Tuesday, September 14, 2004
On Sundays, in the afternoon, I like to drive down PCH to the marina mall thing, and get coffee at Starbucks and sit outside, watching people pass by and feeling vaguely like a consumer whore. The particular attraction of this Starbucks is that it's next to a very nice Barnes and Noble. Sometimes I'll wander around the store, fondling books in an attempt to feel like I haven't driven all the way out there just for overpriced coffee. One of the side effects of this is that I read a lot of dustjackets, and end up wanting more books than I have time or money for. I'll go to the library one of these days, I swear. They just make it difficult for me, with their odd hours. No, really I have no excuse, apart from that walking the two blocks there would disrupt my ass-widening routine. Ahem. I yearned for one book in particular for about three weeks until I finally broke down and bought it a few days ago ... it was on the "staff recommendations" shelf, which has yet to steer me wrong, so it had that going for it before I even started to read. It's marvelous. I've been reading for hours today, at lunch, at the DMV, at home with Trigger sleeping on my feet ... I'm stopped about halfway through, at the start of part two, which has the unsettling title of "A Drop of Blood in a Bowl of Milk." Oh, right, so the book is called "The Time Traveler's Wife," and it's a sort of love story. It takes place simultaneously across decades, and I'm fascinated at thow the author juggles all the details without dropping the plot. Henry, the main character, keeps ending up in several places at once, or several whens at once, and I haven't gotten confused yet. Also, it's beautiful. I picked out this quote, see if you don't love it:
"My mother dying ... it's the pivotal thing ... everything else goes around and around it ... I dream about it, and I also -- time travel to it. Over and over. If you could be there, and could hover over the scene of the accident, and you could see every detail of it, all the people, cars, trees, snowdrifts -- if you had enough time to really look at everything, you would see me. I am in cars, behind bushes, on the bridge, in a tree. I have seen it from every angle, I am even a participant in the aftermath: I called the airport from a nearby gas station to page my father with the message to come immediately to the hospital. I sat in the hospital waiting room and watched my father walk through on his way to find me. He looks gray and ravaged. I walked along the shoulder of the road, waiting for my young self to appear, and I put a blanket around my thin child's shoulders. I looked into my small unconprehending face, and I thought ... I thought ... I should have died too."
"My mother dying ... it's the pivotal thing ... everything else goes around and around it ... I dream about it, and I also -- time travel to it. Over and over. If you could be there, and could hover over the scene of the accident, and you could see every detail of it, all the people, cars, trees, snowdrifts -- if you had enough time to really look at everything, you would see me. I am in cars, behind bushes, on the bridge, in a tree. I have seen it from every angle, I am even a participant in the aftermath: I called the airport from a nearby gas station to page my father with the message to come immediately to the hospital. I sat in the hospital waiting room and watched my father walk through on his way to find me. He looks gray and ravaged. I walked along the shoulder of the road, waiting for my young self to appear, and I put a blanket around my thin child's shoulders. I looked into my small unconprehending face, and I thought ... I thought ... I should have died too."
