I think the best endings are surprising but inevitable in retrospect. That’s what *The Road* accomplishes. In the middle of this harrowing book I was mentally preparing myself for all kinds of bleak finishes. Maybe it would end mid-journey but with a note of hope, like *The Mist* (novella version). Maybe it would end with a shattering gunshot like *The Mist* (movie version). Somehow I did not consider that the son would watch his father die and then be rescued by a new father figure, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
First of all, there’s the man’s decision not to kill his son, something we know he’s been preparing to do all along. For the entire book he’s depicted as someone utterly devoid of hope. He tells the kid whatever he needs to in order to keep him going, but he doesn’t actually believe there are good people to be found. But when the critical moment comes, he chooses to let his son continue on without him, even though his son begs for death. Maybe we can chalk it up to just simple human weakness, a necessary step he can’t bring himself to take. But I think that in his last moments, he actually believes that there’s a reason for the boy to keep going. He has faith in “goodness” and for once, it’s not just talk. He dies with something approaching peace, which is maybe the best we can hope for.
I know there’s some question about whether the family that takes in the boy can be trusted. Personally, I think it’s clear that these are good people. The man lets the boy keep his gun and leaves the father covered up in a blanket even though they can probably use it. The second to last paragraph says the woman embraces the boy, talks to him about God, but fully supports him having daily conversations with his dead father instead. If these are cannibals they are being really nice to their livestock for some reason.
And if this is salvation (at least temporarily) then it’s important to note that the boy has proven himself worthy of saving, but the man did not. By the standards of this hellish world the man is practically a saint. But he can’t allow himself to offer any sympathy for anyone but the boy. Early in the novel, the son sees another little boy in a window. The father panics and pulls him away, assuming that whoever it is would be another mouth to feed at best, and a trap at worst. It’s an understandable decision, maybe the only rational one. But in a symbolic way, the man has made himself unworthy of charity, and so it’s fitting he doesn’t receive any. And it may be more than symbolic: there’s plenty of cause to believe that this mysterious boy his son saw long ago is the boy that is with Ski Parka, the man who adopts the son at the end of the novel. If so, the father’s hasty retreat at the sight of another little boy may convince Ski Parka not to approach him, to instead follow him and only talk to the son after the dad is gone. It’s not God or karma judging the father unworthy of saving, it’s Ski Parka.
I think it’s also interesting that the boy had to reject his father’s teachings to be saved. There’s no doubt in my mind that if the father were alive, he would hide from or run away from a well-armed man on the road. The father’s dying words to his son are that he should continue just like he taught him, to never take any chances. When Ski Parka approaches, the son’s first instinct is to flee… but he doesn’t. And this act of trust that the father would never be capable of is what saves the son.
One more point: Ski Parka is a better survivalist than the father. The father’s wife chooses to commit suicide because he was not able to provide for her, tauntingly saying death could give her more than he ever could. But Ski Parka seems to provide for his wife, ~~two~~ three children, and a dog. I understand why some people might view this as simply too good to be true. We see the father’s amazing foraging skills in action and they are barely enough to keep himself and the boy alive. How is it possible that this other man is doing so much better, without crossing any horrible ethical boundaries? We don’t know, but we do see that Ski Parka has a shotgun with repacked bullets, which seems like a big upgrade over the fake wooden ones the father makes.
I think a large part of the reason why McCarthy shows us that Ski Parka is thriving (under the circumstances) is so we can take a little comfort knowing that the kid isn’t facing imminent demise, for the first time in a long time. To us, the father seems so much more competent and capable than we could ever be. If he can’t survive, who can? What chance does anyone else have? But without showing us the details, the existence of Ski Parka is McCarthy’s hint that survival is possible.
Now long term, I wouldn’t want to bet on anyone’s survival. The earth seems well and truly devoid of any lifeform that can’t open canned food. But I like to think that the son will have some easier years, with parental figures, siblings, maybe a can of peaches every once in a while. He’ll get to run into the ocean again. He’ll get to fire off the flare gun on special occasions. I don’t blame people like the mother who feel like these meager moments of joy aren’t enough to matter in the face of such desolation. But I certainly respect people like the father who feel they are the ONLY things that matter.
I know some readers think this resolution is too miraculous, a deus ex machina that spares us what everything previous suggests should be the boy’s certain demise. (He even ends up reunited with the little boy he caught a glimpse of hundreds of miles ago and has been thinking about ever since.) But I personally am grateful that McCarthy pulled his punches just a little bit to show us that even in a hopeless, dying world, there can still be moments of humanity. At one point the father discovers an antique sextant in an old boat. That’s what the ending is like to me, something beautiful shining amidst the rubble of the world.
by mbelinkie