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禺丕讴爻鬲乇 诏乇賲
賳孬乇 賲丕乇丕卅蹖 丿乇 乇賲丕賳 禺丕讴爻鬲乇 诏乇賲貙 賳孬乇蹖 氐丨蹖丨 賵 丿賯蹖賯 賵 賲賵卮讴丕賮丕賳賴 賵 乇卅丕賱蹖爻鬲 丕爻鬲. 賲丨賵乇 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 讴賴 丿乇亘丕乇賴鈥屰� 蹖讴 賲孬賱孬 毓卮賯蹖 丕爻鬲貙 鬲丕夭诏蹖 賳丿丕乇丿 賵 亘賴丕賳賴鈥屫й� 亘蹖卮 賳蹖爻鬲. 丌賳鈥屭嗁� 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳 乇丕 賲鬲賲丕蹖夭 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀� 噩爻丕乇鬲 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 丿乇 爻丕禺鬲丕乇 鬲噩乇亘蹖 丕孬乇 丕爻鬲貙 丌賳 賴賲 丿賴鈥屬囏� 爻丕賱 倬蹖卮 丕夭 賲蹖賱丕賳 讴賵賳丿乇丕 賵 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 賴賲鈥屬嗀迟� 丕賵. 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘賴 賮乇丕爻賵蹖 爻丕禺鬲丕乇 讴賱蹖卮賴鈥屫й� 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 賲蹖鈥屫辟堌� 賵 亘賴 丌賳 亘購毓丿蹖 賮賱爻賮蹖 賵 乇賵丕賳卮賳丕禺鬲蹖 賲蹖鈥屫囏� 夭蹖乇丕 乇賲丕賳 丿乇 賵丕賯毓 丿乇亘丕乇賴鈥屰� 賵爻賵丕爻 賮讴乇蹖貙 鬲丨賯蹖賯 賵 讴丕賵卮 丿乇亘丕乇賴鈥屰� 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 丕賳爻丕賳貙 睾賲 賵 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲 亘丕 乇爻蹖丿賳 亘賴 讴賲丕賱 倬禺鬲诏蹖貙 倬匕蹖乇賮鬲賳 蹖讴 丿乇丕賲 乇賵丕賳蹖 丕爻鬲.
200 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1942
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About the author
S谩ndor M谩rai
185听books1,142听followersS谩ndor M谩rai (originally S谩ndor K谩roly Henrik Grosschmied de M谩ra) was a Hungarian writer and journalist.
He was born in the city of Kassa in Austria-Hungary (now Ko拧ice in Slovakia) to an old family of Saxon origin who had mixed with magyars through the centuries. Through his father he was a relative of the Orsz谩g-family. In his early years, M谩rai travelled to and lived in Frankfurt, Berlin, and Paris and briefly considered writing in German, but eventually chose his mother language, Hungarian, for his writings. He settled in Krisztinav谩ros, Budapest, in 1928. In the 1930s, he gained prominence with a precise and clear realist style. He was the first person to write reviews of the work of Kafka.
He wrote very enthusiastically about the Vienna Awards, in which Germany forced Czechoslovakia and Romania to give back part of the territories which Hungary lost in the Treaty of Trianon. Nevertheless, M谩rai was highly critical of the Nazis as such and was considered "profoundly antifascist," a dangerous position to take in wartime Hungary.
Marai authored forty-six books, mostly novels, and was considered by literary critics to be one of Hungary's most influential representatives of middle class literature between the two world wars. His 1942 book Embers (Hungarian title: A gyerty谩k csonkig 茅gnek, meaning "The Candles Burn Down to the Stump") expresses a nostalgia for the bygone multi-ethnic, multicultural society of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, reminiscent of the works of Joseph Roth. In 2006 an adaptation of this novel for the stage, written by Christopher Hampton, was performed in London.
He also disliked the Communist regime that seized power after World War II, and left 鈥� or was driven away 鈥� in 1948. After living for some time in Italy, M谩rai settled in the city of San Diego, California, in the United States.
He continued to write in his native language, but was not published in English until the mid-1990s. M谩rai's Memoir of Hungary (1944-1948) provides an interesting glimpse of post World War II Hungary under Soviet occupation. Like other memoirs by Hungarian writers and statesmen, it was first published in the West, because it could not be published in the Hungary of the post-1956 K谩d谩r era. The English version of the memoir was published posthumously in 1996. After his wife died, M谩rai retreated more and more into isolation. He committed suicide by a gunshot to his head in San Diego in 1989.
Largely forgotten outside of Hungary, his work (consisting of poems, novels, and diaries) has only been recently "rediscovered" and republished in French (starting in 1992), Polish, Catalan, Italian, English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Czech, Danish, Icelandic, Korean, Dutch, and other languages too, and is now considered to be part of the European Twentieth Century literary canon.
He was born in the city of Kassa in Austria-Hungary (now Ko拧ice in Slovakia) to an old family of Saxon origin who had mixed with magyars through the centuries. Through his father he was a relative of the Orsz谩g-family. In his early years, M谩rai travelled to and lived in Frankfurt, Berlin, and Paris and briefly considered writing in German, but eventually chose his mother language, Hungarian, for his writings. He settled in Krisztinav谩ros, Budapest, in 1928. In the 1930s, he gained prominence with a precise and clear realist style. He was the first person to write reviews of the work of Kafka.
He wrote very enthusiastically about the Vienna Awards, in which Germany forced Czechoslovakia and Romania to give back part of the territories which Hungary lost in the Treaty of Trianon. Nevertheless, M谩rai was highly critical of the Nazis as such and was considered "profoundly antifascist," a dangerous position to take in wartime Hungary.
Marai authored forty-six books, mostly novels, and was considered by literary critics to be one of Hungary's most influential representatives of middle class literature between the two world wars. His 1942 book Embers (Hungarian title: A gyerty谩k csonkig 茅gnek, meaning "The Candles Burn Down to the Stump") expresses a nostalgia for the bygone multi-ethnic, multicultural society of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, reminiscent of the works of Joseph Roth. In 2006 an adaptation of this novel for the stage, written by Christopher Hampton, was performed in London.
He also disliked the Communist regime that seized power after World War II, and left 鈥� or was driven away 鈥� in 1948. After living for some time in Italy, M谩rai settled in the city of San Diego, California, in the United States.
He continued to write in his native language, but was not published in English until the mid-1990s. M谩rai's Memoir of Hungary (1944-1948) provides an interesting glimpse of post World War II Hungary under Soviet occupation. Like other memoirs by Hungarian writers and statesmen, it was first published in the West, because it could not be published in the Hungary of the post-1956 K谩d谩r era. The English version of the memoir was published posthumously in 1996. After his wife died, M谩rai retreated more and more into isolation. He committed suicide by a gunshot to his head in San Diego in 1989.
Largely forgotten outside of Hungary, his work (consisting of poems, novels, and diaries) has only been recently "rediscovered" and republished in French (starting in 1992), Polish, Catalan, Italian, English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Czech, Danish, Icelandic, Korean, Dutch, and other languages too, and is now considered to be part of the European Twentieth Century literary canon.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 4,368 reviews
May 3, 2019
I鈥檝e been on a binge reading Hungarian authors lately and Sandor Marai is the master. This is the 6th book of his I have read.
The time is during the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1899. An isolated man has been waiting 41 years for a visit from his former best friend from army days and now he has appeared. His 90-year old nanny and man servant run the household and even hold hunts on the property, but the main character, 鈥榯he general,鈥� as he is called, does not appear in public.
The ex-friend had an affair with his wife 40 years ago and he has one question to ask him: did his (now deceased) wife know that his friend intended to kill him while they were out hunting in 1899 and make it look like an accident? The friend obviously did not kill him and instead left the army and fled town.
The entire story takes place over one dusk to dawn night, largely as an extended monologue from the offended party speaking to his guest when he appears when they are now both in their 70鈥檚.
They had been great friends in the army although the main character was a natural-born soldier while the other man, like his wife, was interested in music and culture, so somehow 鈥渄ifferent.鈥�
Here鈥檚 an example of the style of writing:
鈥淚t was the moment that separates night from day, the underworld from the world above. And perhaps other things separate themselves out, too. It is the last second, when the depths and the heights, the dark and the light, of the world and the men still brush against each other, when sleepers waken with a start from troubling dreams, when the sick begin to groan because they sense that the nightly hell is nearing its end and now more distinct pain will begin again. Light and the natural ordering that accompanies the day will separate and tease out the layers of desire, the secret longings, the twitches of excitement that had been tangled in the darkness of the night. Both huntsmen and their game love this moment. It is no longer dark, it is not yet light. The forest smells so raw and wild, as if every living thing 鈥� plants, animals, people 鈥� were slowly coming back to consciousness in the dormitory of the world, exhaling all their secrets and bad thoughts.鈥�
I liked these passages:
鈥淎s you know, one can look at things or a room in one of two ways: as if seeing them for the first time or seeing them for the last.鈥�
鈥淓very exercise of power incorporates a faint, almost imperceptible, element of contempt for those over whom the power is exercised. One can only dominate another human soul if one knows, understands, and with the utmost tact despises the person one is subjugating.鈥�
A good read and really a classic masterpiece. The author (1900-1989) published 46 books and so far only a half-dozen or so have been translated into English so hopefully we have many more to look forward to.
Austro-Hungarian cavalry uniforms from uniformology.com
Sketch of the author from cf.behance.net
The time is during the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1899. An isolated man has been waiting 41 years for a visit from his former best friend from army days and now he has appeared. His 90-year old nanny and man servant run the household and even hold hunts on the property, but the main character, 鈥榯he general,鈥� as he is called, does not appear in public.
The ex-friend had an affair with his wife 40 years ago and he has one question to ask him: did his (now deceased) wife know that his friend intended to kill him while they were out hunting in 1899 and make it look like an accident? The friend obviously did not kill him and instead left the army and fled town.
The entire story takes place over one dusk to dawn night, largely as an extended monologue from the offended party speaking to his guest when he appears when they are now both in their 70鈥檚.
They had been great friends in the army although the main character was a natural-born soldier while the other man, like his wife, was interested in music and culture, so somehow 鈥渄ifferent.鈥�
Here鈥檚 an example of the style of writing:
鈥淚t was the moment that separates night from day, the underworld from the world above. And perhaps other things separate themselves out, too. It is the last second, when the depths and the heights, the dark and the light, of the world and the men still brush against each other, when sleepers waken with a start from troubling dreams, when the sick begin to groan because they sense that the nightly hell is nearing its end and now more distinct pain will begin again. Light and the natural ordering that accompanies the day will separate and tease out the layers of desire, the secret longings, the twitches of excitement that had been tangled in the darkness of the night. Both huntsmen and their game love this moment. It is no longer dark, it is not yet light. The forest smells so raw and wild, as if every living thing 鈥� plants, animals, people 鈥� were slowly coming back to consciousness in the dormitory of the world, exhaling all their secrets and bad thoughts.鈥�
I liked these passages:
鈥淎s you know, one can look at things or a room in one of two ways: as if seeing them for the first time or seeing them for the last.鈥�
鈥淓very exercise of power incorporates a faint, almost imperceptible, element of contempt for those over whom the power is exercised. One can only dominate another human soul if one knows, understands, and with the utmost tact despises the person one is subjugating.鈥�
A good read and really a classic masterpiece. The author (1900-1989) published 46 books and so far only a half-dozen or so have been translated into English so hopefully we have many more to look forward to.
Austro-Hungarian cavalry uniforms from uniformology.com
Sketch of the author from cf.behance.net
July 26, 2023
Human beings may learn everything they want about the true nature of relationships, but this knowledge will make them not one whit the wiser.
Usually, it is reading a book that stirs up the memory of reading another book. This time it was a painting for a change.
During a museum visit, this painting by Rik Wouters (1882-1916) reminded me of a crucial, pivotal scene in Embers, a novel that I loved so much I re-read it several times after first listening to it in instalments on the radio. The resurgence of this glowing memory made me smile, because it reminded me how the aesthetic joy that the work of both the writer and the painter offered me in that period also were in some way connected. I fondly recall how delighted I was when I was gifted on the day my son was born, and on top of that discovering in it a bookmark with a painting of Rik Wouters, all in the year of visiting an exhibition presenting an overview of the art of Rik Wouters in Brussels which made quite an impression on me.
Passion has no footing in reason. Passion is indifferent to reciprocal emotion, it needs to express itself to the full, live itself to the very end, no matter if all it receives in return is kind feelings, courtesy, friendship, or mere patience. Very great passion is hopeless, if not it would be not passion at all but some cleverly calculated arrangement, an exchange of lukewarm interests. You have hated me, and that makes for as strong a bond as if you had loved me.
Reading Embers turned S谩ndor M谩rai (1900-1989) into a favourite writer, making me wish to read everything of his that had been translated into my mother tongue and eagerly await further translations because I noticed more of his work was translated into French and German - even if I was a little disappointed by some of his books because they merely seemed to mimic and echo the format of this beloved book which mostly consists of a soliloquy by an old aristocrat, Henrik addressed to a friend he knew since his youth, Konrad. That similarity in form for instance impaired .
Glancing through it another time, my gaze hooks into underlined passages, and once again I savour the languid, melancholy sentences, M谩rai鈥檚 reflections on fate and friendship and on the power and wrecking impact of music which are reminiscent of Tolstoy鈥檚 novella 'The Kreutzer Sonata":
I hate music. I hate this incomprehensible, melodious language which select people can understand and use to say uninhibited, irregular things that are probably indecent and immoral. Because music鈥檚 power is inexpressible, it seems to carry a larger danger in that it has the power to arouse the deepest emotions in people who come together to listen to it and discover that it is their fate to belong to each other.
He came from a world where soft music lilted through dining rooms and ballrooms and salons, but not the way his friend liked it. It was played to make life sweeter and more festive, to make women鈥檚 eyes flash and men鈥檚 vanity throw sparks. Konrad鈥檚 music, on the other hand, didn鈥檛 offer forgetfulness; it aroused people to feelings of passions and guilt, and demanded that people be truer to themselves in heart and mind. Such music is upsetting.
A bitter and brilliant meditation on the human passions, illusions, fate, friendship, loyalty and betrayal this intense tale of love, rage and revenge gripped me like few other books ever did.
What is the value of a friendship in which one person loves the other for his virtue, his loyalty, his steadfastness? What is the value of a love that expects loyalty?
Usually, it is reading a book that stirs up the memory of reading another book. This time it was a painting for a change.
During a museum visit, this painting by Rik Wouters (1882-1916) reminded me of a crucial, pivotal scene in Embers, a novel that I loved so much I re-read it several times after first listening to it in instalments on the radio. The resurgence of this glowing memory made me smile, because it reminded me how the aesthetic joy that the work of both the writer and the painter offered me in that period also were in some way connected. I fondly recall how delighted I was when I was gifted on the day my son was born, and on top of that discovering in it a bookmark with a painting of Rik Wouters, all in the year of visiting an exhibition presenting an overview of the art of Rik Wouters in Brussels which made quite an impression on me.
Passion has no footing in reason. Passion is indifferent to reciprocal emotion, it needs to express itself to the full, live itself to the very end, no matter if all it receives in return is kind feelings, courtesy, friendship, or mere patience. Very great passion is hopeless, if not it would be not passion at all but some cleverly calculated arrangement, an exchange of lukewarm interests. You have hated me, and that makes for as strong a bond as if you had loved me.
Reading Embers turned S谩ndor M谩rai (1900-1989) into a favourite writer, making me wish to read everything of his that had been translated into my mother tongue and eagerly await further translations because I noticed more of his work was translated into French and German - even if I was a little disappointed by some of his books because they merely seemed to mimic and echo the format of this beloved book which mostly consists of a soliloquy by an old aristocrat, Henrik addressed to a friend he knew since his youth, Konrad. That similarity in form for instance impaired .
Glancing through it another time, my gaze hooks into underlined passages, and once again I savour the languid, melancholy sentences, M谩rai鈥檚 reflections on fate and friendship and on the power and wrecking impact of music which are reminiscent of Tolstoy鈥檚 novella 'The Kreutzer Sonata":
I hate music. I hate this incomprehensible, melodious language which select people can understand and use to say uninhibited, irregular things that are probably indecent and immoral. Because music鈥檚 power is inexpressible, it seems to carry a larger danger in that it has the power to arouse the deepest emotions in people who come together to listen to it and discover that it is their fate to belong to each other.
He came from a world where soft music lilted through dining rooms and ballrooms and salons, but not the way his friend liked it. It was played to make life sweeter and more festive, to make women鈥檚 eyes flash and men鈥檚 vanity throw sparks. Konrad鈥檚 music, on the other hand, didn鈥檛 offer forgetfulness; it aroused people to feelings of passions and guilt, and demanded that people be truer to themselves in heart and mind. Such music is upsetting.
A bitter and brilliant meditation on the human passions, illusions, fate, friendship, loyalty and betrayal this intense tale of love, rage and revenge gripped me like few other books ever did.
What is the value of a friendship in which one person loves the other for his virtue, his loyalty, his steadfastness? What is the value of a love that expects loyalty?
September 23, 2023
An old man hiding in the castle鈥� The General living a life of recluse in a single room鈥� An inner hermit for forty one years鈥�
He receives a letter with the news that his childhood friend will visit him today鈥� He鈥檚 waiting and recalls his life鈥�
He dreams of revenge鈥� His friend arrives鈥� They dine and have a long talk鈥� The General's monologue sounds exactly like a confession鈥� Recollections of the distant past鈥� Three ruined lives鈥�
Decades elapsed but the embers of the past are still smoldering.
He lived here as an invalid lives within the space he has learned to inhabit. As if the room had been tailored to his body. Years passed without him setting foot in the other wing of the castle, in which salon after salon opened one into the next, first green, then blue, then red, all hung with gold chandeliers.
He receives a letter with the news that his childhood friend will visit him today鈥� He鈥檚 waiting and recalls his life鈥�
Light and time erase the contours and distinctive shading of the faces. One has to angle the image this way and that until it catches the light in a particular way and one can make out the person whose features have been absorbed into the blank surface of the plate. It is the same with our memories. But then one day light strikes from a certain angle and one recaptures a face again.
He dreams of revenge鈥� His friend arrives鈥� They dine and have a long talk鈥� The General's monologue sounds exactly like a confession鈥� Recollections of the distant past鈥� Three ruined lives鈥�
All that was left was the waiting and the thirst for revenge 鈥� and now that the waiting is over and the time for revenge is here, I am amazed to feel how hopeless it all is, and the pointlessness of anything we could learn or admit or fight out between us. I understand the reality. Time is a purgatory that has cleansed all fury from my memories.
Decades elapsed but the embers of the past are still smoldering.
November 10, 2024
Romanul unei obsesii boln膬vicioase...
Doi vechi prieteni se 卯nt卯lnesc dup膬 41 de ani 卯ntr-un castel romantic, 卯nconjurat de codri seculari. S卯nt b膬tr卯ni, obosi葲i, s-au s膬turat de via葲膬, nici ei nu mai 葯tiu dac膬 s卯nt vii. Probabil c膬 au iubit aceea葯i femeie, pe Krisztina. Dar Krisztina a murit de mult. Acum se g膬sesc 卯n aceea葯i sal膬 cu lum卯n膬ri albastre 卯n care au stat ultima dat膬, 卯n 2 iulie 1899. Vor avea o ultim膬 explica葲ie. Decisiv膬...
脦n mare, Lum卯n膬rile ard p卯n膬 la cap膬t (卯n englez膬, romanul a fost intitulat aiurea: Ember) consemneaz膬 discursul inchizitorial (葯i 葲icnit) al gazdei, generalul Henrik. Oaspetele lui, Konrad, ascult膬 placid 卯nvinuirile 葯i nu d膬 vreun semn c膬 ar fi surprins sau c膬 s-ar sim葲i vinovat. Discursul generalului e plin de considera葲ii filosofice, de digresiuni obositoare (卯n葲elesul aristocra葲iei, simbolismul v卯n膬torii, sensul sacrificiului la arabi, defini葲ia fidelit膬葲ii etc.), 葯i se sprijin膬 pe simple intui葲ii (鈥瀍ram cu spatele, dar am sim葲it precis鈥�) 葯i foarte pu葲in pe fapte. Nu vom 葯ti niciodat膬 dac膬 poliloghia lui interminabil膬 are vreun temei. Generalul pretinde c膬 vrea adev膬rul 葯i numai adev膬rul, dar distruge orice dovad膬 material膬 care l-ar ajuta s膬-l formuleze singur. De exemplu, cu un gest teatral 葯i emfatic, arunc膬 卯n foc jurnalul Krisztinei, f膬r膬 a-l citi:
Rechizitoriul e menit s膬 introduc膬 dou膬 卯ntreb膬ri capitale. Nu are rost s膬 le men葲ionez, a葯 strica surpriza. Konrad ar trebui s膬-i ofere gazdei un r膬spuns.
Finalul aduce aminte de 卯ntors膬turile ironice ale lui Franz Kafka. Oaspetele spune la sf卯r葯it: 鈥濧cum nu-葲i mai r膬spund nici la aceast膬 卯ntrebare... Cred c膬 am clarificat totul鈥� (p.167). Dup膬 plecarea lui Konrad, generalul m膬rturise葯te b膬tr卯nei sale doici, Nini, c膬 se simte 鈥瀖ult mai lini葯tit鈥� (p.172). A spus tot ce avea pe suflet, n-a primit nici un r膬spuns, poate c膬 nici nu avea nevoie de el, fiindc膬 卯l b膬nuia din capul locului.
Din p膬cate, romanul lui S谩ndor M谩rai 卯葯i arat膬 puternic v卯rsta, a葯a cum 鈥瀙rin pielea aproape transparent膬鈥� a celor doi b膬tr卯ni 鈥瀞e v膬d oasele galbene鈥� (p.168)...
Doi vechi prieteni se 卯nt卯lnesc dup膬 41 de ani 卯ntr-un castel romantic, 卯nconjurat de codri seculari. S卯nt b膬tr卯ni, obosi葲i, s-au s膬turat de via葲膬, nici ei nu mai 葯tiu dac膬 s卯nt vii. Probabil c膬 au iubit aceea葯i femeie, pe Krisztina. Dar Krisztina a murit de mult. Acum se g膬sesc 卯n aceea葯i sal膬 cu lum卯n膬ri albastre 卯n care au stat ultima dat膬, 卯n 2 iulie 1899. Vor avea o ultim膬 explica葲ie. Decisiv膬...
脦n mare, Lum卯n膬rile ard p卯n膬 la cap膬t (卯n englez膬, romanul a fost intitulat aiurea: Ember) consemneaz膬 discursul inchizitorial (葯i 葲icnit) al gazdei, generalul Henrik. Oaspetele lui, Konrad, ascult膬 placid 卯nvinuirile 葯i nu d膬 vreun semn c膬 ar fi surprins sau c膬 s-ar sim葲i vinovat. Discursul generalului e plin de considera葲ii filosofice, de digresiuni obositoare (卯n葲elesul aristocra葲iei, simbolismul v卯n膬torii, sensul sacrificiului la arabi, defini葲ia fidelit膬葲ii etc.), 葯i se sprijin膬 pe simple intui葲ii (鈥瀍ram cu spatele, dar am sim葲it precis鈥�) 葯i foarte pu葲in pe fapte. Nu vom 葯ti niciodat膬 dac膬 poliloghia lui interminabil膬 are vreun temei. Generalul pretinde c膬 vrea adev膬rul 葯i numai adev膬rul, dar distruge orice dovad膬 material膬 care l-ar ajuta s膬-l formuleze singur. De exemplu, cu un gest teatral 葯i emfatic, arunc膬 卯n foc jurnalul Krisztinei, f膬r膬 a-l citi:
鈥灻巒cet, cu gesturi lente, generalul arunc膬 jurnalul 卯ngust 卯n 葯emineu... Fl膬c膬rile se 卯nal葲膬 tot mai sus, ceara sigiliului s-a topit deja..., o m卯n膬 nev膬zut膬 parc膬 ar r膬sfoi filele de culoarea pergamentului vechi, dintre fl膬c膬ri se ive葯te brusc scrisul Krisztinei, literele ascu葲ite, col葲uroase, a葯ternute odinioar膬 pe h卯rtie de o m卯n膬 pref膬cut膬 卯ntre timp 卯n praf, acum focul devoreaz膬 literele, h卯rtia, jurnalul dispare, la fel ca m卯na care 葯i-a scris 卯n tain膬 g卯ndurile pe aceste file. 脦n mijlocul j膬ratecului r膬m卯ne numai un pumn de cenu葯膬 neagr膬 - e m膬t膬soas膬, la fel ca moarul, materialul fin al hainelor de doliu鈥� (pp.166-167).
Rechizitoriul e menit s膬 introduc膬 dou膬 卯ntreb膬ri capitale. Nu are rost s膬 le men葲ionez, a葯 strica surpriza. Konrad ar trebui s膬-i ofere gazdei un r膬spuns.
Finalul aduce aminte de 卯ntors膬turile ironice ale lui Franz Kafka. Oaspetele spune la sf卯r葯it: 鈥濧cum nu-葲i mai r膬spund nici la aceast膬 卯ntrebare... Cred c膬 am clarificat totul鈥� (p.167). Dup膬 plecarea lui Konrad, generalul m膬rturise葯te b膬tr卯nei sale doici, Nini, c膬 se simte 鈥瀖ult mai lini葯tit鈥� (p.172). A spus tot ce avea pe suflet, n-a primit nici un r膬spuns, poate c膬 nici nu avea nevoie de el, fiindc膬 卯l b膬nuia din capul locului.
Din p膬cate, romanul lui S谩ndor M谩rai 卯葯i arat膬 puternic v卯rsta, a葯a cum 鈥瀙rin pielea aproape transparent膬鈥� a celor doi b膬tr卯ni 鈥瀞e v膬d oasele galbene鈥� (p.168)...
July 6, 2015
Beautiful words that form sentences that makes one stop and think. A exquisitely written story, very descriptive, one can picture the scenes down to the minutest of detail.
Friendship, the most expressive definition of a friendship between two men from different backgrounds that I have ever read. Betrayal, love, pride and at the last a definition of aging that is searing.
I cannot say enough about the experience of reading this book except to say it is one that I will long remember and that I must seek out more of this amazing author's work.
One quote from the book had me thinking about it on and off all day,
"It is not true that fate slips silently into our lives. It steps in through the door that we have opened, and we invite it to enter"
Friendship, the most expressive definition of a friendship between two men from different backgrounds that I have ever read. Betrayal, love, pride and at the last a definition of aging that is searing.
I cannot say enough about the experience of reading this book except to say it is one that I will long remember and that I must seek out more of this amazing author's work.
One quote from the book had me thinking about it on and off all day,
"It is not true that fate slips silently into our lives. It steps in through the door that we have opened, and we invite it to enter"
October 15, 2017
Embers presents some of the loveliest, most elegant writing I have encountered this year. At its core, however, it is an overlong ramble of a soliloquy that should have been reduced to a stunning short story. It's an easy enough read, full of the philosophical queries and conclusions of its aged General about the meaning of life, love, honor, killing, obligation, M-M friendship. But the guest is permitted only 5-8 lines. He can't get a word in edgewise. And Krisztina? She has no voice.
I would like to read the novel Marai might have written about the ninety-one year old Nini. She captured my interest as none of the other characters did. Early on, it seemed as if Marai intended to make her more central to the plot, but alas, he chose otherwise.
I am glad I read Embers and will look for others of Marai's novels as they become available in English translations; however, I will not press this one into friends' hands and insist that they do so.
I would like to read the novel Marai might have written about the ninety-one year old Nini. She captured my interest as none of the other characters did. Early on, it seemed as if Marai intended to make her more central to the plot, but alas, he chose otherwise.
I am glad I read Embers and will look for others of Marai's novels as they become available in English translations; however, I will not press this one into friends' hands and insist that they do so.
April 2, 2017
Sandor Marai was born in 1900 in the former Austrian-Hungarian Empire at a time when honor to one's country was of the upmost importance. A staunch anti-fascist following the rise of the iron curtain, Marai was forced to flee his homeland and lived out his remaining days in California. First published in 1942 and recovered with his other novels, Embers is fast becoming a modern classic. A throwback to a time when royalty living in isolated castles was a common practice in Europe, Embers reveals an intimate look at life and relationships.
Henrik has turned 75 and has lived with his nurse Nini, aged 91, in a castle outside of Vienna for the past 41 years. Upon hearing that his old friend Konrad will be arriving and joining him for dinner, Henrik looks back at the chapters of his life, focusing on how both he and Konrad have gotten to where they are at this moment. Once friends as close as twin brothers, the pair has not seen each other since a incident with Henrik's wife Krisztina forty one years ago. After the incident, Konrad fled to the Tropics while Henrik remained in his castle, alone.
A son of the landed aristocracy on both sides of his family, Henrik was expected to go into the military academy at a young age. Yet, the only person who he ever felt love and affection from was his nursemaid Nini. As a result, Henrik became depressed at the academy until he met Konrad. Henrik's father welcomed Konrad into the family yet cautioned his son that Konrad was a different type of person destined for a career other than military. The pair, although polar opposites, remained friends through their twenties.
Marai writes how Henrik's and Konrad's lives moved on divergent paths. All these years later, the men do not desire to rekindle their friendship as the title may imply, but to find out the answers to questions that have lingered for this long. Styling his prose by alternating between posing questions between the two with Henrik's recollections of the past had me desiring to find out the conclusion to this complicated web of emotions. Marai also posed an intriguing view on friendships and relationships that left me captivated by the novel through its closure.
Sandor Marai is a new author for me and I am glad that I uncovered this fascinating novel. His novels were considered bestsellers before Hungary fell into fascist hands, and are now being translated into English. I rate this hidden gem a solid 4 stars, and look forward to reading more of his works as they become available.
Henrik has turned 75 and has lived with his nurse Nini, aged 91, in a castle outside of Vienna for the past 41 years. Upon hearing that his old friend Konrad will be arriving and joining him for dinner, Henrik looks back at the chapters of his life, focusing on how both he and Konrad have gotten to where they are at this moment. Once friends as close as twin brothers, the pair has not seen each other since a incident with Henrik's wife Krisztina forty one years ago. After the incident, Konrad fled to the Tropics while Henrik remained in his castle, alone.
A son of the landed aristocracy on both sides of his family, Henrik was expected to go into the military academy at a young age. Yet, the only person who he ever felt love and affection from was his nursemaid Nini. As a result, Henrik became depressed at the academy until he met Konrad. Henrik's father welcomed Konrad into the family yet cautioned his son that Konrad was a different type of person destined for a career other than military. The pair, although polar opposites, remained friends through their twenties.
Marai writes how Henrik's and Konrad's lives moved on divergent paths. All these years later, the men do not desire to rekindle their friendship as the title may imply, but to find out the answers to questions that have lingered for this long. Styling his prose by alternating between posing questions between the two with Henrik's recollections of the past had me desiring to find out the conclusion to this complicated web of emotions. Marai also posed an intriguing view on friendships and relationships that left me captivated by the novel through its closure.
Sandor Marai is a new author for me and I am glad that I uncovered this fascinating novel. His novels were considered bestsellers before Hungary fell into fascist hands, and are now being translated into English. I rate this hidden gem a solid 4 stars, and look forward to reading more of his works as they become available.
October 18, 2020
Il libro che mi sento di di consigliare a chiunque.
Il libro che racchiude quella che, a mio avviso, rimane una delle essenze pi霉 pure della scrittura.
Marai ed il suo sguardo, il suo modo di aver visto visto con quegli occhi amore ed amicizia sotterra quei tanti libri per met脿 che ad oggi ci troviamo premiati in vetrina in libreria.
Le braci 猫 un po' quell'anziano che sotto ogni ruga ti nasconde una storia che deve essere per forza tua.
Il libro che racchiude quella che, a mio avviso, rimane una delle essenze pi霉 pure della scrittura.
Marai ed il suo sguardo, il suo modo di aver visto visto con quegli occhi amore ed amicizia sotterra quei tanti libri per met脿 che ad oggi ci troviamo premiati in vetrina in libreria.
Le braci 猫 un po' quell'anziano che sotto ogni ruga ti nasconde una storia che deve essere per forza tua.
February 28, 2023
"No, the secret is that there's no reward and we have to endure our character and our nature as best as can, because no amount of experience or insight is going to rectify our deficiencies, our self- regard or our cupidity. We have to learn that our desires do not find any real echo in the world. We have to accept that the people we love do not love us or not in the way we hope. We have to accept betrayal and disloyalty, and hardest of all, that someone is finer than us in character or intelligence."
This book is filled with beautiful thoughts provoking quotes like this one. Something that makes you stop reading and ponder upon what you have just read. Absolutely loved this one.
This book is filled with beautiful thoughts provoking quotes like this one. Something that makes you stop reading and ponder upon what you have just read. Absolutely loved this one.
July 10, 2024
Sinceramente non pensavo che questo libricino mi potesse entrare cosi sottopelle.
Ho passato tutto il tempo a sottolineare frasi, a rileggere passaggi che mi parlavano.
E pensare che l'ho letto solo perch茅 era l'unico libro che abbiamo trovato condivisibile con un amico (脠 abbastanza rompipalle schizzinoso quando si parla di libri).
Quarantun anni , una vita intera preparandosi a qualcosa.
Un risentimento, una vendetta, un' attesa.
Oscuro, spietatamente profondo, bruciante.
Amore, tradimento, intrigo, amicizia.
Sembra tutto statico, triste, malinconico ed immobile, ma la tensione 猫 palpabile, la smania di conoscere la verit脿, una verit脿 che si comprende da sola mano a mano si procede con la lettura, senza avere mai una risposta concreta.
Infida, come le braci, la verit脿 猫 un fuoco senza fiamme, sembra morta, ma arde ancora.
Un lavoro di autoanalisi durato quarant'anni.
Un libro sull'enigma impossibile delle relazioni umane.
"Tu hai ucciso qualcosa dentro di me, hai rovinato la mia vita, eppure sono ancora tuo amico".
Quanti amici veri abbiamo al nostro fianco? Quanti di loro resteranno per tutta la vita.
Ho rovinato un sacco di amicizie per cazzate o cose serie.
Persone che credevo potessero restarmi accanto per sempre sono sparite e io non le ho cercate. O sono sparita io e loro non mi hanno cercata?
Forse un giorno anche noi, ritrovandoci vecchie e rugose e, ormai stanche e deluse dalla nostra esistenza, ci riappacificheremo...forse.
L' amicizia 猫 il rapporto pi霉 nobile che possa esistere tra gli esseri umani, va per貌 coltivata, dobbiamo prendercene cura. Esige sincerit脿 sempre e sar脿 per sempre!
Io oggi il castello me lo immagino silenzioso, avvolto nella nebbia.
Nini va a svegliare il generale, in 75 anni di servizio non 猫 mai successo.
脠 mattina inoltrata e dalla sua stanza non arriva nessun rumore.
Lo trova finalmente in pace con s茅 stesso, abbandonato sul cuscino morbido di piume che sorride.
Si sdraia accanto a lui e lo abbraccia teneramente e sa che star脿 sempre accanto a lui. Accanto al bambino che si sentiva solo anche tra la gente, al bambino che non parlava di ci貌 che lo affliggeva, ma sopportava in silenzio ed il suo silenzio 猫 durato quarantun' anni.
Ho passato tutto il tempo a sottolineare frasi, a rileggere passaggi che mi parlavano.
E pensare che l'ho letto solo perch茅 era l'unico libro che abbiamo trovato condivisibile con un amico (脠 abbastanza rompipalle schizzinoso quando si parla di libri).
Quarantun anni , una vita intera preparandosi a qualcosa.
Un risentimento, una vendetta, un' attesa.
Oscuro, spietatamente profondo, bruciante.
Amore, tradimento, intrigo, amicizia.
Sembra tutto statico, triste, malinconico ed immobile, ma la tensione 猫 palpabile, la smania di conoscere la verit脿, una verit脿 che si comprende da sola mano a mano si procede con la lettura, senza avere mai una risposta concreta.
Infida, come le braci, la verit脿 猫 un fuoco senza fiamme, sembra morta, ma arde ancora.
Un lavoro di autoanalisi durato quarant'anni.
Un libro sull'enigma impossibile delle relazioni umane.
"Tu hai ucciso qualcosa dentro di me, hai rovinato la mia vita, eppure sono ancora tuo amico".
Quanti amici veri abbiamo al nostro fianco? Quanti di loro resteranno per tutta la vita.
Ho rovinato un sacco di amicizie per cazzate o cose serie.
Persone che credevo potessero restarmi accanto per sempre sono sparite e io non le ho cercate. O sono sparita io e loro non mi hanno cercata?
Forse un giorno anche noi, ritrovandoci vecchie e rugose e, ormai stanche e deluse dalla nostra esistenza, ci riappacificheremo...forse.
L' amicizia 猫 il rapporto pi霉 nobile che possa esistere tra gli esseri umani, va per貌 coltivata, dobbiamo prendercene cura. Esige sincerit脿 sempre e sar脿 per sempre!
Io oggi il castello me lo immagino silenzioso, avvolto nella nebbia.
Nini va a svegliare il generale, in 75 anni di servizio non 猫 mai successo.
脠 mattina inoltrata e dalla sua stanza non arriva nessun rumore.
Lo trova finalmente in pace con s茅 stesso, abbandonato sul cuscino morbido di piume che sorride.
Si sdraia accanto a lui e lo abbraccia teneramente e sa che star脿 sempre accanto a lui. Accanto al bambino che si sentiva solo anche tra la gente, al bambino che non parlava di ci貌 che lo affliggeva, ma sopportava in silenzio ed il suo silenzio 猫 durato quarantun' anni.
May 31, 2021
This book is good beyond words. The story line. How it is told. The writing.
And to think this was a lost masterpiece. S谩ndor M谩rai had died in relative obscurity in San Diego in 1989. It was only after the vice-president of Knopf, Carol Brown Janeway, got wind of it, read it (originally published in 1942), and translated it into English, that it got re-issued in 2002. It went through numerous printings鈥 have the 6th UK print edition. A wonderful painting on its front鈥aptures the mood and story line of the book鈥撯€橞ucherons鈥�, bromil by Leonard Misonne, 1934. A dark forest and a man in it.
The story takes place one night in a castle at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains in Hungary. An old solider known as the General has a visitor coming, Viktor, who he has not seen in 41 years. Because of an event that occurred then. Involving a gun. The General and Viktor were the best of friends prior to that. The General has lived through WWI and WWII is currently going on鈥e has survived it all because of his burning need to meet Viktor one more time. He knew his friend would come to see him.
I can鈥檛 say anymore. Giving anything away could reduce the pleasure you will get from reading this book.
What鈥檚 ironic for me, if that is the right word, is that this is the second Hungarian writer who was unheard of for quite a long time before being pulled out of relative obscurity (outside of her country)鈥揗agda Szab贸. And thankfully her books have been well received. (Both Szabo and M谩rai were censored by the Communist government then ruling Hungary after WWII.)
In the copy of the book that I have I have a bunch of reviews I saved at the time I bought the book. Nary a negative thing said about the book. I urge you to get this book and read it. I read it in 2002 and re-read it in one sitting last night. It would be a hard book to put down.
Reviews:
鈥� (read this after reading the novel, this reviewer gives way way way too much away! (
鈥� Excellent review by Tibor Fischer with all sorts fo interesting stuff!
鈥� read after reading the book!
鈥�
(). .
Notes:
From Wikipedia: Largely forgotten outside of Hungary, S谩ndor M谩rai鈥檚 work (consisting of poems, novels, and diaries) has only been recently "rediscovered" and republished in French (starting in 1992), Polish, Catalan, Italian, English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Bulgarian, Czech, Slovak, Danish, Icelandic, Korean, Dutch, Urdu and other languages too, and is now considered to be part of the European Twentieth Century literary canon.
I am going to get my hands on some of his other works that have been translated into English. Here his translated works (from Wikipedia):
鈥� The Rebels (1930, published in English in 2007, translation by George Szirtes), Hungarian title: A zend眉l艖k. ISBN 0-375-40757-X
鈥� Esther's Inheritance (1939, published in English in 2008), Hungarian title: Eszter hagyat茅ka. ISBN 1-4000-4500-2
鈥� Casanova in Bolzano (1940, published in English in 2004), Hungarian title: Vend茅gj谩t茅k Bolzan贸ban ISBN 0-375-71296-8
鈥� Portraits of a Marriage (1941 & 1980, published in English in 2011), Hungarian titles: Az igazi (1941) and Judit... 茅s az ut贸hang (1980) ISBN 978-1-4000-9667-1
鈥� Embers (1942, published in English in 2001), Hungarian title: A gyerty谩k csonkig 茅gnek. ISBN 0-375-70742-5
鈥� Memoir of Hungary (1971, published in English in 2001), Hungarian title: F枚ld, f枚ld...! ISBN 963-9241-10-5
鈥� The Withering World: Selected Poems by Sandor Marai (Translations by John M. Ridland and Peter V. Czipott of 163 poems, published in English in 2013) ISBN 978-1-84749-331-6
And to think this was a lost masterpiece. S谩ndor M谩rai had died in relative obscurity in San Diego in 1989. It was only after the vice-president of Knopf, Carol Brown Janeway, got wind of it, read it (originally published in 1942), and translated it into English, that it got re-issued in 2002. It went through numerous printings鈥 have the 6th UK print edition. A wonderful painting on its front鈥aptures the mood and story line of the book鈥撯€橞ucherons鈥�, bromil by Leonard Misonne, 1934. A dark forest and a man in it.
The story takes place one night in a castle at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains in Hungary. An old solider known as the General has a visitor coming, Viktor, who he has not seen in 41 years. Because of an event that occurred then. Involving a gun. The General and Viktor were the best of friends prior to that. The General has lived through WWI and WWII is currently going on鈥e has survived it all because of his burning need to meet Viktor one more time. He knew his friend would come to see him.
I can鈥檛 say anymore. Giving anything away could reduce the pleasure you will get from reading this book.
What鈥檚 ironic for me, if that is the right word, is that this is the second Hungarian writer who was unheard of for quite a long time before being pulled out of relative obscurity (outside of her country)鈥揗agda Szab贸. And thankfully her books have been well received. (Both Szabo and M谩rai were censored by the Communist government then ruling Hungary after WWII.)
In the copy of the book that I have I have a bunch of reviews I saved at the time I bought the book. Nary a negative thing said about the book. I urge you to get this book and read it. I read it in 2002 and re-read it in one sitting last night. It would be a hard book to put down.
Reviews:
鈥� (read this after reading the novel, this reviewer gives way way way too much away! (
鈥� Excellent review by Tibor Fischer with all sorts fo interesting stuff!
鈥� read after reading the book!
鈥�
(). .
Notes:
From Wikipedia: Largely forgotten outside of Hungary, S谩ndor M谩rai鈥檚 work (consisting of poems, novels, and diaries) has only been recently "rediscovered" and republished in French (starting in 1992), Polish, Catalan, Italian, English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Bulgarian, Czech, Slovak, Danish, Icelandic, Korean, Dutch, Urdu and other languages too, and is now considered to be part of the European Twentieth Century literary canon.
I am going to get my hands on some of his other works that have been translated into English. Here his translated works (from Wikipedia):
鈥� The Rebels (1930, published in English in 2007, translation by George Szirtes), Hungarian title: A zend眉l艖k. ISBN 0-375-40757-X
鈥� Esther's Inheritance (1939, published in English in 2008), Hungarian title: Eszter hagyat茅ka. ISBN 1-4000-4500-2
鈥� Casanova in Bolzano (1940, published in English in 2004), Hungarian title: Vend茅gj谩t茅k Bolzan贸ban ISBN 0-375-71296-8
鈥� Portraits of a Marriage (1941 & 1980, published in English in 2011), Hungarian titles: Az igazi (1941) and Judit... 茅s az ut贸hang (1980) ISBN 978-1-4000-9667-1
鈥� Embers (1942, published in English in 2001), Hungarian title: A gyerty谩k csonkig 茅gnek. ISBN 0-375-70742-5
鈥� Memoir of Hungary (1971, published in English in 2001), Hungarian title: F枚ld, f枚ld...! ISBN 963-9241-10-5
鈥� The Withering World: Selected Poems by Sandor Marai (Translations by John M. Ridland and Peter V. Czipott of 163 poems, published in English in 2013) ISBN 978-1-84749-331-6
February 10, 2017
My fingers were interlocked around my Baba鈥檚 arm and my head was resting on his shoulders. I was stealing a glimpse of his face every now and then, convinced that the lines of exhaustion were going to creep upto his tongue any moment, tendering me an apology to relieve him of our evening chatter for the day. However, my apprehensions were misplaced. The exhaustion stood defeated in the face of the radiance that slowly, ever so gradually, filled his visage, displacing the fatigue like a magic potion, as he reached for the cassette player and put one of his most favorite songs in loop. He also fondly went on to explain me its meaning. , originally composed in Oriya language, is an ode to 鈥榤别尘辞谤颈别蝉鈥�; in Oriya, the two words literally translate to 鈥楳emory, You鈥�. The translated lyrics go like this:
Memory, You are the indiscernible breeze of a spring evening;
Memory, You are the seething ember beneath the ash;
Memory, You are the dancer鈥檚 teasing frill at a temple鈥檚 entrance;
Memory, You are the glimpse of tender moon from the mane of Casuarina trees;
Memory, You are the passionate note left behind in a traveller鈥檚 lodge;
Memory, You are the departed lover鈥檚 village鈥�
Memory, You are the red stain on the stone guarding shoreline;
Memory, You are the dusk鈥檚 glow that lights up a dull widow鈥檚 countenance;
Memory, You are the paper boat on the river that won鈥檛 reappear;
Memory, are you not my treasured Beloved?
As I read Embers, this song hung heavily on my psyche due to its similar metaphorical luminosity:
In Embers, two boys forge the best kind of friendship, two young men test the toughest kind of friendship and two old men relive the only kind of friendship.
In an all-encompassing, surreal, lyrical, almost devastating monologue, M谩rai trounces everything supercilious, including answers, for a man at his twilight doesn鈥檛 require answers; he seeks peace. Words become mere instruments of wrapping time into bearable currents, getting their echoes despatched to silent death in the confines of a mind engaged in altering memories, if not erasing them. When a sigh can expel the biggest burden off the chest and impart purpose to one鈥檚 living, hypothesis await no longer the stamp of verification. Endurance of a life-time denudes all justifications and arguments, leaving a residue that intends to simply burn and become smoke.
Smoke they did become, the memories. But the vestiges persisted, like the embers; silent, hidden, simmering and expectant of revelation on yet another cold night, subjugating the breeze of words and emerging triumphant.
[Note: My apologies for any mistakes I might have committed in translating the Oriya song. My memories of it are a decade old and I might have faltered at few places in comprehension or recollection.]
Memory, You are the indiscernible breeze of a spring evening;
Memory, You are the seething ember beneath the ash;
Memory, You are the dancer鈥檚 teasing frill at a temple鈥檚 entrance;
Memory, You are the glimpse of tender moon from the mane of Casuarina trees;
Memory, You are the passionate note left behind in a traveller鈥檚 lodge;
Memory, You are the departed lover鈥檚 village鈥�
Memory, You are the red stain on the stone guarding shoreline;
Memory, You are the dusk鈥檚 glow that lights up a dull widow鈥檚 countenance;
Memory, You are the paper boat on the river that won鈥檛 reappear;
Memory, are you not my treasured Beloved?
As I read Embers, this song hung heavily on my psyche due to its similar metaphorical luminosity:
With age, memory enlarges every detail and presents it in the sharpest outline.When the rhapsody of those evening lyrics dissolved into the heartbeat of these present words, I heard a tremor that wasn鈥檛 a simulacrum of a faint earthquake but the obstreperous throbbing of a vein - a matter of delicate urgency where an inflammation not arrested in time leaves a spot defunct; worse, violated. Such violated lumps of memory hover around a life like the spirit - unseen, unlit, frequently uncouth but always undone.
In Embers, two boys forge the best kind of friendship, two young men test the toughest kind of friendship and two old men relive the only kind of friendship.
Their friendship was deep and wordless, as are all the emotions that will last a lifetime. And like all great emotions, this one contained within itself both shame and a sense of guilt, for no one may isolate one of his fellows from the rest of humanity with impunity.Over a period of seventy-five years, the birth, maturity and death of every emotion is held between the tender palms of decision and indecision, truth and cowardice, fate and loss, and is flannelled against life filters. A single deed, thus crushed and sieved, comes to haunt one for forty-one years, enmeshing him in the web his exploring fingers had unsuspectingly sewn around his own house. Did the deed trickle down in the same abnegating, granular texture beneath the pillow of the other too, robbing his sleep for those very forty-one years? M谩rai invites us to find out over a course of a cold, dark night; lit exquisitely by one鈥檚 questions, suspended excruciatingly by another鈥檚 abstinence and held inadvertently by a few embers, standing witness to a debilitating relationship, slowly meeting her fate.
In an all-encompassing, surreal, lyrical, almost devastating monologue, M谩rai trounces everything supercilious, including answers, for a man at his twilight doesn鈥檛 require answers; he seeks peace. Words become mere instruments of wrapping time into bearable currents, getting their echoes despatched to silent death in the confines of a mind engaged in altering memories, if not erasing them. When a sigh can expel the biggest burden off the chest and impart purpose to one鈥檚 living, hypothesis await no longer the stamp of verification. Endurance of a life-time denudes all justifications and arguments, leaving a residue that intends to simply burn and become smoke.
Smoke they did become, the memories. But the vestiges persisted, like the embers; silent, hidden, simmering and expectant of revelation on yet another cold night, subjugating the breeze of words and emerging triumphant.
[Note: My apologies for any mistakes I might have committed in translating the Oriya song. My memories of it are a decade old and I might have faltered at few places in comprehension or recollection.]
June 16, 2021
A Gyerty谩k Csonkig 茅gnek = Candles Burns Until the End = Embers, by S谩ndor M谩rai
Embers is a 1942 novel by the Hungarian writer S谩ndor M谩rai. The book was published in English in 2001.
The narrative revolves around an elderly general who invites an old friend from military school for dinner; the friend had disappeared mysteriously for 41 years, and the dinner begins to resemble a trial where the friend is prosecuted for his character traits.
鬲丕乇蹖禺 禺賵丕賳卮 乇賵夭 倬丕賳夭丿賴賲 賲丕賴 跇賵卅賳 爻丕賱 2014賲蹖賱丕丿蹖
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鬲丕乇蹖禺 亘賴賳诏丕賲 乇爻丕賳蹖 25/03/1400賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 丕. 卮乇亘蹖丕賳蹖
Embers is a 1942 novel by the Hungarian writer S谩ndor M谩rai. The book was published in English in 2001.
The narrative revolves around an elderly general who invites an old friend from military school for dinner; the friend had disappeared mysteriously for 41 years, and the dinner begins to resemble a trial where the friend is prosecuted for his character traits.
鬲丕乇蹖禺 禺賵丕賳卮 乇賵夭 倬丕賳夭丿賴賲 賲丕賴 跇賵卅賳 爻丕賱 2014賲蹖賱丕丿蹖
毓賳賵丕賳: 禺丕讴爻鬲乇 诏乇賲貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 禺丕讴爻鬲乇 诏乇賲貨 卮丕賳丿賵乇 賲丕乇丕蹖貨 賲鬲乇噩賲 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲 丌匕乇賳賵卮貨 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 丌乇賵蹖噩貨 1385貙 丿乇 240氐貨 賲賵囟賵毓 丿丕爻鬲丕賳賴丕蹖 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 賲噩丕乇爻鬲丕賳蹖 - 爻丿賴 20賲
毓賳賵丕賳: 禺丕讴爻鬲乇 诏乇賲貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 禺丕讴爻鬲乇 诏乇賲貨 卮丕賳丿賵乇 賲丕乇丕蹖貨 賲鬲乇噩賲 賲蹖賳賵 賲卮蹖乇蹖貨 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 孬丕賱孬貨 1390貨 丿乇 200氐貨 卮丕亘讴 9789643807306貨 趩丕倬 爻賵賲 1396貨 趩丕倬 趩賴丕乇賲 1399貨 賲賵囟賵毓 丿丕爻鬲丕賳賴丕蹖 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 賲噩丕乇爻鬲丕賳蹖 - 爻丿賴 20賲
毓賳賵丕賳 丕氐賱蹖 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳 丿乇 夭亘丕賳 芦賲噩丕乇禄貙 芦卮賲毓鈥屬囏� 鬲丕 鬲賴 賲蹖鈥屫迟堌操嗀� 丕爻鬲貙 讴鬲丕亘 賳禺爻鬲蹖賳 亘丕乇 丿乇 爻丕賱 1942賲蹖賱丕丿蹖 丿乇 芦賲噩丕乇爻鬲丕賳禄 賲賳鬲卮乇 卮丿貨 賴賲蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 爻丕賱 2001賲蹖賱丕丿蹖 亘丕 毓賳賵丕賳 芦禺丕讴爻鬲乇 诏乇賲禄貙 丿乇 芦丕賳诏賱蹖爻禄 亘爻蹖丕乇 倬乇賮乇賵卮 亘賵丿貙 賵 賳禺爻鬲蹖賳 亘丕乇 丿乇 爻丕賱 1385禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖 賳蹖夭 丿乇 芦丕蹖乇丕賳禄 賲賳鬲卮乇 卮丿貨
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鬲丕乇蹖禺 亘賴賳诏丕賲 乇爻丕賳蹖 25/03/1400賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 丕. 卮乇亘蹖丕賳蹖
May 1, 2023
Two old men, one dimly lit room, and the past awakening. That's pretty much the set up for S谩ndor M谩rai's solemn 1942 novel, which was originally titled 'Candles burn until the end' in Hungary. He has a growing popularity post-death, due to his work, but also his troubled life, that is mirrored by Hungary's grave misfortunes in the 20th century, and it's sad to think at the time he took his own life in California of all places in 1989, the literary world still knew little of him. Born in the then Austro-Hungarian empire, M谩rai grew up with war, revolution, and exile, before establishing himself as first a poet and then novelist, but then followed more war, revolution, and exile. He is not only regarded as one of the great Hungarian writers, but also a guardian of the nation's soul, a sort of talisman of the new, democratic Hungary. With a shining honour, and no interest in political games, he infuriated the Nazis and the communists, by refusing to have his work published in his native land whilst Soviet troops were present, thus sentencing himself to obscurity and poverty. At least he stood by his principles. I admire him for that.
Embers quickly sets the scene, then slowly arouses suspense keeping the reader on tenterhooks with uncertainty, but never changes it's subtle pace. It creeps around meticulously with a simple and elegant prose, and gradually builds a vivid picture. And it works, for the most part, beautifully. As well as being an evocative study of a tightly bonded friendship long gone, It is also an intriguing mystery, as M谩rai is clever in the way he goes about giving the reader something to chew on, but only enough as to keep us guessing of just what lies ahead. You may have an idea, but can't say for certain. Only that a major event took place in the lives of two dear friends many years ago. Not to do it disservice with too many key details, so the basics - An elderly aristocratic general haunted by bitter memories, invites his close childhood friend, Konrad, who disappeared with haste 41 years ago under mysterious circumstances, to a lavish dinner at his secluded castle of fading splendour. The general talks, Konrad simply listens, and in the eerie flickering glow and shadows of candlelight we soon realise the meal doubles up as a sort of trial for Konrad who faces that of Henrik's prosecution, which goes about reconstructing their past together. Schooldays, military academy, and the years leading up to Konrad's vanishing act.
The aged friends are talk about life's vagaries, their lost hopes and dreams, and redemptive love, and they are doing so as the world they grew up in is vastly disappearing for good, with the seriousness of men going into the final years of life with a score to settle, knowing fully well that death is tiptoeing ever closer. Some may be disappointed by the fact the final act goes out with a whimper rather than a wallop, but for the type of story M谩rai has written, It ends up being the right way to see it through, and give some sort of closure for the two men. The candles may have burned out, but the novel will flicker away in my thoughts ever now and then I'm sure.
Some modern readers may find the high style of conversation sententious, and despite liking so much about this I'm still torn between 3 and 4 stars as I think it would have worked better as a novella. 3.5
May 29, 2008
I just didn't get this one.
This book is full of philosophical nonsense that fails to make an impact.
The main character is an uninteresting aristocrat with a victim mentality. He spends the entire book finding new and clumsy ways to say, "Woe is me."
The book is 213 pages long. It takes Sandor Marai 133 pages to pose his question, and another 70 pages to say that he doesn't need to hear the answer.
The real failure of this book is that Marai creates the background of a few other characters who are far more appealing than the silver spoon fed Henrik, but these take such a backseat to the bourgeous baby that I wondered why Marai bothered to go into such detail of them. I would much rather hear the story of Nini, Henrik's lifelong nurse, or Konrad, his conflicted best friend.
This book is full of philosophical nonsense that fails to make an impact.
The main character is an uninteresting aristocrat with a victim mentality. He spends the entire book finding new and clumsy ways to say, "Woe is me."
The book is 213 pages long. It takes Sandor Marai 133 pages to pose his question, and another 70 pages to say that he doesn't need to hear the answer.
The real failure of this book is that Marai creates the background of a few other characters who are far more appealing than the silver spoon fed Henrik, but these take such a backseat to the bourgeous baby that I wondered why Marai bothered to go into such detail of them. I would much rather hear the story of Nini, Henrik's lifelong nurse, or Konrad, his conflicted best friend.
May 22, 2013
Embers is a tale of heart-breaking beauty. The kind of beauty which is not apparent right at the onset but which makes its omnipresence felt as you keep turning the pages and reach that state of involvement with the narrative, where you cannot wait to feast your eyes and senses on another delicately structured sentence.
It lies in the pall of gloom cast by the shadow of some tragedy unspoken of, lurking in the dark, cobwebbed nooks and corners of a secluded castle, the relentless flow of time the sense of which the book tries to capture quite successfully and in the hollowness of life itself.
There is no worthwhile story to be found at its core since a reflection on love, betrayal and the consequences of human folly is nothing new. But it is the handling of these themes which is.
S谩ndor M谩rai has a way of creating a mood consistent with the dreariness of the story within and it is this mood which metamorphoses into an important character itself. Like an invisible, guiding force, this mood becomes the reader's constant companion as he/she slowly navigates his/her way around the imperfect lives of M谩rai's characters.
He ends up imparting a restrained elegance even to the meanest of human tendencies like the insane urge to kill another and to the chilling finality in a man's feelings of disillusionment with life and the people he held dear to his heart.
It is as if M谩rai's aim from the beginning had been not to bestow significance on numerous life events of a handful of people but instead on an acute analysis of human actions and how individual acts of indiscretion feature in the greater scheme of things. How eventually everything dies out and ceases to matter, after creating a few evanescent ripples on the surface of the placid lake of human existence.
A few irritants have kept me from placing this book on my personal, metaphysical pedestal of absolute literary perfection - the objectification of women, a subtle nod of approval to medieval values like the appreciation of gender specific character traits, the seemingly endless and tedious monologue in the latter half of the book and a sense of perverse vanity the central characters seem to derive out of their European ancestry caused me to take away that 1 star.
Barring these minor causes of botheration, Embers is near perfect. It glows powerfully with the spirit of all actions and emotions so distinctly characteristic of life itself, before burning out and surrendering itself to the inevitability of an ending.
It lies in the pall of gloom cast by the shadow of some tragedy unspoken of, lurking in the dark, cobwebbed nooks and corners of a secluded castle, the relentless flow of time the sense of which the book tries to capture quite successfully and in the hollowness of life itself.
There is no worthwhile story to be found at its core since a reflection on love, betrayal and the consequences of human folly is nothing new. But it is the handling of these themes which is.
S谩ndor M谩rai has a way of creating a mood consistent with the dreariness of the story within and it is this mood which metamorphoses into an important character itself. Like an invisible, guiding force, this mood becomes the reader's constant companion as he/she slowly navigates his/her way around the imperfect lives of M谩rai's characters.
He ends up imparting a restrained elegance even to the meanest of human tendencies like the insane urge to kill another and to the chilling finality in a man's feelings of disillusionment with life and the people he held dear to his heart.
It is as if M谩rai's aim from the beginning had been not to bestow significance on numerous life events of a handful of people but instead on an acute analysis of human actions and how individual acts of indiscretion feature in the greater scheme of things. How eventually everything dies out and ceases to matter, after creating a few evanescent ripples on the surface of the placid lake of human existence.
A few irritants have kept me from placing this book on my personal, metaphysical pedestal of absolute literary perfection - the objectification of women, a subtle nod of approval to medieval values like the appreciation of gender specific character traits, the seemingly endless and tedious monologue in the latter half of the book and a sense of perverse vanity the central characters seem to derive out of their European ancestry caused me to take away that 1 star.
Barring these minor causes of botheration, Embers is near perfect. It glows powerfully with the spirit of all actions and emotions so distinctly characteristic of life itself, before burning out and surrendering itself to the inevitability of an ending.
July 12, 2014
Embers is perfect. I just cannot find anything not to like about this book. It鈥檚 a kind of book I have never quite read before. It鈥檚 a simple novel but will definitely stay in my memory for a long time. To think that it sat there, gathering dust, in my bookshelves for more than 2 years. What a pity if I died without reading this flawlessly engrossing work. I only picked this because it is thin and seemed to me like a quick read. I was behind by 8 books in my 2011 Reading Challenge here in 欧宝娱乐 last weekend and I thought of catching up.
Sandor Marai (1900-1989), a Hungarian novelist and journalist, wrote Embers in Hungarian when he was 42 and already living in San Diego, CA. He had to flee Hungary during the Nazi occupation not because he was a Jew but because he was profoundly an anti-Fascist. Just like Ernest Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson and Richard Brautigan he committed suicide by shooting himself in the head. He was 89 years old. His works had been largely forgotten outside of Hungary and were only 鈥渞ediscovered鈥� in 1992 when Embers was re-published in France then translated to other European languages. In fact, Marai鈥檚 works are now considered as part of the European Twentieth Century literary canon. (Source: Wiki).
Embers or 鈥淭he Candles Burn Down to the Stump鈥� is written in a precise and clear realist-style narrative. It tells the story of two male friends: the rich man, Henrik and a poor man, Konrad. Their friendship started when they were in school and Henrik introduced Konrad to his rich father. They became best friends, almost like real brothers and inseparable. Kondrad was even the one who introduced a girl called Krisztina to him who later became Henrik鈥檚 wife. Then one day, when the two men were 34 years old, they went hunting and Henrik saw that Konrad was aiming his gun at him. Later that day, the three, Henrik, Konrad and Krisztina, had their last dinner together in Henrik鈥檚 castle. The following day, Konrad left to Singapore without saying goodbye. Henrik went to Konrad鈥檚 apartment and when he was about to leave, he saw Krisztina there and uttered her last word to Henrik: 鈥淐oward鈥�. From that day on, Hendrik and Krisztina separated by living in the different buildings in Henrik鈥檚 property. They did not talk to each other until Krisztina鈥檚 death 8 years after. On her deathbed, Krisztina was calling for Henrik.
The novel opens when Henrik is 75 years old and Krisztina has been dead for 33 years. Henrik receives a letter from Konrad, also 75, saying that Konrad will come for dinner that same day. What follows next is the slow and engrossing unfolding of truth on what happened 41 years ago: during the hunt, the dinner and the day at Konrad鈥檚 apartment. The plot is this thin and almost no twists. The storytelling is dominated by Henrik鈥檚 monologue that is a mixture of lamentation, reminiscences and philosophy but delivered in composed, swift, firm yet almost in monotone. That style makes the mood of the novel as chilling, suspenseful and mind-boggling as it delves into the core of our being human: the pain of friendship, love, betrayal, revenge and acceptance. For 41 years, Hendrik only thought of that day and he waited for Konrad鈥檚 return to know the truth. The slow unfolding of it amidst the eerie locale - Hungarian castle in the middle of the forest 鈥� the silence, the dark and the image of the two old men talking to each other. The slowness of the development of the story strangely makes the reading interesting. It is like the slow opening of the castle鈥檚 door with all the creaking sound while the stillness of the night reverberates in one鈥檚 brain.
The only caution? If you are a type of a reader who wants fast-paced action and lots of twist, don鈥檛 go for this book. I guess you will appreciate this more if you are at least in your middle-age already and/or you鈥檝e been wronged or hurt by a loved one before and you haven鈥檛 forgiven him or her. Marai鈥檚 words, uttered by Hendrik, can be a good start for you to find forgiveness lurking somewhere inside your heart.
Sandor Marai (1900-1989), a Hungarian novelist and journalist, wrote Embers in Hungarian when he was 42 and already living in San Diego, CA. He had to flee Hungary during the Nazi occupation not because he was a Jew but because he was profoundly an anti-Fascist. Just like Ernest Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson and Richard Brautigan he committed suicide by shooting himself in the head. He was 89 years old. His works had been largely forgotten outside of Hungary and were only 鈥渞ediscovered鈥� in 1992 when Embers was re-published in France then translated to other European languages. In fact, Marai鈥檚 works are now considered as part of the European Twentieth Century literary canon. (Source: Wiki).
Embers or 鈥淭he Candles Burn Down to the Stump鈥� is written in a precise and clear realist-style narrative. It tells the story of two male friends: the rich man, Henrik and a poor man, Konrad. Their friendship started when they were in school and Henrik introduced Konrad to his rich father. They became best friends, almost like real brothers and inseparable. Kondrad was even the one who introduced a girl called Krisztina to him who later became Henrik鈥檚 wife. Then one day, when the two men were 34 years old, they went hunting and Henrik saw that Konrad was aiming his gun at him. Later that day, the three, Henrik, Konrad and Krisztina, had their last dinner together in Henrik鈥檚 castle. The following day, Konrad left to Singapore without saying goodbye. Henrik went to Konrad鈥檚 apartment and when he was about to leave, he saw Krisztina there and uttered her last word to Henrik: 鈥淐oward鈥�. From that day on, Hendrik and Krisztina separated by living in the different buildings in Henrik鈥檚 property. They did not talk to each other until Krisztina鈥檚 death 8 years after. On her deathbed, Krisztina was calling for Henrik.
The novel opens when Henrik is 75 years old and Krisztina has been dead for 33 years. Henrik receives a letter from Konrad, also 75, saying that Konrad will come for dinner that same day. What follows next is the slow and engrossing unfolding of truth on what happened 41 years ago: during the hunt, the dinner and the day at Konrad鈥檚 apartment. The plot is this thin and almost no twists. The storytelling is dominated by Henrik鈥檚 monologue that is a mixture of lamentation, reminiscences and philosophy but delivered in composed, swift, firm yet almost in monotone. That style makes the mood of the novel as chilling, suspenseful and mind-boggling as it delves into the core of our being human: the pain of friendship, love, betrayal, revenge and acceptance. For 41 years, Hendrik only thought of that day and he waited for Konrad鈥檚 return to know the truth. The slow unfolding of it amidst the eerie locale - Hungarian castle in the middle of the forest 鈥� the silence, the dark and the image of the two old men talking to each other. The slowness of the development of the story strangely makes the reading interesting. It is like the slow opening of the castle鈥檚 door with all the creaking sound while the stillness of the night reverberates in one鈥檚 brain.
The only caution? If you are a type of a reader who wants fast-paced action and lots of twist, don鈥檛 go for this book. I guess you will appreciate this more if you are at least in your middle-age already and/or you鈥檝e been wronged or hurt by a loved one before and you haven鈥檛 forgiven him or her. Marai鈥檚 words, uttered by Hendrik, can be a good start for you to find forgiveness lurking somewhere inside your heart.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 20, 2017
鈥淎ll that is left in the embers is ash, black ash, with the sheen of a mourning veil of watered silk.鈥�
鈥淓mbers鈥� is the ideal title to summon up the melancholic decadence that soaks the pages of this intense but short novella. Candles burn until they are totally consumed by the flickering nature of their essence, as it happens with life when confronted with its impending mortality.
Two old men, General Henrik and Kondr谩d, meet after forty years in a secluded castle in the heart of Hungary, where the splendorous music of Chopin and flourishing soirees with elegantly attired guests that once crowded its saloons are now replaced by the stale odor of ageing and the heavy weight of secrets.
What initially looked like a nostalgic encounter between close friends, gradually acquires shades of darker colors that escalate in intrigue and dramatic tension until the facts that ruined the lives of these two gentlemen are brought into full light by the ruthless evidence of words. A duel without weapons is about to take place, and the enduring memory of a woman will be the point into which both men鈥檚 destinies will converge.
But are facts or words for that matter enough to condemn a friend, almost a brother, for betrayal?
Does loyalty disable the unselfish love that should come with true friendship?
Is revenge satisfactory in front of a wasted life, overcast with doubt, guilt and rancor?
M谩rai鈥檚 characters emerge from the intrigue he dexterously surrounds them with rather than the convoluted tapestry of their psychological portraits. rscHenrik鈥檚 interrogation reads more like a philosophical monologue than a real conversation, and his guest remains a shadowy presence who listens passively to Henrik鈥檚 accusations. But a handicap in M谩rai鈥檚 hands becomes a valuable asset.
The counterpoint of the ghostly female characters, Kristina and Nini, presented in extreme roles; one as irresistible goddess that triggers wild passions, the other as the saintly figure of devoted surrogate mother, adds to the essence of the otherwise unoriginal tonality of the plotline.
M谩rai鈥檚 style is captivating and uniquely intimate. His fresh prose brims over with achingly beautiful passages that invoke the glory of old times drenched with woe and wonder, not exempt of nostalgia. Henrik鈥檚 discourse is paced and calmly delivered, with incisive meditations on the meaning of love, jealousy and duty, but the relentless pressure of his carefully selected words trap you and keep you turning pages with increasing frenzy until his past becomes your present and his mental landscape becomes your own.
M谩rai uses the word as a liberating force, as the ethic pillar on which the burden of a life that nears extinction can finally rest. Passion might be the real motor of existence, but M谩rai鈥檚 tale reminds us that reconciliation, and words, are required to give way to the future, regardless of how dark that future might be.
鈥淓mbers鈥� is the ideal title to summon up the melancholic decadence that soaks the pages of this intense but short novella. Candles burn until they are totally consumed by the flickering nature of their essence, as it happens with life when confronted with its impending mortality.
Two old men, General Henrik and Kondr谩d, meet after forty years in a secluded castle in the heart of Hungary, where the splendorous music of Chopin and flourishing soirees with elegantly attired guests that once crowded its saloons are now replaced by the stale odor of ageing and the heavy weight of secrets.
What initially looked like a nostalgic encounter between close friends, gradually acquires shades of darker colors that escalate in intrigue and dramatic tension until the facts that ruined the lives of these two gentlemen are brought into full light by the ruthless evidence of words. A duel without weapons is about to take place, and the enduring memory of a woman will be the point into which both men鈥檚 destinies will converge.
But are facts or words for that matter enough to condemn a friend, almost a brother, for betrayal?
Does loyalty disable the unselfish love that should come with true friendship?
Is revenge satisfactory in front of a wasted life, overcast with doubt, guilt and rancor?
M谩rai鈥檚 characters emerge from the intrigue he dexterously surrounds them with rather than the convoluted tapestry of their psychological portraits. rscHenrik鈥檚 interrogation reads more like a philosophical monologue than a real conversation, and his guest remains a shadowy presence who listens passively to Henrik鈥檚 accusations. But a handicap in M谩rai鈥檚 hands becomes a valuable asset.
The counterpoint of the ghostly female characters, Kristina and Nini, presented in extreme roles; one as irresistible goddess that triggers wild passions, the other as the saintly figure of devoted surrogate mother, adds to the essence of the otherwise unoriginal tonality of the plotline.
M谩rai鈥檚 style is captivating and uniquely intimate. His fresh prose brims over with achingly beautiful passages that invoke the glory of old times drenched with woe and wonder, not exempt of nostalgia. Henrik鈥檚 discourse is paced and calmly delivered, with incisive meditations on the meaning of love, jealousy and duty, but the relentless pressure of his carefully selected words trap you and keep you turning pages with increasing frenzy until his past becomes your present and his mental landscape becomes your own.
M谩rai uses the word as a liberating force, as the ethic pillar on which the burden of a life that nears extinction can finally rest. Passion might be the real motor of existence, but M谩rai鈥檚 tale reminds us that reconciliation, and words, are required to give way to the future, regardless of how dark that future might be.
July 4, 2022
兀爻卅賱丞 丕賱丨賷丕丞 鬲鬲睾賷乇 廿噩丕亘丕鬲賴丕 亘賲乇賵乇 丕賱毓賲乇 賵噩賲賷毓賳丕 亘胤乇賷賯丞 兀賵 亘兀禺乇賶 賳賮賯丿 賲賳 賳丨亘
丕賱賱賯丕亍 丕賱兀禺賷乇 亘賷賳 乇噩賱賷賳 賮賷 丕賱爻亘毓賷賳 亘毓丿 丕賳鬲馗丕乇 丿丕賲 賵丕丨丿 賵兀乇亘毓賷賳 爻賳丞
噩賱爻丞 亘賵丨 胤賵賷賱丞 賱兀丨丿賴賲丕 鬲亘丿賵 賵賰兀賳賴丕 賲丨丕賰賲丞 兀賵 賲購爻丕亍賱丞 賱賲毓乇賮丞 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞
丕爻鬲毓丕丿丞 賱鬲賮丕氐賷賱 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賵丕賱匕賰乇賷丕鬲 賵鬲爻丕丐賱丕鬲 毓賳 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賵丕賱丨亘 賵丕賱禺賷丕賳丞
賱賯丕亍 賱賱禺賱丕氐 賲賳 兀賱賲 賵賮賵囟賶 丕賱賳賮爻 丨鬲賶 亘丿賵賳 丕賱賵氐賵賱 賱廿噩丕亘丕鬲 丨丕爻賲丞
丕賱賱賯丕亍 丕賱兀禺賷乇 亘賷賳 乇噩賱賷賳 賮賷 丕賱爻亘毓賷賳 亘毓丿 丕賳鬲馗丕乇 丿丕賲 賵丕丨丿 賵兀乇亘毓賷賳 爻賳丞
噩賱爻丞 亘賵丨 胤賵賷賱丞 賱兀丨丿賴賲丕 鬲亘丿賵 賵賰兀賳賴丕 賲丨丕賰賲丞 兀賵 賲購爻丕亍賱丞 賱賲毓乇賮丞 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞
丕爻鬲毓丕丿丞 賱鬲賮丕氐賷賱 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賵丕賱匕賰乇賷丕鬲 賵鬲爻丕丐賱丕鬲 毓賳 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賵丕賱丨亘 賵丕賱禺賷丕賳丞
賱賯丕亍 賱賱禺賱丕氐 賲賳 兀賱賲 賵賮賵囟賶 丕賱賳賮爻 丨鬲賶 亘丿賵賳 丕賱賵氐賵賱 賱廿噩丕亘丕鬲 丨丕爻賲丞
April 22, 2025
Haunting, melancholic, nostalgic
Once upon a time two children had a friendship that bound them so delicately together, that they might have been living cradled in the huge dreaming pads of a great water lily.
Set in a dilapidated castle in Hungary, the story centers on Henrik and Konr谩d, two old estranged friends and their long-awaited reunion.
They were different, yet the same; they belonged together; they were allies; they were a community of two; they were indivisible; they were one.
But then, something happened and they weren鈥檛 friends anymore. Something happened and one of them left.
But now, after 41 years the once inseparable friends will meet, questions will be asked, secrets will be revealed and memories will be remembered.
I knew that one day you would come to me again. I waited you out, because everything that is worth waiting for has its own season and its own logic. And now the moment has come.
This elegant yet tense story or more aptly, philosophical ruminations, explores the themes of friendship, loyalty, passage of time and memories.
Once upon a time two children had a friendship that bound them so delicately together, that they might have been living cradled in the huge dreaming pads of a great water lily.
Set in a dilapidated castle in Hungary, the story centers on Henrik and Konr谩d, two old estranged friends and their long-awaited reunion.
They were different, yet the same; they belonged together; they were allies; they were a community of two; they were indivisible; they were one.
But then, something happened and they weren鈥檛 friends anymore. Something happened and one of them left.
But now, after 41 years the once inseparable friends will meet, questions will be asked, secrets will be revealed and memories will be remembered.
I knew that one day you would come to me again. I waited you out, because everything that is worth waiting for has its own season and its own logic. And now the moment has come.
This elegant yet tense story or more aptly, philosophical ruminations, explores the themes of friendship, loyalty, passage of time and memories.
July 29, 2021
Great story and great writing!!!
October 26, 2017
L'ultimo duello
Siamo nel 1940, quando gi脿 divampa la Seconda Guerra Mondiale. Due uomini di 75 anni si fronteggiano nella sala del castello di uno di loro (il Generale). Sono ben 41 anni che i due non si vedono. Eppure erano intimi amici fin dall'adolescenza bench茅, o forse proprio perch茅, tanto diversi : uno ricco, razionale, militaresco; l'altro di famiglia non abbiente, di temperamento artistico, amante della musica.
Perch茅 dunque un cos矛 lungo periodo di voluto allontanamento ?
Fra di loro c'猫 l'impalpabile presenza di una donna, ormai defunta da decenni : un 'bel fantasma' che ha segnato la vita dei due.
Ora il Generale ha delle questioni da porre, le quali da strettamente private diventano esistenziali. Ed 猫 proprio la presenza di questo 'afflato cosmico' a collocare il celebre scrittore ungherese Sandor Marai fra i Grandi della letteratura.
In quel freddo salone del castello, le braci non ardono solo nel caminetto, ove pure sono presenze non solo metaforiche, pronte a divampare in fiamme che annientano.
Il ritmo incalzante della scrittura inchioda il lettore in un clima di progressiva tensione fino all'ultima pagina.
L'atmosfera, bench茅 inquisitoria, potrebbe essere definita di sontuosa seduta analitica, dove la ragione non 猫 sufficiente : le sue ragioni schiudono piuttosto nuovi interrogativi sullo scatenarsi delle passioni, sull'esile confine tra odio e amore...
C'猫 per貌 un' altra figura femminile, nel contempo reale e simbolica, ad essere punto fermo e rifugio affettivo nella vita del Generale : una donna ancora viva; la vecchissima balia di et脿 si direbbe leggendaria, ancora capace di accogliere, rassicurare, consolare : lei gli fa il Segno della Croce; lui le d脿 un bacio: "come tutti i baci umani, anche questo (...) 猫 la risposta a una domanda che non 猫 possibile affidare alle parole".
Siamo nel 1940, quando gi脿 divampa la Seconda Guerra Mondiale. Due uomini di 75 anni si fronteggiano nella sala del castello di uno di loro (il Generale). Sono ben 41 anni che i due non si vedono. Eppure erano intimi amici fin dall'adolescenza bench茅, o forse proprio perch茅, tanto diversi : uno ricco, razionale, militaresco; l'altro di famiglia non abbiente, di temperamento artistico, amante della musica.
Perch茅 dunque un cos矛 lungo periodo di voluto allontanamento ?
Fra di loro c'猫 l'impalpabile presenza di una donna, ormai defunta da decenni : un 'bel fantasma' che ha segnato la vita dei due.
Ora il Generale ha delle questioni da porre, le quali da strettamente private diventano esistenziali. Ed 猫 proprio la presenza di questo 'afflato cosmico' a collocare il celebre scrittore ungherese Sandor Marai fra i Grandi della letteratura.
In quel freddo salone del castello, le braci non ardono solo nel caminetto, ove pure sono presenze non solo metaforiche, pronte a divampare in fiamme che annientano.
Il ritmo incalzante della scrittura inchioda il lettore in un clima di progressiva tensione fino all'ultima pagina.
L'atmosfera, bench茅 inquisitoria, potrebbe essere definita di sontuosa seduta analitica, dove la ragione non 猫 sufficiente : le sue ragioni schiudono piuttosto nuovi interrogativi sullo scatenarsi delle passioni, sull'esile confine tra odio e amore...
C'猫 per貌 un' altra figura femminile, nel contempo reale e simbolica, ad essere punto fermo e rifugio affettivo nella vita del Generale : una donna ancora viva; la vecchissima balia di et脿 si direbbe leggendaria, ancora capace di accogliere, rassicurare, consolare : lei gli fa il Segno della Croce; lui le d脿 un bacio: "come tutti i baci umani, anche questo (...) 猫 la risposta a una domanda che non 猫 possibile affidare alle parole".
January 31, 2021
This is the last of the books I received as presents at Christmas 2020, and this novel, which I read in translation, is deservedly gaining the status of a modern classic. It鈥檚 based around the concept of two 75-year-old men, Henrik and Konrad, who are reunited after an absence of 41 years. In the novel Henrik is mostly referred to as 鈥渢he General鈥�. The two met as 10-year-old boys and stayed the closest of friends for 24 years, when suddenly Konrad resigned his Army Commission and disappeared.
This isn鈥檛 a book to read if you want a plot-driven novel. The bulk of it takes place over a dinner the two men have at the General鈥檚 castle. I was expecting it to take the form of a conversation, but it鈥檚 more of a monologue by the General, who has spent the last 41 years thinking about the day his friend disappeared. Slowly, gradually, the story of that day is unravelled, and is absolutely compelling. What鈥檚 left at the end are the life stories of two men who, in their last years, no longer have any reason to pretend.
This isn鈥檛 a book to read if you want a plot-driven novel. The bulk of it takes place over a dinner the two men have at the General鈥檚 castle. I was expecting it to take the form of a conversation, but it鈥檚 more of a monologue by the General, who has spent the last 41 years thinking about the day his friend disappeared. Slowly, gradually, the story of that day is unravelled, and is absolutely compelling. What鈥檚 left at the end are the life stories of two men who, in their last years, no longer have any reason to pretend.
August 25, 2021
C'era qualcosa su cui non riuscivano a comprendersi. Eppure si amavano.
1. Questo libro 猫 scritto benissimo.
2. Questo libro 猫 strutturato benissimo.
3. Alcuni passi e certe pagine raggiungono vette di poesia altissime.
Ma:
1. Questo libro 猫 completamente raccontato, non presenta parti mostrate. Nemmeno nei romanzi pi霉 romantici del romanticismo c'猫 cos矛 poco show e cos矛 tanto tell.
2. Pi霉 di met脿 del romanzo 猫 un monologo.
3. Per dire cose che si potevano dire in qualche riga, l'autore impiega decine di pagine ripetendo anche pi霉 volte lo stesso concetto, certo delle sue convinzioni tanto che pone domande e si risponde da solo.
A pagina centosessantasei su centosettantadue, l'interlocutore del generale - il protagonista autore del pedante monologo - dice: "Credo che ormai abbiamo parlato di tutto. 脠 ora di andar via."
Che fai, mi prendi in giro? "Abbiamo parlato di tutto"? Ma se tu non hai niente. Ha fatto tutto Henrik, il generale. Ha detto per tutto il libro che voleva la verit脿 e non ha fatto altro che dirla da solo! Allora non c'era nemmeno bisogno di scrivere il libro, scusa eh.
La prima parte mi 猫 piaciuta perch茅 mi ha ricordato molto "L'amico ritrovato" e mi sono sentito a casa. Anche se l'amiciza tra i due bambini assumeva toni ancora pi霉 rosa di quella narrata da Uhlman. Cio猫, hanno pure fatto voto di castit脿 (?) durante l'adolescenza.
Passiamo al monologo di Henrik. Aggiungiamo il fatto che se fossi stato Konrad, avrei ucciso l'amico con un candelabro seduta stante. Dopo un po' taci, insomma. Parli a vanvera per una notte intera, dici che mi devi fare delle domande e poi ti rispondi da solo? Sei scemo o mangi sassi?
E poi a volte fa delle riflessioni cos矛 petulanti, barbose, proprio da vecchio annoiato, che non puoi essere d'accordo nemmeno se ti piace alla follia il modo in cui sono scritte.
Detto questo, forse M脿rai, con tutto quello che ha scritto, ha scritto di meglio. Gli dar貌 un'altra occasione, pi霉 avanti. Lo stile lo merita. Il troppo raccontato e il mostrato inesistente non glielo farebbero meritare, ma quando mi piace com'猫 scritto qualcosa, ci sono sempre dei dettagli da salvare.
Ultima cosa: l'aspetto pi霉 positivo del romanzo 猫 la balia Nini. L'unico personaggio veramente ben caratterizzato e interessante, 猫 bello sentirne parlare. E poi 猫 tenerissima.
1. Questo libro 猫 scritto benissimo.
2. Questo libro 猫 strutturato benissimo.
3. Alcuni passi e certe pagine raggiungono vette di poesia altissime.
Ma:
1. Questo libro 猫 completamente raccontato, non presenta parti mostrate. Nemmeno nei romanzi pi霉 romantici del romanticismo c'猫 cos矛 poco show e cos矛 tanto tell.
2. Pi霉 di met脿 del romanzo 猫 un monologo.
3. Per dire cose che si potevano dire in qualche riga, l'autore impiega decine di pagine ripetendo anche pi霉 volte lo stesso concetto, certo delle sue convinzioni tanto che pone domande e si risponde da solo.
A pagina centosessantasei su centosettantadue, l'interlocutore del generale - il protagonista autore del pedante monologo - dice: "Credo che ormai abbiamo parlato di tutto. 脠 ora di andar via."
Che fai, mi prendi in giro? "Abbiamo parlato di tutto"? Ma se tu non hai niente. Ha fatto tutto Henrik, il generale. Ha detto per tutto il libro che voleva la verit脿 e non ha fatto altro che dirla da solo! Allora non c'era nemmeno bisogno di scrivere il libro, scusa eh.
La prima parte mi 猫 piaciuta perch茅 mi ha ricordato molto "L'amico ritrovato" e mi sono sentito a casa. Anche se l'amiciza tra i due bambini assumeva toni ancora pi霉 rosa di quella narrata da Uhlman. Cio猫, hanno pure fatto voto di castit脿 (?) durante l'adolescenza.
Passiamo al monologo di Henrik. Aggiungiamo il fatto che se fossi stato Konrad, avrei ucciso l'amico con un candelabro seduta stante. Dopo un po' taci, insomma. Parli a vanvera per una notte intera, dici che mi devi fare delle domande e poi ti rispondi da solo? Sei scemo o mangi sassi?
E poi a volte fa delle riflessioni cos矛 petulanti, barbose, proprio da vecchio annoiato, che non puoi essere d'accordo nemmeno se ti piace alla follia il modo in cui sono scritte.
Detto questo, forse M脿rai, con tutto quello che ha scritto, ha scritto di meglio. Gli dar貌 un'altra occasione, pi霉 avanti. Lo stile lo merita. Il troppo raccontato e il mostrato inesistente non glielo farebbero meritare, ma quando mi piace com'猫 scritto qualcosa, ci sono sempre dei dettagli da salvare.
Ultima cosa: l'aspetto pi霉 positivo del romanzo 猫 la balia Nini. L'unico personaggio veramente ben caratterizzato e interessante, 猫 bello sentirne parlare. E poi 猫 tenerissima.
March 5, 2017
鈥淲e will talk these things through once more, try to establish the truth and then go to our deaths, I in this house, you somewhere else鈥︹€�
My impression of Hungarian authors so far has been that they really know how to write dark and depressing gems. Embers is just that, and possibly the saddest and loneliest little book I鈥檝e read in a while.
What鈥檚 lonelier than an elderly recluse brooding for decades in an isolated castle?
Familiar themes abound here: love, betrayal, regret. But it鈥檚 done in such an almost perfect way that you鈥檙e right there in front of the fireplace, drenched in melancholy, as the dialogue backs you into a corner of nostalgia, fear, and oppression. This was a claustrophobic, beautiful-sad reading experience.
Interestingly, this was the first time that I recall reading something that made me understand, at least a little, what it must feel like for those who love a tortured soul. The strained, fruitless effort of it. I almost felt like apologizing.
My impression of Hungarian authors so far has been that they really know how to write dark and depressing gems. Embers is just that, and possibly the saddest and loneliest little book I鈥檝e read in a while.
What鈥檚 lonelier than an elderly recluse brooding for decades in an isolated castle?
Familiar themes abound here: love, betrayal, regret. But it鈥檚 done in such an almost perfect way that you鈥檙e right there in front of the fireplace, drenched in melancholy, as the dialogue backs you into a corner of nostalgia, fear, and oppression. This was a claustrophobic, beautiful-sad reading experience.
Interestingly, this was the first time that I recall reading something that made me understand, at least a little, what it must feel like for those who love a tortured soul. The strained, fruitless effort of it. I almost felt like apologizing.
January 4, 2012
Blah blah blah put on a puffed up high horse pedestal. I really hate this book. Pseudo "and this was happening cause that's how it happens" styling itself as meaning of shit you could read on a quote of the day site. I HATE books that think telling you this is the same as actually having any meaning. You don't get to just say it and tell me you said it, you awful book. Please, stop coming into my life if you are one of these books!
Or it is a greeting card. The greeting card is to give to the spineless seventy something year old man in your life to avoid coming over and listening to him beat about the bush until you feel as old as his ninety-one year old nursemaid. I don't want to wipe the spit off his weak chin because he's too much of a pussy to have a thought! He can wipe his own ass, I hope it goes without saying.
It's Of Human Bondage if it sucked, pretty much. OHB was essentially a series of conversations to tell the protagonist about life issues that mattered to the author. But they were good conversations! This was shoehorning into meaningless pontifications for... I have no idea. He probably loved to hear himself talk. I didn't need to be miserable to know that people talk up stuff to the point it resembles a bad soap opera with themselves as the lead (with looks and charm enough to rescue them from the fast paced world of fashion modeling for K-Mart fashions). I don't need to be bored into a black hole to know that there are people who are as boring as a black hole.
Ok, here's an example.
"From the first moment, they lived together like twins in their mother's womb. For this they had no need of one of those pacts of the kind that is common among boys their age, who swear friendship with comical solemn rituals and the sort of portentous intensity invoked by people when for the first time they experience, in unconscious and distorted forms, the need to remove another human being from the world, body and soul, and make him uniquely theirs. For that is the hidden force within both friendship and love, Their friendship was deep and wordless, as are all the emotions that will last a lifetime. And like all great emotions, this one contained within itself both shame and a sense of guilt, for no one may isolate one of his fellows from the rest of humanity with impunity."
It all reads like that. Nothing happens. Just that kind of happening which is shit. Don't think for yourself here.
I read on amazon that this was a translation from German (from Hungarian). Maybe the original was good. I'm not going to lose sleep over it. If I were a better reviewer I could be more graphic in my hate levels. I would need my own chin and ass wiped. Alas.
Or it is a greeting card. The greeting card is to give to the spineless seventy something year old man in your life to avoid coming over and listening to him beat about the bush until you feel as old as his ninety-one year old nursemaid. I don't want to wipe the spit off his weak chin because he's too much of a pussy to have a thought! He can wipe his own ass, I hope it goes without saying.
It's Of Human Bondage if it sucked, pretty much. OHB was essentially a series of conversations to tell the protagonist about life issues that mattered to the author. But they were good conversations! This was shoehorning into meaningless pontifications for... I have no idea. He probably loved to hear himself talk. I didn't need to be miserable to know that people talk up stuff to the point it resembles a bad soap opera with themselves as the lead (with looks and charm enough to rescue them from the fast paced world of fashion modeling for K-Mart fashions). I don't need to be bored into a black hole to know that there are people who are as boring as a black hole.
Ok, here's an example.
"From the first moment, they lived together like twins in their mother's womb. For this they had no need of one of those pacts of the kind that is common among boys their age, who swear friendship with comical solemn rituals and the sort of portentous intensity invoked by people when for the first time they experience, in unconscious and distorted forms, the need to remove another human being from the world, body and soul, and make him uniquely theirs. For that is the hidden force within both friendship and love, Their friendship was deep and wordless, as are all the emotions that will last a lifetime. And like all great emotions, this one contained within itself both shame and a sense of guilt, for no one may isolate one of his fellows from the rest of humanity with impunity."
It all reads like that. Nothing happens. Just that kind of happening which is shit. Don't think for yourself here.
I read on amazon that this was a translation from German (from Hungarian). Maybe the original was good. I'm not going to lose sleep over it. If I were a better reviewer I could be more graphic in my hate levels. I would need my own chin and ass wiped. Alas.
August 25, 2024
S谩ndor Marai es un escritor que nunca me ha defraudado, cada novela tiene su encanto y logra trasmitirme emociones.
Hablamos del tiempo, dos hombres han sido 铆ntimos amigos desde la adolescencia por 20 a帽os, un d铆a cualquiera uno de ellos se va sin decir nada abandona su casa, trabajo, posesiones y se marcha con rumbo desconocido sin una palabra de despedida.
41 a帽os y 43 d铆as despu茅s el amigo reaparece.
驴Que se dir谩n en esta reuni贸n?, hay muchas preguntas que rondan por ah铆, habr谩 un reencuentro amistoso, se podr谩 continuar la amistad donde qued贸.
Aunque el libro est谩 conformado en su mayor铆a por reflexiones, disertaciones y recuerdos, parece que fluye de manera tranquila e inmutable todo lo que se dice tiene una implicaci贸n, un sentido, una belleza, no hay palabras desperdiciadas o vanas, no hay formulismos, ni tampoco obviedades, lo que hay es un diagn贸stico, un examen, una forma de encarar una vida que ya se vivi贸, buena o mala.
La vejez es un tema extra帽o, siempre existe un cierto ensue帽o o imagen de personas ancianas disfrutando de su familia o del tiempo libre, pero cu谩l es la realidad de una persona que ha resistido el marat贸n de la vida, un recuento de p茅rdidas sin lugar a dudas, personas queridas, posesiones, oficios, aficiones, que queda al final, cuando la muerte acecha sin remedio, que vale la pena al final del camino, que acompa帽a d铆a con d铆a, a donde se recurre, llega la sabidur铆a y el reconocimiento de la verdad, de lo importante o de lo esencial, puede ser que si, pero en la mayor铆a de los casos ya se ha perdido casi todo, que de alguna manera lo aprendido se vuelve insustancial.
En medio de esta conversaci贸n, uno se siente implicado y retado a pensar en su propio recorrido por esta vida, analizar que tanto hemos perdido o ganado, como afrontamos los a帽os y los sucesos que vamos enfrentando.
Es un libro que vale la pena leer, porque la sensibilidad del escritor permite sentirse identificado con uno u otro personaje, m谩s all谩 de la 茅poca, del pa铆s, de la situaci贸n, los conceptos y temas son tratados de una manera tan inteligente que perduran y nos llevan a la introspecci贸n.
Hablamos del tiempo, dos hombres han sido 铆ntimos amigos desde la adolescencia por 20 a帽os, un d铆a cualquiera uno de ellos se va sin decir nada abandona su casa, trabajo, posesiones y se marcha con rumbo desconocido sin una palabra de despedida.
41 a帽os y 43 d铆as despu茅s el amigo reaparece.
驴Que se dir谩n en esta reuni贸n?, hay muchas preguntas que rondan por ah铆, habr谩 un reencuentro amistoso, se podr谩 continuar la amistad donde qued贸.
Aunque el libro est谩 conformado en su mayor铆a por reflexiones, disertaciones y recuerdos, parece que fluye de manera tranquila e inmutable todo lo que se dice tiene una implicaci贸n, un sentido, una belleza, no hay palabras desperdiciadas o vanas, no hay formulismos, ni tampoco obviedades, lo que hay es un diagn贸stico, un examen, una forma de encarar una vida que ya se vivi贸, buena o mala.
La vejez es un tema extra帽o, siempre existe un cierto ensue帽o o imagen de personas ancianas disfrutando de su familia o del tiempo libre, pero cu谩l es la realidad de una persona que ha resistido el marat贸n de la vida, un recuento de p茅rdidas sin lugar a dudas, personas queridas, posesiones, oficios, aficiones, que queda al final, cuando la muerte acecha sin remedio, que vale la pena al final del camino, que acompa帽a d铆a con d铆a, a donde se recurre, llega la sabidur铆a y el reconocimiento de la verdad, de lo importante o de lo esencial, puede ser que si, pero en la mayor铆a de los casos ya se ha perdido casi todo, que de alguna manera lo aprendido se vuelve insustancial.
En medio de esta conversaci贸n, uno se siente implicado y retado a pensar en su propio recorrido por esta vida, analizar que tanto hemos perdido o ganado, como afrontamos los a帽os y los sucesos que vamos enfrentando.
Es un libro que vale la pena leer, porque la sensibilidad del escritor permite sentirse identificado con uno u otro personaje, m谩s all谩 de la 茅poca, del pa铆s, de la situaci贸n, los conceptos y temas son tratados de una manera tan inteligente que perduran y nos llevan a la introspecci贸n.
October 20, 2020
氐丿丕賯丞 鬲噩賲毓 亘賷賳 卮禺氐賷賳 賲賳 胤亘賯丞 賲禺鬲賱賮丞貙 賵丕丨丿 睾賳賷 賵丕亘賳 賲爻賭丐賵賱 賵丕賱孬丕賳賷 毓夭賷夭 賳賮爻 賲賳 毓丕卅賱丞 賲賷爻賵乇丞 丕賱丨丕賱. 兀丨丿賴賲 乇丨賱貙 丕亘鬲毓丿 毓賳 丕賱卮禺氐 兀賵 丕賱卮禺氐賷賳 丕賱賱匕賷賳 賷丨亘 賲乇毓賵亘賸丕 賲賳 爻乇貙 賵丌禺乇 亘賯賷 賲賱鬲夭賲賸丕 丕賱氐賲鬲 賵賷賳鬲馗乇 噩賵丕亘賸丕 禺賱丕賱 夭賲賳 賰兀賳賴 丕賱兀亘丿賷丞. 亘毓丿 賲乇賵乇 賵丕丨丿 賵兀乇亘毓賵賳 毓丕賲賸丕 賷賱鬲賯賷 丕賱氐丿賷賯丕賳 賲賳 噩丿賷丿.
丕賱夭賵噩丞 賵丕賱氐丿賷賯 噩賲毓鬲賴賲丕 丕賱禺賷丕賳丞貙 毓丿賲 丕賱賵賮丕亍 賵丕賱禺丿丕毓. 亘賯賷 爻丐丕賱 賷丐乇賯 丕賱夭賵噩 丕賱賲禺丿賵毓. 賴賱 賰丕賳鬲 夭賵噩鬲賴 毓賱賶 毓賱賲 亘兀賳 氐丿賷賯 夭賵噩賴丕 匕賴亘 賱賯鬲賱賴 賮賷 乇丨賱丞 氐賷丿!責.
乇賵丕賷丞 毓賲賷賯丞貙 爻丕丨乇丞 賵賲丿賴卮丞 毓賳 賮賱爻賮丞 丕賱丨亘 賵丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賵丕賱禺賷丕賳丞. 賲毓夭賵賮丞 賲賵爻賷賯賷丞 賴丕丿卅丞 毓賳 賲毓丕賳丕丞 丕賱乇賵丨 賲賳 兀賱賲 丕賱禺賷丕賳丞 賵丕賱禺丿丕毓.
丕賯鬲亘丕爻丕鬲..
鈥溬娰傌顿� 丕賱賲乇亍 丕賱丨賷丕丞 亘賰丕賲賱賴丕 賵賴賵 賷丨囟賾乇 賳賮爻賴 賱卮賷亍 賲丕. 賮賷 丕賱亘丿丕賷丞 賷鬲賲賱賰賴 丕賱睾囟亘. 亘毓丿 匕賱賰 賷乇賷丿 丕賱丕賳鬲賯丕賲. 孬賲 賷賳鬲馗乇鈥�.
鈥溫з勜娯ж� 丨賮賱丞 賷丕卅爻丞貙 丨賮賱丞 賲賴賷亘丞 賵鬲乇丕噩賷丿賷丞貙 丨賷賳 賷毓賱賳 毓賳 賳賴丕賷鬲賴丕 亘氐賵鬲 丕賱亘賵賯 賵亘兀賲乇 賲丕 賲卮丐賵賲鈥�.
鈥溬佡� 賷賵賲 賲丕 噩賲賷毓賳丕 爻賳賮賯丿 賲賳 賳丨亘鈥�.
鈥溬娯关辟� 丕賱賲乇亍 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 丿丕卅賲賸丕貙 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 丕賱兀禺乇賶貙 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 丕賱賲禺賮賷丞 禺賱賮 丕賱賲馗丕賴乇貙 禺賱賮 丕賱兀賯賳毓丞貙 禺賱賮 丕賱賲賵丕賯賮 丕賱賲禺鬲賱賮丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲亘丿賷賴丕 賱賳丕 丕賱丨賷丕丞鈥�.
鈥溫з勜关操勜� 賴賷 兀賷囟賸丕 丨丕賱丞 賮賷 賲賳鬲賴賶 丕賱禺氐賵氐賷丞. 兀丨賷丕賳賸丕 鬲賻賲孬購賱 賰睾丕亘丞 賲賲鬲賱卅丞 亘丕賱賲禺丕胤乇 賵丕賱賲賮丕噩丌鬲. 兀賳丕 兀毓乇賮 賰賱 鬲賳賵毓丕鬲賴丕. 丕賱爻兀賲 丕賱匕賷 鬲丨丕賵賱 毓亘孬賸丕 噩毓賱賴 賷鬲賵丕乇賶 賲爻鬲毓賷賳賸丕 亘賳爻賯 丨賷丕丞 賲賳馗賲丞 亘卮賰賱 丕氐胤賳丕毓賷. 丕賱兀夭賲丕鬲 丕賱賲鬲賰乇乇丞 賵睾賷乇 丕賱賲鬲賵賯毓丞. 丕賱毓夭賱丞 賴賷 賲賰丕賳 胤丕賮丨 亘丕賱兀爻乇丕乇貙 賲孬賱 丕賱睾丕亘丞鈥�.
鈥溬冑� 賰鬲丕亘 賷丨鬲賵賷 毓賱賶 匕乇丞 賲賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞鈥�.
鈥溫娯ж� 丕賱賲乇亍 亘兀爻乇賴丕 賴賷 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩賷亘 丿丕卅賲賸丕 毓賳 丕賱兀爻卅賱丞 丕賱兀賰孬乇 兀賴賲賷丞鈥�.
鈥溫з勜百� 賷亘丨孬 毓賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 毓賱賷賴 兀賳 賷亘丿兀 亘丕賱亘丨孬 賮賷 丿丕禺賱賴鈥�.
鈥溫з勝呚官嗁� 丕賱丨賯賷賯賷 賱賱氐丿丕賯丞 亘賷賳 丕賱乇噩丕賱 賴賵 鬲賲丕賲賸丕 丕賱廿賷孬丕乇 毓賱賶 丕賱賳賮爻: 兀賱丕 賳乇賷丿 鬲囟丨賷丞 丕賱丌禺乇貙 兀賱丕 賳乇賷丿 乇賯鬲賴貙 兀賱丕 賳乇賷丿 卮賷亍 毓賱賶 丕賱廿胤賱丕賯貙 賮賯胤 丕賱賲丨丕賮馗丞 毓賱賶 丕賳爻噩丕賲 丕賱鬲丨丕賱賮 丿賵賳 賰賱賲丕鬲鈥�.
鈥溬勜肛� 乇賮毓 丕賱爻賱丕丨 賱賯鬲賱 兀丨丿 毓賱賶 丕賱兀乇噩丨 賱賷爻鬲 賴賷 賱丨馗丞 丕賱廿孬賲 丕賱賯氐賵賶. 丕賱廿孬賲 賰丕賳 賲賵噩賵丿賸丕 賯亘賱 匕賱賰貙 丕賱廿孬賲 賰丕卅賳 賮賷 丕賱胤賵賷丞鈥�.
鈥溬呚� 賲賳 卮賷亍 賮賷 丕賱毓丕賱賲 賷毓賵賾囟 毓賳 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞. 賵賱丕 丨鬲賶 丕賱毓丕胤賮丞 丕賱囟丕乇賷丞 鬲爻鬲胤賷毓 兀賳 鬲賯丿賲 賰賱 匕賱賰 丕賱乇囟丕 賲孬賱 氐丿丕賯丞 氐丕賲鬲丞 賵乇夭賷賳丞 賱賱匕賷賳 丨丕賱賮賴賲 丕賱丨馗 賵賱丕賲爻鬲賴賲 賯賵鬲賴丕鈥�.
鈥溫з勜地з傌� 賱賷爻鬲 丨丕賱丞 賲夭丕噩賷丞 賲孬丕賱賷丞. 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賴賷 賯丕賳賵賳 廿賳爻丕賳賷 卮丿賷丿 丕賱氐乇丕賲丞鈥�.
鈥溫з勜地з傌� 賱丕 賷賲賰賳 兀賳 鬲賯賵丿 廿賱賶 丕賱禺丿丕毓貙 廿匕 賮賷 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賱丕 賷兀賲賱 丕賱賲乇亍 卮賷卅賸丕 賲賳 丕賱丌禺乇鈥�.
鈥溬佡� 丨丕賱丞 丕賱禺胤乇 賴賳丕賰 丿丕卅賲賸丕 卮賷亍 賲賳 丕賱賮鬲賳丞 賵丕賱爻丨乇. 丨賷賳 賷鬲賵噩賴 丕賱賯丿乇 氐賵亘賳丕貙 亘兀賷 卮賰賱 賰丕賳貙 賵賷賳丕丿賷賳丕 亘兀爻賲丕卅賳丕貙 賮賷 毓賲賯 睾賲賾賳丕 賵賵噩賱賳丕 鬲鬲兀賱賯 丿丕卅賲賸 噩丕匕亘賷丞 賲毓賷賳丞 賱兀賳 丕賱賲乇亍 賱丕 賷乇賷丿 丕賱毓賷卮 賮賯胤 亘兀賷 孬賲賳貙 廿賳賲丕 賷乇賷丿 兀賳 賷毓乇賮 賵賷賯亘賱 丕賱賯丿乇 亘乇賲鬲賴 亘兀賷 孬賲賳貙 丨鬲賶 毓賱賶 丨爻丕亘 丕賱禺賵賮 賵丕賱丿賲丕乇鈥�.
鈥溫关ㄘ� 丕賱鬲賮丕氐賷賱 賮賯胤 賳爻鬲胤賷毓 賮賴賲 丕賱噩賵賴乇貙 賴匕丕 賲丕 鬲毓賱賲鬲賴 賲賳 鬲噩乇亘鬲賷 賮賷 丕賱賰鬲亘 賵賮賷 丕賱丨賷丕丞鈥�.
鈥溬娰呝冑� 兀賳 賷賰賵賳 賱丿賷賰 賰賱 卮賷亍 賮賷 丕賱丨賷丕丞貙 賷賲賰賳賰 丕賱鬲睾賱亘 毓賱賶 賰賱 賲丕 丨賵賱賰 賵賮賷 丕賱毓丕賱賲貙 賰賱 卮賷亍 賷賲賰賳 兀賳 鬲毓胤賷賰 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賵賷賲賰賳賰 丕賳鬲夭丕毓 賰賱 卮賷亍貙 賱賰賳 賱丕 賷賲賰賳賰 鬲睾賷賷乇 丕賱兀匕賵丕賯貙 丕賱賲賷賵賱貙 丕賱廿賷賯丕毓丕鬲 丕賱丨賷賵賷丞 賱卮禺氐 賲丨丿賾丿貙 賴匕賴 丕賱賰賷賮賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩毓賱賰 禺丕氐賸丕 賵賲禺鬲賱賮賸丕 丕賱鬲賷 鬲胤亘毓 丕賱卮禺氐 丕賱匕賷 賷賴賲賰 兀賲乇賴貙 丕賱卮禺氐 丕賱匕賷 兀賳鬲 毓賱賶 毓賱丕賯丞 亘賴鈥�.
鈥溬囐嗀з� 卮賷亍 兀爻賵兀 賲賳 丕賱賲賵鬲貙 兀爻賵兀 賲賳 丕賱兀賱賲貙 賴賵 丨賷賳 賷賮賯丿 丕賱賲乇亍 丨亘賴 丕賱禺丕氐鈥�.
賷噩乇丨 賵賷丨乇賯 廿賱賶 丿乇噩丞 賱丕 賷爻鬲胤賷毓 丨鬲賶 丕賱賲賵鬲 廿胤賮丕亍賴 賵賴賵 丨賷賳 賷噩乇丨 卮禺氐 兀賵 丕孬賳丕賳 賴匕丕 丕賱丨亘 丕賱匕賷 賲賳 丿賵賳賴 賱丕 賳爻鬲胤賷毓 兀賳 賳丨賷丕 丨賷丕丞 賰乇賷賲丞鈥�.
鈥溬娯促娯� 丕賱賲乇亍 卮賷卅賸丕 賮卮賷卅賸丕貙 鬲卮賷禺 兀賵賱丕賸 乇睾亘鬲賴 賮賷 丕賱丨賷丕丞貙 亘丕賱丌禺乇賷賳貙 賰賱 卮賷亍 賷氐亘丨 丨賯賷賯賷賸丕貙 賲毓乇賵賮賸丕 賵賲賰乇乇賸丕 亘卮賰賱 賲賲賱 賵賮馗賷毓鈥�.
鈥溫娰� 鬲賳鬲賴賷 丕賱乇睾亘丞 亘丕賱賲鬲毓丞 賱丕 賷亘賯賶 爻賵賶 丕賱匕賰乇賷丕鬲 賵丕賱睾乇賵乇貙 丨賷賳卅匕貙 賷卮賷禺 丕賱賲乇亍 亘卮賰賱 丨鬲賲賷 賵賳賴丕卅賷鈥�.
鈥溫贺� 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賲孬賷乇丞 鬲賯乇賷亘賸丕 丨賷賳 鬲賰賵賳 賯丿 鬲毓賱賲鬲 兀賰丕匕賷亘 丕賱丌禺乇賷賳貙 賵鬲亘丿兀 亘丕賱丕爻鬲賲鬲丕毓 賵兀賳鬲 鬲乇丕賯亘賴賲 賵鬲乇賶 亘兀賳賴賲 丿丕卅賲賸丕 賷賯賵賱賵賳 卮賷卅賸丕 丌禺乇 毓賲丕 賷賮賰乇賵賳貙 毓賲丕 賷乇賷丿賵賳 丨賯賷賯丞. 賮賷 賷賵賲 賲丕 鬲鬲賵氐賱 廿賱賶 丕賱賯亘賵賱 亘丕賱丨賯賷賯丞貙 賵賴匕丕 賷毓賳賷 丕賱卮賷禺賵禺丞 賵丕賱賲賵鬲. 賱賰賳 匕賱賰 賱賲 賷毓丿 賷丐賱賲 兀賷囟賸丕鈥�.
丕賱夭賵噩丞 賵丕賱氐丿賷賯 噩賲毓鬲賴賲丕 丕賱禺賷丕賳丞貙 毓丿賲 丕賱賵賮丕亍 賵丕賱禺丿丕毓. 亘賯賷 爻丐丕賱 賷丐乇賯 丕賱夭賵噩 丕賱賲禺丿賵毓. 賴賱 賰丕賳鬲 夭賵噩鬲賴 毓賱賶 毓賱賲 亘兀賳 氐丿賷賯 夭賵噩賴丕 匕賴亘 賱賯鬲賱賴 賮賷 乇丨賱丞 氐賷丿!責.
乇賵丕賷丞 毓賲賷賯丞貙 爻丕丨乇丞 賵賲丿賴卮丞 毓賳 賮賱爻賮丞 丕賱丨亘 賵丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賵丕賱禺賷丕賳丞. 賲毓夭賵賮丞 賲賵爻賷賯賷丞 賴丕丿卅丞 毓賳 賲毓丕賳丕丞 丕賱乇賵丨 賲賳 兀賱賲 丕賱禺賷丕賳丞 賵丕賱禺丿丕毓.
丕賯鬲亘丕爻丕鬲..
鈥溬娰傌顿� 丕賱賲乇亍 丕賱丨賷丕丞 亘賰丕賲賱賴丕 賵賴賵 賷丨囟賾乇 賳賮爻賴 賱卮賷亍 賲丕. 賮賷 丕賱亘丿丕賷丞 賷鬲賲賱賰賴 丕賱睾囟亘. 亘毓丿 匕賱賰 賷乇賷丿 丕賱丕賳鬲賯丕賲. 孬賲 賷賳鬲馗乇鈥�.
鈥溫з勜娯ж� 丨賮賱丞 賷丕卅爻丞貙 丨賮賱丞 賲賴賷亘丞 賵鬲乇丕噩賷丿賷丞貙 丨賷賳 賷毓賱賳 毓賳 賳賴丕賷鬲賴丕 亘氐賵鬲 丕賱亘賵賯 賵亘兀賲乇 賲丕 賲卮丐賵賲鈥�.
鈥溬佡� 賷賵賲 賲丕 噩賲賷毓賳丕 爻賳賮賯丿 賲賳 賳丨亘鈥�.
鈥溬娯关辟� 丕賱賲乇亍 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 丿丕卅賲賸丕貙 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 丕賱兀禺乇賶貙 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 丕賱賲禺賮賷丞 禺賱賮 丕賱賲馗丕賴乇貙 禺賱賮 丕賱兀賯賳毓丞貙 禺賱賮 丕賱賲賵丕賯賮 丕賱賲禺鬲賱賮丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲亘丿賷賴丕 賱賳丕 丕賱丨賷丕丞鈥�.
鈥溫з勜关操勜� 賴賷 兀賷囟賸丕 丨丕賱丞 賮賷 賲賳鬲賴賶 丕賱禺氐賵氐賷丞. 兀丨賷丕賳賸丕 鬲賻賲孬購賱 賰睾丕亘丞 賲賲鬲賱卅丞 亘丕賱賲禺丕胤乇 賵丕賱賲賮丕噩丌鬲. 兀賳丕 兀毓乇賮 賰賱 鬲賳賵毓丕鬲賴丕. 丕賱爻兀賲 丕賱匕賷 鬲丨丕賵賱 毓亘孬賸丕 噩毓賱賴 賷鬲賵丕乇賶 賲爻鬲毓賷賳賸丕 亘賳爻賯 丨賷丕丞 賲賳馗賲丞 亘卮賰賱 丕氐胤賳丕毓賷. 丕賱兀夭賲丕鬲 丕賱賲鬲賰乇乇丞 賵睾賷乇 丕賱賲鬲賵賯毓丞. 丕賱毓夭賱丞 賴賷 賲賰丕賳 胤丕賮丨 亘丕賱兀爻乇丕乇貙 賲孬賱 丕賱睾丕亘丞鈥�.
鈥溬冑� 賰鬲丕亘 賷丨鬲賵賷 毓賱賶 匕乇丞 賲賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞鈥�.
鈥溫娯ж� 丕賱賲乇亍 亘兀爻乇賴丕 賴賷 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩賷亘 丿丕卅賲賸丕 毓賳 丕賱兀爻卅賱丞 丕賱兀賰孬乇 兀賴賲賷丞鈥�.
鈥溫з勜百� 賷亘丨孬 毓賳 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 毓賱賷賴 兀賳 賷亘丿兀 亘丕賱亘丨孬 賮賷 丿丕禺賱賴鈥�.
鈥溫з勝呚官嗁� 丕賱丨賯賷賯賷 賱賱氐丿丕賯丞 亘賷賳 丕賱乇噩丕賱 賴賵 鬲賲丕賲賸丕 丕賱廿賷孬丕乇 毓賱賶 丕賱賳賮爻: 兀賱丕 賳乇賷丿 鬲囟丨賷丞 丕賱丌禺乇貙 兀賱丕 賳乇賷丿 乇賯鬲賴貙 兀賱丕 賳乇賷丿 卮賷亍 毓賱賶 丕賱廿胤賱丕賯貙 賮賯胤 丕賱賲丨丕賮馗丞 毓賱賶 丕賳爻噩丕賲 丕賱鬲丨丕賱賮 丿賵賳 賰賱賲丕鬲鈥�.
鈥溬勜肛� 乇賮毓 丕賱爻賱丕丨 賱賯鬲賱 兀丨丿 毓賱賶 丕賱兀乇噩丨 賱賷爻鬲 賴賷 賱丨馗丞 丕賱廿孬賲 丕賱賯氐賵賶. 丕賱廿孬賲 賰丕賳 賲賵噩賵丿賸丕 賯亘賱 匕賱賰貙 丕賱廿孬賲 賰丕卅賳 賮賷 丕賱胤賵賷丞鈥�.
鈥溬呚� 賲賳 卮賷亍 賮賷 丕賱毓丕賱賲 賷毓賵賾囟 毓賳 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞. 賵賱丕 丨鬲賶 丕賱毓丕胤賮丞 丕賱囟丕乇賷丞 鬲爻鬲胤賷毓 兀賳 鬲賯丿賲 賰賱 匕賱賰 丕賱乇囟丕 賲孬賱 氐丿丕賯丞 氐丕賲鬲丞 賵乇夭賷賳丞 賱賱匕賷賳 丨丕賱賮賴賲 丕賱丨馗 賵賱丕賲爻鬲賴賲 賯賵鬲賴丕鈥�.
鈥溫з勜地з傌� 賱賷爻鬲 丨丕賱丞 賲夭丕噩賷丞 賲孬丕賱賷丞. 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賴賷 賯丕賳賵賳 廿賳爻丕賳賷 卮丿賷丿 丕賱氐乇丕賲丞鈥�.
鈥溫з勜地з傌� 賱丕 賷賲賰賳 兀賳 鬲賯賵丿 廿賱賶 丕賱禺丿丕毓貙 廿匕 賮賷 丕賱氐丿丕賯丞 賱丕 賷兀賲賱 丕賱賲乇亍 卮賷卅賸丕 賲賳 丕賱丌禺乇鈥�.
鈥溬佡� 丨丕賱丞 丕賱禺胤乇 賴賳丕賰 丿丕卅賲賸丕 卮賷亍 賲賳 丕賱賮鬲賳丞 賵丕賱爻丨乇. 丨賷賳 賷鬲賵噩賴 丕賱賯丿乇 氐賵亘賳丕貙 亘兀賷 卮賰賱 賰丕賳貙 賵賷賳丕丿賷賳丕 亘兀爻賲丕卅賳丕貙 賮賷 毓賲賯 睾賲賾賳丕 賵賵噩賱賳丕 鬲鬲兀賱賯 丿丕卅賲賸 噩丕匕亘賷丞 賲毓賷賳丞 賱兀賳 丕賱賲乇亍 賱丕 賷乇賷丿 丕賱毓賷卮 賮賯胤 亘兀賷 孬賲賳貙 廿賳賲丕 賷乇賷丿 兀賳 賷毓乇賮 賵賷賯亘賱 丕賱賯丿乇 亘乇賲鬲賴 亘兀賷 孬賲賳貙 丨鬲賶 毓賱賶 丨爻丕亘 丕賱禺賵賮 賵丕賱丿賲丕乇鈥�.
鈥溫关ㄘ� 丕賱鬲賮丕氐賷賱 賮賯胤 賳爻鬲胤賷毓 賮賴賲 丕賱噩賵賴乇貙 賴匕丕 賲丕 鬲毓賱賲鬲賴 賲賳 鬲噩乇亘鬲賷 賮賷 丕賱賰鬲亘 賵賮賷 丕賱丨賷丕丞鈥�.
鈥溬娰呝冑� 兀賳 賷賰賵賳 賱丿賷賰 賰賱 卮賷亍 賮賷 丕賱丨賷丕丞貙 賷賲賰賳賰 丕賱鬲睾賱亘 毓賱賶 賰賱 賲丕 丨賵賱賰 賵賮賷 丕賱毓丕賱賲貙 賰賱 卮賷亍 賷賲賰賳 兀賳 鬲毓胤賷賰 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賵賷賲賰賳賰 丕賳鬲夭丕毓 賰賱 卮賷亍貙 賱賰賳 賱丕 賷賲賰賳賰 鬲睾賷賷乇 丕賱兀匕賵丕賯貙 丕賱賲賷賵賱貙 丕賱廿賷賯丕毓丕鬲 丕賱丨賷賵賷丞 賱卮禺氐 賲丨丿賾丿貙 賴匕賴 丕賱賰賷賮賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩毓賱賰 禺丕氐賸丕 賵賲禺鬲賱賮賸丕 丕賱鬲賷 鬲胤亘毓 丕賱卮禺氐 丕賱匕賷 賷賴賲賰 兀賲乇賴貙 丕賱卮禺氐 丕賱匕賷 兀賳鬲 毓賱賶 毓賱丕賯丞 亘賴鈥�.
鈥溬囐嗀з� 卮賷亍 兀爻賵兀 賲賳 丕賱賲賵鬲貙 兀爻賵兀 賲賳 丕賱兀賱賲貙 賴賵 丨賷賳 賷賮賯丿 丕賱賲乇亍 丨亘賴 丕賱禺丕氐鈥�.
賷噩乇丨 賵賷丨乇賯 廿賱賶 丿乇噩丞 賱丕 賷爻鬲胤賷毓 丨鬲賶 丕賱賲賵鬲 廿胤賮丕亍賴 賵賴賵 丨賷賳 賷噩乇丨 卮禺氐 兀賵 丕孬賳丕賳 賴匕丕 丕賱丨亘 丕賱匕賷 賲賳 丿賵賳賴 賱丕 賳爻鬲胤賷毓 兀賳 賳丨賷丕 丨賷丕丞 賰乇賷賲丞鈥�.
鈥溬娯促娯� 丕賱賲乇亍 卮賷卅賸丕 賮卮賷卅賸丕貙 鬲卮賷禺 兀賵賱丕賸 乇睾亘鬲賴 賮賷 丕賱丨賷丕丞貙 亘丕賱丌禺乇賷賳貙 賰賱 卮賷亍 賷氐亘丨 丨賯賷賯賷賸丕貙 賲毓乇賵賮賸丕 賵賲賰乇乇賸丕 亘卮賰賱 賲賲賱 賵賮馗賷毓鈥�.
鈥溫娰� 鬲賳鬲賴賷 丕賱乇睾亘丞 亘丕賱賲鬲毓丞 賱丕 賷亘賯賶 爻賵賶 丕賱匕賰乇賷丕鬲 賵丕賱睾乇賵乇貙 丨賷賳卅匕貙 賷卮賷禺 丕賱賲乇亍 亘卮賰賱 丨鬲賲賷 賵賳賴丕卅賷鈥�.
鈥溫贺� 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賲孬賷乇丞 鬲賯乇賷亘賸丕 丨賷賳 鬲賰賵賳 賯丿 鬲毓賱賲鬲 兀賰丕匕賷亘 丕賱丌禺乇賷賳貙 賵鬲亘丿兀 亘丕賱丕爻鬲賲鬲丕毓 賵兀賳鬲 鬲乇丕賯亘賴賲 賵鬲乇賶 亘兀賳賴賲 丿丕卅賲賸丕 賷賯賵賱賵賳 卮賷卅賸丕 丌禺乇 毓賲丕 賷賮賰乇賵賳貙 毓賲丕 賷乇賷丿賵賳 丨賯賷賯丞. 賮賷 賷賵賲 賲丕 鬲鬲賵氐賱 廿賱賶 丕賱賯亘賵賱 亘丕賱丨賯賷賯丞貙 賵賴匕丕 賷毓賳賷 丕賱卮賷禺賵禺丞 賵丕賱賲賵鬲. 賱賰賳 匕賱賰 賱賲 賷毓丿 賷丐賱賲 兀賷囟賸丕鈥�.
April 20, 2017
This was a powerful read that pulled my heart along with the narrator Henrik鈥檚 soul-searching dialogue (perhaps monologue is more appropriate) with his best friend and enemy Konrad whom he has not seen for forty-one years. The story is set in the 1900s in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
The speech evokes a past love triangle between the two and Henrik鈥檚 wife, long dead, and a murder attempt. Henrik chose to stay silent about the double betrayal and to live on stoically. Konrad chose to escape to the tropics. Henrik鈥檚 wife chose to die.
Henrik鈥檚 mordant observations about fidelity and betrayal between intimate man-friends, passionate and possessive man-and-woman relationship, dark human nature like arrogance and cowardice, and the solitude and sorrow of aging are beautifully woven into a web of silky smooth words that has the power of swallowing one鈥檚 heart and mind whole with no reprieve.
I find these passages especially striking:
It鈥檚 the moment when something happens not just deep among the trees but also in the dark interior of the human heart, for the heart, too, has its night and its wild surges, as strong an instinct for the hunt as a wolf or a stag. The human night is filled with the crouching forms of dreams, desires, vanities, self-interest, mad love, envy, and the thirst for revenge, as the desert night conceals the puma, the hawk and the jackal.
Every exercise of power incorporates a faint, almost imperceptible, element of contempt for those over whom the power is exercised. One can only dominate another human soul if one knows, understands, and with the utmost tact despises the person one is subjugating.
There is this question of otherness鈥�.So just as it is blood alone that binds people to defend one another in the face of danger, on the spiritual plane one person will struggle to help another only if this person is not 鈥榙ifferent鈥�, and if, quite aside from opinions and convictions, they share similar natures at the deepest level.
Is the idea of fidelity not an appalling egoism and also as vain as most other human concerns? When we demand fidelity, are we wishing for the other person鈥檚 happiness? And if that person connot be happy in the subtle prison of fidelity, do we really prove our love by demanding fidelity nonetheless? And if we do not love that person in a way that makes her happy, do we have the right to expect fidelity or any other sacrifice?
Do you also believe that what gives our lives their meaning is the passion that suddenly invades our heart, soul and body, and burns in us forever, no matter what else happens in our lives?.... Is it indeed about desiring any one person, or is it about desiring desire itself? Or perhaps, is it indeed about desiring a particular person, a single, mysterious other, once and for always, no matter whether that person is good or bad, and the intensity of our feelings bears no relation to that individual鈥檚 qualities or behavior?
This novel forces one to ponder on one's own intimate relationships.
The speech evokes a past love triangle between the two and Henrik鈥檚 wife, long dead, and a murder attempt. Henrik chose to stay silent about the double betrayal and to live on stoically. Konrad chose to escape to the tropics. Henrik鈥檚 wife chose to die.
Henrik鈥檚 mordant observations about fidelity and betrayal between intimate man-friends, passionate and possessive man-and-woman relationship, dark human nature like arrogance and cowardice, and the solitude and sorrow of aging are beautifully woven into a web of silky smooth words that has the power of swallowing one鈥檚 heart and mind whole with no reprieve.
I find these passages especially striking:
It鈥檚 the moment when something happens not just deep among the trees but also in the dark interior of the human heart, for the heart, too, has its night and its wild surges, as strong an instinct for the hunt as a wolf or a stag. The human night is filled with the crouching forms of dreams, desires, vanities, self-interest, mad love, envy, and the thirst for revenge, as the desert night conceals the puma, the hawk and the jackal.
Every exercise of power incorporates a faint, almost imperceptible, element of contempt for those over whom the power is exercised. One can only dominate another human soul if one knows, understands, and with the utmost tact despises the person one is subjugating.
There is this question of otherness鈥�.So just as it is blood alone that binds people to defend one another in the face of danger, on the spiritual plane one person will struggle to help another only if this person is not 鈥榙ifferent鈥�, and if, quite aside from opinions and convictions, they share similar natures at the deepest level.
Is the idea of fidelity not an appalling egoism and also as vain as most other human concerns? When we demand fidelity, are we wishing for the other person鈥檚 happiness? And if that person connot be happy in the subtle prison of fidelity, do we really prove our love by demanding fidelity nonetheless? And if we do not love that person in a way that makes her happy, do we have the right to expect fidelity or any other sacrifice?
Do you also believe that what gives our lives their meaning is the passion that suddenly invades our heart, soul and body, and burns in us forever, no matter what else happens in our lives?.... Is it indeed about desiring any one person, or is it about desiring desire itself? Or perhaps, is it indeed about desiring a particular person, a single, mysterious other, once and for always, no matter whether that person is good or bad, and the intensity of our feelings bears no relation to that individual鈥檚 qualities or behavior?
This novel forces one to ponder on one's own intimate relationships.
November 1, 2014
Let me begin by being frank: I鈥檓 full-blooded Hungarian and the daughter of a deceased, well-known Hungarian non-fiction author so I鈥檓 slightly biased toward Hungarian literature. Not too mention that Sandor Marai, the author of Embers, shares striking resemblances to my father (escaping from communism holds, fleeing first to Italy before ever touching the US, and death in 1989). Despite these blatant favoritism, Embers is a pure masterpiece and in realm with the classics.
The reader is instantly transported on page one into an emotion-packed and highly sensitive land. Although easy to read in the realm of word choice; the descriptive language in Embers is nothing short of gorgeous and poetic with heavy depth. Oftentimes, one won鈥檛 even care what Marai is writing about (although trust me, that you DO care); you just want him to keep writing. Marai鈥檚 style is comparable to Tolstoy in the philosophical aspect and to Thomas Hardy in his depth of understanding human emotion. Embers begins with elements of dark and sinister essences looming over the plot, but this is what makes it so captivating and tragic: a pure classic.
Aside from the beautiful literary language, Embers also encompasses phrases which will result in the reader uttering a, 鈥淲ow鈥� out loud and being taken aback (in a good way). For example, 鈥淥ne day we lose the person we love. Anyone who is unable to sustain that loss fails as a human being and does not deserve our sympathy鈥�. I will not get into my interpretation of this phrase but this is an example of the resonating value of Embers which will certainly cause you to re-evaluate some of your own values, thoughts, actions, and experiences. I found myself re-reading certain passages to make sure I gathered the lesson clearly in my mind. Simply, Embers is a classic book which will affect you but differently at various points of your life, thus, making it ideal for multiple reads.
Underlying the story are philosophical and psychological theories and ideals on friendship, love, relationships, war, and life. These are presented in a non-boring way as dialogue between the General (Henrik) and Konrad. Similar to Kafka in the expressionalism, but better; as Marai鈥檚 high use of allusions drives the story. The buildup to the climax is heavy but as clear as a sunny day, never letting you loose from Marai鈥檚 grasp. A smooth and simple plot and yet, so deep. Embers is one of those novels which says a lot with few words. It doesn鈥檛 take much to feel like you know the General and Konrad intimately, with a uniquely well-developed character arc.
Plain and simply: THIS is a novel, ladies and gentlemen. If Embers was a play, the audience would be silenced and then would erupt in a standing ovation. You just have to read it for yourself to understand.
The reader is instantly transported on page one into an emotion-packed and highly sensitive land. Although easy to read in the realm of word choice; the descriptive language in Embers is nothing short of gorgeous and poetic with heavy depth. Oftentimes, one won鈥檛 even care what Marai is writing about (although trust me, that you DO care); you just want him to keep writing. Marai鈥檚 style is comparable to Tolstoy in the philosophical aspect and to Thomas Hardy in his depth of understanding human emotion. Embers begins with elements of dark and sinister essences looming over the plot, but this is what makes it so captivating and tragic: a pure classic.
Aside from the beautiful literary language, Embers also encompasses phrases which will result in the reader uttering a, 鈥淲ow鈥� out loud and being taken aback (in a good way). For example, 鈥淥ne day we lose the person we love. Anyone who is unable to sustain that loss fails as a human being and does not deserve our sympathy鈥�. I will not get into my interpretation of this phrase but this is an example of the resonating value of Embers which will certainly cause you to re-evaluate some of your own values, thoughts, actions, and experiences. I found myself re-reading certain passages to make sure I gathered the lesson clearly in my mind. Simply, Embers is a classic book which will affect you but differently at various points of your life, thus, making it ideal for multiple reads.
Underlying the story are philosophical and psychological theories and ideals on friendship, love, relationships, war, and life. These are presented in a non-boring way as dialogue between the General (Henrik) and Konrad. Similar to Kafka in the expressionalism, but better; as Marai鈥檚 high use of allusions drives the story. The buildup to the climax is heavy but as clear as a sunny day, never letting you loose from Marai鈥檚 grasp. A smooth and simple plot and yet, so deep. Embers is one of those novels which says a lot with few words. It doesn鈥檛 take much to feel like you know the General and Konrad intimately, with a uniquely well-developed character arc.
Plain and simply: THIS is a novel, ladies and gentlemen. If Embers was a play, the audience would be silenced and then would erupt in a standing ovation. You just have to read it for yourself to understand.
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