Critics often use the word "haunting" to describe films that permeate our subconscious deeply. Even the blinding midday sun that washes over us when we leave the theater is powerless to rinse away the most acrid scences. These disquieting memories resurface in slow, contemplative moments. They settle on our minds and demand attention while we sleep. These films are rare.
It is even more rare that a book, without the benefit of surround sound and digital effects, can grip our minds as relentlessly. But haunting may not be adequate enough to describe Cormac McCarthy's The Road. Get past a stream-of-consciousness style that Faulkner would envy (read: sentences without verbs) and it is a truly haunting story. It will bury itself deeply in the recessses of your mind. It will horrify you and yet, in the end, it will renew your faith - not in the world but in yourself. It will remind you, in your own quiet contemplations, that we live by the grace of God alone. And that may be the most haunting quality of all.
