Globo basis collection - Do not delete

Everyone is running. Men and women, lovers, the happy, the miserable, the hesitant—they are all running. They quicken their pace, never looking back. I am a worn wooden pew in a Chicago church, so isolated, that I have been numbed by the weight of...

We apologize in advance to the readers of this collection for not beginning to read this novel. We apologize that this wretched novel is not for general audiences. The writer here is capricious. She decided not to finish and didn't leave her character in...

I will crush the candy pieces endlessly I will grind it into colored flour on the earth So that the cigarettes mix with rainwater He was once in Sukariyya I will mix them like clay to make "White" is an accurate term. This is...

Juliana is not a woman for everyone, nor simply a saint. She is a city. She is conscience. She is the silent force that speaks when it must, carefully choosing whom to address. It is enough to touch her grave, to caress her spirit,...

We finally reunited after six years of bloody suffering, loss, displacement, humiliation, begging, deprivation, homelessness, and death. Port Said became our home. I married five years later and had four children. Suddenly, I found myself very much alive. In the blink of an eye,...

The Lebanese Civil War is over on the ground, but it still rages on in young Suhail's mind. There, events, scenes, and time blur together, and wonderful things exist in stark contrast: the complex interplay of love and hate towards his older brother; his...

A girl with hair as black as the river, slipping with long waters, disturbs Layla's dreams, at the same time as her husband Benjamin left their marital home in Tehran. Layla had fled Beirut in search of love, far from the curse that has...

In wars, the days become indistinguishable. There will be a flaw in its bullet. Every day becomes a Dubai lived in extra time. You forget that in reality, to meet the needs of others, you bury your loneliness in the café, in fleeting stories,...

Fifteen years ago, his father died. He killed himself with a gun he had once bought for self-defense, not to kill himself. The bullet pierced his heart, taking him from a life that had astonished him with all its wonder, and which had astonished...

The truly unfortunate are those who chase after illusions. They are the ones who always lose their way in their pursuit. And that's what it means at the end of the tunnel: a mirage of illusion, not a glimmer of hope as they believe....

Salem Street is a homeland. Stolen and reclaimed, a style owned by those who struggled for it. In truth, it is not yet a homeland. It is a dream, like all our homelands. It has forgotten heroes and unknown soldiers. It has rebels and...

I am waiting. My life is arranged for everyone, like a house no one lives in. I wait for night to sleep and for morning to go to prison. I wait for nine o'clock to start at my office, and when I return, I...

Writing sought answers. A bouquet of questions hinting at the beautiful ambiguities that permeate everything within you. Writing is an act of purification, or an act of revenge for memory. The important thing was that it was a cry. The protagonist of "Phonograph" continues...

He began to think about his days, which had followed one another endlessly, monotonously, and boringly. A mix of things: listening to music, watching a Toyota TV, but these things couldn't replace a living human being. Someone to talk to, agree with, or disagree...

Veronica: Born 1546, Venice. Courtesan and courtesan of kings in the Italian Imperial era of the sixteenth century. Kara: Born in 1980, Beirut. A university professor specializing in religious sciences, conservative, with a complex about holiness, and a special fondness for metaphysics. Do not...

Thaer takes advantage of the crowd's distraction and sneaks into a shop. He finds nothing there to steal except an old television. But that's not the worst of it, as the men arrest him, even though they're looking for protesters, not thieves. For some...

I am faceless, afraid to smile. This place is a confession of my awareness, and the walls around me hold no meaning other than the limits of my movement. I spin around myself, delving into my depths, summoning the furthest reaches of my past,...

Castro's regime is crumbling, and Teren Fuego still sings his Havana anthems. His voice has always ignited the golden masses and fueled the flame of hope in their hearts. But everything around him has changed. The time has come for the master of rumba...

To be a suicide bomber for the sake of luck. To put yourself in his place and time. To attempt to craft words from the very core of his thoughts and poetry. To neither do him justice, nor justify him, nor sympathize with him....

September is returning, and you are not here to welcome it. Longing, Sawsan... I never knew longing was a fatal disease. All my wounds can be stitched with the sutures of forgetfulness, except for your loss. This wound will only widen with each remembrance...

I sat on the terrace of a café, not overlooking the Charletti amphitheater, pondering the possibility of Philippe De Pacheco, whose face I never saw. I was jotting down notes, and without realizing it, I was fully aware of what I was doing: I...

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a city nestled on the shoulder of a shore, a city that embraced the dreams of its inhabitants. In cosmopolitan Nari, Christians, Muslims, and Jews lived in peace, drinking from the same spring, and...

A child with emerald eyes, kidnapped from the Caucasian steppes, was sold into slavery to live as a concubine in the harem of the Emir of Baghdad. She radiated passion and allure. A woman who led the Egyptian army amidst the chaos, displaying her...

Lost Battles — Fathers have one color, sons many. Fathers have their bicycles and their slow days, sons have the rest of the colors and the future that races ahead of them. From the walls of the family to the walls of the city,...

There is one positive aspect to leaving. Shedding one's skin can be worthwhile, despite the scars that fester in the soul. On the occasion of leaving, we become a charity event. We wear the skin of who we dreamed of being, or who hosts...

Is it right to categorize people as purely good or purely evil? Is goodness an absolute value? Is poetry a flaw that begins with an irreversible slip? Should we sympathize with someone drowning, driven by a deep-seated desire to escape this trap, or should...

In October 1898, German Emperor Wilhelm II embarked on a journey to the East. In Istanbul, he met with Sultan Abdul Hamid II and planned the construction of the Berlin-Baghdad Railway, aiming to immediately rival trade and the overland route to India. To keep...

How can a lover escape love, or a warrior escape war? He died without love, but without enemies, so neither war was his defense, nor love his injustice. As for her, that captivating woman who carries weapons in one hand and her heart in...

Iskandar Hayek lived a comfortable and happy life. He was a prominent fabric merchant, the absolute master of his factory, his land, and his family, despite the clouds gathering over Lebanon in the mid-1960s, and the constant bickering between his fierce sister, Mado, his...

Having grown up in a well-known camp in Lebanon, Shaker Khazal set one mission as a red flag: to get out of the prison of displacement and take his rightful place in the world. This detailed account of his life takes you on a...

Life and death. Victory and defeat. Hope and despair. In "Tala's Story," Henry, a renowned New York writer, tries to cope with his mother's sudden departure and the failure of his latest novel. His mother, whose life was filled with successes, is dead and...

Not much happens in Rabih Alameddine's new novel. There's no engaging plot, no whirlpools of characters getting lost, no story that captivates the reader. Literature itself is what unfolds in this novel. Literature imbued with a whole life, a ghost haunting a woman who...

I know, Maria, that there's a child inside you, and that children fear bullets and cherish their mothers' breasts. But I know you have no hope but a few thousand unarmed souls to face all this sorrow. You love roses, but my garden no...

What does it mean to live in Jerusalem today, carrying the legacy of a tribe that abandoned the wilderness, as described in the previous two parts of Mahmoud Shuqair's trilogy: "The Family's Mare" and "In Praise of the Women of the Family"? The descendants...

While I was still pondering this oft-repeated saying, "No soul knows in what land it will die," I was lost in the mystery of the plot of land where Abu Saad was buried. Where was it? Would it bear a towering headstone, as is...

My mother, lying on her bed, told me that she had been a stray cat forty years ago. She looked at me, and I sat with her. She added that she was perfectly suited to this day; and she remained on the ice she...

In this new novel, a satirical tale set against the backdrop of a love story, a visiting Spanish lecturer delves deeply into the prestigious university and its community. A sense of alienation separates him from his new surroundings. A sense of unease prevents him...

I was born into a Shakespearean family, with a father who served the king for forty years and a brother banished to one of his prisons. Imagine a terrifying, oppressive palace where the most loyal are punished, and where jealousy reigns supreme. His Highness...

I recall, with a sense of bewilderment, what Abdel-Azim Shodak, the lame, nearly deaf mechanic, did. He was once found inside the ward, his skin reeking of grease and old oils. He wore thin-lensed reading glasses, followed everywhere, and a heavy medical bandage around...

Reham informed me, after arriving in the town, in a garbled phone call, that she had found the remains of the marble headstone bearing her father's name, but that she had not yet located the official burial site. She said she would not return...

Some have owned their lives since birth. A stable, resilient life, in homes where tranquility dwells. And some inhabit houses of paper, fragile, unstable, uprooted by a breeze. Yasmina was stripped bare by the tattered remnants of her story when the storm came. She...

In war, identities are lost. You may acquire a new identity by decision, or an identity may be imposed on you because of a mere mistake. She may be a veiled woman burdened by the authority of a patriarchal husband, strict religious control, and...

In the heart of a country engulfed in war and violence, a small group wages its own private war. The setting: a psychiatric hospital. The time: a lull between two battles. The protagonists: a film crew, a group of corrupt individuals, a criminal on...

He is an ordinary man, living an ordinary life, in a building that is no longer ordinary, having been occupied by the military and transformed into a security site. His experience of this building unfolds in a series of scenes, a dark comedy. Faced...

The Secret Life of Writers Guillaume Musso In 1999, three months after the ineffectual radio, novelist Nathan Fowles announced his retirement and sought refuge on the chosen Belgian island of Beaumont, which he had researched for tranquility.In the autumn of 2018, journalist Mathilde Monney...

America entered Iraq. The war began. Saddam Hussein went into hiding, orchestrating events behind the scenes. But he would suddenly appear in the middle of the night at a dentist's office, complaining of a toothache. From the window overlooking Firdos Square, he would witness...

What kind of ending is this for a novel searching for a beginning? This is where this novel should have started, but the beginning was delayed more than once, and the ending came more than once. It is a novel about a woman of...

On the first Thursday of 1981, a large shell accidentally struck Kevork's house, causing a fire that consumed its entire contents. Inside the dilapidated house, which he returned to inspect days later, Kevork realized he had lost everything. He had lost all his possessions:...

Balqis, Youssef, Walid, Ghassan. Four characters, four faces. Four questions about meaning. And four yellow ones trying to confront the muscle of existence. Youssef the poet escapes his existence into a perfected image, a weapon he doesn't intend. Walid the rebel fights to escape...

Samia glanced at her watch: half past two. Strange, it wasn't like Nabil to be late without telling her. She had barely finished her thought when the doorbell rang. She rushed to the door. It was Suha. "Did Aunt Aziza bring you?" Samia asked,...