April 9th, 2013

koitsu benkei bridge

April, when all things grow thin

The Kitchen Table stack throws up a gem-- Isak Dineson's Winter Tales. Half way through and each story is a delight. This is odd. She wrote them in the dark days of the Nazi occupation, but so far they're all immensely genial. I was a little disappointed by Last Tales and even by my reread of Seven Gothic, but these hit the spot exactly.

Her punctuation OTOH would make me scream if the stories weren't so engrossing. Never has the comma been worked so hard, taking on all the tasks of the colon, semi-colon, co-ordinating conjunction, and 'no dammit you need a new sentence here.'

Do not ask me why finishing Child of Fortune with its heroine wimping about nearly to the end, and then reading the Lapland witch in Winter Tales during an odd rolling-booming thunderstorm yesterday evening, combined to have me dreaming of my old house on Bedford with the back yard full of blooming cherry trees, and dream!petronia and her dream!father (who both show up rather often in my dreams) doing something there with bicycles. The connection was quite clear as I was waking but now survives only as a feeling of texture to the day.