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244 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1980
This so ordinary scene, of people at ease, was nevertheless punishing their poor overwhelmed hearts. Taken detail by detail there was nothing so remarkable: a man telling a small child how to sit well at the table, a women smiling at a man - her husband? If a husband, certainly not like one from Zone Four! - but looked at as a whole, it all seemed suffused with a clear fine pale light that spoke to them of the longing that is the inner substance of certain dreams: it was the knowledge of a bitter exile.
They told themselves that they were looking at - pleasure. This is what they saw. Well-being without purpose or pressure or reproof. But the word pleasure had to be dismissed. Dabeeb said to them that Al*Ith had had this air of ease, at least when she first came to them: this is what had struck her, Dabeeb, at first and immediately: Al*Ith's largeness and freedom of being. But that had not been pleasure, had not been, even, delight: thought what Dabeeb had taken back to her own bare little house from that first meeting with Al*Ith had been an awed, even triumphant, conviction that happiness was possible...
We also see in this story [i.e. the Biblical account of the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon] that wisdom is not given but taken, that it is obtainable only by the breaking of a taboo, and that the price of knowledge is the end of virginity and innocence.
We Chroniclers do well to be afraid when we approach those parts of our histories (or natures) that deal with evil, the depraved, the benighted. Describing, we become. We even--and I've seen it and have shuddered--summon. The most innocent of poets can write of ugliness and forces he has done no more than speculate about--and bring them into his life. (...) Yet there is a mystery here and it is not one that I understand: without this sting of otherness, of--even--the vicious, without the terrible energies of the underside of health, sanity, sense, then nothing works or can work. I tell you that goodness: the ordinary, the decent--these are nothing without the hidden powers that pour forth from their shadow sides. (...) I rely on us all knowing what the extremes of poverty and deprivation breed: always meanness and spitefulness and cruelty and threadbareness of spirit... except for the few in whom poverty flowers in giving and compassion.
If you tasted it, it would first taste bitter,
then briny, then surely burn your tongue.
It is like what we imagine knowledge to be:
dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free,
drawn from the cold hard mouth
of the world, derived from the rocky breasts
forever, flowing and drawn, and since
our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.
