Glass: A Novel
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Glass is pure. Glass is transparent. Glass is sharp.
Günter Glass, ex-milkman and aspiring window-cleaner, is certainly pure. And he's pretty transparent. But the jury's still out on how sharp he is.
What naïve young Günter does have is a head for heights and, ever since he visited a glassblower's workshop as a child, an unusual fixation with glass. When a minor adventure up the spire of Salisbury Cathedral makes Günter a local celebrity, John Blades - window-cleaner to the stars - comes calling. He wants Günter to join him in London to clean Europe's tallest skyscraper, the newly constructed Shard in London Bridge.
With his mother recently passed away, his dad retired and no money to pay off the mortgage, Günter takes Blades up on his offer and soon finds himself, for the first time, among the bright lights of London. He has his first experience of romantic love with short-range...
that she already knew, things that would help me understand what I was seeing and doing. And even though I got things wrong, and I never knew the right thing to say, and I sometimes forgot to put socks between my feet and my shoes, she loved me. She wasn’t pretending, either. She liked to look at me. She thought my jokes were funny, even or especially if they didn’t make sense. As we grew older I wanted to reach a balance point in our relationship where I might also look after her. But I never
think. I was still wearing my socks. Not that I wasn’t enjoying myself, but this was a first date, after all. As she took my hand and guided it up her skirt, I felt my interior monologue begin to slow and fade, and even, for whole seconds at a time, to disappear.41 … … ‘Stop,’ I whispered. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘No, nothing – it’s just that I’m sort of … I don’t want to jump the gun. Do you see? I don’t want a false start, or I’ll be … disqualified. For the, ah, tournament.’ ‘Shhh.’
its existence, reprised for the benefit of its young? At its heart was tribalism,52 nothing more and nothing less. I reached the main door of my building at the same time as the lady with the hemp bag. She wasn’t carrying her hemp bag. She was wearing a sparkly dress and faded lipstick. I held the door open for her. I couldn’t quite put my finger on how she looked – worried, perhaps. ‘Hello,’ I said. She smiled as if she might run away, but she got in the lift with me. ‘So, how is it? Living
me website links every now and then. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You never asked, Günter.’ Dad slouched up – being the only man I know who can slouch in any direction – and got out my laptop. ‘What could Max possibly have sent you that’s of interest? You never do anything except sleep and get pissed.’ ‘The bloody cheek!’ Furious, he took a swing at me. He had grown old, but I had grown fat, so I couldn’t avoid the blow, but it didn’t hurt, either. His bony fist was simply quilted by my
lines on an infinite sheet of white paper, angled infinitesimally towards one another, seeming to run parallel but eventually converging at a point predicted exactly by their vectors. 31 DW: I thought I’d been quite clear, but the subsequent news article in the Salisbury Plain Dealer seems to contradict this. 32 DW: It dates from 1386. Don’t listen to the Bishop of Beauvais if he tries to tell you otherwise: ours is the oldest. Beauvais couldn’t even finish building their cathedral. 33