From the Bookshelf of Around the World in 80 Books…

... she said, “No doubt you’ve heard whispering about my marriage as I have yours.”

“Only a little.”

She shook her head doubtfully. “Ah well, it doesn’t matter. No one really knows how it is with anyone else. That’s the truth. That’s our only real retaliation when the gossip starts to churn.”

I thought of the humiliating jokes and rumours that came with the final days of Green Hills, and how they had seemed to ruin even what had been good. “Maybe that’s the secret to surviving all sorts of tr

... she said, “No doubt you’ve heard whispering about my marriage as I have yours.”

“Only a little.”

She shook her head doubtfully. “Ah well, it doesn’t matter. No one really knows how it is with anyone else. That’s the truth. That’s our only real retaliation when the gossip starts to churn.”

I thought of the humiliating jokes and rumours that came with the final days of Green Hills, and how they had seemed to ruin even what had been good. “Maybe that’s the secret to surviving all sorts of trouble, knowing who you are apart from it, I mean.”

“Yes.” She picked up the clock, turning it over in her hand as if to remind herself of its significance. “But like many things, it’s so much easier to admire that stance than to carry it out.”

The things of the world knew so much more than we did and lived them more truly. The thorn trees had no grief or fear. The constellations didn’t fight or hold themselves back, nor did the translucent hook of the moon. Everything was momentary and endless.