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Fiction.
Literature.
Short Stories.
HTML:??Fluid, cracked, mordant, colloquial?. Stand[s] by itself as one of our funniest, most telling anatomies of human love and vulnerability.? ??The New York Times Book Review
The celebrated collection of twelve stories from one of the finest authors at work today.
A New York Times Book of the Year A National Book Critics Circle Award Finalist Winner of the Salon Book Award A Village Voice Book of the Year
??A marvelous collection?. Her stories are tough, lean, funny, and metaphysical?. Birds of America has about it a wild beauty that simply makes one feel more connected to life.? ??The Boston Globe ??At once sad, funny, lyrical and prickly, Birds of America attests to the deepening emotional chiaroscuro of her wise and beguiling work.? ??The New York Times
??Stunning?. There??s really no one like Moore; in a perfect marriage of art form and mind, she has made the short story her own.? ??Milwaukee Journal Sentinel ??Birds of America stands as a major work of American short fiction?. Absolutely mastered.? ??Elle ??Wonderful?. These stories impart such terrifying truths.? ??Philadelphia Inquirer ??Lorrie Moore soars with Birds of America.... A marvelous, fiercely funny book.? ??Newsweek ??Fifty years from now, it may well turn out that the work of very few American writers has as much to say about what it means t… (mer)
These are great stories, but I imagine I'd like them more if I were older. The humor, the settings, the characters, a lot of what was going on seemed dated to me. Beautiful writing, some great jokes, but not my favorite book of literary shorts ever. ( )
Liked it very much, but it seemed a little less polished than “Bark” which I really loved. (A more recent collection of short stories.) Great stories and great characters, all a little weird but very human and I felt very sympathetic. ( )
Information från den engelska sidan med allmänna fakta.Redigera om du vill anpassa till ditt språk.
This book is for my sister and for my parents and for Benjamin
Inledande ord
Information från den engelska sidan med allmänna fakta.Redigera om du vill anpassa till ditt språk.
In her last picture, the camera had lingered at the hip, the naked hip, and even though it wasn't her hip, she acquired a reputation for being willing.
Citat
Information från den engelska sidan med allmänna fakta.Redigera om du vill anpassa till ditt språk.
The stages of bereavement: anger, denial, bargaining, Haagen-Dazs, rage. (four calling birds, three french hens)
"Life is a long journey across a wide country," he said. "Sometimes the weather's good. Sometimes it's bad. Sometimes it's so bad, your car goes off the road." (four calling birds, three french hens)
"It's a myth, the high suicide rates around Christmas. It's the homicide rate that's high. Holiday homicide. All that time the family suddenly gets to spend together, and then bam, that eggnog." (four calling birds, three french hens)
"He had limited notes to communicate his needs," she said. "He had his 'food' mew, and I'd follow him to his dish. He had his 'out' mew, and I'd follow him to the door. He had his 'brush' mew, and I'd go with him to the cupboard where his brush was kept. And then he had his existential mew, where I'd follow him vaguely around the house as he wandered in and out of rooms, not knowing exactly what or why." (four calling birds, three french hens)
What was Christmas if not a giant mixed metaphor? What was it about if not the mysteries of interspecies love--God's for man! Love had sought a chasm to leap across and landed itself right here: the Holy Ghost among the barn animals, the teacher's pet sent to be adored and then to die. (four calling birds, three french hens)
The body has only so many weeks of stage fright in it before it simply gives up and just goes out onstage. (beautiful grade)
Truth be told, Bill is a little afraid of suicide. Taking one's life, he thinks, has too many glitzy things to offer: a real edge on the narrative (albeit retrospectively), a disproportionate philosophical advantage (though again, retrospectively), the last word, the final cut, the parting shot. Most importantly, it gets you the hell out of there, wherever it is you are, and he can see how such a thing might happen in a weak but brilliant moment, one you might just regret later while looking down from the depthless sky or up through two sandy anthills and some weeds. Still, Lina is the one he finds himself thinking about, and carefully dressing for in the morning--removing all dry-cleaning tags and matching his socks. (beautiful grade)
This taboo regarding age is to make us believe that life is long and actually improves us, that we are wiser, better, more knowledgeable later on than early. It is a myth concocted to keep the young from learning what we really are and despising and murdering us. We keep them sweet-breathed, unequipped, suggesting to them that there is something more than regret and decreptitude up ahead. (beautiful grade)
Why not admit history's powers to divide and destroy? Why attach ourselves to the age-old stories in the belief that they are truer thanthe new ones? By living in the past, you always know what comes next, and that robs you of surprises. It exhausts and warps the mind. We are lucky simply to be alive together; why get differentiating and judgmental about who is here among us? Thank God there is anyone at all. (beautiful grade)
Every songwriter in their smallest song seems to possess some monumental grief clarified and dignified by melody, Bill thinks. His own sadnesses, on the other hand, slosh about in his life in a low-kew way, formless and self-consuming. Modest is how he sometimes likes to see it. No one is modest anymore. Everyone exalts their disappointments. They do ceremonious battle with everything; they demand receipts and take their presents back--all the unhappy things that life awkwardly, stupidly, without thinking, without bothering even to get to know them a little or to ask around! has given them. They bring it all back for an exchange. (beautiful grade)
"I would be a genius now [...] if only I'd memorized Shakespeare instead of Lulu." (what you want to do fine)
But ultimately, it all remained unreadable for him, though reading, he felt, was not a natural thing and should not be done to people. In general, people were not road maps. People were not hieroglyphs or books. They were not stories. A person was a collection of accidents. A person was an infinite pile of rocks with things growing underneath. (what you want to do fine)
"There's something that with time grows between people," he said once, in an attempt to keep them together [...] "Something that grows whether you like it or not." "Gunk," Annie said. "What?" "Gunk!" she shouted. "Gunk grows between people!" (what you want to do fine)
They have brought along the game Trivial Pursuit, and at night Quilty likes to play. Though Mack complies--if that's what you want to do, fine--he thinks it's a dumb game. If you don't know the answer, you feel stupid. And if you do know the answer, you feel just as stupid. More stupid. What are you doing with that stupid bit of information in your brain? (what you want to do fine)
There is something comforting, thinks Mack, in embracing someone the same size as you. Something exhilarating even: having your chins over each other's shoulders, your feet touching, your heads pressed ear-to-ear. (what you want to do fine)
The thing with tapas bars was that you just kep stuffing things into your mouth.
"His mouth was slightly lopsided, paisley-shaped, his lips anneloid and full, and he kissed her hard. There was something numb and on hold in her. There were small dark pits of annihilation she discovered in her heart, in the loosening fist of it, and she threw herself into them, falling."
Avslutande ord
Information från den engelska sidan med allmänna fakta.Redigera om du vill anpassa till ditt språk.
Out over the Sfondrata chapel tower, where the fog had broken, she thought she saw a single star, like the distant nose of a jet; there were people in the clayey clouds. She turned, and for a moment it seemed they were all there in Martin's eyes, all the absolving dead in residence in his face, the angel of the dead baby shining like a blazing creature, and she went to him, to protect and encircle him, seeking the heart's best trick, _oh, terrific heart._ "Please, forgive me," she said. And he whispered, "Of course. It is the only thing. Of course."
Fiction.
Literature.
Short Stories.
HTML:??Fluid, cracked, mordant, colloquial?. Stand[s] by itself as one of our funniest, most telling anatomies of human love and vulnerability.? ??The New York Times Book Review
The celebrated collection of twelve stories from one of the finest authors at work today.
A New York Times Book of the Year A National Book Critics Circle Award Finalist Winner of the Salon Book Award A Village Voice Book of the Year
??A marvelous collection?. Her stories are tough, lean, funny, and metaphysical?. Birds of America has about it a wild beauty that simply makes one feel more connected to life.? ??The Boston Globe ??At once sad, funny, lyrical and prickly, Birds of America attests to the deepening emotional chiaroscuro of her wise and beguiling work.? ??The New York Times
??Stunning?. There??s really no one like Moore; in a perfect marriage of art form and mind, she has made the short story her own.? ??Milwaukee Journal Sentinel ??Birds of America stands as a major work of American short fiction?. Absolutely mastered.? ??Elle ??Wonderful?. These stories impart such terrifying truths.? ??Philadelphia Inquirer ??Lorrie Moore soars with Birds of America.... A marvelous, fiercely funny book.? ??Newsweek ??Fifty years from now, it may well turn out that the work of very few American writers has as much to say about what it means t
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