Aimee Bender
Aimee Bender
Aimee Benderis an American novelist and short story writer, known for her surreal plots and characters...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth28 June 1969
CountryUnited States of America
moving cutting simple
While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave, the most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.
mom daughter brother
Mom loved my brother more. Not that she didn't love me - I felt the wash of her love every day, pouring over me, but it was a different kind, siphoned from a different, and tamer, body of water. I was her darling daughter; Joseph was her it.
daughter father language
It was like we were exchanging codes, on how to be a father and a daughter, like we'd read about it in a manual, translated from another language, and were doing our best with what we could understand.
want caves eyelids
My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
thinking unbearable said
I don't think so, I don't agree. The most unbearable thing I think by far, she said, is hope.
fire rooms cold
But I loved George in part because he believed me; because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.
circles tails edges
I was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q...
space lines dots
I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
tears groups away-from-each-other
I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.
mother air littles
That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother's palm and fingertips, he was also removing all traces of any tiny leftover parts, and suddenly a ritual which I'd always found incestuous and gross seemed to me more like a desperate act on Joseph's part to get out, to leave, to extract every little last remnant and bring it into open air.
hands light self
When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.
hands world streets
We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
spring revealing happens
It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
birthday cake childhood
I like birthday cake. It's so symbolic. It's a tempting symbol to load with something more complicated than just 'Happy birthday!' because it's this emblem of childhood and a happy day.