Another winner! I just love this story and I’m so pleased you’ve given us a second treat.(And sorry, can’t help but want to write a lot but tell me if it’s too much and I’ll delete some).
So, why *do* I love it? Well, where do I start? How long is a piece of string? From the ominous, stop-me-in-my-tracks, first sentence, Cowley betrayed us, I was hooked and, as always, your wonderful writing managed to keep me hooked, questioning and wondering all the way through. I loved the atmosphere you created: at the beginning one of impending doom, almost hopelessness; then one which gave way to (or ran parallel with) a cosy, intimate kind of feeling, one which reflected what was happening between them in their relationship.
I loved the story’s setting: the croft and the beautiful silent world of snow which seemed to represent some sort of sanctity for them - Bodie and Doyle, alone in the wilderness, pitted against the world and on the run. And yet, despite this threat hanging over them, there is a physical absence of violence which is sweet, almost a relief and something which they desperately need. And I loved the gentleness of the story and, at times it’s slow, rambling nature as they settle into their newly discovered haven – a haven I envied them for having as I too wanted to share their wonderful world. And the peace they’re slowly finding with each other, with their new life in the croft and with life in general, this peace is in stark contrast to the life they’ve led, the people they’ve met and the danger they’re *still* in and which provides a permanent, but unseen, backcloth to their daily lives. So, there seem to be two things going on here: the reader (along with B & D) is lulled into a kind of phoney war type of peace, but every now and then they’re reminded this peace is transitory and it makes me, the reader, feel very drawn into the story, sad for them and constantly fearful of their future (star-crossed lovers).
I admired your attention to detail – the beer settling well, 'neeps and tatties', a cousin called Moira (I’ve got one!) etc
For me, beautiful, memorable stories are full of ‘golden’ moments and this is one of mine:
Doyle seemed to suddenly realise that he was starting to shiver, and collapsed back onto the pillow, pulling the blankets up to his chin and scrabbling to make sure they were tucked all down his side. His movements let in tiny puffs of the cold he was trying to keep out, stirred up the warm, Doyle-scented air that Bodie had been keeping trapped all around his own body, and brought them just that little bit closer together. Did Doyle know that they were nearly touching, Bodie wondered, that he could feel the rise and fall of Doyle's breath as though it was his own? If he moved his head just a fraction, tucked himself just a little bit further down in bed, he would be resting, ever so barely, against Doyle's shoulder again… And in the magic of the morning, he did, and Doyle was still, and quiet, and Bodie's own breath steadied again, and he fell asleep.
And the shaving scene – do it for me - simple words, yet so erotic and I was hoping against hope that Doyle *would* end up doing it for Bodie. Perfect.
And I loved this image:
Bodie'd never put a hand on his waist before, and somehow the thought was unbelievably arousing.
Too true! Absolutely love this line, too:
and Bodie began, but it had always been like that, Bodie his phantom-self no matter how far apart they were
And the two paragraphs in particular which began with If Bodie had ever been happy before he couldn't remember, well, they’re just so perfect and beautifully written they made me want to cry.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2006-12-26 03:02 pm (UTC)So, why *do* I love it? Well, where do I start? How long is a piece of string? From the ominous, stop-me-in-my-tracks, first sentence, Cowley betrayed us, I was hooked and, as always, your wonderful writing managed to keep me hooked, questioning and wondering all the way through. I loved the atmosphere you created: at the beginning one of impending doom, almost hopelessness; then one which gave way to (or ran parallel with) a cosy, intimate kind of feeling, one which reflected what was happening between them in their relationship.
I loved the story’s setting: the croft and the beautiful silent world of snow which seemed to represent some sort of sanctity for them - Bodie and Doyle, alone in the wilderness, pitted against the world and on the run. And yet, despite this threat hanging over them, there is a physical absence of violence which is sweet, almost a relief and something which they desperately need. And I loved the gentleness of the story and, at times it’s slow, rambling nature as they settle into their newly discovered haven – a haven I envied them for having as I too wanted to share their wonderful world. And the peace they’re slowly finding with each other, with their new life in the croft and with life in general, this peace is in stark contrast to the life they’ve led, the people they’ve met and the danger they’re *still* in and which provides a permanent, but unseen, backcloth to their daily lives. So, there seem to be two things going on here: the reader (along with B & D) is lulled into a kind of phoney war type of peace, but every now and then they’re reminded this peace is transitory and it makes me, the reader, feel very drawn into the story, sad for them and constantly fearful of their future (star-crossed lovers).
I admired your attention to detail – the beer settling well, 'neeps and tatties', a cousin called Moira (I’ve got one!) etc
For me, beautiful, memorable stories are full of ‘golden’ moments and this is one of mine:
Doyle seemed to suddenly realise that he was starting to shiver, and collapsed back onto the pillow, pulling the blankets up to his chin and scrabbling to make sure they were tucked all down his side. His movements let in tiny puffs of the cold he was trying to keep out, stirred up the warm, Doyle-scented air that Bodie had been keeping trapped all around his own body, and brought them just that little bit closer together. Did Doyle know that they were nearly touching, Bodie wondered, that he could feel the rise and fall of Doyle's breath as though it was his own? If he moved his head just a fraction, tucked himself just a little bit further down in bed, he would be resting, ever so barely, against Doyle's shoulder again… And in the magic of the morning, he did, and Doyle was still, and quiet, and Bodie's own breath steadied again, and he fell asleep.
And the shaving scene – do it for me - simple words, yet so erotic and I was hoping against hope that Doyle *would* end up doing it for Bodie. Perfect.
And I loved this image:
Bodie'd never put a hand on his waist before, and somehow the thought was unbelievably arousing.
Too true! Absolutely love this line, too:
and Bodie began, but it had always been like that, Bodie his phantom-self no matter how far apart they were
And the two paragraphs in particular which began with If Bodie had ever been happy before he couldn't remember, well, they’re just so perfect and beautifully written they made me want to cry.
Beautiful! Thanks, so much Slanted.