A brief extract from The War Zone: 20th Anniversary Edition, a newly updated (see two posts below) and revised edition now available from Amazon, Barnes&Noble.com, AuthorHouse and other booksellers:
"There is a moment which is so beautiful it makes everything else
worthwhile. You stand on the cliff above the village, early in the
morning or late in the evening, and you gaze out at the sea – a
huge, changing wash of light and movement, bigger than any of us,
a joker with a patience longer than any one life and an inconceivable
strength that can snap your back against the rocks as easily as you
might flick a fly off your nose.
I can feel how cold it is, even when it’s warm. Even when the water’s
not skimmed with a purple film of oil, and the pebbles and seaweed are
stewed in the sun, I can sense the ocean’s cold heart further out, out
by the skyline. Jessie’s tried to paint it, but she can’t get close. Either
the beauty is there or the darkness, but not both...
It’s not just the color, it’s the color of light, it’s the mood of the sky
and your own cross-wired soul. Down on the beach, it’s the druggy
thunder-hiss of the surf dragging at thousands of pebbles, as if the sea’s
in training for the greatest glue-sniffing contest on earth. Up here, with
a view of the sheep and the cottages and the coastline, there’s just the
image, no sound, and a faint tang of brine in the air, like a taunt or a
memory."
It’s more than a moment. It’s repeatable, though it’s never the same
twice. It’s where I go to stay sane down here, it’s where I go when I
miss London, when I want to work out what the fuck I’m doing with
my life."
worthwhile. You stand on the cliff above the village, early in the
morning or late in the evening, and you gaze out at the sea – a
huge, changing wash of light and movement, bigger than any of us,
a joker with a patience longer than any one life and an inconceivable
strength that can snap your back against the rocks as easily as you
might flick a fly off your nose.
I can feel how cold it is, even when it’s warm. Even when the water’s
not skimmed with a purple film of oil, and the pebbles and seaweed are
stewed in the sun, I can sense the ocean’s cold heart further out, out
by the skyline. Jessie’s tried to paint it, but she can’t get close. Either
the beauty is there or the darkness, but not both...
It’s not just the color, it’s the color of light, it’s the mood of the sky
and your own cross-wired soul. Down on the beach, it’s the druggy
thunder-hiss of the surf dragging at thousands of pebbles, as if the sea’s
in training for the greatest glue-sniffing contest on earth. Up here, with
a view of the sheep and the cottages and the coastline, there’s just the
image, no sound, and a faint tang of brine in the air, like a taunt or a
memory."
It’s more than a moment. It’s repeatable, though it’s never the same
twice. It’s where I go to stay sane down here, it’s where I go when I
miss London, when I want to work out what the fuck I’m doing with
my life."
(Image above from Tim Roth's film of The War Zone: the family on the beach)
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