Di Kim Edwards
Editore: Mondolibri S.p.A.
Lingua: Italiano | Numero di pagine: 412 | Formato: Copertina rigida | In altre lingue: (altre lingue) Inglese , Chi tradizionale , Tedesco , Spagnolo , Chi semplificata , Francese , Portoghese , Olandese , Svedese
Isbn-10: A000075797 | Data di pubblicazione: 01/12/2007
Traduttore: Luciana Crepax
Disponibile anche come: Altri
Ti piace Figlia del silenzio?
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Hermione ha scritto il May 24, 2017, 11:24
*** Attenzione: di seguito anticipazioni sulla trama (SPOILER) ***
Non mi ha convinta e non l'ho trovato credibile nella narrazione. A tratti mi è sembrato un Harmony. Peccato perché la storia, realmente accaduta, sarebbe potuta essere un ottimo spunto per una riflessione più approfondita sulla vita delle persone con sindrome di Down e dei loro famigliari (cosa che mi aveva spinta intraprenderne la lettura). Ma lo spunto evidentemente è stato troppo romanzato e non nella direzione giusta, per quanto mi è parso.
>>>SPOILER< < < Mi hanno fatto sorridere poi le botte di fortuna di alcuni personaggi che trovano sempre qualcuno che li accoglie e poi non solo li ospita ma dona loro addirittura una casa, e succede per ben due volte!>>>SPOILER< < <
Il libro è stato un best-seller da passaparola come ampiamente viene sbandierato nell'introduzione citando anche il New York Times. Americanata. ;)
mimonni ha scritto il May 14, 2017, 20:50
Storie di famiglia tra segreti, rancori , infelicita' e solitudine. Personaggi e dialoghi profondi, malinconici, imperfetti. Ritmo lento dai toni autunnali. Bella riflessione sulla diversita', sull'amore.
pingu ha scritto il Dec 05, 2016, 23:29
La storia di come un novello padre decide di rovinare la vita a sé stesso e alla sua famiglia in un momento di panico e disperazione. Una storia molto interessante e scorrevole nonostante le numerose pagine.
Marlene ha scritto il Jan 31, 2016, 12:04
Come una decisione in un istante può stravolgere una vita intera di tante persone... Un uomo che vittima del proprio passato prende una decisione apparentemente per lui giusta in quell momento, a tutela del benessere della moglie e del figlio, ma che si rivelerà la causa di una vita triste ed infelice di cose non dette di rimorsi di insoddisfazioni che porteranno I tre componenti della famiglia ad isolarsi l'uno dall'altro ... senza conoscerne la ragione che salterà fuori solo quando ormai sarà troppo tardi per recuperare rapporti oramai deteriorati.
Una donna come tante invece, Caroline, anche abbastanza insoddisfatta della sua vita anonima, diventa l'eroina a mio avviso di questa storia. In un periodo dove la sindrome di down non era un argomento discusso a cui non veniva data l'importanza che grazie a Dio oggi inveca riveste ... la forza del progresso .... questa donne non solo si prende cura di una figlia non sua affetta dalla sindrome di down, ma combatte per la sua integrazione a scuola e nella società, cosa impensabile a quei tempi. Un ottimo libro che offre moltecipli spunti di riflessione. Se fossi un'insegnante lo farei leggere ai ragazzi e lo discuterei in classe.
Miriam Cherchi ha scritto il Jan 26, 2016, 15:26
The Memory Keeper's Daughter
David was filled with the old, sure sense that the snowy night when he had handed his daughter Phoebe to Caroline Gill would not pass without consequence. Life had gone on, it was full and rich; he was, in all visible ways, a success. And yet at odd moments—in the middle of surgery, driving into town, on the very edge of sleep—he'd start suddenly, stricken with guilt. He had given his daughter away. She had Down's syndrome, which meant she was retarded. So he gave her away. He never told anyone. It was 1964.
This secret stood in the middle of his family: they believed Phoebe was dead at the birth and this false truth shaped their lives together. He knew it, he saw it, visible to him as a rock wall grown up between them. And he saw his wife Norah and his son Paul reaching out and striking rock and not understanding what was happening, only that something stood between them that could not be seen or broken.
David thought of his sister June; a deep sense of loss rose up in him, so forceful, woven of so many memories: June's voice and Paul slamming the door shut behind him, and Norah's clothes scattered on the beach. His newborn daughter, released into Caroline Gill's waiting hands.
Too much. Too much. David often thought that his own life—the difficult choices he had made—would be justified if Paul would only realize his potential, and he lived with the constant, nagging fear that he'd failed his son somehow; that Paul would throw his gifts away.
This is what he knew that Paul didn't: the world was precarious and sometimes cruel. He'd had to fight hard to achieve what Paul simply took for granted. His parents had hard lives. They didn't have money. Sometimes they didn't know if they were going to have food to eat. It pained his father, who was a hard-working man. And it pained his mother, because they couldn't get much help for his sister June. When he was about his son's age, he got a job so he could go to high school in town.
And then June died, and he made a promise to himself. "I was going to go out and fix the world." But however hard he worked to make Paul's life smooth and easy, the fact remained that David had built that life on a lie. He had tried to protect his son from the things he himself had suffered as a child: poverty and worry and grief. Yet his very efforts had created losses David never anticipated. The lie had grown up between them like a rock, forcing them to grow oddly too, like trees twisting around a boulder.
How hard he had worked to make things good for them all, to make things right, and yet somehow it had always been so difficult, for all of them, as if they were swimming the shallow sea that once had covered all this land.
He had caused Norah pain; his deception had made her suffer in ways he had never imagined or intended. And then Paul's music moved through him in waves.
"I like music," Paul said, "Music is like you touch the pulse of the world. Music is always happening, and sometimes you get to touch it for a while, and when you do you know that everything's connected to everything else."
David had wanted to connect with Paul, to have a moment when they understood each other. He considered what he'd said to Paul—that the world was made of hidden things, of secrets; built of bones that never saw the light. It was true that he'd once sought unity, as if the underlying correspondences between tulips and lungs, veins and trees, flesh and earth, might reveal a pattern he could understand. But they had not. He'd kept this silence because his own secrets were darker, more hidden, and because he believed that his secrets had created those of her wife.
"Photography is all about secrets," David said, "The secrets we all have and will never tell." There was not only one photo in a negative, there were multitudes. A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different moments, depending on who was seeing things and how: "Dunes at Dusk," "A Tree in the Heart."
David tried so hard to catch each moment, pin it in place, make it last, but when the images emerged in the dark ¬ room they were already altered. Hours, days had passed by then; he had become a slightly different person. Yet he had wanted so much to catch the fluttering veil, to capture the world even as it disappeared, once and again and then again.
He saw he'd been caught, frozen for all these years in that moment when he handed Caroline his daughter. His life turned around that single action: a newborn child in his arms—and then he reached out to give her away. It was as if he'd taken pictures all these years since to try and give another moment similar substance, equal weight. He'd wanted to try and still the rushing world, the flow of events, but of course that had been impossible.
He thought of Norah, who had become a self-sufficient and powerful woman, She'd had more than one affair over the years, he knew that, and her secrets, like his own, had grown up into a wall between them.
She complained that he was becoming obsessed with photography, but Norah was wrong about the rest. He didn't use the camera to escape the world, but to find who was this child of his flesh, the girl he had given away in the world? He had not expected that she would live this long, or that she would have the sort of life Caroline wrote him about.
Phoebe, her struggling to learn to shape letters, to tie her shoes. Phoebe, playing happily in the backyard while Caroline made phone call after phone call, fighting for her education. Phoebe, putting her soft arms around Caroline's neck for no reason at all and saying, I love you, Mom.
Because love is the main thread of the novel, everything that is made is made with love and at the end love triumphs.
Cri1967 ha scritto il Jan 19, 2016, 06:37
Nata per leggere ha scritto il Dec 22, 2015, 12:02
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