Take a photo of a barcode or cover
laurenhaaan 's review for:
The Lost Daughter
by Elena Ferrante
reading this, i thought, i wonder if my mother feels like this. and then, i hope she doesn't. and then, my mother is so nice. and so am i. and i know that i think terrible, nasty things (and for a period of my life, i thought terrible things about her, and frequently). so she must be the same.
it didn't matter if i liked leda, or agreed with her thoughts or her actions, because she was written in a way that made me feel like i understood. i don't know. it always feels strange to read from the perspective of mothers on their daughters - because i have one and am one, respectively, and i am aware that i don't have the kind of access to my mother's world as i do those of my friends or anyone who didn't raise me, and i may never know what she thinks of me, or how it has changed her to have me. and i feel sorry that i will always know her as a mother first and a person second.
while i was reading this, it felt so very vivid, and now i feel already like i don't remember it as well as i should. maybe that's most books? maybe it's that what seems important to remember isn't the plot points but leda's passing thoughts, which are harder to hold on to despite cutting deep when i read them.
this isn't about the book's main themes but i did want to put these two quotes side by side:
"I had always considered sex an ultimate sticky reality, the least mediated contact possible with another body. Instead, after that experience, I was convinced that sex is an extreme product of the imagination."
And this, from "Eurydice" by Ocean Vuong:
"Silly me. I thought love was real / & the body imaginary."
Now that they're together, I don't know if they have as much to discuss with each other as I thought. But I went to the trouble of typing them out, so I'm not getting rid of them now.
it didn't matter if i liked leda, or agreed with her thoughts or her actions, because she was written in a way that made me feel like i understood. i don't know. it always feels strange to read from the perspective of mothers on their daughters - because i have one and am one, respectively, and i am aware that i don't have the kind of access to my mother's world as i do those of my friends or anyone who didn't raise me, and i may never know what she thinks of me, or how it has changed her to have me. and i feel sorry that i will always know her as a mother first and a person second.
while i was reading this, it felt so very vivid, and now i feel already like i don't remember it as well as i should. maybe that's most books? maybe it's that what seems important to remember isn't the plot points but leda's passing thoughts, which are harder to hold on to despite cutting deep when i read them.
this isn't about the book's main themes but i did want to put these two quotes side by side:
"I had always considered sex an ultimate sticky reality, the least mediated contact possible with another body. Instead, after that experience, I was convinced that sex is an extreme product of the imagination."
And this, from "Eurydice" by Ocean Vuong:
"Silly me. I thought love was real / & the body imaginary."
Now that they're together, I don't know if they have as much to discuss with each other as I thought. But I went to the trouble of typing them out, so I'm not getting rid of them now.