And he understood that he would never be able to hold all the years that had gone in their entirety. That those years would begin to loosen, break apart, slip away. That there would come a time when there was just a corner, a window, a smell, a gesture, a voice to gather and assemble.
“I have never been to your country,” he confessed to her.
“You will if you want to,” she answered. “I have no doubt.”
He didn’t tell her whether or not he wanted to; he wasn’t sure himself. It seemed this place would suffice. Or maybe it wasn’t an issue of sufficiency. Maybe going somewhere else was an act of remembrance, of where you were from. A world of mirrors in which you witnessed a countless number of things that could have occurred at home or anywhere. And maybe, just maybe, that in itself was worth doing now and again. Perhaps he already was.
O Γιουν σε συνέντευξή του, το 2005:
What is the best bit of advice about writing you have ever gotten?
A sense of place is very important to me. Hemingway once said that you can’t write about a place until you’re away from it. I read that somewhere many years ago and it has always stayed with me. I have a hard time writing a story set in Boston if I’m there. When I write about a place it is necessary to have that distance in order to cull the worthy bits from my memory (or from my notebook) and shape it.
Of course, all I’m saying is that this works for me and I’m certainly not insinuating that Hemingway’s words are gospel. I tend to think if writers do whatever works for them then they’re doing it right.
Τα διηγήματα του Once the Shore προσφέρονται για παράλληλο διάβασμα με το What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us, συλλογή διηγημάτων της συντρόφου του Γιουν, της Λόρα βαν ντεν Μπεργκ.
Our kind doesn’t die from anything, all we do is die all the time.
The things you’ve made –your creations, little minions, little lumps of cloth, little masks– will leave you. You can’t really own them even though they are shadows of your body. Symptoms that will be shed, forming the residue of your life on the surface of your existence, like all surfaces that your eyes have coated with their gaze. Like a snake shedding its skin, your residue forms a ghost image all over town, everywhere you have ever been. Don’t fight it. The ghost guide will lead you all over the world in connecting shadows, a chain link of dark felt memories.
Most people think you only get one grave. This is not true. The spaces you inhabit, the territory you belong to, the town of your birth – it’s all coated in miniature graves, dappling every surface as you blow through town; a residue of metallic vagabond hail.
Το σάουντρακ του βιβλίου όπως το κατέγραψε η συγγραφέας στο Largehearted Boy, και μια συνέντευξη. Παρακάτω, η Κριλάνοβιτς στο γιορτασμό της επιλογής των 5 κάτω των 35 του Εθνικού Ιδρύματος Βιβλίου των ΗΠΑ το 2010 (επελέγη μαζί με την Τέα Όμπρεχτ, τη Σάρα Μπρόντστεϊν, την Τίφανι Γιανίκ και τον Πολ Γιουν):