The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

by David Mitchell

I wish, he thinks, spoken words could be captured and kept in a locket.

The belly craves food, she thinks, the tongue craves water, the heart craves love and the mind craves stories.

Rented looms in unlit rooms tack-ratta-clack-ah, tack-ratta-clack-ah . . .

thought has no eyelids to close or ears to block,

West to east, the sky unrolls and rolls its atlas of clouds.

So little is actually worthy of either belief or disbelief. Better to strive to co-exist, than seek to disprove . . .’

This world, he thinks, contains just one masterpiece, and that is itself.