Găsiți următorul dvs. carte preferat

Deveniți un membru astăzi și citiți gratuit pentru 30 zile
The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories

The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories


The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories

evaluări:
4/5 (196 evaluări)
Lungime:
224 pages
3 hours
Editor:
Lansat:
Apr 8, 2014
ISBN:
9781476753621
Format:
Carte

Nota editorului

A treasured posthumous collection…

Keegan died too young, only a few days after her college graduation, but she left behind the treasure of her writing with this posthumous collection of tender, starry-eyed essays and short stories.

Descriere

Written by Scribd Editors

In May 2012, Marina Keegan graduated magna cum laude from Yale University. She had a job lined up at The New Yorker and a play waiting to be produced. Then, five days after graduation, she died in a car crash.

Her death was a tragedy and a shock to all who knew her, but left behind an expansive collection of writing. Collected and published posthumously, The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories, her writing lives on. It captures hope, uncertainty, love, joy, and the breadth of human emotion.

The underlying theme of so many of Keegan's stories is how young she is and how she can still do anything, still start over and change hearts and minds. She writes of possibility and hope and the struggle to inspire and harness her talents to help others.

With a foreword by Anne Fadiman, this book of personal essays and short stories is tender, poignant, and allows us to engage in mourning a person who had so much life left to live.

Editor:
Lansat:
Apr 8, 2014
ISBN:
9781476753621
Format:
Carte

Despre autor

Marina Keegan (1989-2012) was an award-winning author, journalist, playwright, poet, actress, and activist. Her nonfiction has been published in The New York Times; her fiction has been published on NewYorker.com, and read on NPR’s Selected Shorts; her musical, Independents, was a New York Times Critics’ Pick. Marina’s final essay for The Yale Daily News, “The Opposite of Loneliness,” became an instant global sensation, viewed by more than 1.4 million people from 98 countries. For more information, please visit TheOppositeofLoneliness.com.

Previzualizare carte

The Opposite of Loneliness - Marina Keegan

hall.

FICTION

63122.jpg

The middle of the universe is tonight, is here,

And everything behind is a sunk cost.

—Marina Keegan, from the poem Bygones

Cold Pastoral

We were in the stage where we couldn’t make serious eye contact for fear of implying we were too invested. We used euphemisms like I miss you and I like you and smiled every time our noses got too close. I was staying over at his place two or three nights a week and met his parents at an awkward brunch in Burlington. A lot of time was spent being consciously romantic: making sushi, walking places, waiting too long before responding to texts. I fluctuated between adding songs to his playlist and wondering if I should stop hooking up with people I was 80 percent into and finally spend some time alone. (Read the books I was embarrassed I hadn’t read.) (Call my mother.) The thing is, I like being liked, and a lot of my friends had graduated and moved to cities. I’d thought about ending things but my roommate Charlotte advised me against it. Brian was handsome and smoked the same amount as me, and sometimes in the mornings, I’d wake up and smile first thing because he made me feel safe.

In March, he died. I was microwaving instant Thai soup when I got a call from his best friend asking if I knew which hospital he was at.

Who? I said.

Brian, he said. You haven’t heard?

* * *

I was in a seminar my senior year where we read poems by John Keats. He has this famous one called Ode on a Grecian Urn where these two lovers are almost kissing, frozen with their faces cocked beneath a tree. The tragedy, the professor said, is in eternal stasis. She never fades, they never kiss; but I remember finding the whole thing vaguely romantic. My ideal, after all, was always before we walked home—and ironically, I had that now.

* * *

I watched as the microwave droned in lopsided circles, but I never took the soup out. Someone else must have. Charlotte, perhaps, or one of my friends who came over in groups, offering food in imitation of an adult response and trying to decipher my commitment. I was trying too. I’d made out with a guy named Otto when I was back in Austin over Christmas, and Brian and I had never quite stopped playing games. We were involved, of course, but not associated.

What’s the deal? people would shout over the music when he’d gone to get a drink and I’d explain that there was no deal to explain.

We’re hanging out, I’d say, smiling. We like hanging out.

I think we took a certain pride in our ambiguity. As if the tribulations of it all were somehow beneath us. Secretly, of course, the pauses in our correspondence were as calculated as our casualness—and we’d wait for those drunken moments when we might admit a Hey, pause, I like you.

Are you okay? they asked now. Whispering, almost, as if I were fragile. We sat around that first night sipping singular drinks, a friend turning on a song and then stopping it. I wish I could say I was shocked into a state of inarticulate confusion, but I found myself remarkably capable of answering questions.

They weren’t dating, Sarah whispered to Sam, and I gave a soft smile so they knew it was okay that I’d heard.

But it became clear very quickly that I’d underestimated how much I liked him. Not him, perhaps, but the fact that I had someone on the other end of an invisible line. Someone to update and get updates from, to inform of a comic discovery, to imagine while dancing in a lonely basement, and to return to, finally, when the music stopped. Brian’s death was the clearest and most horrifying example of my terrific obsession with the unattainable. Alive, his biggest flaw was most likely that he liked me. Dead, his perfections were clearer.

But I’m not being fair. The fact of the matter is I felt a strange but recognizable hole that grew just behind my lungs. There was a person whose eyes and neck and penis I had kissed the night before and this person no longer existed. The second cliché was that I couldn’t quite encompass it. Regardless, I surprised myself that night by crying alone once my friends had left, my face pressed hard against my pillow.

* * *

The first time I saw Lauren Cleaver, she was playing ukulele and singing in a basement lit by strings of plastic red peppers. I remember making two observations during the twenty minutes my friends and I hung around the concert and sipped beers: one, that I wanted her outfit (floral overall shorts and a canvas jacket), and two, that she was skinnier than me, a quality that made her instantly less likable. She was pretty, apart from a very large nose, and I’d seen her around campus, riding her bike along Pear Street or smoking cigarettes outside the library. She had the rare combination of being quiet and popular, a code that made her intimidating to younger, fashionable girls and mysterious to older, confident boys. We moved in different circles and I hardly thought about her again until the morning after I first kissed Brian, whom she had dated intensely and inseparably for two years and nine months.

I’d never had to deal with an ex-girlfriend before and I didn’t like it. Adam and I were each other’s firsts and I’d only had month-long things since the two of us broke up. One thing I am is self-aware (to a neurotic fault), and I recognize that a massive percentage of my self-esteem depends on the attention of a series of smug boys at the University of Vermont. The problem is I’m good at attracting them: verbally witty and successful at sending texts. I’m also well dressed, or try to be, and make fun of boys in the way that reads as I like you. Perhaps it’s not a problem so much as a crutch, but I have this pathetic fantasy that I’d be more productive if I were less attractive. Finally finish some paintings or apply for funding of some kind. The point is that Lauren Cleaver and I were not friends because Lauren Cleaver and I had all this in common. This, and Brian.

* * *

His parents arrived the morning after the accident, and his roommates e-mailed a few people they thought might want to stop by. I wanted to go, and felt like I had to go, so I put on a pair of black jeans and a black sweater and asked Charlotte if I could borrow her black boots.

They don’t fit you, she said. And besides, you don’t need to have black shoes.

I wasn’t sure. And felt guilty for pondering my red ballet flats as I walked the seven-minute walk to his house. I figured I wasn’t supposed to be capable of that kind of thinking, and I felt like an alien. I feel that a lot, actually, in a lot of circumstances. Like I ought to be feeling something I don’t. My father used to tease me at the table by implying cold Claire had brought in the draft. I had three older sisters, all beautiful, and I was always less affected than they were, slower to smile. I remember finding it extremely hard to open presents as a child because the requisite theatricality was too exhausting. My sisters forever humiliated me over a moment in fifth grade when I’d opened a present from my grandmother and declared, straight-faced, I already have this.

It was cold for March, so I walked quickly. Brown snow still hugged the sides of our streets and the pines leaned in like gray walls, still limp with yellow Christmas lights. Whenever I slept at Brian’s, I called him as soon as I passed this certain stop sign—timing his arrival at the door so I wouldn’t have to wait. I’m here, I’d say, a block away, and he’d meander downstairs to let me in. This time, I knocked.

William let me in. Roommate and rich boy from Los Angeles. We were never friends, really, just occasional cohabiters, but we awkwardly hugged and he asked me how I

Ați ajuns la sfârșitul acestei previzualizări. Înscrieți-vă pentru a citi mai multe!
Pagina 1 din 1

Recenzii

Ce părere au oamenii despre The Opposite of Loneliness

4.0
196 evaluări / 27 Recenzii
Ce părere aveți?
Evaluare: 0 din 5 stele

Recenziile criticilor

  • Marina Keegan died too young, only a few days after her college graduation, but she left behind the treasure of her writing with this posthumous collection of tender, starry-eyed essays and short stories. Keegan wrote the title essay for her class of 2012's commencement, and it was published in the graduation issue of the Yale Daily News.

    Scribd Editors

Recenziile cititorilor

  • (2/5)
    This is going to sound terrible, but if she hadn't died, I wonder if this would have been published? Pretty mediocre and unfinished. Some of the stories were decent, but it wasn't anything special.
  • (2/5)
    I found this kind of boring. I had a hard time staying interested. I wanted to read it because of the hype and sorry to say but it disappointed.
  • (4/5)
    Marina's writing is both charming and frightening for the fact that she writes unashamed and unabashedly about the quiet things that people usually choose to keep buried inside their hearts and minds.I was really impressed by the breadth of subjects and places found in her writing; from the the complexities of our own hearts, to our interactions and intentions with others, to the setting and atmosphere of her essays and stories. Marina's writing manages to combine youthful ideals, some intrinsic sense of domesticity domesticity, and a hopeful intensity all at once.I'm thankful to have had the opportunity to read what she offered to the world.
  • (5/5)
    There are some books that even after you have read the last page you hope in vain for 'just one more page'. Sometimes this is because it's an amazing series and all you have to do is go pick up the next installment. At other times, it's a standalone novel but there are many other books which make up that author's body of work to satisfy you indefinitely. However, this is not always the case. I just finished The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories by Marina Keegan and it blew me away. For those unfamiliar with the story behind this book, Marina Keegan was a promising young writer who tragically lost her life shortly after graduating from Yale. This book was compiled by her family and a few of her professors and classmates in her honor. The book includes poignant pieces about what it means to be a part of something bigger, what it means to let yourself feel, and above all what it means to be a part of humanity itself. There are essays, short stories, and nonfiction pieces which showcase what a gifted writer Keegan was. Her writing practically exudes her lust for life and it is impossible to read this and not feel like the world could be a better place if only we looked for the beauty that is already there. When you read this you are struck by the realization that no matter how much you wish for 'just one more page' you'll have to content yourself with these meager few. This is a book you don't want to miss out on, guys. 10/10
  • (5/5)
    Beautifully written
  • (4/5)
    The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories by Marina Keegan I get stuck on the titles of books and this one got me. The cover is great too. I know it's just a picture of the author, but her pose and expression and body language were endearing. It was like she wasn't sure if this was a good idea but needed to say what she needed to see. She had to send it out into the ether and hoped for an echo that she doubted would come. Then I opened the book to discover that she had passed before it's publishing and it was published by her family for her. She had wanted to make it in this business and they really honored that. It's not a spoiler, it's right in the forward, written by one of her teachers at Yale.
    Most of the book is comprised of her short stories, which were rather good. I enjoyed each one for different reasons. I appreciated the way she looked at people, the way the stories were about their interactions more than anything else. They were clearly about the way people moved together or ground against each other. I think I would have enjoyed a novel had she had the opportunity to write one.
    The essays were interesting for the same reason. They were snapshots of life when they were about people, but there were a few that were existential. Her opinion on the sun and the future of the planet were interesting. They certainly put a different spin on things for me. Her essay on having Celiac disease was perfect. It perfect encompassed the difference between dealing with something on your own and dealing with something as a parent. I hope her mother appreciated reading it, that before the end, Keegan was beginning to understand why it affected everything the way it did. I loved her thoughts on being special, on being heard, on sending something out to the ether.

    I wish there could be more. Perhaps my appreciation is tainted by knowing there never could be, but I don't think so. It's nice to get a perspective on possibility from someone in their youth and I think I would have wanted to know how she felt about it down the road, but it just isn't possible now. Perhaps someone else will take that torch. Until then, I'll recommend Keegan.