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189 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1959





Half way through the first paragraph—“Only a person like your mama stands on one foot, she don’t notice how big her behind is getting and sings in the canary’s ear for thirty years. Who’s listening?”—I realized I was in the company of some very special literature. In less than seven lines, Paley had declared herself, her work, deserving of my full attention and respect.
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This book outlines the sexually charged life we lead as human beings and how that can be complicated by communication, distance, closeness, and much more. Gorgeous little volume from a beautiful writer.
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I found that the language in each story relatable and hilarious almost the entire book. The curse words are so expertly placed, you would swear Paley has made poetry of profanity.
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Written in New York in 1959, this collection of stories involves real love, real life, and the real city of New York. This collection can serve as a Bible for women in relationships. It gives a variety of situations; some that you would never think you could experience in a lifetime but are certainly possible.
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The book never flinches away from difficulty or sexuality, and although the sarcastic/cheeky narrative voice is not generally my favorite sort, something (perhaps the not-too-sensitive, uneducated nature of the characters) saves it from being grating and ultra-ironic.
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Some pretty terrific stories with quite awe-inducing sentences. Paley's descriptions and the weaving of her characters' stories in such short bursts are robust; sometimes sad, other times comedic.
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There is a frankness and wit here, as well as the palpable love you want in any short story, that just breaks you in half. In Paley's case the love is entwined with sex-- one turns into the other and back again. That may sound sort of precious, but she is hilarious and fun. I hate when people refer to her as "saucy" or "brazen," as if Philip Roth or Saul Bellow weren't saucy or brazen, but you can't deny that she is.
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I love Grace Paley's voice--the idiosyncratic, strong, quirky, voices of her mostly women characters. She almost writes in a NYC dialect of her own making. These short stories are almost like plays--carried mostly by dialogue or monologue. I love the fact that Paley was a peace activist in the 60's.
Anna had read that cannibals, tasting man, saw him thereafter as the great pig, the pale pink roast.
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Then easy and impervious, in full control, he cartwheeled eastward into the source of night.
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I myself, although I lost God a long time ago, have never lost faith.
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Then through the short fat fingers of my son, interred forever, like a black and white barred king in Alcatraz, my heart lit up in stripes.
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They swilled Coke like a regiment which has captured all the enemy pinball machines without registering a single tilt. - excerpts from various stories in The Little Disturbances of Man.
