Read The Ink Bridge by Neil Grant, and found it mesmerizing. Beautifully written, a bit on the mystic side. You know, when it’s not fully clear what is intended with the words? Like there is a hidden meaning somewhere, just waiting for me to figure it out myself.
It’s classified as a young adult-book, but for the life of me I cannot figure out why. Except perhaps that the two main characters are teens during most of the book. Might that be a reason?
In the book are two passages that I returned to once I was finished reading it. One of them reads like this (the other one I save for a rainy day):
”Below the metal bird, tiny boats rose and dropped on waves. Islands swelled like mountains from the cloudlike sea. Omed could not believe the world was so big. He had read of such things – towns, cities, oceans, countries, people – but a reader can only imagine with what he already carries inside. His father has said, Omed, you cannot make a cup without clay. You cannot make something from nothing. By seeing, he could gather clay.”
That wakes a whole bunch of thoughts inside of me – about books, the art of reading, education, dreaming of a more wholehearted society and so forth – do you get the same reaction?