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“Esa primera vez, encontré a Perkus Tooth sumido en uno de esos estados de ánimo que yo pronto aprendería a llamar “elipsistas”. El propio Perkus Tooth aportaría más tarde esa palabra tan descriptiva: elipsista, derivado de elipsis. Una especie de intervalo vacío, una cabezada o fuga en la que no estaba ni deprimido ni todo lo contrario, ni luchando por concluir un pensamiento ni tratando de comenzar otro. Simplemente, en medio. Con el botón de pausa apretado.”

Jonathan Lethem, Chronic City (10)

points of reference

“Boddeh Stritt,” she resumed apologetically. He shrugged. “It's such a strange name—bath street in German. But here I am. I know there is a church on a certain street to my left, the vegetable market is on my right, behind me are the railroad tracks and the broken rocks, and before me, a few blocks away is a certain store window that has a kind of whitewash on it—and faces in the whitewash, the kind children draw. Within this pale is my America, and if I ventured further I should be lost. In fact,” she laughed, “were they even to wash that win­dow, I might never find my way home again.”

Henry Roth, Call It Sleep (33)

journalism, biography, historical texts, correspondence, advertisements, and images (…) possess an equivalent fictionality

Like many societies, the novel is a hybrid construction pretending to be an organic miracle. From its beginnings, fiction has had borderless relations with nonfictional sources, has found ways to incorporate and exploit journalism, biography, historical texts, correspondence, advertisements, and images. But, since fiction is an invention masquerading as a truth, the riot of intertextuality is often craftily smoothed into a simulacrum of orderly governance: these different materials, the novelist seems to say, possess an equivalent fictionality, and just naturally belong together like this—trust me. Some of the pleasure of reading novels, perhaps especially modernist and postmodernist ones, has to do with our simultaneous apprehension of invention and its concealment, raw construction and high finish. We enjoy watching the novelist play the game of truthtelling.

via James Wood: The Punished Land – The New Yorker.

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