With the first chapter of the book we are at once conscious of the unspeakable absurdities of life, of a thumping rhythm of isolation carrying its beat across desolate roads, into unsolved conflicts, and through crowds of unknown faces, leading us towa…
Posted in Blogs, Laforet | Tagged with family, fiction, Home, life, literature, nada, poverty, reality, reflection, relationships
Right from the beginning that is a sense of significance in the seemingly trivial, like the falling of rain, and a glimmer of existential beauty to be found in repetition, exhaustion, and freedom from logic. If inexplicitness was a literary principle, …
Posted in Blogs, Bombal | Tagged with death, Home, life, love, memory, nostalgia, reality, relationships
Confusing. Figuring things out not by their form but by the convoluted trails of meaning formed by dense sentences, juxtaposing verses, and half-conscious dreams. This book is a forest of question marks. “I am no puzzle-maker, no wizard of chess, no ph…
Posted in Blogs, Breton | Tagged with absurdity, Home, identity, life, literature, love, nadja, reality, Surrealism
As I have expected (from having seen glimpses of the book here and there in my distant past), this is one of the most beautiful texts that I have encountered, and, with every line, I feel that keen jolt of … Continue reading →
Posted in Blogs, Proust | Tagged with combray, Home
