This book knocked me out. And if anyone has said this was the price I would have agreed to pay it. The best stories are allegories for our lives, and any book that helps you learn more about yourself is successful. And I will, I thought. The way Winterson writes, is actually almost magical. Usually authors writing in the approved Ivory-Tower, academic-scholar style feel to me like they are pandering to other academic scholars of literature instead of writing an authentic and illuminating book. Why would I want them to? It is incredible how she has managed to write a book in which you know not even the gender of the main character, but you know their emotions as intimately as if they were your own.
All the way to the bitter fucking end. The story actually ended up much more full of genuine life and realistic analysis, more like a journal of thoughtful musings and honest regrets over failed relationships, especially for the one that got away which really hurt. I don't believe I've ever read anyone who writes quite like Jeanette Winterson. The narrator waits for six weeks for Louise to return to their shared apartment. To choose you out of habit not desire, to pass the flower seller without a thought.
It starts out as a story of an affair, but the second half is more of a memory about or a lovestory to the lover's body. The reader is handed the bludgeon of betrayal and the guilt of abandonment while left lightly bubbling in the languor of beer hall pinch-ass to contemplate the role of human existence. You asked me if I wanted to strangle you. Not to think of you in the little things. Each mark tells a story. Her stories are familiar, as in I can recognize that each is written by Winterson, because she has a way with words that not many authors can manage even if they wanted to. Questa è la Ricevete un regalo.
Quit Jeanette Winterson impressed me last year when I read her magical tale of historical fiction,. It made me want to go up to Ms. It gives me a loose-limbed confidence to know you'll be there. No one wanted to live in it and no one else would have been stupid enough to rent it. La trama è solo un elemento di sfondo, un pretesto per Jeanette Winterson per tirar fuori tutte le parole che la scrittrice ammaestra in un ritmo selvaggio giostrato magistralmente.
She believes that art is for everyone and it is her mission to prove it. She smells of the sea. He didn't know any better, and he was probably about twice my age. She was adopted and brought up in Accrington, Lancashire, in the north of England. In this book, we have a genderless narrator. It is full of scalding truths about love, marriage and infidelity. The language is so pretty, so flowery, so ornate, that I found myself tiring of it rather quickly.
It's a very quick read - I blazed through this in about 2-3 days of reading on the subway. Winterson plays with the concept of what it means to know a person inside and out, something we typically consider synonymous with intimacy. The chapters on human anatomy while the narrator is in retreat mode are water for chocolate. So I was thrilled when I saw an interview with her that firmly established that we are indeed sisters. Louise's doctors are doing tests, but are sure that she does not need treatment while she is without symptoms. The narrator hesitates, but there is something about Louise that promises a better life. Love is not something you can negotiate.
It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. Quite a feat for a book replete with sensual body worshipping between lovers. Written on the Body is a secret code only visible in certain lights: the accumulation of a lifetime gather there. Jeanette Winterson's work is published in 28 countries. I didn't know that Louise would have reading hands.
All the way to the bitter fucking end. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I could almost feel the utter rawness that the narrator was going through. And for Winterson, too, of course, for having even more courage to write the book. L'amore ne vale la pena. What deft ability to capture our thoughts about love. Let me be diced carrot, vermicelli, just so that you will take me in your mouth.