When do things fade into insignificance?
Don't you love it when you read a novel and there are so many lines in it that are so good that you pause and nod or smile, or you have to stop and underline them or write them down?
Reading Whistler by Ann Patchett at the moment and I keep stopping and re-reading lines, and I've written a couple down already this morning. I don't know, when I look at the lines individually it's not that they're that stupendously good, but they're simple, clear and altogether they make the book very enjoyable. I also like how she expresses simple observations just so.
"With my hair done up, you could still see the trace of the scar that ran along the side of my face, but like everything else, it had, with time, faded to insignificance." (p.68)
This made me think of scars, and my scars, and how long it takes for scars (and memories), to fade into insignificance.
I've got a few scars that have definitely faded, physically and into insignificance. This is only to be expected when you're in your fifties, I guess. A scar on my left knee which needed about 6 or 8 stitches (I don't remember how many it had, which shows how much it's faded from my memory). A scar on my right hand from a drop of hot sugar landing on it. A scar on my left index finger where I cut myself doing mise en place (I was a pretty clumsy apprentice chef).
My "zipper", the scar from open heart surgery, hasn't faded into insignificance yet. Partly because a section of the scar has developed a keloid that's sensitive, and partly I think because the recovery from the surgery has been quite an experience for me. And the operation itself wasn't that long ago, 3 years.
I'm enjoying Whistler so far, and I like the fact that it's already prompting lots of reflection and thinking. It's the first of Ann Patchett's works that I've read, I might have to read some of her other novels after this one.