The ​Contortionist's Handbook 2 csillagozás

Craig Clevenger: The Contortionist's Handbook Craig Clevenger: The Contortionist's Handbook

A ​stunningly intense debut novel about a talented young forger who continually reinvents himself to escape the authorities. 'I swear to God this is the best book I have read in easily five years. Easily. Maybe ten years.' Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club Following a near fatal overdose of painkillers, Daniel Fletcher is resuscitated in a Los Angeles emergency room and detained for psychiatric evaluation. Through a series of questions and tests, the psychiatrist must ascertain whether the patient intended to kill himself, or whether he can walk free. What the psychiatrist doesn't know is that 'Daniel Fletcher' is actually John – Johnny – Dolan Vincent, a brilliant young forger who continually changes his identity to save himself from a lifetime of incarceration. Johnny has done such assessments before – many, many times. As he creates an elaborate bluff for the evaluator, Johnny reveals the true story of his traumatic past – a broken family, descent into the sinister world of… (tovább)

Eredeti megjelenés éve: 2002

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Harper Perennial, New York, 2006
200 oldal · puhatáblás · ISBN: 9780007194155

Enciklopédia 7


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Kiemelt értékelések

NannyOgg>!
Craig Clevenger: The Contortionist's Handbook

Kortárs amerikai minimalista próza. A gyengém. Egészen pontosan a kortárs amerikai fucked-up minimalista próza. Palahniuk, Ellis. Gyanítom: Clevenger.
Nagyot amúgy sem tévedhettem volna egy olyan könyvvel, aminek a borítóján Palahniuk hatalmas betűkkel hirdeti, miszerint évek óta nem olvasott ilyen jót – de ez egy gyöngyszem. És Danny Chris Eric Steve Paul Johnny szerelme Keara iránt, hát, gyerekek, az olyan, amit csak egy polidaktiliában és gyilkos migrénben szenvedő okirathamisító érezhet egy elborult kortárs minimalista regényben.

>!
Harper Perennial, New York, 2006
200 oldal · puhatáblás · ISBN: 9780007194155
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Népszerű idézetek

zoja>!

A person's life story is equal to what they have plus what they want most in the world, minus what they're actually willing to sacrifice for it.

zoja>!

Nothing scares a young shrink like summing up a patient just a little unhappy right now, recommend exercise and sunlight. You tell them you kicked a vending machine that swallowed your dime, they'll tag you schizophrenic with an acute bipolar personality disorder and an Oedipal complex. So you tell them you don't sleep well. Tell them you still think about an old lover. Do not tell them everything's fine or that you hear voices. Tell them, my boss is a jerk, I can't sleep, I just don't know what to do with my life. Keep it common and hope for the best.

zoja>!

My left hand is a Rorschach blotch all its own, a six-fingered, skin-blood-and-bone ink splatter. People see it and fly their worst fears and secret fetishes at full mast when they think they're being discreet. They see it as strange, fascinating, ugly, beautiful, disgusting, or erotic depending on what's behind their eyes.

zoja>!

Most people look at an object and see the object, force their hand to copy what their eye sees. But that object is getting filtered through a brain with years of associations to and memories of that object, so they fail. Ask someone to draw a tree and the lifetime of trees in their head says That's not good enough. That's why children use symbols. A stick topped with a blast of swirls. Brown crayon, green crayon. Burnt Sienna and Forest Green. Maybe a dozen Fire Engine Red dots, though they've never seen a real apple tree, much less had one growing in their front yard.

zoja>!

What they wear tells you what they want to show, and what they show tells you what they want to hide.

zoja>!

Never forget, even for a second, that your Evaluator's black-and-white, yes-or-no list of checkboxes gets filtered through his morning fog, his repressed homosexuality, his hatred for his parents, or men, or women, or the fact that he's married or divorced, childless or fat. Or all of the above. From his ears to his notebook, his own litany of childhood trauma and denial baggage that propelled him into psychiatric medicine is filtering your answers. And his signature can have you locked up.

zoja>!

Polydactyly. An extra, half-formed digit, nubs of flesh and cartilage. A toe, sometimes a finger. They're removed at birth with less formality than pulling a tooth or circumcision. A perfectly formed digit with the skeleton reconfigured to match is almost unheard of, except in some house cats. With cats it's cute. With people it's Not Polite to Stare.

zoja>!

”The doctor thinks I tried to kill myself." True. Eye contact, now.
”Did you?"
”No." True. Keep the eye contact, but don't stare. Even the most honest person doesn't maintain eye contact for more than half of a conversation. Exceed that fifty-percent threshold and you trash your believ-ability.

NannyOgg>!

November 1986. A busy year. Vicodin. Imagine waking up to your morning stomach knot and subsequent rituals:
Shower.
Coffee.
Traffic.
Talk radio.
Hell.
Home.
Drink.
But you remember it's Sunday. That four-second blast of relief is what Vicodin feels like for six hours.

1. oldal, One (Harper Perennial, 2006)

Kapcsolódó szócikkek: 1986
NannyOgg>!

Something stuck, no room for shock or fear. The numbers aren't adding up, the waterfall flowing backward-wrong like an Escher print.

181. oldal, Nineteen (Harper Perennial, 2006)

Kapcsolódó szócikkek: M. C. Escher · M.C. Escher: Vízesés
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