“I'm not a body with a soul, I'm a soul that has a visible part called the body” Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

I'm reading a very interesting book at the moment. Lent to me by a friend. I kind of knew why; it was to do with my new venture. But it's so much more than that. It's a 'window on the soul'. Not entirely, but in many respects, and on many pages, it has taken my breath away.

The first observation was that there was a crease down the spine. To me, this is the sign of a well loved book, or one that is really good - in particular, on the pages where the crease is. I glanced at my estimation, and saw some interesting phrases, and thought 'this will be good'

I was right, but again, not for the reason I thought. I chose though to start at the beginning. A very good place to start, although I suspect that Maria would be squeamish and Mother Superior would have a fit. It's an open and inherently honest story of a professional woman's life and feelings. Graphic, yet not for show. Intense, yet not frightening.

The first fright was that the opening section takes place exactly where I used to live. But not in the way I lived there. Timid mouse that I am. Or was then. Names of places, roads even, that I knew very well.  Rather too close to my then home.  But I persevered.

Then a summary of a time that I could very closely relate to.  A long term relationship and all that comes with it.  A sense of loss - of the self.  Of doing everything for others but betraying yourself.  She described it very plainly, and accurately.  This is a woman who really knows herself.  She may have been subduing it for a while, but it was always there, in the background.

“sometimes life is very mean: a person can spend days, weeks, months and years w/out feeling anything new. Then, when a door opens - a positive avalanche pours in. One moment, you have nothing, the next, you have more than you can cope with..”
― Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

A few more sections of terrible coincidence.  Of revelation.  But all the while of honesty and purpose.  I expect it didn't feel like that at the time though.  It never does.  When you distill the vast range of boredom and mundane experience down to the essence of action, it is always a little more clear than it was when diluted by everyday life.  I wonder how many tears were shed.  She doesn't really say.  Or perhaps she doesn't really do that. 

And then on page 77, there he was, my friend.  Lining up against the creased spine. Thinly disguised.  I was reading this on the train - and gave a sort of a half laugh, which made the man opposite me look up from his laptop.  And I smiled all the way through that section.  It was really weird reading what I was reading, but it all made perfect sense.  She writes very particularly - his speech in the text really sounded like him - and so I could assess that all the characters were probably very closely played.  Good on you! I say.

I then started to wonder why he had really given me the book to read.  He must have known I would work it out.  Is he just that free spirit?  Well, I knew that anyway.  Someone with his history, career, approach to life would not have any qualms about sharing such things, I guess.  I haven't come to any conclusions about that yet, but it's an interesting debate going on in my head.  The safest option (and most likely) is the quality of her writing.  Modern, upbeat, practical and yet spiritual in an odd way, and very very engaging.  He wanted to show me how such a novel should really be written.

On many occasions I had to stop and think. I couldn't believe just how close to home some of the sections came, and yet it was very different. She is amazing. So confident. Sure-footed in her opinions and approach. Knows what she wants and tries to get it. On page 111 I found another phrase I could associate closely with:

'I've never felt fully validated unless I'm needed'

Where the hell does that come from?  I just don't know.  I don't think it is my parents, or experiences.  It seems to be inbuilt in my psyche.  I have the capacity to be very selfish, I know.  And yet, also very selfless.  And I'm most in conflict when the two are out of balance.  I'm no Mother Theresa.  Well, I wouldn't be taking the time to write this, if I was.  I'd be out there being a Nurse, or something.  Hmm, better think about that one later.

There are three people though, that don't need me.  And I feel that our relationships are of equals, and they are very rewarding.  I don't see or meet or correspond with them all the time, but when I do it's great.  And I hope that they see this too.  Not this post, oh, you know...

I haven't finished the book yet.  It's still intriguing me, and each episode she cites gives something different to the story.  I now get the feeling though, that it won't have an ending - just as real life doesn't have an ending.  It's only ever a step on to the next thing.

And about the writing, the quality of what I have read.  It's modern and fresh in approach, and makes me think that my style is more traditional - perhaps even a bit 'old hat'.  I don't intend to change anything, but for a few days it's really made me think about whether there is any merit in my writings.  And then, in the wink of an eye, the thought goes, and I remember all the things that I believe in - and one of them is ME.  I know I can do this.  I know that people will like my writing.  Not everyone, but some.  And if it works for some, then I will be happy.

A jolly good read though.  If you know me, and want to know the title, email me.

I need to contemplate this.