I just finished Our Tragic Universe by Scarlett Thomas. It’s a book about how random the world can be, that things don’t always make sense and that life lacks the kind of logical arc and progression of events that stories usually have. It was really good, actually.
It was centered around this middle-aged author who is trying to write a novel. During the course of the book, she breaks up with her boyfriend and moves into a small fisherman’s cottage right on the beach. And she settles in there, with her dog and her books and her research, spends her days writing and taking the dog for long walks on the beach, and in the evenings she knits socks in front of the fire, drinking beer and sometimes playing the guitar or cooking rhubarb jam.
For me, that seems like the most perfect way of living. Is there something wrong with me? I’m only 25, after all.
Well, maybe I wouldn’t want to live like that now. But in the future. With a dog. And an endless supply of rhubarb.
Katja Malmborg 