Saturday, January 29, 2011

Engagement Thank You Card Wording

Jakob Elias Poritzky


Qualibus in tenebris vitae quantisque Pericles
Degitur Hoccer Aevi, Quodcumque is!
In the midst of what dangers, what darkness, what happens to us is given little life!
(Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, II, 15)

Fate Jakob Elias Poritzky seems related to his work fell into obscurity until his death in 1935. Some years after his birth in 1876 in Lomza, in occupied Poland and Russia where pogroms and famine are rampant, his family emigrated and settled in Baden, near Karlsruhe. Editions of The Last Drop , whose catalog contains decidedly treasures, revived in 2008 a work never previously translated into French here My Hell, published in Germany in 1906. This unclassifiable book stands a powerful voice, desperate and rebellious, yet the irony of which is not absent: a vicious cycle and painful, but sometimes burlesque. The author, when this text appears, has only thirty years. He recounts a descent into hell, in a move both spiral and cyclic: in fact, each chapter describes a new circle of hell in which plunges the narrator, each more narrow and more tightly than the previous however, the last, "Revolt", the call directed angry a hypothetical God, meets the second evokes the narrator's childhood in an environment very similar to that known Poritzky.

No need to know to be dead in hell. The narrator moves in a narrow world, one room "small and low," he only comes out to meet the waste of the human species. In every man crossed he guesses a similar fate to his, miserable and sordid. Each conceals from his dismal "little secret " : thoughts guilty to a cabaret singer, the refusal to give birth to a child that would perpetuate their condition, the desire to kill him ... But, endowed with the ability to discern the incisor baseness of its congeners, n not escape their through, giving way to random encounters, even if they lead to a miserable brothel where he is the plaything of lewd attentions of two ugly prostitutes. In this erratic wanderings, he trains a player like him:

The misery of existence, this is what I preach. If life disgusts you, if you're nauseated, having reached the zenith of misery, if your soul is so oppressed she is about to burst, if you want to make you blow your brains to take refuge in a vacuum where you do not feel it, then read my book. It will console you by increasing your torments. You know ...
I Poritzky, written in 1900 (quote placed emphasis).

outset, the author makes the reader his brother in misery, assuming they both belong to the same humanity misguided and unfortunate. This "You know ..." takes us on to its sequel, membership application, almost pleading, in conjunction solitudes can regain a sense of brotherhood. The trip looks tough. One of the characteristics of writing Poritzky is there: speaking directly to the reader himself, God, he moves to the center of a creation which reveals the chasm leading into the depths of hell. The report establishes that God is strange: indeed, he suggested at the beginning and the end of his work, while denying him against entering or speaking directly to him, in a process almost Schopenhauer. It is believed that passage of Parerga and Paralipomena : "If there was a God, I would not be what God, the misery of the world breaks my heart." Moreover, "The gates of hell "could well be those of heaven according to his father. The second chapter, in fact, recalls a childhood that was anything but a green paradise. The narrator's father, like Poritzky (which was Chasan - cantor in the synagogue), prevents read, whereas the books away from religion.

- No, dirt, you're not thinking. You do not like to pray, read your crap you prefer German. But wait a bit to see! In the Hereafter, you will not stop to make you tan leather ass for all that.
- But Father, it is necessary that I read.
- No, you do not read. Throw all those books repugnant. Plug this garbage in a fire! Therefore requests! That's what you've got smart thing to do. Then God will love you. If you despise it as he despises the vulgar mangy dogs.
Gustave Dore Bible . Solomon


However, the narrator chooses to remain faithful to his love of books, which diverts from this God awful. It can not recognize itself in its family. The image of the mother, loving but submissive, is not enough to keep him in the inner circle where he had his first hell. As Poritzky family fled Poland to escape the danger, the double of the author chose to travel, joining without knowing the fate of his people condemned to wander. The only ray of light in the distance: the discovery of the love of his sister - a feeling that can not speak in secret from the father. This revelation can only make that even more unfortunate, since this is starting tear.

Thus begins a journey that leads the protagonist of hope in disillusionment. His travels are replicas of those has made Poritzky: Frankfurt to Paris, then Berlin, hell hell. He experiences of poverty and hunger, as the character of Knut Hamsun. In Paris, surrounded by students as wretched as himself, he is reduced to begging, to get involved in those endless lines of beggars at the soup kitchen. Sometimes it happens meals.

Take empty bowl, a spoon and pretend to eat to be satisfied: that fails this feat can not be both poor and willing to Paris to study.

Sometimes he sniffs a pitcher of water, thinking to breathe the smell of alcohol he dreams. This experience is not a passage. Each stage gives rise to another, even more painful. The plight raises abjection. The mother figure, poor old woman, blind but loving, which connects the world still turns into representation shameful, since it accepted the seed of the man hated the father, in an embrace disgusting. Thus, no further reference does not bind well. It is becoming increasingly difficult to escape from this hell that seems to be closing in on him ... social deprivation enlisted infamy. Rather than seeking solidarity, comfort in a loving relationship or love, the narrator takes pleasure in belittling the prostitute with whom he maintains a relationship, Claire, the aptly named, in love with him. If the punishment is because it refers to its own downfall:

Because I am unable to love from the depths of my soul, because, yet, as I would dearly love someone. Any human being. Because she is not worthy that I hold in my arms because I'm hungry because I hurt, because men do not deserve nothing but contempt ... and a thousand other reasons too, which s 'agglutinate and, suddenly, my mood darkens.

Since it is not capable of being happy, he chose to make another unfortunate, gradually isolating themselves from the rest of humanity which leads him into one of the last circles: Berlin, "the cruel city," where the pangs of hunger still present, ; the abject begging intensified by a sense of loneliness such inexorable death. The narrator imagines corpse

I lay in my coffin, my brooding nullity. I heard the wind howl outside: I am compressing the heart and discouraged me.
Gustave Dore engraving The Divine Comedy

But death offers no escape from this misery, it did is not even nothing, promises no ataraxia. There is no solution. So much to engage in mud that has invaded the world. Hunger tormented him still, haunting, and making him a being subject to all the turpitude. He suggests a good possibility of finding something to eat, he denied in a final burst of dignity

At the soup kitchen, a place of despair and hunger eternal home of anarchists, abject financial arrangement of a successful case, I was advised sympathetically to get into pederasty, say ... passive. And if it did not join a team cunnilingi active as they were in high demand.

This descent into hell, paradoxically, is the origin of a work born of hunger. Thus emerges a faint hope - may be denied, the work falling quickly into oblivion. In a final revolt, he quote what God has refused to acknowledge: the final chapter of the book is a sort of antithesis to the incipit of Confessions of Rousseau - impossible to know if there Poritzky thought, but the reader can not help it. Thus, the miseries of earthly life is not compensated by the prospect of paradise, the man finally being a puppet manipulated by a God who does not exist. The terrible vision of humanity contained in the pages of this book is a dead end: yet the vivacity of the language used to create time for pleasure, the author does not forbidding, referring to all aspects of ignominy in a deluge of recriminations but with a desperate energy. If the author never mentions anti-Semitism, however, more than prégnant at that time, his work foreshadowed yet, tragically, the disaster to come, which will die in his wife and daughter, and that only his untimely death will escape. Note the remarkable translation of Dina and Nathalie Regnier Sikiric Eberhardt (as always) which preserves the vigor and strength of a very contemporary writing.

I Poritzky and his family



Friday, January 28, 2011

Wiring Diagram For Second Battery In A Car To Amp

How not to waste his time writing for television


A friend of mine, writer of his state, sent the following text. I found it really interesting discussion, so I figured I would share it.
Martin W.
PS: There have been several fascinating commentary following the publication of this text. Do not forget to read them.
--------------------------------

I just discovered with surprise and bonheurque Nina Companeez - writer whom I respect but whose star etl'inspiration had somewhat faded in recent times - just frapperun great blow to his comeback to latélévision. It has indeed adapted for France Television 2, rienmoins that In Search of Lost Time, deMarcel plugrantécrivainfrançaismortduvingtièmesiècle Proust. In two films of 110 minutes!

Yes, yes, I know: The Search has 7 volumes, 1. 200 000 words, 7. 200 000caractères or fifty novels Amelie Nothomb or Marc Levy - which does sontadaptés in film and due to a novel at once. Tribute to the entire del'œuvre Proustian in two half-nights is a business of a audacefolle, and Mrs. Companeez can only be rented. And then two times 90 minutes is ou110 the preferred format of French public service and sesspectateurs, who praise always without hesitation the prestigious French drama inspired by famous French writers of the world.

I know, the gossips say that the COMPANY is not only vain (Luchino Visconti himself lesdents it is broken and more than respectable filmmakers such Volker Schlöndorff, Raul Ruiz and Chantal Ackerman had the modesty to be limited to a single desromans cycle) but also that it is absurd. Because, for the purists pinched Research is a novel cycle of unecomplexité and richness unmatched. In their eyes, it is simply impossible do justice to such a work, and deconstruct a coherent film, meaning, embracing the entire histoireen format so limited. And to quote Harry Potter whose aventurescomptent also 7 volumes (Yes! 7! As Research! you really imagine that JK Rowling was an original author?). They point out that we had to shoot a beautiful film by Volume - even deuxpour the last - well the fans are still not happy!


But this argument is really specious, because finally , compare ceques is comparable. In the case of Harry Potter, this is an English adapted by Americans-in other words an author unknown to the French public writing in a language without style, exploited by unscrupulous sharks who hesitate Hollywood never learned to line pourfaire money. While Proust and Nina Companeez, it's still something else!

Some bitterly mocking say that life is short. Deuxcent and twenty minutes is still long. (Well, not as long as read Proust, but long nonetheless.) Etilé treacherously will suggest that these two hundred and twenty minutes, they can take advantage by going to the cinema to see films or arthouse unbon reading novels, even the beginning of Research (whose integral is online in one page, click HERE , it's crazy what quepermet the internet today ...).


But do not listen. A company like this definitely deserves all the spectators of France and Navarre (well, those who still watch F2) the taste from one end to another. It's a French book, written by a cinéastefrançaise broadcast on French TV. The look is - let's not mince words - a civic duty.

Well, I must confess to you frankly, jesuis went out of curiosity, take a look the trailer (you will see probably between two programs, these days), but it was a bit cold: I saw a lot of gentlemen and ladies naked (really, for a trailer too short), heard replicas incomprehensible overview actors poorly disguised ... And I thought it was a montage of excerpts from the Rose Series, TV movies "rogues" who passed on I do not know which station in the 80s. But do not think it deters deregarder you, eh? It is certainly very, very well. Companeez-Proust is a perfect match! And the trailer has definitely been missed by the channel. Instead, read the brilliant statement of intent drafted by Mrs Companeez to present his work.

And forcel'admiration such company. Because even in only 110 minutes and twice with evil desacteurs makeup, costumes and hair expenses have cost much money, and this is normal: TV quality, lots of dosh When onpense the BBC, for example, foolishly waste the money of contribuablebritannique to remunerate Aboriginal writers (and therefore necessarily unknown in France!) For writing - guess what? - Of fictionsoriginales! You can you imagine?


Fortunately, it could not happen here. France 2 has wisely invested in building on NinaCompaneez and Proust, strong values, of international stature. Finally, especially Nina Companeez. Because Proust Admittedly he did sontemps. Moreover, as a corporation, there is more, his work estpassée in the public domain now. And fortunately, because this way, his valiant scénaristepourra reap the fruits of his labor in the form of lucrative copyrights. And how can we not rejoice? Think! It APRIS Proust to round the body (in spite of himself), she has cleaned up his chore detoutes unnecessary lengths - short, she has sweated blood and water to finally allow the public to be penetrated deeply by this masterful work to date reserved for the happy few . I do not know what he will bring his modest adaptation, but it will only be justice.

And if I wanted to write this, I who never speak publicly, because I wanted to thank Ms. Companeez. For three years I have vainly sought a scenario carrier to offer a string. And with it, I just had a general idea-nial ! Brace yourself: I'll adapt the Bible twice in one hundred and ten minutes. Yes! First time: the Old Testament, Second time: leNouveau! How? "It has already been done"? Not at all! C e lazy Cecil B. de Mille was nice to take it twice (1923 and 1956), well, in three hours, he has been able to tell that The Ten Commandments! And John Huston, this hack, its Bible (1966) that lasts three hours too, goes no further than the end of Genesis. And it thinks he is a filmmaker!

You see what you'll see! The Bible is not much longer to clean than Proust! And in addition, for a writer is manna: there are really any ! A barrage of incredible characters, Sodom, Gomorrah, del'action, special effects and - A? No! - two Gods: the Father, we will see especially in the first part, and the Son in the second! And when we know the number of lecteurspassés, present and future of that book, you can imagine the DVD? They will sell like petitspains!

Yesterday, I recorded the detailed design - the characters, settings, everything! - The SACD and submitted my "pitch" on France 2! And to put all leschances on my side, I also sent to TF1 and M6 (Arte, it was not worth it, they n'adaptent as novels of German writers, is unknown in France.) For once I have a winning idea, I did not want me somebody mowing! Well, NinaCompaneez will surely bite the fingers by making ... that this great idea he has flown under the nose. But after all, she can only blame itself. It's true: no one forced her to lose her time with Proust.

Marcel Jersey

Monday, January 24, 2011

What Color Pants To Wear With A Purple Shirt

A food-security blanket?!

New ticket to discover http://www.voircicontre.fr / kitchen /

you soon,
Tit'

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Motion Sickness When Pregant Vertigo

How I gained my life (in / of) writing, 6


Adventure Book Inter

My second novel arrives in bookstores in the month From January 1998. A few weeks later, he is subject (if I souviensbien) three papers praise the first - and not the less - in LeMagazine Literary. This article by Daniel Martin will conséquencesconsidérables because it will encourage Michel Deville to read the novel and make unfilm (I will return in the next episode). The second articleby in Les Inrockuptibles, the third in Liberation. AThis occasion I discovered the strange rite of photo shoots. A little avantque the book does so, POL suggested I make an appointment with sonphotographe assigned, at which time it was John Foley. This is not the premièrefois we meet: it to me photographed in 1988 for The Vacation . I did not want to show me then, but, anyway, nobody n'ademandé my picture. John is very tall, very thin, extremely courteous etprofondément nice. It takes me wandering around the streets most calmesdu Latin Quarter and on the banks of the Seine, and makes me speak for myself that I faireoublier shot. I spend two hours with him very pleasant, sansme doubt that my photo sessions are far from over. For even queP.OL fact take pictures of all of its writers who are willing, magazines and journals that publish book reviews take often publish pictures taken just for this. The Inrocks choose from in the work of John, but Liberation sent me another photographer, a portrait and choose "romantic" a MartinWinckler without glasses, his hand over his heart as a young Victor Hugo.Jamais I expected, taking this pose, the daily choisiraitcelle one! Over the months, I will be increasingly sought by despériodiques many and varied and independent photographers who want to "have me in their image bank." I understand the need forthe photographers in this visual world, to produce their own
images, but I can not help that pourquelqu'un who do not live in his image but his pen, to pose dutemps is lost.

Besides the two newspapers mentioned above, the press speaks little disease ... However, the book makes its chemin.Les booksellers like it very much and recommend it to their customers . C'estune good news, as regards the second novel of an unknown.

Book Selection for Inter, announced in the month Demars 1998 if I remember correctly, is another good news. My novel faitpartie a list of ten titles, chosen by some forty reviews (whose name is kept secret) Parisian and provincial governments. The novels récompenséspar a price fall are excluded from selection. The Book Inter Thisyear then, will be awarded in early May.

I know Livre Inter, of course: quelquesannées earlier I, like many French, wrote two letters to or troisreprises France Inter in the hope of being part of the jury. Lesvingt-four jurors are auditors, the president is a writer. He, moreover, who earlier this year, launched the call for participation lecteurs.Cette year is Daniel Pennac, himself winner of the Book Inter quelquesannées ago, who assumes this noble function.

Soon after the book came out, I am prompted to save Inter Afrance, like all other writers selected unde interviews broadcast each morning to present the books of the sélection.Un other day, I am prompted to log 13 hours to respond auxquestions Couchelle Gerard and Vincent Josse, one of chroniqueurslittéraires Inter. Both were clearly enjoying the novel and sij'en think those of my relatives who have listened to the show, it felt dansleur voice. The day of this interview, the head of cultural MaryseHazé, greets me with a warmth impressive. She loved the book, Ellemir given a tour of all the offices and introduced me to everyone.

From my side, I can hardly believe that I can remporterle price. Other selected included among others Iegor Gran, author of a terrific first novel, Ipso Facto , also in POL etFrançois Good (for Impatience, I think). If I remember correctly, among the names chosen are also Weyergans Francis, Marc Villard etd'autres seasoned writers. My book does not weigh very heavily before cespointures. Especially since it is the longest, most daunting, most déprimantde list - talk about liter disease ... Nobody will read this!

I was wrong, and I have proof that long before the Book Selection Committee will meet Inter. Between January and May 1998, he will vendupresque eight thousand copies of the novel, which was already a great success forthe second book of an unknown. Primarily responsible for this success: Lebouche-of-mouth and the work of booksellers - who in reality are lecteurscomme others: they want to earn their living selling books, of course, but preferably the books they love. And many librairesaiment much Sachs disease. However, many booksellers lecteursinterrogent before buying books. Librairesconnaissent and good taste of their regulars, or, if they do connaissentpas, know how to identify them by making them talk about what they liked.

I should note that 1998 is commercialementparlant, a year very different from what the years 2010-2011 onthe sale of books. The same year, along with books PaoloCoehlo and Mary Higgins Clark, bestselling insured, a novel MichelHouellebecq (The Elementary Particles ), another FrançoiseChandernagor ( The first wife) will sell several thousand copies centainesde while The first sip of beer dePhilippe Delerm, published last year, is a phenomenon bookstore quidépasse these figures! The time is ripe to books, much more than cesdernières years.

The initial success of Sachs disease estévidemment very rewarding for me. The book sells, it shows on lesrelevés POL receives daily that: it "fate" (autrementdit: booksellers control) between 50 and 100 per day, and grosvendeurs like FNAC in command several times more hundreds. The rewards are more personal, more intimate. One day, I sign at Le Mans in the bookstore "plural" (formerly "The Mole"), my library of election since I live in laSarthe. Among the dozen people who heard about my book etviennent me to sign, between a young woman of about thirty annéesaccompagnée of his parents, a couple in their sixties.

The young woman explained: "I'm delirious your book. I bought it after hearing you speak to Gerard journalde Courchelle. I am a doctor. Previously, I was an intern enneurologie. And then, after making replacements, I would not êtreneurologue all my life. I decided to turn to general medicine. Quandj'ai made this decision, my family was surprised she did not understand I paspourquoi wanted to change fields, going to work in the countryside, making home visits. And then, you published your book, I read, I offered to my parents ... "At his side, his mother speaks etajoute:" And since I've read I, too, I understand ... "

Initially skeptical of the idea of winning the LivreInter, I start to believe it. This is a major prize, the only one I respectesans reserve. Even if the jury foreman and 26 th Member (lelauréat the previous year) are writers, it is awarded by readers independent. And Thisyear then they will vote without the double vote of the chairman. For Daniel Pennac repeatedly requested by the cultural department of France Inter for présiderle jury, has agreed to chair the express condition of not voting. Iltient to have no influence on the final decision.

Discussion Paper Inter are recorded. Chaqueauditeur receive, within days of the award, lescassettes Record. One female audience member jury quelquesmois later I will make a copy of his own. From the beginning of the meeting, onentend Pennac says he will not give his opinion on the books - they all read, as the jurors - and not vote. For her part, Nancy Huston, winner of last year, did speak briefly, by phone, as she is abroad on polling day. That year, the prixest awarded following a discussion between jurors readers, and them alone.

If he does not participate in debate, Daniel Pennac has néanmoinsune opinion. He will have the opportunity to express it clearly once prixdécerné, I do not betray a secret, revealing that some semainesavant award Livre Inter, he wrote to the team POL enthousiastequi letter essentially says (I quote from memory): "When I received the dixbouquins selected, I decided to get rid of the biggest in commençantpar him. After reading it, I wondered how the other nine allaientpouvoir prevail. "
It is terribly good to receive complimentsdes readers and a writer we admire very much. When we start espérerun success hypothetical is terribly painful. Some joursavant Award, I feel despair: no one can ever predict PRELIMINARY the result of a vote as passionate as the Inter Paper. But every time I heard Prize jurors tell their discussions, they insistésur their vivacity and the fact that many jurors who arrive at franceinter with "their" book and want either one, and not another, who is elected. When two books stand out frankly and separate into two equal groups lesjurés almost (this was the case in 1999, Book Inter dontj'étais the juror of honor), the debates are very lively and CHAIRMAN'S voice, which counts double, can make a difference. Suffice to say that rienn'est played. However, I began to believe that price and my book, my desire to see his qualities recognized-and with them, my qualities as a writer - is very strong, and j'associeintimement this desire for recognition to the relationship I had with père.Le my book it is - with three other doctors - dedicated. Unlike my mother, who saw me publish The Vacation, my father will never know that I suisdevenu writer and I wrote a novel, deeply marked by what he bequeathed m'aenseigné and symbolically. I always felt that human sesqualités were not recognized at fair value. However, this book estécrit to his memory, Bruno Sachs is inhabited by the painful humanitéet mixture of sadness that I saw in him. And I am filled with an intense feeling dedésespoir the idea and most likely, the Book Inter seraattribué another book than mine, because neither the support of booksellers and deslecteurs or appreciation of Daniel Pennac not guarantees that lesvingt-four jurors will agree with them. Besides, if I swore auLivre Inter, I do not want anyone - or a writer or bookseller autrelecteur - affects my choice.

I feel so desperate that I write to Paul pourlui to express my relief, and he replied, once again, with amitiéet intelligence (he already, he will again). No price valeurabsolue and Book Inter does not escape this reality, if a novel crown, it says nothing about the qualities of its author if a writer puts in value, anything that nedit he has written or will write next. It was an accident, not definitive Unguja. And he adds: "Come spend the evening in Paris avecJean Paul and me on Sunday when the jury meets. If you win the prize Onira dinner with jurors. Otherwise we will drown our sorrow in alcoolsdivers and varied. "
This message comforts me and helps raise monangoisse and feelings of unworthiness that I feel so strongly interested in what PRICES AND feeling so depressed at the thought of not receiving it. On that day, I merenda in Paris, very relaxed with the idea that in any way, I'm going unesoirée with two friends.

After waiting that my hosts are long maisque I do not pass, because the drink put me in the mood and I started talking àbeaucoup (it never needs push me, must say ...) the téléphonesonne. A member the cultural department of France Inter juryvient we announced that we attribute to the Book Inter.

I say "we" because in my eyes, publish chezP.OL has always been a collective enterprise. I told elsewhere on this blog relationpersonnelle my history with Paul Otchakovsky-Laurens, but I would never say assezcombien the atmosphere of the house and the relationship I have with eachof the five members and some its writers is, in itself, basically my job. This was true before I became a known writer, it's estencore since. As I have said many times, for all POL lesécrivains that I happened to meet a successful author of Lamaison is not only the success of the author, but that of all Lamaison . Past successes or recent Belletto Rene Marie Darrieussecq, Emmanuel Carrere, Emmanuelle Pagano, Atiq Rahimi, Iegor Gran, Robert Bobert etbien other heart-warming to me because they allowed to publish home decontinuer remaining in demanding line of Paul. When Paul has replied by phone that evening, he raised the arm and said "Onl'a. And we all jumped for joy. I hastened to call PJ forthe prevention (our great about him and were quite excited too) etpuis while perky, we went home from the radio. ;

In a large hall where they had installed grandest round, twenty-four jurors, the Cultural Services Team Inter etquelques guests welcomed us very warmly. Obviously, j'étaiseuphorique and I kept talking. (Later, two jurors who voted for n'avaientpas (or disliked) my book even told me with a smile: "Cafait pleasure to see how much you're happy, it comforts us ..." )

I remember the pleasure of Daniel Pennac quin'avait nothing hinted his preference (the jurors confirmed cesoir me then and I could ascertain by listening Registration quelquessemaines discussions later), he felt more of a writer seeing that player Lamaladie ... was praised by the jury. I also remember (and it really makes me laugh, now) of the handshake and words of the President of Radio-France and Jean-Luc Hees (then director of franceinter) congratulating myself "officially" . But I do not remember much plustrès the rest of the night, nor of course of the night, lost in the brumesdu champagne and conversation.

I remember very well however the announcement duLivre Inter noon the following day at the end of the log of 13 hours. Daniel Pennacannonce title winning novel by Book Inter, several jurors parlentdes debates, and passing me the word, Gerard Courchelle wonder what jeressens. I say that I am extremely honored to receive the most grandprix readers existing in France and that old listener Inter déjàplusieurs I once wrote to the jury. In vain. But this time, I wrote a letter to five hundred pages and I'll finally be sworn ... next year. At the end of the conversation, Courchelle said: "I think you're a big fan of the series Emergencies?" He said in a friendly but amused, referring to the presence and del'auteur characters from Emergencies in the acknowledgments of roman.Je answer, with a seriousness that surprises no doubt that Emergencies isa huge series, which I have devoted several important articles (in Generation Series and News series in 1996-1997) and in my eyes is the TV drama a form of artistic expression apart entirely, which deserves more respect.

I answered this tit for tat, without asking dequest. This sentence I will be reminded many times by lecteursvenus meet me at book fairs and bookstores during moisqui follow. Men and women of all ages will approach moitimidement, a copy of Generation Series or volume of Art éditionsHuitième hand, wondering if "I am willing" ledédicacer. And every time they say to me in substance: "Before you express quevous and on the antenna of France Inter, I was ashamed of youThat I watched TV series. Hear a writer say queregarder recognized series is not silly or stupid, it gave me a bienfou. "

These confidences put me in the heart balm. Mêmeque of Georges Perec had, unknowingly, to have guilt-free luessentiellement popular literature, I could tourdéculpabiliser viewers of my taste for fiction.
You tell me that this kind of gratification semblesecondaire next to the celebrity that comes with a literary prize, but As I have explained in previous episodes, my "career" described television took a lot of relief along with my succèsd'écrivain. The two sets of memories are therefore very closely linked.

Where does the success? There is no doubt what book did much to Inter Sachs disease, for me etpour POL home overnight, the novel - which was already selling trèsbien for the book from a stranger - was made from as little pains.On found throughout the France, including all those tiny dots of best-selling book of the smaller villages. Every morning at nine o'clock pendantdes month, Paul or John Paul called me to tell me: "It estsorti (a staggering), we reprint (which is still plusastronomique). And we began to laugh like whales. It was lerire children who can not believe what happens to them. One day this Paulme a writer he published well before founding POLL'écrivain in question (which I was a long drive ...) tells me avecun big smile, "Oh, it's you who feed us, àprésent! "And I feel proud to contribute, in turn, Ala reputation and health of the house.

I can enjoy success with even more pleasure and even less of ulterior motives, once again, this duLivre Inter, not a prizes awarded by a jury immovably suspectd'avoir always been influenced. Moreover, outside the three articles mentioned audébut of this text, most of the media "institutional" devoted to books have no, or little talked about Sachs disease. Lesuccès popular book published by POL seems to surprise many. Certainscritiques, moreover, did not conceal their perplexity. Daniel Pennac meconfiera hearing a criticism about my famous novel, lequalifiant of "beach book" (it is true that we read it beaucoupsur beaches, that summer and I remember several times that he signed copies avecplaisir still full of sand ...) and a autrecritique entrusts Pennac he does not understand that so many readers read unlivre "difficult . What Pennac replied: "Ifyou think it is difficult, because you have not read." In The World, the only major item that does not mention ferapas under the World of Books , but aside the month dejuillet 1998, two months after the award, primarily to share of sasurprise. (See this article .) In Telerama, morbidity should wait until September for a snippet to say about "Good, Vule success, you have probably already read, but we wanted to tell you that aimeaussi it very much, this book .... " The respected journal The Matricule Angels (created in 1992) there will be no reference. When Read, Daniel Pennac to publish the book following lemois Inter, a chronicle that clearly expresses personal sonappréciation the novel, but it is the only article that the magazine consacreraau novel (or Moreover, in almost all of my books later ...) and ils'agit a "favorite", not a criticism proprementparler. (And no, Sachs disease nefigure not in the list of "Twenty Best Books of the Year" Read éluspar in 1998.)

Other significant story: no television literary Desem of the time did invite me to talk about monlivre. In September 1998, for his return, Bernard Pivot dedicates the first "Bouillon Culture of the season to medical writers and Ades books on physicians. When I hear about, I pensenaïvement be invited, but it will not be the case. Bernard Pivot is contenterade quote at the end of the show "the book that everyone has déjàentendu talk." During the ten years that follow, I will not be in a literary program jamaisinvité television to talk about one of my novels, EXCEPT A book a day , issue of three-vignette minutesdiffusée daily F3 .

We can not say that the success of Sachs (no more than my reputation later) soitdû to literary programs. It is not due either to the sole influence DeFrance Inter. Certainly, the chain echoes the book that bears his label, but it has done to all winners and no books or primésauparavant subsequently has won similar success in terms Deventer. Add that among the eight novels that I have published since 2004, troisont very successful (several tens of thousands of exemplairesvendus) without none has been supported by TV and DeFrance Inter. My last novel to date, LeChœur women, has been reviewed favorably by many newspapers etblogs but (I believe) in any media audio-visual look. A foisencore, its success (60,000 copies sold, which is considerable pourl'économie Book of 2009) due mainly to the work deslibraires and word-of-mouth. I have to wonder how many books today, owe their success to television or radio ...

When, in 1998, I was asked how j'expliquaisle success of my novel, I replied, smiling: "It may êtreparce that Sachs disease is a contagious disease ..."
Seriously, I think the success of a livrene can not be explained simply. It is the product of a beam decirconstances. The nature and content of the book are included, as well as' personality of the author but the economic conditions, préoccupationscollectives the moment, booksellers, readers themselves are élémentsdéterminants impossible to measure. To compare what is comparable: Lapremière sip of beer (which has sold more than disease) had received no échoparticulier in the media before meeting his large audience, and how successfully the Elementary Particles (which in current edition at least, did not sell as much as Sachs ) was the result of an extremely well-planned launch sonéditeur, a mass media outlet - powered by controversies autourde award Goncourt - and a word-of-mouth undeniable. (Peuimporte what one might think of Elementary Particles it seraitinsultant and stupid to say that he sold because he faisaitscandale. He would never have been so successful had it not numberin touched readers in France and elsewhere.)

Anyway, the success of my book recontra made me, overnight, a writer known and applied. This quisignifiait two things: first, that I would be be called faireacte presence and to give my opinion on countless occasions, to Elsewhere, now that I have a lot of work.

During the ten years that followed, I publiébeaucoup, many, many. I will return to the multiple reasons cettehyperactivité editorial, but at the time, success was quickly triggered deuxréflexions. First, and knowing that it was certainly favorable decirconstances, I thought that such success colossal novel (330 000 copies in edition POL, a hundred thousand in France-Loisirs, more decent pocket mile, fifteen translations, a movie!) does m'arriveraitplus ever. Then I had in mind several books that held my heart And to whom I had never been written before. I said: "It's time to put you there."

And that's what I did.

(To be continued ...)

Destroy Civilization Sasha Grey

Rafael Pinedo: Plop, chronicle of an Apocalypse. The Black


A soap bubble that bursts, pierced by the rays of the sun? A joyful sound, light, discreet, that of a drop momentarily scrunching the surface of a pond? No. Plop is a name, or rather a name: he arrived on earth is the noise has been the child fell from the womb of her mother directly in the mud that covers the entire land surface, where water mingles to the soil and dirt, and where no light penetrates. The world welcomes this new baby who will wait for his ten solstices finally receive a draft of identity seems to have suffered the ultimate cataclysm. Apocalypse How is it produced? Ravaged planet, traversed by wandering mobs organized into "groups" according to a hierarchy of laws wild land is no longer a hospitable place, and every hill, every crevice holds a peril, and men, always in motion - Indeed, the drop can not last because it exposes the risk of a bad encounter - do not know the rest. Nature has been polluted, perverted by who knows what end of the world. She leaves shyly guess in some places not preserved, but less affected. So this place where hunting deploy members of the group in search of game.
They arrived at the location.
They were ruins, surrounded by thorny bushes, some as tall as a man.
From afar, we saw a few walls, beams, doors and windows gaping like the eyes of a skull. Everything was covered with moss, mushrooms and ivy-leaved black.
The remains of the lost civilization have been devoured by nature, however, little fertile, but it seems to have colonized, digested, putrefying. The houses offer more than the sight of skeletons disturbing, and nobody would take shelter. Rain invades everything, diluting the landscape, drowning, abolishing the distinction between the elements: water is mixed with earth, enmeshment and dangerous - this dark mass can sometimes consume the one who entered the space. The novel, written in a dry and incantatory evocation of multiplies traps watching humans too confident, they emanate from the medium itself, or have been placed in their way by other men. Here, everyone is both hunter and prey.

Anselm Kiefer, Burning rods (1984-87)


Humanity has suffered a fate ambiguous. Indeed, it seems to have returned to a form of animal, since the activities are organized around two basic concerns: food and sex. The search for a pittance activity is essential: it is scarce and of poor quality. The inhospitable place described in the chapter entitled "The Hunt" game is full of a coveted but dangerous cats. Without them, we fall back on rats, insects, remains of meat on a carcass abandoned corrupt, failing - or, conversely, junket; human flesh, taken from the bodies met, or on those that have been slaughtered for "recycle". This term is regularly used in the text also establishes a link between the Apocalypse and a past history with the betrayal of human values and institutional cruelty. The organization of this embryonic society, in fact, is complex. Groups, "Brigades" hierarchical, "Volunteers", "Recreation" ... all humans are classified according to their abilities or their inabilities, the lowest being destined to die so that their body may be used. This complex organization is grafted onto the latent savagery and every special occasion reveals the lowest instincts of man.

human relations are governed more by individual interests. In the Group, there is never a question of solidarity, each trying to maintain his place to survive and use the other for personal. The verb "use" also means the sexual act: there is no reciprocity in pleasure sought. Sex is doomed never to procreation: the birth of a child is a curse - the mother of Plop, the singer in the contagious joy, prostrate and stops singing when it gives birth. The sex is practiced to satisfy a need and one who provides the other carnal satisfaction has the sole purpose of extorting a privilege to establish its place within the conglomerate of individuals devoid of identity and that only compiles the survival instinct. Sometimes, as with the woman Plop the Commissioner General, the claim is to obtain turn sexual satisfaction, but it never happens in the exchange, each taking his turn to pleasure, and pain.

One day, amid spasms of pleasure, Plop pretended to fall on her. His mouth was found against one of her breasts. He has bitten. She swore that she had never felt anything like it.
She asked him to move his mouth, his tongue over his chest.
Plop said she would give him something in return.
- What? she asked.
- Fun, he replied, knowing she would have said yes to anything.
He asked her to blindfold him, to tie it, cut it, to force, that's how he enjoyed him.

Parody of romantic relationship, which ultimately has the objective that lead to the conviction of the woman and her husband in the plan devised by Plop to escape his condition. However, the narrative household surprises. Sometimes it seems to be born a tendency or a genuine affection. Plop has with the old woman who saved a relationship mixed with respect; during his meeting with Bizarrine, he feels ambiguous feelings, fear and attraction that can be explained by the humanity she has more. Indeed, the girl and the old have in common reading: in this fallen world, few know how to ensure the existence of books. Read spreads like a secret, for initiation into a group of elected officials who have yet to hide. This world is dead where books no longer exist: the little that remains of humanity is linked to the few pages that remain, and treasured in secret.

Anselm Kiefer
But
Plop, which carries within it the seeds of rebellion, the unexpected survivor who could render to humanity some of its qualities, chooses a path ambiguous for him, hello first passes through the exercise of power - and his intelligence is at the service of his opportunism, then sought and received the death as a deliverance. The book opens with an image of the dying man, until its end which is closest to each scoop that one of his fellow cast upon him, trapped in a hole that became his tomb.

With each shovelful, each handful of dirt falling on his head is a picture of life emerges from his mind.
like that, until now, the end.
All this effort has been made for this moment to get to that, in order to finally die.

's novel Rafael Pinedo, Argentine writer died in 2006, is harsh, violent, sometimes unbearable. His writing pithy reflection desperate stresses on humans and the world, on what could become the books. Reading it evokes another major text, The Road , Cormac McCarthy, written some years after this text. But here it is not about learning. If quest ago she enrolled in a private humanity of all its landmarks, the books have disappeared since with all the links that facilitate the transmission: no mother, no father can not here undertake to keep the child in the spark good ...



Monday, January 17, 2011

Monogrammable Plastic Cups

Herald, issue # 1

is the first issue of the Black Herald, the magazine literature created by Blandine Longre and Paul Stubbs. You can order here on the site of Black Press Herald .

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Coggins Test Requirements

Travel Impressions (writing exercise # 16)


Travel Impressions:

In 1500 to 3000 characters, tell (your choice) a journey into a fantasy land, or an imaginary journey in a real country where you've never been (an ).

Contributions will be published as and when they arrive, always at the same address: martin.winckler (at) yahoo.ca

Good start of the year, the writers!

Mar (c) tin



Sunday, January 9, 2011

How To Wash Wrestling Shoes

Claude Chambard: read, write, live ... A strange trip

Robert Campin, Nativity, circa 1425, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon
Reading is accepting get lost along the way, to engage in meetings of chance or destiny ... The journey of a player often takes unexpected paths and household appointments surprising. It is the richness and beauty of literature that bring together texts and people, combining reflection and sensibility, building a strong and human. We often forget that the author is first a reader, that his work is constructed in a literary environment, a special closeness, a text written in homage or necessarily in opposition to another ... The literary theory 's is seized of this idea, developed the concept of dialogism of Bakhtin or transtextuality in Genette. But the reader and the author can ignore these theories to discuss the work on a personal, intimate, as a bridge to through space and time, a source close communication and absolute that uses intelligence as well as feelings and sensations (because the meanings are also involved in writing or reading, not activities are not abstract).
There are authors who recognize more easily than others what they owe to their readings. Claude Chambard is one of them. Often at the end of his books can be read thanks to friends, poets, philosophers, novelists who staked his drive route. Thus, he often cites Walter Benjamin but Flaubert, Sebald, Voltaire, and others: Britten, Rublev and Tarkovsky - Stalker characters also (at the end of Alley Artists ) ... I have not had the opportunity read all his work, and discovered as she presents a lively and exploded, the author emphasizing the poetic form and the new novel. This is not to displease me. I have said here already my choice for news. It is for me like the world, each piece representing a splinter, fragment, which finds its place gradually, in a work that is being built. But the exploration of this original and sincere work slowly reveals a high degree of consistency in diversity.

Alley Artists

Exploration, Travel ... The path I walk includes some stops that are far from reflecting the complexity of the work to both universal and personal. I entered through Alley Artists, intimate and deeply moving story in which intertwine memories dreams, daydreams literary reconstruction of a lost world. A frantic search that we do not know if it fits into the real or imaginary reader of a writer, but is hampered by the elusive, the time that we can be out of words, of fleeting images, bits of memory for a moment revived. The story is that of wandering in a place both familiar and transformed, D., City of adolescence of the author, that of friendship with M., the friend disappeared, journeyman the world, awakening to the arts. Magdi Senadji photographer, able to freeze forever the feeling volatile, fleeting moment. But the narrator / author / character, which may not coincide with those rights in Macintosh, this mysterious being crossed eleven times in the Ulysses of Joyce, whose analysis (that of Nabokov in particular) are double Joyce himself, a haunting figure of author's work for eternity, places to steal, have changed, are veiled:
The world image is being projected upside down on the retina. Therefore, the world is it not a hallucination eye? Through the six tiles, is this the world I see, or the inside of my eye? The world goes on in my eye is the longest movement that is motionless.
no hurry;
The rain falls on the left, not right. Is this an effect of light? will of the filmmaker? desire of the writer? a hallucination of the viewer, the reader?
The rain fills the image along the River. The river separates the two banks. On one side, trees on the other riders. On the one hand, to nearly the other, the blur between the two, the uncertainty. Andrei Tarkovsky shows us this clearly in Andrei Rublev precisely, but probably in all his films in which rain and traveling - Stalker, remember the trip into the forbidden zone speeder - are fundamental.
This "I", "us" meaning the author and his friend become a "he" almost indistinguishable, as the two personalities merge in this desire to know the world through their particular view of a photographer or writer in the making. This "works" alone is painful but yet accompanied by memories of books read, the characters encountered in these readings, and that inhabit the memory even more densely than the living forgotten. The living ... where are they? The driveway is lined with artists of statues, monuments graves. This is the land of the dead that CC is gone look for his missing friend, the words are born to revive the memory of a loving portrait but blurred by time. So she is writing research, the time lost, the lost world, the relationship, beyond death, but did not dissolve a bit warped.
Who walks? Who
box?
Who goes to the invisible?
The text is beautiful, clear, but it raises the puzzle is complex, existential. A wrenching question that remains unanswered perhaps, but the wording of which establishes a link between past and present, between life and death, between author and reader journeying together in this county alone.

The meeting on the stairs

also published by Editions de l'Atelier IN8, this text is a step whose erotic in a first reading, I did not realize its importance. Without apparent link with the work mentioned above, it approaches surprisingly and desperate themes in Artists Alley, one of the impossible encounter and relationship established with the world of writing and reading .
The new, rather short, yet is full of ideas, opening tracks on critical thinking: the books they create a link between the men or do they separate? Two voices interweave, that of Clement, a writer, engaged in translating the work of an author Chilean he never met, and that of Hortense, his wife, who spends his days reading in an attic of erotic works translated from Chinese. A loving couple, united by the desire of the body of another, but the books seem to move away from each other. Clement and Hortense and they live in separate spaces, the translator in his office, his wife left it in the attic for a walk or go swimming. Their meeting takes place only in their sealed room, suitable for contact with the body, shared pleasure, but man, very quickly realizes that was interposed between them a presence mysterious, a man he does not see the body but which nevertheless led his company in which he revels can join.
Reading is here associated with the life force: "I read, I saw," said Hortense, "I enjoy, I saw." The act of reading is part of the pleasure these texts which man does not understand the interest, "an old-fashioned erotica, little exciting," are for her a source of intense intellectual enjoyment as well as physical.
I went back in my attic. I found a copy of the magnificent large orchard Xixian ji - The Western Pavilion - unnamed translator. I cut slowly, with relish, pages rustling. Reading relieves me and gives me strength and joy, pleasure, pleasure, enjoyment.
"Unnamed translator" gold Clement, he is the one whose name will disappear, since its job is to "write another" , that is to say to disappear. Moreover, this work away from writing the play:
I found a small chair near a window, and settled there, I read for hours while Clement to the floor below, strives to make in French what he perceives the work of a writer he does not even know. I think that is what he lacks the time to read. He translated it translated, it means it no longer reads.
Reading is therefore a vital act and nurturing. Without reading Clement away from reality and lets himself increasingly upset by this ghostly encounter that sometimes, in that staircase that gives the story its title: an invisible hand, offering an involuntary pleasure, violent and destructive , and reminds him that man without a body who makes love to his wife beside him. Translating he removed from himself? Is it becoming another?
The sensuality of words and situations thoroughly with terror. The pleasure is more pure, he joined an obsession. This story erotic plays in the reader a double attraction, Eros and Thanatos mixed, one taking on the other power. And the writer of private work and reading disappears, absorbed by a nothingness from which he revived, united with the eerie presence at the top of the stairs ...

Young Apollo

Published by the shack, under this enigmatic text, very short, seems the opposite of before. Claude Chambard to hear a different voice, yet again, this book, death ... love too, Claude Chambard one feels for an author we both venerate (and we are far from be limited to): Walter Benjamin, the philosopher whose thinking embraces all areas but is part of the idea of the level, crossing, and whose individual existence merges into the universal drama.
This profound and poetic text subtly revive the ghost of the author disappeared in Port-Bou, in his room at the Hotel Francia. A silhouette First, seen from afar it seems, but it penetrates the consciousness inhabited by uncertainty, erasing a past that anyway he can never return. This discrete character belongs to our world, but remains almost invisible. His life is dedicated to writing and books, "tenant" of the library which he tries to read all the books, even if this task is doomed to failure. The existence in words is a duty, a necessity that he can not escape.
He looks search for a word, then the next. As if it was to fill a huge void of language. A kind of anguish.
is a sacred work hard and thankless.
We need to find the pulse, instinctively, that is not learned.
Every day, we must be willing to find a word, then the next.
For courage, a vital necessity.
It is not explained.
The work is not explained, ever.
You just show.
is ignorance. It should not be complex. Ignorance is bliss. It remains alive, spontaneous & sincere.
Gradually the text leads us into the consciousness of Walter Benjamin - or the man who reads and writes - and the "it" gives the "I"; this passage coincides with the moment of revelation to the reader. The silhouette is embodied when death approaches, a series of brief notations, which build bits to be that which every reader can feel the humanity in this expectation that drives away the words
I have no strength in his hands.
Words elude, they do not understand that they are the story without me.
Words survive "without me", so the writer and reader can be certain to have already crossed this living shadow, which in a moment, will melt the author ... Finally, if the approach of death has removed the words, they are survival a man, a brilliant idea born in the discretion, and which today still haunts us and makes us live.


Thus through these three very different texts, emerges a rich work that reflects the concerns of an author in search of himself but also turned out to others. His generosity at the heart of humanity, at the crossroads, writing, reading, disseminating his ideas and relaying those who are dear to him. A life in books, in sentences in words in the search for a rhythm, a sound that will make all its thinking power. The multiplicity of themes can not hide a nagging concern: how, beyond the inevitable, the words they can both bind us and give us (to) live? The texts of Claude Chambard speak directly to each of us: the figures of the author and reader are intertwined to such an extent that we can all, whoever we are, we will recognize a bit, and we surrender to the reflection on the profound and essential role of literature in our lives.
Titian, The Virgin and Child ...

Young Apollo (2008)

Artists Alley was also published in the cabinet Travelling: Ed Wood made it a nice review here .