No TV for old men

A program note for tomorrow, 4pm EST on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Oprah interviews novelist (and playwright) Cormac McCarthy about his latest novel, The Road. Shortly after, world scheduled to violently implode and gray-countenanced, taciturn survivors to trudge through ashy havocked wasteland pushing shopping carts westward, like a band of filth-bedizened supplicants besotted on the rank afterfumes of some god fled to more roseate zones. The cameraman focuses the lens, glasses the studio, whilst he beholds himself innerly, his black, rolling instrument of motioncapture a dun, dusty magiclantern, like a fat, bugeyed dog miracled up to its hindlegs and howling after a pitiless antique god of scant remorse. The woman athwart the plushy couch tosses her curly brown locks fixes him with her wide, steely eyes and assays the first question in what he fears might be an inquisatorial process the like of which the most sadistic papal maniacs had never yet conceived. "Cormac," she says with an intensity that tightens his ribs. "Why dont you get out more?"

Comments

[Zack Calhoon]

I read it. I'm not sure how I felt about it. I recognize that he has a very distinctive style and found that I couldn't put it down. I kept waiting for the book to culminate to something or for something to happen and it didn't. It was like novelistic "Waiting for Godot" without the vaudeville.