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The air began to itch around him as he took his first hesitant steps..Loose pebbles were snatched into the flux, leaves plucked from bush and tree..the raptures of the loom dividing the matter of the Fugue into strands, then drawing these up into the air and knotting them-thoseknots in their turn filling the air like countless insects, until the final rapture called them into the carpet..strands leaping up around him

when you go back to the kingdom. Whether it's with the carpet or without it,I want to be with you.Now she looked up,and his dark face was that of an accused man awaiting verdict;hanging on every flicker of her lash.

Here was a misic which did not imitate any natural sound-it was not bird or whale song,nor tree nor stream-but instead expressed experiences which lay between words:the off-beat of the heart, where intellect could not go.

While she spoke she was idly locking and unlocking her fingers,or so it seemed,until Cal's eyes lignered on the exercise for two to three seconds.Then it became apparent that she was passing her fingers through the palms of the other hand,left through right,right through left,defying their solidity.The motion was so casual..that Cal was by no means certain he was interpreting it correctly.

Last time he'd set eyes on this place it had been from a bird's eye view...it was as if a suitcase,packed in great haste,had been upturned,its contents scattered in hopeless disarray..justa random assembling of spots the Seerking had loved enough to snatch from destruction..fragments of the Kingdom ceded to the Fugue behind humanity's back..haunted corners of familiar rooms that would neither be missed nor mourned..

I still can't absorb the idea that there are poeple frozen in time and space inside a carpet.And what are they doing? They’re hiding. They’re discriminated. Their life time is wasted. What is the use of life if one is not doing something? I hope I'm wrong and misunderstood the main idea.

To Sell Is To Own (I hope there is a good reason why there are seven)

"He had something each of them wanted almost as much as life itself:and perhaps more than wealth. Mighty they were. But today, was he not mightier" and I wonder what do they want from a carpet all the creatures in it are frozen in space and time?And why seven bidders?

done

"It was what his mother would have done in the circumstances.Boiled some fresh water,warmed the pot,and counted out the spoonfuls of tea.Setting domestic order against the chaos, in the hope of winning some temporary reprieve from the vale of tears"...now I want some hot tea :(

I'm not sure I understand some parts like...Shadwell wants to sell the carpet? so why wouldn't he let Gilchrist's Secondhand Furniture Warhouse do the selling? why he took it from the warehouse?

They're watching the same dream? that's cute :)

a knotting and weaving of countless strands, dyed in a hundered colors,carrying a charge of energy that so dazzled the sleepers they had to shield their mind's eyes.

They shared too the same determination, fueled perhaps by an unspoken fearthat they'd lose sight of the mystery they'd dreamed of for so long.Ors was he kidding himself, reading lines from his own story into her face?Was it just his eagerness to find an ally that made him see similarities between them?

how many time this Mad Mooney was defeated and hurt...how many more? I'm enjoying Barker's ink drawings for each chapter. I wish he had illustrated all of his characters. There is nothing like a writer who can show everyone what he sees.

Whenever we mention the name of any prophet,we always say"peace be upon him" as a way of showing our respect.We do this in writing and in speaking any prophet's name.

...but because he wanted the intimacy of a secret shared.This Suzanna was like no woman he had ever met before. Ther was no facade, no games-palying.They were, in one night of confesions-and this sad morning-suddenly companions in a mystery which though it had brought him closer to death than he'd ever been,he'd happily endure if it meant he kept her company.

Will there be any role played by the train later in this story?

why Immacolata killed her sisters? and why Immacolata and Shadwell are now pursuing The Fugue? Why not before?

I love how the author cooks his story on a low candle "He watched her from the window, counting her steps until she turned the corner. Then, with his lover out of sight, he went in search of his heart desire"

إنتهت

The true Wonderland was not like that, he knew. It was as much shadow as sunlight, and its mysteries could only be unveiled when your wits were about used up and your mind close to cracking.That was why he trembled now, for that was how he felt. like a man whose head was about to split.

Looking back, it seemed he'd spent half his school days gazing out of the window, transported by a line of poetry whose meaning he couldn't quite unearth, or the sound of someone singing in a distant classroom, into a world more pungent and more remote than the one he knew.A world whose scents were carried to his nostrils by winds mysteriously warm in a chill December,whose creatures paid him homage on certain nights

Not just because she alone could track the Fugue by the rhythm of its woven life, but because to wait another hour in her company, bathing in the scent of her breath,was na agony he'd gladly endure-For her, the power his desire lent her remained a diverting curiosity

Her eyes had lost their gold; become silvery.Motes of the menstruum,turning like dust in a sunbeam, dropped from her lashes and evaporated inches from his face. He'd never seen her like this before, so close to exposing her feelings.

The only real harm was to his dignity, and that was seldom fatal...The weave was playing dumb.There was no telltale tremor in the rows of knots,no sign that hidden heights and depths were about to make themeselves known.Nor was there any sign from the others that they'd seen anything miraculous.

This book is still not a movie? "There was a world below him. And he was suddenly a bird, a wingless bird hovering for a breathless instant on a balmy sweet scented wind, sole witness to the miracle sleeping below. There was more to claim his eye with every thump of his heart."

The dreams are all the evidence I need. I was there once, blissfully happy. And though I cannot tell you how, I believe I will be there again.

Done

Laughter is a convulsion of the face, and a convulsed person does not rule himself, he's ruled by something that is neither will nor reason. A human being who does not rule himself cannot be considered beatiful. (now I know why sometimes I see some beautiful people ugly!)