How does one go about finding the most unreliable wife, since, well, ever, while looking for her complete opposite? Mr Ralph Truitt is giving the ultimate workshop on wifeal alchemy!
Reasonable writing (though, editing… tsk!) and plot that could have been partially inspired by the movie 'Original Sin' (which I happen to love!). Overall sensual enough to be non-sensical.
A slightly deranged sex-starved male protagonist:
Q: Sex was all he thought about in the dark. …
In every house, he thought with fascination, there is a different life. There is sex in every bed. (c)
who quickly becomes infatuated:
Q:
She smiled at him, and he knew then that he would die for her. (c)
+
with our very disappointed in life female opportunist:
Q:
Perhaps he loved them and treated them with kindness, with grace and affection. The world had not shown her that such things were common, but her unhappiness had been made bearable only by the certain knowledge that somewhere there lived people whose lives were not like her own. (c)
Q:
She would not, could not live without love or money. (c)
Q:
When I have his money, she thought, I will go far away, I will go to a country where I don’t know anybody and I don’t speak the language and I will never talk to anybody ever again. (c)
=
Caboom!
Q:
“This begins in a lie. I want you to know I know that.” (c)
Not so fortunate pieces:
Q:
Standing in the center of the crowd, his solitude was enormous. (c) A standing solitude. That's so new.
Q:
The train would come, late or not, and everything that happened before its arrival would be before, and everything that came after would be after. (c) Well, yeah! And everything during would be during!
Weirdish ones:
Q:
He had ordered punctuality the way another man might order a steak cooked to his liking. (c)
Q:
Since his first staggering losses twenty years before, his wife, his children, his heart’s best hopes and his last lavish fantasies, he had come to see the implacability of his own expectations as the only defense against the terrors he felt. It worked pretty well most of the time. He was relentless, and the people of the town respected that, feared it even. Now the train was late. …
Around him on the platform the people of his town walked and watched and waited, trying to look casual, as though their waiting had some purpose other than watching Ralph Truitt wait for a train that was late. They exchanged little jokes. They laughed. They spoke quietly, out of respect for what they knew to be Ralph Truitt’s failure. …
Serve him right, some thought, mostly the men. (c) Of course, a train late is the end of the world. This is supposed to illustrate that the guy is a control freak?
Loved these ones:
Q:
He felt that in all the vast and frozen space in which he lived his life — every hand needy, every heart wanting something from him — everybody had a reason to be and a place to land. Everybody but him. For him there was nothing. In all the cold and bitter world, there was not a single place for him to sit down. (c) Atmospheric!
Q:
The trick, Ralph knew, is not to give in. Not to hunch your shoulders in the cold or stamp your feet or blow warm breath into cold palms. The trick is to relax into the cold, accept that it had come and would stay a long time. To lean into it, as you might lean into a warm spring wind. The trick was to become part of it, so that you didn’t end a backbreaking day in the cold with rigid, aching shoulders and red hands.
Some things you escape, he thought. Most things you don’t, certainly not the cold. You don’t escape the things, mostly bad, thatjust happen to you. The loss of love. The disappointment. The terrible whip of tragedy. (c)
Q:
You can live with hopelessness for only so long before you are, in fact, hopeless. (с)
Q:
I’m the kind of woman who wants to know the end of the story, she thought, staring at her face in the jostling mirror. I want to know how it’s all going to end before it even starts.
Catherine Land liked the beginnings of things. The pure white possibility of the empty room, the first kiss, the first swipe at larceny. And endings, she liked endings, too. The drama of the smashing glass, the dead bird, the tearful goodbye, the last awful word which could never be unsaid or unremembered.
It was the middles that gave her pause. (c)
Q:
The sun set every day. It could not be that it would set in splendor only once in her lifetime. (c)
Q:
Perhaps the heart she imagined was one she had never really had at all. (c)
Q:
He felt displaced in his body, homeless in his heart. (c)
Q:
She had wanted something, and she had set out to get it, clear of her purpose and sure in her actions. But it had gotten confused, confused in the mass of the ordinary, confused in the way people live, in the way the heart attracts and repels the things it wants and fears. Her own heart had gone out in directions she never imagined, her hopes had become pinned to the things she would never have allowed. (c)
Q:
Learning became her. She loved the smell of the books from the shelves, the type on the pages, the sense that the world was an infinite but knowable place. Every fact she learned seemed to open another question, and for every question there was another book. She learned the card catalog. She never learned more than she needed to know. (c)