A way with words...

I’ve been reading Hugh Laurie’s 1996 novel, The Gun Seller. Try as I might, I can only see Hugh himself as the lead character Thomas Lang. I see his mannerisms with Lang’s every movement and hear his familiar dry, witty voice delivering the novel’s lines. Personally, I think it only makes the novel even more delicious – but I doubt that was Hugh’s intention when he wrote it and that makes me feel bad for not respecting Hugh as a writer.

But I do respect him as a writer! I love his attention to details and I share his passion for being able to ‘paint a picture’ of a singular moment. Take this as an example:

“She kissed me.
She kissed me…

Just like in the movies. Just like not in my life. For a couple of seconds I was too surprised, too out of practice, to know what to do about it, because it had been a very long time since something like this had happened to me…

She tasted of toothpaste, and wine, and perfume, and heaven on a nice day.

“You on the team?” she asked again, and I realized from the clarity of her words that at some point she must have taken her tongue back, although I could still feel it, in my mouth, on my lips, and I knew that I’d always be able to feel it.”

Just like not in my life…
Heaven on a nice day…
I knew that I’d always be able to feel it…

Don’t you just love those words? Can you not know exactly how it feels to be in Lang’s shoes at that moment? Can you not feel that kiss as well?

I also love Hugh’s wit…here is a good example (although the novel is so chock full of them that I could open the book and just write a random sentence):

“O’Neal had uttered three words: ‘Conspiracy to murder’.
The correct word for me to repeat in an incredulous tone of voice would have been ‘murder’; a very small, and psychiatrically disturbed, section of the population might have opted for the word ‘to’; but the one word out of the three I most definitely should not have chosen to repeat was ‘conspiracy’.”

Opted for the word ‘to’ – LMAO!

I love reading this book. It’s like being snuggled up on a couch (or should that be davenport) in some very English looking den…which probably smells of pipe tobacco and whiskey…with Hugh whispering his tale lovingly in my ear. What a very wonderful place to spend an evening.