23-07-17

Lisa Alther, Hubert Selby jr., Raymond Chandler, Matthias Spiegel, Tim Reus

 

De Amerikaanse schrijfster Lisa Alther werd geboren op 23 juli 1944 in Kingsport, Tennessee. Zie ook alle tags voor Lisa Alther op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 23 juli 2010.

Uit: About Women: Conversations Between a Writer and a Painter (Met Francoise Gilot)

“LA: Although we were born of different generations an ocean apart, both our childhoods were impacted by war—­yours by World Wars I and II, and mine by World War II, the Cold War, Korea, and Vietnam. We read a lot about the effect of war on the combatants but not that much about its effect on civilians. Can you say something about how war affected you as a child?
FG: My maternal grandmother had five children, two of whom died when they were quite young, leaving two sons and my mother, the youngest. The child my grandmother loved best was named André. He was wounded at the front and died on November 1, 1918, from a shrapnel wound to the liver. The armistice occurred on November 11, 1918. Just when my grandmother thought that her two sons had escaped the war, she learned the tragic news. André was only twenty-­three years old. She had had a special relationship with him, so for her it was as if life ended right then and there.
On the third floor of her home in Neuilly, there was a small room where her sons, my uncles, both of them officers, had collected all sorts of paraphernalia from the different phases of the war. Many photographs were pinned to the walls, as well as warmaps with little flags on pins for the various events. This room was left as it had been when André died. On the walls, one could see all these black-­and-­white photographs, some taken from the sky, of destroyed villages and cathedrals and bridges, charredforests, trenches. It was a room entirely full of destruction.
LA: Why did your uncles do this?
FG: I think they were so involved in the fight that destruction had grown inside them. They had had to withstand so much horror, and perhaps it was a catharsis to objectify their feelings on the walls of that room.
Years later, when I entered it for the first time, it felt very strange. I was five years old. It was quite frightening. There were also some half-­exploded bombshells that looked like dark and ghostly flowers. My grandmother called that room the War Room.I thought it was the Death Room.”

 

 
Lisa Alther (Kingsport, 23 juli 1944)

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23-07-16

Hubert Selby jr., Raymond Chandler, Matthias Spiegel, Tim Reus

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Hubert Selby jr. werd op 23 juli 1928 in Brooklyn, New York geboren. Zie ook alle tags voor Hubert Selby jr. op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 23 juli 2010.

Uit: Requiem for a Dream

“There was a sky somewhere above the tops of the buildings, with stars and a moon and all the things there are in a sky, but they were content to think of the distant street lights as planets and stars. If the lights prevented you from seeing the heavens, then preform a little magic and change reality to fit the need. The street lights were now planets and stars and moon. ”
(…)

“I think thats one of the problems with the world today, nobody knows who they are. everyone is running around looking for an identity, or trying to borrow one, only they dont know it. they actually think they know who they are and hat they are? theyre just a bunch of schleppers...who have no idea what a search for personal truth and identity really is, which would be alright if they didn't get in your way, but they insist that they know everything and that if you dont live their way then youre not living properly and they want to take your space away...they actually want to somehow get into your space and live in it and change it or destroy it...they just cant believe that you know what you are doing and that you are happy and content with it. you see thats the problem right there. if they could see that then they wouldnt have to feel threatened and feel that they have to destroy you before you destroy them. they just cant get it through their philistine heads that you are happy where you are and dont want to have anything to do with them. my space is mine and thats enough for me.”

 

 
Hubert Selby jr. (23 juli 1928 – 26 april 2004)

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23-07-15

Tim Reus

 

Onafhankelijk van geboortedata

De Nederlandse dichter en schrijver Tim Reus werd geboren in 1990 in Enkhuizen. Hij studeerde Engels aan de VU en vertaalwetenschappen aan de Universiteit van Leiden. In m'n vrije tijd speelt hij gitaar en ocarina. Daarnaast schrijft hij muziek. In 2015 verscheen zijn gedichtenroman “Hier in het nest”. Eerder publiceerde hij al Engelstalige romans onder het pseudoniem T. R. Gwirion. Zo verscheen in 2013 Where Frogs Whistle and Tadpoles Sing“ (Via Publicatie platform CreateSpace)

Uit: Where Frogs Whistle and Tadpoles Sing

“A large, yellow-red leaf left the safety of a branch and gently floated down. Untouched by the wind, it passed windows and bricks, leaves and wood, until it finally landed in one of the many puddles. With her forehead pressed against the window, Lily realised how that leaf managed to represent the entirety of her life. She turned to keep seeing it as the car drove on.
Medan was obviously still angry. His knuckles were white on the wheel and his gaze was fixed on the road, and the needle of the speedometer steadily moved clockwise. The speed limit was nothing but a small figure far behind them, disappearing in the distance. Medan would sometimes grumble something unintelligible, but most of the time he was mercifully silent.
They shot past buildings Lily had not seen in a long time. Her youth flashed by, hidden behind boarded-up windows and old, filthy wooden doors. Usually Medan was very careful at avoiding the street, but today he didn’t seem to care. Unable to watch the withering houses any longer, Lily sank back in her seat.
Medan finally released the gas pedal, cutting the engine’s roar.
“You know you're being stupid," he said with feigned calmness.
Just shut up,” Lily responded coldly. She sniffed, and wiped the almost-dry salt off her cheeks.
You know you are,” Medan barked.
Despite her anger, Lily was amazed at Medan's ability to restart the fight they’ d just had.
You know you are," repeated the hulking figure behind the wheel, ”and you know you should've kept quiet."
Lily tried her best to stay calm, but he knew exactly how to get under her skin. He had had almost two years of practice, after all, and seemed to relish the conflict.
The angry looks he shot her whenever he thought the road could miss his attention - which was dangerously often unnerved Lily immensely. The small eyes, almost hidden in the shadow of a pronounced brow ridge, glinted in the early light of the lampposts. Lily first ignored his stare, but her fear of his ill temper finally made her turn towards him.”

 

 
Tim Reus (Enkhuizen, 1990)

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