Writer Paul Auster used to share the story related to the random ability to clarify a secret of his family. Once, his cousin traveled to the plane to Europe in the summer vacation.02: 00/7: 14 years old Nandong sitting next to the countryside in Wisconsin. He likes to protect himself as Wisconsin. After knowing his father's name, the old man asked if his grandmother was a low dwarf, slightly silly, redheaded
. The darkness of life. Thus. So the old man told a story, whereby the writer's grandmother shot died her husband due to a love affair
In the legendary the writer's culture does not have this case. You have been looking for Wisconsin right after the summer vacation, going to the local newspaper, why all the articles about that case, it was a long time ago, in 1919, happened right. The writer knew about the cousin, if not sure never knew. Absolutely no one in the family told it. Thinking, every house has a roof, to cover a lot of little inside. I laughed when I met the voice of a character where "a little example" - the novel of writer Nguyen Binh Phuong just published: "That listen to this uncle. Any house has a latrine, someone and there is also a barrier in your heart, what is the bottle to do it for it to stink me? " In terms of two sides, there are all people everyone. Good life breeze shows bad, funny covers. But, this person covering the closure, the more stimulating curiosity in others. And, from ever to now, the literature shows the interrogation of the evening spots of life
"The writer is only good at wondering, in addition to knowing anything else," - Also a character in the novel that has just led has such a signature. But the day she kept a habit of tangling the back of the back of the back of the back to discover. I am looking to see if there are words or drawings or what print it on the wood surface, especially in the hidden places; If yes, that is the obvious writing, or the symbols of information on the information - those who have lived in the house with these older objects - Dinh Ninh is only available They have been translated. Then I rang out the five-year-olds papers folded with the spider web, unzipped, they were merely the sheets of paper used to wedge, or also the package of any secret wrapping in it ... Smoke into the sky is cloudless? Occasionally, from Khe's branches, I walked into the roof, walking a round on the rainwater trough, also looking for five sheets of ten tiles. The eyes of a child gave it to open the mysterious strange world. As the roof of the ancient three-time house, my grandparents left this, the bucket lot was approof that the layers of brown-brick tiles grown, there were three branches of trembling and tin trembling. Prodigal seeds. And above is the sky. These clouds are shaped, but they can also dissolve. Is it cloudy? Clouds at the same way, are it close to the top? Far away from the south is the mountain, gentle and close, or is it vertical like a cover and erect a horizon? After the blurred zone gray around the year of the year, it was not known to be a cloud or smoke on the west of the west, how much more, go to my hometown? When the heavenly sky, my mother often looked away from the tattoo and said the rain was on the rainy source. Deep a high-pitched abyss in it, what I know. Go to the mahogany cabinet under the house but also the world of closed bugs tightly with me anymore. My father grew up, this house had themselves. And I grew up, all four grandparents were waiting for the mountain. Four photos on the main worship board in the middle of the house on the day I looked at me smilingness, and filled up in me what was impossible to receive. There was the day I heard my mother said, that the old grandfather almost was regulated as the landlord, even though he was born, he picked up his medicine, but there was any landlord. But when the mother from Rú's source away from here to make strawberries, only granny; Following the following year, she followed Mr. Khuat Dong ... I lived inner, so I could go to myself myself, listen to hazarded and stringed but understood the problem of a child. Secrets are so much independent. But I was particularly obsessed with the ghost story in the short novel of the Vietnamese Unionian writer. The story starts with a sudden death of a husband. The young widow found that he could no longer existed when the string linked himself to the world was broken, but she determined to postpone by living on trains, looking for answers to the question he was , To die the day, you know that anyone died. She needed a notebook to record her paper, let me read themselves. The boy's book's book takes her to lure her into a sad person in it, where a mother is killed, one . Dịch vụ:
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