en
Anne Carson

The Autobiography of Red

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A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK OF THE YEARNational book Critics Circle Award Finalist  "Anne Carson is, for me, the most exciting poet writing in English today."--Michael Ondaatje"This book is amazing--I haven't discovered any writing in years so marvelously disturbing." --Alice Munro              The award-winning poet Anne Carson reinvents a genre in Autobiography of Red, a stunning work that is both a novel and a poem, both an unconventional re-creation of an ancient Greek myth and a wholly original coming-of-age story set in the present.Geryon, a young boy who is also a winged red monster, reveals the volcanic terrain of his fragile, tormented soul in an autobiography he begins at the age of five. As he grows older, Geryon escapes his abusive brother and affectionate but ineffectual mother, finding solace behind the lens of his camera and in the arms of a young man named Herakles, a cavalier drifter who leaves him at the peak of infatuation. When Herakles reappears years later, Geryon confronts again the pain of his desire and embarks on a journey that will unleash his creative imagination to its fullest extent. By turns whimsical and haunting, erudite and accessible, richly layered and deceptively simple, Autobiography of Red is a profoundly moving portrait of an artist coming to terms with the fantastic accident of who he is."A profound love story . . . sensuous and funny, poignant, musical and tender."--The New York Times Book Review"A deeply odd and immensely engaging book. . . . [Carson] exposes with passionate force the mythic underlying the explosive everyday."  --The Village Voice
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  • anahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    He saw the doorway

    the house the night the world and

    on the other side of the world somewhere Herakles laughing drinking getting

    into a car and Geryon’s

    whole body formed one arch of a cry—upcast to that custom, the human custom

    of wrong love.
  • anahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    His brain was jerking forward like a bad slide projector
  • anahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    Tears ran back into his ears awhile

    then no more tears.

    He had touched bottom. Feeling bruised but pure he switched off the light.

    Fell instantly asleep.

    Anger slammed the red fool awake at three a.m. he kept trying to breathe each time

    he lifted his head it pounded him

    again like a piece of weed against a hard black beach.

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