In the story it is written as a deficient comparison – Robin has what Joy does not. I was interested in this for so many reasons. All the other prospects became, well, finalists let's say. In terms of Peter’s psyche, one of the things I found really, really fascinating was the interaction he had with, Robin, the girl that Peter let go when he was dating people to find "nourishment" for Joy. It did not occur to Peter that he had accepted the sharp points of this relationship so easily because they fit into the spaces where he was already broken himself. As Peter scooted back into bed next to Joy, holding her like two spoons, he thought about the things that made them such a good fit. And how strange it would feel to suddenly not have that pressure biting into you.
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“When someone was broken and their sharp edges bit into your skin for enough time, your skin developed grooves-pushed-in places where their brokenness fit you. The one below is the opposite, almost a concave sharpness where we plummet into the realization that the other main character, Peter, is truly not okay: In the previous quote Joy finally broke through the boundaries of what held her back the whole novel. However, I think the exciting thing about finding these bursts of linguistic brilliance is when they acted as catalysts for their characters to leap into some either physical or psychological new space. “The road seemed tattooed on the rolling landscape whether the earth wanted it or not.”Īnd in terms of beautiful writing, the quote above was not the only one to swoon over. In fact, my favorite line in the story was: This skin-feeling happened especially towards the end when she ripped a hole in the narrative and just drove through it.
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I empathized for them differently but exalted in Joy’s free fall. That opening scene, you ache to be either one of the characters – Peter or Joy - and then realize you feel even greedier and you want to be both characters as well as the muse that inspired them.īut later in the piece I came to itch for both of the characters, almost to feel them beneath my skin. When I started reading this work, it felt like a dance – no, more like I was holding my breath, watching a dance I didn’t belong to but wished I did. I felt this sentence after sentence, and often with the titles that began each section. In Arachnophilia the author has an amazing ability to write just one word and then drop it gently on the page, like he is leaning over and setting it down on the piece of paper and waiting for the reader to come along and stop there to pick it up, look at it, roll the word around in their mouth, set it back down and keep going. This book is therapeutic experience, just like LSD and other psychedelics are, according to **some sources**. Like, lifetime of disturbed sleep? Or, if you're a leg man like I am, you might get a slight nudge from arachnophobia to arachnophilia. If not, you won't notice it's even there but I'm sure you're find something else for you. It's there for your pleasure if you want it and if that's something your after.
Deep, but discrete and unobtrusive psychological analysis included. Creep from word to word like a big hairy spider and ingest all their juices. Treat yourself with this book and do it slowly. With this little book, you also get treated with artsy drawings, just in case your own paranoia and arachnophobia weren't enough to create mental images you'll never forget. This writer goes for quality, not quantity. Not along the lines of modern "just write first thing that comes to mind and then keep doing it" school. I'm pretty sure the process of creating this little masterpiece was very slow and deliberate. How's that possible? It's a craft, no doubt about it. Inherent ugliness of spiders (sorry, you weird tarantula collectors) and dying that's pretty much also inherent to encountering these strange and fascinating creatures, somehow come together and result in esthetic experience. There's no single word lacking or more than necessary. I've never read something this short, yet this complete. As soon as few pages into the book, I felt this might be the best short form prose I've ever read.
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