The Carnival Trilogy

The Carnival Trilogy

Wilson Harris

Language: English

Pages: 464

ISBN: 0571154352

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Brings together, in one volume, the trilogy - Carnival, The Infinite Rehearsal and The Four Banks of the River of Space.

Sunset (Warriors: The New Prophecy, Book 6)

Confesiones del estafador Félix Krull

Deliverer (Foreigner, Book 9; Arc 3 Trilogy, Book 3)

The Pumpkin Eater

Man on Fire

Slow Homecoming



















Anselm. But the dance is no absolute enclosure. It is freedom’s re-visionary step, however difficult, into unimaginable truth and beauty.’ I was fascinated by the unfashionable word ‘beauty’. What is beauty in an ugly world, I asked myself. Perhaps he had stumbled and I had gained the upper hand over him, over the fury or the god that inhabited him. Beauty was worthless! He gave a sudden bark and poked me in the ribs as if his finger were truth’s knife. I recoiled. My complacency appeared to

pierced consciousness into itself and revolves into a constellation that is neither pure hunger nor pure thirst.’ I clung as before to the edges of the chasm until hunger and thirst released the apparition of daemons glistening on the wings of the law, one on each wing. They were nameless and I could only identify them from memories of the environment of my childhood. My uncle’s abstention from food (his kind of order) on his alcoholic rounds and drinking bouts had invoked the morality of the

proportions: a wound that not only festered in a rotting garden but whose transfigurative potential was eclipsed in the reflexes of a puppet, the reflexes of fertility. I tried to grasp a parallel between wounded constellation and ferocity that apes spirit or the death of spirit. For example, Masters’ ferocity was such that it led him to expose the cut he received, to adventure on with a flag or a bandage; it equipped him equally to run or escape from the false shaman. Such Carnival good

under the sea (or upon a wave of land) are composed of reversible glass senses reflecting patterns of intimate sensation – no, patterns of temptation – to which one succumbs. I would never have acquired a literate ear, or literate responses to distinctive voices and sounds – literate self-criticism as well about my deficiencies of understanding in every nexus of intricate being – if I had not been tempted by a stroke of light to seize the kingdoms of space that sped before me in inmost animal and

shall drum. We shall measure the height of your dance and your fall through ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient America and ancient Africa into Robin Redbreast Glass waiting to see old Godot anew. Old Godot anew, Old Godot anew. Robin wants to know, wants to see, how far he must fall from the sky into old Godot anew. Why should a beast’s sudden death help us to map the ancient heavens anew within the radius of a star, a child’s star? One child’s star is another’s bullet.’ I dreamt I put

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