Nigel the novel moves slowly through his story, sometimes taking days sometimes decades to tell every detail and satisfy the narrative whims of his reader. He might pick up a pace and dally fast and slow, fast and slow. He is full of people and places and things and weaves the stories of each in and out of the others. We love getting him sandy or curling up on a puffy sofa with him on cold days.
Sally short story is much smaller than her brother and she has just one strand twisting through her. Her time is more limited but she can be pacy or slower in the telling. She tells us about maybe one or two people and does it quickly, like we might need to rush off any minute. If she’s lucky, she meets up with her sisters Sally and Sally and Sally and Sally. The Sally collective.
Peter poem abstracts his way towards us, sometimes epic, sometimes the expected 40 lines and with Cousin Howard, five-seven-five syllables. He surveys closely up and down or omni-gazes in time and place and at the internal me. Now here, now gone our Pete can be rarefied or vilified, depending on how he is handled.
Daphne drama is all talk, however many heads and hands she may have.
And we have a new baby in our family, Fergus flash. He’s weaned now, starting to explore his way in the world more and takes his first faltering steps. He’s just a little one, really quite tiny and oh so many people have found themselves falling for his charms. Fergus grows daily, not in size but in life and experience and love. Now he walks without help, faster and faster, sure-footed and deliberate, speeding by but exactly who I want to turn to when I have don’t have much time.