No, The Road isn't Cormac McCarthy's masterpiece, but it is his most emotionally affecting work by a long shot, and I had a lump the size of a cannonball in my throat for most of its 241 pages. For a father of two young boys, it's an almost unbearable read. Plot, for what there is, is simple- father and young son head for the sea in a post-Apocalyptic wasteland, scrounging for food, warding off cannibalistic road agents, and trying to keep the nightmares from tearing their sanity apart. The prose is mostly spare, but that J-source wisdom peeks its head out to close several sections. The imagery is stunning, but instead of the vibrant colors of the southwest we get the grey and ash of a dying planet. What is so strikingly different is the emotional quotient, which is unlike any other McCarthy novel. The relationship between the father and son as they make their way through the devil's terrain is as tenderly and lovingly offered as anything I can remember in literature. With no real plot, that relationship is what it's all about, and it is more than enough. Yes, there is plenty to ponder on allegorical levels, but somehow that seems cold and distantly academic compared to the generosity of affection portrayed in Papa and the boy. Unforgettable.