Read Online A Closed Book by Gilbert Adair - Free Book Online

– capital C, semi-colon – “my Cyclops eye, as I perceived it, was both the spectator and screen of the world” – semi-colon – “the world, as I confronted and controlled it – I mean, attempted to control it” – that “I mean” is in the text, incidentally, after a dash – “was in a tangible sense inside the eye” – open brackets – “(remove the eye and you also removethe world)” – close brackets, full stop. “The eye, then, was finally just that glass paperweight which I mention above –” Wait, though, wait. Did I?’
    â€˜Did you what?’
    â€˜Mention a glass paperweight?’
    â€˜Bubbubbubbubbubbubbubbub. Yes, you did: “as biliously opaque as a gaudy glass paperweight”.’
    â€˜Of course I did. I’m going on. “The eye, then, was finally just that gaudy glass paperweight which I mention above, save that, instead of a nostalgic little Christmassy vista” – open brackets – “(soft snow falls if you hold it upside-down)” – close brackets – “what it contained was the world itself.” New paragraph. “But was I really seeing it” – ICs around “seeing”, comma after “it” – “was I really seeing my own eye? How can an eye manage to see itself? See inwardly or, so to speak, self-referentially? Even way back then, I was myopic, even then I saw the external world only with glasses. Yet, miraculously, I could see this lunar surface just as sharply as would anyone possessed of normal vision. What was it, though, that I saw it with” – underline “with”, question mark. “What was it, though, that I saw it
with
? With, doubtless, that instinctual and atavistic seeing reflex that I have already referred to and that ultimately transcends the possession of one’s very organs of sight.”’
    *
    â€˜Paul? Would you like to stop for a moment?’
    â€˜Why do you ask?’
    â€˜You seem a bit distracted.’
    â€˜I told you how hard it would be for me to dictate a book. It is. Harder than I dreamed. I’m sweating like a pig. My shirt’s damp at the collar. Why am I sweating so?’
    â€˜Shall we take a short break? Elevenses?’
    â€˜Yes. Yes, John, it might be a good idea to take a break. Though, if we’re to finish within the year, we can’t take too many of them.’
    â€˜True. But will I get us some coffee now?’
    â€˜Did it all appear to make sense to you?’
    â€˜To be honest, Paul, I was too busy taking it down to take it in.’
    â€˜Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to know the worst. Read it back to me, will you.’
    â€˜Everything, you mean?’
    â€˜From the top, as cocktail pianists say. Slowly and fluently. And no matter what I think of it, no matter if I die a little on hearing it, I promise not to interrupt. Then we’ll have our break. Deal?’
    â€˜Deal. All right, here we go. “I am blind. I have no sight. Equally –”’
    â€˜Not so fast.’
    â€˜Sorry. Okay. “I am blind. I have no sight. Equally I have no eyes. I am thus a freak. For blindness is freakish, is surreal.”’
    â€˜Oh God, it’s so jerky. So many short sentences. It’s like a leader in the
Daily Express
.’
    â€˜Paul, you promised not to interrupt.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, it’s just so simplistic.’
    â€˜You’ll have plenty of time later to complicate it.’
    â€˜Hmm. I’ll take that in the spirit in which I trust it was intended. All right, go on. I won’t say another word.’
    â€˜â€œI am blind. I have no sight. Equally I have no eyes. I am thus a freak. For blindness is freakish, is surreal. Even more surreal than my blindness itself, however, is the fact that, having been dispossessed not only of my sight but of my eyes, I continue to