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Lädt ... Everything Sad Is Untrue: (a true story)von Daniel Nayeri
Lädt ...
Melde dich bei LibraryThing an um herauszufinden, ob du dieses Buch mögen würdest. Keine aktuelle Diskussion zu diesem Buch. One of the best books I’ve ever read. The storytelling is immersive and the writing delightful. Reading it was an experience. ( ) I could not get through this. It felt like I was reading someone's rambling diary, not a novel. My favorite part of the book was when I skipped forward to a random page to see where all this meandering was leading and my eyes fell on these lines: "Are you still there, reader? No? Maybe you've gone and the only eyes are the ones who flipped to this page accidentally. Or you've skipped ahead from someplace in the beginning and missed all the parts that explain me to you--from there to here. Maybe I'm the patchwork text. Maybe I deserve to be hit all the time. Maybe I'm a liar. Maybe I don't deserve a welcome. And maybe I never had anything good." I feel like this passage gives you a pretty good idea of the kind of book this is. It reminded me of [b:Hokey Pokey|13642591|Hokey Pokey|Jerry Spinelli|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348791506l/13642591._SX50_.jpg|19257831] because on some level I can appreciate that it's weird and experimental and might be fascinating to some readers. But it is most definitely not for me. It is for books like this that I joined a book club. The elevator pitch for Everything Sad Is Untrue is this: it is the story, told in first person, of middle school aged Daniel Nayeri, a refugee from Iran, grappling with life in Oklahoma, divorce, and, generally, being different. Told in snippets, memories, flashbacks, and flashforwards, including ancient history, less ancient history, family history, and mythological, Nayeri tells a warm, funny, and sad story. I don’t know that I would ever have picked it up. It’s Young Adult, and part way through my 11-year old noted that she was likely to read it for a school book club, as well. So, not my usual genre. But I’m glad I read it. It is full of insightful observations, told gently in the voice of a young teenager trying to come to grips with who he is, where he is from, and why life is not what it was supposed to be. He tells a lot of stories about his family, drawing on memories and family stories, flawed and incomplete though they are, and perhaps this is part of why it resonates: we all have incomplete memories, or memories that we share with others—family members or friends—that are slightly different, slight divergent, or just completely different. Memories carry emotion, but they are important, and the stories tell us who and what we are. They are our heritage and what makes us who we are, perhaps even more than than our DNA. Nayeri layers story upon story, often told as if he stood in the front of his middle school classroom, and I recognize in his voice that of my own children, remembering family events and trying to convey them to others who were not there, or maybe to see if they match memories. And yet, the contrast between the stories my children might tell and those he shares—a refugee from Iran by way of Italy and living like a fish our of water in Oklahoma—is stark. I’ve never thought a refugee’s life is easy, and yet, even a rose colored version of Nayeri’s history is difficult, but the way he tells illuminates, even while it conceals, educates, even while it only is only a myth or brief memory. It opens a world to eyes and minds that only experience small bits of the day to day, perhaps expanding their world as far as Persia, one of the oldest empires in the world, and one the most Americans probably couldn’t place on a map. I know mine probably couldn’t. It’s a beautifully written book, and I eagerly look forward to discussing it with my own children, and maybe with you, too. AuszeichnungenPrestigeträchtige AuswahlenBemerkenswerte Listen
Juvenile Fiction.
Juvenile Literature.
Historical Fiction.
HTML:At the front of a middle school classroom in Oklahoma, a boy named Khosrou (whom everyone calls "Daniel") stands, trying to tell a story. His story. But no one believes a word he says. To them he is a dark-skinned, hairy-armed boy with a big butt whose lunch smells funny; who makes things up and talks about poop too much. But Khosrou's stories, stretching back years, and decades, and centuries, are beautiful, and terrifying, from the moment his family fled Iran in the middle of the night with the secret police moments behind them, back to the sad, cement refugee camps of Italy...and further back to the fieldsnear the river Aras, where rain-soaked flowers bled red like the yolk of the sunset had burst over everything, and further back still to the jasmine-scented city of Isfahan. Like Scheherazade in a hostile classroom, Daniel weaves a tale to save his own life: to stake his claim to the truth. And it is (a true story). Keine Bibliotheksbeschreibungen gefunden. |
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Google Books — Lädt ... GenresMelvil Decimal System (DDC)813.6Literature English (North America) American fiction 21st CenturyKlassifikation der Library of Congress [LCC] (USA)BewertungDurchschnitt:
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