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Post-Graduation Booklist
GPOY

I'm twenty-two. Portland, Oregon is my hom[i]e. This is a blog about Lee Pace's eyebrows, among other things.

I write for I Eat Words.com

(Source: jessietyree)

Oskar Schell Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close Jonathan Safran Foer

Tom Hanks murdered me with tears today.

(Source: extremely-loud-and-incredibly-close-1.blogspot.com)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close 2012 Tom Hanks Thomas Horn film
extremely loud and incredibly close books currently reading

One of my favorite parts is the beginning of the first chapter, where Stephen Hawking tells about a famous scientist who was giving a lecture about how the earth orbits the sun, and the sun orbits the solar system, and whatever. Then a woman in the back of the room raised her hand and said, “What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.” So the scientist asked her what the tortoise was standing on. And she said, “But it’s turtles all the way down!” I love that story, because it shows how ignorant people can be. And also because I love tortoises.

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
Jonathan Safran Foer, 2005.

Quote Jonathan Safran Foer Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close Book Novel
“I grabbed the flashlight from my backpack and aimed it at the book. I saw maps and drawings, pictures from magazines and newspapers and the Internet, pictures I’d taken with Grandpa’s camera. The whole world was in there. Finally, I found the pictures of the falling body. Was it Dad?Maybe. Whoever it was, it was somebody.I ripped the pages out of the book. I reversed the order, so the last one was first, and the first was last. When I flipped through them, it looked like the man was floating up through the sky. And if I’d had more pictures, he would’ve flown through a window, back into the building, and the smoke would’ve poured into the hole that the plane was about to come out of. Dad would’ve left his messages backward, until the machine was empty, and the plane would’ve flown backward away from him, all the way to Boston. He would’ve taken the elevator to the street and pressed the button for the top floor. He would’ve walked backward to the subway, and the subway would’ve gone backward through the tunnel, back to our stop.Dad would’ve gone backward through the turnstile, then swiped his Metro card backward, then walked home backward as he read the New York Times from the right to left.He would’ve spit coffee into his mug, unbrushed his teeth, and put hair on his face with a razor. He would’ve gotten back into bed, the alarm would’ve rung backward, he would’ve dreamt backward. Then he would’ve gotten up again at the end of the night before the worst day. He would’ve walked backward to my room, whistling “I Am the Walrus” backward. He would’ve gotten into bed with me. We would’ve looked at the stars on my ceiling, which would’ve pulled back their light from our eyes. I’d have said “Nothing” backward. He’d have said “Yeah, buddy?” backward. I’d have sad “Dad?” backward, which would have sounded the same as “Dad” forward. He would have told me the story of the Sixth Borough, from the voice in the can at the end to the beginning from “I love you” to “Once upon a time…” We would have been safe.”

“I grabbed the flashlight from my backpack and aimed it at the book. I saw maps and drawings, pictures from magazines and newspapers and the Internet, pictures I’d taken with Grandpa’s camera. The whole world was in there. Finally, I found the pictures of the falling body.

Was it Dad?
Maybe.
Whoever it was, it was somebody.
I ripped the pages out of the book.
I reversed the order, so the last one was first, and the first was last.
When I flipped through them, it looked like the man was floating up through the sky.
And if I’d had more pictures, he would’ve flown through a window, back into the building, and the smoke would’ve poured into the hole that the plane was about to come out of.

Dad would’ve left his messages backward, until the machine was empty, and the plane would’ve flown backward away from him, all the way to Boston.
He would’ve taken the elevator to the street and pressed the button for the top floor.
He would’ve walked backward to the subway, and the subway would’ve gone backward through the tunnel, back to our stop.
Dad would’ve gone backward through the turnstile, then swiped his Metro card backward, then walked home backward as he read the New York Times from the right to left.
He would’ve spit coffee into his mug, unbrushed his teeth, and put hair on his face with a razor.
He would’ve gotten back into bed, the alarm would’ve rung backward, he would’ve dreamt backward.

Then he would’ve gotten up again at the end of the night before the worst day.
He would’ve walked backward to my room, whistling “I Am the Walrus” backward.
He would’ve gotten into bed with me.
We would’ve looked at the stars on my ceiling, which would’ve pulled back their light from our eyes.
I’d have said “Nothing” backward.
He’d have said “Yeah, buddy?” backward.
I’d have sad “Dad?” backward, which would have sounded the same as “Dad” forward.
He would have told me the story of the Sixth Borough, from the voice in the can at the end to the beginning from “I love you” to “Once upon a time…”

We would have been safe.”

September 11, 2001 Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close The worst day