Nonostante il titolo, non mi è piaciuto.
You. However u r. Read this book! It's the smartest book about love I'd ever read.
In "Written On the Body" there is an unnamed and ungendered narrator. It could be a man, it could be a woman. Winterson just can't tell it.
The narrator is a womanizer, I mean a ladies' man/woman.
Surprisingly, the narrator falls in love with a married woman called Louise (naturally a redhead, all of Winterson's objects of desire are redheads).
Louise leaves her husband, but when she finds she has cancer, she leaves her new lover too.
This becomes Winterson's metaphor: the body and its systems, in particular how each system reflects an aspect of love or loss. Winterson, in her book, seems interested in excavating loss and how the memories of a loved one remain, for better or for worse.
She is such an excellent writer.
There are lines, where you actually have to put down the book and take a moment. Or at least I did. And if I know something, I know that the measure of love is loss. She is able to write about that particular type of sadness in a way I find captivating and completely real.
Last but not least, the title of her novel is perfect, because this is exactly what Winterson does here. When you love someone, you "write" yourself on him/her. And love, at that intense level, is not separate from desire, or lust, or whatever. It's all the same.
I absolutely love this passage:
"<<Explore me>>, you said and I collected my ropes, flasks and maps, expecting to be back home soon. I dropped into the mass of you and I cannot find the way out. Sometimes I think I'm free, coughed up like Jonah from the whale, but then I turn a corner and recognize myself again. Myself in your skin, myself lodged in your bones, myself floating in the cavities that decorate every surgeon's wall. That is how I know you. You are what I know."
This novel is passionate, funny, clever and good enough to move a reader to tears without any obvious sentimental stuff. Recommended reading....Continua
A nameless, genderless narrator lovingly and rationally tells about love, lost and found, and how that love, and other ones, translates "onto the body". Some things are carved, scratched, tattooed, others are blemishes, superficial bruises - some strengthen the muscles underneath and tone the body, others ruin and wreck it.
How much of our body is ours, then?
I found this book to be about reading mind, body and soul ("part and in whole") of people you love.
Winterson's use of an undefined principal character is strangely contradictory - as it has no specific "body" to relate to, yet on the other hand it offers a very comfortable free zone where gender is just "simply" another property of the body, like the colour of your eyes, or the shape of your nose. Present, yes, but... significant?...Continua