Bộ Sách Kỷ Niệm Ngàn Năm Thăng Long - Hà Nội - Thăng Long - Trung Tâm Văn Hiến Và Trí Tuệ Việt Nam tải về miễn phí cuốn sách

Jamie Hall jamiethall — i am enamored with this series, but i think this one is my favorite. it really does transport you to botswana. the kind of series where you don't have to begin at the beginning to enjoy.

Ben Huynh-realtor benhuynhrealtor — Latency of Effect in The Body Artist Grief is not a neat and logical emotion. Delilio brilliantly uses ‘latency of effect,’ which I define as a delayed emotional reaction by both the reader and characters to convey the irrational human reaction to earthly tragedy in his metafictional novel, The Body Artist. We don’t know that Chapter 1 is the last time Lauren will see her husband in a domestic kitchen setting before he commits suicide until almost at the end of the novel. Fragmented, nonsensical sentences litter the husband and wife’s last conversation (“How can I tell you?”). A stream of miscommunications exist between the couple and a stark pronoun distinction between what is “his” (everything: newspaper, milk, etc.) and “hers” (only the birds). The reader doesn’t know this is a foreboding of what’s to come. We only know that Rey is creepy and morbid when he says, “I want God to see my face.” Lauren has a strong inclination to be dilatory with her own thoughts. I wonder if she is innately forgetful and absent-minded, but then later realize she is wrecked with guilt and grief (“Why shouldn’t death of a person you love bring you into lurid ruin?”) and can’t help but “fold up” into herself. She seems to be living retroactively, always remembering to take action in the present for something she has done in the past, essentially, thinking about her own thoughts (“she thought of what she thought of.”) This may seem odd or insane, but grief does not abide by rational time or action. The elegiac insertion by the narrator chronologically should come first, since it sets the stage for previous chapters, but instead, the author strategically places it after, commenting on the couples’ “landscapes of estrangement” in Chapter 1 that we witness, and filling in pertinent factual information (like their names, marriage status, etc.); The obituary is also cold and unfeeling, listing out Rey’s movie credits and wives in a distant third person narrative. The narrator presents the character of Mr. Tuttle in the middle of the novel; he is mysterious. I ask myself, while Lauren is also asking herself: is he a man? A child? An alien? A crazed human? An animal? We don’t find out he is a figment of Lauren’s imagination, a product of her grief, until later; it’s a way of bringing her husband back to life physically, because she still feel’s him there spiritually. Literary Devices That Cause a Latency of Effect The narrator uses short directional words for the reader that also exudes a latency of effect, such as: “Okay” “Think.” “So what” and “Admit it;”– he is bossing us around, forcing us to slow down and analyze Lauren’s complicated situation. He also uses straightforward repetition (“she had no spoon…she had no spoon”) to make us reread seemingly unimportant details that later become significant. He makes up words exclusively for the story: Lauren is “Maybeing” and “unlayered.” These non-words make us stop and question the author’s true meaning behind his carefully crafted, simple words. He uses the same “cleaner as a pistol” metaphor, which is found scattered throughout the novel and develops the metaphor further as the novel progresses (or regresses sometimes). She finally holds the Ajax cleaner “trigger” to her own head, to see what it feels like to be her own husband murdering himself. One of the final narrative comments ties into the theme of the novel (grief cannot be tidily categorized) shows why a latency of effect is used. “You don’t know how to love the ones you love until they disappear abruptly.” The author purposely distances us with literary devices, only so he can real us in at the end, and we can find true meaning and depth to a seemingly candid, upfront novel.