Questions for the quaking ovoid of lamplight | Passage from (and a little riff on) Cormac McCarthy’s novel Suttree

A clear night over south Knoxville. The lights of the bridge bobbed in the river among the small and darkly cobbled isomers of distant constellations. Tilting back in his chair he framed questions for the quaking ovoid of lamplight on the ceiling to pose to him: Supposing there be any soul to listen and you… Continue reading Questions for the quaking ovoid of lamplight | Passage from (and a little riff on) Cormac McCarthy’s novel Suttree →