BOOKS II - ALBERT RUSSO - LIVRES II

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Day 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 Month January February March April May June July August September October November December Year Please fill in a complete birthday Enter a valid birthday. Again, like Naipaul, Russo is compassionate and satiric, but unlike his British counterpart, Russo holds out hope that messages of goodness and idealism and decency remain within hearing, that they remain to be recorded in a different and deeper key in another time.


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Rooted in a past time, Mixed Blood has an undeniable relevance to contemporary time. Paiting the tower of Babel. Lassitude of being alive haunts the fellow next door I can read it on his half moons whenever he walks down the street He hates running errands but that is the sole thread which links him to life or the semblance of it When our eyes meet he gives me a quick nod even that gesture is painstaking never accompanied by a smile for a smile might bare a corner of his soul and that may be the most dangerous most lurid place in a human being tis where small crimes are committed without the cognizance of strangers where one's own shadows become treacherous it is a spot fraught with mystery and chimerae.

To describe Albert Russo and his work is to enter into the realms of the exotic! He is a creature of many layers - and each of his poems gives us a tantalising glimpse of one of them, with who knows how many more to come. My main admiration of the man as an artist apart from his undoubted talent and wit is his ability to write fluently in English and French and I gasp in amazement at the fact that he speaks Italian, Spanish and German fluently and has knowledge of Swahili, Portuguese and Dutch.

Most of us are still struggling to make the most of our mother language! He is also a writer of short stories and novels. Albert Russo - you must either love him or hate him. It would be impossible to remain indifferent! Shelagh Nugent - Editor, Cherrybite Publications. He possesses that rare and enviable talent of being able to say what is important in a very few words. His contributions to the literary world are amazingly varied, reminding one of an intellectuel butterfly - able to flit from one topic to another, but having first drained it of its essential qualities.

Russo speaks at all levels - a compulsive creator who is always I speak for myself, of course going to have something important, or different, or both to say. He tackles any subject matter with the same enthusiasm by which his work suggests he lives. Certainly, he can never be considered squeamish! His latest work, Poetry and Peanuts is proof of this. It's a collection which reaches into the very soul of contemporary living. While the images are well-observed, they are essentially poetic, satisfying even the most literary heart's lust for colourful verbal epitomising.

Here, one comes to grips with many contemporary problems, all beautifully observed and possessing the Russo hallmark of subtle observation. It's usual in a collection for one or two pieces to stand out above the rest, rather like landmarks on a lovely scene. Russo's variation and treatment of so many issues makes such selectivity impossible; each poem is a gem in its own right. Univers clos de la non-communication. Albert Russo, Anthology 1.

Version anglaise de Eclipse sur le lac Tanganyika. Edition from Domhan Books. The long-awaited sequel to the fantastically funny Zapinette Video is here at last! Parisienne Zapinette, slightly older and wiser, but with the same hilariously wry outlook on the world, gets taken to New York as a Christmas treat by her much-loved and very flamboyant Unky Berky. So, yesterday morning, and since my teachers went on strike - they should do that more often - I accompanied him to the US Embassy to get him a visa. But even before I could say boo, that jaybird of a father ditched us, plonk, flying away to Amazonia or thereabouts, with no return ticket.

There were all kinds of people around us, young folk with their rucksacks - some of them were real cute - weirdos carrying overstuffed bags, thinking maybe they were going to spend the night here, businessmen in their three-piece suits, sweating like a bunch of penguins struck by a heatwave, families composed of mothers, fathers and kiddies, accompanied by a granny or a nurse. When she approached me I pulled faces at her, trying to shoo her away. But she insisted, like I was the moron, which made me so nervous I bit my tongue and gave a little shriek.

The funny thing is that he gets high on this. It took us another half hour before our turn. Then, with his unflinching big bad wolf stare, he growled: I felt like twisting his disgustingly flabby ears and stuffing his hoggish nostrils with two mega corks. But I was also very mad at my uncle, damn it, to have us waste so much time at the embassy!

She proved it again lately by chucking out her last boyfriend, Firmin the vermin, on account that he indulged in sex swapping.

Pourquoi les Anglo-saxons snobent-ils les livres français ?

She stands no crap from anybody, with the exception of her customers at the beauty parlor - what a cackling, hair-raising lot they are! How else could she afford to send me to the States? I was consequently very surprised when he said that we would be going to New York together.

Nowadays even dogs get a taste of that Freudian mush, whether they like it or not. But it seemed to prefer its old smelly quarters, heritage or no heritage. It looked as stoned as a sphinx, except that its eyes rolled every once in a while, counterclockwise, glowing like two bloated fireflies. He tried to reason with her and said: It just happened that it was TWA. Call it bad luck or destiny.

She listened to him for several minutes, twitching her nose. You will have to choose another airline. My uncle stared at her for a while then turned to me with his big goggly eyes - he looked like a forlorn old karibou, expecting a handout. Then, in his mousiest tone of voice he said, "As you wish, Laura. While I was racking my brains, he wrote down on a piece of cardboard the size of a double credit card, all this information for me to keep in my wallet. He harassed me so much with these details - not setchually, you perverts!

At first, he stood there, gawking at me, non-pussied, dumb and founded, then he burst out laughing and said: You sure are no ordinary little girl.

Pourquoi les Anglo-saxons snobent-ils les livres français?

His real name is Alberico Binetti. He and my mother were born in Monza, Italy. They were both sent to America to study, but my uncle was very unhappy there, as I already told you, and after my grandparents died in an auto accident, he preferred to settle in France where setchual minorities can do their shtick without being overmolested.

A serial killer was reported roaming in Central Park this month.


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He looks like a Labrador puppy, with his big round eyes and that dimple in the middle of his chin - and the beautiful Gillian Anderson. Keanu Reeves, double yum yum It was sad and funny at the same time. What a strange pair they made! But they always got back together. He goes on bragging that they oughta be grateful for the Cannes Film Festival where they have the opportunity of showing their stuff year after year, even when it sucks. That may be why he wrote "C. The day little Daphne was bom, Ripov saw the world in a new light.

He never imagined that fatherhood could be so totally, so delightfully, engrossing.

Les écrivains français contemporains sont méconnus par les Britanniques et les Américains

He had eyes only for little Daphne, to the point where he became oblivious to the baby's mother who, feeling neglected, dejected, then utterly disgusted, decided to leave the household. A staunch believer in progress, and having read extensively about the marvels of computer education, Ripov sent baby Daphne to computergarten even before enrolling her at the Teenie Weenie Swimmers Club. The results were stunning and the days seemed to be made of twenty-four minutes apiece. At age one, little Daphne could count and read Pascal. At two she spoke Spanish, Russian and Kangooreese.

On the eve of her fourth birthday she was able to juggle with algebraic equations and survey the map of our galaxy, identifying novas. She'd just turned six when she presented Ripov with a chart of the universe as it would appear a million years hence. So awed was Ripov by the extent of her learning capabilities and her powers of reasoning that he soon began to develop a complex.

He consulted the famed Parent Clinic where he was told that he had contracted C. Computer Hyper-Immunity Parental Syndrome , a disease so rarely encountered that even the most advanced computers refused to decode it. Without being aware of it, Ripov began to ape his daughter. He would talk in a high-pitched voice and bob his head while smacking his lips.

He wondered why all of a sudden in the street transvestites stole such lustful glances at him.

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To outsiders he acted as little Daphne's manservant. She never needed to lift an eyebrow nor raise her voice. Ripov waited on her hand and foot, anticipating her every whim. Little Daphne even managed to project him onto the videoscreen and cast him in her games as her referee. Ripov floated in a sort of amniotic bliss. He would dream of little Daphne resting on a magnificent coral throne and surrounded by exotic fishes. She would address her Council of Ripov clones and devise new measures to extend her filial authority.

Ripov couldn't understand why his friends pitied him. In a world where it is so fashionable to claim one's social status, religion or ethnic group, I have realized that I'm but a chip, albeit indispensable, in the cosmic network. At this stage, Ripov suspected his friends of being envious. To be taken care of and dictated to by one's own progeny, wasn't that the ne plus ultra, the key to happiness? Adult tyranny had, after all, wrought only havoc throughout the ages.

That he appeared irresponsible didn't bother Ripov the least; on the contrary, he felt proud of it. She would snap a finger and immediately Ripov would respond. She tried all kinds of experiments on her slavishly obedient father. She'd make him bark or twitter to probe his varied and boundless potentiahties. Even as he'd crawl, Ripov would deliver the most sophisticated formula.

To reward him, little Daphne would let Ripov munch as many potato chips as he wished, for even before contracting C. And some people complain about their children being difficult. Oh, to be blessed with C. Have I said that before? You know the latest? She was goddam flattered! Guess what that Jerq asked me. To hand a picture of her to Keanu Reeves, in case I should cross his path on Broadway, and she wants him to autograph it too.

This is not all, she would like him to fix a date with her here in Paris, on account of her reading somewhere that he would be coming to the French capital soon for the launching of his new film. She loves to remind me how difficult it is to become an aristocrat, and mentions the case of Grace Kelly who, according to her had made it for three main reasons: But she has no pity for Princess Stephanie, on account that the ladder had stooped down, marrying her bodyguard who, wash more, was caught in the nude with a Belgian stripper.

She speaks English like I speak Pandareese, with a heavy Chinese accent. I could have eaten him alive, he was so cute. Hey, charity begins at home.

Livres français pour débutants

Bruxelles au galop Brussels Ride. Ainsi, par exemple, dans le premier chapitre:. Lady Russell loved them all, but it was only in Anne that she could fancy the mother to revive again [ N 13 ]. Bennet [ 85 ]. Les Cinq Filles de Mrs. Il a aussi lu, avec ravissement, Mansfield Park en et Sense and Sensibility en juin En France, paraissent aussi de nouvelles traductions: Brock [ ].

Mais paraissent seulement deux traductions nouvelles [ ]:.