Extracto provisto por Syndetics

I AM WRITING this because people I loved have died. I am writing this because when I was young I was full of the power of loving, and now that power of loving is dying. I do not want to die.I am thirty years of age and a married woman. My husband is Dr. Michael Gonen, a geologist, a good-natured man. I loved him. We met in Terra Sancta College ten years ago. I was a first-year student at the Hebrew University, in the days when lectures were still given in Terra Sancta College.This is how we met:One winter's day at nine o'clock in the morning I slipped coming downstairs. A young stranger caught me by the elbow. His hand was strong and full of restraint. I saw short fingers with flat nails. Pale fingers with soft black down on the knuckles. He hurried to stop me falling, and I leaned on his arm until the pain passed. I felt at a loss, because it is disconcerting to slip suddenly in front of strangers: searching, inquisitive eyes and malicious smiles. And I was embarrassed because the young stranger's hand was broad and warm. As he held me I could feel the warmth of his fingers through the sleeve of the blue woolen dress my mother had knitted me. It was winter in Jerusalem.He asked me whether I had hurt myself.I said I thought I had twisted my ankle.He said he had always liked the word "ankle." He smiled. His smile was embarrassed and embarrassing. I blushed. Nor did I refuse when he asked if he could take me to the cafeteria on the ground floor. My leg hurt. Terra Sancta College is a Christian convent which was loaned to the Hebrew University after the 1948 war when the buildings on Mount Scopus were cut off. It is a cold building; the corridors are tall and wide. I felt distracted as I followed this young stranger who was holding on to me. I was happy to respond to his voice. I was unable to look straight at him and examine his face. I sensed, rather than saw, that his face was long and lean and dark."Now let's sit down," he said.We sat down, neither of us looking at the other. Without asking what I wanted he ordered two cups of coffee. I loved my late father more than any other man in the world. When my new acquaintance turned his head I saw that his hair was cropped short and that he was unevenly shaven. Dark bristles showed, especially under his chin. I do not know why this detail struck me as important, in fact as a point in his favor. I liked his smile and his fingers, which were playing with a teaspoon as if they had an independent life of their own. And the spoon enjoyed being held by them. My own finger felt a faint urge to touch his chin, on the spot where he had not shaved properly and where the bristles sprouted.Michael Gonen was his name.He was a third-year geology student. He had been born and brought up in Holon. "It's cold in this Jerusalem of yours.""My Jerusalem? How do you know I'm from Jerusalem?"He was sorry, he said, if he was wrong for once, but he did not think he was wrong. He had learned by now to s Excerpted from My Michael by Amos Oz All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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Library Journal Review

Set in Jerusalem, Oz's poignant story of a disintegrating marriage was hailed by critics and readers alike at its debut in 1968. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

In articulate, impassioned articles written during the '80s, Israeli writer Oz urges Israelis to talk peace with the PLO. Also slated from Vintage International is the reprint of My Michael , Oz's novel of a collapsing marriage and a wife on the road to madness ($11 * ISBN 0-679-72804-X ). (Apr.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Notas de autor provistas por Syndetics

Amos Oz was born Amos Klausner in Jerusalem on May 4, 1939. As a young teenager, he moved to Kibbutz Hulda, where he completed his secondary education and worked on a farm. After he completed mandatory military service in 1961, the kibbutz assembly sent him to study at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, where he received a B.A. in philosophy and literature. After graduation, he moved back to Hulda, where he wrote, did farm work, did guard and dining-room duty, and taught in the kibbutz high school. He fought in the 1967 and 1973 wars and spent a year as a visiting fellow at Oxford University.

He wrote novels, collections of short fiction, works of nonfiction, and essays. His novels included My Michael, Black Box, and The Gospel According to Judas. His memoir, A Tale of Love and Darkness, was adapted into a movie in 2016. His last book, Dear Zealot, was made up of three essays on the theme of fanaticism. He was an advocate for peace and believed in a two-state solution, meaning the establishment of a Palestinian state alongside Israel. In the late 1970s, he helped found Peace Now. He received several awards including the Goethe Prize, the French Knight's Cross of the Légion D'Honneur, and the Israel Prize. He died after a short battle with cancer on December 28, 2018 at the age of 79.

(Bowker Author Biography)