james franco palo alto high school james franco palo alto pdf james franco palo alto mural james franco palo alto stories james franco palo alto film james franco . Ebook James Franco In This Is The End pdf download Download James Franco In This Is The End audiobook James Edward Franco (Palo Alto, 19 aprile ). Kommentek: A hozzászólások a vonatkozó jogszabályok értelmében felhasználói tartalomnak minősülnek, értük a szolgáltatás technikai üzemeltetője .
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Palo Alto: Stories by James Franco - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File . txt) or read online for free. A fiercely vivid collection of stories about troubled. Palo Alto eBook Full Download Palo Alto eBook Download James Franco - Palo Alto PDF eBook James Franco - Palo Alto mobi eBook James Franco - Palo Alto . Palo Alto Stories is three individual films drawn from the high school experiences James Fran | Check out 'Palo Alto Stories by James Franco' on Indiegogo. digital download of the 3 films, you will also get also get the official PDF Scripts, the.
The stories are raw and funny-sad, and they capture with perfect pitch the impossible exhilaration, the inevitable downbeat-ness, and the pure confusion of being an adolescent. Franco has a flair for creating these stopped moments that lift a story from its specific setting into a universal place, so that particular meanings resonate out from themselves and redouble their effect. Delightfully coarse, riffing dialogue that hones in on subjects like race and sex, love and violence. Compelling and gutsy. Franco writes with such deep empathy and affinity that one has to wonder if he lived this life. USA Today. Youll be able to pick out Francos influences:
He put his hand on top of my head so that I couldnt stand up from the bench. He didnt push down; he just held it there so I couldnt stand up. Come on, white boy, say that fucking nigger word. Call him a nigger, said Mike, the fat white guy. Listen, I was just doing it for class, I dont really think those things.
What things, white boy? Those things I said. I was just saying them because I was supposed to. Youre supposed to? Your teacher told you to call Lewis a nigger? I didnt call Lewis a nigger. He slapped me across the face. Watch your fucking mouth, he said, not laughing anymore.
I looked up at him.
I looked at the others. They were all serious now. I turned to skinny Lewis with his big round head. Lewis, you know I didnt call you anything. Lewis didnt say anything. He stood there with his arms crossed. He gave me that same blank stare that he gave me in the classroom. Listen, I didnt mean what I was saying, okay?
I was just doing it for class and because I wanted to see Stephen Gary get crazy. Lewis, said Jackson. That was it, just Lewis, like they had already talked about doing something and now was the time to do it. Lewis looked at Jackson and then at me, but he just stood there. In a slow, cold voice Ezra said, Lewis, break off this motherfucking honky. It came out of his cruel face like a rocky stream. Lewis, I was being an idiot. I was just trying to make Stephen crazy.
You saw how crazy he got, I said. Whyd you want to make him crazy? I was just trying to show off. You heard Mr. Hurston, he said I was just doing what I was supposed to do. Lewis was staring down at me. He didnt look really tough, but he was trying. Then he said, Thomas Jefferson was doing what he was supposed to do, and he done raped his slaves.
What does that mean?
Lewis stepped back and then hit my nose. There was an explosion between my eyes. I fell back and hit my head against the lockers and fell into the space between the lockers and the My legs were still up on the bench, but my butt was on the cement. I held my nose, and there were tears coming into my eyes, but just as a physical reaction.
I squinted through my fingers and saw Lewis looking down at me. His regular dumb look was angry now. Unsure but trying not to be unsure. I took my hand away from my face and looked at it; there was a lot of blood on my fingers. I heard all the other guys cheering Lewis on. He still looked unsure, but I could tell he was going to do something. I pulled my feet off the bench and slid underneath it.
It was really dirty down there and wet. On the underside of the bench there was some old gray gum, and at the bottom of one of the lockers it said i love you bitch! Who wrote that? It was pretty creative. Kick that motherfucker! Lewis stepped back and kicked me. He got me on the top of my head, and he stubbed his toe on my skull, and everyone laughed because he said Ow, shit and started dancing around. I lay down there covering my face while they all laughed at Lewiss foot. I waited for more.
But it didnt come. The laughter faded, and then they were gone. For a while I lay on the ground and looked at i love you bitch! Then I got up. I went to the toilet stalls and sat on one of the toilets and waited for the period to end. Just sat there. When the warning bell rang, I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. My right eye was purple on the inside bottom, and my nose had bled all over my lips and down my neck and onto my off-white PE T-shirt.
A nice splatter across the neckline. All the kids were coming in now. Some looked at me, but I didnt wash off and I didnt change my clothes.
I left I was there before everyone. I sat at my desk and waited. The middle of my face was throbbing. My classmates started coming in, but no one noticed me.
My seat was toward the back. Finally Stacey came in and sat down. She didnt look at me because she never looks at me, but I stared at her really hard until she finally looked.
Oh my God, she said. Whats wrong with your face? Nothing is wrong with it. Youre bleeding, Jeremy, she said loudly. Oh, Jesus, youre bleeding! Other people looked.
I know, I said. I didnt say anything else; I just stared at her. Real hard. Why are you looking at me like that? Because, I said. Because what? She said that quietly, like she was scared. Then Mr. Hurston came in. He said, Hello, class, new morning, same old history, like he always did. Hurston, said good Jerry Holtz. Hurston, look, Jeremys bleeding. Hurston, hes staring at me, said Stacey. She was right; I was staring at her. Hurston walked over to my desk. He put his hand under my chin, in the blood, and held my face up to his.
I looked into his empty blue eyes. His eyebrows were silvery like his hair. What happened? Nothing, I said. Who did this to you? No one. Okay, no one did it, right. All right, who? Fine, if you wont tell me, I want you to go to the office right now and see Mrs. He looked around the room. Jerry, I want you to take Jeremy to the office, to see Mrs. Moore, okay? Sure, Mr. Hurston, said Jerry. He walked to the door and waited for me.
Hurston let my face go. I didnt stand up yet. I just turned my head and stared at Stacey again. She sounded mad now. Everyone was watching. Then I leaned in and whispered, I did it for you. You did what for me? What are you talking about? But I was already standing and walking toward Jerry at the door. There was Lewis walking in with his dumb look.
Did Thomas Jefferson do that? And walked past him. I didnt look back, but I could hear people asking Stacey what it was all about. In the hall Jerry asked me what happened. I told him I was fighting for a girl. He asked who. I told him he wouldnt understand.
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Why did you say you did it for Stacey? I didnt. I thought you did. Well thats good, he said. That would have been a shame. No, I mean if you had done anything for her. The sun was warm on my back and reflecting off the windows of the office, a bright circle into my eyes.
I didnt do it for her. Cuz shes a total slut, he said. I fucking know, I said. But I didnt know. I didnt know anything. We were almost at the office. The office was an old brick building with a tower in the center with a Spanish cupola. We called it the Tower Building. As we got closer each window in the tower flashed yellow and white.
At the office Jerry ran up the stairs.
He stood at the top and held the door for me. The reflection in the windows above Jerry was as bright as the real sun. As I walked up the steps my face pounded under the skin, I could feel the blood thick and sticky on my clavicle, and I stared right into the burning center of light. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. First Scribner trade paperback edition June scribner.
Library of Congress Control Number: Palo Alto: A fiercely vivid collection of stories about troubled California teenagers and misfits--violent and harrowing, from the astonishingly talented actor and artist James Franco. Written with an immediate sense of place--claustrophobic and ominous--James Franco's collection traces the lives of an extended group of teenagers as they experiment with vices of all kinds, struggle with their families and one another, and succumb to self-destructive, often heartless nihilism.
In "Lockheed" a young woman's summer--spent working a dull internship--is suddenly upended by a spectacular incident of violence at a house party. In "American History" a high school freshman attempts to impress a girl during a classroom skit with a realistic portrayal of a slave owner—only to have his feigned bigotry avenged. In "I Could Kill Someone," a lonely teenager buys a gun with the aim of killing his high school tormentor, but begins to wonder about his bully's own inner life.
These linked stories, stark, vivid, and disturbing, are a compelling portrait of lives on the rough fringes of youth. Flag for inappropriate content. Related titles. A Dark Tower Novel excerpt. Auel - Excerpt. A Novel of Typhoid Mary: A Novel" by James Franco. Smoke Signals: On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King excerpt. The Unwinding: An Inner History of the New America.
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The World Is Flat 3. A Brief History of the Twenty-first Century. Smart People Should Build Things: The Sympathizer: A Novel Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Lovers at the Chameleon Club, Paris A Novel. Selling Scotland: Jump to Page. Search inside document. More Praise for PALO ALTO The stories are raw and funny-sad, and they capture with perfect pitch the impossible exhilaration, the inevitable downbeat-ness, and the pure confusion of being an adolescent.
Elle Delightfully coarse, riffing dialogue that hones in on subjects like race and sex, love and violence. Vogue Franco writes with such deep empathy and affinity that one has to wonder if he lived this life. First Scribner trade paperback edition June scribner and design are registered trademarks of The Gale Group, Inc.
Related Interests Slavery. Documents Similar To Palo Alto: Stories by James Franco. Simon and Schuster. Crown Publishing Group. Random House Publishing Group. Bethany House Publishers. English ISBN Start reading Palo Alto: Stories on your Kindle in under a minute. Don't have a Kindle? Try the Kindle edition and experience these great reading features: Literary Fiction.
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Top Reviews Most recent Top Reviews. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later. Paperback Verified Purchase. This book is what you can expect from James Franco. An insightful look at growing up rich in the northern California city of Palo Alto.
Franco does not sugar coat the decisions and actions that young teens make when their parent's eyes are turned away. I will say that this book is not for everyone. I completely enjoyed reading this book and never wanted to set it down.
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What I really liked is that I had watched Gia Coppola's movie 'Palo Alto' based on this book and she did such a good job making that movie her own that both pieces stand strong alone. Hardcover Verified Purchase.
James Franco is, by all accounts, a busy guy.
According to his biography, he's an actor, director, artist, and writer; according to a recent magazine article, he is attending classes at three separate graduate schools and has recently been selected to co-host the upcoming Academy Award ceremony.
That's all quite astonishing and worthy of attention, to be sure. And any artist willing to stretch himself and try something new deserves some acclaim. Unfortunately, the very best thing that can be said about his debut collection of short stories, "Palo Alto," is that it constitutes an admirable attempt. The execution is shambling, stunted, fumbling for faux-profundity that eludes even its clumsy grasp, an exercise in pointlessness that serves as a fairly damning indictment of whatever graduate writing program Franco used as a training ground for this book, as well as whatever agent and publisher found this material worthy of mass presentation.
It's not as though Franco is utterly without talent and can't pull off the occasional interesting image; take the story "Tar Baby," and his description of the lonely and empty night: The predominant theme is disaffected youth, and every story is told from the first person perspective, demonstrating little to no range; Franco's narrators skip from one incident to the next with next to no insight or reflection.
Each story is also anticlimactic, choosing simply to end abruptly without resolution. In a book of fifteen stories, the anti-climax approach can work as an arresting sort of change-up pitch a handful of times, but in every story, it simply becomes tiresome. Eventually, some of your stories need a payoff, lest they stand as only meaningless sketches, doodles of disaffected youth.
If you're going to go with abrupt endings, the material leading up to them needs to be very compelling, enough to let the reader complete the story in their minds; but in Franco's pages, even the most shocking material - a teenager who has a sexual affair with her much-older soccer coach, underage drinking and driving, vehicular homicide, or animal abuse - is all rendered in such a casual, dull, shallow manner that it provokes no profound emotions.
Palo Alto: Stories by James Franco
Like a damp matchbook, it's all essentially meaningless. Perhaps that is Franco's point here -- everything is meaningless -- but if so, why bother to capture it? The more logical conclusion is that Franco, at this point in his writing career, lacks either the interest or the ability to push his writing further.
Maybe in the future he'll write something that matters; "Palo Alto" does not. Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. If you looked at most of the stories in Palo Alto with one notable exception I'll mention in a moment on their own, you'd find them to be passable enough, I suppose.
Yes, it all feels a little bit like someone attempting to capture the excess and amorality of a Bret Easton Ellis in a high school setting, but the writing isn't bad though it undeniably needs work and the ideas are interesting. But when you read Palo Alto from front to back, it becomes a chore - a repetitive, dull slog, one in which every story is almost identical, every character indistinguishable, the excesses dull through monotony, the plots non-existent or negligible The further I got into Palo Alto, the more frustrated I got with the book, as every character spoke identically, acted identically, and brought nothing really of interest to the table.
And yet, every once in a while, there's a fine moment scattered in Palo Alto - a moment of nice loneliness in "Lockheed," an instant of self-reflection in "I Could Kill Someone" - and that's enough to make it all the more infuriating. Because it's obvious that Franco is capable of better than you see for most of Palo Alto.
And if you really doubt it - and trust me, by the end of this deadeningly dull march through tedious debauchery, you will - check out "Yellowstone," the final story in the collection. After dozens of tales of bad behavior and immorality, Franco presents the story of a young boy on a trip with his father and his younger brother, and gives you something genuinely surprising: And while it makes all the difference in the world in terms of what I thought Franco was capable of, it's in no way good enough to salvage the rest of Palo Alto.
Just awful. These stories describe the lives of teenagers living in Palo Alto in spare, simple, first-person accounts. These stories are highly polished and, similar in style and subject matter, blend together after a while, but the result is a portrait of a generation from a definite perspective, full of nihilism, decadence, longing and desire. See all reviews.
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