A conversation about writing books, from the book ‘Summertime’ by J.M. Coetzee:
‘Do you really believe that? That books give meaning to our lives?’
‘Yes. A book should be an axe to chop open the frozen sea inside us. What else should it be?’
‘A gesture of refusal in the face of time. A bid for immortality.’
There’s more: though it drags a little, I like the way it ends (after the break)