I read In the Blink of an Eye in 2020—a year already edited like a jump cut out of history. The world was in lockdown, the days blended into one another, and I found myself turning to books that peeled back the mechanics of creation. Murch’s little volume—deceptively slim—sat beside me like a quiet masterclass. I’d expected a technical handbook on film editing, but what I got was philosophy dressed in Final Cut.
Walter Murch, if you’ve never heard of him (in which case I envy your discovery), is the editor behind Apocalypse Now, The Conversation, and The English Patient. He’s also a rare creature—someone who writes with the elegance of a novelist, thinks like a philosopher, and cuts like a surgeon.
What makes In the Blink of an Eye so memorable isn’t just the insider anecdotes—though those are gold. It’s the way Murch elevates editing from technical craft to spiritual art. The central metaphor of the book is, as the title suggests, the blink—the moment the eye shuts for a microsecond. According to Murch, we blink not just to moisten our eyes but because it’s a natural punctuation of thought. An edit in a film, he argues, should follow the same logic. You cut not just to move the story along but to mirror the rhythms of the human mind.
I remember pausing, more than once, after certain paragraphs—much like a thoughtful editor—and re-reading. There’s a passage where Murch breaks down his “Rule of Six,” a checklist of values that guide each cut: emotion, story, rhythm, eye-trace, two-dimensional plane of screen, and three-dimensional space of action. Of these, he places “emotion” at the very top. The best cut, he insists, is the one that feels right—even if it violates spatial continuity.
That hit me hard. As a teacher of literature, I often wrestle with structure and clarity in writing. But Murch’s idea—emotion before logic, always—made me rethink my approach. Whether it’s cutting a scene or choosing the right verb, it’s all about what lingers in the reader’s or viewer’s gut.
And then there's the section where he talks about editing standing up—like a sculptor. It's a quirky image, but it underscores his vision of editing as a physical, intuitive act. It’s not about dragging and dropping clips—it’s about listening to the footage, sensing the breath of the story.
Reading this book in the silence of 2020 felt like watching behind the curtain of storytelling. I’d read similar books before, but In the Blink of an Eye had a soul. It wasn’t a manual; it was a meditation.
Later that year, when I rewatched The Conversation, I saw it differently. I could almost feel the cuts, the choices behind them—the pauses that created tension, the silences that shouted. Murch had not only explained editing—he’d rewired my perception of time and emotion in storytelling.
This isn’t just a book for editors. It’s a book for anyone who tells stories—writers, filmmakers, teachers, even daydreamers. It reminds us that storytelling is deeply human, rooted in the rhythms of thought, the weight of feeling, and yes, even in the blink of an eye.
So here’s my verdict, five years later: still unforgettable. If you’ve ever paused while reading a sentence, or rewound a movie scene just to feel it again, this book is your guide to that mysterious pulse. It doesn’t shout. It whispers. And those whispers stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page.