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De Engelse schrijfster Zadie Smith
werd geboren op 27 oktober 1975 in Londen. Zie ook alle tags voor Zadie Smith
op dit blog en eveneens mijn
blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit: NW
On the way back from the chain supermarket
where they shop, though it closed down the local grocer and pays slave wages,
with new bags though they should take old bags, leaving with broccoli from
Kenya and tomatoes from Chile and unfair coffee and sugary crap and the wrong
newspaper.
They are not good
people. They do not even have the integrity to be the sort of people who don't
worry about being good people. They worry all the time. They are stuck in the
middle again. They buy always Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay because these are the
only words they know that relate to wine. They are attending a dinner party and
for this you need to bring a bottle of wine. This much they have learned. They
do not purchase ethical things because they can't afford them Michel claims and
Leah says, no, it's because you can't be bothered. Privately she thinks: you
want to be rich like them but you can't be bothered with their morals, whereas
I am more interested in their morals than their money, and this thought, this
opposition, makes her feel good. Marriage as the art of invidious comparison.
And shit that's him in the phone box and if she had thought about it for more
than a split second she would never have said:
Shit that's him
in the phone box.
That's him?
Yes, but no, I
don't know. No. I thought. Doesn't matter. Forget it.
Leah, you just said it was him. Is it or
isn't it?
Very quickly Michel
is out of earshot and over there, squaring up for another invidious comparison:
his compact, well-proportioned dancer's frame against a tall muscled threat,
who turns, and turns out not to be Nathan, who is surely the other boy she saw
with Shar, though maybe not.
Zadie Smith (Londen, 27 oktober 1975)
De Egyptische schrijfster, gynaecologe, moslimfeministe
en politiek activiste Nawal el Saadawi
werd geboren in Kafr Tahla op 27 oktober 1931. Zie ook alle tags voor Nawal
el Saadawi op dit blog en ook mijn
blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit: Memoirs from the Women's Prison
Writing: such has been my crime ever since I was a small child. To
this day writing remains my crime. Now, although I am out of prison, I continue
to live inside a prison of another sort, one without steel bars. For the
technology of oppression and might without justice has become more advanced,
and the fetters imposed on mind and body have become invisible. The most
dangerous shackles are the invisible ones, because they deceive people into
believing they are free. This delusion is the new prison that people inhabit
today, north and south, east and west...We inhabit the age of the technology of
false consciousness, the technology of hiding truths behind amiable humanistic
slogans that may change from one era to another...Democracy is not just freedom
to criticize the government or head of state, or to hold parliamentary
elections. True democracy obtains only when the people - women, men, young
people, children - have the ability to change the system of industrial
capitalism that has oppressed them since the earliest days of slavery: a system
based on class division, patriarchy, and military might, a hierarchical system
that subjugates people merely because they are born poor, or female, or
dark-skinned.
Nawal el Saadawi
(Kafr Tahla, 27 oktober 1931)
De Britse schrijfster Enid Algerine Bagnold
werd geboren op 27 oktober 1889 in Rochester, Kent. Zie ook alle tags voor Enid
Bagnold op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit: A
Diary Without Dates
Smiff laughed: he
has been in hospital nine months, and his theoryis that a Sister may do anything
at any moment; his theory is thatnothing does any good - that if you don't fuss
you don't get worse. Corrigan was angry all day; the idea that 'a bloomin'
woman should come an' shove something into me system' was too much for him.But
he forgets himself: there are no individuals now; his 'system' belongs to us.
Sister said,
laughing, to Smiff the other day, 'Your leg is mine.
''Wrong again; it's the Governmint's!' said Smiff. But Corrigan isIrish and
doesn't like that joke.
There are times
when my heart fails me; when my eyes, my ears,my tongue, and my understanding
fail me; when pain means nothing to me...
In the bus
yesterday, I came down from London sitting beside aSister from another ward,
who held her hand to her ear and shifted in her seat.
She told me she had
earache and we didn't talk, and I sat huddled in my corner and watched the
names of the shops, thinking, as I was more or less forced to do by her
movements, of her earache.What struck me was her own angry bewilderment before
the fact of her pain. 'But it hurts ... You've no idea how it hurts!' She was
surprised.
Many times a day
she hears the words, 'Sister, you're hurtin' me... Couldn't you shift my heel?
It's like a toothache,' and other similar sentences. I hear them in our ward
all the time. One can't pass down the ward without some such request falling on
one's ears.
She is astonished
at her earache; she is astonished at what pain can be; it is unexpected. She is
ready to be angry with herself, with her pain, with her ear. It is monstrous
... she thinks.
Enid Bagnold ( 27
oktober 1889 3 maart 1981)
De Amerikaanse schrijfster Frances Ann "Fran"
Lebowitz werd geboren op 27 oktober 1950 in Morristown, New Jersey. Zie ook
alle tags voor Frans
Lebowitz op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit: When Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
Shut Them
Smoking is, if not
my life, then at least my hobby. I love to smoke. Smoking is fun. Smoking is
cool. Smoking is, as far as Im concerned, the entire point of being an adult.
I understand, of
course, that many people find smoking objectionable. That is their right. I
would, I assure you, be the very last to criticize the annoyed. I myself find
manyeven mostthings objectionable. Being offended is the natural consequence
of leaving ones home. I do not like after-shave lotion, adults who
roller-skate, children who speak French, or anyone who is unduly tan. I do not,
however, go around enacting legislation and putting up signs. In private I
avoid such people; in public they have the run of the place. I
stay at home as much as possible, and so should they. When it is
necessary, however, to go out of the house, they must be prepared, as am I, to
deal with the unpleasant personal habits of others. That is what public
means. If you cant stand the heat, get back in the kitchen.
Due to something
called the Minnesota Clean Air Act, it is illegal to smoke in the baggage-claim
area of the Minneapolis Airport. This particular bit of news is surprising,
since it has been my personal observation that even nonsmokers tend to light up
while waiting to see if their baggage has accompanied them to their final
destination. As I imagine that this law has provoked a rather strong response,
I was initially quite puzzled as to why Minnesota would risk alienating what
few visitors it had been able to attract. This mystery was cleared up when,
after having spent but a single day there, I realized that in Minnesota the
Clean Air Act is a tourist attraction. It may not be the Beaubourg, but its all
their own. I found this to be an interesting, subtle concept, and have
suggested to state officials that they might further exploit its commercial
possibilities by offering for sale plain blue postcards emblazoned with the
legend: Downtown Minneapolis.
Fran Lebowitz (Morristown, 27 oktober 1950)
De Poolse schrijver Kazimierz
Brandys werd geboren op 27 oktober 1916 in Lodz. Zie ook alle tags voor
Kazimierz Brandys op dit blog.
Uit: Rondo (Vertaald door Karol Lesman)
Naar mijn overtuiging was mijn voornemen niet
het plan van een waanzinnige, maar juist andersom: van iemand die normaler was
dan de anderen. (-) Cezar noemde mij indertijd "de man met de gestoorde
norm'. (-) Er zat een schroefje bij me los, en wel dat van een doodgewoon
zintuig voor evenwicht, maar ik beschikte daarentegen over een zesde zintuig:
dat van de persoonlijke vrijheid.
Kazimierz Brandys (27 oktober 1916 11 maart 2000)
Zie voor onderstaande schrijver ook mijn blog van 27
oktober 2008.
De Iraanse schrijver en filmmaker Reza Allamehzadeh
werd geboren op 27 oktober 1943 in Sari, Mazandaran.
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