Brent Corrigan Free Films

L'aggancio di Nadine Gordimer

Two worlds come together, two different ways of seeing life and reality, two lives to research, an unhappy woman, Julie, who has left a family of good society in which they feel uncomfortable and she feels she can no longer belongs, a man, Arab, an illegal immigrant with a degree in economics who calls himself Abdul, whose real name is Jbrahim ibn Musa.

Nadine Gordimer explores the plight of people forced to immigrate, " In my experience, and I think also that of many other writers, what is taken for inspiration is a slow process of observation, imagination, filling the gaps what is observed in life with your imagination. " 's so that he does live in his novel Julie and Abdu "Hook" ed. Feltrinelli.

Abdu was born in a Muslim country, where it dominates the desert, very poor. He works in black, under an assumed name, in a machine shop. It is not the first time he tries to cross the borders of a state, has already been rejected by more than one European country.

The stated intent of Gordimer, in this novel, is to subtract the protagonist of invisibility: to tell his story, in fact, means giving him a face, a name, an identity. "We must ask ourselves who is an illegal immigrant, - says the writer in an 'interview - one that does not have permission to stay in a country. It' s a person with no future, because it has no identity to claim. Become a presence illegal, unlawful. And 'here, but at the same time is not here. He lives on a threshold. It 's a "non person". Giving the body, voice, name, even in fiction, it means not to accept the existence of "non-persons", and this certainly is a political act. Or at least I hope it is. "

Abdu knows the look of the preconception that weighs on him: " are a drug dealer, he says, one that makes the white slave trade, which is to kidnap the girls, I will be a burden to the state, steal someone's work, I will accept less pay for a local. " " If you met Abdu sitting on a plane next to us, it probably would look askance " this Gordimer's comment to the person who invented it. "It 's an Arab, a Muslim, maybe a terrorist. We would not have the time, some perhaps not even the desire to know who he really is."

says Julia Kristeva in "a stranger to oneself" " root in himself, the stranger did not own. Just a safe empty, worthless. I do what you want from me, but that is not "me" - "me" is elsewhere, "me" does not belong to anybody, "me" does not belong to "me ",... "Me" exists? "

Julie is immediately attracted to this man, he to her, and soon become lovers.

Julie belongs to a world, Abdu to another. Talk, touch, become central in the life of each other, yet remain each other intangibles, in some unknown way.

You will discover when you decide to return with him to his country. He really sees only then when returning an identity in itself can be seen that of Julie, which has since become his wife. Even Julie, you might say, Abdu discover for the first time, when, arrived at his birthplace, takes safety actions, a complete mastery of himself, and when no longer perceived as the host non desiderato. Ora è lei a essere completamente spiazzata dalla nuova realtà, a essere guardata con diffidenza, giudicata. È lei adesso quella che deve capire modi di vita, usanze e tradizioni talora inconcepibili per una donna occidentale.

Abdu non riesce a fidarsi pienamente della donna che pur ama: teme che un giorno lo lascerà, per tornare ai suoi privilegi. “Julie fa parte dei padroni del mondo, di quelli che possono comprare un biglietto, mostrare un passaporto e farsi riaccogliere in qualsiasi momento nel proprio mondo. "

Julie, paradossalmente, pur sentendosi estranea, ritroverà giorno dopo giorno qualcosa di sé che non conosceva proprio because they come into contact with what in her whole life she had missed: the world of women. He will find himself to conduct a large part of daily life with them, share with their domestic spaces and family care. In the family of it all revolves around the mother, just the figure that she is no more: she will establish the successful integration of Julie, when will allow you to be near her in the kitchen and teach you how to prepare his wise recipes. Explore, in short, something of himself that had been buried.

But even now that Julie seems to fit into that world so far from his fear that one day Jbrahim leave, to return to their privileges. Sooner or later it will happen, and therefore better not count on that love. Better to raise the dice and try once again a chance for redemption, of escape from a place that now he can not longer suffice. The story will not have a defined end, but "What matters - Nadine Gordimer concluded - is that the trajectories of their lives were, unexpectedly, encountered, and both have decided to get involved in the world, accepting the displacement given by gaze. "

In this book, then, two strangers meet, they love and at the same time will never be able to join at all. And we'll find out Kristeva says that " Strangely, the foreigner lives within us: the hidden face of our identity, the space that wrecks our abode, the time sink of the understanding and sympathy. Recognizing it in us to save us dislike him. Symptom that just makes the "we" problematic, perhaps impossible, the foreigner begins when there is the consciousness of my difference and ends when we recognize all foreign rebel ties and communities. "

Each of the characters in the book starts, they go to an "other" place, but also take leave of themselves, than they were before, will never be the same, inhabit an alien who is in them. In another book "No one at my side," the Gordimer asks

"... who is part of the same coming back? Some changes in the mutual understanding can be achieved only when one is alone, far from what is contained in the form outlined in another. And these changes can not be shared, it was always alone with them. The pictures are postcards sent from countries that only exist in the personality of the subject, and nothing will ever visit. "

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Tu mio di Erri De Luca

There are stories that have no words to be told, remain buried like seeds that can not bear fruit, but only pain. They remain locked inside the mind of someone who lived like that become bottlenecks for memory maze where you could always get lost. Better not go into. In order not to disturb others, not to break with his "Inconvenient Truth in the world of chasing the carelessness and perhaps would not be able to understand. Better to remain silent to avoid being overwhelmed.

" Caia saved us. - Says the star of the fine book by De Luca: You, my - has endured things that no account balance, did not want to tell us that we are the boys on holiday an island in the summer and we do not know anything about Jews, Germans. We were too small. Even she was, but she took away everything. All of us, not just me, even adults were small for her. He learned that is not to say anything. "

But it is also true that some stories do not come out because there are spaces where the play is at home, where he is ready to accept and understand the truth that, in their severity and reality, could change the way we see life, they could ask questions which reveals how the "evil" man is always with us and within us:

" I'd rather not say anything .

Daniel says the younger cousin. ... damn that girl, too hard for me to become accustomed to this beautiful island with fishing boats, the guitar, the holidays. And all of a sudden in a place blessed and scarred for life asleep tick the one that looks like us. " But his cousin, a boy of sixteen years, however, wants to know: and the answers "Yes, Daniel, it seems like we can succeed and even tell his life" and asks a question "Really, Daniel , really even better than we were last in knowing who we had the opportunity to meet? We know a fish in the sea, the stars in the sky and we have to ignore people on earth? ".

And the question, through the voice of this guy poses De Luca, it's really a reflection of what most of the time and we are, unfortunately, many intellectuals who know, know so many things that are dying to know, but when it comes to listening to stories that might disturb in the true sense of the word, or worse, turn their backs so that they drop silence.

not that the guy who tells the story of "You, me, who wants to know the war just ended, which asks questions and leaves no respite for the adults who have lived but who want to leave it behind:

"I was the only person interested in those stories. After the war had hardened on the living silence, a callus on the skin of the war dead. They wanted to live in a new world. " Turn the page, so carefree living, forget about a past too uncomfortable. Stay away from those memories, here is the most common commitment of the people.

Nicholas, the fisherman who goes to sea is the only one to talk to him. Go with him on a boat and teaches him the art of fishing and the secrets of the sea, but with simple words and reveals the true horrors of that period and especially of those women who had asked him and his friends help:

"They were drunk, they asked us to save the children, we put them in their arms to us Italian soldiers che eravamo i nemici e noi non potevamo fare niente."

Ed era ebrea anche Caia che, approdata nell'isola dove si svolge la storia del libro, si unisce ai ragazzi spensierati della sue età confondendosi fra di loro e conquistando il cuore di quel ragazzo che sta crescendo, più piccolo di lei, ma che possiede già una sensibilità speciale che lo rende "più vecchio".

Il libro narra l’estate di un’adolescente nel dopoguerra che si sente “ su un precipizio di sentimenti” , il suo incontro con Gaia e con il suo segreto, ma anche con il mare e la pesca, con Nicola, col cugino e lo zio. Di un ragazzo che diventerà in one summer, "man."

A boy taken by the splendor of the island in the middle of summer, the sea that runs through several times with Nicola or to fish with his uncle, always attentive ears and the heart that reality has become the past, but still in existence of many men and women it is so curious.

But ask him why are you so interested in stories of the war?

" - Why is your story, we learn from the only voice and not from books . - A vrei wanted to add that it was the only one I could bring to account, because there were still witnesses, victims and escaped executioners in full health. (…) E io dovevo chiedere e chiedere a chi non voleva più rispondere e intanto la storia spazzava via la polvere insieme alla cenere dei bruciati e crescevano le foreste sulle fosse comuni e tutta la vita spingeva innanzi e nascondeva dietro. E io m'impuntavo come un asino senza ragione perché gli asini si ribellano all'eccesso di carico e io invece non ne avevo”.

Taceva solo di fronte a quella frase pronunciata da Nicola: "noi non potevamo fare niente."

Niente. Quella parola risuonava nel cuore del ragazzo in tutta la sua crudezza: " tu solo Nicola, riuscivi a dire questa parola scavandola dentro all'impotenza, al terrore: niente, ci sono dei niente che non si staccano more ".

That fatalism with which many men simply accept life as it appeared:

" There was war, as is the southwest wind, drought, the season pass without tuna. There was: a single word was holding all the evil and the good that happens to men .

a nothing and a fatalism, however, he fails to accept and perhaps we should not. No, we should never say We can not do anything.

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Pangiallo: delicious cake with cornmeal, bread machine recipe for

Let's face it: Although the holidays have gone from a few days, a bit 'of a Christmas continues to be told on him, especially on the hips! It will be a kind of nostalgia, but we'd still want to "cake", not the usual ... but typical of the parties in our small town high Sannio. Since this time Rita had to come to terms with a sweet, the scoundrel, ha preferito evitare il confronto con il suo acerrimo nemico: il forno brucia e "ammoscia" torte. Ed eccola preferire la ben più amichevole macchina del pane! Risultato veramente soddisfacente!

Ingredienti :
150gr di farina 00
75gr di farina di mais macinata fine
150gr di zucchero
3 uova
100gr di burro
mezza bustina di lievito per dolci
1 bustina di vanillina
mezzo bicchierino di liquore amaretto
60gr di gocce di cioccolato fondente
un pizzico di sale

Preparazione :
Sbattere le uova con lo zucchero e il sale e versare il composto spumoso all'interno del cestello della macchina del pane. Aggiugere nell'ordine: il softened butter, liquor, the two flours, vanilla and finally the yeast. Start the program of the bread machine for the preparation of sweets made with baking powder. When the machine has finished mixing, open the door and add the chocolate. Cooking time: 1 hour and 50.

* Adapted for the bread machine recipe "Lupacchioli panettone, a sweet typical Molise.

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New Year and thoughts

Here I am again here. I just write one word to clear the anxiety of the blank page. Another year of my life has just passed. I'm beginning to feel the inserobile time, I'm going to take 27 years, my son 10, my "weird" Report 3 and the same I used to get a piece of paper that give me back my freedom. In recent weeks I have deliberately avoided as much as I could, to reflect on or answer the classic questions di fine anno: "Allora...com'è stato questo 2009?" Oppure "Quali sono stati i momenti più belli/brutti?". Cazzo! Odio queste domande! A che servono? I momenti belli sono oramai passati e i brutti pure, rifletterci sopra non modificherà rendendo migliore il successivo anno. Suvvia! Pensa al tuo anno passato a tutto ciò che hai vissuto e poi mettilo in soffitta. Ciò nonostante ho fatto uno sforzo e da brava bambina ho tirato le mie somme, per arrivare alla conclusione che è semplicemente passato un altro anno. Ho festeggiato come si conviene, mangiando e bevendo come se non ci fosse un domani, prendendo come punizione qualche chilo, cosa che pensando ai miei sforzi passati per perdere peso mi ha fatto incazzare non poco. Ho augurato Tradition has it as a good year ... happy, fulfilling, wonderful, wonderful, full of surprises, joyful, intense ... bla bla bla. I blew up under the classic barrel rests, kissed my man and my son at the stroke of midnight, a toast with sparkling wine of dubious quality and then sink back into my cynical world. Why should you wait until the last week of December every damn year to reflect on the past and make resolutions for the new year to come? How many good intentions will eventually be forgotten, the promises and new ideas for good deeds will be removed even before the snow melts. Each year we commit the same error: goodness focus, initiative and desire to live the better in a few days and then forget everything. This time I did not make promises or find new ideas. This year comes and goes as the case may be. I give thanks for every gift, sorry for any mistake and will make it for errors. Just like every year. You can not make promises for a year only for a little reflection soon as you hear air Christmas & C. With only good intentions are not going anywhere ...
said that, putting aside my cynicism and bitter sense of life, I say: Welcome to 2010, let's see what'll make it good for myself and those around me this year!