An army in tennis shoes, tramping. Carrying three-foot lengths of pipe with leather wrappings. [. . .] The phalanx following carried spears or lances tasseled with ribbons, the long blades hammered out of trucksprings in some crude forge upcountry. [. . .] Behind them came wagons drawn by slaves in harness and piled with goods of war and after that the women, perhaps a dozen in number, some of them pregnant, and lastly a supplementary consort of catamites illcothed against the cold and fitted in dogcollars and yoked each to each. All passed on. They lay listening.
[The Boy:] Are they gone, Papa?
[The Man:] Yes, they're gone.
[The Boy:] Did you see them?
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] Were they the bad guys?
[The Man:] Yes, they were the bad guys. (141.4-141.10)
It seems like another giveaway of the "bad guys" is that they keep slaves with them. The Man and The Boy, on the other hand, spend a lot of energy trying not to harm others. We think good and evil in this book have a lot to do with how one responds to desperate situations: do you prey on those weaker than yourself, or do you avoid others and try to retain some sliver of decency like The Man? Or, like The Boy, do you go above and beyond the call of duty and care for those worse off than yourself? We think the gap between this bloodcult on the road and The Boy seems nearly unbridgeable.
Look at me, the man said.
He turned and looked. He looked like he'd been crying.
[The Man:] Just tell me.
[The Boy:] We wouldnt ever eat anybody, would we?
[The Man:] No. Of course not.
[The Boy:] Even if we were starving?
[The Man:] We're starving now.
[The Boy:] You said we werent.
[The Man:] I said we werent dying. I didnt say we werent starving.
[The Boy:] But we wouldnt.
[The Man:] No. We wouldnt.
[The Boy:] No matter what.
[The Man:] No. No matter what.
[The Boy:] Because we're the good guys.
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] And we're carrying the fire. (195.12-195.29)
[The Man:] And we're carrying the fire. Yes.
[The Boy:] Okay.
We're not exactly sure what the fire is, but it seems to have to do with human goodness and decency. The dialogue here further explains the difference between the "good guys" and the "bad guys." It's a major difference, let it be said: the "good guys" don't eat other people, no matter how hungry they get. This is a code of basic moral decency The Man has constructed that can't be broached. ("No matter what," as The Man says.) Does The Man have any other basic, unbreakable principles? What about The Boy – does he have his own set of principles?
[The Boy:] Do you remember that little boy, Papa?
[The Man:] Yes. I remember him.
[The Boy:] Do you think that he's all right that little boy?
[The Man:] Oh yes. I think he's all right.
[The Boy:] Do you think he was lost?
[The Man:] No. I dont think he was lost.
[The Boy:] I'm scared that he was lost.
[The Man:] I think he's all right.
[The Boy:] But who will find him if he's lost? Who will find the little boy?
[The Man:] Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again. (384.1-384.10)
This is a pretty complicated exchange. The Man is dying and The Boy knows it. (In fact, The Man will die in the next paragraph.) Faced with his father's death, The Boy remembers the child he saw (or thought he saw) wandering the rubble of a city. Won't that be him soon? The series of questions The Boy asks The Man really have to do with himself. He's not just worrying about the child he saw once, he's worrying about his own imminent abandonment.
The Man's response is quite bold, given the circumstances: Goodness will find The Boy. We're actually a little unsure what The Man means here. Does The Man mean "good" people will find The Boy, or does he mean The Boy will continue to be good and that will sustain him?
He thought about the picture in the road and he thought that he should have tried to keep her in their lives in some way but he didnt know how. He woke coughing and walked out so as not to wake the child. Following a stone wall in the dark, wrapped in his blanket, kneeling in the ashes like a penitent. He coughed till he could taste the blood and he said her name aloud. He thought perhaps he'd said it in his sleep. When he got back the boy was awake. I'm sorry, he said. (92.1)
The plot of The Road allows McCarthy to explore memory and the past in really startling ways. Don't we often feel guilty when we start to forget the face of someone we loved? Because the previous world has vanished in the novel, and because survival demands that one focus on the present, McCarthy has an opportunity to explore the guilt of forgetting concretely. Very concretely: the Man leaves a picture of his wife on the road. He then kneels in the ashes like a penitent. How much more concrete can you get? There are none of the abstract, big words here you might find in flightier explorations of memory. The loss of the past in The Road is universal and shared instead of being limited to the thoughts of one character.
The clocks stopped at 1:17. A long shear of light and then a series of low concussions. He got up and went to the window. What is it? she said. He didnt answer. He went to the bathroom and threw the lightswitch but the power was already gone. A dull rose glow in the windowglass. He dropped to one knee and raised the lever to stop the tub and then turned on both taps as far as they would go. She was standing in the doorway in her nightwear, clutching the jamb, cradling her belly in one hand. What is it? she said. What is happening?
[The Man:] I dont know.
[The Woman:] Why are you taking a bath?
[The Man:] I'm not. (88.1-88.4)
We're not sure The Man takes in the emotional and metaphysical significance of the apocalypse, but by golly he sure takes care of the details. Instead of panicking or huddling in a corner, The Man immediately starts filling the bathtub with fresh water so that his family will have something to drink. Don't you want this guy around when all those robots eventually take over? Or at least when the drain gets clogged?
He woke whimpering in the night and the man held him. Shh, he said. Shh. It's okay.
[The Boy:] I had a bad dream.
[The Man:] I know.
[The Boy:] Should I tell you what it was?
[The Man:] If you want to.
[The Boy:] I had this penguin that you wound up and it would waddle and flap its flippers. And we were in that house that we used to live in and it came around the corner but nobody had wound it up and it was really scary.
[The Man:] Okay.
[The Boy:] It was a lot scarier in the dream.
[The Man:] I know. Dreams can be really scary.
[The Boy:] Why did I have that scary dream?
[The Man:] I dont know. But it's okay now. I'm going to put some wood on the fire. You go to sleep.
The boy didnt answer. Then he said: The winder wasnt turning. (60.1-60.12)
We hear plenty of The Man's dreams, but this is one of the few times The Boy shares a dream. It's a scary one, but according to The Man's take on dreams, bad dreams mean one is confronting reality instead of running from it. How does this dream relate to reality, though? What does it tell us about the world in which The Man and The Boy find themselves?
Well, we're actually unsure how to answer that question. Our best guess is that somehow the world itself – like the penguin – is mechanically progressing toward extinction. And, like the penguin without a winder, there's no way to stop it. On a gut level, though, we find The Boy's dream both frightening and funny. It's a penguin for crying out loud – that's a little silly. But don't children dream of things like penguins? And doesn't that make the dream believable? (And then frightening when you realize no one wound it?)
The boy was sitting on the steps when he saw something move at the rear of the house across the road. A face was looking at him. A boy, about his age, wrapped in an outsized wool coat with the sleeves turned back. He stood up. He ran across the road and up the drive. No one there. He looked toward the house and then he ran to the bottom of the yard through the dead weeds to a still black creek. Come back, he called. I wont hurt you. He was standing there crying when his father came sprinting across the road and seized him by the arm.
[The Man:] What are you doing? he hissed. What are you doing?
[The Boy:] There's a little boy, Papa. There's a little boy.
[The Man:] There's no little boy. What are you doing? (131.1-131.4)
Most of the "versions of reality" in The Road are dreams, but this one seems to be a hallucination. The Boy, whether from weariness or despair, imagines another boy – eerily similar to himself – across the road. There's tons of emotional projection in his vision: What happens if he, too, ends up abandoned? Is his own boyhood disappearing? Has he become frightful even to himself?
When he woke the fire had burned down and it was very cold. The boy was sitting up wrapped in his blanket.
[The Man:] What is it?
[The Boy:] Nothing. I had a bad dream.
[The Man:] What did you dream about?
[The Boy:] Nothing.
[The Man:] Are you okay?
[The Boy:] No.
He put his arms around him and held him. It's okay, he said.
[The Boy:] I was crying. But you didnt wake up.
[The Man:] I'm sorry. I was just so tired.
[The Boy:] I meant in the dream. (252.1-252.11)
Sometimes McCarthy pulls the rug right out from under us. The Boy's dream is really disturbing because The Man doesn't wake up in it. We also think there's a bit of old-fashioned foreshadowing here: later, The Man will die while The Boy sleeps next to him. As The Man says in The Road, nightmares reflect the reality they face in this post-apocalyptic world.
He'd come down with a fever and they lay in the woods like fugitives. Nowhere to build a fire. Nowhere safe. The boy sat in the leaves watching him. His eyes brimming. Are you going to die, Papa? he said. Are you going to die?
[The Man:] No. I'm just sick.
[The Boy:] I'm really scared.
[The Man:] I know. It's all right. I'm going to get better. You'll see.
His dreams brightened. The vanished world returned. (257.1-258.1)
It's not much of a secret in The Road that The Man is going to die. All The Man's coughing and ruminating about death pretty much gives it away, and we cringe when he says, "It's all right. I'm going to get better. You'll see." We know he's not going to get better. The fact that his "dreams brightened" only further confirms that he's not long for this world. This passage also validates The Man's theory about dreams: You know you're in trouble when you're having good ones.
One night the boy woke from a dream and would not tell him what it was.
You dont have to tell me, the man said. It's all right.
[The Boy:] I'm scared.
[The Man:] It's all right.
[The Boy:] No it's not.
[The Man:] It's just a dream.
[The Boy:] I'm really scared.
[The Man:] I know.
The boy turned away. The man held him. Listen to me, he said.
[The Boy:] What.
[The Man:] When your dreams are of some world that never was or of some world that never will be and you are happy again then you will have given up. Do you understand? And you cant give up. I wont let you. (262.1-262.11)
Sometimes we wonder about The Man. Why does he persist if the only outcome – for him and The Boy – is misery? Is there some drive that keeps him and The Boy alive beyond happiness, and that keeps a lot of the folks on the road going? Certainly, his love for The Boy figures strongly in The Man's decision. But it could also be argued that it would be best expressed by a merciful double-suicide. Maybe The Woman had it right. It's a measure of how terrible things get in the novel when suicide seems like the good option.
The boy kept looking back. Papa? he whispered. What is wrong with the man?
[The Man:] He's been struck by lightning.
[The Boy:] Cant we help him? Papa?
[The Man:] No. We cant help him.
[The Boy:] The boy kept pulling at his coat. Papa? he said.
[The Man:] Stop it.
[The Boy:] Cant we help him Papa?
[The Man:] No. We cant help him. There's nothing to be done for him. (82.1-82.8)
This is typical dialogue between The Boy and The Man. Against all good sense, The Boy wants to help everyone they meet on the road. The Man knows they need to keep moving and conserve supplies if they want to survive. We think, though, that The Boy's compassionate gestures contribute something just as important to the survival of their little band: he keeps them human.
[The Boy:] What if that little boy doesnt have anybody to take care of him? he said. What if he doesnt have a papa?
[The Man:] There are people out there. They were just hiding.
[. . .]
[The Boy:] I'm afraid for that little boy.
[The Man:] I know. But he'll be all right.
[The Boy:] We should go get him, Papa. We could get him and take him with us. We could take him and we could take the dog. The dog could catch something to eat.
[The Man:] We cant.
[The Boy:] And I'd give that little boy half of my food.
[The Man:] Stop it. We cant.
He [The Boy] was crying again. What about the little boy? he sobbed. What about the little boy? (132.2-132.12)
In this instance, The Boy's compassion strikes us as a little more complicated than purely unselfish generosity. He perhaps sees himself in this other little boy. When he sobs over him, he's also sobbing over his own misery. Or, seen another way, The Boy has come to depend on his father so much that he can't imagine life without him, so what about this little boy who seems to have no one at all?
The boy lay with his head in the man's lap. After a while he said: They're going to kill those people, aren't they?
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] Why do they have to do that?
[The Man:] I dont know.
[The Boy:] Are they going to eat them?
[The Man:] I dont know.
[The Boy:] They're going to eat them, arent they?
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] And we couldnt help them because then they'd eat us too.
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] And that's why we couldnt help them.
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] Okay. (194.11-194.23)
The Man teaches The Boy quite a bit in this little exchange. He breaks the news to The Boy that the "bad guys" are going to eat the people they just saw shut in the basement. He also outlines the basic limits of compassion in the novel: you can't help too many people because the "bad guys" will catch up with you. The Boy and The Man have to limit their generosity because of the scarcity of food and the constant dangers on the road. However, The Boy's questioning of these principles keeps The Man honest. We also think it stirs up a great deal of admiration for his son.
He pulled one of the boxes down and clawed it open and held up a can of peaches. [The Man:] It's here because someone thought it might be needed.
[The Boy:] But they didnt get to use it.
[The Man:] No. They didnt.
[The Boy:] They died.
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] Is it okay for us to take it?
[The Man:] Yes. It is. They would want us to. Just like we would want them to. (210.3-210.9)
This passage outlines another principle in their code of ethics: Don't take things from people unless they can't use them. It really is quite amazing that The Boy, even though he's near starvation, makes sure he does right by other people. Come to think of it, if there's a weak point in his character, it's that he's too conscientious. He seems almost unbelievably saintly at times.
[The Boy:] Do you think we should thank the people?
[The Man:] The people?
[The Boy:] The people who gave us all this.
[The Man:] Well. Yes, I guess we could do that.
[The Boy:] Will you do it?
[The Man:] Why dont you?
[The Boy:] I dont know how.
[The Man:] Yes you do. You know how to say thank you.
The boy stared at his plate. He seemed lost. The man was about to speak when he said: Dear people, thank you for all this food and stuff. We know that you saved it for yourself and if you were here we wouldnt eat it no matter how hungry we were and we're sorry that you didnt get to eat it and we hope that you're safe in heaven with God.
He looked up. Is that okay? he said.
[The Man:] Yes. I think that's okay. (218.13-218.23)
This is yet another example of The Boy's pretty simple code of behavior: Don't steal from other people. But we also want to point out how The Boy begins his prayer with the words "Dear people" instead of "Dear Lord." How linked are compassion and faith for The Boy? Does a belief in God push him to compassion, or does compassion push him to faith?
The old man [Ely] fitted the tins into his knapsack and fastened the straps. You should thank him you know, the man said. I wouldnt have given you anything.
[Ely:] Maybe I should and maybe I shouldnt.
[The Man:] Why wouldnt you?
[Ely:] I wouldnt have given him mine.
[The Man:] You dont care if it hurts his feelings?
[Ely:] Will it hurt his feelings?
[The Man:] No. That's not why he did it.
[Ely:] Why did he do it?
He looked over at the boy and he looked at the old man. You wouldnt understand, he said. I'm not sure I do.
[Ely:] Maybe he believes in God.
[The Man:] I dont know what he believes in.
[Ely:] He'll get over it.
[The Man:] No he wont.
The old man didnt answer. He looked around at the day. (238.1-238.14)
For starters, we love Ely's crotchetiness ("Maybe I should and maybe I shouldnt"). There's also a telling exchange here about The Boy, which helps explain – though only a little – his singular compassion in the face of such a dismal world. When The Man says he's not sure he understands The Boy's compassionate nature, Ely responds that maybe he believes in God. The Man doesn't commit one way or the other, but he does remain firm on one point: The Boy won't "get over" this kindness. As readers we can hold onto this tidbit from The Man. Whatever happens to The Boy, his kindness defines him. (Side question: Is kindness also what defines The Boy and The Man as a group? Is it the thing that differentiates them from other people on the road?)
He's gone, he said. Come on.
He's not gone, the boy said. He looked up. His face streaked with soot. He's not.
[The Man:] What do you want to do?
[The Boy:] Just help him, Papa. Just help him.
The man looked back up the road.
[The Boy:] He was just hungry, Papa. He's going to die.
[The Man:] He's going to die anyway.
[The Boy:] He's so scared, Papa.
The man squatted and looked at him. I'm scared, he said. Do you understand? I'm scared.
The boy didn't answer. He just sat there with his head bowed, sobbing.
[The Man:] You're not the one who has to worry about everything.
The boy said something but he couldnt understand him. What? he said.
[The Boy] looked up, his wet and grimy face. Yes I am, he said. I am the one. (356.3-356.15)
Some critics blasted this exchange between The Boy and The Man as hokey. We can see why: "I am the one" is a cliché straight out of The Matrix. That said, we do think The Boy has a point. He is the one who keeps tabs on how they treat people on the road. Sure, The Man scavenges food and warm clothes and builds fires to keep them warm. And, in that sense, The Man does have "to worry about everything." But food isn't everything, as this novel reminds us. Kindness and compassion count, too.
[The Man:] Do you want me to tell you a story?
[The Boy:] No.
[The Man:] Why not?
The boy looked at him and looked away.
[The Man:] Why not?
[The Boy:] Those stories are not true.
[The Man:] They dont have to be true. They're stories.
[The Boy:] Yes. But in the stories we're always helping people and we dont help people. (367.5-367.12)
Ouch, the Boy really calls his dad out here. It seems like The Man has been telling stories about how they help people on the road. (Do the terms "carrying the fire" and "good guys" originate in these stories?) But in actuality, as The Boy points out, they rarely do anything to help people. We wonder, though, if The Boy isn't being too hard on The Man and himself. Isn't it enough that they don't harm other people? Isn't that an accomplishment in itself? Do you think The Boy sometimes seems more naive than compassionate? Are these two terms synonymous in The Road?