I was greatly struck by the duality of it, by the way you get ripped out of ordinary reality and made plunge into a much darker one; one that, in the end, feels much more real than the one you see as true when you look about yourself.
How amazing the power of order! The right order, of course; that which only a great writer achieves. For what is writing but finding the correct sequence of words amidst the chaos of possibilities? If you give a typewriter to a monkey, they say, and let him pound the keys for the whole of infinity, he will almost surely compose the “Iliad“. Yet man-the-thinking-ape needs only a handful of years to create his masterpieces. It’s not just about words or sentences or characters or plots. It’s almost like some premeditated crime, with all its malign machinations embedded into words, anticipating its consummation in an awe-inspiring passage. It was writing about darkness — and thinking about the darkness within — that I remembered “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” and one of the best scenes I have ever encountered.
I am at my desk, very early in the morning, a cup of coffee in my hand and a blank page on the computer screen. The humidity in the air combines with the crusting in my eyes to make the view hazy, dream-like. In contrast, the dream itself is crystal clear in my memory, so fresh I can almost smell sulfur. It is not the prettiest of mornings, and it will be hot. I feel cold.