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I realize my distance vis-à-vis the blog. For fear of too dependent on him, and think only by him. And then, "go back a little and a lot" ... I read from time to time that I wrote a week ago, two, one month, two months. Ouch. It has been two months today that I left. And I do absolutely nothing, in fact, to tell me that. The start is now too far, it's just if I still remember some of these last days before leaving. Many things lived, and yet many things to live.
The first, that motivates me in recent days, these are my holidays in New York. Indeed, we are in mid-session, with all that that implies, and work to make initial assessments to shoot. Nothing really negative about the first two months of classes, but it is time to take a rest during the break. Rest, really? In New York? Funny idea! I jumps up to the idea of passing for the first time, and not the last, the U.S. border. I always think that old draft road trip across this vast country. Project that will probably never, but these days in New York ahead as a gift of consolation. Forward, therefore, but also anxiety. New York, not Montreal, let alone Paris! I look at the Lonely Planet map of the city, bought last week. That seems very small, and at the same time, it takes no less than one guide about the city! Starting Friday night in Montreal, announced overnight in the bus: in passing, crossing the border ... And we'll finally!
New York still presupposed that I work a little bit. I take some books with me, in the futile hope of reading a book and unnecessary in a cafe in Manhattan. I think less and less, but my conscience will be soothed. So I took a small lead. Finished the report on Herve Guibert. Completed, the 8-page essay on the party in Quebec tales of the nineteenth century (Day, what a nice topic for me). Forgotten, the works of St Jacques, Annette Hayward, and so on. Everything is stuck, ready to be reused, we hope.
I spend a little more to my dissertation topic. On 29 November, I present my seminar students to master my project. To clarify that these are all creative writing, and I clash a bit: French student in literary research. Despite while, I seek to assert myself, to enter the debates that animate, on matters of creation, literary experience. And although this is not my primary goal, let alone a course recognized by Lyon II (which will validate all that much anyway), discussions between students from different backgrounds, and the teacher, a writer of 76 years (or 78? memory that falters ...)-r rustically roulésme to enjoy. Anyway, I will prove in a month to these young authors from Quebec as Laure Conan is an exciting writer, what they often doubt. As for Anne Hébert, I try to tame her work as a whole. Currently, The First Garden is that captures my attention. And for the fourth time, I say, opening the book and reading the first three pages, that this woman is great. I find in it a hundred projects never realized that I have in writing. I'm here in this chair of Starbuck's throw from my house, and is fast becoming my favorite workplace, to marvel and to let me go to the dreams caused by reading the First Garden . ..
My other reading, or shall we say, rereading the moment is Jovette Bernier with Flesh Disappointing. I discovered this novel it About a month ago, thanks to Chantal S. who advised me. Since then, I am seriously considering doing work on this piece. Interest all the stronger since my visit in two large libraries of Quebec to buy my own copy of Flesh Disappointing. Twice I was told that the book is not published, and since 1982. Hallucinating. An important novel in Quebec literature feminism, forerunner of many dot, not reprinted since 1982? Chantal S. confirms my fears: Jovette Bernier is not a fashionable writer. And although it is cited in numerous articles as a reference compulsory, nobody ever took the time to write a thesis or a book critical of the work. Hence the growing disinterest, which leads, almost 30 years ago, an ultimate edition. I can not understand. This book is now available in library. And since it is no longer published, it is his fate to be forgotten in fifty, a hundred years, stored on a dusty shelf accessed by nostalgic like me? I feel a little proud, I conceive, to be one of the last to know this novel, and carry his message. "Because no, Jovette Bernier should continue to be read, is that it changes the game for Quebec writers, one who gives voice to a mother at last! "such thoughts are a bit rebellious within Me. And my question: What fate for forgotten novels like Flesh Disappointing, then, I look around, a copy of the work, which will become my copy; to fight at a smaller scale, against forgetting Jovette Bernier. ..
Back to lighter things. Today, after a course, a session of 25 minutes of intense swimming pool, sauna (yes, after dancing or swimming, a little heat, it makes good!), I attempt an incursion at the Observatoire de la Capitale. It's a nice day and we ventured more or less to leave the coat and scarf. I roll up my sleeves and went to throw from my house, near the Marie-Guyart. 31 floors later, here I am atop the tallest building in Quebec. At the summit, entry fee: $ 4 CA. Turn 360 °, and views of the city, which finally seems tiny. I enjoy the sight of Concorde, tiny and ridiculous. Behind the Plains of Abraham, and the trees that still retained their fall finery. Towards the setting sun, the university, we can hardly see. The street grid and off, the Laurentians and Mont Sainte Anne. Levis, the island of Orleans, the Old City, the castle. At the foot of the building, Parliament, and internally, I remember that I must visit it ... Overview stake, despite the dirty windows to be affected both by the children.
Oh, little thing: Place d'Youville ... they put the glaaaace! It is an arena that held much of the winter. With Eleanor, so we decide to go buy shoes at Emmaus. After finding shoes ... to our feet, we headed to the famous square. Everyone aerobatics and shows a velocity point. Everyone, and then there's me. Me, I try to keep balance, to move forward without falling, but everything is very unstable. Do not worry, in two months, with a little practice ... I am a true Quebecois!
I realize my distance vis-à-vis the blog. For fear of too dependent on him, and think only by him. And then, "go back a little and a lot" ... I read from time to time that I wrote a week ago, two, one month, two months. Ouch. It has been two months today that I left. And I do absolutely nothing, in fact, to tell me that. The start is now too far, it's just if I still remember some of these last days before leaving. Many things lived, and yet many things to live. The first, that motivates me in recent days, these are my holidays in New York. Indeed, we are in mid-session, with all that that implies, and work to make initial assessments to shoot. Nothing really negative about the first two months of classes, but it is time to take a rest during the break. Rest, really? In New York? Funny idea! I jumps up to the idea of passing for the first time, and not the last, the U.S. border. I always think that old draft road trip across this vast country. Project that will probably never, but these days in New York ahead as a gift of consolation. Forward, therefore, but also anxiety. New York, not Montreal, let alone Paris! I look at the Lonely Planet map of the city, bought last week. That seems very small, and at the same time, it takes no less than one guide about the city! Starting Friday night in Montreal, announced overnight in the bus: in passing, crossing the border ... And we'll finally!
New York still presupposed that I work a little bit. I take some books with me, in the futile hope of reading a book and unnecessary in a cafe in Manhattan. I think less and less, but my conscience will be soothed. So I took a small lead. Finished the report on Herve Guibert. Completed, the 8-page essay on the party in Quebec tales of the nineteenth century (Day, what a nice topic for me). Forgotten, the works of St Jacques, Annette Hayward, and so on. Everything is stuck, ready to be reused, we hope.
I spend a little more to my dissertation topic. On 29 November, I present my seminar students to master my project. To clarify that these are all creative writing, and I clash a bit: French student in literary research. Despite while, I seek to assert myself, to enter the debates that animate, on matters of creation, literary experience. And although this is not my primary goal, let alone a course recognized by Lyon II (which will validate all that much anyway), discussions between students from different backgrounds, and the teacher, a writer of 76 years (or 78? memory that falters ...)-r rustically roulésme to enjoy. Anyway, I will prove in a month to these young authors from Quebec as Laure Conan is an exciting writer, what they often doubt. As for Anne Hébert, I try to tame her work as a whole. Currently, The First Garden is that captures my attention. And for the fourth time, I say, opening the book and reading the first three pages, that this woman is great. I find in it a hundred projects never realized that I have in writing. I'm here in this chair of Starbuck's throw from my house, and is fast becoming my favorite workplace, to marvel and to let me go to the dreams caused by reading the First Garden . ..
My other reading, or shall we say, rereading the moment is Jovette Bernier with Flesh Disappointing. I discovered this novel it About a month ago, thanks to Chantal S. who advised me. Since then, I am seriously considering doing work on this piece. Interest all the stronger since my visit in two large libraries of Quebec to buy my own copy of Flesh Disappointing. Twice I was told that the book is not published, and since 1982. Hallucinating. An important novel in Quebec literature feminism, forerunner of many dot, not reprinted since 1982? Chantal S. confirms my fears: Jovette Bernier is not a fashionable writer. And although it is cited in numerous articles as a reference compulsory, nobody ever took the time to write a thesis or a book critical of the work. Hence the growing disinterest, which leads, almost 30 years ago, an ultimate edition. I can not understand. This book is now available in library. And since it is no longer published, it is his fate to be forgotten in fifty, a hundred years, stored on a dusty shelf accessed by nostalgic like me? I feel a little proud, I conceive, to be one of the last to know this novel, and carry his message. "Because no, Jovette Bernier should continue to be read, is that it changes the game for Quebec writers, one who gives voice to a mother at last! "such thoughts are a bit rebellious within Me. And my question: What fate for forgotten novels like Flesh Disappointing, then, I look around, a copy of the work, which will become my copy; to fight at a smaller scale, against forgetting Jovette Bernier. ..
Back to lighter things. Today, after a course, a session of 25 minutes of intense swimming pool, sauna (yes, after dancing or swimming, a little heat, it makes good!), I attempt an incursion at the Observatoire de la Capitale. It's a nice day and we ventured more or less to leave the coat and scarf. I roll up my sleeves and went to throw from my house, near the Marie-Guyart. 31 floors later, here I am atop the tallest building in Quebec. At the summit, entry fee: $ 4 CA. Turn 360 °, and views of the city, which finally seems tiny. I enjoy the sight of Concorde, tiny and ridiculous. Behind the Plains of Abraham, and the trees that still retained their fall finery. Towards the setting sun, the university, we can hardly see. The street grid and off, the Laurentians and Mont Sainte Anne. Levis, the island of Orleans, the Old City, the castle. At the foot of the building, Parliament, and internally, I remember that I must visit it ... Overview stake, despite the dirty windows to be affected both by the children.
Oh, little thing: Place d'Youville ... they put the glaaaace! It is an arena that held much of the winter. With Eleanor, so we decide to go buy shoes at Emmaus. After finding shoes ... to our feet, we headed to the famous square. Everyone aerobatics and shows a velocity point. Everyone, and then there's me. Me, I try to keep balance, to move forward without falling, but everything is very unstable. Do not worry, in two months, with a little practice ... I am a true Quebecois!
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