Once in a while you pick up a book that you instantly recognize, like meeting a new friend. Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry was recommended here, at Seasonal Soundings, as a part of the Saturday Review. I picked it up from the library on Friday and started reading it yesterday afternoon:
I never put up a barber pole or a sign or even gave my shop a name.
I didn't have to. The building was already called "the barbershop." That was its name because that had been its name for nobody knew how long. Port William had little written history. Its history was its living memory of itself, which passed over the years like a moving beam of light. It had a beginning it had forgotten, and would have an end it did not yet know.
I've read three chapters. Already I want to immerse myself in these words, literally dive in and swim. Something about Berry's cool clear dreamy prose has captured me. It floats around in the back of my head as I wander through my day. I dreamed about Port Williams last night, that I was just walking down the street going nowhere in particular.
I can't wait to read the rest.