Daydream delusion
Limousine Eyelash
Oh, baby with your pretty face
Drop a tear in my wineglass
Look at those big eyes
See what you mean to me
Sweet cakes and milkshakes
I am a delusion angel
I am a fantasy parade
I want you to know what I think
Don’t want you to guess anymore
You have no idea where I came from
We have no idea where we’re going
Launched in life
Like branches in the river
Flowing downstream
Caught in the current
I’ll carry you. You’ll carry me
That’s how it could be
Don’t you know me?
Don’t you know me by now?


From the movie, Before Sunrise...

I read a review of this book, a month back, in the newspaper somewhere. I cannot recollect even a bit about what the critic had to say. The name of the author and the cover of the book stayed with me, unconsciously.
While browsing through a roadside bookstore, I picked up this book and bought it for cheap.
Once I started reading, I could not let go. I like her style. Pacy and the word play is interesting.
It was well written. Upto some point before the climax began.
A story that could have been told in a better way. Or rather in could have ended in a better fashion. The characters, the two sets of twins, the secrets and lies, all seemed real. And believable. The story seemed true, happening. Even Elspeths ghost was amusing.

I guess the author got bored, towards the end. She gave up imagining and simply delivered a hasty culmination of a depressing, hurried kind. The characters all showed unreal traits, suddenly.
A ghost mother entered her daughters body, killing her for good and resurrecting herself. A girl who found comfort and peace in her identical twin for 20 years, suddenly detested their mystifying relationship.
A young lover; well, not very young, mourned for his love and then fell for her daughter, their resemblance being the catalyst here. But then conceives a child with his dead lover’s ghost residing in her daughters’ body.
A man suffering from OCD, refused to leave his house, even for one second, finds himself making a journey to another country.

Ah! If only she could have continued writing the way she began. I would pass of this book as entertaining. It makes me sad. A waste of a book that showed much promise

A strong sense of déjà vu clutched me while reading this part where Martin talks about Marijke to Julia.
Maybe I read this bit in the review.
Maybe not.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.


No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)



~~Alexander Pope




“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable.It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

~~Neil Gaiman quotes