to M, you ask each individual, because I will be disadvantaged by the fortune (or at least not as much as I helped), because I have been denied instead favors granted to other less deserving than me? Since no one thinks that his woes can be attributed to its smallness, which will identify a culprit here.
Umberto Eco - The cemetery of Prague
A LLI, entre escobas without straw and broken pots, believed discover one day that writers begin their novels with the sole and exclusive purpose of establishing, on a secret piece of work, a kingdom for his most helpless.
Enrique Vila-Matas - Lie
S i had to relate to an image printing I have made the front pages of "The Crying of Lot 49" say it's like riding a roller coaster is visceral and it is impossible to freeze experience as it happens. Personally I hate those rails all bent and twisted, my body can not manage.
Firstly, because I never considered exciting to do with my gut what a player does with his dice before rolling over and be paid in advance. I am not amused. The pressure on the floor, the world tour with an intensity of nine on the Richter scale, the vomit with a festival of abstractions and colors. However, it suits me to describe the journey of Oedipa Maas in Pynchon; opinion perhaps still premature, but it definitely encourages me to progress in reading.
Pynchon The language used is uninhibited, devoid of filters and therefore is a proposal that is not stale despite having been written in 1965 and published next year by Lippincott & Co. Conspiracy or hoax, Oedipa begins his journey with a lack of interest then becomes clear that during the course of the narrative curiosity and intrigue .
input I am interested in the literary language of the sixties. The voices that dominate the new American literature are those of the postmodern. Formed in the fifties and even in the aftermath of the Second War unhealed and new military conflicts such as Korea and the looming presence in Vietnam, there are voices harsh willing to talk about topics rarely visited by the general fully public and distant from the Victorian themes and nineteenth-century novel. Kurt Vonnegut Jr., John Barth, Truman Capote, Bel Kaufman, Richard Yates and a 29-year-old Pynchon, among others.
However, the tone often has a strong sense of irony and sarcasm. There is no interest in these authors to participate in the dominant moral or provide a message of reconciliation in his writings. Non-conformism is a speech if you will. It was a generation that was fortunate enough to be "politically incorrect" without even coining the term. Pynchon gives this novel aspects of pop culture, makes clear allusions to the Beatles and LSD mentions and will of many scientists to experiment with patients (many in their right mind) that prevailed in those years. Pynchon makes fun of all this deliberately. We know that self-censorship is the only possible death of the writer.
D iGames that when I finish reading a book a "je ne sais quoi" forces me to write something, a kind of urgency that should replace failing to verbalize someone immediately. I think that caused tingling reading and going to fade soon.
While writing about the latest novel by Martin Kohan, it was late and reading had to go to the kitchen and look for the light the oven or microwave, I took the big book of Borges and I went to the only light as possible and sought the page 451 and read "The Circular Ruins" and focused on the end: "With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood that he too was an illusion, that someone else was dreaming him." ***
reading a novel circular
23/12/2010
by Cristian M. Piazza
H and read so much about backlight T. Pynchon in recent days that a logical consequence would be to turn to read. Yesterday I did a search on Piglia and say to Pynchon: chasing me. On the other hand what to expect from Google? is like asking a dog that you remove a rule of thumb.
I see his name painted on shirts, on billboards, in cartons of cigarettes that I have and have not smoked. Two or three blogs I am the "regulars" agreed to address the phenomenon Pynchon in particular, as I said, his novel published in 2006 consisting of 1085 pages.
I leave the place where I am and rush the passage, a vague need to come over my house. I remember having some of Pynchon on some shelf. Within minutes I with "The Crying of Lot 49", his second novel, 1966, with fewer pages, which he spent his days forgotten in a purgatory of waiting for a verdict further reading on my part ...
" Y ou Have to hand over your personal privacy to Be part of the 21st. Century" ... and to get in touch with friends, get a job, find love, sex (even if it's Recreational Salander as puts it) So I'ma Facebook now, guess They won. How I use it is my personal little victory ...
ay H a sentence of Robert McKee (Story ) that I love. I have to go look because I retained the feeling instead of words, weird right? I remember well the effect of reading it, to recover a statement, a habit that was taken for lost.
After reviewing the text, highlighted by a sharp greenish yellow, I discovered that the sentences were two, a couple of pieces not far from each other. The first aphoristic, philosophically accurate. The second focused on the job, with a strong aphoristic: resolute, which allows the combination of words (without waste) adhere to the walls of our own consciousness and is difficult, once read, discard them.
Copy the first. The other will be for a film critic chasing me (I have to get me overhead) and I definitely see the need to write: "We (as viewers or readers) Do Not wish to escape life But to find life, to use Our Minds in fresh, experimental Ways, to flex Our emotions to enjoy, to learn, to add depth to Our Days "
L as interviews with writers could be considered a genre apart. The Paris Review has made them so: post material that stands on its own. The Believer, a magazine published by Eggers in McSweeny, gathered in a book titled twenty-one interviews and "Book of writers talking to writers." A step further in this genre plausible because it confronts two people who make writing their life. Jonathan Lethem interview with Paul Auster, Zadie Smith does the same with Ian McEwan, Gary Zebrun challenges to Edmund White. With these pairs is minimal waste. It is unclear whether pay more attention to the question or the answer. That reflection is constant the Sundance Channel's Iconoclast series (Although there were a confluence of disciplines). When dialogue is so much more intimate, unless the secrecy take possession of them and hide in codes insurmountable. Once I witnessed an exchange between two principals at the end of a projection: Steven Soderbergh asked Woody Allen's Match Point who just finished showing on the big screen.
But back to the interview as reading material, particularly in cultural supplements. When a writer publishes almost "Mandatory" that makes you an interview, you have to promote the book and though some authors show some allergy to these meetings are part of the logistics of publishing, a sort of lesser evil that is attached to be made public and that is ultimately useless and end up accepting and valuing. These symposia are printed documents that will be the subject of biographers and scholars. One does not read interviews to explain the novel you're buying or already bought and have not had time to read. The guest takes us to a figure that usually is dissolved in the voices of others; figures whenever possible, try to stay in complete privacy. Read an interview is for me to understand the humanity behind the author, his poetry, his repetition of certain topics.
is interesting to discover that an author like Mary, who just celebrated 40 years of his first novel, is vulnerable to the issues that impatient to every writer and every prospect of writer "Always I have many insecurities. One of the things that irritated if I do take 40 years growing this business, not in this profession because I have never seen as a profession, I have not won anything in security, you should have some confidence in my resources. And no, I have never. "
Six questions later, he reiterated his position before the novel: " The novels do not provide answers, as has been said a thousand times. I said many times that Faulkner quote that said that what makes literature makes a poor match when the lights in the middle of the night in the middle of a field. There used to illuminate anything, only serves to see a little better how Darkness around it. The literature shows how shadow zone is ... "
The full interview
l E Street Cafe 11, is named, helped by the elliptical component of the English language is becoming a haven for weekend . It is tiny, and for that reason, warm, inviting, inspiring. Despite the tight and short, almost non-existent separation between the tables There is no reason to feel short of breath.
I come to read, write paragraphs disinterested, to see people, observe their ways, and without intending to, your eating habits. The photos I took with the phone and go to a new blog that I'm devising a "PHOTOLOG" snapshot Yorkers, a city that is very close to the idea of \u200b\u200bhome, a further confirmation that a response or outcome. Saer explaining why, or pigeon, it does not matter who, at the end of a chapter of The research .
a bigger place, that does not evoke nostalgia, because children did not pass here. A house spreads, which are accepted all our contradictions, aspirations and subtleties not elaborate filters or labels, things that the place we saw the birth not permitted because they are other attributes.
is a major issue for all who are gone and in particular for those who felt uncomfortable, uneasy in a particular adjective. Although it is tiring shedding those tags, maybe even impossible to change its name, is an issue and rational epidermal looms on every page of every book of all those who go beyond writing about it.
Suit in my backpack so I have to read the novel Saer. Reading itself to past to be quite an event: to bring together in one place the minimum to achieve, perhaps because reading away from being transcendent and more a companion skin. I also put True and False by David Mamet, which I read it twice and would be happy to re-offend. The classic book Rivadavia, a practice over recent years, the pen that I borrowed from another coffee and visiting a cable music, notes that only I can hear.
afternoon at an all time high, not objecting to anything. The sun with direct light highway; March 1 as told Dickens. No money but plenty of life.
L or interesting of the virtual era is the speed with which word travels. Previously, the most effective way to bring you a book to a certain speed was that you throw him over the head and if as is now the first one arrives and then announces (beep intruder and addictive) you would have collected more than bumps and bruises and reading which had receded into the background.
The "Red" allows us to purchase almost anything we want. There used to wait for a family to travel to reach us one title. Today, with an average hours used well, checking online bookstores can buy anything and everything indoors. So I bought "Il Cimitero di Praga" by Umberto Eco and the latest Cozarinsky "The third morning." Velocity, then, as an input and an advantage if managed properly.
With the advent of the Kindle and iBooks are no more timeouts. Buy a book and receive it faster than blowing the nose. The bullet train thing happened to a less finished version of the Star Trek teleporter. That is, the distances became differentiated and touch on is something archaic. Furthermore, the notes were always personal matter, like the underscore. No But that also happens to be a thing of the past. We share everything, sometimes even our own partners, and that is becoming the norm and is no longer a rarity. It seems that with the idea that the world became a huge database of people e-books are awarded the right to do with the intimate act and inviolable (unless one gives the book) the statistics underlined .. .
Surprisingly, as delineated Vila-Matas in his latest article in El País, all attention is on "digital advances, the disquieting future of the Internet, the danger of becoming extinct printed texts , but nobody seems to do much to keep talking with normal books before. " is a hot topic, as fashionable as the CD in the eighties and the miniskirt in the sixties (although in reality and Etruscans, Greeks and Romans had made popular.)
Read what it says Andrei Codrescu, from La Petite Claudine page.
I'm reading a new book I downloaded on my Kindle and I Noticed an Underlined passage. Surely it is a mistake, I think. This is a new book. I do not know about you, but I always hated underlined passages in used books. They derail my private enjoyment.
When somebody offers perception of what's important, something moronic, usually, which is why I always prefer buying books new so I could make my own moronic marks. But moronic or not, it was all between me and my new book.
And this thing on my Kindle is supposed to be new. And then I discovered that the horror doesn't stop with the unwelcomed presence of another reader who's defaced my new book. But it deepens with something called view popular highlights, which will tell you how many morons have underlined before so that not only you do not own the new book you paid for, the entire experience of reading is shattered by the presence of a mob that agitated inside your text like strangers in a train station.
So You Can now add to the ease of downloading an e-book the end of the illusion That it is your book. The end of the privileged relation entre yourself and your book.
d [...] fter many years of absence, his hometown has not produced any emotion because it is now finally an adult, and being an adult means just having come to understand that it is in the native land was born, but in a larger, more neutral, neither friend nor enemy, unknown, no one could call his own and affection but does not stimulate the strangeness, a home that is neither spatial or geographical, or even verbal , but rather, even where these words can still mean something physical, chemical, biological, cosmic, and the invisible and visible, from the fingertips to the starry universe, or what can be known on the unseen and the visible part, and that set that includes even the very brink of the unthinkable, is not really his homeland but his prison herself abandoned and closed from the outside-the that excessive dark wanderings, fiery and icy at the same time, protected not only from the senses, but also emotion, nostalgia and thought. Juan José Saer
- The research
L as libraries are increasingly specialized and less eccentric and a library that already is proving itself by omission or inconsistency with the march of progress technological object of cult worship for very small but no less adept. Larry Edmund's Bookshop remains true to its tradition. Located in the heart of Hollywood, across the street from the historic Egyptian Theater, which established the ritual of film galas and a few blocks from "The Los Angeles Film School." This article puts in evidence Latimer and teaches us that certain things are worth the nostalgia to stay afloat.
The film is largely nostalgic, remember Nuovo Cinema Paradiso? this game is an essential condiment longings that are allowed to bring into the room just as unbelief is seized to prevent bad times and focus en el relato visual.
At Larry Edmunds Bookshop, movie memories have a long shelf life
Jeffrey Mantor, who has a sizable tattoo of Rita Hayworth on his left bicep and one of Anita Ekberg from "La Dolce Vita" on his right, is standing by a long row of beat-up filing cabinets containing thousands of headshots. When he begins pulling out pictures, it's as if he's reaching straight into the heart of Hollywood's golden age.
Photos of beauties including Dorothy Dandridge, Kim Novak, Mae West and Lauren Bacall are all signed. There's even an autographed Bette Davis headshot dated Oct. 15, 1937, that bears the photographer's Warner Bros. stamp.
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FOR THE RECORD:
Larry Edmunds Bookshop: An article in the March 5 Calendar on Larry Edmunds Bookshop in Hollywood said the store was once owned by Milt Luboviski. Luboviski was a co-owner. His wife, Git, who is now known as Git Polin, co-owned the store for 55 years. —
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Mantor is the owner of Larry Edmunds Bookshop, which was founded in 1938 and specializes exclusively in movie books and memorabilia. For Mantor, the tattoos, which he got done at a parlor down the street from his store on Hollywood Boulevard, symbolize a love of the classic films that are his stock and trade.
But the nearby tattoo parlor also symbolizes one of the challenges to his shop's existence. A mecca for bookstores and well-heeled customers during the early to mid-20th century, Hollywood Boulevard has slowly been taken over by tattoo parlors, ritzy clubs, kitschy tourist traps and corporate giants like Hooters and Hard Rock Café, which cater to a different clientele.
Seguir leyendo
I WAS t March One of Those Days When the sun shines hot and the wind blows
cold ... Charles Dickens
Staba E standing before a book market that separates a road with heavy traffic. I imagine an aerial shot with irregular rows of cars like an ocean current unusual and there, in that island. Location suggesting the possibility of symbolism, because it is subject to the chaos that goes up and down, the neurosis "in crescendo" of drivers when they know that light comes change. And that island there, covered with words, swallowed by the sun every half days.
Literature as pause, trying to reflect on some of those stories chaos without intervening directly, or something. Read, reflect, is a serious business in a city where you can risk his life to come up with a text at the best price, volume and forgotten by the press, retired.
I went through all the shelves asking for "Author." The first librarian, who wanted to lower a Perec and reissue edition Savage Detectives Bolaño , he said he did not know this gentleman and that insurance will not ask because it would cost to sell work. Were you listening well? Leaning on my reading I tried some heteronymous some of those masks that used to sneak out of the first person or autobiographical. However, the result was the same.
I kept asking Have you seen the Lord "Author" for these properties? All items, accompanied by a tangle of disjointed gestures, the same refusal. A ridiculous scenario but not entirely negligible began touring the body: Have I fallen into a kind of parallel reality where "The Author" never was needed? This can happen only by being part of the text itself, one of his novels. Is this not the case, as he often times included without nerve.
walked with a slight dizziness over, trying to coordinate my steps as I clung to any conclusions, with the disadvantage of being unable to verify any at the moment. The books filled the little footage of the kiosks. A simple structure and metallic coated with the same dust that covered every one of the texts in this market.
I began by checking if there Anagrama books. Everything was familiar, But if Perec and are Bolaño Anagram! remembered. Were all the others: Berti, Fogwill, Onetti, Pasternak in an English edition, Le Clezio, Mastretta, for God's sake, but "The Author" trace. I wanted to call to tell and pass the phone to either of them but I remembered that I have never had their number and dismissed that possibility. I walked, it was all I had.
A yer sun was imposed despite the intimidation of a solemn and tedious breeze. Today it rains almost sideways because the wind is still here fucking. I do not mind the rainy days, let alone if it is Sunday and you can give yourself a couple of hours wrapped in sheets while the presence of the storm, with that cool, strain out the window ajar. I have also learned to walk under water, to interpret the wet pavement, walking as if meditating and breathing pulse of mixed until confused with the ringing of the water.
Manhattan is responsible for this change of attitude. I come from a culture where we are conditioned to believe that the rain is like a sore throat and cold days one big shit. I remember how all drizzle altered the mood of the people, as if it were an unexpected announcement on television. Dog piss and highways are blocked, that was the mental work, embodying the rain, a rock that traveled from generation to generation. Hours and hours in line and we are left with the music and tons of conversation squeezed into the car with the windows sealed. We wanted to forget the wet and the evil intentions of people transformed by the rain wicked and impertinent.
We thought that in an ideal world it would rain because there we were stupid and we were well trained; at most to be given by falling at dawn when the streets were accompanied, in his loneliness and people were sleeping or drunk, or braided horizontally and indoors.
also the rain in Frankfurt, in a pause between the Goethe House and the architecture of any of its downtown streets, I tried what for me was the best cheesecake and that mark was there to reveal that trip. My palate has changed since then but this picture was this linked to rain. From that moment I walked into a truce with the natural phenomenon and brought me to the contemporary corner of Chelsea, the Meatpacking and the labyrinthine West Village.
images of umbrellas, raincoats and boots. Young designers, the look of an aesthetic choice that forces you to always see products that look new but are just sort of contraption rethought, get in the rain an excuse to make people look good, sexy or elegant. Manhattan girls always looking for new adventures, with tights or tight leggings, outlining the silhouettes of the waist down, ending in boots and less vulgar practice of wearing a firefighter. Children take over the landscape with impervious cut and styled around the shape of animals or figures. Dressing up a child in winter means a share of patience and creativity but never deny the slick patina of the raincoats. "Piove, feelings come piove ..."
Accumulation