What a crazy book.
And that’s a compliment.
There were parts of the book that I read only because I wanted to finish the book. I pushed myself to read, page after page, completing each chapter before putting the book down. So I simply can’t give it those overused compliments – ‘page-turner’ and ‘unputdownable’.
When imagination is truly beautiful, there’s such a strong semblance to life that there’s no need to understand each detail. The world is like that. There are so many questions that we ignore. We don’t feel the need to answer or even understand the questions. Why do fiction writers so often feel the need to explain everything?
Sylvie and the Songman made me think. I did not need to understand everything. I needed to accept and marvel. The ideas were magnificent. The concept of music was thrilling, frightening, enlivening.
And like all good books, it made me ask why we create. And yet again, I realised that creation is the essence of life. It makes us who we are. We are made to create – we are made to make. Perhaps it’s an attempt to move that much closer to the Creator, whether we believe in the Creator or not.