miercuri, 27 august 2014

Woolf

Here is one of the reasons I like Woolf so much. For her depiction of reality, especially because it is a reality so dear to me: 

"Next day the light of the October morning was falling in dusty shafts through the uncurtained windows, and the hum of traffic rose from the street. London then was winding itself up again; the factory was astir; the machines were beginning. It was tempting, after all this reading, to look out of the window and see what London was doing on the morning of the 26th of October 1928. And what was London doing? Nobody, it seemed, was reading Antony and Cleopatra. London was wholly indifferent, it appeared, to Shakespeare's plays. Nobody cared a straw--and I do not blame them--for the future of fiction, the death of poetry or the development by the average woman of a prose style completely expressive of her mind. If opinions upon any of these matters had been chalked on the pavement, nobody would have stooped to read them. The nonchalance of the hurrying feet would have rubbed them out in half an hour. Here came an errand-boy; here a woman with a dog on a lead. The fascination of the London street is that no two people are ever alike; each seems bound on some private affair of his own. There were the business-like, with their little bags; there were the drifters rattling sticks upon area railings; there were affable characters to whom the streets serve for clubroom, hailing men in carts and giving information without being asked for it. Also there were funerals to which men, thus suddenly reminded of the passing of their own bodies, lifted their hats. And then a very distinguished gentleman came slowly down a doorstep and paused to avoid collision with a bustling lady who had, by some means or other, acquired a splendid fur coat and a bunch of Parma violets. They all seemed separate, self-absorbed, on business of their own." (A Room of One's Own, beginning of chapter 6)

miercuri, 20 august 2014

provocare bookaholic

Am vazut o provocare pe bookaholic care mi s-a parut interesanta. Plus o ocazie buna de a mai rascoli un pic prin memoria-mi taaaare ruginita. Regulile spun asa: 15 cărți pe care le-ai citit și pe care le porți cu tine tot timpul. Primele 15 pe care ți le reamintești în primele 15 minute. Am mai facut o astfel de provocare acum 4 ani si e interesant de vazut ce s-a mai schimbat de atunci. So, here it goes.

1. Virginia Woolf, The Waves, desi probabil ca ar trebui s-o trec si pe Mrs. Dalloway pt ca ea mi-a deschis calea in universul acesta atit de aproape sufletului meu al Virginiei Woolf.

2. cine altcineva daca nu Gabriel Garcia Marquez cu-a lui genialitate, Un veac de singuratate.

3. neaparat sa nu uit de Mircea Eliade despre care am mai scris pe undeva ca scriitorul de romane este inferior celui de nuvele, motiv pentru care mentionez in acest top nuvela mea de suflet, La tiganci.

4. sigur il port cu mine in activitatile si in cautarile mele pe cel care intruchipeaza masculinitatea literaturii universale: Hemingway, Pentru cine bat clopotele.

5. ca o amintire frumoasa, efemera, poate chiar ca o poveste scurta si frumoasa de dragoste din trecut, il port pe Raymond Carver. Daca e sa ma opresc la o nuvela as alege, bineinteles, Cathedral.

6. Dostoievski. el e parte din familie si il iubesc inca de cind am aflat ca bunicul meu a fost rus. Pentru ca e nevoie si de un titlu aleg Crima si pedeapsa, insa asta doar pt ca nu am terminat Idiotul.

7. cred ca trebuie s-o trec si pe Ana Castillo cu So Far from God pentru c-am scris o disertatie care a fost apreciata si care mi-a deschis o usa aproape imposibil de atins.

8. urmatorul e David Lodge pe care l-am citit prima data intr-a 10-a la recomandarea dragii mele profe de romana. Desi am citit vreo 6-7 carti de-ale lui, am sa trec aici trilogia de campus (pe care eu am citit-o invers, nestiind de existenta ei) Schimb de dame, Ce mica-i lumea si Meserie, cu mentiunea ca preferata mea cred ca este Schimb de dame.

9. nefiind vorba de autor, ci doar de o carte anume, l-as trece si pe Michael Cunningham, cu Orele lui atit de frumoasa!

10. sigur l-am purtat cu mine o vreme si pe Marina Sorescu, Iona.

11.  parte din structura mea interioara sint si Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands/La Frontera

12. as putea s-o trec si pe Alma Luz Villanueva cu Luna's California Poppies, dar sigur Giannina Braschi ii va lua locul cit de curind.

13+14+15. ca un fel de reintoarcere la radacinile mele, ultimele trei pozitii ale topului vor fi ocupate de  Hortensia Papadat Bengescu, Concert din muzica de Bach, de care nu stiu de ce m-am temut atit pina s-o citesc, de Zaharia Stancu, Descult, si de Catastihul amorului al carui autor se presupune ca a fost Radu Ionescu, un fel de Laurence Sterne al literaturii noastre.

Sint tare curioasa cum ar arata listele lui Ionut, Alexandra si Ithaca. Desi stiu deja ca voi vedea un Cartarescu, un Joyce, Faulkner, un Teodoreanu, Fowles, poate si un Preda.