By Yoshitaka Amano, Rachel Nacht
Yoshitaka Amano has been praised worldwide for his lush watercolors and evocative paintings facing fantasy and legend. within the story of Genji Mr. Amano brings his enormous expertise to retelling probably the most recognized of jap myths: written through Murasaki Shikibu presently after a thousand advert and regarded by means of such a lot students to be the 1st novel ever written, the story of Genji is the tale of the romantic adventures of Genji, the amazingly good-looking prince and his many romantic conquests. informed via wonderful work, Mr. Amano brings this vintage tale to lifestyles for a brand new new release.
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Additional resources for The Tale Of Genji
Somebody told me gays are lousy whistlers. ” “Who knows? ” “Anyway, I don’t care even if you are gay or a pervert or anything. By the way, what’s your name? ” “Toru Okada,” I said. She repeated my name to herself several times. ” she said. “Maybe not,” I said. “I’ve always thought it sounded kind of like some prewar foreign minister: Toru Okada. ” “That doesn’t mean anything to me. I hate history. It’s my worst subject. Anyhow, never mind. Haven’t you got a nickname? ” I couldn’t recall ever having had a nickname.
She stood up and brushed off the dirt clinging to the seat of her short pants. Then she looked down at me. “Tell me, Mr. ” I asked. The well? “There’s a dried-up well here. I like it. Kind of. ” • We cut through the yard and walked around to the side of the house. It was a round well, maybe four and a half feet in diameter. Thick planking, cut to shape and size, had been used to cap the well, and two concrete blocks had been set on the round wooden cap to keep it in place. The well curb stood perhaps three feet high, and close by grew a single old tree, as if standing guard.
I decided not to take an umbrella. I put on my tennis shoes and left the house with the key and a few lemon drops in my coat pocket. I cut across the yard, but just as I set one hand on the cinder-block wall, a phone rang. I stood still, straining my ears, but I couldn’t tell whether it was our phone or a neighbor’s. The minute you leave your house, all phones sound alike. I gave up and climbed over the wall. I could feel the soft grass through the thin soles of my tennis shoes. The alley was quieter than usual.
The Tale Of Genji by Yoshitaka Amano, Rachel Nacht