Carol’s Reviews > S. S. Proleterka > Status Update
Carol
is on page 93 of 122
Towards the end of the trip the passengers no longer liked one another. The expressions on their faces seemed to have changed. A strange vertigo had seized them, an atavistic and martial urge to crush their own companions.. . Everyone suspected that at the end of the journey something terrible might have happened.
— Feb 11, 2020 07:23PM
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Carol
is on page 121 of 122
The man who says he is my father has understood that he must hold his peace. The silence of shadow. In his eyes a sweet and desolate expression. Toward the woman he calls his daughter. Toward things doomed to disappear.
— Feb 11, 2020 07:41PM
Carol
is on page 39 of 122
It is for my own good. A venomous expression. But it sounds good. I know that that expression has never boded any good. Since then it has worsened my condition as a minor. You ought to watch your back when listening to diktats of this kind. When you are a hostage to good. A prisoner of good. ... I leave the house with a suitcase and my school bag. I have been consigned to others. For my own good.
— Feb 10, 2020 10:35PM
Carol
is on page 19 of 122
More pictures. Collectors have pictures everywhere. They do not let the walls breathe.
— Feb 10, 2020 10:11PM
Carol
is on page 17 of 122
His wife deprives herself of everything, even of herself. She has nibbled at her body, leaving the long teeth, when she shows them. She is withered, puritan and castigatory. She was the first person to observe Johannes’s daughter through the lens of contempt. She is abysmally polite. Hair gathered up into a lump, a chignon at the nape of her neck. Eyes dripping rapacious charity. Always kind.
— Feb 10, 2020 10:07PM
Carol
is on page 15 of 122
As if fallen from the talons of a bird of prey in flight, thoughts drop into our mind when we are convinced that we are not thinking.
— Feb 10, 2020 09:56PM
Carol
is on page 12 of 122
Parents are not necessary. Few things are necessary. Some children look after themselves. The heart, incorruptible crystal. They learn to pretend. And pretence becomes the most active, the realist part, alluring as dreams.
— Feb 10, 2020 09:52PM
Carol
is on page 8 of 122
He is not yet seventy years old. White hair, parted, straight. Pale, gelid eyes. Unnatural. Like a fairytale about ice. Wintry eyes. With a glimmer of romantic caprice. The irises of such a clear, faded green that they make you feel uneasy. It is almost as if they lack the consistency of a gaze. As if it were an anomaly, generations old.
— Feb 10, 2020 09:47PM
