De Engelse schrijfster Zadie Smith werd geboren op 27 oktober 1975 in Londen. Zie ook alle tags voor Zadie Smith op dit blog en eveneens mijn blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit: NW
“On the way back from the chain supermarket where they shop, though it closed down the local grocer and pays slave wages, with new bags though they should take old bags, leaving with broccoli from Kenya and tomatoes from Chile and unfair coffee and sugary crap and the wrong newspaper.
They are not good people. They do not even have the integrity to be the sort of people who don’t worry about being good people. They worry all the time. They are stuck in the middle again. They buy always Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay because these are the only words they know that relate to wine. They are attending a dinner party and for this you need to bring a bottle of wine. This much they have learned. They do not purchase ethical things because they can’t afford them Michel claims and Leah says, no, it’s because you can’t be bothered. Privately she thinks: you want to be rich like them but you can’t be bothered with their morals, whereas I am more interested in their morals than their money, and this thought, this opposition, makes her feel good. Marriage as the art of invidious comparison. And shit that’s him in the phone box and if she had thought about it for more than a split second she would never have said:
— Shit that’s him in the phone box.
— That’s him?
— Yes, but — no, I don’t know. No. I thought. Doesn’t matter. Forget it.
— Leah, you just said it was him. Is it or isn’t it?
Very quickly Michel is out of earshot and over there, squaring up for another invidious comparison: his compact, well-proportioned dancer’s frame against a tall muscled threat, who turns, and turns out not to be Nathan, who is surely the other boy she saw with Shar, though maybe not.“
Zadie Smith (Londen, 27 oktober 1975)
De Egyptische schrijfster, gynaecologe, moslimfeministe en politiek activiste Nawal el Saadawi werd geboren in Kafr Tahla op 27 oktober 1931. Zie ook alle tags voor Nawal el Saadawi op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit:Memoirs from the Women’s Prison
“Writing: such has been my crime ever since I was a small child. To this day writing remains my crime. Now, although I am out of prison, I continue to live inside a prison of another sort, one without steel bars. For the technology of oppression and might without justice has become more advanced, and the fetters imposed on mind and body have become invisible. The most dangerous shackles are the invisible ones, because they deceive people into believing they are free. This delusion is the new prison that people inhabit today, north and south, east and west…We inhabit the age of the technology of false consciousness, the technology of hiding truths behind amiable humanistic slogans that may change from one era to another…Democracy is not just freedom to criticize the government or head of state, or to hold parliamentary elections. True democracy obtains only when the people – women, men, young people, children – have the ability to change the system of industrial capitalism that has oppressed them since the earliest days of slavery: a system based on class division, patriarchy, and military might, a hierarchical system that subjugates people merely because they are born poor, or female, or dark-skinned.”
Nawal el Saadawi (Kafr Tahla, 27 oktober 1931)
De Britse schrijfster Enid Algerine Bagnold werd geboren op 27 oktober 1889 in Rochester, Kent. Zie ook alle tags voor Enid Bagnold op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit: A Diary Without Dates
“Smiff laughed: he has been in hospital nine months, and his theoryis that a Sister may do anything at any moment; his theory is thatnothing does any good – that if you don’t fuss you don’t get worse. Corrigan was angry all day; the idea that ‘a bloomin’ woman should come an’ shove something into me system’ was too much for him.But he forgets himself: there are no individuals now; his ‘system’ belongs to us.
Sister said, laughing, to Smiff the other day, ‘Your leg is mine.
”Wrong again; it’s the Governmint’s!’ said Smiff. But Corrigan isIrish and doesn’t like that joke.
There are times when my heart fails me; when my eyes, my ears,my tongue, and my understanding fail me; when pain means nothing to me…
In the bus yesterday, I came down from London sitting beside aSister from another ward, who held her hand to her ear and shifted in her seat.
She told me she had earache and we didn’t talk, and I sat huddled in my corner and watched the names of the shops, thinking, as I was more or less forced to do by her movements, of her earache.What struck me was her own angry bewilderment before the fact of her pain. ‘But it hurts … You’ve no idea how it hurts!’ She was surprised.
Many times a day she hears the words, ‘Sister, you’re hurtin’ me… Couldn’t you shift my heel? It’s like a toothache,’ and other similar sentences. I hear them in our ward all the time. One can’t pass down the ward without some such request falling on one’s ears.
She is astonished at her earache; she is astonished at what pain can be; it is unexpected. She is ready to be angry with herself, with her pain, with her ear. It is monstrous … she thinks.”
Enid Bagnold ( 27 oktober 1889 – 3 maart 1981)
De Amerikaanse schrijfster Frances Ann “Fran” Lebowitz werd geboren op 27 oktober 1950 in Morristown, New Jersey. Zie ook alle tags voor Frans Lebowitz op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 27 oktober 2010
Uit: When Smoke Gets In Your Eyes … Shut Them
“Smoking is, if not my life, then at least my hobby. I love to smoke. Smoking is fun. Smoking is cool. Smoking is, as far as I’m concerned, the entire point of being an adult.
“I understand, of course, that many people find smoking objectionable. That is their right. I would, I assure you, be the very last to criticize the annoyed. I myself find many—even most—things objectionable. Being offended is the natural consequence of leaving one’s home. I do not like after-shave lotion, adults who roller-skate, children who speak French, or anyone who is unduly tan. I do not, however, go around enacting legislation and putting up signs. In private I avoid such people; in public they have the run of the place. I stay at home as much as possible, and so should they. When it is necessary, however, to go out of the house, they must be prepared, as am I, to deal with the unpleasant personal habits of others. That is what “public” means. If you can’t stand the heat, get back in the kitchen.
“Due to something called the Minnesota Clean Air Act, it is illegal to smoke in the baggage-claim area of the Minneapolis Airport. This particular bit of news is surprising, since it has been my personal observation that even nonsmokers tend to light up while waiting to see if their baggage has accompanied them to their final destination. As I imagine that this law has provoked a rather strong response, I was initially quite puzzled as to why Minnesota would risk alienating what few visitors it had been able to attract. This mystery was cleared up when, after having spent but a single day there, I realized that in Minnesota the Clean Air Act is a tourist attraction. It may not be the Beaubourg, but it’s all their own. I found this to be an interesting, subtle concept, and have suggested to state officials that they might further exploit its commercial possibilities by offering for sale plain blue postcards emblazoned with the legend: Downtown Minneapolis.”
Fran Lebowitz (Morristown, 27 oktober 1950)
De Poolse schrijver Kazimierz Brandys werd geboren op 27 oktober 1916 in Lodz. Zie ook alle tags voor Kazimierz Brandys op dit blog.
Uit: Rondo (Vertaald door Karol Lesman)
“Naar mijn overtuiging was mijn voornemen niet het plan van een waanzinnige, maar juist andersom: van iemand die normaler was dan de anderen. (-) Cezar noemde mij indertijd “de man met de gestoorde norm’. (-) Er zat een schroefje bij me los, en wel dat van een doodgewoon zintuig voor evenwicht, maar ik beschikte daarentegen over een zesde zintuig: dat van de persoonlijke vrijheid.”
Kazimierz Brandys (27 oktober 1916 – 11 maart 2000)
Zie voor onderstaande schrijver ook mijn blog van 27 oktober 2008.
De Iraanse schrijver en filmmaker Reza Allamehzadeh werd geboren op 27 oktober 1943 in Sari, Mazandaran.