Gissa Bokcitatet

Jag ber om ursäkt! Rättat!

“I stand at the window of this great house in the south of France as night falls, the morning which is leading me to the most terrible morning of my light. I have a drink in my hand, there is a bottle at my elbow. I watch my reflection in the darkening gleam of the window pane. My reflection is tall, perhaps rather like an arrow, my blond hair gleams. My face is like a face you have seen many times. My ancestors conquered a continent, pushing across death-laden plains, until they came to an ocean which faced away from Europe into a darker past.”

Nu googlade jag på citatet och står därför över den här omgången, men det är fortfarande två fel i den meningen.

Alltid lika esoterisk!

Är det just den här boken för det är väl inte McEwen du vägrar att läsa?

Så är det att inte vara autist...

“I stand at the window of this great house in the south of France as night falls, the night which is leading me to the most terrible morning of my life. I have a drink in my hand, there is a bottle at my elbow. I watch my reflection in the darkening gleam of the window pane. My reflection is tall, perhaps rather like an arrow, my blond hair gleams. My face is like a face you have seen many times. My ancestors conquered a continent, pushing across death-laden plains, until they came to an ocean which faced away from Europe into a darker past.”

“It was in the summer, there was no school. His parents had gone someplace for the weekend and I was spending the weekend at his house, which was near Coney Island, in Brooklyn. We lived in Brooklyn too, in those days, but in a better neighbourhood than Joey´s. I tin we had been lying around the beach, swimming a little and watching the near-naked girls pass, whistling and laughing. I am sure that if any of the girls we whistled at that day had shown any signs of responding, the ocean would not have been deep enough to drown our shame and terror. But the girls, no doubt, had some intimation of this, possibly from the way we whistled , and they ignored us. As the sun was setting we started up the boardwalk towards his house, with our wet bathing trunks on under our trousers.
And I think it began in the shower. I knoww that I felt something - as we were horsing around in that small, steamy room, stinging each other with wet towels - which I hade not felt before, which mysteriously, and yet aimlessly, included him. I remember in myself a heavy reluctance to get dressed; I blamed in on the heat. But we did get dressed, sort of, and we ate cold things out of his ice box and drank a lot of beer. We must have gone to the movies I cannot think of any other reason for our going out and I remember walking down the dark, tropical Brooklyn streets with heat coming up from the pavements and banging from the walls of houses with enough force to kill a man, with all the world’s grownups, it seemed, sitting shrill and dishevelled on the sidewalks r I the gutters or hanging from fire escapes, with my arm around Joey´s shoulder. I was proud, I think, because his head came just below my ear. We were walking along and Joey was making dirty wisecracks and we were laughing. Odd to remember, for the first time in so long, how good I felt that night, how fond of Joey.”

Beklagar, jag har petimeter-tourettes och kan inte låta bli. /

Rätt ska vara rätt! Meningen både flyter bättre och betyder nåt nu.

Queer?

Är det en bok?

Av Borroughs? Nej, finns uppenbarligen vissa gemensamma förträngningar, men inte så mycket knarkande här.

"For I am - or I was - one pf those people who pride themselves on their willpower, on their ability to make a decision and carry it through. The virtue, like most virtues, is ambiguity itself. People who believe that they are strong-willed and masters of their destiny can only continue to believe this by becoming specialists in self-deception. Their decisions are not really decisions at all - a real decision makes one humble, one knows that it is at the mercy of more thing that can be named - but elaborate systems of evasion, of illusions, designed to make themselves and the world appear to be what they and the world are not. This is certainly what my decision, made so long ago in Joey´s bed, came to. I hade decided to allow no room in the universe for something which shamed and frightened me. I succeeded very well - by not looking at the universe, by not looking at myself, by remaining, in effect, in constant motion. Even constant motion, of course, does not prevent an occasional mysterious drag, a drop, like an airplane hitting an air pocket. And there were a number of these, all drunken, all sordid, one very frightening such drop while I was in the Army which involved a fairy who was later court-martialed out. The panic his punishment caused in me was as close as I ever came facing in myself the terrors I sometimes saw clouding another man’s eyes."

Det är ju välskrivet. Men är följande passage korrekt återgiven; mercy of more thing?
Kanske räcker med en att???

Visst är det välskrivet! När man skriver av citat, som här, noterar man språkliga egenheter på ett annat sätt än när man läser texten. Vår författare upprepar ofta ord, en egenhet som sägs härröra från vår författares nära kontakt med bibeln under hans uppväxt.

"Their decisions are not really decisions at all - a real decision makes one humble, one knows that it is at the mercy of more thing than can be named"

Lätt att slinta med fingrarna.