Jag läser romanen The Dutch House av Ann Patchett
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“The Dutch House was impossible. I had never had that thought before. When Maeve told me that our mother had hated it, I couldn´t even understand what she was saying. The walls of the powder room were bas-relief, swallows carved into walnut, swallows shooting through flowered stalks towards a crescent moon. The panels hade been carved in Italy in the early 1920s and shipped over in crates to be installed in the downstairs powder room. How many years of someone´s life had gone into carving those walls in some other country?
“I would guess at least half the students in my class would rather have been anywhere else. We were fulfilling the expectations that had been set for us: the sons of doctors were expected to become doctors so as to honor tradition; the sons of immigrants were expected to become doctors in order to make a better life for their families; the sons who had been driven to work the hardest and be the smartest were expected to become doctors because back in the day medicine was still where the smart kids went.