My copy is published under "The Book of Lies". My first book of is a favorite. I am a lucky dog. I never wanted to stop reading them. You may have heard this a lot I definitely have as I am an identical twin about twins being two halves of a whole. It is waiting to hear what you cannot live with as a truth.
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My copy is published under "The Book of Lies". My first book of is a favorite. I am a lucky dog. I never wanted to stop reading them. You may have heard this a lot I definitely have as I am an identical twin about twins being two halves of a whole. It is waiting to hear what you cannot live with as a truth. The lie is to yourself. The truth about what it means to be alone and if you can ever be another person.
I love you. You love me. An anagram. The twins could be the kind of anagram like how evil can be live. Or vile. Mix a letter and presto it is the same? It is interesting to be an identical twin. It is the closest you can get to knowing how it feels to be another person. People you meet who will treat you one way because of how you look. The same upbringing and the same genetic one in a million lottery chances.
How enough light could photo synthesis this shit to want to live. Nature and its backhanded complimentary nurture. Enough bad days. This other face you could see in the mirror.
Or the little bit you have to go feels too far because you get to thinking it should be coming to you. Like being under water and trying to sing anyway and all of the words come at once and they mean so many different things. More like a supplanted desire. All I ever want from a story is to be there and judge for myself from the community of expressions, movement, actions and words. Is there more behind it?
Could it be anything more if only I could take it and run away with it? It means everything to me to have all the working parts to figure it out for myself with what mother nature the, er, author has given me. Agota Kristof is the answer to my prayers. Or was it just my dreams.
Please forgive my questioning mood. These books were fairy tale like to take me back to a childhood of the hows, whys and good and evil not sorted into their respective edges yet. Lucas and Claus present as one person. They live with their "witch" grandmother in a fairy horror of Nazi occupied Hungary.
I was one of them. What are we going to do, my twins? Were they, really? Was it Lucas or was it Claus severed at the conjoined will? Did he lose his might.
Was any of it love and when will the will return? If no one can know another person than this is the under the bridge version of that.
The belly of that is the same. It has to be filled with the same guts. Do I not bleeeeeeeed? The lie or the truth did the mother leave them, was one a poet and the other less. The whole needing anybody else. The distance whole or otherwise. I feel like Agota Kristof showed me how that happens and what the other side of the distance feels like. I have only known my own. My letters. And I have no clue how to arrange those to communicate to anyone else why this book meant so much to me.
So if you can believe me I could talk about moments that haunted me. When Lucas listens to record with the little girl. The notebook written in for the other to finish.
Lie to me. Thank you, Nate! Goodreads is the best website ever. And the writing of war and communist Hungary is some kind of magic. It is! Is it what no body wanted? One day I am going to write one of those amazing reviews other people write.
The notebook pages have a space to fill. You can write in it.
The Notebook, The Proof, The Third Lie: Three Novels
A couple of examples should suffice. One night, they find themselves sleeping in the same bed as a German officer, a tormented gay masochist. Keep sleeping. We have to go.
Ágota Kristóf's The Notebook awoke in me a cold and cruel passion