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“Her egg, when it arrives, is perfection. The yolk is soft, the white is firm. How is it, how is your egg, my angel, tenderly asks the kindly not-so-young woman. Perfect, says Fran, with emphasis. Perfect, she repeats. Yes, perfection. She reads the headlines and the lead story, moves to the continuation of the story on page two. She feels a powerful surge of happiness, a sense that all is well with the world, that she is in the right place at the right time, for this moment in time. She has had a good night, comfortable, pain-free, in a big white wide premier bed. And now she is at one with these munching people, she enjoys their enjoyment, as she spoons her chaste and perfect egg. And she is at one, through her almost-reliable friend of a newspaper, with the miscellaneous events of the turning world.”
― The Dark Flood Rises
― The Dark Flood Rises
“NO TOLERANT PERSON OR SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT IS AN ADVOCATE FOR LOVE OR LIFE OR PEACE.”
― Take Me With You
― Take Me With You
“It’s been a very long two months. She’d been a lot younger, two months ago. She’d been walking steadily on a plateau, for years, through her sixties into her seventies, but now she’s suddenly taken a step down. That’s what happens. She knows all about it. She’s been warned many times about this downwards step, this lower shelf. It’s not a cliff of fall, but it’s a descent to a new kind of plateau, to a lower level. You hope to stay there on the flat for a few more years, but you may not be so lucky.”
― The Dark Flood Rises
― The Dark Flood Rises
“Increasingly the case.”
― Fire on the Fells
― Fire on the Fells
“Everywhere you went you heard the water, the same way you had always heard your breathing, and would later hear the highway, or trains, or women’s voices. But the sound was so much a part of everything that you couldn’t hear it at all then. This is what I took for granted: The sound of the water. The light on the water, day or night. The way you could look out for so long you couldn’t tell the difference between the water and the sky. The sand that blew onto the highway in sheets and formed small dunes against the curbs. The smell of the water. The tough grass that grew from nothing.”
― The Patron Saint of Liars
― The Patron Saint of Liars
sslyb’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at sslyb’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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