Pilkington continuedfrom previous page investigation. From time to time the man recalls for the boy people and events from his past life. Three different times he remembers seeing lovely trout swimming in clear mountain streams only to acknowledge that there are now no trout and those streams are part of a blasted world. He recognizes that one ofthe things that separate him from his son is that terrible day of a decade ago: He turned and looked at the boy. Maybe he understood for the first time that to the boy he was himself an alien. A being from the planet that no longer existed. The tales ofwhich were suspect. He could not construct for the child's pleasure the world he's lost without constructing the loss as well and he thought perhaps the child had known this better than he. Clearly The Road resurrects the "wasteland theme" of early twentieth-century European and American literature. McCarthy's indebtedness to Hemingway has been commented on to the point of cliché, but there is no other way of describing his prose style in the novel except Hemingwayesque. Many passages consist of detailed descriptions of tasks necessary for survival, tasks he is also teaching his son in preparation for a time he will no longer be there to take care of him. McCarthy's spare lyricism and existential anguish are reminiscent notjust of Hemingway, but even more perhaps of Samuel Beckett: He walked out in the gray light and stood and saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum ofthe universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like groundfoxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it. The Road is powerful fiction. Blood Meridian is still McCarthy's masterpiece, but the new novel is not far behind. It is dark, humorless, brooding—and completely plausible. McCarthy is not bullish on human nature. He seems to think if the natural order can be disrupted, perhaps irreparably, we will find a way to do it. The only redeeming feature of this bleak picture is the tiny sliver of hope at the end of the Road. It's not much, but at least it's something. Tom Pilkington is University Scholar at Tarleton State University in Stephenville, Texas. He is the author, most recently, of State of Mind: Texas Literature and Culture. The Poetics of In and Out Douglas Messerli The Bitter Half Toby Olson FC2 http://fc2.org 248 pages; paper, $19.95 Before memories of high school humor overwhelm any of my readers, let me assure them that, despite any associations evoked by this essay's title, my subject, Toby Olson's new novel, The BitterHalf, portrays no acts ofsex. The sexual activities ofwhich it hints take place offstage in this dark comedy. The in and outs of my title might be said to relate to everything except the act of sex. The major character of this fiction, Chris Pollard (whose last name is defined through dictionary quotes in the frontispiece ofthe book), is a consultant in the field of prison escapes—a job which Pollard has invented at a time in the Great Depression when any job, let alone newly created ones, is as sparse as the vegetation around the Pearce, Arizona, border prison where the fiction begins. Pollard has been asked out to evaluate the prison for flaws, particularly since its population ofmostly Mexican men has escaped on a regular basis and, most importantly, because the prison now houses a young man, little more than a boy dubbed by authorities as "the kid," who is a legend to inmates because of his escape from the most notorious of prisons. Pollard and the boy exchange only a few words, but within those moments an unspoken relationship between the two is established. Pollard has several suggestions for prison security, but recognizes that the job is primarily a "boondoggle," a political formality to protect the authorities when "the kid" makes his move, which, the moment the inspector has completed...
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