O nº 105 da GRANTA: The Magazine of New Writing (Primavera de 2009) traz um artigo dedicado ao romance Of Earthly Love, da autoria de Altán Walker, escritora que se suicidou em Dezembro de 2007. São também publicados dois capítulos dessa história que a sua autora definia como a story of adultery, a love story about a girl and two men. Porém, a sua editora (que eu ainda não consegui determinar quem é, a GRANTA, nesse aspecto, não é muito clara), na nota que faz à apresentação do capítulo na revista é um pouco mais incisiva: There have been only a very fiew occassions when an unpublished writer's manuscript has made my scalp prickle and my heart race, but this was one of them.
I read the chapters Altán had sent in one sitting. The narrative voice commanded attention from the opening lines: it was arch and diamond-hard, and yet warmth curled through it, like laughter barely supressed.
O romance, consta, será publicado em Maio de 2010. Deixo-vos excertos do capítulo primeiro de um romance que me pareceu muito promissor. A narrativa decorre em 1980, em Dublin.
It suddendly seemed to me that evil was near.
Evil is near me now, I thought, in this imperfect and malodorous shade: evil fawns and gambols, as the weacked weasel and the stoat. It is a great mistake to think evil is far, I thought, for evil is ever near: evil comes closer and closer, and soon will spring out, and pounce.
(...)
'You're podzol.' I said. 'It is evil Russian soil that all the good has drained right out of, that is turning into evil ash.'
(...)
What strange and beatiful eyes he has, I thought: all the laughs and tears of the minerals: half the jewel and half the mine, I thought: great shade that has no name.
I read the chapters Altán had sent in one sitting. The narrative voice commanded attention from the opening lines: it was arch and diamond-hard, and yet warmth curled through it, like laughter barely supressed.
O romance, consta, será publicado em Maio de 2010. Deixo-vos excertos do capítulo primeiro de um romance que me pareceu muito promissor. A narrativa decorre em 1980, em Dublin.
It suddendly seemed to me that evil was near.
Evil is near me now, I thought, in this imperfect and malodorous shade: evil fawns and gambols, as the weacked weasel and the stoat. It is a great mistake to think evil is far, I thought, for evil is ever near: evil comes closer and closer, and soon will spring out, and pounce.
(...)
'You're podzol.' I said. 'It is evil Russian soil that all the good has drained right out of, that is turning into evil ash.'
(...)
What strange and beatiful eyes he has, I thought: all the laughs and tears of the minerals: half the jewel and half the mine, I thought: great shade that has no name.
Altán Walker
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