In 2012 I read J.G. Farrell's Troubles (reviewed here) and it rapidly became one of my favourites. Its mixture of humour and tragedy, often within the same sentence, was intoxicating and that's also a combination used to great effect in The Siege of Krishnapur. This one's a book I bought for my undergraduate degree and never got round to reading. It tells the story of, as might be guessed, a siege in Krishnapur where the British community is living a serene existence. Only the Collector, Mr Hopkins, senses the danger ahead but he's dismissed as a crank until violence sweeps closer.
Once again, I adored this book. It's a strange mixture of light and dark, using the macabre to great effect. I was a little impatient for the 'real' story to get going, the scene-setting of people and places might have been important but I wanted to delve into the stress of the siege. However, everything we'd learned earlier played a part in the later scenes of despair and tragedy.
Description is one of Farrell's strengths and he uses smell to particularly good effect in this novel. Days after finishing reading it I'm still captured by the unseen bodies lying beyond the walls and the starving dogs tied up and forced to survive any way they can. Most of the characters are distinctive and there are little ongoing skirmishes which add to the overall effect of civilisation in peril. The two doctors, for instance, have on-going rows which, as with most situations in this novel, come to a darkly comical conclusion. The Padre, as well, goes around trying to convert everyone in the midst of battle. Two of the scenes that linger from this book, for me, come from this character: firstly, the battle scene where he is preaching and preaching even while the cannons are firing around him and, secondly, the scene where he's trying to convert one character while digging a grave and the corpse almost ends up going in vertically by accident. Yes, macabre but extremely memorable.
The Siege of Krishnapur is an excellent book, not for the squeamish perhaps but certainly beautifully written and evocative. It is full of reality drawn from contemporary sources about the Indian Mutiny and woven into a stunning novel that I really found it a pleasure to read, despite the horror it was detailing. That's quite a feat and I remain in awe of Farrell's literary ability.
Showing posts with label description. Show all posts
Showing posts with label description. Show all posts
Monday, 29 December 2014
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
Book Review: The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy
Published in 1886, The Mayor of Casterbridge offers a very sensational premise: while drunk, Michael Henchard sells his wife and child to a passing sailor. Afterwards, he regrets his actions, gives up alcohol for twenty one years, and tries to locate them but can't find them. He proceeds to the town of Casterbridge where he works very hard to rise up to be mayor of the town. But when his 'widowed' wife Susan returns with his grown-up daughter, Elizabeth-Jane, he is compelled to do the right thing and marry her. However, this involves letting down another woman he had hopes of marrying, Lucetta. Intertwined with all this is his new assistant, Donald Farfrae, a man Elizabeth-Jane has taken a shine to. What ensues is a tangled web of deceit, love and retribution.
This is such a complex book with more twists and turns than I can count. Hardy draws on the conventions of the sensation writers he read earlier in his career but adds logic and psychological analysis to what could have been simply a book of events. Hardy's representation of Henchard as a man struggling to master guilt, jealousy and the desire for revenge throughout the book is a powerful one. Henchard is a complex character, but one the reader understands. This is less true for Donald Farfrae, first Henchard's friend then his bitter rival, but Farfrae is not the focus of the book. As for the female characters, Elizabeth-Jane is something of an insipid paragon of virtue, blindly submitting when the man she loves demonstrates an attraction for someone else. Susan and Lucetta are distinctly unmemorable but the array of incidental characters are fascinating enough.
Perhaps the main strength of this novel is the description that Hardy employs so well in many of his novels. Much of his description is necessary, relating to the plot or character, although there are a few superfluous passages. His eye for detail certainly adds realism to the story of the over-stretched mayor, almost bringing the reader into Casterbridge itself. The Roman roots of the town are expertly exploited, particularly in the Amphitheatre, the site of Henchard's first meeting with his long-lost wife in chapter eleven.
What impressed me about this book was that the preamble was actually kept to a minimum. Time could easily have been wasted examining the 'lost' years of Susan and Elizabeth-Jane's lives but Hardy sprinkles necessary details in as the story progresses. There is much more involved in this novel than the blurb suggests and it surprises and fascinates throughout. I regret leaving this spine to bleach on my bookshelf for seven years but I think the pleasure of reading was worth the wait.
This is such a complex book with more twists and turns than I can count. Hardy draws on the conventions of the sensation writers he read earlier in his career but adds logic and psychological analysis to what could have been simply a book of events. Hardy's representation of Henchard as a man struggling to master guilt, jealousy and the desire for revenge throughout the book is a powerful one. Henchard is a complex character, but one the reader understands. This is less true for Donald Farfrae, first Henchard's friend then his bitter rival, but Farfrae is not the focus of the book. As for the female characters, Elizabeth-Jane is something of an insipid paragon of virtue, blindly submitting when the man she loves demonstrates an attraction for someone else. Susan and Lucetta are distinctly unmemorable but the array of incidental characters are fascinating enough.
Perhaps the main strength of this novel is the description that Hardy employs so well in many of his novels. Much of his description is necessary, relating to the plot or character, although there are a few superfluous passages. His eye for detail certainly adds realism to the story of the over-stretched mayor, almost bringing the reader into Casterbridge itself. The Roman roots of the town are expertly exploited, particularly in the Amphitheatre, the site of Henchard's first meeting with his long-lost wife in chapter eleven.
What impressed me about this book was that the preamble was actually kept to a minimum. Time could easily have been wasted examining the 'lost' years of Susan and Elizabeth-Jane's lives but Hardy sprinkles necessary details in as the story progresses. There is much more involved in this novel than the blurb suggests and it surprises and fascinates throughout. I regret leaving this spine to bleach on my bookshelf for seven years but I think the pleasure of reading was worth the wait.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
Book Review: The London Train by Tessa Hadley
The London Train is split into two sections. The first half concentrates on Paul who has just lost his mother and travels to London from Cardiff in search of his missing eldest daughter, Pia. As soon as he finds her he realises why she's lost contact - she's pregnant. Sleeping on her sofa, Paul lingers in London when he should really be going home to his family. The second half of the novel focuses on Cora, a woman who moved from London back to her childhood home in Cardiff after the breakdown of her marriage. What forces her back to London once again is a call to say that her husband has disappeared.
I'll admit I was underwhelmed by the first half of this book. Paul is not the most likeable of characters - he's a selfish man who disappears off to London and leaves his two young children and his wife without a clue about his whereabouts. His thirst for a different life to the one he's found himself living is an understandable one and his journey is well-written but I couldn't bring myself to like him until the final pages of his story. Conversely, there were things that attracted me straight away about Cora. Working as a librarian, trying to carve out a life after being someone else for twelve years, she comes across as a woman very much living in the present and avoiding thought of the future. Her past is explored as and when it becomes pertinent and this slyly slow reveal is one of the things I most enjoyed about the book. Aside from the deliberate interweaving of the two stories, there are also deliberate touches that draw parallels between Paul and Cora, notably the death of their mothers which indirectly kick-start their stories. Paul would not have gone in search of his daughter if his mother hadn't died; Cora would not have inherited a house and moved back to it had her mother not died.
This is an atmospheric book with some vivid descriptions. A few lines about the death of Cora's mother produced a lasting effect on me, for instance, and there is a minor character (Bar, an old flame of Cora's husband) who is so unique that the novel is worth reading just for the few pages about her. My favourite passage came towards the end of the book when Cora contemplates the point of memories:
"Once, Cora had believed that living built a cumulative bank of memories, thickening and deepening as time went on, shoring you against emptiness. She had used to treasure up relics from every phase of her life as it passed, as if they were holy. Now, that seemed to her a falsely consoling model of experience. The present was always paramount, in a way that thrust you forward: empty, but also free. Whatever stories you told over to yourself and others, you were in truth exposed and naked in the present, a prow cleaving new waters; your past was insubstantial behind, it fell away, it grew into desuetude, its forms grew obsolete. The problem was, you were always still alive, until the end. You had to do something." (p312)
I'll admit I was underwhelmed by the first half of this book. Paul is not the most likeable of characters - he's a selfish man who disappears off to London and leaves his two young children and his wife without a clue about his whereabouts. His thirst for a different life to the one he's found himself living is an understandable one and his journey is well-written but I couldn't bring myself to like him until the final pages of his story. Conversely, there were things that attracted me straight away about Cora. Working as a librarian, trying to carve out a life after being someone else for twelve years, she comes across as a woman very much living in the present and avoiding thought of the future. Her past is explored as and when it becomes pertinent and this slyly slow reveal is one of the things I most enjoyed about the book. Aside from the deliberate interweaving of the two stories, there are also deliberate touches that draw parallels between Paul and Cora, notably the death of their mothers which indirectly kick-start their stories. Paul would not have gone in search of his daughter if his mother hadn't died; Cora would not have inherited a house and moved back to it had her mother not died.
This is an atmospheric book with some vivid descriptions. A few lines about the death of Cora's mother produced a lasting effect on me, for instance, and there is a minor character (Bar, an old flame of Cora's husband) who is so unique that the novel is worth reading just for the few pages about her. My favourite passage came towards the end of the book when Cora contemplates the point of memories:
"Once, Cora had believed that living built a cumulative bank of memories, thickening and deepening as time went on, shoring you against emptiness. She had used to treasure up relics from every phase of her life as it passed, as if they were holy. Now, that seemed to her a falsely consoling model of experience. The present was always paramount, in a way that thrust you forward: empty, but also free. Whatever stories you told over to yourself and others, you were in truth exposed and naked in the present, a prow cleaving new waters; your past was insubstantial behind, it fell away, it grew into desuetude, its forms grew obsolete. The problem was, you were always still alive, until the end. You had to do something." (p312)
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Book Review: Across the Bridge by Morag Joss
Firstly, I have to say that I was given this book via a giveaway and, due to my remarkable idiocy and goldfish-memory issues, I can't remember who was kind enough to offer it up. If someone wants to jog my memory in the comments I would be very grateful!
Across the Bridge deceived me with the blurb. It's much more than the description on the rear of the book, involving more protagonists than it suggests. 'Annabel' is presumed dead after a freak occurrence topples a bridge into a river. Pregnant and told to get an abortion by her new husband, she seizes the chance to start a new life but her dismay about the father/daughter pair she sold the car to leads to her returning to a trailer on the side of a river. There she meets Silva, waiting patiently for the return of her husband and child, while Annabel knows the truth about their fate. Ron - a wanderer also running away from his past - has been helping with the salvage and rebuilding of the bridge and helps the duo move across the river to a safer cabin.
The most compelling aspect of this book is the intense attention to setting and description. It's full of sparkling images that stay with you after you've put it down. Equally, Annabel is a good character to follow, especially as her pregnancy moves on. The difficulties of being invisible in society are documented, as are the ghoulish tendencies of people to treat disaster as a spectator sport. We've all noticed that in recent years. Silva and Ron are both different prospects but both are viewpoint characters as well. Ron is perhaps the most objective of them all and he's perhaps my favourite character for that reason and various others.
While I enjoyed much of this book, I had a few reservations about the ending. The climax the novel built to was natural, stemming from all that had come before it and an overwhelming description of grief taking hold. In that respect, perhaps, it was predictable but I didn't dislike it for that reason - if something stems out of good characterisation and foreshadowing then I don't think it's an unreasonable conclusion. I just felt the novel ended too quickly, that the climax hit and very little else followed. While I appreciate the ambiguity and excellence of such endings, I felt slightly cheated that I had no firm idea of Annabel's future. However, I still found the book to be a good read for the reasons mentioned above. Here's one of my favourite passages:
"I turned and walked out into the night air. Cars trickled past me, their headlamps sparkling ahead into blackness. The night was damp and cold. Suddenly I felt I was down there at the bottom of the dark river with the fish, their thick, flat, muscular sides quivering past me, swimming past those poor drowned people and flicking their dead faces, sending pulses of dark water into their open mouths and pulling silky fins through their waving, frondy hair." (p82)
Across the Bridge deceived me with the blurb. It's much more than the description on the rear of the book, involving more protagonists than it suggests. 'Annabel' is presumed dead after a freak occurrence topples a bridge into a river. Pregnant and told to get an abortion by her new husband, she seizes the chance to start a new life but her dismay about the father/daughter pair she sold the car to leads to her returning to a trailer on the side of a river. There she meets Silva, waiting patiently for the return of her husband and child, while Annabel knows the truth about their fate. Ron - a wanderer also running away from his past - has been helping with the salvage and rebuilding of the bridge and helps the duo move across the river to a safer cabin.
The most compelling aspect of this book is the intense attention to setting and description. It's full of sparkling images that stay with you after you've put it down. Equally, Annabel is a good character to follow, especially as her pregnancy moves on. The difficulties of being invisible in society are documented, as are the ghoulish tendencies of people to treat disaster as a spectator sport. We've all noticed that in recent years. Silva and Ron are both different prospects but both are viewpoint characters as well. Ron is perhaps the most objective of them all and he's perhaps my favourite character for that reason and various others.
While I enjoyed much of this book, I had a few reservations about the ending. The climax the novel built to was natural, stemming from all that had come before it and an overwhelming description of grief taking hold. In that respect, perhaps, it was predictable but I didn't dislike it for that reason - if something stems out of good characterisation and foreshadowing then I don't think it's an unreasonable conclusion. I just felt the novel ended too quickly, that the climax hit and very little else followed. While I appreciate the ambiguity and excellence of such endings, I felt slightly cheated that I had no firm idea of Annabel's future. However, I still found the book to be a good read for the reasons mentioned above. Here's one of my favourite passages:
"I turned and walked out into the night air. Cars trickled past me, their headlamps sparkling ahead into blackness. The night was damp and cold. Suddenly I felt I was down there at the bottom of the dark river with the fish, their thick, flat, muscular sides quivering past me, swimming past those poor drowned people and flicking their dead faces, sending pulses of dark water into their open mouths and pulling silky fins through their waving, frondy hair." (p82)
Friday, 4 November 2011
Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: My Character Introductions
I'm 8,000 words into my novel and I've got one pesky thing out of the way: I've introduced all my major secondary characters. It's something I always find difficult and once they're in there I feel supremely satisfied. I'll worry about more/less detail when I revisit this manuscript (in about three years schedule permitting!) but here how things started from the perspective of Lauren, my protagonist.
Shelley - "A woman came into view with curly brown hair stretching beyond her shoulders. Lauren couldn’t catch her facial expression from this range but she instinctively knew she was good-tempered when the tension in the man’s shoulders gradually disappeared as she sorted out his problem for him. Then the woman calmly disappeared out of view."
Dawn - "A young blonde, probably mid-teens, reluctantly got out while he was shouting at her...On closer inspection, Lauren could see she was a petite girl, though probably with one hell of an attitude. She was dressed in jeans and a halter top, barely covered by the leather jacket she was half-wearing. Trouble was the word which sprang to mind."
Viv and Dot are originally depicted as something of a double act and Lauren hears about them from Shelley before she meets them. This is what Shelley says: "Viv’s got a mouth on her but take anything she says with a pinch of salt. Dot comes across as her sidekick but she’s a bit gentler. You’ll see what I mean when they turn up. Viv comes to wash her husband’s overalls and Dot mainly keeps her company. She lost her job, you see, in the last round of redundancies at the carpet factory. She was in accounts."
Alan - "He entered looking like a train-spotter, a single bag under his arm that couldn’t have contained any more than four shirts. He nodded to Shelley but still seemed a little on edge with her. Methodically, he removed his anorak and hung it on one of the pegs beside the door. Then he glanced furtively to Viv and Dot who had paid no attention to his entrance whatsoever. A flicker of discomfort crossed his face and he commandeered the washing machine closest to the door."
Ben - "Waiting at the door was a small man in a suit and tie. He carried a holdall in the same way you’d carry a briefcase, utterly unconscious to the fact that the long strap was trailing on the floor. He was a weedy little man with thinning brown hair and thick eyebrows that dwarfed his thin nose. A small smile tugged his lips with effort as he saw Shelley. It disappeared when he caught sight of Lauren hovering behind her."
Trying not to think too much about whether the characters on the page match the characters in my head. Time enough for that later!
Shelley - "A woman came into view with curly brown hair stretching beyond her shoulders. Lauren couldn’t catch her facial expression from this range but she instinctively knew she was good-tempered when the tension in the man’s shoulders gradually disappeared as she sorted out his problem for him. Then the woman calmly disappeared out of view."
Dawn - "A young blonde, probably mid-teens, reluctantly got out while he was shouting at her...On closer inspection, Lauren could see she was a petite girl, though probably with one hell of an attitude. She was dressed in jeans and a halter top, barely covered by the leather jacket she was half-wearing. Trouble was the word which sprang to mind."
Viv and Dot are originally depicted as something of a double act and Lauren hears about them from Shelley before she meets them. This is what Shelley says: "Viv’s got a mouth on her but take anything she says with a pinch of salt. Dot comes across as her sidekick but she’s a bit gentler. You’ll see what I mean when they turn up. Viv comes to wash her husband’s overalls and Dot mainly keeps her company. She lost her job, you see, in the last round of redundancies at the carpet factory. She was in accounts."
Alan - "He entered looking like a train-spotter, a single bag under his arm that couldn’t have contained any more than four shirts. He nodded to Shelley but still seemed a little on edge with her. Methodically, he removed his anorak and hung it on one of the pegs beside the door. Then he glanced furtively to Viv and Dot who had paid no attention to his entrance whatsoever. A flicker of discomfort crossed his face and he commandeered the washing machine closest to the door."
Ben - "Waiting at the door was a small man in a suit and tie. He carried a holdall in the same way you’d carry a briefcase, utterly unconscious to the fact that the long strap was trailing on the floor. He was a weedy little man with thinning brown hair and thick eyebrows that dwarfed his thin nose. A small smile tugged his lips with effort as he saw Shelley. It disappeared when he caught sight of Lauren hovering behind her."
Trying not to think too much about whether the characters on the page match the characters in my head. Time enough for that later!
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
Book Review: Westwood by Stella Gibbons
I first became attracted to this book by seeing the cover on the Guardian website. The new Vintage Classics edition is striking, as book covers should be, and enticed me towards an author I hadn't heard of before.
Gibbons is one of those authors seemingly lost in the mid-20th century. She has over a dozen novels to her name, though many of them have fallen out of print until now. Westwood was a delightfully amusing book that certainly inspired me to become better acquainted with this author.
The novel tells the story of Margaret Steggles, a school teacher, who finds a ration book on Hampstead Heath and returns it to the Niland residence. Alexander Niland is a well-known artist and his father-in-law, Gerald Challis, is a famous dramatist. Margaret itches to become well-acquainted with the Challis family (and Gerald in particular), despite the fact that they treat her as a glorified child-carer. In a twist of fate, her friend Hilda attracts Gerald one night when he walks her home in the blackout. He gives his name as 'Marcus' while he idealises and courts Hilda, who has no interest in anything he has to say and simply sees him as a kind old man.
Gibbons is an expert at character sketches. There are many people who pass through the pages of the novel but they all have a distinct voice. I particularly found it remarkable that the half dozen or so children are recognisable by their differences. This applies to Alexander Niland's three children and the others encountered throughout the pages, including Linda, a girl with learning difficulties. I especially enjoyed being able to guess which child was talking when dialogue tags were sparse in a section towards the end of the book. If your characters are that distinctive then you don't need to highlight who's speaking on every other line.
As may have been gleaned, the novel is set during WWII. The war seems to be an inconvenience to the lives of the Nilands and Challises. Alexander is concerned about his paintings being destroyed and Gerald notes a significant alteration in the reception of his plays. The backdrop of the war isn't thrust forward on many occasions but that's something I appreciated: life went on in many ways and it was pleasant to read a war story that wasn't actually about the war. Gibbons describes England in very vivid terms throughout, notably when Hilda and Gerald meet in the blackout and when Margaret takes a rowdy bunch of children for a walk. However, I still think the opening description is one of the most evocative:
"London was beautiful that summer. In the poor streets the people made an open-air life for themselves under the blue sky as if they were living in a warmer climate. Old men sat on the fallen masonry and smoked their pipes and talked about the War, while the women stood patiently in the shops or round the stalls selling large fresh vegetables, carelessly talking." (p1)
The narrative swiftly moves on to Margaret's emotions on Hampstead Heath. The first few pages are all description but it doesn't drag: it helps frame the story that is to come against the backdrop of fighting abroad and struggling at home. It's a luxurious read which explores the desires of humanity and their worshipping, infidelity and difficult friendships. It's a novel about life - lightly and comically told - which ends rather ambivalently. Don't read this in search of a traditional happy ending; read it to smile and recognise different types of people who are as familiar now as they were in 1946 when Westwood was first published.
Gibbons is one of those authors seemingly lost in the mid-20th century. She has over a dozen novels to her name, though many of them have fallen out of print until now. Westwood was a delightfully amusing book that certainly inspired me to become better acquainted with this author.
The novel tells the story of Margaret Steggles, a school teacher, who finds a ration book on Hampstead Heath and returns it to the Niland residence. Alexander Niland is a well-known artist and his father-in-law, Gerald Challis, is a famous dramatist. Margaret itches to become well-acquainted with the Challis family (and Gerald in particular), despite the fact that they treat her as a glorified child-carer. In a twist of fate, her friend Hilda attracts Gerald one night when he walks her home in the blackout. He gives his name as 'Marcus' while he idealises and courts Hilda, who has no interest in anything he has to say and simply sees him as a kind old man.
Gibbons is an expert at character sketches. There are many people who pass through the pages of the novel but they all have a distinct voice. I particularly found it remarkable that the half dozen or so children are recognisable by their differences. This applies to Alexander Niland's three children and the others encountered throughout the pages, including Linda, a girl with learning difficulties. I especially enjoyed being able to guess which child was talking when dialogue tags were sparse in a section towards the end of the book. If your characters are that distinctive then you don't need to highlight who's speaking on every other line.
As may have been gleaned, the novel is set during WWII. The war seems to be an inconvenience to the lives of the Nilands and Challises. Alexander is concerned about his paintings being destroyed and Gerald notes a significant alteration in the reception of his plays. The backdrop of the war isn't thrust forward on many occasions but that's something I appreciated: life went on in many ways and it was pleasant to read a war story that wasn't actually about the war. Gibbons describes England in very vivid terms throughout, notably when Hilda and Gerald meet in the blackout and when Margaret takes a rowdy bunch of children for a walk. However, I still think the opening description is one of the most evocative:
"London was beautiful that summer. In the poor streets the people made an open-air life for themselves under the blue sky as if they were living in a warmer climate. Old men sat on the fallen masonry and smoked their pipes and talked about the War, while the women stood patiently in the shops or round the stalls selling large fresh vegetables, carelessly talking." (p1)
The narrative swiftly moves on to Margaret's emotions on Hampstead Heath. The first few pages are all description but it doesn't drag: it helps frame the story that is to come against the backdrop of fighting abroad and struggling at home. It's a luxurious read which explores the desires of humanity and their worshipping, infidelity and difficult friendships. It's a novel about life - lightly and comically told - which ends rather ambivalently. Don't read this in search of a traditional happy ending; read it to smile and recognise different types of people who are as familiar now as they were in 1946 when Westwood was first published.
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
A Little Memory Test
As I was struggling to sleep last night I began thinking about a place I used to work. I moved on from the generic feelings I get from thinking of my time there (nostalgia, amusement, relief of escape) and tried to picture every little detail of my trip to work.
I used to walk to the bus stop, have a fifteen minute bus journey then perhaps a ten minute walk at the other end. Then I walked into the office. Simple. But I wasn't satisfied. I used this route every day for six months, surely I could recall more detail than that. I was disappointed with myself for not committing to memory every aspect I could. After all, isn't that what writers do - notice the precise detail in everyday things?
So I concentrated for a while (giving myself a headache in the process). What I came up with was this:
I get off the bus. I turn right and walk past another grey bus shelter towards the crossroads. The bus growls past me as I reach the turn. I veer right and begin to cross the bridge across the railway. The pavement rises slightly beneath my feet. Half of it is paved with stones and the rest is tarmacked. As I reach the other side of the railway line there are some derelict brown buildings on my left, of which I can only see the back and upper-levels of. There is an old sign on a white background with blue (possibly green) lettering saying 'CAMPING' and something else to do with outdoor supplies.
I walk further to the next junction. There are traffic lights to the middle of the road I'm on then across to the opposite side of the T-junction. The first set is on a slope. At the second I rarely wait for the signal to cross. I walk across towards a brown wall of chest height then turn right. After a few steps there is an opening to my left with gravelly-type steps leading down to the level of the railway line. I turn down the path towards the next road and cross on the corner between the Irish pub and the car dealership.
This is just a three minute fragment of my walk and I was fairly proud of myself for remembering this level of detail. I left the job over a year ago now and have had very little reason to ponder my route in depth. It seemed to be a useful exercise for me. If I can remember things in such depth then I hope I can create things with equal weight.
I at least like the notion that life isn't passing me by. I've got a thirst for remembering as many tiny details as I can. I want to document them, use them as inspiration later. It's a comfort to know that I can do it - at least with some scenarios.
I used to walk to the bus stop, have a fifteen minute bus journey then perhaps a ten minute walk at the other end. Then I walked into the office. Simple. But I wasn't satisfied. I used this route every day for six months, surely I could recall more detail than that. I was disappointed with myself for not committing to memory every aspect I could. After all, isn't that what writers do - notice the precise detail in everyday things?
So I concentrated for a while (giving myself a headache in the process). What I came up with was this:
I get off the bus. I turn right and walk past another grey bus shelter towards the crossroads. The bus growls past me as I reach the turn. I veer right and begin to cross the bridge across the railway. The pavement rises slightly beneath my feet. Half of it is paved with stones and the rest is tarmacked. As I reach the other side of the railway line there are some derelict brown buildings on my left, of which I can only see the back and upper-levels of. There is an old sign on a white background with blue (possibly green) lettering saying 'CAMPING' and something else to do with outdoor supplies.
I walk further to the next junction. There are traffic lights to the middle of the road I'm on then across to the opposite side of the T-junction. The first set is on a slope. At the second I rarely wait for the signal to cross. I walk across towards a brown wall of chest height then turn right. After a few steps there is an opening to my left with gravelly-type steps leading down to the level of the railway line. I turn down the path towards the next road and cross on the corner between the Irish pub and the car dealership.
This is just a three minute fragment of my walk and I was fairly proud of myself for remembering this level of detail. I left the job over a year ago now and have had very little reason to ponder my route in depth. It seemed to be a useful exercise for me. If I can remember things in such depth then I hope I can create things with equal weight.
I at least like the notion that life isn't passing me by. I've got a thirst for remembering as many tiny details as I can. I want to document them, use them as inspiration later. It's a comfort to know that I can do it - at least with some scenarios.
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