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Lia Purpura

All the Fierce Tethers

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Readers familiar with Lia Purpura’s highly praised essay collections—Becoming, On Looking, and Rough Likeness—will know she’s a master of observation, a writer obsessed with the interplay between humans and the things they see. The subject matter of All the Fierce Tethers is wonderfully varied, both low (muskrats, slugs, a stained quilt in a motel room) and lofty (shadows, prayer, the idea of beauty). In “Treatise Against Irony,” she counters this all-too modern affliction with ferocious optimism and intelligence: “The opposite of irony is nakedness.” In “My Eagles,” our nation’s symbol is viewed from all angles—nesting, flying, politicized, preserved. The essay in itself could be a small anthology. And, in a fresh move, Purpura turns to her own, racially divided Baltimore neighborhood, where a blood stain appears on a street separating East (with its Value Village) and West (with its community garden). Finalist for the National Book Critics Award, winner of the Pushcart Prize, Lia Purpura returns with a collection both sustaining and challenging.
Эта книга сейчас недоступна
103 бумажные страницы
Дата публикации оригинала
2019
Год выхода издания
2019
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Впечатления

  • Ivana Melgozaделится впечатлением4 года назад
    👍Worth reading
    🔮Hidden Depths
    💡Learnt A Lot
    🎯Worthwhile

    Una pensaría que hablar de ecocidio desde el ensayo literario sería demasiado cliché o condescendiente pero wooow este libro lo logra desde la intimidad sin dejar de ser súper fuerte, sincero y sentirse tan necesario.

Цитаты

  • Ivana Melgozaцитирует4 года назад
    And going down to the hardware store, I was thinking how much I really liked that—just walking, being in the sun, alone. Just being in the sun alone. You know? How nice that is? How you can feel that’s the whole reason to live. And it’s enough.
  • Ivana Melgozaцитирует4 года назад
    How accustomed I am to being emplaced. To fashioning a place in words.
  • Ivana Melgozaцитирует4 года назад
    The crape myrtle was, as he says of his tree, “no play of my imagination, no aspect of a mood”—and then, yes, “it confronts me bodily.” Certain modes of apprehending, seeing, or contemplating (the taxonomizing of forms, for example), aren’t wrong, Buber says—just not necessary, in order to be in relation to a tree.

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