By Karl Ove Knausgaard
Within the 16th century, Antinous Bellori, a boy of 11, is misplaced in a depressing wooded area and stumbles upon sparkling beings, one wearing a spear, the opposite a flaming torch … This occasion is decisive in Bellori’s existence, and he thereafter devotes himself to the pursuit and research of angels, the intermediaries of the divine. starting within the backyard of Eden and hovering via to the current, A Time for every thing reimagines pivotal encounters among people and angels: the glow of the cherubim staring at over Eden; the profound love among Cain and Abel regardless of their modifications; Lot’s disgrace in Sodom; Noah’s isolation ahead of the flood; Ezekiel tied to his mattress, prophesying ferociously; the dying of Christ; and the emergence of sensual, mischievous cherubs within the 17th century. Alighting upon those dramatic scenes – from the Bible and past – Knausgaard’s mind's eye takes flight: the result's a stunning demonstrate of storytelling at its majestic, spellbinding most sensible. Incorporating and hard culture, legend, and the Apocrypha, those penetrating glimpses threat chilling questions: can the character of the divine endure swap, and will the immortal perish?
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Extra resources for A Time for Everything
Are they retreating? Help me get out of here. Please, help me get out of here. Yes, they are moving away. At first he hardly dares believe it, and peers suspiciously into the gloom. But when they remain motionless, even when he takes a few steps into them, he realizes they’ve gone. It’s just a matter of finding the path, he thinks. He can’t remember which way he came from anymore, and he starts walking in the direction where the trees seem to be least thick. He imagines God is directing his footsteps.
Antinous stares at them, spellbound. The teeth that sink into the fish’s flesh, the scales that cling to their chins, the eyeballs that now and then turn up and make them look white and blind. Then they look like statues standing there, for without the life of the eyes, the deadness of their faces is emphasized. Each time he sees it, Antinous recoils in fear. They’re dead, he thinks. They’re dead. But then the eyeballs correct themselves, the faces again fill with life, and what a moment before was loathsome in them is now beautiful again.
But Lot’s intervention disturbed this chain of events. Initially they said no to his invitation, but then they must have thought: Why not? A morsel to eat and a short rest can’t do any harm. Once they’d entered his house, they had to sit there and wait for the bread to bake, angelic still in their silence, dignity, and coolness, but slowly taking stock of their surroundings and noting everything that never usually impinges on an angel’s consciousness, so that, by the time the meal was over, they had been fatally caught up in Lot’s trivial existence.