By Mario Vargas Llosa
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This can be the account of a trip to the holiest mountain on the earth, the solitary height of Kailas in Tibet, sacred to one-fifth of humankind. To either Buddhists and Hindus it's the mystic middle of the realm and an old web site of pilgrimage. It hasn't ever been climbed. Even this present day, lower than chinese language domination, the folk of 4 religions circle the mountain in devotion to diversified gods.
The mesmerizing memoir at the artwork of residing with books Phantoms at the Bookshelves considers how our own libraries exhibit our actual natures: way over in basic terms crowded cabinets, they're residing labyrinths of our innermost emotions. the writer, a lifelong accumulator of books old and sleek, lives in a home big enough to house his many hundreds of thousands of volumes, in addition to overspill from the libraries of his acquaintances.
Filenote: PDF is searchable snapshot ocr, 376 pages
Publish yr word: initially released in 2001. reproduction is hardback printing, March 2001
Bill Hayes grew up in a kin within which the query "How'd you sleep? " used to be as a lot a staple on the breakfast desk as orange juice or espresso, a question that inspired actual mirrored image and, because it seems for the writer, a legacy of life-shaping implications. If there's one of these factor as an insomnia gene, he tells us on the outset of this superbly written memoir, my father handed it directly to me, together with his eco-friendly eyes and Irish depression. invoice Hayes' existence as an insomniac is rooted within the wry trappings of irony: his father ran a Coca-Cola manufacturing facility, of all issues. I've usually questioned if all that sugar and caffeine altered my neurochemical make-up. relocating seamlessly to and from his current vantage element in San Francisco, Hayes' narrative gives an intimate examine one man's singular trip via modern lifestyles -- from his sleep-disturbed early life via his sleepwalking in early life to the peak of his insomnia, whilst his companion struggles with AIDS and Hayes needs to face an more and more troubling and debilitating sleep disorder.
Along the best way, armed with an infectious interest and an obsession with the mysteries of his own demons, Hayes leads us on a desirable exploration of problems akin to sleep-talking, narcolepsy, and sleep apnea and contends with all demeanour of theories and experimentation, from the conceptions of sleep in old mythology to today's cutting-edge drowsing aids and clinics.
As with hope, sleep resists pursuit. It needs to come locate you. however, i glance for it. This strong ebook is the results of invoice Hayes' lifelong look for sleep.
Las falsas memorias que el conde de Mirabeau novela en El libertino de calidad trazan los angeles intensa vida de un seductor que, salido de l. a. aristocracia y cargado de cinismo, va a utilizar sus poderes amatorios para conseguir dinero; los angeles ironía que el autor presta al relato distancia al lector de ese personaje dedicado a l. a. depredación amatoria.
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Extra info for A Fish in the Water: A Memoir
I remember the Urioste and Beverley swimming pools to which Uncle Lucho took me, in which I learned to swim, the sport I liked best as a youngster and the only one in which I managed to acquire a certain skill. And I also remember, with the greatest affection, the little stories and the books that I read with mystical concentration and absorption, totally immersed in their world of illusion—the stories of Genevieve of Brabant and William Tell, of King Arthur and Cagliostro, of Robin Hood and the hunchback Lagardère, of Sandokán and Captain Nemo, and, above all, the series about Guillermo, a mischievous little boy my age, about whom each book in the series recounted an adventure which I tried to repeat afterward in the garden of the house.
From Cochabamba I remember the Salta-style meat pies and the Sunday lunches, with the whole family present—Uncle Lucho was already married to Aunt Olga, no doubt, and Uncle Jorge to Aunt Gaby—and the enormous family dining table, where everyone always reminisced about Peru, or perhaps I should say about Arequipa, and where we all hoped that when it came time for dessert there would appear the sopaipillas, delicious fritters dipped in honey, and the guargüeros, pineapple and coconut sweets, desserts typical of Tacna and Moquegua, that Granny and Mamaé made with magic hands.
Was this one too going to vanish all of a sudden, like the ones in books the minute I closed them? ” “Right now. But don’t tell Grandpa and Grandma. ” From a distance, even the bad memories of Cochabamba seem like good ones. There were two bad ones: my tonsillectomy and the Great Dane in the garage of a German, Señor Beckmann, located across the street from our house on Ladislao Cabrera. They tricked me into going to Dr. Sáenz Peña’s office, telling me that it was just another visit like the other ones I made for my frequent fevers and sore throats, and once we got there they sat me down in the lap of a male nurse who imprisoned me in his arms, as Dr.
A Fish in the Water: A Memoir by Mario Vargas Llosa