Dobbeltgjengeren (en yngre utgave av ham selv).
I hvilken roman finner vi en ung mann med blå frakk og gul vest?
Du, ja deg har eg jo gjort handel med før i dag,
seier han
Så rett, så rett, seier Åsgaut
Og kanskje herren vil handla meir, seier Juvelaren
Nei ikkje eg, men kanskje venen min, seier Åsgut
og Olav står og ser seg ikring, og så uendes mykje
sølv og gull her var, ringar og smykke og lysestakar og
skåler og tallerkar og sølv og gull kvar ein ser, nei
at slik skulle finnast til, og så mykje, kvar augo ser,
sølv og gull
Olavs draumar av Jon Fosse
"Imagine," he says to his mother, "that an Irish politician or bishop commits a terrible act. Finé. You'd want to know exactly how things had happened. Isn't that right"?
"I think so."
"Well for the Irish, this is secondary. What they care about is how the politician or the bishop is going to explain himself. If they're able to justify themselves with grace, that is, with a gripping, human story, they'll get out of their predicament without much trouble."
Harriet Burden
Notebook C (memoir fragment)
I started making them about a year after Felix died - totems, fetishes, signs, creatures like him and not so like him, odd bodies of all kinds that frightened the children, even though they were grown up and didn't live with me anymore.
The Blazing World: A Novel by Siri Hustvedt
At a press conferance, Claire Keegan replied almost angrily to a journalist who wanted to know what topics she wrote about in her novels: "I'm Irish. I write about dysfunctional families, miserable, loveless lives, illness, old age, winter, the grey weather, boredom, and rain."
And at her side, Colum McCann concluded his colleague's contribution, speaking in an exguisite plural, a la John Ford: "We don't usually talk publicly about ourselves, we prefer to read."
"Do you dream a lot?" Judith asked.
"We hardly dream at all any more," said John Ford. "And when we dream, we forget it. We talk about everything, so there's nothing left to to dream about."
"The search for lightness as a reaction to the weight of living."
Interessant prosjekt og interessante tekster i ny, norsk drakt.
Once again I see you - Lisbon, the Tagus, and all -
Useless passerby of you and me,
Stranger in this place as in every other,
Accidental in life as in the soul,
Phantom wandering the halls of memory,
To the squealing of rats and the squeaking of boards,
In the doomed castle where life must be lived.........
Fernando Pessoa, from "Lisbon Revisited"
En byvandring i Lisboa - med litterær ballast i sekken - unnes alle bokelskere. :))
Those shapes I see by the sea, said Pacheco, shapes that immediately give rise to metaphorical associations, are they instruments of inspiration or of false literary quotes?
Sensing that it won't be long before her dear autistic husband goes and sits in front of the computer, she tells him that people who regularly use Google gradually lose the ability to read literary works with any kind of depth, which serves to demonstrate how digital knowledge can be linked to the recent stupidity in the world.
He has a remarkable tendency to read his life as a literary text, interpreting it with the distortions befitting the complusive reader he's been for so many years.
He belongs to an increasingly rare breed of sophisticated, literary publishers. And every day, since the beginning of this century, he has watched in despair the spectacle of the noble branch of his trade - publishers who still read and who have always been drawn to literature - gradually, surreptitiously dying out.
Dublinesque by Enrique Vila-Matas
The Arrival of Mahalaleel
It was many years ago in that dark, chaotic, unfathomble pool of time before Germaine's birth (nearly twelve months before her birth), on a night in late September stirred by innumerable frenzied winds, like spirits contending with another - now plaintively, now angrily, now with a subtle cellolike delicacy capable of making the flesh rise on one's arms and neck - a night so inarticulate longing that Leah and Gideon Bellefleur in their enormous bed guarreled once again....................
Bellefleur by Joyce Carol Oates
Her er to artikler om Zweig's univers og "The Grand Budapest Hotel" den første fra the Paris Review - den andre fra The Guardian.
Kanskje relevant for folk som har trua.
Uforglemmelig! :)
Bra? Tja, har du lyst på en bok av en ung forfatter som skriver om et kjent "tema" fra irsk litteratur og fortsatt kan tåle en dose med elendighet, dysfunksjonelle familier, alkoholisme osv. - er dette boken for deg. Ryan skriver godt og vinklingen han har valgt gjør den interessant. Boken ble lastet ned på Kindle'n i fjor - jeg startet på den - la den vekk- er nå i gang igjen.
Bra - ja - boken er bra - den er til og med bedre enn bra - det er bare meg som i perioder blir lei av elendighetsbeskrivelser - uansett hvor godt de er skrevet.
We went to a play inside in town one time; I can't remember the name of it. You couldn't do that without a wife. Imagine it being found out, that you went to see a play, on your own! With a woman, you have an exuse for every kind of soft thing.