It was the view whenever I settled with my library copy of The Little Stranger during last Friday's lockdown. The mood that Sarah Waters creates around a decaying country house in 1940s England matched the uncertainty of the Boston day that had to be spent inside. I kept the volume of the television in the next room as low as I could and moved through long chapter after long chapter. The quiet was not unwelcome. The leisure, unexpected though it was and mandated by a host of authorities, was something I could handle. Living alone, I profited on Friday from being someone used to his own company. No one was going to be seated in that armchair across from my leather couch. At least not for another twenty-four hours. And then...welcome guest! Hospitality did its healing work. Air moved again in helpful ways.
No comments:
Post a Comment