When one travels, one likes people more easily. That's always been my experience and it's my experience here, now, as a teacher who I've only known for a week leaves the school and I find it breaks my heart a little. There's an aspect to meeting people in transit that lets you tap into that childish, open part of yourself - when you went to some stupid function with your parents as a five year old, for example - and suddenly some other kid who'd been dragged along becomes your best friend and you have a lovely time in the end.
I lived in Toronto for two and a half years without particularly experiencing this - all the people I was close to there I'd known in one capacity or another for a long time - expect for one girl who was on her way to Costa Rica. And yet looking back there are at least two people who I can say, if I'd met them in a situation where we knew our time to get to know each other was limited, we'd probably have had that sudden best friend thing. I'd forgotten all about it before I left. But it still had something to do with my decision to uproot myself, I see that now. I enjoy a sense of urgency in getting to know people. I enjoy the feeling of thinking 'our time is limited, so this person and I should know each other without reservations' - something that's always true but only appreciated when it's slapping you in the face.
No other news for you today. Thank god, I finished The Unconsoled and can put it behind me forever (I do reccommend it, though, if you can set aside the time and brain space for it - like eating reefer or dropping acid, it's something you should clear your calendar for). Now I'm into The Artist of the Floating World or some such, and it's much clearer in my head; the fascist participation in the theme reminds me of The Remains of the Day, but from a different angle - a really different angle - I love Ishiguro so much for his ability to have unique and believable narrative voices. It's uncanny. Now that I think about it he reminds me of Joseph Conrad in that way, but maybe I'm just all "wowee, their first languages weren't English and they're still all neat-o."
By the way, here are some in-depth reviews I did, for The Reluctant Fundamentalist and David Golder - not my finest efforts but had a bit of an Ishiguro jizz in one of those, too.
