political (originally communist) propaganda, especially in art or literature
(noun) a pet lamb / (noun) pet / (verb) to treat as a pet; pamper
(psychoanalysis) the process of investment of mental or emotional energy in a person, object, or idea
he could perform cathexis
probably has a manif-specific meaning here but I assume the general idea is the same
he could perform cathexis
probably has a manif-specific meaning here but I assume the general idea is the same
[...] "The Führer himself," Virginie said heavily, "is an artist, after all." Reproductions of his barely competent watercolors, his hesitant lines, his featureless faces, his vacuous, pretty, empty urban façades, had circulated as curios in occult Paris. Virginie and Thibault shared a glance of contempt.
FORESHADOWING
[...] "The Führer himself," Virginie said heavily, "is an artist, after all." Reproductions of his barely competent watercolors, his hesitant lines, his featureless faces, his vacuous, pretty, empty urban façades, had circulated as curios in occult Paris. Virginie and Thibault shared a glance of contempt.
FORESHADOWING
(verb) slowly decay or disintegrate, especially because of neglect
Out again, over railways where rolling stock moldered.
Out again, over railways where rolling stock moldered.
(verb) moo
(noun) a usually temporary encampment under little or no shelter / (noun) encampment usually for a night / (noun) a temporary or casual shelter or lodging / (verb) to make a bivouac; camp
I saved Paris, Thibault makes himself think. Destroyed a new utter demon. I saved th world. He feels flat. Outside, the sunlight hits them differently than it did within the old city.
Is this it? Are they done?
thought this was a nice passage
I saved Paris, Thibault makes himself think. Destroyed a new utter demon. I saved th world. He feels flat. Outside, the sunlight hits them differently than it did within the old city.
Is this it? Are they done?
thought this was a nice passage
"He never could paint people," Sam whispers. "He always left them out. Painted everything empty. Even when he drew himself, he couldn't do features ..."
The figure turns and Thibault glimpses its faceless face. Empty. A faint graphite sweep where there should be eyes. Blank as an egg. A poor, cowardly rendition, by a young bad artist.
"It's a self-portrait," he hears Sam repeat. She and Thibault reach for each other, hold each other up in fear.
Thibault says, "Of Adolf Hitler."
"He never could paint people," Sam whispers. "He always left them out. Painted everything empty. Even when he drew himself, he couldn't do features ..."
The figure turns and Thibault glimpses its faceless face. Empty. A faint graphite sweep where there should be eyes. Blank as an egg. A poor, cowardly rendition, by a young bad artist.
"It's a self-portrait," he hears Sam repeat. She and Thibault reach for each other, hold each other up in fear.
Thibault says, "Of Adolf Hitler."