Conocí la existencia de este libro porque Juan José Millás lo menciona en su novela-diario La Vida a Ratos. Me pareció tremendo, ojalá puedan leerlo. Los siguientes apartes fueron tomados del libro:
• All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life – where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.
• I’m just interviewing people. I’m really interested in just getting a portrait of the person and what they’re interested in, and a sense of their life story. I’m a writer and I usually write fiction, but this is – you know, I’m always curious about people.
• I’ve been trying for so long now, for decades, to lift the lid a little bit, to see under the edge of life and somehow catch it in the act
• To keep from crying, I had to do the trick where you contract your butt into a tiny fist and mentally repeat the words fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.
• Most of life is offline, and I think it always will be; eating and aching and sleeping and loving happen in the body.
• I didn’t know if she was older or younger than me, or maybe she was a new age, one that didn’t involve numbers.
• Finally I realized Dina herself was the most intricate, storied thing in the house.
• Joe could do what I asked, but his own life was so insistent, and so bizarrely relevant, that it overwhelmed every fiction.
• she began to tell me about herself the way Michael had, as if this interview really mattered. It occurred to me that everyone’s story matters to themselves, so the more I listened, the more she wanted to talk.
• I liked to think of the dormant script curing like ham in a hickory woodshed. Each day I left it alone, it got better. And now it was time to check on the progress it had made without me.
• Miranda: And what’s been the happiest time in your life so far?
Matilda: When I was living in my country. Miranda: In Cuba?
Matilda: Yeah.
• Miranda: So tell me about these pictures on the wall. Domingo: I have, like, fantasies and stuff, like I pretend I’m an officer, you know, a deputy sheriff, things like that.
• But she wanted to tell me about his last day. “He was in bed, and I kissed him, and, you know, diddled him a little, and then I went out of the room for a moment, and when I came back he was gone.”
• I wanted to know more things about what this leather-jacket person thought, how they were getting through the days, what they hoped, what they feared
• The house was big and grand, again. Pauline was in her seventies, and she immediately began showing me pictures and telling me stories about her amateur singing group, the Mellow Tones.
• If I interacted only with people like me, then I’d feel normal again, un-creepy. Which didn’t seem right either. So I decided that it was okay to feel creepy, it was appropriate, because I was a little creepy.
• In my paranoid world every storekeeper thinks I’m stealing, every man thinks I’m a prostitute or a lesbian, every woman thinks I’m a lesbian or arrogant, and every child and animal sees the real me and it is evil.
• The PennySaver has always been strongest when the economy is the weakest; the first issue was printed during the Great Depression in someone’s garage.
• The first thing I ever made professionally – that is, for the ostensible public – was a play about my correspondence with a man in prison. I started writing to Franko C. Jones when I was fourteen. I’d found his address in (where else?) the classifieds, in a section that doesn’t seem to exist anymore called “Prison Pen Pals.”
• The fullness of her life was menacing to me – there was no room for invention, no place for the kind of fictional conjuring that makes me feel useful, or feel anything at all. She wanted me to just actually be there and eat fruit with her.
• Trying to see things that are invisible but nearby has always been alluring to me. It feels like a real cause, something to fight for, and yet so abstract that the fight has to be similarly subtle.
• I had become narrow and short-sighted at my desk. I’d forgotten about boldness, that it was even an option. If I couldn’t write the scenes, then I should really go all the way with not writing them.
• It didn’t really matter that his dreams of wildlife were in the opposite direction from the airplane hangar where he was headed, because there was time for multiple lives. Everything could still happen, so no decision could be very wrong.
• A year earlier I had been suffering through a fruitless week when I told myself, Okay, loser, if you really are incapable of writing, then let’s hear it. Let’s hear what incapable sounds like. I made broken, inhuman sounds and then tried to type them, with sodden, clumsy hands.
• As I left his room I said something like “Maybe I’ll see you around,” as if our generation all liked to congregate at one coffee shop.
• I might never finish the script, and the world would be none the worse for that.
• There was no law against knowing them, but it wouldn’t happen. LA isn’t a walking city, or a subway city, so if someone isn’t in my house or my car we’ll never be together, not even for a moment.
• Miranda: And, besides a job, besides school and then a job, what things do you picture in your future? Andrew: Picture? Miranda: What do you imagine?
Andrew: Like in the future?
Miranda: Yeah, anything. He looked at the ceiling, summoning a vision as if I had asked him to actually see his own future.
• I wanted to see how she had become the mysterious woman she was. Her large, freckled body was decorated with tattoos and piercings, and her painted eyebrows only loosely referenced real eyebrows – they were the color of wine.
• Look at him, and he is just smiling, and it’s nice. I always feel so good to see somebody really happy.
• This was the beginning of my friendship with Richard Greiling of Greiling Brothers Shoe Repair. There wasn’t another brother; he just liked the sound of it.
• I’d been waiting for the perfect movie title, but finally I decided to just name it. It had to be short, a very familiar, short word. I looked up the most commonly used nouns. The number one most common noun was time. Which made me feel less alone; everyone else was thinking about it too. Number two was person. Number three was year. Number 320 was future. The Future.