This book is my fourth read by [a:Deborah Levy|147246|Deborah Levy|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1591038543p2/147246.jpg], and my first of her three autobiographies. What can I say . . . I love, love her writing. How does an author take the mundane and make it mysterious? The innocuous and make it intriguing? The routine and make it riveting? I have no idea, but that's the feelings Levy's books evoke in me. In this book, 60 year old Levy fantasizes about the perfect house and what that might look like and when she might finally live in it. As a divorced, empty nester, who seems to be living and writing in an array of locations and abodes, this longing for the one perfect piece of real estate seems more metaphorical than an actual goal. The reader gets a picture of her life, more of a kaleidoscope than linear, that touches on everything from parenting to feminism to (most interestingly to me) writing. She offers a philosophical point of view front and center that adds color to even the most simple acts. If you haven't read Levy before, I personally would start with [b:Hot Milk|26883528|Hot Milk|Deborah Levy|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1461535043l/26883528._SY75_.jpg|46932640] and not with the third book of her autobiography, but fans should love this work. I can't wait to read the first two volumes. ( )

Deborah Levy imagina una casa en una latitud cálida, cerca de un lago o de un mar. Allí hay una chimenea y un mayordomo que atiende sus deseos, hasta el de discutir. Pero Levy en realidad está en Londres, no tiene dinero para construir el hogar que imagina, su apartamento es minúsculo y lo más parecido a un jardín en su casa es un banano al que entrega los cuidados que sus hijas ya no necesitan. La menor ha abandonado el nido, y Levy, a sus cincuenta y nueve años, está lista para afrontar una nueva etapa en su vida. Así, nos lleva desde Nueva York a Bombay, pasando por París y Berlín, mientras teje una estimulante y audaz reflexión sobre el significado del hogar y de los espectros que lo acechan.

Entretejiendo el pasado y el presente, lo personal y lo político, y convocando a Marguerite Duras, Elena Ferrante, Georgia O’Keeffe o Céline Schiamma, la autora indaga en el significado de la feminidad y de la propiedad. A través de sus recuerdos hace inventario de sus posesiones reales e imaginarias y cuestiona nuestra forma de entender el valor de la vida intelectual y cotidiana de la mujer. Después de Cosas que no quiero saber y El coste de vivir, esta obra es la culminación de una autobiografía escrita en el fragor de una vida que no está solamente protagonizada por Levy, sino por todas las mujeres que la sostienen con una red invisible. ( )

I absolutely loved this. It was amazing all the way through, but she absolutely nailed the ending. I imagine this is a book I will read again and again. Deborah Levy's writing is incredibly crisp and clear, so easy and fast to read. She explores this theme of real estate, sometimes veering away from it only to come back to it loosely. In keeping with the theme, she does an amazing job of writing about place. From England to France to India to Greece, she goes all over the place, providing such a romantic description of her location and her days that you can't help but want to experience her life for a bit. But overall, I really felt like this book was about aging and how to be happy with what you don't have and what you do have. It made me feel very optimistic about the future. ( )

I really enjoyed this memoir from writer Deborah Levy, who fantasises about her dream home, still out of reach as she broaches 60. We follow her from London, Paris, Berlin, India and Greece as she reflects on places she has lived and dreams she has had, imagining the unreal estate she desires.

She is also in search of a female character, herself (as she becomes an empty nester) and for the page.

I hadn't realised I'd not yet read the middle volume of this memoir trilogy, so I will read that next. ( )

Das Buch war gut zu lesen, allerdings plätscherte es so dahin. Nichts, was mich beschäftigen würde oder aus dem ich Gedanken für mein eigenes Leben ableiten könnte. Die Protagonistin "plagen" sehnsüchtige Gedanken an ein opulentes Wunschhaus, was sie wohl nie finanzieren können wird. Zudem allerlei Gedanken rund um den 60. Geburtstag. ( )