, I couldn't stop.  I didn't even get up to go pee.  I'm not sure I even breathed for about three hours.  I feel like I need to go and watch Brady Bunch or Cosby Show re-runs in order to regain my equlibrium. Yikes.