31 August 2019, around 10.02.
What was most interesting was the sense and use of time – the few hours, days, weeks passing from the spur to the flight – and the haphazard visions of memory run headlong.
It (sc. This Tilting World) echoed, in propinquity,1 the promise of the narrators of The Glass Eye or Heartberries to create a book for a particular audience, an audience not the reader, not this reader, but an impossible reader belonging to the past, not the future.
- One of the dangers of reading at random. [↩]