Aposiopesis

... Did you know that there are more bacterial cells in your body than human cells?

    Seriously? 

    Way more. You have 500 different species of bacteria just in your intestine. There's enough bacteria inside you to fill a two-litre bottle. Scientists believe some human genes originally came from bacteria. 

     Well that's disgusting, she says. 

     Yeah, you say. But when you think about it, it's also pretty interesting. People get so hung up on are they this kind of person or that. But if you have ten times more non-human cells than human cells, then, in a way, you're not even you. 

     It kind of takes the pressure off, you say. I feel like if people knew they were mostly bacteria it would solve a lot of problems. 

--The Bee Sting, Paul Murray

One last bit of biting hilarity from The Bee Sting, the second reading of which I enjoyed even more than the first. This novel ends in what is called, in literary terms, an aposiopesis--a really keen term meaning that it has an open ending, it is a non-closure narrative. The story ends at the point of maximum tension and provides no clear resolution. That part is up to the reader, and in this case, it serves as a litmus test for whether one is an optimist or a pessimist, or perhaps something in between. It gets you to thinking ever more deeply about the story, and indeed about yourself. It is interesting, if you delve into the thing online, to find how many different reactions and opinions there are, each seeming very sure of itself. My own reaction on the second reading was of a somewhat different shade than on the first. The book itself hasn't changed, and so that means, I guess, that I have. It seems that a new shaft of sunlight has appeared out of nowhere. Or maybe it's just that proverbial light going on in my brain. 

Ready or Not

Everything seems radiant with self, and at the same time distant somehow, as if it were receding from him -- moving away in time, while he stays where he is. This must be what it feels like to be dying, he thinks; the world remains around you, like a lover who does not want to hurt you by leaving, but in spirit it's already gone, taking with it the meaning of everything you shared. In truth it is already transforming into a future you will never be part of; and you realize only then that it has been transforming all the time, throughout your whole life, and you with it; and that, in fact, is life, though you never knew, and now it is over.

--The Bee Sting, Paul Murray

A penetrating, insightful passage from Paul Murray's excellent novel (which I am reading for the second time). Transforming into a future you will never be part of. That one stings. And I feel that way myself. I feel on the outside of the life that is unfolding around me. I am already not here. I'm watching someone's home movie. And that right there is how out of it I am--because people don't have home movies anymore, do they. Do you remember the old projector and the white screen on its folding stand? Do you remember having to watch someone else's life? Aware that it is important to them, at least, but that you yourself have no part to play. You are an observer. Or maybe you show up in one or two of the flickering images. There I am, you think. Proof of life. And then it's over. And you realize that as your own life unfolded you should have watched more closely, you should have lived with greater intention, you should have loved more completely, because this, this very short long life, is down to its final ticks; and what is left is nothing more than cliche - -if only I had it all to do over again .... 

Sleep Well

Before he became a father, he imagined the relationship as being like an intensive version of owning a pet. The child, he thought, was essentially passive, a vessel into which you poured your love. On TV that's how it looked. Children were silent, dormant; you went into their bedrooms, gazed down at them fondly, drew the blankets over them as they slept. 

--The Bee Sting, Paul Murray

That's not only how it looked on TV. For me. For me, that's how it was. My son, as a child, as a little boy, was everything I wanted him to be. And more. He could not have been more perfect, and no father and son can ever have been closer than we. 

That was a long time ago, when he was just a child. It was a very long time ago, and yet, at the time, it seemed like it would be that way forever. 

It was not what I expected, nor did I envision a silent, dormant creature, such as Murray describes. I envisioned nothing at all, for I had never been a father nor imagined being a father nor wanted to be a father. 

So what had been unknown and unwanted or at least unthought of became all that was known, all that was wanted, the center of thought, the birth of selfless love. 

Murray's story doesn't end at the quote above. Nor does mine. One night you draw the blankets over them, and then in the morning they are gone.

Cursed

I've been struggling over the past two weeks with two cursed problems occurring simultaneously. First off, I found myself suffering with terrifically itchy arms (something that has happened to me in the past as well). The skin was very dry and red and the more you scratched it the more itchy it got. Went to the doctor for that and found that this was actually eczema along with a skin infection, for which I received an antibiotic cream and some sort of other cream to help the skin heal. 

Then, the day after seeing the doctor about the skin problem, I woke up with the flu. And this has been a bad one--nose running like a faucet, sore throat, and finally coughing my lungs out. Impervious to cold medicine, or so it has seemed. 

But both problems seem to be on the heal now, although only slowly so. Both together have left me feeling fatigued and constantly sleepy. 

Not a great end of the summer season for me. Last night we had a heavy rain and one can feel the season changing. Soon the rains will become more common, heavier, and the stifling humidity will return. Honestly, summer (June, July and August) is the only really bearable season here. In fact it is quite pleasant. So I will have to just hunker down and look forward to summer of 2027.