Quoted at the Anais Nin blog, here.
Reading: Notes from Walnut Tree Farm. Though he knows a lot, & loves facts because they channel him towards a closeness with the world, Roger Deakin isn’t big on explanations, either; he’s more concerned to pass along the experience of being there.
“Now there’s a green woodpecker feeding like a blackbird under the mulberry tree, pecking about for tiny grubs in the grass. The velvet-green of its breast and the crimson lake of its nape are perfectly complementary; except that they are never simple colours but a subtle, complex blend of many.” [p44.]
Watching the BBC’s revision of The Day of the Triffids, with its puerile inventions, its utterly pathetic attempt to fauxthenticate the natural history of a fictional species, I felt sick. The text was constantly pawing at you, whining, “Believe in this, please believe in this”.
Rationale is always the sound of the stuffing falling out, the jaw jaw jaw of a nauseating lack of imaginative intensity. & yes, pace Nin, a complete lack of anything that could be called love.