One Day in the Life of 179212: Notes from an American Prison by Jens Soering

By Jens Soering

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To a correctional facility in Virginia he's referred to as Prisoner 179212. yet to a legion of reporters and felony reform activists he's Jens Soering, a German citizen who has persisted for the earlier twenty-six years the most harsh and so much unforgiving punishment this state can offer—a existence sentence with no practical wish of unencumber, which a few discuss with as "the different demise penalty." informed with dry humor, sooner or later within the lifetime of 179212 presents an hour-by-hour survey of way of life in an American medium-security facility with all of its attendant hardships, contradictions, or even revelations. Soering poignantly illustrates the significance of meditation and religion while faced with severe adversity, as well as creating a hugely compelling case for legal reform. even supposing this inspiring, eloquent memoir recounts only a day within the lifetime of one guy, very similar to Alexander Solzhenitsyn's sooner or later within the lifetime of Ivan Denisovich, it presents a strong voice for the over million women and men misplaced within the maze of America's prison-industrial advanced.

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It *The name of a beautiful princess and also title of a poem about her by Adam Mickiewicz. Cosmos  was difficult to understand such gibberish. ” He didn’t always speak in “word-monsters,” sometimes he began crazily and ended quite normally, or vice versa—the shining roundness of his bald dome, his face stuck below it, his pince-nez stuck to that, hovered above the table like a balloon—his mood often turned humorous, and he would crack jokes, mommydear, easy does it, you know the one about the bicycle and the tricycle, when Icyk* sat on a bicyk, what a tricyk, yahoo!

But . . it could be either way . . this way or that . . ” Cosmos  chapter  T he evanescence, the intangibility of it all forced us to retreat, we returned to our work, I to my manuscript, he to his notes, but my distraction did not leave me, it mounted as the evening wore on, and the deepening darkness of those places, beyond the road, at the far end of the garden, penetrated the brightness of our lamp. Now another possibility occurred to us. Who could guarantee that, in addition to the arrow we had discovered, there weren’t other signs hidden on the walls or elsewhere, in the combination of the stain above the sink and the peg that lay on top of the cupboard, for example, or in the scratches on the floor .

I returned to my room, lay down, and fell asleep faster than one would have expected. The next day we took out our books and papers and went to work—I didn’t ask him what he had done during the night—I felt reluctant to recall my own adventures in the hallway, I was like someone who had succumbed to fanciful extravagances and now feels awkward, yes, I felt awkward, but Fuks looked sheepish too and mutely turned to his calculations, which were laborious, on numerous scraps of paper, he even used logarithms, his goal being to develop a method at roulette, a method that would be, without the slightest doubt—and he knew it—humbug, tommyrot, but on which he focused all his energies because he had nothing better to do, nothing to keep him busy, his situation was hopeless, his vacation would be over in two weeks, he would then return to his office and to Drozdowski who would make superhuman efforts not to look at him, but there was no way around it because, even if he were to carry out his duties diligently, this too would be unbearable to Drozdowski .

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