Citate – Broke Heart Blues
He looked maybe 13. Kind of olivish-dark. Not foreign-looking exactly - well, possibly, a little Indian [...] Anyway this kid's sort of - strange. Exotic you might say. Did I mention the sideburns? Like Elvis. With really dark aviator-style sunglasses like an adult man would wear, and a straw hat like a fedora with I think a red band [...] and a baggy T-shirt. And a watch on his left wrist, sort of big, pilot-style watch.
It was said that, at the age of ten, she'd tumbled down a flight and a half of stairs in the house at 8 Meridian Place, clutching an oversized, illustrated copy of Alice in Wonderland which she refused to let go even in the ambulance.
We smoked surreptiously in the cafeteria. We smoked in our cars. Butts were strewn everywhere on the parking lot pavement. They floated, swollen like grotesque white worms, in puddles. We smoked surreptiously in Friday morning assembly, if the lights were dimmed for a film. We smoked while necking, exhaling smoke in one another's mouths with languorous sensual abandon. We smoked while petting, to use the clinical expression, to climax, groaning and scattering glowing ashes over on another's disheveled clothing [...] We loved being addicted to nicotine. It made us adults overnight. It made us into our parents yet it was our secret from them - it was perfect!
The trouble was, money like Farley's was too much. Like winning a lottery you hadn't know you'd entered. Like a fairy tale. It took away the incentive, the fun. You didn't need to buy a run-down house, you could buy a new house. You could build your own house. You could change your life if you could figure out another life to change it into.
What a shock! Why didn't any of you warn me! I haven't been back in 16 years and the village is virtually unrecognizable! The skyline is high-rise office buildings and condos! What happened to the municipal zoning? What happened to the old library? What happened to the green? Where's the Bookworm? Where's the Glen Theatre? Where's Crystal? The worst is, oh God I couldn't believe it, I'm sick to my stomach - all the willows are gone. Our famous beautiful one hundred weeping willows - gone. And Glen Creek - gone. Oh how could you, some of you must be responsible, Willowsville has lost its soul.
Joyce Carol Oates - Broke Heart Blues
Mi-a placut la nebunie cartea, dar am citit-o incredibil de greu. Pun lipsa mea de entuziasm pe seama sarbatorilor :D
Trecand la lucruri mai serioase, tanti asta scrie tare bine; nu-i de mirare ca a luat 3 premii Pulitzer si 2 National Book Award. Da, stiu, nu premiile conteaza, dar in cazul ei chiar se justifica :)
Povestea nu e simpla deloc, ba e de-a dreptul complicata, lunga, dar cu atat mai interesanta. M-a dus cu gandul la Sinuciderea fecioarelor a lui Eugenides; aceeasi fascinatie pe care au simtit-o pustii, viitorii adolescenti, adultii de azi fata de John Reddy Heart, baiatul pe care cu totii isi doreau sa-l inteleaga, de care au dorit sa se apropie, dar care a ramas un necunoscut pentru ei.
Credeam ca momentan m-am saturat de de carti despre/cu America si americani, dar cartea asta mi-a demonstrat contrariul :D
Ps. Alte cateva impresii despre carte gasiti si aici.
Scrisă de Ionuca