38: Vagrant Liars and Join Giblets
One of the many joyful things about books and writing is that they can form connections and bonds between people across time and distance in a way that no other form of communication can. When you’re reading a book written by someone, it feels intimate, personal. Sometimes it feels like they know you, know your story. You can have a discussion with them in the margin, talk to them in your head and use their experiences to reflect and gain perspective on your own.
As someone whose experiences in life are not shared by very many people, these sorts of connections are vital. Through books and words written by others, I can access mentoring and a sense of companionship on life’s journey which wouldn’t otherwise be available to me. This week I read the book Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy. A more perfect book at a more opportune time I couldn’t have read. To know someone has walked a similar path before me and not only survived, but found life, hope and love, means more than I can tell you. It puts a hammer through the glass window of isolation and lets some air in.
In some way or other, I suspect everyone has a time when they need connection of this sort. In this week’s episode, Lorelei has such a moment. Although she doesn’t know herself well enough yet to fully recognise it. She is, somewhat reluctantly, on a journey of discovery into her own identity. Somewhere along the line, we all have to recognise that there are certain aspects of ourselves that we were born with that simply can’t be negotiated. For some, that can be tough. Especially if they, or the society and family around them, had a different vision for who and what they ought to be. Lorelei, for now, is a stranger to herself. And she doesn’t like strangers much.
For those need it, here’s the link to the Omnibus Edition for you to catch up on all previous episodes of the story.
Episode 38: Vagrant Liars and Join Giblets
“Thank you, Sister,” said Lorelei, and turned to leave the library. It wasn’t until she was staring down the cloister with the door closing behind her that she thought to wonder who the knitting sister might be, or how on earth she’d failed to notice her there when she first entered the library. She opened the door again, but the thick darkness inside felt menacing this time, so she closed it again and went back to her cell with the faded green book.
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