Devotion (Why I Write)

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Camus's daughter invites her there, and Smith gets to stay in Camus's room, have lunch with Camus's daughter and spend time with Camus's granddaughter, take in the same views Camus took in, and even look at Camus's last manuscript, handwritten and complete with his crossouts and insertions. It is Martti Helde’s requiem for thousands of Estonians who suffered mass deportation to Siberian collective farms in the spring of 1941, when Stalin’s troops rounded them up, separated families, and herded them into cattle cars. I could stand on street corners and harangue complete strangers into reading her absolutely perfect memoir Just Kids. Gracefully improvisational, as always, Smith offers an unusually poetic, mystical, and transfixing perspective on the mystery of literary creation. O conto não tem muita salvação, nem com a moldura do "filme obscuro que só a Patti viu" + referências biográficas sentimentais.

Smith goes to the house of the daughter of Camus, where she looks through the manuscript Camus was working on, The First Man, when he died in a car accident. She never asked for love, nor longed for affection, had no experience with boys, not even adolescent kisses. It’s not that great or even that compelling a story, one of lost innocence, but I like how it gives evidence to her theory; The figure skater, images from an Estonian film, Weil, Modiano, Camus, a visit to a French cemetery, they’re all here in her story. I'm still hoping for another memoir of her time in Michigan raising a family, which I'm not sure will ever come, as I get the feeling she is private about some parts in her life. Infused with confidence, I had the urge to bolt, mount the stairs, close the heavy door that had been his, sit before my own stack of foolscap and begin at my own beginning.

We travel through the South of France to Camus’s house, and visit the garden of the great publisher Gallimard where the ghosts of Mishima, Nabokov, and Genet mingle.

The _ga cookie, installed by Google Analytics, calculates visitor, session and campaign data and also keeps track of site usage for the site's analytics report. Sevdiğimiz filmleri tekrar tekrar izliyor, bazı sahneleri gerçek hayatta da yeniden yaratmaya uğraşıyoruz. This is my second book of Patti’s prose that I’ve read; I previously read Just Kids for the first time last year and thought that book tickled me in all the right sweet spots.If only all of her musings and introspection on the mystical processes of birthing a piece of writing could have produced something worth reading. I loved her agony over picking the right books to take on a trip (I feel her so much there) and about visiting "holy" sites of authors that meant something to her. The final reflections on writing on the last two pages are well worth the thirteen pounds Sterling I paid for this at London's Rough Trade East and the time I spent reading it at the 10 Bells pub while hiding out from the rain--a pub once frequented by ladies of the evening, at least two of whom were dismembered by Jack the Ripper's carving knife. Devotion" beautifully describes Patti Smith's attitude toward the creative life, as anyone who has read M Train or Just Kids can attest.