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Cargando... Death in Her Hands: A Novel (2020 original; edición 2021)por Ottessa Moshfegh (Autor)
Información de la obraLa muerte en sus manos por Ottessa Moshfegh (2020)
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Inscríbete en LibraryThing para averiguar si este libro te gustará. Actualmente no hay Conversaciones sobre este libro. Moshfegh wrote this before writing and publishing [b:My Year of Rest and Relaxation|44279110|My Year of Rest and Relaxation|Ottessa Moshfegh|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1597676656l/44279110._SY75_.jpg|55508660] and then put it away, so it is not an advance from that novel but rather, as she has said, an earlier exercise undertaken to deal with her loneliness, from a time even before [b:Eileen|23453099|Eileen|Ottessa Moshfegh|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1479545528l/23453099._SX50_.jpg|43014905] had thrust her into the spotlight. Which makes it a bit of a curiosity now, while we still wait to see what she's going to write next. It opens like a thriller, but quickly becomes more typically Moshfeghian. Vesta Gul is dealing with loneliness after being widowed and moving to a remote cabin in the woods, and rather than contacting the police after picking up what appears to be evidence of a murder, prints out a character writing outline from the internet and imaginatively creates characters and scenarios with its help, rather as one imagines Moshfegh doing, so all rather meta. As per course with Moshfegh, there is a heaping of misanthropy and disgust with bodies, You could imagine the deaths of these dull heifers roaming the Save-Rite, these sad mothers with nothing to do but eat and fold laundry with tiny, stubby fingers sticking out of their huge bloated hands. Their lives must feel like such ineffectual blither blather. Did they even think things to themselves? Why did they look so idiotic, like domesticated animals, chewing their cud until the slaughter, half asleep?but mostly its following the course of a mind losing touch with reality. We also get backstory on the narrator's marriage and come to appreciate the effect her emotionally abusive husband had on her life, which, along with her affection for her dog Charlie, work to make her a more sympathetic character. As readers we pick up pretty quickly that Vesta's mind is going off into the woods itself, and by the final tense scene, a fine metaphor for allowing a dangerous predator into your life under the illusion that he's a loving companion, it's clear she's off her rocker entirely. It's a good conclusion to what is a meandering lesser Moshfegh. There is one passage near the end of the book I'd be curious to know what emotion Moshfegh wrote it with; beginning in her typical style and mood, it veers off into most untypical hopefulness, and sentimentality. Surely she wrote it ironically? As in, you'd have to be insane to look at the universe this way? Probably. I'd been so pretty once. And now I was ruined, an old lady with a mouth full of dirt. Enraged, I flipped myself over and looked up at the sky, catching my breath and then losing it again at the audacity of all those stars glittering above me, blinking and shimmering without shame. Wow. I don't even know what to say. This story was different than anything else I've ever read. Very original and creative, but also depressing, nightmarish, and at times poignant. Beautifully written and also hauntingly urgent. I was compelled to keep turning pages because I was as obsessed as the main character was with figuring out the mystery. I surely won't forget this character. sin reseñas | añadir una reseña
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Fiction.
Literature.
HTML:"[An] intricate and unsettling new novel . . . Death in Her Hands is not a murder mystery, nor is it really a story about self-deception or the perils of escapism. Rather, it's a haunting meditation on the nature and meaning of art." -Kevin Power, The New Yorker From one of our most ceaselessly provocative literary talents, a novel of haunting metaphysical suspense about an elderly widow whose life is upturned when she finds an ominous note on a walk in the woods. While on her daily walk with her dog in a secluded woods, a woman comes across a note, handwritten and carefully pinned to the ground by stones. "Her name was Magda. Nobody will ever know who killed her. It wasn't me. Here is her dead body." But there is no dead body. Our narrator is deeply shaken; she has no idea what to make of this. She is new to this area, alone after the death of her husband, and she knows no one. Becoming obsessed with solving this mystery, our narrator imagines who Magda was and how she met her fate. With very little to go on, she invents a list of murder suspects and possible motives for the crime. Oddly, her suppositions begin to find correspondences in the real world, and with mounting excitement and dread, the fog of mystery starts to fade into menacing certainty. As her investigation widens, strange dissonances accrue, perhaps associated with the darkness in her own past; we must face the prospect that there is either an innocent explanation for all this or a much more sinister one. A triumphant blend of horror, suspense, and pitch-black comedy, Death in Her Hands asks us to consider how the stories we tell ourselves both reflect the truth and keep us blind to it. Once again, we are in the hands of a narrator whose unreliability is well earned, and the stakes have never been higher. No se han encontrado descripciones de biblioteca. |
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