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216 pages, Hardcover
First published November 28, 2006
“There is no hell, John Temsland. Each man, when he dies, sees the landscape of his own soul.”
Compared with the forest, what was our village? We hid in our hovels, pretending the forest was not all around us, though it sang while the ax gnawed at its edges. It grew and breathed and cast its long shadows.It might be a bit much for some tastes, but I enjoyed it. However, there were several things that bugged. Among them (not an exhaustive list here):
"Undying," the eldest girl corrected. "And eternal.”
"It is like every night when I fall asleep."
"No. It is like every morning when you wake up.”
“If untimely death came only those who deserved that fate, Keturah, where would choice be? No one would do good for its own sake, but only to avoid an early demise. No one would speak out against evil because of his own courageous soul, but only to live another day. The right to choose is man's great gift, but one thing is not his to choose--the time and means of death.”
“It is life that hurts you not death.”
You find that when he speaks, the most ordinary words become poetry. When he stands close to you, your life becomes a song, a praise. When he touches you, your smallest talents become gold; the most ordinary love breaks your heart with their beauty.
We hid in our hovels, pretending the forest was not all around us, though it sang while the ax gnawed at its edges.
“They think my realm is far away. Would they sleep at night if they knew how close I was? Would they sing so roundly by the fire if they knew I was waiting in their cold beds? Would they be so glad of the harvest if they knew I rested in their root cellar? It is not I who am the coward.”
“If untimely death came only to those who deserved that fate, Keturah, where would choice be? No one would do good for its own sake, but only to avoid an early demise. No one would speak out against evil because of his own courageous soul, but only to live another day. The right to choose is man’s great gift, but one thing is not his to choose—the time and means of death.”
“There is no hell, John Temsland. Each man, when he dies, sees the landscape of his own soul.”