mandarine

I have started reading Three Men in a Boat, enjoying it much more now than when I was ten. Adults often think that just because you can read and understand the words in a classic, you’ll understand and like the book — I think of Huckleberry Finn, of Le Grand Meaulnes, of Romeo and Juliet, of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea… Force one of the ‘easy’ classics onto the knees of your young readers and more often than not, you’ll know your defeat. Fortunately, everyone has a second chance — here ends my digression.
I was enjoying the wit and the story, when a short passage plucked my romantic fiber with Shakespearean acuity:

Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the cold, sad clouds. Silent, like sorrowing children, the birds have ceased their song, and only the moorhen’s plaintive cry and the harsh croak of the corncrake stirs the awed hush around the couch of waters, where the dying day breathes out her last.

From the dim woods on either bank, Night’s ghostly army, the grey shadows, creep out with noiseless tread to chase away the lingering rear-guard of the light, and pass, with noiseless, unseen feet, above the waving river-grass, and through the sighing rushes; and Night, upon her sombre throne, folds her black wings above the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in stillness.

But then it goes back to normal:

Harris said:
“How about when it rained?”
You can never rouse Harris. There is no poetry about Harris - no wild yearning for the unattainable.
[…]
Rainwater is the chief article of diet at supper. The bread is two-thirds rainwater, the beefsteak-pie is exceedingly rich in it, and the jam, and the butter, and the salt, and the coffee have all combined with it to make soup.

I am going to love this book.

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