Некоторые книги раскрывают свою суть не сразу. Например, "To the Lighthouse" Вирджинии Вулф, которую я с первого раза почти совсем не поняла. Слушала только потому, что ее читает Николь Кидман... Оказалось, что читает она очень медитативно. Я ее слушала обычно по ночам, поэтому часто засыпала в процессе. Полкниги наверное прослушала. И тем не менее — думаю, мне начинает открываться ее смысл. Читали "To the Lighthouse"? Что думаете? "Quickly, as if she were recalled by something over there, she turned to her canvas. There it was--her picture. Yes, with all its greens and blues, its lines running up and across, its attempt at something. It would be hung in the attics, she thought; it would be destroyed. But what did that matter? she asked herself, taking up her brush again. She looked at the steps; they were empty; she looked at her canvas; it was blurred. With a sudden intensity, as if she saw it clear for a second, she drew a line there, in the centre. It was done; it was finished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision." P.S. Все раздумываю, не запустить ли книжный клуб... 🤔