Written on the Book

Posted on the book

An heartbreaking story about forbidden love `A wonderfully complex love story like you have never read before. BRITERS ON BRITING briters on briting; To recognize the book that needs to be written

What I noticed then and what remained with me is a note from Jewett to Willa Cather, which Cather cites in her foreword: "I've never seen anything like it: An author is always busy trying to identify the materials that are important to her work, the book that needs to be written.

Tresca had been deceased for more than 30 years, assassinated in 1943. I would finally deal with the materials I needed while he wrote his biography. To tell you what this is, I turn to another author, Robert Warshow, who in the 1950s, still in the 1930s, passed away young, but in his brief lifetime wrote a series of excellent articles about US culture that were gathered as'The Immediate Experience'.

'' Varshow writes in an essays about the decisive impact of the American communicationist movements on the spiritual lives of the 1930s. A lot of immigrated Jews, like my own families, were living in rather remote places, among individuals who came from the same part of the globe - Eastern Europe, Russia - and who largely share their opinions.

These immigrants were able to spend a lifetime in America with little contact with the peoples and the land of their immigration. Whether in the form of fictions, biographies or memoirs, certain fundamental issues have to be solved. However, when I turned to memoirs - the unashamedly bare essence of a writer's necessary materials - I travelled as easily as any fictionalist.

I' ve never written a notion, and these memoirs may be closer than ever before. Nothing more than a lifelike novel or lifelike memoirs. Cause really, it' s just one bloody thing after another. It is the writer's task to find the form in unmanageable lives and to service its history.

Not for the sake of serving her own families or the truths, but to further history. There is a journalist of fact at the mercy of facts, a panegyrist on the deceased families, but a novelist is serving history without apologizing for rival allegations. Bathsos would do no credit to my subject and would not introduce them into literature, which is the only way to return to the rest of the underworld.

First I just wanted to make a play, the history of my parents' painful last years, a five-year long time I had taken down a note. There were about 150 pages of the article I made. I' d never resolved any of the issues that history required.

I had the right part to tell the tale, and when she did, many other things sank in. I had a 10 or 12-page long tale that contained everything I wanted to say. At the end of this first play I made a book with tales about my background, which I named''How I Came Into My Ownitance and Other Tru Stories'', this one without taking note, with just malicious memories and a few short messages to lead me.

How do your memoirs relate to the reality? When you put the writing on pencil and begin to form a history, the essence of living - this one fucking thing after another - is over. Regardless of how much ambiguity you try to make a tale, no matter how many ends you let down, it is a packet that is made to be travelled.

Their very nature is the same. Maybe a trace of truth. There'?s a play in my memoirs I call the autobiography of my former co-in... Meyer. I didn't really make that tale. was called Oscar, leaving a self-printed note of several hundred pages. The memoirs of Meyers were a sweetheart; they recounted some exceptional happenings in his lifetime that coincided with the main footage of my book.

Maybe the outcome is not the history they should be reading. I' ve taken over his history, I insist on my own interpretations, I even added some words that he didn't do. However, if my angry comrade, Mr Meyer, came back from the deceased to disagree, I would reply to him:

However, for more than 20 years, your history was languishing in a box; you were actually gone, your whole existence remained in hardly anyone's remember. Now that I've used you, more folks have been reading your tale than you've ever known. You' re alive, cous, even if you are dancing to my music.

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