Saul Bellow said Only art penetrates…the seeming realities of this world. There is another reality, the genuine one, which we lose sight of. This other reality is always sending us hints, which without art, we can’t receive.
For the last few days I’ve been reading in parks. My book is The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro. It’s my fourth. My first was Artist of the Floating World followed by Never Let Me Go and Remains of the Day. I may possibly read Never Let Me Go again which is something I have never done outside of literature studies.
Ishiguro is masterful at creating a literary space with words – a floating world. I might analyse his style to discern how he achieves this, but for now I’m content to enjoy it. It’s something about delicacy, clarity, and elevated viewpoint which entices you in. Something Zen. Something about less is more.
I crave to be outside, usually associated with sunshine. In Britain there’s not much of it. Days, weeks, even a month or two pass with only a glimmer. Reading in parks, sunshine or not, the sky is above me. It’s this sense of space – in books and the outdoors – which is what matters.
River Mersey Cyclist
Sunday January 3, 2016