Orhan Pamuk's Snow

This is my current commuting novel, and it was a good choice. I love the imaginary poems that come to Ka at significant moments.

Poems may sound better when described than encountered in their possibly disappointing construction. The idea of a poem may be a beautiful thing. Sometimes you don't want the clouds to part to reveal the mystery, especially if that mystery is not well lit and has only just got up.

This is how I feel at 5.50am, getting ready for the train to work.