On a stockpile of erasers.

When I am dead and my son comes to empty my house, he will find a small suitcase on top of my wardrobe crammed with the erasers I that I have amassed throughout my life. On every trip I have made, whether on the island or abroad, I have never been able to restrain myself, I have always bought erasers of different colors and sizes. My son will be baffled, he will perceive it as an old man’s whim. Perhaps I should explain to him that it has been my particular way of frustrating time’s attrition, postponing death and sustaining the illusion that one can always erase everything and make a fresh start.

– From THE LAST BROTHER, by Nathacha Appanah

Characters resurfacing.

Until I was thirty years old, I lived quietly and virtuously and in accordance, as it were, with my biography, and it had never occurred to me that forgotten characters from books read during adolescence might resurface in my life, or even in other people’s lives.
…from the forthcoming WHILE THE WOMEN ARE SLEEPING by Javier Mar√≠as; my review is forthcoming with Booklist.

WELL NOW. Here’s the cover for the forthcoming David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas, mofos) The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet. That little fellow on the bridge is me, contemplating jumping, but wait here comes my good friend with a review copy of the new David Mitchell novel! Life continues.