Viola Di Grado

Hollow Heart

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“A danse macabre for millennials” from the author of 70% Acrylic 30% Wool, winner of the Campiello First Novel Award (Los Angeles Review of Books).
A finalist for the PEN Literary Award for Translation, this courageous, inventive, and intelligent novel tells the story of a suicide and what follows. Viola Di Grado has given voice to an astonishing vision of life after life, portraying the awful longing and sense of loss that plague the dead, together with the solitude incited by the impossibility of communicating. The afterlife itself is seen as a dark, seething place where one is preyed upon by the cruel and unrelenting elements.
Hollow Heart will frighten as it provokes, enlighten as it causes concern. If ever there were a novel that follows Kafka’s prescription for a book to be an axe for the frozen sea within us, it is Hollow Heart.
“The writing is pristine. Each sentence lures us further into the flies and blood-filled spirals of Di Grado’s dreamworld and, most importantly, we are willing to follow her.” —The Independent
“Di Grado plays an inventive, self-aware game with language that saturates her macabre landscapes, transforming them into darkly comical expositions of death and unhappiness.” —Music & Literature Magazine
Hollow Heart has the authentic ring of autobiography. Pure imagination is incapable of inventing something this assured, this intense and vivid . . . A writer this powerful is scary.” —Sarah Wu
Hollow Heart . . . is just as strongly written as its predecessor, taking the black, manic tone of the earlier book and pushing it into a new territory—beyond the grave.” —Tony’s Reading List
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180 printed pages
Original publication
2015
Publication year
2015
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Quotes

  • Pony Neónhas quoted5 years ago
    I’ve always been pale: as a little girl, as a grown-up, as a corpse
  • Pony Neónhas quoted5 years ago
    The swans were replaced with large black ducks, raggedy and slow-witted, and then by depressing bronze herons
  • Pony Neónhas quoted5 years ago
    Now and then, lying in bed, I’d start shaking. It was all too easy for me to match shivers to memories. My own memories, or those my mother had infected me with.

On the bookshelves

  • Pony Neón
    Ellas
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