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I can’t think of any “sound” logic behind choosing the first book in this journey.  Out of the handful of books I ordered last week, this one spoke to me from the pile I had strewn across my bed.  It has a certain length to it, not too much to discourage and the title resounds with promises of a bitter beauty.

I’ve always been a sucker for the forlorn and sullen philosophical culminations we as humans so often endure.  I suppose that is why this book, out of the many, called to me.  I would rather gaze out upon the world with veiled vision. Having to consciously discover; focusing in and out on mortal existence. Then trying to combat stark blinding proclamations which lay bare for all to see.

That’s why I chose this to start with; and as of half way through the book, the veil has yet to lift.  Let me start by saying how surprisingly easy it is to read McCullers work. Sometimes as a reader, one struggles trying to harmonize with an author. Not here, McCuller jumps between various points of narrative seamlessly.  His “voice” ebbs and flows through small arcs carrying the reader weightlessly.  This book is a beautiful read in those regards.

But content wise I’m still in a haze.  Granted I am only half way through, but the grand scheme of things has yet become apparent to me. I suppose the best way to describe it is that the individual narratives lock together, but the entire puzzle isn’t recognizable yet.

Perhaps that is the secret behind the book, there doesn’t need be an overwhelming grand arc in life.  For it is all the individual pieces that tell the narratives. There through the veil, when one isn’t looking to hard. It is therein that the each, the lonely, make up the big picture.