It will probably take me AGES to read this entire thing, but I think I should start commenting already :D.
Sean had been waiting for someone to ask about it for a very long time.
I love this sentence. Because the paragraphs before were just that little bit cryptic that makes you want to ask but makes you shy away short of it at the same time. Also, this kind of patience – or is it resignation? – this kind of reclusiveness is something I find all too fitting for Sean.
(Fucking huge failure, it was. All he got from it was a loss of half a million quid, an even emptier house, and another set of divorce letters to go into his collection.)
I love the use of () here; they make it easier to be honest, and how do I love that honesty, in all its brutality comes with curse words in Sean’s head. I love this straight to the point sharpness of these two sentences)
These were bits and pieces of Viggo's heart, and that was important enough.
God, I love the imagery of this entire bit. Sean as a lover of poetry always has a spot in my heart, and that in addition to the secretiveness, to the reverence with which he treats Viggo’s words makes this such a delicate thing. Add to that the understatement of Sean’s wording – was important enough – and how careful he is to not admit to himself how important it is, while at the same time knowing it exactly? So perfect.
It was ridiculous for him to buy the books (eventually) from the Perceval Press website under a false name when he could have just asked Viggo for them.
Love the self-deprecation in this, yet another sign of this Sean’s carefulness (and how much do I love that this Sean has a distinctly other feel to him than all your others? I love that about your writing). – And followed again by honesty in (). Love that.
the man babbled to him about it just a few months after Sean had left New Zealand
Love this little detail. How Viggo is ‘the man’ here, and not the eloquent poet, but someone who ‘babbles’. Lovely bit of self-distancing, and at the same time it makes sense, how art and the idealized artist behind it never really is identical with reality (in which Viggo is just a man, after all).
no subject
Sean had been waiting for someone to ask about it for a very long time.
I love this sentence. Because the paragraphs before were just that little bit cryptic that makes you want to ask but makes you shy away short of it at the same time. Also, this kind of patience – or is it resignation? – this kind of reclusiveness is something I find all too fitting for Sean.
(Fucking huge failure, it was. All he got from it was a loss of half a million quid, an even emptier house, and another set of divorce letters to go into his collection.)
I love the use of () here; they make it easier to be honest, and how do I love that honesty, in all its brutality comes with curse words in Sean’s head. I love this straight to the point sharpness of these two sentences)
These were bits and pieces of Viggo's heart, and that was important enough.
God, I love the imagery of this entire bit. Sean as a lover of poetry always has a spot in my heart, and that in addition to the secretiveness, to the reverence with which he treats Viggo’s words makes this such a delicate thing. Add to that the understatement of Sean’s wording – was important enough – and how careful he is to not admit to himself how important it is, while at the same time knowing it exactly? So perfect.
It was ridiculous for him to buy the books (eventually) from the Perceval Press website under a false name when he could have just asked Viggo for them.
Love the self-deprecation in this, yet another sign of this Sean’s carefulness (and how much do I love that this Sean has a distinctly other feel to him than all your others? I love that about your writing). – And followed again by honesty in (). Love that.
the man babbled to him about it just a few months after Sean had left New Zealand
Love this little detail. How Viggo is ‘the man’ here, and not the eloquent poet, but someone who ‘babbles’. Lovely bit of self-distancing, and at the same time it makes sense, how art and the idealized artist behind it never really is identical with reality (in which Viggo is just a man, after all).