I just finished Cormac McCarthy's
The Road. If nothing else, it's engrossing, and there are certainly moments when the prose is beautiful and thought-provoking. The book is incredibly bleak and in that sense it accomplishes what it set out to, but in some ways the ending (without giving too much away) seems to subvert what the rest of the text establishes.
Before that, I read Sarah Schulman's
The Mere Future, which is an incredibly beautiful book. The narrator's comment on art and loneliness is the most perfect moment in any novel, ever (ok, maybe that's an exaggeration).
And I've just embarked on Graham Greene's The Heart of the Matter. Greene never fails to quietly break his readers' hearts.
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