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Nora Ikstena

Soviet Milk

The literary bestseller that took the Baltics by storm now published for the first time in English.
This novel considers the effects of Soviet rule on a single individual. The central character in the story tries to follow her calling as a doctor. But then the state steps in. She is deprived first of her professional future, then of her identity and finally of her relationship with her daughter. Banished to a village in the Latvian countryside, her sense of isolation increases. Will she and her daughter be able to return to Riga when political change begins to stir?
Why Peirene chose to publish this book:
At first glance this novel depicts a troubled mother-daughter relationship set in the the Soviet-ruled Baltics between 1969 and 1989. Yet just beneath the surface lies something far more positive: the story of three generations of women, and the importance of a grandmother giving her granddaughter what her daughter is unable to provide — love, and the desire for life.
'Nora Ikstena is proving that Latvia is speaking in a bold and original voice.' Rosie Goldsmith, broadcaster and reviewer
'Nora Ikstena's fiction opens up new paths not only for Latvian literature in English translation but for English literature itself.' Jeremy Davis, Dalkey Archive Press
170 nyomtatott oldalak
A szerzői jog tulajdonosa
Bookwire
Első kiadás
2018
Kiadás éve
2018
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Idézetek

  • Xeniaidézett2 hónappal ezelőtt
    ‘I have a strange feeling that that is not how it is with us. For us the cord is cut – yet it seems you still hold me with it. We are still connected by a sort of transparent but very strong cord, and I sway along with you, everywhere you sway.’
  • Xeniaidézett2 hónappal ezelőtt
    And there, high up, was my mother leaning out of the attic ventilation window. She had something clenched in her fist. She let go. A large key landed at my feet.
  • Xeniaidézett2 hónappal ezelőtt
    After supper and homework, sleep came quickly. But sleep brought a dream I had had before. I’m clinging to my mother’s breast and trying to suck on it. The breast is large, full of milk, but I can’t get any out. I don’t see my mother, she doesn’t help me, and I’m left to struggle with her breast on my own. Suddenly I succeed and a liquid flows into my mouth. But this time it’s not bitter – it’s as sweet as camomile tea with honey. I suck and drink and drink to my heart’s content from my mother’s soft, warm breast.

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