First of all, sluice is just such a great word. :)
I'm in sort of a mood today-maybe partly because I just finished Freedom. I was not enjoying it by the 75 percent-ish mark--the tone was wearing on me, especially the Joey POV--and I was ready to put it down for a bit. But then comes the sneaking, stealthy, catch-in-my-throat, redemptive ending and I was just so damn glad to have read the book. Like fall on my knees glad. So anyway, I'm still processing it all.
My point--I'm reading this, pitch perfect as always, and I'm sitting here thinking why does he/she want to be that bit of sun at the end of the day. Is it enough? Is it telegraphing that it's Too Much, as in I want to be Every Single Thing? Is it standing in the background, a hint of a presence? Right now, with my wits not at all about me, thank you very much Jonathan Franzen, I'm just not sure.
Except of this: In the telling, there is beauty, Sarah style.
I feel the Sunday drive in this, the light in the trees, the guitar on the stereo, just enjoying the road ahead, sighs begone like the moon behind. Just gorgeous, visceral.
Reading this was like driving along on a country road in a little sports car....such vivid imagery. I love the word choices here - reciprocating, sluice, slip-sliding, lovely assonance...and Rickenbackers chiming - so lovely and surreal. First-rate!
Travis, you really can't beat that time of day. It's my favorite time for walks.
Jennifer, ack, I caught you post-Franzen! Sorry about that. ;)
I'm glad you stuck it out with the book, though. The Joey sections were my least favorite, too, but that ending had me crying on every page. And I'm actually not a big crier when it comes to novels. But to me, he wrote such an authentic portrait of these characters, that I genuinely felt I was living that moment (and you know which one I mean). It's like he zoomed into the very crux of their connection, and kind of gave me vertigo in the process. Gah, I don't know how he did that.
About the poem...I think that bit of sun is so small and fleeting, but so deep, too. I was inspired to write this, because I pass this line of evergreens on the way to my parents' house, and I genuinely look forward to the days when I drive by there at dusk. The thwip-thwip-thwip of that sunlight passing through the trunks and boughs as I rush by is just about enough to make my evening. Anyway, to be that kind of presence for someone--it's kind of limited and expansive, I guess. Just like you said. With room for interpretation in between. :)
Thank you so much, Jennifer (and I meant to write you an email back...and still will...just ask Cat how awful I've been lately! ;)).
Cat, you captured the feel I was going for exactly. Now why am I not surprised by that? :) Thanks for being my passenger in this one, birthday girl.
Kay, I tend to torture myself over those word choices (until they're sometimes overcooked), so it's wonderful to know they're appreciated! I did want them to have an assonance. To sort of sound like streaming sunlight. Thank you so much for picking up on that with all your typical insight and kindness!
Nice details, Sarah - the reciprocating trees as evergreen blinds, the moon a glimmer of pink. The light bouncing off that chrome almost hurts my eyes.
I have seen enough of the sun disappearing on me. Let me be the evergreen. Maybe one day I will play a trick on the sun and mover four inches to the left.
Okay, Sarah? After that first email, you owe me nothing. Ever. :)
Living that moment is exactly it. The fact that he could make it like that, after so much else, or probably because of so much else, is just impossibly brilliant. To go from not really liking them so much, or maybe just feeling tired of them, to a with-every-fiber-of-my-being rooting for them, well, consider me the puppet in his deft hands.
first, what everyone else said about the word choices. sounds like the hum of tires through an open window.
then the poem. "i'd like to be" those tiny, fleeting moments, glints and glimmers, everyday brilliance - awesome. and it made me think, too - how driving through that kind of light, through "evergreen blinds" really does tend to "sluice your eye from the grade of the road" - it's beautiful and it's harder to see - so you tend to wake up more, be more aware of everything. i'd like to be a thing like that too - something that sharpens the senses, puts someone right in the moment.
and "the moon but a glimmer in the pink of your mirror" - do i hear nick drake?
Karen, thank you! That's the kind of almost-pain I like, I guess. ;)
Mark, to be an evergreen...well, that's another poem, right? (and can I call you the walking pine, then? :))
Jennifer, no, I still owe you one. Actually, that's not right--I still want to write you one. More to say about your writing, and mine, too. :) (We're leaving in the morning for a trip to California; it's my brother's wedding weekend. So I've been getting ready for that, plus my computer took this opportunity to go on the fritz. Blech.)
I second the puppet comment. He's a master manipulator, but he does it with truth, and not any sleight-of-hand. And that's why the payoff is so profoundly moving.
Joaquin, methinks you do. :) (Didn't exactly plan that, but when I saw it there afterward, it did occur to me...pink moon gonna get you all...)
Those moments of immersion--sharp, poignant, and all-too-fleeting--are precious, indeed. They make us feel, and not just understand, how sacred it all is.
15 comments:
This evokes the "telling detail" so well.
I love that time of dusk. Especially when out hunting.
First of all, sluice is just such a great word. :)
I'm in sort of a mood today-maybe partly because I just finished Freedom. I was not enjoying it by the 75 percent-ish mark--the tone was wearing on me, especially the Joey POV--and I was ready to put it down for a bit. But then comes the sneaking, stealthy, catch-in-my-throat, redemptive ending and I was just so damn glad to have read the book. Like fall on my knees glad. So anyway, I'm still processing it all.
My point--I'm reading this, pitch perfect as always, and I'm sitting here thinking why does he/she want to be that bit of sun at the end of the day. Is it enough? Is it telegraphing that it's Too Much, as in I want to be Every Single Thing? Is it standing in the background, a hint of a presence? Right now, with my wits not at all about me, thank you very much Jonathan Franzen, I'm just not sure.
Except of this: In the telling, there is beauty, Sarah style.
As always. :)
I feel the Sunday drive in this, the light in the trees, the guitar on the stereo, just enjoying the road ahead, sighs begone like the moon behind. Just gorgeous, visceral.
@Jen, HI JEN! I miss you!
You, too, Cat!! I've been horrid about keeping up, especially over summer. I hope you are well!
Reading this was like driving along on a country road in a little sports car....such vivid imagery. I love the word choices here - reciprocating, sluice, slip-sliding, lovely assonance...and Rickenbackers chiming - so lovely and surreal. First-rate!
Charles, thank you kindly! :)
Travis, you really can't beat that time of day. It's my favorite time for walks.
Jennifer, ack, I caught you post-Franzen! Sorry about that. ;)
I'm glad you stuck it out with the book, though. The Joey sections were my least favorite, too, but that ending had me crying on every page. And I'm actually not a big crier when it comes to novels. But to me, he wrote such an authentic portrait of these characters, that I genuinely felt I was living that moment (and you know which one I mean). It's like he zoomed into the very crux of their connection, and kind of gave me vertigo in the process. Gah, I don't know how he did that.
About the poem...I think that bit of sun is so small and fleeting, but so deep, too. I was inspired to write this, because I pass this line of evergreens on the way to my parents' house, and I genuinely look forward to the days when I drive by there at dusk. The thwip-thwip-thwip of that sunlight passing through the trunks and boughs as I rush by is just about enough to make my evening. Anyway, to be that kind of presence for someone--it's kind of limited and expansive, I guess. Just like you said. With room for interpretation in between. :)
Thank you so much, Jennifer (and I meant to write you an email back...and still will...just ask Cat how awful I've been lately! ;)).
Cat, you captured the feel I was going for exactly. Now why am I not surprised by that? :) Thanks for being my passenger in this one, birthday girl.
Kay, I tend to torture myself over those word choices (until they're sometimes overcooked), so it's wonderful to know they're appreciated! I did want them to have an assonance. To sort of sound like streaming sunlight. Thank you so much for picking up on that with all your typical insight and kindness!
Nice details, Sarah - the reciprocating trees as evergreen blinds, the moon a glimmer of pink. The light bouncing off that chrome almost hurts my eyes.
I have seen enough of the sun disappearing on me. Let me be the evergreen. Maybe one day I will play a trick on the sun and mover four inches to the left.
Okay, Sarah? After that first email, you owe me nothing. Ever. :)
Living that moment is exactly it. The fact that he could make it like that, after so much else, or probably because of so much else, is just impossibly brilliant. To go from not really liking them so much, or maybe just feeling tired of them, to a with-every-fiber-of-my-being rooting for them, well, consider me the puppet in his deft hands.
first, what everyone else said about the word choices. sounds like the hum of tires through an open window.
then the poem. "i'd like to be" those tiny, fleeting moments, glints and glimmers, everyday brilliance - awesome. and it made me think, too - how driving through that kind of light, through "evergreen blinds" really does tend to "sluice your eye from
the grade of the road" - it's beautiful and it's harder to see - so you tend to wake up more, be more aware of everything. i'd like to be a thing like that too - something that sharpens the senses, puts someone right in the moment.
and "the moon but a glimmer
in the pink of
your mirror" - do i hear nick drake?
Karen, thank you! That's the kind of almost-pain I like, I guess. ;)
Mark, to be an evergreen...well, that's another poem, right? (and can I call you the walking pine, then? :))
Jennifer, no, I still owe you one. Actually, that's not right--I still want to write you one. More to say about your writing, and mine, too. :) (We're leaving in the morning for a trip to California; it's my brother's wedding weekend. So I've been getting ready for that, plus my computer took this opportunity to go on the fritz. Blech.)
I second the puppet comment. He's a master manipulator, but he does it with truth, and not any sleight-of-hand. And that's why the payoff is so profoundly moving.
Joaquin, methinks you do. :) (Didn't exactly plan that, but when I saw it there afterward, it did occur to me...pink moon gonna get you all...)
Those moments of immersion--sharp, poignant, and all-too-fleeting--are precious, indeed. They make us feel, and not just understand, how sacred it all is.
Thanks for feeling that here, too. :)
"Just that bit of chrome
to bounce off
the shield" speaks it all. Rejuvenating and refreshing words :)
on a late afternoon drive
the moon but a glimmer
in the pink of
your mirror
I love this, Sarah, and the whole feel of the world at the moment you evoke...
You just keep getting it right. So nice to come by and see that you are still here, still strong!
Ruth
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