Autumn (Seasonal, #1)

by Ali Smith

But news right now is like a flock of speeded-up sheep running off the side of a cliff.

The lifelong friends, he said. We sometimes wait a lifetime for them.

tired of the news. I’m tired of the way it makes things spectacular that aren’t, and deals so simplistically with what’s truly appalling. I’m tired of the vitriol. I’m tired of the anger. I’m tired of the meanness. I’m tired of the selfishness. I’m tired of how we’re doing nothing to stop it. I’m tired of how we’re encouraging it. I’m tired of the violence there is and I’m tired of the violence that’s on its way, that’s coming, that hasn’t happened yet. I’m tired of liars. I’m tired of sanctified liars. I’m tired of how those liars have let this happen. I’m tired of having to wonder whether they did it out of stupidity or did it on purpose. I’m tired of lying governments. I’m tired of people not caring whether they’re being lied to any more. I’m tired of being made to feel this fearful. I’m tired of animosity. I’m tired of pusillanimosity.

Always be reading something, he said. Even when we’re not physically reading. How else will we read the world? Think of it as a constant.

It is possible, he said, to be in love not with someone but with their eyes. I mean, with how eyes that aren’t yours let you see where you are, who you are.

(Her mother: How old are you, Mr Gluck? Daniel: Nowhere near as old as I intend to be, Mrs Demand.)

When the state is not kind, he said.

Then the people are fodder, he said.

Time travel is real, Daniel said. We do it all the time. Moment to moment, minute to minute.

See how it’s deep in our animal nature, Daniel said. Not to see what’s happening right in front of our eyes.

There’s always, there’ll always be, more story. That’s what story is.