Less a narrative per se than a set of riffs, of traces, each distinct but also joined at a layer underneath the surface of the text. If this is the case with all literature, all art—which is, after all, essentially reflective of its creators’ fascinations and fixations—it is also harder than it looks ... Building a volume out of his own loose notes from three decades of practicing silence, one that eschews resolution as an aim.
Assembles vivid memories in which time runs together with no clear boundaries. Readers are immersed in the hermitage’s abiding gift, the chance to embrace days where the clock and the calendar seem to dissolve.
The book’s structure is fragmentary, and the style, though elegant, is epigrammatic ...
It is not obvious, though, in what the change of perception consists, for Iyer’s many remarks on the self conjure a variety of pictures ... This gentle and captivating book, with its cast of attractive and sometimes eccentric seekers of tranquility and goodness, is a long answer to the question of why its author keeps returning to the Hermitage.
Iyer’s intimate, memoiristic essays steadily chronicle his accumulated observations and journey into the self during these quiet moments within the monastic community ... The powerful, centering silence of reflection and contemplation helps him meet various life challenges.
A nice addition to the literature on the blessings of quietude. Iyer’s observations about people, places, and himself are beautifully written and may offer readers some reassurance about these troubled times.
