–not of memory but of pure disconnected visual imagery. In fact they are flash-throughs, I understand now, not flashes of something static. Something is passing through and sometimes I can slow it down, or it slows down of its own volition, allowing me to examine it a bit more–or at least catch a glimpse of some aspect I haven’t previously noticed. That dream train of early childhood, with the coloured dragon pouring from its chimney: why is the memory of it always followed almost immediately by an image of the board and wooden pegs of a game of “Chinese Chequers”? Well, it’s the colours–of the board, the packaging, the pegs. It’s the colour-relations between the dream and the game that are the memory. I am in a struggle with memory’s means of communication, like an early radar operator. What’s signal? What’s noise? What’s neither, only some artefact of the process itself? When I find a metaphor like this I am much happier.
I’m a new reader and just finished the Viriconium stories and was affected very deeply. Felt compelled to leave a comment of praise. The language of the first book drew me in, especially the psychedelic depictions of Cromis’s journey through the Rust Desert. By the end of the first Viriconium journey I was filled with optimism, which left me very unprepared for the second story. I wasn’t ready for the intense confusion and depression that seemed to settle over Viriconium’s remaining characters, really evoking the way I felt reading it, withdrawing from my serotonin pill regimen. The unique moodiness of these stories and the beautiful ideas blew me away. I am so excited to read other of the stories you have published.