I read Cormac McCarthy's The Road and I am disappointed. The book is being hailed as one of the best pieces of literature in the last 25 years but I just don't see it. From a book being called that, I expect it to grip me, to twist me, to reveal to me some secret about human emotion and teach me something about myself or humanity. A book that shakes me awake, holds me tight and alters my view of the world or ar least gives me a new perspective. Something that explores who we are and gives me rigid truth about ourselves. Instead I got a shallow book about a man and his son wandering about in a grey landscape, every once in a while, repetitively, being fed a simple and detached emotion simulating loneliness, hopelessness and the basis of human being when there is nothing left to live for. And the accomplishment to point out over 307 pages that there is nothing left, to me, is none. Too shallow. No questions answered, no interpretation wanted. Story lost.
