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Gabrielle Lucille Fuentes
Goodreads Author
Website
Genre
Influences
foundations: Zora Neale Hurston, Tarjei Vesaas, James Baldwin, Cristin
...more
Member Since
August 2008
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The Sleeping World
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published
2016
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6 editions
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Are We Ever Our Own
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The Elephant's Foot
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NANO Fiction Volume 6 Number 1
by
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published
2014
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* Note: these are all the books on Goodreads for this author. To add more, click here.
“My murdered poets drew from deep wells, even if they were presently hidden from me. They spoke the same words as the monks, as the Conquistadores, as our Dictator General, but coaxed a language anew from the charred bones they’d been tossed. I had taken comfort that we had been lying for millennia, erasing whole races of writers, executing texts with aplomb. It wasn’t new. And someone had always been pressing hidden words from quill to parchment backed by stone. Whispering them into someone’s ear. Even if the parchment was burned and the hand chopped off and thrown into the same fire, the stone remained. Only there were the words legible.”
― The Sleeping World
― The Sleeping World
“And I listed the cities he said he’d been—Madrid, Granada, San Sebastián, Barcelona, Paris even. Their order was confused but their names made a map of lights in my mind. A constellation leading not back but far. Each a whole world I’d never been, swallowed him up and spewed him back, crustaceans in his pocket and seaweed in his hair, on the shores of our prison town. I considered the cities he talked about not destinations but destructions. A chosen wreckage. Different only in that way from the one handed to us.”
― The Sleeping World
― The Sleeping World
Topics Mentioning This Author
| topics | posts | views | last activity | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Read Women: Home from the Library with | 41 | 66 | May 03, 2023 04:57PM |
“My murdered poets drew from deep wells, even if they were presently hidden from me. They spoke the same words as the monks, as the Conquistadores, as our Dictator General, but coaxed a language anew from the charred bones they’d been tossed. I had taken comfort that we had been lying for millennia, erasing whole races of writers, executing texts with aplomb. It wasn’t new. And someone had always been pressing hidden words from quill to parchment backed by stone. Whispering them into someone’s ear. Even if the parchment was burned and the hand chopped off and thrown into the same fire, the stone remained. Only there were the words legible.”
― The Sleeping World
― The Sleeping World
“And I listed the cities he said he’d been—Madrid, Granada, San Sebastián, Barcelona, Paris even. Their order was confused but their names made a map of lights in my mind. A constellation leading not back but far. Each a whole world I’d never been, swallowed him up and spewed him back, crustaceans in his pocket and seaweed in his hair, on the shores of our prison town. I considered the cities he talked about not destinations but destructions. A chosen wreckage. Different only in that way from the one handed to us.”
― The Sleeping World
― The Sleeping World
