¿Será mejor asumir la naturaleza pasajera de las cosas, aprovechar cada segundo la compañía de un amigo como si fuera el último y tener siempre en cuenta que puede morir atropellado ahí mismo, frente al café que nos hizo descubrir? Habría entonces que tomar ejemplo de los niños que viven los días como momentos excepcionales y conocen el verdadero sentido del fin de semana. O quizás convenga más pensar que nada nos pertenece, que cada objeto, cada espejismo de comprensión es el don de un personaje divino cuyo pasatiempo es hacernos perder todo, y no asumir posesiones sería la única manera de burlarlo.
Tomemos la postura que tomemos, algo es seguro: existir es desmoronarse. Me rasco y pierdo un puñado de células, tomo un poco de alcohol y me desprendo de algún porcentaje de hígado. Me quedo dormida junto a la ventana y me pierdo la escena de celos que está haciendo la vecina en el edificio de enfrente, despierto y, de inmediato, olvidó el sueño del que sí conservo alguna sensación.
Perderse a sí mismo es algo para lo que estamos de alguna u otra manera preparados, pero que no nos abandonen; que las personas que consideramos nuestras no desaparezcan, porque entonces el proceso de putrefacción se vuelve intolerable.
-El Huésped, Guadalupe Nettel, 2006
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Título: La hija única
Autor: Guadalupe Nettel
Editorial: Anagrama
La doceava edición de esta novela con la que Guadalupe Nettel consigue, como de costumbre, tratar un tema original.
Toca temas poco frecuentes con una gran naturalidad y una fuerza extraordinaria.
No se siente snob ni inventada. Mas bien transmite posibilidades reales y verdaderas que, aunque sean poco frecuentes en general, consigue que nunca se dude de su verosimilitud.
Su estilo de escribir es muy bueno. Lástima que el final del libro, digamos desde la última tercera parte, pierde esa fuerza y se va acomodando en un convencionalismo que mata el libro y una historia que empezó tan bien.
Me quedé con la impresión de que no supo como terminarlo. Sin embargo ya va en la décimo segunda edición, lo que habla bastante bien de cómo ha sido recibido.
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still born.
dialogue prompts from still born by guadalupe nettel.
this book deals directly with infant loss / illness.
nothing will happen to you while i'm here.
in friendships like ours, there's no room for hypocrisy.
they say that violence begets violence.
the more we love a person, the more fragile and insecure we feel because of them.
if you disappeared, a part of me would go with you.
i can't take any more of you.
can i bum one off you?
what was it like to live with ____?
i didn't come here to argue with you.
i've got you to love. i don't need anyone else.
can you talk? i need to tell you something.
it's a long story. you'll need to pay attention. do you have time now?
did you just get back from school?
i just went for a walk around the block.
why don't we go to the park this afternoon?
i talk to myself, too.
did anyone tell you what happened?
what did i do wrong?
there's nothing like looking at a lake to calm one's thoughts.
do you mind if i smoke?
i promise you i won't leave until it's better.
the city is full of dangerous people.
i can't imagine what it would feel like to be in your place.
there's no word for a parent who loses a child.
did you used to play in the street when you were little?
it's not healthy to wallow in pain.
what should i have done differently?
i can't keep explaining it over and over again.
talking about it made me feel better.
anger is nothing but a screen for avoiding pain.
you're totally unreadable.
you're smoking again?
being a mother means being worried about someone else all the time.
love and common sense are not always compatible.
some music fuses with our selves, we've listened to it so much.
cohabitation is one of the hardest experiences to survive.
i wouldn't mind a vodka tonic.
some people are more awake at night.
what did you used to like doing before you shut yourself in?
i don't want kids, even adopted ones.
you forgot how to be happy.
there's nothing for you here. go away.
it's easier to blame others for what we can't tolerate in ourselves.
you look like you've gone back in time.
you can spend the day with me.
it's not right, but sometimes it's worth doing.
what i want is for you to stop meddling in my life.
i need to know so i can help you.
it's as if ____ needs to suck my life force to grow.
all i feel is worn out.
normal mothers don't think those kinds of things, do they?
i'm not sure 'normal mothers' exist.
you'll judge me. you always do.
there are people who consider misfortune an infectious disease.
we tend to see our mother's mistakes as the source of all our problems.
you're always questioning the past.
if you don't leave home, you suffocate. if you go too far, you lose oxygen.
from hereon in, anything that happens is a bonus.
i'm here to help you, not to fight you.
i like to say things straight.
there's always a way to renegotiate debt.
i can't believe you hid this from me. it's like staying quiet when there's a fire in the house.
you're not on your own. we're a family now.
i ask myself why you stay sometimes, too.
are we going to stay like this for the rest of our lives?
blood ties don't guarantee anything.
the biological family is something that's been imposed on us. there's no reason we should settle for that if it doesn't work for us.
i can't stand being in my head.
is it your voice in your head, or someone else's?
what do you do when your thoughts bother you?
you've got space inside you where you can go and hide.
we have the children that we have, not the ones we imagined we'd have.
what could someone so young know about despair?
don't leave my side for a minute.
i feel like an absolute worm.
do you think you'll be able to fall in love again?
don't be nervous. whatever has to happen will happen. no one gets out of that.
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Books by BIPOC Authors August 2023
🦇 I grew up surrounded by a melting pot of cultures, diverse communities, and unique experiences. Despite the different sources of those multicultural voices, their stories still covered universal topics of colonialism, migration, identity, and race. Each story was another flavor, another sweet spice adding to that melting pot. Today, we have books by BIPOC authors that put those unique voices to the page. If you're interested in traveling to different worlds, whether familiar or foreign, here are a few books by BIPOC authors to add to your TBR! 🦇
✨ Tomb Sweeping by Alexandra Chang
✨ The Dark Place by Britney S. Lewis
✨ Forged by Blood by Ehigbor Okuson
✨ Accidentally in Love by Danielle Jackson
✨ A Council of Dolls by Mona Susan Power
✨ Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel, translated by Rosalind Harvey
✨ The Injustice of Place: Uncovering the Legacy of Poverty in America by Kathryn J. Edin, H. Luke Shaefer, Timothy J. Nelson
✨ Hangman by Maya Binyam
✨ The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride (Historical Fiction)
✨ Under the Tamarind Tree by Nigar Alam
✨ Vampires of El Norte by Isabel Cañas
✨ An American Immigrant by Johanna Rojas Vann
🧭 Forgive Me Not by Jennifer Baker
🧭 Two Tribes by Emily Bowen Cohen
🧭 A Quantum Life: My Unlikely Journey from the Street to the Stars by Hakeem Oluseyi and Joshua Horwitz
🧭 Writing in Color: Fourteen Writers on the Lessons We've Learned (edited by) Nafiza Azad and Melody Simpson
🧭 Ghost Book by Remy Lai
🧭 The Water Outlaws by S.L. Huang
🧭 Plantains and Our Becoming by Melania Luisa Marte
🧭 Forty Words for Love by Aisha Saeed
🧭 The Great White Bard: How to Love Shakespeare While Talking About Race by Farah Karim-Cooper
🧭 Take the Long Way Home by Rochelle Alers
🧭 Swim Home to the Vanished by Brendan Shay Basham
🧭 Actually Super by Adi Alsaid
✨ Never a Hero by Vanessa Len
✨ I Fed Her to the Beast and the Beast is Me by Jamison Shea
✨ The Infinity Particle by Wendy Xu
✨ Night of the Living Queers, edited by Shelly Page
✨ Sign of the Slayer by Sharina Harris
✨ Her Radiant Curse by Elizabeth Lim
✨ My Father the Panda Killer by Jamie Jo Hoang
✨ Barely Floating by Lilliam Rivera
✨Happiness Falls by Angie Kim
✨ A Tall Dark Trouble by Vanessa Montalban
✨ Neverwraith by Shakir Rashaan
✨ House of Marionne by J. Elle
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Aspettare qualcuno, almeno così, come ho fatto, equivale a cancellare la propria esistenza, a ipotecarla per un condizionale, a scambiarla con un congiuntivo assurdo. Ossessionarsi con qualcuno che ha deciso di non esserlo è regalare minuti, ore e giorni della nostra vita a chi non li ha né richiesti né desidera averli; È condannare quegli stessi minuti, ore e giorni alla dimensione del tempo perduto, dell'inutile; È frustrante per le infinite possibilità che questo tempo ci offre e può essere evitato per la peggiore delle opzioni: la frustrazione, la delusione.
Guadalupe Nettel "Dopo l'inverno"
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