"First there is the crane. See how lightly he threads, picking his way between the rocks in the river? Tossing, and tilting back his head. The crane believes that if he takes just one heavy step, the mountains will collapse and the ground will quiver and tress that have stood for a thousand years will tumble.
Second, the locust. All day the locust sits on a pebble, thinking that one day the flood will come and deluge the world, and all living things will be lost in the churn and the froth and black waves. That is why the locust keeps such a watchful eye on the high peaks, and the rainclouds that might be gathering there.
Third, the bat. The bat believes that the sky may fall and shatter, and all living things die. Thus the bat dangles from a high place, fluttering up the sky, and down to the ground and up to the sky again, checking that all is well.
That was the story, way back at the beginning. . .
. . .There was a dimness, which I later learned lasted many years. It took me that long to learn how to remember. I imagine a bird beginning as an "I". Slowly, the bird understands that it is a thing different from the "It" of its shell. The bird perceives its containment, and as its sensory organs begin to function it becomes aware of light and dark, cold and heat. As sensation sharpens, it seeks to break out. Then one day, it starts to struggle against the gluey gel and brittle walls, and cannot stop until it is out and alone in the vertiginous world, made of wonder, and fear, and colours, made of unknown things.
But even back then, I was wondering. Why am I alone?"Second, the locust. All day the locust sits on a pebble, thinking that one day the flood will come and deluge the world, and all living things will be lost in the churn and the froth and black waves. That is why the locust keeps such a watchful eye on the high peaks, and the rainclouds that might be gathering there.
Third, the bat. The bat believes that the sky may fall and shatter, and all living things die. Thus the bat dangles from a high place, fluttering up the sky, and down to the ground and up to the sky again, checking that all is well.
That was the story, way back at the beginning. . .
. . .There was a dimness, which I later learned lasted many years. It took me that long to learn how to remember. I imagine a bird beginning as an "I". Slowly, the bird understands that it is a thing different from the "It" of its shell. The bird perceives its containment, and as its sensory organs begin to function it becomes aware of light and dark, cold and heat. As sensation sharpens, it seeks to break out. Then one day, it starts to struggle against the gluey gel and brittle walls, and cannot stop until it is out and alone in the vertiginous world, made of wonder, and fear, and colours, made of unknown things.
This was a short verbatim taken from David Mitchell's Ghostwritten. This was one part that was really able to get to me. It is not that it revealed any really sad part of the story, rather that every single part of the book was doing it in a way that is able to squeeze my heart till the point it aches like hell. It is the style of writing that Mitchell uses that uses in his character(s) to tell the tale of his life- Through short little stories that makes little sense at first sight and using animals as a microcosm of his life's experience. By asking questions that really has no answer at all- From questions like "Why do people do the things they do to others?" to questions like "Why am I alone?" They repeat themselves not in an annoying way but more from a philosophical standpoint making the book impossible to put down but yet at the same time, difficult not to.
No comments:
Post a Comment