What do you think?
Rate this book


Audiobook
First published January 1, 1980



In the basement of the apartment building we live in, a very old building that has been restored many times, is a crudely lettered phrase on the wall near the reactor: WRITING SUCKS. The wall is painted in an institutional green, and scratched into the paint are crude drawings of penises and women’s breasts and of couples engaged in oral sex or hitting one another, but those are the only words: WRITING SUCKS. There is no laziness in that statement, nor in the impulse to write it by scratching into tough paint with the point of a nail or a knife. What I think of when I read that harsh, declarative phrase is how much hatred there is in it.
'I see what I want to see,' the bus said. 'And I enjoy the work I have to do. I was made that way. I do not have to decide what is good for me.''Mockingbird' is ultimately also a love letter to books - and to reading. I don't know that I fully bought into the world-building of the novel... but I was consistently engaged, and I did sense a feeling of renewal; an increase in my love of reading - more than the love already there.
'Why are you so... so pleasant?' I said.
'We all are', the bus said. 'All thought buses are pleasant. We were all programmed with Kind Feelings, and we like our work.'
*That's better programming than people get*, I thought, with some vehemence.
'Yes,' the bus said. 'Yes it is.'
Tutti quei libri, anche quelli noiosi e quasi incomprensibili, mi hanno fatto capire più chiaramente che cosa significa essere umano. E ho imparato dal senso di soggezione che provo a volte quando mi sento in contatto con la mente di un’altra persona morta da molto tempo e so di non essere solo su questa Terra. Ci sono stati altri che hanno provato ciò che io provo e, a volte, sono riusciti a dire l’indicibile. “Solo il Mimo canta al limitar del bosco”. “Io sono la via e la verità e la vita. Chi crede in me, anche se muore, vivrà”. “La mia vita è leggera ed attende il vento della morte, come una piuma sul dorso della mia mano”.
"My upbringing, like that of all the other members of my Thinker Class, had made me into an unimaginative, self-centered and drug-addicted fool. Until learning how to read I had lived in a whole underpopulated world of self-centered, drug-addicted fools, all of us living by our Rules of Privacy in some crazy dream of Self-Fulfillment." ~ Paul Bentley
"Why don't we talk to one another? Why don't we huddle together against the cold wind that blows down the empty streets in the city? People used to read, hearing the voices of the living and the dead speaking to them in eloquence silence, in touch with a babble of human talk that must have filled the mind in a manner that said I am human. I talk and I listen and I read. Why did we stop reading? What happened?" ~ Mary Lou
"I would like to know, before I die, what it was like to be the human being I have tried to be all my life." ~ Robert Spofforth
