Download e-book for kindle: The World Before Mirrors (River Teeth Literary Nonfiction by Joan Connor
By Joan Connor
"What do you do for a living?" the podiatrist (or the photographer or the girl within the educate station) asks, and Joan Connor solutions, "I’m a writer," ready with a balk for the inevitable rejoinder: "Oh, boy, do i've got a narrative for you!" How such choices, now not tales yet small experiences from the thick of existence, turn into wealthy reflections at the nature of ready and writing, language and love, reminiscence and wish, is the secret of this award-winning number of essays. touring among the poles of Ohio and Vermont, adolescence and motherhood, Connor writes of a peripatetic relations whose oddities make the quirks of a Thurber loved ones appear downright subdued; of a thirteen-year-old son as an not likely better half in the course of the torments of middle-aged relationship; of previous loves and new; and during all of it, of writing as a way of discovering the shortest distance among traces: desire. With language that distills perception from anecdote and transforms the stuff of middling existence into telling metaphor, the realm prior to Mirrors, winner of the River enamel Literary Nonfiction Prize, lifts the telling of a life’s tales into the area of flight. (20060103)
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Extra info for The World Before Mirrors (River Teeth Literary Nonfiction Prize)
But I think that most of life is waiting. I note, for example, that I spend an inordinate amount of time in waiting rooms. If I did not show up, if I did not wait, these ob-gyns and car mechanics and orthodontists would bill me by the hour. They have signs announcing this. While they blast their talk shows at me, bliss me out with their lude music, seduce my prurient side with their celebrity magazines, they apparently do not think that I should be billing them for my waiting time. 0pt PgV ——— Normal Page PgEnds: TEX , (1) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 I am prompt.
These small stories scratched into these sprawling walls. How tiny are some lives. How large are they all. It would be sweet to redeem them, to scoop them all up like some impossible bouquet of daffodils and gladioli, of yellow roses and daisies, and heaps of forget-me-not, to plunk them into some huge crystal vase and never let the stems get soggy, the water murky. How pretty to pretend. How pretty to pretend that you bear some riotous bouquet into this solemn building and present them to all these lost and forgotten numbered people, and say, “Here take these.
He pointed one of his nibbled ﬁngernails at one of the inscribed squares. “It’s not the same thing. ” Norman nodded, but the nod wanted to be a shake. Again he said, “Never mind,” and he kneeled and rolled the game, still unnamed, into a tube of poster board. 0pt PgV ——— Normal Page PgEnds: TEX , (5) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 who live alone with their dateless mothers who refuse to read manuals in Ohio. Once when the man who could not love me said, “I don’t get you,” I said,“Nobody gets anyone.
The World Before Mirrors (River Teeth Literary Nonfiction Prize) by Joan Connor