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Kitaplar
John Freeman

Freeman's: Power

From the voices of protesters to the encroachment of a new fascism, everywhere we look power is revealed. Spouse to spouse, soldier to citizen, looker to gazed upon, power is never static: it is either demonstrated or deployed. Its hoarding is itself a demonstration. This thought-provoking issue of the acclaimed literary annual Freeman's explores who gets to say what matters in a time of social upheaval.
Many of the writers are women. Margaret Atwood posits it is time to update the gender of werewolf narratives. Aminatta Forna shatters the silences which supposedly ensured her safety as a woman of colour walking in public space. Power must often be seized. The narrator of Lan Samantha Chang's short story finally wrenches control of the family's finances from her husband only to make a fatal mistake. Meanwhile the hero of Tahmima Anam's story achieves freedom by selling bull semen. Australian novelist Josephine Rowe recalls a gallery attendee trying to take what was not offered when she worked as a life-drawing model. Violence often results from power imbalances — Booker Prize winner Ben Okri watches power stripped from the residents of Grenfell Tower by ferocious neglect. But not all power must wreak damage. Barry Lopez remembers fourteen glimpses of power, from the moment he hitched a ride on a cargo plan in Korea to the glare he received from a bear traveling with her cubs in the woods, asking — do you plan me harm?
Featuring work from brand new writers Nicole Im, Jaime Cortez and Nimmi Gowrinathan, as well as from some of the world's best storytellers, including US poet laureate Tracy K. Smith, Franco-Moroccan writer Leïla Slimani, and Turkish novelist Elif Shafak, Freeman's: Power escapes from the headlines of today and burrows into the heart of the issue.
276 yazdırılmış sayfalar
Telif hakkı sahibi
Bookwire
Orijinal yayın
2018
Yayınlanma yılı
2018
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  • Juan Arenasbir izlenim paylaşıldı5 yıl önce
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Alıntılar

  • Juan Arenasalıntı yaptı5 yıl önce
    I thought, sometimes, yes, about sex. Though probably no more than I might have if staring out the window of a train or walking through the city, and these thoughts did not once correspond to the person behind the easel. The environment itself was sensual, any way you look at it; sunlight or lamp-heat or cool draughts on bare skin, as distinct as touch. Though in fact any touching was rare, granted by absurdly formal permission—May I please move your elbow? Do you mind if I tuck back that strand of hair? Models typically positioned themselves, aligning limbs to chalk or to masking-tape reference
  • Juan Arenasalıntı yaptı5 yıl önce
    to invest. Some seed money. Something I could show him. Do you think you’ve got a little to spare?”

    Chun considered the question. There was the bank, and the bank account. “How much?”

    The woman thought for a moment. “Well, it would have to be enough to make a start,” she said. “Probably more than a few thousand.”

    A few thousand.

    “You don’t have it?”

    “We do,” she said. “It’s just that”—she felt embarrassed—”I would have to ask my husband.”

    “Of course,” the woman said. “And of course, you wouldn’t need
  • Juan Arenasalıntı yaptı5 yıl önce
    more than the roughness of his cheek,

    his long legs twining mine in sleep. Long nights

    before my loom I sang some made-up song

    and wove my threads into new shapes

    he would have teased were odd.

    “What are you making, a winding sheet?”

    My life would be his to command again.

    He’s back, disguised as an old man

    to test my virtue, overtake the hall of men
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