‘The tightness of sentences’, V.S. Naipaul’s words in The Enigma of Arrival, a great work of his that, for me, really proves ‘old is gold’, now dawns on me with an intimation like sense of age, energy. The tightness as so much about being periodic, not flabby, as about being mellifluous, the music. Yes, like any arts, constructing or arranging words is mostly heuristic through the labor—to master over or beyond the normal syntax, to be able to present something unique, multi-layered, captivating... Yes, it’s nothing other than being aware of oneself so far but through aging.
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