Things i Don't Want to Know A Response to George Orwell's 1946 Essay 'Why I Write'
Reviews
I love how Levy portrays her journey on this one
kept drawing parallels to my own experiences with privilege that continues to be juxtaposed against the caste system at all times, like the south african apartheid recalled here. it is a difficult perspective to explain the pain of witnessing from a position that is inside hegemony but without power, and Levy does it with delicacy, wit and warmth. i can't wait to read more.
was so captivated by this i got the most viscous sunburn while reading on the beach. deborah levy the woman that u are π©π€
i wish i bought the whole series at the same time bc now iβm in rural victoria with no books to read π
First in a trilogy of memoirs, also the first book Iβve read of Deborah Levyβs. As good a place to start as any, keen for the next π€
It was short and she is funny and wise and it had a lot in it in a short amount of time... Very good book! Altho ngl I kinda wish it wasn't a memoir bc I'd like to follow the character of both marias and their lives too...
(3.5/4) deborah im begging you please hang out with me pleaseeee i need you to be maternal figure to me soooo bad.
Once again, I shall owe my appreciation for this book to the timing. Of course, the writing itself is delicately woven as always, but I can see myself (or others) reading this and nit-picking bits, but whilst I picked up the book, it almost felt like it was calling to me, with the answers I seek. And it has definitely shown me my socket, that I just need to reach for.
A slim first book of Levy's three part living autobiography establishing her writing presence and the quotidian realities of her childhood in apartheid South Africa, particularly those lived experiences that have been catalysts to her becoming a writer. What gives magnitude to our voices, what does it mean to be a woman, what should I do with all the things I don't want to know?β I am compelled to read on in her second book.
I love Deborah Levy's writing so much.
Highlights
It occurred to me that both Maria and I were on the run in the twenty-first century, just like George Sand whose name was also Amantine was on the run in the nineteenth century, and Maria whose name was also Zama was looking for somewhere to recover and rest in the twentieth.
We were on the run from the lies concealed in the language of politics, from myths about our character and our purpose in life. We were on the run from our own desires too probably, whatever they were. It was best to laugh it off.
Ten minutes later she brought out breakfast on a silver tray: small bowls of home-made yogurt and dark honey, warm bread rolls, a large cup of aromatic coffee with a jug of milk on the side, a glass of spring water with a slice of lemon in it, and two fresh apricots. As she unloaded the tray, Maria never once asked me about my life in London or I about hers in Majorca. I made sure I barely looked at her but I reckoned I was a detective gathering evidence for something neither of us could fathom.