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Charley couldn’t help it; I understood, even at my most bitter, that this was true. It was nothing he did, or at least nothing he did on purpose. It was simply what he was.
“This is reality, not story. Reality is built from facts.” “‘There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,’”
Words aren’t the same to me on a screen. I can see them, but I can’t connect with them. They’re too hard and bright; I float on top of them, like a leaf on the surface of a pond. Words on paper are quiet, and porous; in the right mood, I sink down between the gaps in the letters and they close over my head.
One of the things I happen to believe is that truth is always independent of the facts.”
Truth is a value, an interpretation of facts. Such a clever phrase.
“Well, it’s not surprising. History is every bit as much of a story as fiction.
Frankly, he’s so uniquely hideous he becomes rather decorative.
HahahHa omg 😆
“You say he is what he seems to be. Suppose that he is. Dull people sometimes are, just to give fair warning.
“I sort of thought I was part of your family.” “You’re the normal part.” “How dare you.” She glanced at me sideways.
know enough of the world now, to have almost lost the capacity of being much surprised by anything; but it is matter of some surprise to me, even now, that I can have been so easily thrown away at such an age. A child of excellent abilities, and with strong powers of observation, quick, eager, delicate, and soon hurt bodily or mentally, it seems wonderful to me that nobody should have made any sign in my behalf.’”
“It’s that as well,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t explain what David Copperfield was doing blindfolded and captive in a basement that shouldn’t exist.”
You’re the accidental products of too much emotional investment in fiction.”
The poor thing was the victim of one of many readers convinced Darcy’s haughtiness was the product of extreme shyness, and lived much of his life holed up in the study gripped with paranoia that the others were going to organize a dance.
“You’re home early,” he observed, without looking up. “You’re awake early,” Millie returned.
“Or late. You’re awake while the sun is in the sky, at any rate. Is there a crisis?”
“Not a whisper from the outside world. Uriah Heep seems his usual repulsive self. Heathcliff and the Darcys are squabbling over cravats or something again, which might need your intervention. Best not make any of them keep watch together; Austens and Brontës are fundamentally opposed.” He yawned, stretched, and rose to his feet. “You’re right; this is far too early for me to be awake. Would you like a drink?”
“There’s nothing convenient about having one’s eternal soul stashed in your wardrobe.”
Hahahaah oh Dorian….
He was too schooled in seeing other points of view to hold to his own.
“In that case,” Frankenstein said, “be very careful about the answers you chase right now. Do not drink of the intoxicating draft; dash it from your lips before you taste its true bitterness. Questions are dangerous, and their answers are more dangerous yet. But you won’t stop. Nor will I. Nor will your brother, I suspect, though he and I have never met. It’s in our natures to chase the secrets of the universe.”
Do not drink of the intoxicating draft; dash it from your lips before you taste its true bitterness. Questions are dangerous, and their answers are more dangerous yet.
Or do you go after the facts at all cost?” “Lately, it seems I’m going after stories.” “Well,” he said softly. “I rest my case. Those are the most dangerous of all.”
It couldn’t hurt to look. “It always hurts to look,” Frankenstein said. It startled me, until I realized I had used the phrase earlier. “Sometimes it even blinds. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“Needs must, old thing. Dorian’s been watching your student’s computer. That’s probably an even greater invasion of privacy.” “Yes, but Dorian isn’t doing it naked.” “Never assume that.”
Never assume…
“Our Uriah says he can still feel him. But he might just be trying to make sure we don’t break the deal and put him back. I trust Uriah Heep about as far as you could throw him.” “As I could throw him?” “I’m jolly strong.
I trust Uriah Heep about as far as you could throw him.” “As I could throw him?” “I’m jolly strong.
“He said to tell you that there can be no arrangement as long as this street is allied with Dr. Sutherland. My master and Dr. Sutherland are archnemeses.” “What?” Charley half laughed, half frowned. “I don’t have an archnemesis.” “With all due respect, Dr. Sutherland,” Eric said, “I don’t think you get to choose.” “Possibly not,” he acknowledged. “But I think I should probably have been informed.”
Nobody likes to be reminded of their own fictionality.”
That’s how happy endings work. For there to be a restoration of order, there has to be a sacrifice.”
“And where you are now is better?” “Oh, much better, Mr. Sutherland,” Eric said. “The new place has rats as well as spiders. And the damp is ever so much more penetrating.”
Eric/Uriah is such a mensch
There are coincidences in life, not in books. Everything in a book is placed there for a reason.
Word
You know the worst thing about Kipling’s poems? They stick in your head, and it’s as though you have a racist bigot following you around talking to you about Mandalay.”
I am cackling
“Stay right here,” I told him. “And for the love of God, if you can’t read it back soon, then get out.” I didn’t wait for him to reply. I ran. It occurred to me as I did so that he couldn’t both stay there and get out, but too bad. He was smart enough to work it out.
“I trusted you.” “No you didn’t,” he said. “You aren’t a fool. You just trusted that you were cleverer than me.
Such suave musings
It’s. Not. Fair. I know that life isn’t. But stories are. Or if they’re not fair, they’re not fair with purpose.
Things that happened because of Charley’s abilities had always been something of a dream before. They happened, we dealt with them, and then I went back to reality. This was painfully real now. There were forms to fill out and everything.
“He’s okay,” I said. I had meant to rush to reassure them, but at the sight of them my throat closed up. “He’s still unconscious. There’s a doctor waiting to talk to you. But he’s alive.” That was the least reassuring reassurance ever, but Dad managed an encouraging nod. “Well… good.”
Dads, amirite?
“Every supporting character is the protagonist of his own story,” Dickens replied, somewhat haughtily.
“But I have no need to be understood by you, and I certainly have no time. I’ve been planning for this moment for so many years, and it’s here. Goodbye, Rob. It was nice of you to call.”
Lydia was too busy to be a prolific reader these days, but her childhood was rich with story: the same picture books that Rob had grown up with, but also Polynesian tricksters and gods and creation myths from her Māori grandfather, Olympic gods and heroes and monsters from her Greek mother. She knew spirits and fairies and shape-shifters. She knew, although she had never expected to see, the mark of unworldly things in the world.
“Wait a minute!” Mum protested. She tore her eyes from the shadow. “There is no way we’re leaving you or Charley when the world is ending. Forget about it.” “She’s right,” Dad said. “God knows I’m still trying to work out what else we are, but we’re a family.” My family believes in family. I went through phases in my teenage years when that was embarrassing beyond words, but at that moment my throat tightened. Now, of all times, my eyes felt hot. Again.
Look, I realize I haven’t done a very good job of looking after him so far—” “Who says you haven’t done a good job?” Mum said. She actually sounded surprised. “Well, you did,” I reminded her.
“Dear God.” Mum stared at me for a moment and then, without warning, hugged me tightly. We didn’t hug very much in our family. The unexpected rush of warmth almost broke me. “I’m so sorry.”
I hesitated just a moment longer. “Is that what Charley thinks of me?” I asked, against my will. “An intelligent man in my own way?” “Of course not,” Holmes replied at once. “It is what I think of you. Your brother thinks you the best and wisest man in this world. As I said, emotions are antagonistic to clear reasoning.”
It’s never a good idea to listen to a Uriah Heep, you know.
“I don’t know. Something. Where’s Millie?” “The Street, I assume. I can’t get her on the phone. I sent Dickens and Holmes to her.” He frowned. “You sent whom?”
“I mean it, Dorian. I won’t have you causing a commotion in the pub like a common drunk. It’s beneath you.” “You’d be surprised,” Dorian said, “what may or may not be beneath me.”
I want to stand with the strongest party, because I’m afraid to stand against them.”
I find one can live so much better without kindness than one can live with boredom.”
He leaned forward, adjusted the painting under his arm, and kissed her very gently on the lips. It was a kiss from Dorian Gray, so it was light and soulless and utterly thrilling.
“I may not have morals, but I do have standards.”
“That faint breeze?” I thought I could, now that he mentioned it. It was cool on my face. “Like a draft.” “Exactly.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “A draft from another world.” “Someone left reality open.”
