This is a beautiful metaphor for a boy discovering the magic of reading and writing, both of which were forbidden to him.

‘With his index finger, he roamed again and again over the print, like a canoe drifting drunkenly down imaginary rivers.’

Source:  Mia Couto, The Tuner of Silences, trans. David Brookshaw (Biblioasis, 2012 (2009)), p. 53

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