The Box by Mandy-Suzanne Wong EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Mandy-Suzanne Wong
- Language: English
- Genre: Literary Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
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At the beginning of the week before last, people in general began to
understand that this snow we’re having is strange enough to be disturbing
not in the sense that all snow is uncanny as anything falling from the sky is
uncanny, showing that the seams of the world between Earth and sky, sky
and space, solid and liquid, between the present and unimaginable past are
riddled with imperceptible holes, but disturbing in its perfect regularity,
which you must admit is perfectly irregular: there was the blizzard, yes and
very well, to whatever extent that there are facts of life the occasional
blizzard is one; but after the wind died the snow lived on, and even after the
biggest snowdrifts, the really unmanageable hillocks, were cleared away or
melted by the hot breath of the city so it was obvious to everyone that the
blizzard was over, snow continued falling straight down as it is doing now,
continuing at a pace that seems for all practical purposes to be nearly
proportional to the rate at which, with sporadic assistance from the
occasional overworked municipal snowplow, the warm fumes from cars and
buses, the hot and befouling eructations of the underground- train system,
and all the lights and all the people going in and out of buildings relieve the
streets of prior snow, which has discolored and been squashed, with the
result that we are all of us to this day shuffling about in nigh a foot of
powder, which being ever new is always white and clean; and just as in a
costume unnoticeable seams bind the odd- shaped fabric cutouts which
together make the garment, so too it seems that some precarious tension
holds together in suspense the city’s ingrained filth and the unremitting
freshness apparent in this strange snow blown to us from god knows where
on a wind that has forgotten it and disappeared.
I’ve never enjoyed snow, and unlike most people I take no pleasure in
watching snowflakes fall to sidewalks even from behind a window at my
home, although I like watching the rain and do enjoy the sound of rain
blending with the river and pizzicatoing on empty streets, which may be
why the snow, any snow but especially this haunting of a snowfall, this pale
ghost of the blizzard that hangs around in neither determination no
indifference, makes me feel uneasy: snowflakes even when plummeting
collide soundless with the ground, are subject to gravity but never to the
noise which, with gracelessness of varying degrees, gravity summons upon
impact from everything it touches excepting the ashes of combusted things
and the heat our city belches from its countless pipes and chimneys to the
farthest reaches of the world; and on insomniac occasions when I find
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