A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud. by Carson McCullers

Joy.

I really don't see what all the fuss is about. Carson McCullers may be a celebrated American Southern writer, but I fail to see the magic here. If given the choice, I’d take Flannery O’Connor any day of the week. 

This story wants to be a profound meditation on love, loss, and loneliness. Instead, it feels more like a lecture than a compelling narrative. Some might find its philosophical approach moving but it came across as contrived to me.

An old man sits drinking in a restaurant, rambling poetically to a young boy who has stopped in for coffee before his paper route. He talks the boy’s ear off, yet the boy remains captivated, drawn in by his words. The contrast between the old man's world-weariness and the boy’s youthful innocence highlights the gap between those who have loved and lost and those who have yet to experience such emotions. His theory on heterosexual love is simple, yet persuasive: men fail at love because they start at the climax, rushing in too fast. Instead, they need to learn to slow down and love the small, simple things first—a tree, a rock, a cloud—before daring to love another person. It’s a valid argument and an almost scientific approach to something as messy as human emotion. 

However, the sharp-tongued restaurant owner named Leo isn’t buying it. He watches from the sidelines, scoffing at the old man’s ramblings. To him, this so-called love guru is just another drunk, spinning nonsense. His frustration builds as the old man drones on, and honestly, I can’t blame him. Some readers may find wisdom in these words. I found a story too enamored with its own message to truly resonate.

You can read this story HERE.