||[ноя. 28, 2009|11:59 pm]
Когда я читаю Анни Пру, мне хочется плакать и кричать от восторга. Я не плачу и не кричу. Но очень хочется.|
Я не знаю другого такого современного писателя, который... а, впрочем, неважно.
Из нового сборника Fine Just The Way It Is, рассказ Family Man, в доме престарелых:
...An old man sat at the community room window staring out at the grey autumn. Berenice knew his name, knew al their names; Ray Forkenbrock.
"Get you something, Mr. Forkenbrock?" She made a point of prefacing the names of residents with the appropriate honorifics, something the rest of the staff did not do, slinging around first names as though they'd all grown up together. Deb Slaver was familiar to a fault, chumming up with "Sammy", and "Rita" and "Delia", punctuated with "Hon", "Sweetie" and "Babes".
"Yeah", he said. He spoke with long pauses between sentences, a slow unfurling of words that made Berenice want to jump in with word suggestions.
"Get me the hell out a here", he said.
"Get me a horse", he said.
"Get me seventy year back a ways", said Mr. Forkenbrock.