White Teeth: A Novel

  • 464 pages
  • 0241965594
  • Anglais
  • Format Kindle
White Teeth: A Novel

ま Read Format Kindle [ ഗ White Teeth: A Novel ] For Free ꔛ Book By Zadie Smith 뷽 The Peculiar Second Marriage of Archie JonesEarly in the morning, late in the century, Cricklewood Broadway At 06.27 hours on 1 January 1975, Alfred Archibald Jones was dressed in corduroy and sat in a fume filled Cavalier Musketeer Estate face down on the steering wheel, hoping the judgement would not be too heavy upon him He lay forward in a prostrate cross, jaw slack, arms splayed either side like some fallen angel scrunched up in each fist he held his army service medals left and his marriage license right , for he had decided to take his mistakes with him A little green light flashed in his eye, signaling a right turn he had resolved never to make He was resigned to it He was prepared for it He had flipped a coin and stood staunchly by its conclusions This was a decided upon suicide In fact it was a New Year s resolution But even as his breathing became spasmodic and his lights dimmed, Archie was aware that Cricklewood Broadway would seem a strange choice Strange to the first person to notice his slumped figure through the windscreen, strange to the policemen who would file the report, to the local journalist called upon to write fifty words, to the next of kin who would read them Squeezed between an almighty concrete cinema complex at one end and a giant intersection at the other, Cricklewood was no kind of place It was not a place a man came to die It was a place a man came in order to go other places via the A41 But Archie Jones didn t want to die in some pleasant, distant woodland, or on a cliff edge fringed with delicate heather The way Archie saw it, country people should die in the country and city people should die in the city Only proper In death as he was in life and all that It made sense that Archibald should die on this nasty urban street where he had ended up, living alone at the age of forty seven, in a one bedroom flat above a deserted chip shop He wasn t the type to make elaborate plans suicide notes and funeral instructions he wasn t the type for anything fancy All he asked for was a bit of silence, a bit of shush so he could concentrate He wanted it to be perfectly quiet and still, like the inside of an empty confessional box or the moment in the brain between thought and speech He wanted to do it before the shops opened Overhead, a gang of the local flying vermin took off from some unseen perch, swooped, and seemed to be zeroing in on Archie s car roof only to perform, at the last moment, an impressive U turn, moving as one with the elegance of a curve ball and landing on the Hussein Ishmael, a celebrated halal butchers Archie was too far gone to make a big noise about it, but he watched them with a warm internal smile as they deposited their load, streaking white walls purple He watched them stretch their peering bird heads over the Hussein Ishmael gutter he watched them watch the slow and steady draining of blood from the dead things chickens, cows, sheep hanging on their hooks like coats around the shop The Unlucky These pigeons had an instinct for the Unlucky, and so they passed Archie by For, though he did not know it, and despite the Hoover tube that lay on the passenger seat pumping from the exhaust pipe into his lungs, luck was with him that morning The thinnest covering of luck was on him like fresh dew Whilst he slipped in and out of consciousness, the position of the planets, the music of the spheres, the flap of a tiger moth s diaphanous wings in Central Africa, and a whole bunch of other stuff that Makes Shit Happen had decided it was second chance time for Archie Somewhere, somehow, by somebody, it had been decided that he would live The Hussein Ishmael was owned by Mo Hussein Ishmael, a great bull of a man with hair that rose and fell in a quaff, then a ducktail Mo believed that with pigeons you have to get to the root of the problem not the excretions but the pigeon itself The shit is not the shit this was Mo s mantra the pigeon is the shit So the morning of Archie s almost death began as every morning in the Hussein Ishmael, with Mo resting his huge belly on the windowsill, leaning out and swinging a meat cleaver in an attempt to halt the flow of dribbling purple Get out of it Get away, you shit making bastards Yes SIX It was cricket, basically the Englishman s game adapted by the immigrant, and six was the most pigeons you could get at one swipe Varin said Mo, calling down to the street, holding the bloodied cleaver up in triumph You re in to bat, my boy Ready Below him on the pavement stood Varin a massively overweight Hindu boy on misjudged work experience from the school round the corner, looking up like a big dejected blob underneath Mo s question mark It was Varin s job to struggle up a ladder and gather spliced bits of pigeon into a small Kwik Save carrier bag, tie the bag up, and dispose of it in the bins at the other end of the street Come on, Mr Fatty man, yelled one of Mo s kitchen staff, poking Varin up the arse with a broom as punctuation for each word Get your fat Ganesh Hindu backside up there Elephant Boy and bring some of that mashed pigeon stuff with you Mo wiped the sweat off his forehead, snorted, and looked out over Cricklewood, surveying the discarded armchairs and strips of carpet, outdoor lounges for local drunks the slot machine emporiums, the greasy spoons and the minicabs all covered in shit One day, so Mo believed, Cricklewood and its residents would have cause to thank him for his daily massacre one day no man, woman or child in the broadway would ever again have to mix one part detergent to four parts vinegar to clean up the crap that falls on the world The shit is not the shit, he repeated solemnly, the pigeon is the shit Mo was the only man in the community who truly understood He was feeling really very Zen about this very goodwill to all men until he spotted Archie s car Arshad A shifty looking skinny guy with a handlebar moustache, dressed in four different shades of brown, came out of the shop, with blood on his palms Arshad Mo barely restrained himself, stabbed his finger in the direction of the car My boy, I m going to ask you just once Yes, Abba said Arshad, shifting from foot to foot What the hell is this What is this doing here I got delivery at 6.30 I got fifteen dead bovines turning up here at 6.30 I got to get it in the back That s my job You see There s meat coming So, I am perplexed Mo affected a look of innocent confusion Because I thought this was clearly marked Delivery Area He pointed to an aging wooden crate which bore the legend NO PARKINGS OF ANY VEHICLE ON ANY DAYS Well I don t know, Abba You re my son, Arshad I don t employ you not to know I employ him not to know he reached out of the window and slapped Varin, who was negotiating the perilous gutter like a tightrope walker, giving him a thorough cosh to the back of his head and almost knocking the boy off his perch I employ you to know things To compute information To bring into the light the great darkness of the creator s unexplainable universe Abba Find out what it s doing there and get rid of it Mo disappeared from the window A minute later Arshad returned with the explanation Abba Mo s head sprang back through the window like a malicious cuckoo from a Swiss clock He s gassing himself, Abba What Arshad shrugged I shouted through the car window and told the guy to move on and he says, I am gassing myself, leave me alone Like that No one gasses himself on my property, Mo snapped as he marched downstairs We are not licensed Once in the street, Mo advanced upon Archie s car, pulled out the towels that were sealing the gap in the driver s window, and pushed it down five inches with brute, bullish force Do you hear that, mister We re not licensed for suicides around here This place halal Kosher, understand If you re going to die round here, my friend, I m afraid you ve got to be thoroughly bled first Archie dragged his head off the steering wheel And in the moment between focusing on the sweaty bulk of a brown skinned Elvis and realizing that life was still his, he had a kind of epiphany It occurred to him that, for the first time since his birth, Life had said Yes to Archie Jones Not simply an OK or You might as well carry on since you ve started , but a resounding affirmative Life wanted Archie She had jealously grabbed him from the jaws of death, back to her bosom Although he was not one of her better specimens, Life wanted Archie and Archie, much to his own surprise, wanted Life Frantically, he wound down both his windows and gasped for oxygen from the very depths of his lungs In between gulps he thanked Mo profusely, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands clinging on to Mo s apron All right, all right, said the butcher, freeing himself from Archie s fingers and brushing himself clean, move along now I ve got meat coming I m in the business of bleeding Not counseling You want Lonely Street This Cricklewood Lane Archie, still choking on thank yous, reversed, pulled out from the curb, and turned right Archie Jones attempted suicide because his wife Ophelia, a violet eyed Italian with a faint moustache, had recently divorced him But he had not spent New Year s morning gagging on the tube of a vacuum cleaner because he loved her It was rather because he had lived with her for so long and had not loved her Archie s marriage felt like buying a pair of shoes, taking them home and finding they don t fit For the sake of appearances, he put up with them And then, all of a sudden and after thirty years, the shoes picked themselves up and walked out of the house She left Thirty years As far as he remembered, just like everybody else they began well The first spring of 1946, he had stumbled out of the darkness of war and into a Florentine coffee house, where he was served by a waitress truly like the sun Ophelia Diagilo, dressed all in yellow, spreading warmth and the promise of sex as she passed him a frothy cappuccino They walked into it blinkered as horses She was not to know that women never stayed as daylight in Archie s life that somewhere in him he didn t like them, he didn t trust them, and he was able to love them only if they wore haloes No one told Archie that lurking in the Diagilo family tree were two hysteric aunts, an uncle who talked to aubergines and a cousin who wore his clothes back to front So they got married and returned to England, where she realized very quickly her mistake, he drove her very quickly mad, and the halo was packed off to the attic to collect dust with the rest of the bric a brac and broken kitchen appliances that Archie promised one day to repair Amongst that bric a brac was a Hoover On Boxing Day morning, six days before he parked outside Mo s halal butchers, Archie had returned to their semi detached in Hendon in search of that Hoover It was his fourth trip to the attic in so many days, ferrying out the odds and ends of a marriage to his new flat, and the Hoover was amongst the very last items he reclaimed one of the most broken things, most ugly things, the things you demand out of sheer bloody mindedness because you have lost the house This is what divorce is taking things you no longer want from people you no longer love So you again, said the Spanish home help at the door, Santa Maria or Maria Santa or something Meester Jones, what now Kitchen sink, si Hoover, said Archie, grimly Vacuum She cut her eyes at him and spat on the doormat inches from his shoes Welcome, senor The place had become a haven for people who hated him Apart from the home help, he had to contend with Ophelia s extended Italian family, her mental health nurse, the woman from the council, and of course Ophelia herself, who was to be found in the kernel of this nuthouse, curled up in a foetal ball on the sofa, making lowing sounds into a bottle of Bailey s It took him an hour and a quarter just to get through enemy lines and for what A perverse Hoover, discarded months earlier because it was determined to perform the opposite of every vacuum s objective spewing out dust instead of sucking it in Meester Jones, why do you come here when it make you so unhappy Be reasonable What can you want with it The home help was following him up the attic stairs, armed with some kind of cleaning fluid It s broken You don t need this See See She plugged it into a socket and demonstrated the dead switch Archie took the plug out and silently wound the cord round the Hoover If it was broken, it was coming with him All broken things were coming with him He was going to fix every damn broken thing in this house, if only to show that he was good for something You good for nothing Santa whoever chased him back down the stairs Your wife is ill in her head, and this is all you can do Archie hugged the Hoover to his chest and took it into the crowded living room, where, under several pairs of reproachful eyes, he got out his toolbox and started work on it Look at him, said one of the Italian grandmothers, the glamorous one with the big scarves and fewer moles, he take everything, capisce He take a her mind, he take a the blender, he take a the old stereo he take a everything except the floorboards It make a you sick The woman from the council, who even on dry days resembled a long haired cat soaked to the skin, shook her skinny head in agreement It s disgusting, you don t have to tell me, it s disgusting and naturally, we re the ones left to sort out the mess it s muggins here who has to Which was overlapped by the nurse She can t stay here alone, can she now he s buggered off, poor woman she needs a proper home, she needs I m here, Archie felt like saying, I m right here you know, I m bloody right here And it was my blender But he wasn t one for confrontation, Archie He listened to them all for another fifteen minutes, mute as he tested the Hoover s suction against pieces of newspaper, until he was overcome by the sensation that Life was an enormous rucksack so impossibly heavy that, even though it meant losing everything, it was infinitely easier to leave all baggage here on the roadside and walk on into the blackness You don t need the blender, Archie boy, you don t need the Hoover This stuff s all dead weight Just lay down the rucksack, Arch, and join the happy campers in the sky Was that wrong To Archie ex wife and ex wife s relatives in one ear, spluttering vacuum in the other it just seemed that The End was unavoidably nigh Nothing personal to God or whatever It just felt like the end of the world And he was going to need than poor whisky, novelty crackers and a paltry box of Quality Street all the strawberry ones already scoffed to justify entering another annum Patiently he fixed the Hoover, and vacuumed the living room with a strange methodical finality, shoving the nozzle into the most difficult comers Solemnly he flipped a coin heads, life, tails, death and felt nothing in particular when he found himself staring at the dancing lion Quietly he detached the Hoover tube, put it in a suitcase, and left the house for the last time.A preternaturally gifted new writer with a voice thats street smart and learned, sassy and philosophical all at the same time.Michiko Kakutani, The New York TimesBrilliant Smith is a master at detaila postmodern Charles Dickens Smith s rich storytelling and wicked wit are suited to the sights and smells of the world that England has inherited The Washington Post A vibrant, rollicking first novel about race and idenity Smith s prickly wit is affectionate and poignant People A dazzling intergenerational first novelwonderfully inventiveplayful yet unaffected, mongrel yet cohesive, profound yet funny, vernacular yet lyrical Los Angeles Times A marvel of a debut novel.Reminscent of both Salman Rushdie and John Irving, White Teeth is a comic, canny, sprawling tale, adeptly held together by Smith s literary sleight of hand Entertainment WeeklyA magnificent and audacious novel, jampacked with memorable characters and challenging ideas The Atlanta Journal ConstitutionAmbitious, earnest and irreverent Smith has a real talent for comedy and a fond eye for human foibles The Wall Street JournalWonderful Zadie Smithpossesses a than ordinary share of talent USA TodaySmith has an astonishing intellect She writes sharp dialogue for every age and race and she s funny as hell Newsweek White Teeth is, like the London it portrays, a restless hybrid of voices, tones, and textureswith a raucous energy and confidence The New York Times Book ReviewFreshspiritedthis extravagant novel bursts with optimism about people, about language, and perhaps, above all, about novels and the joy, indeed the impertinence, of writing one The Philadelphia Inquirer Blissfully confident, wide ranging and funny from the get go, White Teethpromisesand deliversa wildly inventive journey into a fresh imagination Rocky Mountain News Brilliant Smith is a master at detail Like a postmodern Dickens, she has a flair for features, dress, dialogue, accents and human frailty The Miami Herald Its a treat to watch an immensely gifted young writer performing, for the very first time, such an admirably audacious and ambitious juggling act Elle Absolutely delicious Smiths voice is a perfect balance of tragedy and comedy The Tampa Tribune and TimesGently observant and generous in its judgments Filled with vibrant life The San Diego UnionTribuneBrilliant Bubbles and pops in its imaginative intensity The Balti Sun White Teeth Wikipedia White is a novel by the British author Zadie Smith It focuses on later lives of two wartime friends Bangladeshi Samad Iqbal and Englishman All Epic comedy drama about three families, woven together across decades Teeth Whitening Get whiter teeth with White Glo market leading in production whitening toothpastes systems The original system was Australias fastest selling Newcastle Laser teeth Upon Tyne We have 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detailed, beautifully written attempt encapsulate so found four part adoption fantastic thought first parts were serious then last but plot Whiter Having sign good health personal hygiene, essential lovely If aren Study Guide GradeSaver study guide contains biography Smith, literature essays, quiz questions, major themes, characters, full summary analysis Kiln Theatre You Kilburn Melting pot where nothing actually melted all just kinda stuck bottom gooey mess Rosie Jones, twinsZadie Londen, oktober een Britse schrijfster van romans, verhalen en essays Zij wordt beschouwd als Groot Brittannis meest getalenteerde FRSL born October contemporary novelist, essayist, short story writer Her novel, immediately became stelt identiteit teleurstelling centraal Vanaf de eerste pagina hangt zweem dreiging boven nieuwe roman Twee vriendinnetjes dromen carrire danseres bol Boeken kopen Kijk snel lezen koop je eenvoudig online bij bol Vele aanbiedingen Gratis retourneren dagen Purchase Feel Free From one most beloved authors her generation, new collection Since she burst spectacularly into view About Northwest London She Swing Time, Teeth, Autograph Man, Beauty, Changing My Mind, NW Books Guardian New York artist show, friendship avoiding social media White Teeth: A Novel

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