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Ebook Sidewalks by Valeria Luiselli read! Book Title: Sidewalks
The author of the book: Valeria Luiselli
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Reader ratings: 6.7
Edition: Coffee House Press
Date of issue: April 21st 2014
ISBN: No data
ISBN 13: No data
Language: English
Format files: PDF
The size of the: 8.87 MB

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The first essay in this collection carries an epigraph:

There is nothing more productive or more entertaining than allowing oneself to be distracted from one thing by another. —Unknown genius, probably a reader of Blaise PascalThis sets the tone and should set expectations for a wonderfully rambling collection wanderings.

Joseph Brodsky’s Room and a Half: Describes an afternoon spent searching for Brodsky’s grave and a chance encounter with elderly woman (view spoiler)[thief (hide spoiler)].

San Michele is a rectangular island, separated from Venice by a stretch of water and a high wall that encloses its cemetery. From an airplane, the cemetery might resemble an enormous hardcover book: one of those stout, heavy dictionaries in which words—like decomposing skeletons—rest eternally.Flying Home: A consideration of maps, map libraries, Mexico City, and dust; nicely done.Any analogy involves trickery because it both includes the idea it attempts to explain and, at the same time, moves away from that idea to attain its goal.Manifesto à Velo: From walking to riding a bicycle to cycling as a sport to speed bumps.Apologists for walking have elevated ambulation to the height of an activity with literary overtones. From the Peripatetic philosophers to the modern flâneurs, the leisurely stroll has been conceived as a poetics of thought, a preamble to writing, a space for consultation with the muses.Alternative Routes: Following a consideration of the Portuguese word saudade, the narrator rides a bicycle through the streets of Mexico City, with digressions to melancholy and her bastard daughter, nostalgia, before spending time on a Lisbon street with Pessoa, only to dream of riding to the bookstore for a Portuguese dictionary. Lovely. Who wouldn’t want to live or visit a place with a Paseo de los Melancólicos or a Rua da Saudade?Sometimes I’d ride in the street—sometimes, on the sidewalk. And so would I.

Cement: in its entirety.

A man was killed on the sidewalk, near the front door of our building. A single bullet in the back—at waist level. The head fell first. A sharp crack of the skull on the concrete—the sidewalk still damp from the afternoon rain. The head doesn’t break as easily as the thread that ties us; it remained intact—the hair gelled back—a perfect hairdo. The teeth—visible—protruding like those of a child with a slight mental retardation. The following day his outline appeared in white chalk on the asphalt. Did the hand of the person who skirted the coastline of his body tremble? The city, its sidewalks: an enormous blackboard—instead of numbers, we add up bodies.Stuttering Cities: Consideration of the staccato, stuttering sound of a hammer and chisel breaking up a courtyard, the author follows the inevitable sidewalk through language acquisition, to language as a loss, to Deleuze, Beckett and Wittgenstein, before moving on. In other words, right where you’d hope she’d arrive.Names are the glove covering a prosthesis, the wrapping of an absence.Relingos: The Cartography of Empty Spaces: In the beginning, there were empty spaces, but then the construction produced spaces that were empty, via, of course Barthes and Zambra (can you imagine my joy seeing Zambra tossed out there/here as if everyone knows him?)A relingo—an emptiness, an absence—is a sort of depository for possibilities, a place that can be seized by the imagination and inhabited by our phantom-follies.Return Ticket: reflection on a new apartment and the need for bookshelves yields to a consideration of personal appearance, via Marguerite Duras and a stay in India.I go back to my own face: I see there the many faces that have formed me, the family tree of features, the genealogy of every facial expression and gesture. There’s a line drawn by my mother’s cheerfulness, shadows beneath my eyes as heavy as my father’s weariness, a pair of attentive lines on my brow that the two of them impressed on me. There’s a curve of the mouth, which some grandmother has slipped in; a look in my eyes that recalls the exiled loneliness of my grandfather; an expression that is the early-onset dementia of my aunt. But this face, my face, like all faces, is not only the collection of traces—it’s also the first draft of a future face.Other Rooms: on the value of doormen, or, after you’ve left the sidewalk.…the night-shift doorman smokes, doesn’t have a computer, complains about all sorts of things, and bad-mouths the neighbors to anybody willing to listen. The latter being worth its weight in gold: we never learn more about ourselves than when listening to one person bad-mouthing another.Permanent Residence: saved by cystits and no death in Venice. Although it might seem paradoxical, growing up in a family of liberal-minded atheists, committed but never militant, tends to have devastating consequences. Being raised without a rigid backdrop of religious, political, or spiritual belifes makes it hard to have a real crisis later in life.4.something stars, rounded up, because I can, and this one deserves it, and it mentions Bolaño and Zambra (mentions, hot harps or dwells on. You just might want to give this one a try.

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Ebook Sidewalks read Online! Valeria Luiselli was born in Mexico City in 1983 and grew up in South Africa. Her novels and essays have been translated into many languages and her work has appeared in publications including the New York Times, Granta, and McSweeney’s. Some of her recent projects include a ballet libretto for the choreographer Christopher Wheeldon, performed by the New York City Ballet in Lincoln Center in 2010; a pedestrian sound installation for the Serpentine Gallery in London; and a novella in installments for workers in a juice factory in Mexico. She lives in New York City.

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An interesting book that says more than you can fit

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