nytt sitat

eg har holdt på med denne boka i sikkert to år no, uten å bli ferdig. men det er ikkje så nøye, for eg hugsar som ein elefant, og boka er ikkje sånn at du treng lese videre akkurat der og då. den er meir sånn som ein tek fram av og til, og den er som snop i øyrene. det er ei nydelig nydelig bok, og med så mange perfekte setningar at orda betyr meir enn handlinga. eg likar sånne bøker. Den handlar om ulike menneske sin oppleving av New York, og heiter Winter's Tale av Mark Helprin.

Hardesty knew right off that an unforseen force was
breathing under all the gray, that the events and miracles of the city were
simply the effect of this force as it turned in its sleep, that it saturated
everything, and that it had sculpted the city before it had even opened its eyes.
He felt it striving in everything he saw, and knew that the entire population,
though prideful of its independence, was subject to a complete and intense
orchestration the likes of which he had never imagined. They rushed about here
and there, venting their passions - struggling, kicking, and shuddering like
marionettes. Ten minutes after he left the station, he saw a taxi driver kill a
peddler in an argument over who had the right of way on an empty street.

He wanted no part of this city. It was too gray, cold, and
dangerous. It was perhaps the grayest, coldest, most dangerous city in the
world. He understood why young people from all over came to pit themselves
against it. But he was too old for such things, and he had already been to
war.

Winter's Tale, s. 315-316