PERSPEX
A novel about what cannot be measured or spoken but is tangible and vital
PERSPEX looks at what how we encounter each other in a world of data.
Set in the near future, where everyone is wearing Spex.
Edward is a recently widowed grandfather, helped by Charlie, his tech-professional grandson.
Charlie keeps a careful eye on him — stocking up on groceries, tidying things, monitoring his data, quietly.
It's not spying. Charlie's worn Spex all his life. Data is how works, isn't it? It's how we understand each other.
It's not until after his grandfather's death that Charlie realises what cannot be captured and measured, and the importance of the margins.
Extracts:
He takes an inward breath, about to call her name, and tell her he’s back.
But—
Stops himself.
And there’s a moment held as he remembers… slowly.
He remembers the day he first noticed the mantlepiece clock was missing its minute hand.
He’d called the little boy over.
They’d talked about other things, until Charlie had quietly confessed.
He’d been curious about how the clock worked.
When he was putting the pieces back together again, he’d lost the minute hand.
But the rest of it was fine, he said.
So Grandpa said well done.
And after that, they’d just made do without the minutes.
When he knew, he knew.
If you asked him how he knew, he said things like
“… well, it’s obvious when you see it.”
If you asked him to explain how it worked, sometimes he’d point to the letters that became an anagram.
He tried to explain, not with words.
Gestures. Head positions.
Shapes he made with his face — pursed lips, wrinkled nose.
Extending into hand movements.
A twirling hand. Upturned palms. Motions.
But no words.