What do you think?
Rate this book
Mentre un incendio divora l’uliveto di famiglia, un giovane scrittore ripercorre anni di liti domestiche, dal rapporto conflittuale con il padre fino al recente abbandono della moglie. Braccato da simili pensieri fugge verso il centro di Dulcigno, antica potenza navale ormai ridotta a parco giochi per turisti, con l’unico intento di rimediare una sbronza colossale. Ma una parata di personaggi grotteschi lo costringerà a ritornare al fulcro di ogni sua ossessione: il padre.
Questa travolgente e dissacrante parabola sui rapporti umani è valsa a Nikolaidis l’European Union Prize for Literature.
Andrej Nikolaidis (1974) è tra gli scrittori più talentuosi dell’area balcanica. Pacifista schierato, ha ricevuto numerose minacce per via delle sue denunce della tortura. Vive a Dulcigno, in Montenegro, dove lavora come editorialista per il settimanale "Monitor" ed è addetto alla cultura per il parlamento montenegrino.
Questa travolgente e dissacrante parabola sui rapporti umani è valsa a Nikolaidis l’European Union Prize for Literature.
Andrej Nikolaidis (1974) è tra gli scrittori più talentuosi dell’area balcanica. Pacifista schierato, ha ricevuto numerose minacce per via delle sue denunce della tortura. Vive a Dulcigno, in Montenegro, dove lavora come editorialista per il settimanale "Monitor" ed è addetto alla cultura per il parlamento montenegrino.
- GenresFiction
First published January 1, 2006
About the author
Andrej Nikolaidis
24 books44 followersAndrej Nikolaidis was born in 1974 in Sarajevo, to a mixed Montenegrin-Greek family. Until the age of six, he lived in the city of Ulcinj, where he returned in 1992 after the war in Bosnia erupted. Since 1994, he has written for regional independent and liberal media, as well as for cultural magazines. He is considered by many to be one of the most influential intellectuals of the younger generation in the region, known for his anti-war activism and for his promotion of the rights of minorities.
Nikolaidis also publicly defended the victims of police torture, which resulted in his receiving many threats, including a death threat during a live radio appearance. He has often stated that he considers freedom of speech to be the basis of freedom.
He has worked as a columnist in the weekly magazine Monitor and for publications including Vijesti (Montenegro), Dnevnik (Slovenia), Slobodna Bosna (Bosnia-Herzegovina), E-novine (Serbia), and Koha Ditore (Kosovo). Since 2010, he has been employed as an advisor for culture and free society in the parliament of Montenegro.
Nikolaidis also publicly defended the victims of police torture, which resulted in his receiving many threats, including a death threat during a live radio appearance. He has often stated that he considers freedom of speech to be the basis of freedom.
He has worked as a columnist in the weekly magazine Monitor and for publications including Vijesti (Montenegro), Dnevnik (Slovenia), Slobodna Bosna (Bosnia-Herzegovina), E-novine (Serbia), and Koha Ditore (Kosovo). Since 2010, he has been employed as an advisor for culture and free society in the parliament of Montenegro.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 60 reviews
May 17, 2024
Cinsellik dahil hayattaki hiçbir şeyden keyif almayan beyaz erkek hikayelerinden biri daha. Bu temaya karşıyım demiyorum. Bernhard ya da Genazino yaptığında işleyen ve güzel eserler ortaya çıkaran bir tema. Ama bu kitap olmamış. Her şeye salt bir nefret duyuyorum, kendi varoluşumdan dahi tiksiniyorum demekten başka bir şey yapmıyor yazar. Bu nefreti okurun içselleştirebileceği bazı doneler verse kabul edilebilir olur. Ama yazar Balkanlardaki karmaşayı dahi düzgün bir şekilde kullanmıyor. Varoluşun kötülüğü kadar kötü roman ortaya çıkıyor. Hayattan bu denli tiksintinin psikolojik temelini sermeli ya da bunu okunmaya değer edebi şekilde yazmalı. Kısacık olmasına karşın harcadığım vakte üzüldüm.
September 6, 2023
Przeczytałam, bo chciałam podczas pobytu w Czarnogórze czytać powieść z akcją w tym miejscu. I fajnie się czytało o miejscach, będąc w nich.
Ale poza tym ta książka mnie zmęczyła przemocą i brakiem nadziei. Nie sięgnęłabym po nią, gdyby nie podróż do Czarnogóry.
Ale poza tym ta książka mnie zmęczyła przemocą i brakiem nadziei. Nie sięgnęłabym po nią, gdyby nie podróż do Czarnogóry.
April 21, 2024
داستان کتاب پسر (The Son) به‌قلم آندری نیکولایدیس (Andrej Nikolaidis)، شبی از زندگی قهرمانی بی‌نام را دنبال می‌کند. شاید دقیق‌تر باشد که راوی یا قهرمان این رمان کوتاه (نوولا) را به‌عنوان یک ضدقهرمان توصیف کنیم، که تا حدودی یادآور پاتریک بیتمن است. همین ویژگی باعث جذابیت و گیرایی داستان نیکولایدیس شده است. علیرغم دیدگاه‌های تند و گاه خشن راوی نسبت به موضوع انسانیت، توصیفات نویسنده آنقدر رسا و شفاف هستند که خواننده نوعی از صمیمیت خاص را در متن احساس خواهد کرد. تصمیم نیکولایدیس برای ناشناس گذاشتن شخصیت اصلیِ داستان نیز جذاب است، خواننده به درونی‌ترین افکار و عذاب‌های دوران کودکی پسر دسترسی پیدا می‌کند؛ درحالی‌که هرگز حتی نام او را نخواهد دانست! راوی داستان کتاب پسر به‌عنوان یک شخصیت همه‌جانبه انتخاب شده و درباره‌ی غرق شدن در انسانیت شکایت می‌کند، ش��ایتی که شاید بسیاری از افراد به‌سادگی جرئت ابرازش را نداشته باشند.
April 29, 2024
کتاب خیلی عجیبی بود. با اینکه همه‌ش ۱۳۵ صفحه‌ست، یه روند عجیبی داشت که وقتی می‌خوام برای یکی تعریفش کنم اندازه ۱۳۰ صفحه باید حرف بزنم.
برای همین نمی‌دونم چی بگم ازش. شرح سرگشتگی پسر. پسری که زنش دیروز ترکش کرده. سال‌هاست با پدرش صحبت نمی‌کنه. از همه چیز و همه‌کس شاکیه. شایدم فقط بی‌توجهه. هیچی براش مهم نیست... نمی‌دونم. از دنیا متنفره و حالا داره حرف می‌زنه. داره چیزهایی که می‌بینه رو شرح میده. داره شرح میده تا ما هم تو این دنیا باهاش سهیم شیم. ما هم بفهمیم چه حس و حالی داره. چطور اینطور فکر می‌کنه. چرا اینطوره.
ممکنه باهاش موافق نباشی، اما می‌فهمیش. واقعا و عمیقا می‌فهمیش.
یه جاهایی من رو یاد جسپر جز از کل می‌انداخت.
یه جاهایی من رو یاد تلخی مرگ قسطی می‌انداخت.
پر بود از ارجاع‌های مختلف به اتفاق‌ها، نقاشی‌ها، موسیقی‌ها و شعرها و کتاب‌ها.
بیش از همه چیز برام طرح جلدش عجیب بود. لحظه‌ای که شروع کرد حرف زدن از چیزی که ما تصویرش رو روی جلد می‌بینیم، قشنگ احساساتم دگرگون شد. اولش فکر می‌کردم یه چیز بانمکه، بعد هی می‌خونی و می‌بینی این چیزا که اصلا بانمک نیستن، پس این چه طرح جلدیه واقعا... تا می‌رسه به اونجا. می‌رسه به یادآوری افسانه فلوت‌زن هملین...
پ.ن: می‌خواستم ازش هزارتا بریده منتشر کنم. :)) ولی مشکلش این بود که یهو کل کتاب رو می‌بایست تایپ می‌کردم. پس خودم رو متوقف کردم و پیشنهاد میکنم اگه حوصله یه چیز دارک دارید بخونیدش.
برای همین نمی‌دونم چی بگم ازش. شرح سرگشتگی پسر. پسری که زنش دیروز ترکش کرده. سال‌هاست با پدرش صحبت نمی‌کنه. از همه چیز و همه‌کس شاکیه. شایدم فقط بی‌توجهه. هیچی براش مهم نیست... نمی‌دونم. از دنیا متنفره و حالا داره حرف می‌زنه. داره چیزهایی که می‌بینه رو شرح میده. داره شرح میده تا ما هم تو این دنیا باهاش سهیم شیم. ما هم بفهمیم چه حس و حالی داره. چطور اینطور فکر می‌کنه. چرا اینطوره.
ممکنه باهاش موافق نباشی، اما می‌فهمیش. واقعا و عمیقا می‌فهمیش.
یه جاهایی من رو یاد جسپر جز از کل می‌انداخت.
یه جاهایی من رو یاد تلخی مرگ قسطی می‌انداخت.
پر بود از ارجاع‌های مختلف به اتفاق‌ها، نقاشی‌ها، موسیقی‌ها و شعرها و کتاب‌ها.
بیش از همه چیز برام طرح جلدش عجیب بود. لحظه‌ای که شروع کرد حرف زدن از چیزی که ما تصویرش رو روی جلد می‌بینیم، قشنگ احساساتم دگرگون شد. اولش فکر می‌کردم یه چیز بانمکه، بعد هی می‌خونی و می‌بینی این چیزا که اصلا بانمک نیستن، پس این چه طرح جلدیه واقعا... تا می‌رسه به اونجا. می‌رسه به یادآوری افسانه فلوت‌زن هملین...
پ.ن: می‌خواستم ازش هزارتا بریده منتشر کنم. :)) ولی مشکلش این بود که یهو کل کتاب رو می‌بایست تایپ می‌کردم. پس خودم رو متوقف کردم و پیشنهاد میکنم اگه حوصله یه چیز دارک دارید بخونیدش.
June 4, 2024
《البته خودت بهتر میدونی که هر تعریفی کاملا بی فایده‌ست. پذیرش هر ایده‌ای خودش دقیقا به این معنیه که ما به قدر کافی بهش فکر نکرده‌ایم. چون هر چیزی رو به محض اینکه دوبار بهش فکر کنی برات غیرقابل پذیرش میشه.》
March 26, 2024
خوب بود. سبکش رو دوست داشتم. نویسنده یه واقعیت رو به نمایش گذاشته بود. افراد فرو دست با زندگی درهم در یه محیط کوچک! کلیشه پدر قهرمان و اثرگذار و پر تلاش، سقوطش به واسطه از دست دادن زنش! و گرفتار شدن پسر به همون سرنوشت پدر...
March 27, 2024
راوی به شدت منو یاد مارتین و جسپر جز از کل انداخت
از متن:
اوضاع نه به خاطر من هیچ‌وقت خراب شد، نه به لطف من هیچ‌وقت خوب. اتفاق‌ها همیشه می‌افتند و من تنها تماشاچی‌ام.
از متن:
اوضاع نه به خاطر من هیچ‌وقت خراب شد، نه به لطف من هیچ‌وقت خوب. اتفاق‌ها همیشه می‌افتند و من تنها تماشاچی‌ام.
August 1, 2024
داداش کوچیکه‌ی «جز از کل».
July 29, 2024
همیشه می‌گفت: "این‌جا ما با زره‌پوشِ دانش از گزند دنیا مصونیم." حالا ققسه‌ها شده بود جان‌پناهِ مگس‌های مرده و فضله‌پوش.
شاهکار مسلم
و حتما آثار دیگر این نویسنده(که به تازگی شناختم) را دنبال خواهم کرد
شاهکار مسلم
و حتما آثار دیگر این نویسنده(که به تازگی شناختم) را دنبال خواهم کرد
August 23, 2019
Less digressive than The Coming, but still loose in its plot and aimless in its distracted stroll toward yet another mildly revelatory closing. It sort of reads like one of Thomas Bernhard's monologists narrating a perverse satire of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, set in post-Communist Montenegro. (And Bernhard is in fact name-checked here.) Darkly amusing at times but in general a rather bleak affair.
One moment of blind faith in anything, even in the most utter nonsense, brings a person more happiness than all the reason and knowledge in the world; for reason and knowledge do nothing but destroy any possibility of happiness and reveal everything we've tried to link our life to as worthless. That's why we float like balloons, bloated to bursting point with reason, just waiting for the moment when one tiny extra bit of knowledge will blow us to smithereens – when our body, as fragile as the membrane of a balloon, explodes from the despair which fills us.
July 4, 2017
2011 Avrupa Birliği Edebiyat Ödülü almış bu novellada yazarın diğer bir kitabı Kıyamet gibi karanlık bir kitap. Fakat Oğul’un anti kahramanı fazlasıyla –bence- gerçekçi. Toplumsal nezaketten, reflekslerden çok etkilenmemiş değerlendirmelere sahip. İnceltmiyor, empati kurmuyor, olduğu gibi anlatıyor. Bana Ian McEwan’ın İlk Aşk Son Törenler kitabındaki soğukkanlılığını hatırlattı. McEwan’ın olayları anlatışı ne kadar tarafsızsa Nikolaidis’in de durum/ilişki değerlendirmeleri o kadar soğukkanlı. Can acıtan, acımasız, ürkütücü ama itiraz edilemeyecek doğruluğa sahip. Gerçeğin bu kadar net olması insanı ürkütüyor bir bakıma.
3,5dan 4 yıldız verdim.
Spoilers:
“sadece çocuklar ve budalalar arkadaş edinebilir…çocuklar ve budalalar.. dışında başka kim, en derin düşünce ve duygularımızı açacak kadar güvenebileceğimiz, işler sarpa sardığında, işler gerçekten de hep böyledir, yardım edecek yüce gönüllü ve iyi insanların var olduğuna inanır.”
“.. yani Gazali haklıydı; cehennemdeyim çünkü hazlar ile çevriliyim. Sartre de haklıydı cehennem başkalarıdır derken. Onların hazzı benim cehennemim.”
En beğendiğim satırlar ise:
“..iyi kalpli olmak, benliğini aşma ve kendi doğası üzerinde yükselmek demektir; bu yüzden “iyi insan” denilenler “iyiliklerini” kendilerine unutulmaz bir haz yaratmak için kullanırlar, bu bir insanın hissedebileceği en derin hazlardandır. Kendi iyiliklerinin tadını öyle bir çıkarırlar ki geri kalanımızdan onlar için bir şey yapmasını falan beklemezler. Aslında onlara ne kadar kötü davranırsak, bize o kadar iyi davranırlar ve bunun karşılığında duydukları haz da bir o kadar artar. “
İyi okumalar.
3,5dan 4 yıldız verdim.
Spoilers:
“sadece çocuklar ve budalalar arkadaş edinebilir…çocuklar ve budalalar.. dışında başka kim, en derin düşünce ve duygularımızı açacak kadar güvenebileceğimiz, işler sarpa sardığında, işler gerçekten de hep böyledir, yardım edecek yüce gönüllü ve iyi insanların var olduğuna inanır.”
“.. yani Gazali haklıydı; cehennemdeyim çünkü hazlar ile çevriliyim. Sartre de haklıydı cehennem başkalarıdır derken. Onların hazzı benim cehennemim.”
En beğendiğim satırlar ise:
“..iyi kalpli olmak, benliğini aşma ve kendi doğası üzerinde yükselmek demektir; bu yüzden “iyi insan” denilenler “iyiliklerini” kendilerine unutulmaz bir haz yaratmak için kullanırlar, bu bir insanın hissedebileceği en derin hazlardandır. Kendi iyiliklerinin tadını öyle bir çıkarırlar ki geri kalanımızdan onlar için bir şey yapmasını falan beklemezler. Aslında onlara ne kadar kötü davranırsak, bize o kadar iyi davranırlar ve bunun karşılığında duydukları haz da bir o kadar artar. “
İyi okumalar.
July 22, 2024
کتاب واقعاً عجیبی بود، تمام روایت در یک شب معمولی اتفاق می‌افتد ولی بینش راوی همه چیز رو به شکلی متحیر کننده نشون میده.
به شدت ارزش خوندن داره و در آینده حتماً دوباره مطالعه میکنم چون به نظرم با یک‌بار خوندن نمیشه تمام جنبه‌های اثر رو فهمید.
به شدت ارزش خوندن داره و در آینده حتماً دوباره مطالعه میکنم چون به نظرم با یک‌بار خوندن نمیشه تمام جنبه‌های اثر رو فهمید.
May 15, 2024
Questo romanzo, scritto dal montenegrino Andrej Nikolaidis ha vinto il premio "Strega Europeo" nel 2015. Intenso e toccante narra una storia che si svolge in brevissimo tempo e che vede come protagonista un giovane scrittore, Aleksandar, che nella stessa notte si ritrova ad affrontare due eventi sconvolgenti per la sua vita: l'abbandono da parte della moglie e l'incendio dell'uliveto di famiglia. Sullo sfondo di tale situazione abbastanza destabilizzante, il libro offre anche una profonda riflessione sui legami familiari e sul senso di colpa che può prendere chiunque. Infatti in preda alla disperazione, Aleksandar vaga per le strade della città montenegrina di Dulcigno, ripercorrendo con la memoria gli anni di liti familiari e il rapporto conflittuale con il padre. La prosa è originale e coinvolgente e capace di trasmettere al lettore le emozioni del protagonista. Tuttavia, la narrazione in prima persona e i frequenti flash back possono aiutare da una parte a ricostruire la storia del narratore, ma dall’altra parte rendono un po’ frammentario il racconto e appesantiscono la lettura.
January 29, 2024
Bu dondurucu kış günlerinde; kavurucu yaz güneşinin yaktığı baş kahramanın dünyasına adım atarak başlayan novella, arızalı bir karakter dramasını en başından muştuluyor. Travmatik ve yalnız bir çocukluk, ilgisiz ve sevgisiz geçen günler, hayalsiz ve hedefsiz bir hayat. Bu cehennemden zoraki bir kaçış.
Her biri hayatta kısa zamanda kolay kolay görülmeyecek tuhaf tiplerle garip rastlantılar sonucu gerçekleşen karşılaşmalar. Mutsuzluk için var olmanın yeterli olduğuna getirilen kanaat.
Uzun yıllar akla gelmeyen ve çözülemeyen bir muamma.
Dış seslerin iç seslere karıştığı ve tek çıkar yolun aslında hep yanıbaşında olana dönüş olduğunu kavrayış.
Anlaşılması ve sindirilmesi pek de kolay olmayan içeriğe sahip bu faklı eser, fon için tavsiye edilen müzik ve şarkı listesiyle de ilginç bir okuma deneyimi yaşatıyor.
Her biri hayatta kısa zamanda kolay kolay görülmeyecek tuhaf tiplerle garip rastlantılar sonucu gerçekleşen karşılaşmalar. Mutsuzluk için var olmanın yeterli olduğuna getirilen kanaat.
Uzun yıllar akla gelmeyen ve çözülemeyen bir muamma.
Dış seslerin iç seslere karıştığı ve tek çıkar yolun aslında hep yanıbaşında olana dönüş olduğunu kavrayış.
Anlaşılması ve sindirilmesi pek de kolay olmayan içeriğe sahip bu faklı eser, fon için tavsiye edilen müzik ve şarkı listesiyle de ilginç bir okuma deneyimi yaşatıyor.
February 29, 2024
ترجمه کتاب از نشر چشمه به نام "کتاب پسر" را خواندم.
ترجمه بسیار روان و داستان پر کششی بود، پیش از شروع کتاب درباره منفی نگری نویسنده شنیده بودم و آشنایی با این سبک تفکر در بطن داستان بسیار حس همذات پنداری مخاطب را تحریک می‌کرد.
قسمت‌های زیادی از این کتاب را بیش از یک‌بار خواندم و حتی یادداشت کردم.
.
.
.
از متن کتاب:
زنده بودن مصیبت قاطع و بی‌تردیدی است که جز اشک چیزی به بار نمی‌آورد.
.
.
زندگی از حیث یاس و ناکامی بین همه‌مان عدالت و مساوات برقرار می‌کند،
.
.
او رفته بود و همه چیز رسیده بود به هیچ‌چیز.
ترجمه بسیار روان و داستان پر کششی بود، پیش از شروع کتاب درباره منفی نگری نویسنده شنیده بودم و آشنایی با این سبک تفکر در بطن داستان بسیار حس همذات پنداری مخاطب را تحریک می‌کرد.
قسمت‌های زیادی از این کتاب را بیش از یک‌بار خواندم و حتی یادداشت کردم.
.
.
.
از متن کتاب:
زنده بودن مصیبت قاطع و بی‌تردیدی است که جز اشک چیزی به بار نمی‌آورد.
.
.
زندگی از حیث یاس و ناکامی بین همه‌مان عدالت و مساوات برقرار می‌کند،
.
.
او رفته بود و همه چیز رسیده بود به هیچ‌چیز.
May 16, 2020
Olumsuzdan beslenen, yaşamın her alanını kötülüğe bağlamaktan haz alan, bunun hep böyle olduğundan ve olacağından emin olan, E.Cioran/T.Bernhard ile aşık atan ve epeyce beceren, aslında bununla insanın sadece hayvani/leptil/limbik sistemini pohpohlayan sistemi yeniden üreten, toplumsal yaşamıyla hayvani güdülerini yenmeye çalışarak gelişen kortikal beyni yok sayan, insandan iyilik, erdem, daha iyi bir toplumsal yaşam çıkmaz diyen bir edebiyat.
Bana göre değil bu kadarı: Tek uçlu, onarılmaz, kaderci yanı çok ezici, neticede 81.sf.da "Dünyayı geliştirme çabasıyla, hayatı herkese daha da zorlaştırırsın." diyerek, müesses nizama teslimiyete çağıran Nihilist, itaatkâr, kinik bir edebiyat.
Bana göre değil bu kadarı: Tek uçlu, onarılmaz, kaderci yanı çok ezici, neticede 81.sf.da "Dünyayı geliştirme çabasıyla, hayatı herkese daha da zorlaştırırsın." diyerek, müesses nizama teslimiyete çağıran Nihilist, itaatkâr, kinik bir edebiyat.
May 23, 2024
نسخه‌ی ضعیف‌تری از کتاب یادداشت‌های زیرزمینی داستایوسکی. نویسنده با دستمایه روابط خانوادگی به هر سوراخ اگزیستانسی سرک می‌کشد و درباره‌ی آن وراجی می‌کند. حضور شخصیت‌هایی اتفاقی گاهی داستانک‌هایی را برای ایجاد تنوع در حرف‌هایش به‌وجود می‌آورد اما نه صحبت‌ها آنقدر عمیق هستند نه شخصیت وراج شخصیت‌پردازی می‌شود. برای من صرفا دریچه خاص نویسنده به برخی پدیده‌ها جذاب بود و باعث شد تا ته خودم را بکشانم.
January 12, 2021
Bezimienny pisarz wyrusza w podróż wgłąb siebie - wędrując po ulicach czarnogórskiego miasta Ulcinj. Jego wędrówka zasadza się na relacji z ojcem - człowiekiem bardzo bliskim, mieszkającym nieopodal, z którym jednak łączy pisarza bardzo trudna relacja. Obwiniany o śmierć matki, nie jest w stanie nawiązać z ojcem nici porozumienia, a ten konflikt rzutuje na jego pojmowanie świata.
Wyruszając na ulice turystycznego miasta, pisarz spotyka przeróżne postaci - trudno powiedzieć, czy są to realne spotkania czy oniryczne wizje, istotnym jest, że temat relacji ojca i syna przewija się niemal w każdym spotkaniu. Jest więc ojciec, który prostytuuje swoje córki, jest szkolny kolega, który stracił kontakt z synem, syn, który zabija ojca czy też rodzina chorych na trąd uchodźców z Kosowa, której ojciec decyduje, że życie w postsowieckim podziemnym garażu jest dla nich najlepsze. Ten korowód dziwacznych postaci przypomina wędrówkę po piekle - każda historia odkrywa bezmiar ludzkiego okrucieństwa lub nieszczęścia. Czarnogórskie piekło tworzą jednak w pierwszej linii turyści, którzy zalewają ulice miasta i zachowują się jak zwierzęta. Obraz tak bardzo mi bliski, jak pewnie każdemu, kto mieszka w turystycznej okolicy.
Ciąg dalszy: http://przeczytalamksiazke.blogspot.c...
Wyruszając na ulice turystycznego miasta, pisarz spotyka przeróżne postaci - trudno powiedzieć, czy są to realne spotkania czy oniryczne wizje, istotnym jest, że temat relacji ojca i syna przewija się niemal w każdym spotkaniu. Jest więc ojciec, który prostytuuje swoje córki, jest szkolny kolega, który stracił kontakt z synem, syn, który zabija ojca czy też rodzina chorych na trąd uchodźców z Kosowa, której ojciec decyduje, że życie w postsowieckim podziemnym garażu jest dla nich najlepsze. Ten korowód dziwacznych postaci przypomina wędrówkę po piekle - każda historia odkrywa bezmiar ludzkiego okrucieństwa lub nieszczęścia. Czarnogórskie piekło tworzą jednak w pierwszej linii turyści, którzy zalewają ulice miasta i zachowują się jak zwierzęta. Obraz tak bardzo mi bliski, jak pewnie każdemu, kto mieszka w turystycznej okolicy.
Ciąg dalszy: http://przeczytalamksiazke.blogspot.c...
December 16, 2013
The Son, a novel by Andrej Nikolaidis opened with a quote by Thomas Bernhard. I took that as a good sign, and, possibly, an indicator of things to come. Would the novel be morose yet shaped by grim humour? I hoped so, and my expectations were met amply in this dour, yet bleakly funny book. Author Andrej Nikolaidis was born in 1974 and brought up in Sarajevo, Bosnia/Herzegovina, but is of Greek-Montenegrin background. In 1992, Nikolaidis and his family moved to Ulcinj, in Montenegro.
The narrator of the book is a nameless writer, and as the title indicates, he’s the son of a “blighted family.” He lives in isolation on a hillside in the middle of his family’s olive grove, “fifty hectares of viper-and-boar-infested scrub blocking our view of the sea.” He hasn’t seen or spoken to his father who’s in bed,”paralyzed by the depression which had abused him for two years,” even though they live just a few yards apart. Stuck in his own swamp of depression, our narrator rants, moans and complains about a range of things–his ex (she finally got the gumption to leave), and the tourists who litter the landscape.
Our narrator is repulsed by the human race and does not exclude himself from his savage, unforgiving, pessimistic commentary. Unable to read anything but the most lurid crime stories, and unable to masturbate, he acknowledges that his “own hunger for the grotesque will destroy” him. Freud could have written a book about this character if he ever sought professional help, but these days, we’d throw Prozac at the problem. The bitterness, the ennui, disgust, and self-loathing all add up to a narrator who’s fun to read but a real downer to live with–hence the departed Mrs. and who could blame her? Even the narrator admits that they had a “fragile and bloodless” marriage, which was tested to breaking point, as they lived, stuck together in a small, smelly house for two years. Our insomniac narrator finds mild interest in life through the most outrageous stories about serial killers.
For two whole years I hadn’t read anything except the crime column in the newspaper. The only things which still interested me were crime news and books about serial killers. It was as though only overt eruptions of evil could jolt me out of my indifference. I no longer had the energy for the hermeneutics of evil. That was behind me now. I could no longer stand searching for evil in the everyday actions of so-called ‘ordinary people’. Instead I chose vulgar manifestations of evil. If a man killed thirty people and buried them under his house, that still had a wow factor for me.
Events take our narrator out of his self-imposed isolation and out into town for the evening, and most of the book chronicles his misadventures and encounters with various people. These encounters include a meeting with an old school friend, talking to a Muslim preacher, an assignation with a prostitute and a surreal run-in with a family of lepers who live in an abandoned underground Soviet era parking garage. Everything the narrator sees appears to underscore his life view that “everyone abuses everyone else” and that ”human misfortune doesn’t derive from a social system of a geographical location, but from existence itself.”
This is just a short book, but author Andrej Nikolaidis packs a lot in these bleak, wickedly funny pages. There’s no down-time between diatribes as the narrator vents against the human race with a wide range of subjects which include cannibalism, PC porn, the comparison between being a writer and a pimp, crime (“every family home can turn into a slaughterhouse,”) and the “impertinence of beggars.“
For its bitter, morose humour, The Son should appeal to fans of Thomas Bernhard. Extra house points must be awarded to Andrej Nikolaidis for having the wit, intelligence and balls to take a literary baseball bat to the knees of one of the most over quoted sentences from the giant of Russian literature: Tolstoy. This event takes place in an underground car park and the father of a family of lepers tells the narrator that they stay underground, because they’re “happy there” away from the society that rejects and ridicules them for their afflictions. The narrator sardonically notes that the leper is ”unaware that he’d just convincingly refuted Tolstoy, who claimed that all happy families are happy in the same way.” Yet that realization underscores an encounter the narrator has with another family–Djuro and his daughters–all prostitutes. Djuro drives a car a “rusted red Moskvich with ‘Dirty Djuro and Daughters: Sex for Every Pocket’ painted on the side.” The family home, located in a cellar, is a “ three-room brothel,” and the narrator is confronted by the fact that even though Djuro, “endowed with entrepreneurial spirit,” has condemned his daughters to a life of degradation and prostitution, they still worship him. In spite of the narrator’s bleak world view, it’s these encounters that somehow, strangely, show how the human spirit endures–in spite of humiliation, degradation, and the bleakness of the human condition. Perhaps this paradox can be explained by the contrast between our self-focused narrator and those he encounters–people who genuinely lead miserable lives and yet find some sort of philosophy to transcend tragedy and cope with life.
The phone rang. A friend was calling to tell me that a DVD edition of the film Cannibal Holocaust had just arrived from America.
“What’s that?” I asked him.
“A film about an expedition of film-makers, who come across a tribe of cannibals in the Amazon jungle,” he said.
“Sounds good for starters. What happens after that?”
“Nothing much–the rest of the film is about the cannibals eating them. ….”
The narrator of the book is a nameless writer, and as the title indicates, he’s the son of a “blighted family.” He lives in isolation on a hillside in the middle of his family’s olive grove, “fifty hectares of viper-and-boar-infested scrub blocking our view of the sea.” He hasn’t seen or spoken to his father who’s in bed,”paralyzed by the depression which had abused him for two years,” even though they live just a few yards apart. Stuck in his own swamp of depression, our narrator rants, moans and complains about a range of things–his ex (she finally got the gumption to leave), and the tourists who litter the landscape.
Our narrator is repulsed by the human race and does not exclude himself from his savage, unforgiving, pessimistic commentary. Unable to read anything but the most lurid crime stories, and unable to masturbate, he acknowledges that his “own hunger for the grotesque will destroy” him. Freud could have written a book about this character if he ever sought professional help, but these days, we’d throw Prozac at the problem. The bitterness, the ennui, disgust, and self-loathing all add up to a narrator who’s fun to read but a real downer to live with–hence the departed Mrs. and who could blame her? Even the narrator admits that they had a “fragile and bloodless” marriage, which was tested to breaking point, as they lived, stuck together in a small, smelly house for two years. Our insomniac narrator finds mild interest in life through the most outrageous stories about serial killers.
For two whole years I hadn’t read anything except the crime column in the newspaper. The only things which still interested me were crime news and books about serial killers. It was as though only overt eruptions of evil could jolt me out of my indifference. I no longer had the energy for the hermeneutics of evil. That was behind me now. I could no longer stand searching for evil in the everyday actions of so-called ‘ordinary people’. Instead I chose vulgar manifestations of evil. If a man killed thirty people and buried them under his house, that still had a wow factor for me.
Events take our narrator out of his self-imposed isolation and out into town for the evening, and most of the book chronicles his misadventures and encounters with various people. These encounters include a meeting with an old school friend, talking to a Muslim preacher, an assignation with a prostitute and a surreal run-in with a family of lepers who live in an abandoned underground Soviet era parking garage. Everything the narrator sees appears to underscore his life view that “everyone abuses everyone else” and that ”human misfortune doesn’t derive from a social system of a geographical location, but from existence itself.”
This is just a short book, but author Andrej Nikolaidis packs a lot in these bleak, wickedly funny pages. There’s no down-time between diatribes as the narrator vents against the human race with a wide range of subjects which include cannibalism, PC porn, the comparison between being a writer and a pimp, crime (“every family home can turn into a slaughterhouse,”) and the “impertinence of beggars.“
For its bitter, morose humour, The Son should appeal to fans of Thomas Bernhard. Extra house points must be awarded to Andrej Nikolaidis for having the wit, intelligence and balls to take a literary baseball bat to the knees of one of the most over quoted sentences from the giant of Russian literature: Tolstoy. This event takes place in an underground car park and the father of a family of lepers tells the narrator that they stay underground, because they’re “happy there” away from the society that rejects and ridicules them for their afflictions. The narrator sardonically notes that the leper is ”unaware that he’d just convincingly refuted Tolstoy, who claimed that all happy families are happy in the same way.” Yet that realization underscores an encounter the narrator has with another family–Djuro and his daughters–all prostitutes. Djuro drives a car a “rusted red Moskvich with ‘Dirty Djuro and Daughters: Sex for Every Pocket’ painted on the side.” The family home, located in a cellar, is a “ three-room brothel,” and the narrator is confronted by the fact that even though Djuro, “endowed with entrepreneurial spirit,” has condemned his daughters to a life of degradation and prostitution, they still worship him. In spite of the narrator’s bleak world view, it’s these encounters that somehow, strangely, show how the human spirit endures–in spite of humiliation, degradation, and the bleakness of the human condition. Perhaps this paradox can be explained by the contrast between our self-focused narrator and those he encounters–people who genuinely lead miserable lives and yet find some sort of philosophy to transcend tragedy and cope with life.
The phone rang. A friend was calling to tell me that a DVD edition of the film Cannibal Holocaust had just arrived from America.
“What’s that?” I asked him.
“A film about an expedition of film-makers, who come across a tribe of cannibals in the Amazon jungle,” he said.
“Sounds good for starters. What happens after that?”
“Nothing much–the rest of the film is about the cannibals eating them. ….”
August 11, 2024
هی می‌گفتم چقدر آشناست... چقدر دوستش دارم! ری‌ویوها رو که خوندم دیدم همه گفتن شبیه جز از کله! آفرررین خودشه :) خیلی لذت بردم و دلم می‌خواست طولانی‌تر می‌بود.
April 5, 2024
محتوای خوب ترجمه بد و پرسانسور
November 13, 2017
Recensione originale: https://sonnenbarke.wordpress.com/201...
Cominciamo subito col dire che questo libro è disponibile in italiano: è stato tradotto nel 2014 da Zandonai con il titolo che ho indicato in oggetto, Nel nome del figlio. Io l'ho letto in inglese per l'unico motivo che l'ho comprato nel 2013, quando ancora non sapevo che ci sarebbe stata una traduzione italiana. Il libro è originariamente scritto in montenegrino e nel 2011 ha vinto lo European Prize for Literature.
Il breve romanzo, appena 115 pagine, non è per niente brutto, tutt'altro, ma io non l'ho apprezzato, purtroppo. Forse se lo rileggessi fra un po' di tempo mi piacerebbe di più, non lo escludo. Forse non era il momento giusto, il suo momento.
In realtà è scritto molto bene, anche se in questo caso chiaramente non posso giudicare l'originale ma sono la traduzione letta da me. E non solo lo stile è ottimo, anche la storia è interessante. E tuttavia mi è rimasto indigesto, forse per la cupezza, sebbene, com'è noto, non si possa certo dire che io rifugga davanti ai romanzi/racconti cupi, anzi.
La copertina dice che si tratta della storia di una notte della vita del protagonista, ma questo è vero in parte. Certamente la storia si svolge nell'arco di un pomeriggio/sera/notte/mattino successivo, tuttavia è piena di ricordi che passano per la mente del protagonista, quindi quello che dice la quarta di copertina non è esatto.
Ad ogni modo, la storia segue appunto il protagonista, che non ha nome, in meno di 24 ore della sua vita, dopo che la moglie l'ha lasciato andandosene di casa. Il protagonista vaga per la città di Dulcigno, in Montenegro, in preda a ricordi di cui ci rende partecipi. E in questo suo vagare incontra numerosi personaggi che lo fanno affondare ancora di più nel suo male di vivere: per esempio, il vecchio compagno di scuola che era costantemente preso di mira dai bulli, i quali alla fine gli avevano spezzato le braccia mentre il protagonista, suo amico, guardava da lontano mangiando il suo pranzo; oppure l'uomo che vende tre delle sue figlie come prostitute in uno scantinato del paese, e altri ancora. Ognuno di questi personaggi finisce per raccontare al protagonista la storia della propria vita, oppure in altri casi è il protagonista stesso a raccontarcela. E queste vite inevitabilmente, inestricabilmente si intrecciano.
Il protagonista è affetto da un male di vivere inguaribile che lo porta a vedere tutto lo schifo presente in tutte le cose del mondo: ad esempio, il fatto che siamo tutti sporchi, perché la nostra normale condizione è la sporcizia e non la pulizia. Oppure, sempre concentrandosi sullo schifo, il protagonista si interessa alle storie di serial killer, e ci racconta di alcuni cannibali di cui ha letto. Il protagonista crede che il mondo sia un enorme, gigantesco schifo, e non vuole niente, non vuole apparire, non vuole fare, non vuole prendere decisioni, vuole solo passare inosservato, come dirà lui stesso.
L'apatia e il desiderio di non fare si estendono a tal punto che l'uomo si arrabbia ferocemente quando la madre, malata terminale di cancro, gli chiede la grazia di ucciderla. E non si infuria, come potremmo pensare, perché non condivide il desiderio della madre, ma perché le rinfaccia di non averlo fatto lei stessa quando ne aveva ancora la possibilità, le rinfaccia di chiederlo proprio a lui, che non vuole assumersi la responsabilità di niente.
Scopriamo ben presto che il protagonista ha un rapporto orribile con il padre, che non vede da tantissimo tempo sebbene siano vicini di casa, e che questo pessimo rapporto è dato da un terribile senso di colpa che il protagonista non riesce a cancellare: quando erano bambini, suo fratello Milan cadde da un albero, morendo, ed era stato proprio il protagonista a sfidarlo a salirvi. Nonostante ciò, il padre tutte le sere gli dava il bacio della buonanotte e non parlava mai dell'accaduto di fronte a lui, e questo per il protagonista è sempre stato peggio di una punizione. La mancanza di punizione è stata per lui una punizione peggiore di quanto avrebbe potuto essere una vera punizione. Il protagonista non sopporta il perdono.
Questo tema, come vedremo, ricorrerà in alcuni dei suoi incontri, in particolare in quello che fa subito dopo questa rivelazione: incontra per la strada un assembramento di persone che commentano un delitto appena avvenuto. È troppo complicato da spiegare in due parole, ma diciamo solo che un figlio ha ucciso suo padre, precisamente perché suo padre lo ha perdonato ogni volta, anche dopo morti che sono state causate dal figlio stesso. Anche questo ragazzo non sopportava il peso del perdono, e per questo ha ucciso. Il protagonista non uccide, ma marcisce nel putridume di una vita senza senso.
Il finale è particolare e inaspettato, in un certo senso mi ha piacevolmente sorpresa, ma non è servito comunque a farmi amare il libro.
Nonostante le mie personali riserve, sinceramente mi sento di consigliare questo libro, perché merita, e il fatto che a me non sia piaciuto è una mera questione di gusto personale che non vuole togliere nulla ai meriti del romanzo.
Per finire vi voglio lasciare il link a due recensioni che mi sono piaciute molto: una, breve, in italiano e l'altra, più dettagliata, in inglese.
Cominciamo subito col dire che questo libro è disponibile in italiano: è stato tradotto nel 2014 da Zandonai con il titolo che ho indicato in oggetto, Nel nome del figlio. Io l'ho letto in inglese per l'unico motivo che l'ho comprato nel 2013, quando ancora non sapevo che ci sarebbe stata una traduzione italiana. Il libro è originariamente scritto in montenegrino e nel 2011 ha vinto lo European Prize for Literature.
Il breve romanzo, appena 115 pagine, non è per niente brutto, tutt'altro, ma io non l'ho apprezzato, purtroppo. Forse se lo rileggessi fra un po' di tempo mi piacerebbe di più, non lo escludo. Forse non era il momento giusto, il suo momento.
In realtà è scritto molto bene, anche se in questo caso chiaramente non posso giudicare l'originale ma sono la traduzione letta da me. E non solo lo stile è ottimo, anche la storia è interessante. E tuttavia mi è rimasto indigesto, forse per la cupezza, sebbene, com'è noto, non si possa certo dire che io rifugga davanti ai romanzi/racconti cupi, anzi.
La copertina dice che si tratta della storia di una notte della vita del protagonista, ma questo è vero in parte. Certamente la storia si svolge nell'arco di un pomeriggio/sera/notte/mattino successivo, tuttavia è piena di ricordi che passano per la mente del protagonista, quindi quello che dice la quarta di copertina non è esatto.
Ad ogni modo, la storia segue appunto il protagonista, che non ha nome, in meno di 24 ore della sua vita, dopo che la moglie l'ha lasciato andandosene di casa. Il protagonista vaga per la città di Dulcigno, in Montenegro, in preda a ricordi di cui ci rende partecipi. E in questo suo vagare incontra numerosi personaggi che lo fanno affondare ancora di più nel suo male di vivere: per esempio, il vecchio compagno di scuola che era costantemente preso di mira dai bulli, i quali alla fine gli avevano spezzato le braccia mentre il protagonista, suo amico, guardava da lontano mangiando il suo pranzo; oppure l'uomo che vende tre delle sue figlie come prostitute in uno scantinato del paese, e altri ancora. Ognuno di questi personaggi finisce per raccontare al protagonista la storia della propria vita, oppure in altri casi è il protagonista stesso a raccontarcela. E queste vite inevitabilmente, inestricabilmente si intrecciano.
Il protagonista è affetto da un male di vivere inguaribile che lo porta a vedere tutto lo schifo presente in tutte le cose del mondo: ad esempio, il fatto che siamo tutti sporchi, perché la nostra normale condizione è la sporcizia e non la pulizia. Oppure, sempre concentrandosi sullo schifo, il protagonista si interessa alle storie di serial killer, e ci racconta di alcuni cannibali di cui ha letto. Il protagonista crede che il mondo sia un enorme, gigantesco schifo, e non vuole niente, non vuole apparire, non vuole fare, non vuole prendere decisioni, vuole solo passare inosservato, come dirà lui stesso.
L'apatia e il desiderio di non fare si estendono a tal punto che l'uomo si arrabbia ferocemente quando la madre, malata terminale di cancro, gli chiede la grazia di ucciderla. E non si infuria, come potremmo pensare, perché non condivide il desiderio della madre, ma perché le rinfaccia di non averlo fatto lei stessa quando ne aveva ancora la possibilità, le rinfaccia di chiederlo proprio a lui, che non vuole assumersi la responsabilità di niente.
Scopriamo ben presto che il protagonista ha un rapporto orribile con il padre, che non vede da tantissimo tempo sebbene siano vicini di casa, e che questo pessimo rapporto è dato da un terribile senso di colpa che il protagonista non riesce a cancellare: quando erano bambini, suo fratello Milan cadde da un albero, morendo, ed era stato proprio il protagonista a sfidarlo a salirvi. Nonostante ciò, il padre tutte le sere gli dava il bacio della buonanotte e non parlava mai dell'accaduto di fronte a lui, e questo per il protagonista è sempre stato peggio di una punizione. La mancanza di punizione è stata per lui una punizione peggiore di quanto avrebbe potuto essere una vera punizione. Il protagonista non sopporta il perdono.
Questo tema, come vedremo, ricorrerà in alcuni dei suoi incontri, in particolare in quello che fa subito dopo questa rivelazione: incontra per la strada un assembramento di persone che commentano un delitto appena avvenuto. È troppo complicato da spiegare in due parole, ma diciamo solo che un figlio ha ucciso suo padre, precisamente perché suo padre lo ha perdonato ogni volta, anche dopo morti che sono state causate dal figlio stesso. Anche questo ragazzo non sopportava il peso del perdono, e per questo ha ucciso. Il protagonista non uccide, ma marcisce nel putridume di una vita senza senso.
Il finale è particolare e inaspettato, in un certo senso mi ha piacevolmente sorpresa, ma non è servito comunque a farmi amare il libro.
Nonostante le mie personali riserve, sinceramente mi sento di consigliare questo libro, perché merita, e il fatto che a me non sia piaciuto è una mera questione di gusto personale che non vuole togliere nulla ai meriti del romanzo.
Per finire vi voglio lasciare il link a due recensioni che mi sono piaciute molto: una, breve, in italiano e l'altra, più dettagliata, in inglese.
September 3, 2024
خسته کننده بود
May 2, 2020
I´ve heard more than once that the relationship with your parents influences at a great extent the way you relate to the world and other humans in general. I am not convinced about that in my case, but The Son, by Andrej Nikolaidis - originally published in Montenegrin as Sin, translated by Will Firth, published by Istros Books - spins at a great extent on a disfunctional/missed father-son connection. Nikolaidis is born in Sarajevo, in a Montenegrin-Greek family and is a political advisor, columnist and novelist living in Montenegro.
The book is short, a little bit over 100 pages, and takes place within 24 hours. An unnamed writer with no noticeable work, living in the city of Ulcinj - situated in the Southern part of the city, with a significant Albanian population, according to various tourim-related online sources - is left by his wife. His failed marriage just happened. ´Things never fail because of me, nor do they go off well thanks to me. They always happen with me as a bystander. I just adapt to them´. This is how he imagined his life to be as a child: ´As a child I imagined life as an enormous desert which I had to walk through while trying not to distirb a thing or to leave any trace´. What about his writing career? Why is he doing it after all? There is not answer to that during the aimless wandering journey through life and dreams of this anonymous character which looks so familiar with the soul broken characters of the Central European literature.
A diluted Freudian, he is carrying with him a trauma: ´The trauma I carry with me from my earliest years is my father´. Hence, his radical view on parenthood and family in general: ´As long as they live, parents destroy their children, and their children pay them back for it and don´t relinquish their thirst for vengeance until they´ve sent their parents to the grave. Every family home can turn into a slaughterhouse. A tiny catalyst of just a single word is often all it takes for the history of abuse and hatred hidden under a semblance of harmony and love like in an old-fashioned memento chest, to end in bloodshed´. Fragments of dreams and realities are recomposing in a spinning-way over and over again, with different characters but similar pattern which excludes beauty and kindness and a break from internalizing the projection of trauma. There is no end to the nightmare. The son is obsessed with the father as a source of power and opression and an existential threat as much as the father is obsessed with the son, as his projection of ownership.
The wandering anonymous writer is misanthropic, cruel, cynical and emotionally unstable in his obsession. It seems his obsession of the father´s obsession is breaking him into the cruel pieces of non-existence.
I´ve seen previous reviews outlining the influence of Gargoyles by the Austrian writer Thomas Bernhard. I´ve only read Old Masters by Bernhard long ago so I cannot delve into this specific reference.
The Son by Andrej Nikolaidis, that won the European Prize for Literature in 2011, is not an easy read as filled with a deep dark mood of Weltschmerz. No cure, not too much courage to end it up, all is left is to fill then the files of the notebook with one single word.
Rating: 3.5 stars
Disclaimer: Book offered by the publisher in exchange for an honest review
The book is short, a little bit over 100 pages, and takes place within 24 hours. An unnamed writer with no noticeable work, living in the city of Ulcinj - situated in the Southern part of the city, with a significant Albanian population, according to various tourim-related online sources - is left by his wife. His failed marriage just happened. ´Things never fail because of me, nor do they go off well thanks to me. They always happen with me as a bystander. I just adapt to them´. This is how he imagined his life to be as a child: ´As a child I imagined life as an enormous desert which I had to walk through while trying not to distirb a thing or to leave any trace´. What about his writing career? Why is he doing it after all? There is not answer to that during the aimless wandering journey through life and dreams of this anonymous character which looks so familiar with the soul broken characters of the Central European literature.
A diluted Freudian, he is carrying with him a trauma: ´The trauma I carry with me from my earliest years is my father´. Hence, his radical view on parenthood and family in general: ´As long as they live, parents destroy their children, and their children pay them back for it and don´t relinquish their thirst for vengeance until they´ve sent their parents to the grave. Every family home can turn into a slaughterhouse. A tiny catalyst of just a single word is often all it takes for the history of abuse and hatred hidden under a semblance of harmony and love like in an old-fashioned memento chest, to end in bloodshed´. Fragments of dreams and realities are recomposing in a spinning-way over and over again, with different characters but similar pattern which excludes beauty and kindness and a break from internalizing the projection of trauma. There is no end to the nightmare. The son is obsessed with the father as a source of power and opression and an existential threat as much as the father is obsessed with the son, as his projection of ownership.
The wandering anonymous writer is misanthropic, cruel, cynical and emotionally unstable in his obsession. It seems his obsession of the father´s obsession is breaking him into the cruel pieces of non-existence.
I´ve seen previous reviews outlining the influence of Gargoyles by the Austrian writer Thomas Bernhard. I´ve only read Old Masters by Bernhard long ago so I cannot delve into this specific reference.
The Son by Andrej Nikolaidis, that won the European Prize for Literature in 2011, is not an easy read as filled with a deep dark mood of Weltschmerz. No cure, not too much courage to end it up, all is left is to fill then the files of the notebook with one single word.
Rating: 3.5 stars
Disclaimer: Book offered by the publisher in exchange for an honest review
July 22, 2024
عنوان کتاب و تصویر روی جلد کتاب این تصور را به وجود می‌آورد که کتابی با مایه طنز و نوجوانانه روبروی شماست اما با شروع کتاب با مردی مواجه می‌شوید که دارد تمام اتفاقات ناگوار زندگی‌اش را از همین اول کتاب روایت می‌کند.
نگاه آندری نیکولایدیس در سراسر کتاب، سیاه، تلخ و پر از ناامیدی و یک‌جور نفرت از آدم‌هاست.
هر چه که برخمان در کتاب «آدمی، یک تاریخ نویدبخش» در مغزمان فرو کرده بود که ذات بشر نیک است، نیکولایدیس در کتاب پسر، اصرار داشت که چکیده نهاد آدمی، شرور و خبیث است و این زندگی بی‌ارزش.
دلیلِ آوردن این همه تاریکی و تنفر از آدم‌ها در داستانِ این نویسنده بوسنیایی، برای من مشخص نشد و اینکه چرا به یک‌باره در اواخر داستان، جرقه‌های امید در ذهنش روشن شد؛ و چرا هر ماجرایی که به شرارت انسان برمی‌گشت در یک گشت شبانه‌ی او در شهر برایش اتفاق افتاد.
ناگفته نماند نکات فنی نویسندگی قوی‌ای در داستان وجود داشت که با ترجمه خوب محمدرضا فرزاد برجسته‌تر شدند.
نگاه آندری نیکولایدیس در سراسر کتاب، سیاه، تلخ و پر از ناامیدی و یک‌جور نفرت از آدم‌هاست.
هر چه که برخمان در کتاب «آدمی، یک تاریخ نویدبخش» در مغزمان فرو کرده بود که ذات بشر نیک است، نیکولایدیس در کتاب پسر، اصرار داشت که چکیده نهاد آدمی، شرور و خبیث است و این زندگی بی‌ارزش.
دلیلِ آوردن این همه تاریکی و تنفر از آدم‌ها در داستانِ این نویسنده بوسنیایی، برای من مشخص نشد و اینکه چرا به یک‌باره در اواخر داستان، جرقه‌های امید در ذهنش روشن شد؛ و چرا هر ماجرایی که به شرارت انسان برمی‌گشت در یک گشت شبانه‌ی او در شهر برایش اتفاق افتاد.
ناگفته نماند نکات فنی نویسندگی قوی‌ای در داستان وجود داشت که با ترجمه خوب محمدرضا فرزاد برجسته‌تر شدند.
July 23, 2024
کتابی پر از مفاهیم عمیق ، دارک و بدبین به ماهیت بشر و زندگی! ذهن نویسنده خلاق و شلختس ! حرف برای گفتن زیاد دارم ولی فعلا موکول میکنم به بعد!
December 10, 2018
It is a very good thing that this book is short, because any more would be too much.
For most of the book, the character is an extreme parody of the main character in Sartre's "Nausea". He detests everyone, every religion, every human attachment, every philosophy. Apart from this, he seems to have no ideas of his own, except one interesting one: forgiveness brings humiliation instead of redemption. This is touched on a few times, and then dropped. The narrator flees his house after a devastating fire -- not due to despair, but rather to avoid having to interact with his father or receive condolences from neighbours. He wanders the tourist town overnight, meeting bizarre characters who serve only to provide him with more to disdain.
Eventually, he meets someone who is more or less like himself. He is at first appreciative, then, without missing a beat, changes his entire perspective on life. "Aha!", you think, "everything up to now has been a straw man which the author will now proceed to demolish." But the denouement is perfunctory and unconvincing.
For most of the book, the character is an extreme parody of the main character in Sartre's "Nausea". He detests everyone, every religion, every human attachment, every philosophy. Apart from this, he seems to have no ideas of his own, except one interesting one: forgiveness brings humiliation instead of redemption. This is touched on a few times, and then dropped. The narrator flees his house after a devastating fire -- not due to despair, but rather to avoid having to interact with his father or receive condolences from neighbours. He wanders the tourist town overnight, meeting bizarre characters who serve only to provide him with more to disdain.
Eventually, he meets someone who is more or less like himself. He is at first appreciative, then, without missing a beat, changes his entire perspective on life. "Aha!", you think, "everything up to now has been a straw man which the author will now proceed to demolish." But the denouement is perfunctory and unconvincing.
August 19, 2019
I wrote about this book in conjunction with Bernhard's Gargoyles here: https://roughghosts.com/2015/01/26/ch...
Bernhard is a huge influence and an imagined presence in this book.
Bernhard is a huge influence and an imagined presence in this book.
June 4, 2024
📚 کتاب پسر
✍ آندری نیکولایدس
📑 نشر چشمه
🌍 ترجمه‌ی محمدرضا فرزاد
🇧🇦 ادبیات شرق اروپا (بوسنی و هرزگوین)
⭐ امتیاز من به کتاب: ۳ از ۵
تا حالا به این فکر کردی که بدونِ مجازات بخشیده شدن ترسناک‌تره، یا اینکه یه خانواده‌ی جذامی دنبالت کنند؟
سه‌گانه‌ی نیکولایدس از سه نوولا تشکیل شده: "کتاب پسر"، "بازگشت" و سومین نوولا که در دست ترجمه هستش و هنوز منتشر نشده.
⭐ امتیاز من به کتاب: ۳ از ۵
⭐ امتیاز کتاب در گودریدز: ۳.۶۴ از ۵
✍ آندری نیکولایدس
📑 نشر چشمه
🌍 ترجمه‌ی محمدرضا فرزاد
🇧🇦 ادبیات شرق اروپا (بوسنی و هرزگوین)
⭐ امتیاز من به کتاب: ۳ از ۵
تا حالا به این فکر کردی که بدونِ مجازات بخشیده شدن ترسناک‌تره، یا اینکه یه خانواده‌ی جذامی دنبالت کنند؟
اوضاع نه به‌خاطر من هیچ‌وقت خراب شد ، نه به لطف من هیچ‌وقت خوب. اتفاق‌ها همیشه می‌افتند و من تنها تماشاچی‌ام. فقط خودم را باشان وفق می‌دهم.
شخصیت اصلی داستان، توی حرارت و هرمِ اتاقش از خواب بیدار میشه، از بوی تندِ عرقی که رخت‌خواب و اتاقش رو پر کرده حالش به‌هم می‌خوره و متوجه میشه که همسرش ترکش کرده... درواقع همسرش از این وضعیت نکبت‌وار فرار کرده! حالا نگران کدوم مشکلش باشه؟ فرار کردن همسرش از دستش؟ ارتباطِ پرتنشی که با پدرش داره؟ مزرعه‌ی خانوادگیشون که باز هم داره روی تپه می‌سوزه؟ یا تک‌تک انسان‌های مفلوک، بدبخت و بیچاره‌ای که حالا قراره توی مسیرش قرار بگیرند و روزش رو از این هم بدتر کنند؟! باید نگران فقرای جذامی باشه یا نگران آدخوارها؟!
نیکولایدس ذهن خلاقی داره! پر از ایده‌های جدید که سخته بشه داخل یه نوولای ۱۳۰ صفحه‌ای به همه‌شون شاخ‌وبرگ داد.
نیکولایدس ذهن آشفته و شلخته‌ای داره! انتظار نداشته باشید که یک داستان با یک خط داستانیِ معمولی جلوتون بذاره. بهش حق بدین اگر از این شاخه به اون شاخه بپره یا وسط تعریف کردنِ یه اتفاق، یه ماجرای دیگه رو شروع کنه و بعدش هم سراغ اتفاق اصلی برنگرده؛ بلکه یه ماجرای دیگه رو شروع کنه!
کتاب پر از جملات و پاراگراف‌هاییه که دوست دارین بهش فکر کنین، توی ذهنتون حک کنید؛ یا حداقل زیرش رو خط بکشید.
سه‌گانه‌ی نیکولایدس از سه نوولا تشکیل شده: "کتاب پسر"، "بازگشت" و سومین نوولا که در دست ترجمه هستش و هنوز منتشر نشده.
⭐ امتیاز من به کتاب: ۳ از ۵
⭐ امتیاز کتاب در گودریدز: ۳.۶۴ از ۵
Read
December 28, 2017The narrator of The Son is not doing so well. His wife just left him and as the story starts, his greatuncle's orchard, in which the narrator lives, burns down. To get away from the commotion he moves through the Montenegrin city of Ulcinj at night, where he meets all kinds of strange figures.
This setup could still mean it can be any kind of story. It could be a story of heartbreak, a comedy, the philosophical reflections of a man who has lost too much too quickly. Instead, The Son is a strange and darkly funny book about a misanthrope who turns his evident (except to him) self-hatred inside out and despises every person and thing around him.
For me, the humour was good, but the structure felt too loose most of the time, and some things just didn't make sense. For example, the stranger who randomly knows everything about his life and holds a longs monologue is a puzzling presence in the book he didn't add much for me. It was a nice enough read but if it had been much longer I'd have disliked it. The mere gall spewing thing does not work for a longer time, that's probably why Nikolaidis chose to keep the novel short.
This setup could still mean it can be any kind of story. It could be a story of heartbreak, a comedy, the philosophical reflections of a man who has lost too much too quickly. Instead, The Son is a strange and darkly funny book about a misanthrope who turns his evident (except to him) self-hatred inside out and despises every person and thing around him.
For me, the humour was good, but the structure felt too loose most of the time, and some things just didn't make sense. For example, the stranger who randomly knows everything about his life and holds a longs monologue is a puzzling presence in the book he didn't add much for me. It was a nice enough read but if it had been much longer I'd have disliked it. The mere gall spewing thing does not work for a longer time, that's probably why Nikolaidis chose to keep the novel short.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 60 reviews