Jeg er ikke noe annet enn vær og vind, jeg er en del av snøstormen, tenkte Mummitrollet og slapp taket. Det er nesten som om sommeren. Du slåss med bølgene, og så snur du og lar deg bære innover i brenningen, seiler av gårde som en kork med masse små regnbuer i bølgeskummet og lander lattermild og litt passe redd i sandstranden.
Det var blitt mildere i luften. Han kunne ikke se annet enn snøen som falt, og Mummitrollet ble like begeistret som når han vasset ut i sjøen om sommeren. Han rev av seg badekåpen og kastet seg hodestups ned i en snøfonn. Vinter! tenkte han. En kan jo trives med den!
Alt er meget usikkert, og det er nettopp det som beroliger meg.
"Life was like that, that's all, we grew up with the duty to make it difficult for others before they made it difficult for us."
"Blows were given and received. Men returned home embittered by their losses, by alcohol, by debts, by deadlines, by beatings, and at the first inopportune word they beat their families, a chain of wrongs that generated wrongs."
"Although she was fragile in appearance, every prohibition lost substance in her presence."
"How poorly made we are, she had thought, how insufficient. The borad shoulders, the arms, the legs, the ears, noses, eyes seemed to her attributes of monstrous beings who had fallen from some corner of the black sky."
"But there was nothing to be done: something had begun to emanate from Lila's mobile body that the males sensed, an energy that dazed them, like the swelling sound of beauty arriving."
"So now she was bleeding, too. The secret movements of the body, which had reached me first, had arrived like the tremor of an earthquake in her as well and would change her, she was already changing."
"there are no gestures, words, or sighs that do not contain the sum of all the crimes that human beings have committed and commit."
"When there is no love, not only the life of the people becomes sterile but the life of cities."
"It was - she told me - as if, on the night of a full moon over the sea, the intense black mass of a storm advanced across the sky, swallowing every light, eroding the circumference of the moon's circle, and disfiguring the shining disk, reducing it to its true nature of rough insensate material.
[...]There, amid the violent explosions, in the cold, in the smoke that burned the nostrils and the strong odor of sulfur, something violated the organic structure of her brother, exercising over him a pressure so strong that it broke down his outlines, and the matter expanded like a magma, showing her what he was truly made of. Every second of that night of celebration horrified her, she had the impression that, as Rino moved, as he expanded around himself, every margin collapsed and her own margins, too, became softer and more yielding."
"Nino has something that's eating him inside, like Lila, and it's a gift and a suffering; they aren't content, they never give in, they fear what is happening around them; this man, no, he appears to love every manifestation of life, as if every lived seond had an absolute clarity."
"At that point I knew what the plebs were, much more clearly than when, years earlier, she had asked me. The plebs were us. The plebs were that fight for food and wine, that quarrel over who should be served first and better, that dirty floor on th which the waiters clattered back and forth, those increasingly vulgar toasts. The plebs were my mother, who had drunk wine and now was leaning against my father's shoulder, while he, serious, laughed, his mouth gaping, at the sexual allusions of the metal dealer. They were all laughing, even Lila, with the expression of one who has a role and wll play it by the outmost."
"I had never seen her naked, I was embarassed. Today I can say that it was the embarrasment of gazing with pleasure at her body, of being the not impartial witness of her sixteen-year-old's beauty a few hours before Stefano touched her, penetrated her, disfigured her, perhaps, by making her pregnant. At the time it was just a tumultous sensation of necessary awkwardness, a state in which you cannot avert the gaze or take away the hand without recognizing your own turmoil, without, by that retreat, declaring it, hence without coming into conflict with the indisturbed innocence of the one who is the cause of the turmoil, without expressing by that rejection the violent emotion that overwhelms you, so that it forces you to stay, to rest your gaze on the childish shoulders, on the breasts and stiffly cold nipples, on the narrow hips and the tense buttocks, on the black sex, on the long legs, on the tender knees, on the curved ankles, on the elegant feet; and to act as if it's nothing, when instead everything is there, present, in the poor dim room, amid the worn furniture, on the uneven, water-stained floor, and your heart is agitated, your veins inflamed."
"The beauty of mind that Cerullo had from childhood didn't find an outlet, Greco, and it has all ended up in her face, in her breasts, in her thighs, in her ass, placees where it soon fades and it will be as if she never had it."
Jeg har fulgt med på bloggen deres en stund, og liker konseptet godt.
Dette er en morsom bok som tar mange arketyper på kornet. Den spydige, svarte humoren gir rom for det som jeg oppfatter som en ganske treffende, men også helt åpen subjektiv og karikert kritikk av samtiden. Magnhild er en slags norsk, feministisk Carrie Bradshaw som gjør opprør mot de forventningene som stilles til 30 år gamle kvinner. Hun er selvsikker, tar sine egne behov på alvor, og hun har på mange måter lykkes i livet. På mange måter er hun personifiseringen av den moderne, frigjorte kvinnen. Livet hennes er allikevel langt fra perfekt, og hun møter mange utfordringer og mye bebreidelser.
Det som gjør at jeg allikevel valgte å gi den terningkast 3, er at jeg ikke syns den er særlig godt skrevet.
Boka er preget av budskapet og forfatternes meninger, noe som ikke er et problem i seg selv, ihvertfall ikke hvis man er helt enig med Magnhild. Språket derimot, er flatt og ikke spesielt imponerende. Bika bærer preg av å være skrevet på kort tid og av noen som ikke er vant med det litterære språket. Jeg vet ikke om det første stemmer, men kan tenke meg at forlaget har fortet seg å gi den ut fordi Magnhild allerede er populære på twitter. Men det er bare spekulasjoner fra min side. Selv om handlingen var aldri så morsom og spennende, satt jeg hele tiden og lurte på hvordan leseropplevelsen hadde vært hvis det språklige hadde vært annerledes.
Pappaen løftet blyanten og tenkte seg om. Han fortsatte.
Parentes, er det mulig at en sterk følelse, altså hos en selv, kan forandre omgivelsene? Eksempel, jeg var virkelig svært urolig for Mummitrollets mamma. Undersøk dette.
Det er synd at ikke mammaer også får lov til å stikke av når de har lyst, og sove ute. Især mammaer kunne trenge det av og til. Hun sendte trollet sitt en adspredt og hengiven hilsen på den vanlige måten. Mummitrollet kjente det der han lå våken i lysningen, og viftet et vennlig svar med det ene øret.
-I morgen er en ny, lang dag, sa mammaen. -Helt din egen fra begynnelse til slutt. Det er vel en deilig tanke.