"You Stop Grieving For The Past. You See That The Past Is Something In Your Mind Alone, That It Doesn't Exist In Real Life. You Trample On The Past, You Crush It. In The Beginning It Is Like Trampling On A Garden. In The End You Are Just Walking On Ground."

I really loved the quote in A Bend in the River that is the title of the post. It gave me pause and made me think. And it felt very accurate. Don't we all have our own version of "the past" in our heads? Things that are so crystal clear for us, that define who we are, that someone else may not remember at all. But do we assume that everyone remembers everything the way we do? And do we assume that everyone knows how those past moments have brought us to who and where we are? But I would guess that almost no one know that about us. That those are the most intimately familiar pieces of our identity that no one else understands. And we can try to share these experiences and express the impact, but no one will ever understand it in the same way. And while sometimes it feels sacrilegious to move on without treasuring our past, eventually it will all fade into the background with the exception of a highlight reel. 

I don't think that this was necessarily one of the key elements of the book, but it did strike me. A Bend in the River tells the story of Salim, a Muslim originally from a country on the east coast of Africa, with Indian roots. Following unrest in his hometown, he moves to an unnamed country on the interior of Africa, at a village at the bend of a river, to be a shopkeeper. The story relates his adjustments living here and the political turmoil that finds its way to the small village. It also describes the modernity that also finds its way to the small village (fast food restaurant! A university!) and the impact, both good and bad, that it has on Salim and his "friends" (although he never really acknowledges anyone as a friend...those he associates with are either fellow merchants, a woman he is having an affair with, a man who used to be his family's servant, and other expats like himself). He seems to keep his acceptance of this place as his home at arm's length, but the passage of time says otherwise. 

I'll admit I had a hard time getting into the book and overall, thought it was just ok. I know that this is often considered one of V.S. Naipaul's best works, and I don't disagree that it was well written and interesting, but maybe just not for me. 

Next up, a pause in the book lists to read a recommendation from my sister, Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline. 

191 to go.