My first book read as a recommendation from my lit.salon fellows.

Where I live, the past October fortnight has seen the hiding away of the sun and with it the outside world . Now starts the dark tailend of the year where I wake in darkness, pedal to work amongst glimpsed ghosts under spots of streetlight, miss the daylight hours by working, and travel back home through the dark. The autumn English darkness is rarely black night, but more of a perpetual quiet dimness that de-clarifies any distinction between morning, afternoon, evening, here and there, now and then. Now is the time of year where dreams, past and present start hiding behind a shroud, only to be vaguely groped at, unsure of which is which. We know each of these exist, but feel as if we are blind, losing our ability to distinguish.

This is one of those books that I will take away only the experience and time-and-place of reading, rather than pulling much from the plot. The few days spent reading it also coincided with long nights of restless sleep, dreams peeking over into the conscious then hiding away again. It's a book that makes me wish the sun would stay around for that bit longer.