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Speaking of Hemon...

Aleksandar Hemon had a sharp new story, "The Noble Truths of Suffering" in The New Yorker last month.

Macalister laughed, for the first time since I’d met him. He slanted his head to the side and let out a deep, chesty growl of a laugh. In shame, I looked around the room, as though I had never seen it. The souvenirs from our years in Africa: the fake-ebony figurines, the screechingly colorful wicker bowls, a malachite ashtray containing entangled paper clips and Mother’s amber pendants. A lace handiwork whose delicate patterns were violated by prewar coffee stains. The carpet with an angular horse pattern. All these familiar things had survived the war and displacement. I had grown up in this apartment, and now it seemed old, coarse, and anguished.

A renowned American writer, a fledgling Bosnian-American writer as narrator (go figure!) and (egad!) lunch with the Bosnian's parents. Not quite the recipe for disaster one might imagine, as it turns out.

One of these days I just might have to index all of the Hemon posts I've written here. I've got something of a cottage industry going.

October 16, 2008 in Books | Permalink

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