Monday, October 10, 2011

Dog-Eared pages from Lorrie Moore's "Birds of America"

Birds of America is the celebrated collection of twelve stories from Lorrie Moore, one of the finest authors at work today.

"Willing" 
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 "Walter leaned her against his parked car. His mouth was slightly lopsided, paisley-shaped, his lips anneloid & full, and he kissed her hard. There was something numb and on hold in her. There were small dark pits of annihilation she discovered in her heart, in the loosening fist of it, and she threw herself into them, falling. She went home with him, slept with him. She told him who she was."

"Which Is More Than I Could Say About Some People" 
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"Staring out through the windshield, off into the horizon, Abby began to think that all the beauty and ugliness and turbulence one found scattered through nature, one could also find in people themselves, all collected there, all together in a single place. No matter what terror or loveliness the earth could produce-- winds, seas- a person could produce the same, lived with the same, lived with all that mixed-up nature swirling inside, every bit. There was nothing as complex in the world -- no flower or stone -- as a single hello from a human being." 

"Dance in America"
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"I tell them dance begins when a moment of hurt combines with a moment of boredom. I tell them it's the body's reaching, bringing air to itself. I tell them that it's the hearts triumph, the victory speech of the feet, the refinement of animal lunge and flight, the purest metaphor of tribe and self. It's life flipping death the bird."

October 10, 2011 

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