It Is Thanks To My Evening Reading

It Seems To Me Then As If All The Moments Of Our Life Occupy The Same Space, As If Future Events Already Existed And Were Only Waiting For Us To Find Our Way To Them At Last, Just As When We Have Accepted An Invitation We Duly Arrive In A Certain House At A Given Time.

And So They Are Ever Returning To Us, The Dead. At Times They Come Back From The Ice More Than Seven Decades Later And Are Found At The Edge Of The Moraine, A Few Polished Bones And A Pair Of Hobnailed Boots.

The Noonday Demon Explores The Subterranean Realms Of An Illness Which Is On The Point Of Becoming Endemic, And Which More Than Anything Else Mirrors The Present State Of Our Civilization And Its Profound Discontents. As Wide-ranging As It Is Incisive, This Astonishing Work Is A Testimony Both To The Muted Suffering Of Millions And To The Great Courage It Must Have Taken The Author To Set His Mind Against It.

How Happily, Said Austerlitz, Have I Sat Over A Book In The Deepening Twilight Until I Could No Longer Make Out The Words And My Mind Began To Wander, And How Secure Have I Felt Seated At The Desk In My House In The Dark Night, Just Watching The Tip Of My Pencil In The Lamplight Following Its Shadow, As If Of Its Own Accord And With Perfect Fidelity, While That Shadow Moved Regularly From Left To Right, Line By Line, Over The Ruled Paper.

A Wonderful Story Collection Set Between One Place And Another And Shaped By A Fearless Sense Of Comedy.