This book reminded me why I don't like "literary" fiction much -- Cormac McCarthy may be a polished writer who can turn a neat phrase, but that's pretty much all this story is. Strip away the repetitive, blunt dialogs between "The Man" and "The Boy" and McCarthy's carefully crafted descriptions of walking, hiding, opening jars, etc., and you've got a tale of a man and a boy walking down an endless road in a post-apocalyptic landscape. They walk and walk and walk and now and then they encounter someone, and then they walk some more, until the end. That's it. That's the story.
I know, I'm supposed to appreciate McCarthy's beautiful, sparse prose, and the emotional depth conveyed by the father and son with these beautiful, sparse words. I got that. But I'd like a plot with the pretty words, please.