But what ’bout your soul? I asked.
Prescients don’t b’lief souls exist.
But ain’t dyin’ terrorsome cold if there ain’t nothin’ after?
Yay–she sort o’ laughed but not smilin’, nay–our truth is terrorsome cold.
Jus’ that once I sorried for her. Souls cross the skies o’ time, Abbess’d say, like clouds crossin’ skies o’ the world. Somni’s the east’n’west, Somni’s the map an’ the edges o’ the map an’ b’yonder the edges.
– p. 302 Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell.
A bit of wishful thinking. But to those who say that these 6 short stories do not make a whole, I think they absolutely do. Sure, there are themes, like greed, and youth, and freedom, and authority, and they are underdeveloped if they are to be themes but I think they’re hardly the point. They’re incidentals. They appear to be themes because that’s what’s familiar and we’ve come to expect morals from our stories. But the book is just a log, a ship’s log, aboard a vessel which travels the 400 years of human civilization, from its approximate beginnings to its essential end. These themes, they crop up, but only because they are the preoccupation of humans, which are the stories narrators and players.
This picture really gets me. And I don’t know why. It’s a radar image, with coordinates overlayed. The Hawaii of Sloosha’s Crossin’ an’ Ev’rythin’ After.