Saturday, March 17, 2012

why do we call them stories if what we feel is real

"I looked up at him. I noticed for the first time the lines around his eyes, how his left one seemed to droop into a crevice. Above my father, the branches of the live oak played against each other and then were stilled. I looked at my father for a long time like that, his face framed by those branches and the blue sky beyond."
-Ana Menendez, In Cuba I Was a German Shepherd

It's amazing how someone can write something based on their father, and if there is love there, the reader will always be filling the space where words end with an image of his own father, so what you get in that moment is the sketch of a figure that is simultaneously parent to both. Reader and author become related, connected, by the strange alchemy of words. 

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