Book end.

I just had to follow up the quote from John Irving (see post Cause célèbre) and say that if he thinks he most likely could never write a better first sentence, then he most certainly will never best the last 111 pages of A Prayer for Owen Meany. I found myself going so slowly. Savoring his construction. Watching the water rise--as the answers came one by one from a great distance--filling in the brittle cracks until a smooth sea met the horizon.