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.
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