ANIL'S GHOST - Scarce Fine Copy of The First Hardcover Edition/First Printing: Signed by Michael Ondaatje - SIGNED ON THE TITLE PAGE

Ondaatje, Michael

ISBN 10: 0375410538 / ISBN 13: 9780375410536

Edité par New York City, NY: Alfred A. Knopf, 2000, 2000

A propos de cet article

1st Printing. Signed. 307 pages. Published in 2000. The author's fourth novel. Now considered a contemporary classic. The first appearance of the title in the United States. Precedes and should not be confused with all other subsequent editions. Published in a small and limited first print run as a hardcover original only. The First Edition is now scarce. Presents Michael Ondaatje's "Anil's Ghost". His "Sri Lanka" novel. An intimate and spellbinding story of what civil war can do to a country and its people, it is a literary mystery and a jigsaw puzzle of the highest quality that is written in the author's characteristically brilliant, richly layered, and emotionally resonant prose. "The novel explores that territory where the personal and the political intersect in the fulcrum of war. Its style is more straightforward, less densely poetical. While many of Ondaatje's literary trademarks are present (frequent shifts in time, hallucinatory imagery, the gradual interweaving of characters' pasts with the present), the prose is more accessible. This is not to say that the author has forgotten his poetic roots. Subtle, evocative images abound. Michael Ondaatje has crafted both a brutal examination of internecine warfare and an enduring meditation on identity, loyalty, and the unbreakable hold the past exerts over the present" (Alix Wilber). Part of the majestic and lyrical beauty of his fiction comes from the fact that Michael Ondaatje has a poetic sensibility and writes what Joseph Brodsky once called "poet's prose": "Her toes were among the white petals, her arms folded as she undressed the day, removing layers of events and incidents so they would no longer be within her" (Michael Ondaatje). An absolute "must-have" title for Michael Ondaatje collectors. This copy is very prominently, neatly, and beautifully signed in black ink-pen on the title page by Michael Ondaatje. It is signed directly on the page itself, not on a tipped-in page. This title is a contemporary classic. This is one of few such signed copies of the First Hardcover Edition/First Printing (American) still available online and is in especially fine condition: Clean, crisp, and bright. Please note: Copies available online have serious flaws, are subsequent printings, or are remainder-marked. This is surely an accessible and lovely alternative. A scarce signed copy thus. Winner of the Booker Prize in 1992 for "The English Patient". One of the greatest writers of our time. A fine copy. (SEE ALSO OTHER MICHAEL ONDAATJE TITLES IN OUR CATALOG) ISBN 0375410538.

N° de réf. du vendeur 10297

Détails bibliographiques

• Titre: ANIL'S GHOST - Scarce Fine Copy of The First Hardcover Edition/First Printing: Signed by Michael Ondaatje - SIGNED ON THE TITLE PAGE
• Éditeur: New York City, NY: Alfred A. Knopf, 2000
• Date de parution: 2000
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN à 10 chiffres: 0375410538
• ISBN à 13 chiffres: 9780375410536
• Reliure: Hardcover
• Édition: 1st Edition.
• État de l'article: Fine
• État de la jaquette: Fine
• Signé: Signed by Author

A propos de ce titre

Synopsis

brown cloth, gilt lettering, dust jacket unclipped 307 pp first US edition

Extrait

Chapter One

She arrived in early March, the plane landing at Katunayake airport before the dawn. They had raced it ever since coming over the west coast of India, so that now passengers stepped onto the tarmac in the dark.

By the time she was out of the terminal the sun had risen. In the West she'd read, The dawn comes up like thunder, and she knew she was the only one in the classroom to recognize the phrase physically. Though it was never abrupt thunder to her. It was first of all the noise of chickens and carts and modest morning rain or a man squeakily cleaning the windows with newspaper in another part of the house.

As soon as her passport with the light-blue UN bar was processed, a young official approached and moved alongside her. She struggled with her suitcases but he offered no help.
'How long has it been? You were born here, no?'

'Fifteen years.'

'You still speak Sinhala?'

'A little. Look, do you mind if I don't talk in the car on the way into Colombo — I'm jet-lagged. I just want to look. Maybe drink some toddy before it gets too late. Is Gabriel's Saloon still there for head massages?'

'In Kollupitiya, yes. I knew his father.'

'My father knew his father too.'

Without touching a single suitcase he organized the loading of the bags into the car. 'Toddy!' He laughed, continuing his conversation. 'First thing after fifteen years. The return of the prodigal.'

'I'm not a prodigal.'

An hour later he shook hands energetically with her at the door of the small house they had rented for her.

'There's a meeting tomorrow with Mr. Diyasena.'

'Thank you.'

'You have friends here, no?'

'Not really.'
Anil was glad to be alone. There was a scattering of relatives in Colombo, but she had not contacted them to let them know she was returning. She unearthed a sleeping pill from her purse, turned on the fan, chose a sarong and climbed into bed. The thing she had missed most of all were the fans. After she had left Sri Lanka at eighteen, her only real connection was the new sarong her parents sent her every Christmas (which she dutifully wore), and news clippings of swim meets. Anil had been an exceptional swimmer as a teenager, and the family never got over it; the talent was locked to her for life. As far as Sri Lankan families were concerned, if you were a well-known cricketer you could breeze into a career in business on the strength of your spin bowling or one famous inning at the Royal-Thomian match. Anil at sixteen had won the two-mile swim race that was held by the Mount Lavinia Hotel.

Each year a hundred people ran into the sea, swam out to a buoy a mile away and swam back to the same beach, the fastest male and the fastest female fêted in the sports pages for a day or so. There was a photograph of her walking out of the surf that January morning — which The Observer had used with the headline 'Anil Wins It!' and which her father kept in his office. It had been studied by every distant member of the family (those in Australia, Malaysia and England, as well as those on the island), not so much because of her success but for her possible good looks now and in the future. Did she look too large in the hips?

The photographer had caught Anil's tired smile in the photograph, her right arm bent up to tear off her rubber swimming cap, some out-of-focus stragglers (she had once known who they were). The black-and-white picture had remained an icon in the family for too long.
She pushed the sheet down to the foot of the bed and lay there in the darkened room, facing the waves of air. The island no longer held her by the past. She'd spent the fifteen years since ignoring that early celebrity. Anil had read documents and news reports, full of tragedy, and she had now lived abroad long enough to interpret Sri Lanka with a long-distance gaze. But here it was a more complicated world morally. The streets were still streets, the citizens remained citizens. They shopped, changed jobs, laughed. Yet the darkest Greek tragedies were innocent compared with what was happening here. Heads on stakes. Skeletons dug out of a cocoa pit in Matale. At university Anil had translated lines from Archilochus — In the hospitality of war we left them their dead to remember us by. But here there was no such gesture to the families of the dead, not even the information of who the enemy was.
From the Hardcover edition.