so strange… so so strange….

it seems that whilst writing the Duncton Trilogy William Horwood got lost.

it could be that he started writing as a Christian and ended up something of a Buddhist. who can understand the meandering and circuitous route of man? what does actually happen when a writer starts trying to write an allegory? the irony in that he writes about how many moles tried to find the seven stillstones to bring them to duncton wood but only those ordained to (worthy?), did. how much of a writer’s own faith and beliefs go into his writings, deliberate or unconsciously…? maybe the books really trace horwood’s very own search and on-going search, a little like woodruff of arbor low, lost… seeking peace and not finding it. writing about the rising star in the east, he got lost in murky muddy tunnels and sump-like hovels…

but still, I like mayweed. he is about the sweetest mole ever with his effusions. maybe that is horwood’s dream.

who can understand the folly of man? and how easy it is to fall from grace! and truth!

there is no middle ground in truth. truth is.
the paradox of meekness and majesty, manhood and deity, who could contemplate something as profound as that? and yet, in its simplicity, its love, it starts out just like a minuscule mustard seed…

whatmole are you and whither are you bound?