Read “Jamila Dedicated to the 60th Anniversary of the Author’s Literary Legacy” by Chingiz Aitmatov with Rakuten Kobo. It is a very romantic love story of Kirghiz . Aitmatov’s Jamila: An Analysis Louis Aragon’s translation of Jamila into French in made Aitmatov well-known . The Art of Chingiz Aitmatov’s Stories. This week, I wrote a guest post on her *fantastic* blog about Jamila by Chingiz Aitmatov, his first significant work first published in

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Or, get it for Kobo Super Points! But happiness is the lot of those who keep their honour and conscience clean. But what chingz I say? To me he seemed like some ’80s pop star who suddenly found himself in Kyrgyzstan through a time storm or what.

chingizz We had lots of fun together, chasing each other round the yard and laughing and laughing. Jamila always enjoyed a joke, but she was quick to check anyone who took liberties. It whirled the straw about, it crashed into a dilapidated tent at the edge of the threshing-floor and spun off like a crazy top down the road. Why do you carry such sacks? Someone passed, and it seemed as chingoz a wet wing brushed my shoulder.


The night was magnificent. I dreamed of you in the trenches and I knew that my love was in my native land. What roads are you treading? My mother apparently understood her daughter-in-law in her own way and tried to cheer her: It is difficult to explain the change that came over her–perhaps the sunset had put her mind at ease, or perhaps she felt happy after the day’s work. His voice had become a part of me, it followed me everywhere, it was with me in the morning as I ran across the wet dewy lucerne to the hobbled horses, the laughing sun rolling out from behind the mountains to greet me.


Each time I noticed that Jamila would be both stunned and touched, that she would slowly stretch her hand towards him, yet he would not see it, for he would be looking far off into the distance, his hands behind his head, swaying from side to side; then Jamila’s hand would drop helplessly on the edge of the trap.

Jamila (novel)

Once again Daniyar stood his ground. Chijgiz at Jamila, I wanted to run into the. Daniyar’s long, lanky legs dangled in a pair of enormously wide tarpaulin boots that seemed ready to slip off at any moment, while I urged my horse on by kicking my calloused heels into its sides.

The steppe, lilac in the twilight, stretched to the mountain range on the far horizon. Orozmat was apparently consoling her. I had a feeling that he wanted to rush forward and snatch Jamila away from the djigits. Who ever heard of a woman delivering sacks of grain in a trap? The Aitjatov in the Caucasus. Suddenly, Sadyk burst into the room, He was pale and his eyes were narrowed viciously as he ran up to me and shoved a piece of paper in my face. What consolation could he have found in Jamila’s words?

Aaitmatov for a second try I may watch ‘Jamila’ as a silent film, perhaps it will work better then.

Chingiz Aitmatov Quotes (Author of The Day Lasts More Than a Hundred Years)

Jamila rode ahead of me. Neither by poking fun at him, nor by ignoring him did she ever make him lose his temper. Each new step apparently caused him such pain that his head jerked back and he would stop for a second. The whole nation is bleeding. Here she would sit down in the shade and, as if afraid to be alone with herself, she would call me: So much modesty, really. Do you think there are girls who aren’t lonely and don’t miss their husbands?


Daniyar raced his horses all the way. May you recall that August night. It was my own Jamila pressing close to jwmila, so subdued and timid, with teardrops shimmering on her lashes. Where had he learned all this?

Skinny, long-legged bustards scampered past into the ravine. I sat high on the hay wagon and looked at Jamila. It was the third year of war. She tore her white kerchief from her head and dashed after her girlfriend across the mowed field, her arms flung far apart, the wind flapping the hem of her dress. Jamila was embarrassed, she blushed and then sighed softly as she looked at Daniyar. But Jamila, my djeneunderstood me. I noticed that she always blushed as she picked up the triangle.

Daniyar began to sing again. Sadyk wrote that with Allah’s help he would be home aaitmatov autumn. The war had dried in a bloody clot deep in the man’s heart and it was not easy for him to speak of it. We had completely forgotten about the huge sack and did not think about it until we were through unloading.

Drinkers of the Wind. At home Mother was in charge of everything.