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Taking on the Machine Age – a wonderful collection over @ShinyNewBooks @PeterOwenPubs

I  have a new review up today in Shiny New Books, and it’s a lovely work by an author I’ve read since my early twenties and whom I’ve revisited in recent years - the singular and very wonderful Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by kaggsy59 on Sept. 12, 2019, 9:20 a.m.

Anna Kavan Machines in the Head (2019). Just arrived in the post…

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fiction
ideology and discourse
everyday practices
non-fiction

Tumblred by driftwork on Aug. 15, 2019, 1:10 p.m.

Blog about a book acquired and a bit of recent reading

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The copy I ordered of Fernando A. Flores’ novel Tears of the Trufflepig arrived today and I finished the first three chapters before putting on the USA-ENG World Cup game—sort of a noir sci-fi tone so far (Flores’ novel, not the World Cup match).

I ordered the book after reading the first five paragraphs of J. David Gonzalez’s review in the Los Angeles Review of Books a few days ago. I’ll read…

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Anna Burns
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Fernando Flores

Tumblred by biblioklept on July 2, 2019, 10:24 p.m.

An area of total strangeness | Blog about the final third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice

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Bondage by Leonor Fini. Part of Fini’s illustrations for a 1962 edition of Pauline Réage’s novel The Story of O.

I wrote about the first third of Anna Kavan’s 1967 novel Ice here and then wrote about the second third here. This third blog will discuss, sort of, the novel’s final third. If you want a very short review though, here goes: If you like novels that disrupt our conventional sense of how…

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Tumblred by biblioklept on June 30, 2019, 11:38 p.m.

Increasingly derealized | Blog about the second third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice

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La Victime est reine (The Victim Is Queen), 1963 by Leonor Fini 

In my last blog on Anna Kavan’s 1967 cult novel Ice, I focused on the book’s first third (the first five chapters), focusing in particular on how the novel’s narration upends our expectations that a novel deliver a stable reality accessed through first-person perspective. This trend continues into the book’s second third, (chapters…

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Tumblred by biblioklept on June 29, 2019, 12:38 a.m.

Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice

The first three words of Anna Kavan’s 1967 novel Ice are “I was lost,” a simple declaration that seems to serve as a mission statement for the next 60 odd pages. I read these 60 odd pages (63, to be precise, in my Penguin Classics 50th Anniversary Edition of the novel) today, often feeling lost, and glad of it. I like it when I don’t really know what a book is doing, and Ice is such a book.

Ice 

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Tumblred by biblioklept on June 27, 2019, 12:59 a.m.

Blog about some recently acquired books

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I have acquired a goodly amount of books in the last two weeks and failed to do any of these silly “books acquired” posts about them, having been busy with summer classes and occupying summer-bound children (and, admittedly spending too many free hours rewatching Deadwood so that I can watch the Deadwood film and doing a Brueghel puzzle, and not really writing).

I ordered Pierre Senges’ strange…

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Books
Anna Burns
Books Acquired
Greg Gerke
Gregor von Rezzori
Iceberg Slim
Jacob Siefring
Patrice Killoffer
Pierre Senges

Tumblred by biblioklept on June 25, 2019, 11:40 p.m.

Anna Kavan, Ice (1968).

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Tumblred by bustakay on June 20, 2019, 7:29 a.m.

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And the first review of Machines in the Head, from Jonathan Norton, is here.

This is the first indication I’ve had that it contains color reproductions of Kavan paintings I’ve never seen, as well.

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review
Machines in the Head
Jonathan Norton

Tumblred by housesofsleep on June 10, 2019, 9:56 p.m.

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Machines in the Head
stories
essays

Tumblred by housesofsleep on June 10, 2019, 9:54 p.m.

New blog post is up! About Anna Kavan this time.

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literature
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Tumblred by esarkaye on April 13, 2019, 6:28 p.m.

New blog post is up! About Anna Kavan this time.

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Tumblred by esarkaye on April 13, 2019, 6:28 p.m.

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Hielo
novela
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tapas de libros

Tumblred by villings on April 3, 2019, 4:54 a.m.

She sees women through their pretty skins and turns them inside out.

- Jeremy Reed on Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by house-of-romanov on April 1, 2019, 2:18 p.m.

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always behind the counter

Tumblred by always-behind-the-counter on March 9, 2019, 11:16 p.m.

In a polished surface of metal I happen to notice my reflected face; it wears a pale, beaten lonely look, eyes looking out at nothing with an expression of fear, frightened and lonely in a nightmare world. Something, I don’t know what, makes me think of my childhood; I remember myself as a schoolchild sitting at a hard wooden desk, and then as a little girl with thick, fair, wind-tossed hair, feeding the swans in a park. And it seems both strange and sad to me that all those childish years were spent in preparation for this— that, forgotten by everybody, with a beaten face, I should serve machinery in a place far away from the sun.
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asylum piece

Tumblred by thenightwecalleditaday on March 5, 2019, 1:46 a.m.

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New/old work in this beautiful annual, A Plume, Volume 2 (Museums Press).

‘With Giuseppe’s suggestion of Anna Kavan as a catalyst for our discussion, we begin our conversation broadly, circling the ways in which writing and writer enact manoeuvres of alienation and distance; obfuscating first-hand experience and second-hand retelling.’ 

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bhanu kapil
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hannah ellul
ben knight
colin herd
ghislaine leung
sophie macpherson
lila matsumoto
jessica higgns
giuseppe mistretta
edwin stevens

Tumblred by her-moth on Feb. 8, 2019, 3:50 p.m.

At the instant of balance, when the scale trembles between the polarities of night and day; what is it that returns?

The light rain showering in sunlight while we sheltered under the archway; and went on over green velvet grass, between mulberry trees: and strapped books on the carriers of bicycles or piled them in baskets fixed to the handlebars, on our way to the evening, to drink coffee, and to talk for hours.

And when we were sentimental, standing in front of the house where he used to live, the poet, the tears came in our eyes, and we were uplifted. We said to one another, We too will write beautiful words, we will be remembered. And we felt uplifted. While you are young you have splendid pure feelings. Afterwards it’s different, there are various euphonic substitutes.

Which are the prints to be pasted into the album out of the jumbled snapshots?

Traveller on the world’s oceans, in waking do you know the sea which rocks your temporary bed, or whether the shadow of the tropic bird or of the stormy petrel sidles across the deck? There are certain pictures which did not fade or get thrown away Look at the pictures quickly And you will catch your morning bird soaring above the towers, you will see your shadow fly over choristers and midsummer morning bells from the tower at the bridgehead.

There was a poem written for me on my comb; written very small with the nib of a pen used for mapping. And when we drifted in the punt, late, in the backwater, I combed my hair, and I was Orlando, I was not man nor girl, and I was Ariel, drifting between the worlds, and a poem in my hair.

I do not know why I must keep these pictures small eyes, mad eyes that should have been starry the lovely danger waiting beneath the lime tree or faces cheating as they pass by, frozen for ever in their fraudulent smiles with the clocks striking an uncounted hour masks

Why this one? Or that? How chosen?

Inexorable self, carried like the superfluous and tiresome piece of luggage which it is impossible to lose; franked with the customs’ stamp of every frontier, retrieved exasperatingly from the disaster where everything else is lost, companion of the dislocation of cancelled sailings and missed connections, witness of every catastrophe, survivor of all voyages and situations… I

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Feb. 4, 2019, 3:26 a.m.

THINGS at school began going wrong. I broke rules and was often in the detention-room. People started saying how difficult I’d become. Generally they were angry with me, but occasionally one of them spoke kindly and asked questions which I wouldn’t answer because I distrusted kindness. Once a doctor wanted me to tell him what went on inside my head, but I didn’t trust him either. I wouldn’t talk to him in case he was on the enemy side. How could I know that he wasn’t one of the tigers?

How could I explain that school was a machine running by clockwork, and that it was because I didn’t fit the machine that I was always in trouble? At the start I had tried to fit in. Now I’d stopped trying because I knew it was hopeless. I knew there was no place for me in the day unless I gave in altogether, and this I was determined I wouldn’t do. The daylight world was my enemy, and to the authorities of that world who had rejected me I would not submit. They had insulted and damaged me and I would never surrender to them.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Feb. 4, 2019, 3:09 a.m.

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アンナ・カヴァン『氷』のイラストです。

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illustration
イラストレーション
海外文学

Tumblred by tentaizukan on Feb. 3, 2019, 6:19 a.m.

The perennially clear eye of the Heaven-Born opens to a stare of shockingly bright moonlight. The eye is located at presumptive God height so that the terrestrial globe is seen as if from an airplane cruising over it at about three thousand feet.

A cold, steady review of night, moonlight, vastness, emptiness, loneliness, desolation, by the celestial eye. The bleak and enormous reaches of its vision swoop occasionally to focus detail at close range but never linger on anything. The eye is checking a record of silence, space; a nightmare, every horror of this world in its frigid and blank neutrality. The actual scope of its orbit depends on the individual concept of desolation, but approximate symbols are suggested in long roving perspectives of ocean, black swelled, in slow undulation, each whaleback swell plated in armour-hard brilliance with the moonlight clanking along it; the endless, aimless, nameless shoreline, flat, bald-white sand, unbroken black-tree palisade; the heavy and horrid eternal onrush of breakers sullenly exploding their madness of futile power, millions of mad tons piling, booming, collapsing, swirling in chain-mail mosaic of mad moon splinters; blanched mountain range a ridge of clenched knucklebones.

The eye sinks slowly to travel at tree height past clattering black slats of palm leaves knife-edged on steel;

and looks at a hideous fanged stone idol in front of which lies a hyena, gnawing away at a lump of half-rotted flesh; dips lower to inspect three strung human skulls dully ululating in wind; rises again to medium altitude and directs its impassive scrutiny towards death-white ice-caps; towards hopeless vastness of dreary continents crawling with pestilential rivers, scabbed with plains in the comers of which perpetual dust-storms are festering; towards blasted battlefields and ruined cities running with seared putrescence; over dead village roofs and poisoned gardens, broken walls bitter in snow or moon, blank windows black with nothing.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 28, 2019, 4:53 a.m.

OUT of my urgent need I found the way of working a new night magic. Out of the night-time magic I built in my head a small room as a sanctuary from the day. Phantoms might be my guests there, but no human could enter. Human beings were dangerous to me, like tigers prowling at large in the daytime world. Inside my secluded room I felt safe from the tigers I sometimes envied. Sometimes a savage beauty lured me into the sun and I would start to love the danger a little. On these occasions I felt the reluctant love drained painfully from me as blood drains from a deep wound. The tigers lapped my love’s blood and remained enemies. The inhabitants of the day laughed at the gift I wanted to bring them, and I shut myself in my inner room to escape the betrayal of their arrogant mouths.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 28, 2019, 4:46 a.m.

At the same moment, two executives of the angelic order, severe in their robes, their faces shadowed by long pointed wings, advance, linked by a property arch which they carry between them. The arch, made out of gun-metal-coloured paper (the sort in which silver is sometimes wrapped to keep it from tarnishing), simulates a subway approach and bears a small neon sign in red letters EXIT TO HELL.

Supported by an angel on each side, the arch is set on the ground. The audience looks uneasily from side to side, whispers flying about. A walks under the arch with a strictly impassive face: she seems not to notice where she is going. The seraphim at the foot of the stairs raise their trumpets. The saintly crowds shift, shuffle, whisper, stare, lean forward, expressions of deploring pietude glazing avid curiosity; stare, seasoning sempiternal brightness with the zest of distant but contemporaneous shade.

The first notes of the trumpets are blown.

Just as the angels are preparing to carry the arch away B makes a desperate dash at it and dives through.

Everything blacks out — as if in an abrupt dense smoke-screen — as successive curtains of darkness are drawn. The faces of the child-angels last longest, porcelain painted with Os of insipid disparagement. On the obliteration of the last doll face, the hymn singing, very distantly, starts up again and continues, diminishing into final inaudibility, for a few seconds more.

What happens when you start on the downward trip? The elevator doors clang shut, a suffocating infernal wind roars up the shaft, it seems as though you’ll never get to the bottom; there’s plenty of time to wonder what’s coming and to wish yourself somewhere else. Of course there isn’t a hope of ever getting out again into the light. Once you’re on your way down the machinery takes charge of you, you’re caught, trapped, finished for good and all. Certainly there are legends about individuals who have escaped, even after reaching the final platforms. But these are heroes, fabulous figures who perhaps never really existed except as projections of wishful thinking in the minds of ordinary people. At any rate, they are far too dubious and remote to be of any real moral support or to provide any justifiable basis for optimism. You might just as well give in and pluck the cruel thorn of hope out of your heart. It’s always less painful to surrender to the stream of events than to turn yourself into a dam to be battered and pounded. It’s true that if the worst comes to the worst you’ll be drowned: but that’s better than being beaten to a jelly; and there’s always a slight chance that you may get washed ashore somewhere before the end.

And now, with regard to this drop into the lower regions, things really might be much worse. It’s no good pretending that you get the gaiety down here. You don’t get the variety or the excitement or the social or cultural life. If those were the things you were after you should have been much more prudent, you should have hung on to your original identity disk, number billion-billion-billion-whatever of the collectivists, instead of losing it somewhere or throwing it away in a fit of bravado. Then you could have trooped along to paradise with the rest and been one of the crowd for-ever-and-a-day. But since it’s happened like this, since you’ve been thrown out on your ear by the celestial party, or thrown yourself out, it makes no difference which way you put it, the only thing left is to adapt yourself as well as you can.

It’s lonely? Sure, it’s lonely. That’s what you asked for, didn’t you? After all, if you hadn’t been too superior for the gang, you wouldn’t be here. And think how much more distinguished it is to be on your own, or with one or two individualists like yourself, than to be an ordinary gregarious animal going about with the herd.

You miss the sun and air? Sure, you do. There are some million miles of solid obstruction between you and the free place where the wind blows and the birds sing in the sunshine. You’ll never feel the sun warming you any more. You’ll never hear the birds. No bird could live in this atmosphere, this ersatz air that eddies here in stale and fetid artificial gusts. But you can breathe in it and like it too. And in the end it will smell sweeter to you than a sea-breeze, just as this dim, unvaried and unfresh light will suit your eyes better than the vulgar sun.

You don’t like it here? Why didn’t you keep out, then, for God’s sake, while you had the chance? Anyhow, it’s no good moaning and snivelling now. Put a good face on it. Be tough. Show the crowd you can take it. You’re an individualist, aren’t you? To hell with the crowd. What do you care about them? You’re here because you’ve got no time for the crowd. What do you care about them and their damnfool heaven? To hell with heaven, anyway.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 20, 2019, 4 p.m.

MY mother’s death made no difference to the house except that she herself was no longer in it. At least her outward presence had gone away. Her sadness and her boredom stayed in the quiet rooms where I lived alone with shadows. As if they felt lonely, these two ghosts attached themselves to me and entered my night-time world. Sometimes I thought they had taken me for my mother, and I felt nearer to her through their nearness. Sometimes it seemed as if her departure had brought her too near. Sometimes her nearness was like a hand on my shoulder; then I felt frightened, and ran and jumped and turned somersaults even, trying to shake off her hand. But the hand always stayed on my shoulder as long as it wished to.

Sometimes, looking out of an upstairs window, I could feel my mother looking out of my eyes. Like people who from a bridge watch fish swimming below them, we saw the outside world as an alien element where we could take no part. Isolated behind the glass of our lonely window we looked down on the daily life which was not for us.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 20, 2019, 12:09 a.m.

The village idiot peeps in round the post of the open door, grows bold seeing the old man so absorbed, and cautiously tiptoes into the room. The idiot boy advances in shambling stealth a little nearer the table where something is spluttering over a burner; cunningly keeps his eye on the reader; jerks himself nearer still. He is attracted by the bubbling mess in the tube; then fascinated by it; his hand stretches slyly towards it, draws back, fumbles to it again; he twitches in violent excitement, grimacing at it; clutches it.

The whole bag of tricks flashes up at his touch in an explosion of glittering dust. There’s a split second’s glimpse of the vast sad blackness of infinity before the perfectly bare void is spattered by this glittering exsurgence, this bursting fountain of molecules, instantly crystallizing to sequins of differing size. And now at once begins the fiery development of comets, suns, planets, nebulae; constellations are clotted together; worlds rush forth on their immense navigations; the monstrous efflorescence of the universe burgeons in the flick of an eyelash. Creation is under way. The solar system is off. Larger and more brilliant blaze the globes, the stars roar past like stratoliners to destinations not checked in quadrillions. The billiard-ball earth swings up and flattens colossally underfoot. The thunderous revving of the cosmic machines settles to the steady beat of eternity.

Right in the middle of all this, in a quiet place, the little girl B sits reading a book. She is sitting on short fresh green grass, leaning against a tree, where it is quiet and cool. Everything here is springlike and very much simplified; just the grass and the innocent green tree and the child. Before long several other children appear and begin to play with red and green bean bags. They stand in two rows and each child throws the bag over his shoulder to be caught and passed on by the child behind. Their conduct is orderly, ritualistic, almost obsessional. They are completely concentrated on their serious attention to the rules of the game, their occasional subdued exclamations barely disturb the hush. Under the tree, B puts down her book and looks on. It’s clear that she would like to join in, but she feels shy and needs some encouragement. The others pay no attention to her, they are quite absorbed in their game. At last B gets up and goes towards them. Play stops for a moment. A boy with a polite blank public-school face steps out and gravely invites her into the game.

Perhaps B is nervous, perhaps she doesn’t understand the rules, perhaps she just means to introduce an innovation. Anyway, when it comes to her turn, she throws the red bean bag forward instead of back. The game breaks up at once, as if by telepathic agreement. The faces of the other children grow astonished and hostile. The polite boy in particular wears an outraged expression as he marshalls his companions away.

Left alone, B stands bewildered, looking in the direction where the players have vanished. After a moment, quickly and hopefully, her eyes are drawn to a man (it’s her father, as a matter of fact) who walks along fast, dressed in dark town clothes and carrying a dispatch case and an umbrella. Her face turns upwards in expectation. But he is in too much of a hurry to notice her, he has important things on his mind, he passes on and scurries into an enormous office building which at this moment snaps up like an opera hat out of the ground to the right of the tree. As soon as he’s in, the ornate double doors close behind him; but still, through the wrought-iron scrolls, he can be seen diminishing down room after room full of clerks, typists, desks, room full of clerks, typists, desks, telephones, green-shaded lamps; door after transparent door shutting behind his back, till he is at last inaccessibly entombed as if in the heart of a gigantic formicary.

B, who has taken a few steps towards the building as if she meant to follow him, drifts back to the tree, on the other side of which a plain stone wall with a door in the centre has now erected itself. From some distance off, A approaches aloofly, her hand already outstretched to the door. On this narrow door, with her left hand, with a blue-flashing ring, she raps in a deliberate fashion. While she is waiting for the door to open she turns her eyes slowly upon the child, at whom she looks directly and pensively. Then her eyes move, sliding without eagerness to the door which, opening, displays a dark space where it is just possible to distinguish the sculptured pallor of urns in the deep shadow. A goes inside. With two final, distinct clicks, the door is shut and locked. The little girl watches with the acceptance of perfectly uncomprehending fatalism, then sits down in her original place at the foot of the tree. As she picks up her book and starts reading, the wall and the office building dissolve unobtrusively, restoring the dream picture as it was to begin with. The only difference being that its vernal simplicity now holds a definite suggestion of loneliness, isolation.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His Name

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 17, 2019, 7 a.m.

THE PRE-REALIST fantasia opens up in an inchoate sort of Marie Laurençin dream of delicate tints. No form to speak of. Just a pearly billowing and subsiding of fondant chromatics; baby blue, candy pink, lemon-icing yellow, all sweetly harmonious and insipid like a débutante’s bon-bon box tied up in cellophane and big satin bows. After a sufficiency of this things begin to take shape, but as we are taking a long view of the time-stream and creation hasn’t occurred yet, there’s naturally a lot of fluidity. A tinkling twinkling musical-box tune, with accompanying Tyrolean or Swiss dancers, fancy peasants, rose-wreathed cupids, angels with nightgowns and cheeks like pomegranates, is liable to translate any minute into a Brahms symphony and the austere discipline of the ancien corps de ballet.

In the same way the mountain which presently arches itself up like a cat’s back is perhaps Mount Olympus, or perhaps Mount Sinai, or perhaps it is a cat’s back and not a mountain at all. Assuming that it’s a mountain, as a closer view seems to confirm, one gets an impression of pellucidity more appropriate to a mirage. There are crystalline snow slopes, diaphanous groves of trees, hyaline rocks, and, in the immediate foreground, a small lake, clear as glass, the translucent waters of which have surely never been contaminated by so much as a minnow.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 17, 2019, 6:47 a.m.

Our house always seemed especially quiet, as if people spoke there only in lowered voices. My parents seldom had time for talking to me. No one talked to me much, but the rain often used to whisper. It rained a lot and the rain kept whispering to me. In the long afternoons when the rain filled each window and shadows met together in every corner, I sometimes thought of the sun and the Japanese houseboy. It was lonely in those rooms dark with my mother’s sadness and with the rain on the windows. The rain shut off the house by itself in a lonely spell.

In time I found out what it was that the rain whispered. I learnt from the rain how to work the magic and then I stopped feeling lonely. I learnt to know the house in the night way of mice and spiders. I learnt to read the geography of the house bones. Invisible and unheard I scampered down secret tunnels beneath the floor boards and walked a tightrope webbing among the beams.

After that I never wished for children to play with, or for the Japanese houseboy to tell me fantastic stories. Hidden by curtains, sheltered in cupboards, ambushed in foxholes between the tables and chairs, I transmuted flat daylight into my night-time magic and privately made for myself a world out of spells and whispers.

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His Name

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 15, 2019, 6:37 a.m.

Why does he keep his eye on me like this now that he has accomplished his purpose and brought about my destruction? It can’t be to make sure that I don’t escape; oh, no, there’s no possibility of that, he need not have the slightest fear. Is it just to gloat over my ruin? But no, I don’t think that’s the reason, either, for if that were so he would come more often and at times more humiliating to me when I am in the deepest despair.

Somehow I have the impression from those vague glimpses I have caught of his face that it wears a look that is not vindictive, but kindred, almost as though he were related closely to me by some similarity of brain or blood. And of late the idea has come to me — fantastic enough, I admit — that possibly after all he is not my personal enemy, but a sort of projection of myself, an identification of myself with the cruelty and destructiveness of the world. On a planet where there is so much natural conflict may there not very well exist in certain individuals an overwhelming affinity with frustration and death? And may this not result in an actual materialization, a sort of eidolon moving about the world?

I have thought a lot about such matters of late, sitting here and looking out of the window. For, strangely enough, there are windows without bars in this place and doors which are not even locked. Apparently there is nothing to prevent me from walking out whenever I feel inclined. Yet though there is no visible barrier I know only too well that I am surrounded by unseen and impassable walls which tower into the highest domes of the zenith and sink many miles below the surface of the earth.

So it has come upon me, the doom too long awaited, the end without end, the bannerless triumph of the enemy who, after all, appears to be close as a brother. Already it seems to me that I have spent a lifetime in this narrow room whose walls will continue to regard me with secrecy through innumerable lifetimes to come. Is it life, then, or death, stretching like an uncoloured stream behind and in front of me? There is no love here, nor hate, nor any point where feeling accumulates. In this nameless place nothing appears animate, nothing is close, nothing is real; I am pursued by the remembered scent of dust sprinkled with summer rain.

Outside my window there is a garden where nobody ever walks: a garden without seasons, for the trees are all evergreens. At certain times of the day I can hear the clatter of footsteps on the concrete covered ways which intersect the lawns, but the garden is always deserted, set for the casual appreciation of strangers, or else for the remote and solitary contemplation of eyes defeated like mine. In this impersonal garden, all neatness and vacancy, there is no arbour where friends could linger, but only concrete paths along which people walk hurriedly, inattentive to the singing of birds.

Anna Kavan, Asylum Piece

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Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 14, 2019, 3:25 a.m.

Who shall describe the slow and lamentable cooling of the heart? On what day does one first observe the infinitesimal crack which finally becomes a chasm deeper than hell?

The years passed like the steps of a staircase leading lower and lower. I did not walk any more in the sun or hear the songs of larks like crystal fountains playing against the sky. No hand enfolded mine in the warm clasp of love. My thoughts were again solitary, disintegrate, disharmonious — the music gone. I lived alone in a few pleasant rooms, feeling my life run out aimlessly with the tedious hours: the life of an old maid ran out of my fingertips. I arranged the flowers in their vases.

Anna Kavan, Asylum Piece

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*

Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 14, 2019, 2:01 a.m.

In a polished surface of metal I happen to notice my reflected face; it wears a pale, beaten lonely look, eyes looking out at nothing with an expression of fear, frightened and lonely in a nightmare world. Something, I don’t know what, makes me think of my childhood; I remember myself as a schoolchild sitting at a hard wooden desk, and then as a little girl with thick, fair, wind-tossed hair, feeding the swans in a park. And it seems both strange and sad to me that all those childish years were spent in preparation for this — that, forgotten by everybody, with a beaten face, I should serve machinery in a place far away from the sun.

Anna Kavan, Asylum Piece

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anna kavan
asylum piece
*

Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 13, 2019, 11:14 p.m.

How slowly the minutes pass in the winter night: and yet the hours themselves do not seem so long. Already the church clock is calling the hour again in its dull country voice that sounds half stupefied with the cold. I lie in bed, and like a well-drilled prisoner, an old-timer, I resign myself to the familiar pattern of sleeplessness. It is a routine I know only too well.

My jailer is in the room with me, but he cannot accuse me of being rebellious or troublesome. I lie as still as if the bed were my coffin, not wishing to attract his attention. Perhaps if I don’t move for a whole hour he will let me sleep.

Naturally, I cannot put on the light. The room is as dark as a box lined with black velvet that someone has dropped into a frozen well. Everything is quiet except when the house-bones creak in the frost or a lump of snow slides from the roof with a sound like a stealthy sigh. I open my eyes in the darkness. The eyelids feel stiff as if tears had congealed upon them in rime. If only I could see my jailer it would not be so bad. It would be a relief to know just where he is keeping watch. At first I fancy that he is standing like a dark curtain beside the door. The ceiling is lifted off the room as if it were the lid of a box and he is towering up, taller than an elm tree, up towards the icy mountains of the moon. But then it seems to me that I have made a mistake and that he is crouching on the floor quite close to me.

An iron band has been clamped round my head, and just at this moment the jailer strikes the cold metal a ringing blow which sends needles of pain into my eye sockets. He is showing his disapproval of my inquiring thoughts; or perhaps he merely wishes to assert his authority over me. At any rate, I hastily shut my eyes again, and lie motionless, hardly daring to breathe, under the bed clothes.

To occupy my mind I begin to run through the formulae which the foreign doctor taught me when I first came under suspicion. I repeat to myself that there is no such person as a victim of sleeplessness, that I stay awake simply because I prefer to continue my thoughts. I try to imagine myself in the skin of a newborn infant, without future or past. If the jailer looks into my mind now, I think, he cannot raise any objection to what is going on there. The face of the Dutch doctor, thin and sharp and hard like the face of a sea captain, passes before me. Suddenly a cock crows near by with a sound fantastic, unearthly, in this world still locked in darkness and frost. The cock’s crow flowers sharply in three flaming points, a fiery fleur-de-lis blossoming momentaneously in the black field of night.

Now I am almost on the point of falling asleep. My body feels limp, my thoughts start to run together. My thoughts have become strands of weed, of no special colour, slowly undulating in colourless water.

My left hand twitches and again I am wide awake. It is the striking of the church clock that has called me back to my jailer’s presence. Did I count five strokes or four? I am too tired to be certain. In any case, the night will be over soon. The iron band on my head has tightened and slipped down so that it presses against my eyeballs. And yet the pain does not seem so much to come from this cruel pressure as to emanate from somewhere inside my skull, from the brain cortex: it is the brain itself which is aching.

All at once I feel desperate, outraged. Why am I alone doomed to spend nights of torment, with an unseen jailer, when all the rest of the world sleeps peacefully? By what laws have I been tried and condemned, without my knowledge, and to such a heavy sentence, too, when I do not even know of what or by whom I have been indicted? A wild impulse comes to me to protest, to demand a hearing, to refuse to submit any longer to such injustice.

But to whom can one appeal when one does not even know where to find the judge? How can one ever hope to prove one’s innocence when there is no means of knowing of what one has been accused? No, there’s no justice for people like us in the world: all that we can do is to suffer as bravely as possible and put our oppressors to shame.

Anna Kavan, Asylum Piece

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asylum piece
*

Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 13, 2019, 11:05 p.m.

Somewhere in the world I have an implacable enemy although I do not know his name. I do not know what he looks like, either. In fact, if he were to walk into the room at this moment, while I am writing, I shouldn’t be any the wiser. For a long time I believed that some instinct would warn me if we ever came face to face: but now I no longer think this is so. Perhaps he is a stranger to me; but much more probably he is someone whom I know quite well — perhaps someone I see every day. For if he is not a person in my immediate environment, how does he come to possess such detailed information about my movements? It seems quite impossible for me to make any decision — even concerning such a trifling matter as visiting a friend for the evening — without my enemy knowing about it and taking steps to ensure my discomfiture. And, of course, as regards more important issues, he is just as well informed.

The fact that I know absolutely nothing about him makes life intolerable, for I am obliged to look upon everybody with equal suspicion. There is literally not a soul whom I can trust.

As the days go past I find that I am becoming more and more preoccupied with this wretched problem; indeed, it has become an obsession with me. Whenever I speak to anyone I catch myself scrutinizing him with secret attention, searching for some sign that would betray the traitor who is determined to ruin me. I cannot concentrate on my work because I am always debating in my mind the question of my enemy’s identity and the cause of his hate. What act of mine can possibly have given rise to such a relentless persecution? I go over and over my past life without finding any clue. But perhaps the situation has arisen through no fault of my own but merely on account of some fortuitous circumstances that I know nothing about. Perhaps I am the victim of some mysterious political, religious or financial machination — some vast and shadowy plot, whose ramifications are so obscure as to appear to the uninitiated to be quite outside reason, requiring, for instance, something as apparently senseless as the destruction of everybody with red hair or with a mole on his left leg.

Because of this persecution my private life is already practically in ruins. My friends and family are alienated, my creative work is at a standstill, my manner has become nervous, gloomy and irritable, I am unsure of myself, even my voice has grown hesitating and indistinct.

You would think that my enemy might take pity on me now; that, seeing the miserable plight to which he has reduced me, he would be content with his vengeance and leave me in peace. But no, I know perfectly well that he will never relent. He will never be satisfied until he has destroyed me utterly. It is the beginning of the end now; for during the last few weeks I have received almost certain indications that he is starting to lodge false accusations against me in official quarters. The time can’t be far off when I shall be taken away. It will be at night, probably, that they will come for me. There will be no revolvers, no handcuffs; everything will be quiet and orderly with two or three men in uniform, or white jackets, and one of them will carry a hypodermic syringe. That is how it will be with me. I know that I’m doomed and I’m not going to struggle against my fate. I am only writing this down so that when you do not see me any more you will know that my enemy has finally triumphed.

Anna Kavan, Asylum Piece

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anna kavan
asylum piece
*

Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Jan. 13, 2019, 10:11 p.m.

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Futurist figures, 1960. 

(untitled 9, if you’re matching these to the old Jeremy Reed monograph of her art).

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Anna Kavan
painting

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Jan. 8, 2019, 8:30 p.m.

She never belonged to a group and she never wrote a manifesto. She was a one-woman avant-garde.
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anna kavan

Tumblred by nehamargosa on Jan. 3, 2019, 4:58 a.m.

She never belonged to a group and she never wrote a manifesto. She was a one-woman avant-garde.
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anna kavan

Tumblred by nehamargosa on Jan. 3, 2019, 4:58 a.m.

In her grey loden coat, she stood on the verandah surrounding the beach house, waiting for someone. At first I thought she had seen me coming, then realized that her eyes were fixed on a different path. I stopped and stood watching. I wanted to make sure who it was she expected, though I did not think the hotel man was likely to come now, knowing I would be here. She seemed to feel she was no longer alone, started looking about, and finally saw me. I was not close enough to distinguish the dilating pupils that made her eyes huge and black in her white face. But I heard her sharp exclamation, saw the hair swirl and glint as she swung round, pulled the hood over her head, and started towards the beach I could hardly see her once she was off the verandah. She was trying to become invisible in the snow. Sudden terror had seized her: the thought of the man whose ice-blue eyes had a magnetic power which could deprive her of will and thrust her down into hallucination and horror. The fear she lived with, always near her, close behind the world’s normal façade, had become concentrated on him. And there was another connected with him, they were in league together, or perhaps they were the same person.

Both of them persecuted her, she did not understand why But she accepted the fact as she accepted all the things that happened to her, expecting to be ill-treated, to be made a victim, ultimately to be destroyed, either by unknown forces or by human beings. This fate seemed always to have been waiting for her, ever since time began. Only love might have saved her from it. But she had never looked for love. Her part was to suffer; that was known and accepted. Fatality brought resignation. It was no use fighting against her fate. She knew she had been beaten before the start.

Anna Kavan, Ice

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ice
*

Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Dec. 24, 2018, 5:28 a.m.

Snow-muffled silence outside; silence filling the car. He drove without lights, his eyes like cats’ eyes, able to see through the snowy darkness. A ghost-car, invisible, silent, fled from the ruined town. The ancient snow-covered fortifications fell back and vanished in snow, the broken wall vanished behind. In front loomed the black living wall of the forest, ghostly whiteness fuming along its crest like spray blown back from the crest of a breaking wave. She waited for the black mass to come crashing down on them, but there was no crash, only the silence of snow and forest outside, and in the car, his silence, her apprehension. He never spoke, never looked at her, handled the powerful car recklessly on the rough frozen track, hurling it at speed over all obstacles, as if by the force of his will. The violent lurching of the car threw her about; she was not heavy enough to keep in her seat. Thrown against him, forced to touch his coat, she winced away as though the material burned. He seemed unaware. She felt forgotten, forsaken.

It was incomprehensible to her, this extraordinary flight that went on and on. The forest went on for ever. The silence went on and on. The snow stopped, but the cold went on and even increased, as if some icy exudation from the black trees congealed beneath them. Hour after hour passed before a little reluctant daylight filtered down through the roof of branches, revealing nothing but gloomy masses of firs, dead and living trees tangled together, a dead bird often caught in the branches, as if the tree had caught it deliberately. She shuddered, identifying herself, as a victim, with the dead bird. It was she who had been snared by nets of black branches. Armies of trees surrounded her on all sides, marching to infinity in all directions. Snow flew past the window again, waving white flags. She was the one who long ago had surrendered. She understood nothing of what was happening. The car leapt in the air, she was flung painfully on to her bruised shoulder, tried ineffectually to shield it with the other hand.

Anna Kavan, Ice

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ice
*

Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Dec. 24, 2018, 4:42 a.m.

The wearer’s head was uncovered: her bright hair shimmered like silver fire, an ignis fatuus glimmering in the forest. She hurried on as fast as she could, anxious to get out of the trees. She was nervous in the forest, which always seemed full of menace. The crowding trees unnerved her, transformed themselves into black walls, shutting her in. It was late, after sunset; she had come too far and must hurry back. She looked about for the fjord, failed to see it, lost her bearings, and at once became really frightened, terrified of being overtaken by night in the dark forest. Fear was the climate she lived in; if she had ever known kindness it would have been different. The trees seemed to obstruct her with deliberate malice. All her life she had thought of herself as a foredoomed victim, and now the forest had become the malign force that would destroy her. In desperation she tried to run, but a hidden root tripped her, she almost fell. Branches caught in her hair, tugged her back, lashed out viciously when they were disentangled. The silver hairs torn from her head glittered among black needles; they were the clues her pursuers would follow, leading them to their victim. She escaped from the forest at length only to see the fjord waiting for her. An evil effluence rose from the water, something primitive, savage, demanding victims, hungry for a human victim.

For a second she stood still, appalled by the absolute silence and loneliness all around. A new ferocity pervaded the landscape now that night was approaching. She saw the massed armies of forest trees encamped on all sides, the mountain wall above bristling with trees like guns. Below, the fjord was an impossible icy volcano erupting the baleful fire of the swallowed sun.

In the deepening dusk every horror could be expected. She was afraid to look, tried not to see the spectral shapes rising from the water, but felt them come gliding towards her and fled in panic. One overtook her, wound her in soft, clammy, adhesive bands like ectoplasm. Wildly choking a scream, she fought herself free, raced on blindly, frantic and gasping. Her brain was locked in nightmare, she did not think. The last light fading, she stumbled against unseen rocks, bruising knees and elbows. Thorns lacerated her hands, scratched her face. Her flying leaps shattered the thin ice at the fjord’s edge and she was deluged in freezing water. Each breath was painful, a sharp knife repeatedly stabbing her chest. She dared not stop or slacken speed for an instant, terrified by the loud thud of pursuing steps close behind her, not recognizing her own agonized heartbeats. Suddenly she slipped on the edge of a snowdrift, could not stop herself, fell face down in a deep snow-grave. There was snow in her mouth, she was done for, finished, she would never get up again, could not run any further. Cruelly straining muscles relentlessly forced her up, she had to struggle on, pulled by the irresistible magnet of doom. Systematic bullying when she was most vulnerable had distorted the structure of her personality, made a victim of her, to be destroyed, either by things or by human beings, people or fjords and forests; it made no difference, in any case she could not escape. The irreparable damage inflicted had long ago rendered her fate inevitable.

Anna Kavan, Ice

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ice
*

Tumblred by thevividgreenmoss on Dec. 24, 2018, 2 a.m.

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Anna Kavan and friends— taken from The London Magazine, February 1970

Thanks, London Magazine.

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Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 14, 2018, 8:32 p.m.

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Uncredited image assumed to be a self-portrait, taken from The London Magazine, February 1970

The following piece is taken from The London Magazine, February 1970. It was written by Rhys Davies, a close friend of Anna Kavan’s, and was published alongside the short story ‘The Mercedes’.

The Bazooka Girl– A Note on Anna Kavan

“She did not know, and would not accept when told, that courage was giving her a degree of triumph….She returned to these stories, a valid discipline, and their clarity of style, their spurning of sensationalism and their own code of logic, were another justification of her vision. ”

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rhys davies

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 14, 2018, 8:20 p.m.

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Feminize Your Canon : Anna Kavan | The Paris Review

“She cast doubts, she lied, she fabricated, she spoke the truth, she was most honest,” wrote the drama critic Raymond Marriott, a friend and coexecutor of her estate. “But where did it begin and where did it end?”
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Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 11, 2018, 5:39 p.m.

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Two untitled paintings of swans (no.3, 1950, and no.4, 1960)

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Anna Kavan
painting
the birds dancing
swan

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 10, 2018, 8:47 p.m.

In civilizations without boats, dreams dry up, espionage takes the place of adventure, and the police take the place of pirates.

Foucault, Of Other Spaces.

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anna kavan
heterotopias

Tumblred by keystothecastle on Dec. 10, 2018, 5:24 p.m.

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A collection of rarely seen, though tragically tiny, drawings from ANNA KAVAN: An Illustrated Catalogue, 2005.

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drawing
art

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 7, 2018, 4:40 p.m.

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ANNA KAVAN: An Illustrated Catalogue. Lucius / Punk Daisy Publications., 2005, with rarely seen paintings and future biographer Jeremy Reed’s essay “A Blonde Legend and Exploding Into Colour”. Edition of 50 signed hardcover (pictured) and 950 softcover. 

I’m surprised to only just have heard of this one, and by the lack of good images online at least some of the enclosed paintings and drawings. Of course, many have been scanned – I realize now that many of the images I gathered in 2013 and have been posting since originated here, and my posts have maintained this book’s numbering of untitled works.

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painting
book
Jeremy Reed
art
An Illustrated Catalogue

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 7, 2018, 3:20 p.m.

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On this, the 50th Anniversary of Anna Kavan’s death, we’ve just learned that she has a brand new collection forthcoming from Peter Owens in May 2019, including many never-collected articles (apparently some (all?!) of those we’d previously had to hunt through archived Horizons issues for). The collection is edited by Victoria Walker, chair of the Anna Kavan Society, who are currently also seeking funds to place a memorial plaque at her former residence at Hillsleigh Road, London W8.

This collection of Anna Kavan’s short fiction and journalism marks fifty years since her death in 1968. From moving portraits of clinical depression to phantasmagoric visions of sci-fi wonder – including the previously unpublished story ‘Starting a Career’ – the writings collected in Machines in the Head offer an accessible introduction to readers new to her work and a timely survey of Kavan’s diverse writing talents for her fans. Her journalism, giving insight into her radical politics and her thoughts on writing and writers, is reproduced in full.

More information here: https://www.peterowen.com/shop/anna-kavan-anthology

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Anna Kavan
Peter Owens
Victoria Walker
Machines in the Head
stories
essays
2019

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 5, 2018, 9:45 p.m.

Anna Kavan died 50 years ago today, on the 5th of december 1968

Newsletter

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Tumblred by keystothecastle on Dec. 5, 2018, 8:42 p.m.

And suddenly, my aimless gaze, shifting about the muffled, uncoloured scene, was caught sharply and held amazed, incredulous, charmed, by an appearance so brilliant, so unexpected, that it was as if two tiny meteors of living flame had suddenly plunged through the atmosphere. It is impossible for me to describe adequately the vividness of those two small birds as they alighted among the sparse twigs of the prunus in the sad, misty half-light of the winter day. Not only their gay feathers, but their movements, their airy wing-sweeps, light as the pirouettes of extremely delicate dancers, gave an impression of unearthly buoyancy, of joyous animation that seemed to belong to visitants from a blither world.

- Anna Kavan, The Birds.

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Tumblred by keystothecastle on Nov. 28, 2018, 5:03 p.m.

As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead;
she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of the world.
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ICE
ANNA KAVAN

Tumblred by matermephisto on Nov. 9, 2018, 1:03 a.m.

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I found about this hot wheels toy car and it vexed me because it resembles the cars described in Ice, the 1965 novel by Anna Kavan. It is a very sad and diifficult book, in it the cars become potent symbols, monuments of death and delrium. Ice has been compared to Crash by J.G. Ballard but it is far more alien and layered. ‘’Kavan approved of a reader’s report from her publisher, which described the book as a “mixture of Kafka and the Avengers.” ‘’  I wonder if the designer of the Screamliner, Larry Wood, ever read Ice…

https://www.newyorker.com/books/second-read/a-haunting-story-of-sexual-assault-and-climate-catastrophe-decades-ahead-of-its-time

http://weirdfictionreview.com/2018/02/review-ice-anna-kavan/

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anna kavan
science fiction
slipstream fiction
weird fiction
screamliner
dieselpunk
diesel punk

Tumblred by spaceintruderdetector on Sept. 28, 2018, 2:51 a.m.

the oneiric eidolon in the asylum of the disconsolate heart

[From Anna Kavan’s Asylum Piece]

ASYLUM PIECE

II

I had a friend, a lover. Or did I dream it? So many dreams are crowding upon me now that I can scarcely tell true from false: dreams like light imprisoned in bright mineral caves; hot, heavy dreams; ice-age dreams; dreams like machines in the head. I lie between the bare wall and the medicine bitter with sediment in its dwarfish glass, and try to recall my dream. I see myself walking hand-in-hand with another, a human being whose heart and mind had grown into mine. We walked together on many roads, in sunshine beside ancient olive trees, on hillsides sprayed as by fountains with the larks’ singing, in lanes where the raindrops dripped from the chilly leaves. Between us there was understanding without reservations and indestructible peace. I, who had been lonely and incomplete, was now fulfilled. Our thoughts ran together like greyhounds of equal swiftness. Perfection like music was in our united thoughts. “I remember an inn in some southern country. A crisis, long since forgotten, had arisen in our lives. I remember only the cypresses’ black flames blowing, the sky hard as a blue plate, and my own confidence, serene, unshakable, utterly secure. ‘Whatever happens is trivial so long as we are together. Under no circumstances could we fail one another, wound one another, do one another wrong.’ Who shall describe the slow and lamentable cooling of the heart? On what day does one first observe the infinitesimal crack which finally becomes a chasm deeper than hell? The years passed like the steps of a staircase leading lower and lower. I did not walk any more in the sun or hear the songs of larks like crystal fountains playing against the sky. No hand enfolded mine in the warm clasp of love. My thoughts were again solitary, disintegrate, disharmonious – the music gone. I lived alone in a few pleasant rooms, feeling my life run out aimlessly with the tedious hours: the life of an old maid ran out of my fingertips. I arranged the flowers in their vases. Yet still, intermittently, I saw him, the companion whose heart and brain once seemed to have grown to mine. I saw him without seeing him, the same and yet not the same. Still I could not believe that everything was lost beyond hope of salvage. Still I believed that one day the world would change colour, a curtain would be ripped away, and all would be as it once was. But now I am lying in a lonely bed. I am weak and confused. My muscles do not obey me, my thoughts run erratically, as small animals do when they are cornered. I am forgotten and lost. It was he who brought me to this place. He took my hand. I almost heard the tearing of the curtain. For the first time in many months we rested together in peace. Then they told me that he had gone. For a long while I did not believe it. But time passes by, and no word comes. I cannot deceive myself any longer. He has gone, he has left me, and he will not return. I am alone for ever in this room where the light burns all night long and the professional faces of strangers, without warmth or pity, glance at me through the half open door. I wait, I wait, between the wall and the bitter medicine in the glass. What am I waiting for? A screen of wrought iron covers the window; the house door is locked though the door of my room is open. All night long the light watches me with its unbiased eye. There are strange sounds in the night. I wait, I wait, perhaps for the dreams that come so close to me now. I had a friend, a lover. It was a dream.

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asylum piece
madness
dreams
Literature

Tumblred by loneberry on Sept. 6, 2018, 7:52 p.m.

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victoria walker

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Aug. 15, 2018, 5:23 a.m.

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Self portrait by Anna Kavan

Listen to episode #11 Ice by Anna Kavan

Anna Kavan’s Ice was originally published in 1967 by Peter Owen books. The book is Kavan’s final and best known work, and appeared just one year before her death. In the aftermath of a nuclear war, society is rapidly crumbling as a wall of ice threatens to engulf the entire planet. Our unnamed narrator roams through this barren, frozen wasteland in pursuit of a young girl with a halo of hair as bright as spun glass; his designs on her are decidedly sinister. The novel proceeds with the torturous, cyclical quality of an inescapable nightmare in which the reader is cocooned.

Over the course of the episode, we discuss the extent to which Kavan’s heroin addiction influenced the novel, consider the novels place in the tradition of post-apocalyptic fiction, and explore the unique brutality of the novel’s narrator.

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Tumblred by housesofsleep on Aug. 15, 2018, 4:35 a.m.

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by claude cahun

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claude cahun
reminds me of

Tumblred by dreamanimals on July 20, 2018, 9:58 a.m.

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by claude cahun

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anna kavan
claude cahun
reminds me of

Tumblred by house-of-romanov on July 20, 2018, 9:58 a.m.

My invalid dependent wife

T.S. Eliot repeated this over and over again in his letters. Ad nauseum (oh yes, the nausea). He exaggerated Vivien(ne)’s symptoms, confused them at times with his own. But he was the Great Poet, she merely a sick woman. As if planning a future, escape route, corralling sympathies. Even though she too nursed him through his maladies.

“The emphasis was always on Vivien’s illnesses, which appear mysterious.”

Colitis, fever, migraines, rashes, insomnia, exhaustion, cloudiness—but how to separate the cure from the disease? Hallucinations from the bromides and chloral, given in huge draughts to make women walk around like zombies.

My irritable bowel. My raging periods. My howling headaches. Our maladies speak crassly and loudly for us when we are supposed to be calm.

Kate Zambreno, Heroines.

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anna kavan
virginia woolf
kate zambreno
t.s. eliot

Tumblred by dreamanimals on July 13, 2018, 8:04 p.m.

“It was getting more and more difficult to see out. As fast as the frost-flowers were cleared from the windscreen they reformed in more opaque patterns, until I could see nothing through them but falling snow; an infinity of snowflakes like ghostly birds, incessantly swooping past from nowhere to nowhere.”

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on July 13, 2018, 1:30 a.m.

“…for a moment she leaned on me, her face a moonstone, luminous in the dark, her lashes tipped with white snow.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on July 6, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

That spectral cascade, the apotheosis of the unreal, had become for me the only reality.

Anna Kavan, Eagle’s Nest

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Tumblred by dreamanimals on July 3, 2018, 8:39 p.m.

“…her hair shimmering violet like the shadows of trees on snow.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on June 29, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

“Her moonwhite skin, her hair sparkling with diamond prisms under the moon. The moon’s dead eye watching the death of our world.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on June 22, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

if you are interested in Anna Kavan, i have a blogspot dedicated to my Master Thesis Research on her work.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by dreamanimals on June 20, 2018, 9:10 p.m.

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anna kavan - portraits in green

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green
portrait
surreal
vegetation
femininity
fantasy

Tumblred by zoomusickgirl on June 16, 2018, 10:22 p.m.

“There was a brief pause, long enough for me to feel a chilly sensation creep over me; the adumbration of emptiness, loss…of what life would be like without her.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on June 15, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

“Her albino hair illuminated my dreams, shining brighter than moonlight. I saw the dead moon dance over the icebergs, as it would at the end of our world, while she watched from the tent of her glittering hair.”

Anna Kavan, Ice

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anna kavan

Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on June 8, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

The sense of unreality had left her; she felt clear-headed as never before. She stood there in absolute honesty, looking into herself. She was suddenly, objectively, aware of the girl Anna Kavan, an individual human being, alive in the world, alone, without support, without obligations, capable of intelligent thought and responsible for her own destiny.
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Tumblred by dreamanimals on June 3, 2018, 9:08 p.m.

All this was only a dream.
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w

Tumblred by autumnalsonata on June 2, 2018, 12:05 p.m.

She looked across the sea to the sharp golden arc which was all that was left of the sun. It vanished; and in its place a bud of pure emerald light flowered instantaneously up the sky, miraculous, magical, so swiftly gone that it might have been a delusion.
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anna kavan
writing

Tumblred by autumnalsonata on June 2, 2018, 12:36 a.m.

“I felt I belonged to another dimension, and became silent.”

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on June 1, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

She wanted to appreciate things, to understand them, but all in the abstract, so to speak, without actually experiencing them.

Anna Kavan, Let me Alone.

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let me alone

Tumblred by dreamanimals on May 28, 2018, 3:48 p.m.

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Anna Kavan | Ice

Alice Notley | Désamère

Ingeborg Bachmann | Malina

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ingeborg bachmann
a book about hell
'crazing' in her hands means to shatter with fine cracks
the world is no place for a woman in touch with her distress
what happens on earth stays on earth

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on May 28, 2018, 8:35 a.m.

“All of a sudden the life I had lately been living appeared unreal: it simply was not credible any longer.”

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on May 25, 2018, 1 a.m.

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A slipstream narrative that puts us inside the mind of a man obsessed with a remote, crystalline woman who may be a mere figment of his imagination and erotic frustrations. Then things get stranger as her presence continually indicates the eventual encroachment of more ice, more ecological destruction and countries laid to ruin. Kayvan’s prose is as cold, slick, and intense as the ice she writes about, or as Doris Lessing put it, in a mold of literary economy, “there is nothing else like it.”

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ice
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read in 2018

Tumblred by jxsxpx87 on May 19, 2018, 6:48 a.m.

“The forest went on for ever. The silence went on and on.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on May 18, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

“It’s too ghastly. I’m not the sort of person who can live without seeing the sky. On the contrary, I have to look at it many times a day, I’m dying to be a part of it like the stars themselves.“

Anna Kavan, “The Old Address”

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on May 17, 2018, 12:40 p.m.

“…her eyes were looking far inward at dreams. Arms like peeled wands, silvery streaming hair…a young moon among clouds…“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on May 11, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

i really like “pursued by the remembered scent of dust sprinkled with summer rain” 

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anna kavan
from that quote i just posted

Tumblred by cryptomnesia on May 4, 2018, 3:35 p.m.

Apparently there is nothing to prevent me from walking out whenever I feel inclined. Yet though there is no visible barrier I know only too well that I am surrounded by unseen and impassable walls which tower into the highest domes of the zenith and sink many miles below the surface of the earth.

So it has come upon me, the doom too long awaited, the end without end, the bannerless triumph of the enemy who, after all, appears to be close as a brother. Already it seems to me that I have spent a lifetime in this narrow room whose walls will continue to regard me with secrecy through innumerable lifetimes to come. Is it life, then, or death, stretching like an uncoloured stream behind and in front of me? There is no love here, nor hate, nor any point where feeling accumulates. In this nameless place nothing appears animate, nothing is close, nothing is real; I am pursued by the remembered scent of dust sprinkled with summer rain.

Outside my window there is a garden where nobody ever walks: a garden without seasons, for the trees are all evergreens. At certain times of the day I can hear the clatter of footsteps on the concrete covered ways which intersect the lawns, but the garden is always deserted, set for the casual appreciation of strangers, or else for the remote and solitary contemplation of eyes defeated like mine. In this impersonal garden, all neatness and vacancy, there is no arbour where friends could linger, but only concrete paths along which people walk hurriedly, inattentive to the singing of birds.

from Asylum Piece, Anna Kavan.

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pursued by the remembered scent of dust sprinkled with summer rain

Tumblred by cryptomnesia on May 4, 2018, 3:30 p.m.

“My ideas were confused. In a peculiar way, the unreality of the outer world appeared to be an extension of my own disturbed state of mind.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on May 4, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

“What crime I’d committed, I didn’t know; nor did this matter, since I knew I was guilty, and guilt itself was my crime. The shades of the prison house already enclosed me. There was no hope. I was being dragged deeper into some weird cavernous darkness, lit only by glow-worm glimmers of greenish light. Never again, I thought despairingly, should I see the sun.”                  

“My heart gave a great bound, and something went through me like lightning, like steel, that might have been either despair or triumph. It was all over. I had known all along. Now I’d achieved my object, the thing I most dreaded and most desired. I was alone again, unloving, unloved, as I had always been and would always be, world without end. At this moment of spontaneous revelation, the truth emerged, unmistakably, everywhere and in everything: shouted by the vast indifferent glacial silence of night and stars, petrified in the forever-suspended drop, proclaimed by the disposition of flowers, no longer scattered at random. For a timeless instant there was nothing but this hugely significant truth.”

“The very foundations of reality had begun to dissolve. I didn’t know where I was, either in space or in my existence. Lost in the deepest possible sense, I’d lost even the reality of my life in the world. My real self was dissolving, falling away from me. To my horror I felt myself some small, despised, abject thing - some kind of vermin - without teeth or claws or any means of protection, the most defenseless creature alive, hated and hunted by all the rest. My destruction was their duty, an easy task, accomplished by one weak blow.”

- Anna Kavan, Guilty

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Tumblred by birthdeathexperience on April 30, 2018, 6:02 a.m.

the girl was forgotten 

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my soul in china

Tumblred by fleshworld on April 27, 2018, 9:31 p.m.

“I was aware of an uncertainty of the real, in my surroundings and in myself. What I saw had no solidity, it was all made of mist and nylon, with nothing behind.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on April 27, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

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ANNA KAVAN / NEIGE / CAMBOURAKIS / 2013.

Un homme poursuit obstinément une femme qu’il a aimée par le passé, dans un monde dévasté par les guerres et sur lequel plane la menace d’une nouvelle ère glaciaire. Il court vers elle, à moins que ce ne soit vers le mur de glace qui se profile à l’horizon du roman comme de l’humanité. Un étrange roman traversé d’éclairs fantasmatiques, métaphore inquiète des années Guerre froide et subtile analyse d’un sentiment amoureux partagé entre passion et persécution.

« Soudain, à travers les tourbillons de neige, j’aperçus la fille qui s'enfuyait en direction de la glace. J'essayai de crier : « Arrêtez ! Revenez ! » mais l'air polaire me rongea la gorge et ma voix fut emportée par le vent. Je courus après elle, enveloppé d’une brume de neige poudreuse. Je pouvais à peine la voir, c’était à peine si mes yeux pouvaient distinguer quelque chose : je dus m’arrêter et essuyer péniblement les cristaux de glace qui se formaient sur mes yeux avant de pouvoir continuer. Le vent meurtrier ne cessait de me repousser, la neige s'entassait en monticules blancs qui fumaient comme des volcans, m'aveuglant de nouveau de leur fumée blanche. J'avançai en titubant dans le froid atroce, chancelai et trébuchai, glissai, tombai, me relevai péniblement, l'atteignis enfin tant bien que mal, l'agrippai de mes mains engourdies. C'était trop tard, je vis tout de suite que nous n'avions pas la moindre chance. Une splendeur arctique, comme un mirage, nous dominait de toutes parts, un édifice de glace étrange, extraterrestre. D'immenses remparts de glace, des tourelles irisées, des pinacles envahissaient le ciel, illuminés de l'intérieur par des feux minéraux. Nous étions pris au piège de ces murs convergents, de ce cercle de bourreaux spectraux qui avançaient lentement, inexorablement, pour nous détruire. Je ne pouvais ni bouger ni penser. L'haleine du bourreau paralysait, engourdissait le cerveau. Je sentis le froid mortel de la glace me toucher, j'entendis son grondement, je la vis, traversée de fissures éclatantes couleur d'émeraude. Loin au-dessus de nous, les pics étincelants tonnaient et tremblaient, sur le point de s'écrouler. Du givre étincelait sur ses épaules, son visage était d'une blancheur de neige, ses longs cils effleuraient ses joues. Je l'attirai à moi et la tins serrée contre ma poitrine pour qu'elle ne pût voir les masses montagneuses de glace qui tombaient. »


Anna Kavan / Neige [Ice] / Cambourakis / [1967] 2013. Trad. : Ronald Blundel


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Tumblred by membrane on April 26, 2018, 7:11 p.m.

There needs to be a term for an alternative way of building worlds, the world-building-in-negative that is practiced by Kavan and Abe (and forebears and contemporaries like Edgar Allan Poe, Franz Kafka, Samuel Beckett, John Hawkes, and J. G. Ballard). Some have called this process “inferred world-building” or “world-conjuring,” but “world-blocking” may be more apt. The term works in opposing directions to get at the paradox of these types of texts. A “block” is something that obstructs, but is also a unit, like a brick, for building (i.e., “building block”). The verb “to block” means to hinder or hamper, but it also means to plot out the movements of an actor on a stage or movie set. World-blockers, then, build worlds through obstruction; they block out the moves of their world by blocking our full access to them.
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anna kavan
fiction
franz kafka
literary criticism
fiction writing
creative writing
tyler malone
world building
edgar allan poe
kobo abe
samuel beckett
john hawkes
j.g. ballard

Tumblred by grandhotelabyss on April 24, 2018, 5:48 p.m.

Kölden väckte mig i gryningen. Hela natten lång hade kalla stjärnor bombarderat jorden med isstrålar, som trängde genom dess hölje och lagrade sig inunder, de lämnade bara en tunn skorp över en reservoar av iskyla. Att se marken vit av rimfrost och känna den hårdfrusen under sulorna i denna subtropiska region gav en känsla av att man stigit ut ur vardagen och in på ett sällsamt område, där inga kända lagar härskade.

Anna Kavan, Is, 1967

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text

Tumblred by svartnebulosa on April 20, 2018, 5:22 p.m.

“I treated her like a glass girl; at times she hardly seemed real.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on April 20, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

I felt utterly unfamiliar to myself, inextricably mixed up with headache and heaviness; and there was always that oppressiveness on me, like a waking sleep.

- A.K. Guilty

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Tumblred by fleshworld on April 19, 2018, 2:45 p.m.

“To speak of the catastrophe was an offense under the new regulations. The rule was to choose not to know.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on April 13, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

“Reality had always been something of an unknown quantity to me. At times this could be disturbing.“

Anna Kavan, Ice

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Tumblred by a-quiet-green-agreement on April 6, 2018, 1:01 a.m.

As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of the world.
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ice

Tumblred by bookmonsterzero on April 3, 2018, 6:30 p.m.

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my anna kavan collection

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Tumblred by fleshworld on March 20, 2018, 10:10 a.m.

His frown, however, was automatic, part of his lifelong struggle to hide his isolation by imagining and then simulating the behaviour of other people in similar circumstances – he frowned merely because he believed displeasure would be the normal reaction, not because he himself was displeased with the room.
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mercury

Tumblred by lost-shark on Feb. 8, 2018, 4:28 a.m.

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is having a Moment

Tumblred by lefta-lone on Feb. 7, 2018, 10:25 p.m.

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Tumblred by kammartinez on Feb. 2, 2018, 5:03 a.m.

I have a review up on Shiny New Books today, and it’s of a stunning and memorable book – Anna Kavan’s “Ice”. I picked up my original, rather fragile Picador edition (shown on the left) decades ago and haven’t revisited the book since. However, it’s now been reissued in a eye-catching Penguin Modern Classic (centre) and a beautiful Peter Owen Cased Classic (right), as well as a Penguin black cover…

View On WordPress

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shiny new books

Tumblred by kaggsy59 on Jan. 25, 2018, 11:31 a.m.

I was lost, it was already dusk, I had been driving for hours and was practically out of petrol.

Ice by Anna Kavan

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ice

Tumblred by wellconstructedsentences on Jan. 23, 2018, 12:37 a.m.

I was confused about time. It had been night overhead all along, but below it was still daylight. There were no clouds. I saw islands scattered over the sea, a normal aerial view. Then something extraordinary, out of this world: a wall of rainbow ice jutting up from the sea, cutting right across, pushing a ridge of water ahead of it as it moved, as if the flat pale surface of sea was a carpet being rolled up. It was a sinister, fascinating sight, which did not seem intended for human eyes. I stared down at it, seeing other things at the same time. The ice world spreading over our world. Mountainous walls of ice surrounding the girl. Her moonwhite skin, her hair sparkling with diamond prisms under the moon. 

The moon’s dead eye watching the death of our world.

from Ice, Anna Kavan.

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ice
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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Jan. 22, 2018, 7:21 p.m.

By degrees the snow became visible as it fell, a sort of faint shimmer like phosphorescence. The hollow roar of the wind came in irregular bursts, the snowflakes whirled madly in all directions, filled the night with their spectral chaos. I seemed to feel the same feverish disorder in myself, in all my pointless rushing from place to place. The crazily dancing snowflakes represented the whole of life. Her image flew past, the silver hair streaming and was instantly swept away in the wild confusion. 

In the delirium of the dance, it was impossible to distinguish between the violent and the victims. Anyway, distinctions no longer mattered in a dance of death, where all the dancers spun on the edge of nothing. 

from Ice, Anna Kavan.

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ice
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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Jan. 22, 2018, 7:16 p.m.

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Anna Kavan

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Ice
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GB
United Kingdom
1900's
1968
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Who are you?
Sleep has his House
London
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postmodernism
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Tumblred by theshatterednotes on Jan. 21, 2018, 3:45 p.m.

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1975

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Tumblred by chuckmobleydotcom on Jan. 18, 2018, 9:02 a.m.

Frozen by the deathly cold emanating from the ice, dazzled by the blaze of crystalline ice-light, she felt herself becoming part of the polar vision, her structure becoming one with the structure of ice and snow. As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.
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ice
*words

Tumblred by atreides on Jan. 14, 2018, 8:06 p.m.

I was afraid the dream might turn out to be real… Something in her demanded victimization and terror, so she corrupted my dreams, led me into dark places I had no wish to explore. It was no longer clear to me which of us was the victim. Perhaps we were victims of one another.
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ice
*words

Tumblred by atreides on Jan. 14, 2018, 12:13 a.m.

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Tumblred by kammartinez on Jan. 12, 2018, 3:57 a.m.

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ice
gilles deleuze
felix guattari
neige
mille plateaux
l'anti-oedipe
machines désirantes
machines machinant
machine myopie
myopie

Tumblred by capjuby on Jan. 10, 2018, 12:35 p.m.

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books

Tumblred by kammartinez on Jan. 10, 2018, 12:50 a.m.

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Gifts from the amazing owners of Pilsen Community Books. I’ve already started reading Ice. It was a book galore Christmas(as my friend so brilliantly called it).

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shirley jackson
joan lindsay
penguin classics
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still counts

Tumblred by you-just-solved-one on Dec. 27, 2017, 2:56 a.m.

Inorexable self, carried like the superfluous and tiresome piece of luggage which it is impossible to lose; cranked with the customs’ stamp of every frontier, retrieved exasperatedly from the disaster where everything else is lost, companion of the dislocation of cancelled sailings and missed connections, witness of every catastrophe, survivor of all voyages and situations… I

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 26, 2017, 9:18 p.m.

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A wintry new addition to its canon by Penguin Classics, Ice is the story of a unnamed narrator searching for the elusive “glass girl” with silver hair across a frozen, apocalyptic landscape. Written by proto-feminist author Anna Kavan (a pseudonym for Helen Ferguson nee Woods), Ice was the last of her novels to be published in her lifetime, and was praised by none other than Brian Aldiss as the best science fiction novel of 1967, and Doris Lessing said of the novel, “There is nothing else like it.”

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Tumblred by universitybookstore on Dec. 26, 2017, 5 p.m.

Life is tension or the result of tension: without tension the creative impulse cannot exist. If human life be taken as the result of tension between the two polarities night and day, night, the negative pole, must share equal importance with the positive day. At night, under the influence of cosmic radiations quite different from those of the day, human affairs are apt to come to a crisis. At night most human beings die and are born.
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Tumblred by loutrophoros on Dec. 21, 2017, 12:12 p.m.

There was a poem written for me on my comb; written very small with the nib of a pen used for mapping. And when we drifted in the punt, late, in the backwater, I combed my hair, and I was Orlando, I was not man nor girl, and I was Ariel, drifting between worlds, and a poem in my hair.

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 20, 2017, 3:27 p.m.

Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.
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silence

Tumblred by mythologyofblue on Dec. 18, 2017, 5:19 a.m.

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Tumblred by kammartinez on Dec. 15, 2017, 10:29 p.m.

By what judgment am I judged? What is the accusation against me? Am I to be accused of my own betrayal? Am I to blame because you are my enemies? Yours is the responsibility, the knowledge, the power. I trusted you, you played with me as a cat plays with a mouse, and now you accuse me. I had no weapon against you, not realizing that there was need for weapons until too late.

This is your place; you are at home here. I came as a stranger, alone, without a gun in my hand, bringing only a present that I wanted to give you. Am I to blame because the gift was unwelcome?

Am I accused of the untranslated indictment against myself? Is it my fault that a charge has been laid secretly against me in a different language? Is my offence that I stood too long on your threshold, holding a present that was unsuitable? Am I accused because you, wanting a victim and not a friend, threw away the only thing which I had to give?

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 9, 2017, 11:22 p.m.

The dream foreground which reappears is obscured by mantles of nostalgic melancholy. A soft antique rain falls. Twilight. The colours lavender to pigeon and pearl grey with the delicate green of a weeping willow tree on the left. Behind the willow hangs the suggestion of a cascade. In the middle distance, centrally placed, a small hill with a tomb — a simple shrine, it looks like — at the top.

The remote voices of antiquity whisper quietly together: the willow; the rain; the cascade. Presently a shadow moves on the lower slopes of the hill; at first a blur, gradually becoming distinguishable as the back view of a fox, belly close to the ground, long brush extended, cautiously stealing upwards. It moves along so secretly that it appears to creep like a snake. When it has almost reached the top, the fox stops, turns its head, and looks slowly from side to side. With its head turned, it crouches there for a while in furtive forlornness, then suddenly disappears. In its place stands a young girl with long and very lovely hair who clasps her grave-clothes with one hand, runs to the tomb and vanishes inside.

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 9, 2017, 2:06 a.m.

Out of my urgent need I found the way of working a new night magic. Out of the night-time magic I built in my head a small room as a sanctuary from the day. Phantoms might be my guests there, but no human could enter. Human beings were dangerous to me, like tigers prowling at large in the daytime world. Inside my secluded room I felt safe from the tigers I sometimes envied. Sometimes a savage beauty lured me into the sun and I would start to love the danger a little. On these occasions I felt the reluctant love drained painfully from me as blood drains from a deep wound. The tigers lapped my love’s blood and remained enemies. The inhabitants of the day laughed at the gift I wanted to bring them, and I shut myself in my inner room to escape the betrayal of their arrogant mouths.

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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so that's why her writing feels so familiar
same coping method!

Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 9, 2017, 12:57 a.m.

Without understanding the reason, I knew that I had to keep the day unimportant. I had to prevent the day world from becoming real. I waited all through the day for the moment of going home to my night world, the reality which I lived in the secret life of the house.

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 9, 2017, 12:15 a.m.

What happens when you start on the downward trip? The elevator doors clang shut, a suffocating infernal wind roars up the shaft, it seems as though you’ll never get to the bottom; there’s plenty of time to wonder what’s coming and to wish yourself somewhere else. Of course there isn’t a hope of ever getting out again into the light. Once you’re on your way down the machinery takes charge of you, you’re caught, trapped, finished for good and all. Certainly there are legends about individuals who have escaped, even after reaching the final platforms. But these are heroes, fabulous figures who perhaps never really existed except as projections of wishful thinking in the minds of ordinary people. At any rate, they are far too dubious and remote to be of any real moral support or to provide any justifiable basis for optimism. You might just as well give in and pluck the cruel thorn of hope out of your heart. It’s always less painful to surrender to the stream of events than to turn yourself into a dam to be battered and pounded. It’s true that if the worst comes to the worst you’ll be drowned: but that’s better than being beaten to a jelly; and there’s always a slight chance that you may get washed ashore somewhere before the end.

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 9, 2017, 12:09 a.m.

The wilder the tricks of the tigers, the more abandoned their games and gambols, the more diversely dreadful become the dooms of the unfortunate A in this dream. Her fugitive shape, black-swathed, vanishes at the end of every cul-de-sac. Through the cities of the world she pursues her fate, in streets where the dead eyes of strangers are no colder than the up-swarming lights which have usurped the brilliance of the stars. From shrouded platforms among the clouds she hurtles down. She plunges from towers strict and terrible in their stark fragile strength, delicate as jerboa’s bones on the sky, perdurable with granite and steel. Slumped on his stained bar, Pete the Greek, beneath flyblown Christmas festoons which no one will ever remove, hears the screaming skid of wheels spouting slush with her blood. Limp as an old coat not worth a hanger, she is to be found behind numbered doors in hotel bedrooms; or dangling from the trees of country churchyards where leaning tombstones like feeble-minded ghosts mop and mow in the long summer grass. The weeds of lonely rivers bind her with clammy skeins; the tides of tropical oceans suck off her shoes; crabs scuttle over her eye sockets. Sheeted and anonymous on rubbered wheels she traverses the interminable bleakness of chloroform-loaded corridors. The sardonic yap of the revolver can be taken as the full stop arbitrarily concluding each ambiguous sentence.

An erratic but steadfast seeking, saraband and stalking of death by violence through the indifferent world.

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan.

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 8, 2017, 11:54 p.m.

I must find myself, I cannot drown in so black a sea, and I begin to strike out, threshing about desperately, this way and that, in pursuit of the images which appear, transparent as the shadows of icicles, incorporated in the night-plasma. Floundering among the waves, my head just above water, the most shapeless water, I plunge into a picture: but at once the outlines disintegrate, coldly… coldly… no frost flower decorating a window-pane vanishes more inexorably in the sun. Into the ephemeral images I dive, one after the other: sometimes one crystallizes into a brief sharpness — never to permanence. At last I dive with extraordinary accuracy into my own body, which I see laid out, high and dry, above the receding tide. I am lying there like a long white fish on a slab. Is it a bed or a bier that I’m lying on? Or have I really been washed up on some beach or other?

from Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan. 

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Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 8, 2017, 10:55 p.m.

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Portrait of Dr. Karl Theodor Bluth (c.1963) - Gouache on paper - 355 x 255mm - Mounted, framed and glazed - 20th century painting depicting a head portrait of a man, Dr. Karl Theodor Bluth (1892-1964), who has blue eyes and is balding and wearing a white shirt - The mosaic effect, reminiscent of Cezanne, was created by sponging paint through the apertures of a fruit punnet - The portrait is a testimony to Kavan’s relationship with her psychiatrist, which she wrote into the collection of short stories that were published as “Julia and the Bazooka” - Inscribed by the artist.

http://museumofthemind.org.uk/gallery/artwork/ldbth926

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painting
Museum of the Mind
K.T.Bluth

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 8, 2017, 3:20 p.m.

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Among the new Kavan essays in the current issue of Women: a Cultural Review, Leigh Wilson’s “Anna Kavan’s Ice and Alan Burns’ Europe After the Rain: Repetition with a Difference” is notable for tracking down support for and expansion of an intriguing connection in the 60s British avant-garde that we’d noted before.

Image: Untitled 26 (undated)

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painting
Alan Burns
criticism
Leigh Wilson

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 7, 2017, 4:40 p.m.

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Kavan’s illustration for her story “A Visit". Thanks to Victoria Walker for the color version when I’d only previously seen it in black and white.

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Anna Kavan
illustration
A Visit

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 7, 2017, 3:20 p.m.

It was hard to believe that he realized her in any way. So that she almost ceased to realize herself. And yet he stared at her with his bright blue eyes; as if he would stare her out of existence altogether.

from Let Me Alone, Anna Kavan.

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anna kavan
let me alone
pr. tag

Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 7, 2017, 12:39 a.m.

But the relations between the two of them were peculiar. On Anna’s side there was always a holding back, almost a trace of resentment. She distrusted that glorification of herself even while it gratified her. She felt that in some way she was being made soft. She was not standing on her own feet. It was the goddess-ship of Rachel that was exalting her for her own ends, almost making her into the victim. She rather resented the goddess aspect of Rachel: and her actual physical aspect, so lavish in its rich maturity, like a gorgeous, soft fruit. Rachel would touch her, would take her arm, or her small, cool hand, or stroke caressively her sleek, well-shaped head. And immediately she would be made uncomfortably conscious of the full, feminine body under the bright clothes, the soft, white-fleshed limbs, the rich female luxuriousness. It was as if some part of her were repelled, disgusted even, by the proximity of so much ripe, luscious femininity. She didn’t want to be touched.

from Let Me Alone, Anna Kavan.

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anna kavan
pr. tag

Tumblred by cryptomnesia on Dec. 6, 2017, 10:38 p.m.

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Three landscapes:

Untitled 20 (New Zealand Landscape)
Untitled 18 (erupting volcano)
Untitled 39 (naked torso)

Arguably one of these is not a landscape, but given Kavan’s tendency to write descriptions of the environment that reflect her characters’ states, I’d argue it’s not so far off.

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Anna Kavan
painting

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 6, 2017, 4:40 p.m.

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Catherine Lenoble’s Anna K is a docufictional exploration of Anna Kavan’s life and work. A conversation with Catherine, four and a half years ago was one of the inciting moments that motivated the collection of Kavan materials in his tumblr, so I’m long overdue to link back to her! Now let’s hope for an English translation someday (it is currently only available in French).

Until then, Catherine also runs kavan.land, a labyrinthine reflection of our fascination with Kavan, a semantic and fictional archive designed out of a collection of data.

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Anna Kavan
catherine lenoble
Anna K
Editions Hyx
kavan.land

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 6, 2017, 3:20 p.m.

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It’s been 49 years today since Anna Kavan’s death. As brought to my attention by the newsletter of the Anna Kavan Society, not only is there an upcoming Penguin Classics reissue of Ice, but the journal Women: A Cultural Review is running an all-Kavan issue.

Kavan’s painting here courtesy of Kavan Society founder Victoria Walker.

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Anna Kavan
painting
article

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 6, 2017, 12:41 a.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Dec. 2, 2017, 6:38 p.m.

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Anna Kavan, the horses tale (1949)

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anna kavan
ideology and discourse

Tumblred by imrinst on Nov. 27, 2017, 5:50 p.m.

She’s a strange woman. People are perplexed by her stark nordic strangeness and Lorelei hair, and by her eyes which have the remote blue glitter of the Skaggerak. It’s not how they expect the founder and principal of an important college to look. I point out to them, whenever a suitable opening occurs, that a brilliant, unorthodox superwoman, the inventor of a revolutionary system of education, isn’t likely to conform to ordinary standards, in her appearance or anything else.
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anna kavan
quote
quotes
kavan
five more days to countdown
twitchandwhimsy
whim--z

Tumblred by zenarchism on Nov. 24, 2017, 10:27 p.m.

Night is the worst time, when her vitality sinks to its lowest ebb and she’s frightened of everything. Unable to read or do anything else, she wanders about the house like a woman living with ghosts, who can’t find the way or the will to return to the living world.
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anna kavan

Tumblred by someghostsarewomen on Nov. 4, 2017, 2:36 a.m.

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anna kavan
ice

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Oct. 27, 2017, 10:33 p.m.

And through all this one is expected to carry on one’s personal existence as usual; to work and to perform social and family duties as if the background of one’s life were still perfectly normal: that is what is hardest of all to bear. Naturally one gets nervy and irritable and absent-minded; one’s friends gradually start to avoid one; one’s work suffers, and then one’s health begins to break down. One loses sleep, it becomes harder amd harder to take any interest in conversation, books, music, plays, eating and drinking, love-making, even in one’s personal appearance. Ultimately one becomes completely cut off from reality, alone in a world in which there is nothing to do but wait, day after day, for some fate at which one can only guess but which, in any case, can scarcely be less tolerable than the preceding uncertainty.

Anna Kavan, The Birds

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anna kavan
text

Tumblred by opticalspirit on Sept. 22, 2017, 7:45 p.m.

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Link to an excerpt of story of mine – Black Treacle: a story of Anna Kavan.

https://medium.com/@craiglgidney/an-excerpt-of-black-treacle-a-story-of-anna-kavan-bb8b36954ae0

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anna kavan
fiction
Craig Laurance Gidney
vignette

Tumblred by ethereallad on Sept. 12, 2017, 4:44 p.m.

All I wanted then was for everything to go on as before, so that I could stay deeply asleep, and be no more than a hole in space, not here or anywhere at all, for as long as possible, preferably forever.
Tags
anna kavan
quote
slipstream
quotes
julia and the bazooka
depression
sleep
literature
addiction
short stories
Julia and the Bazooka and Other Stories
transrealism

Tumblred by zenarchism on Sept. 11, 2017, 9:35 p.m.

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Buzun, dizleri ve kalçaları kaplayarak, tırmanıp yükselmesini seyrettim, kızın ağzının açıldığını gördüm, beyaz yüzde siyah bir delik, ince ve acılı çığlığını duydum.

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anna kavan
buz
ice
helen woods
helen ferguson
surrealism
book
anais nin
apocalyptic
bilim kurgu
distopya
science fiction
Alaska
m
okuyorum
anna kavan ice
kafka's sister
kafka'nın kız kardeşi
marginal
kafkaesk
surrealizm
gerçeküstücülük
dystopia
world doomsday
doomsday
book passion
science fiction book
dystopia book
surrealism book
numb

Tumblred by denizincarptigiseyy on Aug. 7, 2017, 3:59 a.m.

The high mountains are like archangels, aloof and lovely and awe-inspiring, standing above the earth with their glittering heads in the sky. I adore the high mountains, I could worship them. I dream of becoming identified with them, cold and inaccessible like their snow-covered summits. Something about their remote perfection makes me want to die.
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anna kavan
quote

Tumblred by touchingfromalongdistance0 on July 11, 2017, 8:43 p.m.

He was very often gay, and often indulged in fantastic imaginings; but also he often seemed to be evolving strange and significant thoughts behind his vast forehead.
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anna kavan

Tumblred by coroebus on July 6, 2017, 5:20 p.m.

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“ciertas palabras o hechos ayudan a formar un circulo mágico en torno mío. mientras duran no podría sentir nada” (leyendo Mi alma en china de Anna Kavan)

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anna kavan
muriel bellini

Tumblred by murielbellini on June 25, 2017, 4:42 p.m.

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Cold enemy eyes, arrow-eyes, pierce me with poison-tipped suspicion, as if they know where I’ve come from.

from “The Old Address”


Julia and the Bazooka / Anna Kavan

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Anna Kavan
Ice
Quotes
Julia and the Bazooka
アンナ・カヴァン

Tumblred by tagong-boy on June 17, 2017, 3:08 p.m.

My little street held its breath, the houses stood watching, attentive to us. I turned my head quickly, and caught the one opposite which has a cross on the roof in the act of moving forward to see us better.
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anna kavan
my favorite in the collection i think!

Tumblred by coroebus on June 14, 2017, 2:40 p.m.

Poor moon, you’ve lost your old magic, you couldn’t hurt anyone if you tried. You’re not even mysterious any more. The rocket that fell on your virgin surface degraded you, put you into the clutches of human beings. Man always destroys magic and beauty wherever he goes, he contaminates everything.
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anna kavan

Tumblred by coroebus on June 12, 2017, 5:20 p.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by asylumpiece on June 9, 2017, 8:02 p.m.

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Anna Kavan

Julia and the Bazooka

(Peter Owen Publishers, 1970/3/5)Hardcover


Julia and the Bazooka and Other Stories

(W W Norton & Co Inc, Nov. 1985)

https://www.amazon.co.jp/Julia-Bazooka-Other-Stories-Kavan/dp/0393302849

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Anna Kavan
Julia and the Bazooka
Peter Owen
Paperback

Tumblred by tagong-boy on June 6, 2017, 5:32 p.m.

C'était un tourment que d'évoquer le passé. Car c'était comme contempler une vie d'occasions perdues — une vie qui avait été belle et riche de promesses. Elle voyait les promesses de son jeune âge, qui ne se réaliseraient jamais, elle en voyait la ruine. Ce moi noble et précieux qu'elle avait perdu avait eu une existence si brève qu'elle n'avait même pas eu le temps de s'apercevoir de celle-ci.

— Anna Kavan (Laissez-moi ma solitude, 1930)

photo : Caminos de lluvia, Cuba, 2007 (par Cristina Garcia Rodero)

Tumblred by denimatio on June 6, 2017, 1:29 a.m.

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anna kavan
book
photograph
iphone7

Tumblred by amreik on April 1, 2017, 3:30 p.m.

I’ve gotta be honest, I picked up this book from the library purely based on the description of the writer on the back. Anna Kavan originally went by another name, but after two unhappy marriages and a heroin addition, she had a nervous breakdown and was institutionalised. She emerged as Anna Kavan, the name of a character in one of her books.

Ice is described as a slipstream novel, a term I don’t think I’d really heard used until now, although I’m pretty sure I’ve read some other books that would also be called that. It’s dreamlike and transitory, doesn’t fit into standard genre conventions - maybe its scifi, maybe fantasy, maybe some kind of thriller - or narrative structure. The introduction warns that attempting to read Ice as an ordinary novel will only cause frustration, which was definitely what I found. Kavan leaps between past and present, different potential realities, different places and times, as though they’re all one to her. 

The main character is a man with a mysterious past which we are told nothing - or very little- about. He’s chasing a young woman (he refers to her as a girl all the way through, and repeatedly comments on her childlike body and mind, which was super disturbing) who he once wanted to marry, through a world that is gradually being consumed by ice. There’s definitely elements of dystopia in Ice, it reminded me of Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle in some ways. The girl is often described as someone who expects to be a victim because she had a terrible childhood, and she’s constantly passively seeking to be victimised. I think it would be difficult to pin down any strong analysis of Kavan’s intentions when writing this, but there’s definitely a lot going on beneath the surface. Maybe it only made sense to her, but it’s certainly an intriguing read. 

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anna kavan
ice
2017 reading challenge
a book involving travel

Tumblred by twothousandfifteenbooks on March 27, 2017, 11:15 p.m.

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Ice, by Anna Kavan

“Acclaimed by Brian Aldiss on its publication in 1967 as the best science fiction book of the year, this extraordinary and innovative novel has subsequently been recognised as a major work of literature in its own right. In this haunting and surreal novel, the narrator and a man known as ‘the warden’ search for an elusive girl in a frozen, seemingly post-nuclear, apocalyptic landscape. The country has been invaded and is being governed by a secret organisation. There is destruction everywhere; great walls of ice overrun the world. Together with the narrator, the reader is swept into a hallucinatory quest for this strange and fragile creature with albino hair.”

CLICK HERE to request through SearchOhio

(Note: Edition and cover art may vary.)

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anna kavan
fiction
peter owens publishers

Tumblred by offthebeatenstacks on Feb. 21, 2017, 6:01 p.m.

A seriously good book of stories/sketches (or is it a novel?) dealing with mental illness, authoritarian control and social alienation. Read my review of it here.

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anna kavan
asylum piece
20th-century literature
english fiction
book reviews

Tumblred by mimichootings on Feb. 11, 2017, 4:06 p.m.

Welcome in Kavan.land where browsing between natural and programming language, database and metadata, graph and prose, reveals an expanded territory, an echo-fiction. Kavan.land is a semantic and fictional archive designed out of a collection of data related to the British novelist Anna Kavan (1901–-1968).
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anna kavan

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Feb. 10, 2017, 4:10 a.m.

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« Souvent, les 30 ans d'addiction à l'héroïne d'ANNA arrivent dans le chapeau de l'article ou le premier paragraphe, comme une sorte d'avertissement : « ceci est l'œuvre d'une droguée » ou « ceci est décousu parce qu'il s'agit d'une héroïnomane ». Cela te fait doucement rire, ces raccourcis drogue et littérature ou ces rarissimes attributions d'étiquettes « junky-génie », raison pour laquelle tous les frères et sœurs maudits voient leur ouvrages relégués chez le bouquiniste du coin ou sur l'étagère d'une bibliothèque au fin-fond de la Slovaquie.

Tu continues à lire ANNA. Lorsqu'on t'invite à écrire ici et là, elle t'accompagne. Une première fois, à l'occasion d'une contribution pour une revue en ligne :

Flot d'images d'oiseaux (des gros, des petits, des difformes, des fluos, des qui crient, des qui volent) qui défilent qui défilent, flux d'images issues du web qui dégueulent qui dégueulent, et de temps à autre, des mots et des extraits d'ouvrages d'Anna Kavan.

Cette participation t'engage pour une résidence collective d'une semaine, réunissant auteurs, plasticiens, chorégraphes, dans une ancienne école. Tu est là, en résidence, en collectif, pourtant, comme une force qui te pousse à t'isoler, te retrancher. Tu trouves refuge dans une toute petite pièce, avec une grande fenêtre, vue sur la cour de l'école. À l'intérieur, un énorme photocopieur, une table et une chaise. C'est à cet endroit, près du photocopieur, que tu lance des premières requêtes.

Héroïne – environ 72 200 000 résultats (0,15 secondes)

Puissant opiacé obtenu par synthèse, à partir de la morphine extraite du pavot, qui se présente sous la forme d'une poudre, ou de granulés à écraser, pouvant se consommer par insufflation (sniff), injection intraveineuse ou inhalation (fumée ou prisée).

Héroïne – environ 72 200 000 résultats (0,15 secondes)

Un héros (au féminin, une héroïne) est un personnage réel ou fictif de l'histoire, de la mythologie humaine ou des arts, dont les hauts faits valent qu'on chante son geste, raconte son histoire. »

Catherine Lenoble, Anna K (éditions HYX, collection Graphes, novembre 2017)

Version web sur : http://kavan.land

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anna kavan
catherine lenoble
Anna K
HYX

Tumblred by guenaelboutouillet on Jan. 29, 2017, 8:23 a.m.

She looked, and saw the black, domed sky arching over her head. And her heart dilated; she felt the great black dome in her heart. She sat under the stars, worshipping them. Her heart opened and grew vast, until the whole sky with all its stars began to pour into her, a mysterious flood of star-strung darkness. She wanted to receive the night sky into her heart.
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anna kavan

Tumblred by someghostsarewomen on Jan. 13, 2017, 12:40 a.m.

The snowflakes whirled madly in all directions, filled the night with their spectral chaos. I seemed to feel the same feverish disorder in myself, in all my pointless rushing from place to place. In the delirium of the dance it was impossible to distinguish between the violent and the victims.
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anna kavan
books
words
people

Tumblred by halfspeedsparks on Jan. 9, 2017, 10:51 p.m.

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1940

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anna kavan

Tumblred by chuckmobleydotcom on Dec. 12, 2016, 9:03 a.m.

Because of my fear that the daytime world would become real, I had to establish reality in another place.
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Anna Kavan
quote
Sleep Has His House
novel
out of my collection

Tumblred by lifeinpoetry on Nov. 12, 2016, 7:51 a.m.

I went to a used bookstore recently and nearly lost my mind - they had a whole collection of Anna Kavan books, rightly placed in the “classics” section. I bought them all. I didn’t even look at the price. And then, in their philosophy section, I found “On Certainty” by Ludwig Wittgenstein. Once I had touched it, I couldn’t put it back. These were all very special books.

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anna kavan
personal

Tumblred by veemignon on Nov. 3, 2016, 4:59 a.m.

Frozen by the deathly cold emanating from the ice, dazzled by the blaze of crystalline ice-light, she felt herself becoming part of the polar vision, her structure becoming one with the structure of ice and snow. As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.
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anna kavan
lit
ice
words
x
u

Tumblred by aegeane on Oct. 1, 2016, 4:19 a.m.

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I srsly have no idea how I hadn’t read anything by Anna Kavan until just recently, I’ve just been reading through everything she’s ever written and I’m super in love with all of it.

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anna kavan
lit
quotes
Suicide
A scarity of love

Tumblred by steampoweredsazerac on Sept. 8, 2016, 5:33 a.m.

The rain shut off the house by itself in a lonely spell.
In time I found out what it was that the rain whispered.
I learnt from the rain how to work the magic and then I stopped feeling lonely.
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anna kavan
reading
sleep has his house
quotes

Tumblred by ionlyhearuinthewhispers on Aug. 29, 2016, 4:11 a.m.

Get to know your #othermothers. The women in #art and #literature and #poetry that came before.

7528e5d71b68fdbdf5bf766fbc5098ba

These are a few of my other mothers. Maybe some of them are your other mothers too. —LJ

Other Mothers
Virginia Woolf
Princess Nokia
Clarice Lispector
Gayl Jones
Anna Kavan
Toni Morrison
Simone de Beauvoir
Georgia O’Keeffe
Cindy Sherman
bell hooks
Adrienne Rich
Lizzo
Anne Carson
Maggie Nelson
Audre Lorde
Diane Arbus
Kate Chopin
Marguerite Duras

The Other Canon
Once upon a time, the poet Marina Blitshteynand I put…

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anna kavan
virginia woolf
adrienne rich
anne carson
audre lorde
cindy sherman
clarice lispector
diane arbus
gayl jones
georgia o&039;keeffe
kate chopin
lizzo
maggie nelson
marguerite duras
marina blitshteyn
mothers
princess nokia
simone de beauvoir
toni morrison

Tumblred by idiowhat on Aug. 26, 2016, 10:47 p.m.

‘ The sky is full of unnatural light,

which is really a darkish murk and makes everything look sinister,

a black conpiracy hanging up there in the air. ‘


“The Old Address” by Anna Kavan (Julia and the Bazooka)

Tags
Anna Kavan
Ice
quotes
Julia and the Bazooka
The Old Address
J.G. Ballard

Tumblred by tagong-boy on Aug. 14, 2016, 1:02 p.m.

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Açıkçası ben özellikle, bilerek başlamadım bu kitaba. Fakat Selahattin Özpalabıyıklar'ın üzerine en çok titrediği çevirisi olduğunu öğrendiğim için hemen en önlere aldığım bir okuma oldu. Ona da zaten arkadaşları aynı şekilde üzerine titredikleri bir kitaptır diye önermişlerdi. Bu durumda kendinizi okumaktan alamıyorsunuz zaten. En azından ben alamazdım. Gerçekten muazzam bir çeviri olmuş. Hikâye baştan sona sizi bulunduğunuz yere çakıyor. Zamanının en iyi bilim-kurguları içinde yer almasının sebebi boşuna değil. Ayrıca kitabın ikinci yarısında parmaklarınızın üşüdüğünü hissedebilirsiniz, eldivenlerinizi giymeyi unutmayın.

Kitapla ilgili en güzel şeyi yazmayı unutmayalım; Önsöz. Son yılların bence edebiyat çevrelerinde görülmüş belki de en güzel Önsöz'le karşı karşıya olduğumuzu söylemeliyim. Ben özellikle Önsöz'leri çok severim. Orada hemen önce çevirmenle ya da yazarla ufak bir irtibatınız, hem haliniz olur. Sonra sonra kitaba dalar, artık uzaklaşır, belki de önsöz bir daha aklınıza bile gelmeyecektir. Fakat Sevgili Okur, burada başka türlü bir Önsöz'le karşılaşacaksınız. Bu kadar çok not aldığım pek az önsöz vardır. Ben çok sevdim, siz de sevin…

Bir de Everest'e ufak bir eleştirim var. Bu Modern Klasikler serisi için hazırlanan kitaplarda neden bu kadar ufak fontlar kullanılıyor anlamıyorum. Gerçekten göz katili bir font boyutu var. Lütfen gözlere özgürlük, okuyucuya rahatlık verelim, fontları büyütelim diyorum… 

Tags
anna kavan
buz
kitap
ice
sukriceliladvan
celiladvan
bookish
kitapseverler
bookstagram
bilim kurgu
scifi
everest
book list

Tumblred by celiladvan on May 9, 2016, 8:39 p.m.

Ice walls loomed and thundered, smooth, shining, unearthly, a glacial nightmare; the light of day lost in eerie, iceberg-glittering mirage-light.
Tags
anna kavan
book quotes

Tumblred by thin-cities on March 28, 2016, 3:01 p.m.

The girl went forward, gazing about with clouded, cold-grey eyes, like the sky…
Tags
Anna Kavan
sadness
loneliness
let me be alone
female writers
depressing thought
depressing quote
alienated
dissociation
q
s
d

Tumblred by kill-these-demands-and-notions on March 24, 2016, 10:27 p.m.

Reality had always been something of an unknown constant to me.
Tags
anna kavan
book quotes

Tumblred by thin-cities on March 24, 2016, 2 p.m.

As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.
Tags
anna kavan
book quotes
not tagging the title b/c i'm sure the ppl who check the 'ice' tag are looking for other things entirely

Tumblred by thin-cities on March 23, 2016, 10 p.m.

There is only one thing in life of any importance, and that is complete honesty,’ he said. ‘Honesty with oneself. The truth. Complete, stark, final honesty
Tags
Anna kavan
let me alone
quotes
literature
q
honesty
truth
melancholy
darkness
r

Tumblred by kill-these-demands-and-notions on March 22, 2016, 4:17 a.m.

…the great rocks stood up in sombre heaps…
Tags
Anna kavan
let me alone
quotes
literature
q
that choice of words is what made me extract this snippet
sombre rocks

Tumblred by kill-these-demands-and-notions on March 22, 2016, 3:34 a.m.

Frozen by the deathly cold emanating from the ice, dazzled by the blaze of crystalline ice-light, she felt herself becoming part of the polar vision, her structure becoming one with the structure of ice and snow. As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.
Tags
anna kavan
lit
ice
words
winter is coming
x
u

Tumblred by sempiternele on March 18, 2016, 1:07 a.m.

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THANK YOU FOR THE MAIL “JB” ❤️

Tags
anna kavan
asylum piece
bloody bandages
beads
ice cream
questionable reading choices
friends
kindred spirits

Tumblred by specialkresidency on Feb. 23, 2016, 8:25 p.m.

It simply is not done in normal society to waste time feeling oneself into a pile of coats. Odd how normal people have no time except for other people. Unless you’re alone it’s practically impossible ever to get to know the non-human things: it simply isn’t allowed.
Tags
anna kavan
glorious boys
alone
non-human things

Tumblred by tziganeheart on Feb. 19, 2016, 3:34 a.m.

Kartal yuvasına doğru gizemli bir yolculuk

Anna Kavan’ın yazdığı “Kartal Yuvası”, düş ile gerçeğin, geceyle gündüzün iç içe geçtiği bir roman… Kavan kitabında, yaşadığı dünyanın katı kuralları arasında sıkışıp varlığını sürdüremeyen bireyi okuyucunun gözleri önüne seriyor. Karşısına çıkan bir iş ilanında kurtuluş arayan başkarakter, geçmişi geride bırakıp gizemli işverenin mekânına, Kartal Yuvası’na doğru yola koyulur. Tropikal bitki…

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Anna Kavan
Kartal Yuvası
2016
everest yayınları yeni çıkanlar 2016
kitap haberleri
kültür sanat haberleri
kültür-sanat etkinlikleri
yeni çıkan kitaplar 2016

Tumblred by sechaber on Feb. 4, 2016, 9:01 p.m.

However, there was a real perception behind the label, and the idea of slipstream has taken hold and is still a rewarding way to approach a complex and intriguing writer such as Kavan.
Tags
Anna Kavan
Ice
Peter Owen Modern Classic

Tumblred by kindlequotes on Feb. 2, 2016, 11:27 p.m.

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“A terrible cold world of ice and death had replaced the living world we had always known. Outside there was only the deadly cold, the frozen vacuum of an ice age, life reduced to mineral crystals. […] I drove at great speed, as if escaping, pretending we could escape. Although I knew there was no escape from the ice, from the ever-diminishing remnant of time that encapsuled us.”

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anna kavan
ice

Tumblred by spaceintruderdetector on Feb. 2, 2016, 1:23 a.m.

I am constantly aware of the heart beating inside my breast, strongly and resolutely pumping the blood throught my veins. Once I read somewhere that when the blood is thin it wants to return whence it came. But my blood is not thin, my blood does not want to fall back. Unbearable reluctance of the blood that will not fall!
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anna kavan
asylum piece
literature

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Jan. 20, 2016, 7:28 a.m.

Paradoxically, the old part has only been added recently. When I first came to live here it was an entirely new house—that is to say, it had certainly not been standing for more than ten or fifteen years. Now, at least half of it must have been built centuries ago. It is the old part that has grown up during my occupation that I fear and distrust.
Tags
anna kavan
asylum piece
literature

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Jan. 20, 2016, 5:41 a.m.

Roused in this brutal fashion, I jump up just in time to catch a glimpse of the vanishing hem of sleep, as like a dark scarf maliciously snatched away, it glides over the foot of the bed and disappears in a flash under the closed door. Useless, quite futile, to dash after it in pursuit: I am awake now for good, or rather, for bad; the wheels, my masters, are already vibrating with incipient motion; the whole mechanism is preparing to begin the monotonous, hateful functioning of which I am the dispirited slave.
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anna kavan
asylum piece
literature

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Jan. 19, 2016, 1:14 p.m.

My body feels limp, my thoughts start to run together. My thoughts have become strands of weed, of no special colour, slowly undulating in colourless water.
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anna kavan
asylum piece
literature

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Jan. 19, 2016, 12:44 p.m.

If some fortune-teller had predicted all the reverses I was to suffer this winter I should have laughed outright at such an exaggerated catalogue of evil.
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anna kavan
asylum piece
literature
the birds

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Jan. 18, 2016, 8:19 a.m.

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Ella siguio las estrellas, más alla de la realidad

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Anna kavan
estrellas
suicidio
lago
Gerda
Sin amor
imagen
español
noche
luna
sueños
dibujo
draw
suicide
stars
chica
persona
pelo blanco
blanco y negro
realidad
ahogada

Tumblred by ornitorrincax on Jan. 10, 2016, 12:31 a.m.

Algo caía como una mano muerta sobre su espíritu, apagándolo
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anna kavan
español
sin amor
libro
cita
espiritu
apagar
muerte
mano muerta
whitout love
apagandolo
caer

Tumblred by ornitorrincax on Jan. 8, 2016, 5:36 a.m.

…Podía ver los pequeños huesos de la mujer, como si la forma impaciente de la calavera tratase de aparecer prematuramente, ansiosa de librarse de la carne viva, en la cual ya había penetrado la ceniza de la muerte.
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anna kavan
alone
suicidio
Gerda
suicide
sin amor
libro
cita
muerte
whitout love
muerte interior
no querida
abandono en momento de necesidad
abandono
sola
lonely
divorcio
divorce
muerta
dead

Tumblred by ornitorrincax on Jan. 8, 2016, 5:01 a.m.

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Anna KAVAN “Asylum Piece”
http://lopezbooks.com/item/22966/

L'OISEAU QUI EST-TU ? par Anna KAVAN
http://www.ebay.fr/itm/LOISEAU-QUI-EST-TU-par-Anna-KAVAN-/310181103042


Asylum Piece - Anna Kavan

- Acceptable - Paperback

http://www.ebay.com/itm/Asylum-Piece-Anna-Kavan-Acceptable-Paperback-/391166755233?hash=item5b135b01a1:g:DhoAAOSwrklVddiU

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Asylum Piece
Anna KAVAN
アンナ・カヴァン

Tumblred by tagong-boy on Nov. 17, 2015, 10:34 a.m.

The weight of the gun in my pocket was reassuring.
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Anna Kavan
lit
ice
prose
submission

Tumblred by the-final-sentence on Nov. 11, 2015, 5 p.m.

I Am Lazarus: Stories by Anna Kavan My rating: 3 of 5 stars I’ve read various novellas by Anna Kavan over the years — Ice, Sleep Has His House, and Who Are You? The first two I read a very long time ago, and can remember little about them, although I know they intrigued me enough to continue exploring her work. The last I read only recently, and while it was enjoyable enough, it wasn’t…

View On WordPress

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Anna Kavan
writing
book review
collection
I am Lazarus
review
short stories

Tumblred by whyteaugust on Nov. 9, 2015, 12:23 p.m.

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Annna Kavan

A Stranger Still
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/761581.A_Stranger_Still
A strong early novel first published in 1935 under the name of Helen Ferguson. Set in the 1930s, in Bohemian London, Paris, and southern France, the story concerns a rich family and their financial and emotional vicissitudes.

Julia and The Bazooka
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/498421883731332937/

Sleep Has His House
http://eye-candy-for-bibliophiles.blogspot.jp/2010_04_01_archive.html

Tags
Anna Kavan
Ice
アンナ・カヴァン
ちくま文庫
Julia and The Bazooka
サンリオSF文庫
Paul Delvaux
Slipstream
スリップストリーム

Tumblred by tagong-boy on Nov. 4, 2015, 3:02 p.m.

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“So many dreams are crowding upon me now that I can scarcely tell true from false: dreams like light imprisoned in bright mineral caves; hot, heavy dreams; ice-age dreams; dreams like machines in the head.” - Anna Kavan

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anna kavan

Tumblred by girldefective on Oct. 10, 2015, 10:11 a.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by lin-killian on Oct. 3, 2015, 3:33 p.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by lin-killian on Oct. 3, 2015, 3:31 p.m.

her name was locked in nightmare, she did not think

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anna kavan

Tumblred by lin-killian on Sept. 23, 2015, 3:11 a.m.

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Anna Kavan

“As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of the world.”

From Ice

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anna kavan

Tumblred by spaceintruderdetector on Aug. 31, 2015, 9:40 p.m.

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Ice by Anna Kavan, 1970.

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Anna Kavan
Ice
1970

Tumblred by scifi2feature on Aug. 28, 2015, 6:01 p.m.

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Anna Kavan | The Parson

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anna kavan
the modem novel

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on Aug. 20, 2015, 7:50 a.m.

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Anna Kavan | The Parson

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anna kavan

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on Aug. 20, 2015, 6:29 a.m.

Evrensel yabancılık duygusu ve yaklaşan felaketin soğuğu, yukarıda asılı yıkıntıların tehtidi, eziyordu beni; bir de yapılmış olan şeyin iğrençliği, toplu suçun ağırlığı. Doğaya karşı, evrene karşı, hayata karşı, korkunç bir suç işlenmişti. Hayatı reddederek, ezeli düzeni yıkmıştı insan, dünyayı yıkmıştı; şimdi herşey parçalanıp yıkılmak üzereydi.
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anna kavan
buz
alıntı

Tumblred by orospukirmizi on July 5, 2015, 12:57 p.m.

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anna kavan
ice
books I haven't read (yet)

Tumblred by dukeofbookingham on June 7, 2015, 10:32 p.m.

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buy me things
anna Kavan
broke princess
pay me

Tumblred by princessslutcomplex on May 25, 2015, 3:58 p.m.

As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of the world
Tags
Anna Kavan
Ice
Literature
Science fiction
Modernism

Tumblred by waragainstintelligence on May 18, 2015, 3:50 a.m.

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anna kavan
books
ice
book covers
literature

Tumblred by vaguesavage on April 8, 2015, 2:43 p.m.

Anna Kavan (1967), Buz, Everest Yayınları, 2014, Çev. Selehattin Özpalabıyıklar, 179 sayfa.


Oldukça iyi bir roman. Sabit Fikir dergisinin eylül 2014 sayısında tanıtımını görüp aldım romanı, ardından da okudum. Aylar sonra da tanıtıyorum. Sevdiğim yazarlardan J. G. Ballard’ın da romandan övgüyle söz etmesi kitabı okumamda etkili oldu. Ballard, doğrudan bana mail atarak söylemedi tabi. Öyle bir şey yapsa mutlu olurum açıkçası.

Kavan, romanı ölümünden 1 yıl önce 1967 yılında yazmış. Tür olarak belirli bir olay örgüsünde ilerleyen bir distopya daha doğrus kıyamet süreci romanı denilebilir. Yazar merkeze buz (kıyametin kendisi), asıl adam, muhafız ve gümüş saçlı kızı koymuş ve tam bir psikolojik romana dönüştürmüş hikayeyi. Buz, hem kıyametin simgesi iken hem de distopik bir dünyanın tetikleyicisi konumunda. 

Romanın bende uyandırdığı his, daha popüler bir örnekle açıklamak gerekirse Melancholica filmindeki karamsarlık, dinginlige yakın.

Romanın merkezindeki buz faktörü her şeyi gün be gün kaplayan, ilerleyen, yaşadığımız dünyayı (yarattığımız da denilebilir) sürekli ele geçiren ve yok eden bir simge olarak sunulmuş. Buzdan saklanan, yaklaştıkça kaçan, birbirleriyle savaşan, kendi içinde savaşan ülkeler ve toplumlar da buz simgesinin kısa sürede yarattığı distopik dünyayı ortaya koymakta.

Buz varolan boktan dünyayı (insanların yarattığı boktan yaşama biçimi diyelim, yoksa dünya gayet güzel bir gezegen) bir süreliğine daha boktan bir hale getirmeye vesile olup sistemi tamamen yok ediyor. 

Böylesi bir süreçte roman 3 karakter üzerinden ilerliyor. Kız (gümüş saçlı) ve ona aşık iki erkek. İkisi de ona sahip, ikisi de ona sahip değil. İki erkek karakter fiziksel ve kişilik olarak birbirine tamamen zıt görünse de aynı .okun soyular diyebiliriz. Daha doğrusu aynı sistemin ürettiği farklı modeller. Muhafız, güçlü, mükemmel görünüşlü, karizmatik, asker ve otoritenin temsilcisi bir karakter iken diğer kendi halinde, güçsüz, sıradan gözükmesine rağmen sistemde önemli konuma sahip bir erkek modeli. Aslında roman boyunca bu iki erkek karakterin tek bir karakter olduğu vurgusu ve hissiyatı mevcut bu da biraz önce dediğim aynı .okun soyular. Biraz da bu durumu çözmek okuyucuya bırakılmış, daha doğrusu okuyucunun kendi içsel kurgusunda yazar okuyucuya bir serbestlik sunmuş gibi.

Kadın karakteri de siz okuyup özümseyin. Bir kaç anlatılmamış nokta da kalsın.


İlla ki okunmalı.

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anna kavan
edebiyat
kitaps
bilimkurgu edebiyatı
everest yayınları
distopya
kitap tavsiyesi
kitap tavsiyeleri
kitap tanıtımları
kitap tanıtımı

Tumblred by innofneverland on March 16, 2015, 11:26 p.m.

I have always admired Anna Kavan among the few writers who dared to explore the nocturnal world of our dreams, fantasies, and imagination. It takes courage and great skill in expression. As the events of the world prove the constancy of irrationalism, it becomes absurd to treat such events with rational logic. But people prefer to accept the notion of the absurd rather than to search for the meaning, the symbolic act which is quite clear in whoever is willing to decipher the unconscious. R.D. Laing writes in The Politics of Experience: ‘We all live in hope that authentic meetings between human beings can still occur. Psychotherapy consists in the paring away of all that stands between us, the props, masks, roles, lies, defenses, anxieties, projections ,and introjections, in short, all the carry-over from the past. Transference and countertransference that we use by habit and collusion, wittingly or unwittingly, as our currency for relationship.’

The writer who follows the designs and patterns of the unconscious achieves the same revelation. From the very first Anna Kavan went into this realm with The House of Sleep (a significant beginning) then with a classic equal to the works of Kafka titled Asylum Piece, in which the non-rational human beings caught in a web of unreality still struggle to maintain a dialogue with those who cannot understand them. In later books the waking dreamers no longer try, they simply tell of their adventures. They live in isolation with their shadows, hallucinations, prophesies. We admire the deep sea divers exploring the depths of the sea. We do not admire enough those who are able to describe their nocturnal experiences. Those who demonstrate that the surface does not contain a key to authentic experience, that the truth lies in what we feel and not what we see, or how we see it. Familiarity with inner landscapes would in the end illume the mysteries of the human mind. The scientist can report psychological findings but the writer has been there. His is a first hand report. And this is not a personal, unique voyage to the antipodes of the mind–the unconscious is a universal ocean in which all of us have roots.
– Anaïs Nin, from The Novel of the Future amended to serve as an Introduction to Ice (not used so far)

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anna kavan
writing
anais nin

Tumblred by housesofsleep on March 11, 2015, 4:23 p.m.

Why does the K sound in a name symbolise the struggle of those who try to make themselves at home on a homeless borderland?
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anna kavan
franz kafka

Tumblred by housesofsleep on March 7, 2015, 4:23 p.m.

The people in the story live through the same situation twice over. But they are not the same, and the outcome is different, because the element of nightmare which predominates the first experience is in abeyance later. Their identities are equally real or unreal in both cases. The ‘you’ of the bird’s question could be either, or both of them-or neither.

I wanted to abandon realistic writing insofar as it describes exclusively events in the physical environment, and to make the reader aware of the existence of the different, though just as real 'reality’ which lies just beyond the surface of ordinary daily life and the surface aspect of things. I am convinced that a vast, exciting new territory is waiting to be explored by the writer in that direction. To explore it, unconventional techniques are required. For instance the repetition of certain incidents in the same or slightly differing forms is meant to create a three-dimensional effect-an effect in depth-and to show that there is not 'absolute’ reality, but that every happening will appear different at different times to different people.

By avoiding any detailed characterization or plot, I wanted to free the reader from the actual written word, so that he would not be trapped in a a piece of reportage, but stimulated to relate what is written to his own and the whole human condition. Which of course is again different for each individual.

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anna kavan
writing
who are you

Tumblred by housesofsleep on March 6, 2015, 5:04 p.m.

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Ice - Anna Kavan, 1967 - the last book published before her death in 1968

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anna kavan
ice

Tumblred by crush-depth on March 3, 2015, 10:12 p.m.

There is, I believe, a kind of telepathy between the condemned: a sort of intuitive recognition which can even make itself felt through the medium of the printed page. How else should I feel—without fear of appearing presumptuous, either—for this great man whom I never saw and to whom I could not have spoken, the tender, wincing, pathetic solicitude that painfully comes into being only between fellow-sufferers?
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anna kavan
quote
reading
books
writing
quotes
expression
solicitude
suffering
other
quotations
quotation

Tumblred by kerryquotesquotes on Feb. 24, 2015, 1:47 a.m.

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-Anna Kavan, Buz

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Anna Kavan
buz

Tumblred by saftirikler on Feb. 10, 2015, 8:19 p.m.

so many dreams are crowding upon me now that i can scarcely tell true from false: dreams like light imprisoned in bright mineral caves; hot, heavy dreams; ice-age dreams; dreams like machines in the head.
Tags
Anna Kavan
quotes

Tumblred by beryl-azure on Feb. 10, 2015, 2 a.m.

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“ In this haunting and surreal novel, the narrator and a man known as the warden searches for an elusive girl in a frozen, seemingly post-nuclear, apocalyptic landscape. The country has been invaded and is being governed by a secret organization. There is destruction everywhere; great walls of ice overrun the world. Together with the narrator, the reader is swept into a hallucinatory quest for this strange and fragile creature with albino hair.

Acclaimed upon its 1967 publication as the best science fiction book of the year, this extraordinary and innovative novel has subsequently been recognized as a major work of literature in its own right.”

Tags
anna kavan
currently reading
science fiction
sci-fi

Tumblred by drunk-on-books on Jan. 8, 2015, 6:36 p.m.

A nameless disorder had invaded the world.
Tags
anna kavan
quote
mercury

Tumblred by veemignon on Dec. 30, 2014, 7:56 a.m.

Why couldn’t he resign himself to his isolation, instead of making these futile, undignified, periodic attempts to pretend it didn’t exist? How ridiculous, how despicable he must have appeared to the other people last night … how they must have laughed at his asinine efforts to seem one of them.
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anna kavan
quote
mercury

Tumblred by veemignon on Dec. 30, 2014, 7:55 a.m.

It was hideously unfair … he’d never wanted a victim. All he had ever hoped for was a little contact with someone to make him feel less isolated in the world. What injustice that he should have to suffer all this. How diabolical of fate to involve him with the very person who appealed so irresistibly to his sadistic impulse, which otherwise might have remained in abeyance.
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anna kavan
quote
mercury

Tumblred by veemignon on Dec. 30, 2014, 7:54 a.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by palelightroom on Dec. 23, 2014, 12:48 p.m.

Below, the fjord was an impossible icy volcano erupting the baleful fire of the swallowed sun.
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anna kavan
ice
literature

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Dec. 8, 2014, 3:28 a.m.

Despairingly she looked all round. She was completely encircled by the tremendous ice walls, which were made fluid by explosions of blinding light, so that they moved and changed with a continuous liquid motion, advancing in torrents of ice, avalanches as big as oceans, flooding everywhere over the doomed world. Wherever she looked, she saw the same fearful encirclement, soaring battlements of ice, an over-hanging ring of frigid, fiery, colossal waves about to collapse upon her. Frozen by the deathly cold emanating from the ice, dazzled by the blaze of crystalline ice-light, she felt herself becoming part of the polar vision, her structure becoming one with the ice and snow. As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.
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anna kavan
ice
literature

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Dec. 7, 2014, 12:24 a.m.

For a moment, my lights picked out like searchlights the girl’s naked body, slight as a child’s, ivory white against the dead white of the snow, her hair bright as spun glass. She did not look in my direction. Motionless, she kept her eyes fixed on the walls moving slowly towards her, a glassy, glittering circle of solid ice, of which she was the centre. Dazzling flashes came from the ice-cliffs far over her head; below, the outermost fringes of ice had already reached her, immobilised her, set hard as concrete over her feet and ankles. I watched the ice climb higher, covering knees and thighs, saw her mouth open, a black hole in the white face, heard her thin agonised scream.
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anna kavan
ice
surrealism
literature

Tumblred by heirloombabydoll on Dec. 3, 2014, 6:53 p.m.

Mais, bien sûr, il n’est pas bon de se lamenter, de se plaindre ou d’élever des protestations auxquelles personne ne fait attention et qui peuvent même, pour tout ce que je sais, être finalement utilisés contre moi et à mon désavantage.

***

Avec n’importe qui d’autre, j’avais dû être réservée et soupçonneuse, me souvenant du proverbe: “Le silence est un ami qui ne trahit jamais personne.” Car comment pourrais-je savoir si la personne à qui je parle n’est pas un ennemi, ou peut-être en relation avec mes accusateurs ou avec ceux qui vont ultérieurement décider de mon destin ?

***

J’en arrivais à penser à que si je ne sortais pas de ce cercle vicieux, j’allais devenir folle, que j’allais crier, que j’allais commettre un acte de violence éhonté dans la rue. Mais le fait de savoir que les lois de mon tempérament m’interdiraient ne serait-ce qu’un soulagement de cet ordre, que j’étais inexorablement emprisonnée dans ma détermination à ne laisser paraître aucune émotion était pire que tout.

Anna Kavan

http://lotek.fr/log/2014/10/21/une-representation-a-lasile/

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lectures
LIT
log
Anna Kavan

Tumblred by 0x4e71 on Oct. 21, 2014, 2:15 a.m.

J’en arrivais à penser à que si je ne sortais pas de ce cercle vicieux, j’allais devenir folle, que j’allais crier, que j’allais commettre un acte de violence éhonté dans la rue. Mais le fait de savoir que les lois de mon tempérament m’interdiraient ne serait-ce qu’un soulagement de cet ordre, que j’étais inexorablement emprisonnée dans ma détermination à ne laisser paraître aucune émotion était pire que tout.

Tags
lectures
LIT
anna kavan
une représentation à l'asile
rien qu'un nouvel échec
citation
quote
reading

Tumblred by ghostlevel on Oct. 21, 2014, 12:59 a.m.

Avec n’importe qui d’autre, j’avais dû être réservée et soupçonneuse, me souvenant du proverbe: “Le silence est un ami qui ne trahit jamais personne.”  Car comment pourrais-je savoir si la personne à qui je parle n’est pas un ennemi, ou peut-être en relation avec mes accusateurs ou avec ceux qui vont ultérieurement décider de mon destin ?

Tags
LIT
Anna Kavan
une représentation à l'asile
citation
quote
présenter ses doléances

Tumblred by ghostlevel on Oct. 21, 2014, 12:59 a.m.

Mais, bien sûr, il n’est pas bon de se lamenter, de se plaindre ou d’élever des protestations auxquelles personne ne fait attention et qui peuvent même, pour tout ce que je sais, être finalement utilisés contre moi et à mon désavantage.

Tags
LIT
Anna Kavan
une représentation à l'asile
citation
quote
Les Oiseaux
asylum piece

Tumblred by ghostlevel on Oct. 21, 2014, 12:32 a.m.

Slipstream literature is a response to science (and scientific effects), an exercise of human feeling about science, if not an understanding of it. But it is not allegory.
Tags
Anna Kavan
Ice
Peter Owen Modern Classic

Tumblred by kindlequotes on Oct. 20, 2014, 5:44 p.m.

İçimden boydan boya bir bıçak geçti. Dünyadaki bütün diğer ölümler dışarıdaydı; bu benim gövdemdeydi, bir süngü gibi, kendi ölümüm gibi.
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anna kavan
buz

Tumblred by saftirikler on Oct. 6, 2014, 1:56 a.m.

İçimden boydan boya bir bıçak geçti. Dünyadaki bütün diğer ölümler dışarıdaydı; bu benim gövdemdeydi, bir süngü gibi, kendi ölümüm gibi.
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anna kavan
buz

Tumblred by saftirikler on Oct. 6, 2014, 1:56 a.m.

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Anna Kavan
books
photo

Tumblred by ghostlevel on Oct. 5, 2014, 1:17 a.m.

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Asylum Piece. — Waiting for Ice/Neige.

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Anna Kavan
books
Asylum Piece
photo
Une Représentation à l'Asile

Tumblred by ghostlevel on Oct. 2, 2014, 7:33 p.m.

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Asylum Piece. — Waiting for Ice/Neige.

Tags
Anna Kavan
books
Asylum Piece
photo
Une Représentation à l'Asile

Tumblred by ghostlevel on Oct. 2, 2014, 7:33 p.m.

So here’s another unpublished Kavan collection, from the Archive. The inclusions of “The Department of Slight Confusion” and “One of the Hot Spots”/”Lonely Unholy Shore” (later in Bright Green Field) place this as being prepared sometime between 1941 and 1958:

"The Cactus Sign." Typescript of proposed anthology of short stories with handwritten revisions:
"The Cactus Sign." p1-9.
"Lions Don’t Live in China." p10-14.
"America’s Wonderful. p15-20. (See also 2:3)
"Facing Up to Reality." p21-23.
"Some of the Things That Happen." p24-28.
"Memory of Maccassar." p29-32. (See also 2:6)
"Sorry I Can’t Do Anything." p33-40.
"As Near As I Got to China." p41-47. (See also 2:4)
"Honey Don’t You Mind." p48-54.
"Lonely Unholy Shore." p55-58.
"Department of Slight Confusion." p59-60.
"We Know All the Answers." p61-70.
"No More Roseate Views of the Tropics." p71-76.
"The Pain, the Island, Sweet Lady." p77-81.
"Subjects of General Interest." p82-87.
"Lord Have Mercy On Us." p88-91.
"Lover and Friend Hast Thou Put Far From Me and Mine Acquaintance Into Darkness." p92-108.
"One of the Hot Spots." p109-116.
"A Day in Batavia." p117-131. (See also 2:5)
"As Long As You Realize." p132-139.
"In Short I Was Afraid." p140-144.
"The Bank." p145-148.
"The Hotel." p149-153.
"The Lion." p154-158.
"The Hour." p159-161.
"Thinking About Sumatra." p162-167.
"There’s Lovely." p168-172.
"The Second Tuesday." p173-177.
"Twelve Thousand Miles of It." p178-186.
"The Atom of God Near Balboa." p187-196.
"We Know the Boys Will Bring Us Our Joys." p197-208.

(I’m currently moving over some information I’d previously made available on Goodreads, which should really have a permanent home here instead.)

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Anna Kavan
unpublished
The Cactus Sign
McFarlin Library
bibliography

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Sept. 30, 2014, 4:09 p.m.

My home was in darkness and my companions were shadows beckoning to me from a glass.
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anna kavan
quote
sleep has his house
lit

Tumblred by sempiternale on Sept. 30, 2014, 4 p.m.

Suddenly a soldier’s automatic awareness of weather conditions made him look out the window. A peculiar blanching and blurring process was obscuring the light outside. The sun was paling, a curious dimming was everywhere apparent, a pallor was diffusing itself into the air, smudging the shapes and stealing the colours of the garden flowers. Eclipsed to a pale lamp, the sun suddenly went out altogether; the cliff withdrew from sight. Only a few of the flowers in the foreground still floated, dim and derealized, colourless ghosts of themselves,in the thick white mists billowing up from the invisible water, which could be heard softly sucking and smacking the rocks below. (p.20)

So she was disconcerted to see, straight above them, the hoary grey head of rock, thrust into and filling the sky. Taking her by surprise, the bare upheaval of naked granite, grim and overwhelming in its immensity and nearness, had a strong effect on her imagination. She’d never been close to one of the tors; and, to her surprised eyes, there was something extraordinary about the huge knot of pale, up-ended stones, towering aggressively just overhead, like a fortress, excluding the sun. (p.31)

Suddenly, as she looked, the valley sank out of sight, all its toylike brightness put out as the sun disappeared and the lumpish tors heaved themselves up all around it in  startling significance, huge and uncanny, the gloomy dark masses of moorland standing out menacingly. (p.47)

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Anna Kavan
quote
The Parson
1995
posthumous

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Sept. 29, 2014, 4:02 p.m.

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Untitled 23, Abstract Waves.

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Anna Kavan
painting

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Sept. 29, 2014, 3:50 p.m.

Yaşadığı iklim korkuydu onun; biraz şefkat görmüş olsaydı farklı olurdu.
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anna kavan
buz

Tumblred by saftirikler on Sept. 29, 2014, 12:17 a.m.

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:)

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Anna Kavan
books
Asylum Piece

Tumblred by 0x4e71 on Sept. 24, 2014, 2:24 p.m.

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I never heard of the word “slipstream” as a genre, so I googled startpaged :

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slipstream_%28genre%29

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LIT
Anna Kavan
slipstream

Tumblred by 0x4e71 on Sept. 20, 2014, 3:28 a.m.

I think i want to read Asylum Piece and Ice by Anna Kavan.

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Anna Kavan
books
booksbooksbooks

Tumblred by 0x4e71 on Sept. 20, 2014, 1:28 a.m.

Literary Luminaries: Beards, Vaginas and the Avant-Garde Novelist – Part II

Part II: ReadWomen

IN THE FIRST PART of this essay on Monday, I took a look at the way in which cult female novelists are usually forgotten or ignored, whilst male cult authors, from Burroughs to Hunter S. Thompson, remain literary icons that are cherished by the public imagination. The same issue lies with women who are writing Big Books on a large canvas. Many of these problems arise from the…

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Anna Kavan
ReadWomen
Alice Munro
beats
Burroughs
Homeland
Joanna Walsh
Jonathan franzen
Sheila Heti
The Quiddity of Will Self
Virginia Woolf
Zadie Smith

Tumblred by theweeklings on Sept. 10, 2014, 3 p.m.

why every bookstore carries Kerouac but not Kavan

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patriarchy
Anna kavan

Tumblred by psyxchic on Aug. 27, 2014, 1:54 a.m.

Alıştığımız macera dolu, sürükleyici, türlü kurmaca oyunlarıyla dolu, bütün hücrelerine kadar hayran kaldığımız  sıradışı kahramanlarının olduğu bir roman değil ‘Buz’! Aksine, yer yer ince bölgelerin olduğu bir buz üstünde yürürcesine tedirgin ediyor okuru. Hangi adımda kırılıp  bizi altındaki suya hapsedecek diye ilerliyoruz. Kahramanın yolculuğu ve haliyle roman tam böyle bir belirsizlikte seyrediyor, örneğin kahramanların adı ve yaşadıkları yerler bile ‘belli değil’! Bir kadın ve o kadının varlığı dışında hiçbir şeyi umursamayan, meseleyi sadece tuhaf bir rekabete çevirmiş iki erkek kahramdan oluşuyor kadro. İsimsizler, belirsizler! Anna Kavan bu belirsiz mekan ve kahramanlar aracılığıyla bizi gerçekten tuhaf bir soğukluğa sahip atmosfere hapsediyor! Fizikteki ‘aşırı soğuma’ kavramını bilirsiniz; yeni erimiş madde (örneğin su) donma noktasına kadar soğuduğu halde donmamıştır. Bu aşırı soğumuş / donmada gecikmiş sıvıya kendi cinsinden küçük bir billur (kristal) atıldığı anda sıvı madde birden donar! Anna Kavan’ın romanı da tam böyle olaylar silsilesinden oluşuyor. Bir kadın ve iki adamdan oluşan üçlü bir araya geldiği anda olağanüstü hızlı bir buzlanma yaşanıyor! Büyüleyici bir metafor kullanımı sergiliyor Kavan. Modern klasik hitabını ilk harfinden itibaren hak eden bir eser ‘Buz’.

[Buz / Anna Kavan / Çev.: Selahattin Özpalabıyıklar / Everest Yayınları / Roman]

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Anna Kavan
Buz
Selahattin Özpalabıyıklar
Everest Yayınları
Roman
more
kitap
kitap özetleri
bir paragraf

Tumblred by birparagraf on Aug. 21, 2014, 12:54 p.m.

Ice cliffs boomed in my dreams, indescribable explosions thundered and boomed, icebergs crashed, hurled huge boulders into the sky like rockets. Dazzling ice stars bombarded the world with rays, which splintered and penetrated the earth, filling earth’s core with their deadly coldness, reinforcing the cold of the advancing ice. And always, on the surface, the indestructible ice-mass was moving forward, implacably destroying all life. . . . Her albino hair illuminated my dreams, shining brighter than moonlight. I saw the dead moon dance over the icebergs, as it would at the end of our world, while she watched from the tent of her glittering hair.

(Kavan, Anna. Ice. New York: Popular Library, 1967)

.

image

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anna kavan
ice
helen woods
dream machine

Tumblred by rowms on Aug. 13, 2014, 8:05 a.m.

I was aware of an uncertainty of the real, in my surroundings and in myself. What I saw had no solidity, it was all made of mist and nylon, with nothing behind.
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Anna Kavan
Ice
Prose
Surrealism

Tumblred by myshoesuntied on July 16, 2014, 3:22 p.m.

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Anna Kavan

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Anna Kavan
Asylum Piece
Helen Emily Woods
British
I Am Lazarus

Tumblred by transylmania on July 1, 2014, 11:03 p.m.

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#meadowlands, #gold #oilslicks thanks for reading me that Anna Kavan story @rock_hyrax

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anna kavan
meadowlands
oilslicks
gold
the birds dancing
illustration

Tumblred by longunevenhair on June 18, 2014, 11:33 p.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by nathanbradleysmith-shelf on June 17, 2014, 5:32 a.m.

Defeatism’s true; war’s true. So’s idealism and the hope of a better society. You pay your money and you take your choice. Civilization’s gone down the drain. Utopia’s just round the corner.
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Anna Kavan
Quotes
Sleep Has His House

Tumblred by ifveniceissinking on June 8, 2014, 2:11 p.m.

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Encore une petite série de book scanner, Anna Kavan, always, avant de partir en résidence au Labo de l’édition à Paris du 9 au13 juin 2014 avec <stdin> (Alexandre Leray & Stéphanie Villayphiou) pour une nouvelle étape de travail autour du projet Anna K. mythologies personnelles : on rentre dans la phase de production avec le soutien du Dicream qui vient de tomber, olé : )

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Anna Kavan
bookscanner
data-literature
stdin
labodeledition

Tumblred by litteraturing on June 5, 2014, 12:29 p.m.

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Found it!

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Anna Kavan
Ice
white
pale

Tumblred by veraverorum on May 27, 2014, 1:33 p.m.

Inexorable self, carried like the superfluous and tiresome piece of luggage which it is impossible to lose; franked with the customs’ stamp of every frontier, retrieved exasperatingly from the disaster where everything else is lost, companion of the dislocation of cancelled sailings and missed connections, witness of every catastrophe, survivor of all voyages and situations … I.
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anna kavan
quote
sleep has his house

Tumblred by veemignon on May 17, 2014, 8:56 p.m.

She felt herself alone, lost like a stranger in some fantastic country whose language and mode of life were alike incomprehensible, surrounded by enemies in an atmosphere of suspicion and perpetually lurking, unimaginable dangers.
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anna kavan
quote
let me alone

Tumblred by veemignon on May 17, 2014, 8:55 p.m.

There are certain shocks which, if sufficiently strong, seem to have power to destroy the balance of life. Such a shock would seem to overthrow all the intricate, vital, slowly developed mechanism of mind, to plunge the victim into a chaotic half-world of confusion and loss. This is what had happened to Anna.
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anna kavan
quote
let me alone

Tumblred by veemignon on May 17, 2014, 8:53 p.m.

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"I had a vague feeling that something was wrong with me, though I could not decide what it was. For a moment this was disturbing; then I forgot it." ( Ice by Anna Kavan)

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anna kavan
lit
ice
avant garde
sci fi
kindle
ebook

Tumblred by marginalutilite on May 4, 2014, 4:50 p.m.

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The sadness of life pre tumblr—_Ice_ by Anna Kavan

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anna kavan
lit
ice
avant garde
sci fi
kindle
dragons

Tumblred by marginalutilite on May 2, 2014, 5:29 a.m.

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Ice-Anna Kavan
The haunted house follows me through everything I read—the House, as it is written ominously in different typeset in House of Leaves—and I am not frightened at all of Hill Houses haunting all my reading, not in the least

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anna kavan
lit
ice
sci fi
kindle
ebook
not scared at all
the HOUSE
house of leaves
the haunting of hill house
mark z danielewski
shirley jackson
horror
haunted house

Tumblred by marginalutilite on April 30, 2014, 11:34 p.m.

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Christopher Priest’s intro to Anna Kavan’s Ice ( thanks, elanormcinerney!)-see, mildly famous junkies can also breed bull dogs and sell real estate

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anna kavan
lit
ice
sci fi
kindle
ebook
heroin
christopher priest
elanormcinerney

Tumblred by marginalutilite on April 30, 2014, 11:29 p.m.

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Introduction by Helen Simpson | The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories | Angela Carter

returns the reader to

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anna kavan
helen simpson
angela carter

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on April 29, 2014, 4:27 p.m.

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There is no more Julia anywhere. Where she was there is only nothing.

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Anna Kavan
writing
I read this

Tumblred by bluesigloo on April 12, 2014, 8:13 p.m.

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Hannah Black + ❄️ + “feelings are always ridiculous, especially when unauthorised people get their hands on them

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anna kavan
hannah black
andrea dworkin
elfriede jelinek
the new inquiry

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on April 2, 2014, 3:22 p.m.

I had only learnt how to be friends with shadows; it might be too late to learn the way of friendship in the sun.
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Anna Kavan

Tumblred by tsundere-perfect-mind on March 30, 2014, 9:44 p.m.

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Laura Mullen | As | Dark Archive

or anna kavan

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anna kavan
laura mullen

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on March 22, 2014, 12:18 p.m.

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Andrea Dworkin | Ice & Fire
Anna Kavan | Ice

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anna kavan
andrea dworkin

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on March 17, 2014, 7:36 a.m.

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Anna Kavan | Ice *

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anna kavan
sylvia townsend warner
joseph sheridan le fanu
nina auerbach

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on March 17, 2014, 7:36 a.m.

Are you afraid of the tigers?
Do you hear them padding all round you on their fierce fine velvet feet?
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anna kavan

Tumblred by simpleindulgences on March 9, 2014, 1:03 p.m.

But she accepted the fact as she accepted all things that happened to her, expecting to be ill-treated, to be made a victim, ultimately to be destroyed, either by unknown forces or by human beings. This fate seemed always to have been waiting for her, ever since time began. Only love might have saved her from it. But she had never looked for love. Her part was to suffer; that was known and accepted. Fatality brought resignation. It was no use fighting against her fate. She knew she had been beaten before the start.
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Anna Kavan
oh

Tumblred by booradleyy on March 2, 2014, 7:17 a.m.

A stranger I came to your town, I left it a stranger still
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anna kavan
stdin
stranger still
algolit

Tumblred by litteraturing on Feb. 21, 2014, 4:11 p.m.

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Anna Kavan | Ice


(or better yet)
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anna kavan
chris tysh

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on Feb. 21, 2014, 12:41 a.m.

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self-portrait of Anna Kavan

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anna kavan
self-portrait

Tumblred by zoomusickgirl on Jan. 17, 2014, 12:26 a.m.

This nearly autobiographical tale follows Anna-Marie’s life from birth to her early adulthood. Anna’s mother dies shortly after childbirth, so she is left to be raised with her emotionally distant and intellectually challenging father. She is raised in a small estate, a fair distance away from any other children, which causes her to become emotionally detached as an adult. When her father commits suicide, she is left in the custody of her vain, self serving, and cruel aunt, who immediately sticks her in boarding school. After Anna breaks the rules and sneaks out of the school at night, she is sent back to her aunt’s home where she remains until she meets Matthew Kavan. He asks her to marry him, and misunderstands her answer. They get married without Anna’s entire consent. Anna refuses to let him sleep with her or touch her after the wedding and continues long afterwards. They move to Sri Lanka together. (I’m pretty sure that’s what she said. The whole time it was just referred to as The East) Anna is unhappy there because she misses the English countryside, and because she left all of her friends behind. Matthew loses his patience with Anna and rapes her, which she suffers from physically, but mentally, “her spirit remained cold, reckless, and unchanging. Not ever did he become real to her.” Anna writes one of her friends to come and visit her, which ends the book, but doesn’t really resolve the conflict.

Personally, I thought Let Me Alone was okay. I definitely felt bad for the author, Anna Kavan, but sometimes it was hard to feel bad for the character Anna Kavan. In the beginning of the book especially, she seemed to sympathize with her character way too much, even though she was part of the conflict. The writing style is rather old because the book was published in 1930, but even then, she seemed very repetitive and used strange expressions to describe things, Matthew especially. She put a lot of emphasis on the fact that he had a round, ball-like head, that he was a “queer fish” (?) and that he was very monkeyish. And those were like the only three phrases she used. A lot of the time it felt like you were listening to someone ramble on and on, and you couldn’t really be sure if they were even going anywhere, or if they had circled back to a point they had already made. Overall, it was alright. I

n the short introduction, a quote from The New York Times Book Review is used. “She is interesting because her works comes through with a powerful and androgynous individuality and because the stories are luminous and rich with a fresh kind of peril. She knows how to pull us into her world, her dreams and nightmares— how to have all of it become ours.” I feel that that was a bit of a stretch. Maybe it’s just me, but it felt like the emotions were muted and her thoughts weren’t freely expressed. It was difficult to relate to her at points. I definitely recommend it for the story, because that was compelling, but the writing was mediocre. 

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anna kavan
let me alone
100 Books
book review
book 3 of 2014
tw: rape
tw: mentions of rape
rape

Tumblred by please-select-a-url on Jan. 13, 2014, 11 p.m.

And when we were sentimental, standing in front of the house where he used to live, the poet, the tears came in our eyes, and we were uplifted. We said to one other, We too will write beautiful words, we will be remembered. And we felt uplifted. While you are young you have splendid pure feelings. Afterwards it’s different, there are various euphonic substitutes.
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anna kavan

Tumblred by narcst on Dec. 29, 2013, 1:45 a.m.

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Anna Kavan, Self-portrait

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anna kavan
self portrait

Tumblred by plumotte on Dec. 17, 2013, 4:01 a.m.

He suddenly got the feeling that, though she was still isolated, cold and remote, on her mountaintop, she half wished to come down. The wave of bitterness that had swept her up there had subsided and left her stranded, not sure that she wanted to stay, not knowing how to get down—would she ever be able to make the descent?
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anna kavan

Tumblred by booradleyy on Dec. 8, 2013, 10:55 p.m.

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Mon avis

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Anna Kavan
Ice
Lecture
Livres
Books
Neige

Tumblred by lescarnetsdecachou on Nov. 15, 2013, 12:02 a.m.

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Anna Kavan and the Politics of Madness
Victoria Walker

10 December 2013
7pm - exhibition viewing from 6pm

Author Anna Kavan’s critical and popular reception since her death in 1968 has been defined by a cult of personality fuelled by revelations about her psychiatric breakdown, heroin use and adoption of her own fictional character’s name. Victoria Walker unravels some of the accumulated mythology around this writer, and examines her complex association with, and interest in, early twentieth-century psychiatry and
psychotherapy.

As well as being treated in private asylums and nursing homes, Kavan underwent a short analysis at the Tavistock Clinic, experienced Ludwig Binswanger’s method of existential psychotherapy at the Bellevue Sanatorium, and had a close personal relationship with her longtime psychiatrist Karl Bluth. Kavan promoted a radical politics of madness, giving voice to the disenfranchised and marginalized psychiatric patient and presaging the anti-psychiatry movement.

Part of a season of performances, talks, films and events accompanying the exhibition ‘Mad, Bad and Sad: Women and the Mind Doctors’, 10 October 2013 - 2 February 2014.
(Thanks, Sean.)

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Anna Kavan
painting
Freud Museum
madness
exhibition

Tumblred by housesofsleep on Nov. 12, 2013, 6:10 p.m.

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anna kavan
buz
kitap
biscolata
kız kulesi
edebiyat

Tumblred by cizikler on Oct. 13, 2013, 11:26 p.m.

This was a great random find on the shelf: another reason I love our local library. True to its title this is a chilly and uncomfortable book. Needless to say, it deserves a lot more attention that I’m giving it here. But a few notable things: I really like the narrative speed of it; at times the story moves in fast motion, giving it the feel of a videotape being fast-forwarded. I like how the nuclear winter comes without the bomb blasts (or is it just before them?) — the icy ruin are great, and the slow freezing of the tropic regions. The uncomfortable part, which could stand up to much more analysis, I’m sure, is the relation between the narrator, the girl whose pursuit takes up the entire plot, and the Warden, a strange dictatorial figure who is her abductor and her ward. Or possibly a splinter off the weird soulless narrator. Either way, the interplay between these three is downright creepy.

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anna kavan
ice
book diary

Tumblred by astrobolism on Oct. 3, 2013, 8:31 p.m.

All I wanted then was for everything to go on as before, so that I could stay deeply asleep, and be no more than a hole in space, not here or anywhere at all, for as long as possible, preferably forever.
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anna kavan
lit
quotes
everything
stay
forever

Tumblred by tinbanes on Sept. 11, 2013, 1:31 a.m.

My heart falls into my boots while I am speaking. I am plunged into despair because I see that neither of my hearers is capable of comprehending my appeal. I doubt if they are even listening to me. They do not know what fog is like; it is only a word to them. They do not know what it means to be sad and alone in a cold room where the sun never shines.

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anna kavan
fog

Tumblred by holyscowl on July 31, 2013, 12:54 a.m.

it was a new thing, the going away, and it’s rather hard to explain. it was just that i seemed to go into a vagueness, like a room does if you look at it out of focus. i don’t know how to put it except like that. it’s difficult to say just what i mean. perhaps it was a little like walking in your sleep—
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anna kavan
julia and the bazooka

Tumblred by ultracherryviolet on July 20, 2013, 11:07 a.m.

In an indescribable way our looks tangled together. I seemed to be looking at my own reflexion. Suddenly I was entangled in utmost confusion, not sure which of us was which. We were like halves of one being, joined in some mysterious symbiosis. I fought to retain my identity, but all my efforts failed to keep us apart. I continually found I was not myself, but him. At one moment I actually seemed to be wearing his clothes. I fled from the room in utter confusion; afterwards did not know what had happened, or if anything had.
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anna kavan
quote
ice

Tumblred by veemignon on July 17, 2013, 7:29 p.m.

Big tears fell from her eyes like icicles, like diamonds, but I was unmoved. They did not seem to me like real tears. She herself did not seem quite real. She was pale and almost transparent, the victim I used for my own enjoyment in dreams.
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anna kavan
quote
ice

Tumblred by veemignon on July 17, 2013, 7:24 p.m.

Suddenly it seemed neither sensible, nor even sane, to continue a search based solely on vague surmise; particularly as my attitude to its object was so undefined. When I considered that imperative need I felt for her, as for a missing part of myself, it appeared less like love than an inexplicable aberration, the sign of some character-flaw I ought to eradicate, instead of letting it dominate me.
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anna kavan
quote
ice

Tumblred by veemignon on July 17, 2013, 7:20 p.m.

image


Dünya yana yatıyor, Anna Kavan okuyunca. Kâğıtlara değil de aynalara yazıyor sanki yazar. Kavan’ın cümleleri, bir aynada yan yana gelen gerçekler ve yalanlar gibi. Gerçek ile hayali ele ele tutuşturmak, onları birbirinden ayırmadan yazı yazmak için dünyaya gelmiş Anna Kavan. Yaşadığı süre içinde bunu çok iyi yaptığını kitaplarından anlıyoruz. Adı, Kafka’nın mirasçısı kadın yazarlar arasında geçiyor.

Kendine mahlas olarak seçtiği Anna Kavan ismi ise “deliliğinin” patlama noktasına geldiği Let Me Alone (Beni Yalnız Bırak) adlı kitabının kahramanının ismi. Bu ad Kafka’ya açık bir gönderme. Anna Kavan’ın 1957 yılında yayımladığı Kartal Yuvası aradan geçen elli yıldan sonra Roza Hakmen çevirisiyle nihayet Türkçede.


Üç kez “ölmeye yatmak”
Gerçek adı Helen Woods olan Anna Kavan, 1901 yılında Fransa’nın Cannes şehrinde doğdu. Çocukluğu Avrupa’nın birçok şehrinde ve Kaliforniya’da geçti. Ömrünün en rahatsız edici ve tüm hayatını etkileyen kâbusu anne figürüydü. Uzak, bencil bir anne figürü… Kavan, daha sonraları bu anne figürünü kitaplarında da kullandı. Yaşamı boyunca başarısız iki evlilik yaptı. İlk evliliğini amcasının zorlamasıyla Oxford’taki bursunu yarım bırakarak gerçekleştirdi. Yazmaya, kocasıyla birlikte Burma’da yaşadığı yıllarda başladı. 1926’da eroin bağımlısı oldu. Birkaç yıl sonra onu sürekli kontrol etmeye çalışan sadist ruhlu kocasına dayanamayarak ondan ayrıldı. 1931’de ikinci kez evlendi. Kavan, hayatı boyunca üç kez intihar girişiminde bulundu ve ilkini 30’ların sonunda ikinci evliliğinin bitişinin ardından yaptı. Bu yıllarda sık sık geçirdiği ve kurtulamadığı depresyonu, varoluş biçimi olarak tanımladı ve sürekli yazdı.
Kitaplarının isimleri, Kavan’ın ruhundaki iniş-çıkışların ve değişimin ipucuydu. Kitap karakterlerini ebedi yolculukların yolcuları olarak yarattı. Ve deneysel yazın üzerine yoğunlaştı. Hayal ile gerçek arasında belki en çok bu sıralarda gidip geldi. 1942 yılında ikinci kez intihar girişiminde bulundu. Bu yıllarda Dr. Karl Theodor Blut, onun sırdaşı ve psikanalistiydi. Yazarın üçüncü ve son ihtihar girişimi de 1964’de Blut’un ölümünün ardından olacaktı.
Anna Kavan, kendini işine adamış bir yazar ve yetenekli bir ressam aynı zamanda dekoratördü. Yazar, Londra’da beğinilen sergilere de imzasını attı. Oldukça içine kapanık bir kişiliğe sahip Kavan, ömrünün sonlarına doğru münzevi bir hayat sürmeye başladı. 1968 yılında, elinde, romanlarında ‘bazuka’ olarak adlandırdığı şırıngası ile ölü bulundu. “Düşman” adlı öyküsünde kendine yakıştırdığı ölüm ânı buna oldukça yakındı. “Muhtemelen geceleyin gelecekler benim için. Ne tabancalar ne de kelepçeler olacak; her şey sakin ve düzenli olacak; üniformalı ya da beyaz ceketli iki üç adam, birinde bir derialtı şırıngası olacak. İşte bu olacak bana. Mahkûm olduğumu biliyorum ve kaderime karşı savaşmayacağım. Bunları sadece, artık beni görmeyince düşmanımın nihayet zafere ulaştığını bilesiniz diye yazıyorum.”


Buhranlı yıllardan sonra
Anna Kavan, 1957 yılında, tarzında olgunlaştığı romanı Kartal Yuvası’nı yazdı. Kitap, yazarın en kafkaesk romanı olarak bilinir. Kavan, Kartal Yuvası'nda bir Anlatıcı vasıtasıyla varoluşu sorgular. Dayanılmaz yalnızlığı ve yaşadığı ortamın kuralları altında varlığını sürdüremeyen bireyin (Anlatıcı'nın) hikâyesini anlatır. Bir iş ilanı vesilesiyle bulunduğu çevreden ve ortamdan kurtuluşunu arayan Anlatıcı, Yönetici diye adlandırdığı bir işverenin kütüphanesinde çalışmak üzere yola çıkar. Bu yolculuk varlığının sınırlarını zorladığı bir yolculuk olur. Ve kendini Kartal Yuvası adı verilen, gerçek ve düşün karıştığı bir mekân da bulur. Kartal Yuvası, tropikal bitki örtüleri ve şelalelerden oluşan gerçeküstü bir yer olarak temsil edilir. Burada âdetler farklıdır ve gizemlidir. Her şey başka bir şeyin simgesidir ve bu işaretler çeşitli şekillerde yorumlanabilir. Bu tuhaf bir coğrafyada Anlatıcı hiç ummadığı şeylerle yüz yüze gelir. Hayal gücünün ve Anlatıcı'nın aklının kuytu köşelerinin simgesi bu yer, melankoli ve düş kırıklığıyla doludur. Kartal Yuvası, tekinsiz bir rüya, somut dünyanın taleplerinin işlemediği bir yerdir.

*******************************************************************************

Bir süre boyunca, aynı kentte yaşayan, işimden dolayı tanıdığım bir Yönetici, beni müthiş bir iyi yüreklilikle koruması altına aldı ve büyük kütüphanesindeki kitapların kataloglama işinde istihdam etti. Bu zengin, nüfuzlu adamın himayesi altında, konforlu evinde kalıp personelden çok dostu, eşit konumdaki biri gibi muamele gördüğüm sürece, başıma gelenleri gerçek yüzüyle algılamam imkânsızdı. O yaz mevsimi, önceki güvenli, varlıklı koşullarımdan yoksulluğa, istikrarsız bağımlılığa geçişi tam fark edemeden geçti. Yeni ilgi alanlarına ve yeni bir ortama yoğunlaşarak, günler boyunca kaybettiğim mesleğimi düşünmediğim oluyordu.
Ara sıra, Yönetici’nin evindeki konumumun tam olarak belirtilmemesine hayıflanıyordum. Ama konuyu açmak bir güvensizlik belirtisi olurdu; konumumun açıkça tanımlanması isteğimin bürokratik düşünce tarzının bir kalıntısından ibaret olduğuna ikna ettim kendimi, çünkü dostane velinimetime güvenim tamdı. Eylül ayının sonlarına doğru bir gün, bu arada kendime bir iş aramış olduğumu umduğunu, çünkü yakında evi kapatıp güneydeki malikânesine gideceğini söyleyince korkunç bir şaşkınlık yaşadım.
O feci ânı hatırlamak hâlâ dayanılmaz geliyor bana; başımı yastığın üzerinde döndürüp o hatıradan kaçmaya çalışınca gözlerim pencereyle aynı hizaya geliyor; dışarıda, tek tük beyaz parçacıkların ağır ağır beyaz kenarlı damlara doğru süzüldüğü bulutlu gökyüzü fonunda kırağı bağlamış baca külahlarından oluşan vahşi bir friz görünüyor. Kışların olağanüstü sert geçtiği, mali durumu elveren herkesin yılın birkaç ayını güneyde geçirdiği kentten ilk ayrılanlardan birinin bu zengin Yönetici olması tesadüf değildi. Yıllık göçünü tamamen kanıksamış olduğundan bana daha önce söz etmeyi akıl etmediğini şimdi anlıyorum elbette. Ama o sırada dehşete düşmüş, şaşırmıştım; benden kurtulmak istediği fikrine kapıldım. Kötü niyetli bazı dedikodular duymuş olacağını düşündüm; kovulmamla ilgili olarak, ileri sürdüğüm kadar kabahatsiz olmadığımdan şüphelenmesine yol açacak bir şey.
Hakkını vermem gerekir: Ne kadar allak bullak olduğumu görünce, durumu düzeltmeye çalıştı; o zamana kadar sürekli bir iş bulamamışsam, ilkbaharda tekrar gelip kataloğu bitirecektim; bu arada da, yapabileceği bir şey olursa ona mutlaka haber vermeliydim.
Bu dostça yaklaşımı ve ilgisinin devam edeceğini vaat etmesi beni bir ölçüde rahatlattı. Ama geçirdiğim şok, önceki sorgusuz sualsiz güvenimi sarsmış ve gecikmiş de olsam, durumumun ne kadar kötülediğini anlamama sebep olmuştu. Ansızın çepeçevre güvensizlik uçurumlarıyla kuşatılmıştım; birkaç iyi niyetli cümle ve muğlak bir yardım vaadiyle aşılamayacak kadar derin ve geniş uçurumlar. Artık aramızda bir iletişimsizlik vardı. Hayatı istikrarsızlık temeli üzerine kurulu hale gelmiş olan ben, hayatı boyunca tek bir an güvensizlik yaşamamış olan bir adamla gerçek bir temas kurmamın mümkün olabileceğini nasıl düşünmüştüm?
Kitaptan

KARTAL YUVASI
Anna Kavan, Çeviren: Roza Hakmen, Merkez Kitaplar, 2006,
144 sayfa, 10 TL.

http://www.radikal.com.tr/kitap/gergin_bir_ruh_ve_kafkaesk_bir_roman-858700

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Anna Kavan
Kartal Yuvası

Tumblred by sampiyonlarinkahvaltisi on July 11, 2013, 2:54 p.m.

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Anna Kavan
(Thanks, Sean.)

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anna kavan
photo

Tumblred by housesofsleep on July 5, 2013, 5:23 a.m.

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More original Kavan paintings from the University of Tulsa’s McFarlin Library (which also houses an enormous collection of Kavan’s letters, papers, drafts, and unpublished material. Found here (Thanks, Sean).

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Anna Kavan
McFarlin Library
painting

Tumblred by housesofsleep on July 4, 2013, 12:51 a.m.

I could not be sure whether it was a man or a woman who lay there, shrouded as if on a bier, but I thought I discerned a tarnished gleam of fair hair, and presently an arm, no thicker than bone, was raised, feebly, as if groping towards the light. Was it imagination, or did I really see on that almost translucent flesh a faint stain, circular, toothed, and enclosing a shape like a rose?
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Anna Kavan
quotes

Tumblred by theredshoes on June 27, 2013, 3:14 p.m.

Snow peaks are standing all around the sky, phantom-pale in the night, vast disembodied ghost-shapes, larger than life, floating in luminous pallor, the moon’s ethereal crescent gliding between. Am I driving or dreaming? Dreamlike, these colossal, fantastic mountains, aloof like gods. Dreamlike, sky-diving moon. Dream road, unending, always spiraling upward. Nightmare road, verging on dizzy chasms, a knife-edge eternally twisting in steeper and sharper bends. Shall I ever get around the next one?
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Anna Kavan
quote
Julia and the Bazooka
High in the Mountains

Tumblred by housesofsleep on May 29, 2013, 4:10 p.m.

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Anna Kavan, “Untitled 21”, c.1960. “An orchard of shocking yellow mimosa, so exuberantly abundant it forms a dense cloud.”

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Anna Kavan
painting

Tumblred by housesofsleep on May 29, 2013, 6:13 a.m.

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Anna Kava, “untitled 31”, c.1960. A Chase.

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Anna Kavan
helen ferguson

Tumblred by expansivemouthfeel on May 29, 2013, 2:33 a.m.

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Anna Kavan, “Untitled 2”, c.1960.

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Anna Kavan
helen ferguson

Tumblred by expansivemouthfeel on May 29, 2013, 2:30 a.m.

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currently reading:

Julia and the Bazooka

by Anna Kavan

(Japanese edition, 2013) 

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anna kavan

Tumblred by kaynish on May 21, 2013, 12:05 p.m.

Reality had always been something of an unknown quantity to me.
Tags
Anna Kavan
Ice
Quotes
Quote
Lit

Tumblred by ifveniceissinking on May 11, 2013, 2:21 p.m.

Finishing a book that I fell in love with. 

Also finishing a book that was recommended to me, but I can’t for the life of me remember who said I should read this author. 

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Anna Kavan
books
mercury

Tumblred by anotherstepaway on May 6, 2013, 9:06 p.m.

All of a sudden, she remembers her lost happiness. For an infinitesimal fraction of time she again experiences that almost forgotten sense of security and belonging…the bliss of loving and being loved, transforming life into supreme happiness, such intense joy that the surrounding air vibrates and sparkles with gaiety. In a flash it’s all over. She’s back in her aloneness. No vibration, no sparkle, no happiness. Gaiety is unthinkable. Happiness is dead, finished, nothing… perhaps it never existed.
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anna kavan
quotes
mercury

Tumblred by anotherstepaway on April 30, 2013, 4:53 p.m.

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anna kavan
pdf

Tumblred by stealingintolanguage on April 27, 2013, 4:01 a.m.

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Anna Kavan | Who Are You?

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anna kavan

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on April 25, 2013, 4:09 p.m.

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Anna Kavan | Who Are You?

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anna kavan

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on April 25, 2013, 2:06 p.m.

I am constantly aware of the heart beating inside my breast, strongly and resolutely pumping the blood throught my veins. Once I read somewhere that when the blood is thin it wants to return whence it came. But my blood is not thin, my blood does not want to fall back. Unbearable reluctance of the blood that will not fall.
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Anna Kavan
Asylum Piece
Quotes
Quote
Lit

Tumblred by ifveniceissinking on April 17, 2013, 3:30 a.m.

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Anna Kavan | Ice

pretty convinced that Ice was Anna Kavan’s take on Lolita (plus the world is ending in an ice apocalypse and there are singing lemurs, cats drinking blood, a fjord dragon, reality confusion).

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anna kavan

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on April 13, 2013, 7:54 p.m.

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Prefatory Note by Peter Owen | Anna Kavan | Asylum Piece

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anna kavan
chris kraus

Tumblred by elanormcinerney on April 11, 2013, 1:25 p.m.

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Julia and the Bazooka by Anna Kavan

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Anna Kavan
Julia And the Bazooka
Author
Book
Short Stories

Tumblred by ifveniceissinking on March 31, 2013, 11:56 a.m.

nothing

is what i think it is

nothing is what i’ve thought it has been

i had a lover once?

or did i dream it

all of these dreams

are crowding in on me

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anna kavan

Tumblred by herjoyride on March 23, 2013, 1:08 a.m.

Then suddenly it was unnaturally, fearfully cold. The masses of dense foliage all around became prison walls, impassable circular green ice-wall, surging towards her.
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anna kavan
excerpt

Tumblred by theyvcreation on March 11, 2013, 3:34 a.m.

I had only learnt how to be friends with shadows; it might be too late to learn the way of friendship in the sun.
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Anna Kavan
quote

Tumblred by theyvcreation on Feb. 27, 2013, 6:32 a.m.

Despairingly she looked all round. She was completely encircled by the tremendous ice walls, which were made fluid by explosions of blinding light, so that they moved and changed with a continuous liquid motion, advancing in torrents of ice, avalanches as big as oceans, flooding everywhere over the doomed world. Wherever she looked, she saw the same fearful encirclement, soaring battlements of ice, an over-hanging ring of frigid, fiery, colossal waves about to collapse upon her. Frozen by the deathly cold emanating from the ice, dazzled by the blaze of crystalline ice-light, she felt herself becoming part of the polar vision, her structure becoming one with the ice and snow. As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.
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Anna Kavan

Tumblred by theyvcreation on Feb. 18, 2013, 4:31 a.m.

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2012 was a great year of reading for me. I discovered many new favorites. I read books that have impressed me, stunned me, and have meant more to me than I could have ever imagined.

I read 46 books this year, which is more than last year but less than I wanted to accomplish. I am still proud, because I have been able to explore areas and genres completely new to me, such as poetry. I read more Shakespeare than ever before, and I am slowly becoming an expert on Edward Gorey and evil children.

You can see the full list here on my Goodreads. (Feel free to add me!)

The books I’ve chose to represent this post and this year are Macdonald Harris’s Mortal Leap, Édouard Levé’s Suicide, Maggie Nelson’s Bluets, and Anna Kavan’s Ice. I highly recommend them all.

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Anna Kavan
Ice
lit
books
2012
Mortal Leap
macdonald harris
Maggie Nelson
bluets
Edouard Leve
Suicide

Tumblred by bookville on Jan. 2, 2013, 8:37 a.m.

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Author: Anna Kavan

Title: The Blackout

Issue date: March 24, 1945

Photo and information source: The New Yorker

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Anna Kavan
1945
Kavan
March
March 1945
New Yorker Fiction
The Blackout
The New Yorker
fiction
blackout
black out

Tumblred by newyorkerfictionarchive on Dec. 9, 2012, 4:21 a.m.

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Anna Kavan, 1941

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anna kavan

Tumblred by awritersruminations on Dec. 5, 2012, 5:23 a.m.

Frozen by the deathly cold emanating from the ice, dazzled by the blaze of crystalline ice-light, she felt herself becoming part of the polar vision, her structure becoming one with the structure of ice and snow. As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.
Tags
anna kavan
ice

Tumblred by awritersruminations on Dec. 5, 2012, 12:07 a.m.

Instead of the darkness, she faced a stupendous sky-conflagration, an incredible glacial dream-scene. Cold coruscations of rainbow fire pulsed overhead, shot through by shafts of pure incandescence thrown out by the mountains of solid ice towering all round. Closer, the trees round the house, sheathed in ice, dripped and sparkled with weird prismatic jewels, reflecting the vivid changing cascades above. Instead of the familiar night sky, the aurora borealis formed a blazing, vibrating roof of intense cold and colour, beneath which the earth was trapped with all its inhabitants, walled in by those impassable glittering ice-cliffs. The world had become an arctic prison from which no escape was possible, all its creatures trapped as securely as were the trees, already lifeless inside their deadly resplendent armour.
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anna kavan
ice

Tumblred by awritersruminations on Dec. 5, 2012, 12:05 a.m.

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"My somewhat tortured love affair with modernism began when I was working in a bookshop in London, reading these amazing women writers of that period who I had never heard of previously, obscure or minor or forgotten (Jane Bowles, Djuna Barnes, Jean Rhys, Olive Moore, Anna Kavan). I began to meditate on ideas of disappearance, on the canon as a memory campaign. Then I began to read and research the biographies of muses who were not as successful as writers, but who still wanted to write (Vivien(ne) Eliot, T.S. Eliot’s first wife; Zelda Fitzgerald, June Miller) and began to think about what would keep someone from writing."
Probably says something re: my own tortured affair with modernism that I’ve read up thoroughly on all but one of these women. Who’s Olive Moore—does anyone know?
But I do think that this invisible community—the female safe spaces of the Internet, when we can find these spaces—is quite valuable and important, even if we might never meet our confidantes and intimates we discourse with in comments sections or over email. The solidarity and sense of community I felt in this subsubsubculture of girls and women who identify as writers on the Internet I think bolstered my own nerve and confidence, especially to finish the book. I have found real friendships with other writers to be sometimes difficult—writers can be prickly, very self-involved and sensitive sorts, speaking of myself most of all! But to be able to talk of solitude, to talk of writing—that has been very important. Writing can be an alienating occupation, to push oneself to persist while being unsuccessful in the eyes of most, not valued within capitalism. In Heroines I look at these earlier generations of women, who were often wives or mistresses of famous men, and meditate on how they were so often isolated from each other, competitive, turned away. Like Zelda with Hadley Hemingway. Or Vivien(ne) with Virginia Woolf, even though both suffered so intensely. Sometimes I wishfully think that real friendship with other women could really have saved many of them from losing themselves.
Sometimes I find “writer” rhetoric unbearably precious,but I mostly like this. Also, what do people know about Hemingway’s wife?
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Anna Kavan
lit
Bitch Magazine
Frances Farmer Is My Sister
Hadley Hemingway
Heroines
Jane Bowles
Jean Rhys
June Miller
Kate Chopin
Kate Zambreno
Olive Moore
The Awakening
charlotte perkins gillman
modernism
pomo
the yellow wallpaper
virginia woolf
vivienne eliot
zelda fitzgerald
wanna read this book

Tumblred by marginalutilite on Nov. 14, 2012, 7:35 p.m.

All I wanted then was for everything to go on as before, so that I could stay deeply asleep, and be no more than a hole in space, not here or anywhere at all, for as long as possible, preferably forever.
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Anna Kavan
quote

Tumblred by express-media on Oct. 29, 2012, 11 a.m.

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can’t sleep so uh here’s what i’m reading at the moment

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anna kavan
L

Tumblred by jerry-signfeld on Oct. 23, 2012, 2:53 p.m.

In the world of reality her social conduct was apt to become erratic, passing too swiftly from the most delicate perception of a guest’s mood to hurling a roast fowl across the table at him, then retiring to her bazooka and shortly afterwards be discovered on her bed reading a novel and eating chocolates out of a box.
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anna kavan
rhys davies
gpoy
minus the herion
about me

Tumblred by hemelbeestje on Aug. 24, 2012, 5:46 p.m.

They discussed the gulls that the fisherman and his wife believed were souls in search of a body, coming to scream around the houses where there was a wedding bed of a body laid out for burial; and they mentioned certain toothless dogs, encountered only at night and supposedly hosts to souls in torment, that would take your hand in their cold, smooth mouths; they spoke of a great white skate that appeared on the surface of the sea and would vanish only after having heard the service for the dead chanted aloud by the crew; they discussed the eels that left the tide-pools during the heat of the day to couple with the snakes among the rocks of the beach; and they mentioned the other serpents that tempted the goats to strange nuptials and made them give milk by biting their udders.
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Anna Kavan
lit
André Pieyre de Mandiargues
The Girl Beneath the Lion
Le Lis de Mer
surrealism

Tumblred by expansivemouthfeel on Aug. 13, 2012, 8:35 p.m.

I want to live a primitive, animal sort of life, with one chosen man who satisfies me physically and with whom I can talk nonsense, behave childishly or be silent just as I please. I want to sleep a long time, eat a lot, sit about in the sun and be sexual pretty often.
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Anna Kavan

Tumblred by cora-lovescats on June 14, 2012, 1 a.m.

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Asylum Piece (1940), written by Anna Kavan

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Anna Kavan
Asylum Piece
book
cover
short story
depression
paranoia
mental illness

Tumblred by redofthehood on May 26, 2012, 10:40 a.m.

How is it possible not to lose hope in these circumstances? As the days drag on without bringing forth anything more definite than a number of contradictory whispers or perhaps some equivocal and incomprehensible official communication of which one can’t make head or tail, it’s extremely difficult not to despair.
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Anna Kavan
quote
Asylum Piece
madness
hope
despair
waiting

Tumblred by redofthehood on May 26, 2012, 10:35 a.m.

How dark it is. The moon must have stolen away secretly. The stars have thrown their spears down and departed.
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Anna Kavan
quote
lit
for mythologyofblue (tw)

Tumblred by unjustlyunread on May 21, 2012, 11:21 p.m.

Although she was only twenty-four, everything seemed to be finished. A kind of sterility hung over everything that she did; inside, she was empty and lost. Nothing seemed to have any meaning. Her life was a senseless gibbering of phantoms.
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Anna Kavan
quote
Change The Name
emptiness
meaning
phantoms
life

Tumblred by redofthehood on May 13, 2012, 4:30 a.m.

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Tell me a story…

Heather and Ivan Morison, Anna, The Hepworth Wakefield, 11 February - 10 June 2012.

Full disclosure: I worked with Heather and Ivan, back in the day, when their work existed in the space between the actual, the improbable and the faintly plausible. Thrillingly, you never quite knew were you were with them. Ivan would send out cards detailing events in his allotment - blackspot on the broad beans, a stunning display of sweet peas - and you were, more or less, happy to take his word for it. Except that, somehow, you wanted to see, just to make sure. They used images sparingly, evidentially, betting on the tendentious ‘presence’ of the occasional photograph. I believed them. Well, perhaps I did.

Anna, the Morisons’ installation at the Hepworth Wakefield, evokes presence in a different way. Based on the life and work of cult novelist Anna Kavan, it grasps for archetypes and universals through coded messages.

Walking into the room, you’re surrounded by disperate objects laid on wooden blocks: withered roses, an ox’s skull, an egg. In the middle, a heap of black bones. Everything’s resinous, artificial: mysterious symbols rather than actual things. A balloon glows overhead. One wall’s ash-black, another bone-white. At certain times, the wall text says, puppets animate the installation. Puppets freak me out, and I’m glad I don’t see them.

Instead, disembodied voices sketch connections between objects, guiding you round the space to piece the story together. In the echoing acoustics it’s hard to hear them clearly. I feel I’m lost in some fantasy game. The Legend of Zelda or whatever. If I ask an invigilator, they might well say “Don’t ask me, I’m just a kid.” Heather and Ivan’s work still gives and witholds.

The light in the gallery’s beautiful. It’s sunny outside.

On the way out I spot the puppets, strung up behind reception, inanimate and sinister.

Wish I still had Ivan’s allotment cards.

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anna kavan
art and fiction
art and narrative
heather and ivan morison
puppets
the hepworth
wakefield
allotments

Tumblred by urban-rambler on April 22, 2012, 2:03 a.m.

When I discovered this my confidence vanished, I felt afraid and ashamed. It was a terrible disappointment, a dreadful humiliation. When I saw how nearly I had been tricked into an alliance with traitors, I hid myself away in my secret room where no treacherous sight or sound could deceive me again.
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anna kavan
sleep has his house

Tumblred by beatinglionheart on April 13, 2012, 7:47 a.m.

Covert smiles and whispers, arch looks, spread from one pair to the next, relax into more and more open mischievousness, frivolousness, flirtatiousness.
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anna kavan
sleep has his house

Tumblred by beatinglionheart on April 11, 2012, 6:09 a.m.

Sometimes a savage beauty lured me into the sun and I would start to love the danger a little. On these occasions I felt the reluctant love drained painfully from me as blood drains from a deep wound. The tigers lapped my love’s blood and remained enemies. The inhabitants of the day laughed at the gift I wanted to bring them, and I shut myself in my inner room to escape the betrayal of their arrogant mouths.
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anna kavan
sleep has his house

Tumblred by beatinglionheart on April 11, 2012, 6:04 a.m.

At night, under the influence of cosmic radiations quite different from those of the day, human affairs are apt to come to a crisis. At night most human beings die and are born.
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anna kavan
sleep has his house
loneliness
resurrection

Tumblred by beatinglionheart on April 2, 2012, 9:13 p.m.

In time I found out what it was that the rain whispered. I learnt from the rain how to work the magic and then I stopped feeling lonely. I learnt to know the house in the night way of mice and spiders. I learnt to read the geography of the house bones. Invisible and unheard I scampered down secret tunnels beneath the floor boards and walked a tightrope webbing among the beams.

After that I never wished for children to play with, or for the Japanese houseboy to tell me fantastic stories. Hidden by curtains, sheltered in cupboards, ambushed in foxholes between the tables and chairs, I transmuted flat daylight into my night-time magic and privately made for myself a world out of spells and whispers.
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anna kavan
sleep has his house
loneliness

Tumblred by beatinglionheart on April 2, 2012, 3:20 a.m.

The whole bag of tricks flashes up at his touch in an explosion of glittering dust. There’s a split second’s glimpse of the vast sad blackness of infinity before the perfectly bare void is spattered by this glittering exsurgence, this bursting fountain of molecules, instantly crystallizing to sequins of differing size. And now at once begins the fiery development of comets, suns, planets, nebulæ; constellations are clotted together; worlds rush forth on their immense navigations; the monstrous efflorescence of the universe burgeons in the flick of an eyelash. Creation is under way. The solar system is off. Larger and more brilliant blaze the globes, the stars roar past like stratoliners to destinations not checked in quadrillions. The billiard-ball earth swings up and flattens colossally underfoot. The thunderous revving of the cosmic machines settles to the steady beat of eternity.
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anna kavan
sleep has his house

Tumblred by beatinglionheart on April 2, 2012, 1:31 a.m.

All I wanted then was for everything to go on as before, so that I could stay deeply asleep, and be no more than a hole in space, not here or anywhere at all, for as long as possible, preferably forever.
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Anna Kavan
quote
forever

Tumblred by express-media on March 29, 2012, 11 a.m.

You’re hopelessly intellectualized. You’ve thought all your emotions out of existence, and left nothing but a bleak mental consciousness of yourself. There you sit like a buddha, examining your intestines and gazing at your navel and seeing nothing of the real world.
Tags
Anna Kavan
quote
consciousness
A Stranger Still
emotion
buddha

Tumblred by redofthehood on March 25, 2012, 3:22 p.m.

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Kristina Marie Hofmann

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anna kavan
painting
ice
surrealism
impressionism
kristina marie hofmann

Tumblred by xezene on March 19, 2012, 9:49 p.m.

A human being can only endure depression up to a certain point; when this point of saturation is reached it becomes necessary for him to discover some element of pleasure, no matter how humble or on how low a level, in his environment if he is to go on living at all.
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Anna Kavan
quote
depression
life
Asylum Piece and Other Stories
saturation
pleasure

Tumblred by redofthehood on March 11, 2012, 8:13 a.m.

Already it seems to me that I have spent a lifetime in this narrow room whose walls will continue to regard me with secrecy through innumerable lifetimes to come. Is it life, then, or death, stretching like an uncolored stream behind and in front of me? There is no love here, nor hate, nor any point where feeling accumulates. In this nameless place nothing appears animate, nothing is close, nothing is real; I am pursued by the remembered scent of dust sprinkled with summer rain.
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Anna Kavan
quote
Asylum Piece
loneliness
isolation
love
hate
walls

Tumblred by redofthehood on March 5, 2012, 9:21 p.m.

La tristesse de ma mère éteignait toute luminosité dans la maison.
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anna kavan
mother
sadness
sleep
this was the book I found abandoned on a litter bin

Tumblred by rathrunpredictabl on March 4, 2012, 1:42 p.m.

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from 'Asylum Piece' [1940] by Anna Kavan

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anna kavan
asylum piece
the bell jar
4w5
anais nin
sylvia plath

Tumblred by xezene on Feb. 27, 2012, 5 a.m.

So many dreams are crowding upon me now that I can scarcely tell true from false: dreams like light imprisoned in bright mineral caves; hot, heavy dreams; ice-age dreams; dreams like machines in the head.
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anna kavan
surrealism
impressionism
anais nin
dreams
nightmares
franz kafka
lost

Tumblred by xezene on Feb. 24, 2012, 10:28 a.m.

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Walker Evans - Anna Kavan, 1941

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Anna Kavan
Walker Evans

Tumblred by awritersruminations on Feb. 24, 2012, 4:44 a.m.

Already is seems to me that I have spent a lifetime in this narrow room whose walls will continue to regard me with secrecy through innumerable lifetimes to come. Is it life, then, or death, stretching like an uncolored stream behind and in front of me? There is no love here, nor hate, nor any point where feeling accumulates. In this nameless place nothing appears animate, nothing is close, nothing is real; I am pursued by the remembered scent of dust sprinkled with summer rain.
Tags
Anna Kavan
Asylum Piece
my new love

Tumblred by awritersruminations on Feb. 24, 2012, 2:19 a.m.

I had a friend, a lover. Or did I dream it? So many dreams are crowding upon me now that I can scarcely tell true from false: dreams like light imprisoned in bright mineral caves; hot, heavy dreams; ice-age dreams; dreams like machines in the head.
Tags
Anna Kavan
Asylum Piece

Tumblred by awritersruminations on Feb. 24, 2012, 2:13 a.m.

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Tags
Anna Kavan
lit

Tumblred by mythologyofblue on Feb. 18, 2012, 9:10 p.m.

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"A human being can only endure depression up to a certain point; when this point of saturation is reached it becomes necessary for him to discover some element of pleasure, no matter how humble or on how low a level, in his environment if he is to go on living at all. In my case these insignificant birds with their subdued colorings have provided just sufficient distraction to keep me from total despair. Each day I find myself spending longer and longer at the window watching their flights, their quarrels, their mouse-quick flutterings, their miniature feuds and alliances. Curiously enough, it is only when I am standing in front of the window that I feel any sense of security. While I am watching the birds I believe that I am comparatively immune from the assaults of life. The very indifference to humanity of these wild creatures affords me a certain safeguard. Where all else is dangerous, hostile and liable to inflict pain, they alone can do no injury because, probably, they are not even aware of my existence. The birds are at once my refuge and my relaxation."

—Anna Kavan, from “The Birds”, in Asylum Piece and Other Stories

Image: La Jetée (1962), directed by Chris Marker

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Anna Kavan
Asylum Piece
La Jetee
one of my favorite films
I feel this way about birds too

Tumblred by awritersruminations on Feb. 18, 2012, 7:14 a.m.

Anna Kavan

I was lost, it was already dusk, I had been driving for hours and was practically out of petrol. The idea of being stranded on these lonely hills in the dark appalled me, so I was glad to see a signpost, and coast down to a garage.

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Anna Kavan
die Kluft unrettbaren Wahnsinns
Schneetraum
This everlasting Winter Season

Tumblred by jelimarco on Feb. 17, 2012, 1:04 a.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by theredshoes on Jan. 8, 2012, 3:07 p.m.

You’re hopelessly intellectualized.

You’ve thought all your emotions out of existence,

and left nothing but a bleak mental consciousness of yourself.

There you sit like a buddha,

examining your intestines and gazing at your navel and seeing nothing of the real world.

 


[Anna Kavan]

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anna kavan
existence
emotions
consciousness
real world
intellectualized

Tumblred by lafilledeleau on Jan. 6, 2012, 6:57 p.m.

Carrying my suitcase, I walked into the town. Silence obtruded itself. Nothing moved. The devastation was even greater than it had seemed from the boat. Not a building intact. Wreckage heaped in blank spaces where houses had been. Walls had crumbled; steps ascended and stopped in mid-air; arches opened on to deep craters. Little had been done to repair this wholesale destruction. Only the main streets were clear of rubble, the rest obliterated. Faint tracks, like the tracks of animals, but made by human beings, twisted among the debris. I looked in vain for somebody to direct me. The whole place seemed deserted. A train whistle at last guided me to the station, a small makeshift building constructed with materials salvaged from ruins, which reminded me of a discarded film set. Even here there was no sign of life, though presumably a train had just left. It was hard to believe the place was really in use; that anything really functioned. I was aware of an uncertainty of the real, in my surroundings and in myself. What I saw had no solidity, it was all made of mist and nylon, with nothing behind
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anna kavan
apocalyptic

Tumblred by endvisions on Jan. 5, 2012, 6:51 p.m.

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#1 all-time favorite book cover

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anna kavan
ice
book covers

Tumblred by saramountain on Nov. 3, 2011, 10:13 p.m.

A by-no-means-comprehensive list for fuckyeahgenderstudies:

AM Homes: the End of Alice

Carole Maso: Ghost Dance, AVA, the American Woman in the Chinese Hat, Defiance, the Art Lover, Aureole, Break Every Rule, and a Room Lit by Roses

Colette: the Pure and the Impure, Cheri, and the Collected Claudine

Anne Carson: Decreation, Glass Irony & God, Plainwater, Autobiography of Red, Men in the Off Hours, the Beauty of the Husband, Nox, If not Winter, and Eros the Bittersweet

Katherine Dunn: Geek Love

Caroline Blackwood: Great Granny Webster, Corrigan, Never Breathe a Word

Patricia Highsmith: the Talented Mr. Ripley and the Price of Salt

Anna Kavan: Asylum Piece, Sleep Has His House, Ice, Let Me Alone, a Scarcity of Love, and Julia and the Bazooka

Shirley Jackson: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Shelley Jackson: the Melancholy of Anatomy

Kathy Acker: Empire of the Senseless and Blood and Guts in High School

"Renee:" Autobiography of a Schizophrenic Girl

Joyce Carol Oates: Zombie

Jacqueline Susann: Valley of the Dolls

Jean Nathan: the Secret Life of the Lonely Doll

Virginie Despentes: King Kong Theory

Ariel Levy: Female Chauvinist Pigs

Sylvia Plath: the Bell Jar, Collected Poems

Clarice Lispector: Near to the Wild Heart, the Stream of Life

Elfriede Jelinek: the Piano Teacher

Dorothy Parker: Collected Poems and Collected Stories

Lynda Hull: Collected Poems

Miranda July: No One Belongs Here More Than You

Bhanu Kapil: Incubation: a Space for Monsters, Humanimal: a Project for Future Children, Schizophrene

Kate Zambreno: Green Girl, O Fallen Angel

Kate Durbin: the Ravenous Audience

Grace Krilanovich: the Orange Eats Creeps

Joanna Ruocco: the Mothering Coven, Man’s Companions, and a Compendium of Domestic Incidents

Anna Joy Springer: the Birdwisher and the Vicious Red Relic, Love

Danielle Dutton: Attempts at a Life and S P R A W L

Laurie Weeks: Zipper Mouth

Joanna Howard: On the Winding Stair

OR get down with blogs maintained by women like Lesley Kinzel, Kate Zambreno, Roxanne Carter, Amanda Palmer, Jackie Wang, Carina Finn and Abitha Denton. OR check out a feminist press like Dancing Girl, run by Kristy Bowen, or Birds of Lace, run by Gina Abelkop.

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Anna Kavan
Kate Zambreno
Abitha Denton
Amanda Palmer
Anna Joy Springer
Anne Carson
Ariel Levy
Bhanu Kapil
Birds of Lace
Carina Finn
Carole Maso
Caroline Blackwood
Clarice Lispector
Colette
Danielle Dutton
Dorothy Parker
Elfriede Jelinek
Gina Abelkop
Grace Krilanovich
Jackie Wang
Jacqueline Susann
Jean Nathan
Joanna Howard
Joanna Ruocco
Joyce Carol Oates
Kate Durbin
Katherine Dunn
Kathy Acker
Kristy Bowen
Laurie Weeks

Tumblred by typewritergirl on Oct. 28, 2011, 5:18 a.m.

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Anna Kavan

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Anna Kavan

Tumblred by driftwork on Oct. 27, 2011, 11:43 a.m.

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anna kavan

Tumblred by driftwork on Oct. 27, 2011, 11:31 a.m.

She’s so quiet - hardly has a word to say for herself - just sits or stands about as if she were an image or something. You’d think from that that she was just a nonentity, but she isn’t. There’s something very positive about her, somehow.
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anna kavan
quiet

Tumblred by literarysasquatch on Oct. 24, 2011, 4:56 p.m.

Although she was only twenty-four, everything seemed to be finished. A kind of sterility hung over everything that she did; inside, she was empty and lost. Nothing seemed to have any meaning. Her life was a senseless gibbering of phantoms.
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anna kavan
empty

Tumblred by literarysasquatch on Oct. 20, 2011, 3:43 p.m.

1957:

Everything appeared slightly distorted to me just then. I saw the station as the garishly lit shrine of some cult, dedicated to huge iron monsters, bellowing peremptorily at the timid subservient humans, who flocked to and fro in obedient herds. (p.18)

In the foreground too there was only rock: boulders heaped up in a frenzied confusion, in imitation of every imaginable and unimaginable form, a chaos of the grotesque, the obscene, the mad, an exhibition of insane statuary, producing an almost terrifying effect on myin my exhausted condition; I could hardly bear to look, repelled by the extraordinarily bizarre agitation of the lifeless stone. (p.29)

Wherever I looked, I encountered the same blank rejection, as though, by rejecting the hand, I had initiated a mass-reaction in my surroundings. With dreadful finality, the room itself was casting me into outer darkness. (p.138)

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Anna Kavan
books
Eagle's Nest

Tumblred by rockhyrax on Oct. 12, 2011, 7:58 p.m.

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anna kavan
favorite books

Tumblred by saramountain on Sept. 5, 2011, 7:53 p.m.

batarde replied to your quote: Or something like this may happen while you are…

omg isn’t she just the best?
YES, I’m so in love ;_;
Tags
anna kavan
batarde
literary crush

Tumblred by hemelbeestje on Sept. 2, 2011, 7:16 p.m.

Or something like this may happen while you are out for a walk in the country: you feel yourself quite alone for an hour you haven’t seen one living creature, not even a dog or a horse in a field, you seem to be miles from anywhere. And then in this solitude, out of the bushes at the side of the road, a sly face looks out at you, the face of an old man with a beard and a big hat such as is seldom worn these days. Just for a second he looks out at you. It’s really surprising to meet anyone in such a lonely place; but instead of saying Good day, he draws back, disappears into the wood, and you don’t see him again. What is it makes you feel this this old man has been watching you, perhaps following you for some time, hidden among the trees: that he has perhaps been sent to that out-of-the-way spot on purpose to see and report afterwards which track you are following, whether you turn to the right or the left at the crossroads at the foot of the hill?
Nobody knows the exact significance of those feelings which all of us have experienced:but that they bear some relation to our close surveillance by the authorities appears certain. if only it were possible to find out something definite. One feels under constant observation. One has the conviction that every trifling act is noted and set down either against one or in one’s favour. And at the same time one hasn’t the faintest clue to the standards by which one is being judged. How is it possible to avoid anxiety and indecision when a move of any kind involves the whole of one’s future status.
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anna kavan
sleep has his house
lit
books
literary crush

Tumblred by hemelbeestje on Sept. 1, 2011, 4:30 p.m.

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Anna Kavan

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anna kavan
books
literary crush

Tumblred by hemelbeestje on Aug. 29, 2011, 7:42 p.m.

You’re hopelessly intellectualized. You’ve thought all your emotions out of existence, and left nothing but a bleak mental consciousness of yourself. There you sit like a buddha, examining your intestines and gazing at your navel and seeing nothing of the real world.
Tags
anna kavan
quote
existence

Tumblred by literarysasquatch on Aug. 28, 2011, 2:05 p.m.

Suddenly I notice that one car has selected me as its prey and is making straight for me through all the chaos. Come on, then! Knock me down, run over me, cut off my existence. I don’t want it - don’t like it. I never did. The size of a locomotive, the hideous great mechanical dinosaur bears down up me. Already the metal towers over my head.

And now the dingy mass hits me with the full force of its horrid inhuman horsepower, a ton or so of old iron to finish me off. I’m demolished, done for, down on the pavement which is already black with my blood. Lying there, mangled, splintered, a smash matchbox, all at once I find I’m transformed into an inexhaustible fountain, spouting blood like a whale.

Huge black clots, gouts, of whale-blood shoot high in the air, then splash down in the mounting flood, soaking the nearest pedestrians. Everybody is slipping and slithering, wading in blood. It’s over their ankles. Now it’s up to their knees. All along the street, children start screaming, licking the blood off their chins, tasting it on their tongues just before they drown.

The grown-ups can’t save them, they’re drowning too. Fine! Splendid! Let them all drown, the bastards; they’ve all done their best to destroy me. I hate them all. There’s no end to my blood supply. It’s been turned on full at the main, at high pressure, nobody knows how to turn it off. Everywhere people are coughing and choking, their lungs are filling with my unbreathable blood, and it’s poison, a deadly poison, to them.

Wonderful! At last I’m being revenged on those who have persecuted me all my life. I’ve always loathed the horrible hostile creatures pressing round me in a suffocating mass, trying to get me down, to trample on me. Down with them now! Now it’s their turn to suffocate. I laugh in their faces, smeared and streaked like Red Indians with with my blood. And all the time my broken thorax goes on pouring out blood.

They’re out of their depth now. They try to swim. But their clothes are too heavy, already saturated by the thick, sticky, steaming tide. Inevitably they are dragged under, writhing, shouting and struggling. Wasting their strength in idiotic contortions, they’re all sinking and drowning already. I lash out wildly at the few survivors, hit them as hard as I can, bash them on the head, forcing them down into the sea of blood as if they were so many. Down, wantons, down!

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anna kavan
fiction
literature

Tumblred by lugjabask on Aug. 28, 2011, 1:19 a.m.

Only lately has the full realization of my position come home to me in all its horror and hopelessness.
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anna kavan
lit
books
madness
modernism
dreams
literature
eagles' nest
1957
english literature
addiction
firing

Tumblred by binghambryant on July 18, 2011, 7:42 p.m.

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currently reading/best book cover ever

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anna kavan
ice

Tumblred by saramountain on July 12, 2011, 1:47 p.m.

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Anna Kavan’s Beautiful Head

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anna kavan
drawing
spooky

Tumblred by anniehayworth on July 6, 2011, 11:32 p.m.

One of the worst things about hell is that nobody is ever allowed to sleep there, although it’s always night, or at the earliest, about six o’clock in the evening. There are beds, of course, but they’re used for other purposes.
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Anna Kavan

Tumblred by peace-bomb on May 29, 2011, 11:52 a.m.

In an interview just before she died Anna Kavan said, ‘I haven’t felt anything for 20 years.’
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anna kavan

Tumblred by theredshoes on May 14, 2011, 11:18 a.m.

There was a poem written for me on my comb; written very small with the nib of a pen used for mapping. And when we drifted in the punt, late, in the backwater, I combed my hair, and I was Orlando, I was not man nor girl, and I was Ariel, drifting between the worlds, and a poem in my hair.

I do not know why I must keep these pictures

small eyes, mad eyes that should have been starry the lovely danger waiting beneath the lime tree or faces cheating as they pass by, frozen for ever in their fraudulent smiles with the clocks striking an uncounted hour masks

Why this one? Or that? How chosen?

Inexorable self, carried like the superfluous and tiresome piece of luggage, which it is impossible to lose ; franked with the customs’ stamp of every frontier, retrieved exasperatingly from the disaster where everything else is lost, companion of the dislocation of canceled sailings and missed connections, witness of every catastrophe, survivor of all voyages and situations … I

Anna Kavan, Sleep Has His House

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anna kavan
sleep has his house

Tumblred by poddema on April 22, 2011, 10:01 p.m.

On March 23, 1966, the publisher Peter Owen sent a letter to Anna Kavan, not quite rejecting, though by no means accepting, her manuscript The Cold World. He also sent along a reader’s report that described Kavan’s writing, pretty correctly it seems to me, as a cross between Kafka and The Avengers. Kavan immediately wrote back, with some spirit and what on paper, anyway, looks like good humor, saying, “This expresses quite accurately the effect I was aiming at. Considering Kafka’s reputation and the success of The Avengers, I can’t think why you don’t want the book as it is!”
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anna kavan

Tumblred by theredshoes on April 11, 2011, 4:45 a.m.

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Anna Kavan, Julia and the Bazooka

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anna kavan
books
book covers

Tumblred by theredshoes on April 11, 2011, 4:44 a.m.

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(via Anna Kavan: Self-Portrait)

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anna kavan

Tumblred by theredshoes on April 11, 2011, 4:05 a.m.

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anna kavan
ice
favourite books

Tumblred by ashorthistoryofdecay on April 2, 2011, 10:50 p.m.

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This is the cover of writer Anna Kavan’s novel Sleep Has His House. Peter Owen Publishing Company writes of Sleep:

A largely autobiographical account of an unhappy childhood, Sleep Has His House startled with its strangeness in 1948. Today it is one of Anna Kavan’s most acclaimed books.

A daring synthesis of memoir and surrealist experimentation, Sleep Has His House charts chronologically the stages of the subject’s gradual withdrawal from all interest in and contact with the daylight world of received reality. Brief flashes of daily experience from childhood, adolescence and youth are described in what Kavan terms ‘night-time language’ — a heightened, decorative prose that frees these events from their gloomy associations. The novel suggests we have all spoken this dialect in childhood and in our dreams, but these thoughts can only be sharpened, or decoded by contemplation in the dark.

Anna Kavan maintained that the plot of a book is only the point of departure, beyond which she tries to reveal that side of life which is never seen by the waking eye, but which dreams and drugs can suddenly illuminate. She spent the last ten years of her life literally and metaphorically shutting out the light; the startling discovery of Sleep has His House is how much these night-time illuminations reveal her joy for the living world.

This is one of the strangest books I’ve ever read, and it’s one of my favorites. Anna Kavan is acclaimed as an experimental writer - comparisons to Djuna Barnes and Anais Nin, who tried to start an epistolary correspondence with Kavan, are frequent - but history seems to have forgotten her. As it is, there aren’t too many women in the canon of earlier twentieth century experimental literature; I think Kavan deserves wider recognition.

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Anna Kavan
Kavan
surrealism
experimental art
experimental literature
Surrealist art
surrealist literature

Tumblred by jeandeberg on March 24, 2011, 11:39 p.m.

An unearthly whiteness began to bloom on the hedges. I passed a gap and glanced through. For a moment, my lights picked out like searchlights the girl’s naked body, slight as a child’s ivory white against the dead white of the snow, her hair bright as spun glass. She did not look in my direction. Motionless, she kept her eyes fixed on the walls moving slowly towards her, a glassy, glittering circle of solid ice, of which she was the centre. Dazzling flashes came from the ice-cliffs far over her head; below, the the outermost fringes of ice had already reached her, immobilized her, set hard as concrete over her feet and ankles. I watched the ice climb higher, covering knees and thighs, saw her mouth open, a black hole in the white face, heard her thin, agonized scream. I felt no pity for her. On the contrary, I derived an indescribable pleasure from seeing her suffer. I disapproved of my own callousness, but there it was. Various factors had combined to produce it, though they were not extenuating circumstances.
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anna kavan
ice
literature
doppelgänger
winter

Tumblred by cryptomnesis on March 4, 2011, 6:25 p.m.

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anna kavan
julia and the bazooka

Tumblred by poddema on March 1, 2011, 7:10 a.m.

Twitter archive

Anna Kavan’ın ünlü romanı Buz’a, yazarın edebi açıdan benzetildiği Kafka’nın Günlükler’i üzerinden bir bakış.… https://t.co/uVegR5gGIl

Twittered by Artful Living (ArtfulLivingArt) on Sept. 22, 2019, 7 p.m.

Anna Kavan vizyonermis, diger tum bilimkurgu yazarlari gibi.

Twittered by gridd (Ladyinthevan1) on Sept. 22, 2019, 10:52 a.m.

@vikranth_offl Kavan la neenga pesuna dialogues innum en kannu munnadi iruku brother..hoping to meet u soon brother… https://t.co/ZnFXwQ9llG

Twittered by Vhk (vigneshhkpVHK) on Sept. 22, 2019, 3:39 a.m.

@vikranth_offl waiting to see u again in a movie like kavan and pandiya naadu brother..ur roles in that movies are… https://t.co/7DsU02X0cn

Twittered by Vhk (vigneshhkpVHK) on Sept. 22, 2019, 3:28 a.m.

@timesflow @stephaniedk96 Yes for Anna Kavan!!! Sleep Has His House changed my whole view on what a novel could achieve. Ice too!

Twittered by Dilbir (AryaStark_434) on Sept. 21, 2019, 6:35 p.m.

@rhevanth95 7 bro....surya anna... Acted well... 1st half is so engaging and Second half some scenes are lagged, e… https://t.co/7FFcvPE5Hb

Twittered by Pradeep💐💐💐 𝓑𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓵 💐💐💐 (PradeepAnnur) on Sept. 21, 2019, 5:50 p.m.

@stephaniedk96 Anna Kavan and Dorothy Richardson

Twittered by Anthony (timesflow) on Sept. 21, 2019, 4:26 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ‘The ultimate achievement of mankind would be, not just self-destruction, but the destruction of all life; the transformatio…

Twittered by Glyn Morgan (GR_Morgan) on Sept. 21, 2019, 11:26 a.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ‘The ultimate achievement of mankind would be, not just self-destruction, but the destruction of all life; the transformatio…

Twittered by B Breslin (BdanBreslin88) on Sept. 21, 2019, 12:21 a.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ‘The ultimate achievement of mankind would be, not just self-destruction, but the destruction of all life; the transformatio…

Twittered by Dr. Stephanie Jones (StephalexanderJ) on Sept. 20, 2019, 10:29 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ... to be trying in vain to escape its approaching doom.’ Anna Kavan, Ice (1967)

Twittered by Marina Castro (marinacastro_17) on Sept. 20, 2019, 7:55 p.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan https://t.co/X4wWPwf8RM https://t.co/Kf0a1Koym0

Twittered by Victoria Walker (DrVWalker) on Sept. 20, 2019, 7:47 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ‘The ultimate achievement of mankind would be, not just self-destruction, but the destruction of all life; the transformatio…

Twittered by Victoria Walker (DrVWalker) on Sept. 20, 2019, 5:53 p.m.

‘The ultimate achievement of mankind would be, not just self-destruction, but the destruction of all life; the tran… https://t.co/DomoDhoWDB

Twittered by Anna Kavan Society (AnnaKavan) on Sept. 20, 2019, 4:44 p.m.

... to be trying in vain to escape its approaching doom.’ Anna Kavan, Ice (1967)

Twittered by Anna Kavan Society (AnnaKavan) on Sept. 20, 2019, 4:27 p.m.

'Por la noche', un cuento de Anna Kavan https://t.co/F5L90lFnPX

Twittered by Íñigo Sota (InigoSota) on Sept. 18, 2019, 1:43 p.m.

Here’s a show for you… #11 Ice by Anna Kavan episode of Sherds Podcast https://t.co/jMQFPCPoMm

Twittered by Charles (Cerprice) on Sept. 17, 2019, 9:45 p.m.

RT @Courbett_Mag: Ahora que @NavonaEditorial saca "El descenso" (con una magistral traducción de @ainizestephen ) en Courbett repasamos tod…

Twittered by NAVONA EDITORIAL (NavonaEditorial) on Sept. 17, 2019, 2:23 p.m.

RT @Courbett_Mag: Ahora que @NavonaEditorial saca "El descenso" (con una magistral traducción de @ainizestephen ) en Courbett repasamos tod…

Twittered by Ga (Ga51222330) on Sept. 16, 2019, 11:07 p.m.

Todas las vidas, las reencarnaciones y el descenso de Anna Kavan https://t.co/ufNHonOwg7

Twittered by Danilo Albero (AlberoVergara) on Sept. 16, 2019, 10:33 p.m.

RT @Courbett_Mag: Ahora que @NavonaEditorial saca "El descenso" (con una magistral traducción de @ainizestephen ) en Courbett repasamos tod…

Twittered by Granite&Rainbow (graniterainbow) on Sept. 16, 2019, 10:31 p.m.

RT @Courbett_Mag: Ahora que @NavonaEditorial saca "El descenso" (con una magistral traducción de @ainizestephen ) en Courbett repasamos tod…

Twittered by BienQuerida on Sept. 16, 2019, 10:25 p.m.

RT @Courbett_Mag: Ahora que @NavonaEditorial saca "El descenso" (con una magistral traducción de @ainizestephen ) en Courbett repasamos tod…

Twittered by Hannibal Smith (Aukido) on Sept. 16, 2019, 10:15 p.m.

#Uncategorized Todas las vidas, las reencarnaciones y el descenso de Anna Kavan https://t.co/6OEZBvb8Rl vía… https://t.co/qMuv1liD3P

Twittered by Jorge Urreta (UrretaJorge) on Sept. 16, 2019, 10:15 p.m.

Ahora que @NavonaEditorial saca "El descenso" (con una magistral traducción de @ainizestephen ) en Courbett repasam… https://t.co/SD3R1QN9D7

Twittered by COURBETT Magazine -- Libros, Cultura e Ilustración (Courbett_Mag) on Sept. 16, 2019, 10:12 p.m.

Por la noche, un cuento de Anna Kavan - Zenda https://t.co/AdhpAb8dex

Twittered by EL Libro Durmiente (ellibrodurmient) on Sept. 16, 2019, 4:33 p.m.

RT @graniterainbow: En el siguiente link podéis leer uno de los relatos que componen "El descenso", de Anna Kavan, publicado por @NavonaEdi…

Twittered by NAVONA EDITORIAL (NavonaEditorial) on Sept. 16, 2019, 3:34 p.m.

RT @graniterainbow: En el siguiente link podéis leer uno de los relatos que componen "El descenso", de Anna Kavan, publicado por @NavonaEdi…

Twittered by Cristina. (RicoEnHierro) on Sept. 16, 2019, 3:25 p.m.

En el siguiente link podéis leer uno de los relatos que componen "El descenso", de Anna Kavan, publicado por… https://t.co/pE71m6tMRa

Twittered by Granite&Rainbow (graniterainbow) on Sept. 16, 2019, 3:24 p.m.

RT @zendalibros: Estos relatos dibujan el camino descendente de la narradora desde el inicio de la neurosis hasta la prisión final en una c…

Twittered by Hadrianus (adricultora) on Sept. 16, 2019, 2:12 p.m.

RT @zendalibros: Estos relatos dibujan el camino descendente de la narradora desde el inicio de la neurosis hasta la prisión final en una c…

Twittered by NAVONA EDITORIAL (NavonaEditorial) on Sept. 16, 2019, 2:08 p.m.

RT @ljabouttown: “The day was ill-omened from the beginning; one of those unlucky days when every little detail seems to go wrong and one f…

Twittered by Marina Castro (marinacastro_17) on Sept. 16, 2019, 12:10 p.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan https://t.co/X4wWPwf8RM https://t.co/Kf0a1Koym0

Twittered by Anna Kavan Society (AnnaKavan) on Sept. 16, 2019, 11:50 a.m.

RT @ljabouttown: “The day was ill-omened from the beginning; one of those unlucky days when every little detail seems to go wrong and one f…

Twittered by Anna Kavan Society (AnnaKavan) on Sept. 16, 2019, 11:47 a.m.

RT @zendalibros: Estos relatos dibujan el camino descendente de la narradora desde el inicio de la neurosis hasta la prisión final en una c…

Twittered by afrodita (afroditae) on Sept. 16, 2019, 10:58 a.m.

RT @zendalibros: Estos relatos dibujan el camino descendente de la narradora desde el inicio de la neurosis hasta la prisión final en una c…

Twittered by CARMEN MARTAGON E. (NESTORIACARMEN) on Sept. 16, 2019, 8:32 a.m.

RT @zendalibros: Estos relatos dibujan el camino descendente de la narradora desde el inicio de la neurosis hasta la prisión final en una c…

Twittered by Jorge Aldegunde (AldegundeJorge) on Sept. 16, 2019, 8:28 a.m.

Estos relatos dibujan el camino descendente de la narradora desde el inicio de la neurosis hasta la prisión final e… https://t.co/SvR9OOPYcf

Twittered by Zenda (zendalibros) on Sept. 16, 2019, 8:20 a.m.

#EspaiDelsLLibreters La colección de relatos que componen El descenso, de Anna Kavan (Navona), mayoritariamente in… https://t.co/5mN6nLOlWX

Twittered by Dist. Popular (Dis_Popular) on Sept. 16, 2019, 6:10 a.m.

Which is a shame, because G. E. Trevelyan was really the most creatively ambitious English woman writer between Vir… https://t.co/mrbX5PCdR6

Twittered by Neglected Books (neglectedbooks) on Sept. 15, 2019, 3:27 p.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: In case you missed it: last week at Shiny, @kaggsy59 reviewed Machines in the Head - a collection of short writing by An…

Twittered by kaggsy59 on Sept. 15, 2019, 1:59 p.m.

In case you missed it: last week at Shiny, @kaggsy59 reviewed Machines in the Head - a collection of short writing… https://t.co/JNXGxE3X09

Twittered by Shiny New Books (shinynewbooks) on Sept. 15, 2019, 1:58 p.m.

RT @msiagirl: Missives from a Parallel Dimension - new article from ⁦@FarSouthProject⁩ on Anna Kavan, always something to spark inspiration…

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on Sept. 15, 2019, 12:16 p.m.

Missives from a Parallel Dimension - new article from ⁦@FarSouthProject⁩ on Anna Kavan, always something to spark i… https://t.co/gL7yyPinH3

Twittered by Pey Pey (msiagirl) on Sept. 15, 2019, 11:39 a.m.

RT @roughghosts: "These fairy tales for the machine age draw the reader into an interior dimension that provides insight into the ephemeral…

Twittered by cat ingrams (catingrams) on Sept. 15, 2019, 10:57 a.m.

Thanks for the RTs of the link to my review of Anna Kavan's Machines in the Head @3ammagazine @magistrabeck… https://t.co/MisWt0Jz9N

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on Sept. 15, 2019, 10:29 a.m.

@giacbelloli @joekennedy81 @rolandbarfs My fave English Nouveau Roman is called Who Are You by Anna Kavan, also pretty paranoid

Twittered by Jenny Haricot🌱🥖🌹 (jennyharicot) on Sept. 14, 2019, 11:28 p.m.

Marked as to-read: El descenso by Anna Kavan https://t.co/mmD1VZxERn

Twittered by M.C.Latorre (GaiaTempesta) on Sept. 14, 2019, 8:32 a.m.

RT @roughghosts: "These fairy tales for the machine age draw the reader into an interior dimension that provides insight into the ephemeral…

Twittered by Germán Sierra (german_sierra) on Sept. 14, 2019, 3:36 a.m.

RT @LeeRourke: This is a brilliant new essay on the great Anna Kavan: #annakavan @PeterOwenPubs @3ammagazine https://t.co/Ze647h87mI

Twittered by 3:AM Magazine (3ammagazine) on Sept. 13, 2019, 11:37 p.m.

RT @LeeRourke: This is a brilliant new essay on the great Anna Kavan: #annakavan @PeterOwenPubs @3ammagazine https://t.co/Ze647h87mI

Twittered by Andrew Gallix (andrewgallix) on Sept. 13, 2019, 11:36 p.m.

RT @LeeRourke: I wrote about Anna Kavan’s GUILTY back in 2007: #annakavan @PeterOwenPubs https://t.co/MWrT8JK6w8

Twittered by PeterOwenPublishers (PeterOwenPubs) on Sept. 13, 2019, 11:25 p.m.

RT @LeeRourke: This is a brilliant new essay on the great Anna Kavan: #annakavan @PeterOwenPubs @3ammagazine https://t.co/Ze647h87mI

Twittered by PeterOwenPublishers (PeterOwenPubs) on Sept. 13, 2019, 11:25 p.m.

RT @roughghosts: "These fairy tales for the machine age draw the reader into an interior dimension that provides insight into the ephemeral…

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on Sept. 13, 2019, 11:06 p.m.

I wrote about Anna Kavan’s GUILTY back in 2007: #annakavan @PeterOwenPubs https://t.co/MWrT8JK6w8

Twittered by Lee Rourke 🔰 (LeeRourke) on Sept. 13, 2019, 10 p.m.

This is a brilliant new essay on the great Anna Kavan: #annakavan @PeterOwenPubs @3ammagazine https://t.co/Ze647h87mI

Twittered by Lee Rourke 🔰 (LeeRourke) on Sept. 13, 2019, 9:56 p.m.

The only benefit of this cold has been spending it reading Anna Kavan for the first time.

Twittered by Diarmuid Hickey (hickey_diarmuid) on Sept. 13, 2019, 6:43 p.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: Here's my review of the new anthology from @PeterOwenPubs, Anna Kavan's Machines in the Head just up @3ammagazine (@A…

Twittered by Michelle BailatJones (mbailatj) on Sept. 13, 2019, 3:04 p.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: Here's my review of the new anthology from @PeterOwenPubs, Anna Kavan's Machines in the Head just up @3ammagazine (@A…

Twittered by Melissa (magistrabeck) on Sept. 13, 2019, 2:54 p.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: Here's my review of the new anthology from @PeterOwenPubs, Anna Kavan's Machines in the Head just up @3ammagazine (@A…

Twittered by Andrew Gallix (andrewgallix) on Sept. 13, 2019, 1:46 p.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: Here's my review of the new anthology from @PeterOwenPubs, Anna Kavan's Machines in the Head just up @3ammagazine (@A…

Twittered by 3:AM Magazine (3ammagazine) on Sept. 13, 2019, 1:46 p.m.

RT @roughghosts: "These fairy tales for the machine age draw the reader into an interior dimension that provides insight into the ephemeral…

Twittered by 3:AM Magazine (3ammagazine) on Sept. 13, 2019, 1:46 p.m.

Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan https://t.co/qZQvFLE9tQ via @shinynewbooks

Twittered by Paula Bardell-Hedley (GaiaBird1) on Sept. 13, 2019, 12:54 p.m.

RT @roughghosts: "These fairy tales for the machine age draw the reader into an interior dimension that provides insight into the ephemeral…

Twittered by PeterOwenPublishers (PeterOwenPubs) on Sept. 13, 2019, 11:43 a.m.

"These fairy tales for the machine age draw the reader into an interior dimension that provides insight into the ep… https://t.co/LnVS5VJ56u

Twittered by JM Schreiber (roughghosts) on Sept. 13, 2019, 11:33 a.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: Here's my review of the new anthology from @PeterOwenPubs, Anna Kavan's Machines in the Head just up @3ammagazine (@A…

Twittered by PeterOwenPublishers (PeterOwenPubs) on Sept. 13, 2019, 10:32 a.m.

Here's my review of the new anthology from @PeterOwenPubs, Anna Kavan's Machines in the Head just up @3ammagazine… https://t.co/Ps1ljO0e37

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on Sept. 13, 2019, 10:29 a.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan https://t.co/X4wWPwf8RM https://t.co/Kf0a1Koym0

Twittered by David (Bluebookballoon) on Sept. 12, 2019, 10:49 p.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan https://t.co/X4wWPwf8RM https://t.co/Kf0a1Koym0

Twittered by Ali Hope book addict (Heaven_ali) on Sept. 12, 2019, 10:43 p.m.

RT @mbasterrechea: Pues, una vez acabado, debo decir que me ha encantado «El descenso», de Anna Kavan, publicado por @NavonaEditorial. Libr…

Twittered by Johann Wolfgang (goetheindachau) on Sept. 12, 2019, 8:02 p.m.

RT @mbasterrechea: Pues, una vez acabado, debo decir que me ha encantado «El descenso», de Anna Kavan, publicado por @NavonaEditorial. Libr…

Twittered by NAVONA EDITORIAL (NavonaEditorial) on Sept. 12, 2019, 7:19 p.m.

Pues, una vez acabado, debo decir que me ha encantado «El descenso», de Anna Kavan, publicado por @NavonaEditorial. Librazo.

Twittered by Mónica Basterrechea (mbasterrechea) on Sept. 12, 2019, 7:04 p.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Shiny Thursday: @kaggsy59 reviews Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan from @PeterOwenPubs https:/…

Twittered by Mary Byrne (BrigitteLOignon) on Sept. 12, 2019, 11:13 a.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Shiny Thursday: @kaggsy59 reviews Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan from @PeterOwenPubs https:/…

Twittered by kaggsy59 on Sept. 12, 2019, 10:57 a.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Shiny Thursday: @kaggsy59 reviews Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan from @PeterOwenPubs https:/…

Twittered by PeterOwenPublishers (PeterOwenPubs) on Sept. 12, 2019, 10:16 a.m.

RT @shinynewbooks: Shiny Thursday: @kaggsy59 reviews Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan from @PeterOwenPubs https:/…

Twittered by Marina Sofia (MarinaSofia8) on Sept. 12, 2019, 9:08 a.m.

Shiny Thursday: @kaggsy59 reviews Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan from @PeterOwenPubs https://t.co/Rpns6bgL8M

Twittered by Shiny New Books (shinynewbooks) on Sept. 12, 2019, 9:05 a.m.

THE ICE QUEEN WHO NEVER QUITE REIGNED Anna Kavan - née Helen Something - was a remarkable writer who periodically… https://t.co/vULz2yoIcD

Twittered by William Ward (William_Ward) on Sept. 12, 2019, 6:01 a.m.

Machines in the Head: Selected Short Writing by Anna Kavan https://t.co/X4wWPwf8RM https://t.co/Kf0a1Koym0

Twittered by Shiny New Books (shinynewbooks) on Sept. 12, 2019, 4 a.m.

“The day was ill-omened from the beginning; one of those unlucky days when every little detail seems to go wrong an… https://t.co/x72RqWKVz6

Twittered by fly bi knight (ljabouttown) on Sept. 12, 2019, 1:30 a.m.

RT @FroukjeKrist: "Alles was stil, alsof de stilte luisterde" - Anna Kavan #Friesland https://t.co/dwCPaDvMjg

Twittered by Willem Cornelissen. (whcorn) on Sept. 11, 2019, 2:19 p.m.

RT @FroukjeKrist: "Alles was stil, alsof de stilte luisterde" - Anna Kavan #Friesland https://t.co/dwCPaDvMjg

Twittered by sylvana (kikruk) on Sept. 11, 2019, 8:44 a.m.

RT @FroukjeKrist: "Alles was stil, alsof de stilte luisterde" - Anna Kavan #Friesland https://t.co/dwCPaDvMjg

Twittered by Eric Schultz (SchultzRe) on Sept. 11, 2019, 7:20 a.m.

RT @FroukjeKrist: "Alles was stil, alsof de stilte luisterde" - Anna Kavan #Friesland https://t.co/dwCPaDvMjg

Twittered by Ash (lawlessxwp) on Sept. 11, 2019, 12:03 a.m.

RT @FroukjeKrist: "Alles was stil, alsof de stilte luisterde" - Anna Kavan #Friesland https://t.co/dwCPaDvMjg

Twittered by Wim Pouwelse (Dichtrtje) on Sept. 10, 2019, 11:06 p.m.

RT @FroukjeKrist: "Alles was stil, alsof de stilte luisterde" - Anna Kavan #Friesland https://t.co/dwCPaDvMjg

Twittered by Ymir.🐞 (Ymirko) on Sept. 10, 2019, 10:25 p.m.

RT @FroukjeKrist: "Alles was stil, alsof de stilte luisterde" - Anna Kavan #Friesland https://t.co/dwCPaDvMjg

Twittered by simon (SimonTabsim) on Sept. 10, 2019, 9:56 p.m.

Alguien ha leído « Ice » de Anna Kavan?

Twittered by Cristina Jurado (dnazproject) on Aug. 22, 2019, 2:52 p.m.

Buenas tardes. Os presentamos "El descenso" de Anna Kavan, la "hermana de Kafka". Novedad de septiembre. https://t.co/pNUiD3AGgN

Twittered by NAVONA EDITORIAL (NavonaEditorial) on Aug. 22, 2019, 2:29 p.m.

4 of 5 stars to 氷 [Ice] by Anna Kavan https://t.co/8WK3KANPSr

Twittered by リラ (booksandrella) on Aug. 22, 2019, 5:06 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by DrigDramel (CreateConsensus) on Aug. 21, 2019, 10:10 p.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by William Kenney (WilliamJKenney) on Aug. 21, 2019, 9:01 p.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by A Galeb Duhr named Squish (Dakartwelve) on Aug. 21, 2019, 6:20 p.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Geo (DnDGeologist) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:46 p.m.

An untitled piece by writer Anna Kavan, a figure entangled with the bars of a cage.. “My ideas were confused. In… https://t.co/PlS3VBLAGK

Twittered by BJA Samuel (bja_samuel) on Aug. 21, 2019, 2:36 p.m.

An untitled piece by writer Anna Kavan, a figure entangled with the bars of a cage.. “My ideas were confused. In… https://t.co/Gvi1ErPwqe

Twittered by BJA Samuel (bja_samuel) on Aug. 21, 2019, 1:46 p.m.

RT @bethlemmuseum: “Machines in the Head” is the disquieting title of a new anthology of essays & short stories by Anna Kavan. We have one…

Twittered by George F Killgoar 3 (harehunterfield) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:48 p.m.

“Machines in the Head” is the disquieting title of a new anthology of essays & short stories by Anna Kavan. We have… https://t.co/ypXpuTigjT

Twittered by Bethlem Museum of the Mind (bethlemmuseum) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:45 p.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by moldy_pantaloons (moldypantaloons) on Aug. 21, 2019, 11:44 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Horgar Ironside (DnDClericHorgar) on Aug. 21, 2019, 11:42 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Marco Fossati (haelyn78) on Aug. 21, 2019, 8:41 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by 🐰☭⚧Alice Grimaude⚧☭🐰 (AliceGrimaude) on Aug. 21, 2019, 7:06 a.m.

RT @anagrammieren: One hot night a leopard came into my room and lay down on the bed beside me. I was half asleep, and did not realise at f…

Twittered by Zola🦇’Proud Cunt’🦇Clyde (ZolaClyde1) on Aug. 21, 2019, 6:03 a.m.

RT @anagrammieren: One hot night a leopard came into my room and lay down on the bed beside me. I was half asleep, and did not realise at f…

Twittered by Lake Overturn (anagrammieren) on Aug. 21, 2019, 5:38 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Lou (lous_games_win) on Aug. 21, 2019, 4:05 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Julia (byersj09) on Aug. 21, 2019, 4:01 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by taichara (tjerrian) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:57 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by ✨Anabel Vengeance (anabelsays) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:47 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Alex Reddick (ninjabushido106) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:15 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Kawaii Edgelord @PAX Unplugged (kawaiiedgelord) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:09 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by 🌙greeneyedmonster✨ (maramoonrise) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:09 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by WDYD is listening to 97 podcasts (whatdoyoudopods) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:04 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by T M (sociologygeek) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3:03 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Faux Gamer (NerdOE) on Aug. 21, 2019, 3 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by NevaSkydancer(Pippeh) [TeEm] (NSkydancer) on Aug. 21, 2019, 2:57 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by D&D Elise (DNDElise) on Aug. 21, 2019, 2:55 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Ashley Davis (Ash_Dav_) on Aug. 21, 2019, 2:29 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by 🖤💀TangArts💀🖤 (GMeinzen) on Aug. 21, 2019, 1:44 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by 🐝volcano bees🐝 (mekility) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:58 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Big Summer Energy (ladywillowgrey) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:48 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by ❀⋆ ジンクス ⋆❀ (JinxyeeStudios) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:27 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Brandon [Dorothea serenades me] (CrystalGlaceon1) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:18 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Bombchu (_bombchu_) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:17 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Hueman (Hueman71608393) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:17 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by hannya (hanajisho) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:16 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Chaotic Goblin Bastard (clockworkzog) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:12 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Krislyn (Asgoodasdead666) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:08 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by ❄️ Velah Wildehond ❄️ (VelahWildehond) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:04 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Erika (Eyra_Kelalani) on Aug. 21, 2019, 12:03 a.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by 🐟FishBones Commissions: OPEN 📌WIP Raffle Prizes (PurpleFishBones) on Aug. 20, 2019, 11:53 p.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Jordan (seventy_xseven) on Aug. 20, 2019, 11:41 p.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Strawberry (Strawberrypony1) on Aug. 20, 2019, 11:28 p.m.

RT @dieharddice: “As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers an…

Twittered by Luna (Lunabell23) on Aug. 20, 2019, 11:16 p.m.

@HillaryKelly anna kavan; uncategorizable as an author & a biography worth diving into as well https://t.co/QV4kATJRw3

Twittered by r diamondstein (yourhost_dimly) on Aug. 20, 2019, 11:12 p.m.

¿Cuál es el mejor libro que has leído nunca? 📖 — Me gusta Ice por Anna Kavan https://t.co/SaJPPCQIEr

Twittered by Karen; ♡ (nyarenka) on Aug. 19, 2019, 4:03 p.m.

3 of 5 stars to Ice by Anna Kavan https://t.co/FyXkd2Zx2G

Twittered by Matthew Royal (masyukun) on Aug. 19, 2019, 2:44 a.m.

At the Senate House Library with this double bill of Annas. Anna Kavan and Ann Quinn - this is what a great spread… https://t.co/x2GT3IyFBA

Twittered by telka (telkosaurus) on Aug. 17, 2019, 1:15 p.m.

Anna Kavan Machines in the Head (2019). Just arrived in the post… https://t.co/IqU0gMsuvo

Twittered by sz (sz_duras) on Aug. 15, 2019, 1:10 p.m.

@porridgebrain Anna Kavan's Sleep Has His House and Ithell Colquhoun's Goose of Hermogenes were very much this for me.

Twittered by Amelia Mangan (AmeliaMangan) on Aug. 15, 2019, 11:17 a.m.

@SimonGuy64 @porridgebrain @Sjonorama The House of Sleep by Jonathan Coe Berg by Ann Quin The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro Ice by Anna Kavan

Twittered by David Quantick (quantick) on Aug. 15, 2019, 10:48 a.m.

@MichaelRosenYes But the current 'avant-garde' issue (August 9) has a terrific piece on Anna Kavan.

Twittered by David Collard (DavidCollard1) on Aug. 14, 2019, 10:23 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by larryagross on Aug. 14, 2019, 11:16 a.m.

Anna Kavan’ın ünlü romanı Buz’a, yazarın edebi açıdan benzetildiği Kafka’nın Günlükler’i üzerinden bir bakış.… https://t.co/jXQTelTpLP

Twittered by Artful Living (ArtfulLivingArt) on Aug. 13, 2019, 7 p.m.

RT @dzjolanta1: Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening. - Anna Kavan The smell of silence 📸© Samir Belhamra Adagio - Joh…

Twittered by Dick Tover (DickTover) on Aug. 13, 2019, 6:23 p.m.

RT @mfatihkutan: Anna Kavan'dan Buz, efsane çevirisiyle de Türkçede bir modern klasik. İfadeleri de yıkarak şöyle anlatayım: Korkunç güzel…

Twittered by kahramançayırlı, (mutfakkazalari) on Aug. 13, 2019, 8:23 a.m.

RT @Drilo_o: @fans_murakami Me gustan Kafka y Murakami pero la verdad me parecería genial compartir mesa con Anna Kavan, Clarice Linspector…

Twittered by Fans de Murakami (fans_murakami) on Aug. 13, 2019, 5:14 a.m.

RT @mfatihkutan: Anna Kavan'dan Buz, efsane çevirisiyle de Türkçede bir modern klasik. İfadeleri de yıkarak şöyle anlatayım: Korkunç güzel…

Twittered by nersoy (nersoy77) on Aug. 12, 2019, 11:37 p.m.

3 of 5 stars to Ice by Anna Kavan https://t.co/DNOOG9WvZx

Twittered by Shane (mooresmonocle) on Aug. 12, 2019, 8:22 p.m.

@fans_murakami Me gustan Kafka y Murakami pero la verdad me parecería genial compartir mesa con Anna Kavan, Clarice… https://t.co/xl70lG2atq

Twittered by Un Koko (Drilo_o) on Aug. 12, 2019, 2:29 p.m.

Me gustan Kafka y Murakami pero me parecería genial compartir mesa con Anna Kavan, Clarice Linspector y N.K Jemisin… https://t.co/po7FwylQpr

Twittered by Un Koko (Drilo_o) on Aug. 12, 2019, 2:28 p.m.

@fans_murakami Me gustan Kafka y Murakami aunque me parecería genial compartir mesa con Anna Kavan, Clarice Linspector y N.K Jemisin .. 👌🏼

Twittered by Un Koko (Drilo_o) on Aug. 12, 2019, 1:28 p.m.

Book buying inspired by @BacklistedPod with a Rose Macaulay and Berg by Ann Quin, which prompted a discussion with… https://t.co/gP7Yd5nFAB

Twittered by Claire (thechesilbeach) on Aug. 12, 2019, 11:09 a.m.

RT @DavidCollard1: If you have a taste for harsh unconsoling fiction Anna Kavan is the go-to writer. This new anthology of her short storie…

Twittered by S. (E_c_h_o) on Aug. 11, 2019, 7:13 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷: © David Mould #Photography htt…

Twittered by Harry Watson (50yearsofhurt) on Aug. 11, 2019, 7:06 p.m.

RT @DavidCollard1: If you have a taste for harsh unconsoling fiction Anna Kavan is the go-to writer. This new anthology of her short storie…

Twittered by Casmilus on Aug. 11, 2019, 7:03 p.m.

RT @DavidCollard1: If you have a taste for harsh unconsoling fiction Anna Kavan is the go-to writer. This new anthology of her short storie…

Twittered by Anna Kavan Society (AnnaKavan) on Aug. 11, 2019, 6:53 p.m.

@bookculture ANNA KAVAN!!!! Good to see her!

Twittered by CJ (crebj) on Aug. 11, 2019, 5:44 p.m.

@Will_S_7 ANNA KAVAN AAAAAAAAA

Twittered by 𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖊 (jnthnbrlw) on Aug. 11, 2019, 12:03 a.m.

@Demri_18 A Wizard of Earthsea - Ursula Le Guin Tigana - Guy Gavriel Kay The Forgotten Beasts of Eld - Patricia McK… https://t.co/3OYFaR4PyR

Twittered by Ryan Cordaro (ryancordaro) on Aug. 9, 2019, 11:37 p.m.

@wownicebuttdude ice by anna kavan it’s good but this made me lmfao

Twittered by billy (billyjoebaldwin) on Aug. 9, 2019, 10:55 p.m.

RT @TheTLS: 'To reverse Graham Greene's definition of authorly dispassion, Kavan is a writer with a splinter of heart in her ice. She is Be…

Twittered by David Collard (DavidCollard1) on Aug. 9, 2019, 7:21 p.m.

If you have a taste for harsh unconsoling fiction Anna Kavan is the go-to writer. This new anthology of her short s… https://t.co/T3qYTN9ziR

Twittered by David Collard (DavidCollard1) on Aug. 9, 2019, 2:06 p.m.

'To reverse Graham Greene's definition of authorly dispassion, Kavan is a writer with a splinter of heart in her ic… https://t.co/hgTAwtSxR7

Twittered by The TLS (TheTLS) on Aug. 9, 2019, 12:45 p.m.

@Seltsamsa Heute ist es bei mir tatsächlich mal keine, aber normalerweise will ich mir immer, wenn ich eine Autorin… https://t.co/nbuQ4w3GC7

Twittered by The Rural Juror (Magdarine) on Aug. 9, 2019, 9:40 a.m.

@OnlyFrPSPK @venkypawanism11 @thiszkalyan @maheshtweetzz Kavan choodu anna

Twittered by happy person (cheguverasuryaa) on Aug. 8, 2019, 7:53 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Chris (PrintsProject) on Aug. 8, 2019, 12:50 p.m.

@vorsamer Ice von Anna Kavan

Twittered by Jugend ohne Gott (scharlachroth) on Aug. 8, 2019, 10:56 a.m.

The latest TLS includes my review of 'Machines in the Head: Selected short writing' by Anna Kavan. With stylish ava… https://t.co/xSSmOGFwC2

Twittered by David Collard (DavidCollard1) on Aug. 8, 2019, 9:03 a.m.

RT @michaelscaines: Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Inside: @…

Twittered by Joanna Moorhead (JoannaMoorhead) on Aug. 7, 2019, 2:09 p.m.

RT @michaelscaines: Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Inside: @…

Twittered by Chi Uni Humanities (humanities_chi) on Aug. 7, 2019, 1:38 p.m.

RT @michaelscaines: Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Inside: @…

Twittered by And Other Tweets (andothertweets) on Aug. 7, 2019, 11:21 a.m.

RT @michaelscaines: Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Inside: @…

Twittered by Julia Frakes (bunnybisous) on Aug. 7, 2019, 11:06 a.m.

RT @michaelscaines: Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Inside: @…

Twittered by The TLS (TheTLS) on Aug. 7, 2019, 11:02 a.m.

RT @michaelscaines: Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Inside: @…

Twittered by P Ray Murray (praymurray) on Aug. 7, 2019, 9:40 a.m.

RT @michaelscaines: Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Inside: @…

Twittered by Catherine Taylor (KatyaTaylor) on Aug. 7, 2019, 9:15 a.m.

Looking forward to seeing a few decorated versions of this inviting @TheTLS cover appearing on Twitter soon. (Insid… https://t.co/PsKOistZ2o

Twittered by Michael Caines (michaelscaines) on Aug. 7, 2019, 9:10 a.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Sarah Shah (sarahshahs14) on Aug. 7, 2019, 1:15 a.m.

@keithfrankish Anna Kavan's Asylum Piece.

Twittered by Steven Kraaijeveld (srkraaijeveld) on Aug. 6, 2019, 8:07 p.m.

@JohannesGoranss @ambernoelle I love Aase Berg; she should definitely write about her. While working on my PhD (on… https://t.co/VmmH3WrQhj

Twittered by Nikki Sheppy (nikkisheppy) on Aug. 6, 2019, 2:07 a.m.

@InnuendoStudios Ice by Anna Kavan?

Twittered by Martin Rakacolli (MartinRakacolli) on Aug. 5, 2019, 11:21 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Sylvie Saintamand (SylvieSaintama1) on Aug. 5, 2019, 4:35 p.m.

RT @ArtfulLivingArt: "Shakespeare’inkini biliyorduk, duymuştuk, meğer Kafka’nın da bir kız kardeşi varmış." Anna Kavan’ın ünlü romanı Buz’a…

Twittered by mesut barış övün (mbarisovun) on Aug. 5, 2019, 3:40 p.m.

RT @ElisabethRosdal: František Kaván 🎨💙🍀 (Czech, 1866-1941) ''Na vzduchu domova (The Air of Home)'' 1895 https://t.co/9TOU8yUwin

Twittered by Anna Casoni Perugini🇮🇹 (Anna_Casoni_Per) on Aug. 5, 2019, 8:23 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Karen. (Kinoulton1976) on Aug. 4, 2019, 11:45 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Mr.Yuvan (yuvan_mr) on Aug. 4, 2019, 8:01 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Fevziye Bokhari (BokhariFevziye) on Aug. 4, 2019, 5:53 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Solivagant (wanderingsag) on Aug. 4, 2019, 4:53 p.m.

@GrantaBooks Jesus' Son-Denis Johnson Julia and the Bazooka-Anna Kavan Collected Short Stories-Jean Rhys Notes of… https://t.co/ikwKENJzEv

Twittered by Rob True (RobTrueStories) on Aug. 4, 2019, 4:17 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Deepak Kanungo (deepakkanungo) on Aug. 4, 2019, 3:52 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by ZM Style (zm_style) on Aug. 4, 2019, 2:21 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Nasty_bitch (nastyfunkestein) on Aug. 4, 2019, 2:17 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by 🌺 Bihan 🌺 (Bleunienn1) on Aug. 4, 2019, 2:09 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Cindy 🇺🇸⚜️ (CindyFVK) on Aug. 4, 2019, 2 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by broomfieldhill 🇪🇺🇮🇪🇭🇺📎 (broomfieldhill) on Aug. 4, 2019, 1:56 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Steve Turnock (Norfolkwestie2) on Aug. 4, 2019, 12:01 a.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Aplas Iscariote (Aplas_Iscariote) on Aug. 3, 2019, 11:01 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Adela Petricor (Adela_Petricor) on Aug. 3, 2019, 10:57 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by biancoALnero on Aug. 3, 2019, 10:42 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Sarah (loquacious334) on Aug. 3, 2019, 10:33 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by vf design studio (vf_designstudio) on Aug. 3, 2019, 4:21 p.m.

@WomenRead Ice, Anna Kavan

Twittered by babakl on Aug. 3, 2019, 1:19 p.m.

RT @PenguinClassics: "A tour de force of mood and atmosphere, even as it delicately, even beautifully describes a world encased in frost an…

Twittered by Terry Pearson (Pearsontlee) on Aug. 2, 2019, 5:52 p.m.

RT @PenguinClassics: "A tour de force of mood and atmosphere, even as it delicately, even beautifully describes a world encased in frost an…

Twittered by New Dominon Bookshop (NDBookshop) on Aug. 2, 2019, 5:25 p.m.

"A tour de force of mood and atmosphere, even as it delicately, even beautifully describes a world encased in frost… https://t.co/3rRD77TGQx

Twittered by Penguin Classics (PenguinClassics) on Aug. 2, 2019, 4:59 p.m.

Marked as to-read: Ice by Anna Kavan https://t.co/TeD1yExx64

Twittered by pedro proenÇa (Bizarro_Pedro) on Aug. 2, 2019, 12:27 a.m.

RT @ArtfulLivingArt: "Shakespeare’inkini biliyorduk, duymuştuk, meğer Kafka’nın da bir kız kardeşi varmış." Anna Kavan’ın ünlü romanı Buz’a…

Twittered by Tuba elver (TubaElver) on Aug. 1, 2019, 1:13 p.m.

RT @ArtfulLivingArt: "Shakespeare’inkini biliyorduk, duymuştuk, meğer Kafka’nın da bir kız kardeşi varmış." Anna Kavan’ın ünlü romanı Buz’a…

Twittered by Takeshi Kovacs (artsacre_) on Aug. 1, 2019, 1:01 p.m.

"Shakespeare’inkini biliyorduk, duymuştuk, meğer Kafka’nın da bir kız kardeşi varmış." Anna Kavan’ın ünlü romanı Bu… https://t.co/fnmgslFpDK

Twittered by Artful Living (ArtfulLivingArt) on Aug. 1, 2019, 1 p.m.

@_POPPYTHEPUPPY Pas sûr sûr que ça rentre totalement dedans mais pour cli-fi peut-être Neige de Anna Kavan ? The St… https://t.co/Pqd9bBZ9j5

Twittered by luluberlu (berludada) on Aug. 1, 2019, 12:49 p.m.

3 of 5 stars to Ice by Anna Kavan https://t.co/HIgmuWvisf

Twittered by Mike Ries (Mike_129) on July 31, 2019, 5:51 p.m.

RT @bja_samuel: Anna Kavan's 'Ice' is a brilliant and haunting novel. Mysterious and poignant, filled with a sense of inevitability and doo…

Twittered by Tripdelic (trip_dip) on July 31, 2019, 10:21 a.m.

Anna Kavan! Después de #MTrain #PattiSmith 👍 https://t.co/tt0VCNXfpo

Twittered by gema (ladylibrorojo) on July 30, 2019, 9:34 p.m.

El de Anna Kavan yo no me lo perdería... DIGO. https://t.co/6gf8WSXWSc

Twittered by Granite&Rainbow (graniterainbow) on July 30, 2019, 6:46 p.m.

Marked as to-read: Ice by Anna Kavan https://t.co/cmcsA20sbZ

Twittered by Rich Shapero (richshapero) on July 30, 2019, 3:19 a.m.

Anna Kavan's 'Ice' is a brilliant and haunting novel. Mysterious and poignant, filled with a sense of inevitability… https://t.co/YHBq3wrYv3

Twittered by BJA Samuel (bja_samuel) on July 29, 2019, 11:27 p.m.

Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening. - Anna Kavan The smell of silence 📸© Samir Belhamra Adag… https://t.co/kbMQ5qCY0J

Twittered by Jolanta Dzieszko (dzjolanta1) on July 29, 2019, 10:45 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Gamma 🎵✨☮🖖🌌📸 (Issehrgut1) on July 28, 2019, 9:37 p.m.

RT @LadyLeo1976: “Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.” ~ Anna Kavan https://t.co/6pKG5xpMfu

Twittered by christin...🍵 (christinyrd) on July 28, 2019, 6:35 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by airun (airun56585528) on July 28, 2019, 3:38 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Riani (riani_briggita) on July 28, 2019, 3:20 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Antonín Kopecký (AntoninKopecky) on July 28, 2019, 3:12 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by katarina/K (ashlikesnow8) on July 28, 2019, 3:04 p.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Elizabeth Bolton (The_Boltron) on July 28, 2019, 12:40 p.m.

« Le grand secret, à mon avis, est de se concentrer sur les choses qui ne peuvent pas être retirées à quelqu’un - l… https://t.co/FjgXBgP2CF

Twittered by Alexandre Comte (alexandre_comte) on July 28, 2019, 11:39 a.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by René Aujard (RAujard) on July 28, 2019, 10:41 a.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Miss_Oops (sanfte_worte) on July 28, 2019, 8:18 a.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Ria_ (2018Ria) on July 28, 2019, 7:46 a.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by amorfati (JAmorfati) on July 28, 2019, 12:01 a.m.

RT @Anonymous__47__: “ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia Derw…

Twittered by Zeyn Ra (zeyn_ra) on July 27, 2019, 10:28 p.m.

I have just posted an artwork of Kasia Derwinska with words of Anna Kavan . I have seen not much but some works of… https://t.co/dRQmJWQRlA

Twittered by Anonymous (Anonymous__47__) on July 27, 2019, 7:33 p.m.

“ Everything was so quiet , as if the silence was listening . ” — Anna Kavan 📷 Season of Rain and Mist by Kasia D… https://t.co/r6rnCdRQh2

Twittered by Anonymous (Anonymous__47__) on July 27, 2019, 7:28 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ‘All I can do and all I want to do is write.’ Anna Kavan, 1943

Twittered by Tucci (Smile_Project_X) on July 27, 2019, 6:17 p.m.

Anna Kavan's Ice gets a mention here. https://t.co/XN3etj0ryV

Twittered by Damon Garr (damongarr) on July 27, 2019, 11:44 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Isa ❄️ (Aoistar_) on July 27, 2019, 5:27 a.m.

RT @LadyLeo1976: “Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.” ~ Anna Kavan https://t.co/6pKG5xpMfu

Twittered by Steve Turnock (Norfolkwestie2) on July 26, 2019, 11:52 p.m.

RT @LadyLeo1976: “Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.” ~ Anna Kavan https://t.co/6pKG5xpMfu

Twittered by Sarah E. England (SarahEngland16) on July 26, 2019, 10:15 p.m.

RT @coldnwindy: @Book_Fight @OverduePod @SherdsPodcast tackles neglected or forgotten literary gems: from Anna Kavan to Orest Somov, Marlen…

Twittered by Sherds Podcast (SherdsPodcast) on July 26, 2019, 3:46 p.m.

@Book_Fight @OverduePod @SherdsPodcast tackles neglected or forgotten literary gems: from Anna Kavan to Orest Somov… https://t.co/TigrOKEkkx

Twittered by (alan) (coldnwindy) on July 26, 2019, 1:21 p.m.

@SJ_Watson “Ice” by Anna Kavan has plenty of it.

Twittered by Jimbo (megajim) on July 25, 2019, 5:59 p.m.

Loving these videos by @PaperBirdBooks -- they totally blur the line between book reviews and some... multimedia fo… https://t.co/jB7pmxOjRN

Twittered by Weird Book Book Club (weirdbbc) on July 25, 2019, 2:29 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Debbie (DeborahMarchet6) on July 25, 2019, 3:10 a.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: Thank you @TheLondonMag for transcribing and making available this 1970 essay by Anna Kavan's close friend Rhys Davies; in i…

Twittered by - (treeofsins_) on July 25, 2019, 2:53 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Guitry (winterbottom74) on July 24, 2019, 9:11 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Fevziye Bokhari (BokhariFevziye) on July 24, 2019, 8:50 p.m.

RT @LadyLeo1976: “Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.” ~ Anna Kavan https://t.co/6pKG5xpMfu

Twittered by Charly og heksen (CharlyNorsk) on July 24, 2019, 8 p.m.

“Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.” ~ Anna Kavan https://t.co/6pKG5xpMfu

Twittered by Summer Witch (LadyLeo1976) on July 24, 2019, 7:43 p.m.

@PhilipArdagh @Booktrust Ice by Anna Kavan #ColdBooks

Twittered by Bill Jones (HawkersPot) on July 24, 2019, 1:30 p.m.

I love Anna Kavan. Without her, I'd feel very empty.

Twittered by - (treeofsins_) on July 23, 2019, 11:27 a.m.

RT @anagrammieren: One hot night a leopard came into my room and lay down on the bed beside me. I was half asleep, and did not realise at f…

Twittered by Lake Overturn (anagrammieren) on July 23, 2019, 5:26 a.m.

RT @timothycbaker: Favourite British women's coming-of-age novels 1925-50? (Rosamond Lehmann and Dodie Smith already on the course; looking…

Twittered by Rodge Glass (rodgeglass) on July 22, 2019, 5:59 p.m.

Favourite British women's coming-of-age novels 1925-50? (Rosamond Lehmann and Dodie Smith already on the course; lo… https://t.co/AGDk8rObxn

Twittered by Timothy Baker (timothycbaker) on July 22, 2019, 1:43 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Claudio Mrtnez. (claudosky) on July 22, 2019, 11 a.m.

RT @MsJeanRhys: Anna Kavan's stories I like, and I have her novel Who Are You? Very short but what a splendid title. If only I'd thought of…

Twittered by Hurbi (hurbineks) on July 21, 2019, 11:12 p.m.

"...J.G Ballard who believed her brilliance to lie ‘somewhere between poetry and madness’" https://t.co/316UsFn6Az

Twittered by indybookshops on July 20, 2019, 10:39 p.m.

@thelaceylondon And Anna Kavan in the front row!!!!!!!! 😍

Twittered by Dylan Keeling (MrDylanKeeling) on July 19, 2019, 2:32 p.m.

RT @apres_crane: from anna kavan's "ice" (1967) https://t.co/e7qMd7A46T

Twittered by Karen; ♡ (nyarenka) on July 18, 2019, 11:04 p.m.

RT @NewYorker: Anna Kavan’s novel “Ice,” a fantasia about predatory male sexual behavior that takes place during an apocalyptic climate cat…

Twittered by Karen; ♡ (nyarenka) on July 18, 2019, 11:03 p.m.

RT @HIDEO_KOJIMA_EN: I finally found this at bookstore. "ICE" by Anna Kavan. http://t.co/GiiM08896c

Twittered by Karen; ♡ (nyarenka) on July 18, 2019, 11:03 p.m.

Grand plaisir dans la vie : découvrir un artiste à la production longue comme le Nil et y aller tranquillou dans l'… https://t.co/kPRIZei4if

Twittered by Serge Coosemans👾 (SergeCoosemans) on July 18, 2019, 6:38 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 🎧Ahmet Delikanlı🎧 (Adrelith) on July 18, 2019, 9:31 a.m.

RT @mfatihkutan: Anna Kavan'dan Buz, efsane çevirisiyle de Türkçede bir modern klasik. İfadeleri de yıkarak şöyle anlatayım: Korkunç güzel…

Twittered by ruhiyekdenpare (ruhiyekdenpare1) on July 18, 2019, 8:31 a.m.

RT @HiRISE: HiRISE Epigrammata “Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.” ― Anna Kavan, novelist https://t.co/FXpbWiD8jy

Twittered by Enemy of Stupidity (_Cykocurt_) on July 17, 2019, 7:39 a.m.

RT @HiRISE: HiRISE Epigrammata “Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.” ― Anna Kavan, novelist https://t.co/FXpbWiD8jy

Twittered by Walter Scibilia (walter_scibilia) on July 17, 2019, 7:22 a.m.

@elaorleans @TalesOfOneCity I was thinking specifically of 'Ice' by Anna Kavan - have you ever read it? It has some… https://t.co/OEAxubhm34

Twittered by Morvern Cunningham (morvc) on July 16, 2019, 1:43 p.m.

RT @daniel_syrovy: für in der tat sehr ominöse dystopie und irritierend instabilen erzähler empfehle ich anna kavan: ice https://t.co/VOGIp…

Twittered by Solvejg Nitzke (NitzkeSolvejg) on July 16, 2019, 9:42 a.m.

RT @daniel_syrovy: für in der tat sehr ominöse dystopie und irritierend instabilen erzähler empfehle ich anna kavan: ice https://t.co/VOGIp…

Twittered by idiota (f_tosse) on July 16, 2019, 8:46 a.m.

@daniel_syrovy love for Anna Kavan is always welcome and a reminder that I haven't reread her lately

Twittered by Chris Oleson (TSwiver) on July 16, 2019, 8:07 a.m.

RT @daniel_syrovy: für in der tat sehr ominöse dystopie und irritierend instabilen erzähler empfehle ich anna kavan: ice https://t.co/VOGIp…

Twittered by Christina Dongowski (TiniDo) on July 15, 2019, 11:22 p.m.

für in der tat sehr ominöse dystopie und irritierend instabilen erzähler empfehle ich anna kavan: ice https://t.co/VOGIpy1tQE

Twittered by Daniel Syrovy (daniel_syrovy) on July 15, 2019, 11:21 p.m.

アンナ・カヴァンの復刊。これは面白いわ。 〈この世界のどこかに敵がいる。執念深く容赦のない敵が。でも、私はその名前を知らない。顔も知らない。〉(「敵」) アサイラム・ピース (ちくま文庫) Anna Kavan… https://t.co/iabDuJQGZV

Twittered by 大正 (おおまさ!) (hatakou1210) on July 15, 2019, 8:11 p.m.

burning every book except the works of Anna Kavan and BERG https://t.co/VwvXe8ohYU

Twittered by Akakia Viala Seltzer-Friedberg (trash__fire) on July 15, 2019, 8 p.m.

Kitabın kapağında, Anna Kavan yazıyor, ama kitap bir sanat tarihçisi ve vatikan entrikaları hakkında. Göz görmeye alıştığını görür elbette.

Twittered by E. Yurtseven (e_yurtsvn) on July 15, 2019, 7:08 p.m.

@likaluca David Markson, Anna Kavan, Clarice Lispector, Fernando Pessoa, Gayl Jones.

Twittered by Laura Jean Moore (ljabouttown) on July 15, 2019, 6:21 p.m.

博多阪急の丸善で【 #アサイラム・ピース:アンナ・カヴァン著( #ちくま文庫 )】新刊で発売されたので買ってきました。カヴァンの80年前の短編集。以前単行本で出てたけど、文庫でもこれはやはり持って無いとな。孤独と不条理と閉塞感なら… https://t.co/WMSwbxIGQ5

Twittered by ちあ (cheer_up0059) on July 15, 2019, 3:47 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Rita Hunter (ritamay1) on July 14, 2019, 1:59 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by larryagross on July 13, 2019, 8:26 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Libertad (AgrapidiL) on July 13, 2019, 12:44 p.m.

Anna Kavan - 'Het ijs' 'De ik-verteller raakt volledig in de ban van een ongrijpbaar, zwijgzaam meisje 'zo broos al… https://t.co/fCkXSnIsdl

Twittered by Metdeneusindeboeken (Metdeneusindeb1) on July 12, 2019, 11:56 a.m.

Anna Kavan - 'Het ijs' 'De ik-verteller raakt volledig in de ban van een ongrijpbaar, zwijgzaam meisje 'zo broos al… https://t.co/CCdqetYfkK

Twittered by Metdeneusindeboeken (Metdeneusindeb1) on July 12, 2019, 11:56 a.m.

Oh Anna Kavan is a very special writer.

Twittered by Letitia Trent (letitia_trent) on July 12, 2019, 5:49 a.m.

from anna kavan's "ice" (1967) https://t.co/e7qMd7A46T

Twittered by crane (jc) (avant_crane) on July 11, 2019, 10:37 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by IshanaDamara on July 11, 2019, 6:23 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Claudio Mrtnez. (claudosky) on July 10, 2019, 6:06 p.m.

https://t.co/8HFm1rXxgX

Twittered by Cathleen Marshall (radcat38) on July 10, 2019, 7:16 a.m.

<Asylum Piece (Paperback, New ed)> - Anna Kavan https://t.co/y8fYMQFq0L #aladinbook https://t.co/jpkctNExJE

Twittered by 디멘티토 (dimentito) on July 10, 2019, 3:17 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Jeff Klein (beatgozon) on July 9, 2019, 7:07 p.m.

@RebTamas Anna Kavan, Ice. Anything by Jean Rhys.

Twittered by Ian Seed (Shadow2train) on July 9, 2019, 1:59 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Nada AlAjlan* (ndaajlan) on July 9, 2019, 12:11 a.m.

@anne_theriault "In the delirium of the dance, it was impossible to distinguish between the violent and the victims… https://t.co/lDjs7dmOnW

Twittered by Martin Rakacolli (MartinRakacolli) on July 8, 2019, 11:11 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Wildly Beautiful (WildlyBeautifuI) on July 8, 2019, 1:22 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Solivagant (wanderingsag) on July 8, 2019, 12:55 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Jeb!XX (giantdad build on ds remastered for switch (aloofloofah) on July 8, 2019, 9:14 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by daniel (giantdad build on ds remastered for switch (aloofloofah) on July 8, 2019, 9:14 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Mithran Anand (mithran69) on July 8, 2019, 6:17 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by إيماءات السوسن (thisaccforbooks) on July 8, 2019, 5:58 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Ankita Chauhan (_ankitachauhan) on July 8, 2019, 4:56 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Gene Khaletsky (eugeha) on July 8, 2019, 3:12 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Erica P. Harris (eriphar) on July 8, 2019, 2:40 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Dezi Esseintes (guessworker) on July 8, 2019, 1:35 a.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕪 (lintychim) on July 7, 2019, 10:29 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Sage Ravenwood (SageRavenwood) on July 7, 2019, 9:55 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Asiya Miya (AsiyaMiya) on July 7, 2019, 9:37 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Hera (VieCupidon) on July 7, 2019, 8:40 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Michelle BailatJones (mbailatj) on July 7, 2019, 8:25 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Anthony (timesflow) on July 7, 2019, 7:35 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by Rebecca blitz (Rebeccablitz1) on July 7, 2019, 6:06 p.m.

RT @flowerville_II: 'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by novice of sais (nenufariana) on July 7, 2019, 6 p.m.

'Everything was so quiet, as if the silence was listening.' Anna Kavan

Twittered by flowerville_ii (flowerville_II) on July 7, 2019, 6 p.m.

Just did need to the name Anna Kavan, and now going to use a request a game.

Twittered by [ART]_B0T (4r7hr_B0T) on July 7, 2019, 9:13 a.m.

@cxcope I don't understand why Kerouac was/is so lauded. He seems like a prick, & not an interesting one. Probs a g… https://t.co/kxdADnu5ry

Twittered by JoeBurns (JoeBurnsMCR) on July 7, 2019, 2:25 a.m.

@KspNeroHardy @anavenkat @hiphoptamizha Yes nanba...100% agree with you...maybe after kaapan KV Sir ode next projec… https://t.co/XQh7CzEchm

Twittered by Hari Maaran (harimaaran) on July 6, 2019, 11:19 a.m.

@KiranDrk @RoyVc6 @YouTube @Jharrisjayaraj Anna , Neenga padathula nadichu irukkeengla 😀 Ko , Anegan , Kavan , Kaappaan 🤔

Twittered by Jerry 🏄 (Jerry_Smiles) on July 5, 2019, 6:14 p.m.

RT @chotodelnorte: Hoy en #ActualidadEditorial, 'El descenso' de Anna Kavan, relatos que dibujan el camino descendente de Anna desde su neu…

Twittered by Tony Jiménez (Tony__Jimenez) on July 5, 2019, 5:29 p.m.

@peeppeepeep @jenniferhodgson Just read in A Stranger on Earth by Jeremy Reed that Anna Kavan, notably reclusive, a… https://t.co/gQt1HGZYBt

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on July 5, 2019, 2:13 p.m.

Book 15: Ice by Anna Kavan. Self-proclaimed cool man receives cold shoulder from dream girl...refuses to let it go.… https://t.co/Ni5mjYvXSc

Twittered by Eamonn O'Toole (AManTuathal) on July 5, 2019, 12:40 p.m.

RT @chotodelnorte: Hoy en #ActualidadEditorial, 'El descenso' de Anna Kavan, relatos que dibujan el camino descendente de Anna desde su neu…

Twittered by Berni (Bernanaharro) on July 5, 2019, 9:37 a.m.

Hoy en #ActualidadEditorial, 'El descenso' de Anna Kavan, relatos que dibujan el camino descendente de Anna desde s… https://t.co/daDbcZqI9B

Twittered by Choto del Norte (Filmtropia) (chotodelnorte) on July 5, 2019, 9:37 a.m.

@honhonkinodiary Ice by Anna Kavan

Twittered by drunk&dizzy (BiElfWizard) on July 5, 2019, 7:01 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Legrais Olivier (legraiso) on July 4, 2019, 2:28 p.m.

@escaped_ferret @PinkDolphinMLtd @Petchary @Sarah_Samedi @MrShikharMisra @annasantoz318 @Sajedaa_F9T @shazzer42000… https://t.co/Vv3nUlzmZb

Twittered by Dread Lord Benji, Sower of Chaos; The Destroyer.🎃 (destroy_time) on July 4, 2019, 9:15 a.m.

Anna Kavan'ın kaleminden otobiyografik bir kısa hikaye. https://t.co/2SIcVPaEaa

Twittered by Yunus Uslan (mengefari) on July 3, 2019, 12:59 p.m.

Splashed out on books in Dublin, First time to Hodges Figgis and came out with Flann'O Brien, Michael Chabon, Anna… https://t.co/85mt8FXnjd

Twittered by Eamonn Sheehy (Migratetofringe) on July 3, 2019, 10:35 a.m.

We now move to Thomas Moran's paper 'Weird Prismatic Jewels: Climate Catastrophe and Literary Invention in Anna Kavan's Ice (1968)' #USS2019

Twittered by Katie Stone (cyborg_feminist) on July 3, 2019, 10:12 a.m.

RT @tealeest: Wil ik lezen met.... Het ijs-Anna Kavan https://t.co/14RPezM2dE via @Hebbannl

Twittered by Tea van Lierop (tealeest) on July 2, 2019, 8:04 p.m.

RT @David_Farrier: "I should have been inured to climatic changes; but again felt I had moved out of ordinary life into an area of total st…

Twittered by Dezi Esseintes (guessworker) on July 2, 2019, 6:28 p.m.

RT @David_Farrier: "I should have been inured to climatic changes; but again felt I had moved out of ordinary life into an area of total st…

Twittered by Anna Kavan Society (AnnaKavan) on July 2, 2019, 6:25 p.m.

“My home was in darkness and my companions were shadows beckoning to me from a glass”- a #quote from one of my favo… https://t.co/CUYVzLLkqv

Twittered by Chloe Vilette (ViletteChloe) on July 2, 2019, 1:39 a.m.

"I should have been inured to climatic changes; but again felt I had moved out of ordinary life into an area of tot… https://t.co/y7XuJiFqy2

Twittered by David Farrier (David_Farrier) on July 2, 2019, 12:19 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Claudio Mrtnez. (claudosky) on July 1, 2019, 1:39 p.m.

RT @tealeest: Wil ik lezen met.... Het ijs-Anna Kavan https://t.co/14RPezM2dE via @Hebbannl

Twittered by Metdeneusindeboeken (Metdeneusindeb1) on July 1, 2019, 10:52 a.m.

@Jordan_forward @_JakeTucker Kan recommended Anna Kavan

Twittered by Neon Genesis P-Orridge (Thomas_Newton) on July 1, 2019, 8:50 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: An area of total strangeness | Blog about the final third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/Sre4kMXC7G https://t.co/f…

Twittered by Jonathan Hope (wellsheisnt) on July 1, 2019, 6:54 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: An area of total strangeness | Blog about the final third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/Sre4kMXC7G https://t.co/f…

Twittered by Anthony (timesflow) on July 1, 2019, 6:25 a.m.

RT @AnitaFelicelli: from Anna Kavan’s ICE

Twittered by David Abrams (ImDavidAbrams) on July 1, 2019, 5:30 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: An area of total strangeness | Blog about the final third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/Sre4kMXC7G https://t.co/f…

Twittered by Robert Palomar (RobertPalomar) on July 1, 2019, 2:55 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: An area of total strangeness | Blog about the final third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/Sre4kMXC7G https://t.co/f…

Twittered by Folk Maudit (folk_maudit) on July 1, 2019, 1 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: An area of total strangeness | Blog about the final third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/Sre4kMXC7G https://t.co/f…

Twittered by Joachim Boaz (SFRuminations) on July 1, 2019, midnight

An area of total strangeness | Blog about the final third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/Sre4kMXC7G https://t.co/fqBLjCYBB5

Twittered by biblioklept on June 30, 2019, 11:38 p.m.

from Anna Kavan’s ICE

Twittered by Anita Felicelli (AnitaFelicelli) on June 30, 2019, 9 p.m.

Wil ik lezen met.... Het ijs-Anna Kavan https://t.co/14RPezM2dE via @Hebbannl

Twittered by Tea van Lierop (tealeest) on June 30, 2019, 2:41 p.m.

RT @biblioklept: Increasingly derealized | Blog about the second third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/MVpXN4yBeO https://t.co/Yww4T…

Twittered by Anthony (timesflow) on June 29, 2019, 11:22 a.m.

my #fridayreads is a reread of Anna Kavan’s anguished, oneiric ICE https://t.co/yHz1NkeYrK

Twittered by Anita Felicelli (AnitaFelicelli) on June 29, 2019, 4:54 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Dennise luengo (2feelu) on June 29, 2019, 1:37 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Increasingly derealized | Blog about the second third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/MVpXN4yBeO https://t.co/Yww4T…

Twittered by Andy Nicenips (PotLikkah) on June 29, 2019, 12:49 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Increasingly derealized | Blog about the second third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/MVpXN4yBeO https://t.co/Yww4T…

Twittered by Joachim Boaz (SFRuminations) on June 29, 2019, 12:47 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/FrXt6PLuNV https://t.co/GIERmh…

Twittered by Joachim Boaz (SFRuminations) on June 29, 2019, 12:47 a.m.

Increasingly derealized | Blog about the second third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/MVpXN4yBeO https://t.co/Yww4TdzgXa

Twittered by biblioklept on June 29, 2019, 12:38 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/FrXt6PLuNV https://t.co/GIERmh…

Twittered by German Sierra (german_sierra) on June 28, 2019, 2:59 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/FrXt6PLuNV https://t.co/GIERmh…

Twittered by Uwe Steiner (UweSteiner) on June 27, 2019, 5:12 p.m.

I managed to track this down. HT @whitesubway. Only 12 pages into the book and already clear it's based on Anna Kav… https://t.co/yi66tjt2CN

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on June 27, 2019, 11:35 a.m.

RT @morvc: LOVING the display of books by female science fiction writers currently @TalesOfOneCity McDonald Road Library 📚👌 I slipped in 'I…

Twittered by Edinburgh Libraries (TalesOfOneCity) on June 27, 2019, 11:25 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/FrXt6PLuNV https://t.co/GIERmh…

Twittered by mariachistatic (mariachistatic1) on June 27, 2019, 8:42 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/FrXt6PLuNV https://t.co/GIERmh…

Twittered by Michael Comerford (MBComerford) on June 27, 2019, 8:40 a.m.

RT @biblioklept: Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/FrXt6PLuNV https://t.co/GIERmh…

Twittered by Anthony (timesflow) on June 27, 2019, 8:36 a.m.

Uncertainty of the real | Blog about the first third of Anna Kavan’s novel Ice https://t.co/FrXt6PLuNV https://t.co/GIERmhA3k7

Twittered by biblioklept on June 27, 2019, 12:59 a.m.

RT @morvc: LOVING the display of books by female science fiction writers currently @TalesOfOneCity McDonald Road Library 📚👌 I slipped in 'I…

Twittered by ela orleans (elaorleans) on June 26, 2019, 10:26 p.m.

RT @morvc: LOVING the display of books by female science fiction writers currently @TalesOfOneCity McDonald Road Library 📚👌 I slipped in 'I…

Twittered by Suna Dasi (Suna_Dasi) on June 26, 2019, 7:39 p.m.

LOVING the display of books by female science fiction writers currently @TalesOfOneCity McDonald Road Library 📚👌 I… https://t.co/1MdRvMc2jM

Twittered by Morvern Cunningham (morvc) on June 26, 2019, 7:28 p.m.

Just received this today. Very nice looking book, Anna Kavan's short writing, painting and journalism. It's especia… https://t.co/cYCghzdgQn

Twittered by BJA Samuel (bja_samuel) on June 26, 2019, 4 p.m.

RT @NewYorker: Anna Kavan’s novel “Ice,” a fantasia about predatory male sexual behavior that takes place during an apocalyptic climate cat…

Twittered by PeterOwenPublishers (PeterOwenPubs) on June 26, 2019, 2:53 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Kabawi City (KabawiCity) on June 26, 2019, 8:49 a.m.

@biblioklept Anna Kavan’s “Ice” is fab! So is “Milkman"

Twittered by MarcNash (21stCscribe) on June 25, 2019, 11:41 p.m.

@DrVWalker Thank you for introducing me to Anna Kavan last week. I spoke to you briefly afterwards regarding the P… https://t.co/pGZoGByKb4

Twittered by Gillian Beagent (GillBeagent) on June 25, 2019, 7:46 p.m.

RT @parietines: Ingeborg Bachmann and Anna Kavan https://t.co/hlCphFn4dB

Twittered by Uncas Blythe (punicgoddess) on June 25, 2019, 3:13 p.m.

Ingeborg Bachmann and Anna Kavan https://t.co/hlCphFn4dB

Twittered by madeleine (parietines) on June 25, 2019, 3:11 p.m.

@ambernoelle Anna Kavan and Denis Johnson

Twittered by Rob True (RobTrueStories) on June 24, 2019, 12:53 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Claudio Mrtnez. (claudosky) on June 24, 2019, 4:09 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Nadia S. Day (onelovelyday) on June 23, 2019, 8:39 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Valeria (valijar) on June 23, 2019, 12:24 a.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: 1 of 2: Just finished Anna Kavan's 'My Soul in China': beautifully written, hallucinatory story of the emotional wreck…

Twittered by Uwe Steiner (UweSteiner) on June 22, 2019, 8:20 p.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: 1 of 2: Just finished Anna Kavan's 'My Soul in China': beautifully written, hallucinatory story of the emotional wreck…

Twittered by Anthony (timesflow) on June 22, 2019, 4:49 p.m.

Self portrait of Anna Kavan... #AnnaKavan https://t.co/ojZkhV8Xzv

Twittered by BJA Samuel (bja_samuel) on June 22, 2019, 3:31 p.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: 1 of 2: Just finished Anna Kavan's 'My Soul in China': beautifully written, hallucinatory story of the emotional wreck…

Twittered by William Large (wlarge63) on June 22, 2019, 2:35 p.m.

1 of 2: Just finished Anna Kavan's 'My Soul in China': beautifully written, hallucinatory story of the emotional wr… https://t.co/O9fVVcmUqr

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on June 22, 2019, 2:08 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Asiya Miya (AsiyaMiya) on June 21, 2019, 9:46 p.m.

@GeoffAllen101 @elizabethmoya Anna Kavan “Ice” Clarice Lispector (any) Annie Ernaux “The Years” Dubravka Ugresic “T… https://t.co/qzIYrvhCS1

Twittered by MarcNash (21stCscribe) on June 21, 2019, 8:31 p.m.

@BernieB33519890 I'm not on facebook but I am reading ICE by Anna Kavan. Have a great day!

Twittered by Rene (hollyrenehunter) on June 21, 2019, 6:38 p.m.

ice by anna kavan feels like one of the excerpts of a fake book from if on a winter's night a traveller except like it's a real book

Twittered by cold 🥑🥔 (coldhealing) on June 20, 2019, 8:40 p.m.

“What I saw had no solidity, it was all made of mist and nylon, with nothing behind.” (Anna Kavan) (c)

Twittered by Jo Bac (JoannaBac1) on June 19, 2019, 10:45 p.m.

@SavvyReader Anna Kavan. If you haven't read her, I recommend you start with Ice.

Twittered by byFire (GMurray10001144) on June 19, 2019, 7:51 p.m.

RT @SFRuminations: Here are a few reviews I'm particularly proud of. Ice, Anna Kavan (1967) https://t.co/LMEFzNhiz6

Twittered by hankbukowsi on June 18, 2019, 5:47 p.m.

Me puse a leer "Ice" de Anna Kavan, es increíble la soledad que te hace sentir aún estando en el lugar mas comfy

Twittered by Karen; ♡ (nyarenka) on June 18, 2019, 5:04 p.m.

Here are a few reviews I'm particularly proud of. Ice, Anna Kavan (1967) https://t.co/LMEFzNhiz6

Twittered by Joachim Boaz (SFRuminations) on June 18, 2019, 4:59 p.m.

Presumed lost my name Anna Kavan, and football".

Twittered by [ART]_B0T (4r7hr_B0T) on June 18, 2019, 4:43 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by N€©..G€N€$∆$.€π∆ P©. (KhengPochchongh) on June 18, 2019, 3:47 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Bronwyn Vaughan (bronwyn_vaughan) on June 18, 2019, 1:52 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by erik1f (m5rcury) on June 18, 2019, 11:21 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 💜🌾☮Naomi Lopez🕸🐝🕊🌷🍃⚘ (meandaringalong) on June 17, 2019, 11:36 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Donna Chisciotte (Robbetta) on June 17, 2019, 11:30 p.m.

RT @bja_samuel: @AnnaKavan One of my most prized possessions, a signed first edition of 'A Stranger Still' that features the character Anna…

Twittered by S. (E_c_h_o) on June 17, 2019, 10:30 p.m.

RT @bja_samuel: @AnnaKavan One of my most prized possessions, a signed first edition of 'A Stranger Still' that features the character Anna…

Twittered by Anna Kavan Society (AnnaKavan) on June 17, 2019, 9:56 p.m.

5 of 5 stars to Asylum Piece by Anna Kavan https://t.co/675ITdTA8w

Twittered by Dilbir (AryaStark_434) on June 17, 2019, 7:28 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 💙Sheri*🕊💙 (sherilw62) on June 17, 2019, 3:14 a.m.

Quite a few exchanges with folks about Anna Kavan recently. Tried to remember how I heard about her in the first pl… https://t.co/Hr6nGrPft2

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on June 16, 2019, 10:58 p.m.

"Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." Anna Kavan https://t.co/3xlWPhZbQP

Twittered by Lin (SandpiperPeeps) on June 16, 2019, 10:12 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Amélie les Bains AB Studio (AmelieLBains) on June 16, 2019, 6:58 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by inacia grilo (grilo357) on June 16, 2019, 5:52 p.m.

RT @GrantaMag: Eli Goldstone on why Ice by Anna Kavan is the best book of 1967: https://t.co/Ck01mpgtga @pauvrelapinou https://t.co/Tu67mgP…

Twittered by Tanuf Khan (tanufkhan) on June 16, 2019, 5:14 p.m.

Why, in spite of it all, I can never completely leave this platform: the rare revelations of sparkling gems. [this… https://t.co/1NtGnoNCpZ

Twittered by cat ingrams (catingrams) on June 16, 2019, 11:23 a.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: I've been reading a lot of Anna Kavan. I thought it might be good to write something about her. Then I read this book.…

Twittered by Tony (TonyEddicott) on June 16, 2019, 10:25 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Christian Schmill (C_Schmill) on June 16, 2019, 8:37 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Guillermo Esnal (guillermoesnal) on June 16, 2019, 5:53 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Karsten Nordmo (holyfire) on June 16, 2019, 5:51 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Carol Japp (CarolJapp) on June 16, 2019, 5:42 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by SourIssette (SourIssette2) on June 16, 2019, 12:52 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by BLUE VELVET (Lovellut) on June 15, 2019, 11:50 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by ~ NLMills ~ (DesignMills) on June 15, 2019, 11:31 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Isa rien de grave...🌬 🌪 (Riendeserieux) on June 15, 2019, 11:16 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Marie D, Romancière (MarieDChevalier) on June 15, 2019, 11:10 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Katie Kijkt (Bootscolours) on June 15, 2019, 6:24 p.m.

@timesflow @whitesubway @AnnaKavan @PeterOwenPubs @wordkunst I'll track down the Rhys Davies book. I feel a weird W… https://t.co/XcVL12JVFl

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on June 15, 2019, 2:08 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ... The artistic value of their work endures because it is also a part of reality. It is conscious, uncompromising, personal…

Twittered by Iril Turel (irilturel) on June 15, 2019, 1:20 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: ‘All I can do and all I want to do is write.’ Anna Kavan, 1943

Twittered by Iril Turel (irilturel) on June 15, 2019, 1:09 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by John Parker (JohnnyP65) on June 15, 2019, 12:26 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Steffani Rockabrand (rckbrnd) on June 15, 2019, 11:50 a.m.

@AnnaKavan One of my most prized possessions, a signed first edition of 'A Stranger Still' that features the charac… https://t.co/lnPNH4PAmH

Twittered by BJA Samuel (bja_samuel) on June 15, 2019, 10:39 a.m.

I've been reading a lot of Anna Kavan. I thought it might be good to write something about her. Then I read this bo… https://t.co/KTbMlNva7q

Twittered by Far South Project (FarSouthProject) on June 15, 2019, 10:04 a.m.

Anna Kavan's Ice ❄ https://t.co/RGQIYQ6FFc

Twittered by Sal 10000 (Sal100001) on June 15, 2019, 9:06 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Jenny Andrea Martin (jandream) on June 15, 2019, 2:59 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by CHRISTINE (soissonschris) on June 14, 2019, 10:46 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: New anthology of Anna Kavan’s short writings ‘Machines in the Head' out now with @PeterOwenPubs. Includes stories from acros…

Twittered by BJA Samuel (bja_samuel) on June 14, 2019, 9:56 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by krisho (krisho3) on June 14, 2019, 5:47 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Peter Awax (MMADesigns) on June 14, 2019, 12:07 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Natasa S Spirovski (SpirovskiS) on June 13, 2019, 11:14 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Don Mulcare (DonMulcare) on June 13, 2019, 9:38 p.m.

@DeVonciFig The Old Address by Anna Kavan

Twittered by Rob True (RobTrueStories) on June 13, 2019, 8:21 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Duky (Duky24717104) on June 13, 2019, 5:47 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Zdravko💓 (Zdravko82241759) on June 13, 2019, 5:39 p.m.

"Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~ Anna Kavan, Novelist, 1901-1968 https://t.co/AsOaozOFtH

Twittered by The Horse's Truth (thehorsestruth) on June 13, 2019, 5:30 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by blank (WordsICantFeel) on June 13, 2019, 4:59 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Alicia Lopez (Alicial270) on June 13, 2019, 2:34 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Silvia Tendlarz (stendlarz) on June 13, 2019, 12:32 p.m.

RT @ShiCooks: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert B…

Twittered by Shi (ShiCooks) on June 13, 2019, 10:54 a.m.

I have such weird letters in my name but her goes Kiss of the Spider Woman Ice (by Anna Kavan) Normal People Ghost… https://t.co/JNZySaSOjD

Twittered by Kinga Burger (Kingaladeeda) on June 13, 2019, 9:13 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Claudio Mrtnez. (claudosky) on June 13, 2019, 7:11 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Thomas Heun (hepheistos1969) on June 13, 2019, 6:40 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Hans-Christian Rieck (hckrieck) on June 13, 2019, 6:34 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Andrea Salieri (salieri_andrea) on June 13, 2019, 6:14 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Amber (amber10castle) on June 13, 2019, 4:44 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by maria papa (mairn_pap) on June 13, 2019, 3:34 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by AMarie (eyetalent1) on June 13, 2019, 3:26 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Phoebe, Greyhawk & Crow (MyShyCats) on June 12, 2019, 10:03 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Carmen Sánchez (carmensmol) on June 12, 2019, 9:32 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Ghislaine Kiwanuka (_Ghissy) on June 12, 2019, 8:26 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Arćenio Antonio (dahalapenio) on June 12, 2019, 8:17 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by AntoNuc 🏳️‍🌈 (thinking_les) on June 12, 2019, 7:38 p.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: New anthology of Anna Kavan’s short writings ‘Machines in the Head' out now with @PeterOwenPubs. Includes stories from acros…

Twittered by Justin Lee Wall (justinleewall) on June 12, 2019, 2:22 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Antonella Montanari (montan56) on June 12, 2019, 12:42 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by inacia grilo (grilo357) on June 12, 2019, 11:52 a.m.

@rickygrove I read Ice earlier on this year, it was exceptional. Anna Kavan was a fantastic writer.

Twittered by Justin Lee Wall (justinleewall) on June 12, 2019, 10:20 a.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: New anthology of Anna Kavan’s short writings ‘Machines in the Head' out now with @PeterOwenPubs. Includes stories from acros…

Twittered by Justin Lee Wall (justinleewall) on June 12, 2019, 8:50 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by steve james (Karmavirtuvers1) on June 12, 2019, 8:28 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Elle 🕊✝️💞 (Elle_Eff247) on June 12, 2019, 6:56 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Elle 🕊✝️💞🌻 (Elle_Eff247) on June 12, 2019, 6:56 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by TKHulk 2.0 (TKHulk2) on June 12, 2019, 6:39 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Игорь Вольхин (igorvolhin1) on June 12, 2019, 6:11 a.m.

“As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glac… https://t.co/wBRZi6JdXx

Twittered by Chloe Vilette (ViletteChloe) on June 12, 2019, 5 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Nekko (modrong) on June 12, 2019, 12:09 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by L. (fessee) on June 11, 2019, 11:48 p.m.

RT @FarSouthProject: Libraries are awesome places. Picked this up today. Good to hear that there is also a new collection of Anna Kavan's s…

Twittered by Milla (ruin_lust) on June 11, 2019, 11:33 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Ann Supan (Sketchbook0918) on June 11, 2019, 11:11 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Maria (marialuragu) on June 11, 2019, 10:11 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by JMCorrederaSalinero (CorrederaJm) on June 11, 2019, 9:25 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Rudi Hammenecker (RudiHammenecker) on June 11, 2019, 9:21 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Nella (gigi_dreamer) on June 11, 2019, 8:47 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Blue Sigil (SigilBlue) on June 11, 2019, 8:09 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by dooogs with new powers (vild_heart) on June 11, 2019, 7:41 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Dr. StrangeLove (vild_heart) on June 11, 2019, 7:41 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Gamma 🌙🗡🎵☣✨☮🖖🌌📸 (Issehrgut1) on June 11, 2019, 7:24 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 💯 Napoleon FB 2 (Napoleonfollow1) on June 11, 2019, 6:42 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @AnnaKavan: New anthology of Anna Kavan’s short writings ‘Machines in the Head' out now with @PeterOwenPubs. Includes stories from acros…

Twittered by Carly Rae Jeppson's Malört (al_pastor_tacos) on June 11, 2019, 3:30 p.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @normae47: " Todo estaba tranquilo,como si el silencio estuviera escuchando" Anna Kavan❣ https://t.co/RgDqcIb0kM

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Arte e Pensiero (LaScuolaDiAtene) on June 11, 2019, 1:34 p.m.

Libraries are awesome places. Picked this up today. Good to hear that there is also a new collection of Anna Kavan'… https://t.co/7c9M6P3Wf5

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @AnnaKavan: New Anna Kavan Collected Short Writings - https://t.co/Rr6AomhglC

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @AnnaKavan: New Anna Kavan Collected Short Writings - https://t.co/Rr6AomhglC

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Наталья Терновская (leonatva74) on June 11, 2019, 11:26 a.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: New Anna Kavan Collected Short Writings - https://t.co/Rr6AomhglC

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New Anna Kavan Collected Short Writings - https://t.co/Rr6AomhglC

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Cosʍᴇ (sᴜsʜɪ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ)​🇻🇪🇸🇪​​​ (CosmeBonilla) on June 11, 2019, 10:38 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Catarina Cabral (CatarinaCabral) on June 11, 2019, 9:54 a.m.

. Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) .

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Blandishmentbob on June 11, 2019, 6:58 a.m.

RT @AnnaKavan: New anthology of Anna Kavan’s short writings ‘Machines in the Head' out now with @PeterOwenPubs. Includes stories from acros…

Twittered by Justin Lee Wall (justinleewall) on June 11, 2019, 6:44 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Bien Hecho 🇲🇽 (Escalamesta) on June 11, 2019, 6:39 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 💧MelissaD (D_Melissa2) on June 11, 2019, 6:16 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 🇮🇳 Nagesh Reddy 🚩 (nageshdiddi88) on June 11, 2019, 6:05 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Patricia wrench (patwrench4) on June 11, 2019, 6:03 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Shaz, Shazzy, Sharona 🎶 (fiftyminus2) on June 11, 2019, 5:59 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

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RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by laura nardini (littlelookalike) on June 11, 2019, 5:53 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Elvira Delvis (Delvis_CM) on June 11, 2019, 5:51 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖆 (Marta_059) on June 11, 2019, 5:48 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Zhara Elva (zharaelva) on June 11, 2019, 5:31 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Ralph Armstrong (RalphArmstrong1) on June 11, 2019, 5:27 a.m.

RT @normae47: " Todo estaba tranquilo,como si el silencio estuviera escuchando" Anna Kavan❣ https://t.co/RgDqcIb0kM

Twittered by Leiva Estudio Legal #MarcelaBLeiva (MarcelaBLeiva) on June 11, 2019, 4:56 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Joker (William_G_Joker) on June 11, 2019, 4:47 a.m.

RT @normae47: " Todo estaba tranquilo,como si el silencio estuviera escuchando" Anna Kavan❣ https://t.co/RgDqcIb0kM

Twittered by Mariela Perez (mperezirazusta) on June 11, 2019, 4:44 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Kelly Sinclair (sinclarion) on June 11, 2019, 4:24 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Genevieve Boiko (Gen_Boiko) on June 11, 2019, 4:16 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by べてぃ (XZPwEDVhHH37i3C) on June 11, 2019, 4:13 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by dragonlady art (raynadragon) on June 11, 2019, 4:12 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Acuarela de Cristal (Yifreedom) on June 11, 2019, 4:04 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Antonio Zapata (Antonio53298349) on June 11, 2019, 4:03 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by 一五屋.com (joLtzT7WPxoDQLY) on June 11, 2019, 3:48 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by zenzai9 (kusala28) on June 11, 2019, 3:47 a.m.

" Todo estaba tranquilo,como si el silencio estuviera escuchando" Anna Kavan❣ https://t.co/RgDqcIb0kM

Twittered by 💚norma fernandez💚 (normae47) on June 11, 2019, 3:28 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by ednaciurleo (ednaciurleo234) on June 11, 2019, 3:17 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Muhammad Ben Adel (Mohamed_Dola) on June 11, 2019, 3:09 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by JRobin Whitley (JRobinsRadio) on June 11, 2019, 3:01 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by hedy bach (hefbach) on June 11, 2019, 2:14 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Rita Hunter (ritamay1) on June 11, 2019, 1:56 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by mark trruth @markhay52170645 (MarkTrruth) on June 11, 2019, 1:54 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Derek Bryant (DerekJohnBryant) on June 11, 2019, 1:44 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Ronald Clarke (RonaldClarke) on June 11, 2019, 1:33 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by lalita petila (lalitapetila) on June 11, 2019, 1:31 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Carlos Arturo (Krgama) on June 11, 2019, 1:27 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Monika Landfried (MomiraMonika) on June 11, 2019, 1:18 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Poserpup “Sachiko” (Poserpup) on June 11, 2019, 1:14 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by ʝεαɳ εϊε 》 Offline (BreakingKind) on June 11, 2019, 1:13 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by @fio'78 (fioranna78) on June 11, 2019, 1:13 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by amaretto avalon (Dimforestfires) on June 11, 2019, 1:09 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Pinny Abbey (pinnyabbey) on June 11, 2019, 12:59 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Jen. (lest_111) on June 11, 2019, 12:55 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Jorge Cordeiro (jhcordeiro) on June 11, 2019, 12:54 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Lisa S. (LisaLsalinger) on June 11, 2019, 12:52 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by PenelopeGreen (PenelopeGreen38) on June 11, 2019, 12:51 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Aleksmit #FreeAssange🌞 (aleksmit5) on June 11, 2019, 12:45 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Fx_ Manson (manson_fx) on June 11, 2019, 12:40 a.m.

RT @ShiCooks: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert B…

Twittered by Fiheart2019 on June 11, 2019, 12:38 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by أحمد نجم (A7medNegm) on June 11, 2019, 12:27 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Rosalba Gattari (gattariro) on June 11, 2019, 12:22 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901-1968) 📷"Silent Night" by : © Robert Blai…

Twittered by Mitsouko (kinuemonmama) on June 11, 2019, 12:18 a.m.

RT @ArtLify: "Everything was quiet, as if the silence was listening." ~Anna Kavan (Novelist, 1901