What Is Wrong With A Goldfish With White Head

Failure and Sleep

(written emphasis on Raymond Carver)

If George Orwell seduced me, maybe I played Raymond Carver, circuit, mocked.

Orwell, his 1984 : sociological book, surgery, wonderful. Written more than rare, that you meet maybe once, twice, three times along the bank of a century. Architectural text, based on history from a perfect part of the Second World War, the other on the small scale of the characters, rather than portraits really embodied; text that gives meaning and measure of control over the minds and the masses; text so sharply, argued, fascinating, that is admired and re-reads.

Carver, vice versa, I was cheated, cheated, somehow, like I cheated Kerouac.

Prose adjective, redundant parentheses, appendices, footnotes, fittings, and the sad trotting time, the confession of its eternal loneliness and cowardice, as the man I loved Kerouac, what I've heard intimate , mortal. Of course, Kerouac is admired, or, it can happen, you hate it.

So: from George Orwell to Kerouac, and Kerouac to Carver.

If Kerouac was the wake of neo-classical and rural America, a vast territory on which to live, travel, imagine, and if this territory so often was a place still open, because of the wonderful extensions and big skies , to look at, Carver is often a reality of confinement, where there are barricades and await their turn, there are scenarios of diatribes stolid family or country; nothing to do with America's Kerouac: here there is no "crossing intersacrale.

Carver describes us, with her eyes frozen, the affairs of an absurd society of foreign individuals and buggy, a pit that renames itself indefinitely and that still remains the same. Look who Minimum Fax Medugno and Thomas have shifted in a manner faithful on the covers of books.

Carver, on paper, may seem a paleontologist stories. " Composed under the eyes of the reader some simple curves of bone structures, it fails, wait, speaking of other things.

The player meanwhile imagine a form of animal flesh and entrails to think, to tissues, scales, skin, tongue and teeth. now - does the reader - know what to build, and I know what animal is assembling.

Yet, lingering a moment on the path of the findings, he feels that the appeal is still missing an item. A bone, a bone alone and everything will be clear. Read, read better, read all the way down. What you are reading is the reality, and each step actually happened at some time in the world.

Carver lived a short spell physiological, social, and we are quite beyond creative writing and "Mechanics for a story."

Yes, minimalism, of course, an absolute ability to calibrate his heart over the course of the narrative drive. There is, moreover, an inherent "technical omission" part of the unwritten history, left open outside the text, or perhaps only hinted at, become important to a vertebra, in the skeleton of Carver.

Carver slammed the measure of the American novel, Carver is able to shape in three decades of ten pages caesura American.

He feels that the trade with America has expired, and that ultimately does not deserve sickly elegies.