43 De aantekeningen van Malte Laurids Brigge (1910)
Rainer Maria Rilke (Praag 4/12/1875 – Montreux 29/12/1926)
Inleiding: Bentsion 17/1/1986
So, also hierher kommen die Leute, um zu leben, ich würde eher meinen, es stürbe sich hier.
44 Schaamte (1983)
Salman Rushdie (Bombay 19/6/1947 -)
Inleiding: Gijsbert 7/3/1986
By now, if I had been writing a book of this nature, it would have done me no good to protest that I was writing universally, not only about Pakistan. The book would have been banned, dumped in the rubbish bin, burned. All that work for nothing! Realism can break a writer’s heart.
45 Hersenschimmen (1984)
J. Bernlef (St. Pancras 14/1/1937 – )
Inleiding: Henk 11/4/1986
Misschien komt het door de sneeuw dat ik me ‘s morgens al zo moe voel. Vera niet, zij houdt van sneeuw.
46 Rituelen (1980)
Cees Nooteboom (Den Haag 31/7/1933 – )
Inleiding: Paul 12/6/1986
Op de dag dat Inni Wintrop zelfmoord pleegde stonden de aandelen Philips 149.60.
47 Creation (1981)
Gore Vidal (West Point, New York 3/10/1925 – )
Inleiding: Kees 5/9/1986
I am blind. But I am not deaf. Because of the incompleteness of my misfortune, I was obliged yesterday to listen for nearly six hours to a self-styled historian whose account of what the Athenians like to call ‘the Persian Wars’ was nonsense of a sort that were I less old and more privileged, I would have risen in my seat at the Odeon and scandalized all Athens by answering him.
48 De Pornografie (1960)
Witold Gombrowicz (Maloszyci, Polen 4/8/1904 – Vence, Frankrijk 24/7/1969)
Inleiding: Herman 24/10/1986
Ik zal u een andere belevenis van me vertellen, een van de rampzaligste, dunkt me. Destijds, dat was in 1943, sleepte ik mijn leven voort in het gewezen Polen en het gewezen Warschau, helemaal op de bodem van het voldongen feit.
49a The Big Sleep (1939)
49b The Lady in the Lake (1943)
Raymond Chandler (Chicago 23/7/1888 – La Jolla, California 26/3/1959)
Inleiding: Gijsbert 19/12/1986
It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.