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Über dieses Produkt
- KurzbeschreibungReminiscent of Aimee Bender and Karen Russell-an enthralling collection that uses the world of the imagination to explore the heart of the human condition.<br>Major literary talent Ramona Ausubel, author of Sons and Daughters of Ease and Plenty , combines the otherworldly wisdom of her much-loved debut novel, No One Is Here Except All of Us , with the precision of the short-story form. A Guide to Being Born is organized around the stages of life-love, conception, gestation, birth-and the transformations that happen as people experience deeply altering life events, falling in love, becoming parents, looking toward the end of life. In each of these eleven stories Ausubel's stunning imagination and humor are moving, entertaining, and provocative, leading readers to see the familiar world in a new way.<br>In "Atria" a pregnant teenager believes she will give birth to any number of strange animals rather than a human baby; in "Catch and Release" a girl discovers the ghost of a Civil War hero living in the woods behind her house; and in "Tributaries" people grow a new arm each time they fall in love. Funny, surprising, and delightfully strange-all the stories have a strong emotional core; Ausubel's primary concern is always love, in all its manifestations.<br>From the Hardcover edition.
- AutorRamona Ausubel
- Seiten208 Seiten
- Gewicht159 g
- LeseprobeSafe Passage<br>THE GRANDMOTHERS-dozens of them-find themselves at sea. They do not know how they got there. It seems to be after noon, the glare from the sun keeps them squinting. They wander carefully, canes and orthotics, across the slippery metal deck of the ship, not built for human passage but for cargo. Huge ship ping crates are stacked at bow and stern. The grandmothers do not know what it means. Are we dead? they ask one an other. Are we dying? Every part of the ship is metal, great sheets and hand-sized rivets. Cranes and transverses and bulkheads and longitudinals-all metal. All painted white and now splayed with the gray stars of gull droppings.<br>Among the many hunched backs and stockinged legs, there is a woman named Alice, who finds the nicest bench and sits down on it. The bench looks out at the horizon, that line drawn by the eye to make an ending where there is not one. Alice is a lover of views, of great expanses, and she is happy now as she has always been, to look out. She thinks of her children on faraway spits of land. They have their studios and paints, their meditation cushions, their cars in need of oil changes and their grocery lists. She thinks about her one new great-granddaughter whom she has never met but who she hopes is wrapped in the gray blanket she knit.<br>Around Alice there are varying levels of commotion and flurry. Does anyone have a compass? Do you know how to drive a ship? Where is my nurse? I'm from the DC area!<br>There are some grandmothers who try to escape immedi ately. They get in a rescue craft tied to the side of the ship and sit holding their pocketbooks, waiting patiently to be lowered down to the tattered blue. Their faces become wet with wind-water, but they are not lowered. Their hairdos begin to wilt, but still, they do not get lowered.<br>There is the group of ladies whose eye makeup travels in dark tracks down cheeks; the group of proactive grandmothers who have taken scraps of paper and pens from their pocket books and are brainstorming a list of suggestions, diagramming these suggestions in order of popularity and feasibility. In front of Alice is the group of rememberers, recounting as if centu ries had passed, their lives. It used to be so easy, they remember at high volume due to a common loss of hearing. There were lovely smooth roads, and it was possible to get in the car and drive to different places where the pancakes were especially good, where the coffee was flown in from Italy.<br>But even in this situation, extraordinary and new, even with the churning ocean surrounding them completely, many of the grandmothers make small talk. They compliment each other's earrings. Are those pearls freshwater? The color reminds me of the curtains my mother bought on a trip to Bangkok, where she met the princess, if you can believe that.<br>Alice is joined by someone whose name she does not even listen to. The woman says, "You are from Chicago, you say. How is Chicago this time of year?"<br>"Well, it's very cold on one day and then it's very warm the next day."<br>"And your children, what do they do?"<br>"I have two painters, a woodworker and a writer."<br>"How interesting," the woman says. "Mine are all lawyers. I have six."<br>"My father was a lawyer." Alice smiles. "It was a terrible way to grow up. I'm glad none of mine went that way." The woman's facial muscles seem to harden but are subverted by the skin hanging soft, always, no matter how tight her smile or her frown.<br>"It's possible I'm dead," Alice says, looking at the differing blues of sky and water.<br>"I'm sorry." Though the woman is looking at Alice, she seems to be most sorry for herself.<br>Alice nods. "Yes, I guess I might have died. Or be dying." She remembers a hospital room and behind the bed a wall of machines, each emitting a very distinct beep that would draw a different nurse with a different tool. One brought Linda with a suction
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