Word: sunbeams
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...meals and her friends. Sometimes she Twitters about Twittering. I like it. When I get a tweet from her, I feel a bit like I'm in her Famous presence--like she's a distant sun warming me from across the universe, one precious little sunbeam at a time. (I'll leave her identity a matter of speculation. Tweets are public yet also weirdly intimate.) (See the 25 best blogs...
...Having emptied herself of this immutable truth, Felicity slumped forward, gasping for air. Frederick’s eyes glazed in incomprehension. Roxanna’s expressed mute astonishment. The Stable Boy stepped down from the chair into the center of the room. He stood against the sunbeam from the window, the light so bright that his form was almost silhouetted against it. With his arms crossed across his chest and a malevolent smile setting his face gloriously ablaze, he seemed to hover just an inch above the carpet...
...visible platform there could be, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. "William Eggleston's Guide," it was called, as though he were taking you on a tour, but one prone to dwell on the sketchiest roadside attractions. In a photo by Eggleston there might be a sunbeam that sweetly anoints a full dish rack on a white sink. There might also be a dismal suburban tract house or a bunch of plastic bottles scattered across a dirt road. It was a make-of-it-what-you-will exhibition, and a lot of critics didn't know what...
...lyrical purposelessness. I found myself thinking about another work by Eliasson, Beauty, a tiny triumph of makeshift lyricism. In a darkened room, electric light is aimed through a wall of mist to create the kind of dancing rainbow you can produce at home with a garden hose and a sunbeam. Depending on where in the room they're standing, everyone who sees the piece is seeing a different rainbow. What it proves, irresistibly, is something we already know, that Beauty is in the eye of the beholder...
Faulks is a graceful writer with a bracing cold streak and a sharp eye for period detail (Bond's girl of the moment drives a white Sunbeam Alpine). But by now, Bond is so bound by convention--there must be exotic settings (Paris, Persia, Russia) and vehicles (the unstoppable Ekranoplan!), and the villain has to have an exotic handicap (a weird, deformed monkey hand)--that it's all poor James can do to wriggle convincingly under all that baggage. And escape, my dear 007, is quite impossible...