Reading Phyllis Theroux's The Journal Keeper feels like strolling along a beach, my breath slowing as I take in the horizon, my skin warmed by the sun. Every once in awhile something glistens in the sand ahead or pricks my bare foot. I stop to look more closely and find a shell or a stone whose beauty I'd almost missed. I slide it into my pocket to take home for closer examination.
"What I continually fail to note," she writes, "...is the heart-breaking, light-filled brilliance of the world I swim through like an unappreciative fish every day. Let the record show that I am grateful."
Looking at these sentences under my desk lamp, I see--no, I hear-- that it's not just the reminder to see the beauty around us that captures my attention. It's the repeated vowel sounds--assonance again--humming their melody under the words: filled and brilliance; swim, unappreciative and fish. Who knew that the syllable prec could ever rhyme with fish?
In the paragraph preceding this passage, Theroux quotes another writer and notes that "It is the phrase tender attention that moves my imagination." What a lovely phrase. I wonder if her own use of assonance in her next sentence was conscious imitation or not. It doesn't really matter; what matters is that she got my tender attention.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment