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Emmanuel Carrère Writes His Way Through a Breakdown
Emmanuel Carrère Writes His Way Through a Breakdown
it doesn't make me any more inclined to read his book but it is a fascinating article neverthless especially in the light of well you know
his usual instinct as a writer had been to seek narrative orderliness—to “always connect one sentence with the next, always look for a smooth transition.” Now he tried to take some encouragement from the novelist Georges Perec’s formal experiments with narrative gaps and omissions. “I never experienced such an uncomfortable situation,” Carrère told me. “Honestly, it’s a flaw of the book. Well—this flaw, it’s part of its identity.” He mimed a limp.
·newyorker.com·
Emmanuel Carrère Writes His Way Through a Breakdown
Column | Niet de schrijver maar de lezer is kwetsbaar
Column | Niet de schrijver maar de lezer is kwetsbaar
Moed is het eerste vereiste voor de schrijver, zeggen de schrijvers. Voor iedere zin moet je je opnieuw zelfvertrouwen aanpraten. Want, o, de ontoereikendheid van de taal en, ach, het besef nooit volledig te worden begrepen.
·nrc.nl·
Column | Niet de schrijver maar de lezer is kwetsbaar
Gerard Reve heeft me leren leven
Gerard Reve heeft me leren leven
Gerard Reve (is) op zijn best wanneer hij zich te midden van alle twijfel die zich uit in spot op een reële manier tot de wereld verhoudt. Alsof je nooit iets serieus neemt. Terwijl je alles serieus neemt. Maar je probeert alles, de hele ellende, wel tot hanteerbare, menselijke proporties terug te brengen.
·noteplan.co·
Gerard Reve heeft me leren leven
The story of my madness | Emmanuel Carrère
The story of my madness | Emmanuel Carrère
Late in life a major depressive episode got Emmanuel Carrère hospitalised and diagnosed as bipolar. In some ways it made sense of his problems, but in the midst of it, everything was broken
You’re bipolar type 2: agitated without necessarily being euphoric, but sometimes also seductive, flirtatious, very sexual, outwardly very much alive, but inclined to make the type of decisions you regret the most, while being dead sure that they’re right and that you’ll never go back on them. Then after that you’re dead sure of the very opposite, you realise that you’ve done the worst thing possible, you try to fix it and do something even worse. You think one thing and then its opposite, you do one thing and then its opposite, in frightening succession. But the worst is that if you’re like me and are used to analysing yourself, once the diagnosis has been reached and the mood swings identified, you gain hindsight – only this hindsight is of little use. Or if it is, it’s just to see that no matter what you think, say or do, you can’t trust yourself because there are two of you in the same person, and those two are enemies.
in the definition of bipolar disorder, the pole opposite the dive into depression isn’t necessarily a state of spectacular euphoria and disinhibition that leads to social suicide and often to suicide itself, but just as frequently what psychiatrists call hypomania, which means in plain language that you act like a fool, but not to the same extent.
·theguardian.com·
The story of my madness | Emmanuel Carrère
De Gids. Jaargang 173 · dbnl
De Gids. Jaargang 173 · dbnl
Nick van Tilburg over o.a. de avond in Friesland toen Reve te veel wijn dronk en Simon Vinkenoog op zijn bek timmerde en een gedicht over god voordraagde.
·dbnl.org·
De Gids. Jaargang 173 · dbnl
Epic fascinating interview with Shirley Hazzard from 2005 (The Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 185)
Epic fascinating interview with Shirley Hazzard from 2005 (The Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 185)
The Sydney of my childhood had no concert hall. The echoing old Town Hall was used by the unadventurous orchestra, and the Conservatorium of Music by the ballet company. The theater was very limited, with constant repetitions of casts and plays, yet there was interest in the theater, and some circumscribed efforts by small groups. The visual arts were worst off. The public gallery at Sydney had some good paintings--some, for instance, by nineteenth-century British painters who had come "out" to what was then a colony--but even these were displayed in such gloom and institutional dreariness that one dreaded the Sunday afternoons on which one was taken there. The government, entirely male and philistine, was actively inimical to the arts; ridicule was the keynote. These things, in Australia, have greatly, if not entirely, changed.
·archive.ph·
Epic fascinating interview with Shirley Hazzard from 2005 (The Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 185)