You remember the initial encounter for years, even decades after the first taste. You remember the quality of light, the position of your coffee mug on the table. On top of the emotional intensity of the moment, you remember, also, your physical reaction, the charge of the prose itself.
“The sound of the ash bat making contact with the ball reaches Cotter Martin in the left-field stands, where he sits in a bony-shouldered hunch.”
—Don DeLillo, Underworld
In today’s Anatomy of a Sentence, we explore sound and its ability to connect disparate people. Alongside a memorable sentence from Underworld, we look at passages in Lolita and Madame Bovary.