I thought of these gems I posted towards the very beginning of this Tumblog:
And when her house was empty again, Quoyle gone and the teapot scalded and put away on the shelf, the floor mopped, she went outside to hang Quoyle’s damp blanket, to take in yesterday’s forgotten, drenty wash. Although it was still soft September, the bitter storm that took Jesson boiled up around her. Eyes blinked from the glare; stiff fingers pulled at the legs of Jack’s pants, scraped the fur of frost growing out of the blue blouse. Then inside again to fold and iron, but always in earshot the screech of raftering ice beyond the point, the great bergs toppling with the pressure, the pans rearing hundreds of feet high under the white moon and cracking, cracking assunder.”
—The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
I’m a sucker for language and told my wife yesterday that The Shipping News is my favorite book. So, it’s officially supplanted Gatsby I suppose. Never thought I’d say that.
