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And Now Goodbye, by James Hilton.
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A while ago - specifically, February 05, 2016 - attempting to write about books I'd read over half a century and loved, but uncertain of titles, I'd written, recording my memories of this work but on page of another one - Time And Time Again - by Hilton:-
"I wonder if this is the story I remembered for its gentle wafting of music through a tale that begins with a train accident, and a man from first class compartment who goes repeatedly into lower class compartments that are worst hit with fire, saving many people in the process, and not stopping even when he was repeatedly told to care about his own safety.
"Love and music wafts gently through the story of two ill fated souls that met too late, and all they had was a mutual realisation that they loved each other.
"When later I found that a piece of music I had been listening to stayed on in my head like a fragrance that I could not identify - and it turned out to be the composer mentioned in this story, even if perhaps not the exact same piece, it was not a surprise, but a confirmation - I had begun to listen to the music because of reading this amongst others and had been listening to various composers for a couple of years, and then found this music remaining with me, subconsciously.
"But I am only guessing that this is the title - that it was this writer, I am sure."
Now, I know this is the one.
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This edition has a prologue missing, one that describes the newspapers account of the priest despetarately attempting to rescue people over and over from a train crash, even though he was reportedly travelling alone and his frenzy couldn't be seen as personal.
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Reading much loved works one after another this time, rather than as and when one found them as one did almost half a century ago, or a few years more than four decades ago to be more precise, one finds it strange one is noticing much more details than then. Was it because one was then stressed over life, career, future? Or is it age, experience of world, and more?
For instance, that this work is set again in the familiar Browdley, as was So Well Remembered. Wonder if Higgs, the counsellor, in this was later the germ that blossomed into Boswell, a very different character.
As evident from the first few paragraphs above, when read a few decades ago, the lasting impression this left was of a tragic love found too late, before an accident destroyed one life and every hope of a life for the other - and a Brahms air wafting through, connecting them via their higher aspirations.
This time one is noticing things brushed aside, somehow, last time - such as the details of difficulties of work of a parson who isn't a religious zealot but instead, not only reasonable and honest, but someone with much more aspiration of a spiritual nature that finds a sky to soar in music, in literature and art, and in contact with human minds where a light is not stamped out by convention.
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And one is close to halfway through by this point, before he meets Elizabeth. But hours after they've been together, one is reminded far more of My Dinner With Andre, on this second reading - seen circa 1981 - 1982 or so - than of any love story, however atypical. The first time one read being late seventies, it was different, but nevertheless, this being far from any love story one comes across was quite clear.
So on this second reading, it's not just disappointing but seems like a treachery to art, when it suddenly does turn to a conventional tale of unconventional love, long before the horrific end a la Anna Karenina, which always seemed to be forced for sake of satisfying demands of convention after all.
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April 26, 2021 - April 29, 2021.
Publication Date:- December 23, 2020.
ASIN: B08R98TKXP
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