The Way of Things, Chapter 32
Peter rubbed his eyes blearily, another long day without Rose done and gone. He’d come home and, after a light supper, had spent a few hours working at the table in the kitchen. After re-reading the same report for the fourth time, he’d given up, moving to stretch out on the sofa. He had a new book he’d been meaning to read for ages, and hoped it
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*wibble*
He’d come home and, after a light supper, had spent a few hours working at the table in the kitchen.
That ‘light supper’ better not have been a packet of crisps and a doorstopper, given that it’s just about all he’s eaten in what, 2, 3 days? *shakes fist*
He had a new book he’d been meaning to read for ages…
‘Proust and the Squid: The Story and Science of the Reading Brain’? How the yah Peter ever learned to tie his shoes, much less come to a love of reading in that house I’ll never know. Maybe he used to get dumped off at the local and made friends with the librarians?
He stared at the page in front of him, his mind still trying to work out what might be happening with Rose-and what he wanted to happen with Rose.
Interesting. He seemed pretty sure last time-is the delay in seeing her again reintroducing doubts?
Maybe it would be worth a zeppelin ticket to go to London, to try to see her?Showing up outside her flat looking like a drowned ( ... )
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Hmmm...not sure about the shoe-tying, but I had imagined him being locked in his room quite a bit, or somehow otherwise isolated. Get a smart kid bored enough, and they'll pick up a book. If it's a good book, they'll get addicted right away; if it's a bad book, have it happen often enough and they'll develop a habit. It's a terrible way to develop a lifelong love of reading but, like his logic, reading has consistently offered him a stability in his life. And, as a bonus, it gives him the power of choice--*he* gets to decide what he wants to read.
I’m going to choose to take this particular turn of phrase in the most innocent way possible.
That's your choice. Authorial intent was most assuredly not innocent. ;)
He owns more than a single pair of black shoes?
I think I'd settled at the number "4".
I might, possibly, overthink things ( ... )
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He just seems to have had so little parental input/guidance, and as the oldest he wouldn't have the built-in teacher that an older sibling would (theoretically) provide. He probably learned it from a book!
I actually don't even remember the process of learning to read, 'cos thanks to having The Electric Company and Sesame Street as my television babysitter from babyhood, I have apparently been able to read since I was three years old. I am all about the books and reading (including on long road trips with the grandparents or my mother, much to my carsick-tending husband's chagrin).
That's your choice. Authorial intent was most assuredly not innocent. ;)
Release the hounds!
Is that possibly even sadder than the oft-discussed angsturbation, that he wanted to just for some relief and couldn't? Not to mention the usual male insecurities that ( ... )
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I honestly can't remember a time when I couldn't read. It might be down to having an older sibling; that I was always trying to do what she did, and so learned how to read when she did. I don't know. Maybe that's something I'll ask mom about over Thanksgiving. I *do* remember the first book I read in one day--"Are you there, God? It's me Margaret." I was 8, and was very proud of myself.
I am all about the books and reading (including on long road trips with the grandparents or my mother, much to my carsick-tending husband's chagrin).
Oh, reading! brilliantomega and I talked about this very thing on Sunday--about how we hate to get rid of books. My room is chock-full of them, but it's a habit I come by honestly: when I was in middle school, my mom had our garage fitted out with bookshelves. I have to have a book with me at all times, or else I get twitchy (although of late I've been traveling with my notebook instead, writing instead of reading ( ... )
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Heh. Let's see. He slips his shoes on and off, I think--at least when he's in a rush. He definitely had one of his cap-toes on (on the right foot), and a the lace-up oxford on the left.
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If Peter wore Docs, it would be very easy for him to get in and out of them without having to untie, although I don't know that they do a cap-toe. I know they do oxfords and brogues because I own 'em. (and a buckle-top, and a pair of Mary Janes, and a pair of navy blue velvet boots...)
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Oh my gosh--it's my pleasure! It's been great fun exploring the world in which Peter and Rose exist, and I know it's been incredibly useful to me in working things out within the story.
And really--I could talk about this little imaginary place until the cows come home. It's a sickness at this point. ;)
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Ah, but is it Tennant or Carlisle? (hee!)
Also, I am immensely jealous of your ability to read in moving vehicles. I, like your husband, get far too ill to do so.
I can probably thank a lot of time spent on those rotating-tire things that were the fixtures of playgrounds in my area in the early '80s. A bit like figure skaters who get used to spinning, although I can do it in both directions without getting ill. Which means I'm sure I've probably broken some important body response system, but if it means I can read in the car I don't care.
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The hybrid view is particularly useful.
*flys her freak flag proudly*
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*happily speculating*
Well, if we're going for real-life meta references, I'd put him as living on Glebe Road.
(feel free to swat me with a newspaper, jlrpuck)
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