"He knew only that his child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke."
— Cormac McCarthy (The Road)
I don't know how to express the toll this book is taking on my emotions. It is utter hopelessness and despair, yet the purest picture of love possible. It's a brilliant, brilliant novel. And my spirit is ragged from it.
I feel like the more you read, the more it affects you, the more you feel the words inside you and you take them as part of you. I think that's a good thing, though I'm not always sure. It's why I try to read detached, analytically. And yet, sometimes it's impossible. That's okay too.
Now, on to read something with more joy, with more hope and sunshine. Literally, more sunshine. Any sunshine would do. Any color. Sherlock, perhaps. Or the Murray twins. Or even Laura Ingalls Wilder herself.
I'll come back to you, Man and Boy, later. When I can handle it again.
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