I do, I do, I do have lots to say about more predawn reading, but must frame quickly ten small Chinese papercuts into little golden frames before this client walks through my shop door. However, as a teaser:
Suddenly he starts awake. There’s light in the room, a candle, floating in the doorway. Behind it a glimmering figure: his landlady, in a white gown, a pale shawl wrapped around her. In the candlelight her long loose hair looks grey. (p. 295)
Evidently, our good doctor harbors some sexual repressions that he imagines in some slightly odd forms. And this:
It’s the middle of the night, but time keeps going on, and it also goes round and around, like the sun and the moon on the tall clock in the parlour. Soon it will be daybreak. Soon the day will break. ((p. 295)
That one’s from Grace, and it goes on in a fascinating private soliloquy that I’ve bookmarked to post more upon later. Two separate pieces of insight into the dark morning hours of our protagonist and antagonist, read in the dark morning hours of reality and think about still.
Now these, I can sink my teeth into.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
I don’t know what you’re talking about. Which only goes to show, there’s interest in divergent acceptance of what constitutes…….profound expression?
Ok, too harsh.
“Lights, candles, floating, doorways” – now there is something truly original (don’t forget “glimmering”).
Maybe it’s just me, but page 295 of the good doctor is three sentences saying the same nothing. Gee, middle of night. Clocks. Round and round. You said that. Daybreak. Ibid. Good lord.
I’m sure the fascinating private soliloquy that follows has many “ists” involved.
In conclusion, teeth should be sunk into meat rather than warmed-over mashed potatoes, and there it is.