Stendhal said that a novel is a mirror carried along a highway. The Story of My Teeth is a mirror carried by a Highway Sánchez Sánchez: a coded yet gleeful journey through Mexico City, rich with details, offering . . . “a fissure in the relationship between style and reality.”
When I first read Lispector in the 1980s, I fell deeply, inexplicably in love. I wanted to know her work inside and out; I wanted to know everything about her. I read all I could find, which was not much and mostly in French translation . . .
Throughout these pieces, Couto moves gracefully and eloquently from stories to lessons and questions. He speaks to a variety of audiences, and engages readers who may know little of Mozambique’s past and present, but who emerge from the collection with an interest in Mozambique’s future.
Modern-day literature in Estonia is both aware of and wary of borders.
For two weeks I felt like I was wrapped in barbed wire.
At one castle reception she had bitten into a decorative banana that tasted distinctly of sawdust.
I wish there was the sort of god / who would preserve us from a god / we invent for ourselves
He was old and filthy and probably hadn’t eaten for some time.
Turnips and time, pork and posterity, man and his life on the road between day and night.
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