This book is certainly a Bridge through the mist of words gazing into the abyss of meaning towards our reality, we the readers will be implicated, as we should be.
A reverie unravels throughout the first pages, the title and a bond long lost are linked, a privileged friend, a part of oneself. The never ending vagueness of the being of the protagonist pushes the reader to an invigorating search of identity, seeking a directive or keywords arranged in the text, to guide us through his journey, or maybe ours.
While one is reading, an unbearable need to grasp the story is conspicuous. When one comes to find himself detaining all supposedly information everything shifts to a new reality since more is yet to come or even less !
An uncertainty settles, a missing day, patterns show up, the bridge becomes an act of 'being ready' or 'to move along', through the days, our own days.
Some days deny any proper existence, others cherish birth in their enclosed repetitive clusters.
As if the memory one detains throughout the story grows altogether in moments and closes itself from another set of memories.
The book draws us to seek the personality and the storyline.
This dragging is priceless talent in a narration.
The narration is succinct yet rich enough to please the reader, more words in moments would have hurt the reader.
Dosing up the expression is what my full rating stands on.
This will suffice.
'And so, we sleep'
as Charles Dalrymple-Fraser brilliantly suggests, when eagerness is our only companion and memories only the words we took for granted.
'we' are not only these memories yet also the bonds we are able to define.
And so, do we sleep ?