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272 pages, Hardcover
First published October 2, 2014
His song is everywhere, is scattered like his flesh. He sings through beaks. He bleats with the lamb and howls with the wolf. He sings with the breeze through the treetops and the grass. He sings the petals of daisies, the berries of hawthorn, the taste of pears. He sings these bright late butterflies, and the dark new chrysalis where the butterfly will grow again. He sings the geese's glorious v-shaped migration and return. He sings the rays of the sun, the falling of the rain, the running of all water through Northumberland and the endless flowing of the Tyne. He sings us, us, us. He sings our flesh, our blog our bones and breath. He comes and goes.
It's like I'm this daisy and it's like the thing that's in the daisy is the same as the thing that's in me. The thing that pushes it up from the earth and pushes the petals out and makes the pollen glow. It's like the thing that pushes the song out from those birds and make them spread their wings and makes the salmon swim...Oh, Claire, how the hell do I know?
'And will you love me always, Claire? Will you? Say yes, Claire! Say it fast.'
“Bliddy right. He can tek the two of us.”
“Ding dang dong.”
“Ding dang diddly diddly ding dang dong.” (p. 239)