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304 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2014
“She wasn’t making specific plans, but that hairline crack, she knew, could widen instantly to accommodate her, and day by day, its thin blackness grew less frightening, more logical and familiar, as if she could now walk right up, touch it with her fingertips, and, with a quick last smile over her shoulder at the fading world, slip right in.”
I have noticed that the intimacy we feel as readers is often generated far less by characters turning to one another [me: or to the reader] and saying intimate things or doing intimate things than it is by a kind of textual atmosphere, or maybe one should say a biosphere, a gallery, a zone that both emanates from the characters and acts upon them very deeply and personally. In other words, the textual where of their meetings, the meeting ground, the figurative topos -- and by this I don't mean physical locations where characters meet, but locutions, places in language that they share -- actually produces not only opportunities for intimacy, but also the actual sense of intimacy.(The point being that the textual atmosphere of the novel, for me, in the first 50 pages, was lacking in intimacy.)