Nicht lieferbar
After a devastating revelation, a father and son journey across a tapestry of towns in award-winning author Jesse Ball's thought-provoking novel Census. When a widower learns he doesn't have long left to live, he wonders who will care for his adult son whom he fiercely loves-a son with Down syndrome. With no recourse in mind and a desire to see the country, the man becomes a census taker for a mysterious governmental bureau and takes his son on the trip. Traveling into the country, through towns named only by ascending letters of the alphabet, father and son encounter a wide range of human experience. While some townspeople welcome them into their homes, others who bear the physical brand of past censuses on their ribs are wary of their presence. Pressing toward the edges of civilization, the landscape grows wilder, and the towns grow farther apart and more blighted by industrial decay. As they approach "Z," the man confronts a series of questions: What is the purpose of the census? Is he complicit in its mission? And just how will he learn to say good-bye to his son? Mysterious and evocative, Census is a novel about free will, grief, the power of memory, and the ferocity of parental love. "A vital testament to selfless love; a psalm to commonplace miracles; and a mysterious evolving metaphor. So kind, it aches." -David Mitchell "[Jesse Ball] has combined Kafka's paranoia with Whitman's earnest American grain to found a fictional kingdom of genial doom and melancholia." -New York Times "Truly otherworldly writing in the best ways that Borges and Calvino have shown to be possible." -Forbes
Dieser Download kann aus rechtlichen Gründen nur mit Rechnungsadresse in A, B, BG, CY, CZ, D, DK, EW, E, FIN, F, GR, HR, H, I, LT, L, LR, M, NL, PL, P, R, S, SLO, SK ausgeliefert werden.
"[Ball's] most personal and best to date... [A] point - about the beautiful varieties of perception, of experience - made without sentimentality, burns at the core of the book, and of much of Ball's work, which rails against the tedium of consensus, the cruelty of conformity." New York Times