Nonfiction
Where My True Face Begins
The first chapter traces the early years of a man who has always felt out of place, shaped by solitude, intuition, and a constant search for meaning. Born much later than his brothers, he grows up between a distant father, an exhausted mother, and a childhood split between Paris and the countryside. Animals become his first refuge, music his second, and his father’s workshop his third.
By Dominique Cardenabout a month ago in BookClub
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow—it was a phrase Mira had first heard in a classroom where dust floated lazily in streaks of afternoon sunlight. Her literature professor had recited it slowly, like a spell, explaining how time could stretch endlessly forward, carrying both hope and despair in its wake.
By Ibrahim Shah about a month ago in BookClub
How Well Do You Live?
''Yes, I have a homeland. The French Language.'' - Albert Camus * Something very strange happened while I was reading this book. Usually, I have a few things on the run (too many books; too little time?), and this was added to a stack that often threatens to crush me in my sleep. I would skip from one to other, often disappointed, confused and enlightened...but rarely entertained (the cold and the darkness outside probably played a role, as did the constant running around from contract to contract). And I really don't care what any intellectual in any academic setting claims, you need to be entertained when you pick up a book.
By Kendall Defoe about a month ago in BookClub
Wheat stalks
Wheat stalks. We are very much like wheat stalks. Reflect on this with me. Hello everyone, how are you? I hope you are all well and in good health. Reflect with me on these wonderful words, which I wrote myself. We are like wheat. How are we like wheat?
By Ashrakat Elnagyabout a month ago in BookClub
