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Reflections in winter. - Wemyss's Appalling Hobby:
From the Party Guilty of Committing 'Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn'
wemyss
wemyss
Reflections in winter.
 

Lovely weather, what?  Blustery, dank, wettish, and coolish.  (Oh, all right, gale 8 increasing to storm 10 just about everybloodywhere hereabouts, and Somerset and Dorset flooding, but it’s quiet in the Blest Valley of the River Wylye, bar the gusts-to-35-mph bit.)

 

At any rate, a good evening for writing.

 

I note that JKR recently said that the months since DH went out have seemed both to telescope and dilate unnaturally.  Sounds rather like something Thomas Mann might have said.  The fact is that at this time of year – I refer, personally, both to the ecclesiastical (and thus, in its origins, the academic) year and to the natural year – it is natural that time past and time present … but, no, let us not attempt to out-Gidding the late Mr Eliot, or burn a Norton for dry salvage.  (A random thought: would that Tom Riddle had learnt that that although ‘chill fingers of yew be curled down on us’, still would ‘the kingfisher’s wing [answer] light to light’ and ‘light is still at the still point of the turning world’….)

 

The fact remains.  From the beginning of Advent through Easter, if not Whitsuntide, this is midwinter spring, its own season, the spring time outwith time’s covenant.  The workaday Sundays after Trinity are the time of the hard slog, the diligent graft of Christianity, and all God’s martial saints but ‘warriors for the working day’ – and even so a band of brothers, and, by the Mass, their hearts yet in the trim. 

 

Some days now it is since I was hacking home in the late and watery light of the drawing dusk, wintry and grave, and chanced upon a rambler.  He was a lad such as I had known in my university days, and his carriage and manner, and even his attire, which was gentlemanly, harked back to that long fled decade’s head.  Time past and time present and time future….

 

I have writing to do, a tale to finish for a challenge.  And there is more yet to write.  Yet in this time out of time, I find it apt, if not pleasant, that I shall also be returning to my recent theme, that of SUP and the gentry behind it.  Time past inhering in time present.  It is quite twenty years since I last occupied my wits with such analyses, and pricked the changes of Kremlinology.  Yet I find myself once more indulging a trick of the old rage, and revisiting these glimpses of the moon.  It is strangely apt in this season of recursive time.

 

A good evening on which to write.  May all your own evenings be as apt to that high calling.

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serriadh From: serriadh Date: December 8th, 2007 11:05 pm (UTC) (Link)
Yet in this time out of time, I find it apt, if not pleasant, that I shall also be returning to my recent theme, that of SUP and the gentry behind it. Time past inhering in time present. It is quite twenty years since I last occupied my wits with such analyses, and pricked the changes of Kremlinology. Yet I find myself once more indulging a trick of the old rage, and revisiting these glimpses of the moon. It is strangely apt in this season of recursive time
This would make an absolutely cracking first paragraph of a novel. I can just hear 'it is quite twenty years since I last occupied...' as the voiceover in the film adaptation - lazy drawl, smoking a cigarette with effortless elegance. A spy, recruited out of Oxford to combat the Soviet menace and officially stood down years ago but, in reality, a Sleeper, ready to awake if it were ever to become necessary.

A recent by fictualities, together with your ruminations on the season have reminded me why I re-read Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising at this time of yaer. It perfectly captures the tension between light and dark, endings and beginnings, now and not-yet. If you haven't read it, I'd highly recommend it. I've always found Advent a strange, tense time (which is odd, considering I was brought up Baptist, where 'advent' per se isn't celebrating - though we had candles, I remember. I've always been inordinately fond of candles).

I feel I need to find a version of 'I'd listen to him read the 'phone book' that works for writers.
wemyss From: wemyss Date: December 9th, 2007 05:45 pm (UTC) (Link)

Thank you.

That's another hare - or plot-bunny - started. Oh, dear.

And I'm much obliged for the reminder to reread Cooper.
froganon From: froganon Date: December 10th, 2007 07:01 am (UTC) (Link)

thomas mann


Ah, Thomas Mann.
Alas, here is crunchy snow designed to defeat my unsteady ankles.
There is no higher calling than writing.
spike
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