Painting a petal

I have never experienced such a gloomy state of mind as now, when I read Cormac McCarthy's The Road. That book is brilliantly written and his English is a pure poetry. The language switches between a full but heartless style when he describes the burnt, lifeless Earth and a short, elliptic one for the talks between the father and his son. It's those dialogues that make my heart stop for a second or two.