all the fault of the Wolf. The Wolf knocked from above the sky of asphalt and has opened a parenthesis in the long history of Lily.
Here.
(Now that I read for a living, I remember happy when I read for pleasure. And with the hope that return times, because even if they pay you to read the stories of the Winx is mortifying, I open a parenthesis that looks like a window on the past, who arrives from afar, but that goes up a few years ago. And I do not know if it will be five books, because they are in front of the shelves of my library and it makes me want to pull down everything that is upon us.
The first memory of a childhood book that changed my life goes back to the cover of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer . While my grandmother, in my indifference, I went Little Women, I spent the afternoons to catch lizards and break stones for quartz veins found in the imaginary precious gold. A summer to tear my pants climbing trees. A search for someone in the neighborhood that would make me afraid, just looking to find the courage to entrargli in the garden by jumping from the wall. And finally, what on earth can be more fascinating that enter the garden of the convent of cloistered nuns ... and being chased by the gardener! That summer, the dolls were finally covered with dust.
Then it is dyed yellow forever. The Yellow Boys . Nancy Drew made me An investigation into grass, actually a little pain in the neck, which dogged the neighborhood and was responsible for killings of cats that cracks in the area for unnatural death. With my friends had founded a group of investigation, we found a small toy kit to detect fingerprints (DNA testing was still far away) and we invented a sign language to communicate in remote ambushes, until we dotammo even walkie-talkie! Ten Little Indians and nightmares, in adolescence, when the dream is just me and my father and my father was then the murderess. Or not?
The teenager becomes a high school student and discovers something bigger of her passion for literature: Nana by Emile Zola, The basement of the Vatican by André Gide (Lafcadio are still engaged, you know?) Grows Older by Italo Svevo (Yes, Antonio .. . ...), I novels for years Pirandello that lasted just over a month and The rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge , closing up Ode to the West Wind Shelley.
Free to read, finally:
Dino Buzzati, even all, but especially The shop of mystery .
Dylan Thomas, and there is nothing to add for him. Derek Raymond
by And he died with his eyes open to My name was Dora Suarez .
Paco Ignacio Taibo II, so the yellow , but especially the intimate biography of Che Guevara: without losing the tenderness .
Leo Malet and his trilogy noir, especially Life is a disgusting and The sun is not for us .
Dmitri Bakin, a unique collection of short stories, homeland , and total admiration. Gaetano
Blacks, master of the short story, even short: Forget grandma's , that made me want to write the check and discovered that the stories can stand in half a page.
Giovanni Arduino (link here to one side, on this blog), Mai like you, who taught me that you can tell without going into facts, writing of colors and emotions without fear of languid, giving the languid a painful taste.
Saer and the recent release of The survey, oriented with the punctuation in the vortex of concentric periods.
Sergei Dovlatov, The suitcase and The march of the lonely (Bunkr and thanks for allowing me to walk every day for the world gratified by this loneliness, which is not alienation or strangeness, but only a part of me, in good company of others who do not crown your skepticism, but they can not live otherwise).
close the brackets. But the brackets can re-open very easily, just touch the right key!).
The work shown here is Giampiero Cleaned. The invitation is to seek a virtual gallery.
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