Blue White Red has ratings and 11 reviews. Friederike said: Brilliant early work of Alain Mabanckou only now translated into English. Written / Alain Mabanckou is the author of several prize-winning novels, including Mémoires de porc-épic (Memoirs of a Porcupine). Blue White Red is. Alain Mabanckou’s Broken Glass was first published in France under for his book Bleu-blanc-rouge and critical acclaim for African Psycho.

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Bleu-blanc-rouge | novel by Mabanckou |

Quite a few old timers had vied ceaselessly for this honorary position and their beards were as white, if not whiter, than his. What’s more, the Earth continued to rotate. There is another group of emigrants, the Peasantsruge who work in the provinces in France, without any of the glamour or the features of a ble. Alison Dundy lives in New York City and works as a librarian, archivist, and translator.

Whether he will escape and, most importantly, how he ended up in these desperate circumstances in the first place becomes the primary story of this extraordinary novel by Franco-Congolese author Alain Mabanckou. Share your thoughts with other customers. I lived like his shadow. He was capable of reciting to the town council the names of all the kings and presidents in order from the Second Empire of Napoleon III up to the present, without faltering.

These workers were simultaneously carpenters, architects, cabinet makers, iron workers, plumbers, and well-diggers. He rode slowly, stopping to greet everyone he met at an intersection. Get to Know Us. Blsu importantly, he did not forget to tell everyone the exact date that his son would return home. Highly mabanxkou for anyone interested in postcolonial lit or francophone lit in general. He could have been a teacher if his parents had supported him for one more year.


Yes, start at the beginning! Broken Glass is mabanckoi shattered novel that confronts us with the question, Can language be intoxicating?

The more we read, the more we want to read, the more stories we need, and thus we unspool the tangible world before us into threads of unreality. Amazon Inspire Digital Educational Resources. It’s a merciless battle in this netherworld where there are no women or children.


We arranged to meet each other there, just a few yards from the corpse, behind the palm leaf hut where the distressed and suffering family cried, and couldn’t do anything about it. It was that faraway country, inaccessible despite its fireworks that shimmered even in my smallest dreams, and bkanc which I woke with a taste of honey in my mouth. It had chiseled oruge habits and prescribed another way of life for him.

He hadn’t done more than pile up rows of bricks and trace the foundations.

He’d have none of it, and after scolding his wife and sons, he grabbed a long-handled broom himself. A small table wrought of tropical vines was placed under the mango tree in the center of the courtyard. He rpuge the trees, promising to cut them down if they persisted in dropping their dead leaves with each ill-tempered gust of wind.

One of Francophone Africa’s most prolific contemporary writers, he blahc the author of six volumes of poetry and six novels. I saw the dark side of things and imagined only the worst.

Blue White Red by Alain Mabanckou

In the beginning, there was the name, Moki. There’s a problem loading this menu right now. Stunned passersby wondered by what miracle this home had managed to outsmart the guardian of tempests during the rainy season.


He sweated and sponged himself off with his hat. It immediately received massive attention. The old man barked contradictory orders.

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I still haven Reading questions. A shadow is nothing in and of itself. He repeatedly told him to first shift into gear and then to carefully put on the brakes. For Moki’s father, to have made it to the second grade in his first year was a point of pride, a feat that no one of his era had equaled. He crossed his frail legs, adjusted his suspenders, mabackou his pipe, and drew long puffs.

The description of his experiences in Paris from the first moments onwards is filtered through the time lens of memory, enriched by personal musings about people and local settings: True, I had been secretly working in my field of dreams rougee that wish to cross the Rubicon, to go there some day.

Words had no beginning and no end. He’s not getting out of things this way. Make sure that you’re not being followed.

His wife, an almost imperceptible silhouette compared with the old man’s strong personality, timidly shook him. Like what you read? That’s bldu reason that I gave my son Moki “Charles” as his first name.

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