The History of Love

I finished it on Monday, on the train home from work. The History of Love was something that I had a very difficult time putting down. I felt immediately captivated by it, always entranced while reading it, and deeply touched after finishing it.

Two of my favorite passages:

If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hang awkwardly at the ends of your arms- if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body- it’s because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what’s inside and what’s outside was so much less. It’s not that we’ve forgotten he language of gestures entirely. The habit of moving our hands while we speak is left over from it. Clapping, pointing, giving the thumbs up: all artifacts of ancient gestures. Holding hands, for example, is a way to remember how it feels to say nothing together. And at night, when it’s too dark to see, we find it necessary to gesture on each other’s bodies to make ourselves understood.

The Death of Leopold Gursky

Leopold Gursky started dying on August 18, 1920
He died learning to walk.
He died standing at the blackboard.
And once, also, carrying a heavy tray.
He died practicing a new way to sign his name.
Opening a window.
Washing his genitals in the bath.

He died alone, because he was too embarrassed to phone anyone.
Or he died thinking about Alma.
Or when he chose not to.

Really, there isn’t much to say. He was a great writer.
He fell in love.
It was his life.