Like A Rope Ladder

Sarah gave me Peace Like a River last year. (Isn't that just the best present, a book that meant something to someone you love?). I've been rereading it and remembering why I loved it so much the first time... great plot, beautiful and believable characters- and writing that is breathtaking. I don't normally write in my novels but I underlined all the way through, because his phrasings and use of language is just perfect.

The coffeepot was in the kichen, and the action pretty much stayed there. Swede said no conversation in any room but the kitchen was worth overhearing anyway...

A word I hadn't heard before; it almost gave me the giggles. Ratfink. It's vulgar, I know it. One of those terms that makes it worthwhile having enemies.

I succeeded in worrying about this escalation business for a good day and a half before worry died, as usual, at the hands of routine.

"Thanks so much," she said, and may we all be paid one day with looks such as she gave Dad.

I didn't hear what she said but can see their hands touching- not a passionate clasp but an easy timeless transaction as old as Scripture.

This is one of my favorites- the one that made me want to write this post:

Many a night I woke to the murmur of paper and knew he was up, sitting in the kitchen with frayed King James- oh, but he worked that book; he held to it like a rope ladder.

Isn't that just such a great description? I love writing. Yay for books. Peace Like A River, I totally recommend it (Mom, I think you would like this one).