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Two Lines 31 - Softcover

 
9781931883931: Two Lines 31

Inhaltsangabe

<p>In addition to a dynamic collection of poetry and fiction from around the world, <i>Two Lines 31: Hauntings</i> brings together a selection of contemporary Mexican fiction that responds to the ways violence, loved ones, memories, and transformations can haunt our imaginations.</p><p>New stories from Alberto Chimal, tr. George Henson, Luis Filepe Lomeli, tr. Katherine Sutton, Daniela Tarazona, tr. Lizzie Davis, Milena Solot, tr. Robin Myers, and Pergentino José, tr. Thomas Bunstead explore Mexican life from new, sometimes disturbing, but always arresting angles. These Mexican writers, virtually unknown to American readers, are set to burst into contemporary literary landscape as a new generation of Latin American voices.</p><p>Also in <i>Two Lines 31: Hauntings</i> is a selection of international literature from new voices around the globe: Boaz Izraeli’s story “Architect,” translated by Jessica Cohen, explores a bleak intellectual trap in modern-day Israel, while Shaheen Akhtar’s Beloved Rongomala, tr. Shabnam Nadiya, presents adventure in historical Bangladesh. Poetry from Greece, Myanmar, Peru, and Switzerland present landscapes full of linguistic energy and hope.</p>

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<p>"There is a war on. The old man looks out over the land, and he knows it. He looks at his wife’s body. It’s silent. A dull silence beneath the hum of flies and a dragonfly hovering over a nearby chaparral bush. It appears to touch the leaves, settle on one of them and remain still. But it doesn’t. It ascends and moves from one to the next as if sniffing them selectively. Then it pauses over the slightly greener leaf, just a bit greener, a new-leaf green. The old man doesn’t notice its newness, nor the flutter of wings, though his eyesight is still good and his eyeglasses remain on. He says to himself, guessing, 'The dragonfly’s wings are almost transparent and move like this,' imagining he’s talking out loud and making eights with his right index finger when he isn’t. He’s only remembering."</p>— from “Arandas” by Luis Filepe Lomeli, tr. Katherine Sutton

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