“Captain Vimes believed in logic, in much the same way as a man in a desert believed in ice –i.e., it was something he really needed, but this just wasn’t the world for it.”
IT IS BEWILDERING INDEED when One considers that, at this Time Some Years Ago, it was Only the Year Prior to This. Yet I do believe that Day was Yesterday, no? Perhaps it will All be Clearer To-morrow, when the Clarity of a Surfeit hangs Heavy Over my Person.
“Why go low? It is a counter-intuitive action, running against the grain of sense and the gradient of the spirit. Deliberately to place something in the underland is almost always a strategy to shield it from easy view. Actively to retrieve somethin from the underland almost always requires effortful work. The underland’s difficulty of access has long made it a means of symbolizing what cannot openly be said or seen: loss, grief, the mind’s obscure depths, and what Elaine Scarry calls the ‘deep subterranean fact’ of physical pain.”
- Robert Macfarlane, Underland: A Deep Time Journey.
With the end of the year fast approaching, there’s always this rush to finish your goodreads challenge or a certain number of pages or any other goal you’ve set for yourself, reading wise. And I just want to tell you: breathe deeply, it’s okay if you don’t reach those goals. It’s okay if you’re one book or 50 below your challenge or if you’ve only managed to read a book or a chapter this year.
We tend to get so competitive with ourselves, with others, that we often forget that the whole point of reading is to have fun. Escape the world. Live somewhere else for a while. Find peace or meaning. It’s not a competition or a race or a struggle. It shouldn’t be stressful or anxiety inducing. And if it gets to that point, it’s okay to take a step back and reevaluate.
And always, always remember that you’ve been a reader since you read that very first page and realised “man, I love this”. And no one can take that away from you.
“The snow lay thin and apologetic over the world. That wide grey sweep was the lawn, with the straggling trees of the orchard still dark beyond; the white squares were the roofs of the garage, the old barn, the rabbit hutches, the chicken coops. Further back there were only the flat fields of Dawson’s farm, dimly white-striped. All the broad sky was grey, full of more snow that refused to fall. There was no colour anywhere.”
“She knew perfectly well that things like parties and best friends and going to tea with people were fine for everyone else, because everyone else was “inside” - inside some sort of invisible magic circle. But Anna herself was outside. And so these things had nothing to do with her. It was as simple as that.”