Quote:
Originally Posted by Bookworm_Girl
Forster doesn't write of the exotic and rich qualities of India in order to emphasize the muddle. He experienced India in real life. He very easily could have written of noise and energy in the bazaar, of the smell and taste of spices in the Indian food, of a blazing sunset of colors against the hills, etc.
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A very interesting point. Let me see if I can provoke more discussion with it.
I think that descriptions like the one that you suggest, do not belong to the strings of Forster.
We could compare the description of sunrise by modest but sensual writer Gerald Durrell (that I am reading on the beach)
"In the morning, when I woke, the bedroom shutters were luminous and barred with gold from the rising sun. The morning air was was full of the scent of charcoal from the kitchen fire, full of eager cock-crows, the distant yap of dogs, and the unsteady, melancholy tune of the goat bells as the flocks were driven out to pasture. ... The sky was fresh and shining, not yet the fierce blue of noon, but a clear milky opal. The flowers were half asleep, roses dew-cramped, marigold still tightly shut."
with this by mental(?) Forster
"As the elephant moved toward the hills (the pale sun had by this time saluted them to the base, and pencilled shaVdows down their creases) a new quality occurred, a spiritual silence which invaded more senses than the ear."
While Durrell touches the reader senses and imagination, Forster ...
Forster leaves sensuality alone. To each his own. Love for him is voluptuous, and that's it. Just one word and it is up to the reader to fill that single word with meanings and images.