Hamnet
When Eliza hears these claims, made in her presence by people in the street, by neighbours, by those to whom she sells gloves, she doesn’t pretend not to have heard. She stops in her tracks. She holds the eye of the gossip in question (she has an unnerving stare: this she knows – her brother has told her often enough; it is, he says, something to do with the purity of her eye-colour, the way she can open her eyes wide enough for the whole iris to be seen). She is only thirteen but she is tall for her age. She holds their gaze long enough for them to drop their stare, for them to shuffle off, chastised by her boldness, her silent severity. There is, she has found, great power to be had in silence. Which is something this brother of hers has never learnt.
From the archives
·
2026
Vigil
When the room was entirely full, the newcomers overflowed into the hallway, then into the stairwell, then down onto the ground floor and, when the whole house was full, into the yard, and even into the yard next door, where, as they stood unseen among the wedding guests, their attention (despite the revelry going on all around them) stayed riveted, always, on my charge’s window.
Crowded, he said.
Normal, I said. Happens every time.
Every time what? he said.
Then, on something like a bier, or litter, or royal palanquin, a young man was passed up through the crowd until, somehow perceiving that he’d arrived at his intended destination, he stepped off the litter, moved to the bed, and, standing a bit unsteadily, gazed down at my charge.
Who recognized him immediately.
Read more of this excerpt...
Vigil
When the room was entirely full, the newcomers overflowed into the hallway, then into the stairwell, then down onto the ground floor and, when the whole house was full, into the yard, and even into the yard next door, where, as they stood unseen among the wedding guests, their attention (despite the revelry going on all around them) stayed riveted, always, on my charge’s window.
Crowded, he said.
Normal, I said. Happens every time.
Every time what? he said.
Then, on something like a bier, or litter, or royal palanquin, a young man was passed up through the crowd until, somehow perceiving that he’d arrived at his intended destination, he stepped off the litter, moved to the bed, and, standing a bit unsteadily, gazed down at my charge.
Who recognized him immediately.
Read more of this excerpt...
WORDS TO LIVE BY
2005 ·
NON-FICTION
NEW MUSIC