Bookshops are terrifying, wonderful places for me. Terrifying because they remind me of all the books I have left unwritten; wonderful because of the possibility that I might find the perfect story to fill out a hole in time. I searched for ages in the Knysna Book Exchange for something wonderful.
This is Coco, the bookshop dog. She’s surrounded by books, but oblivious to what they contain.
Instead, every now and then, she chases her tail. She reminds me a little of Balla’s Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash.
One of the books that Coco can’t read is titled “Men who hate women and the women who love them”.
I searched and searched for just the right book, to no avail. Eventually I settled on The Fatal Shore by Robert Hughes. It’s the tale of the convicts shipped to Australia, and I’ll use it as inspiration for my own very overdue ebook based on this blog. The writing is exquisite, and it justifies its reputation as a classic. There’s a pleasing familiarity about the descriptions of Port Jackson, and Manly, and the birds, because I have been there, and lived there, and it is part of my own story.
Perhaps, like Coco, I am chasing my own tail. Or perhaps these random narrative threads are slowly being braided into string, and the string into rope that fastens me to this life, and holds me still until I loose the bonds and allow the current to tug me to another shore.