I.
Murder didn’t mean much to Raven. It was just a new job. You had to be careful. You had to use your brains. It was not a question of hatred. He had only seen the minister once: he had been pointed out to Raven as he walked
down the new housing estate between the little lit Christmas trees – an old, rather
grubby man without any friends, who was said to love humanity.
The cold wind cut
his face in the wide Continental street.
It was a good excuse for turning the collar of his coat well up above
his mouth. A harelip was a serious
handicap in his profession. It had been
badly sewn in infancy, so that now the upper lip was twisted and scarred. When you carried about you so easy an
identification you couldn’t help becoming ruthless in your methods.
II.
“You haven’t
failed,” he said.
London had its
roots in her heart; she saw nothing in
the dark countryside. She looked away
from it to Mather’s happy face. “You don’t
understand,” she said, sheltering the ghost for a very short while longer. “I did fail.”
But she forgot it herself completely
when the train drew into London over a great viaduct under which the small,
bright shabby streets ran off like the rays of a star with their sweet shops,
their Methodist chapels, their messages chalked on the paving stones.
Your pictures blend perfectly with your posts, truly complimentary. Pleasing to the eye. Thank you for dropping by. Will certainly read more of yours.
ReplyDeleteDropping by was a great pleasure. Thanks very much for your kind words. Please do visit again. I try to keep things varied. LONG day ahead. It's good to receive a nice note from afar to begin it. Curtis
ReplyDelete"But she forgot it herself completely when the train drew into London over a great viaduct under which the small, bright shabby streets ran off like the rays of a star with their sweet shops, their Methodist chapels, their messages chalked on the paving stones."
ReplyDeleteNo one writes sentences like this one anymore. A great pity.
Thanks for dropping by from the Beyond, Graham. See you soon, under the viaduct.
Tom: I read, without pleasure, the Power and the Glory in high school when it was assigned to me. I didn't really pick up on and connect with Greene as author (as opposed to source for screenplays) until I was older and had experienced some of the intense, complex things he expresses so well and now he's an invariable touchstone of emotional truth. Sad, I guess, but true. I recall reading in a book preface somewhere a somewhat slighting remark Evelyn Waugh made about what he regarded as the inferior plainness of Greene's prose, indicating a view that Greene's words operated more as stage directions than what Waugh thought a novelist's writing should do. I don't agree with that at all and continue to be amazed at Greene's empathy and his ability to take a long, deep, harsh but accurate view of the world. We very much want Jane to start with Our Man In Havana and will be meeting with her English teacher to discuss this. It's not on the sanctioned "outside reading list," which seems silly. Good Sunday morning to you and Angelica. Curtis
ReplyDeleteTwo great writers, of course, but Waugh's comments on Greene perhaps derive from a certain sense of rivalry.
ReplyDeleteCoincidentally, Angelica (who has read the complete works of both writers, over and over), is now re-reading The Heart of the Matter.
And the dust jacket comment, from Waugh:
"A literary 'event'... [a] profoundly reverent book."
GG is at least here being given credit (faint praise?) for his devotional duties.
Tom: You and Angelica may enjoy these two also. The Literary Gossip one was a really interesting discovery:
ReplyDeletehttp://acravan.blogspot.com/2011/04/literary-gossip-january-25-1956.html
http://acravan.blogspot.com/2011/08/beautiful-letter-evelyn-waugh-to-ann.html
Curtis