Some authors take words and create sights, smells, sounds and shared experiences.
When Jenny Sinclair uses her words, I’m inside her head. It feels natural. It’s like I’m reading my own thoughts. She pays attention to her world and narrates rich stories.
“Here, an open door gives a glimpse of a bicycle prostrate in a darkened hallway; there, a wall is painted with a blue mural of fish in darker hues; the scent of frying onions drifts out of a half-open window; and somewhere down the street, a guitar is playing.” This is Jenny describing a walk through suburban Melbourne, only, you took it together.
Jenny’s words made me realise my eyes might be open, but I’m not truly looking at the world.