is not like other people
That's what I took it to mean when she said that there were two camps, or something like that at least.
"Things mechanical are like the ladies,' continued Toby. 'You need to understand their ways. If you understand them, they'll do what
you want from the start. If you don't, they've got you. And then God help you.'
At the door from which Mrs Pascoe had emerged appeared a man from the inner room. Though still youngish, he was puce and puffy, and in his braces, with no collar. Streaks of sandy hair laced his vast red scalp.
Liquor oozed all over him, as if from a perished gourd. Gerald took it that this was Don. The man was too drunk toa rticulate. He stood in the doorway clinging with each red hand to the ledge, and savagely struggling to flay his wife with imprecations.
Won't you join us?' said Gerald boldly. There was that in the Commandant's face which boded no hurt. 'Can I get you a drink?'
The Commandant did not turn his head, and seemed unable to speak. Then in a low voice he said, 'For a moment only.'
Some of the heavier notes in Lane's work (loneliness, isolation, poverty, sex) are in very different contexts today (for better or worse). Lane does briefly mention the internet in a few stories but post social media this dimension is entirely different. I've said it before but I often feel the loneliness of connection, the anxiety of the scroll, is one of the more challenging and common experiences for current writers to evoke, explore and address.
Yeah. And this was the absolute zenith of in-between spaces. An airport is somewhere we pass through and don't stay, but we are gonna be there for some time. But a motorway you literally just drive through. No-one should stop, unless something has gone wrong. And on the hard shoulder, with another mini-motorway on my right too. It was quite a unique place to actually spend time. I guess anyone who wanted to could experience similar by simply pulling over but noone ever does that. I'm reminded of an article I read where someone booked a trip on a container ship just to write about the experience. A nothing trip that anyone could presumably take but which was interesting to read about cos noone does.This is a very interesting point though. It's an interesting thought - the dissonance of time and place, the bleed. Context, margins. No doubt we have all enjoyed or not enjoyed texts not because of some intellectual or emotional independent view but because we are porous cells in a passage through the world. Is this why innocuous non-spaces such as airports and trains, these terminal inters, are so conducive to thoughtful and impressive reading?