August 30, 2016 · 3:19 pm
I loved The New York Trilogy. I cannot say the same thing for Hand to Mouth. But maybe I am not the right person for Auster’s autobiographies. Actually, this is – I think – his third authobiography. He writes of himself as “you”, in second person, maybe to add some distance between him and himself.
My interest went up and down. I must admit that I did not like the lists: lists of things he did, of actions, of people… in my opinion you cannot write a page full of list. You can do it in your journal, if you keep it in your drawer… same reasoning for the lack of internal order: he writes subjects as they get his memory: from early years, to the 64th birthday, from writing, to house moving, from panic attaks to marriage, from sexual impulses to dance.
I appreciated the parts in wich he tells about his mother’s Youth and Death, and how she was despised by the “dour matrons of father’s family” because she acted as if she was the most beautiful woman on the earth. But I also liked the way in wich he remembers her, as a woman who was, at the same time, very practical, active and sensitive. And I love the doutful life she had, because the author will never know if she had a lover during her marriage or not.
At the end: no, I did not like this book very much, but if you have the change, please do read it. It is anyway a collection of memories of a man who has lived, loved, written, read, suffered and travelled a lot (Gosh, I do not know how many times he moved from a house to another: I would become mad doing that!). A little sad, maybe, because he reminds us that we will wither too, despite all our current ebullience, but anyway useful.
October 7, 2015 · 12:10 pm
I sometimes feel the need to remind me how the Worldwide women situation is much worst than mine. Because I claim that my life is, day by day, always the same: I get up at the usual time, go to the usual job, hear the usual quarrels, do homeworks… The bigger sense of adventure is listening to a friend who tells me how his dog won a prize.
I should’nt claim, I know that I am silly if I do it, but I really realize that only when I read books like the Addario’s one.
She was in Afghanistan first time in 2000, when she could not imagine what would have happened just one year later. And she saw the women, there: separated from male world, covered from top to toetip, without the possibility to work, study, go out without the male relative shadow; with the duty of giving birth to children. Without books.
What strucked me is that Linsey doesn’t tell you about the fear of entering such a country, unless she is under a gun or among a group of sexually excited males who touch her from every side.
The comparison with Obama’s memoir The Audacity Of Hope is due.
My copy of Obama’s book is a used one. Among the pages I found this US metro ticket:
On one side, a lonely woman who travels in Afghanistan and try not to feel fear.
On the other side, a big and powerful country whit the constant fear that some terrorist lets it blast. A fear that cannot be forgotten, because you do one of the most normal things in the world, like taking a bus, and you are immediately reminded that it could be the last thing you do.
A woman who let the fear starve and a country wich feeds it.
Different ways to employ own energy.
Filed under Libri & C.
Tagged as Afghanistan, books, courage, fear, Lynsey Addario, Obama, photography, terrorism, travels, USA, war