It is not a quick read, and it is not meant to be. My roommate Chandler says it's like reading poetry. It is written beautifully and naturally. I wanted to blog about this and include a couple of excerpts:
-I suppose so. But I wish now that I'd known more of him. You see, the things that he did, I've never had much to do with that sort of thing.
-Nor I either, James. His life was quite different from ours.
-It was a good life by all accounts. He sat, she lay, in silence, with their thoughts and their memories and their grief.
-Although his life was different, he said, you understood it.
-I'm sorry I didn't understand it. Then he said in a whisper, I didn't know it would ever be so important to understand it. (175)
And when he nodded, she said, Give it to me, Stephen. With shaking hands he gave it to her, and she read it also, and sat looking before her, with lost and terrible eyes, for this was the child of her womb, of her breasts. Yet she did not sit as long as he had done, for she stood up and said, It is not good to sit idle. Finish your letters, and go to see Kuluse's child, and the girl Elizabeth that is ill. And I shall do my work about the house (273).
I also wanted to include a few picture from my Rim to Rim hike of the Grand Canyon (I was told not to bring a backpack because a Camelback would be provided . . . it was a fanny pack.)