Dear readers,
It’s funny the triggers we get. Things that make us remember or remind us of moments of joy or sadness. You’re not sure why and why that thing has some possessional mental hold over you. It just does.
A week or so ago, I was standing outside a restaurant in Tegucigalpa with a couple of friends at some unGodly hour, 2 or 3 Paulaners to the good, when I came across a classic old car. I’m no petrol head, so I’ve no idea of what the brand or model was. I was too busy thinking of ways to steal it. Joke. No. It was the admiration for such a piece of machinery. It’s a work of art, the details and art-deco design. It’s just the aroma of the metal that engulfs the interior and the sheer heaviness of the doors; you know you would lose a finger or two if the door was to slam on them. I doubt they are comfortable for long journeys, or short, or speed bumps, or the many potholes found in 97% of the roads in Honduras that wreck cars that are supposed to and boast great suspensions. Also, the heat and humidity in Honduras; I’ve no idea if they have air con or any other modern gadgets you expect from today’s models. You can assume that these classics aren’t environmentally friendly, yet they are meant to last, especially compared to modern day cars, which seem to be used and consumed in a matter of weeks, rather than decades.
Sorry. I sound like a boomer moaning about modern life rubbish. I don’t want to ruin the moment. I would have liked to have tried out the car, or even owned it, even with all its impracticalities to survive with modern life-rubbish way of life. But why am I writing this? What did it trigger?
One item. A treasured item at that. Treasured read, I should say. The Savage Detectives, by Roberto Bolaño. There are a few books that changed my life. This is one of them. Probably more than any other, just for the unique narration and storytelling. It resonated and inspired my own writing in such a way, that I try to mimic and use the first person narration from different points of view. I know other writers do the same, and it is no way unique to just Bolaño; Irvine Welsh, another of my favourites, has a similar style of narrating.
I don’t want to leave any spoilers, however, I wrote a review of the book 9 years ago on my previous blog which you can read here: The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño. I like to gift the book to people who are special to me, regardless if I think the book is a great fit for them. I love finding books that way, books that I was unsure I would like but I end up loving, giving me a happy wet-fish-slap of a surprise, not that a wet-fish-slap would ever make me happy, so f–k off if you’re thinking of doing it. I’ll slam the door of a classic car on your fingers if you do.
So why the classic car? Again, I don’t want to spoil anything, especially if you’re intending to read the book. You should. Now. Right now. Go on. Stop whatever you’re doing, even if you’re saving someone from a bear attack, making love to your beloved (or Tinder date) or driving a car. Buy it. It’s better than anything on Netflix or HBO MAX. So I won’t mention anything about the classic car in the plot. However, what I will say is that the edition of the book I read did have a classic car on the cover. I doubt it’s the same car as I saw the other night. But I did once get the print of a car on a t-shirt and it became my favourite piece of clothing for years. Sadly, after many washes, the print started to fade until there was nothing left of the car, but just a few letters of the writer’s name remaining. It’s the loss of treasured possession that I mourn, but maybe it’s a sign I shouldn’t have too much emotional attachment to pieces of clothing.
However, just the sight of classic old cars creates the wonderful nostalgia of reading that book. It put me in a flow state where I found true joy in a work of art. It was 500 or more pages, but I devoured it and deflowered it within a couple of weeks: quite extraordinary for a slow reader like myself. It really was a page-turner. I will neither confirm or deny that I read chunks of it when I should have been working. But I left that job a long time ago, so who cares?
That’s my happy trigger, as opposed to being trigger happy, which I may possess as well, whenever I see a book I want to read or something I want to draw. Either way, that was my trigger. And that triggered me to share the moment with you.
Do you have any such triggers? Mention them in the comments below.