Last night I had a dream of us both dangling from the same tree--you, me, and a cell phone. Speaking the lost tongue of flowers. Unanswerable questions, godlike indifference. My how you shine, lucky tango! You have merged with the world, taken its will within you, some would say fallen but we know plucked. All is aphrodesia. Bring on the Apocalypse! You are my found object. - Lemon, Lawrence Krauser
Papers are in, the Quarter for me officially over. It feels good. I've been catching up on fiction--most recently, Lawrence Krauser's first novel, Lemon. I'm really not sure what to say. It's strangely solipsistic, or maybe claustrophobic, just a man and the lemon with which he's in love--at close quarters, too close quarters. There's not enough of a perspective from which one can resolve just what it is that one is witness to or evaluate what's going on. But maybe that's part of the point. It's beautiful regardless, strikingly poetic. My favourite bit is towards the end, where Wendell takes his lemon-love to a gallery, and the reader is treated to a short history of lemons as they have appeared in art throughout the ages.
But all of this closeness has me ready to break out into the world again, beyond books of any sort. A walk through the wintry neighbourhood is a good place to start.