Este ano decidi ser mais espontânea nas minhas leituras.
Ler o que me apetece ler, ler o que as circuntâncias inesperadas me trazem, ler uma coincidência que surge numa conversa, enfim, ser mais livre no que leio.
E desta liberdade espontânea surgiram novas leituras não planeadas.
Ernest Poole, o primeiro premiado Pulitzer, que surgiu de uma curiosidade insatisfeita. Annie Ernaux, a premiada pelo Prémio Nobel, que surgiu através de um presente de Natal. Miguel Delibes, que surgiu numa conversa inesperada.
Estou a redescobrir a sensação de surpresa de ler autores que nunca li e estou a adorar cada momento, de tal forma que me esqueci por completo de partilhar no Livrologia.
Fica prometido o regresso, isto é, se conseguir parar de ler.
They can always think of a good reason for not being able to lift yourself out of the dirt and drunkenness. Their fear was contagious. I was born among them, nothing easier than to become one of them again...
in Les Armoires Vides (Cleaned Out) de Annie Ernaux
It never occurred to me that money might be at the root of these differences, I thought one was born clean or dirty, orderly or slovenly. The drunkenness, the tins of corned beef, the newspaper hung on a nail in the outhouse, I assumed that they wanted it that way, that they liked it like that.
It's not until you've had a chance to think about it quite a bit, until you've read and studied a bit, especially when you are a child, that you realize that it's all determined.
in Les Armoires Vides (Cleaned Out) de Annie Ernaux
Estou a ler pela primeira vez Annie Ernaux e decidi começar pelo seu primeiro livro Les Armoires Vides. Não o encontrei traduzido para português e estou a ler a versão em inglês Cleaned Out.
A escrita é crua, de uma nudez confessional e directa que me tem deixado lívida com a verdade inesperada da sua humanidade.
Quem se confessaria assim publicamente? Annie Ernaux.
Como se arrancasse as páginas do seu diário e as atirasse à nossa cara num momento de frustração, raiva, desilusão, inconformismo, como se as páginas não fossem já suficientes para albergar o desalento dos momentos existenciais mais profundos que vive como ser humano.
I'm not like them, I'm different. I have nothing to say to them. I hardly dare to say this to myself anymore. Respect others. But that doesn't change anything. I'm a bitch.
"Honor your father and mother." Not much of that. The worst thing was that they weren't bad to me, or strict. I didn't talk about it to anyone, but at school, walking around in town, reading. I had learned to make comparisons.
in Les Armoires Vides (Cleaned Out) de Annie Ernaux
Perhaps there never was an equilibrium between my two worlds. I must have taken one as the point of reference, difficult not to.
If I'd opted for the world of my parents, of the Lesur family, it would have been worse still, half of them were pickled in red wine, I'd never have wanted to do well at school, I'd have been behind the counter selling potatoes, I wouldn't have gone to college.
Small wonder that I hated the shop, the café, the pathetic customers always after credit.
I'm trying to find excuses, was there any other way out? Out of what?
in Les Armoires Vides (Cleaned Out) de Annie Ernaux
As far I was concerned, the author didn't exist, he was just transcribing the lives of real people. My head was filled with a multitude of characters, free, rich, and happy or else living in black despair, the real thing, orphans in rags, eating crusts, no one to turn to.
in Les Armoires Vides (Cleaned Out) de Annie Ernaux
