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Indlæser... Lincoln in the Bardo (2017)| 3,971 | 268 | 2,211 | 
(3.97) | 389 | February 1862. The Civil War is less than one year old. The fighting has begun in earnest, and the nation has begun to realize it is in for a long, bloody struggle. Meanwhile, President Lincoln's beloved eleven-year-old son, Willie, lies upstairs in the White House, gravely ill. In a matter of days, despite predictions of a recovery, Willie dies and is laid to rest in a Georgetown cemetery. Newspapers report that a grief-stricken Lincoln returned to the crypt several times alone to hold his boy's body. Willie Lincoln finds himself in a strange purgatory, where ghosts mingle, gripe, commiserate, quarrel, and enact bizarre acts of penance. Within this transitional state, called, in the Tibetan tradition, the bardo, a monumental struggle erupts over young Willie's soul.… (mere) |
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▾Offentliggjorte anmeldelser » Tilføj andre forfattere | Forfatter navn | Rolle | Hvilken slags forfatter | Værk? | Status | | Saunders, George | — | primær forfatter | alle udgaver | bekræftet | | Offerman, Nick | Fortæller | hovedforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Sedaris, David | Fortæller | hovedforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Bachman, Barbara M | Designer | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Brownstein, Carrie | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Cardinal, Chelsea | Omslagsdesigner | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Cheadle, Don | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Dennings, Kat | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Dughet, Haspard | Omslagsfotograf/tegner/... | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Dunham, Lena | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Hader, Bill | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | July, Miranda | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Karr, Mary | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Pye, John | Omslagsfotograf/tegner/... | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Stiller, Ben | Fortæller | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet | | Webb, E. | Omslagsfotograf/tegner/... | medforfatter | nogle udgaver | bekræftet |
▾Series and work relationships
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Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen Viden Redigér teksten, så den bliver dansk. On our wedding day I was forty-six, she was eighteen. | |
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Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen Viden Redigér teksten, så den bliver dansk. I will never forget those solemn moments—genius and greatness weeping over the love's lost idol. Having never loved or been loved in that previous place, they were frozen here in a youthful state of perpetual emotional vacuity; interested only in freedom, profligacy, and high-jinks, railing against any limitation or commitment whatsoever. In truth, we were bored, so very bored, so continually bored. Birds being distrustful of our ilk. Any admiration we might once have felt for their endurance had long since devolved into revulsion. The crowd, having suspended its perversities, stood gaping at Mr. Bevins, who had acquired, in the telling, such a bounty of extra eyes, ears, noses, hands, etc., that he now resembled some overstuffed fleshly bouquet.
Bevins applied his usual remedy (closing the eyes and stopping as many of the noses and ears as he could with the various extra hands, dulling, thereby, all sensory intake, thus quieting the mind) and multiple sets of the eyes, ears, noses, and hands retracted or vanished (I could never tell which). Walk-skimming between (or over, when unavoidable) the former home-places of so many fools no longer among us. These were a chirpy, tepid, desireless sort, generally, and had lingered, if at all, for only the briefest of moments, so completely satisfactory had they found their tenure in that previous place. The two now comprised one sitting man, Mr. Vollman's greater girth somewhat overflowing the gentleman, his massive member existing wholly outside the gentleman, pointing up at the moon. The dead at Donelson, sweet Jesus. Heaped and piled like threshed wheat, one on top of two on top of three. I walked through it after with a bad feeling. Lord it was me done that, I thought. The dead lay as they had fallen, in every conceivable shape, some grasping their guns as though they were in the act of firing, while others, with a cartridge in their icy grasp, were in the act of loading. Some of the countenances wore a peaceful, glad smile, while on others rested a fiendish look of hate. It looked as though each countenance was the exact counterpart of the thoughts that were passing through the mind when the death messenger laid them low. Perhaps that noble-looking youth, with his smiling up-turned face, with his glossy ringlets matted with his own life-blood, felt a mother's prayer stealing over his senses as his young life went out. Near him lay a young husband with a prayer for his wife and little one yet lingering on his lips. Youth and age, virtue and evil, were represented on those ghastly countenances. Before us lay the charred and blackened remains of some who had been burnt alive. They were wounded so badly to move and the fierce elements consumed them. (So why grieve?
The worst of it, for him, is over.)
Because I loved him so and am in the habit of loving him and that love must take the form of fussing and worry and doing. Mr. Vollman bearing his tremendous member in his hands, so as not to trip himself on it. Some blows fall too heavy upon those too fragile. Regarding a face & carriage so uniquely arranged by Nature, one's opinion of it seemed to depend more than usual on the predisposition of the Observer. Oh, the pathos of it!—haggard, drawn into fixed lines of unutterable sadness, with a look of loneliness, as of a soul whose depth of sorrow and bitterness no human sympathy could ever reach. The impression I carried away was that I had seen, not so much the President of the United States, as the saddest man in the world. Strange, isn't it? To have dedicated one's life to a certain venture, neglecting other aspects of one's life, only to have that venture, in the end, amount to nothing at all, the products of one's labors utterly forgotten? Well, what of it.
No one who has ever done anything worth doing has gone uncriticized. He came out of nothingness, took form, was loved, was always bound to return to nothingness.
Only I did not think it would be so soon.
Or that he would precede us.
Two passing temporarinesses developed feelings for one another. | |
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▾Referencer Henvisninger til dette værk andre steder.  Wikipedia på engelsk
Ingen ▾Bogbeskrivelser February 1862. The Civil War is less than one year old. The fighting has begun in earnest, and the nation has begun to realize it is in for a long, bloody struggle. Meanwhile, President Lincoln's beloved eleven-year-old son, Willie, lies upstairs in the White House, gravely ill. In a matter of days, despite predictions of a recovery, Willie dies and is laid to rest in a Georgetown cemetery. Newspapers report that a grief-stricken Lincoln returned to the crypt several times alone to hold his boy's body. Willie Lincoln finds himself in a strange purgatory, where ghosts mingle, gripe, commiserate, quarrel, and enact bizarre acts of penance. Within this transitional state, called, in the Tibetan tradition, the bardo, a monumental struggle erupts over young Willie's soul. ▾Biblioteksbeskrivelser af bogens indhold No library descriptions found. ▾LibraryThingmedlemmers beskrivelse af bogens indhold |
 Google Books — Indlæser... Byt (247 ønsker)
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Saunders' ideas about the afterlife are fascinating and full of interesting conundrums. The bardo is a kind of netherworld where the dead are consigned for awhile. Some only stay for minutes, especially children. Others stay for years. Willie Lincoln's body is interred in a borrowed crypt which will serve as his resting place, presumably until the Lincoln family leaves Washington. Willie should be like other children whose soul quickly disappears, but for some reason he stays. This upsets some of the long time residents of the cemetery because a child's soul who doesn't go on is corrupted in horrible ways. So they have to convince Willie to go. Not an easy task as it turns out. (