Saturday, August 17, 2013

Saturday commute lxxxvii: to the unimagined, all at once

The war had ended. He was
eighteen. The shock was

No one had warned him he
might after all find him-
self with his life to
live out: with sixty
years still to spend,
perhaps, instead of
the bare six months
he thought was all
he had in his

Peace was a condition un-
known to him and scarce-
ly imaginable.

The whole real-seeming
world in which he had
grown to manhood had
melted round him.

Perhaps then the key 
to much that seems 
strange about that 
generation is just 
this: their night-
mare had been so 
vivid. They might 
think they had now 
forgotten it, but 
the harmless orig-
inals of many of 
its worst metamor-
phoses were still
charged for them 
with a nameless 

Richard Hughes
The Fox in the Attic
New York Review Books, 2000©

Brenn Diephuis
Kevin Rijnders, photograph

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