A journey is a gesture inscribed in space, it vanishes even as it’s made. You go from one place to another place, and on to somewhere else again, and already behind you there is no trace that you were ever there. The roads you went down yesterday are full of different people now, none of them knows who you are. In the room you slept in last night a stranger lies in the bed. Dust covers over your footprints, the marks of your fingers are wiped off the door, from the floor and table the bits and pieces of evidence that you might have dropped are swept up and thrown away and they never come back again. The very air closes behind you like water and soon your presence, which felt so weighty and permanent, has completely gone. Things happen once only and are never repeated, never return. Except in memory.
Just one quote from Damon Galgut’s superb novel, In a Strange Room. This 3-part story is ostensibly about 3 journeys taken by a South African character named…Damon, but it’s also about relationships and impermanence with parallels drawn between journeys taken and relationships endured. For my full review go to Mostly Fiction. I’m pimping the book here because it’s so very, very good. (Disclaimer: copy from publisher) I really can’t praise this book enough for the way in which the author concentrates on distances between people who are cast together in journeys–two of which are as hellish as the relationships between the characters.
In a Strange Room is, by the way, a Booker Prize loser.