Fugitive Pieces, Anne Michaels
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Tämä viestiketju on "uinuva" —viimeisin viesti on vanhempi kuin 90 päivää. Ryhmä "virkoaa", kun lähetät vastauksen.
I have to admit to having horrible handwriting. I also have to admit that this is all typed up from my hand written notes. Result: if there are mistakes in wording or anything else, they are mine and I apologize.
The shadow-past is shaped by everything that never happened. Invisible, it melts the present like rain through karst. A biography of longing. It steers us like magnetism, a spirit torque. This is how one becomes undone by a smell, a word, a place, the photo of a mountain of ashes. By love that closes its mouth before calling a name. p17
While I hid in the radiant light of Athos's island, thousands suffocated in darkness, while I hid in the luxury of a room, thousands were stuffed into baking stoves, sewers, garbage bins. In the crawlspaces of double ceilings, in the stables, pigsties, chicken coops.
While I Was living with Athos on Zakynthos, learning Greek and English, learning geology, geography, and poetry, Jews were filling the corners and cracks of Europe, every available space. They buried themselves in strange graves, any space that would fit their bodies, absorbing more room than was allotted them in the world. p45
I loved this. It's the essence of how so many feel. It's the essence of what happened. It's very well done.
To remain invisible, the place changes color as it moves through sunlit water. What is the color of a ghost? To survive was to escape fate. but if you escape your fate, whose life do you then step into? p48
In the valley, charred ruins, blackened stone, a terrible silence. A place so empty it was not even haunted. p61
I think I have waited my whole life to hear "A place so empty it was not even haunted." I don't know why, but that really struck me.
Nothing is sudden. Not an explosion--planned, timed, wired carefully--not the burst door. Just as the earth invisibly prepares its cataclysms, so history is the gradual instant. p77
"Love makes you see a place differently, just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love. If you know a landscape well, you will look at all other landscapes differently. And if you learn to love one place, sometimes you can learn to love another." p82
Terra cognita and terra incognita inhabit exactly the same coordinates of time and space. The closest we come to knowing the location of what's unknown is when it melts through the map like a watermark, a stain transparent as a drop of rain.
On the map of history, perhaps the water stain is memory. p137
Questions without answers must be asked very slowly. p159
When you get to page 200 the writing changes. It isn't first a story told in the first person by Jakob anymore and that makes you miss him very suddenly and deeply, like a death.
Not long after our final lesson, on one of our Sundays at the lake, my father and I were walking along the shore when we noticed a small rock shaped like a bird. When he picked it up, I saw the quick gleam of satisfaction in his face and felt in an instant that I had less power to please him than the stone. p219
There is a part in this story, around page 241 where we hear the history of lullabies, since one of the characters collects them. I thought it was very interesting and well done.
"And the lullabies were overheard and passed along and, generations later, that little song is all that's left to tell us of that child..." p241
Talking about how mothers would make up the song to fit the child.
Rain in a foreign city is different from rain in a place you know. I can't explain this, while snow is the same everywhere. p289