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Everything Sad Is Untrue: (a true story)

de Daniel Nayeri

Outros autores: Veja a seção outros autores.

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6842733,891 (4.37)2
Juvenile Fiction. Juvenile Literature. Historical Fiction. HTML:At the front of a middle school classroom in Oklahoma, a boy named Khosrou (whom everyone calls "Daniel") stands, trying to tell a story. His story. But no one believes a word he says. To them he is a dark-skinned, hairy-armed boy with a big butt whose lunch smells funny; who makes things up and talks about poop too much. But Khosrou's stories, stretching back years, and decades, and centuries, are beautiful, and terrifying, from the
moment his family fled Iran in the middle of the night with the secret police moments behind them, back to the sad, cement refugee camps of Italy...and further back to the fieldsnear the river Aras, where rain-soaked flowers
bled red like the yolk of the sunset had burst over everything, and further back still to the jasmine-scented city of Isfahan. Like Scheherazade in a hostile classroom, Daniel weaves a tale to save his own life: to stake his claim to the truth. And it is (a true story).
… (mais)
  1. 00
    Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood de Trevor Noah (bjappleg8)
    bjappleg8: both are brilliant stories - memoirs - of boys caught between worlds with heroic mothers.
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Mostrando 1-5 de 27 (seguinte | mostrar todas)
[4.25] This creatively crafted memoir of an incredible boy would have been a 5-star read had this twist-filled story unfolded in a more linear fashion as opposed to what the author admits is a “patchwork text.” But he later notes that a “patchwork text is the shame of a refugee” who often has no family records to peruse and few relatives to consult. I could have lived without the heavy dose of ancient lore in the first quarter of the book. While the contextual links are clear, the tales seemed to needlessly delay the riveting biographical theme. But I quibble. “Everything Sad is Untrue” is an enlightening, heartwarming and occasionally hilarious coming-of-age tale that will stay with me for a long time to come. Are all of the remarkable anecdotes that grace the pages true? Nayeli assures readers that he made every effort to accurately recount his extraordinary life as a boy who was born in Iran and ends up in Oklahoma. But he also reminds us that all of our memories “are dotted with fiction.” ( )
  brianinbuffalo | Apr 21, 2024 |
One of the best books I’ve ever read. The storytelling is immersive and the writing delightful. Reading it was an experience. ( )
  erindarlyn | Jan 25, 2024 |
I could not get through this. It felt like I was reading someone's rambling diary, not a novel.

My favorite part of the book was when I skipped forward to a random page to see where all this meandering was leading and my eyes fell on these lines:

"Are you still there, reader?
No?
Maybe you've gone and the only eyes are the ones who flipped to this page accidentally. Or you've skipped ahead from someplace in the beginning and missed all the parts that explain me to you--from there to here.
Maybe I'm the patchwork text.
Maybe I deserve to be hit all the time.
Maybe I'm a liar.
Maybe I don't deserve a welcome.
And maybe I never had anything good."

I feel like this passage gives you a pretty good idea of the kind of book this is.

It reminded me of [b:Hokey Pokey|13642591|Hokey Pokey|Jerry Spinelli|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348791506l/13642591._SX50_.jpg|19257831] because on some level I can appreciate that it's weird and experimental and might be fascinating to some readers. But it is most definitely not for me. ( )
  LibrarianDest | Jan 3, 2024 |
It is for books like this that I joined a book club.

The elevator pitch for Everything Sad Is Untrue is this: it is the story, told in first person, of middle school aged Daniel Nayeri, a refugee from Iran, grappling with life in Oklahoma, divorce, and, generally, being different. Told in snippets, memories, flashbacks, and flashforwards, including ancient history, less ancient history, family history, and mythological, Nayeri tells a warm, funny, and sad story.

I don’t know that I would ever have picked it up. It’s Young Adult, and part way through my 11-year old noted that she was likely to read it for a school book club, as well.

So, not my usual genre. But I’m glad I read it. It is full of insightful observations, told gently in the voice of a young teenager trying to come to grips with who he is, where he is from, and why life is not what it was supposed to be. He tells a lot of stories about his family, drawing on memories and family stories, flawed and incomplete though they are, and perhaps this is part of why it resonates: we all have incomplete memories, or memories that we share with others—family members or friends—that are slightly different, slight divergent, or just completely different. Memories carry emotion, but they are important, and the stories tell us who and what we are. They are our heritage and what makes us who we are, perhaps even more than than our DNA. Nayeri layers story upon story, often told as if he stood in the front of his middle school classroom, and I recognize in his voice that of my own children, remembering family events and trying to convey them to others who were not there, or maybe to see if they match memories. And yet, the contrast between the stories my children might tell and those he shares—a refugee from Iran by way of Italy and living like a fish our of water in Oklahoma—is stark.

I’ve never thought a refugee’s life is easy, and yet, even a rose colored version of Nayeri’s history is difficult, but the way he tells illuminates, even while it conceals, educates, even while it only is only a myth or brief memory. It opens a world to eyes and minds that only experience small bits of the day to day, perhaps expanding their world as far as Persia, one of the oldest empires in the world, and one the most Americans probably couldn’t place on a map. I know mine probably couldn’t.

It’s a beautifully written book, and I eagerly look forward to discussing it with my own children, and maybe with you, too. ( )
  publiusdb | Apr 4, 2023 |
What wonderful story telling. The audio was really good. Stories within stories. A boys remembrance Of a childhood as a refugee. Leaving behind family and grasping for memories made up and real. ( )
  juliais_bookluvr | Mar 9, 2023 |
Mostrando 1-5 de 27 (seguinte | mostrar todas)

» Adicionar outros autores (6 possíveis)

Nome do autorFunçãoTipo de autorObra?Status
Daniel Nayeriautor principaltodas as ediçõescalculado
Hazewindus, CarlaTradutorautor secundárioalgumas ediçõesconfirmado
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It seems like only yesterday that I believed / there was nothing under my skin but light. / If you cut me I would shine. -- Billy Collins (approximately), "On Turning Ten"
The people of the world say that Khosrou is an idol worshipper / Maybe so, maybe so / But he does not need the world / And he does not need the people -- Amir Khosrou
I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidean mind of man, that in the world's finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, of all the blood they've shed; that it will make it not only possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened. --Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
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When I was a kid in Isfahan, I would tell my mother that someday, I would build her a castle at the top of Mount Safeh. I could see it from my window. A castle in the sky. I didn't know that life would make a liar out of me. I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't forget. I just never managed it. I wrote you a book instead. I know it isn't even close.
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All Persian are liars and lying is a sin.
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Juvenile Fiction. Juvenile Literature. Historical Fiction. HTML:At the front of a middle school classroom in Oklahoma, a boy named Khosrou (whom everyone calls "Daniel") stands, trying to tell a story. His story. But no one believes a word he says. To them he is a dark-skinned, hairy-armed boy with a big butt whose lunch smells funny; who makes things up and talks about poop too much. But Khosrou's stories, stretching back years, and decades, and centuries, are beautiful, and terrifying, from the
moment his family fled Iran in the middle of the night with the secret police moments behind them, back to the sad, cement refugee camps of Italy...and further back to the fieldsnear the river Aras, where rain-soaked flowers
bled red like the yolk of the sunset had burst over everything, and further back still to the jasmine-scented city of Isfahan. Like Scheherazade in a hostile classroom, Daniel weaves a tale to save his own life: to stake his claim to the truth. And it is (a true story).

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