By Tahmima Anam
Rehana Haque, a tender widow, blissfully prepares for the celebration she's going to host for her son and daughter. yet this is often 1971 in East Pakistan, and alter is within the air.
Set opposed to the backdrop of the Bangladesh conflict of Independence, A Golden Age is a narrative of ardour and revolution; of wish, religion, and unforeseen heroism in the course of chaos--and of 1 woman's heartbreaking fight to maintain her relations secure.
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Rehana Haque, a tender widow, blissfully prepares for the get together she's going to host for her son and daughter. yet this can be 1971 in East Pakistan, and alter is within the air.
Set opposed to the backdrop of the Bangladesh conflict of Independence, A Golden Age is a narrative of ardour and revolution; of desire, religion, and unforeseen heroism in the course of chaos--and of 1 woman's heartbreaking fight to maintain her kin secure.
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Extra info for A Golden Age
Things were looking up. Any minute now, I kept telling myself, any minute, but then, in the midst of my mounting joy, my insecurities began to take hold. I had no idea what to expect. T. for advanced work because I wanted a modern outlook on architecture, a Western outlook, and I was willing to work all day and lucubrate till dawn to get it—I was coming to Taliesin on impulse. It was as simple as this: one afternoon the previous spring I’d been trudging down the hall of the architecture building with a ziggurat of books under one arm and my case of drafting tools in the other, feeling out of sorts and depressed (what the popular musicians call “blue,” the true hue of anomie and hopelessness, my inamorata having left me for a Caucasian who played trombone, that most phallic of instruments, my studies repetitive and insipid and as antiquated as the Ionic column and plinth on which they were founded) when I took a bleary, world-weary moment to stand before the notice board outside the dean’s office.
Yes,” he said, talking past Albert’s flaming face, “yes, of course. But let me introduce myself—and my friend here, this is Albert Bleutick—” She dropped her eyes a moment, then came back to him. “But you do not need an introduction,” she murmured, and he felt the blood charge through his veins as if a ligature had been loosened. “Certainly, this is the case, no? ” Somewhere, somehow, Albert got lost in the shuffle, and Frank couldn’t really recall when or where it had happened—on the way to the tea dance to which he’d invited her or after they’d got there?
A whole squad. Including women. Five of them. ” I didn’t know what to say to this—was thirty a large number? Or small? How much work could there be? I’d envisioned myself laboring side by side with Wrieto-San on drawings of significance, plans for great edifices like Unity Temple, the Fukuhara house or the Larkin Administration Building, my pencil under command of his. And women. I hadn’t expected women, not in an architectural enterprise. Distracted, I murmured, “Good. ” I’d been drawing since childhood, and where my fellow students at the Yasinori Academy might have sketched biplanes or automobiles, I created a private world for myself, doing perspective drawings of invented cities and then peopling them with fully fleshed figures striding down spacious boulevards on their way to the country houses I created for them, replete with sketches, floor plans and elevations.
A Golden Age by Tahmima Anam