Utopia Avenue

by David Mitchell

Is the past tense a trick of the mind? Is sanity a matrix of these tricks?

Writing is a forest of faint paths, of dead ends, hidden pits, unresolved chords, words that won’t rhyme. You can be lost in there for hours. Days, even.

blues is a language you can’t lie in.’

True love is the act of trying to love. Effortless love is as dubious as effortless gardening…”

“Marriage is an anchor, lads. Stops you drifting onto rocks, but stops you voyaging as well.”

“The best pop songs are art,” says Jasper. “Making art is already a political act. The artist rejects the dominant version of the world. The artist proposes a new version. A subversion. It’s there in the etymology. Tyrants are right to fear art.” “And music scares ’em shitless,” says Dean. “It’s the hooks. Once music’s in yer, it’s in for good. The best music’s a kind o’ thinking. Or a kind o’ rethinking. It doesn’t follow orders.” Bloody hell, thinks Dean. I sound intelligent.

Victory has a thousand fathers, but failure is an orphan.

“My Dutch grandfather used to say, ‘If you don’t know what to do, do nothing for eight days.’ ” Dean asked, “Why eight?” “Less than eight is haste. More than eight is procrastination. Eight days is long enough for the world to shuffle the deck and deal you another hand.”

“So when we look at a thing,” says Dean, “we change what it is.” “Which is exactly why we never see things as they are,” says Jerry. “Only as we are.”