Ned Hayes's Blog, page 133
December 24, 2013
“In the morning, the sky is dark and gravid with snow. We...
“In the morning, the sky is dark and gravid with snow. We depart early on the White Road. The monastery fades away behind us, like a smudge on an oilcloth window, until it winks from sight.
“We could be in London within the fortnight,” Moten declares. “A map I copied shows that one may quickly travel on the White Road between Peterborough and London, given fast steeds, mild weather, and good luck.”
No one has the temerity to point out to Moten that our steeds are slow cart horses, the sky stinks of snow, and our luck runs counter to the dice. A journey of this distance could take many weeks. And as I count them, we have only seventeen days left to make London.”
C.S. Lewis reviews Tolkien’s The Hobbit in 1937 (Paris Review)...
C.S. Lewis reviews Tolkien’s The Hobbit in 1937 (Paris Review) The Hobbit “belongs to a very small class of books which have nothing in common save that each admits us to a world of its own—a world that seems to have been going on long before we stumbled into it but which, once found by the right reader, becomes indispensable to him.” http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2013/11/19/c-s-lewis-reviews-the-hobbit-1937/
"I glance swiftly down at the leaves open on the tables. Each...
"I glance swiftly down at the leaves open on the tables. Each lectern holds an ancient book and a new. The ink wells are covered, the quills sharpened to a nib, and the books wait here with half-complete lines of drying ink. As always, these monks work to inscribe the secrets of the ancients."
— from the novel Sinful Folk
PHOTO: “Library in the monastery of the San Francisco Church [Lima, Peru]” (Photo Jason Pearce)
December 23, 2013
"Last spring, after Nell was killed, I knew the village was no...
"Last spring, after Nell was killed, I knew the village was no longer safe: my haven was gone. But I had only a few months to wait until Christian was ten years of age, and then he could claim his birthright. One winter more and then we would have left together.
But now my son is gone—alone, without me—where I cannot follow until my ending comes in its turn.
Breathing deeply, I try to still my fear as I stare down at my wet feet in rags trudging through the snow. I step onto the sunken, snowy track, and I move beyond the fallen yew. “
"The road ahead carries a veil of wavering air-borne snow that...
"The road ahead carries a veil of wavering air-borne snow that moves like rippling surf above its smooth surface. I squint into the cold air. Those are the towers of Cambridge town. We are come almost to the eight colleges and courtyards of those great halls of learning. Word has been sent to Court, the knight tells me, and soon we will be greeted there. But all of this still seems as a dream to me."
— from the novel Sinful Folk
December 22, 2013
"London town is a great and stinking warren. The smokes of many...
"London town is a great and stinking warren. The smokes of many fires creep around our ankles and our cart, and a stench rises from the open sewers in the lanes: a reek that rivals anything from our cart. The streets twist unevenly between leaning houses made of wood: only one cart may fit between the walls, with people rushing all around. Like all the world we live in, this is a fallen place."
— from the novel Sinful Folk
December 21, 2013
“Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark...
“Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark river. I pull a heavy sheepskin around my legs and stretch my feet toward the fire. Despite the cold, Liam plays his flute, the sound whistling through the night. Soon my eyes are heavy, my head nodding.
I open my eyes at the deep melodious baritone of Salvius’s voice telling a tale. Liam’s flute is silent now. I have heard Salvius tell many tales on market days; he is known for his memory of wandering minstrels and mummers who visit us at Whitsunday and through Midsummer. Salvius is a mockingbird: he can give a fair charade of the rhythmic tones of any wandering bard or any noble of the Royal Court.
In this darkness, his eyes catch the light like a cat in the night.”
— from the novel Sinful Folk
PHOTO: 0rient-express: Milky Way as seen from Yosemite | by Sapna Reddy.
"Words never mean what we want them to mean."
- Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated (via quotes-shape-us)
