Апдейт по Янагихаре: Я была не права. Читатель всегда ищет в | Мистер Дарси и бал

Апдейт по Янагихаре:

Я была не права. Читатель всегда ищет в тексте своё отражение — или переживания, которые ему не доступны и оттого бесценны; если читать роман весной 2022 года в России, он поворачивается такой жуткой, такой болезненной стороной, которую, ручаюсь, в прошлом году было бы почти невозможно рассмотреть. Ошеломляющее впечатление.

But now I fear for her constantly. How will she live in this world? Who will she be? That image I hadn’t even realized I had, of her banging into the house, a teenager, after visiting a friend, me lecturing her for being late—will that still happen? Will she be able to walk through the Village—sorry, Zone Eight—alone? Will she have friends? What will become of her? My love for her at times feels terrible, huge, dark: a wave so towering and silent that there is no fighting, no hope against it—you can only stand and wait for it to smother you.

I understand that this dreadful love is being compounded by a growing awareness of how the world that we live in—a world that, yes, I helped create—is not one that will be tolerant of people who are fragile or different or damaged. I have always wondered how people knew it was time to leave a place, whether that place was Phnom Penh or Saigon or Vienna. What had to happen for you to abandon everything, for you to lose hope that things would ever improve, for you to run toward a life you couldn’t begin to imagine? I had always imagined that that awareness happened slowly, slowly but steadily, so the changes, though each terrifying on its own, became inoculated by their frequency, as if the warnings were normalized by how many there were.

And then, suddenly, it’s too late. All the while, as you were sleeping, as you were working, as you were eating dinner or reading to your children or talking with your friends, the gates were being locked, the roads were being barricaded, the train tracks were being desmantled, the ships were being moored, the planes were being rerouted. One day, something happens, maybe something minor, even, like chocolate disappears from the stores, or you realize there are no more toy shops in the entire city, or you watch the playground across the street from you be destroyed, the metal jungle gym disassembled and loaded into a truck, and you understand, suddenly, that you’re in danger: […]

Excerpt From
To Paradise by Hanya Yanagihara
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