Exhausted but I made it home. The weather here in Chicago this evening is terrible--rain, rain, and more rain. I suppose it could be worse. It could be snow, though we'll have that soon enough. Leaving the Colorado mountains this morning, there was a fresh dusting of snow on the ground though not enough, as my brother Colin tells me, to really get the most out of skiing. Hopefully when I'm back out there in three weeks' time for Christmas I'll be able to get some runs in.
Flight from Denver to Chicago was on time and I lucked out with an aisle seat in Economy Plus. I was actually in the front row right by the door so I had plenty of leg room and was actually the first off the plane when we landed. A few scattered patches of turbulence and a landing in complete fog, but kudos to the United pilots for safely getting us to O'Hare. Also kudos to author Julian Barnes and his Man Booker prize-winning novel "The Sense of an Ending" for keeping me occupied for two hours' time.
I've never read any of Mr. Barnes's work despite the fact that each novel he writes receives tremendous acclaim. This latest has been touted as his masterpiece. At a slight 160 pages, the story weaves in out through present time and memory, an elderly man's reflection on a life that for the most part has been lived unexamined until an unexpected blast from the past causes him to re-evaluate where he's been and where he's headed in the twilight years of his life. While narratively very straightforward, the novel is filled with words, sentences, and phrases that inspire you to go back and re-read for the sheer beauty of the prose and the sentiment behind it. There are very few novels I've read over the years that have literally brought tears to my eyes. Thomas Hardy's "Jude the Obscure" and Evelyn Waugh's "Brideshead Revisited" are two that have done this for me. Julian Barnes's "The Sense of an Ending" is another. I've got about fifty pages left and hope to finish it tonight.
The flight was full and, for the most part, the people-watching fairly non-existent. However, sitting across the aisle from me were a young Mennonite couple. As we were all sitting in the exit row, the flight attendant of course had to go through the standard procedure of asking us if we were comfortable assisting in the event of an emergency. The guy--who couldn't have been more than twenty-three--nodded and said he was comfortable with this. The flight attendant (who I suppose could have adjusted her tone of voice for she seemed a little harsh) asked him to look her in the eye and tell her he was okay with this. He complied and then the flight attendant asked the same question of the young lady (wife? girlfriend? sister?) sitting next to him. The young lady kept looking at the guy. She wouldn't look the flight attendant in the eye and answer her question. So the flight attendant started saying in a really loud voice: "Don't look at him. Look at me. I said, look at me when you answer this question. Are you comfortable assisting in the event of an emergency? No, don't look at him. Look at me. Because if you aren't comfortable, I'll have to arrange for you to sit in a non-exit row. He already told me he was comfortable sitting in the exit row. I'm asking you now." The poor girl looked a little shell-shocked. She whispered something to the guy she was with and then finally met the flight attendant's hawkish gaze and nodded. The imperious flight attendant then went on with her business.
I wanted to chat with the couple afterwards but I'm really not the type to initiate conversations on airplanes. I suppose I'm fairly antisocial in this regard. But then we took off and hit turbulence and I ordered a glass of red wine to calm my nerves. Everyone around me ordered water or diet Cokes. And then when I asked the same flight attendant how much for the wine and proceeded to give her the amount in cash, she informed me (rather haughtily, I might add) that they only accepted credit cards. This was fine but I felt a little marginalized, like everyone was looking at me as if I was some kind of lush for asking for a glass of wine. And then the couple in question kept shooting me looks like I'd done something really scandalous. Oh well, I didn't really want to talk to them anyway. But it was interesting. The girl was utterly under the control of whomever this guy was that she was with. I felt kind of sad for her, but then what right had I to judge her or the culture in which she lived? She might have been perfectly happy. Her seeming subservience just bothered me.
So I'm home now. I received a letter from the Cook County Clerk that my sole proprietorship (the Jonathan Scott Literary Agency) has been approved, which means the agency is now officially under my exclusive control--a welcome development given the metaphoric turbulence left in the wake of a certain someone's departure from the agency and my life. A huge relief!
I've got Rihanna's new album "Talk that Talk" blasting from my iPod and I'm about to catch up on this week's "The X Factor." All is well.
Lastly, I just wanted to give a couple shout-outs. First, to my little brother Colin for being such a great host (as always)! I look forward to seeing you again at Christmas! And finally, to Melissa G. Wilson and Networlding, for being such an inspiration and source of support for this blog and other projects these past many years. My appreciation is immense!
Question of the day: "What is the last novel you remember reading that moved you to tears?"
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