Tuesday, April 01, 2003
The Story of Lucy Gault by William Trevor: Read this in a Sunday afternoon. Strangely affecting. Lucy Gault's life did not feel tragic. All that solitude and simplicity overshadows the sadness of her brief and only affair, and the loss of her parents. A story of chance and circumstance, I think. The excruciating exquisiteness of monotony, the beauty of repetition, and the variations and gradations in change, so very uneventful; life would seem a bore. Made me think of Smoke (the film, screenplay by Paul Auster) and the main character who sets up his camera once a day at the exact same time, at the exact same corner, and takes the "exact same picture", but when you thumb through the photo albums, you see the differences and the change. While some might find these character's lives empty, I found them oddly reassuring, and very full. All lifes are full. The question is full of what? Recrimination? Regret? Absence? Hope? Pain? Happiness? Love? Solitude? Passion?
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3:50:56 PM::
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