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273

on beauty and being wrong

1
terms
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notes

Smith, Z. (2006). on beauty and being wrong. In Smith, Z. On Beauty. Penguin Books, pp. 273-444

(adjective) musty / (adjective) frowsy / having a stale, warm, and stuffy atmosphere.

293

It was still frowsty and badly lit

—p.293 by Zadie Smith
unknown
2 years, 2 months ago

It was still frowsty and badly lit

—p.293 by Zadie Smith
unknown
2 years, 2 months ago
312

‘It’s a Wellington thing – it’s a student thing,’ said Victoria rapidly, coming up on her elbows. ‘It’s our shorthand for when we say, like, Professor Simeon’s class is ‘‘The tomato’s nature versus the tomato’s nurture’’, and Jane Colman’s class is ‘‘To properly understand the tomato you must first uncover the tomato’s suppressed Herstory’’ – she’s such a silly bitch that woman – and Professor Gilman’s class is ‘‘The tomato is structured like an aubergine’’, and Professor Kellas’s class is basically ‘‘There is no way of proving the existence of the tomato without making reference to the tomato itself ’’, and Erskine Jegede’s class is ‘‘The post-colonial tomato as eaten by Naipaul’’. And so on. So you say, ‘What class have you got coming up?’ and the person says ‘Tomatoes 1670-1900.’ Or whatever.’

—p.312 by Zadie Smith 2 years, 2 months ago

‘It’s a Wellington thing – it’s a student thing,’ said Victoria rapidly, coming up on her elbows. ‘It’s our shorthand for when we say, like, Professor Simeon’s class is ‘‘The tomato’s nature versus the tomato’s nurture’’, and Jane Colman’s class is ‘‘To properly understand the tomato you must first uncover the tomato’s suppressed Herstory’’ – she’s such a silly bitch that woman – and Professor Gilman’s class is ‘‘The tomato is structured like an aubergine’’, and Professor Kellas’s class is basically ‘‘There is no way of proving the existence of the tomato without making reference to the tomato itself ’’, and Erskine Jegede’s class is ‘‘The post-colonial tomato as eaten by Naipaul’’. And so on. So you say, ‘What class have you got coming up?’ and the person says ‘Tomatoes 1670-1900.’ Or whatever.’

—p.312 by Zadie Smith 2 years, 2 months ago
398

‘I haven’t had my period in three months – did you even know that? I’m acting crazy and emotional all the time. My body’s telling me the show’s over. That’s real. And I’m not going to be getting any thinner or any younger, my ass is gonna hit the ground, if it hasn’t already – and I want to be with somebody who can still see me in here. I’m still in here. And I don’t want to be resented or despised for changing . . . I’d rather be alone. I don’t want someone to have contempt for who I’ve become. I’ve watched you become too. And I feel like I’ve done my best to honour the past, and what you were and what you are now – but you want something more than that, something new. I can’t be new. Baby, we had a good run.’ Weeping, she lifted his palm and kissed it in the centre. ‘Thirty years – almost all of them really happy. That’s a lifetime, it’s incredible. Most people don’t get that. But maybe this is just over, you know? Maybe it’s over . . .’

Howard, crying himself now, got up from where he lay and sat behind his wife. He stretched his arms around her solid nakedness. In a whisper he began begging for – and, as the sun set, received – the concession people always beg for: a little more time.

—p.398 by Zadie Smith 2 years, 2 months ago

‘I haven’t had my period in three months – did you even know that? I’m acting crazy and emotional all the time. My body’s telling me the show’s over. That’s real. And I’m not going to be getting any thinner or any younger, my ass is gonna hit the ground, if it hasn’t already – and I want to be with somebody who can still see me in here. I’m still in here. And I don’t want to be resented or despised for changing . . . I’d rather be alone. I don’t want someone to have contempt for who I’ve become. I’ve watched you become too. And I feel like I’ve done my best to honour the past, and what you were and what you are now – but you want something more than that, something new. I can’t be new. Baby, we had a good run.’ Weeping, she lifted his palm and kissed it in the centre. ‘Thirty years – almost all of them really happy. That’s a lifetime, it’s incredible. Most people don’t get that. But maybe this is just over, you know? Maybe it’s over . . .’

Howard, crying himself now, got up from where he lay and sat behind his wife. He stretched his arms around her solid nakedness. In a whisper he began begging for – and, as the sun set, received – the concession people always beg for: a little more time.

—p.398 by Zadie Smith 2 years, 2 months ago