The last book I read was Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. That was two months ago. I remember how it affected me. I remember how all the books I've read affected me. Every single one.
It sucks that time has a way of fogging the what, though -- what it was that affected me specifically. Sometimes I can recall distinct phrases, the shapes of the words in the book that finally boiled it down for me, and I don't forget those. But so often, I forget the context, which, boiled down, is what made the phrase so poignant.
What do we lose in our constant forward motion? What do we lose when time continues to pass, leaving the Bokononists far behind us?
"See the cat?" he pleaded. "See the cradle?!"
It sucks that time has a way of fogging the what, though -- what it was that affected me specifically. Sometimes I can recall distinct phrases, the shapes of the words in the book that finally boiled it down for me, and I don't forget those. But so often, I forget the context, which, boiled down, is what made the phrase so poignant.
What do we lose in our constant forward motion? What do we lose when time continues to pass, leaving the Bokononists far behind us?
"See the cat?" he pleaded. "See the cradle?!"
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