51: The interrogation

Just “finished” The interrogation by J.M.G. Le Clezio…Translated from French, my first French-translated novel..

I say “finished” because I didn’t, I was maybe 20 pages away from the end. I just couldn’t do it anymore. The whole feeling of this book was, I was walking in the rain, and there’s mist everywhere, and I can barely see past the brim of my umbrella, and once in a while I’d get rained on, getting a general idea of what’s going on outside when really I have no idea what’s going on.

I wouldn’t recommend it unless this type of writing interests you, I had a hard time following the story… There were bits that is crossed out…and I really wasn’t sure if I was suppose to read it or not, and there were two random news paper prints that probably had something to do with the story but I really couldn’t follow it so I gave up.

The author won a Nobel Prize in Literature in 2008…. He wrote this particular novel when he was 23 so good job to him especially since it won numerous awards.

Props, but I really couldn’t follow it.

Next week Divisadero by Michael Ondaatjae

I still jotted down some interesting quotations for you to get a gist of the writing style…

51-52: The night had achieved a sort of black perfection; each object was a fresh disturbance on the map of the district. The earth’s surface was striped black and white like a zebra’s hide; the concentric circles of the mountains were like fingerprints laid one beside another, sometimes one above another, with no pause for rest. The tips of the cacti had piled arms in anticipation of a mysterious battle.

77: Adam looked at their dark glasses and reflected that instead of going to live all by himself in a corner he might have done something else; such as buying a parrot that he could have carried on his shoulder wherever he went; so that if anyone stopped him he could have left the parrot to speak for him:
‘ Morning, how are you?’
‘ Morning, how are you?’
And people would have realized he had nothing to say to them.

81: There was something new in the empty house on the hill. This was a rat, of a handsome size, not black like most sewer-rats, but on the white side – between grey and white 0 with pink nose, tail and paws and two piercing blue, lidless eyes which gave him a courageous expression.

110-111: He suddenly felt tired; tired of living, perhaps, tired of constantly having to defend himself against all these danger

151: All this comes of the heat that is branching out, crawling low down, just about the ground. A tiny, trembling breath of air makes wrinkles round the objects it meets. Earth, water and air consistent of masses of black and white particles, mingling in a blur like a million ants. There is nothing really incoherent any more, nothing wild. One would think the world had been drawn by a child of twelve.

Posted: January 23rd, 2011
Categories: 52 weeks, BOOKS, QUOTES
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