Conceiving

The critic supposes the novelist sat at a time before the writing of the work and conceived the gift of his work. As a matter of genius inside particular authors like Flaubert and Tolstoy the planning came eloquently, but called for some design, and as both writers knew of their scenic stories they drew from reconstruction and impression to allow the stories their tangents and historical depth. The book having caused breathlessness kept its design in a place unknown, so it seemed, to the author. Where one may expect the two geniuses to have their books 'finished' before they began, the author of the breathless text must have had the patience to conceive as characters react to all behind and not simply ahead, yet hold the virtue of premonition, observe the importance of her long enough to show why, and do so in perfect time. A conjuring of the novelist's occurs as a vulnerable intuition, and reactions of characters rather than a conceptualized story build the reader's reward, only then the characters having absolute control of the faithful novelist.

Reward, he wonders, how can a text so quickly run reward a critic. He wishes he found some area to pinion upon, or a breath internal to the text, a lull, a fascination, of the novelist's, with some unseen hinderance, a scene next a ferris wheel or the dizzying heights of a balloonist peering down on the story, some place in the text offering a poor aspect ratio or encumbrances; but for the pleasure of this text the critic only found the creation of characters and places along with the novelist, ones that intrigued and kept a constant blazing path, a shrill siren's call upon the same steady note or thread met mid voice, mid stream; he had tromped through it upright and to its end he began hitting the air around him, huffing it in as a jutted intake, until the last word when he'd taken in so much he only required absolute silence to feel completely alive. The breath of life coursed through him in blood, the rich oxygen of the novelist's text.