Impossible dimensions

Today the builders working on my upstairs (and sideways) neighbours’ house cut a wire and blew a fuse in our flat. I spoke to them about it, and the damp seeping in – they briefly looked it over, and said they thought it was from the other side of the building, and not the shared part of the roof. And then we discussed the strange dimensions of the house. Upstairs is a concrete roof, they said, discovered under floorboards. Strange to have so thick a wall above a dwelling, was the message. Our part of the building is half submerged, with a low, subterranean window in the kitchen, but access on street level on the other side. It was a puzzle they said. I told them the place used to be a coach house, but I don’t think that full explains why things are as they are.

 

Perhaps I’m on alert to strange dimensions after reading Through the Woods, a graphic novel by Emily Carroll (see glimpses of her style here). Full of sinuous lines  – of speech, of landscape, warping black and red, the colours of dark pine and violence – it is precisely the book for the now, for the place D and I live, the strange old coach house at the dark part of the cobbled lane, by the small, strangulated woods. Across the street there is even the ruin of a cottage (it seems) built into the back boundary wall of the much newer fancy Park Circus tenements that turn to face the view on the other side. Brrr.

 

Today was good for reading – I also finished Among the Dead by Becca Jensen (brief review on Goodreads) which is not at all of dead things, because it is about literature, and the life that flows through it, long after the writers of it are gone into the river.

 

What else, what else?

 

More books, I hope. I’m working too on a new project, a novella-type thing with interlinked stories, of nightmares, surreal and unnerving. So far: a swallowing wall, crystal teeth,  taking an acid bath for an audience, marrying a ghost, a giant in a bookshop and a monstrous bothy.  I like the early days. I find writing the easiest thing in the world, like day dreaming. It’s the editing and the organising – ie. the making sharp and clear and enjoyable for other people to read – that is the hard part. Putting that off into the distance for now, like a spectre, pushing it out where the light doesn’t reach (though tomorrow it will).

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