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In chapter 4 of book 2 Livy has come to a crossroads. Having written countless shorts for the New Yorker, she’s tired, frustrated and bored. As it seems she’ll never get a chance to write something of substance, she’s decided to go home and leave her fate in the hands of her friend and assistant editor, Ramie James. This is her lesson in letting go.

Like many of us, Livy realizes that sometimes there’s only so much one can do when attempting to better oneself. Through her letting go, Livy has a vision of what lies ahead.

(excerpt from chapter 4, book 2)

“Maybe I should go now?”

“Maybe you should Livy. The boss’ll give you a leave of absence, maybe even a stipend. You need to live a little. Thoreau’s “marrow” and all that. Bones and all. I’ll talk to him for you. Go home now and rest.”

Livy slunk off to the village. A rundown Brownstone in the heart of it. Late 70’s decrepit and worn. The buildings in it mirrored her soul, her disposition on a downturn. She turned the key into a turn-of-the-century flat. Flattened she felt, and dropped onto the couch. It’s soft and over worn cushions gave in to her weight, her auburn hair falling over her face. Around her was the memory of East Finchley; her mum’s favorite tea cozy, dusty lacy doilies, unopened letters from Hermione, tea cups and toffee, crowded on the table that once stood in her parents home. She’d let it all back in; stuff from home. Just like the whole crowd who’d faded with the passing of the Beatles. Crawling back into familiarity as unsavory as it was. The comfortable cloak of the past was becoming like a choke chain, like a little sister’s knickers, pinching.

She grimaced then squinted, felt heavy and anxious all at once, took in a deep breath, closed her eyes. A ray of sun from the window hit her left eye as it closed and sparkled, a flash then gone. With a little luck. 5 p.m.

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