TransAtlantic

by Colum McCann

The essence of intelligence was to know when, or if, to expose even

The essence of intelligence was to know when, or if, to expose even the heart’s deep need for instruction.

It gladdened him, really, that the letters would become smoke: it was so much of what happened to one’s own history.

It gladdened him, really, that the letters would become smoke: it was so much of what happened to one’s own history.

He was aware that the essence of proper intelligence was the embrace of contradiction. And the recognition of complexity was to be balanced against the need for simplicity.

He was aware that the essence of proper intelligence was the embrace of contradiction. And the recognition of complexity was to be balanced against the need for simplicity.

There had been dozens of mirrors, too, but they had been hidden away so the men couldn’t see what had become of them.

There had been dozens of mirrors, too, but they had been hidden away so the men couldn’t see what had become of them.

In America you could lose everything except the memory of your original name.

In America you could lose everything except the memory of your original name.

What was a life anyway? An accumulation of small shelves of incident. Stacked at odd angles to each other.

What was a life anyway? An accumulation of small shelves of incident. Stacked at odd angles to each other.

Emily could sense the skip in her life, almost like the jumping of a pen. The flick of ink across a page. The great surprise of the next stroke. The boundlessness of it all. There was something in it akin to a journey across the sky, she thought, the sudden shock of new weather, a wall of sunshine, or a pelt of hail, or the emergence from a bank of cloud.

Emily could sense the skip in her life, almost like the jumping of a pen. The flick of ink across a page. The great surprise of the next stroke. The boundlessness of it all. There was something in it akin to a journey across the sky, she thought, the sudden shock of new weather, a wall of sunshine, or a pelt of hail, or the emergence from a bank of cloud.

I am not of the opinion that we become empty chairs, but we certainly end up making room for others along the way.

I am not of the opinion that we become empty chairs, but we certainly end up making room for others along the way.

We remember paths as much as we remember people.

We remember paths as much as we remember people.

When I sat down beside them, their silence was lined with tenderness. We have to admire the world for not ending on us.

When I sat down beside them, their silence was lined with tenderness. We have to admire the world for not ending on us.