Creature (Alissa York)

The novel is a creature. As such, it begins with the greatest of mysteries in the smallest of ways.

In search of itself, the creature grows. Its development is subtle beyond measure; dividing, multiplying, it differentiates between vessels, chambers, limbs. Every cell knows its purpose: I am gizzard, I am kneecap, I am eye. Soon countless parts take form — fur and scale, fin and wing, tooth and name and mind—the sum of which is but a blind groping towards the whole.

The creature is always hungry. Some offerings it accepts as birthright, others it spits back, demanding better. At times it lies quiet. The resulting peace is uneasy, the awful question never far: what if it slips away dreaming and never wakes?

There comes a day when it can see, when it lifts its head and looks about. There comes a day when it runs or slinks or swims, or launches itself into the air.

It is both common and terribly rare. It takes up space and time well beyond the limits of its own skin, inhabiting paw prints and errant feathers, scent marks and middens and bones. It brightens the blood of its issue. It quickens the flesh of those it chases, or leads in the chase. It alters forever the senses of those who catch sight of it or chance to hear its call. In short, when all goes well—when the stars line up in the heavens—it lives.

Pour citer cette ressource :

Alissa York, "Creature (Alissa York)", La Clé des Langues [en ligne], Lyon, ENS de LYON/DGESCO (ISSN 2107-7029), juin 2014. Consulté le 24/04/2024. URL: https://cle.ens-lyon.fr/anglais/litterature/entretiens-et-textes-inedits/creature-alissa-york-