Harbours of Memory

Meer over het boek

Excerpt from Harbours of Memory My dear Chris: At last the moment is come when I can sit down and address you in the full consciousness of a perfect milieu. The ship is at rest in a tropical port, all the passengers are ashore enjoying their brief respite from steam-heated apartments, solidly packed subways, and an atrocious city government controlled by a corrupt oligarchy of professional politicians (by the way, why should an amateur politician be considered an angel of light and a professional a son of Belial?) We have not yet reached the critical period of the voyage, when the festive banana comes aboard and causes us much more anxiety than you or any other cheerful consumer of I it ever imagines. I myself have dined, and the door I of my cabin is locked, to convey the impression to the careless caller that I am ashore. I have, in honour of the occasion, assimilated an immense high-ball, not merely because I was thirsty and needed a drink, I but as a part of the significant ritual of dedication.