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Jul. 29th, 2002 11:51 pmI can't recall the last time a book actually caused me physical pain.
I finished Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow about fifteen minutes ago, wishing - for the last hundred pages - that I didn't have to keep reading. Pierced straight through the soul. Jesus, it hurt. I feel turned inside out.
If I mentioned this book to you in any way, over the last few days, and gave the impression that you ought to read it... I don't know. Maybe you ought. It was certainly a remarkable treatise on the tragedy of innocence and the meaning of suffering, and obviously deeply moving, and I think an important book. And I'd kind of like company right now in my feeling of turned-out emptiness. But I'm not exactly sure that I want to have the responsibility of causing you to read it. If that makes sense.
I'm being cryptic, and at the present moment I'm not sure I'm capable of much else. Certainly I'm too stunned for deep reflection. I'll confine myself to saying that in Matthew 10:29 there is precious little spiritual comfort for the sparrow.
I finished Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow about fifteen minutes ago, wishing - for the last hundred pages - that I didn't have to keep reading. Pierced straight through the soul. Jesus, it hurt. I feel turned inside out.
If I mentioned this book to you in any way, over the last few days, and gave the impression that you ought to read it... I don't know. Maybe you ought. It was certainly a remarkable treatise on the tragedy of innocence and the meaning of suffering, and obviously deeply moving, and I think an important book. And I'd kind of like company right now in my feeling of turned-out emptiness. But I'm not exactly sure that I want to have the responsibility of causing you to read it. If that makes sense.
I'm being cryptic, and at the present moment I'm not sure I'm capable of much else. Certainly I'm too stunned for deep reflection. I'll confine myself to saying that in Matthew 10:29 there is precious little spiritual comfort for the sparrow.
