What I Read -- The Road

I'm not sure why I take books on vacation when I have other work to do.  The book will always be more enticing, and becomes a great excuse for not doing the work.  "Just a few more pages," says I, "and then I will go back to reading that deposition transcript instead."  Except do you know what doesn't ever get read?  That's right!  It's the deposition transcript.

We were heading down to Florida for Thanksgiving, so I decided to take the bleakest, coldest, most miserable book I could find.  You know, just in case the sunshine and ocean breezes got to be too much and I was missing a good, old fashioned, St. Louis winter.

And if bleak was what I was looking for, I sure found it.  Cormac McCarthy is known for being a bit of a downer, but I'm not sure I've ever read something quite so unrelentingly grim as this.  Which is not to say that it wasn't still compelling (and not just because my alternative was actual work).  The anticipation of something terrible happening at any moment was more than enough to keep the pages turning long after I should have gone to sleep.