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White Teeth

A Novel. Winner of the Commonwealth Writers Prize 2001, Best First Book and the Betty Trask Prize 2001

Zadie Smith

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Beschreibung

Zadie Smith's dazzling debut caught critics grasping for comparisons and deciding on everyone from Charles Dickens to Salman Rushdie to John Irving and Martin Amis. But the truth is that Zadie Smith's voice is remarkably, fluently, and altogether wonderfully her own.

Nominated as one of America's best-loved novels by PBS's The Great American Read

At the center of this invigorating novel are two unlikely friends, Archie Jones and Samad Iqbal. Hapless veterans of World War II, Archie and Samad and their families become agents of England's irrevocable transformation. A second marriage to Clara Bowden, a beautiful, albeit tooth-challenged, Jamaican half his age, quite literally gives Archie a second lease on life, and produces Irie, a knowing child whose personality doesn't quite match her name (Jamaican for "no problem"). Samad's late-in-life arranged marriage (he had to wait for his bride to be born), produces twin sons whose separate paths confound Iqbal's every effort to direct them, and a renewed, if selective, submission to his Islamic faith. Set against London' s racial and cultural tapestry, venturing across the former empire and into the past as it barrels toward the future, White Teeth revels in the ecstatic hodgepodge of modern life, flirting with disaster, confounding expectations, and embracing the comedy of daily existence.

"A preternaturally gifted new writer [with] a voice that's street-smart and learned, sassy and philosophical all at the same time."-Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times

"Brilliant.... Smith is a master at detail...a postmodern Charles Dickens...[Smith's] rich storytelling and wicked wit are suited to the sights and smells of the world that England has inherited."-The Washington Post

"[A] vibrant, rollicking first novel about race and idenity...[Smith's] prickly wit is affectionate and poignant."-People

"[A] dazzling intergenerational first novel...wonderfully inventive...playful yet unaffected, mongrel yet cohesive, profound yet funny, vernacular yet lyrical. "-Los Angeles Times

"[A] marvel of a debut novel. . .Reminscent of both Salman Rushdie and John Irving, White Teeth is a comic, canny, sprawling tale, adeptly held together by Smith's literary sleight of hand."-Entertainment Weekly

"A magnificent and audacious novel, jampacked with memorable characters and challenging ideas."-The Atlanta Journal & Constitution

"Ambitious, earnest and irreverent. . . Smith has a real talent for comedy and a fond eye for human foibles."-The Wall Street Journal

"Wonderful.... Zadie Smith...possesses a more than ordinary share of talent."-USA Today

"Smith has an astonishing intellect. She writes sharp dialogue for every age and race- and she's funny as hell."-Newsweek

"[White Teeth] is, like the London it portrays, a restless hybrid of voices, tones, and textures...with a raucous energy and confidence."-The New York Times Book Review

"Fresh...spirited...this extravagant novel bursts with optimism about people, about language, and perhaps, above all, about novels and the joy, indeed the impertinence, of writing one."-The Philadelphia Inquirer

"Blissfully confident, wide-ranging and funny from the get-go, White Teeth...promises-and delivers-a wildly inventive journey into a fresh imagination."-Rocky Mountain News

"Brilliant.... Smith is a master at detail.... Like a postmodern Dickens, she has a flair for features, dress, dialogue, accents and human frailty."-The Miami Herald

"It's a treat to watch an immensely gifted young writer performing, for the very first time, such an admirably audacious and ambitious juggling act."-Elle

"Absolutely delicious.... Smith's voice is a perfect balance of tragedy and comedy."-The Tampa Tribune and Times

"Gently observant and generous in its judgments.... Filled with vibrant life."-The San Diego Union-Tribune

"Brilliant.... Bubbles and pops in its imaginative intensity."-The Baltimore Sun

Zadie Smith was born in Northwest London in 1975 and still lives in the area. She is the author of 
White Teeth, The Autograph Man, On Beauty, Changing My Mind, NW, and most recently
Swing Time.

Produktdetails

Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 464
Altersempfehlung 14 - 18
Erscheinungsdatum 01.06.2001
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-0-375-70386-7
Reihe Vintage International
Verlag Vintage, New York
Maße (L/B/H) 21,9/13/2,5 cm
Gewicht 345 g

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Ein sehr empfehlenswertes Buch.
von einer Kundin/einem Kunden am 18.12.2011
Bewertet: Taschenbuch

Zadie Smith's "White Teeth" ist ein sehr gelungener Roman. Er fesselt einen nahezu und ist zudem in relativ einfacher Sprache geschrieben.

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  • The Peculiar Second Marriage of Archie Jones

    Early in the morning, late in the century, Cricklewood Broadway. At 06.27 hours on 1 January 1975, Alfred Archibald Jones was dressed in corduroy and sat in a fume-filled Cavalier Musketeer Estate face down on the steering wheel, hoping the judgement would not be too heavy upon him. He lay forward in a prostrate cross, jaw slack, arms splayed either side like some fallen angel; scrunched up in each fist he held his army service medals (left) and his marriage license (right), for he had decided to take his mistakes with him. A little green light flashed in his eye, signaling a right turn he had resolved never to make. He was resigned to it. He was prepared for it. He had flipped a coin and stood staunchly by its conclusions. This was a decided-upon suicide. In fact it was a New Year's resolution.

    But even as his breathing became spasmodic and his lights dimmed, Archie was aware that Cricklewood Broadway would seem a strange choice. Strange to the first person to notice his slumped figure through the windscreen, strange to the policemen who would file the report, to the local journalist called upon to write fifty words, to the next of kin who would read them. Squeezed between an almighty concrete cinema complex at one end and a giant intersection at the other, Cricklewood was no kind of place. It was not a place a man came to die. It was a place a man came in order to go other places via the A41. But Archie Jones didn't want to die in some pleasant, distant woodland, or on a cliff edge fringed with delicate heather. The way Archie saw it, country people should die in the country and city people should die in the city. Only proper. In death as he was in life and all that. It made sense that Archibald should die on this nasty urban street where he had ended up, living alone at the age of forty-seven, in a one-bedroom flat above a deserted chip shop. He wasn't the type to make elaborate plans - suicide notes and funeral instructions - he wasn't the type for anything fancy. All he asked for was a bit of silence, a bit of shush so he could concentrate. He wanted it to be perfectly quiet and still, like the inside of an empty confessional box or the moment in the brain between thought and speech. He wanted to do it before the shops opened.

    Overhead, a gang of the local flying vermin took off from some unseen perch, swooped, and seemed to be zeroing in on Archie's car roof - only to perform, at the last moment, an impressive U-turn, moving as one with the elegance of a curve ball and landing on the Hussein-Ishmael, a celebrated halal butchers. Archie was too far gone to make a big noise about it, but he watched them with a warm internal smile as they deposited their load, streaking white walls purple. He watched them stretch their peering bird heads over the Hussein-Ishmael gutter; he watched them watch the slow and steady draining of blood from the dead things - chickens, cows, sheep - hanging on their hooks like coats around the shop. The Unlucky. These pigeons had an instinct for the Unlucky, and so they passed Archie by. For, though he did not know it, and despite the Hoover tube that lay on the passenger seat pumping from the exhaust pipe into his lungs, luck was with him that morning. The thinnest covering of luck was on him like fresh dew. Whilst he slipped in and out of consciousness, the position of the planets, the music of the spheres, the flap of a tiger-moth's diaphanous wings in Central Africa, and a whole bunch of other stuff that Makes Shit Happen had decided it was second-chance time for Archie. Somewhere, somehow, by somebody, it had been decided that he would live.
    ~
    The Hussein-Ishmael was owned by Mo Hussein-Ishmael, a great bull of a man with hair that rose and fell in a quaff, then a ducktail. Mo believed that with pigeons you have to get to the root of the problem: not the excretions but the pigeon itself. The shit is not the shit (this w