The Bone Clocks: A Novel
Arkady says, “The Anchorites fuel their atemporality by feeding on souls, as Marinus said. But not just any old soul will do; only the souls of the Engifted can be decanted. Like organ donation, where only one in a thousand is a compatible match. Around every equinox and solstice, the soul’s owner has to be lured up the Way of Stones into the Chape
... See moreDavid Mitchell • The Bone Clocks: A Novel
Olly’s laugh is a notch too loud. His pupils have morphed into love-hearts and, for the nth time squared, I wonder what love feels like on the inside because externally it turns you into the King of Tit Mountain.
David Mitchell • The Bone Clocks: A Novel
Aoife and I watch her shrink as she moves further away. My daughter asks, “Who was that lady, Daddy?” SO I ASK my daughter, “Who was what lady, darling?” Aoife blinks up at me. “What lady, Daddy?” We look at each other, and I’ve forgotten something. Wallet, phone; Aoife; Sharon’s wedding; Brighton Pier.
David Mitchell • The Bone Clocks: A Novel
The reader is in on the secret, but the characters are not, even though the narration is their point of view. Timing. Memory.
“Doesn’t work like that. You need a leap of faith to leave your old life behind. True metamorphosis doesn’t come with flowcharts.
David Mitchell • The Bone Clocks: A Novel
Some of the Anchorites laugh. Hugo looks back at his long-ago lover. “They”—he looks about the Chapel—“cured me. They cured me of a terrible wasting disease called mortality. There’s a lot of it about. The young hold out for a time, but eventually even the hardiest patient gets reduced to a desiccated embryo, a Strudlebug … a veined, scrawny, dribb
... See moreDavid Mitchell • The Bone Clocks: A Novel
“The Dusk follows you as you go through it. If it touches you, you cease to exist, so one wrong turn down a dead end, that’s the end of you. That’s why you have to learn the labyrinth by heart.
David Mitchell • The Bone Clocks: A Novel
This is peace, if you think about it—machine-gun nests being used as picnic tables.
David Mitchell • The Bone Clocks: A Novel
Last paragraph in the dying light: “ ‘And we all nodded at him: the man of finance, the man of accounts, the man of law, we all nodded at him over the polished table that like a still sheet of brown water reflected our faces, lined, wrinkled; our faces marked by toil, by deceptions, by success, by love. Our weary eyes looking still, looking always,
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“Sounds like Grandpa Dave. Who’s the Bad Dad?” Aoife frowns at me. “The place where you live, silly.” “Baghdad. ‘Bagh-dad.’ But I don’t live there.” God, it’s lucky Holly didn’t hear that. “It’s just where I work.