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The Girl on the Fridge: Stories
De Etgar Keret
Ações de livro
Comece a ler- Editora:
- Macmillan Publishers
- Lançado em:
- Apr 15, 2008
- ISBN:
- 9781429933179
- Formato:
- Livro
Descrição
A birthday-party magician whose hat tricks end in horror and gore; a girl parented by a major household appliance; the possessor of the lowest IQ in the Mossad—such are the denizens of Etgar Keret's dark and fertile mind. The Girl on the Fridge contains the best of Keret's first collections, the ones that made him a household name in Israel and the major discovery of this last decade.
Ações de livro
Comece a lerDados do livro
The Girl on the Fridge: Stories
De Etgar Keret
Descrição
A birthday-party magician whose hat tricks end in horror and gore; a girl parented by a major household appliance; the possessor of the lowest IQ in the Mossad—such are the denizens of Etgar Keret's dark and fertile mind. The Girl on the Fridge contains the best of Keret's first collections, the ones that made him a household name in Israel and the major discovery of this last decade.
- Editora:
- Macmillan Publishers
- Lançado em:
- Apr 15, 2008
- ISBN:
- 9781429933179
- Formato:
- Livro
Sobre o autor
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Amostra do livro
The Girl on the Fridge - Etgar Keret
Acknowledgments
Asthma Attack
When you have an asthma attack, you can’t breathe. When you can’t breathe, you can hardly talk. To make a sentence all you get is the air in your lungs. Which isn’t much. Three to six words, if that. You learn the value of words. You rummage through the jumble in your head. Choose the crucial ones—those cost you too. Let healthy people toss out whatever comes to mind, the way you throw out the garbage. When an asthmatic says I love you,
and when an asthmatic says I love you madly,
there’s a difference. The difference of a word. A word’s a lot. It could be stop, or inhaler. It could even be ambulance.
Crazy Glue
She said, Don’t touch it,
and I asked, What is it?
It’s glue,
she said. Special glue. Superglue.
And I asked: What did you buy that for?
Because I need it,
she said. I’ve got lots of things to glue together.
There’s nothing that needs gluing together,
I snapped. I can’t understand why you buy all this crap.
The same reason I married you,
she shot back, to kill time.
I didn’t feel like getting into a fight, so I kept quiet, and so did she. Is it any good, this glue?
I asked. She showed me the picture on the box, with this guy hanging upside down from the ceiling after someone had smeared some glue on the soles of his shoes.
No glue can make a person stick like that,
I said. They took the picture upside down. He’s standing on the floor. They just stuck a light fixture in the floor to make it look like a ceiling. You can tell right away by the way the window looks. They put the clasp on the blinds backwards. Take a look.
I pointed at the window in the picture. She didn’t look. It’s eight already,
I said, I’ve got to run.
I picked up my briefcase and kissed her on the cheek. I’ll be back late. I’m—
I know,
she snapped. You’re swamped.
I called Mindy from the office. I can’t make it today,
I said. I’ve got to be home early.
How come? Is anything the matter?
No. I mean, yeah. I think she suspects something.
There was a long silence. I could hear Mindy breathing on the other end.
I don’t see why you stay with her,
she whispered in the end. The two of you never do anything. You don’t even bother fighting anymore. I can’t figure out why you go on like this. I just don’t get what’s holding you together. I don’t get it,
she said again. I simply don’t get it…
and she started crying.
Don’t cry, Mindy,
I told her. Listen,
I lied. Somebody just came in. I’ve got to go. I’ll come over tomorrow, promise. We’ll talk then.
I got home early. I called out hello when I walked in the door, but there was no reply. I went from room to room. She wasn’t in any of them. On the kitchen table I found the tube of glue, completely empty. I tried to pull one of the chairs out, to sit down. It didn’t budge. I tried again. Stuck. She’d glued it to the floor. The fridge wouldn’t open. She’d glued it shut. I couldn’t see why she’d pull a stunt like this. She’d always seemed reasonably sane. This just wasn’t like her. I went into the living room to get the phone. I thought she might have gone to her mother’s. I couldn’t lift the receiver. She’d glued that down too. Furious, I kicked at the telephone table and almost broke my toe. The table didn’t budge.
That’s when I heard her laughing. It was coming from up above me. I looked, and there she was, hanging upside down, her bare feet clinging to the high living room ceiling. I looked at her, stunned. What the fuck. Have you lost your mind?
She didn’t answer, just smiled. Her smile seemed so natural, the way she was hanging, as if just her lips were subject to gravity. Don’t worry,
I said. I’ll get you down,
and I pulled some books off the shelf. I stacked up a few volumes of the encyclopedia and got on top of the pile. This may hurt a little,
I said, trying to keep my balance. She went on smiling. I pulled as hard as I could, but nothing happened. Carefully, I climbed down. Don’t worry,
I said. I’ll go to the neighbors to phone for help.
Fine,
she said and laughed. I’m not going anywhere.
By then I was laughing too. She was so pretty, and so incongruous, hanging upside down from the ceiling that way. With her long hair dangling downward, and her breasts molded like two perfect teardrops under her white T-shirt. So pretty. I climbed back up onto the pile of books and kissed her. I felt her tongue on mine. The books slipped out from under my feet as I hung there in midair, not touching a thing, dangling from just her lips.
Loquat
"Go on, Henri, go talk to them. You’re a gendarme, they’ll listen to you."
I put down my empty coffee cup and moved my feet around under the table, trying to find my slippers. "How many times do I have to explain it to you, Grandma? I’m not a gend—a policeman. I’m a soldier, a soldat. I don’t have anything to do with them, so why should they listen to what I have to say?"
"Because you’re tall as a building and you wear a gendarme’s uniform—"
"Soldat, Grandma."
"So you’re a soldat, what’s the difference? You go to them with your pistolet and tell them that if they climb our loquat tree one more time, you’ll throw them in the calabouse and shoot them, or something, just so they stop coming into our yard…"
Grandma’s faded eyes were moist now, and bloodshot. She really hated those kids. The old lady wasn’t all there, but out of respect I said okay. That evening, I heard them in the tree. I put on a pair of shorts and a sleeveless undershirt and told Grandma I was going out to talk to them.
No,
she said, blocking my way to the door, holding my ironed dress uniform. "You’re not going out to them like that. Put on your
Avaliações
I kept thinking the stories reminded me of Gaiman's Sandman comics. Not the parts about Dream and his siblings (the Endless,) but the other parts, like the serial killers who meet up in a hotel, the girl who lives in the building with some bizarre characters, etc. So some horror, some mystery, some bizarre, and some political commentary. If Gaiman, Lynch, and Kafka got together and wrote a bunch of short stories that take place in Israel, this could very well be it.
With that said, Keret does have that home advantage. His stories are very much culturally infused with Israel, the conflict, the everyday urban life. Some stories can easily reproduce the horror of war and conflict, the meaningless struggle. There is always some violence, whether it be a kid being bullied aside from the main story, an Arab being run over for fun by Israeli border patrol, or a severed head of a bunny. Most lead characters are male (if not all?) and most of them are not in charge of the situation. Things happen to them, and usually they suffer. Children have a special place in some of the stories, and they seem to live in the middle of a disturbing life, unaware.
All in all, a pleasure to read, only if you like this kind of thing. If you enjoy the bizarre, the horrifying, the absurd, the surreal, you will enjoy these stories.