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It's all been a bit hectic, so updating dailyish seems to have fallen slightly by the wayside. On the other hand, I'm about to write my last prompt, so now would be a good time for new ones.
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yiskah prompted with, "I would like you to write about a book (or books) that means a great deal to you, or has changed your life in some way."
I feel oddly embarrassed by this, but probably the book that means the most to me is Legend, by David Gemmell. I read it on the recommendation of Adam, my first serious boyfriend, when I was sixteen and stuck in a psychiatric ward. Since then I must have re-read it dozens, maybe hundreds, of times. Whenever I'm feeling under the weather or miserable, and want something comforting and easy t read, it's the first thing that jumps into my hand, and I read it in the bath until the water goes cold and I turn into a prune.
And in many ways it's "just" schlocky heroic fantasy, unsubtle and unclever. But it gives me a world to escape into, where the heroes are just flawed enough not to be annoying. It wraps me up like a warm blanket, and gives me somewhere safe to hide.
And there's a bit, quite near the end, which comes back to me again and again, whenever my faith is shaking. Serbitar, a deeply religious warrior monk, is dying:
"He took three deep shuddering breaths, looked inside himself and saw that he was dying. Reaching out with his mind, he sought Vintar and the others.
Silence.
A terrible silence.
It was all for nothing then, he thought, as the Nadir tensed for the kill. He chuckled wryly.
There was no Source.
No centre to the universe.
In the last seconds left to him he wondered if his life had been a waste.
He knew it had not. For even if there was no Source, there ought to have been. For the Source was beautiful."
yiskah prompted with, "I would like you to write about a book (or books) that means a great deal to you, or has changed your life in some way."I feel oddly embarrassed by this, but probably the book that means the most to me is Legend, by David Gemmell. I read it on the recommendation of Adam, my first serious boyfriend, when I was sixteen and stuck in a psychiatric ward. Since then I must have re-read it dozens, maybe hundreds, of times. Whenever I'm feeling under the weather or miserable, and want something comforting and easy t read, it's the first thing that jumps into my hand, and I read it in the bath until the water goes cold and I turn into a prune.
And in many ways it's "just" schlocky heroic fantasy, unsubtle and unclever. But it gives me a world to escape into, where the heroes are just flawed enough not to be annoying. It wraps me up like a warm blanket, and gives me somewhere safe to hide.
And there's a bit, quite near the end, which comes back to me again and again, whenever my faith is shaking. Serbitar, a deeply religious warrior monk, is dying:
"He took three deep shuddering breaths, looked inside himself and saw that he was dying. Reaching out with his mind, he sought Vintar and the others.
Silence.
A terrible silence.
It was all for nothing then, he thought, as the Nadir tensed for the kill. He chuckled wryly.
There was no Source.
No centre to the universe.
In the last seconds left to him he wondered if his life had been a waste.
He knew it had not. For even if there was no Source, there ought to have been. For the Source was beautiful."
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Date: 2016-12-15 08:16 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2016-12-15 09:02 pm (UTC)From:no subject
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