Nemonymous
Grimscribe
THE MUSIC OF THE MOON
"As Tressor slowly approached this figure, with vague thoughts of rescue in his mind, he noticed that its eyelids were shut."
There is a soporific slowness, a vagueness, a muffled serenity about this story as if the shapes, shadows, strange structures and sinister scenes glimpsed earlier in this book are being remixed, rethought, put into music whether the four musicians or "cases" are there to play it or not. "...as he recalled hearing it somewhat dulled by a closed door." Messages, invitations, appointments, the way to break the sequence of Tressor's insomniac nights.
Roaming around, trying doors... And some readers may indeed be browsing this book at random rather than reading it strictly from beginning to end as I am reading it, intent, as I have been, on creating patterns and gestalts, previously trying to tie the inferred author to his masthead by his own knots.
I have let this story wash over me, not worrying any longer about authorial audit trails, just absorbing its "quiet gray dawn", knowing that I can stay in this story and rest from making those patterns. A piece of music by Morton Feldman, one note after the other, with silence between them, in uncanny contrast to the highly textured 'notes' of the prose itself.
Tressor, rest or stress? Whichever, this is a truly wonderful work, perhaps the best for me so far.
"Then sound began to enter the silence, but so inconspicuously that Tressor could not tell when the absolute silence had ended and an embellished silence had begun."
(An extract from my on-going review of the Penguin Classics collection.)
"As Tressor slowly approached this figure, with vague thoughts of rescue in his mind, he noticed that its eyelids were shut."
There is a soporific slowness, a vagueness, a muffled serenity about this story as if the shapes, shadows, strange structures and sinister scenes glimpsed earlier in this book are being remixed, rethought, put into music whether the four musicians or "cases" are there to play it or not. "...as he recalled hearing it somewhat dulled by a closed door." Messages, invitations, appointments, the way to break the sequence of Tressor's insomniac nights.
Roaming around, trying doors... And some readers may indeed be browsing this book at random rather than reading it strictly from beginning to end as I am reading it, intent, as I have been, on creating patterns and gestalts, previously trying to tie the inferred author to his masthead by his own knots.
I have let this story wash over me, not worrying any longer about authorial audit trails, just absorbing its "quiet gray dawn", knowing that I can stay in this story and rest from making those patterns. A piece of music by Morton Feldman, one note after the other, with silence between them, in uncanny contrast to the highly textured 'notes' of the prose itself.
Tressor, rest or stress? Whichever, this is a truly wonderful work, perhaps the best for me so far.
"Then sound began to enter the silence, but so inconspicuously that Tressor could not tell when the absolute silence had ended and an embellished silence had begun."
(An extract from my on-going review of the Penguin Classics collection.)