Anna Burns


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Milkman — Anna Burns
Milkman is a novel written by Anna Burns. The day Somebody McSomebody put a gun to my breast and called me a cat and threatened to shoot me was the same day the milkman died.
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450 printed pages
Original publication


    Natalya Nekrasovashared an impression9 months ago
    👍Worth reading


    Natalya Nekrasovahas quoted9 months ago
    Of course there was the big one, the biggest reason for not marrying the right spouse. If you married that one, the one you loved and desired and who loved and desired you back, with the union proving true and good and replete with the most fulfilling happiness, well, what if this wonderful spouse didn’t fall out of love with you, or you with them, and neither of you either, got killed in the political problems? All those joyful evers and infinites? Are you sure, really, really sure, you could cope with the prospect of that? The community decided that no, it couldn’t. Great and sustained happiness was far too much to ask of it. That was why marrying in doubt, marrying in guilt, marrying in regret, in fear, in despair, in blame, also in terrible self-sacrifice was pretty much the unspoken matrimonial requisite here.
    Ilya Mamaev-Nileshas quotedlast year
    See? Stalker-type behaviour, referring to himself now too, in the first person plural whereas not long before he’d been a normal first person singular like everybody else.
    Dilobar Kasymovahas quotedlast year
    With me too, he was uncalculated, transparent, free from deception, always was what he was, with none of that coolness, that withholding, that design, those hurtful, sometimes clever, always mean, manipulations. No conniving. No games-playing. He didn’t do it, didn’t care for it, had no interest in it. ‘Those are crazy things,’ he’d say, brushing aside flank movements as protections for his heart. Strong therefore. Chaste too. Uncorrupted in the little things, which held fast for the bigger things. That was singular. That was why I was attracted to him.

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