And now, a regular post.

[kasche]

There will be two main points here.

Point (a):

MUCH LOVE FOR THE NI! ♥

She know why, I trust. :D


Point (b):
(mostly copy and paste through and through here, you're warned.)


I've just finished Ancien malade des hôpitaux de Paris, something like a couple of hours after having found out about its existence, also probably something like a few days before you'll actually see this posted (ETA: It was the 16th. Yeah, I know.), and--

I'm finding again what I love in Pennac: a narration that takes a pleasure void of any shame from the joys of language and thought, that loves to smile but doesn't feel the pounding need to laugh, that alternates identification and sneers. A text where often mouth and stomach are laughing, but the mind is at work, where you laugh because you've tripped: then, evrything turns all right again (or so it seems), but your foot still hurts a little.

(Quoted from an article written by Giorgio Gallione, right at the end of the book.)

(And didn't my translation suck, by the by.)



And since it's also a Pennac post, you get a Pennac quote. Well, it doesn't really come from that book. And, ha, I'm really posting it just because I've found an old note, of high school, where I's transcribed it, right under the sketch of a professor. :P I think I meant to use it in a letter to a friend, about a crush I had in that period. With hindsight, probably for that crush it was a bit too much. Maybe I already suspected it back then, but used the quote anyway because I loved it. :D

 

Thérèse keeps on telling her beads of killing questions, but I'm already on the stairs, climbing the steps four by four to my Julie, flying to my Corrençon, like that child who has already been forgiven, yes my Thérèse, I'm a lover full of doubts, I have a doubting heart. And why should I be loved? Why me instead of someone else? Can you answer this, Thérèse? Every time it's a miracle when I realize it's really me! Do you prefer brawny hearts, Thérèse? Big hearts pumping certainties?

Thérèse continua a sgranare il suo rosario di domande assassine, ma io sono già sulle scale, salendo i gradini quattro a quattro verso la mia Julia, volando verso la mia Corrençon, come il bambino già perdonato, sì mia Thérèse, sono un innamorato pieno di dubbi, ho il cuore che dubita. E perché mi si dovrebbe amare? Perché io invece di un altro? Puoi rispondere a questo, Thérèse? Ogni volta è un miracolo quando constato che sono proprio io! Tu preferisci i cuori muscolosi, Thérèse? I grossi cuori che pompano certezze?

Daniel Pennac, 'La Fee Carabine' (Italian edition)

No, I'm never shutting up about him, all right? :P Not until you've all learned French/Italian and read his books, since Lady K tells me the English translation is rather bad, and I've certainly adored our version. ;D