Walking and reading; walking and writing: the two binaries are trotted out with predictable regularity. Whether it’s the alert passivity of the flâneur, or the active self-absorption of the rambler, the act of self-propulsion seems deeply linked to the verbal. Both possess an obvious linearity and velocity, that nevertheless allow for a wider and more various perception. You and your feet go forward, and that forward momentum frees your eyes and your mind to wander off on either side, or elsewhere altogether. I wrote about this myself in an old post: Cars, trains and feet: talking, reading, thinking.
But I’ve been wondering, just recently, if walking is the most appropriate analogy to reading we can find. The thought occurred, and an alternative, while reading Stefan Zweig’s novella Journey into the Past, which I’ve had in its lovely new Pushkin Press edition for a while, but not cracked open until this weekend. I read it in a gap in reading my latest Melville House novella, Christopher Morley’s charming Parnassus on Wheels - for the simple reason that I had too few pages left of that book to last a train journey, and wanted something else shortish to while it away.
After its enigmatic opening section, in which a man and a woman share a train journey, themselves, in freighted silence – they are reunited after a long time apart, but are prevented from expressing themselves to each other, and to the reader, by the busyness of the train carriage… after the uncertainties of this opening section, I read it quickly, slipping down the pages with eager ease. Or even – slipping the pages down, as if they were gulps from a tall glass of water on a cold day. I was reading it quickly – too quickly perhaps? Continue reading