For a time her life will be joyless; the girls will seem to cry too much, and she’ll think longingly of this trip to Africa as the last happy moment of her life, when she still had a choice, when she was free and unencumbered. She’ll dream senselessly, futely (…). Later, of course, she’ll recognize this as nothing more than a focus of regret for her own immaturity and disastrous choices.

******************************************************************

Not that my luck was generally so bad, I would have called it neutral, occasionally edging toward bad.

******************************************************************

… for the first time she got an actual “Hello”, her own appearance in two separate locations having apparently fulfilled some triangulation Kathy required as proof of personhood.

******************************************************************

He stepped into her room; it was tiny, a narrow bed, a desk, a spring of mint in a plastic cup filling the room with its scent. A red dress, hanging from a hook. In the middle of the window, dangling from a string, hung a crude circle made from a bent coat hanger. Sasha sat on her bed, watching Ted take in her meager possessions. He recognized, with merciless clarity, what he’d somehow failed to grasp yesterday: how alone his niece was in this foreign place. How empty-handed. As if sensing the movement of his thoughts, Sasha said: I get to know a lot of people. But it never really lasts.

… on another day more than twenty years after this one… when Sasha would be like anyone, with a life that worried and electrified and overwhelmed her, Ted would visit Sasha at home in the California desert, watching the western sun blaze through a sliding glass door. And for an instant he would remember Naples: sitting with Sasha in her tiny room; the jolt of surprise and delight he’d felt when the sun finally dropped into the center of her window and was captured inside her circle of wire. “See” she muttered, eyeing the sun. “It’s mine”.

Jennifer Egan – A visit from the goon squad

è un romanzo insolito, formato da una serie di racconti collegati dal ricorrere degli stessi personaggi. Al centro ci sono Bennie Salazar, ex musicista punk e ora discografico di successo, e il suo braccio destro Sasha, una donna di polso ma dal passato turbolento. Le loro storie si snodano fra la San Francisco di fine anni Settanta e una New York prossima ventura in cui gli sms e i social network strutturano le emozioni collettive, passando per matrimoni falliti, fughe adolescenziali nei bassifondi di Napoli, scommesse azzardate su musicisti dati troppe volte per finiti. Intorno a Bennie e Sasha si compongono le vicende delle loro famiglie e dei loro amici: una galleria di coprotagonisti grazie alla quale Jennifer Egan riesce a raccontare le degenerazioni del giornalismo e dello star-system, la meraviglia delle droghe psichedeliche, le dinamiche emotive di un bambino autistico nella provincia americana del futuro. “Il tempo è un bastardo” supera gli stereotipi della narrativa tradizionale ma resta godibile e appassionante per tutti i lettori: un romanzo-mondo aperto alle infinite possibilità dell’esistenza e della prosa, che si è conquistato la vetta della scena letteraria americana e internazionale.

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