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螖喂蠈蚁胃蝇蟽畏
"螕喂伪 谓伪 蟽蟿畏蟻委味蔚蟿伪喂 蔚蠀蟽蟿伪胃蠋蟼 苇谓伪 蟽蠋渭伪", 位苇蔚喂 蟿慰 蟻畏蟿蠈 蟿畏蟼 蟺蟻慰渭蔚蟿蠅蟺委未伪蟼 蟿慰蠀 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿慰蟻萎渭伪蟿慰蟼, "蔚委谓伪喂 伪蟺伪蟻伪委蟿畏蟿慰 谓伪 苇蠂蔚喂 蟿慰蠀位维蠂喂蟽蟿慰谓 蟿蟻委伪 蟽畏渭蔚委伪 蟽蟿萎蟻喂尉畏蟼, 蟺慰蠀 谓伪 尾蟻委蟽魏慰谓蟿伪喂 蟽蔚 蔚蠀胃蔚委伪 纬蟻伪渭渭萎, 蔚委蟺蔚 慰 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻".
韦慰 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿蠈蟻畏渭伪 螖喂蠈蚁胃蝇蟽畏 苇蠂蔚喂 蠈谓蟿蠅蟼 蟿蟻委伪 蟿苇蟿慰喂伪 "蟽畏渭蔚委伪 蟽蟿萎蟻喂尉畏蟼". 韦慰 蟺蟻蠋蟿慰 蔚委谓伪喂 慰 蟽伪蟻伪谓蟿伪未蠀维蠂蟻慰谓慰蟼 螒蠀蟽蟿蟻喂伪魏蠈蟼 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻, 蟺慰蠀 蟽蟺慰蠀未维味蔚喂 蠁蠀蟽喂魏苇蟼 蔚蟺喂蟽蟿萎渭蔚蟼 蟽蟿慰 螝苇渭蟺蟻喂蟿味. 螆蟺蔚喂蟿伪 伪蟺蠈 蟿蟻委伪 蠂蟻蠈谓喂伪 蟽蠂蔚未喂伪蟽渭慰蠉 魏伪喂 维位位伪 蟿蠈蟽伪 慰喂魏慰未慰渭喂魏蠋谓 蔚蟻纬伪蟽喂蠋谓, 苇蠂蟿喂蟽蔚 纬喂伪 蟿畏谓 伪纬伪蟺畏渭苇谓畏 蟿慰蠀 伪未蔚位蠁萎 蟿慰 慰喂魏慰未蠈渭畏渭伪 蟺慰蠀 蟿畏蟼 伪谓蟿喂蟽蟿慰喂蠂慰蠉蟽蔚 蟿蔚位蔚委蠅蟼, 蟿慰谓 位蔚纬蠈渭蔚谓慰 "魏蠋谓慰". 螠蠈位喂蟼 畏 纬蠀谓伪委魏伪 伪谓蟿委魏蟻喂蟽蔚 慰位慰魏位畏蟻蠅渭苇谓慰 蟿慰 慰喂魏慰未蠈渭畏渭伪, 蟺苇胃伪谓蔚. 螣 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 苇蟺蟻蔚蟺蔚 谓伪 "未喂慰蟻胃蠋蟽蔚喂" 蟿伪 蟺蟻维纬渭伪蟿伪: 魏位畏蟻慰未蠈蟿畏蟽蔚 蟿慰谓 魏蠋谓慰 蟽蟿慰 魏蟻维蟿慰蟼, 渭蔚 蟿慰谓 蠈蟻慰, 尾苇尾伪喂伪, 谓伪 蟿慰谓 蔚纬魏伪蟿伪位蔚委蠄蔚喂 蟽蟿畏 蠁蠉蟽畏. 螆蟺蔚喂蟿伪 慰 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 蔚魏蟿苇位蔚蟽蔚 蟿畏谓 蟿蔚位蔚蠀蟿伪委伪 "未喂蠈蟻胃蠅蟽畏", 蟿畏谓 伪蠀蟿慰魏蟿慰谓委伪 蟿慰蠀.
螣 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 维蠁畏蟽蔚 苇谓伪 蠂蔚喂蟻蠈纬蟻伪蠁慰, 魏喂 伪蠀蟿蠈 蔚委谓伪喂 蟿慰 未蔚蠉蟿蔚蟻慰 "蟽畏渭蔚委慰 蟽蟿萎蟻喂尉畏蟼" 蟿慰蠀 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿慰蟻萎渭伪蟿慰蟼.
螣 伪蠁畏纬畏蟿萎蟼 蟿慰蠀 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿慰蟻萎渭伪蟿慰蟼, 苇谓伪蟼 蠁委位慰蟼 蟿慰蠀 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 魏伪喂 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁苇伪蟼, 蟿慰 蟿蟻委蟿慰 "蟽畏渭蔚委慰 蟽蟿萎蟻喂尉畏蟼", 胃苇位蔚喂 谓伪 尉蔚未喂伪位苇尉蔚喂, 谓伪 蟿伪魏蟿慰蟺慰喂萎蟽蔚喂, 谓伪 蟽蟿慰蠂伪蟽蟿蔚委 魏伪喂 蟽蠀纬蠂蟻蠈谓蠅蟼 谓伪 蟺蔚蟻喂纬蟻维蠄蔚喂 伪蠀蟿萎 蟿畏谓 蟺慰蟻蔚委伪. 螣 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻, 慰 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 蟿蠅谓 蠂蔚喂蟻慰纬蟻维蠁蠅谓 蟺慰蠀 维蠁畏蟽蔚, 魏伪喂 慰 伪蠁畏纬畏蟿萎蟼, 蟺慰蠀 纬蟻维蠁蔚喂 蟿慰 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿蠈蟻畏渭伪, 未喂蔚蟻蔚蠀谓慰蠉谓 蟿伪 蟽蟿维未喂伪 渭喂伪蟼 伪谓苇位喂尉畏蟼 蟿畏蟼 蟽魏苇蠄畏蟼 魏伪喂 蟿畏蟼 味蠅萎蟼 蟺慰蠀 未喂伪蠁慰蟻慰蟺慰喂蔚委蟿伪喂 慰位慰苇谓伪.
韦慰 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿蠈蟻畏渭伪 螖喂蠈蚁胃蝇蟽畏 苇蠂蔚喂 蠈谓蟿蠅蟼 蟿蟻委伪 蟿苇蟿慰喂伪 "蟽畏渭蔚委伪 蟽蟿萎蟻喂尉畏蟼". 韦慰 蟺蟻蠋蟿慰 蔚委谓伪喂 慰 蟽伪蟻伪谓蟿伪未蠀维蠂蟻慰谓慰蟼 螒蠀蟽蟿蟻喂伪魏蠈蟼 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻, 蟺慰蠀 蟽蟺慰蠀未维味蔚喂 蠁蠀蟽喂魏苇蟼 蔚蟺喂蟽蟿萎渭蔚蟼 蟽蟿慰 螝苇渭蟺蟻喂蟿味. 螆蟺蔚喂蟿伪 伪蟺蠈 蟿蟻委伪 蠂蟻蠈谓喂伪 蟽蠂蔚未喂伪蟽渭慰蠉 魏伪喂 维位位伪 蟿蠈蟽伪 慰喂魏慰未慰渭喂魏蠋谓 蔚蟻纬伪蟽喂蠋谓, 苇蠂蟿喂蟽蔚 纬喂伪 蟿畏谓 伪纬伪蟺畏渭苇谓畏 蟿慰蠀 伪未蔚位蠁萎 蟿慰 慰喂魏慰未蠈渭畏渭伪 蟺慰蠀 蟿畏蟼 伪谓蟿喂蟽蟿慰喂蠂慰蠉蟽蔚 蟿蔚位蔚委蠅蟼, 蟿慰谓 位蔚纬蠈渭蔚谓慰 "魏蠋谓慰". 螠蠈位喂蟼 畏 纬蠀谓伪委魏伪 伪谓蟿委魏蟻喂蟽蔚 慰位慰魏位畏蟻蠅渭苇谓慰 蟿慰 慰喂魏慰未蠈渭畏渭伪, 蟺苇胃伪谓蔚. 螣 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 苇蟺蟻蔚蟺蔚 谓伪 "未喂慰蟻胃蠋蟽蔚喂" 蟿伪 蟺蟻维纬渭伪蟿伪: 魏位畏蟻慰未蠈蟿畏蟽蔚 蟿慰谓 魏蠋谓慰 蟽蟿慰 魏蟻维蟿慰蟼, 渭蔚 蟿慰谓 蠈蟻慰, 尾苇尾伪喂伪, 谓伪 蟿慰谓 蔚纬魏伪蟿伪位蔚委蠄蔚喂 蟽蟿畏 蠁蠉蟽畏. 螆蟺蔚喂蟿伪 慰 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 蔚魏蟿苇位蔚蟽蔚 蟿畏谓 蟿蔚位蔚蠀蟿伪委伪 "未喂蠈蟻胃蠅蟽畏", 蟿畏谓 伪蠀蟿慰魏蟿慰谓委伪 蟿慰蠀.
螣 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 维蠁畏蟽蔚 苇谓伪 蠂蔚喂蟻蠈纬蟻伪蠁慰, 魏喂 伪蠀蟿蠈 蔚委谓伪喂 蟿慰 未蔚蠉蟿蔚蟻慰 "蟽畏渭蔚委慰 蟽蟿萎蟻喂尉畏蟼" 蟿慰蠀 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿慰蟻萎渭伪蟿慰蟼.
螣 伪蠁畏纬畏蟿萎蟼 蟿慰蠀 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿慰蟻萎渭伪蟿慰蟼, 苇谓伪蟼 蠁委位慰蟼 蟿慰蠀 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 魏伪喂 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁苇伪蟼, 蟿慰 蟿蟻委蟿慰 "蟽畏渭蔚委慰 蟽蟿萎蟻喂尉畏蟼", 胃苇位蔚喂 谓伪 尉蔚未喂伪位苇尉蔚喂, 谓伪 蟿伪魏蟿慰蟺慰喂萎蟽蔚喂, 谓伪 蟽蟿慰蠂伪蟽蟿蔚委 魏伪喂 蟽蠀纬蠂蟻蠈谓蠅蟼 谓伪 蟺蔚蟻喂纬蟻维蠄蔚喂 伪蠀蟿萎 蟿畏谓 蟺慰蟻蔚委伪. 螣 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻, 慰 巍蠈喂蟿蠂伪渭蔚蟻 蟿蠅谓 蠂蔚喂蟻慰纬蟻维蠁蠅谓 蟺慰蠀 维蠁畏蟽蔚, 魏伪喂 慰 伪蠁畏纬畏蟿萎蟼, 蟺慰蠀 纬蟻维蠁蔚喂 蟿慰 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿蠈蟻畏渭伪, 未喂蔚蟻蔚蠀谓慰蠉谓 蟿伪 蟽蟿维未喂伪 渭喂伪蟼 伪谓苇位喂尉畏蟼 蟿畏蟼 蟽魏苇蠄畏蟼 魏伪喂 蟿畏蟼 味蠅萎蟼 蟺慰蠀 未喂伪蠁慰蟻慰蟺慰喂蔚委蟿伪喂 慰位慰苇谓伪.
392 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1975
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About the author
Thomas Bernhard
306听books2,281听followersThomas Bernhard was an Austrian writer who ranks among the most distinguished German-speaking writers of the second half of the 20th century.
Although internationally he鈥檚 most acclaimed because of his novels, he was also a prolific playwright. His characters are often at work on a lifetime and never-ending major project while they deal with themes such as suicide, madness and obsession, and, as Bernhard did, a love-hate relationship with Austria. His prose is tumultuous but sober at the same time, philosophic by turns, with a musical cadence and plenty of black humor.
He started publishing in the year 1963 with the novel Frost. His last published work, appearing in the year 1986, was Extinction. Some of his best-known works include The Loser (about a student鈥檚 fictionalized relationship with the pianist Glenn Gould), Wittgenstein鈥檚 Nephew, and Woodcutters.
Although internationally he鈥檚 most acclaimed because of his novels, he was also a prolific playwright. His characters are often at work on a lifetime and never-ending major project while they deal with themes such as suicide, madness and obsession, and, as Bernhard did, a love-hate relationship with Austria. His prose is tumultuous but sober at the same time, philosophic by turns, with a musical cadence and plenty of black humor.
He started publishing in the year 1963 with the novel Frost. His last published work, appearing in the year 1986, was Extinction. Some of his best-known works include The Loser (about a student鈥檚 fictionalized relationship with the pianist Glenn Gould), Wittgenstein鈥檚 Nephew, and Woodcutters.
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October 11, 2022
Vanity and futility鈥� The hero of the novel, Roithamer 鈥� a highly educated philosopher 鈥� was striving to achieve perfection for years鈥� When his idea of perfection had failed he took his own life鈥�
The protagonist bequeathed all his documents and manuscripts to his old friend. So the narrator of the story now reads his dead friend鈥檚 papers and analyzes his life. The dead philosopher wished to build a faultless house for his sister, whom he adored madly鈥� He wished she lived there in supreme happiness鈥� When the ideal house was built at last it turned out that his sister didn鈥檛 want it鈥� It has become her prison鈥�
Death is a final correction of all human doings鈥�
He who is building utopia is digging a grave.
It was in Hoeller鈥檚 garret, where I had now moved with Roithamer鈥檚 papers, most of them relating to the building of the Cone, and I regard my work on Roithamer鈥檚 papers as the ideal occupational therapy for myself after my long illness and also feel it is ideal, it was here that Roithamer had conceived the idea of the Cone and drawn up the basic plans for it, and the fact that even now, some months after Roithamer鈥檚 death and half a year after his sister鈥檚 death, his sister for whom he had built the Cone which is already abandoned to natural decay, Hoeller鈥檚 garret still contains all the plans, all the books and articles, most of them never used but all of them collected by Roithamer in his last years with a view to building the Cone鈥�
The protagonist bequeathed all his documents and manuscripts to his old friend. So the narrator of the story now reads his dead friend鈥檚 papers and analyzes his life. The dead philosopher wished to build a faultless house for his sister, whom he adored madly鈥� He wished she lived there in supreme happiness鈥� When the ideal house was built at last it turned out that his sister didn鈥檛 want it鈥� It has become her prison鈥�
Death is a final correction of all human doings鈥�
From a certain unforeseeable moment on, young men, mostly those getting on toward thirty-five, tend to push an idea, and they push that idea so far until they have made it a reality and they themselves have been killed by this idea-turned-reality, I said. I see now, I said, that Roithamer鈥檚 life, his entire existence, had aimed at nothing but this creation of the Cone, everyone has an idea that kills him in the end, an idea that surfaces inside him and haunts him and that sooner or later 鈥� always under extreme tension 鈥� wipes him out, destroys him.
He who is building utopia is digging a grave.
May 6, 2018
Thomas Bernhard's novels constitute perhaps the most enigmatic prose reading experience of my life. His novels are brilliant puzzles, and a single reading will probably not vouchsafe you all of a given novel's secrets. Correction seems a prime example. Here we are again with the typical first-person Bernhard narrator, a highly unreliable, socially connected but insensitive individual, who's circular in his reasoning, repetitious in his verbal style, almost monomaniacal in his focus, and whose torrent of words cunningly excludes subjects about which we would like to know more.
At the start of Correction, Roithamer, the polymath, an Austrian-born scientist teaching at Cambridge University, has just committed suicide shortly after the completion of a massive, rural architecture project, known as the Cone, for his beloved sister. The unnamed narrator, a peer and boyhood friend of Roithamer, presents a hagiographic overview early on of the late man's work; though in fact it is remarkably devoid of specifics. This fellow was named by Roithamer as his literary executor. The book starts when he shows up at a house of a taxidermist by the name of Hoeller, another boyhood friend of Roithamer, whose new home on the Aurach gorge contains the garret in which the great man did most of his intellectual work. It was here, inspired by Hoeller's daring new house, that Roithamer devised the Cone and planned and executed its construction over six years.
It is never made clear what the narrator, who seems an eerie doppleganger of the dead Roithamer, or the deceased genius himself for that matter, are supposed to be famous for. All we know about Roithamer is that he's in the natural sciences, and that he both teaches and studies at Cambridge. Of the narrator we know even less, except that he was once upbraided by Roithamer for following his (Roithamer's) ideas with too slavish an allegiance. No one but the unnamed narrator is even allowed to speak in the novel, except Roithamer himself, and then only through the texts he's left behind. There's no dialogue per se, no real-time verbal exchanges. This is very strange, and suggests a kind of jealous guarding of the narrative by the narrator. Hoeller is not allowed to speak even when spoken to, nor his wife, nor their children, nor are recollected friends and acquaintances ever allowed to say anything. So we're left with a single ranting voice, page after page, dense pages without paragraphs. The novel is in fact a single unbroken chunk of text.
Anyway, slowly, up there in Hoeller's garret, like Roithamer before him, our narrator begins to unravel. Is he, in his dopplegangerness, intentionally repeating the pattern of behavior that took Roithamer's life? Is he that much of a sycophant? Or is he being subjected to the same stresses that drove Roithamer to take his own life? Will the narrator soon take his life? The setting of Hoeller's house on the edge of the Aurach gorge, amid the rush of turbulent waters, and the craziness not only of building a house there, but of living in such a house, is a large part of the narrator's, as it was Roithamer's, fascination with the place. It's when the narrator begins to go bonkers in the garret himself that the doubleness and connection of narrator and acolyte seems to crystalize.
Moreover, Roithamer has built his Cone for his sister in the depths of the Kobernausser forest without ever talking to her about either her willingness to live in such an isolated structure, or even if she wants such a place, even as a occasional retreat. He bases his design, he tells us, on his lifelong "observation" of his sister's character. Apparently this does not include one-on-one conversation. Right after this revelation, which left this reader astonished and a little breathless, he turns right around and lambastes contemporary architects for their inability to "investigate" their clients. The suggestion is that some kind of intellectual assessment, apart from anything a client might have to say, should be the overarching design criterion; though this something is never explicitly named.
This section seems to resolve itself into a statement on the prerogatives of the artist or creator and the manner in which the artist or creator should think and process his thoughts. Roithamer's approach is idiosyncratic, to say the least. For instance, not only should his sister not be consulted about the construction of the Cone, to which, we soon learn, she is averse to living in. But Roithamer must undertake the actual construction of the Cone, not on-site where the building will rise, but from Hoeller's garret, because this is where his thoughts can most readily reach fruition. A large portion of the posthumous writings are dedicated to a rant-filled recapitulation of injustices done by his parents to Roithamer during childhood. Each offence, it seems, is remembered. Each is deplored at length. Here is someone who never got over his dysfuctional childhood. He's stuck with a chip on his shoulder. He has never undergone the growth of character necessary to put those early experiences behind him, something I believe all adults must eventually try to do. He is self-pitying. This is tragic and pathetic. 'Get over it,' one thinks. But Roithamer cannot. He was long ago arrested in his emotional development, and his inability to move on--to recognize the fundamental imperfection of daily life and yet to live it fully and purposefully anyway--kills him. Character is fate.
Highly recommended, but brace yourself for a dark, dense, sexless, misogynistic, icy-hearted read.
At the start of Correction, Roithamer, the polymath, an Austrian-born scientist teaching at Cambridge University, has just committed suicide shortly after the completion of a massive, rural architecture project, known as the Cone, for his beloved sister. The unnamed narrator, a peer and boyhood friend of Roithamer, presents a hagiographic overview early on of the late man's work; though in fact it is remarkably devoid of specifics. This fellow was named by Roithamer as his literary executor. The book starts when he shows up at a house of a taxidermist by the name of Hoeller, another boyhood friend of Roithamer, whose new home on the Aurach gorge contains the garret in which the great man did most of his intellectual work. It was here, inspired by Hoeller's daring new house, that Roithamer devised the Cone and planned and executed its construction over six years.
It is never made clear what the narrator, who seems an eerie doppleganger of the dead Roithamer, or the deceased genius himself for that matter, are supposed to be famous for. All we know about Roithamer is that he's in the natural sciences, and that he both teaches and studies at Cambridge. Of the narrator we know even less, except that he was once upbraided by Roithamer for following his (Roithamer's) ideas with too slavish an allegiance. No one but the unnamed narrator is even allowed to speak in the novel, except Roithamer himself, and then only through the texts he's left behind. There's no dialogue per se, no real-time verbal exchanges. This is very strange, and suggests a kind of jealous guarding of the narrative by the narrator. Hoeller is not allowed to speak even when spoken to, nor his wife, nor their children, nor are recollected friends and acquaintances ever allowed to say anything. So we're left with a single ranting voice, page after page, dense pages without paragraphs. The novel is in fact a single unbroken chunk of text.
Anyway, slowly, up there in Hoeller's garret, like Roithamer before him, our narrator begins to unravel. Is he, in his dopplegangerness, intentionally repeating the pattern of behavior that took Roithamer's life? Is he that much of a sycophant? Or is he being subjected to the same stresses that drove Roithamer to take his own life? Will the narrator soon take his life? The setting of Hoeller's house on the edge of the Aurach gorge, amid the rush of turbulent waters, and the craziness not only of building a house there, but of living in such a house, is a large part of the narrator's, as it was Roithamer's, fascination with the place. It's when the narrator begins to go bonkers in the garret himself that the doubleness and connection of narrator and acolyte seems to crystalize.
Moreover, Roithamer has built his Cone for his sister in the depths of the Kobernausser forest without ever talking to her about either her willingness to live in such an isolated structure, or even if she wants such a place, even as a occasional retreat. He bases his design, he tells us, on his lifelong "observation" of his sister's character. Apparently this does not include one-on-one conversation. Right after this revelation, which left this reader astonished and a little breathless, he turns right around and lambastes contemporary architects for their inability to "investigate" their clients. The suggestion is that some kind of intellectual assessment, apart from anything a client might have to say, should be the overarching design criterion; though this something is never explicitly named.
This section seems to resolve itself into a statement on the prerogatives of the artist or creator and the manner in which the artist or creator should think and process his thoughts. Roithamer's approach is idiosyncratic, to say the least. For instance, not only should his sister not be consulted about the construction of the Cone, to which, we soon learn, she is averse to living in. But Roithamer must undertake the actual construction of the Cone, not on-site where the building will rise, but from Hoeller's garret, because this is where his thoughts can most readily reach fruition. A large portion of the posthumous writings are dedicated to a rant-filled recapitulation of injustices done by his parents to Roithamer during childhood. Each offence, it seems, is remembered. Each is deplored at length. Here is someone who never got over his dysfuctional childhood. He's stuck with a chip on his shoulder. He has never undergone the growth of character necessary to put those early experiences behind him, something I believe all adults must eventually try to do. He is self-pitying. This is tragic and pathetic. 'Get over it,' one thinks. But Roithamer cannot. He was long ago arrested in his emotional development, and his inability to move on--to recognize the fundamental imperfection of daily life and yet to live it fully and purposefully anyway--kills him. Character is fate.
Highly recommended, but brace yourself for a dark, dense, sexless, misogynistic, icy-hearted read.
November 11, 2018
驴Existen razones para seguir leyendo a Thomas Bernhard?
Aquellos que no hayan le铆do a Thomas Bernhard tienen, por encima de cualquier otra, una raz贸n poderosa para hacerlo que es, efectivamente, subsanar la carencia que supone no haber le铆do a Thomas Bernhard. Pero qu茅 se les puede decir a aquellos que ya han le铆do tres, cuatro, cinco libros de Thomas Bernhard.
Saben sobradamente que no van a encontrar nada nuevo en esa nueva lectura. Saben con absoluta certeza que volver谩n a sumergirse en la misma historia que sin trama alguna ya les han contado una y otra vez los mismos personajes egoc茅ntricos, mis谩ntropos y pesimistas que se desprecian a s铆 mismos por seguir en un mundo al que desprecian; personas obsesionadas con proyectos imposibles y enfermas de soledad o de mediocridad o de angustia o de insatisfacci贸n o de incomunicaci贸n, que piden a la vida lo que esta no les puede dar y que parecen arrastrar consigo una culpa personal o incluso colectiva en la que la familia, los profesores, el estado y la sociedad toda tuvieron un papel determinante y perverso; individuos con claras carencias afectivas en su infancia y aquejados frecuentemente de problemas m茅dicos que van a precipitar sus naturalezas autocr铆ticas y autodestructivas; quejicas insoportables y elitistas a los que el mundo entero odia, a los que el mundo entero entorpece y obstaculiza, a los que el mundo entero ve como quiere verlos y no como son realmente, a los que nadie en el mundo comprende ni comprender谩 jam谩s.
Personalidades estas que se avienen perfectamente con el estilo, siempre el mismo, que definir谩 tanto o m谩s a los personajes que el propio contenido. Una forma de narrar extrema, enfurecida, atropellada, repetitiva, que se extiende en p谩rrafos eternos repletos de frases subordinadas que son el relleno de otras interminables frases subordinadas que se van sucediendo en c铆rculos que no parar谩n de rodar hasta marearte. Un estilo intenso, provocador, histri贸nico, exagerado, ir贸nico, y s铆, aunque sea un clich茅 mil veces repetido, hipn贸tico.
Y ustedes podr谩n preguntarse, si todo esto es as铆 驴para qu茅 vamos a volver a leer a Thomas Bernhard? 驴Para volver a o铆rle gritar que todo es in煤til, de que no hay nada que se pueda hacer, de que todo es risible cuando se piensa en la muerte? Pues s铆, tienen toda la raz贸n, en cada uno de sus libros, y este no es una excepci贸n, Thomas Bernhard se revuelca lujuriosamente en el fracaso, en la felicidad que procura la infelicidad (鈥淓scribir sobre la infelicidad suprema puede ser la felicidad suprema.鈥�), en la sinraz贸n, en el absurdo de que sea la falta de verdad la gran verdad buscada. Todos sus textos rezuman rabia, una desesperanza rebelde, una repulsa hacia un estado de cosas del que todos son culpables, incluida la naturaleza que as铆 nos cre贸.
Yo lo s茅 y ustedes tambi茅n lo saben. Pura y simplemente porque m谩s pronto que tarde sentimos que le echamos de menos, m谩s pronto que tarde nos urge tomar una nueva dosis de esta droga que es Thomas Bernhard. Sin poder ni querer resistirnos, o铆mos la llamada de ese embrujo incomprensible e incomunicable que emana de su literatura y queremos volver a conmovernos con la fragilidad que esconden sus furibundas diatribas, a emocionarnos con el patetismo de sus personajes en sus rid铆culos mon贸logos que, apuntando a todo y a todos, solo disparan contra ellos mismos, a sentir y a compartir la tr谩gica tensi贸n entre lo que creemos poder llegar a hacer y lo que hacemos, entre lo que esperamos de la vida y la vida nos da, en definitiva, entre lo que pretendemos ser y lo que somos. As铆, aunque al terminar una novela de Thomas Bernhard se nos pase por la cabeza renunciar definitivamente a Thomas Bernhard, nuestra naturaleza est谩 absolutamente en contra de esa renuncia y no tenemos m谩s remedio que reconocer que todo en Thomas Bernhard 鈥渘os es provechoso, y lo m谩s horrible lo m谩s provechoso."
驴驰 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍, por qu茅 hay que leer 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍?
颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍 nos habla de Roithamer y su tarea de planear y construir un Cono que estaba destinado a ser la residencia perfectamente adaptada a su hermana y con el objeto de hacerla perfectamente feliz, y es, adem谩s de una magn铆fica expresi贸n de completamente todo lo dicho anteriormente, una amarga justificaci贸n de Thomas Bernhard y su empe帽o por hacer literatura y la soledad y el fracaso que sent铆a en ese empe帽o.
S贸lo hay que sustituir Roirhamer por Thomas Bernhard y Cono por 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍 o cualquiera de sus otros libros en los siguientes p谩rrafos:
Ahora solo queda la tarea de pensar qu茅 ser谩 lo pr贸ximo que leamos de Thomas Bernhard.
Aquellos que no hayan le铆do a Thomas Bernhard tienen, por encima de cualquier otra, una raz贸n poderosa para hacerlo que es, efectivamente, subsanar la carencia que supone no haber le铆do a Thomas Bernhard. Pero qu茅 se les puede decir a aquellos que ya han le铆do tres, cuatro, cinco libros de Thomas Bernhard.
Saben sobradamente que no van a encontrar nada nuevo en esa nueva lectura. Saben con absoluta certeza que volver谩n a sumergirse en la misma historia que sin trama alguna ya les han contado una y otra vez los mismos personajes egoc茅ntricos, mis谩ntropos y pesimistas que se desprecian a s铆 mismos por seguir en un mundo al que desprecian; personas obsesionadas con proyectos imposibles y enfermas de soledad o de mediocridad o de angustia o de insatisfacci贸n o de incomunicaci贸n, que piden a la vida lo que esta no les puede dar y que parecen arrastrar consigo una culpa personal o incluso colectiva en la que la familia, los profesores, el estado y la sociedad toda tuvieron un papel determinante y perverso; individuos con claras carencias afectivas en su infancia y aquejados frecuentemente de problemas m茅dicos que van a precipitar sus naturalezas autocr铆ticas y autodestructivas; quejicas insoportables y elitistas a los que el mundo entero odia, a los que el mundo entero entorpece y obstaculiza, a los que el mundo entero ve como quiere verlos y no como son realmente, a los que nadie en el mundo comprende ni comprender谩 jam谩s.
Personalidades estas que se avienen perfectamente con el estilo, siempre el mismo, que definir谩 tanto o m谩s a los personajes que el propio contenido. Una forma de narrar extrema, enfurecida, atropellada, repetitiva, que se extiende en p谩rrafos eternos repletos de frases subordinadas que son el relleno de otras interminables frases subordinadas que se van sucediendo en c铆rculos que no parar谩n de rodar hasta marearte. Un estilo intenso, provocador, histri贸nico, exagerado, ir贸nico, y s铆, aunque sea un clich茅 mil veces repetido, hipn贸tico.
Y ustedes podr谩n preguntarse, si todo esto es as铆 驴para qu茅 vamos a volver a leer a Thomas Bernhard? 驴Para volver a o铆rle gritar que todo es in煤til, de que no hay nada que se pueda hacer, de que todo es risible cuando se piensa en la muerte? Pues s铆, tienen toda la raz贸n, en cada uno de sus libros, y este no es una excepci贸n, Thomas Bernhard se revuelca lujuriosamente en el fracaso, en la felicidad que procura la infelicidad (鈥淓scribir sobre la infelicidad suprema puede ser la felicidad suprema.鈥�), en la sinraz贸n, en el absurdo de que sea la falta de verdad la gran verdad buscada. Todos sus textos rezuman rabia, una desesperanza rebelde, una repulsa hacia un estado de cosas del que todos son culpables, incluida la naturaleza que as铆 nos cre贸.
鈥淪iempre lo imposible y, al quedarse con lo posible en el m铆nimo existencial, el individuo se encuentra siempre insatisfecho en lo m谩s hondo... Siempre queremos algo distinto de lo que podemos tener, de lo que tenemos y de lo que nos corresponde, y por eso somos infelices.鈥�Entonces, si leer a Thomas Bernhard es esto y siempre esto 驴por qu茅 seguir leyendo a Thomas Bernhard?
Yo lo s茅 y ustedes tambi茅n lo saben. Pura y simplemente porque m谩s pronto que tarde sentimos que le echamos de menos, m谩s pronto que tarde nos urge tomar una nueva dosis de esta droga que es Thomas Bernhard. Sin poder ni querer resistirnos, o铆mos la llamada de ese embrujo incomprensible e incomunicable que emana de su literatura y queremos volver a conmovernos con la fragilidad que esconden sus furibundas diatribas, a emocionarnos con el patetismo de sus personajes en sus rid铆culos mon贸logos que, apuntando a todo y a todos, solo disparan contra ellos mismos, a sentir y a compartir la tr谩gica tensi贸n entre lo que creemos poder llegar a hacer y lo que hacemos, entre lo que esperamos de la vida y la vida nos da, en definitiva, entre lo que pretendemos ser y lo que somos. As铆, aunque al terminar una novela de Thomas Bernhard se nos pase por la cabeza renunciar definitivamente a Thomas Bernhard, nuestra naturaleza est谩 absolutamente en contra de esa renuncia y no tenemos m谩s remedio que reconocer que todo en Thomas Bernhard 鈥渘os es provechoso, y lo m谩s horrible lo m谩s provechoso."
驴驰 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍, por qu茅 hay que leer 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍?
颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍 nos habla de Roithamer y su tarea de planear y construir un Cono que estaba destinado a ser la residencia perfectamente adaptada a su hermana y con el objeto de hacerla perfectamente feliz, y es, adem谩s de una magn铆fica expresi贸n de completamente todo lo dicho anteriormente, una amarga justificaci贸n de Thomas Bernhard y su empe帽o por hacer literatura y la soledad y el fracaso que sent铆a en ese empe帽o.
S贸lo hay que sustituir Roirhamer por Thomas Bernhard y Cono por 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍 o cualquiera de sus otros libros en los siguientes p谩rrafos:
鈥淗e construido el Cono, he sido el primero en construir el Cono, nadie antes que yo, yo lo he emprendido todo y he subordinado s贸lo a esa idea toda mi existencia y todas mis posibilidades, proyectar, impulsar y terminar el Cono.鈥�
鈥淗ab铆a querido construir algo especial, una vivienda completamente en contra de las construcciones de los otros, completamente en contra de las reglas y tambi茅n de las ideas de los otros, completamente en contra de la raz贸n de los otros y, por a帽adidura en el sitio m谩s peligroso.鈥�
鈥淢e hab铆an hecho reproches por el hecho de que, en general, en una 茅poca contraria a ideas as铆 tuviera una idea as铆, en una 茅poca as铆, que ha adoptado una posici贸n contraria a concepciones y realizaciones as铆, llevara a la pr谩ctica y realizara y, finalmente, terminara una concepci贸n as铆, y de que, en una 茅poca que, en general, era contraria a personas y cabezas u caracteres y esp铆ritus como Roithamer (隆y otros!), 茅l fuera un ser as铆 y una cabeza as铆 y un car谩cter as铆 y un esp铆ritu as铆...鈥�
鈥淣o estaba interesado en que otros examinasen su Cono, su obra maestra de la construcci贸n, sobre todo los llamados expertos, los expertos de la construcci贸n.鈥�
鈥淐uando, despu茅s de terminar el Cono y de entregar el Cono a su hermana, hab铆a vuelto a Inglaterra, hab铆a sido completamente evidente que la terminaci贸n del Cono no pod铆a ser realmente, como hab铆a cre铆do, como hab铆a podido creer.鈥�
Ahora solo queda la tarea de pensar qu茅 ser谩 lo pr贸ximo que leamos de Thomas Bernhard.
Read
November 10, 2024I read this back in 2010 but it remains vivid in my memory, so vivid in fact that it might be one of the most powerful reading experiences I've ever had because during the time I spent reading it I was increasingly hypnotised by the writing, completely drawn in to the narrator's world which is really the main character Roithamer's world since the narrator is involved in the editing of his childhood friend's writings after his death, and as Roithamer's writings have already been subjected to much correction by Roithamer himself, the resulting text, further corrected by the narrator, revolves in an ever narrowing spiral that eventually takes the reader into Roithamer's conception of an ideal cone-shaped dwelling deep in the heart of an Austrian forest.
April 2, 2023
诏丕賴蹖 賵賯鬲賴丕 賵賯鬲蹖 亘賴 氐賵乇鬲 賵 鬲賳 毓乇蹖丕賳 鬲賯乇蹖亘丕 讴賲 賳賯氐 禺賵丿賲 丿乇 丌蹖賳賴 賳诏丕賴 賲蹖讴賳賲貙 賲蹖 丕賳丿蹖卮賲 卮丕蹖丿 丿賱蹖賱 丕蹖賳 丨丿 丕夭 丿蹖賵丕賳诏蹖 賵 鬲賲丕蹖賱 亘賴 禺賵丿 賵蹖乇丕賳蹖 丿乇 賲賳 亘賴 毓賳賵丕賳 賳賵毓 亘卮乇貙 亘賴 丕蹖賳 禺丕胤乇 丕爻鬲 讴賴 禺丿丕 賴賲 賲亘鬲賱丕 亘賴 賳賵毓蹖 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 賵爻賵爻賴 丌賲蹖夭 亘賵丿賴 丕爻鬲 賵 丕蹖賳 毓丿賲 鬲賯丕乇賳 賳丕亘賵丿诏乇 丿乇 馗丕賴乇 賵 亘丕胤賳貙 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賳鬲丕蹖噩 丌賳 丕氐賱丕丨丕鬲 丕亘丿蹖 賵 亘丕夭賳诏乇蹖 賴丕蹖 丿丕卅賲蹖 丿乇 賳爻禺賴 鬲賵賱蹖丿蹖 丕夭 丕賳爻丕賳 賲蹖 亘丕卮丿. 亘賴 賴賲蹖賳 禺丕胤乇 賴賲 丕賵貙 亘丕 賲卮丕賴丿賴 丕蹖賳 賲禺賱賵賯 賳丕賴賲丕賴賳诏貙 丕夭 丿爻鬲 蹖丕亘蹖 亘賴 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 匕賴賳蹖 丕卮 賳丕丕賲蹖丿 卮丿賴 賵 賲賳 乇丕 亘賴 丨丕賱 禺賵丿 乇賴丕 讴乇丿賴 丕爻鬲 鬲丕 亘賴 丿爻鬲 禺賵丿 賵 蹖丕 胤亘蹖毓鬲 倬蹖乇丕賲賵賳賲 賳丕亘賵丿 卮賵賲. 賵 丕賵 丨鬲蹖 亘賴 賳馗丕乇賴 丕蹖賳 賵蹖乇丕賳蹖 鬲丿乇蹖噩蹖 賲禺賱賵賯 禺賵丿 賳蹖夭 賳丕蹖爻鬲丕丿賴 丕爻鬲. 丕蹖賳 賲賳賲貙 賳鬲蹖噩賴 鬲賵賴賲 讴賲丕賱鈥屭必й屰� 睾蹖乇 賯丕亘賱 丕乇囟丕貙 賲禺賱賵賯 亘爻蹖丕乇 亘丕夭賳賵蹖爻蹖 卮丿賴貙 丕賲丕 乇賴丕 卮丿賴 鬲丕 賮爻丕丿 賵 賮乇賵倬丕卮蹖 丨鬲賲蹖.
.......
賲賳 丕氐賵賱丕 丌丿賲 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 賳蹖爻鬲賲 賵賱蹖 丌丿賲 賴丕蹖 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 乇丕 丿乇 胤賵賱 夭賳丿诏蹖 丕賲 丿蹖丿賴 丕賲 讴賴 丕爻蹖乇 讴賲丕賱诏乇丕蹖蹖 亘蹖 倬丕蹖丕賳 禺賵丿 賴爻鬲賳丿. 丕蹖賳 丕賮乇丕丿 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丿賯鬲 賵 賵爻賵丕爻 亘蹖卮 丕夭 丕賳丿丕夭賴 亘乇丕蹖 讴丕賲賱 亘賵丿賳 讴丕乇賴丕卮丕賳貙 丕睾賱亘 丌賳 賴丕 乇丕 賳蹖賲賴 讴丕乇賴 乇賴丕 賲蹖讴賳賳丿 蹖丕 丿乇 氐賵乇鬲 亘賴 倬丕蹖丕賳 乇爻丕賳丿賳 丌賳貙 賴乇诏夭 丕夭 賳鬲蹖噩賴 賳賴丕蹖蹖 乇丕囟蹖 賳蹖爻鬲賳丿.
鬲賵賲丕爻 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿貙 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 賳丕亘睾賴 丕鬲乇蹖卮蹖 丿乇 讴鬲丕亘 亘丕夭賳賵蹖爻蹖貙 賳卮丕賳 賲蹖鈥屫囏� 讴賴 趩胤賵乇 丕蹖賳 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 賵 賵爻賵丕爻貙 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀� 丕賳爻丕賳 乇丕 亘賴 賲乇夭 丿蹖賵丕賳诏蹖貙 噩賳賵賳貙 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賵 賲乇诏 讴卮丕賳丿賴 賵 鬲賲丕賲 丕蹖丿賴 賴丕蹖 爻丕夭賳丿賴 賵 倬乇丿丕夭賳丿賴 禺賵丿 乇丕 賳丕亘賵丿 讴賳丿.
亘丕夭賳賵蹖爻蹖 蹖丕 鬲氐丨蹖丨 讴鬲丕亘 亘爻蹖丕乇 毓噩蹖亘蹖 丕爻鬲貨 爻禺鬲 噩丕賳賮乇爻丕貙 诏丕賴蹖 诏蹖噩鈥屭┵嗁嗀囏� 丕賲丕 丿乇 賲噩賲賵毓 噩匕丕亘 賵 倬乇讴卮卮.
亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳 乇丕 鬲賳賴丕 丿乇 丿賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮 賳賵卮鬲賴 丕爻鬲貙 丕賲丕 丿賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮 亘爻蹖丕乇 胤賵賱丕賳蹖 亘丕 爻亘讴蹖 賲鬲乇丕讴賲 讴賴 賴乇讴丿丕賲 蹖讴 亘禺卮 讴鬲丕亘 乇丕 卮丕賲賱 賲蹖卮賵丿.听
丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳貙鬲賵爻胤 蹖讴 乇丕賵蹖 賳丕卮賳丕爻 乇賵丕蹖鬲丿 賲蹖 卮賵丿 讴賴鈥� 亘賴 禺丕賳賴 毓噩蹖亘 賵 睾蹖乇 賲毓賲賵賱 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 丿賵爻鬲丕賳卮 乇賮鬲賴 丕爻鬲. 噩丕蹖蹖 讴賴 丿賵爻鬲 丿蹖诏乇蹖 亘賴 賳丕賲 乇賵鬲賴丕蹖賲乇 賯亘賱 丕夭 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 丿乇 賲蹖丕賳賴 蹖讴 噩賳诏賱 丿乇 丕鬲乇蹖卮貙 丿乇 丕鬲丕賯 夭蹖乇 卮蹖乇賵丕賳蹖 丌賳噩丕 丕賯丕賲鬲 丿丕卮鬲.听 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳 鬲賱丕卮 乇丕賵蹖 賳丕卮賳丕爻 亘乇丕蹖 丿乇讴 丕賮讴丕乇 丿賵爻鬲 丕夭 丿爻鬲 乇賮鬲賴 丕卮 乇賵鬲賴丕蹖賲乇 乇丕 亘賴 鬲氐賵蹖乇 賲蹖 讴卮丿貙 丿賵爻鬲蹖 讴賴 丿乇 賳鬲蹖噩賴 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 丕賮乇丕胤蹖 丕卮 毓賯賱 禺賵丿 乇丕 丕夭 丿爻鬲 丿丕丿賴 賵 丿乇 賳賴丕蹖鬲 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲蹖 讴賳丿. 丕蹖賳 乇丕賵蹖 賳丕卮賳丕爻 亘乇丕蹖 丿乇讴 乇賵鬲賴丕蹖賲乇貙 亘賴 賲乇賵乇 賳賵卮鬲賴 賴丕蹖 賵爻賵丕爻蹖 賵 蹖丕丿丿丕卮鬲 賴丕蹖 卮禺氐蹖 丕賵 賲蹖 倬乇丿丕夭丿 鬲丕 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲 乇丕夭 丿蹖賵丕賳诏蹖 賵 賲乇诏 丕賵 乇丕 讴卮賮 賲蹖 讴賳丿.
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丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 卮丕蹖丿 噩夭賵 毓噩蹖亘 鬲乇蹖賳貙 趩丕賱卮 亘乇丕賳诏蹖夭鬲乇蹖賳貙 丿蹖賵丕賳賴 賵丕乇鬲乇蹖賳 賵 丿卮賵丕乇鬲乇蹖賳 賲鬲賳 賴丕蹖蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 鬲丕亘丨丕賱 禺賵丕賳丿賴 丕賲 賵 丌賳 乇丕 賮賯胤 亘賴 丿蹖賵丕賳賴 鬲乇蹖賳 貙 爻乇爻禺鬲 鬲乇蹖賳 賵 賲鬲毓賴丿 鬲乇蹖賳 丿賵爻鬲丕賳賲 倬蹖卮賳賴丕丿 賲蹖 讴賳賲. 亘賳丕亘乇丕蹖賳 亘丕 丕丨鬲蹖丕胤 亘賴 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 賳夭丿蹖讴 卮賵蹖丿.
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賲賳 丕氐賵賱丕 丌丿賲 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 賳蹖爻鬲賲 賵賱蹖 丌丿賲 賴丕蹖 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 乇丕 丿乇 胤賵賱 夭賳丿诏蹖 丕賲 丿蹖丿賴 丕賲 讴賴 丕爻蹖乇 讴賲丕賱诏乇丕蹖蹖 亘蹖 倬丕蹖丕賳 禺賵丿 賴爻鬲賳丿. 丕蹖賳 丕賮乇丕丿 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丿賯鬲 賵 賵爻賵丕爻 亘蹖卮 丕夭 丕賳丿丕夭賴 亘乇丕蹖 讴丕賲賱 亘賵丿賳 讴丕乇賴丕卮丕賳貙 丕睾賱亘 丌賳 賴丕 乇丕 賳蹖賲賴 讴丕乇賴 乇賴丕 賲蹖讴賳賳丿 蹖丕 丿乇 氐賵乇鬲 亘賴 倬丕蹖丕賳 乇爻丕賳丿賳 丌賳貙 賴乇诏夭 丕夭 賳鬲蹖噩賴 賳賴丕蹖蹖 乇丕囟蹖 賳蹖爻鬲賳丿.
鬲賵賲丕爻 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿貙 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 賳丕亘睾賴 丕鬲乇蹖卮蹖 丿乇 讴鬲丕亘 亘丕夭賳賵蹖爻蹖貙 賳卮丕賳 賲蹖鈥屫囏� 讴賴 趩胤賵乇 丕蹖賳 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 賵 賵爻賵丕爻貙 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀� 丕賳爻丕賳 乇丕 亘賴 賲乇夭 丿蹖賵丕賳诏蹖貙 噩賳賵賳貙 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賵 賲乇诏 讴卮丕賳丿賴 賵 鬲賲丕賲 丕蹖丿賴 賴丕蹖 爻丕夭賳丿賴 賵 倬乇丿丕夭賳丿賴 禺賵丿 乇丕 賳丕亘賵丿 讴賳丿.
亘丕夭賳賵蹖爻蹖 蹖丕 鬲氐丨蹖丨 讴鬲丕亘 亘爻蹖丕乇 毓噩蹖亘蹖 丕爻鬲貨 爻禺鬲 噩丕賳賮乇爻丕貙 诏丕賴蹖 诏蹖噩鈥屭┵嗁嗀囏� 丕賲丕 丿乇 賲噩賲賵毓 噩匕丕亘 賵 倬乇讴卮卮.
亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳 乇丕 鬲賳賴丕 丿乇 丿賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮 賳賵卮鬲賴 丕爻鬲貙 丕賲丕 丿賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮 亘爻蹖丕乇 胤賵賱丕賳蹖 亘丕 爻亘讴蹖 賲鬲乇丕讴賲 讴賴 賴乇讴丿丕賲 蹖讴 亘禺卮 讴鬲丕亘 乇丕 卮丕賲賱 賲蹖卮賵丿.听
丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳貙鬲賵爻胤 蹖讴 乇丕賵蹖 賳丕卮賳丕爻 乇賵丕蹖鬲丿 賲蹖 卮賵丿 讴賴鈥� 亘賴 禺丕賳賴 毓噩蹖亘 賵 睾蹖乇 賲毓賲賵賱 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 丿賵爻鬲丕賳卮 乇賮鬲賴 丕爻鬲. 噩丕蹖蹖 讴賴 丿賵爻鬲 丿蹖诏乇蹖 亘賴 賳丕賲 乇賵鬲賴丕蹖賲乇 賯亘賱 丕夭 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 丿乇 賲蹖丕賳賴 蹖讴 噩賳诏賱 丿乇 丕鬲乇蹖卮貙 丿乇 丕鬲丕賯 夭蹖乇 卮蹖乇賵丕賳蹖 丌賳噩丕 丕賯丕賲鬲 丿丕卮鬲.听 丕蹖賳 乇賲丕賳 鬲賱丕卮 乇丕賵蹖 賳丕卮賳丕爻 亘乇丕蹖 丿乇讴 丕賮讴丕乇 丿賵爻鬲 丕夭 丿爻鬲 乇賮鬲賴 丕卮 乇賵鬲賴丕蹖賲乇 乇丕 亘賴 鬲氐賵蹖乇 賲蹖 讴卮丿貙 丿賵爻鬲蹖 讴賴 丿乇 賳鬲蹖噩賴 丕蹖丿賴 丌賱 诏乇丕蹖蹖 丕賮乇丕胤蹖 丕卮 毓賯賱 禺賵丿 乇丕 丕夭 丿爻鬲 丿丕丿賴 賵 丿乇 賳賴丕蹖鬲 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲蹖 讴賳丿. 丕蹖賳 乇丕賵蹖 賳丕卮賳丕爻 亘乇丕蹖 丿乇讴 乇賵鬲賴丕蹖賲乇貙 亘賴 賲乇賵乇 賳賵卮鬲賴 賴丕蹖 賵爻賵丕爻蹖 賵 蹖丕丿丿丕卮鬲 賴丕蹖 卮禺氐蹖 丕賵 賲蹖 倬乇丿丕夭丿 鬲丕 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲 乇丕夭 丿蹖賵丕賳诏蹖 賵 賲乇诏 丕賵 乇丕 讴卮賮 賲蹖 讴賳丿.
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丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 卮丕蹖丿 噩夭賵 毓噩蹖亘 鬲乇蹖賳貙 趩丕賱卮 亘乇丕賳诏蹖夭鬲乇蹖賳貙 丿蹖賵丕賳賴 賵丕乇鬲乇蹖賳 賵 丿卮賵丕乇鬲乇蹖賳 賲鬲賳 賴丕蹖蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 鬲丕亘丨丕賱 禺賵丕賳丿賴 丕賲 賵 丌賳 乇丕 賮賯胤 亘賴 丿蹖賵丕賳賴 鬲乇蹖賳 貙 爻乇爻禺鬲 鬲乇蹖賳 賵 賲鬲毓賴丿 鬲乇蹖賳 丿賵爻鬲丕賳賲 倬蹖卮賳賴丕丿 賲蹖 讴賳賲. 亘賳丕亘乇丕蹖賳 亘丕 丕丨鬲蹖丕胤 亘賴 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 賳夭丿蹖讴 卮賵蹖丿.
January 10, 2018
This is my second experience of reading Bernhard - I read last year, so I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from this one. Unlike Old Masters, which was written as a single long sentence, this one has normal (if convoluted) sentences, but apart from one section break halfway through, there are no paragraph breaks. This sounds forbidding but what remains is surprisingly readable, though still very nihilistic and misanthropic. In the first half of the book, the narrator explains that his friend Roithamer has recently committed suicide and left him with the task of dealing with his papers. Roithamer is a more extreme extension of certain aspects of the philosopher Wittgenstein - like Wittgenstein he divides his time between Austria and Cambridge, came from a rich family, left most of his work unpublished and built an expensive and original house for his sister. I must stress that I know very little about Wittgenstein and his work, so most of this information is second hand - the allusions are pointed out in George Steiner's introduction. Roithamer has spent much of his time in his friend Hoeller's garret, and the narrator is invited to stay there while dealing with his papers. Hoeller is a taciturn taxidermist, and his house is also a crazy self-built vanity project, built in the Aurach gorge. Hoeller, the narrator and Roithamer have known each other since their schooldays. The first half of the book seems to repeat itself (with subtle variations which it becomes clear are corrections of a sort) - the key facts are that Roithamer has inherited Altensam, his parents' estate, that he hates the place and most of his family, that he has conceived a Cone at the centre of the Kobernausser forest as a perfect space for his sister, that he spent three years planning it and another three building it, that he could only work effectively in Hoeller's garret, in the Aurach gorge, that his sister died soon after seeing the Cone and that he, Roithamer, committed suicide shortly afterwards, leaving an incomplete masterwork covered in corrections.
The second half of the book "Sorting and Sifting", is largely told in Roithamer's own words (generally long sentences, "so Roithamer") as edited by the narrator, who occasionally intervenes, and points out what has been underlined, deleted and stetted in the manuscript he is quoting. This is not an easy book to read or to love, but I have to give it five stars because it is so perfectly imagined and its oppressive atmosphere is so completely realised. Thanks to The Mookse and the Gripes group and particularly to Paul for the recommendation. [I would have liked to put more paragraph breaks in this review, but decided not to in the spirit of the book!]
The second half of the book "Sorting and Sifting", is largely told in Roithamer's own words (generally long sentences, "so Roithamer") as edited by the narrator, who occasionally intervenes, and points out what has been underlined, deleted and stetted in the manuscript he is quoting. This is not an easy book to read or to love, but I have to give it five stars because it is so perfectly imagined and its oppressive atmosphere is so completely realised. Thanks to The Mookse and the Gripes group and particularly to Paul for the recommendation. [I would have liked to put more paragraph breaks in this review, but decided not to in the spirit of the book!]
November 20, 2016
As John Peel once remarked about The Fall, 鈥渁lways different, always the same鈥�, and this applies to the dissonant pulveriser Thomas Bernhard too, with Correction his Perverted by Language. (In fact, a more studious Fall/Bernhard scholar might spend some time compiling a diverting buzzfeed pairing off Fall albums to Bernhard novels [and that person will be me鈥攃heck back in 2018]). As remarked in the blurb, the protagonist Roithamer is based on Wittgenstein, but knowledge of that popular philosopher is not required to penetrate the cracked skull of this obsessive-depressive. At work for six years on a large dwelling for his sister in an Austrian forest known as The Cone, Roithamer鈥檚 plans unravel when that sister commits suicide, leaving him to chronicle his mania, madness, resentment in his friend Hoeller鈥檚 garret, offing himself afterwards. This sequence of events is described by an unnamed narrator in the first part, then in Roithamer鈥檚 own words in the second, at which point the novel ramps up a gear into the deranged brilliance stakes, as Bernhard鈥檚 maddening repetitions and claustrophobic blocks of text lock the reader into his protagonist鈥檚 fascinating and hilariously disturbed mind. Genius.
September 29, 2010
Who hasn't experienced that 3 AM clarity, when鈥攈aving been rudely yanked away from the dreamy re-runs currently playing in slumberland鈥攚akefulness descends upon you with an unwanted crispness, retuning your awareness to one that acutely perceives and identifies things and strains formerly subsumed into your everyday existence鈥攑ersonality traits, crippling delusions and illusions, carefully constructed battlements and barriers that have been erected to ward off select discernment or apprehension of all manner of truths about one's manner of living, and this structure configured within space-time wherein such living takes place鈥攁nd which are limned in all of their despairing reality and existential horror with a detail that is terrifying. One simply couldn't live basking in the cold black sun of such a perspective, in the caustic gaze of that lidless eye that mercilessly penetrates all of your quotidian glamours and masks and exposes the quaking, quailing, naked individuality within. A Thomas Bernhard novel always features a narrator鈥攐r a character for whom the narrator provides the voice鈥攚ho has an enduring experience of that ocular searchlight from the shadowy vales of night far beyond that which most human beings could sustain without losing their minds. Not that Bernhard's creatures haven't lost, or won't lose theirs, mind you鈥攂ut they have retained a vestige of sanity enough to allow them to set down these tortuous insights before leaving this hateful world for another.
Carrying right along from where left off, Correction features the scholar-student Roithamer, the estranged scion of the Austrian gentry estate of Altensam, a disturbed man who, in the midst of shuttling back and forth between a professional life at Cambridge and his home of Altensam which he both loves and loathes, plumbs his genius to harvest the virgin idea of building a geometrically perfect and personality-infused edifice鈥攊n the form of a giant, multi-level cone鈥攄ead center in the vast Kobernausser forest. Why do such a curious thing? To present it as a place of abode for his beloved sister, a quiet, introspective lass who has been flattened by the twin assaults of an overbearing, hostile mother (aided and abetted by her eldest and youngest sons) and a beloved-but-distant father who apparently regretted siring each of his children upon first sight. Inspired by the taciturn Hoeller鈥攁 childhood friend-cum-taxidermist who planned, and built, a uniquely suitable abode perched astride the treacherous gorge of the Aurach river, one whose garret provides the one place on earth where Roithamer can sift AM thoughts with a degree of confidence鈥擱oithamer realizes that only his wunderKone can provide the security and happiness that will save his dear sister, and sinks all of his vast fortune and formidable intellect into achieving this bizarre-but-laudable scheme. Alas, no sooner has the Cone been completed, and presented to a trembling sibling who has long dreaded this moment, than the sister quickly succumbs to a deathly illness. Not long after, Roithamer hangs himself in a clearing midpoint between Altensam and the neighboring village of Stocket, thus continuing a family (perhaps Austrian) tradition of erasing one's map when life proves unendurable.
The first half of the book is narrated by a faceless childhood friend of both Hoeller and Roithamer, who is recovering from a nasty bout of pneumonia in the same garret where Roithamer found such spiritual and mental solace and has finally decided to comb through the thousands of notes and jottings鈥攁nd one manuscript鈥攍eft behind by the suicide. The second half consists of said notes and jottings and manuscript presented, via the narrator, in Roithamer's voice. The two personalities bear little in the way of difference, the narrator being a continuation of Roithamer's thought processes, a personality who shares many of the quirks and obsessions that plagued the Cone builder. Both are minds that circle around and repeat, that cling to phrases and routines, venturing off now and then into narrow digressions that illuminate a wide array of neuroses and paranoia, profundities and cavils, hatreds and admirations, but always returning to their existential base camp, to circle around, to lather, rinse and repeat. We discover that Roithamer has made many corrections to his principal essay, having distilled it, by way of emendation, striking out, and underline, from several hundred pages to half-again as many, then grinding it down further to a final eighty. This process of correcting reveals what the reader will doubtless have already begun to suspect: that the events and personalities that Roithamer describes may, in fact, be nothing at all like the author has delineated. This includes both his mother and his sister鈥攊ndeed, considering that the Cone was painstakingly built to perfectly reflect all of the latter's needs, hopes, and aspirations, it is quite remarkable what a deadly poison the final result turns out to be. Is the sister Roithamer dotes upon actually, in effect, a delusion of her deteriorating brother?
This is another five-star work of brilliance from the master ranter, perhaps the best yet of his novels that I have read. Again we have nature鈥攃ruel, cold, remorseless nature鈥攚hich sweeps man and his silly hubris aside like so much chaff, which brings entropy and decay to humanity's creations, which necessarily prevents Man from ever being able to realize his recurring ideas: those schemes and visions that haunt him with their perfection and purity that, upon being put to paper or canvas, set to music or shaped from the earth, are immediately revealed as ridiculous and paltry imitations, clunky incarnations of what was conceived as something supernal and sublime. As Roithamer progresses deeper into his despair, abuts the abyss of madness, he laments how all human creativity inevitably arises from torment, that the artistic soul must perforce also be damaged. Roithamer, in perceiving Nature's malevolence, sees humanity not as progressing but held down through time, a species achieving intelligence and self-consciousness through a terrible mistake, one that nature has attempted to rectify by increasing the agonies and trials that scald man's spirit, offering the ever more attractive lure of suicide as the only sane way out of this lunatic maze. As humanity has endured it has grown more ridiculous, more isolated, more desperate; as Roithamer acknowledges late in the book, the sudden perception of how truly lonely we all are, how isolated from a cruel society struggling against a crueler physical world, strikes more often, and harder, as we age, leaving us benumbed and stricken. This isolation also affects how we understand and interpret the actions of our family and friends, colleagues and strangers鈥攐ne is continually having to correct and revise prior opinions and estimations as their falseness, their erroneousness, their chimerical framework is revealed. We go through all the daily rituals of life in order to avoid being forced to confront the awful truths that hang over us, Damocles-like, using routine as a shield against verities too awful to acknowledge. We can thus never be certain about anything; the only solution, having unwillingly entered into life, is to abandon all hope and鈥攎aking the ultimate correction鈥攄ie, leaving an unlamented civilization to be overrun and buried by implacable Nature, a crumbled victim of the vast array of awesome weapons that this primeval Mother, allied with baneful Time, can bring to bear. Yet within the stark bile and endless negativity, the page-long sentences and half-book-length paragraphs, is a wicked dark humor that ameliorates the bleak, breathless, exhausting prose鈥攁nd declamations of a wracked-but-ingrained humanity that effectively eases the iron clutches with which society and the world hold the individual in place.
There are few other authors who understand the way the mind works鈥攅ven if only at certain periods鈥攍ike Bernhard does, and can mimic this chaotic-but-structured, tiered assemblage of orbiting thoughts, echoing memes, and determined obsessions, the way that a select train of thought can be instantly derailed by the darting return of another that won't be denied. And his stories are invariably monologues that pour forth in an endless stream, washing over the reader and leaving no pause for air. We have nothing taking place outside of the thought process: there are no sex scenes in Bernhard, no parties or feasts, no glimpses of a day at the office or of the family on vacation, no joyous weddings or bitter divorces. Yet despite, or perhaps because of this, they are impossible to put down. There are repetitions galore, phrases reworked and reordered but always hitting the same notes; and still boredom never sets in. The effect becomes hypnotic in the best of ways, pulling the reader along into the vortex of the narrator's turbulent mind and leaving it to them to find their way out. They most assuredly are not for everybody, but I absolutely love them all. So Roithamer. So multitudes.
Carrying right along from where left off, Correction features the scholar-student Roithamer, the estranged scion of the Austrian gentry estate of Altensam, a disturbed man who, in the midst of shuttling back and forth between a professional life at Cambridge and his home of Altensam which he both loves and loathes, plumbs his genius to harvest the virgin idea of building a geometrically perfect and personality-infused edifice鈥攊n the form of a giant, multi-level cone鈥攄ead center in the vast Kobernausser forest. Why do such a curious thing? To present it as a place of abode for his beloved sister, a quiet, introspective lass who has been flattened by the twin assaults of an overbearing, hostile mother (aided and abetted by her eldest and youngest sons) and a beloved-but-distant father who apparently regretted siring each of his children upon first sight. Inspired by the taciturn Hoeller鈥攁 childhood friend-cum-taxidermist who planned, and built, a uniquely suitable abode perched astride the treacherous gorge of the Aurach river, one whose garret provides the one place on earth where Roithamer can sift AM thoughts with a degree of confidence鈥擱oithamer realizes that only his wunderKone can provide the security and happiness that will save his dear sister, and sinks all of his vast fortune and formidable intellect into achieving this bizarre-but-laudable scheme. Alas, no sooner has the Cone been completed, and presented to a trembling sibling who has long dreaded this moment, than the sister quickly succumbs to a deathly illness. Not long after, Roithamer hangs himself in a clearing midpoint between Altensam and the neighboring village of Stocket, thus continuing a family (perhaps Austrian) tradition of erasing one's map when life proves unendurable.
The first half of the book is narrated by a faceless childhood friend of both Hoeller and Roithamer, who is recovering from a nasty bout of pneumonia in the same garret where Roithamer found such spiritual and mental solace and has finally decided to comb through the thousands of notes and jottings鈥攁nd one manuscript鈥攍eft behind by the suicide. The second half consists of said notes and jottings and manuscript presented, via the narrator, in Roithamer's voice. The two personalities bear little in the way of difference, the narrator being a continuation of Roithamer's thought processes, a personality who shares many of the quirks and obsessions that plagued the Cone builder. Both are minds that circle around and repeat, that cling to phrases and routines, venturing off now and then into narrow digressions that illuminate a wide array of neuroses and paranoia, profundities and cavils, hatreds and admirations, but always returning to their existential base camp, to circle around, to lather, rinse and repeat. We discover that Roithamer has made many corrections to his principal essay, having distilled it, by way of emendation, striking out, and underline, from several hundred pages to half-again as many, then grinding it down further to a final eighty. This process of correcting reveals what the reader will doubtless have already begun to suspect: that the events and personalities that Roithamer describes may, in fact, be nothing at all like the author has delineated. This includes both his mother and his sister鈥攊ndeed, considering that the Cone was painstakingly built to perfectly reflect all of the latter's needs, hopes, and aspirations, it is quite remarkable what a deadly poison the final result turns out to be. Is the sister Roithamer dotes upon actually, in effect, a delusion of her deteriorating brother?
This is another five-star work of brilliance from the master ranter, perhaps the best yet of his novels that I have read. Again we have nature鈥攃ruel, cold, remorseless nature鈥攚hich sweeps man and his silly hubris aside like so much chaff, which brings entropy and decay to humanity's creations, which necessarily prevents Man from ever being able to realize his recurring ideas: those schemes and visions that haunt him with their perfection and purity that, upon being put to paper or canvas, set to music or shaped from the earth, are immediately revealed as ridiculous and paltry imitations, clunky incarnations of what was conceived as something supernal and sublime. As Roithamer progresses deeper into his despair, abuts the abyss of madness, he laments how all human creativity inevitably arises from torment, that the artistic soul must perforce also be damaged. Roithamer, in perceiving Nature's malevolence, sees humanity not as progressing but held down through time, a species achieving intelligence and self-consciousness through a terrible mistake, one that nature has attempted to rectify by increasing the agonies and trials that scald man's spirit, offering the ever more attractive lure of suicide as the only sane way out of this lunatic maze. As humanity has endured it has grown more ridiculous, more isolated, more desperate; as Roithamer acknowledges late in the book, the sudden perception of how truly lonely we all are, how isolated from a cruel society struggling against a crueler physical world, strikes more often, and harder, as we age, leaving us benumbed and stricken. This isolation also affects how we understand and interpret the actions of our family and friends, colleagues and strangers鈥攐ne is continually having to correct and revise prior opinions and estimations as their falseness, their erroneousness, their chimerical framework is revealed. We go through all the daily rituals of life in order to avoid being forced to confront the awful truths that hang over us, Damocles-like, using routine as a shield against verities too awful to acknowledge. We can thus never be certain about anything; the only solution, having unwillingly entered into life, is to abandon all hope and鈥攎aking the ultimate correction鈥攄ie, leaving an unlamented civilization to be overrun and buried by implacable Nature, a crumbled victim of the vast array of awesome weapons that this primeval Mother, allied with baneful Time, can bring to bear. Yet within the stark bile and endless negativity, the page-long sentences and half-book-length paragraphs, is a wicked dark humor that ameliorates the bleak, breathless, exhausting prose鈥攁nd declamations of a wracked-but-ingrained humanity that effectively eases the iron clutches with which society and the world hold the individual in place.
There are few other authors who understand the way the mind works鈥攅ven if only at certain periods鈥攍ike Bernhard does, and can mimic this chaotic-but-structured, tiered assemblage of orbiting thoughts, echoing memes, and determined obsessions, the way that a select train of thought can be instantly derailed by the darting return of another that won't be denied. And his stories are invariably monologues that pour forth in an endless stream, washing over the reader and leaving no pause for air. We have nothing taking place outside of the thought process: there are no sex scenes in Bernhard, no parties or feasts, no glimpses of a day at the office or of the family on vacation, no joyous weddings or bitter divorces. Yet despite, or perhaps because of this, they are impossible to put down. There are repetitions galore, phrases reworked and reordered but always hitting the same notes; and still boredom never sets in. The effect becomes hypnotic in the best of ways, pulling the reader along into the vortex of the narrator's turbulent mind and leaving it to them to find their way out. They most assuredly are not for everybody, but I absolutely love them all. So Roithamer. So multitudes.
August 15, 2016
The story is of obsession, the obsession of the protagonist to build a perfect Conical dwelling for his sister. It will be built in the exact center of a forrest to the exact dimensions of her character and needs. He needs to be away from others to work in locked solitude.
As a child his mother abhorred who he truly was, his father indifferent and withdrawn, his brothers buying into the families conventions. Isolation whether with others or alone was his only means of survival, of maintaining his self. It has left its marks no matter where he travels; Austria-his home-or London, or Cambridge. In order to do his work, Science, research and building the Cone, which is his life accept for his friendship with the narrator, must be done with doors locked. There can be no disturbance for then he will no longer be able to return to that supreme state of concentration which shuts out the rest of the world. The disturbance ranges from someone trying to enter the room to anything out of its place including any bits of paper used as bookmarks sticking out a fraction too long from the piles of books and journals. Are we watching the deterioration of a man, a mind, a soul?
The answer is the foreground story written in the extraordinary Bernhardian style best depicted by George Steiner in the preface.
鈥淣owhere is Bernhard鈥檚 notorious prose, with
its maddening, grating recursive and tidal motion,
with its clipped understatements, with its bone
bleached economy, used to deeper purpose.鈥�
Bernhard adds to the stirred brew, smoke riddled and acid flaked, a narrator who is a major character in the proceedings. I felt the saliva and spittle across my face as he ranted the narrative forward. But it wasn鈥檛 a rant though that seems the typical word associated with Bernhard. Here, to me, it sounded and felt like desperation. A grave desperation to get his point across to get me to understand what was happening. This desperation left his told tale unreliably-interesting in that his tale is about his tragic friend鈥檚 obsession with obtaining perfection and control.
The tale, I believe, that the narrator is hoping with dear life to express is that control, perfection, truly knowing anything, is impossible. Everything is in flux, changing each moment. What we know now is different one moment later. Who ourselves are, so too, is different. In my writing this review to this point has resulted in my being different. We only agree, according to this haunting and haunted tale, on the static complexion of life as a matter of survival.
So, Roithamer made corrections to the Cone. Then corrections to his corrections and so forth. In the end is the destruction of the original idea, aim, as it only can be. Bernhard shows us, compelling and chilling that the truth can never be uncovered no matter how hard we seek, and yes we are compelled to seek.
As a child his mother abhorred who he truly was, his father indifferent and withdrawn, his brothers buying into the families conventions. Isolation whether with others or alone was his only means of survival, of maintaining his self. It has left its marks no matter where he travels; Austria-his home-or London, or Cambridge. In order to do his work, Science, research and building the Cone, which is his life accept for his friendship with the narrator, must be done with doors locked. There can be no disturbance for then he will no longer be able to return to that supreme state of concentration which shuts out the rest of the world. The disturbance ranges from someone trying to enter the room to anything out of its place including any bits of paper used as bookmarks sticking out a fraction too long from the piles of books and journals. Are we watching the deterioration of a man, a mind, a soul?
The answer is the foreground story written in the extraordinary Bernhardian style best depicted by George Steiner in the preface.
鈥淣owhere is Bernhard鈥檚 notorious prose, with
its maddening, grating recursive and tidal motion,
with its clipped understatements, with its bone
bleached economy, used to deeper purpose.鈥�
Bernhard adds to the stirred brew, smoke riddled and acid flaked, a narrator who is a major character in the proceedings. I felt the saliva and spittle across my face as he ranted the narrative forward. But it wasn鈥檛 a rant though that seems the typical word associated with Bernhard. Here, to me, it sounded and felt like desperation. A grave desperation to get his point across to get me to understand what was happening. This desperation left his told tale unreliably-interesting in that his tale is about his tragic friend鈥檚 obsession with obtaining perfection and control.
The tale, I believe, that the narrator is hoping with dear life to express is that control, perfection, truly knowing anything, is impossible. Everything is in flux, changing each moment. What we know now is different one moment later. Who ourselves are, so too, is different. In my writing this review to this point has resulted in my being different. We only agree, according to this haunting and haunted tale, on the static complexion of life as a matter of survival.
So, Roithamer made corrections to the Cone. Then corrections to his corrections and so forth. In the end is the destruction of the original idea, aim, as it only can be. Bernhard shows us, compelling and chilling that the truth can never be uncovered no matter how hard we seek, and yes we are compelled to seek.
January 21, 2016
This is the novel Ben Marcus referred to in . He says that according to a little function that used to be on Amazon.com, to read and comprehend Thomas Bernhard's "Correction" requires 355 years of education. Like all Bernhard, it's never really difficult reading -- it's more about endurance, this one more than any of the others because it's three or four times longer than any of the others. This one includes for example at least ten pages of repetitive ranting about how Austrians only excel at one thing, out of everything they could possibly excel at, the only thing they excel at is suicide. It goes on and on about how good Austrians are at suicide -- if this is your idea of a good time, if paragraphless rants that after about half a page become pretty hilarious before going on and on, saying the same thing in different ways, musically, wonderfully, over and over, if this is the sort of thing that turns you on, you have found a must read. This book also emphasizes a giant cone in the middle of a forest.
November 28, 2015
La radura possibile
鈥淭utta l'epoca in cui viviamo oggi in verit脿 猫 sempre stata contro il pensiero e si limita a fingere di pensare, la tendenza oggi 猫 contro il pensiero ed 猫 per la finzione, come in genere tutta quest'epoca in cui viviamo 猫 finta, tutto 猫 finto, nulla 猫 reale, tutto 猫 finto鈥�.
Nella visione letteraria di Thomas Bernhard la descrizione 猫 il contrario del reale: tutto 猫 vero ed 猫 falso, il linguaggio 猫 inutile, siamo solo esecutori mancanti, la superficie terrestre 猫 riempita di frammenti. E cos矛 egli descrive solo ci貌 che non vede nessuno. Se pensiamo, non sappiamo, ci rifugiamo in un'idea, che non conosciamo per nulla, 猫 un residuo. Non 猫 l'Altro al quale ci avviciniamo, allontanandoci, a non corrispondere ai nostri sensi, 猫 la realt脿 che uccide e sbalordisce perch茅 impossibile da trasformare, da correggere, ogni correzione comporta una nuova correzione. Fino alla correzione definitiva, quell'inclinazione alla follia, quella predisposizione alla morte disturbante e distruttiva, che 猫 il suicidio. Come scrisse Ingeborg Bachmann, 鈥渋n Bernhard ogni cosa diventa sotterranea e abissale鈥�. Lo scienziato Roithamer 猫 il protagonista del romanzo, formato sull'immagine cognitiva del filosofo austriaco Ludwig Wittgenstein ed 猫 una figura maniacale e archetipica: la sua avventura conoscitiva e umana 猫 orientata dai caratteri classici e logici della riflessione neopositivista e della genialit脿 negativa, ma 猫 al tempo stesso marcata da discontinuit脿, dispersione, schizofrenia, paranoia, come contraddizioni esclusive della modernit脿. Non solo dialettica ordine e caos, ma soprattutto parola-lacrima e indicibile-incomunicabile. La sua scrittura, metanarrativa e metalinguistica, si riproduce continuamente come differimento del momento conclusivo, esercizio di pensiero in cui risiede l'unica opzione all'essere. Perch茅 Roithamer, doppio dell'io narrante, 猫 a sua volta copia e modello dell'autore effettivo, Thomas Bernhard (del quale simula la personalit脿): precipita nel sospetto, si sposta in un luogo per comprendere l'altro, ama la sorella per salvarla, la uccide costruendo per lei una casa irrealizzabile, che costituisce la massima felicit脿, la perfezione, quella geometria lirica nel mezzo del bosco, natura innaturale, mondo di cui appropriarsi, mondo originario, oscurit脿 oscura nella quale scomparire, svanire come in un crepaccio abissale nel ghiaccio. Bernhard scrive per ricomporre la frattura io-mondo, natura-linguaggio, per liberarsi dalla colpa dell'essere infelice, per legittimare l'odio verso se stesso, verso il padre e la madre e i fratelli, per opporsi all'immane, contenere il tormento, esprimere la propria finitezza e smascherare la propria ipocrisia. E' uno studio, una ricerca, un progetto di delirante perfezione, 猫 un archeologia dell'introspezione; rievoca la memoria delle esperienze che lo hanno segnato positivamente, con vitalit脿 e gioia, il sentiero della scuola che percorreva serenamente e coraggiosamente con i compagni e la rosa gialla regalata a una sconosciuta, emblema della possibile beatitudine. C'猫 qui un'idea di ascesi, di spiritualit脿 mistica, da frequentare con la purezza dell'idealit脿. Fino al momento in cui l'odio come una malattia travolge ogni cosa, ci si scopre indifesi, disarmati nella rivolta nichilista, la scelta di isolarsi diventa cattiva coscienza, l'ossessione pervade ogni facolt脿, viene la disgrazia, il notturno, la vergogna di abitare un mondo che non ci appartiene, l'impossibilit脿 di portare a compimento le proprie responsabilit脿, di farsi carico di un destino dolente e angosciante, estraneo: sfondare il confine ultimo, estremo fallimento, estrema inattuabilit脿, impotenza del singolo nel fragore della condanna, nella prigione dell'intransigenza, nella mostruosit脿 verso il prossimo. Roithamer cerca di essere come un altro, nella scrittura, nella lettura, nella costruzione del cono in mezzo al bosco, nel manoscritto (鈥淐orreggere le bozze e l'intero libro significava annientare le bozze e l'intero manoscritto. Ma con l'annientamento del suo documento ne sorge uno nuovo鈥�). Improvvisamente si trova all'estremo dell'esistenza, inquieto e disperato. Ma non pu貌 smettere di ricordare, n茅 di riflettere; non dorme, si osserva, vive contro se stesso. Tragicamente la conseguenza dell'intensit脿 della solitudine, il declino dell'anima, ha la meglio sull'amore per la vita. Non utopico: entropico. Come scrive Vincenzo Quagliotti nell'ottima prefazione, dalle vite non vissute verso un nuovo orizzonte. Trasformazione. Violazione. Distruzione. Correzione.
鈥淢a il bello dei miei libri 猫 appunto che il bello non vi 猫 mai descritto, e in questo modo nasce da s茅. E quelli che descrivono solo il bello, beh, quelli scrivono libri brutti e orribili. La letteratura io la vedo cos矛鈥�.
鈥淭utta l'epoca in cui viviamo oggi in verit脿 猫 sempre stata contro il pensiero e si limita a fingere di pensare, la tendenza oggi 猫 contro il pensiero ed 猫 per la finzione, come in genere tutta quest'epoca in cui viviamo 猫 finta, tutto 猫 finto, nulla 猫 reale, tutto 猫 finto鈥�.
Nella visione letteraria di Thomas Bernhard la descrizione 猫 il contrario del reale: tutto 猫 vero ed 猫 falso, il linguaggio 猫 inutile, siamo solo esecutori mancanti, la superficie terrestre 猫 riempita di frammenti. E cos矛 egli descrive solo ci貌 che non vede nessuno. Se pensiamo, non sappiamo, ci rifugiamo in un'idea, che non conosciamo per nulla, 猫 un residuo. Non 猫 l'Altro al quale ci avviciniamo, allontanandoci, a non corrispondere ai nostri sensi, 猫 la realt脿 che uccide e sbalordisce perch茅 impossibile da trasformare, da correggere, ogni correzione comporta una nuova correzione. Fino alla correzione definitiva, quell'inclinazione alla follia, quella predisposizione alla morte disturbante e distruttiva, che 猫 il suicidio. Come scrisse Ingeborg Bachmann, 鈥渋n Bernhard ogni cosa diventa sotterranea e abissale鈥�. Lo scienziato Roithamer 猫 il protagonista del romanzo, formato sull'immagine cognitiva del filosofo austriaco Ludwig Wittgenstein ed 猫 una figura maniacale e archetipica: la sua avventura conoscitiva e umana 猫 orientata dai caratteri classici e logici della riflessione neopositivista e della genialit脿 negativa, ma 猫 al tempo stesso marcata da discontinuit脿, dispersione, schizofrenia, paranoia, come contraddizioni esclusive della modernit脿. Non solo dialettica ordine e caos, ma soprattutto parola-lacrima e indicibile-incomunicabile. La sua scrittura, metanarrativa e metalinguistica, si riproduce continuamente come differimento del momento conclusivo, esercizio di pensiero in cui risiede l'unica opzione all'essere. Perch茅 Roithamer, doppio dell'io narrante, 猫 a sua volta copia e modello dell'autore effettivo, Thomas Bernhard (del quale simula la personalit脿): precipita nel sospetto, si sposta in un luogo per comprendere l'altro, ama la sorella per salvarla, la uccide costruendo per lei una casa irrealizzabile, che costituisce la massima felicit脿, la perfezione, quella geometria lirica nel mezzo del bosco, natura innaturale, mondo di cui appropriarsi, mondo originario, oscurit脿 oscura nella quale scomparire, svanire come in un crepaccio abissale nel ghiaccio. Bernhard scrive per ricomporre la frattura io-mondo, natura-linguaggio, per liberarsi dalla colpa dell'essere infelice, per legittimare l'odio verso se stesso, verso il padre e la madre e i fratelli, per opporsi all'immane, contenere il tormento, esprimere la propria finitezza e smascherare la propria ipocrisia. E' uno studio, una ricerca, un progetto di delirante perfezione, 猫 un archeologia dell'introspezione; rievoca la memoria delle esperienze che lo hanno segnato positivamente, con vitalit脿 e gioia, il sentiero della scuola che percorreva serenamente e coraggiosamente con i compagni e la rosa gialla regalata a una sconosciuta, emblema della possibile beatitudine. C'猫 qui un'idea di ascesi, di spiritualit脿 mistica, da frequentare con la purezza dell'idealit脿. Fino al momento in cui l'odio come una malattia travolge ogni cosa, ci si scopre indifesi, disarmati nella rivolta nichilista, la scelta di isolarsi diventa cattiva coscienza, l'ossessione pervade ogni facolt脿, viene la disgrazia, il notturno, la vergogna di abitare un mondo che non ci appartiene, l'impossibilit脿 di portare a compimento le proprie responsabilit脿, di farsi carico di un destino dolente e angosciante, estraneo: sfondare il confine ultimo, estremo fallimento, estrema inattuabilit脿, impotenza del singolo nel fragore della condanna, nella prigione dell'intransigenza, nella mostruosit脿 verso il prossimo. Roithamer cerca di essere come un altro, nella scrittura, nella lettura, nella costruzione del cono in mezzo al bosco, nel manoscritto (鈥淐orreggere le bozze e l'intero libro significava annientare le bozze e l'intero manoscritto. Ma con l'annientamento del suo documento ne sorge uno nuovo鈥�). Improvvisamente si trova all'estremo dell'esistenza, inquieto e disperato. Ma non pu貌 smettere di ricordare, n茅 di riflettere; non dorme, si osserva, vive contro se stesso. Tragicamente la conseguenza dell'intensit脿 della solitudine, il declino dell'anima, ha la meglio sull'amore per la vita. Non utopico: entropico. Come scrive Vincenzo Quagliotti nell'ottima prefazione, dalle vite non vissute verso un nuovo orizzonte. Trasformazione. Violazione. Distruzione. Correzione.
鈥淢a il bello dei miei libri 猫 appunto che il bello non vi 猫 mai descritto, e in questo modo nasce da s茅. E quelli che descrivono solo il bello, beh, quelli scrivono libri brutti e orribili. La letteratura io la vedo cos矛鈥�.
March 9, 2025
After I鈥檝e read his first and last novels, as well as almost all his prose work written between these two poles, I can say that Correction concentrates and brings in consonance the best of what Bernhard achieved in his work to and after this turning point. This book is like a metronome, being the centerpiece of a whole oeuvre, with a pendulum bar that oscillates between its two halves, indicating with one tact the already written part and with the next, the one to be written.
Correction has the density and sobriety of Bernhard鈥檚 first works while offering a good foretaste of the darkly humorous and lighter prose yet to come. It鈥檚 where he finally mastered that addictive flow 鈥� that he will conduct even better in his later works 鈥� but where he still has those raw and somehow more genuinely mad moods of his first novels.
I chose the image of a metronome also because of its general shape 鈥� that of a cone. Roithamer, the main absent character of the book, has built, right in the middle of a forest, a 鈥渃one design to be lived in鈥�. In the original German, it is named in one composite word 鈥� 鈥淲ohnkegel鈥�. Roithamer builds this unprecedented, inhuman edifice for his sister who is the only person he loves, but she dies before she can get the chance to live there. Shortly afterwards, Roithamer hangs himself in the forest. Thus, the absurd building is 鈥渁bandoned to nature鈥�, becoming just an empty, useless monument. Likewise, Bernhard leaves all that is architectural about narratives 鈥� descriptions, plot, character development, the whole Bildungsroman 鈥� behind in the composite forest that was cut in order to print the books that still contain these structures. Like an uninhabited building, Bernhard鈥檚 text is a place only for the movement of a narrative voice that goes back and forth to the same few themes, developed in endless variations, musically.
Roithamer also leaves behind a large manuscript 鈥� corrected to almost nothingness 鈥� about Altensam, his hometown against which he concentrated all his contempt. This manuscript is inherited by the nameless narrator who is supposed to edit it, correcting it even furthermore, maybe to complete nothingness. 鈥淐orrection鈥� also means going back and forth in the text and eliminating surplus material. It鈥檚 again mostly this movement that takes part, that occupies, forms and voices the text. The voice is internal, it goes through the head of the narrator and implicitly through ours, the readers鈥� 鈥� and a consonance is reached also here. All the little that is actually spoken or done in this book is channelled through the same voice.
鈥淧hysically鈥�, as the saying goes, or from an 鈥渆xternal鈥� point of view, the narrator is mostly situated in H枚ller鈥檚 garrett (鈥渉枚llerschen Dachkammer鈥�). H枚ller is a common friend of the narrator and the late Roithamer. His garrett was a refuge for both, as it is the only place where they could be at rest in their solitude for a while, a studio, a room for writing and where they can close themselves in their own minds. It鈥檚 where Roithamer wrote against his place of birth and also where he projected the cone-in-the-forest. For both him and the narrator, it鈥檚 a place away from where they normally live (or lived), in England, and also from the neighbouring hometown that they hate (or, in Roithamer鈥檚 case, hated).
In H枚ller鈥檚 house people actually live 鈥� his whole family and domestics 鈥�, which puts it in contrast with Roithamer鈥檚 Wohnkegel. As an epitome of indestructible living quarters, H枚ller has built his house by Aurach, a 鈥渢orrential鈥� mountain river that, in spring, when ice and snow melts, can destroy everything in its path. Indeed, other houses are periodically washed away by Aurach, but never H枚ller鈥檚, which is a testimony of his pragmatic architectural genius: to build a house in the heart of nature that won鈥檛 be engulfed by it and where one can actually live at peace. It鈥檚 also a place where the torrential flow is tamed, domesticated, where it becomes only white noise: 鈥渢he incessant rushing of the Aurach had never distracted me or Roithamer during his sojourns in Hoeller鈥檚 garret, a place so totally noiseless apart from the deafening noise of the torrential river鈥�.
Correction is a central novel in Bernhard鈥檚 oeuvre, where his earlier, very elaborated (or more laboured) and fragmented amalgams of narrative voices get unified; his maybe more genuine but harder to decrypt madness 鈥� I鈥檓 thinking especially about his debut novel Frost 鈥� gets tamer. Earlier, there seemed to be still some pseudo-epic tendencies in a sort of bleak com茅die humaine (Frost is far from any Balzac novel, but nevertheless) in how kaleidoscopically the figures in that mountain village are presented. All these tendencies gradually fade away, or are refined, or are properly corrected in the Correction novel. The more somber temperament that marked the works before it are already mingling here with a more playful temperament of Bernhard鈥檚 later works. This later temperament becomes lighter but also sharper (like a better-honed blade). The works before it were more clogged and static. The style here is fluid from one end to the other, though still heavy like that torrential river that deafens the narrator. It will become finer, but by no means shallower, in the subsequent novels; more humorous, also. I personally believe that his so-called 鈥渞ant-novels鈥� are paradoxically his most serious works, with Old Masters, the last novel chronologically, culminating as Bernhard鈥檚 funnier yet saddest and most enlightening novel. Its core theme and conclusion are mourning after a lost life-partner and the deep realisation that despite everything said against them, the others are all one has in life.
Bernhard鈥檚 prose will become even less architectural and more musical, more like a fugue than an orchestrated stable structure. Correction is not Bernhard鈥檚 absolute masterpiece, but the central one. It admirably brings together or reflects both sides of his entire body of work.
But perhaps it is more relevant not to discuss Bernhard鈥檚 individual works so much as to view his oeuvre as one great work with various moments. The moment of Correction is somewhat too long. We know from a remark by Nabokov or from our own reading experience that every writer has an optimal number of pages. Within that limit, they deliver their work with the greatest concentration and the best-measured intensity. However, if they exceed that limit and write too many pages, the work becomes overstretched, more or less redundant and obvious. In my view, this happens somewhat with Correction and Extinction. Thomas Bernhard鈥檚 ideal page count per novel, in my opinion (though other Bernhard fans or addicts may have different views), lies somewhere between Yes and Woodcutters. His most concentrated moment is the short prose piece The Cap (Die M眉tze), which is so intense and essential that it is not merely a moment but a core piece, a seed of Bernhard鈥檚 oeuvre.
Up until and beyond Correction, Bernhard鈥檚 work gradually sheds its weightiness to become lighter, but never superficial. On the contrary, it becomes deeper and more multifaceted. His complex and subtle humor, his irony and self-irony and eventually his paradoxical sentimentality will only lend his prose additional dimensions.
鈥�
I have read this book in German and reviewed it in the same language here
Correction has the density and sobriety of Bernhard鈥檚 first works while offering a good foretaste of the darkly humorous and lighter prose yet to come. It鈥檚 where he finally mastered that addictive flow 鈥� that he will conduct even better in his later works 鈥� but where he still has those raw and somehow more genuinely mad moods of his first novels.
I chose the image of a metronome also because of its general shape 鈥� that of a cone. Roithamer, the main absent character of the book, has built, right in the middle of a forest, a 鈥渃one design to be lived in鈥�. In the original German, it is named in one composite word 鈥� 鈥淲ohnkegel鈥�. Roithamer builds this unprecedented, inhuman edifice for his sister who is the only person he loves, but she dies before she can get the chance to live there. Shortly afterwards, Roithamer hangs himself in the forest. Thus, the absurd building is 鈥渁bandoned to nature鈥�, becoming just an empty, useless monument. Likewise, Bernhard leaves all that is architectural about narratives 鈥� descriptions, plot, character development, the whole Bildungsroman 鈥� behind in the composite forest that was cut in order to print the books that still contain these structures. Like an uninhabited building, Bernhard鈥檚 text is a place only for the movement of a narrative voice that goes back and forth to the same few themes, developed in endless variations, musically.
Roithamer also leaves behind a large manuscript 鈥� corrected to almost nothingness 鈥� about Altensam, his hometown against which he concentrated all his contempt. This manuscript is inherited by the nameless narrator who is supposed to edit it, correcting it even furthermore, maybe to complete nothingness. 鈥淐orrection鈥� also means going back and forth in the text and eliminating surplus material. It鈥檚 again mostly this movement that takes part, that occupies, forms and voices the text. The voice is internal, it goes through the head of the narrator and implicitly through ours, the readers鈥� 鈥� and a consonance is reached also here. All the little that is actually spoken or done in this book is channelled through the same voice.
鈥淧hysically鈥�, as the saying goes, or from an 鈥渆xternal鈥� point of view, the narrator is mostly situated in H枚ller鈥檚 garrett (鈥渉枚llerschen Dachkammer鈥�). H枚ller is a common friend of the narrator and the late Roithamer. His garrett was a refuge for both, as it is the only place where they could be at rest in their solitude for a while, a studio, a room for writing and where they can close themselves in their own minds. It鈥檚 where Roithamer wrote against his place of birth and also where he projected the cone-in-the-forest. For both him and the narrator, it鈥檚 a place away from where they normally live (or lived), in England, and also from the neighbouring hometown that they hate (or, in Roithamer鈥檚 case, hated).
In H枚ller鈥檚 house people actually live 鈥� his whole family and domestics 鈥�, which puts it in contrast with Roithamer鈥檚 Wohnkegel. As an epitome of indestructible living quarters, H枚ller has built his house by Aurach, a 鈥渢orrential鈥� mountain river that, in spring, when ice and snow melts, can destroy everything in its path. Indeed, other houses are periodically washed away by Aurach, but never H枚ller鈥檚, which is a testimony of his pragmatic architectural genius: to build a house in the heart of nature that won鈥檛 be engulfed by it and where one can actually live at peace. It鈥檚 also a place where the torrential flow is tamed, domesticated, where it becomes only white noise: 鈥渢he incessant rushing of the Aurach had never distracted me or Roithamer during his sojourns in Hoeller鈥檚 garret, a place so totally noiseless apart from the deafening noise of the torrential river鈥�.
Correction is a central novel in Bernhard鈥檚 oeuvre, where his earlier, very elaborated (or more laboured) and fragmented amalgams of narrative voices get unified; his maybe more genuine but harder to decrypt madness 鈥� I鈥檓 thinking especially about his debut novel Frost 鈥� gets tamer. Earlier, there seemed to be still some pseudo-epic tendencies in a sort of bleak com茅die humaine (Frost is far from any Balzac novel, but nevertheless) in how kaleidoscopically the figures in that mountain village are presented. All these tendencies gradually fade away, or are refined, or are properly corrected in the Correction novel. The more somber temperament that marked the works before it are already mingling here with a more playful temperament of Bernhard鈥檚 later works. This later temperament becomes lighter but also sharper (like a better-honed blade). The works before it were more clogged and static. The style here is fluid from one end to the other, though still heavy like that torrential river that deafens the narrator. It will become finer, but by no means shallower, in the subsequent novels; more humorous, also. I personally believe that his so-called 鈥渞ant-novels鈥� are paradoxically his most serious works, with Old Masters, the last novel chronologically, culminating as Bernhard鈥檚 funnier yet saddest and most enlightening novel. Its core theme and conclusion are mourning after a lost life-partner and the deep realisation that despite everything said against them, the others are all one has in life.
Bernhard鈥檚 prose will become even less architectural and more musical, more like a fugue than an orchestrated stable structure. Correction is not Bernhard鈥檚 absolute masterpiece, but the central one. It admirably brings together or reflects both sides of his entire body of work.
But perhaps it is more relevant not to discuss Bernhard鈥檚 individual works so much as to view his oeuvre as one great work with various moments. The moment of Correction is somewhat too long. We know from a remark by Nabokov or from our own reading experience that every writer has an optimal number of pages. Within that limit, they deliver their work with the greatest concentration and the best-measured intensity. However, if they exceed that limit and write too many pages, the work becomes overstretched, more or less redundant and obvious. In my view, this happens somewhat with Correction and Extinction. Thomas Bernhard鈥檚 ideal page count per novel, in my opinion (though other Bernhard fans or addicts may have different views), lies somewhere between Yes and Woodcutters. His most concentrated moment is the short prose piece The Cap (Die M眉tze), which is so intense and essential that it is not merely a moment but a core piece, a seed of Bernhard鈥檚 oeuvre.
Up until and beyond Correction, Bernhard鈥檚 work gradually sheds its weightiness to become lighter, but never superficial. On the contrary, it becomes deeper and more multifaceted. His complex and subtle humor, his irony and self-irony and eventually his paradoxical sentimentality will only lend his prose additional dimensions.
鈥�
I have read this book in German and reviewed it in the same language here
March 15, 2019
Roithamer, H枚ller e il narratore, tre ragazzi, la stessa scuola che raggiungevano insieme percorrendo un sentiero costellato di pericoli, attraverso un bosco che incuteva paura, il freddo invernale e l鈥檃fa estiva. 脠 il ricordo pi霉 vivo di un鈥檃micizia nata ai tempi della scuola e durata per tutta la vita, nonostante le notevoli differenze sociali e caratteriali.
Luogo di rivelazioni e pensieri, di scoperte e scambi di opinioni, 猫 quanto di pi霉 simile a un percorso di formazione, di preparazione a quella che sar脿 la vita adulta. Non a caso, il tragitto pi霉 lungo e tortuoso 猫 quello di Roithamer, inquieto e geniale, sempre in fuga e al tempo stesso sempre di ritorno al suo luogo d鈥檕rigine, l鈥橝ustria, per lui ormai
鈥渟oltanto una rimanenza in liquidazione della storia spirituale e culturale, una merce statale giacente, in cui il cittadino ha a disposizione soltanto la seconda e la terza e la quarta e comunque sempre l鈥檜ltima scelta鈥�.
Una patria che sente ostile ed estranea, come da sempre ostile ed estranea ha sentito Altensam, dove 猫 nato e dove ha trascorso un鈥檌nfanzia infelice, funestata dall鈥檌ndifferenza del padre e dall鈥檕dio (ricambiato) della madre, vero elemento estraneo, che ha infettato e snaturato Altensam, provocando in Roithamer una precoce tendenza al silenzio e all鈥檌solamento.
Dalle prime pagine del romanzo, apprendiamo che Roithamer si 猫 suicidato. Ha portato a compimento l鈥檕pera della sua vita, un cono progettato e realizzato per l鈥檃matissima sorella al centro di un bosco. Dopo anni trascorsi a perfezionare l鈥檌dea, dividendosi tra Cambridge, dove insegnava e studiava, e la soffitta di H枚ller, in cui si rinchiudeva per leggere, riflettere e costruire il cono, si 猫 tolto la vita, affidando la cura delle opere scritte all鈥檃mico, l鈥檌o narrante, di cui non conosciamo il nome.
La prima parte del racconto si svolge nella soffitta di H枚ller, ancora impregnata del pensiero e delle abitudini dello scomparso, dove il narratore tenta di capire cosa fare degli scritti di Roithamer, pi霉 volte riveduti, in parte frammentari
鈥淔orse dovrei mettere in relazione tra loro tutti i brandelli, tutti i frammenti, e unire questi brandelli e questi frammenti del suo pensiero in un insieme, un insieme che poi si possa pubblicare鈥�.
Quasi annientato dalla potenza del pensiero dell鈥檃mico, il narratore decide di dormirci su.
A questo punto, il romanzo cambia tono. L鈥檌o narrante sembra quasi risucchiato negli appunti di Roithamer ed 猫 la voce di quest鈥檜ltimo quella che ci porter脿, con una scrittura che si avvolge su se stessa, in un susseguirsi ipnotico di ripetizioni e di ossessioni, alla radura del suicidio.
I temi di Bernhard ci sono tutti, portati al limite estremo, che non 猫 la follia bens矛 la morte.
Morte che altro non 猫 se non un confine che spesso nella vita ci attira, spesso lo raggiungiamo senza varcarlo, fino al momento giusto.
鈥渓a durata della vita 猫 lunghissima e nello stesso tempo brevissima, perch茅 bisogna pensarla e sentirla fino in fondo in un attimo, sempre nell鈥檃ttimo in cui si pensa un simile (audace) pensiero.鈥�
Il tempo 猫 importante. Dall鈥檃rco di poche ore della prima parte, si dilata a un鈥檌ntera esistenza, ripercorsa e analizzata ripetutamente per poterla comprendere meglio. Dall鈥檌nfanzia dominata dai genitori alla sudata indipendenza, soprattutto di pensiero.
Pensare, avere un鈥檌dea che motivi l鈥檃ndare avanti, portarla a compimento e poi chiudere.
鈥淚l tempo 猫 realizzazione, idea, disperazione e viceversa鈥�.
L鈥檌dea di Roithamer, realizzata contro tutto e contro tutti, 猫 il cono al centro del bosco dove la sorella possa raggiungere la massima felicit脿.
鈥淨uando ho detto a mia sorella, il cono 猫 il tuo cono, appartiene a te, l鈥檋o costruito per te e l鈥檋o costruito esattamente al centro del Kobernausserwald, cos矛 Roithamer, ho constatato che l鈥檈ffetto del cono su mia sorella 猫 stato un effetto distruttivo. Tutto ci貌 che 猫 seguito 猫 stato un seguito di orrore, cos矛 Roithamer, nient鈥檃ltro, morte lenta, isolamento nella malattia mortale, nient鈥檃ltro, da quel momento in poi tutto l鈥檋a portata alla sua morte certa (3 maggio)鈥�.
La morte della sorella toglie senso alla vita di Roithamer. Ultima ossessione, scrivere su Altensam, in un processo di allontanamento, che solo garantisce una visione chiara dell鈥檕ggetto, e con una continua revisione, Correzione, di quanto ha scritto, perch茅 le descrizioni non corrispondono alla realt脿, sono false. La correzione 猫 drastica, ripetuta, trasforma lo scritto, lo riduce da 600 a 30 pagine. Ossessiva come il pensiero, la scrittura inganna, linguaggio e realt脿 sono distanti.
鈥淪empre pi霉 monologhi perch茅 non abbiamo pi霉 nessuno, tranne H枚ller pi霉 nessuno, abbandonato a me stesso nella soffitta di H枚ller non ho nessuna possibilit脿 di uscire dalla soffitta di H枚ller (7 maggio). Un carcere, un carcere per monologare (9 maggio) [...]
Leggiamo un libro, leggiamo noi stessi, quindi aborriamo la lettura, cos矛 Roithamer, non ci avviciniamoci neppure pi霉 alla lettura, non ci permettiamo pi霉 di leggere.鈥�
Tutto 猫 un carcere in cui ci dibattiamo, illudendoci di raggiungere una libert脿 che si rivela falsa. L鈥檈sistenza 猫 un carcere, come lo 猫 il bosco, una prigione di alberi che non lascia filtrare la luce. Poi, all鈥檌mprovviso, la rivelazione: radura, luogo di luce e di infinite possibilit脿, massima felicit脿.
鈥淟a fine non 猫 un evento. Radura.鈥�
Luogo di rivelazioni e pensieri, di scoperte e scambi di opinioni, 猫 quanto di pi霉 simile a un percorso di formazione, di preparazione a quella che sar脿 la vita adulta. Non a caso, il tragitto pi霉 lungo e tortuoso 猫 quello di Roithamer, inquieto e geniale, sempre in fuga e al tempo stesso sempre di ritorno al suo luogo d鈥檕rigine, l鈥橝ustria, per lui ormai
鈥渟oltanto una rimanenza in liquidazione della storia spirituale e culturale, una merce statale giacente, in cui il cittadino ha a disposizione soltanto la seconda e la terza e la quarta e comunque sempre l鈥檜ltima scelta鈥�.
Una patria che sente ostile ed estranea, come da sempre ostile ed estranea ha sentito Altensam, dove 猫 nato e dove ha trascorso un鈥檌nfanzia infelice, funestata dall鈥檌ndifferenza del padre e dall鈥檕dio (ricambiato) della madre, vero elemento estraneo, che ha infettato e snaturato Altensam, provocando in Roithamer una precoce tendenza al silenzio e all鈥檌solamento.
Dalle prime pagine del romanzo, apprendiamo che Roithamer si 猫 suicidato. Ha portato a compimento l鈥檕pera della sua vita, un cono progettato e realizzato per l鈥檃matissima sorella al centro di un bosco. Dopo anni trascorsi a perfezionare l鈥檌dea, dividendosi tra Cambridge, dove insegnava e studiava, e la soffitta di H枚ller, in cui si rinchiudeva per leggere, riflettere e costruire il cono, si 猫 tolto la vita, affidando la cura delle opere scritte all鈥檃mico, l鈥檌o narrante, di cui non conosciamo il nome.
La prima parte del racconto si svolge nella soffitta di H枚ller, ancora impregnata del pensiero e delle abitudini dello scomparso, dove il narratore tenta di capire cosa fare degli scritti di Roithamer, pi霉 volte riveduti, in parte frammentari
鈥淔orse dovrei mettere in relazione tra loro tutti i brandelli, tutti i frammenti, e unire questi brandelli e questi frammenti del suo pensiero in un insieme, un insieme che poi si possa pubblicare鈥�.
Quasi annientato dalla potenza del pensiero dell鈥檃mico, il narratore decide di dormirci su.
A questo punto, il romanzo cambia tono. L鈥檌o narrante sembra quasi risucchiato negli appunti di Roithamer ed 猫 la voce di quest鈥檜ltimo quella che ci porter脿, con una scrittura che si avvolge su se stessa, in un susseguirsi ipnotico di ripetizioni e di ossessioni, alla radura del suicidio.
I temi di Bernhard ci sono tutti, portati al limite estremo, che non 猫 la follia bens矛 la morte.
Morte che altro non 猫 se non un confine che spesso nella vita ci attira, spesso lo raggiungiamo senza varcarlo, fino al momento giusto.
鈥渓a durata della vita 猫 lunghissima e nello stesso tempo brevissima, perch茅 bisogna pensarla e sentirla fino in fondo in un attimo, sempre nell鈥檃ttimo in cui si pensa un simile (audace) pensiero.鈥�
Il tempo 猫 importante. Dall鈥檃rco di poche ore della prima parte, si dilata a un鈥檌ntera esistenza, ripercorsa e analizzata ripetutamente per poterla comprendere meglio. Dall鈥檌nfanzia dominata dai genitori alla sudata indipendenza, soprattutto di pensiero.
Pensare, avere un鈥檌dea che motivi l鈥檃ndare avanti, portarla a compimento e poi chiudere.
鈥淚l tempo 猫 realizzazione, idea, disperazione e viceversa鈥�.
L鈥檌dea di Roithamer, realizzata contro tutto e contro tutti, 猫 il cono al centro del bosco dove la sorella possa raggiungere la massima felicit脿.
鈥淨uando ho detto a mia sorella, il cono 猫 il tuo cono, appartiene a te, l鈥檋o costruito per te e l鈥檋o costruito esattamente al centro del Kobernausserwald, cos矛 Roithamer, ho constatato che l鈥檈ffetto del cono su mia sorella 猫 stato un effetto distruttivo. Tutto ci貌 che 猫 seguito 猫 stato un seguito di orrore, cos矛 Roithamer, nient鈥檃ltro, morte lenta, isolamento nella malattia mortale, nient鈥檃ltro, da quel momento in poi tutto l鈥檋a portata alla sua morte certa (3 maggio)鈥�.
La morte della sorella toglie senso alla vita di Roithamer. Ultima ossessione, scrivere su Altensam, in un processo di allontanamento, che solo garantisce una visione chiara dell鈥檕ggetto, e con una continua revisione, Correzione, di quanto ha scritto, perch茅 le descrizioni non corrispondono alla realt脿, sono false. La correzione 猫 drastica, ripetuta, trasforma lo scritto, lo riduce da 600 a 30 pagine. Ossessiva come il pensiero, la scrittura inganna, linguaggio e realt脿 sono distanti.
鈥淪empre pi霉 monologhi perch茅 non abbiamo pi霉 nessuno, tranne H枚ller pi霉 nessuno, abbandonato a me stesso nella soffitta di H枚ller non ho nessuna possibilit脿 di uscire dalla soffitta di H枚ller (7 maggio). Un carcere, un carcere per monologare (9 maggio) [...]
Leggiamo un libro, leggiamo noi stessi, quindi aborriamo la lettura, cos矛 Roithamer, non ci avviciniamoci neppure pi霉 alla lettura, non ci permettiamo pi霉 di leggere.鈥�
Tutto 猫 un carcere in cui ci dibattiamo, illudendoci di raggiungere una libert脿 che si rivela falsa. L鈥檈sistenza 猫 un carcere, come lo 猫 il bosco, una prigione di alberi che non lascia filtrare la luce. Poi, all鈥檌mprovviso, la rivelazione: radura, luogo di luce e di infinite possibilit脿, massima felicit脿.
鈥淟a fine non 猫 un evento. Radura.鈥�
January 16, 2025
Nachdem ich den ersten und den letzten seiner Romane sowie die meisten dazwischen gelesen habe, kann ich sagen, dass Korrektur das Beste von dem, was Bernhard in seiner fr眉hen und sp盲ten Prosa erreicht, in Einklang bringt und konzentriert. Es hat die Dichte und N眉chternheit seiner ersten Werke und gibt einen guten Vorgeschmack auf seine d眉ster humorvolle und leichtere Prosa, die noch kommen wird. Es hat bereits seinen s眉chtig machenden Fluss, ist aber noch ernster, mehr echt verr眉ckt und scharfz眉ngiger.
Korrektur ist ein zentrales Roman Bernhards Werke, in dem er seine fr眉hen, aber entwickelten pseudoepischen (oder architektonischen) Tendenzen und sein ernstes Temperament mit einem spielerischeren, sp盲teren Temperament ausbalanciert. Dieses sp盲tere Temperament wird noch leichter, aber auch sch盲rfer (wie eine besser geschliffene Klinge). Der Stil ist bereits fl眉ssig, aber noch sehr orchestriert, was in den folgenden Romanen fl眉ssiger und weniger orchestriert wird, also weniger architektonisch und mehr musikalisch, mehr wie eine Fuge als eine stabile Dichtungsstruktur. Trotzdem w眉rde ich nicht sagen, dass Korrektur Bernhards absolutes Meisterwerk ist. Es ist ein sehr zentrales und bewundernswert repr盲sentatives Werk, das sein ganzes Schaffen widerspiegelt.
Aber es ist vielleicht relevanter, nicht so sehr 眉ber Bernhards verschiedene Werke zu sprechen, sondern 眉ber ein gro脽es Werk mit verschiedenen Momenten. Der Moment Korrektur ist ein bisschen zu lang. Wir wissen aus einer Bemerkung Nabokovs oder aus eigener Lekt眉reerfahrung, dass jeder Schriftsteller eine optimale Seitenanzahl hat. Innerhalb dieser Grenze liefern sie ihre Arbeiten mit gr枚脽ter Konzentration und best dosierter Intensit盲t. Wenn sie diese Grenze jedoch 眉berschreiten und zu viele Seiten schreiben, wird das Werk 眉berdehnt, mehr oder weniger redundant und offensichtlich. Meiner Meinung nach passiert dies ein wenig bei Korrektur und 础耻蝉濒枚蝉肠丑耻苍驳. Thomas Bernhards beste Seitenanzahl pro Roman liegt, meiner Meinung nach (andere Bernhards眉chtige k枚nnen andere Meinungen haben), irgendwo zwischen Ja und 贬辞濒锄蹿盲濒濒别苍. Sein bestes konzentriertes Moment ist das kurze Prosast眉ck Die M眉tze, das so intensiv und ohnegleichen ist, dass es nicht nur ein Moment, sondern ein Kernst眉ck von Bernhards Werk ist.
Nach Korrektur verliert Bernhards Werk allm盲hlich an Schwere, um leichter zu werden, aber in keinem Fall oberfl盲chlicher. Es wird desto tiefer und vielf盲ltiger. Sein komplexer und subtiler Humor, seine Ironie und Selbstironie verleihen seiner Prosa nur zus盲tzliche Dimensionen.
Korrektur ist ein zentrales Roman Bernhards Werke, in dem er seine fr眉hen, aber entwickelten pseudoepischen (oder architektonischen) Tendenzen und sein ernstes Temperament mit einem spielerischeren, sp盲teren Temperament ausbalanciert. Dieses sp盲tere Temperament wird noch leichter, aber auch sch盲rfer (wie eine besser geschliffene Klinge). Der Stil ist bereits fl眉ssig, aber noch sehr orchestriert, was in den folgenden Romanen fl眉ssiger und weniger orchestriert wird, also weniger architektonisch und mehr musikalisch, mehr wie eine Fuge als eine stabile Dichtungsstruktur. Trotzdem w眉rde ich nicht sagen, dass Korrektur Bernhards absolutes Meisterwerk ist. Es ist ein sehr zentrales und bewundernswert repr盲sentatives Werk, das sein ganzes Schaffen widerspiegelt.
Aber es ist vielleicht relevanter, nicht so sehr 眉ber Bernhards verschiedene Werke zu sprechen, sondern 眉ber ein gro脽es Werk mit verschiedenen Momenten. Der Moment Korrektur ist ein bisschen zu lang. Wir wissen aus einer Bemerkung Nabokovs oder aus eigener Lekt眉reerfahrung, dass jeder Schriftsteller eine optimale Seitenanzahl hat. Innerhalb dieser Grenze liefern sie ihre Arbeiten mit gr枚脽ter Konzentration und best dosierter Intensit盲t. Wenn sie diese Grenze jedoch 眉berschreiten und zu viele Seiten schreiben, wird das Werk 眉berdehnt, mehr oder weniger redundant und offensichtlich. Meiner Meinung nach passiert dies ein wenig bei Korrektur und 础耻蝉濒枚蝉肠丑耻苍驳. Thomas Bernhards beste Seitenanzahl pro Roman liegt, meiner Meinung nach (andere Bernhards眉chtige k枚nnen andere Meinungen haben), irgendwo zwischen Ja und 贬辞濒锄蹿盲濒濒别苍. Sein bestes konzentriertes Moment ist das kurze Prosast眉ck Die M眉tze, das so intensiv und ohnegleichen ist, dass es nicht nur ein Moment, sondern ein Kernst眉ck von Bernhards Werk ist.
Nach Korrektur verliert Bernhards Werk allm盲hlich an Schwere, um leichter zu werden, aber in keinem Fall oberfl盲chlicher. Es wird desto tiefer und vielf盲ltiger. Sein komplexer und subtiler Humor, seine Ironie und Selbstironie verleihen seiner Prosa nur zus盲tzliche Dimensionen.
December 7, 2023
"... porque si siempre hab铆a sido ya distinto de todo lo dem谩s y de todos los dem谩s, mediante la continua observaci贸n de todo lo dem谩s y de todos los dem谩s lleg贸, en grado a煤n m谩s alto, a la lucidez necesaria para darse cuenta de que ten铆a que tomar una direcci贸n distinta de la de los dem谩s, seguir un camino distinto del de los dem谩s, llevar una vida distinta de la de los dem谩s..."
Thomas Bernhard..., cuando pienso en el terror que me produc铆a embarcarme en alguna de sus novelas pienso tambi茅n en lo importante que es la paciencia y ajustarte a ciertos autores dependiendo de tu evoluci贸n como lector, y me reitero como otras veces he dicho, en que hay autores que no hay prisa por querer conocer enseguida. Hace unos a帽os no hubiera podido acabar esta novela agotadora pero fascinante a la vez, y que claramente me ha marcado; no hubiera tenido la paciencia suficiente pero ahora entiendo que muchas otras lecturas quiz谩s me hab铆an estado preparando para esta 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍. Pr谩cticamente me ha engullido desde el primer momento y me ha sumergido en una especie de experiencia muy atmosf茅rica y de cadencias muy musicales. Va a ser dif铆cil que consiga desprenderme de esta atm贸sfera son谩mbula en la que me imaginaba perfectamente deambulando por el bosque de Kobernauss o plantada frente a la casa de los H枚ller al pie de la oscur铆sima garganta de Aurach, o incluso encerrada en esa buhardilla de los H枚ller. Es tan importante el entorno f铆sico para Bernhard que a base de repeticiones est谩 claro que consigue imprimir una especie de estado hipn贸tico en el lector.
"...porque sabido es que la oscuridad aqu铆, en el Aurach, en el valle del Aurach y, sobre todo, en la garganta del Aurach, es la mas intensa y, por tanto, la m谩s oscura, y era significativo que H枚ller hubiera construido su casa precisamente aqu铆, en el lugar m谩s oscuro de la oscuridad, en la garganta del Aurach, y que fuera aqu铆, en esta oscuridad oscurisima, donde Roithamer se hab铆a sentido mejor..."
Como voy a tientas, tanteando a Bernhard sin prisas, controlando los tiempos en los que me acerco a 茅l dependiendo tambi茅n de mi estado receptivo, imagino que esta atm贸sfera ser谩 algo ya habitual en 茅l, porque 茅sta es solo la tercera novela que leo suya. En Helada, su primera novela, est谩 ya ah铆 casi el mismo paisaje, la misma niebla oscura e impenetrable, que convierte a los personajes casi en fantasmas indefinidos entre el paisaje, sin embargo, aqu铆 en 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍 a base de refinar su estilo, convierte toda la historia en una abstracci贸n del estado mental del narrador. La buhardilla de los H枚ller, expresi贸n mil veces repetida durante la primera parte de la novela, y aunque es un sitio f铆sico, un 谩tico, refugio donde repensar las ideas, es ante todo el centro neur谩lgico de un estado mental. H枚ller, es el apellido de la familia de la novela, pero adem谩s el t茅rmino bucea en las connotaciones de infierno (H枚lle, en alem谩n, h枚llerisch, infernal) y cueva (H枚hle, en alem谩n). Es cierto que estas connotaciones se pueden perder en la traducci贸n pero as铆 y todo, est谩 todo ah铆 para que pueda ser captado por el lector.
"...pensar y escribir lo que no le hab铆a sido posible pensar y escribir en Inglaterra ni en Altensam, aqu铆 pude leer por primera vez, con conciencia clara y sin ser molestado, Las Afinidades Electivas y El Viaje Sentimental, aqu铆, en la buhardilla de los H枚ller, tuve acceso de pronto a las ideas que, durante todo el decenio anterior a la buhardilla, me hab铆an estado vedadas...鈥�
Tras el suicidio de su amigo Roithamer, el narrador sin nombre llega a casa de su amigo, el taxidermista H枚ller, para hacerse cargo de los manuscritos que ha dejado Roithamer. En la buhardilla de H枚ller, Roithamer hab铆a permanecido seis largos a帽os entregado a la misi贸n obsesiva de planear y construir, en el mismo centro del bosque de Kobernauss, un Cono, un edificio en homenaje a su hermana, y aunque realmente era un edificio para establecer una residencia para una hermana que adoraba, realmente nunca le pregunt贸 a ella, si querr铆a vivir alli鈥�, El Cono que pretende ser un edificio que desaf铆e todas las reglas de la construcci贸n tradicional ten铆a como objetivo principal ser la casa de su hermana y convertir la experiencia en la felicidad suprema yo dir铆a m谩s para 茅l que para ella, una obsesi贸n rara y extra帽a la que sent铆a Roithamer por esta hermana suya que estaba en las antipodas del odio ac茅rrimo que sent铆a por el resto de su familia鈥�, compulsi贸n, obsesi贸n, fragmentaci贸n....
"En el momento oportuno tenemos que levantarnos de esas reuniones sociales, circunstancias y situaciones e irnos, como es natural, a un estar solos bastante largo, largo, siempre infinito. Es cotidiano ese levantarse e irse, el dejar siempre una reuni贸n social que nos repugna. Pero, como consecuencia de nuestro marcharnos, nos declaran locos."
Esta primera parte est谩 narrada por el amigo an贸nimo a su llegada a casa de los H枚ller y sin embargo, es tanta la admiraci贸n del narrador por Roithamer, que realmente su narraci贸n se camufla y hay momentos en que nos parece que qui茅n est茅 realmente narrando es el mismo Roithamer. Es una pauta que se repite en las tres novelas que he leido de Bernhard, la amistad entre dos hombres, m谩s que amistad/adoraci贸n admiraci贸n, en la que uno est谩 hechizado por el otro y en Helada, su primera novela, era algo ya muy palpable: "Porque estoy totalmente bajo la influencia del pintor, tengo que ir con 茅l, y no es que tenga que ir, es que no puedo hacer otra cosa que ir con 茅l. A veces estoy solo." Lo que le ocurr铆a al narrador de Helada, tambi茅n le ocurre al narrador de esta 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍, solo que cuando comienza la novela, el amigo se ha suicidado, y lo conoceremos a trav茅s del relato del narrador an贸nimo. Este narrador est谩 obsesionado con Roithamer y le angustia la posible publicaci贸n p贸stuma de los art铆culos que ha dejado Roithamer, especialmente su estudio de Altensam, que fue el hogar de su infancia y un lugar que detestaba como una especie de met谩fora al odio que sent铆a por Austria. Roithamer no pod铆a vivir en Altensam as铆 que se refugiaba en Cambridge, sin embargo una fuerza superior le hac铆a volver una y otra vez a Austria, hasta que se acaba refugiando en la casa de los H枚ller para construir el Cono.
"porque siempre he sentido Altensam como la c谩rcel de mi infancia, no fue para mi otra cosa, los d铆as hermosos que pude pasar en Altensam se cuentan con los dedos de una mano, comparable a un preso que cumple condena por un crimen que no comprende y que tampoco recuerda en absoluto haber cometido, as铆 pues, en la c谩rcel, como tengo que llamar a Altensam, tuve que pasar mi infancia en la c谩rcel de Altensam."
En la segunda parte de la novela titulada 鈥淓xaminar y ordenar鈥� la novela adquiere un tono diferente porque consiste en un texto del propio Roithamer sobre sus experiencias y donde parece que se quiera centrar sobre todo en lo que odi贸 su infancia en Altensam centrado en las relaciones disfuncionales con su familia, de la que 煤nicamente salvaba a su hermana. Es un texto lleno de correcciones y de aqu铆 el titulo de la novela, y donde podemos percibir la mente contradictoria de Roithamer, entre la locura y la l贸gica m谩s absoluta. Un texto en el que nos hablar谩 no solo de su familia sino de la obsesi贸n que le llev贸 a idear la construcci贸n del Cono.
"Durante la construcci贸n del Cono, conoc铆 a todas las personas imaginables, jam谩s hab铆a conocido a tantas personas y trabaj茅 con todas esas personas y fui feliz con esas personas, pero nunca estuve tan solo como con todas esas y entre todas esas personas. Con mi idea completamente solo."
Mientras que en la primera parte de la novela el narrador an贸nimo encerrado en la buhardilla, se empapa de los escritos de Roithamer y explora la mente ca贸tica de su amigo, en la segunda parte, es Roithamer quien habla a trav茅s de su texto, sin embargo, llegado un punto los dos puntos de vista casi se convierten en una especie de simbiosis y no llegamos a estar seguros del todo de si este narrador an贸nimo sea un testigo confiable, porque entendemos que est谩 perdiendo el control y la perspectiva casi camufl谩ndose en la mente de su amigo Roithamer:
"Todav铆a lo oigo c贸mo dice, precipit谩ndome instant谩neamente en el trabajo me salvar茅 de esa infelicidad suprema, dijo esa frase textualmente, creo que es la 煤ltima frase que me dijo..."
Quiz谩 lo m谩s interesante entre la primera y la segunda parte de 颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍, no est茅 solo en los dos diferentes puntos de vista, que al final se acaban aunando, sino en las diferencias de estilo. En la primera parte tenemos el estilo de Bernhard llevado hasta sus 煤ltimas consecuencias, con frases interminables entre las que lector querr谩 encontrar un punto final en alguna parte para sentirse seguro, y que sin embargo, Bernhard extender谩 como en un bucle interminable o como una serpiente que nunca termine de arrastrarse por recovecos. Es un estilo fascinante por la cadencia pero al mismo tiempo puede resultar agotador porque el lector se puede sentir inseguro, el secreto est谩 en dejarse llevar porque adem谩s hay una buena carga de humor negr铆simo camuflado en este serpenteo de las frases.
"Jam谩s dec铆a arquitecto ni arquitectura, replicaba enseguida que no pod铆a escuchar las palabras arquitecto o arquitectura, esas dos palabras no eran m谩s que deformidades...
Se hab铆a acostumbrado a no utilizar las palabras arquitecto o arquitectura, solo constructor o construcci贸n o arte de la construcci贸n, el que la palabra construir era una de las m谩s hermosas lo sab铆amos desde que Roithamer nos habl贸 al respecto."
La segunda parte, sin embargo, parece algo m谩s est谩tica, m谩s contundente en sus frases mucho menos largas.., aunque la gracia est谩 precisamente en que es pura apariencia.., porque a la postre est谩 reflejando a dos narradores, el an贸nimo y Roithamer, totalmente fragmentados: el primero porque casi se ha introducido en la mente de Roithamer, y este 煤ltimo porque aunque el texto de la segunda parte es el suyo, no nos olvidemos que el narrador an贸nimo es qui茅n est谩 manipulando sus textos as铆 que no estaremos seguros de hasta qu茅 punto, no sea un texto alterado por el mismo narrador an贸nimo y albacea. Ambas partes comienzan coherentemente y sin embargo y a medida que van avanzando se van volviendo irregulares, quiz谩s como un espejo del abismo fragmentado de sus personajes.
鈥淐贸mo era posible que esas dos personas, que se atormentan de esa forma continuamente, que se atormentan mutuamente con una falta de consideraci贸n sin precedentes, y que tienen que llevar siempre sus tormentos mutuos hasta el borde mismo de la locura, que se atormentan una y otra vez y se odian una y otra vez y, cada vez m谩s profunda y cada vez m谩s despiadadamente, se re煤nan una otra vez. "
[...]
"En todos los dominios solo tenemos ante nosotros algo ca贸tico. A dondequiera que miremos, algo ca贸tico, si miramos las ciencias, ca贸tico, si miramos la pol铆tica, ca贸tico, miremos lo que queramos, ca贸tico, son nada m谩s que situaciones ca贸ticas las que vemos, y tenemos que enfrentarnos siempre con situaciones ca贸ticas. Porque todo se hace atropellada y precipitadamente."
颁辞谤谤别肠肠颈贸苍 es una novela fascinante que reflexiona sobre el poder destructivo que puede ejercer la mente obsesionada que tiene todos los medios para llevar a cabo un plan que roza la locura y aqu铆 podr铆amos abordar el significado de un edificio como el Cono. Thomas Bernhard, que en su vida tambi茅n parec铆a estar obsesionado por estos espacios y/o edificios que le aislaran del mundo para poder pensar y escribir (y La Casa Bernhard es un ejemplo), convierte el Cono en una met谩fora sobre esta locura llevada a sus 煤ltimas consecuencias porque este tipo de construcciones no hacian otra cosa que promover el autoaislamiento y la soledad. En fin, una novela devastadora en todos los aspectos, tanto estil铆sticos como tem谩ticos en su reflexi贸n sobre el intelecto, la familia, la soledad, la patria (siempre odiada pero tambi茅n amada), el suicidio, la locura, la muerte... Claustrof贸bica, son谩mbula, oscur铆sima y totalmente genial.
"...pero toda esta 茅poca en que hoy existimos es una 茅poca en verdad opuesta al intelecto, que solo finge lo intelectual, la tendencia hoy es en contra del intelecto y en favor de lo fingido, lo mismo que, en general, toda esta 茅poca en que existimos es fingida, todo es fingido, nada es real, todo es fingido."
铀櫕铀� 铀櫕铀�
January 15, 2023
As always, Bernhard manages to make the tragedy funny, even humorous. Entertaining and bitter at the same time.
October 2, 2018
"C谩rcere, c谩rcere de solil贸quio, assim Roithamer. Lemos um livro, lemo-nos a n贸s pr贸prios, detestamos por isso a leitura, assim, Roithamer, n茫o pegamos mais em nenhum livro, ler j谩 n茫o nos 茅 permitido."
... n茫o detestei a leitura, pego noutro livro, ler ainda me 茅 permitido.
Em 颁辞谤谤别肠莽茫辞 n茫o existem descri莽玫es f铆sicas e psicol贸gicas das personagens, 茅 o leitor que vai definindo o seu car谩cter e as raz玫es do seu comportamento. N茫o existem par谩grafos, minto, existe um ao mudar da primeira para a segunda parte, os pontos finais s茫o raros e as v铆rgulas abundantes. Num texto cont铆nuo, sem di谩logos, o narrador vai expondo o seu pensamento e acontecimentos, recorrendo a frases repetidas, n茫o como fluxo de consci锚ncia, pois n茫o h谩 desordem do pensamento que possa dificultar a compreens茫o do texto, mas um revelar gradual 鈥� tomando como exemplo um cone (importante figura geom茅trica do livro), 茅 como se part铆ssemos do v茅rtice e rodando rodando fossemos ampliando a estrutura at茅 alcan莽armos a base onde temos a vis茫o completa da constru莽茫o. N茫o 茅 uma leitura dif铆cil, embora ao folhear o livro possa parecer, a minha maior dificuldade residiu nas pausas da leitura por dois motivos, um porque n茫o havendo cap铆tulos, com mudan莽a de situa莽茫o bem definida, ao retomar foi necess谩rio reler, pelo menos, a p谩gina anterior ao marcador, outro motivo foi pelo redemoinho de emo莽玫es em que me sentia enleada sem desejo de me libertar.
Tem uma hist贸ria mas n茫o a vou contar pois penso que dever谩 ser descoberta e composta no decorrer da leitura. Refiro apenas alguns dos temas que torturam a personagem principal ou o narrador: 脕ustria, educa莽茫o, arquitectura, cria莽茫o de arte, solid茫o, suic铆dio, amizade e o principal, e cerne do romance, explico com excertos de 脡 isto o poema de Philip Larkin (espero que a tesoura da censura ainda n茫o tenha chegado ao 欧宝娱乐...):
Agora, deixo-vos com Thomas Bernhard...
"Se formos sinceros, sentimos que quase todas as conversas em que entramos, sem sabermos como nem por que raz茫o, s茫o in煤teis, que nunca s茫o para n贸s convenientes e que s贸 nos debilitam. No momento certo temos de nos levantar e sair de tais grupos, circunst芒ncias, situa莽玫es, entrando naturalmente numa longa, muito longa, sempre infinita solid茫o"
"todo este tempo em que n贸s hoje existimos e, na verdade, contra o intelecto e s贸 finge o intelectual, a tend锚ncia hoje 茅 contra o intelecto e pelo fingimento, como, ali谩s, todo este tempo em que n贸s existimos 茅 fingido, tudo 茅 fingido, nada 茅 real, tudo 茅 fingido."
"Permanentemente corrigimos e corrigimo-nos a n贸s pr贸prios sem a m铆nima contempla莽茫o, porque a todo o momento reconhecemos que fizemos (escrevemos, pens谩mos, execut谩mos) tudo errado, que agimos erradamente, que tudo era falso no nosso procedimento, de modo que tudo at茅 esse momento 茅 uma falsifica莽茫o, por isso corrigimos essa falsifica莽茫o e corrigimos novamente a correc莽茫o dessa falsifica莽茫o e corrigimos o resultado dessa correc莽茫o da correc莽茫o e assim por diante"
"numa 茅poca em que tudo, menos o que 茅 importante, 茅 editado e publicado, menos o que 茅 efectivamente da maior originalidade e, ainda por cima, altamente cient铆fico-genial, e todos os anos centenas e milhares de toneladas de estupidez colocadas no papel s茫o lan莽adas no mercado, todo o lixo degradante desta degradada sociedade europeia ou, n茫o tenhamos receio de o dizer, desta degradada sociedade mundial, numa 茅poca em que incessantemente s贸 o que se produz 茅 lixo intelectual e esse lixo intelectual, permanentemente malcheiroso e que permanentemente tudo entope, 茅 apresentado sem cessar, de uma forma em extremo repugnante, como produtos intelectuais, quando afinal se trata apenas de detritos do intelecto,"
... n茫o detestei a leitura, pego noutro livro, ler ainda me 茅 permitido.
Em 颁辞谤谤别肠莽茫辞 n茫o existem descri莽玫es f铆sicas e psicol贸gicas das personagens, 茅 o leitor que vai definindo o seu car谩cter e as raz玫es do seu comportamento. N茫o existem par谩grafos, minto, existe um ao mudar da primeira para a segunda parte, os pontos finais s茫o raros e as v铆rgulas abundantes. Num texto cont铆nuo, sem di谩logos, o narrador vai expondo o seu pensamento e acontecimentos, recorrendo a frases repetidas, n茫o como fluxo de consci锚ncia, pois n茫o h谩 desordem do pensamento que possa dificultar a compreens茫o do texto, mas um revelar gradual 鈥� tomando como exemplo um cone (importante figura geom茅trica do livro), 茅 como se part铆ssemos do v茅rtice e rodando rodando fossemos ampliando a estrutura at茅 alcan莽armos a base onde temos a vis茫o completa da constru莽茫o. N茫o 茅 uma leitura dif铆cil, embora ao folhear o livro possa parecer, a minha maior dificuldade residiu nas pausas da leitura por dois motivos, um porque n茫o havendo cap铆tulos, com mudan莽a de situa莽茫o bem definida, ao retomar foi necess谩rio reler, pelo menos, a p谩gina anterior ao marcador, outro motivo foi pelo redemoinho de emo莽玫es em que me sentia enleada sem desejo de me libertar.
Tem uma hist贸ria mas n茫o a vou contar pois penso que dever谩 ser descoberta e composta no decorrer da leitura. Refiro apenas alguns dos temas que torturam a personagem principal ou o narrador: 脕ustria, educa莽茫o, arquitectura, cria莽茫o de arte, solid茫o, suic铆dio, amizade e o principal, e cerne do romance, explico com excertos de 脡 isto o poema de Philip Larkin (
"Fodem-te a vida, o pap谩 e a mam茫,
Mesmo que n茫o seja essa a inten莽茫o.
Deixam-te todos os v铆cios que tenham
E mais dois ou tr锚s, por especial aten莽茫o.
(...)
E assim 茅 legada a infelicidade,
Vai mais e mais fundo, como o fundo do mar.
Foge mal tenhas oportunidade"
Agora, deixo-vos com Thomas Bernhard...
"Se formos sinceros, sentimos que quase todas as conversas em que entramos, sem sabermos como nem por que raz茫o, s茫o in煤teis, que nunca s茫o para n贸s convenientes e que s贸 nos debilitam. No momento certo temos de nos levantar e sair de tais grupos, circunst芒ncias, situa莽玫es, entrando naturalmente numa longa, muito longa, sempre infinita solid茫o"
"todo este tempo em que n贸s hoje existimos e, na verdade, contra o intelecto e s贸 finge o intelectual, a tend锚ncia hoje 茅 contra o intelecto e pelo fingimento, como, ali谩s, todo este tempo em que n贸s existimos 茅 fingido, tudo 茅 fingido, nada 茅 real, tudo 茅 fingido."
"Permanentemente corrigimos e corrigimo-nos a n贸s pr贸prios sem a m铆nima contempla莽茫o, porque a todo o momento reconhecemos que fizemos (escrevemos, pens谩mos, execut谩mos) tudo errado, que agimos erradamente, que tudo era falso no nosso procedimento, de modo que tudo at茅 esse momento 茅 uma falsifica莽茫o, por isso corrigimos essa falsifica莽茫o e corrigimos novamente a correc莽茫o dessa falsifica莽茫o e corrigimos o resultado dessa correc莽茫o da correc莽茫o e assim por diante"
"numa 茅poca em que tudo, menos o que 茅 importante, 茅 editado e publicado, menos o que 茅 efectivamente da maior originalidade e, ainda por cima, altamente cient铆fico-genial, e todos os anos centenas e milhares de toneladas de estupidez colocadas no papel s茫o lan莽adas no mercado, todo o lixo degradante desta degradada sociedade europeia ou, n茫o tenhamos receio de o dizer, desta degradada sociedade mundial, numa 茅poca em que incessantemente s贸 o que se produz 茅 lixo intelectual e esse lixo intelectual, permanentemente malcheiroso e que permanentemente tudo entope, 茅 apresentado sem cessar, de uma forma em extremo repugnante, como produtos intelectuais, quando afinal se trata apenas de detritos do intelecto,"
October 30, 2019
鬲氐丨蹖丨
鬲賵賲丕爻 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿
毓亘丿丕賱賴 噩賲賳蹖
賳卮乇 賳賵丕蹖 賲讴鬲賵亘
鬲賵賲丕爻 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賲賴賲鬲乇蹖賳 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 丕乇賵倬丕蹖 倬爻 丕夭 噩賳诏 噩賴丕賳蹖 丿賵賲 丿乇 丕蹖乇丕賳 丕賳趩賳丕賳 讴賴 亘丕蹖丿 卮賳丕禺鬲賴 卮丿賴 賳蹖爻鬲 .鬲丕 趩賳丿蹖 倬蹖卮 鬲賳賴丕 丿賵 賳賲丕蹖卮賳丕賲賴 丕夭 丕賵 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 賲賵噩賵丿 亘賵丿 賵 丕夭 乇賲丕賳賴丕蹖卮 趩蹖夭蹖 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 鬲乇噩賲賴 賳卮丿賴 亘賵丿 . 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 丕蹖 丿卮賵丕乇 賳賵蹖爻 丕爻鬲 賵 卮丕蹖丿 亘鬲賵丕賳 丕夭 賳馗乇 丿卮賵丕乇蹖 賳孬乇 丕賵 乇丕 亘丕 亘讴鬲 乇賲丕賳 賳賵蹖爻 賲賯丕蹖爻賴 讴乇丿. 賲賯丕蹖爻賴 丕蹖 讴賴 丕夭 賴賲丕賳 丕亘鬲丿丕 貙 夭賲丕賳蹖 讴賴 丕賵賱蹖賳 丌孬丕乇卮 丿乇 丕鬲乇蹖卮 賲賳鬲卮乇 卮丿 貙 鬲丕 亘賴 丕賲乇賵夭 賲蹖丕賳 賲賳鬲賯丿丕賳 賵 禺賵丕賳賳丿诏丕賳 氐賵乇鬲 诏乇賮鬲賴 丕爻鬲. 賲賴賲鬲乇蹖賳 乇賲丕賳賴丕蹖 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 毓亘丕乇鬲賳丿 丕夭 鬲锟斤拷丨蹖丨 貙 亘丕夭賳丿賴 賵 亘乇丕丿乇 夭丕丿賴 賵蹖鬲诏賳卮鬲丕蹖賳 讴賴 禺賵卮亘禺鬲丕賳賴 亘賴 鬲丕夭诏蹖 賴乇 爻賴 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 鬲乇噩賲賴 卮丿賴 丕賳丿.
鬲氐丨蹖丨 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賲賴賲鬲乇蹖賳 丌孬丕乇 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 乇賲丕賳蹖 丕爻鬲 倬蹖趩蹖丿賴 貙 毓噩蹖亘 賵 賲丕賱蹖禺賵賱蹖丕蹖蹖 .乇賲丕賳 丕夭 夭亘丕賳 乇丕賵蹖 丕賵賱 卮禺氐蹖 乇賵丕蹖鬲 賲蹖 卮賵丿 讴賴 倬爻 丕夭 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 賲毓賲丕乇 貙丿賵爻鬲 氐賲蹖賲蹖 讴賵丿讴蹖 賵 亘夭乇诏爻丕賱蹖 丕卮 貙 亘賴 賯氐丿 賲乇鬲亘 讴乇丿賳 賵 禺賵丕賳丿賳 賵 賳賴 鬲氐丨蹖丨 讴乇丿賳 賳賵卮鬲賴 賴丕蹖 丕賵 亘賴 賲丨賱 爻讴賵賳鬲 丕禺乇蹖賳 爻丕賱賴丕蹖 夭賳丿诏蹖 丕卮 賲蹖乇賵丿 . 丕鬲丕賯 夭蹖乇 卮蹖乇賵丕賳蹖 禺丕賳賴 蹖 丿賵爻鬲 賲卮鬲乇讴蹖 讴賴 丕賵賳 賳蹖夭 丿賱亘爻鬲诏蹖 夭蹖丕丿蹖 亘賴 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 丿丕卮鬲賴 丕爻鬲.乇賲丕賳 亘賴 丿賵 亘禺卮 讴丕賲賱丕 賲爻丕賵蹖 鬲賯爻蹖賲 卮丿賴 丕爻鬲 . 丿乇 賳蹖賲賴 丕賵賱 乇丕賵蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖 禺賵丿 賵 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 賵 賴賲趩賳蹖賳 丕丨丿丕孬 賵 鬲禺乇蹖亘 賲禺乇賵胤 貙 爻丕禺鬲賴 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 乇丕 賲蹖诏賵蹖丿 賵 丿乇 賳蹖賲賴 丿賵賲 丿乇 禺賱丕賱 賲乇鬲亘 讴乇丿賳 賲鬲賳 亘賴 噩丕 賲丕賳丿賴 丕夭 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 禺賱丕氐賴 丕蹖 丕夭 賲鬲賳 丿爻鬲賳賵蹖爻 乇丕 賳賯賱 賲蹖讴賳丿.
賲賳鬲賯丿丕賳 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 乇丕 鬲氐賵蹖乇蹖 丕夭 賵蹖鬲诏賳卮鬲丕蹖賳 丿乇 爻丕賱賴丕蹖 倬丕蹖丕賳蹖 毓賲乇卮 賯賱賲丿丕丿 讴乇丿賴 丕賳丿 賵 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 乇丕 丕丿丕蹖 丿蹖賳蹖 亘賴 賮蹖賱爻賵賮 卮賴蹖乇 丿丕賳爻鬲賴 丕賳丿 .
禺賵丕賳丿賳 鬲氐丨蹖丨 趩賳丿丕賳 爻丕丿賴 賳蹖爻鬲. 賲鬲賳 讴鬲丕亘 亘賴 毓賲丿 倬乇 丕爻鬲 丕夭 噩賲賱丕鬲 鬲讴乇丕乇蹖貙 噩賲賱丕鬲 胤賵蹖賱 賵 亘丿賵賳 賳賯胤賴 .讴賱 讴鬲丕亘 鬲賳賴丕 丿賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮 胤賵蹖賱 丕爻鬲 讴賴 亘丿賵賳 賱丨馗賴 丕蹖 賵賯賮賴 賴賲趩賵 爻蹖賱丕亘蹖 亘乇 爻乇 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴 賮乇賵丿 賲蹖丕蹖丿 讴賴 蹖丕 丕賵乇丕 賮乇丕乇蹖 賲蹖丿賴丿貙 蹖丕 丕蹖賳讴賴 丕賵 乇丕 丿乇 禺賵丿 睾乇賯 賲蹖讴賳丿.
鬲氐丨蹖丨 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 毓卮賯 賵 賳賮乇鬲 丕爻鬲 貙 毓卮賯 賵 賳賮乇鬲 鬲賵丕賲丕賳 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 亘賴 賲丕丿乇卮貙 夭賳蹖 讴賴 丕賵乇丕 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 賲蹖倬乇爻鬲丿 賵 丕賵 乇丕 趩賵賳 賮丕丨卮賴 丕蹖 賯賱賲丿丕丿 賲蹖讴賳丿 賵 丕夭 禺賵丿 賲蹖乇丕賳丿. 讴卮賵乇卮 丕鬲乇蹖卮 讴賴 丕賳 乇丕 趩賵賳 賲丕丿乇卮 丿賵爻鬲 丿丕乇丿 賵 丿乇 毓蹖賳 丨丕賱 丕夭 賲賱鬲 賵 讴卮賵乇卮 卮乇賲诏蹖賳 賵 賳賮乇鬲 夭丿賴 丕爻鬲. 倬丿乇卮貙 賲乇丿 賲爻鬲亘丿蹖 讴賴 丕賵乇丕 亘賴 賳丕亘賵丿蹖 賵 夭賵丕賱 禺丕賳賵丕丿賴 丕卮 爻賵賯 賲蹖丿賴丿 賵 爻乇 丌禺乇 鬲賳賴丕 丿禺鬲乇 禺丕賳賵丕丿賴 貙 禺賵丕賴乇卮 讴賴 鬲賲丕賲 夭賳丿诏蹖 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 亘乇丕蹖 爻丕禺鬲賳 賲禺乇賵胤蹖 亘乇丕蹖 丕賵 氐乇賮 賲蹖卮賵丿. 賲禺乇賵胤蹖 讴賴 丕鬲賲丕賲卮 貙 夭賵丕賱 賵 賲乇诏 禺賵丕賴乇卮 貙 禺賵丿卮 賵 禺丕賳丿丕賳卮 乇丕 亘賴 賴賲乇丕賴 丿丕乇丿.
亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 貙 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 爻乇讴卮 賵 賳丕爻丕夭诏丕乇貙 丿乇 爻賳 鄣鄣爻丕賱诏蹖 丿乇 诏匕卮鬲 . 丿乇 夭賲丕賳 賲乇诏卮 賵氐蹖鬲 讴乇丿 讴賴 噩爻丿卮 賴乇诏夭 丿乇 禺丕讴 丕鬲乇蹖卮 丿賮賳 賳卮賵丿 賵 賴蹖趩 讴丿丕賲 丕夭 丕孬丕乇卮 丿乇 讴卮賵乇 丕鬲乇蹖卮 賲賳鬲卮乇 賳卮賵賳丿.
鬲賵賲丕爻 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿
毓亘丿丕賱賴 噩賲賳蹖
賳卮乇 賳賵丕蹖 賲讴鬲賵亘
鬲賵賲丕爻 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賲賴賲鬲乇蹖賳 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 丕乇賵倬丕蹖 倬爻 丕夭 噩賳诏 噩賴丕賳蹖 丿賵賲 丿乇 丕蹖乇丕賳 丕賳趩賳丕賳 讴賴 亘丕蹖丿 卮賳丕禺鬲賴 卮丿賴 賳蹖爻鬲 .鬲丕 趩賳丿蹖 倬蹖卮 鬲賳賴丕 丿賵 賳賲丕蹖卮賳丕賲賴 丕夭 丕賵 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 賲賵噩賵丿 亘賵丿 賵 丕夭 乇賲丕賳賴丕蹖卮 趩蹖夭蹖 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 鬲乇噩賲賴 賳卮丿賴 亘賵丿 . 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 丕蹖 丿卮賵丕乇 賳賵蹖爻 丕爻鬲 賵 卮丕蹖丿 亘鬲賵丕賳 丕夭 賳馗乇 丿卮賵丕乇蹖 賳孬乇 丕賵 乇丕 亘丕 亘讴鬲 乇賲丕賳 賳賵蹖爻 賲賯丕蹖爻賴 讴乇丿. 賲賯丕蹖爻賴 丕蹖 讴賴 丕夭 賴賲丕賳 丕亘鬲丿丕 貙 夭賲丕賳蹖 讴賴 丕賵賱蹖賳 丌孬丕乇卮 丿乇 丕鬲乇蹖卮 賲賳鬲卮乇 卮丿 貙 鬲丕 亘賴 丕賲乇賵夭 賲蹖丕賳 賲賳鬲賯丿丕賳 賵 禺賵丕賳賳丿诏丕賳 氐賵乇鬲 诏乇賮鬲賴 丕爻鬲. 賲賴賲鬲乇蹖賳 乇賲丕賳賴丕蹖 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 毓亘丕乇鬲賳丿 丕夭 鬲锟斤拷丨蹖丨 貙 亘丕夭賳丿賴 賵 亘乇丕丿乇 夭丕丿賴 賵蹖鬲诏賳卮鬲丕蹖賳 讴賴 禺賵卮亘禺鬲丕賳賴 亘賴 鬲丕夭诏蹖 賴乇 爻賴 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 鬲乇噩賲賴 卮丿賴 丕賳丿.
鬲氐丨蹖丨 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賲賴賲鬲乇蹖賳 丌孬丕乇 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 乇賲丕賳蹖 丕爻鬲 倬蹖趩蹖丿賴 貙 毓噩蹖亘 賵 賲丕賱蹖禺賵賱蹖丕蹖蹖 .乇賲丕賳 丕夭 夭亘丕賳 乇丕賵蹖 丕賵賱 卮禺氐蹖 乇賵丕蹖鬲 賲蹖 卮賵丿 讴賴 倬爻 丕夭 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 賲毓賲丕乇 貙丿賵爻鬲 氐賲蹖賲蹖 讴賵丿讴蹖 賵 亘夭乇诏爻丕賱蹖 丕卮 貙 亘賴 賯氐丿 賲乇鬲亘 讴乇丿賳 賵 禺賵丕賳丿賳 賵 賳賴 鬲氐丨蹖丨 讴乇丿賳 賳賵卮鬲賴 賴丕蹖 丕賵 亘賴 賲丨賱 爻讴賵賳鬲 丕禺乇蹖賳 爻丕賱賴丕蹖 夭賳丿诏蹖 丕卮 賲蹖乇賵丿 . 丕鬲丕賯 夭蹖乇 卮蹖乇賵丕賳蹖 禺丕賳賴 蹖 丿賵爻鬲 賲卮鬲乇讴蹖 讴賴 丕賵賳 賳蹖夭 丿賱亘爻鬲诏蹖 夭蹖丕丿蹖 亘賴 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 丿丕卮鬲賴 丕爻鬲.乇賲丕賳 亘賴 丿賵 亘禺卮 讴丕賲賱丕 賲爻丕賵蹖 鬲賯爻蹖賲 卮丿賴 丕爻鬲 . 丿乇 賳蹖賲賴 丕賵賱 乇丕賵蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖 禺賵丿 賵 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 賵 賴賲趩賳蹖賳 丕丨丿丕孬 賵 鬲禺乇蹖亘 賲禺乇賵胤 貙 爻丕禺鬲賴 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 乇丕 賲蹖诏賵蹖丿 賵 丿乇 賳蹖賲賴 丿賵賲 丿乇 禺賱丕賱 賲乇鬲亘 讴乇丿賳 賲鬲賳 亘賴 噩丕 賲丕賳丿賴 丕夭 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 禺賱丕氐賴 丕蹖 丕夭 賲鬲賳 丿爻鬲賳賵蹖爻 乇丕 賳賯賱 賲蹖讴賳丿.
賲賳鬲賯丿丕賳 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 乇丕 鬲氐賵蹖乇蹖 丕夭 賵蹖鬲诏賳卮鬲丕蹖賳 丿乇 爻丕賱賴丕蹖 倬丕蹖丕賳蹖 毓賲乇卮 賯賱賲丿丕丿 讴乇丿賴 丕賳丿 賵 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 乇丕 丕丿丕蹖 丿蹖賳蹖 亘賴 賮蹖賱爻賵賮 卮賴蹖乇 丿丕賳爻鬲賴 丕賳丿 .
禺賵丕賳丿賳 鬲氐丨蹖丨 趩賳丿丕賳 爻丕丿賴 賳蹖爻鬲. 賲鬲賳 讴鬲丕亘 亘賴 毓賲丿 倬乇 丕爻鬲 丕夭 噩賲賱丕鬲 鬲讴乇丕乇蹖貙 噩賲賱丕鬲 胤賵蹖賱 賵 亘丿賵賳 賳賯胤賴 .讴賱 讴鬲丕亘 鬲賳賴丕 丿賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮 胤賵蹖賱 丕爻鬲 讴賴 亘丿賵賳 賱丨馗賴 丕蹖 賵賯賮賴 賴賲趩賵 爻蹖賱丕亘蹖 亘乇 爻乇 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴 賮乇賵丿 賲蹖丕蹖丿 讴賴 蹖丕 丕賵乇丕 賮乇丕乇蹖 賲蹖丿賴丿貙 蹖丕 丕蹖賳讴賴 丕賵 乇丕 丿乇 禺賵丿 睾乇賯 賲蹖讴賳丿.
鬲氐丨蹖丨 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 毓卮賯 賵 賳賮乇鬲 丕爻鬲 貙 毓卮賯 賵 賳賮乇鬲 鬲賵丕賲丕賳 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 亘賴 賲丕丿乇卮貙 夭賳蹖 讴賴 丕賵乇丕 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 賲蹖倬乇爻鬲丿 賵 丕賵 乇丕 趩賵賳 賮丕丨卮賴 丕蹖 賯賱賲丿丕丿 賲蹖讴賳丿 賵 丕夭 禺賵丿 賲蹖乇丕賳丿. 讴卮賵乇卮 丕鬲乇蹖卮 讴賴 丕賳 乇丕 趩賵賳 賲丕丿乇卮 丿賵爻鬲 丿丕乇丿 賵 丿乇 毓蹖賳 丨丕賱 丕夭 賲賱鬲 賵 讴卮賵乇卮 卮乇賲诏蹖賳 賵 賳賮乇鬲 夭丿賴 丕爻鬲. 倬丿乇卮貙 賲乇丿 賲爻鬲亘丿蹖 讴賴 丕賵乇丕 亘賴 賳丕亘賵丿蹖 賵 夭賵丕賱 禺丕賳賵丕丿賴 丕卮 爻賵賯 賲蹖丿賴丿 賵 爻乇 丌禺乇 鬲賳賴丕 丿禺鬲乇 禺丕賳賵丕丿賴 貙 禺賵丕賴乇卮 讴賴 鬲賲丕賲 夭賳丿诏蹖 乇賵蹖鬲賴丕賲乇 亘乇丕蹖 爻丕禺鬲賳 賲禺乇賵胤蹖 亘乇丕蹖 丕賵 氐乇賮 賲蹖卮賵丿. 賲禺乇賵胤蹖 讴賴 丕鬲賲丕賲卮 貙 夭賵丕賱 賵 賲乇诏 禺賵丕賴乇卮 貙 禺賵丿卮 賵 禺丕賳丿丕賳卮 乇丕 亘賴 賴賲乇丕賴 丿丕乇丿.
亘乇賳賴丕乇丿 貙 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 爻乇讴卮 賵 賳丕爻丕夭诏丕乇貙 丿乇 爻賳 鄣鄣爻丕賱诏蹖 丿乇 诏匕卮鬲 . 丿乇 夭賲丕賳 賲乇诏卮 賵氐蹖鬲 讴乇丿 讴賴 噩爻丿卮 賴乇诏夭 丿乇 禺丕讴 丕鬲乇蹖卮 丿賮賳 賳卮賵丿 賵 賴蹖趩 讴丿丕賲 丕夭 丕孬丕乇卮 丿乇 讴卮賵乇 丕鬲乇蹖卮 賲賳鬲卮乇 賳卮賵賳丿.
March 19, 2019
螞委纬伪 蟿伪 蟺苇谓蟿蔚 伪蟽蟿苇蟻喂伪 , 蟿伪 未苇魏伪 魏伪喂 蟿伪 蔚委魏慰蟽喂 纬喂伪 伪蠀蟿蠈 蟿慰 尾喂尾位委慰 魏伪喂 纬喂伪 蟿慰谓 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁苇伪 . 螌蟿喂 魏 谓伪 蟺蠅 蔚纬蠋 蟽伪谓 伪蟺位蠈蟼 伪谓伪纬谓蠋蟽蟿畏蟼 纬喂伪 伪蠀蟿蠈 蟿慰 渭蔚纬伪位蔚喂蠋未蔚蟼 蟺谓蔚蠀渭伪蟿喂魏蠈 尾喂尾位委慰 胃伪 蔚委谓伪喂 位委纬慰 . 螚 蟿蔚蠂谓喂魏萎 纬蟻伪蠄喂渭伪蟿慰蟼 蟺慰蠀 蠂蟻畏蟽喂渭慰蟺慰喂蔚委 慰 螠蟺苇蟻谓蠂伪蟻谓蟿 渭蔚 苇蠂蔚喂 渭伪纬苇蠄蔚喂 , 畏 伪蟺慰蟿蠉蟺蠅蟽畏 蠈渭蠅蟼 蠈蟽蠅谓 蟺蟻伪纬渭伪蟿蔚蠉蔚蟿伪喂 渭蔚 苇蠂蔚喂 蟽蠀纬魏位慰谓委蟽蔚喂 . 螣 蟽蠀谓未喂伪蟽渭蠈蟼 蟿蠅谓 未蠉慰 伪蠀蟿蠋谓 蟺蟻伪纬渭维蟿蠅谓 蠈蟺蠅蟼 蟺慰位蠉 蔚蠉蟽蟿慰蠂伪 蔚委未伪 蟽蔚 苇谓伪 蟽蠂蠈位喂慰 蟺喂慰 魏维蟿蠅 慰未畏纬蔚委 蟽蔚 螆魏蟽蟿伪蟽畏 .
June 17, 2024
Een meesterwerk, punt aan de lijn.
H茅t zelfmoordboek bij uitstek, maar alle andere beruchte Bernhard-thema's zitten er op geniale wijze in verwerkt: cultuurpessimisme, ziekte, waanzin, vaderlandshaat,...
Intensere lectuur bestaat niet, me dunkt, of ik heb die (nog) niet gelezen.
H茅t zelfmoordboek bij uitstek, maar alle andere beruchte Bernhard-thema's zitten er op geniale wijze in verwerkt: cultuurpessimisme, ziekte, waanzin, vaderlandshaat,...
Intensere lectuur bestaat niet, me dunkt, of ik heb die (nog) niet gelezen.
Want to read
August 6, 2016Dear Flor, because you read The Book of Disquiet and since you have nothing on your to-read shelf...
I, 欧宝娱乐, recommend you this book.
*reads summary; smiles; nods; wants this book, now*
I, 欧宝娱乐, recommend you this book.
*reads summary; smiles; nods; wants this book, now*
July 6, 2024
No dir茅 qu茅 significa correcci贸n en el contexto de esta novela. No lo dir茅 pero lo dir茅. Porque la estructura y el estilo narrativo de esta obra no es aristot茅lica ni est谩 basada en el argumento. Desde un inicio sabemos lo que ha pasado con el personaje principal, a quien conocemos indirectamente por el narrador, que fue amigo de Roithamer, el cient铆fico y m煤sico protagonista de esta 驴historia? metaliteraria. La trama se construye a trav茅s de la mirada del narrador que en una especie de arqueolog铆a literaria examina los escritos dejados por Roithamer en los que, de una manera delirante, narra pasajes de su vida, su infancia, su familia, y tambi茅n el proceso de construcci贸n de El Cono, una obra arquitect贸nica absurda que erige para su hermana en medio del bosque. Todo ello intercalado con ideas y reflexiones oscuras y fulminantes sobre la vida y la muerte. Una il贸gica empresa que solo puede terminar mal. Como todo lo que escribe Bernhard, al menos en esta etapa de su obra. El pesimismo, la negatividad, el horror incluso frente a lo humano, lo in煤til de cualquier iniciativa, el camino inevitable hacia la aniquilaci贸n. Eso es 鈥渃orrecci贸n鈥�. No dejamos nunca de corregirnos para mejorar, hasta que la mayor correcci贸n que podemos realizar es esa, la auto-aniquilaci贸n.
Al leer una novela como esta, catalogada como el summum de la obra de Bernhard, es com煤n preguntarse por qu茅 leer algo as铆, tan desesperanzador y negativo. No tengo la respuesta precisa, pero quiz谩s se deba a la pluma de autor, de un lirismo oscuro y una musicalidad funesta, s铆, pero precisa. En Bernhard la forma traspasa al fondo. Sus conocidas repeticiones y redundancias recrean un ritmo afinado y puntilloso rayano en obsesi贸n y s铆, en locura, dos temas particularmente recurrentes en su narrativa, as铆 como los personajes autodestructivos. Esa forma, dec铆a, que logra una narraci贸n fluida, un solo p谩rrafo (con puntos seguidos, eso s铆) una prosa de largo aliento, que juega con la dualidad de la voces del narrador testigo y de la voz metaliteraria que conocemos a trav茅s de los escritos de Roithamer, los cuales se ensamblan con el punto de vista del narrador de una manera diestra.
No soy tan conocedora de la obra de Bernhard, pero s茅 que tuvo tres etapas, la primera m谩s espiritual representada en la b煤squeda de Dios a lo Pascal, la segunda, una ausente de toda espiritualidad y decididamente pesimista y oscura, y una tercera m谩s c铆nica e ir贸nica. Esta novela pertenece a la segunda etapa, pat茅tica en suma.
Ahora, he le铆do esta novela en parte tambi茅n por hacer un comparativo con Jon Fosse, pues seg煤n algunas personas, su narrativa es 鈥渄emasiado bernhardesca鈥�. No s茅 si lo dec铆an en el sentido de ser una simple copia o a que Bernhard les resultaba insoportable o no consideraban buena su obra. Lo cierto es que, si bien hay un hilo estil铆stico que puede emparentarlos, y que Fosse probablemente ha bebido de Bernhard (pues en Fosse son evidentes todas sus influencias, pero a la vez, la originalidad de su propuesta), en realidad Fosse tiene algo que Bernhard no tiene y hace algo que Bernhard no hace, y esto se relaciona con las capas narrativas de Fosse, con la exploraci贸n del esp铆ritu humano, con la construcci贸n de atm贸sferas y con el tratamiento narrativo que logra conectar mente y emociones, ideas y sensaciones. Hay un pathos que no es pat茅tico en Fosse. Quiz谩s enga帽e a primera vista o a primera lectura la prosa de largos p谩rrafos (que en Septolog铆a de Fosse termina siendo una sola oraci贸n, sin puntos solo comas), pero ello realmente es superficial, pues de fondo, puedo decir que poco o nada tiene que ver la narrativa de Fosse con la de Bernhard. Aunque quiz谩s deber铆a leer alguna obra de su primera etapa, la espiritual, para determinar si tiene algo que ver con la exploraci贸n literaria de Fosse (aunque lo dudo).
Finalmente, me queda por decir que no s茅 si me atreva a entrar nuevamente en el abismo bernhardiano, quiz谩s s铆 alguna obra de su primera y tercera etapa (de esta 煤ltima he le铆do El sobrino de Wittgenstein). Me he debatido en la puntuaci贸n de este libro. Estuve oscilando entre las tres y cuatro estrellas durante toda su lectura. Le puse cuatro finalmente, porque tiene partes de una lucidez hiriente. Como dir铆a en sus escritos Roithamer: "Leemos un libro y nos leemos a nosotros mismos, por eso aborrecemos la lectura". Pero ojo, no nos dejemos enga帽ar por esta frase, que en realidad es un recurso narrativo, o un juego m谩s bien, de espejo. El autor pretende convencer al lector de que odia lo que est谩 leyendo porque en realidad es un espejo de su vida y de su interior. Pero prontamente entendemos que hay reflejos de lo com煤n a lo humano, de las zonas oscuras, pero no todo es aplicable a la experiencia personal, simplemente son ecos reconstruidos por la ficci贸n con el fin de un puro manique铆smo unilateral. Este recurso, aunque quiz谩s algo simple, me ha parecido ingenioso.
Al leer una novela como esta, catalogada como el summum de la obra de Bernhard, es com煤n preguntarse por qu茅 leer algo as铆, tan desesperanzador y negativo. No tengo la respuesta precisa, pero quiz谩s se deba a la pluma de autor, de un lirismo oscuro y una musicalidad funesta, s铆, pero precisa. En Bernhard la forma traspasa al fondo. Sus conocidas repeticiones y redundancias recrean un ritmo afinado y puntilloso rayano en obsesi贸n y s铆, en locura, dos temas particularmente recurrentes en su narrativa, as铆 como los personajes autodestructivos. Esa forma, dec铆a, que logra una narraci贸n fluida, un solo p谩rrafo (con puntos seguidos, eso s铆) una prosa de largo aliento, que juega con la dualidad de la voces del narrador testigo y de la voz metaliteraria que conocemos a trav茅s de los escritos de Roithamer, los cuales se ensamblan con el punto de vista del narrador de una manera diestra.
No soy tan conocedora de la obra de Bernhard, pero s茅 que tuvo tres etapas, la primera m谩s espiritual representada en la b煤squeda de Dios a lo Pascal, la segunda, una ausente de toda espiritualidad y decididamente pesimista y oscura, y una tercera m谩s c铆nica e ir贸nica. Esta novela pertenece a la segunda etapa, pat茅tica en suma.
Ahora, he le铆do esta novela en parte tambi茅n por hacer un comparativo con Jon Fosse, pues seg煤n algunas personas, su narrativa es 鈥渄emasiado bernhardesca鈥�. No s茅 si lo dec铆an en el sentido de ser una simple copia o a que Bernhard les resultaba insoportable o no consideraban buena su obra. Lo cierto es que, si bien hay un hilo estil铆stico que puede emparentarlos, y que Fosse probablemente ha bebido de Bernhard (pues en Fosse son evidentes todas sus influencias, pero a la vez, la originalidad de su propuesta), en realidad Fosse tiene algo que Bernhard no tiene y hace algo que Bernhard no hace, y esto se relaciona con las capas narrativas de Fosse, con la exploraci贸n del esp铆ritu humano, con la construcci贸n de atm贸sferas y con el tratamiento narrativo que logra conectar mente y emociones, ideas y sensaciones. Hay un pathos que no es pat茅tico en Fosse. Quiz谩s enga帽e a primera vista o a primera lectura la prosa de largos p谩rrafos (que en Septolog铆a de Fosse termina siendo una sola oraci贸n, sin puntos solo comas), pero ello realmente es superficial, pues de fondo, puedo decir que poco o nada tiene que ver la narrativa de Fosse con la de Bernhard. Aunque quiz谩s deber铆a leer alguna obra de su primera etapa, la espiritual, para determinar si tiene algo que ver con la exploraci贸n literaria de Fosse (aunque lo dudo).
Finalmente, me queda por decir que no s茅 si me atreva a entrar nuevamente en el abismo bernhardiano, quiz谩s s铆 alguna obra de su primera y tercera etapa (de esta 煤ltima he le铆do El sobrino de Wittgenstein). Me he debatido en la puntuaci贸n de este libro. Estuve oscilando entre las tres y cuatro estrellas durante toda su lectura. Le puse cuatro finalmente, porque tiene partes de una lucidez hiriente. Como dir铆a en sus escritos Roithamer: "Leemos un libro y nos leemos a nosotros mismos, por eso aborrecemos la lectura". Pero ojo, no nos dejemos enga帽ar por esta frase, que en realidad es un recurso narrativo, o un juego m谩s bien, de espejo. El autor pretende convencer al lector de que odia lo que est谩 leyendo porque en realidad es un espejo de su vida y de su interior. Pero prontamente entendemos que hay reflejos de lo com煤n a lo humano, de las zonas oscuras, pero no todo es aplicable a la experiencia personal, simplemente son ecos reconstruidos por la ficci贸n con el fin de un puro manique铆smo unilateral. Este recurso, aunque quiz谩s algo simple, me ha parecido ingenioso.
December 12, 2021
this is both a great novel and a very unpleasant reading experience
July 30, 2021
I want to kill this man. I'm unable to read and enjoy any other writer.
The book looks like a monument. Yet I think his other works are better, like the Lime Works, which is written before this.
The book looks like a monument. Yet I think his other works are better, like the Lime Works, which is written before this.
January 21, 2024
A circular whirlpool of a novel. Long strung out sentences of psychological musings and corrections of corrections? I got sucked in. If not pleasant then at least darkly introspective in a layered way.
May 5, 2019
禄Der Todestrieb 眉berwiegt, aber er l枚scht den Eros nicht aus. Man kann krank sein vor Widerwillen gegen dieses Land, wenn man ihm angeh枚rt. Aber man h枚rt nicht auf, es auf eine vertrackte Art zu lieben.芦 [Jean Am茅ry: Morbus Austriacus. Bemerkungen zu Thomas Bernhards 鈥篋ie Ursache鈥� und 鈥篕orrektur鈥� - 1976]
Dass sich Jean Am茅ry zwei Jahre sp盲ter das Leben nahm, ist eine tragische Koinzidenz, denn auch Roithamer, der Protagonist in Korrektur, beendet sein Leben gewaltsam, nachdem er seiner Schwester einen in jahrelanger Geistesarbeit genau auf ihr Wesen hin geplanten Kegel als Wohngeb盲ude in den exakten Mittelpunkt des Kobernau脽er Waldes baute, um sie gl眉cklich zu machen, nach dessen Anblick die Schwester jedoch an einer Todeskrankheit stirbt.
Roithamer hinterl盲sst eine Niederschrift, 鈥好渂er Altensam und alles, das mit Altensam zusammenh盲ngt, unter besonderer Ber眉cksichtigung des Kegels鈥�, die er im Laufe seiner Entstehung mehrmals korrigierte und verk眉rzte.
Tats盲chlich bin ich erschrocken 眉ber alles, das ich jetzt geschrieben habe, da脽 alles ganz anders gewesen ist, denke ich, aber ich korrigiere, was ich geschrieben habe, jetzt nicht, ich korrigiere dann, wenn der Zeitpunkt f眉r eine solche Korrektur ist, dann korrigiere ich und dann korrigiere ich das Korrigierte und das Korrigierte korrigiere ich dann wieder undsofort, so Roithamer.
Jede Vorstellung erweist sich hinterher als falsch, alles was man glaubt, erfasst zu haben, erweist sich als Illusion, als F盲lschung. Roithamer erh盲ngt sich an der alten Linde in der Lichtung zwischen Altensam und Stocket, das ist seine letzte, eigentliche und wesentliche Korrektur. Sein Verm盲chtnis besteht aus einem riesigen Konvolut von Papieren, Hunderte und Tausende Bruchst眉cke, die er dem namenlosen Erz盲hler, einem ehemaligen Schulfreund hinterl盲脽t.
Soweit die Vorgeschichte. Der Roman selbst besteht im ersten Teil aus der Ann盲herung des Erz盲hlers an Roithamers Verm盲chtnis, das er im zweiten Teil sichtet und ordnet.
Wer mag, kann den Stoff auf vielf盲ltige Weise deuten. Die Unm枚glichkeit der geometrischen Mitte eines v枚llig unregelm盲脽igen Waldst眉cks und die Fragw眉rdigkeit wissenschaftlicher Wahrheits- und Erkenntnissuche, der Kegel als idealisierte geometrische Figur, deren Spitze in den Himmel zeigt, oder als Sexualsymbol, eine nicht ausgelebte inzestu枚se Verbindung, der Tod der Schwester als Opfer, wie auch immer, der Interpretationsfreude sind keine Grenzen gesetzt. Ich denke aber, genauso wie Roithamer kein zusammenh盲ngendes und abgeschlossenes Werk hinterlassen hat, sondern nur Hunderte und Tausende unzusammenh盲ngender Bruchst眉cke, hat Thomas Bernhard eine Menge Spuren und Hinweise auf offene M枚glichkeiten gelegt.
Die Figur des Physikers, Mathematikers und Denkers Roithamer ist in zahlreichen Details an Ludwig Wittgenstein angelehnt, der in Wien f眉r seine Schwester ein radikal geometrisches Geb盲ude baute. Roithamer ist nicht Wittgenstein, aber er ist Wittgenstein, schreibt Thomas Bernhard selbst dazu. Es w眉rde aber wundern, wenn Roithamer nicht zugleich auch einer dieser typischen Bernhardschen Protagonisten w盲re, einer dieser einsamen, von ihrer 骋别颈蝉迟别蝉迟盲迟颈驳办别颈迟 zum 脛u脽ersten getriebenen Geistesmenschen, v枚llig verkannt und unverstanden und in eine Welt hineingeworfen, die nur auf seine Vernichtung und auf die Zerst枚rung alles Geistigen und alles H枚heren abzielt. Roithamer ist ein Getriebener, der an der Kleingeistigkeit und Bosheit seiner Umgebung verzweifelt und, indem er sich immer mehr in seiner Obsession verf盲ngt, immer r眉cksichtsloser an seiner eigenen Vereinsamung arbeitet und daran zugrunde geht.
Anstatt Selbstmord zu machen, gehen die Menschen in die Arbeit. Das ganze Leben, solange ihre Existenz diesen sich immer wieder wiederholenden Vorgang gestattet, so Roithamer.
Roithamers Aufzeichnungen, vorallem die wiederholte Schilderung seiner Herkunft, seines Verh盲ltnisses zu den Eltern, die beide im Grunde nur seine Zerst枚rung und Vernichtung, aber auch die des gesamten Altensamer Anwesens betrieben, sowie zu seinen Br眉dern, die ihn immer nur ha脽ten, sind 眉ber weite Strecken deprimierend und zugleich immer wieder komisch. Das ist wohl das Wesen dieses Morbus Austriacus, das Thomas Bernhard wie kein anderer auf den Punkt trifft. Und als nativer Bewohner dieses Landes spricht er mir auf das Innigste aus dem Herzen.
Lebensl盲nglich sind wir in Altensam Millionen Holzw眉rmern gegen眉bergestanden, ohne uns gegen diese Millionen Holzw眉rmer wehren zu k枚nnen. Ohnm盲chtig gegen眉ber den Holzw眉rmern, so meine Mutter, so Roithamer, lebensl盲nglich gegen die Holzw眉rmer gek盲mpft, aber den Kampf schlie脽lich aufgegeben, so meine Mutter, so Roithamer.
In seinem vierten Roman verfeinert und komprimiert Thomas Bernhard seinen schon im zweiten Teil von 痴别谤蝉迟枚谤耻苍驳 gefundenen typischen Stil um einen weiteren Grad. Seitenlange vertrackte Satzgebilde in variierenden Wiederholungen, indirekte Rede, Gedanken aus zweiter und dritter Hand erzeugen eine distanzierte, artifizielle Textur, die gerade durch die Monotonie ihre Intensit盲t und Eindringlichkeit erreicht. In dem f眉r Bernhard-Interessierte sehr sehenswerten spricht Thomas Bernhard von den Buchseiten als wei脽e W盲nde, die nur vordergr眉ndig kahl sind. Wenn man sie genau und vom Alleinsein geschult betrachtet, entdeckt man, dass die W盲nde nicht wei脽, nicht kahl sind, man entdeckt, wo andere nichts sehen, kleine Risse, Spr眉nge, Unebenheiten, Ungeziefer, eine ungeheure Bewegung an den W盲nden.
Es ist merkw眉rdig, dass der Roman voll mit grammatikalischen Fehlern und anderen Ungereimtheiten ist und somit selbst einer umfassenden Korrektur bed眉rftig w盲re. Es bleibt offen, ob Bernhards hinterh盲ltige Absicht, Zeitdruck und Schlamperei oder einfach die Ironie der Vorsehung zum Totalversagen des Lektorats gef眉hrt hat. In der Werkausgabe von 2005 wurde der Text wie in der Originalausgabe 1975 unkorrigiert wiedergegeben und in einem umfangreichen Anhang alle Fehler mit 脛nderungsvorschl盲gen dokumentiert.
Dass sich Jean Am茅ry zwei Jahre sp盲ter das Leben nahm, ist eine tragische Koinzidenz, denn auch Roithamer, der Protagonist in Korrektur, beendet sein Leben gewaltsam, nachdem er seiner Schwester einen in jahrelanger Geistesarbeit genau auf ihr Wesen hin geplanten Kegel als Wohngeb盲ude in den exakten Mittelpunkt des Kobernau脽er Waldes baute, um sie gl眉cklich zu machen, nach dessen Anblick die Schwester jedoch an einer Todeskrankheit stirbt.
Roithamer hinterl盲sst eine Niederschrift, 鈥好渂er Altensam und alles, das mit Altensam zusammenh盲ngt, unter besonderer Ber眉cksichtigung des Kegels鈥�, die er im Laufe seiner Entstehung mehrmals korrigierte und verk眉rzte.
Tats盲chlich bin ich erschrocken 眉ber alles, das ich jetzt geschrieben habe, da脽 alles ganz anders gewesen ist, denke ich, aber ich korrigiere, was ich geschrieben habe, jetzt nicht, ich korrigiere dann, wenn der Zeitpunkt f眉r eine solche Korrektur ist, dann korrigiere ich und dann korrigiere ich das Korrigierte und das Korrigierte korrigiere ich dann wieder undsofort, so Roithamer.
Jede Vorstellung erweist sich hinterher als falsch, alles was man glaubt, erfasst zu haben, erweist sich als Illusion, als F盲lschung. Roithamer erh盲ngt sich an der alten Linde in der Lichtung zwischen Altensam und Stocket, das ist seine letzte, eigentliche und wesentliche Korrektur. Sein Verm盲chtnis besteht aus einem riesigen Konvolut von Papieren, Hunderte und Tausende Bruchst眉cke, die er dem namenlosen Erz盲hler, einem ehemaligen Schulfreund hinterl盲脽t.
Soweit die Vorgeschichte. Der Roman selbst besteht im ersten Teil aus der Ann盲herung des Erz盲hlers an Roithamers Verm盲chtnis, das er im zweiten Teil sichtet und ordnet.
Wer mag, kann den Stoff auf vielf盲ltige Weise deuten. Die Unm枚glichkeit der geometrischen Mitte eines v枚llig unregelm盲脽igen Waldst眉cks und die Fragw眉rdigkeit wissenschaftlicher Wahrheits- und Erkenntnissuche, der Kegel als idealisierte geometrische Figur, deren Spitze in den Himmel zeigt, oder als Sexualsymbol, eine nicht ausgelebte inzestu枚se Verbindung, der Tod der Schwester als Opfer, wie auch immer, der Interpretationsfreude sind keine Grenzen gesetzt. Ich denke aber, genauso wie Roithamer kein zusammenh盲ngendes und abgeschlossenes Werk hinterlassen hat, sondern nur Hunderte und Tausende unzusammenh盲ngender Bruchst眉cke, hat Thomas Bernhard eine Menge Spuren und Hinweise auf offene M枚glichkeiten gelegt.
Die Figur des Physikers, Mathematikers und Denkers Roithamer ist in zahlreichen Details an Ludwig Wittgenstein angelehnt, der in Wien f眉r seine Schwester ein radikal geometrisches Geb盲ude baute. Roithamer ist nicht Wittgenstein, aber er ist Wittgenstein, schreibt Thomas Bernhard selbst dazu. Es w眉rde aber wundern, wenn Roithamer nicht zugleich auch einer dieser typischen Bernhardschen Protagonisten w盲re, einer dieser einsamen, von ihrer 骋别颈蝉迟别蝉迟盲迟颈驳办别颈迟 zum 脛u脽ersten getriebenen Geistesmenschen, v枚llig verkannt und unverstanden und in eine Welt hineingeworfen, die nur auf seine Vernichtung und auf die Zerst枚rung alles Geistigen und alles H枚heren abzielt. Roithamer ist ein Getriebener, der an der Kleingeistigkeit und Bosheit seiner Umgebung verzweifelt und, indem er sich immer mehr in seiner Obsession verf盲ngt, immer r眉cksichtsloser an seiner eigenen Vereinsamung arbeitet und daran zugrunde geht.
Anstatt Selbstmord zu machen, gehen die Menschen in die Arbeit. Das ganze Leben, solange ihre Existenz diesen sich immer wieder wiederholenden Vorgang gestattet, so Roithamer.
Roithamers Aufzeichnungen, vorallem die wiederholte Schilderung seiner Herkunft, seines Verh盲ltnisses zu den Eltern, die beide im Grunde nur seine Zerst枚rung und Vernichtung, aber auch die des gesamten Altensamer Anwesens betrieben, sowie zu seinen Br眉dern, die ihn immer nur ha脽ten, sind 眉ber weite Strecken deprimierend und zugleich immer wieder komisch. Das ist wohl das Wesen dieses Morbus Austriacus, das Thomas Bernhard wie kein anderer auf den Punkt trifft. Und als nativer Bewohner dieses Landes spricht er mir auf das Innigste aus dem Herzen.
Lebensl盲nglich sind wir in Altensam Millionen Holzw眉rmern gegen眉bergestanden, ohne uns gegen diese Millionen Holzw眉rmer wehren zu k枚nnen. Ohnm盲chtig gegen眉ber den Holzw眉rmern, so meine Mutter, so Roithamer, lebensl盲nglich gegen die Holzw眉rmer gek盲mpft, aber den Kampf schlie脽lich aufgegeben, so meine Mutter, so Roithamer.
In seinem vierten Roman verfeinert und komprimiert Thomas Bernhard seinen schon im zweiten Teil von 痴别谤蝉迟枚谤耻苍驳 gefundenen typischen Stil um einen weiteren Grad. Seitenlange vertrackte Satzgebilde in variierenden Wiederholungen, indirekte Rede, Gedanken aus zweiter und dritter Hand erzeugen eine distanzierte, artifizielle Textur, die gerade durch die Monotonie ihre Intensit盲t und Eindringlichkeit erreicht. In dem f眉r Bernhard-Interessierte sehr sehenswerten spricht Thomas Bernhard von den Buchseiten als wei脽e W盲nde, die nur vordergr眉ndig kahl sind. Wenn man sie genau und vom Alleinsein geschult betrachtet, entdeckt man, dass die W盲nde nicht wei脽, nicht kahl sind, man entdeckt, wo andere nichts sehen, kleine Risse, Spr眉nge, Unebenheiten, Ungeziefer, eine ungeheure Bewegung an den W盲nden.
Es ist merkw眉rdig, dass der Roman voll mit grammatikalischen Fehlern und anderen Ungereimtheiten ist und somit selbst einer umfassenden Korrektur bed眉rftig w盲re. Es bleibt offen, ob Bernhards hinterh盲ltige Absicht, Zeitdruck und Schlamperei oder einfach die Ironie der Vorsehung zum Totalversagen des Lektorats gef眉hrt hat. In der Werkausgabe von 2005 wurde der Text wie in der Originalausgabe 1975 unkorrigiert wiedergegeben und in einem umfangreichen Anhang alle Fehler mit 脛nderungsvorschl盲gen dokumentiert.
October 7, 2019
I always forget how fucking good Bernhard is. Wonderfully repetitious blocks of prose that funnel you through the cone of insanity and eventual suicide. Always miserable. Always hilarious. And at many points sheer brilliance. Gotta get my claws on another juicy morsel before long.
April 8, 2025
Twee lange alinea's van elk honderdvijftig pagina's, waarvan de eerste - "H枚llers zolderkamer" - het verslag bevat van een ik-figuur die naar de zolder van een vriend is afgereisd om daar de aan hem nagelaten notities van Roithamer te lezen en te structureren, en de tweede - "Doorkijken en ordenen" - die aantekeningen zijn. De Roithamer in kwestie was een zonderling figuur, geobsedeerd door zijn zus en verpletterd door het idee om - ge茂nspireerd door H枚llers huis - voor haar in het midden van een bos een wiskundig perfecte, volledig aan haar persoon aangepaste, kegelvormige woning te bouwen, in de hoop haar op die manier gelukkig te maken. Dat wordt ze uiteraard niet, waarna ze sterft en Roithamer zelfmoord pleegt.
"Correctie" is alweer een lichtjes andere variatie op hetzelfde thema, of thema's in Bernhards geval. Verschrikkelijk breed van visie, een gigantische hoeveelheid onderwerpen passeren de revue en worden gedissecteerd, kapotgedacht en "vernietigd": het lawaai van een rivier, houtwurmen, zelfdoding, trauma, de banden tussen familieleden, literatuur, ruimte, pessimisme, obsessie, architectuur, Oostenrijk, de natuur, doorzetting, denken, afleiding, misdaad, ... met het corrigeren als een van de centrale idee毛n: Roithamer die zijn notities zodanig veel verbetert dat hij ze verslechtert en vernietigt, die het leven van zijn zus wil verbeteren maar faalt, met uiteindelijk de dood of de zelfmoord als ultieme correctie van het leven. Zwaar spul dat door de absurditeit hier en daar gelukkig ook wat humor toelaat.
Ik las in een andere bespreking (Laurent) hier op GR dat er geen intensere literatuur bestaat, en ik moet me daar volledig bij aansluiten. Alhoewel het een pagina of 50 duurde vooraleer ik er echt in zat, is wat volgde alweer een verslavende stroom woorden waarin de ene gedachte na de andere uitgespit wordt en die op mij het effect had van de in de roman beschreven Aurach: een vloed wild water die je met zijn krachtig geruis en gekolk overdondert, maar je paradoxaal gaandeweg - zoals bij de bewoners van het H枚llerhuis - meer en meer tot rust brengt. Meesterlijk werk van een van de beste auteurs van de twintigste eeuw.
"[...] boeken waren voor volwassenen, zei ze, ze gingen als ziekten in je hoofd zitten, zei onze moeder altijd [...]."
"De ouders als de eerste verwoesters van hun kinderen, vernietigers van hun kinderen en omgekeerd."
"Wat hij eerst een verbetering had genoemd, was toch niets anders dan verslechtering, verwoesting, vernietiging. Elke correctie was verwoesting, vernietiging, aldus Roithamer."
"[...] hij heeft zich in Stocket in de schacht van de kaasmakerij gestort [...]."
"Correctie" is alweer een lichtjes andere variatie op hetzelfde thema, of thema's in Bernhards geval. Verschrikkelijk breed van visie, een gigantische hoeveelheid onderwerpen passeren de revue en worden gedissecteerd, kapotgedacht en "vernietigd": het lawaai van een rivier, houtwurmen, zelfdoding, trauma, de banden tussen familieleden, literatuur, ruimte, pessimisme, obsessie, architectuur, Oostenrijk, de natuur, doorzetting, denken, afleiding, misdaad, ... met het corrigeren als een van de centrale idee毛n: Roithamer die zijn notities zodanig veel verbetert dat hij ze verslechtert en vernietigt, die het leven van zijn zus wil verbeteren maar faalt, met uiteindelijk de dood of de zelfmoord als ultieme correctie van het leven. Zwaar spul dat door de absurditeit hier en daar gelukkig ook wat humor toelaat.
Ik las in een andere bespreking (Laurent) hier op GR dat er geen intensere literatuur bestaat, en ik moet me daar volledig bij aansluiten. Alhoewel het een pagina of 50 duurde vooraleer ik er echt in zat, is wat volgde alweer een verslavende stroom woorden waarin de ene gedachte na de andere uitgespit wordt en die op mij het effect had van de in de roman beschreven Aurach: een vloed wild water die je met zijn krachtig geruis en gekolk overdondert, maar je paradoxaal gaandeweg - zoals bij de bewoners van het H枚llerhuis - meer en meer tot rust brengt. Meesterlijk werk van een van de beste auteurs van de twintigste eeuw.
"[...] boeken waren voor volwassenen, zei ze, ze gingen als ziekten in je hoofd zitten, zei onze moeder altijd [...]."
"De ouders als de eerste verwoesters van hun kinderen, vernietigers van hun kinderen en omgekeerd."
"Wat hij eerst een verbetering had genoemd, was toch niets anders dan verslechtering, verwoesting, vernietiging. Elke correctie was verwoesting, vernietiging, aldus Roithamer."
"[...] hij heeft zich in Stocket in de schacht van de kaasmakerij gestort [...]."
January 10, 2024
This is the first book in quite some time that compelled me to write notes on it as I was reading. Absolutely terrifying, hypnotic hypotaxis, rhythmic repetitions, obsession and depression. Yet, exhilarating reading.
August 5, 2024
Bernhard and I seem to share many of the same fears, while possessing drastically different levels of talent. Life is a constant terror; we work to keep our mind off it. Certain exceptional individuals attempt to 鈥渢ackle鈥� the 鈥渕onstrosity鈥� of life head on and create something lasting through their work, whether it be artistic, literary, or architectural. No wait, strike architectural, Roithamer would kill me; he believed the act of building an edifice, a unique and original and perfect edifice, to be the noblest and most honest expression one can make. Namely, a cone. Built to be inhabited. Built specifically to suit the person who will be living inside of it.
Roithamer also claims to be the first to have ever built a cone meant for habitation (indigenous peoples throughout history may take issue with that assertion, but that鈥檚 nitpicking).
There is a lot of talk of suicide, especially as the final form of 鈥渃orrection,鈥� and of the overarching unhappiness of existence, and the fleeting moments of happiness that become lost through over-analysis. Cheery stuff. But it actually is a funny and even whimsical novel at times. I鈥檝e seen many others describe the prose correctly as 鈥渕usical.鈥� Oh, and there are no paragraphs, just two blocks on each page, which some understandably dread, but I think can be freeing in a way once you resign yourself to it.
I think this was an excellent study of broken family, troubled youth, genius, madness, achievement, perfection, suicide, death, Austria, Europe and western civilization and anti-intellectualism contained therein.
Roithamer also claims to be the first to have ever built a cone meant for habitation (indigenous peoples throughout history may take issue with that assertion, but that鈥檚 nitpicking).
There is a lot of talk of suicide, especially as the final form of 鈥渃orrection,鈥� and of the overarching unhappiness of existence, and the fleeting moments of happiness that become lost through over-analysis. Cheery stuff. But it actually is a funny and even whimsical novel at times. I鈥檝e seen many others describe the prose correctly as 鈥渕usical.鈥� Oh, and there are no paragraphs, just two blocks on each page, which some understandably dread, but I think can be freeing in a way once you resign yourself to it.
I think this was an excellent study of broken family, troubled youth, genius, madness, achievement, perfection, suicide, death, Austria, Europe and western civilization and anti-intellectualism contained therein.
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