Status Updates From Faces in the Crowd

I rarely reread books so this isn't going to happen, but I think I would need to revisit this about 10 times to really get everything out of it that it's possible to get. That's a good thing.

Love this already.

"People die, irresponsibly leave a ghost of themselves hanging around, and then they, the original and the ghost, go on living, each in his own right."

"And if she gets up before me, I'm never sure if I didn't go to bed with an ice sculpture that has melted."

"What few people understand is that you leave one life to start another."

"If I believed in turning points, which I don't, I'd say that I began that night to live as if inhabited by another possible life that wasn't mine, but one which, simply by use of imagination, I could give myself up to completely."

5% e já estou apaixonada pela narrativa ❤️❤️❤️

"Se te dedicas a escrever romances, dedicas-te a duplicar o tempo."

Lo estoy disfrutando mucho.

!!!

Not a fragmented novel. A horizontal novel, narrated vertically.

I once read in a book by Saul Bellow that the difference between being alive and being dead is just a matter of viewpoint: the living look from the center outwards, the dead from the periphery to some sort of center.

"There are two types of people: those who just live and those who design their lives." (p. 19)

Not sure how i feel about this. Just as I'm about to abandon it, it pulls me in at parts.

okay alright the "behoove" Hoover vacuum pun was dad-made-a-joke-funny but reappeared so -1

subguey = +1 for bilingual punnery. Honorable mention: Denver Broncos quarterback John El Guey

LOL luv the Bolano is dead and everybody suddenly recalls being his friend/postmortem Gringo boom jokes

digging this on a paragraph level

Romantic endings are never epic. Nobody dies, nobody disappears for good, nothing ever finishes finishing.

Perhaps the last thing a man loses is his vigor. Later, when that too has gone, a man becomes a depository for bones and fesentment.

Then I go back to the novel. A vertical novel told horizontally. A story that has to be seen from below, like Manhattan from the subway.

I fell in love with her the way a stone might become enamoured of a bird.

If you dedicate your life to writing novels, you're dedicating yourself to folding time. I think it's more a matter of freezing time without stopping the movement of things, a bit like when you're on a train, looking out of the window.

What happens is that people die many times in a single life… People die, irresponsibly leave a ghost of themselves hanging around, and then they, the original and the ghost, go on living, each in his own rights.

Tiny shards of glass went flying, something like fragments of a child's world: that chair, that man, that poet, that sad, that broken; that sad, broken poet man.

God and people come out in solidarity with victims. Not just any victim, but victims who successfully victimize themselves.

All novels lack something or someone. In this novel there’s no one. No one except a ghost I used to see sometimes in the subway.’

A horizontal novel, told vertically. A novel that has to be told from the outside in order to be read from within.

The subway used to bring me close to dead things; to the death of things.

The subway, its multiple stops, its break-downs, its sudden accelerations, its dark zones, could function as the space-time scheme for this other novel.