'I was trying, desperately, to keep a hold on my world - my job, my vanished husband and my column - but I was disconnecting. The ties to my ordinary life were loosening, snapping, and the dark world of Bethan Avery was becoming more real than my own.'
'Yet we were all quiet for so long after, touched by the magnitude, the beautiful unfathomable magnitude of it all. This is what we are connected to. What we are all connected to. When the lights go out, so do we.'
"I realised that without the whole truth my life would have no power, no real meaning... The process of writing has been the processes of remembering, and of trying to make sense out of those memories. I understand that sometimes the only way we can survive our own memories is to shape them into a story that makes sense out of events that seem inexplicable."
Having last week finished 'The Nightingale', set in occupied France, it got me thinking about the masterpiece that is Anthony Doer's Pulitzer Prize winning 'All The Light We Cannot See', similarly set during the Second World War in Paris. There were so many exquisite passages from this book that it was hard to pick just … Continue reading Perfect Prose #2: All The Light We Cannot See
‘If I have learnt anything in this long life of mine, it is this: In love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are. Today’s young people want to know everything about everyone. They think talking about a problem will solve it. I come from a quieter generation. We understand the value of forgetting, the lure of reinvention.’
I'm currently reading Jonathan Safran Foer's 'Here I Am', and it got me remembering some of the beautiful passages from his previous novel 'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close'. The following is one that has always stayed with me. The first time I read it I was on a train to London and weeping silently.
Love, we must part now: do not let it be Calamitous and bitter. In the past There has been too much moonlight and self-pity: Let us have done with it
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
'The water was steady and black. An inch below the surface my body disappeared as if it didn't exist. I swam straight out towards the rising sun, which was under-lighting the clouds with a dramatic orange as if I had been swimming into a Renaissance landscape.'