Dec. 5th, 2021 11:22 am
(no subject)
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dogpackМне нравится, что, поскольку учительница преподает литературу, там постоянно идет игривый параллелизм литература-жиза. Если бы она преподавала матан, такого бы не получилось! I see what you did there.
“So what can we learn about the poor, sad character of Arthur Dimmesdale?” I asked. Frank Pachenko raised his hand. Today he wore an actual raincoat, an oversized, red and shining version of the type a kindergartner might wear. It was a hideous color, like the erection of a dog.
“Secrets will fester inside you and make you sick,” Frank reported. At all times, he had the cheerful air of being completely pleased with both himself and the world around him. I pictured him standing in that jacket with that same grin amidst several hundred buckets of fish entrails at the back dock of a busy seafood market. The kid simply wasn’t one to let reality spoil a good time.
“Guilt will eat you alive!” Heath called from the back of the room with a dramatic flair, extending his upturned palms to the sky. I felt a pang of worry in my stomach at the effect the content of today’s class might have on Jack—would it taint his view of the proposal he was about to receive? When I looked over at him he was watching the rain outside the classroom window, the glass pane alive with a metropolitan energy of moving water.
Еще мне нравятся ее социопатические, я хотел сказать, деловитые аналитические выкладки, кого в классе можно трахнуть, а кого нет. Ей постоянно сносит башню эротическими фантазиями, но она очень стойко борется с тем, чтобы не пуститься во все тяжкие и не потерять осторожность окончательно. Это, в общем-то, главный конфликт книги, ее внутренний конфликт, утомительная борьба девушки с соблазнами, которые буквально к р у г о м. И это в какой-то степени даже трагично, потому что читатель в любом случае предвидит ее несомненный downfall. И вы становитесь невольным свидетелем медленной катастрофы, как смотреть, как грузовик медленно сползает боком в карьер.
But despite the pleasant view, I saw few real options. Goody-goodies like Frank would deny me, and the overly confident type would find it impossible not to brag. There was only Jack—my second choice, Trevor Bodin, had a vast assortment of imperfections; deciding between the two of them was like being asked to pick a dance partner and given the option of a trained choreographer or an epileptic with a wooden leg. Trevor was an artsy sort whose hair was a wiggish crop of curls. A pensive journaler, he’d already asked if I’d look at some of his poetry. Since he walked home from school and didn’t have to rush to catch a bus, he often came up to talk books and writing with me after class. But he had a girlfriend; most of his poetry was devoted to professing his love for her—Abby Fischer in my second period, memorable for her chunk of dyed purple hair. Being the romantic type, if Trevor ever did stray, he’d undoubtedly confess to her minutes after the act, likely through a series of frantic text messages that peppered statements of regret with frown-faced emoticons. He also came off as clingy, which could prove to be downright toxic. Trevor seemed like the type who would be ever more demanding, who would accept nothing less than symbiosis. Plus, based on his clothing, his parents were extremely lenient. He had no fear of authority, which meant he wouldn’t be worried enough about getting caught and wouldn’t act with the necessary level of caution. Trevor was too outspoken, tried too hard to impress. But he kept tempting me—he loved staying to talk to me alone in the classroom after everyone else had left. That afternoon as soon as the final bell rang, he came straight up to my desk. I suppose it took a while to get my attention; I was looking through a slit in the window blinds, seeing if I could identify Jack amidst the horde of students pouring from the main building out to the bus lot. As they kept coming it seemed like they were multiplying, splitting off and begetting others in a mass act of asexual reproduction.
Видел, что эту книгу называют типа гендер-реверсной версией "Лолиты", но лично для меня там очень мало общего. Интеллигентный, вялый и смурной главный герой "Лолиты" с неистребимой страстью к вычурности меня бесит, а главная героиня "Тампы" вызывает симпатию тем, что она такая отбитая, прямолинейная, злая, смелая, веселая и очень, очень голодная. Как в "The Hellbound Heart" говорил Фрэнк Коттон, "you’ve no conception of the hunger I’ve got on me". Она отчасти безумна, конечно, но при этом до боли откровенна с читателем. Поневоле посочувствуешь, что она такая хорни -- в остальном она идеальная интеллектуальная машина в теле идеальных форм.
“So what can we learn about the poor, sad character of Arthur Dimmesdale?” I asked. Frank Pachenko raised his hand. Today he wore an actual raincoat, an oversized, red and shining version of the type a kindergartner might wear. It was a hideous color, like the erection of a dog.
“Secrets will fester inside you and make you sick,” Frank reported. At all times, he had the cheerful air of being completely pleased with both himself and the world around him. I pictured him standing in that jacket with that same grin amidst several hundred buckets of fish entrails at the back dock of a busy seafood market. The kid simply wasn’t one to let reality spoil a good time.
“Guilt will eat you alive!” Heath called from the back of the room with a dramatic flair, extending his upturned palms to the sky. I felt a pang of worry in my stomach at the effect the content of today’s class might have on Jack—would it taint his view of the proposal he was about to receive? When I looked over at him he was watching the rain outside the classroom window, the glass pane alive with a metropolitan energy of moving water.
Еще мне нравятся ее социопатические, я хотел сказать, деловитые аналитические выкладки, кого в классе можно трахнуть, а кого нет. Ей постоянно сносит башню эротическими фантазиями, но она очень стойко борется с тем, чтобы не пуститься во все тяжкие и не потерять осторожность окончательно. Это, в общем-то, главный конфликт книги, ее внутренний конфликт, утомительная борьба девушки с соблазнами, которые буквально к р у г о м. И это в какой-то степени даже трагично, потому что читатель в любом случае предвидит ее несомненный downfall. И вы становитесь невольным свидетелем медленной катастрофы, как смотреть, как грузовик медленно сползает боком в карьер.
But despite the pleasant view, I saw few real options. Goody-goodies like Frank would deny me, and the overly confident type would find it impossible not to brag. There was only Jack—my second choice, Trevor Bodin, had a vast assortment of imperfections; deciding between the two of them was like being asked to pick a dance partner and given the option of a trained choreographer or an epileptic with a wooden leg. Trevor was an artsy sort whose hair was a wiggish crop of curls. A pensive journaler, he’d already asked if I’d look at some of his poetry. Since he walked home from school and didn’t have to rush to catch a bus, he often came up to talk books and writing with me after class. But he had a girlfriend; most of his poetry was devoted to professing his love for her—Abby Fischer in my second period, memorable for her chunk of dyed purple hair. Being the romantic type, if Trevor ever did stray, he’d undoubtedly confess to her minutes after the act, likely through a series of frantic text messages that peppered statements of regret with frown-faced emoticons. He also came off as clingy, which could prove to be downright toxic. Trevor seemed like the type who would be ever more demanding, who would accept nothing less than symbiosis. Plus, based on his clothing, his parents were extremely lenient. He had no fear of authority, which meant he wouldn’t be worried enough about getting caught and wouldn’t act with the necessary level of caution. Trevor was too outspoken, tried too hard to impress. But he kept tempting me—he loved staying to talk to me alone in the classroom after everyone else had left. That afternoon as soon as the final bell rang, he came straight up to my desk. I suppose it took a while to get my attention; I was looking through a slit in the window blinds, seeing if I could identify Jack amidst the horde of students pouring from the main building out to the bus lot. As they kept coming it seemed like they were multiplying, splitting off and begetting others in a mass act of asexual reproduction.
Видел, что эту книгу называют типа гендер-реверсной версией "Лолиты", но лично для меня там очень мало общего. Интеллигентный, вялый и смурной главный герой "Лолиты" с неистребимой страстью к вычурности меня бесит, а главная героиня "Тампы" вызывает симпатию тем, что она такая отбитая, прямолинейная, злая, смелая, веселая и очень, очень голодная. Как в "The Hellbound Heart" говорил Фрэнк Коттон, "you’ve no conception of the hunger I’ve got on me". Она отчасти безумна, конечно, но при этом до боли откровенна с читателем. Поневоле посочувствуешь, что она такая хорни -- в остальном она идеальная интеллектуальная машина в теле идеальных форм.
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no subject
Судя по отрывкам, нифига там не Лолита, ну. Читателям нужно расширять кругозор (принудительно).
no subject
Я уверен, что есть такие наборы.