objavi me Maxi sprašuje, če sem potem tisto knjigo brala naprej ... Mah sem, ampak ne steče tako, kot bi knjiga morala. Prav nič me nima, da bi jo brala naprej. Pa niti ne vem, če je kriva knjiga, čist možno je, da težava leži v mojem trenutnem razpoloženju (s tem seveda ne zagovarjam njenega mnenja o 37-letnicah ... kaj za vraga si potem misli šele o kakšno leto starejših :)). Včeraj zvečer sem izbrala, odprla, začela brat in spet odložila tri različne knjige - dve od njih toplo priporočane s strani preverjenih bralcev ... pa ni šlo.
Na koncu sem izbrala preverjeno poslastico, ki sem si jo pred kakšnima dvema letoma privoščila v skupnem paketku vseh knjig v eni z nadvse prijetnim in krohot spodbujajočim "Guide to the Guide". Knjiga sama sicer sodi med tiste - al si totalno navdušen, al pa se ti ne sanja, kaj je v tej knjigi tolk dobrega. No jaz definitivno pašem v prvo skupino. A dodam nekaj malega za pokušino? Delček zgodbe, kako je nastal naslov ... iz "Guide to the Guide" :)
The idea for the title first cropped up while I was lying drunk in a field in Innsbruck, Austria, in 1971. Not particularly drunk, just the sort of drunk you get when you have a couple of stiff Gossers after not having eaten for two days straight, on account of being a penniless hitch hiker. We are talking of a mild inability to stand up.
I had been walking through the town trying to find a particular address, and being thoroughly lost I stopped to ask for directions from a man in the street. I knew this mightn't be easy because I don't speak German, but I was surprised to discover just how much difficulty I was having communicating with this particular man. Gradually the truth dawned on me as we struggled in vain to understand each other that of all the people in Innsbruck I could have stopped to ask, the one I had picked did not speak English, did not speak French and was also deaf and dumb. With a series of sincerely apologetic hand movements, I disentangled myself, and a few minutes later, on another street, I stopped and asked another man who also turned out to be deaf and dumb, which was when I bought the beers.
I ventured back on to the street. I tried again.
When the third man I spoke to turned out to be deaf and dumb and also blind I began to feel a terrible weight settling on my shoulders; wherever I looked the trees and buildings took on dark and menacing aspects. I pulled my coat tightly around me and hurried lurching down the street, whipped by a sudden gusting wind. I bumped into someone and stammered an apology, but he was deaf and dumb and unable to understand me. The sky loured. The pavement seemed to tip and spin. If I hadn't happened then to duck down a side street and pass a hotel where a convention for the deaf and dumb was being held, there is every chance that my mind would have cracked completely and I would have spent the rest of my life writing the sort of books which Kafka became famous for and dribbling.