 |
| The Road by Cormac McCarthy |
It is rare in the literary world for a work of literary significance to go from novel to film to graphic novel, in short, a successful combination of three variants that incorporate one idea via three different forms: a literary trifecta. One such rarity is the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. I have experienced all three modes of delivery, and each expresses a distinct yet compelling artistic voice. The most recent is the retelling of The Road in this exquisite graphic-novel adaptation by the award-winning French cartoonist Manu Larcenet, for Best Adaptation from Another Medium. For those who are not aware of what the Eisner Award is, it is a prestigious comic book industry award often referred to as the "Oscars of Comics”.
What follows is my literary autopsy of The Road.
The Road depicts a post-apocalyptic world shattered into shards of desolation. Humanity has been
reduced to a life lived in fractions rather than wholes. Motivation is driven by the continuous peal of a mind-induced dinner bell, a reminder of ongoing hunger and the pilot light of human will that refuses to be extinguished. It follows the lives of a father and son and their relationship to one another and to The Road.
 |
| Cormac McCarthy, Author |
In a 2007 startling announcement, McCarthy granted Oprah Winfrey a rare televised interview as a precursor to the following selection of her book club. Readers and the televised audience were entreated to the genesis of The Road. In 2003, on a trip to El Paso, Texas, with his young son (while staying at a motel), he happened to look out the window overlooking distant hills. He imagined what the city would look like fifty to a hundred years in the future, the hills alive with fire, and consequently, thoughts about his son. This was the germ of his novel. Conversations with his brother concerning the consequences of various apocalyptic events, together with the taboo of cannibalism, became wards for thought. Also included were his real-life dialogues with his son; the graphic novel's vividness is readily apparent.
The novel is a brilliant work of literary art, so much so that it has inspired expression through alternative media, and it has done so successfully. The original novel’s concept is faithfully rendered in alternative forms that are no less creative. McCarthy employed various literary devices to convey the indelicacies of a global Armageddon, beginning with the obvious: the title.
One must ask oneself, why The Road? McCarthy’s simple, assigned title is already a social construct, and he is well aware of this. Roads exist globally. They are not enjoyed by just one nation; all share this basic commodity the world over, be it a beautifully engineered icon of civilization and progress, or a lowly, uncared-for rural dirt rut: a road is a road. McCarthy understands that roads are the lifelines of our society, and without them, the architecture of civilizations begins to erode. The Romans were well aware of this and conquered the world with an efficient, rapid, stable, and reliable structure that enabled invading armies and a military and economic artery, nicknamed the Regina Viarum - Queen of Roads. They built a road (the Appian Way) in 312 BCE by Appius Claudius Caecus. The world's oldest road, 10 miles (16 km), still exists, a true time traveller. Imagine how many feet have trampled that road, probably for just as many reasons. To illustrate the significance of this marvel of engineering, as of July 2024, the Appian Way has been recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site under the name Via Appia Antica—a proper Roman enduring lifeline. The conceptualization of roads remains unchanged.
To understand how prevalent roads have become in our lexicon, let us examine the euphemisms they have generated in our everyday speech that compel their use: the obvious "all roads led to Rome"; the "road to heaven" (good) or "perdition" (not so good); and the "road to predestination." The road to truth, the road to Bedlam, The Beatles' Long and Winding Road, the road of opportunity, the road to fortune, a fork in the road. Dorothy Gale knew she had to follow the yellow brick road to Oz. The road is not only a two-way street but also a metaphor denoting give-and-take in interactions.
Historically, the road, more specifically the Appian Way, was trodden on by St Paul, witnessed the crucifixion of 6,000 slaves as a result of Spartacus’s combativeness revolt, and the Battle of Anzio in WWII. A silent witness not only to the passage of time, but to the savagery of so-called human progress. The road, an amalgamation of bitumen, stone, tar, and minced glass, lacks absolute consciousness; it remains detached yet can exert a force that permanently etches itself into humanity's social structure, leaving us no choice but to abide by its rules. It causes people to cross into unimaginable, unthinkable barriers, into life-altering circumstances that, under normal circumstances, would be found in the recesses of minds where most of us would never venture. In the long run, humans aggregate to the only thing they know that sheds the guise of commonality - the road. ‘’When we get to the end of the road,’’ the future promise of a pot of gold will be waiting for us. This iteration of the road, as depicted by McCarthy, delivers only misery and hardship, and, like most things in this proto-dystopian world, it remains unnamed.
It comes as no surprise that even man’s best friend, a lonely dog, finds his way to the road, intuitively understanding somehow that ‘’the road’’ is a means of survival: people equal food and protection. This is a precarious situation for a dog, in the current global crisis, ‘’the road’’ may be the route to its demise, rendering it someone’s next meal; dog equals food, no protection. The road runs both ways, feast or famine for all; there is no exemption, the currency is survival at any cost. The nameless boy wants to rescue the dog, and in dialogue with his unnamed father, offers to give him half his food. The boy articulates his sacrifice for the dog’s sake with the exuberance of youth, but the road separates the two by age and maturity; the boy’s ambitious appeal is rejected in the name of greed imposed by bare-boned survival. A rather interesting interpretation, or alternative point of view, is offered by Erik J. Wielenberg, an American author and professor of philosophy at DePauw University in Greencastle, Indiana. He posits that the conceptualization of morality does not necessarily require, or extend to, a belief in God to justify its existence. Humans have a fundamental desire to make sense of their actions; merely validating this innate need stokes the will to endure. The father is the keeper of this beacon: his pilot light is metaphorically represented by his son, who embodies the goodness in life. God is an ambiguity; the road depicts morality as secular and stems from paternal godlessness, it germinates from a psychology that the road is a godless strip of tar. The father describes himself as a silent godless Baron, a metaphor for the road, the impetuous, his wife’s suicide.
In this post-apocalyptic society, nomenclature has been regulated to the category labelled 'non-essential'. We lack the privilege of knowing our protagonists, a useful ploy by McCarty. When we do not know their names, it is easier to imagine ourselves in their shoes, living their most difficult and austere lives. The names of people, places, and things have dissolved into a fog of obscurity, and living has become an ephemeral encumbrance. Humans name things for familiarity; the lack of names helps illustrate the hopelessness of life's safe commonality. It's easy to destroy, kill, or consume when it is nameless. Eking out an existence for those still alive need not be burdened with the tiresome task of naming them or even remembering what they were once called. However, while on the road, which is also nameless, father and son meet the only inconsistency thus far, a man with a name, the only person we encounter that has a name, and that name is Ely.
What or who exactly is Ely in the context of this narrative, and what was McCarthy’s reasoning for including Ely in this dismal wasteland? He inserts the theme of religion by advocating Ely’s role as an agent to the contrary. McCarthy brilliantly connects Ely to the biblical prophets, a representation of Elijah or Eli; he equates God with the harshness of the world, and that his existence amounts to an act of desertion, that God is gone: his forfeiture, mankind. Ely’s function is that of an anti-prophet, the antithesis of Eijah of the bible. His message is in direct opposition to Elijah, as his name implies that God is Yahweh, whereas Ely suggests the negative: God is not Yahweh. He is a prophet with no belief in the divine. This near blind old man, self-named, self-appointed warden of hopelessness, despair, cynicism, and moral defeat, is a foil to the boy who represents all the good that is still alive in man. Upon meeting the father and the boy, he claims that he thought he had died because he thought he would never see a child again. Remember, Ely’s near blindness, and dealer of woe, does not impede the fact that he can metaphorically see that the child is a representation of good, God, and salvation. The idea that the boy has these merits suggests that Ely has encountered a blossoming prophet at an early stage of development and that the dismal state of humanity can be healed through such a ministry. Ely’s conclusion to what is at hand can only be remedied by the totality of extinction. The discussion of this concept between him and the boy’s father is inconclusive; that doesn’t stop him from sharing a meal with them, provided by his messianic-like son's compassion. The boy has a true tendency towards mercy: Ely has not. Ely suggests that what remains on the road are God’s prophets. Ely’s idea of prophets overrules the commonly accepted idea of what a prophet is. The new prophet, as Ely estimates, deals with despair, nonexistence, and the culmination of death, in which even death dies. Paradoxically, Godlessness paralles humanities new age of recessiveness. Ely’s character is necessary to emphasize the fundamental nature of perspective, which would be otherwise subjected only to that of the father and son. In summation, Ely’s contribution to the narrative can be summed up by: ifoecing the path of hopelessness and global collapse, the watchtower message that God is gone, existing humanity is the new prophets, faith is challenged by irrelevant goodness (the boy), loss of spirituality and morality, and finally a loss of meaning. His presence adds to the malignant motion of a world in the act of crumbling.
An additional paradox: in a world devoid of titles and names, while travelling a nameless road, Ely has decided to christen himself a name! This admonition demonstrably percolates to the surface as a sliver of hope, even though he champions hopelessness and death. together with decay. The simple act of giving himself a name clearly indicates a reluctance to capitulate to the obscure. Obviously, a religious man who currently doesn't believe in God or hope dons a hard exterior coat of deniability, so the collapse around seems less threatening; it’s a method of coping. We all know that when you name something, not only does it become yours, it becomes real.
Ely’s character is necessary to emphasize the fundamental nature of perspective, which would be otherwise subjected only to that of the father and son. In summation, Ely’s contribution to the narrative can be summed up by: following the path of hopelessness and global collapse, the watchtower message that God is gone, existing humanity is the new prophets, faith is challenged by irrelevant goodness (the boy), loss of spirituality and morality, and finally a loss of meaning symbolized by his blindness to a darkness of a post-apocalyptic world. His presence adds to the malignant motion of a world caught in the act of crumbling.
Ely’s singular purpose in his narration with the boy is to illustrate the contrast between the two and highlight the boy’s messianic status and innate goodness; a clear-cut polarity, courtesy of the road. While Ely expounds on the demolition of God in these troubled times, God is being represented to his unseeing eyes through the boy’s presence. Spiritually, he is truly blind and can not see.
 |
| The Road film poster |
Globally, humankind has undergone a catastrophic event of biblical proportions. This event has caused people to abandon the traditional way of life for one that has integrated itself into asphalt and lawless barbarity; instantaneous devolution for the majority, with pockets of mortality where entropy rules the day. People have become as cold as the road they trod. What apocalyptic event has christened a new way of comportment? According to McCarthy, the event is unimportant; it’s the Maguffin, the vehicle that lends itself to the essential topic: the road. Many have tried to determine what happened to lead to this; whether war, nuclear winter, geological, or meteoric devastation, all lead to Rome, that is, the road. These life-altering strides affect many, but among those who have fallen for the road’s siren song, two stand apart and exemplify what it means to a struggling humanity when the definition of humanity is being tested and rewritten to accommodate a new iteration: a nameless father and a young son. This post-apocalyptic neo-human is defined by the legs of this peripatetic pair.
Besides the obvious collapse of the national social network, which occurred under some form of outward pressure, what was the impetus that compelled these two to become wayward disciples of the road? The catalyst that initiates the journey is the suicide of the mother and wife of the pair. Inherent parental responsibility by the father for his son, with the onset of her suicide, the father is catapulted into decisive action; he must protect his son, his ward. The basic necessity of survival in a withering post-apocalyptic world bent on its frenetic implosion. The plan: travel south to warmer climes to escape the unforgiving northern winters as they arrive. The southern coast will at least mitigate the need to contend with harsher living conditions; one less burden the father needs to carry. Survival on the road is paramount to his survival skills; he has to think for two. His hope is that this course of action will provide them with a better chance at life. The odds may be slim, but at least they won’t die of exposure. The rest of his might will be spent dealing with a cold, baren, ash laden, unforgiving landscape bearing fruitless struggles to their survival: finding sources of nutrition, marauders given to cannibalism for survival, and finally, most important of all, the mantra that is spoken between the two of them, that which hones in on their ability to maintain their humanity and moral compass which is being threatened by pervasiveness of decline in its attempts to destabilize their pact to each other: to be the: ‘’good guys’’ who ‘’carry the fire’’, currently just a pilot light of civilization, with a refusal to conform to the baseness of living without conscientious moral consequences.
Within the scope of his religious beliefs, McCarthy was not generally considered a follower; a lapsed Catholic with both feet firmly planted in agnosticism; ironically, his body of work appears to favour and explore biblical themes. However, he does not limit himself to this theme; he often delves into the philosophical and ethical implications of human moral dilemmas. Such melees are used to exemplify the coarseness, fragility or resilience of his characters who represent the human condition, especially when confronted with the impossibility of certain quandaries. He seems to favour (in keeping with the theme of the road) the often-trodden avenue of allegory to tell these stories. To the initiated, the road categorically presents itself as a blistering example of a Christian allegory/parable, encompassing moral survival led by two who exemplify old-world morals in a world devoid of them: the child, considered Christ-like, a perfect vehicle for delivering a parable. Early in the novel, the old man Ely is encountered on the road, who is easily interpreted as an allegorical figure bearing a nihilistic calling card, including a subversion of the prophet Elijah. The parable tests the resilience of two battered travellers, both in mind and appearance, who are challenged by obstacles of good and evil, testing their spiritual endurance. The Christ-like presence of innocence in a world disfigured by hopelessness possesses divine elegance that is incorruptible; the current theme ‘’carrying the fire.’’ The Book of Revelation typifies the biblical allusion to an ash-covered wasteland, often a science fiction trope. An additional biblical allusion lies in the man’s explicit memory that the clocks stopped at 1:17, coinciding with the moment the known world ended; this time is interpreted as the verse in James or Colossians 1:17 marked by a ‘’long shear of light’’ and ‘’low concussions'’: the loss of power. Allegories often reveal positive stories of redemption, of death to rebirth; it’s the boy’s eschatological role, through his survival, to restore humanity to its former glory by his ‘’carrying the fire’’ of human morality.
The final debridement in this thesis is the idea that the current global fiasco is nothing more than a simulacrum. Life on the road is an effigy, or rather a representation of what was; the real road versus the road that is. According to Jean Baudrillard (who first coined the term), the simulacrum is a phenomenon of hyper-reality. The road, as a simulacrum, bears no reference to its past and is now a source of hardship and challenge. This iteration of the road shares only a superficial semblance to its former self. Humankind experiences a simulacrum of reality, and society replaces reality and meaning with symbols and signs; the road is a perfect example of a simulacrum. A good example is the scene in the novel where the father and the boy stumble upon a bunker, and they are offered a slice of comfort in a world where, only feet away, the simulation behaves like a simulacrum. Outside, there thrives an” absurd meaningless world.” Humanity navigates a world of simulacra in which meaning is detached. The boy’s constant reassurance that they are the good guys shows a detachment from the reality that humans now eat humans. Human significance: the arts, literature, and music have lost their inherent meaning, stepping into a world of inescapable hyperreality. An aside: during their brief time in the bunker, the son's Christ-like comportment is defined by some Christ-like action. The son cuts his father’s hair, tantamount to washing his father’s feet. An example of where processes like religious constructs add resistance to the simulacrum. So, why do they leave the bunker's safe simulation? The bunker simulation is a rejection of what is now the unnatural static state and a confrontation with a sacred construct of personal meaning in a simulacra world that now shreds at the sight of their mortality.
 |
| The Road, Graphic Novel |
The latest incarnation of the eponymous novel is drawn from the graphic novel adaptation. As mentioned earlier, this adaptation was awarded the prestigious Eisner Award. McCarthy approved and authorized its inception and published release. This graphic novel presents a dark adaptation of the novel and is considered a post-apocalyptic 'must-read.' Miraculously, Larcenet managed to condense the three hundred and four-page novel and one-hour and fifty-nine-minute film into a story stretching a mere one hundred and sixty pages, and did so with surprising devotion to the novel! All the characters reflect pinpoint accuracy in the text, together with some original interpretation. Larcenet captures the compactness of defeat and desolation as the nameless father and son bear the indifference of the road. If you have read the novel, allowances can be made for some executive omissions, which some would credit as blatant redirects. The graphic novel is the terminus of the trifecta. For those who have experienced all three, the expression from one art form to the other makes perfect sense; to those who have not, read and see the film before you read the graphic novel. The graphic novel is a creation for the eyes, icing on the cake, as it were. At this point, it’s about the illustrative aspect that interprets the story and not the prose. The brilliance of this rendering lies in how Larcenet presented this version of inescapable hell on Earth, with rickety, ransacked edifices artistically captured through the visualization of human emotions. The faces say it all. Desolate trees express and foreshadow humanity's current and future fate. A minimal world, framed with minimal dialogue; much of what needs to be said is done so visually. The graphic novel’s text is a supplement to the art; Larcenet uses text as literary markers to direct you to what he may want you to see, follow, go to, or simply draw a conclusion. In the end, it’s always about what the viewer sees in the art. It’s not definite whether text or art is more important, but they support each other and are adjuncts.
 |
| Manu Larcenet, Artist |
Manu is not an author, and to evaluate him as one is short-sighted and desperate. He’s an artist with a penchant for telling a story through what he knows best: his art. Just looking at the remarkable detail in the art of this damned world and its unfortunate custodians is enough to solidify this ‘’capolavoro’’. Again, I stress: if you wish to experience the full effect of the graphic novel and seek a more narrative aspect of the story, read the Pulitzer-winning novel and watch the emotionally disturbing film. As with the graphic novel, the film will leave you with a depiction of horror so powerful that you will be unable to unsee it. I think of all the times that I’ve been in an art gallery studying the imagined work of an artist, to some literary work, Gustave Doré’s impressions of Dante’s Inferno, for example, I am not only reminded that it’s the interpretation from a creative mind, but artistry in its highest form, and how art transcends borders and refuses to be corralled giving the patron a widening scope and appreciation of the union of different artistic disciplines. It is a difficult job being a narrator, artist, and editor all under one adorning hat, but Larcenet does so effectively. I congratulate Larcecent on an extremely difficult task rendered with expert skill. Hence, Eisner.
The graphic novel adaptation is like a toothache your tongue keeps going back to, just to check that yes, the pain is real and that the impact is both mental and physical; survival pushed to an extreme, almost unbearable form, metaphorically. The survival theme is embedded throughout the graphic novel, the film, and the novel. Survival at all costs is the dominant, endless, enduring recurrent theme of instinctive human behaviour. This new shadow of existence is premised on the idea that life now lacks a biosphere. The pangs forever remind you that you are hungry. We base our lives around food and meals; it’s hard not to. Society associates well-being with being well-fed. Much of our advertising is about food; holidays are not successful without a traditional meal; food banks for those in need; food as a reward; and first dates over a meal. What happens when we are deprived of what’s considered acceptable food items? We revert to the unthinkable: people as a food source, as depicted in the classic science fiction novel Make Room, Make Room by Harry Harrison. The fear is real; no one wants to become the product of someone's digestion. The drive to survive is a guiltless host. These three modes of presentation bend the limits of acceptability in a world now devoid of acceptability under the heading of 'me first'. There is no one in the position left to dictate or enforce moral and ethical standards, except for those who now thrive as draconian, Machiavellian representatives given to the struggle. Except for the father, who ironically transcends the current meal plan and exhibits the rare condition of altruism: his son’s survival is paramount.
All three variants of the story are a reflective distillation of two inescapable themes: one, the road and two, the fear of being eaten. Three things that humans simply cannot ignore are love, death and survival. These three human conditions are represented in the novel, film, and graphic novel, and the forces that have become what remains of the collective human experience, leading to what is inarguably the most horrific ultimate taboo of human existence: cannibalism. It violates ethical and social values we are never taught, but we inherently understand as wrong. It devalues human life and dignity by reducing us to a menu option. It is a barrier that, when eroded, dissolves the concept of human evolution by simply prefixing it with “de”. In modern times, what comes to mind is the tragic 1972 airliner crash in the Andes, transporting a rugby team that ultimately led to cannibalism to survive; the will is that strong. We are not addressing the ritual or cultural practice of cannibalism or debating here, only for survival. Religious taboo against cannibalism may stem from the belief that it is the soul that makes us uniquely human, and to eat human flesh is an abomination to this central tenet; suffice to say that in a modern society, this act of barbarism is a violation of conscience.
In this unfathomable state of survival on the road, societal norms have been left by the wayside, replaced by the idiom 'eat or be eaten'. This idea is not a figurative conception but one with a literal connotation. Here, the dog literally eats the dog. With no pun intended, it has become a ‘cutthroat’ world, and inaction results in uspeakable ruin. The food pyramid has collapsed. With reduced resources, the boundaries of limitation lead to confrontational competition, where the victor wins the spoils. In The Road (all three), these acts of human depravity have led the intrepid pair to answer the call to be “good guys” and “carry the fire,” championing human morality. Cannibalism is an affront to survival; it allows for the desecration of the human body, as well as disdain for humanism. The Road, due to its permanence, has effectively become the impetus for preying on the weaker members of the remaining humanity. Societal deprivation has reached its nadir: the status of an animal. The Dantesque inferno of humans corraling humans as livestock, as depicted by Basement livestock ( stumbled upon by father and the boy) or an infant on a splt is made doubly horrific as inflicted on us in the graphic novel. All three deliver the same imagery I’ve just described, but somehow the graphic novel, in this case, with its stark, cold, emotionless black-and-white rendering, gives it a more permanent, indelible front-row attraction in your mind's recesses. This is where the father applies the chorus of “good guy,” a reminder of the contract that will remain non-negotiable as long as they maintain their defence of unflinching humaneness. The father is so invested in their not succumbing to cannibalism that he applies his paternal vigilance to the boy with instructions on how to commit suicide if the situation ever merits it. The boy, on the other hand, witnesses the human-on-human horrors, though mesionic, and contemplates life in this questionable world.
In this society where mankind is dwelling beyond the limits of lawlessness, there is no lawful authority to protect the public. When man becomes no more than venison, boar, pheasant, or hare, and is hunted for sustenance, does the villainous act murder still apply, or has the concept that man has become a mere source of hunted sustenance been displaced by a ruling of murderer? Murder implies that some sort of judicial intervention will balance this act of aggression: accountability. When there is none, what replaces it? To those accustomed to this type of intervention, the heinous act of butchery is driven even deeper since it recalls the days of level-headedness, where insanity now rules the roost. For those of future birth with no knowledge of humanity's past, cannibalism may be inevitable. One can only hope that for future generations an aversion to cannibalism is innate, or else man will eat himself into extinction. I have been involved in some rather emotionally driven discussions concerning this very issue, some for and some against. It’s easy to pontificate until confronted with a distressing choice. Funny how The Road led us to the most important topic that catalyzed such potent opinions. Opinions that are justifiable in each and every human conscience.
In this ongoing race for survival, I am reminded of the father’s never-ending love for his son. The limitless bounds of will and energy are what are needed to think, react, and persevere, for the sake of his son, heir to a questionable future. The struggle is formidable. His toil reminds me of Sisyphus. The shopping cart that he is a servant to is akin to Sisyphus’s boulder; he keeps pushing the cart, loses it, only to find it again until the process repeats itself. The shopping cart also serves as an interesting object of possession that the father pushes throughout their journey. It is, in fact, a central element to the story. Its function is to haul all their worldly goods: a pushed mobile home. Coincidentally, the saddest aspect of the modern homeless population can often be seen pushing the same style of cart, also housing all their worldly possessions. This symbolizes a direct link to the lost past, which was rich and abundant and sustained a steady market. A regular shopping excursion would often fill the cart with edible, sustainable goods. Fast forward to a world where groceries are extinct, and the cart represents the father’s hardships and a personal burden tied to the past, a manifestation of ruination. Larcenet has remained accurate in his depiction of the ransacked, worn-out, battered shopping cart.
The film of the same title offers us a harsh, visual slice of life among the denizens of this cruel, unforgiving drudgery, attempting to mimic life. The mood is defined by a dull, gray coloured palette. The people like their clothes are worn out. Many wish they could peel off their filthy skin as easily as the rags they wear. The film captures the hardship of existence; how the road, once such an undaunting symbol of progress, civilization, and human ingenuity, a means of togetherness, has become a menacing strip of tar to be avoided: the antithesis of its former global glory. Anthropomorphically, the Earth has seemingly decided that these remaining tortured residents are a blight, a disease, a cancer gnawing at its crust, and it needs to excoriate them; debride the scourge of mankind, and the method by which to achieve this is abrasion: a course of never-ending challenges. A neo-Darwinian: survival of the fittest courtesy of the road. The film remains true to the novel; of course, there are some points of contrast that are too minor to mention here. The relationship between father and son is uncontestable and true. The novel, the film, and the graphic novel all depict different levels of unspeakable horrors, but the graphic novel is more remarkable in this aspect. A notable fact: Viggo Mortensen lost 30 pounds (14 to 16 kilograms) in order to give verisimilitude to a father who was starving. Probably giving his fair share of any food to his growing son, rendering him a skeletal form of his former self. Together with his tattered clothes, which he often wore and slept in, he captures the essence of want and desperation. Oh, to remain true to form, he also refrained from bathing. The ending for the novel, the film, and the graphic novel ensures closure, sufficient to say that all art forms encompass some personal artistic leeway: openness to interpretation; it’s no different here. Two ends favourably with the theme of hope, satisfying the notion exemplified by a ray of glimmering hope in an otherwise corrosive, endlessly bleak world. The other remains somewhat ambiguous.
After a gruelling journey, the father manages to get his son to the warmer climes of the southern coast. The boy’s father battles both societal and neural collapse, and a persistent illness, both courtesy of an unnamed origin. To reach a destination that may ensure hope for his son. His parental contract with his son is about to expire. Hope, a station in human life called upon when all else fails, is built using the bricks of desolation. The central theme of morality struggles to rise above the pervasiveness of depreciation, keeping in mind the pair's rallying mantra: “we’re the good guys” and the Promethean act of “carrying the fire.” Acts of quiet heroism while enduring a world that has become a crucible of horror; hope valiantly replaces despair, a future moment when the current ashes reveal the Phoenix. All three, the novel, film, and graphic novel, end with the boy's newfound path of hope on the road.
Quotes from Cormac McCarthy
‘’I’m not writing for a particular audience. The reader in mind is me. If someone else would write these books, I could play golf.’’
~ Cormac McCarthy
‘’we’re the good guys’’
~ Father / Son
‘’carrying the fire’’
~ Father / Son
Disclosure:
Some of the links may be affiliate links, meaning that we will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase at no additional cost to you. We are a participant in the AmazonServices LLC Associates Program. However, this does not impact our reviews and comparisons. We try our best to keep things fair and balanced. By purchasing through our links, you are helping us maintain this site.
Comments
Post a Comment