{"version":"1.0","provider_name":"Uli\u021barnica","provider_url":"https:\/\/www.ulitarnica.ro\/wp","author_name":"AncaHM","author_url":"https:\/\/www.ulitarnica.ro\/wp\/author\/ancahm\/","title":"Island of a Thousand Mirrors - Nayomi Munaweera - Romane cu istorie - Uli\u021barnica","type":"rich","width":600,"height":338,"html":"<blockquote class=\"wp-embedded-content\" data-secret=\"THuqTnftLw\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.ulitarnica.ro\/wp\/nayomi-munaweera-island-of-a-thousand-mirrors\/\">Island of a Thousand Mirrors &#8211; Nayomi Munaweera<\/a><\/blockquote><iframe sandbox=\"allow-scripts\" security=\"restricted\" src=\"https:\/\/www.ulitarnica.ro\/wp\/nayomi-munaweera-island-of-a-thousand-mirrors\/embed\/#?secret=THuqTnftLw\" width=\"600\" height=\"338\" title=\"&#8222;Island of a Thousand Mirrors &#8211; Nayomi Munaweera&#8221; &#8211; Uli\u021barnica\" data-secret=\"THuqTnftLw\" frameborder=\"0\" marginwidth=\"0\" marginheight=\"0\" scrolling=\"no\" class=\"wp-embedded-content\"><\/iframe><script>\n\/*! This file is auto-generated *\/\n!function(d,l){\"use strict\";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&\"undefined\"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!\/[^a-zA-Z0-9]\/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret=\"'+t.secret+'\"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret=\"'+t.secret+'\"]'),c=new RegExp(\"^https?:$\",\"i\"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display=\"none\";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute(\"style\"),\"height\"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):\"link\"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute(\"src\")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener(\"message\",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener(\"DOMContentLoaded\",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll(\"iframe.wp-embedded-content\"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute(\"data-secret\"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+=\"#?secret=\"+t,e.setAttribute(\"data-secret\",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:\"ready\",secret:t},\"*\")},!1)))}(window,document);\n\/\/# sourceURL=https:\/\/www.ulitarnica.ro\/wp\/wp-includes\/js\/wp-embed.min.js\n<\/script>\n","thumbnail_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.ulitarnica.ro\/wp\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/images.jpeg?fit=290%2C174&ssl=1","thumbnail_width":290,"thumbnail_height":174,"description":"Nu am \u00eent\u00e2mpinat nici o greutate s\u0103 g\u0103sesc lecturi lankeze. Amazonul e darnic la acest capitol \u0219i, surpriz\u0103, am g\u0103sit o carte p\u00e2n\u0103 \u0219i \u00een propria bibliotec\u0103. St\u0103tea biata de ea necitit\u0103 de-o gr\u0103mad\u0103 de timp, a\u0219tept\u00e2nd momentul \u00een care voi pleca spre Sri Lanka. Poate e o simpl\u0103 coinciden\u021b\u0103 dar marea majoritate a c\u0103r\u021bilor pe care le-am citit sunt pline de nostalgie. Povestesc cu pl\u0103cere amestecat\u0103 cu triste\u021be despre o lume ce \u00eencet-\u00eencet dispare \u00een fa\u021ba modernit\u0103\u021bii, o lume ce supravie\u021buie\u0219te ag\u0103\u021bat\u0103 doar de-un cui \u0219ubred \u00een mintea \u0219i sufletul scriitorilor. Mai povestesc, subiect nu foarte pl\u0103cut pentru gusturile mele, despre interminabilul r\u0103zboi civil de 30 de ani ce-a zdruncinat \u021bara \u0219i care s-a terminat abia de cur\u00e2nd. Cicatricile l\u0103sate de el se simt dureroase printre r\u00e2ndurile c\u0103r\u021bilor. Island of a Thousand Mirrors de Nayomi Munaweera A primit\u00a0&#x2b50;&#x2b50;&#x2b50;\u2605\u2605 Insula celor o mie de oglinzi\u00a0 e cartea de debut a unei tinere scriitoare americane de origine Sri Lankez\u0103. Fiind foarte l\u0103udat\u0103 pe site-uri am zis s-o citesc \u0219i eu. Cartea dore\u0219te s\u0103 povesteasc\u0103 via\u021ba a dou\u0103 tinere fete aflate fiecare dintre ele de-o parte \u0219i de alta a baricadei ridicate \u00een timpul r\u0103zboiului civil din Sri Lanka. Povestea singalez\u0103 e mult mai elaborat\u0103, se vede c\u0103 autoarea o cunoa\u0219te mai bine. Povestea tamil\u0103 e mai mult schi\u021bat\u0103 \u0219i nu prea conving\u0103toare. Poate \u00eens\u0103\u0219i autoarea nu a reu\u0219it s\u0103-i \u00een\u021beleag\u0103 substratul cum se cuvine. Stelele pe care le-a primit din partea mea se datoreaz\u0103 faptului c\u0103 am \u00eenv\u0103\u021bat c\u00e2te ceva despre via\u021ba \u0219i obiceiurile din Sri Lanka. Stelu\u021bele ce lipsesc sunt din pricin\u0103 c\u0103 nu mi-a prea pl\u0103cut scriitura. Nici subiectul (r\u0103zboiul civil, mor\u021bii l\u0103sa\u021bi \u00een urm\u0103) nu m-a atras \u00een mod deosebit. The foremost man, white pages clutched in one hand, a curving fish knife in the other, steps forward. \u201cA Tamil family is living here, no?\u201d Sylvia Sunethra fixes him with a gaze that does something to him, reminds him that before this business with the Tamils, there were other, older differences, distinctions of blood and caste that would have made his ancestors drop their eyes before her. \u2743\u2743\u2743 Eighty thousand: it is a number beyond comprehension. I must mourn for them. I must cry and shake and tremble for them. I shall cry for a long time. And then when my weeping is spent, when I have no more sorrow to give, I shall celebrate peace. I shall wake up from these long decades of war and begin to see what we can do in peace, what sort of creatures we are when the mask of lion or tiger falls from us. \u2743\u2743\u2743 The day is coming, I think, when I will share with my child the ocean she was named after. I shall show her the island. The schoolchildren walking home. The girls in white dresses, their hair in coiled plaits, their feet shod in pristine white socks and sturdy white shoes. The boys arm in arm wearing white shirts and blue shorts, recklessly happy at release from the classroom. I shall take her out into the country, where the buffalo stirs in the jade paddy fields, the solitary egret on his shoulder. I shall show her the creeper plants that grow giant, curling around trees and jumping into canopy, the plumeria that bursts into blossom scenting the air, the spiky insect-like orchids. We shall go high into the misty hill country where the bowed, saried women pick tea, where the flower boys race your car down twisting, turning mountain passes. I shall show her the big white house by the sea in which her mother, her father, and her aunt played games, were fed, found each other. But it is the ocean that I long to show her most of all. &#8230;\u00a0She is a child of the peace, the many disparate parts of her experience knit together in jumbled but peaceable unity. The waves lick away her footsteps, the sand retaining no record of what came before her. 00"}