I decided to teach it in my senior American Literature course this fall. I finished the book again tonight. Here's a passage from near the end that I think gets something of what I really like about the novel:
Little else to distract attention from the evening, just a clock, in a time not too distant from the present time, yet a time not too distant from the past, the unaccountable unfolding of consequence into tomorrow's time, the simple things, the grain of bedwood alive in the light, the slight argument of dark still left in the old woman's hair, the ray of moisture on the plastic lifebag, the curl of the braided flower petal, the chipped edge of a photo frame, the rim of a mug, the mark of a stray tea line along its edge, a crossword puzzle sitting unfinished, the yellow of a pencil dangling over the edge of the table, one end sharpened, the eraser in midair. Fragments of a human order. ... She puts her hands on the windowsill. She parts the curtains a little more, opens the triangle, lifts the window frame minutely, feels the curl of breeze on her skin: the ash, the dust, the light now pressing the dark out of things. We stumble on, now, we drain the light from the dark, to make it last. She lifts the window higher. Sounds outside, growing clearer in the silence, traffic at first, machine hum, cranework, playgrounds, children, the tree branches down on the avenue slapping each other around. ...
1 comment:
I've been meaning to read this book; picked it up for a few bucks at Lambert on a flight back to Chicago last year. The Believer published a great conversation between McCann and Aleksander Hemon that is absolutely worth checking out; it's an account of two guys fiercely devoted to literature in an age that often appears fiercely opposed to it. I liked this passage a lot.
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