Dear Mr. President,
Let me send you this book by Italo Calvino Marcovaldo . You'll find that
Marcovaldo is a collection of twenty new. The subtitle is The Seasons in town. I would have gladly offered my personal copy, a pocket. But it was no longer in my library. I had to pay, or, most likely case, the offer.
Marcovaldo is it a classic? I sincerely think and even, I say, especially as I am concerned that in your race, you will not concede little time for books you have ever given them. The qualifier of the classic save perhaps. Calvino wrote the classic, its definition surprise you. She consoled to have you read so little, she would lead you to read a few.
A writer who knows you well said you had little disposition to happiness. I suspected a bit of what you leave to appear. From this point of view, Marcovaldo seems to be your exact opposite: he is a hero without heroism, without ambition, a Pierrot proletarian hired in the handling, Marco Polo sedentary and shy, a sort of Charlie Chaplin Modern Times would be found in Italy Industrial seventies. It works, it is worn. If there was really no doubt he would die young, often as laborers. But happy, he is a happiness that, in a snapshot, it looks simple. He lives on the top floor of a popular building in an apartment too small, with his wife Isolina, and his three unruly children (my memory refuses to give me their names).
Marcovaldo's not like you. To him, he can only stories of almost nothing, or very little: he brings home on his rack a green plant that becomes huge, it adopts a white rabbit escaped from the laboratory, the children threw stones at a neon sign that spoils the serenity of the night.
If I offer you this book is to share with you something important for me, something that built me, that I built yet. Like everything is cultural, it does not cost me anything, it is beyond the GDP. If I had an apple and I gave you, I should have more. But culture is not a commodity and so here is my gift: you see, Mr. Speaker, the first reading (because I reread a lot), I immediately loved the Marcovaldo this book. I liked it a tenderness immediate, natural, spontaneous affection that sometimes grips us in these days where you want generous smile to all strangers cross the street. It is this feeling of happiness of humanity that I want to give each time when I present my Marcovaldo. Forgive me, but you seem so unhappy with life that I can only wish you the offer.
there's this writing that I would like to find out if you do not already know, writing this incredibly fluid, subtle and sensual. At dozens of writers in the world, she had wanted to write, tell stories. It remains a model of lightness and intelligence behind it, when I write, I always feel run, dreaming of touch. Writers, you see, also run.
Like everyone who preceded me in this round, I believe in books, in the light they shed on the world, rich in what they sow those who make them. Teaching, you say, "must be concerned about the future of young professional," and you talk with greed, the words magic of computer science and mathematics. I love math, but I think if the school did love reading, it will have done a thousand times more. Better: I'm sure if you read and enjoy Marcovaldo, I did a lot for you.
For all these reasons, you will find enclosed copy of this Marcovaldo .
Revevez, Mr. President, my most citizens greetings. Hervé Le Tellier
* PS: I absolutely love the term "enclosed". It reminds us that language moves, since "it" of enclosed is endangered, and that all languages is doomed sooner or later become ancient languages. I also think because you said one day that you did not see "why the taxpayer would finance the studies of those who want to study ancient literature." Moreover, the logic by which you combine these two last words escaped me somewhat, because if multiple languages are perishable, literature is one and never ages.
Let me send you this book by Italo Calvino Marcovaldo . You'll find that
Marcovaldo is a collection of twenty new. The subtitle is The Seasons in town. I would have gladly offered my personal copy, a pocket. But it was no longer in my library. I had to pay, or, most likely case, the offer.
Marcovaldo is it a classic? I sincerely think and even, I say, especially as I am concerned that in your race, you will not concede little time for books you have ever given them. The qualifier of the classic save perhaps. Calvino wrote the classic, its definition surprise you. She consoled to have you read so little, she would lead you to read a few.
A writer who knows you well said you had little disposition to happiness. I suspected a bit of what you leave to appear. From this point of view, Marcovaldo seems to be your exact opposite: he is a hero without heroism, without ambition, a Pierrot proletarian hired in the handling, Marco Polo sedentary and shy, a sort of Charlie Chaplin Modern Times would be found in Italy Industrial seventies. It works, it is worn. If there was really no doubt he would die young, often as laborers. But happy, he is a happiness that, in a snapshot, it looks simple. He lives on the top floor of a popular building in an apartment too small, with his wife Isolina, and his three unruly children (my memory refuses to give me their names).
Marcovaldo's not like you. To him, he can only stories of almost nothing, or very little: he brings home on his rack a green plant that becomes huge, it adopts a white rabbit escaped from the laboratory, the children threw stones at a neon sign that spoils the serenity of the night.
If I offer you this book is to share with you something important for me, something that built me, that I built yet. Like everything is cultural, it does not cost me anything, it is beyond the GDP. If I had an apple and I gave you, I should have more. But culture is not a commodity and so here is my gift: you see, Mr. Speaker, the first reading (because I reread a lot), I immediately loved the Marcovaldo this book. I liked it a tenderness immediate, natural, spontaneous affection that sometimes grips us in these days where you want generous smile to all strangers cross the street. It is this feeling of happiness of humanity that I want to give each time when I present my Marcovaldo. Forgive me, but you seem so unhappy with life that I can only wish you the offer.
there's this writing that I would like to find out if you do not already know, writing this incredibly fluid, subtle and sensual. At dozens of writers in the world, she had wanted to write, tell stories. It remains a model of lightness and intelligence behind it, when I write, I always feel run, dreaming of touch. Writers, you see, also run.
Like everyone who preceded me in this round, I believe in books, in the light they shed on the world, rich in what they sow those who make them. Teaching, you say, "must be concerned about the future of young professional," and you talk with greed, the words magic of computer science and mathematics. I love math, but I think if the school did love reading, it will have done a thousand times more. Better: I'm sure if you read and enjoy Marcovaldo, I did a lot for you.
For all these reasons, you will find enclosed copy of this Marcovaldo .
Revevez, Mr. President, my most citizens greetings. Hervé Le Tellier
* PS: I absolutely love the term "enclosed". It reminds us that language moves, since "it" of enclosed is endangered, and that all languages is doomed sooner or later become ancient languages. I also think because you said one day that you did not see "why the taxpayer would finance the studies of those who want to study ancient literature." Moreover, the logic by which you combine these two last words escaped me somewhat, because if multiple languages are perishable, literature is one and never ages.
* The last published works amnesics have experienced anything of unforgettable (Castor Astral, 2005), Mona Lisa up to one hundred (Castor Astral, 2006) and, with Xavier Gorce, The o pussums famous (Castor Astral, 2007) and I focus very easily (Thousand and One Nights, 2007).
