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A review by ampersunder
Temporary Kings by Anthony Powell
4.0
‰ЫПThe Venetian trip, contrary to the promises of Mark Members, had not renewed energies for writing. All the same, established priorities, personal continuities, the confused scheme of things making up everyday life, all revived, routines proceeding much as before. The Conference settled down in the mind as a kind of dream, one of those dreams laden with the stuff of real life, stopping just the right side of nightmare, yet leaving disturbing undercurrents to haunt the daytime, clogging sources of imagination ‰ЫУ whatever those may be ‰ЫУ causing their enigmatic flow to ooze more sluggishly than ever, periodically to cease entirely.‰Ыќ
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I bought my set of Dance to the Music of Time online from a used book seller. Each of the twelve books is pocket-sized and cream-coloured (perhaps originally white), most in pretty good shape. Temporary Kings had at some point before arriving in my hands suffered water damage, enough to create a permanent wave in the pages which crackled when bent and refused to straighten. Unlike with most paperbacks, it felt good to bend back the cover while reading, giving the impression of improving the book‰ЫЄs physical state rather than abusing it because only then did the wave disappear. The edges of the pages showed where whatever liquid it was had soaked into the fibres, although the surface of the pages were not discoloured. It was a book I would have kept in my pocket if I‰ЫЄd had a pocket that was big enough to hold it. It felt like a book to read alone in a pub over a hot and savoury meal covered in gravy while it rained outside. Instead I began reading it immediately after finishing the preceding novel in the lounge at the airport in Singapore waiting for the flight to Frankfurt while my travel companion napped in the chair across from me; continued it in bed before going to sleep, on the bus in the morning dizzy with sleepiness, on the walks to and from bus stops on the way to school or home while the daylight lasted, and finally in the living room today while high winds blew all sorts of weather past our windows.
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I bought my set of Dance to the Music of Time online from a used book seller. Each of the twelve books is pocket-sized and cream-coloured (perhaps originally white), most in pretty good shape. Temporary Kings had at some point before arriving in my hands suffered water damage, enough to create a permanent wave in the pages which crackled when bent and refused to straighten. Unlike with most paperbacks, it felt good to bend back the cover while reading, giving the impression of improving the book‰ЫЄs physical state rather than abusing it because only then did the wave disappear. The edges of the pages showed where whatever liquid it was had soaked into the fibres, although the surface of the pages were not discoloured. It was a book I would have kept in my pocket if I‰ЫЄd had a pocket that was big enough to hold it. It felt like a book to read alone in a pub over a hot and savoury meal covered in gravy while it rained outside. Instead I began reading it immediately after finishing the preceding novel in the lounge at the airport in Singapore waiting for the flight to Frankfurt while my travel companion napped in the chair across from me; continued it in bed before going to sleep, on the bus in the morning dizzy with sleepiness, on the walks to and from bus stops on the way to school or home while the daylight lasted, and finally in the living room today while high winds blew all sorts of weather past our windows.