by Jostein Gaarder

A roller coaster ride of a book, lifting you to amazing highs and plummeting you to desperate lows, all within a few pages. Full of philosophical musings about the state of the environment and our place in it: you will have to think hard to keep up with the story.


The man asked the woman the time, and I remember that striking me as strange, because I'd already noticed that neither was wearing a watch. I told them it was a quarter past twelve and, with a wave, said I was off to explore the island. Just as I turned my back on them and was beginning to make for the road, I heard the woman whisper something with liturgical emphasis. 'When we die - as when the scenes have been fixed on to celluloid and the scenery is pulled down and burnt - we are phantoms in the memories of our descendants. Then we are ghosts, my dear, then we are myths. But still we are together, still we are past together, we are a distant past. Beneath a dome of the mysterious past I still hear your voice.'
Translated by James Anderson


The Songlines by Bruce Chatwin

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