Every kid imagines what life would be like if their parents had had a cooler job. The thrill of going to school among all the other kids, themselves the spawn of accountants, secretaries, and garbage men, and telling them all about how cool it is to have a mom or dad who is a rock star, astronaut, or motorcycle stuntman. Among the lists of “Most Desired Parental Careers (for Bragging Rights)”, novelist doesn’t appear that often, and believe me, there is a reason. Cormac McCarthy is that reason.
For those of you not familiar, McCarthy is a current, American novelist whose works elicit accolades from critics and tears of a deeply profound fear and sadness from people with souls. Among his best known books are No Country for Old Men, with its crazy assasins and depressed Tommy Lee Joneses; Blood Meridian, chock full of crazy, pedophile, psycho-cowboys; and The Road a delightful romp across an ashen post apocalyptic wasteland speckled with bouts of crazy cannibalism. What does this have to do with kids? He dedicated The Road to his young son, saying it was inspired by a road trip they took together. Now, either that was a particularly messed up vacation, or the McCarthy family’s “father son bonding time” is way different than mine. I’m not saying worse, just way, way different. Given the sparse details he’s told us, the audience, about this vacation, and other fun McCarthy family adventures, we’ll just have to use our imaginations to fill in the blanks. Thus, I give you:
The McCarthy Family Bonding Time…
…On a Road Trip!
Johnny McCarthy: “Dad, are we there yet?”
Cormac McCarthy: “That bored already? I have an idea, let’s play a game of make believe!”
Johnny: “Please, no! I take it back!”
Cormac: “Too late! Imagine this: the sky is raining ash, there’s no sunlight anywhere, and look, those hills are on fire.”
Wife: “Honey, can’t we make believe something a little nicer?”
Cormac: “Quiet, sweetie, you committed suicide years ago. Now just imagine this, son: we’re traveling down this very same highway, but we’re not in a car anymore. We’re on foot. Every step of the way, we’re heading to an ultimately hopeless destination. Can you feel it? Can you feel the existential dread creeping up on you?”
Johnny: “Please, no! I take it back!”
Cormac: “Too late! Imagine this: the sky is raining ash, there’s no sunlight anywhere, and look, those hills are on fire.”
In other words, Toy Story 3.
Wife: “Honey, can’t we make believe something a little nicer?”
Cormac: “Quiet, sweetie, you committed suicide years ago. Now just imagine this, son: we’re traveling down this very same highway, but we’re not in a car anymore. We’re on foot. Every step of the way, we’re heading to an ultimately hopeless destination. Can you feel it? Can you feel the existential dread creeping up on you?”
Johnny: “Is this about me asking if we’re there yet? Look, I get it now the question is annoying. There’s a better way to let me know that.”
Cormac (coughing into a handkerchief, pulls it away to reveal blood.)
Johnny (taking the handkerchief): “Is this fake blood? Do you carry fake, pre-bloodied handkerchiefs just to foreshadow your own fictitious death?!”
Cormac: “You’re not supposed to know about that!”
Johnny: “About the handkerchief trick?”
Cormac: “Alright, it’s true: I’m dying. I wasn’t going to tell you. I was just going to drop dead at the most poignant moment.”
Johnny: “Dad, can we please just play 20 Questions, or road trip bingo, or the Quiet Game, or something?”
Cormac (coughing into a handkerchief, pulls it away to reveal blood.)
Johnny (taking the handkerchief): “Is this fake blood? Do you carry fake, pre-bloodied handkerchiefs just to foreshadow your own fictitious death?!”
Cormac: “You’re not supposed to know about that!”
Johnny: “About the handkerchief trick?”
Cormac: “Alright, it’s true: I’m dying. I wasn’t going to tell you. I was just going to drop dead at the most poignant moment.”
Johnny: “Dad, can we please just play 20 Questions, or road trip bingo, or the Quiet Game, or something?”
Cormac: “No, we can’t. And from now on, don’t call me dad, just call me The Man. I’ll call you The Boy.”
Johnny: “Umm… No.”
Cormac (swerving car wildly): “Look out! Murderous cannibals!”
…On Bring a Parent to School Day!
Teacher: “Okay class, Johnny brought his dad to school today. His dad’s a novelist. Does anyone have any questions for Mr. McCarthy?”
Little Boy: “What do you write about? Ninjas? Superheroes?”
Little Girl: “Vampires and werewolves?”
Cormac: “Oh, nothing so juvenile. I write about our post modern feelings of existential dread brought on by life in this failing, crushing modern society.”
Johnny: “Umm… No.”
Cormac (swerving car wildly): “Look out! Murderous cannibals!”
…On Bring a Parent to School Day!
Teacher: “Okay class, Johnny brought his dad to school today. His dad’s a novelist. Does anyone have any questions for Mr. McCarthy?”
Little Boy: “What do you write about? Ninjas? Superheroes?”
Little Girl: “Vampires and werewolves?”
Cormac: “Oh, nothing so juvenile. I write about our post modern feelings of existential dread brought on by life in this failing, crushing modern society.”
Little Girl: “Do they have a happy ending?”
Cormac: “Ha! Not a one. They normally end with death. Lots of death. You can’t be a good author if you don’t write about death, like, all the time.”
Little Girl: “Doesn’t reading about all that death make people sad?”
Cormac: “I think my Pulitzer can answer that.”
Little Boy: “What are your books like?”
Cormac: “They’re long. And they’re filled with death. And I don’t use punctuation.”
Little Boy: “I like punctuation. I like exclamation marks!”
Cormac: “Punctuation is for sissy writers who’d rather write clearly and with well defined dialogue than write about gritty and real things, like death.”
Little Girl: “My teacher says we have to use punctuation, because it makes it easy for people to read what we’re saying.”
Cormac: “Ha! Not a one. They normally end with death. Lots of death. You can’t be a good author if you don’t write about death, like, all the time.”
Little Girl: “Doesn’t reading about all that death make people sad?”
Cormac: “I think my Pulitzer can answer that.”
Little Boy: “What are your books like?”
Cormac: “They’re long. And they’re filled with death. And I don’t use punctuation.”
Little Boy: “I like punctuation. I like exclamation marks!”
Cormac: “Punctuation is for sissy writers who’d rather write clearly and with well defined dialogue than write about gritty and real things, like death.”
Little Girl: “My teacher says we have to use punctuation, because it makes it easy for people to read what we’re saying.”
Cormac: “I think my Pulitzer can answer that.”
(Pause)
Cormac: “Does anyone want to hear me read an excerpt from my latest book?”
(5 minutes later, everyone is bawling.)
Johnny: “Yes, Mrs. Henderson, I’m sorry. Next year I’ll just bring my mom.”
Cormac: “I don’t see what’s wrong with a little depression in the classroom.”
Johnny: “Dad, you’re embarrassing me.”
…While Having a Heartfelt Discussion on Girl Problems!
Johnny: “Dad, do you think you could help me? I’ve been having some problems at school.”
Cormac: “Murderous cannibals?!”
(Pause)
Cormac: “Does anyone want to hear me read an excerpt from my latest book?”
(5 minutes later, everyone is bawling.)
Johnny: “Yes, Mrs. Henderson, I’m sorry. Next year I’ll just bring my mom.”
Cormac: “I don’t see what’s wrong with a little depression in the classroom.”
Johnny: “Dad, you’re embarrassing me.”
…While Having a Heartfelt Discussion on Girl Problems!
Johnny: “Dad, do you think you could help me? I’ve been having some problems at school.”
Cormac: “Murderous cannibals?!”
Johnny: “What? Jeez, no. Look, I can come back at another time.”
Cormac: “No, it’s okay, son. You know I’m always here to listen to your expressions of existential dread.”
Johnny: “No, wait, they’re not existential, not everything has to be existential.”
Cormac: “Son, when you’ve been around as long as I have, everything is existential.”
Johnny: “I don’t even know what that… It’s about a girl, okay!”
Cormac: “What kind of girl?”
Johnny: “Well, she’s in my art class, and she has blue eyes, and she smells pretty, and I want to ask her to the dance, but I’m not sure she likes me back.”
Cormac: “Well, what you need is a romantic gesture.”
Johnny: “Any ideas?”
Cormac: “Well, cowboys are always good. And running away to Mexico is also a popular choice.”
Johnny: “How do I use that?”
Cormac: “Write her a love letter. Do something romantic, like dropping it off in her locker with a flower, and telling her to meet you somewhere with the flower if she’s interested, and you’ll be wearing something to reveal yourself, like a cowboy hat.”
Johnny: “That actually sounds pretty good.”
Cormac: “Yes, and use plenty of cowboy imagery to reinforce the image she’ll see later, and maybe talk about running away to Mexico together.”
Johnny: “Well, that seems a little drastic…”
Cormac: “And make sure that you have a gang going with you to Mexico. Like, some kind of best friend who’s been with you your whole life, and you’ve got that brother relationship kind of thing down, but humanly imperfect too, like you’d leave him behind if it meant ending up with this girl of yours.”
Johnny: “Wait, this is getting less helpful…”
Cormac (beginning to type furiously at his typewriter): “And then there has to be this one, crazy guy who you pick up on the way, and who’s obviously lying the whole time, but for some reason you trust him anyway and always pick up after his messes. You know, eccentric and untrustworthy, and liable to hurt you guys all the time you help him out. The audiences really love that kind of guy.”
Johnny: “What audiences? I thought this was about my school dance.”
Cormac (typing, typing, typing): “And of course, he does turn out to ruin stuff for you. Like, he does something illegal, and then you get roped into it too, and then they kill him, and then they’re probably going to kill you too, and then your girlfriend gets her family to help you out of prison, but they don’t like you, and then they make her promise to stay away from you if they help you out of prison, and she makes the promise to save you, and then when you’re out you ask her to marry you, but then, against all romantic conventions, she does keep her end of the promise and doesn’t marry you, and then you go off and do something related to the dead crazy guy, which is left open, just to make an otherwise unsatisfying ending vaguely reflective.”
Johnny: “You’re not helping my problem with the girl at school.”
Cormac: “And if there’s any dialogue, make sure you never use quotation marks.”
Johnny: “What do you have against quotation marks? This is exactly why I didn’t want to ask you in the first place.” (storms out)
Cormac: (pause) “Johnny!” (pause) “Johnny!”
Johnny (sticking his head back in the room, sighing): “What?”
Cormac: “It’s okay if you feel an overwhelming sense of ennui.”
Johnny: “Dad!”
Boy, that sounds like a riot. You know, I bet I could get a TV deal out of this if I just slap on a laugh track and ship if off to CBS.
Cormac: “No, it’s okay, son. You know I’m always here to listen to your expressions of existential dread.”
Johnny: “No, wait, they’re not existential, not everything has to be existential.”
Cormac: “Son, when you’ve been around as long as I have, everything is existential.”
Johnny: “I don’t even know what that… It’s about a girl, okay!”
Cormac: “What kind of girl?”
Johnny: “Well, she’s in my art class, and she has blue eyes, and she smells pretty, and I want to ask her to the dance, but I’m not sure she likes me back.”
Cormac: “Well, what you need is a romantic gesture.”
Johnny: “Any ideas?”
Cormac: “Well, cowboys are always good. And running away to Mexico is also a popular choice.”
Johnny: “How do I use that?”
Cormac: “Write her a love letter. Do something romantic, like dropping it off in her locker with a flower, and telling her to meet you somewhere with the flower if she’s interested, and you’ll be wearing something to reveal yourself, like a cowboy hat.”
Johnny: “That actually sounds pretty good.”
Cormac: “Yes, and use plenty of cowboy imagery to reinforce the image she’ll see later, and maybe talk about running away to Mexico together.”
Johnny: “Well, that seems a little drastic…”
Cormac: “And make sure that you have a gang going with you to Mexico. Like, some kind of best friend who’s been with you your whole life, and you’ve got that brother relationship kind of thing down, but humanly imperfect too, like you’d leave him behind if it meant ending up with this girl of yours.”
Johnny: “Wait, this is getting less helpful…”
Cormac (beginning to type furiously at his typewriter): “And then there has to be this one, crazy guy who you pick up on the way, and who’s obviously lying the whole time, but for some reason you trust him anyway and always pick up after his messes. You know, eccentric and untrustworthy, and liable to hurt you guys all the time you help him out. The audiences really love that kind of guy.”
Johnny: “What audiences? I thought this was about my school dance.”
Cormac (typing, typing, typing): “And of course, he does turn out to ruin stuff for you. Like, he does something illegal, and then you get roped into it too, and then they kill him, and then they’re probably going to kill you too, and then your girlfriend gets her family to help you out of prison, but they don’t like you, and then they make her promise to stay away from you if they help you out of prison, and she makes the promise to save you, and then when you’re out you ask her to marry you, but then, against all romantic conventions, she does keep her end of the promise and doesn’t marry you, and then you go off and do something related to the dead crazy guy, which is left open, just to make an otherwise unsatisfying ending vaguely reflective.”
Johnny: “You’re not helping my problem with the girl at school.”
Cormac: “And if there’s any dialogue, make sure you never use quotation marks.”
Johnny: “What do you have against quotation marks? This is exactly why I didn’t want to ask you in the first place.” (storms out)
“Quotation marks killed my parents!”
Cormac: (pause) “Johnny!” (pause) “Johnny!”
Johnny (sticking his head back in the room, sighing): “What?”
Cormac: “It’s okay if you feel an overwhelming sense of ennui.”
Johnny: “Dad!”
Boy, that sounds like a riot. You know, I bet I could get a TV deal out of this if I just slap on a laugh track and ship if off to CBS.
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