As I continue to not write, I search for others' words to put in my mouth. Here are some flavory ones from At the Existentialist Cafe: Freedom, Being & Apricot Cocktails: That is why, among all the existentialist works, the one I am least likely to tire of is Beauvoir’s autobiography, with its portrait of human complexity and of the world’s ever-changing substance. It gives us all the fury and vivacity of the existentialist cafes, together with ‘a sulphur sky over a sea of clouds, the purple holly, the white nights of Leningrad, the bells of the Liberation, an orange moon over Piraeus, a red sun rising over the desert’ — and all the rest of the exquisite, phosphorescent bloom of life, which reveals itself to human beings for as long as we are lucky enough to be able to experience it.
Did I read de Beauvoir's autobiography when I was in school? I certainly read a lot about her, and some things by her, but did I read this book? Oh, for time to read, just read...
ReplyDeleteOoh. These are such fine words strung together!
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