Reviste

excerpt (Yes, man, it was her, Dalia, his girlfriend from fifteen years back, the sausage girl, the blonde at the slaughter house, married to the drunken sub-lieutenant who was away one week at a time on field practice, yeah, mate, the one you first saw at a meeting with

SeptemberexcerptsIlie only looked me up in early September, a few weeks before the harvesting of the vineyards. He had come back alone, by train. He had told some lie to his wife and run over to see me. He was coming towards me with an enamored look in his eyes, ready to

excerpt I was to deal with this vague feeling, this bizarre, somewhat abstract and pure love three times during my teenage years. I had come into this huge and empty room, lured by some strange music that I always found irresistible, insinuating, intoxicating and dangerous.

hey, ion, here is the room where they hack childrenI feel young. so youngI'm here in this rancid wardamong sweating breasty womenin flowered calico dresses with double chinswith thick hair on their legs and armpitshow casually they talk hereabout deathabout men reeking

N. Manolescu promised somewhere an inventory of places where the characters in Romanian literature make love. The critic was surprised by the parsimonious frequentation of the conjugal bed, and the preference for more bucolic spots: the oven, the meadow, the haystack…

To many readers, what is permitted in the street, press, on television and even in other arts is not allowed to literature. The parent is not worried about the profusion of sexually explicit films broadcast on TV and deposited (with the pride of personal emancipation) in

The subjective mark is an essential element of the young authoresses' writing. Their books are closer to diary and self-fiction than to fiction. The mistrust of poetry as the proper space of expressing sensitivity is not substituted by the belief in the imaginary, but

I have lived a short lifeNo time to fulfill all the good I had promised mankindPut my feet up on the table in front – yesPut my feet up with a bang on the table in front – yesOffend and run wild and then start all over again – yes yes yes I've been messing up

ArgumentI have always regretted the lack of raw erotic detail in the most remarkable works of fiction. This frustration is by no means compensated for by the high availability of lurid, pornographic books. When reading fiction, I do not look for arousal, but for precision.

excerpt When I first met her, she said she adored Pablo Neruda's poetry and La Fontaine's erotic fables, which are un petit secret délicieux and, once a month, she would listen to a fragment of Le Petit Prince, interpreted by Gérard Philippe. She also told me

He went out of the smoky-glass building without looking back. He was treading slowly, looking at the tips of his impeccably polished Timberland shoes. He hadn't even managed to answer the porter, who may have wished him well, smiling as in a dental-floss commercial.

Bertrand had descended on our little town as if from a film: long-haired, with a beard that was still fluffy but nevertheless impressive in comparison with our teenage fuzz, and dressed in a T-shirt with Che Guevara on it. Besides, he was smoking Gauloises and was an anarchist.