Paragraph of the week

Roger Morris has been awar­ded ‘para­graph of the month’ by the Chicago Tribune. A very curi­ous award, but well deserved for this little vign­ette in A Gentle Axe:

Inside the yardkeeper’s shed it was as if the objects of his life were shap­ing them­selves around the fact of his death, around his phys­ic­al absence. There was an old paint-spattered wooden chair, pol­ished by many sit­tings. It was crammed in next to a fold­ing card table, the baize thread­bare and stained. The sam­o­var on it seemed to pos­sess an air of mourn­ful dis­ap­point­ment. Chipped cups milled around it without pur­pose. The saw­dust had settled on the floor, around an assort­ment of bricks and logs. The bot­tom of a bar­rel was propped up against one of the shed’s sides. Life con­tin­ued only in the cob­webs that grew heed­less over the tools and tins of his occu­pa­tion.

I’d love to read this book, and Roger’s oth­er St Petersburg books, but I’m writ­ing my own St Petersburg nov­el at the moment and I’d feel hap­pi­er about steal­ing from non-fic­tion sources. I’ll cer­tainly be get­ting around to it once the first draft of mine is com­pleted.

(Via Roger’s plog.)

Author: Ian Hocking

Writer and psychologist.

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