“All got onto the train when we were three stations east, yeah”
— Elvis Costello
“‘Your faith,’ I say, ‘is a belief in something that cannot be seen or touched and for which there is no empirical proof. It defies logic and understanding and commonsense, and yet you ask people to believe you are right, somehow, on a spiritual plane.’”
Empiricism and Literature, a couplet mentioned earlier in my review, too. A preternatural ability to scry the books we read that were intended as fiction and make them somehow true in a new way. Yet, in tune with this book, I do not believe this; I do not even believe myself. Simply hope I might be. Each of us a Messiah of sorts in our own self’s world?
A book that has been a sort of enlightenment, not who pulled the trigger but at whom was it aimed? A staggering outcome, that shook out the stuffed feathers of this ofttimes teetering on the edge of romcom or mystic mysteries or the ‘drifting in and out of alternative realities.’ Occasionally in spite of itself, this potentially important and always entertaining novel will hang about in my mind, as we all await our own individual apocalypses or armageddons, each end of each self’s world.
Even a steam train, a wedding breakfast at Prague Castle… and a slower route back to Sweden with all the characters on board. Even one of the characters driving it. And indeed one character in this book whom I had cursorily noticed before, and only in passing, a character who turns out to be an angel or fairy godmover. And there is also a sort of elephant in a room that “illustrates how the truth can be seen and described in different ways, and yet still be the truth.” Until the poker comes down? Or one has one’s kids and tends allotments? Free Will but with hidden controlling designs and meanings. We perhaps each read a different book when we think we all read the same one. A two-tone Bible.
Who can’t wait for the whale, if not the elephant!?
“There is a plan, apparently, and an awful pattern and every element is connected, although we might not understand it.”
Above is the end of my review of the novel WAITING FOR THE END OF THE WORLD by R.B. Russell