Posts tagged book
Malick Sidibé, Chemises
This book had a special mention at the Paris Photo book prize. I think it’s quite impressive. I like the fact that they kept the spirit of the old files, with the old-fashioned hand writing.
And Sidibé’s work is great : warm, happy, sensitive.
From: Architecture and Urbanism (feb. 1988). Extra Edition: Peter Zumthor.
“He had never looked forward to the wisdom and other vaunted benefits of old age. Would he be able to die young—and if possible free of all pain? A graceful death—as a richly patterned kimono, thrown carelessly across a polished table, slides unobtrusively down into the darkness of the floor beneath. A death marked by elegance.”
― Yukio Mishima, Spring Snow
On my too read list
Nine years after watching his mother’s hanging, Shin In Geun squirmed through the electric fence that surrounds Camp 14 and ran off through the snow into the North Korean wilderness. It was January 2, 2005. Before then, no one born in a North Korean political prison camp had ever escaped. As far as can be determined, Shin is still the only one to do it.
He was 23 years old and knew no one outside the fence.
Within a month, he had walked into China. Within two years, he was living in South Korea. Four years later, he was living in Southern California.
Stunted by malnutrition, he is short and slight — five feet six inches, about 120 pounds. His arms are bowed from childhood labor. His lower back and buttocks are scarred with burns from the torturer’s fire. The skin over his pubis bears a puncture scar from the hook used to hold him in place over the fire. His ankles are scarred by shackles, from which he was hung upside down in solitary confinement. His right middle finger is cut off at the first knuckle, a guard’s punishment for dropping a sewing machine in a camp garment factory. His shins, from ankle to knee on both legs, are mutilated and scarred by burns from the electrified barbed-wire fence that failed to keep him inside Camp 14.
Shin is roughly the same age as Kim Jong Un, the chubby third son of Kim Jong Il who took over as leader after his father’s death in 2011.
Shin was born a slave and raised behind a high-voltage barbed-wire fence. His mother beat him, and he viewed her as a competitor for food. His father, who was allowed by guards to sleep with his mother just five nights a year, ignored him. His older brother was a stranger. Children in the camp were untrustworthy and abusive. Before he learned anything else, Shin learned to survive by snitching on all of them.
Love and mercy and family were words without meaning.
Read more. [Image: AP]
A chilling account of the only person born into a North Korean prison camp and escape. It’ll leave you speechless.
The I Ching is unquestionably one of the most important books in the world’s literature. Its origin goes back to mythical antiquity, and it has occupied the attention of the most eminent scholars of China down to the present day.
Francis Picabia, Poèmes et dessins de la fille née sans mère: 18 dessins, 51 poèmes
I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul - Invictus by William Ernest Henley
Mountain scenery of the books from Guy Laramee
It’s my favorite books. Autor Henry V. Morton. He is a perfect autor.. An I like read him books :)
Представляю Вам одну из своих любимых коллекций книг. ЕЕ автор Генри Мортон. Он описывает в своих книгах культуру различных стран середины 20 века. Потрясающие книги и привлекают они именно тем, что написанны не просто историческим текстом и не выглядят, как очередной учебник по историй узкой специализаций.. Наоборот, читая эти книги, Вы словно видите глазами автора, видите не только природу описываемой странны, но и эмоций человека при виде местности.. Нередко встречаются довольно забавные моменты, а иногда и жуткие, которые лучше бы автор не включал в книгу, хотя без этого она была бы и не полной… Если Вы в поисках очередного произведения для чтения, то советую Вам именно этого автора, но готовьтесь проявить терпение, т.к. читать тексты Г. Мортона очень не просто..
The Details team met me at a trendy, white-vinyl-upholstered East Village bar they’d leased out for the day. Except for the lighting guy, a droll ponytailed German who looked to be about my age, they were all disconcertingly young, mid-twenties at most. I got the feeling they were assistants and interns getting their shot at a shoot of their own. I’d been carefully growing out my hair, hoping to counteract the staidness of my hardcover photo, in which I’d hoped to look unpretentious but just looked angry and square. But comparing my actual face to the one on that same picture from the press kit, the hair stylist shook her head and set about re-trimming my hair. They then dressed me, for no reason I could fathom, in 80’s garb—a dark suit jacket and a striped polo shirt with the collar flipped.
Alex Shakar reflects back on selling his first novel in 2001: an exciting year of personal hype and loss.
This post is part of our “Best of 2011” series, which highlights exceptional original pieces that have been published on The Millions this year.