Page 173 "...Camus once described the New York rain as a rain of exile"

From page 173 of the book:  "...Camus once described the New York rain as a rain of exile; and walking along Eighth Avenue, I'd felt not the encumbrance of the solitary patriot but indeed sensed the labyrinthine mess of our present course in life."


[an excerpt from Camus' essay]:
"New york rain is a rain of exile.  Abundant, viscous and dense, it pours down tirelessly between the high cubes of cement into avenues plunged suddenly into the darkness of a well: ...you suddenly feel caught in a trap....  And the very smell of New York rain tracks you down in the heart of the most harmonious and familiar towns, to remind you there is at least one place of deliverance in the world, where you, together with a whole people and for as long as you want, can finally lose yourself forever."

Page 173 "a book called Mr. Weston's Good Wine"

Clockwise from top left: Theodore Powys (early); Theodore Powys (later);
various covers for "Mr. Weston's GoodWine"

From page 173 of the book:  "...Owen nonetheless had pulled out of his intantry coat a pocket-size, cloth edition of a book called Mr. Weston's Good Wine, in which Death, disguised as a well-dressed, English wine purveyor, visits a small town and brings with him a special kind of wine.  What a title to be reading in the freezing dark of this train, I thought, slouched on the seat next to him."



[Mr. Weston's Good Wine (by T.F. Powys, a younger brother of John Cowper Powys) is the unusual tale of the struggle between the forces of good and evil in a small Dorset village. Its action is limited to one winter's evening when Time stands still and the bitter-sweet gift of awareness falls upon a dozen memorable characters. During the book a child knocked down by his car is miraculously brought back to life; the sign Mr Weston's Good Wine lights up the sky; and the villagers soon discover that the wine he sells is no ordinary wine. (Text copyright by The Powys Society)]


[an excerpt from Mr. Weston's Good Wine]

"If you let Tamar run about these hills in the way she does," Miss Pettifer told Mr Grobe, "who can say what might not happen! I wouldn't be in the least surprised to hear that the girl had fallen in love with a hay-trusser--or a badger. Or she might set up housekeeping with an old raven in a tree top. If a girl is not taught to play hockey, she might be found in a wood talking to a serpent."