Thursday, December 24, 2009

Can You Wash Pecans After Shelling

What stirs is below

Hello,

2009 I was not going off without you write a little note of Christmas, crunchy frost in the glow of those candles that stretch the shadows disproportionately. And as I have a weakness for stories we tell in the evening by the fire, the stories that awaken the child in themselves frightened and delighted, I invite you today a small foray into the dark world of Neil Gaiman. If you do not know Neil Gaiman, author of comic books, novels for adults and youth novels, you probably know Coraline, a marvel of animation that we owe to Henry Selick, but is adapted from a novel by Neil Gaiman. I found myself in its theatrical release and I was excited as I am with the cartoons Myazaki by those of Michel Ocelot, then by all that out of place in a landscape so second film degree that they seem to distract adults from the drudgery of going to the movies with their children, and always request them. But childhood and early adolescence are also the ages of psychic construction, age of initiation where one needs to get lost in a deep forest and to rub his fears to come out hardened. What fairy tales were included, and that Neil Gaiman does not minimize the importance, for he is not afraid of scaring children. He knows that children love to be scared, it's because they accept an invitation by visiting the space of a book or film, the terrors of another that resembles them, they tame their oh so frightening and more personal.

Often parents think that it is the stories that terrorize children. They forget that fear is born with the child, the mere fact of being a child leads to a number of hauntings that multiply as they grow, that her nightmares are more violent than the darker history and the world does not look like a paradise whose honeyed evil would be proscribed. It is, instead, filled with very real monsters, including ogres, wizards and other creatures with hooked fingers will never be as imperfect metaphors and necessary. Imagine the shock for a high offspring into the world of sweet Strawberry. Better prepare our children the idea that the world we live conceals pitfalls and people with ill intentions, you do not? But if they also say they have the resources to confront these dangers, and come out stronger. And trust them. And Neil Gaiman, like many children's authors, trusts for children, he knows their bravery, not to move forward without fear, but despite her fear. And grow to be able to do so.
few years ago, this author to imaginative writing the story of Coraline Jones, raised between two busy parents who ask him to care alone in the great house they just moved. As she gets bored, as Alice, she discovers a hidden door to a world forbidden, exciting and dangerous. A world where a strange creature that looks a lot like her mother and calls himself the "other mother". A world far more amazing than his own and delighted, but the surprises might be hiding terrifying abyss. Today, Coraline has been adapted into comics by the talented illustrator P. Craig Russell. And I can only encourage you to give children from twelve years, because it is a little gem dark and deep, throbbing and filled with emotion. Boys and girls have a passion for adventures of this lovable Coraline is no longer a little girl and not a girl, and must return to the place of all its terrors to free himself and save his parents but imperfect loved: "Because that's the courage to be afraid and do still matters."

Seven years after the success of Coraline , including winning the prestigious Hugo Awards, Neil Gaiman has released this year a beautiful young adult novel I just finished with regret: The strange life Nobody Owens . In the acknowledgments at the end of the book, he tells his children delight in reading the "Jungle Book" and the shadow of Kipling, for sure, hovers over the story of young Nobody Owens. Remember, Mowgly baby abandoned in the jungle, was collected and raised by wolves, learning to grow despite the dangers and knowing that a fierce enemy was at his heels. Neil Gaiman's novel, it begins as follows:

"There was a hand in the darkness, and that hand was holding a knife."

the beginning is murder. During the night, an assassin slipped in a house to kill a family. But now the baby of eighteen months he escapes, he was the coach, without understanding what he has to escape, he fled to faltering steps towards the nearby hill, where stands an old cemetery. The murderer has sensed the child, it is already on his feet, shaking the gate of the cemetery. The only witnesses of the scene are the dead which float above their graves and facing a moral dilemma. Finally, they decided to save the child. You'll see how. And brought up somehow, with all the problems it poses, a child living among the dead. And with the real threat of this man who has not finished, which seeks the child that has eluded him. It is a captivating story, panting and poetry that examines the fragile border between life and death, a tale of initiation and funeral which will delight children (twelve years still, but it depends on your child, inasmuch as he reads and likes to read) and adults. Because it belongs to the prestigious family of Peter Pan , of Alice in Wonderland , of Harry Potter . And of course it was written by an Englishman, to believe that the English are the only ones to speak the secret language of children, the only to have preserved this part of childhood, the imagination, this seriousness with humor and sensitivity to this wonderful without which it is vain to pretend to address them. Dreamland, the Neverland, where he must dare to commit to pass on the other side of the mirror and meet his loneliness and his strength is in England somewhere between moorland winds battered the Bronte sisters and the ancient forests of Tolkien. And a few miles from Highgate Cemetery - where Bram Stocker has already conducted - on a hill where a company of the dead gathered magnets and secured somehow an orphan, Neil Gaiman awaits. Hush, hush, enter with caution, do not attract the attention of hungry ghouls, do not wake the wyvern that lives down there. Neither creature native to the fingers a bit too long, waiting in the shadows of power "love something that is not in it ... or eat it."

And even if the shadows whisper at the edge of the graves, if the cats look like they know more than they say, if it is not easy to cry for help in Language Skinny Beasts of the night and if you are not sure you can find your way through the haze ... Have a merry Christmas.
Gaëlle Nohant

Friday, December 18, 2009

Day 19 Cervical Mucus

> Case inspiring Ubimedia services: parking



A case inspiring a service Ubimedia copy deployed in the town of Issy Les Moulineaux based solution PayByPhone



> MultiDevice : on my smartphone to my computer ...
> on demand: Can I extend the parking lot, I can reduce and get a refund.
> ubiquitous : interactivity is possible from any location (home, office, on appointment, at the restaurant ... or from the car ...)
> eco-sustainable : paperless parking ticket
> increased use: more flexibility and freedom in the parking
> Ecosystem Local : hyperlocalisé tariff code and thus can change the rate by geographic area code local rate through this ... Local partnership opportunities are so numerous. For instance, a local brand gives me the parking lot because I am his customer

Monday, December 7, 2009

Announcing Doctor Going To A New Practice

All lives Veronica Ovaldé

"I like things that look tart but are poisonous, actually. "

She said this with a quiet smile and heard. She has cat eyes that would not have displeased Baudelaire, the word vivacity appears to have been created for her. One senses that she would have ended on a pyre in the Middle Ages. Too feminine, too upright, you see right away that she is a witch ...

But do not waste your time looking where she stashed her wand. It is in his style, his wand and the time to discover you made, I warn you, bewitched, and you run to your bookstore to buy all his novels, already missing, but how there are only six? ... A month ago, I did not know that name so now I know now I read where it leads me, and as you say it rarely happens with the writers. Look, I do not like science fiction, but tomorrow if she wrote a novel that happens to Pluto, I devour like the others. Because I know that even on Pluto in 5028, I find the vamps clueless, girls melancholy, poisonous ogres, knights patients. And I devour every word, every image. There are writers like that - oh, not much - that you catch in the first sentence and you delight to the last. Veronica
Ovaldé and I, we have a common point. We fell in Chandler's novels a very tender age, and found him through the magic of images, comparisons brilliant. They noted in a book. And of course there's Chandler Ovaldé. We were talking about pictures? Enjoy the power thereof:

"A shadow saw the faces of those who lost someone. The shadow of a vine. It grows and unwittingly, when they think nobody is watching, she bathes traits of absence of gravity and bemusement. It is a demon who lives discreet in their faces. He hides whenever anyone looks at him. "

(And my heart clear)

Yes, there is something in Véronique Ovaldé the nonchalance of fierce humor and melancholy of noir, a taste for women broken in red robes, with vertiginous heels and hair askew. A taste for the world and the margin of the shadow, that which distinguishes only if one has eyes of a cat. In his novels, small girls rarely attend school, they stand by themselves, sometimes they grow up too fast or it's just their body but they have the resource. There Lili in Men in general I like a lot , helpless little girl in a body of a teenager who lives with her little brother, cooped up in an apartment bunker by a tyrannical father and nazis since their mother is dead.

She hesitates between suicide (it missed) and survival, she is looking for a charming prince, even if it is not really one, even if it's face tattooed big manatee that lives to the floor above and that his love is not innocent:

"I grabbed the broom, the ceiling cracked in the kitchen and waited Yoïm descend, I thought, it must be that someone one saves us. I was fourteen, and I repeated it Somebody save us. I was fourteen, and it had seemed endless fourteen years. "

There's also the little Rose dislodge the animal , sublime love this mother with a mysterious past who one day disappears, leaving her alone with a mountain of issues, grief and abyssal rabbits :

"I took the disappearance of mom in my hands, I made a ball very tight, I swallowed so that the enemy can not find it - it will open up into two - and I asked my father, you're busy rabbits at least. Not putting in that "at least" the reproach that he could perceive (it, did you let her go, I hope instead that you have not abandoned rabbits, art thou so careless) but punctuating just my sentence to balance better. "


novelist loves both girls that she lets hop into his brain, take their ease, install their imagination, their ability to decipher secret agents the world of adults encrypted with a shoestring.

In each of the novels of Veronique Ovaldé, particularly in What I know Vera Candida his latest novel, already encased in prices, women have an exciting destiny, bristling with splinters and injuries bright.
It is not easy being a woman, the cards are distributed unevenly and the world bitter and sharp when it is so easily reduced to an object of desire. They argue heeled high on broken glass, passionately love their children away from their body while they were kissing, deep seal their secrets, are fleeing in illness or death when the resistance is no longer possible. They are mothers of their daughters and daughters of their mother, heiress of a love mixed neuroses that seem much cursing, they flee their place of origin to cut sick branch of the tree which bore, find shelter which are not. Thus, Candida Vera comes from a line of hookers and absent fathers, spawning shameful, spineless and brutal, and she fled to the island fifteen years and his legacy Vatapuna poisoned. In his belly, a little girl without a father he is to save the family repetition. She is tenacious, Vera Candida. Desperate, like all heroines Veronica Ovaldé, fragile and attracted by the possibility of a vacuum, but as strong and warlike, ready to raise an Amazon destiny nine. And as Rose in dislodge the animal as Irina in my heart And transparent on his perilous journey, she found a knight.


Knights of Ovaldé sometimes raised in a trailer with a mother intrusive, they dream is to rescue a beautiful young girl lost in a snowstorm. If they wish to tender soul and "make amends for all those who behave like bastards" , they are not stupid and feel the passion of the rescue is not entirely pure:

"Lancelot knew he was especially attracted by the poor unfortunate girl's special pieces, and that it had to do with his own mother. This kind of determinism plunged into great turmoil. He said, I'm magnetized by the pretty girls broken. And he felt a mixture of pride and disgust which left him breathless - like when you save someone from drowning and that she steals his wallet by reducing it to the bank. "
( And my heart transparent )

However, their patient love, tireless, opens a path to happiness unexpected heart and please the body, to the sweetness of a possible reconciliation with oneself and with the life, a lull in the storm raging behind the flaps. A pause, a breath to survive the terror of losing loved ones:

"The smell of Monica Rose was upset Vera Candida. She sat beside her daughter and plunged her face in her hair. They smelled of salt and iodine, wind, and something more subterranean mammal, such as sweat a tiny rodent or a small wolf. Vera Candida always said, How shall I do when I am a very old woman, I see no more, I try to remember that smell. She tried to register as on clay cylinders feelings related to her daughter's hand early in his, how Monica Rose clutched her neck with her arms as thin as reeds, she clutched clutched by putting all his tiny force, and it was unthinkable not to be two one day, it was so unfair that it seemed impossible. "

Well, I hope you feel like you have given to bewitch your turn. For Christmas, I think I could not think of better gift.

soon.


Gaëlle Nohant

Friday, November 20, 2009

Wella Color Chart Koleston

Agree? ...

Hello.


Today I talk about two books that shake, upset. It is good sometimes to let stir. I know the holidays are approaching, with the tinkling bell of reindeer, red and purple ribbons, stars in icing sugar ... But first, take, do you want a moment to approach the shadows of the Holocaust still alive who passed on earth in a flash, leaving humanity to his face. There are those who died and whose features seem to melt forever in this painting Munch, The Scream . There are those who survived and did are never forgiven. There are those, lastly, that the accident of history has turned into witnesses. Those are all kinds. There are the indifferent who cadenassèrent their eyes and ears, there is the impassive, those who risked or lost their lives because of the secrets they had surprised ... And there are those who tried to warn, to act to prevent. And they were silenced by letting them speak in a vacuum.

It is these last two authors of our day have chosen to look closely. Yannick Haenel by writing "for" Jan Karski, the liaison officer of the Polish resistance who testified before the camera Claude Lanzmann at the end of "Holocaust .
Bruno Tessarech by convening, in his novel The Sentinel , the ghosts of that Karski, Kurt Gerstein and Wernher von Braun, two witnesses Nazis who do not belong to one world or the same species. Both novels suggest a reality long flush taboo: the fact that the Allies knew fairly early (1943) that a process of extermination was under way and did nothing to stop it.
The silence of the allied nations resonates terribly in our minds because it reminds us of our own responsibility in the tragedies that we skim, we participate and perhaps in our own way, even by non-assistance to persons in danger . It has been slow to say. Recall that after war, everyone wanted to tell the wonderful story of good against evil, of a France entirely populated by partisans, who had discovered a world petrified In 1945, the existence of concentration camps. Then
historians have begun to erode this legend, to show that Hitler did not take the German people hostage but was elected through a democratic process, the Einsatzgruppen, who were committing the massacres of Jewish people in the back the eastern front, were populated by nice family men ... That the French Resistance had been multiple, complex and minority ... That France had shown the auxiliary slave of the Final Solution, particularly during the roundup of the Vel d'Hiv ... etc etc.. Some truths still struggled to come to the surface, as the silence of the Allies against the Holocaust. But here are two novels
powerful, two bites into our flesh forgetful who hear the voices of those heartbreaking fallen angels, condemned to wear an endless message that nobody wanted to hear


"This is a real torment live with a message that was never issued, there is something crazy, "said Jan Karski in the novel Yannick Haenel.


These "crazies", I call them angels, not because these men were saints, but because angels are messengers responsible for important news. But the message of the Holocaust was a bomb, the door was not safe. He could put you in the front line, cost you your life. He could also get a slow burn, make you a ghost in your turn, sleepless and haunted. But we do not choose to be a witness. It is chosen against his will. It probably would prefer to stay warm, do not see these people behind the peephole in the gas chamber, not having to fix his gaze on the ground to avoid these puppets of flesh hanging from hooks in the basement of Dora, have never visited by two leaders of the Jewish ghetto in Warsaw. They have never uttered such words as these:

"We are human.
Do you understand?
Do you understand?
What happens to our people is unprecedented in history.
Maybe it does shake the conscience of the world? "

(Testimony of Jan Karski in Shoah by Claude Lanzmann)

If Jan Karski and Sentinels are two novels critical of the literary season, including two novels themes and concerns come together, they are very different in how they approach them. Jan Karski, who just received the price of Allied, is centered on this character it approaches concentric circles. The book is divided into three parts, which starts in Karski's testimony Holocaust, through the tumultuous life of this former letter of the Polish government in exile to lead a party of fiction where Yannick Haenel enters head of the witness and imagines his life after. course, the character of Jan Karski can ask the nagging question of the passivity of the nations allied against the Holocaust. But the heart of the book is not the issue but the man and his torment, his paradoxes, and this novel gives a poignant and lived with it would not go unscathed. If Yannick Haenel has let himself haunted by Karski, the novel acts as a contagion and could haunt you in your turn. That's all the harm I wish you both a hero complex, noble and tormented, deserves your attention. Listen to him talk through Yannick Haenel:

"The sleepless nights are like the rainy country. When it rains, you hear the bells. I noticed that in my childhood in Lodz. If we focuses well, if we listened, then every moment it is night and night is white, and it rains. That either Poland or New York, in a prison of the Gestapo or in a hotel room in Brooklyn, whether you are happy or unhappy, or abandoned by all surrounded by love, we hear the bells. Does God died at Auschwitz? "

This part is where Yannick Haenel Jan Karski, talks to Jan Karski, is the most beautiful in the book, more precisely subjective and stronger. It resonates with you long after you close the novel. has been criticized for the author to defend Poland, using Jan Karski, but Poland really needs to be defended, as she was unloved and mistreated by history. Admittedly, this jumper distinguished survivor of the massacre of Polish intellectuals in the Katyn woods is not all Poles, but the anti-Semitic blowhard who testifies in Holocaust his glee to see the Jews move in convoys cattle do not represent. Beyond those issues where the controversy is still nestle, forgetting that Jan Karski is a novel, not a historical document ... Beyond that, we must bow low to the work of a writer who has exemplified this hero broken, tearing, sentenced listen to his message resonate in a vacuum, and which received " solitude to destiny"


" Within this sleepless night, which opened in my life, I make sure I spend my time to reject the idea that it is too late. For with the speech, the time comes. I spoke, I have not listened and I keep talking, and perhaps you will hear me : perhaps you will hear what is in in my words, and just beyond my voice, maybe in this message that I sent there over fifty years, something resists time, and even the extermination , Perhaps, inside the message is there another message . "


A cookie is a survivor first, and Jan Karski, who chose a life of risk, a life of secret agent, has survived in extremis at Katyn massacre and torture by the Gestapo. He was responsible in passing the burden of these massacres of Russian and Nazi executioners erased the traces behind. Jan Karski , or history of a message that took possession of his messenger, and left him no rest. On the adventurer who became the man crying in the wilderness to exhaust his voice. Up what words in his throat hoarse. Until her tears on your cheeks slip to you.

In Sentinels Bruno Tessarech book about a fascinating indictment of him, crossed through portraits of several involuntary witnesses of the extermination process. This novel which consumes more than it reads start in 1938 at the Evian Conference, which played the plight of Jewish refugees trying to flee Hitler's Germany. Conference where nations vied indifference, cowardice and anti-Semitism, and eventually send a joint letter Joachim von Ribbentrop, foreign minister of the Reich, asking him to find himself a " solution" to the German Jews. The letter is historic, the word "solution" is released. Always fair, never Manichean, Bruno Tessarech embraces all viewpoints, including those of allied forces, who chose to win the war first, even at the expense of millions of victims. His book is chilling because it reminds us of our human responsibility and morality. Before the sterile discussions of these nations that refer endless ball of "waste" of the Hitler regime, accepting lip Jews richest or "filled with talent," establishing a hierarchy of value between the refugees ... how not to think about the status of the stranger in our societies? Une minorité de Juifs parvinrent à échapper, à prix d'or, à la souricière nazie. Other ... others were abandoned by the world:


"Now the world is split into two countries where Jews can not live, and where they can not hide."

can quibble endlessly about what the Allies should or could do to stop Solution Final. But one thing is certain, and the novel Tessarech Bruno reminds us forcefully: even before the war, well before the chimneys of Auschwitz had begun to spit their sinister smoke, the Allied nations had abandoned the Jews. Of course, our democratic and civilized societies do not want them to be killed ... Just as they were freed. Hitler took care of it, and it is not surprising that despite the rumors and stories, nobody is rushing to stop him. In Sentinels Bruno Tessarech lends these words President Roosevelt in 1944:


"We do nothing to stop the death of the Jewish people. We went up to deny the facts, as they crowded us. And now that the mass of information and evidence puts us back to the wall, unable deny the evidence, we dither. The immigration quotas, economic blockade, free access to all ocean vessels, the Palestinian question, who knows what else. We remain in politics. Not in morality. "

superb in this scene, we discover a poignant and weakened Roosevelt, plagued by doubts when leaving life:

"Suddenly malaise takes over Roosevelt's after him. Where is it past, his political courage, in the case of the Jews? The war had to exhaust all reserves. Day after day he thought it sufficient to implement the best solution, say the least bad. Then he had to invent a new one. rush things. Exit rational solutions. Fighting Nazi madness with another form of madness: that of life against that of death. "

Sentinels and Jan Karski, written at the same time, perhaps because the issues they arise are always present in these times when immigration services of our countries set themselves up judges of the "value" of a man, respond beautifully to one another. Both wear the broken voice of the tormented hero, helpless and beautiful, determined and desperate, who returned from Hell to deliver the "speech of the dead" that the killers felt suffocated. And Kurt Gerstein, an engineer at the Institute for disinfection of Oranienburg, ambivalent character, the Nazi days, witness the night, losing sleep and reason after attending one of the first "disinfection" of the camp of Belzec . Kurt Gerstein is Moreover, the hero of a film by Costa Gavras' Amen "released to theaters in 2002. But among Sentinels Bruno Tessarech, there are also Wernher von Braun, the engineer who created the Nazi V2 rockets in underground Dante Dora and was welcomed with open arms by those Americans who had slammed their doors nosed Jewish refugees. Vernhes von Braun, having been deaf and blind throughout the war, lowering her eyes to avoid seeing the hanged, summary executions, long lines of undead, participated in the Apollo program and was fortunate enough to see off the first rocket to the moon.
" testifying for the witness?" asks Paul Celan. Yannick Haenel, Bruno Tessarech. And thanks to them, you don 'forget it anytime soon haunted these messengers.


Gaëlle Nohant

Monday, November 9, 2009

I Have An Itchy Rash And Stiff Neck

Jean-Philippe Toussaint or the Art of Fugue

Hello,

Nothing prepared me for coming to talk about Jean-Philippe Toussaint . Because New Roman is me, we're a little angry, long time. Because I'm happy those who grumble that France, the style flourished often at the expense of history, and vice versa ... Because my cup of tea is rather Anglo-Saxon writers, and not too similar to the stories of chamber music.

but guess what. I read a few things on this Belgian author who had seduced me. Including an interview where he said no, he did not take great pleasure in writing, or else if, but a little masochistic pleasure, so it was difficult. Because he had to go so deep in itself. And it is not natural to go down by itself as in a mine, it's hard, look at the number of people who remain on the surface and find themselves very happy. As it bothers me to hear an author say he wrote a book with ease and joy, which I just about every sentence painfully extracted ... I found it nice. And most importantly, he added something that touched me: we write because we are a little inadequate in the world, a little margin, and then, writing accomplishes this miracle (when you touch readers) to take you back to the world, you give up your margins, a real place that you reconcile with him. Suddenly, it made me want to read his novels. In addition, it is funny. If so. it laughs too, a writer Midnight. Look at his picture, that little seeming to have your head gently. It is similar in its novels. He might write them in pain, he has fun and entertains us.


So I read about Mary's triptych, which begins Make love, continues with Fleeing ( Prix Médicis 2005), and concludes ( temporarily) with The Truth About Mary (which was neck and neck with Marie Ndiaye for Goncourt and won the prize December 2009), which is anything but the truth about Mary, but who cares. And gradually, a novel to another, while my fascination was growing, and with my admiration, I started thinking, well, that Jean-Philippe Toussaint should have some power Sorcerer. Since leaving the reserve, as we dip the toe in the water of a swimming pool to find an objective reason not to dive, I'm finished reading completely enthralled with the desire to read everything. Plus I entered the text writing by Jean-Philippe Toussaint bore me, like a bath of Music, where she wanted, but I'm trying to keep me on the edge of the pages, I let myself slip into the raging torrent, a scary moment in contemplation radiant, a panicked heartbeat a breath or a whisper quiet love. Because the style of Saints is so virtuosic and clear it carries with it the twilight and the sun, music and silence, what is not said, what can be said but one reads in a heartbeat eyelash, a tear, the rustle of a goblet glass against another, the posture of a rebellious young woman at the funeral of his father. His writing is breathing, sometimes breathless and exhausted, sometimes slow and gentle, sensual and murmuring.


But talking about this love story fatal and inevitable that runs along the three novels like an invisible thread, and that sums up the opening sentence Fleeing : "Is it ever done with Mary?" In the timeline a bit shaken novels, the narrator breaks up with Mary in the first and is found in the third (well they meet only to discover that the end is separated they love best), while the second is for the summer before their breakup. Over these three novels, Tokyo to the Louvre, from China to the Island of Elba, a sweltering night in Paris to the tarmac at Narita airport, the link between these two people continues despite the insults of their love. And survives at break, bereavement, with intermittent connections. In fact, in each novel, the narrator and Mary love each other mainly in the lack, the telescoping distance, including when they are alongside one another. The key to this relationship may be, although it is as elusive as Mary herself, in fact the narrator of Fleeing :

" We loved each other, but we do we will bear more . There was this, now, in our love, that even if we continue to make the whole more good than bad, the little trouble we were doing we had become unbearable. "


They are together even when separated by oceans or other bodies, hot bodies and bloody, dying or placed in a coffin. The power of their love packs the mechanism of nature, raises land of earthquakes, fires, floods of tears of rain, and does not hesitate to kill those who stand in the way. And it only takes one phone call in the middle of the night to revive in the Japanese narrator all thought he had mixed feelings suffocate by escaping:

"I emerged from the cabin, upset, heavy heart, infinitely happy and unhappy. With it in five minutes, I did not know who I was, she made me turn my head, she took my hand and made me turn on myself at full speed until my worldview goes wrong my panic and become inoperative instruments, all my marks were scrambled, I was walking through the icy air of night and I did not know where I went, I watched the dark water shining on the surface of the channel and I I felt caught by conflicting impulses, exacerbated, irrational. "

Will it one day finished with Mary?" Probably never, even if the hourglass ruthless time precipitated the end of their love, even if death is lurking everywhere, ready to strike, as in a Shakespearean drama. All three novels poses a threat more or less accurate. In Fleeing :

"I had filled a vial of hydrochloric acid, and I kept it on me at all times, with the idea of taking a day at the mouth of someone. "

In Lovemaking is China that bears this threat, a mysterious China, starts standing where Chinese actors exchanging cryptic about this in language that the narrator does not understand where his "escort" a little overzealous has an eye on him and he eventually won in a chase on motorbikes, but who are they pursued? Why? Finally, in The Truth About Mary this sentence worthy of a thriller puts us on alert from the first pages:

"But I prefer to remain cautious when the exact sequence of events of the night, because it is still a man of destiny, or his death, we can not survive long or not if. "


between thriller and love story, a continuation motorcycle displays a calm summer day on the island of Elba, Jean-Philippe Toussaint takes us with humor, seriousness, fantasy, according to his whim. The Truth About Mary , but an evil who can say ... It is interesting to glean clues here and there that draw a character between shadows and light, messy, carefree Mary, Mary full pages in tears, proud and stop Mary, dressed in riding to the funeral mass of his father ... there is something intractable in Mary, she loves the mess is secured by a fierce determination. "Unpredictable, whimsical, tuante incomparable "as is Mary, and even if her man is leaking, it is she who ultimately escapes to the endangerment, between vertigo and pride.

Then you will understand that with all that (and yet I'm limited, I had so much to tell you ...), I can only commit to make the acquaintance of Mary savoring the subtleties of the text by Jean-Philippe Toussaint . And even if all three novels can be read separately in any order or however you like, read the following you can see the whole canvas, to find a book to another statement, which echoes meet to each other in an irresistible alchemy.


soon.


Gaëlle Nohant








Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Milena Velba Bus Force

the shadow of the twin towers, damaged men

Hello.



So here I am reborn, finally my coffee ... which reopens its doors after a sleep of Sleeping Beauty. I was very busy and despite my desire to see you back, it took the invitation of Charlemagne bookstore that I finally found the time needed to write my ticket. Alongside that I write a novel to be released ... I hope in not too long! I come back to share with you my favorites past and present according to my wanderlust, and I hope you'll enjoy doing a little way with me.



And forgive me for this lengthy absence, I invite you today to a fascinating journey into the world post September 11, in the footsteps of six major Anglo-Saxon novelists Jonathan Safran Foer, Gift of Lillo, Ian Mac Ewan, Jay Mac Inerney, Paul Auster and Joseph O'Neill. Most of the novels which I will talk emerged since a while, but the release of Netherland, Joseph O'Neill, made me want to read or reread the novels to see what connections between them to each other, and what their reading successive mosaic composed.


We read in the press that all these novelists _ some of whom are New Yorkers _ had in common that they felt for months or years after the collapse of the towers, the inability to write a fiction from the event that changed their lives and ours and bore the XXI century in disbelief and dismay. Sometimes reality overwhelms us to the point where fiction becomes temporarily impossible. After Sept. 11, reality had taken all the space, saturating our retinas images of planes hitting the towers, childish mirage horrific destruction, then images of the war in Iraq, the tragedy in London or Madrid, etc. etc., all these dominoes collapsed increasing the grip of fear on our reptilian brains. What world emerged gradually from the matrix of Ground Zero, the magma of flesh and metal scrap which had a crumbling civilization supposed to protect us from chaos? To put this world to decipher it, we lacked the eyes of novelists lights, open to the intimate, concentrated on the interior. This is expressed by Don de Lillo in an interview with magazine Read in April 2008:

"The fiction creates a language for describing the inner life. It can examine the impact of the story about the intimate lives. [...] A novelist can examine the effects of tragedy on the intimate lives of characters who lived it. And that, an essayist and a historian can not do that. [.. .] The fiction thus explores uncharted territory. This does not of course say it is closer to the truth but simply as it can penetrate areas that are not open to other forms of writing. "



They all felt that constructing a fiction about a tragedy that had touched them with such violence would be impossible. And then, as Don de Lillo said nicely, "gushed a novel." Then two, then three, etc.. Maybe because at the same time that life resumed its course, a little less innocent but still stubborn, came the need to say the unsayable. And exhume the emotions that the brutality of the images and comments without end had hidden.


eight years. Remember. We were afraid to take the metro and train, afraid to travel, go to crowded places, fear of malls, airports, afraid of those faceless ready to die when we were not. And terrorism has placed in our landscape, we are reassured, or at least have regained consciousness on the part of the necessities of life. And now we are the novelists most powerful booster shot that is because fiction has the power to wake the dead and buried terrors in everyone, the strong emotions and unanswered questions.


Approaching September 11 with my powers of the fiction might have seemed impossible in the case of all tragedies beyond comprehension. Everyone has taken a path for him, highly personal, and it gives a series of novels very different from each other, approaching more or less near the impact. Don de Lillo chose to enter the picture of a man covered with dust, out of a tower with a briefcase in hand


"I did not write a novel in which the events befall over the shoulder of a character and vaguely affect his life. No, I needed something more immediate return to the chaos itself, penetrate the smoke and ash reach this man who had burst in my imagination ... and enter his mind, his life. "




In his novel The Man Who Falls , he called the most offensive symbol of 11 September subliminal image and become taboo: that those people who preferred to jump towers and crashing down. That of this photo by Richard Drew, Associated Press, which toured the world the day after the tragedy before to be ignored by all media: the man who fell from a tower, head down, body straight, going to their deaths in a position that seems resigned. If the media have ignored is that this symbol of America was falling too shocking. Better to concentrate on the heroism of the rescuers, the courage of survivors and relatives of the disappeared. Better to show an America that rises despite his wounds. Don de Lillo is therefore scratch where it hurts. And it does so in the manner of one of his characters, David Janiak, who perform this for months, fell from the top of buildings, held by a single rope, in the precise position and painful to those skilled in the photo: full length, straight, one knee bent, wearing a suit. This performance will be tracked by the police for creating "a dangerous situation and physically aggressive." Aggressive, it is, this man who by his fall constantly reminded New Yorkers that they would rather forget, which haunts them. Lianne, a character in the novel, whose husband is the survivor dusty carrying a briefcase, can not detach his thoughts


"Throughout his long, free-fall, she thought, and this image had punctured the head and heart, my God, an angel was in freefall and his beauty was horrific. "


Not content to awaken the most powerful ghost World Trade Center, "unknown soldier of a war that we do not know the end" (in the words of the writer Tom Junod), Don de Lillo not hesitate to slip, the area of furtive few scenes in the head Hammad, future terrorist and suicide bomber who comes off little by little all bonding and ground before slipping up in the frenzy of a chosen death. These scenes are few, because one suspects _ before the writer does admit _ he "knew he could not penetrate his soul." Some heinousness of the human soul are inaccessible to the writer. It must go down too deep in the darkness. Writing about a "monster" requires finding itself points of agreement with him, and it is not easy.


Other authors have not approached so close to the attack, and yet their stories are all in their own way, great novels of the post September 11. Having found their subjective distance from the event, they could tell from all the detail, refer to the earthquake and its aftershocks through its effects on our lives.



Thus, Ian Mac Ewan is his novel Saturday eighteen months after September 11 in London. Double bend in time and space. His hero, Henry Perowne, is a neurosurgeon in London, and has everything to be happy: a job he loves, a woman he loves and desires always after more than twenty years of marriage, two loving children, intelligent and talented, and a beautiful house overlooking a square in the tidy neighborhood reconstituted Fitzgravia behind the Post Office Tower. Yes but now, the sight of a burning plane flying too low to Heathrow Airport in the early hours of Saturday in February 2003, will change its scheduling flawless day of his life. Because since September 11, image of an airplane in the sky has ceased to be harmless:


"Nearly eighteen months have passed since half the planet watched the captives loop invisible ducts open sky to their martyrdom, and the silhouette of any innocent airliner started to trigger new associations. Everyone agrees, airplanes in flight now refer to predatory birds or running their loss. "


In Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close , Jonathan Safran Foer, the hero is 9 years old and his father disappeared in one of the World Trade Center. Oskar has found a mysterious key in the pocket of a jacket of his father, accompanied by the word "Black", and is looking for the lock through the boroughs of New York, Staten Island, Bronx and Manhattan to Brooklyn , wandering the streets of a city bereft of its twin towers, which breathes with the melancholy air. Overcoming his fears for the sake of his quest, he climbs to the top of the Empire State Building:


"When the door opened, we went out on the panoramic terrace. As we did not know who search, we only looked at a time. Of course, the sight was incredibly beautiful, but my brain started to do its thing and all the time I thought a plane was heading against the skyscraper, just below us. [...]

I thought about all the things everyone is saying, and the fact that all people will die, whether in a millisecond, in days or months, or seventy-six and a half, when it is born. Everything that is born must die, which means that our lives are like skyscrapers. Smoke rises faster or slower, but they are all on fire, and we are all trapped. "


aircraft, smoke, skyscraper ... These words have become as anxiety that the image of the man falling. Impact still in the novel Netherland by Joseph O'Neill, where a couple will break up in the months following the attacks. Of course, September 11 merely expands a flaw existing between Hans and his wife, provide an excuse for this woman who wants to leave her husband and took refuge in London. As if London was less risky at a time when all major Western cities are in the crosshairs of terrorists. And now this man sentenced to not see his son for four years every fortnight, between two planes, and share the bed of the little boy in the house of her parents. Because Rachel, his wife, decided to combine it with Bush's America, to make the share responsibility of the war in Iraq and all the misfortunes that have beset their lives. Because politics is now their place of conversation and swallowed any form of intimacy, replacing it with a fight futile and hopeless:


"- This is not reasoning," I said. C is just aggression.
- Assault? But, Hans, you do not understand? You do not see that it has nothing to do with relations personal? Politeness, kindness, you, me ... none of this is relevant. It is a matter of life and death struggle for the future of the world. Our personal feelings do not enter the picture. There are forces at work. The United States is now the strongest military power in the world. They can and they will do whatever they want. We must stop this. Your feelings, like my feelings - she sobbed, now - have nothing to do with all this. "


In La Belle Vie Inerney Jay Mac, we are interested in frica and overprotected by a bourgeois Manhattan, and the eye of the writer does Vachard no savings: superficial women drowned in luxury, teen cams, men dissolved in the vanity of their lives and only care about increasing the gap between them and the rest of the world ... From a social event that turns the game of massacre, to September 12 is tilted, as if the sheet was torn off the calendar. The world shook off, but it will not change the deal for a tiny minority of them. For most, the collapse of the towers will become a point of anguish inscribed in indelible deep within themselves, the idea that they are no longer safe, quickly expelled by additional luxury and activities. To the point where the characters collapses into tears evoke a lost friend, her grief seems like a parody. One time they thought of leaving New York. One time only. "The Good Life", this simulacrum of happiness shining vacuum, can be experienced here.


And yet, something essential has been lost: the sense of security that conveyed the big cities, New York in mind, the heart of a technological barrier erected against the brutality of a world crude , distant, anachronistic. New York, and all major cities in its wake, have become fragile. The unthinkable has happened and now everything is possible, especially the worst. How to reassure children when adults wobble? Lie. Say that everything will be alright now, it's over, the chaos is over, the wicked are dead. In each of the novels, parents attempt to deceive in children who are not fooled. For if the twin towers fell, other towers may fall. Others had come. Children Falling Man watch the sky with binoculars, looking for Bill Lawton (distortion of "Bin Laden"), creating confusion and anxiety among parents who are on the verge of the treatment. In Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close , the grandmother of Oskar remembers the lie of his father during the Second World War:

"I'll always be there to protect you, everything will be fine." And she adds: "It was not my father a liar. This made him my father."


In the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer, everyone lies to everyone, love. Oskar himself, the top of his nine years, has a secret too heavy for him, unaware that his mother, grandmother and even that strange tenant lives with it, have locked theirs to protect. These secrets will be released interwoven one after the other, releasing the emotions necessary to mourning and recovery of life. For as the author puts it this funny and poignant novel:

"September 11 has prompted people to externalize their share of childhood. Many have cried for the first time in years, said" I ' love "to their families, etc.. The disaster we have not made naive, but has eliminated a time, the layers that adults build around them."


Adopt the perspective of a child of nine years allows him to ask the world a closer look at both free and innocent, more vulnerable too. But in most novels I have chosen, we find these characters reconnect with the emotions and terrors of childhood. Children who evoke the disaster that veiled terms, speaking of "worst day" (Jonathan Safran Foer) or "planes". Children who believe in ghosts and feel the presence of the dead at Ground Zero in the stifling atmosphere of the early days:



"The presence of the dead was almost tangible in the early hours night, when their spirit was hovering between the canyons. It was better to feel around to see that in his sleep after returning home. "(Jay Mac Inerney)



In La Belle Vie , Luke, a survivor of the towers was among the first to clear the scene of a disaster. And he speaks of these bubbles inside the debris , "these empty pockets where it was hoped that as we feared to find survivors


"It was terrifying, these holes - like when you're small and we are afraid of the dark space under the bed. Here I am supposedly trying to help people and I am afraid to reach out. These voids are like passages to hell. "


Waking necessarily those childhood terrors brings to parents that have been lost or whose life has away, and who are no longer there to explain the chaos of the world . The hero of Joseph O 'Neill is haunted by memories of his lost mother. After Sept. 11, the lack of it becomes more acute here because without parental support and forced to be one for her little boys. heroes La Belle Vie , Luke returns to his mother in this time of deep questioning about the meaning of his life, and the reunion coincides with the resumption of a meaningful dialogue with his daughter. Lianne, the heroine of Falling Man , continues to visit her mother as if she was looking for answers that only those who preceded us in this world are likely to hold. As for Oskar, the little hero of Jonathan Safran Foer, is tirelessly and courageously that tracks the trail of his missing father.



In Saturday that we feel the more violently the disappearance of the sense of security. Because saw a plane in flames tear the skies over London, and although it has nothing to do with terrorists, Henry Perowne feels threatened and weakened. Her day will be profoundly changed. This is not a Saturday like any other, nothing works as it should, a threat sown early in the story hangs over the hero and how a storm brewing, it will burst in the evening, coming to remind this man preferred that no one, now, is immune to the threat posed by the pariahs of our society. And face the real threat and physical, social status and professional indemnity insurance shall no longer of any help:



"Never in his life he had hit someone in the face, even as a child. He never wore the iron cons of anesthetized body in a sterile environment and regulated . In fact, he can not defend themselves. "


This loss of sense of security leads to a profound melancholy, found a novel to another. Most of the characters seem trapped in a shell of sadness they can not be undone. Hans, the hero of Netherland , wonders about his rapid fall in the black hole of melancholy:


"I still do not know exactly if my descent into chaos fell to an Achilles heel or folly punished generally of wanting to face life with confidence - unwisely , some might say. All I know is that evil has taken me by surprise. "


Because the threat is not only what terrorism that crystallizes the visceral fears of half the globe. More profoundly, there is the idea that states which we belong leading worldwide actions which, like the butterfly flapping its wings, trigger earthquakes. And that these earthquakes no longer be content to remain politely stationed in the Third World. Now, the fall-out of our states can result in shattered lives and massacres downstairs from us.

Hence the prominence that politics plays in the lives of all the protagonists of these novels. Considerable space, far more important than before. September 11, politics, international politics and in particular, broke into our privacy. Remember our feverish discussions about the war in Iraq, terrorism, the Bush administration ... You will find them in these novels, in lieu of privacy and by shielding profound questions between Hans and his wife in Netherland ; poisoning the reunion of Henry Perowne and his beloved daughter in Saturday, exacerbating relations of the mother Lianne, Nina, and her lover Martin in The Man Who Falls. Martin moves to which pleasure iron in the wound of Americans:

"First they kill you and then you strive to understand them. Maybe finally get it by learning their names. But it must that they kill you first. [...] But that's why you had built the towers, right? Have they not been conceived as fantasies of wealth and power, destined to one day become fantasies of destruction? "


policy, it is found in the heart of Alone in the dark , the latest novel Paul Auster. Let me put aside voluntarily because if the world after September 11th is also the center, it is especially its impact and the war in Iraq is about. the little daughter of August Brill, the book's hero, has lost a fiance in the war, performed in a manner hideous. Again, we find the power of images: the girl and her family could not help watch the video of his execution, mesmerized, knowing it would haunt them more viscerally as the news of his death. Through this intimate tragedy, war, war eternal and unquenchable, who broke into the lives of the characters in the novel:

"My subject tonight is war, and now that the war has entered this house, it seems to me that if I insult Titus and Katya j'amortissais instantly. "


To occupy his sleepless nights, August Brill, forced into immobility by accident, invented another world, an alternate history in which either September 11 or the war in Iraq thereunder, would not have happened. But the war caught up with him even in his fiction, since in the latter, a civil war ignites in America. Following the defeat of Al Gore truncated for president, New York and several other states have seceded, and the resulting conflict that cruelly highlights rift between the "two Americas" that the election of George Bush highlighted . August Brill also remembers a bloody race riot that the district of Newark in his youth:


"That was my war. Not a real war, of course, but once you have been witness to violence of this magnitude, it is not hard to imagine worse, and the time that the brain is capable of doing that, we understand that the most terrible possibilities of the imagination are the country in which we live. "



So what world provide all these novelists whose talents meet one story to another? A world anxious, fragile, wistful, captive to the tyranny of the media. A world where "we are all targets now ", as summarized in Martin Falling Man . A world that has changed without turning back. Where he will live without the illusion of a world safe. Where fear could change us into slaves of power and information without our noticing, as pointed out by Ian Mac Ewan:


"Not so long ago, his thoughts wandered more unpredictable, a list of topics much longer. He wondered if it would not now becoming a pigeon, a consumer ever more hungry for information, opinions, speculations, any crumb launched by the authorities. It is a docile citizen who looks at the Leviathan increase his power while hiding in his shadow. "



But still, this world "mysterious murders, strange world continues to turn," wrote Paul Auster . And us. And I would strongly advise you to immerse yourself in these novels, I really enjoyed reading them one after another, moving from the eye and tasty Vachard Jay Mac Inerney poignant and funny look at Jonathan Safran Foer or scalpel virtuoso Ian Mac Ewan ... enter in these novels, you'll be in good company.

soon.
Gaëlle Nohant