Matt: I could. Part 1 is going well, thanks to the miracle of the anthological method (verbal collage). A reviewer is needed. Any offers?
- The structural confusion of The Pillow Book is generally regarded as its main stylistic weakness; yet surely part of its charm lies precisely in its rather bizarre, haphazard arrangement in which a list of 'awkward things', for example, is followed by an account of the Emperor's return from the shrine, after which comes a totally unrelated incident about the Chancellor that occurred a year or two earlier and then a short, lyrical description of the dew on a clear Autumn morning.
- A similar case is 'Rule Britannia'. The correct second line of the chorus is 'Britannia, rule the waves.' It is frequently, though not quite universally, sung as ‘Britannia rules the waves’. Here the insistently hissing ‘s’ of the meme is aided by an additional factor. The intended meaning of the poet was presumably imperative (Brittania, go out and rule the waves!) or possibly subjunctive (let Britannia rule the waves). But it is superficially easier to understand the sentences as indicative (Britannia, as a matter of fact, does rule the waves).
- I spent little time at home now, so I was unable to be a detailed witness to the Great Love in the same account-keeping way as before. I did notice that Eva’s absorption in the particulars of Dad's life had waned. They saw fewer Satyajit Ray films now, and went less to Indian restaurants; Eva gave up learning Urdu and listening to Sitar music at breakfast. She had a new interest; she was launching a huge campaign. Eva was planning her assault on London.
- Things have changed, things have remained the same, over the past 10 years. London's pub aura, that's certainly intensified, the smoke and the builders' sand and dust, the toilet tang, the streets like a terrible carpet. No doubt there' ll be surprises when I start to look around, but I always felt I knew where England was heading. America was the one he wanted to watch...
- It was raining heavily outside and the streets, glassy and shiny, were largely deserted as I spent down Great Darkgate Street to the hospital. My heart was racing and my mouth dry with fear; the news that ________ was dead meant nothing, but the revelation that _________ and _______ had been lovers was a pile-driver to the heart. At the hospital I parked as close as I could get to the main door, stepped out and walked across through the driving rain to the garishly lit entrance.