Saturday, July 16, 2011

A writing by Saul Bellow

I came across this quote today. It puts into perspective something I have been struggling with since my son died three years ago. 

"I should have written you a letter, it was too late to make the deaths of my brothers an excuse. 
Since they died, I wrote a book; why not a letter? 
A mysterious but truthful answer is that while I can gear myself up to do a novel, letters, real-life communications, are too much for me.
 I used to rattle them off easily enough; why is the challenge of writing to friends and acquaintances too much for me now? Because I have become such a solitary, and not in the Aristotelian sense: not a beast, not a god. Rather, a loner troubled by longings, incapable of finding a suitable language and despairing at the impossibility of composing messages in a playable key--as if I no longer understood the codes used by the estimable people who wanted to hear from me and would have so much to reply if only the impediments were taken away." 
 Saul Bellow

Monday, July 4, 2011