Clockwork by Philip Pullman // 52 Books, 52 Weeks
And once you’ve wound up a clock, there’s something frightful in the way it keeps going at its own relentless pace. Its hands move steadily round the dial as if they had a mind of their own. Tick-tock, tick-tock! Bit by bit they move, and tick us steadily on toward the grave.
Some stories are like that. Once you’ve wound them up, nothing will stop them; they move on forward till they reach their destined end, and no matter how much the characters would like to change their fate, they can’t.
Before I found my absolute love of books and reading, there were books like Clockwork. A children’s story—a real fairytale—in the same vein filled of danger, a macabre nature, and high stakes as belongs to the original Brothers Grimm. And whilst, as a child, I rapturously enjoyed the story in all of its wait-should-I-be-allowed-to-read-this sort of way, what makes Pullman stand out to me as a writer is that, even years after the initial conversation between him and I took place, there’s more to talk about. Though, maybe all fairytales—or good ones—are supposed to be like that.