p. 12:
A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling – and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
Good God. Can anyone write like that anymore? Has anyone else ever written like this? I’ve heard the novel described as more than prose, as one long poem. And that’s how it feels for me: I’ve never been able to have a deep appreciation for modern poetry – yeah I’m one of those troglodytes who likes their poetry to rhyme – but “prose” seems too plain a word for the magic weaved into these words.
I also love the description of our first look at Daisy and Jordan, “both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house.” When the windows are closed, “the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.” Lovely.
ginsudo 