The Likeness

i dont even know where to start i feel fucking crazy. the way tana french makes you feel like you know her protagonists so thoroughly that finishing the book leaves you with kind of grief like saying goodbye to a friend. the prose here is so beautiful that at times i had to stop reading and just let what i'd read sit with me.

“Do you see now why I believe in miracles? I used to imagine time folding over, the shades of our future selves slipping back to the crucial moments to tap each of us on the shoulder and whisper: Look, there, look! That man, that woman: they're for you; that's your life, your future, fidgeting in that line, dripping on the carpet, shuffling in that doorway. Don't miss it. How else could such a thing have happened?”

-

I think it was only in that moment I believed she was dead, this girl I had never seen alive. I'll never be free of her. I wear her face; as I get older it'll stay her changing mirror, the one glimpse of all the ages she never had. I lived her life, for a few strange bright weeks; her blood went into making me what I am, the same way it went to make the bluebells and the hawthorn tree.