I have just finished reading Cormac McCarthy's "The Road" -- for the second time. I read it the first time because is was recommended by a member of our Book Club. I just finished reading it again because same Book Club decided to use it as our October discussion.
It is tortuous reading. Especially if one has a beloved son. Also tortuous because it is so bleak and hopeless. But even in that there is love, a love beyond comprehension. And trust, a tust that comes from nowhere and everywhere. And God? Is God here? A long ago remembrance that, yes, there was a belief in a God who cared. Where is that God on the road?
Reading the book has kept me in a glum almost depressed mood for some days. Bill is not happy with this mood, but there it is. I become inordinately immersed in the books that I read and this one has effected me more than any in a very long time. I am now very much aware of the food that I discard. When I remove the leaves and core pieces of my cauliflower, that by the way are going onto the compost pile, I am thinking how much nourishment there is and how much the boy and the man would have derived from it. And so I cut sparingly and eat more of the core and the stem. The inside pith and seeds of my red peppers are becoming acceptable too. Banana peels? -- compost. But there must be a lot of nourishment there too. We are a wasteful people.
The water that goes down the drain is also a despair. And the clothes that I have in abundance, the shoes, sweaters. And blankets. Surplus. So much surplus. We want more closet space to hold our surplus. If we had to carry the necessities on our backs, what would we pack. Similar to the question of what one book would you choose to have on a deserted island. But in this case, no book would do. If subjected to the lowest of basics, what would we really choose?
5 days ago
