Wish I Wrote That

A co-worker lent me The Map of Love by Ahdaf Soueif a few years ago.  I lost it down the back of a bookshelf and just found it the other weekend.  It was a pretty interesting read - I'm always a sucker for books that use different and varied narrative styles to tell a story.  I appreciated how Soueif wove in the historical realities of 20th century Egypt under the thumb of English rule.  Some parts were a little too love-y for me, but on the whole it was an enjoyable read.

"How can it strike so suddenly?  Without warning, without preparation?  Should it not grow on you, taking its time, so that when the moment comes when you think 'I love', you know - or at least you imagine you know - what it is you love?  How can it be that a set of the shoulders, the rhythm of a stride, the shadow of a strand of hair falling on a forehead can cause the tides of the heart to ebb and to flow?"