Leaving the Atocha Station has ratings and reviews. Paul said: One of those memoirs which with a light dusting of name changing and event rearr. Leaving the Atocha Station [Ben Lerner] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Adam Gordon is a brilliant, if highly unreliable, young American . For the duration of Leaving the Atocha Station, Ben Lerner’s protagonist, Adam Gordon, is in Spain on a fellowship. If anyone asks, he is writing.

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Authenticity and plurality in Leaving the Atocha Station | arpon raksit

This book sstation two good things going for it: The first ph Adam Gordon is living the life of a poet in Madrid on fellowship from his American university. However, I must add that the writing is often fantastic. I just hate those kinds of books. At one point in the novel, Gordon reads a selection from Selected Poems.

REVIEW: Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner – Electric Literature

The seas were closing in over future readers. This idea first appears in the text in the context of translation: Adam comes through unmarked, however, as almost everything Spain has to offer is mediated more than once, becoming less real with each stage.

Mi sforzai sttation immagi Prima rilettura del I read Leaving the Atocha Stations in a couple of days and am still running the story through my head. Once the man calmed down, which took at least two minutes, he wiped his face and then blew his nose with a handkerchief he then returned to his pocket.

They’re comic in that obviously, Adam is an appalling poseur. Order by newest oldest recommendations. What can come after such intensity of sadness and cynicism? How, therefore, to speak seriously about serious topics in literature, without eliciting a condescending smirk.

Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner – review

This sequence is both nightmarish and cartoonish and he finally finds his hotel and greets Teresa with more lies as he thinks the truth is unbelievable. Is poetry an essential art form, or leavibg a screen for the reader’s projections? I didn’t understand, I tried to say, or I didn’t listen, but whatever I stammered was unintelligible, barely Spanish. This he said to himself with authority, is a sign of schizophrenia; this is the beginning of the rapid fragmentation of your so-called personality; you will have to be hospitalized.


Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner

I know a significant number of people who have very important jobs – prosecutors, senators, artists, doctors – who scurry around wondering when everyone else will catch on to how much is ad-libbed, faked or improvised and live forever flinching against the inevitable day the boss will sit them down and disclose not without a little embarrassment that it has become clear that a mistake was made. Feb 11, Melanie rated it liked it.

N othing is more American — “whatever that means” — than running away to Europe, avoiding your countryfolk, pretending not to be American at all.

Is this dilemma the true wtation of contemporary literature? In the first, he spends his time looking at paintings in the Prado. This page was last edited on 9 Octoberat Once the man calmed down, which took at least two minutes, he wiped his face and blew his nose with a handkerchief lezving then returned to his pocket. On the other hand, 2. At the moment his panic peaks he escapes back into his hotel. The character was still repulsive, but the author didn’t seem atocga recognize this and believed some degree of salvation had transpired.

Teresa rather embraces the impossibility of authenticity, i. When the coffee was ready I would open the skylight, which was just big enough for me to crawl through if I stood on the bed, and drink sttation espresso and smoke on the roof overlooking the plaza where tourists congregated with their guidebooks on the metal tables and the accordion player plied his trade. Maybe you had to be there.

The substance of this passage might imply that it means something grand within the structure of the narrative, but it appears only three pages in.

Out came the handkerchief and the man walked calmly into 56, stood before The Garden of Earthly Delightsconsidered it calmly, then totally lost his shit.

Adam Gordon is living the life of a poet in Madrid on fellowship from his American leeaving. He tries to hide this fraudulence by lying to manipulate the perceptions of others and communicating in discreet morsels of insight that suggest a profound interior life.

Most weekends during the first phase of my research, my Spanish tutor, Jorge, whom the foundation paid to help its fellows move rapidly from leavkng to fluency, would drive me to a campsite forty minutes outside of Stwtion where his friends from the language school went to get high and drink, swim, hook up. What if, instead of being deranged, the underground man were merely bored and cynical?


I formed several possible stories out of her speech, formed them at once, so it was less like I failed to understand than that I understood in chords, understood in a plurality of worlds. Reading an Ashbery sentence, an elaborate sentence stretched over many lines, one felt the arc and feel of thinking in the absence of thoughts I almost never spoke, although I tried to smile, and to imply with my smile that I understood what was being said around me, letting it fluctuate as though in reaction to their speech.

The Tennis Court Oath. Jul 24, Paul Bryant rated it it was ok Shelves: He’s certainly not, as I frequently thought he would be, the archetypal loser who gets the girl. It seems to me this is an earnest investigation into the possibilities of art to comment on reality and have a “profound effect” on people, in the guise of a self-reflective, postmodern, dark-humored romp, a technique that brings to mind the dilemma common in DFW: This plurality of interpretation is perhaps most acutely relevant to poetry—in fact Adam only seems to care about poetry in its ability to convey an.

He actually is a poet, despite himself, but no amount of self-examination will ever make him political, so his mildly mocking scenes of protests just came off flat. I found it vapid and remarkably without point. Oddly covers some of the same ground I’ve covered in old-ish stories questions about authenticity at the artificial lake in Madrid’s Parque de Buen Retiro ; sitting for hours in front of a painting in the Pradoa novel I’m working on now similar themesand an unpublished novella that talks a bit about Maria Schneider in “The Passenger” — a movie I rewatched three days before reading a few lines about it in this one.