I finished Michael Ondaatje's The Can's Table. Ondaatje's sentences nimbled with the recollections of an eleven year old boy of his journey aboard a ship from Sri Lanka to England to be reunited with his mother. The anecdotes were interspaced with fragments of understanding after years of reflection of what those earlier experiences meant and how they affected his life and others. There were surprises. There were clarity and simplicity in expressions and tender affection for the characters.
They were children looking at the ocean with its power and immensity and seduction.