for all you book people...
I'm currently reading The Hours by Michael Cunningham (wanted to see the movie but didn't so figured i'd read the book instead)
anyway, I really love the way he writes, he can speak beautifully about simple things for paragraphs (which is something i also like to sometimes do when writing). I just came across this particular passage and thought i'd share it. For some reason it really struck me and told me to share it with you. sooo here goes :)
"She panicked-she supposes 'panic' is the word for it. She tried to lie down for a few minutes while her son was napping; she tried to rea da little, but couldn't concentrate. She lay on the bed with the book in her hands feeling emptied, exhausted, by the child, the cake, the kiss. It got down, somehow, to those three elements, and as she lay on the double bed with the shades drawn and the bedside lamp lit, trying to read, she wondered, Is this what it's like to go crazy? She'd never imagined it like this-when she'd thought of someone (a woman like herself) losing her mind, she'd imagined shrieks and wails, hallucinations; but at that moment it had seemed clear that there was another way, far quieter; a way that was numb and hopeless, flat, so much so that an emotion as strong as sorrow would have been a relief." (Cunningham, 141-142).
Any comments?
I love the part where he describes her "way of going crazy". I think it's a very real observation and I'm really impressed at how well he put it into words.
anyway, I really love the way he writes, he can speak beautifully about simple things for paragraphs (which is something i also like to sometimes do when writing). I just came across this particular passage and thought i'd share it. For some reason it really struck me and told me to share it with you. sooo here goes :)
"She panicked-she supposes 'panic' is the word for it. She tried to lie down for a few minutes while her son was napping; she tried to rea da little, but couldn't concentrate. She lay on the bed with the book in her hands feeling emptied, exhausted, by the child, the cake, the kiss. It got down, somehow, to those three elements, and as she lay on the double bed with the shades drawn and the bedside lamp lit, trying to read, she wondered, Is this what it's like to go crazy? She'd never imagined it like this-when she'd thought of someone (a woman like herself) losing her mind, she'd imagined shrieks and wails, hallucinations; but at that moment it had seemed clear that there was another way, far quieter; a way that was numb and hopeless, flat, so much so that an emotion as strong as sorrow would have been a relief." (Cunningham, 141-142).
Any comments?
I love the part where he describes her "way of going crazy". I think it's a very real observation and I'm really impressed at how well he put it into words.