Tuesday, April 28, 2015


I am a murderer, that's what I am. Unintentionally, but does that matter to the victim?  Does 'murder' without intention make the dead less dead? Something died and I killed it. I am a murderer.

I was on page 332 of The History of Rain. truly one of the most marvelous and engaging novels I've ever read. Top ten material, at least. The author is Niall Williams, an Irishman. He has written other books, but I am almost afraid to go check them out of the Cheshire Library lest they not measure up to The History of Rain, which I don't want to end, not ever. I want to be in the company of Ruth Swain, the narrator for as long as I live. I don't want to loose her to 'the next book'. But I'm almost through and dread the moment of finishing.

Anyway, their seemed to be a period over an 'o' in the word 'going'. I was initially confused but eventually realized it was a tiny, tiny, t-i-n-y insect of some genus and species I knew not. Much smaller than a gnat, which are small enough. So I used the fingernail of the third finger of my right hand to send it along and away and when I flicked, all that was left of the bug was more blood than I could have imagined being inside something so small.

I just wanted it off the page and out to meet it's end however that would have happened. Instead I murdered the poor creature with the flick of a finger.

There is blood over the 'o' of 'going' on page 332 of the Cheshire Public Library's copy of The History of Rain. I wonder if those who read it after I take it back (and I hope many do--it is so, so good) will pause on page 332 and mourn the little creature I murdered today.

I hope they do and I hope they think bad things about me for how senselessly I ended a life today (without intention, surely--but that's no excuse....)

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some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.