The moment we open a book and begin to read, we initiate an interpretive process that is as complex as our own life. Each sentence touches our world, each touch ignites meaning, the meanings proliferate and give shape to a more and more complex and unique experience.
From: The Squiggly Stuff
"Koji? Aren't you supposed to be in France?"
Was I? I wondered. I went into the living room, sat on the sofa, put my feet up and closed my eyes. I imagined the scene before me: the small flat screen TV, the framed photograph of Raymond Chandler buying a jar of mayonnaise in Santa Monica, the bullet hole under the photo where I'd had a little mishap with my gun. And less precise, Laura, losing patience. Why, I wondered, was life such a diabolical combination of the simple and the complex?