contemporary writing to the assault of the novel I was not expecting to read a novel and also move away from him. I chose a site on the institutional famous whose name recalls a river of South America (...?) And moved its members to compile lists of their books thematic favorites. Convinced by the other titles in this list that Maupin had many, I started on "Growing Up" by Gilles Leroy what I did not know. Ouch.
I closed that book exasperated and I could only wish at this moment: the fall sharply. Who am I to allow me that? Nobody is precisely the interest of the Internet: everything is permitted at all. But it's not as simple. History is an appalling banality: adolescence, innocence, with, finding a parallel sexuality, and the bourgeois urbanites who openly despise their hick cousins because they are a mirror which reflects the annoying ... Marriages and factories that close and serious illness. In short, the novel of the 90s. Nothing more, nothing less. But the banality stands, say.
same concern for writing. We can not say that Gilles Leroy write badly. His writing is powerful, incredibly rhythmic, he loves the gradations and metonymy improbable way the deliciously oxymoronic. But guess what: nothing moves me. I never managed to get a page. I swam next to the story of this writing the endless sentences, punctuation incomprehensible. It took me 80 pages to understand who was who among the poor ... three characters who are ultimately nothing more than the husband, wife, son. Tadam. But it was so elliptical and go for it I you put a little metaphor for it, and go ahead for circumlocution and there. And I'm talking to you the main characters and at the same time I tell you what he thinks, all this for anything else happens with someone who has a nickname but no one knows who he is. Argh.
The worst were in the bottom brackets. Yes, hooks in which the author speaks to us in an aside. Thus we learn that such a place we slid his fingers on the keyboard and he typed a word instead of another and attempts to understand this "slip of fingers." Or it tells us what he has failed to write but never write not.
There. Not very interesting. Not very pretty. No poetry for two cents. Not informative. Even his contempt for the campaign is incredibly banal and ultimately not even funny. It's not for lack of spread in the pages and pages ...
I closed that book exasperated and I could only wish at this moment: the fall sharply. Who am I to allow me that? Nobody is precisely the interest of the Internet: everything is permitted at all. But it's not as simple. History is an appalling banality: adolescence, innocence, with, finding a parallel sexuality, and the bourgeois urbanites who openly despise their hick cousins because they are a mirror which reflects the annoying ... Marriages and factories that close and serious illness. In short, the novel of the 90s. Nothing more, nothing less. But the banality stands, say.
same concern for writing. We can not say that Gilles Leroy write badly. His writing is powerful, incredibly rhythmic, he loves the gradations and metonymy improbable way the deliciously oxymoronic. But guess what: nothing moves me. I never managed to get a page. I swam next to the story of this writing the endless sentences, punctuation incomprehensible. It took me 80 pages to understand who was who among the poor ... three characters who are ultimately nothing more than the husband, wife, son. Tadam. But it was so elliptical and go for it I you put a little metaphor for it, and go ahead for circumlocution and there. And I'm talking to you the main characters and at the same time I tell you what he thinks, all this for anything else happens with someone who has a nickname but no one knows who he is. Argh.
The worst were in the bottom brackets. Yes, hooks in which the author speaks to us in an aside. Thus we learn that such a place we slid his fingers on the keyboard and he typed a word instead of another and attempts to understand this "slip of fingers." Or it tells us what he has failed to write but never write not.
There. Not very interesting. Not very pretty. No poetry for two cents. Not informative. Even his contempt for the campaign is incredibly banal and ultimately not even funny. It's not for lack of spread in the pages and pages ...
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