Mistry is an astonishingly talented writer and artist. Often, with a single, delicately crafted sentence, the truth and clarity of his vision will pierce your heart. And the unforgettable characters Dina, Ishvar, Om, and Maneck have stayed with me since I first read this book in 1999.
Though darker than Mahfouz, Mistry is no less deserving of Nobel recognition.
It makes me think of this book.
If you want to understand the path from being an outcast (danger, fear, edge) to living in the suburbs on Wisteria Lane, it starts here.
How did we get from the queer eighties – AIDS, life on the street, violence – to the New York Times wedding announcements section and to the corporatized political processes of today?
Sometimes it takes the fire of anger to throw light on the truth. Wojnarowicz’s honest and frank memoir has, by illuminating a painful and tragically shortened life in an uncaring time and place, made our world today that much less dark.
Read and remember.
A deepening obsession (quicksand) by an attractive and sophisticated lady Sonoko for the seductive and beautiful, but heartless female art student Mitsoko lies at the center of this tale of love, deceit and manipulation.
The unique tone captured by translator Howard Hibbett captivates from the very first word, and carries you on a journey you can hardly believe – it seems so sensible from one step to the next, and yet entirely beyond the pale at the same time.
Note that you may also have to loosen your bodice at certain parts, if not rip the whole damn thing off.
A crisp and disturbing master class in American realism.
Difficult, because each and every character is portrayed with an unstinting lack of compassion.
Plausible and instructive, but born out of bitterness and depression.
In this case, the liquor glass is not half-empty, it is full: of vanity, hypocrisy and minor self-deceptions that annoyingly gnaw away the human spirit until only hollow men are left.
It’s not going to make you feel warm and fuzzy, unless you drink a lot while you read it.
Sharp, brittle, bloodless, and as beautiful as china. And highly recommended.
Very clever and fun. And the renovated house is on Washington Avenue in Fort Greene, I think, which is way cool.
I love the understated humor and I could really relate to the protagonist. All of the characters seemed extremely fresh (the book was published in 1971.) The wife’s dialogue was especially brilliant, as were the parents from Boise.
The end was a little odd and didn’t seem entirely in keeping with the rest of the novel. I will say no more.
This is one of my favorite reads in the past five years. I’m not sure why, but I laughed hard, long and loud throughout the novel. Many of my friends who read it did not find it very funny, but it really struck a chord with me. Probably not a flattering thing to admit – does that mean I identify with the main character? – but the very French combination of ridiculous physical comedy with a spiritually-cleansing send-up of academic pretension tickled my funny bone. Kudos to the Dalkey Archive for publishing this author!
Over the course of several day’s walk through the English countryside, the writer/speaker reminisces and meditates on the local history and architecture, digressing into an exloration of imperialism, colonialism, the nature of time and loss in memory. It’s hard to describe, but it’s astonishingly beautiful. It made me feel the same way I felt when I first saw the Russian ark movie–swept away by a tide of memory, like the gentle inexorable, lulling ebb of the sea in a quiet lagoon protected from the sea on a remote, lost island.
The New Yorker on Sebald – “The Poetry of the Disregarded” by Teju Cole
More New Yorker: “Why You Should Read W. G. Sebald” by Mark O’Connell
The Enthusiast is a fun read in a Tom Robbins-y style — youthful, but updated in a blog-topical way for the Internet era of micro-interests and short attention spans.
Our man Henry Bay journeys through life and these United States in brief fits and energetic starts into the remote corners of the niche magazine industry — and the passions and people those magazines represent and promote.
Without giving anything away, in the course of his bildungsroman journey, Henry finds his own version of family and place in the world.
by Jody Shields
When a young woman’s body is discovered in the summer of 1910 Vienna, the Inspector’s wife is certain the figs found in her stomach during the autopsy are the clue to the identity of the murderer–for there are no fresh figs in Vienna at this time of year.
Shield’s hypnotic first novel follows the criminal investigation of the circumstances surrounding the death of Dora, the subject of Freud’s famous treatise on repression and female sexual hysteria.