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Sleepless Nights Free download ¾ 104 Í In Sleepless Nights a woman looks back on her life—the parade of people the shifting background of place—and assembles a scrapbook of memories reflections portraits letters wishes and dreams An inspired fusion of fact and invention this beautifully realized hard bitten lyrical book is not only ElizabetIn Sleepless Nights a woman looks back on her life the parade of people the shifting background of place and assembles a scrapbook of memor. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delightThe manifold soft chimesThat fill the haunted chambers of the NightLike some old poet’s rhymes Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Hymn to the Night A book written in the form of life So concluded Geoffrey O'Brien in the brilliant introduction to this distinguishing literary feat To narrow down that observation a bit I’ll say that this is a book written in the form of ‘Sleepless Nights’ You know the kind of nights that opens up the reluctantly closed doors of mind and heart and let everyone and everything enter without any bias The things we once loved the people we still hate and regrets we are no longer regrettable about comes rushing through those nights and mischievously replace the idea of a peaceful sleep And when that happens there’s a kind of rebellion on part of words to let themselves wander in any direction they feel like as if they are not going to be judged by the inuisitive stares of daytime verbs or adjectives Tell me is it true that a bad artist suffers as greatly as a good oneWhat can one say to that or numerous other thoughts like that one A breakdown of that deceptively simple uestion gives us intense words like artist suffering good bad and truth And that’s what I kept doing while reading this mighty little novel Here a woman has decided to live her life through the strength and weakness of her labyrinthine memory and what follows is capable of leaving a reader awed at the soft swirls of beautiful prose and baffled by the honesty of a daring voice Hardwick writes from the middle ground that emerges between indifference and compassion and gives voice to the unheeded reflections around us Reflections which are personal poetic critical and to some extent incomprehensible Well it’s a life And some always hung about as there is always someone in the evening leaning against the monument in the park To understand the Sleeplessness of these Nights in its entirety would mean to understand Elizabeth which is uite impossible so one can take comfort in the fact that she has given us something which can be savored on a daily basis Whenever you’ll open a random page at any random moment there will be a wondrous sentence or two to send you on an unusual sojourn of a fragmented past or an invisible present So I admit that I’m not finished reading it yet because like life this book also goes on

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Ies reflections portraits letters wishes and dreams An inspired fusion of fact and invention this beautifully realized hard bitten lyrical. This is the sort of book that I would like to write one day While I do enjoy works of great length this is due to my own mulling processes than any real dislike of shorter pieces I prefer to read ponder read ponder some allowing subconscious faculties to leisurely sample the intake over the course of days; when the book has finally ended and the review awaits much of the thoughts are there to meet them What I remember of the days before I use; what I don't was fit to be filtered out It makes for a far denser result His curiosity flamed over a word an adjective over the seductiveness of the fact that I was taking down a volume of Thomas Mann from the library shelves Eros has a thousand friends I previously compared this work to Rhys Colette Frame for svelte and shining style that captures the soul in a few short shrifts but the middle stands out for her casual relations with time Others flit and weave and encircle like she does but the barest trace of narrative remains unlike Hardwick's enrapturement with persona and place and prose that forgoes any trace of linear plot beyond what vignettes fail to belie It is as dense as Women and Men in a far contemplative sense of the word it is as succinct as the success of succulence its thin handbook cover is as treacherous as a spiderweb that common nuisance of deadly efficiency which pound for pound is stronger than steel If all shorter works were of this style a grasping at the complexity of crystalline growth set in the snow globe of memory every shake eliciting the sort of multifarious perfection found only in the biology of closed systems I'd have no use for the likes of War and Peace Many are flung down carelessly at birth and they experience the diminishment and sometimes the pleasant truculence of their random misplacement Americans who are Germans Germans who are Frenchmen like Heine perhaps There's an upper class bookish feel to it all but of the transitional kind as the variety of women encompassed by a matching variation of lengths can attest to The poor are strong in dirt and drugs and grit without a trace of sentiment the rich are parodied in their panderings and pride the in between delve into sex and politics in however a manner is their custom Men appear but as accessory to the fact and whatever fascination they provoke is often a desire for transience exhilarated and on edge While male authors litter the references in a pleasing shape and heterosexuality's a definite thing female solidarity runs the roost Some men define themselves by women although they appear to believe it is uite the opposite; to believe that it is she rather than themselves who is being filed away tagged named at last like a uivering cell under a microscope Very New England very Europe the essence of the efforts of The Goldfinch and a smack of postmodernism to boot judging by the indictments below The dregs of dreams' remains spun into existence incarnate with all its spans and gaps Time—that is something else With the hesitant intellectual years fly by like the day; life is shortened by the yellowing incompletes The book—a plaguing growth that does not itself grow but attaches hangs on a tumorous companion made up of the deranged cells of learning experience thinking

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Sleepless NightsBook is not only Elizabeth Hardwick's finest fiction but one of the outstanding contributions to American literature of the last fifty year. a review of sorts for this memoir of sorts• i often look at my past with enormous longing and a slight touch of pride but it's seldom that I read something which engulfs me into such a wondrous melancholia that I find myself being evoked with every word my eyes embrace i could only paint for you a picturesue view of what my inner feelings must have looked like while reading this magnificently written stream of consciousness it would be like listening to jazz on those cold sleepless nights with the warmth and sweet bitterness of my collected mosaic of memories painting themselves before my eyes • i always used to give my past it's due and undue credits of my present everything I am I am a transformation of my past whilst it's essence is true yet it is a bit flawed at the same time how many things i endured only for them to leave without a slight trace without a single indention on my self one might argue this on an existentialist level yet i have now realised the innumerable little moments and things that make my present but fail to find their place in my past of all the myriad of moments lived how insignificant amount add up in this seemingly wide sphere of life but even to regard this exercise of collecting moments utterly baseless would be untrue for it's our innate humanness that doesn't know when to hold tightly and when to let go• there are people who look for plots and storylines in books like these but find themselves repulsed when they find such deep hollowness staring intently in their naked eyes categorising sleepless nights into one form would be grave error it is an amorphous fragmented chronicle of time it is a collection of memories seemingly significant yet their remembrance as unavailing as the ones lost in time