The seas

This is going to be a long week. And just as it has been, it will be difficult for me to have time for myself.

When I returned from office last night, I found a book had arrived all the way from our Irish French friend. Along with it was a hand-written note, a letter in fact which was the only thing that made me smile during the whole day, and perhaps for the week as well.

Unfortunately, I had bought the book right after the Booker Prize was announced in 2005. And I had tried reading it. By tried, I mean, I had to refer to the dictionary much more often than I like to while reading. Also, to put it bluntly, I couldn't understand much of it. My cousin, who has been a reader too since childhood had asked me, "If you can understand The Sea, please explain it to me, because I couldn't." Now it is unlike her to make a statement like this and I had to concede I hadn't been able to make much out of it myself. But now is as good a time as any to see if I can give the book a go, to see if I am a slightly improved reader.

Now despite the irony (I wasn't told what book to expect), I am greatly touched by the gesture and it means a lot to me. If I exclude cards, I don't even remember the last time I received a hand-written letter. For me, genuine intentions have great value, often more than what might traditionally be considered more real.