- Audio CD
- Verlag: Penguin Audio; Auflage: Unabridged (11. September 2012)
- Sprache: Englisch
- ISBN-10: 1611761107
- ISBN-13: 978-1611761108
- Größe und/oder Gewicht: 13,2 x 2 x 14,6 cm
- Durchschnittliche Kundenbewertung: 4 Kundenrezensionen
- Amazon Bestseller-Rang: Nr. 852.059 in Fremdsprachige Bücher (Siehe Top 100 in Fremdsprachige Bücher)
This Is How You Lose Her (Englisch) Audio-CD – Audiobook, Ungekürzte Ausgabe
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Praise for Junot Díaz
"One of contemporary fiction's most distinctive and irresistible voices." –Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times
“Talent this big will always make noise.” –Newsweek
“Graceful and raw and painful and smart... The pages turn and all of a sudden you’re done and you want more.” –The Boston Globe
“Like Raymond Carver, Díaz transfigures disorder and disorientation with a rigorous sense of form... [He] wrings the heart with finely calibrated restraint.” –The New York Times Book Review
Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende
Junot Díaz was born in the Dominican Republic and raised in New Jersey. He is the author of the critically acclaimed Drown; The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which won the 2008 Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Award; and This Is How You Lose Her, a New York Times bestseller and National Book Award finalist. He is the recipient of a MacArthur “Genius” Fellowship, PEN/Malamud Award, Dayton Literary Peace Prize, Guggenheim Fellowship, and PEN/O. Henry Award. A graduate of Rutgers College, Díaz is currently the fiction editor at Boston Review and the Rudge and Nancy Allen Professor of Writing at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. -- Dieser Text bezieht sich auf eine andere Ausgabe: Gebundene Ausgabe.Alle Produktbeschreibungen
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In diesem Buch(Mehr dazu)
Nach einer anderen Ausgabe dieses Buches suchen.
Ganz offensichtlich hat das Buch deutliche autobiographische Züge. Das mag man angesichts Yuniors sexueller Durchschlagskraft als angeberisch empfinden, doch zeigt vor allem die letzte Geschichte, dass auch er realisiert hat, dass einen auch noch so viele One-to-three-night-stands auf die Dauer doch nicht glücklich machen, und dass es Fehler gibt, die man nicht mehr gut machen kann. Das ist dann auch die Episode, die mich am meisten beeindruckt hat. Bei einem derartig langem Entstehungszeitraum überrascht es ohnehin nicht, dass nicht alle Geschichten gleich überzeugend sind, und "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" steht für mich sowieso über allem.
Noch ein letzter Punkt zur Sprache: Auch "This Is How You Lose Her" ist im US-dominikanischen Idiom geschrieben und deshalb von zahlreichen spanischen Wörtern durchsetzt. Diese ergeben sich aber meist aus dem Kontext und lassen sich schlimmstenfalls ergoogeln, so dass es längst nicht so kompliziert zu lesen ist wie "...Oscar Wao".
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It's always an encouraging sign when someone you admire begins something by quoting someone else you very much admire. In this case, the book's epigraph is from the Sandra Cisneros poem, "One Last Poem for Richard." But even better, This Is How You Lose Her opens with one of my favorite short stories, "The Sun, The Moon, The Stars," which was originally published in The New Yorker in 1999. It was written well before readers got to know Yunior in Oscar Wao, but in the story we can already see the effects of his lying and cheating as he tries in vain to earn back his girlfriend's trust.
I had already read a few of the stories in this collection, but reading them all at once and seeing how they fit together was a wholly different experience. One of the most striking things about it was getting to see the way that Yunior's views and his interactions with women were shaped by (and, at times, in response to) his older brother's womanizing ways. In Drown, we got to see a little bit of what Yunior was exposed to as a child; he bore witness to his father's philandering. With his father largely out of the picture in This Is How You Lose Her, it is now Rafa who sets the example for Yunior. While Yunior will never become the abusive person his brother is -- he's often shocked by the cruel ways Rafa treats his girlfriends -- his life experiences, personal traumas, and cultural pressures all have an impact on the way he will eventually begin to treat women.
Then there's the added layer of a cancer story: Rafa fights a losing battle with cancer during some of Yunior's most formative years, but instead of bringing the brothers closer, Rafa shuts everyone out; the loss is something that Yunior reflects on as he gets older. However, the book's cancer story -- and I use "story" here collectively, as Rafa's illness is subtly weaved into several of the stories -- is unlike any other cancer story I've ever read. As with many other difficult topics Díaz has written about, Rafa's battle provides both life-changing and flat-out hilarious moments. There are elements of levity in Rafa's story that I just can't see being told by anyone other than Díaz.
The story's true allure comes from its multiple layers, subtly pulling from both Drown and Oscar Wao in ways that made me want to immediately go back and reread all three of Díaz's books in a row. That last story, "The Cheater's Guide to Love," shows Yunior years down the road. Rocked hard after being (rightfully) dumped by his fiancee, he is finally learning the error of his womanizing ways. The pain of this heartbreak is brutal and sends him spiraling into depression, but it is this emotional rock-bottom that might finally offer Yunior a way out of the hole he's dug himself into.
Since most of the stories feature Yunior, the narrative as a whole is very male-centric. Only one of the stories, "Otravida, Ortravez," features a female point of view; this is also the only story that is not tied in with the others. Still, to dismiss Yunior's crassness and boneheaded machismo would also dismiss the very human portrait that Díaz has created. More importantly, it would dismiss the nuanced portrayal of the outside factors -- culture, sexism, marginalization -- that feed into Yunior's many faults. Ultimately, the book shows that Yunior's way just isn't going to work. It's not sustainable.
Finally, a note on language. Because I saw so much nonsense regarding the Spanglish in Oscar Wao and have already begun seeing nonsense regarding the Spanglish in This Is How You Lose Her, I want to end not with a quote from the book, but with a quote from Gloria Anzaldúa's "Borderlands / La Frontera: The New Mestiza":
"So, if you really want to hurt me, talk badly about my language. Ethnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity -- I am my language...Until I am free to write bilingually and to switch codes without always having to translate, while I still have to speak English or Spanish when I would rather speak Spanglish, and as long as I have to accommodate the English speakers rather than having them accommodate me, my tongue will be illegitimate."
Remember that, because Díaz's playfulness with language is not only legitimate, it's vivid and marvelous. And it's pure Junot.
After reading THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE HER, I wanted to close down my facebook page, shut off Twitter, leave the oily, grimy dishes in the sink, let the wet laundry sit in the washing machine (and ignore the fact that the clothes end up smelling like a dank, rotting basement), and just write like mad with the hope that I could push out one single sentence as great as every sentence in this book.
Reading these stories in the order in which they are presented here, one after the other, will be a greatly different experience than that had by those who read them over the fourteen-year period during which they first appeared in print. This Is How You Lose Her, in fact, reads more like a novel than it does a short story collection. This is because all of the stories, although they flip back and forth between segments of his life, feature the same central character already familiar to readers of Díaz's two previous books. Yunior, a young Dominican, along with his mother and older brother, came to the United States when he was just a boy, and these stories, in addition to telling how Yunior got here, detail what happened to him once he did.
Be forewarned that these stories, insightful as they often are, are written in a raw, sometimes outrageous, style. Díaz writes in a Hispanic street vernacular that sees him often mixing Spanish words into his sentences. And, even though entire sentences are sometimes presented in Spanish, Díaz leaves it up to non-Spanish speaking readers to figure out what he is saying based on the context of the rest of the paragraph. But that is the least of it.
Yunior is a womanizer, and he comes by it naturally. His father, although not a constant in Yunior's life, set the pattern for that lifestyle early on, leaving Yunior to learn all the moves by watching his older brother in action. His is the kind of macho culture in which women are primarily objects to be sexually exploited, and Yunior describes in explicit terms what he gets from the women who briefly pass through his life.
Some might find Yunior's language offensive, but it is exactly this style and language that make Díaz's stories as powerful and effective as they are. However, one does begin to wonder how long such a distinctive style can be mined before it goes stale for the reader. Even though this is my first experience with Junot Díaz's work, I already wonder how much more of it I can read before the style becomes tiresome. Díaz is definitely on my radar now, but I am more likely to wait for something new from him written in a different voice than I am to seek out either of his two earlier books.
This Is How You Lose Her is a book about heartbreak - and the very macho central character, surprisingly enough, suffers much of it himself.
In this interwoven collection of short stories, the immensely gifted Junot Diaz revisits Yunior, the narrator of his previous short story book, Drown. Right from the start, he grabs the reader's attention: "I'm not a bad guy. I know how that sounds - defensive, unscrupulous - but it's true. I'm like everyone else - weak, full of mistakes, but basically good."
By the end of the book, the reader is inclined to agree. Yunior is pitiful but never deigns to be self-pitying. He is highly sexually charged but impotent in emotional consistency. He is incredibly self-aware yet at the end of the day, always falls victim to his "lying cheater's heart."
Take this passage, when Yunior's girlfriend reads his journal and finds visible proof of his cheating: "Instead of lowering your head and copping to it like a man, you pick up the journal as one might hold a baby's beshatted diaper, as one might pinch a recently benutted condom. You glance at the offending passages. Then you look at her and smile a smile your dissembling face will remember until he day you die. Baby, you say, baby, this is part of my novel. This is how you lose her.
Junot Diaz writes like a dream, adeptly mixing the testosterone-charged prose with poetic insights. His emotionally abusive father and cancer-stricken older brother - both role models in the most negative of ways - are presented as background. At the end of the day, this is a book about love: not how to maintain it but how to soldier on when love cannot be claimed.