The Road, Reading Blog #15 - Endings

The Road is one of those stories in which the ending is drastically different from the rest of the story, and at the same time, exactly the same. After the man dies, and the boy grieves, and talks to him, and they are safe -- after all the plotlines are tied up, the narrative describes fish. Or, put another way, after discussing the meaning of life, the narrative discusses the meaning of life.

The last paragraph describes trout, that once lived with mysterious, ancient things and carried maps of "the world in its becoming" on their backs (287). Additionally, the narrator comments that the world, as it was then, "could not be put back. Not be made right again" (287) which was one of the book's central themes. The boy and the man can be destroyed, and they can heal, but they can never undo the damage. Innocence, complete purity, can never be regained, not for them, and certainly not for the world. It can survive, to some extent, but never the way it was initially. That purity ended a long time before the story did. Sometimes, it's better to not be innocent; many would say that experience gives people strength. But this was not true for the world, which couldn't withstand any of the damages people caused. In the story, it was never made right again -- as it likely will not be in this reality either. The boy, too, will never be completely right, or innocent, again. The boy will grow up. The boy will live. What else can he do?

The Road, Reading Blog #14 - Questions

In a blog post I wrote a few weeks ago, when I was less familiar with The Road and the world it depicted, I asked a few questions that I could not fully answer. So now, I will try to answer them again.
My first question was about death, and why death is so unremarkable in this story. With the death of the father, I have gained much more insight into McCarthy's depiction of, and the characters' perspective on, death. While previously the dead were unknown, ignored, and helpless, the man is less so. His son cares for him, deeply, and always knows where he is -- and he cares for his son too, at least as much. He also struggles against his illness and his injuries, though mostly ineffectually. And in The Road, there are no hospitals, no doctors or medical machines. He is, for the most part, as helpless as the cannibals' victims or a starving dog. Whereas in our modern world, he could be helped, and put up a great struggle, so that his sickness could be stopped. There would be treatment options, if he was sufficiently privileged, and people would notice -- because they knew that they could act. In The Road, it's all he can do to stitch up a leg wound. No one can help him. No one could ever help him, even if they did notice. So why should they bother? In their eyes, they shouldn't.
 My second question in that blog post was about the father's role in the world, as the protector. As he dies, he is unable to protect his son, and must rely, instead, on other good guys to help him. He has, essentially, no role in the world. His son still relies on him, though, for spiritual guidance, and talks to him in his mind. His role in the son's life is very similar, if somewhat smaller. So, his death has proved that his role can never change -- not that he'd want it to. Still, he can never be anyone else.

The Road, Reading Blog #13 - Frozen Cold Comfort

Stories often, as they approach their conclusions, return to earlier symbols; the significance of earlier events is reevaluated in the context of the final stages. In The Road, an earlier sighting of a young boy -- in itself representing the boy's desire for companionship and comfort -- becomes even more meaningful when he it is the last question he asks his father. His father is wounded and ill, unable even to eat. Yet the boy persists:
Do you remember that little boy, Papa?
Yes. I remember him.
Do you think that he's all right that little boy?
Oh yes. I think he's all right.
Do you think he was lost?
No. I dont [sic] think he was lost.
I'm scared that he was lost.
I think he's all right.
But who will find him if he's lost? Who will find the little boy?
Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again. (256)
And the father attempts to comfort his son, as he always has, answering his questions as best he can and giving him faith. The parallel between his son and the other "little boy" is redrawn, with both of them described as less lost and hungry than they were before. The father also assures him that they're both good, and that they're both safe -- an easy assertion for a dead man to make, but a comforting one nonetheless. The boy "slept close to his father that night" (256) and clearly loves him. In the end, he's proven right, as goodness, in the form of a traveling family, literally finds the son. The fate of the other little boy, though -- if he is, in fact, real -- is never resolved. They never see him again, and they never help him. They never have the chance. But he is probably all right.

The Road, Reading Blog #12 - Unknowns and Hope

He promised to keep the boy with him always to give the son comfort. As a father, your child comes first. But now at the time, the father won't give up hope as death takes hold of him. They, the father and son, were always lucky. He believes in the luck and hope of a brighter tomorrow.
-Kaylee Nolan

In our world, life is generally seen as preferable to death, but this is not necessarily true in the world of the father and son. To them, suicide is not an act of depression, nor an act of sin. It is merely a quiet surrender to the inevitability of death, a last act of unity. However, as Kaylee says/writes in her blog, the father's love for his son forces him to hold back, out of some desperate hope for his son's future. For anyone, imagining the future without a loved family member is, to put it simply, difficult. For the son, imagining the future without his father is impossible. But for the dying father, it is possible -- and preferable to no future at all. He cannot kill his son, not for all the promises in the world. And I am grateful that Kaylee gave me an excuse to write about this, because it's such an interesting concept.

To the father, in all but his weakest moments, life is still preferable to death. He wants his son to live, to have a chance to be happy, regardless of the suffering he will face. No matter what world he's living in, no matter who is with him, no matter any circumstances. Something, anything, is preferable to nothing. The known is preferable to the unknown. Life is preferable to death. The dying man said so.

P.S. Ironically, Blogger spell-check doesn't recognize the word "blog". Or "blogger", for that matter...

The Road, Reading Blog #11 - The Watchers' Council

Entire pages of The Road are devoted to lessons of morality, and the distinction between "good guys" and "bad guys" as the father and the son attempt to maintain some semblance of normal, moral rules. Truly, though, this is of little benefit to them, as there is no one else to appreciate it. This is addressed in the story in its characteristically defeatist way, as rhetorical questions are posed to the father, and to some extent, to the reader. The narrator asks right out, "do you think your fathers are watching?  That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground" (196). Still, though, they continue to strive for goodness, imagining the promise -- or threat -- of watchers. When they shoot an old flare gun, the boy is disappointed with its range, admitting that he wants to show where he is to someone -- the good guys, or god, or "somebody like that" (246). Later, the boy meets other good guys, who do indeed watch him -- but the father never even knows they're there.

So, for their entire journey along the road, they have no physical proof of anyone watching or judging them; still, they have an obvious, if ambiguous, moral authority. This, more than anything else in the story, is commentary of a fundamental part of people. It is testament to the need we all feel -- not only as religious groups, or countries, or communities, but as individual human beings -- to follow a moral code. And while it might be more interesting to analyze the philosophies of the wandering cannibals, the book is about the man and the boy, and so I will focus on the man and the boy. Their stubborn adherence to their notion of goodness, despite the destruction surrounding them, is evidence that their way of life, that humanity itself, is not yet eradicated. Their fathers may be dead in the ground, but their morality is not. These ideals motivates the father to resist murder, and violence, when he can. It motivates him to abstain from eating a dog, and other people, when without other food. Most importantly, it motivates him to impart his ideals to his son, and to listen to his son when his son's morals are stronger than his own. If he were weighed in some metaphysical ledgerbook, he would not be found lacking, not at all. If he had a task, it was to continue humanity, and he has, for all intents and purposes, succeeded. His watchers would be proud. Who watches you, reader?