Halfway through 'Salems Lot. Now it is getting really good. So good that I woke up in the middle of the night, knowing that I had just had a nightmare, but unable to remember anything.
What seemed a chore, now seems brilliant. The narrative jumping from character to character; the lengthy descriptions; the depth of information about the goings on of the town. I find that I look forward to curling up with this book each night.
My book has become dogeared, not something I am known to do. There are these passages that feel like pure descriptive train of thought ramblings, yet they are so coherent and could be my own internal musings. I find myself, reading and re-reading them. For example:
"But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the mid-point of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since he last saw you." (123)
I find myself nodding yes, as though I have an old friend that comes by with his pipe and whittles away my afternoon with stories. But the picture is painted and I do understand that feeling when fall first comes bringing with it cool air and I find myself wishing that I had the afternoon free so that I lie out on a blanket at the park and just be.
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