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3.82 AVERAGE
3.82 AVERAGE
emotional
funny
hopeful
reflective
relaxing
fast-paced
funny
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
hopeful
informative
reflective
medium-paced
this book is at its best when it’s about Gornick’s friendships and lovers and her actual feelings about the city. when it starts to drift into random anecdotes about strangers and other authors / famous people is where i got a little bored, although i realize that those parts are essential to the New Yorkness of the memoir
wonderful moments and quintessential New York moments in this book, but didn't grab me as a whole. however, would love to read more especially her memoir.
Heavily biased rating due to the premise of the book being about an introverted, awkward woman living and creating in NYC
Extra points for receiving this as a present ❤️
Extra points for receiving this as a present ❤️
It seems that most people would pay a fortune if the fountain of eternal youth was found. Yet, there is something that comes with age that is as priceless as youth, and it is called maturity. I am not talking about old age, but a sage that we acquire along life as the years pass by after we enter adulthood.
In her interesting memoir, Vivian Gornick describes her walkings around the city of New York recalling moments of her life, her lovers, her mother, friends long gone, and friends long seen, paying attention to scenes taking place along her walkings. And she remembers odd, but also life-lasting friendships.
The memoir seems like a patchwork, a beautiful one, this one that she sews. They form this understanding of what is a life when one is able to look back, without hurting too much, recollecting what were the materials that brought her up, what were the paths she took, and if they led her to good or not so good destinations. There is no turning back, but there is a possibility to make peace with her own self.
But it is also a life in which one shouldn't be constantly looking forward, expecting the things and people and situations one yearns for, wants to achieve; for this also blocks the future, as it is unpredictable.
This is where maturiry plays the right note on her, allowing self understanding, but without regret or too much of it.
When she is not able to let her mind wander aimlessly anymore, she seems to start paying attention to what happens along her walkings, taking mental notices, feeling a certain kind of warmth for her New Yorkers.
There are many moments worth of quoting, but one shall do better reading this book and get to know Vivian Gornick. She is an amazing writer and this is the stuff literature is made of in its best.
In her interesting memoir, Vivian Gornick describes her walkings around the city of New York recalling moments of her life, her lovers, her mother, friends long gone, and friends long seen, paying attention to scenes taking place along her walkings. And she remembers odd, but also life-lasting friendships.
The memoir seems like a patchwork, a beautiful one, this one that she sews. They form this understanding of what is a life when one is able to look back, without hurting too much, recollecting what were the materials that brought her up, what were the paths she took, and if they led her to good or not so good destinations. There is no turning back, but there is a possibility to make peace with her own self.
But it is also a life in which one shouldn't be constantly looking forward, expecting the things and people and situations one yearns for, wants to achieve; for this also blocks the future, as it is unpredictable.
This is where maturiry plays the right note on her, allowing self understanding, but without regret or too much of it.
When she is not able to let her mind wander aimlessly anymore, she seems to start paying attention to what happens along her walkings, taking mental notices, feeling a certain kind of warmth for her New Yorkers.
Late for an appointment in midtown, I run down the subway stairs just as the train is pulling into the Fourteenth Street station. The doors open and a young man standing in front of me (T-shirt, jeans, crew cut) with an elaborately folded-up baby carriage on his back, leading a very small child by the hand, heads for Late for an appointment in midtown, I run down the subway stairs just as the train is pulling into the seats directly ahead of us. I plop down on the one opposite him, take out my book and reading glasses, and, settling myself, am vaguely aware of the man removing the carriage from his back and turning toward the seated child. Then I look up. The little boy is about seven or eight, and he is the most grotesquely deformed child I have ever seen. He has the face of a gargoyle—mouth twisted to the side, one eye higher than the other—inside a huge, misshapen head that reminds me of the Elephant Man. Bound around the child’s neck is a narrow piece of white cloth, in the center of which sits a short, fat tube that seems to be inserted into his throat. In another instant I realize that he is also deaf. This last because the man immediately begins signing. At first, the boy merely watches the man’s moving fingers, but soon he begins responding with motions of his own. Then, as the man’s fingers move more and more rapidly, the boy’s quicken, and within minutes both sets of fingers are matched in speed and complexity.
Embarrassed at first to be watching these two so steadily, I keep turning away, but they are so clearly oblivious to everyone around them that I can’t resist looking up repeatedly from my book. And then something remarkable happens: the man’s face is suffused with such delight and affection as the boy’s responses grow ever more animated—the twisted little mouth grinning, the unaligned eyes brightening—that the child himself begins to look transformed. As the stations go by, and the conversation between the man and the boy grows ever more absorbing to them, fingers flying, both nodding and laughing, I find myself thinking, These two are humanizing each other at a very high level.
By the time we get to Fifty-Ninth Street, the boy looks beautiful to me, and the man beatific.
There are many moments worth of quoting, but one shall do better reading this book and get to know Vivian Gornick. She is an amazing writer and this is the stuff literature is made of in its best.
emotional
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
Na edición en catalán veñen dous libros: Apegos feroces e A muller singular e a cidade.
Apegos feroces: lino cunhas espectativas demasiado altas e, aínda que me gustou, decepcionoume un pouco. Hei volver lelo porque seguro que me cambia a percepción.
A muller singular e a cidade: Non son capaz de dicir o moitísimo que me gustou este libro. Non quería parar de ler e, a un tempo, non quería acabalo nunca.
Aquí Vivian Gornick escribe sobre as conexións e repite unha e outra vez a palabra. Dunha banda están as conexións que establece coas súas amizades, conducindo un pouco o libro a través dalgunhas interaccións co seu amigo Leonard. Fala de tipos de amizade diferentes que nacen de conectar cada un na súa maneira. Por exemplo fala dunha que nace dun sentimento de paixón parecido ao amor romántico e que morre ao rematar este.
Doutra banda fala das conexións que establece con persoas que non coñece na rúa: escoitar conversas alleas, rir con alguén dunha anécdota graciosa e alguén escoita e rise tamén, situacións surrealistas no bus... Momentos pequenos de conexión co resto de persoas que habitan a cidade.
Todas estas historias pequenas contadas coa naturalidade propia que piden e todo escrito dunha forma preciosa.
Agora tócame non calar co libro ata que consiga que mo lea alguén máis.
Apegos feroces: lino cunhas espectativas demasiado altas e, aínda que me gustou, decepcionoume un pouco. Hei volver lelo porque seguro que me cambia a percepción.
A muller singular e a cidade: Non son capaz de dicir o moitísimo que me gustou este libro. Non quería parar de ler e, a un tempo, non quería acabalo nunca.
Aquí Vivian Gornick escribe sobre as conexións e repite unha e outra vez a palabra. Dunha banda están as conexións que establece coas súas amizades, conducindo un pouco o libro a través dalgunhas interaccións co seu amigo Leonard. Fala de tipos de amizade diferentes que nacen de conectar cada un na súa maneira. Por exemplo fala dunha que nace dun sentimento de paixón parecido ao amor romántico e que morre ao rematar este.
Doutra banda fala das conexións que establece con persoas que non coñece na rúa: escoitar conversas alleas, rir con alguén dunha anécdota graciosa e alguén escoita e rise tamén, situacións surrealistas no bus... Momentos pequenos de conexión co resto de persoas que habitan a cidade.
Todas estas historias pequenas contadas coa naturalidade propia que piden e todo escrito dunha forma preciosa.
Agora tócame non calar co libro ata que consiga que mo lea alguén máis.
I enjoyed this observational read of a look into someone's NY life. It reminded me of Patti Smith and her way of sharing her trivial conversations and city musings.