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400 pages, Hardcover
First published March 8, 2016
The trick to hiding something, she’d told him once, is to put it right out in plain sight.
You think you’re free until someone comes along and reminds you that you’re not.
If you looked at anything long enough it would start to become something else, or even completely undefined, and no matter what it was, you thought about it differently than you had before, and usually it was less important.
Maybe killing comes naturally to people, an instinct nobody likes to admit, a survival reflex inherited from our Neanderthal cousins. So maybe it’s the other stuff, the good manners that supposedly make us human, that are the real aberrations.
It’s a quote by George Inness: Beauty depends on the unseen, the visible upon the invisible. That's been with me since graduate school.
Are you going to tell me what it means? She smiled, batting her eyelashes.
Literal translation: what we see depends on what we don’t see. It’s something Inness called the reality of the unseen—a person’s spiritual truth. God is hidden, but that doesn’t make Him absent. Finding Him isn’t necessarily about seeing Him. There’s a connection between seeing and being blind. Like in the fog, when certain things, certain colors, become important. The possibility of revelation in the ordinary. He sighed, looking at her, his eyes moving slowly as if he were memorizing every inch of her. I’m boring you, aren’t I?
Not at all. I think it's fascinating.
Here's my pedestrian version: to know yourself is to forget who you are.