Later that year, when snow started to hide the front steps, when morning became evening

as I sat on the sofa, buried under everything Id lost, I made a fire and used my laughter for
kindling: Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! I was already out of words when I met your
mother, that may have been what made our marriage possible, she never had to know me.
We met at the Columbian Bakery on Broadway, wed both come to New York lonely, broken
and confused, I was sitting in the corner stirring cream into coffee, around and around like
a little solar system, the place was half empty but she slid right up next to me, Youve lost
everything, she said, as if we were sharing a secret, I can see. If Id been someone else
in a different world Idve done something different, but I was myself and the world was the
world, so I was silent, (p.28-30)
What seems first apparent about the Grandfathers narrative is that it feels like a very
personal form of outpouring. He does not follow conventional punctuation, having run-on
sentences that go on for lines without a full stop, nor have any paragraphing. This indeed
adds to the personal style of the Grandfather, as it contributes a form of intimacy to his
letter, instead of acting as a detriment. Indeed, this intimacy in the style of his narrative
creates a narrative that does not merely function as a letter addressed to the Grandfathers
son, placed in the book. It seems to function as an extension of the grandfather into the
narrative of the story itself, and not some other form of writing juxtaposed with the rest of
the book. The lack of full stops, or indications of the end of ideas, seems to make the
narrative a stream of consciousness, lending it a pensive mood. Indeed, the narrative
seems much a reflection as an actual narrative. This is not to say that the narrative of the
grandfather loses it epistolary nature, but rather, it blends both story narration and
communication with the Grandfather and the son, Thomas, helping us empathise with the
Grandfather.
Even in the actual language, the Grandfather seems to portray this. His description of his
surroundings seems almost poetic, such as when he compares the cream in his coffee to a
little solar system, evoking a beauty that that seems incongruent with the rest of his
surroundings, and indeed, the description itself. His descriptions also seem to aid in
conveying his thoughts: the isolation created by the imagery of celestial bodies made
miniscule add to his self-description of being lonely, broken, and confused. This helps in
the language of the narrative conveying a saturnine tone, underpinned with the bleakness
of the Grandfathers winter. This is emphasised by the almost deliberate imagery in the
grandfathers narrative: in burning the pages of his daybook, he seems to be burning both
his happiness and his means of communication. The grandfathers description of winter
here creates the sense of loneliness which seems to run through the section: he is trapped
inside his house and his way to the rest of the world is obscured: snow covering the front
steps.