AccueilGroupesDiscussionsPlusTendances
Site de recherche
Ce site utilise des cookies pour fournir nos services, optimiser les performances, pour les analyses, et (si vous n'êtes pas connecté) pour les publicités. En utilisant Librarything, vous reconnaissez avoir lu et compris nos conditions générales d'utilisation et de services. Votre utilisation du site et de ses services vaut acceptation de ces conditions et termes.

Résultats trouvés sur Google Books

Cliquer sur une vignette pour aller sur Google Books.

Chargement...

Die, My Love

par Ariana Harwicz

Autres auteurs: Voir la section autres auteur(e)s.

MembresCritiquesPopularitéÉvaluation moyenneMentions
1739156,521 (3.64)14
"In a forgotten patch of French countryside, a woman is battling her demons embracing exclusion yet wanting to belong, craving freedom whilst feeling trapped, yearning for family life but at the same time wanting to burn the entire house down. Given surprising leeway by her family for her increasingly erratic behaviour, she nevertheless feels ever more stifled and repressed. Motherhood, womanhood, the banality of love, the terrors of desire, the inexplicable brutality of another person carrying your heart forever Die, My Love faces all this with a raw intensity. It s not a question of if a breaking point will be reached, but rather when and how violent a form will it take?" --… (plus d'informations)
Aucun
Chargement...

Inscrivez-vous à LibraryThing pour découvrir si vous aimerez ce livre

Actuellement, il n'y a pas de discussions au sujet de ce livre.

» Voir aussi les 14 mentions

Affichage de 1-5 de 9 (suivant | tout afficher)
this book is kinda fucked up ( )
  bluestraveler | Aug 15, 2022 |
Een jonge moeder in psychische nood geeft uiting aanbwat zij meemaakt en voelt ( )
  huizenga | Jan 12, 2022 |
A compelling, dark, psychological novella, this stark journey into the psyche of a woman struggling with depression bordering on insanity is unforgettable. Using brutally blunt prose and a stream of consciousness format, which flows like a raging river, the author forcibly drags the reader inside the protagonist's pain, as she struggles with new motherhood after having a baby she didn't want in the first place. Truly a powerful piece of writing which left this reader breathless and sad. ( )
  hemlokgang | Apr 9, 2021 |
My mind is spent, it’s lost on the river bank. When I finally go in, the food will be cold on the counter and there’ll be a note in his writing saying ‘Enjoy your dinner, I love you’. By the end of the night, I’ve built up so much rage that I could drink until I have a heart attack. That’s what I tell myself but it’s not true. I couldn’t even down half a bottle. My days are all like this. Endlessly stagnant. A slow downfall.


It would be easy to dispel this book as a simple she-experienced-this-it's-no-real-tour-de-force, but it fucking is. I mean, the author may or may not have lived through some of what's found in here but it's a real barrel of turns and tussles, alright.

A lot of dialogue directed towards the main character, mostly from her husband, is not barbed with emotion, but factual counts of what's really said to her. However, her own thoughts are to me the jewels in the crown:

Instead of a vagina, he thought his wife had a stone in the depths of a cave.


When I fall in love, like this very minute, as I shake myself, I scatter earth onto a coffin. It doesn’t matter whose. And when I masturbate I desecrate crypts, and when I rock my baby I say amen, and when I smile I unplug an iron lung. Hence the kiss. Because after all, since forever and since even before being born, and for the whole time my husband’s been shouting with jealous rage, I’ve been dead.


Here's a paragraph that's telling of the entire book, which is only about 100 pages long:

Open the door, please, we’ll do it after, I promise. He’s bribing me, but screw him. I’m begging you, it’s not funny. And then, having climbed onto the toilet, I deliver a lengthy existential monologue, adding some philosophical and psychoanalytic touches for good measure. When I’m done, he says: It’s all in your head. That’s all he ever says. In the end I feel sorry for him and leave the bathroom. He gives me an insipid kiss that does nothing for me. I need a buffalo and all I get is a porcupine. He shoves me away from the bathroom door. I hear him defecate, the sound of his shit dropping into the water. I wait for him in bed, try to read something, but all I can think about is satiating my body: it’s chasing after me, sweating. I toss the book aside. The baby is all twisted up in his sleep, coughing like a worker in a Cuban tobacco factory. I straighten him out and decide to go to sleep. My husband is still in the bathroom, playing on his phone. I end up taking off my bra, the underwire hurts, and changing out of my knickers. I scrub my face clean and slather on some lotion. Afterwards, nothing. At dawn, I’m woken by a shrill, trumpet-like scream. A strange whistling sound. The fire in the living room has gone out. I blow on it but that just sends ash flying everywhere, including up my nose. I spit. I sneeze. I have an allergic reaction. Nasal blood. I try to light the fire. The uproar continues outside. Men and animals are fighting it out. A chicken truck has crashed into a car carrying an average family, two point four children in a pile-up. Or it’s a kangaroo giving birth to a troop of joeys and they’ve got stuck on the way out. I leave the house barefoot. I get soaked, slip on the stones, look for the source of the tumult of voices and growls. I walk down the road, through the woods and to the stretch of wasteland scattered with used condoms where the tourists go to procreate. It’s coming from the sky. Hundreds of birds are criss-crossing each other, confused. No one’s leading them. North and south are mixed up. The baby is crying his quota of morning torment. He’s had his nightmare about a hungry wolf climbing in through the window. There’s no smoke detector in his room. I put him to bed with my husband. I wrap their arms around each other and they lie there, sound asleep, breathing the air from each other’s mouths. My vampiric offspring is going to end up a smoker. I go back outside. For the first time, I feel drawn to the sky. The birds are raising the feathers on their wings, they’re riled up like bulls. Then one of them heads south and the rest follow, screeching off into the distance. Back in the house I find the baby under our bed, screaming at the top of his lungs like another bird. I don’t know what we’re doing with our tiny deformity, with our flesh. What we’re doing with our conjoined entrails. We’re letting him grow up among shrubs and bones. We’re letting him get scraped and knocked about. How could you leave him there when you can see I’m sleeping, he said. Are you out of your mind? Then he drifted off again. I lay down between my husband and my son and watched them inhale and exhale as they abandoned themselves to the heavy breathing of sleep. I looked at one face and then at the other, and then at myself in the middle. I eventually got bored of their features and was alarmed to find that, after staring at them for so long, I no longer recognised them.


All in all, the book's a dark, torn, terrifying tale of ennui and heartbreaking happenings, and I like it. ( )
1 voter pivic | Mar 21, 2020 |
Affichage de 1-5 de 9 (suivant | tout afficher)
aucune critique | ajouter une critique

» Ajouter d'autres auteur(e)s (1 possible)

Nom de l'auteurRôleType d'auteurŒuvre ?Statut
Ariana Harwiczauteur principaltoutes les éditionscalculé
Angiolillo, FrancescaTraducteurauteur secondairequelques éditionsconfirmé
Moses, SarahTraducteurauteur secondairequelques éditionsconfirmé
Orloff, CarolinaTraducteurauteur secondairequelques éditionsconfirmé
Ploetz, DagmarTraducteurauteur secondairequelques éditionsconfirmé
Vous devez vous identifier pour modifier le Partage des connaissances.
Pour plus d'aide, voir la page Aide sur le Partage des connaissances [en anglais].
Titre canonique
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais. Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
Titre original
Titres alternatifs
Date de première publication
Personnes ou personnages
Lieux importants
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais. Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
Évènements importants
Films connexes
Épigraphe
Dédicace
Premiers mots
Citations
Derniers mots
Notice de désambigüisation
Directeur de publication
Courtes éloges de critiques
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais. Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
Langue d'origine
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais. Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
DDC/MDS canonique
LCC canonique

Références à cette œuvre sur des ressources externes.

Wikipédia en anglais

Aucun

"In a forgotten patch of French countryside, a woman is battling her demons embracing exclusion yet wanting to belong, craving freedom whilst feeling trapped, yearning for family life but at the same time wanting to burn the entire house down. Given surprising leeway by her family for her increasingly erratic behaviour, she nevertheless feels ever more stifled and repressed. Motherhood, womanhood, the banality of love, the terrors of desire, the inexplicable brutality of another person carrying your heart forever Die, My Love faces all this with a raw intensity. It s not a question of if a breaking point will be reached, but rather when and how violent a form will it take?" --

Aucune description trouvée dans une bibliothèque

Description du livre
Résumé sous forme de haïku

Discussion en cours

Aucun

Couvertures populaires

Vos raccourcis

Évaluation

Moyenne: (3.64)
0.5 1
1
1.5
2 1
2.5 1
3 8
3.5 2
4 10
4.5 1
5 5

Est-ce vous ?

Devenez un(e) auteur LibraryThing.

 

À propos | Contact | LibraryThing.com | Respect de la vie privée et règles d'utilisation | Aide/FAQ | Blog | Boutique | APIs | TinyCat | Bibliothèques historiques | Critiques en avant-première | Partage des connaissances | 203,235,748 livres! | Barre supérieure: Toujours visible