the swimmer

'The pool is real enough and is the crux, the truth of a humid afternoon. There are leaves in the water these days. I am the last swimmer. The wind in the leaves is highly vocal. The light is pure and very elegiac. I enjoy swimming at this time of the year. The water is in the sixties. The stones are warm in the sun...'

---Cheever.

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Don't judge a book by its cover. Why not?

This is an old library book (in English, of course)given to me by a German friend who is on her way back again. Strange, but we had so little time to talk...

A small life, with few moments for reflection. Time passes. Listen. Out of time or just late? The days of our lives are all reflections of a single day. For some childhood is not a stage to be transcended or forgotten.

The arresting lines by Dupuy on Girard on Camus on Mersault: his desire to be left alone, to live a solitary and marginal life [work this in to the Walser/Pessoa theme of 'smallness', 'lostness']..the kind of story that no-one reads. No blurbs, no quotes, no reviews. Swim against the tide or sometimes just let yourself drift with it. At a certain time in your life the clothes fit.