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188 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2020
We three children read Frances Hodgson Burnett, Swallows and Amazons, the Narnia books, all of Tintin and much of the Famous Five. All those deserted, orphaned or fortuitously parentless children of nineteenth and twentieth century fiction feeding themselves, building shelters, in a way their readers never had to do. And all that detail - all that food and weather, water and light.
I learned to overlook the archaic, to be open to the oddness of the different eras, and to read for something else. That something else was what I describe...as 'sensory detail'; the minutiae of life that is the real stuff that makes up a book.
It is a condition of caring for the dying that you simultaneously cannot bear to have them die and cannot bear for them to live one day longer.
I had wished for a long time that she would die. Not just because I loved her and didn't wish her to suffer - which I did, and which I didn't - but because I didn't want to suffer.
...when the book became readily available in English households in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, people feared a kind of apocolypse of communication. Instead of sitting by the fire in the evening and talking, everyone would disappear into the silence of text, and civilisation would come to an end.