The elusive warmth of a book just closed stays with you for a short while like the winter’s setting sun. You wish to basque in its glow for as long as you can, till you move indoors and pull on an additional sweater.
I was hoping we would be inside by this time so i restarted ‘The Line of  Beauty’ not without much misgivings.  We’re still here and I’m happy to report that i have finally finished the book in a two hour afternoon reading session. Fortunately all my fears were unfounded the book ended in quite a satisfactory manner. At any rate it’s not as tragic as it could’ve been had the story ended even about a week later. 
I’m ready to read more by Hollinghurst. He’s definitely a writer who’s a writer for art’s sake. He’s trained, has the skill and puts it into effective use to create an edifice worthy of  appreciation.
He’s a writer’s writer, one to read before you write your own. Some of the things he writes, i confess was a bit above my understanding. But reading the book was addictive nevertheless, like books are, especially the good ones.
How do writers write? Is there a single book or even a story inside me?


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