I’d heard of The Road before I started reading it, mainly because it snagged the Pulitzer prize and also had a famous adaptation a few years ago (with Viggo Mortensen in the lead role), but I have to say, when I began, something threw me off. That something was the memory of Ian McEwan’s Sweet Tooth – if you read my review, you’ll know that in McEwan’s book there was a character who was a writer. This writer actually wrote a book (er, in the book) called From the Somerset Levels, which was about a man and his daughter journeying across the horrible, post-apocalyptic wastelands of England and encountering all sorts of horror and cruelty on their way (it is also mentioned that we never find out their names). The Road is about a man and his son journeying across the horrible, post-apocalyptic wastelands of America and – funnily enough – we never find out their names. Coincidence? Well, probably, but a strange coincidence at that.
Because I didn’t enjoy Sweet Tooth that much (and the writer character in that book was pretty unbearable), I couldn’t help but feel as if my first impressions were tarnished somewhat. The Road is an extremely famous post-apocalyptic novel that’s considered to be a work of genius, so I did wonder why McEwan had chose to have a character write a book so similar – but who was copying who? I read that McEwan wrote a short story near the start of his career that had a similar storyline to From the Somerset Levels, and The Road wasn’t published until 2006. Hmm. I’m inclined to say that it’s a mighty coincidence – although perhaps the incredible reception The Road received inspired McEwan to revisit his own story.
But moving aside from Sweet Tooth, The Road is – as I described – a dark, occasionally horrifying tale of courage and companionship in a broken world. Spoiler-free review, here. The man and the boy move across an America that’s coated in ash, with wild murderers and cannibals stalking the road they travel on. We don’t find out exactly what happened to make the world the terrifying place it’s become (I’m guessing some kind of nuclear war, or perhaps an effect of global warming), nor how long it’s been like that for, but it’s evidently a number of years – there are flashbacks that seem to indicate that the woman (the man’s wife, I assume, who is dead when the story starts) gave birth to a child during the early days who grew up to become the boy (and I’d hazard a guess that he’s around eight to ten years old, judging by his speech and mannerisms). There is some very jarring imagery that stays with you long after you close the book, and McCarthy creates a very real, very unnerving sense of horror – some of the imagery I still think back on and recoil, and I read it months ago. I’ve got to say, it doesn’t make me overly excited to watch the film…
Given that I’m working on my own post-apocalyptic novel right now, I read The Road with a slightly more critical eye than I would with many other books on this blog. At first, I’ll admit, I wasn’t overly impressed. The Road kicks off with despair, horror, and desperation, which characters only too aware of their own mortality and living in fear every minute they’re awake. My own PA book, in comparison, tries to juggle the sense of fear and horror of a dystopian world with the optimism and good humour associated with humans who spend a lot of time together. Now, I am in no way trying to pretend that my book is anywhere NEAR the same league as The Road (crikey! It really is not) but throughout writing I was so aware of what a challenge it was to balance the terrors of a broken world with the hedonism and general naivety of the youth. It’s a different angle, but I couldn’t help thinking that maybe writing about constant fear and despair would be… well, the easy route to take? But as I moved through the book and the tension built up, it’s impossible to fault the skilful way it’s crafted.
For The Road is masterfully tense. Every now and then we are shown exactly what the man and his son are up against, and it’s very grim indeed. At any moment you expect them to be attacked, and at times when the man and the boy are briefly separated (the narrative follows the man’s point of view for the most part), you’re left chewing your nails until they’re reunited. It’s remarkable how easy it is to feel attached to these characters, particularly the boy, who had the right mix of wise insight given to him by his situation and the innocence and naivety of a child. With Viggo Mortensen taking on the role as the man, I was looking forward to feeling that same sense of attachment during the 2009 film, directed by John Hillcoat.
I put off watching the film for a while, mainly because I knew it would be unbearably bleak, and it takes a lot to willingly watch a film you know will depress you. But when I got round to it, overall, I was impressed. Some of the more horrifying scenes in the novel were just as horrible (if not more so) in the film, although I was glad they cut out one particular image – I won’t say what it is, as that’s for you to discover, dear reader (lucky you!). My only criticism is that the film was perhaps a little too long, particularly when you consider that it’s a very short book, but Viggo Mortensen was naturally brilliant as the man, and Kodi Smit-McPhee put in a very good performance as the boy, too, which is no easy feat for a 13-year-old, considering the harrowing material to work with. In general, it’s a good adaptation of a bleak and beautiful book.
On Goodreads, then: four stars from me. I’ve got a post-apocalyptic hangover.
[Coming next: Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel]