elecstorm

Alexander Starikov Starikov من عند Clogh, Co. Wexford, أيرلندا من عند Clogh, Co. Wexford, أيرلندا

قارئ Alexander Starikov Starikov من عند Clogh, Co. Wexford, أيرلندا

Alexander Starikov Starikov من عند Clogh, Co. Wexford, أيرلندا

elecstorm

This book... Would I be able to describe it? Hmm. Imagine eating a full tray of space cakes and sitting down for a David Lynch adaption of Catch-22. Nope, doesn't even come close. An Alice in Wonderland pornography, set in the 40s Europe, shown on a silver screen laced with cocaine, through a miasma of pot smoke? No... Some kind of occult cinema. I struggle to say something other than "magical realism:" I think it's more of a perversion, or a mystification, of reality. It is irreverent, lewd, funny, dense. Slapstick, historical anecdotes, and technical details are woven into racism, scatology, pedophilia, and--worst of all--word play. It is Pynchon standing erect as I kneel in front of him, his face shrouded in darkness as he strokes his cock, my eyes fixed to his movements, my mouth open and hungry for his literary load. This image is not one of abstraction: it's not an act of dominance and submission between two separate forces, no, we are one in an act of pure linguistic hedonism. A conversation about the last 150 of this book: v: let me know if you finish it me: but uhh you can spoil if you want, i don't work like that me: with the spoilage thing v: the ending is basically like if you took a vase and dropped it on the floor in slow motion v: i can't really spoil it even if i wanted to v: it's not even things that happen v: i have to reread that part 4 more times i think (many days later) me: oh wait me: is this the stuff you were talking about.. me: i guess it is me: what the hell v: you are lost and gone forever oh my darling clementine me: jesus me: it's undulating v: yeah i was pretty much crosseyed and droolin Rather than a vase in slow motion, I'd say it was like watching Xavier: Renegade Angel. But then I suppose the whole book is like that.

elecstorm

Annetka Kaminska is a thirteen-year-old girl living in Russian-controlled Poland in 1896. She bitterly resents the Russians that have taken over her country and are forcing her people to give up their language and customs. But she is even more angry when her father, living in America, arranges a marriage for her, with a Pennsylvania coal miner twice her age. A widower with three little girls, Stanley mounrs for his wife and does not love Annetka, treating her almost like a servant. Yet when he dies in a mining accident, things become even more difficult, as she must care for the children and pay the rent. Yet in spite of her bleak life, she finds some hope in the children, and in the possibly of true love. One of the best (and most mature) books in the Dear America series.