blue_rose am 06.Okt 15, 18:18 im Topic Mein Leben
Statt das Buch weiterzulesen, dass ich am Ende der Sommerferien begonnen habe (es war gut), oder statt die Englischpflichtlektüre zu beenden (es ist nicht so gut), habe ich ein drittes Buch angefangen. Und werde es bald fertig gelesen haben :) Ich liebe John Greens Schreibstil, diese gemalten Worte, dieses Simple, dieses Tief- und Vielgründigkeit, diese Allgemeingültigkeit verpackt in einer Geschichte. Überhaupt liebe ich die Geschichte. Die Beschreibung der Charaktere, ihr Umgang miteinander, die Beschreibung des verlassenen Hauses. Die Details ebenso wie das große Ganze. Und Meilen besser als der Film, in dem zu viel Tiefgründigkeit verloren geht, in dem keine Worte ihre Wirkung entfalten können....
"And I could picture her again: she unravels the carpet halfway each night so her hip isn't bare concrete as she lies on her side. She crawls beneath the blanket, uses the rest of the carpet as a pillow, and sleeps. But why here? How is this better than home? And if it's so great, why leave? These are the things I cannot imagine, and I realize that I cannot imagine them because I didn't know Margo. I knew how she smelled, and I knew how she acted in front of me, and I knew how she acted in front of others, and I knew that she liked Mountain Dew and adventure and dramatic gestures, and I knew she was funny and smart and just generally more than the rest of us. But I didn't know what brought her here, or what kept her here, or what made her leave. [...]
And maybe this is what I needed to do above all. I needed to discover what Margo was like when she wasn't being Margo."
S.170
"The grass was so many different things at once, it was bewildering. So grass is a metaphor for life, and for death, and for equality, and for connectedness, and for children, and for God, and for hope. I couldn't figure out which of these ideas, if any, was at the core of the poem. But thinking about the grass and all the different ways you can see it made me think about all the ways I'd seen and mis-seen Margo. There was no shortage of way to see her. [...] I realised that the most important question was who I was looking for. If "What is the grass?" has such a complicated answer, I thought, so, too, must !Who is Margo Roth Spiegelman?" Like a metaphor rendered incomprehensible by its ubiqutiy, there was room enough in what she had left me for endless imaginings, for an infinite set of Margos." (S 172 f.)
Blue :)
"And I could picture her again: she unravels the carpet halfway each night so her hip isn't bare concrete as she lies on her side. She crawls beneath the blanket, uses the rest of the carpet as a pillow, and sleeps. But why here? How is this better than home? And if it's so great, why leave? These are the things I cannot imagine, and I realize that I cannot imagine them because I didn't know Margo. I knew how she smelled, and I knew how she acted in front of me, and I knew how she acted in front of others, and I knew that she liked Mountain Dew and adventure and dramatic gestures, and I knew she was funny and smart and just generally more than the rest of us. But I didn't know what brought her here, or what kept her here, or what made her leave. [...]
And maybe this is what I needed to do above all. I needed to discover what Margo was like when she wasn't being Margo."
S.170
"The grass was so many different things at once, it was bewildering. So grass is a metaphor for life, and for death, and for equality, and for connectedness, and for children, and for God, and for hope. I couldn't figure out which of these ideas, if any, was at the core of the poem. But thinking about the grass and all the different ways you can see it made me think about all the ways I'd seen and mis-seen Margo. There was no shortage of way to see her. [...] I realised that the most important question was who I was looking for. If "What is the grass?" has such a complicated answer, I thought, so, too, must !Who is Margo Roth Spiegelman?" Like a metaphor rendered incomprehensible by its ubiqutiy, there was room enough in what she had left me for endless imaginings, for an infinite set of Margos." (S 172 f.)
Blue :)
