I struggled and struggled through David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. It wasn't a bad read, but it required a lot of focus. It was worth it though. It's nice when stories string together to create something other than they are in themselves...like creating other creations from the creations one has already created, for lack of better vocabulary on my part. Here follows a delicious nut of the novel:
Three or four times only in my youth did I glimpse the Joyous Isles, before they were lost to fogs, depressions, cold fronts, ill winds, and contrary tides... I mistook them for adulthood. Assuming they were a fixed feature in my life's voyage, I neglected to record their latitude, their longitude, their approach. Young ruddy fool. What wouldn't I give now for a never-changing map of the ever-constant ineffable? To possess, as it were, an atlas of clouds.So well worded. And so pertinent to my life situation right now. I thought I would be happy when I was an adult; I thought I'd have it all figured out. Now, here the state of California is declaring me a legal adult, and I can no longer find the hope or dreams I imagined myself fulfilling when I reached this age. Instead of coming closer, I've been stagnant, sinking amid flowing thoughts of insurance coverage plans and trips to Target. And, distracted by the monotony and fear of perfunctory adult life, I've lost sight of any dreams that might have existed at some point in my idealistic past.--David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas (p.373)
Why did I forget to record their latitude? Where is my atlas of clouds?
For now, it's in a Serendipity mug full o' oats.