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丕夭 睾賲 亘丕賱 丿乇丌賵乇丿賳
Peter Handke's mother was an invisible woman. Throughout her life, which spanned the Nazi era, the war, and the postwar consumer economy, she struggled to maintain appearances, only to arrive at a terrible recognition: "I'm not human any more." Not long after, she killed herself with an overdose of sleeping pills.
In A Sorrow Beyond Dreams her son sits down to record what he knows, or thinks he knows, about his mother's life and death before, in his words, "the dull speechlessness鈥攖he extreme speechlessness" of grief takes hold forever. And yet the experience of speechlessness, as it marks both suffering and love, lies at the heart of Handke's brief but unforgettable elegy. This austere, scrupulous, and deeply moving book is one of the finest achievements of a great contemporary writer.
In A Sorrow Beyond Dreams her son sits down to record what he knows, or thinks he knows, about his mother's life and death before, in his words, "the dull speechlessness鈥攖he extreme speechlessness" of grief takes hold forever. And yet the experience of speechlessness, as it marks both suffering and love, lies at the heart of Handke's brief but unforgettable elegy. This austere, scrupulous, and deeply moving book is one of the finest achievements of a great contemporary writer.
60 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1972
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About the author
Peter Handke
335听books1,099听followersPeter Handke (* 6. Dezember 1942 in Griffen, K盲rnten) ist ein 枚sterreichischer Schriftsteller und 脺bersetzer.
Peter Handke is an Avant-garde Austrian novelist and playwright. His body of work has been awarded numerous literary prizes, including the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2019. He has also collaborated with German director Wim Wenders, writing the script for The Wrong Move and co-writing the screenplay for Wings of Desire.
Peter Handke is an Avant-garde Austrian novelist and playwright. His body of work has been awarded numerous literary prizes, including the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2019. He has also collaborated with German director Wim Wenders, writing the script for The Wrong Move and co-writing the screenplay for Wings of Desire.
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September 19, 2024
I chose to read Peter Handke due to a trip to Klagenfurt, which is situated in Carinthia, the Austrian region where the author was born. Peter Handke won the Nobel Prize for literature in 2019 and he was the only remaining winner I haven鈥檛 read from the last 10 winners.
A Sorrow Beyond Dreams, as the name suggest is possibly one of the worse books to take with you on a Holiday. It is very bleak but, thankfully, short. It is actually a memoir about the author鈥檚 mother suicide.
I did not care much about the fragmented writing style in the beginning, but it somehow grew on me and I started to understand why he received the Nobel. Still, I was happy it ended so quickly. I am glad I familiarized myself with the author but I have no plans to read him further.
A Sorrow Beyond Dreams, as the name suggest is possibly one of the worse books to take with you on a Holiday. It is very bleak but, thankfully, short. It is actually a memoir about the author鈥檚 mother suicide.
I did not care much about the fragmented writing style in the beginning, but it somehow grew on me and I started to understand why he received the Nobel. Still, I was happy it ended so quickly. I am glad I familiarized myself with the author but I have no plans to read him further.
March 3, 2015
A HYMN TO TRAGEDY
It is a difficult proposition to write a memoir about the death of one鈥檚 mother, and that too when she commits suicide at the age of 51 ( I have a somber association with that number as my mother too passed away at that age) . A Sorrow beyond dreams is Handke's poignant account of his mother's life and death. Prosaic, poetic, elliptical and self-conscious, it is an exacting picture of the shock and grief that await those who have inherited the ruins of a suicide. Rarely in recent years has reading a mini masterpiece of just 76 pages had such a macro impact on my psyche.
The Austrian writer Peter Handke is one the greatest and most original novelists and playwrights writing in German language today. My exposure to his prose dates back to early 90鈥檚 when I was impressed with reading his novels like 鈥� The Left-handed Woman鈥� and major plays such as 鈥� The Ride Across Lake Constance鈥�. When another Austrian writer Elfriede Jelinek won Nobel Prize for Literature in 2004, I wondered why they didn't bestow it on Peter Handke, a writer much more worthy of that prize (Jelenik too voiced in an interview that Handke deserved it better than her. Btw, I read Jelinek鈥檚 鈥淭he Piano Teacher鈥� last year and was impressed with her prose too) . Well, Handke may never win a Nobel as he has been a controversial figure due to his involvement in Balkan Conflict and being a sympathizer of Slobodan Milosevic.
You can read this as a memoir or metafiction of a poor, sprightly and hearty woman in Austria, full curiosity and zest for life, who undergoes slow disintegration first due to the members of her family and the society around her (who chain her by not allowing to get education and gain independence) and then by the loveless relationships and associated miseries that drain her spirits and will to exist.
Peter Handke narrates the story of his mother from a totally impersonal and disinterested perspective. There are only few places where Handke addresses the woman as 鈥淢y mother鈥�, especially at the beginning :
鈥淢y mother has been dead for almost seven weeks: I had better go to work before the need to write about her, which I felt so strongly at her funeral, dies away and I fall back into the dull speechlessness with which I reacted to the nerves of her suicide."
Handke adopts for his composition a deliberate formulation based on facts and the way he gets into the different stages in her life may seem like reading a resume of one鈥檚 life. He knows the vulnerability when writing about one鈥檚 own mother and therefore exerts great restraint in not allowing the words to slip into sentimentality and histrionics. His minimalistic approach in narrating her dull life drenched in drudgeries can be perceived from this passage:
鈥淔or a woman to be born into such surroundings was in itself deadly. But perhaps there was one comfort: no need to worry about the future. The fortune-tellers at our church fairs took a serious interest only in the palms of young men -a girl's future was a joke.
No possibilities. It was all settled in advance: a bit of flirtation, a few giggles, a brief bewilderment then the alien resigned look of a woman starting to keep house again, the first children, a bit of togetherness after the Kitchen-work, from the start not listened to, and in turn listening less and less. Inner monologues, trouble with her legs, varicose veins, mute except for mumbling in her sleep, cancer of the womb, and finally, with death, destiny fulfilled. The girls in our town used to play a game based on the stations in a woman's life: Tired / Exhausted / Sick / Dying / Dead. "
Born in a small Austrian village in the 1920s, Handke's mother鈥攈e keeps her nameless鈥攍ived in a world constrained by history and convention. Unlike many cloistered women in her village, Handke鈥檚 mother valiantly, though vainly, makes several attempts to streamline her life . She runs away from the soundless persecution at home, pursues a career at age fifteen, bears an illegitimate son (Peter Handke) from her first love 鈥� a saving-bank clerk who vanishes from her life as quickly as he emerges, marries a German army sergeant, and, after World War II, they settle in Berlin, where he works as a motor mechanic, who then degenerates into a drunkard subjecting her to routine torture. She bears a second child, aborts a third and grows old before her time. In 1948, they flee the eastern sector of the city and return to Austria, to the house where she was born . There she enjoys a brief spell of normalcy, picks up reading literature which turns out to be her true solace and involves herself in politics to regain her presence in society. Eventually, she succumbs to nervous breakdown brought up by the accumulated pain and slow atrophy of her life and finally blows it out with barbiturates.
"Squalid misery can be described in concrete terms," Handke writes; "poverty can only be intimated in symbols." The torture of maintaining outward appearances and rituals in this 鈥榟ygienic poverty鈥� is a deep undercurrent in the novel:
鈥淔rom the first she was under pressure to keep up the forms: in country schools the subject most stressed for girls was called 鈥渢he outward form and appearance of written work鈥�; in later life this found its continuation in a woman鈥檚 obligation to put on a semblance of a united family; not cheerful poverty but formally perfect squalor; and gradually, in its daily effort to up appearances, her face lost its soul.鈥�
鈥淐hristmas: necessities were packaged as presents. We surprised each other with such necessities as underwear, stockings, and handkerchiefs, and the beneficiary said he had WISHED for just that! We pretended that just about everything that was given to us, except food, was a present; I was sincerely grateful for the most indispensable school materials and spread them out beside my bed like presents.鈥�
A Sorrow Beyond Dreams grips us with Handke's unusual technique of compressed narration that succeeds to impart emotional intensity without emotionalizing the grey universe around her. He weaves a kaleidoscope by mixing memories, events, objects and casual statements . Passages are pregnant with irony too. Here are few examples:
"In general, these memories are inhabited more by things than by people: a dancing top in a deserted street amid ruins, oat flakes in a sugar spoon, gray mucus in a tin spittoon with a Russian trademark; of people, only separated parts: hair, cheeks, knotted scars on fingers; from her childhood days my mother had a swollen scar on her index finger; I held onto it when I walked beside her."
"Another way of listing would be equally idyllic: your aching back; your hands scalded in the wash boiler, then frozen red while hanging up the clothes (how the frozen washing crackled as you folded it up!); an occasional nosebleed when you straightened up after hours of bending over鈥� the eternal moaning about little aches and pains, because after all you were only a woman. Women among themselves: not 鈥淗ow are you feeling?鈥� but 鈥淎re you feeling better?鈥�
"At home, of course, she was alone with the FOUR WALLS, some of the bounces was still there; a hummed tune, a dance step while taking off the shoes, a brief desire to jump out of her skin. And then she was dragging herself around the room again; from husband to child, from child to husband, and from one thing to another.
Fiction these days offers a lot of chaff, not in the case of this novel. Every paragraph or sentence in this memoir prompts one to pause, absorb, heave a sigh and then move forward with a lump in one's throat. Handke is a master in using syncopated sentences, one-liners, wrenching associations, cold enumerations and slots of silences which cumulatively deepen the impact of the tragedy.
There is an intentional interlude at page 46 where Peter Handke as writer casts doubts on himself and questions whether his modus operandi of writing the memoir has any merit:
鈥淭he danger of all these abstractions and formulations is of course that they tend to become independent. When that happens, the individual that gave rise to them is forgotten 鈥� like images in a dream, phrases and sentences enter into a chain reaction, and the result is literary ritual in which individual life ceases to be anything more than a pretext.
These two dangers 鈥� the danger of merely telling what happened and the danger of a human individual becoming painlessly submerged in poetic sentences 鈥� have slowed down my writing, because in every sentence I am afraid of losing my balance. This is true of every literary effort, but especially in this case, where the facts are so overwhelming and there is hardly anything to think out.鈥�
At the end, Handke recounts his flight home for the funeral and confesses: "I was beside myself with pride that she had committed suicide," as if she had finally availed herself of the only freedom remaining to her. It is a stunning line. This is followed by two pages of aphoristic observations and his incapacity to separate him from the protagonist in narrating her life:
"It is not true that writing has helped me. In my weeks of preoccupations with the story, the story has not ceased to preoccupy me. Writing has not, as I at first supposed, been a remembering of a concluded period in my life, but merely a constant pretense at remembering, in the form of sentences that only lay claim to detachment. Even now I sometimes wake up with a start, as though in response to some inward prodding and, breathless with horror, feel that I am literally rotting away from second to second. The air in the darkness is so still that, losing their balance, torn from their moorings, the things of my world fly soundlessly about: in another minute they will come crashing down from all directions and smother me. In these tempests of dread, I become magnetic like a decaying animal and, quite otherwise than in undirected pleasure, where all my feelings play together freely, I am attacked by an undirected, objective horror."
And the last line of the memoir accentuates his sense of incompleteness.
鈥淪omeday, I shall write about all this in greater detail.鈥�
Considering that this memoir was written in 1972 when Handke was only 31, one marvels at the maturity, stylistic virtuosity and thematic integrity he has demonstrated in this magnum Opus. Elegant simplicity, purity and austerity- seldom encountered in prose these days- are the hallmarks of this work. I have now decided to get all his important works and start my new journey in the postmodern fiction of Handke.
A Sorrow beyond dreams is a loving portrait of inconsolable grief, the story of woman whose lively spirit was crushed not once but over and over again by the miseries of her place and time. I underscore what W G Sebald said about Peter Handke : 鈥淭he specific narrative genre he developed succeeded by dint of its completely original linguistic and imaginative precision, through which 鈥� in works such as The Goalie鈥檚 Anxiety or A Sorrow Beyond Dreams 鈥� the author reports and meditates upon the silent catastrophes that continuously befall the human interior.鈥�
Conclusion: Highly recommended to all readers of postmodern fiction.
It is a difficult proposition to write a memoir about the death of one鈥檚 mother, and that too when she commits suicide at the age of 51 ( I have a somber association with that number as my mother too passed away at that age) . A Sorrow beyond dreams is Handke's poignant account of his mother's life and death. Prosaic, poetic, elliptical and self-conscious, it is an exacting picture of the shock and grief that await those who have inherited the ruins of a suicide. Rarely in recent years has reading a mini masterpiece of just 76 pages had such a macro impact on my psyche.
The Austrian writer Peter Handke is one the greatest and most original novelists and playwrights writing in German language today. My exposure to his prose dates back to early 90鈥檚 when I was impressed with reading his novels like 鈥� The Left-handed Woman鈥� and major plays such as 鈥� The Ride Across Lake Constance鈥�. When another Austrian writer Elfriede Jelinek won Nobel Prize for Literature in 2004, I wondered why they didn't bestow it on Peter Handke, a writer much more worthy of that prize (Jelenik too voiced in an interview that Handke deserved it better than her. Btw, I read Jelinek鈥檚 鈥淭he Piano Teacher鈥� last year and was impressed with her prose too) . Well, Handke may never win a Nobel as he has been a controversial figure due to his involvement in Balkan Conflict and being a sympathizer of Slobodan Milosevic.
You can read this as a memoir or metafiction of a poor, sprightly and hearty woman in Austria, full curiosity and zest for life, who undergoes slow disintegration first due to the members of her family and the society around her (who chain her by not allowing to get education and gain independence) and then by the loveless relationships and associated miseries that drain her spirits and will to exist.
Peter Handke narrates the story of his mother from a totally impersonal and disinterested perspective. There are only few places where Handke addresses the woman as 鈥淢y mother鈥�, especially at the beginning :
鈥淢y mother has been dead for almost seven weeks: I had better go to work before the need to write about her, which I felt so strongly at her funeral, dies away and I fall back into the dull speechlessness with which I reacted to the nerves of her suicide."
Handke adopts for his composition a deliberate formulation based on facts and the way he gets into the different stages in her life may seem like reading a resume of one鈥檚 life. He knows the vulnerability when writing about one鈥檚 own mother and therefore exerts great restraint in not allowing the words to slip into sentimentality and histrionics. His minimalistic approach in narrating her dull life drenched in drudgeries can be perceived from this passage:
鈥淔or a woman to be born into such surroundings was in itself deadly. But perhaps there was one comfort: no need to worry about the future. The fortune-tellers at our church fairs took a serious interest only in the palms of young men -a girl's future was a joke.
No possibilities. It was all settled in advance: a bit of flirtation, a few giggles, a brief bewilderment then the alien resigned look of a woman starting to keep house again, the first children, a bit of togetherness after the Kitchen-work, from the start not listened to, and in turn listening less and less. Inner monologues, trouble with her legs, varicose veins, mute except for mumbling in her sleep, cancer of the womb, and finally, with death, destiny fulfilled. The girls in our town used to play a game based on the stations in a woman's life: Tired / Exhausted / Sick / Dying / Dead. "
Born in a small Austrian village in the 1920s, Handke's mother鈥攈e keeps her nameless鈥攍ived in a world constrained by history and convention. Unlike many cloistered women in her village, Handke鈥檚 mother valiantly, though vainly, makes several attempts to streamline her life . She runs away from the soundless persecution at home, pursues a career at age fifteen, bears an illegitimate son (Peter Handke) from her first love 鈥� a saving-bank clerk who vanishes from her life as quickly as he emerges, marries a German army sergeant, and, after World War II, they settle in Berlin, where he works as a motor mechanic, who then degenerates into a drunkard subjecting her to routine torture. She bears a second child, aborts a third and grows old before her time. In 1948, they flee the eastern sector of the city and return to Austria, to the house where she was born . There she enjoys a brief spell of normalcy, picks up reading literature which turns out to be her true solace and involves herself in politics to regain her presence in society. Eventually, she succumbs to nervous breakdown brought up by the accumulated pain and slow atrophy of her life and finally blows it out with barbiturates.
"Squalid misery can be described in concrete terms," Handke writes; "poverty can only be intimated in symbols." The torture of maintaining outward appearances and rituals in this 鈥榟ygienic poverty鈥� is a deep undercurrent in the novel:
鈥淔rom the first she was under pressure to keep up the forms: in country schools the subject most stressed for girls was called 鈥渢he outward form and appearance of written work鈥�; in later life this found its continuation in a woman鈥檚 obligation to put on a semblance of a united family; not cheerful poverty but formally perfect squalor; and gradually, in its daily effort to up appearances, her face lost its soul.鈥�
鈥淐hristmas: necessities were packaged as presents. We surprised each other with such necessities as underwear, stockings, and handkerchiefs, and the beneficiary said he had WISHED for just that! We pretended that just about everything that was given to us, except food, was a present; I was sincerely grateful for the most indispensable school materials and spread them out beside my bed like presents.鈥�
A Sorrow Beyond Dreams grips us with Handke's unusual technique of compressed narration that succeeds to impart emotional intensity without emotionalizing the grey universe around her. He weaves a kaleidoscope by mixing memories, events, objects and casual statements . Passages are pregnant with irony too. Here are few examples:
"In general, these memories are inhabited more by things than by people: a dancing top in a deserted street amid ruins, oat flakes in a sugar spoon, gray mucus in a tin spittoon with a Russian trademark; of people, only separated parts: hair, cheeks, knotted scars on fingers; from her childhood days my mother had a swollen scar on her index finger; I held onto it when I walked beside her."
"Another way of listing would be equally idyllic: your aching back; your hands scalded in the wash boiler, then frozen red while hanging up the clothes (how the frozen washing crackled as you folded it up!); an occasional nosebleed when you straightened up after hours of bending over鈥� the eternal moaning about little aches and pains, because after all you were only a woman. Women among themselves: not 鈥淗ow are you feeling?鈥� but 鈥淎re you feeling better?鈥�
"At home, of course, she was alone with the FOUR WALLS, some of the bounces was still there; a hummed tune, a dance step while taking off the shoes, a brief desire to jump out of her skin. And then she was dragging herself around the room again; from husband to child, from child to husband, and from one thing to another.
Fiction these days offers a lot of chaff, not in the case of this novel. Every paragraph or sentence in this memoir prompts one to pause, absorb, heave a sigh and then move forward with a lump in one's throat. Handke is a master in using syncopated sentences, one-liners, wrenching associations, cold enumerations and slots of silences which cumulatively deepen the impact of the tragedy.
There is an intentional interlude at page 46 where Peter Handke as writer casts doubts on himself and questions whether his modus operandi of writing the memoir has any merit:
鈥淭he danger of all these abstractions and formulations is of course that they tend to become independent. When that happens, the individual that gave rise to them is forgotten 鈥� like images in a dream, phrases and sentences enter into a chain reaction, and the result is literary ritual in which individual life ceases to be anything more than a pretext.
These two dangers 鈥� the danger of merely telling what happened and the danger of a human individual becoming painlessly submerged in poetic sentences 鈥� have slowed down my writing, because in every sentence I am afraid of losing my balance. This is true of every literary effort, but especially in this case, where the facts are so overwhelming and there is hardly anything to think out.鈥�
At the end, Handke recounts his flight home for the funeral and confesses: "I was beside myself with pride that she had committed suicide," as if she had finally availed herself of the only freedom remaining to her. It is a stunning line. This is followed by two pages of aphoristic observations and his incapacity to separate him from the protagonist in narrating her life:
"It is not true that writing has helped me. In my weeks of preoccupations with the story, the story has not ceased to preoccupy me. Writing has not, as I at first supposed, been a remembering of a concluded period in my life, but merely a constant pretense at remembering, in the form of sentences that only lay claim to detachment. Even now I sometimes wake up with a start, as though in response to some inward prodding and, breathless with horror, feel that I am literally rotting away from second to second. The air in the darkness is so still that, losing their balance, torn from their moorings, the things of my world fly soundlessly about: in another minute they will come crashing down from all directions and smother me. In these tempests of dread, I become magnetic like a decaying animal and, quite otherwise than in undirected pleasure, where all my feelings play together freely, I am attacked by an undirected, objective horror."
And the last line of the memoir accentuates his sense of incompleteness.
鈥淪omeday, I shall write about all this in greater detail.鈥�
Considering that this memoir was written in 1972 when Handke was only 31, one marvels at the maturity, stylistic virtuosity and thematic integrity he has demonstrated in this magnum Opus. Elegant simplicity, purity and austerity- seldom encountered in prose these days- are the hallmarks of this work. I have now decided to get all his important works and start my new journey in the postmodern fiction of Handke.
A Sorrow beyond dreams is a loving portrait of inconsolable grief, the story of woman whose lively spirit was crushed not once but over and over again by the miseries of her place and time. I underscore what W G Sebald said about Peter Handke : 鈥淭he specific narrative genre he developed succeeded by dint of its completely original linguistic and imaginative precision, through which 鈥� in works such as The Goalie鈥檚 Anxiety or A Sorrow Beyond Dreams 鈥� the author reports and meditates upon the silent catastrophes that continuously befall the human interior.鈥�
Conclusion: Highly recommended to all readers of postmodern fiction.
March 9, 2018
I came to this slim novella through Maggie Nelson, who recommends it in RED PARTS. It is the story of Handke's mother's suicide, and his rapid attempts to capture it and her life through writing. Handke is a strange, wonderful writer and I raced through the early part of this with pleasure, as he constructed a profile of his mother's life in Germany before her stagnancy set in. (I was particularly interested in how backgrounded WW2 was - Hitler, just a voice on the radio.)
The writing about her death was beautiful as well, and strongly reminiscent of that magic scene in THE ARGONAUTS with Harry and his mother. Handke's relief, and the odd love that explodes out of him when alone with his mother's body, was touching and gratifying. And yet, for all that I liked, there are major holes in this work (the absent father; the step-father's abuse; some sort of compassion for his mother), and I found myself dragging through the middle third. What I was expecting to be a one day read took about a week, and though I think A.S.B.D. is pedagogically fascinating and of great use to writers, it struck me as something of a missed opportunity.
The writing about her death was beautiful as well, and strongly reminiscent of that magic scene in THE ARGONAUTS with Harry and his mother. Handke's relief, and the odd love that explodes out of him when alone with his mother's body, was touching and gratifying. And yet, for all that I liked, there are major holes in this work (the absent father; the step-father's abuse; some sort of compassion for his mother), and I found myself dragging through the middle third. What I was expecting to be a one day read took about a week, and though I think A.S.B.D. is pedagogically fascinating and of great use to writers, it struck me as something of a missed opportunity.
August 14, 2022
Trenuci u啪asa uvijek su kratkotrajni; prije je to osje膰anje ne膷eg nestvarnog nego ba拧 u啪as.
Handke je putnik na neprestanom bespu膰u. Ne de拧ava se mo啪da tako 膷esto da te pisac uvu膷e u jednu uko膷enu ozbiljnost, pri kojoj ti njeguje misli prizorima koji su kristalno jasni, da ti ne treba durbin kojim 膰e拧 ih pribli啪iti i uklesati u svoje mre啪nja膷e. Velike te拧ko膰e sustizale su mladog Petera, a ponajvi拧e njegovu majku, Mariju Handke. Velika Depresija, totalna kontrola i pogibija ljudi u Njema膷kom Rajhu, te nagli rast posljeratne potro拧a膷ke ekonomije izazva膰e pometnju u njenom 啪ivotnom duhu. Mi拧ljenja sam da su nju neda膰e dr啪ale stamenom, i da su joj krotkost i po啪rtvovnost onih koji su zahva膰eni zlom - pru啪ali nekakav vid nade. A onda nastupa podmukliji i hladniji period od Hladnog rata; gdje praznina i strah od iste po膷inje da izjeda ljudske du拧e. Odjednom na pozornicu izranja neman, Kafkina "Amerika" sa mravinjakom oblakodera u kojima liftovi kao da nekuda 啪ure - sumanuti jure gore-dole, ulice zakr膷ene automobila kroz koje se pje拧aci provla膷e kao da je tu pravi prolaz, ne obaziru膰i se da li u automobilu sjedi 膷ovjek ili mo啪da magarac.
Letimi膷an pogled na sadr啪aj ovog djela ukazuje na metafizi膷ku hladno膰u koja prosto mrzne krv. U svojoj jezi膷koj indiferentnosti, Handke nijedan trenutak ne odstupa od svojih zagasitih nagovje拧taja, ve膰 se drzne da ide do kraja tamnice, znaju膰i da dna nema. Ono 拧to mi se ponajvi拧e svidjelo jeste 拧to nema lascivnosti, primitivne podrugljivosti, izvje拧ta膷ene ironije ve膰 prikaz besmrtnosti jednog 啪ivota.
April 5, 2021
趩诏賵賳賴 賲蹖鈥屫堌з� 丿乇 倬賳丕賴 丕丿亘蹖丕鬲 鬲賲丕賲 賱丨馗丕鬲 賮賱丕讴鬲鈥屫ㄘж� 蹖讴 賮乇丿 乇丕 讴爻蹖鈥屭┵� 亘賴 丌賳 鬲毓賱賯 禺丕胤乇 丿丕乇蹖 蹖丕 賳丿丕乇蹖 乇丕 亘賴 鬲氐賵蹖乇 讴卮蹖丿 賵 賵氐賮 讴乇丿責
馃摉讴鬲丕亘 丿乇亘丕乇賴鈥屰� 賲丕丿乇蹖鈥屫池� 讴賴 亘噩夭 趩賳丿 噩賲賱賴鈥屰� 讴賵鬲丕賴 賵 丿賵乇丕賳 亘蹖賲丕乇蹖 賵 爻乇禺賵乇丿诏蹖鈥屫ж簇� 禺丕胤乇賴鈥屰� 丿蹖诏乇蹖 亘乇丕蹖 賮乇夭賳丿卮 亘賴 噩丕 賳诏匕丕卮鬲賴 賵 丨丕賱丕 亘丕 禺亘乇丿丕乇 卮丿賳 丕夭 賲乇诏 丕賵 賮乇夭賳丿卮 鬲氐賲蹖賲 亘賴 乇賵丕蹖鬲 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屫ж� 賲蹖 讴賳丿. 倬爻乇 亘丕 亘蹖丕賳 鬲賲丕賲 噩夭蹖蹖丕鬲 賵 鬲賵氐蹖賮丕鬲 亘賴 丕爻鬲賯亘丕賱 賲乇诏 賲丕丿乇 賲蹖鈥屫辟堌� 賵 亘丕 丿蹖丿蹖 鬲蹖夭亘蹖賳丕賳賴 賴賲賴鈥屰� 丨丕賱丕鬲 賲丕丿乇 乇丕 丿乇 卮乇丕蹖胤 賲禺鬲賱賮 賵 亘丕 丕卮乇丕賮 亘賴 鬲賲丕賲蹖 賳讴丕鬲 丕丿亘蹖 賵 乇賵丕蹖蹖 賵 亘丕 賱丨賳蹖 卮毓乇诏賵賳賴 鬲賵氐蹖賮 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�.
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丕蹖賳 丨賯蹖賯鬲 賳丿丕乇丿 讴賴 賳賵卮鬲賳 讴賲讴賲 讴乇丿賴 丕爻鬲. 馗乇賮 賴賮鬲賴鈥屬囏� 讴賱賳噩丕乇 乇賮鬲賳鈥屬囏й屬� 亘丕 丿丕爻鬲丕賳貙 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丕夭 讴賱賳噩丕乇 亘丕 賲賳 丿爻鬲 賳讴卮蹖丿賴 丕爻鬲. 賳賵卮鬲賳貙 賴賲丕賳鈥屫焚堌� 讴賴 丕夭 丕賵賱 賮讴乇卮 乇丕 賲蹖鈥屭┴必呚� 蹖丕丿丌賵乇 丿賵乇丕賳 賲禺鬲賵賲賴鈥屫й� 丕夭 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屫з� 賳亘賵丿貙 亘賱讴賴 氐乇賮丕 丿乇 賴蹖兀鬲 噩賲賱賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 賮賯胤 丿乇 丕丿毓丕 亘蹖鈥屫坟辟� 亘賵丿賳丿 亘蹖鈥屬堎傎佡� 丕丿丕蹖 蹖丕丿丌賵乇蹖 乇丕 丿乇丌賵乇丿賴 亘賵丿.
馃摉讴鬲丕亘 丿乇亘丕乇賴鈥屰� 賲丕丿乇蹖鈥屫池� 讴賴 亘噩夭 趩賳丿 噩賲賱賴鈥屰� 讴賵鬲丕賴 賵 丿賵乇丕賳 亘蹖賲丕乇蹖 賵 爻乇禺賵乇丿诏蹖鈥屫ж簇� 禺丕胤乇賴鈥屰� 丿蹖诏乇蹖 亘乇丕蹖 賮乇夭賳丿卮 亘賴 噩丕 賳诏匕丕卮鬲賴 賵 丨丕賱丕 亘丕 禺亘乇丿丕乇 卮丿賳 丕夭 賲乇诏 丕賵 賮乇夭賳丿卮 鬲氐賲蹖賲 亘賴 乇賵丕蹖鬲 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屫ж� 賲蹖 讴賳丿. 倬爻乇 亘丕 亘蹖丕賳 鬲賲丕賲 噩夭蹖蹖丕鬲 賵 鬲賵氐蹖賮丕鬲 亘賴 丕爻鬲賯亘丕賱 賲乇诏 賲丕丿乇 賲蹖鈥屫辟堌� 賵 亘丕 丿蹖丿蹖 鬲蹖夭亘蹖賳丕賳賴 賴賲賴鈥屰� 丨丕賱丕鬲 賲丕丿乇 乇丕 丿乇 卮乇丕蹖胤 賲禺鬲賱賮 賵 亘丕 丕卮乇丕賮 亘賴 鬲賲丕賲蹖 賳讴丕鬲 丕丿亘蹖 賵 乇賵丕蹖蹖 賵 亘丕 賱丨賳蹖 卮毓乇诏賵賳賴 鬲賵氐蹖賮 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�.
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丕蹖賳 丨賯蹖賯鬲 賳丿丕乇丿 讴賴 賳賵卮鬲賳 讴賲讴賲 讴乇丿賴 丕爻鬲. 馗乇賮 賴賮鬲賴鈥屬囏� 讴賱賳噩丕乇 乇賮鬲賳鈥屬囏й屬� 亘丕 丿丕爻鬲丕賳貙 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丕夭 讴賱賳噩丕乇 亘丕 賲賳 丿爻鬲 賳讴卮蹖丿賴 丕爻鬲. 賳賵卮鬲賳貙 賴賲丕賳鈥屫焚堌� 讴賴 丕夭 丕賵賱 賮讴乇卮 乇丕 賲蹖鈥屭┴必呚� 蹖丕丿丌賵乇 丿賵乇丕賳 賲禺鬲賵賲賴鈥屫й� 丕夭 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屫з� 賳亘賵丿貙 亘賱讴賴 氐乇賮丕 丿乇 賴蹖兀鬲 噩賲賱賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 賮賯胤 丿乇 丕丿毓丕 亘蹖鈥屫坟辟� 亘賵丿賳丿 亘蹖鈥屬堎傎佡� 丕丿丕蹖 蹖丕丿丌賵乇蹖 乇丕 丿乇丌賵乇丿賴 亘賵丿.
November 20, 2020
What鈥檚 in a name 鈥� this is described as a semi-autobiographical novel but it鈥檚 really a memoir, just that, written in the white hot anguish left behind by Peter Handke鈥檚 mother who committed suicide at the age of 51 in 1971. This memoir was published the following year.
The very ordinary miserable story of his mother鈥檚 unhappy existence on earth 鈥�
For a woman to be born into such surroundings was in itself deadly. But perhaps there was one comfort: no need to worry about the future. The fortune-tellers at our church fairs took a serious interest only in the palms of young men -a girl's future was a joke. No possibilities. It was all settled in advance.
is made quite out of the ordinary by Peter Handke鈥檚 almost-out-of-control almost-manic manner of writing. You might say this is not so much writing as very articulate shouting 鈥� 鈥渘ow, do you SEE what you DID?鈥� this book is saying, over and over. This book also breaks the fourth wall and writes about its writing 鈥�
It is not true that writing has helped me. In my weeks of preoccupations with the story, the story has not ceased to preoccupy me.. Writing has not, as I at first supposed, been a remembering of a concluded period in my life, but merely a constant pretense at remembering, in the form of sentences that only lay claim to detachment.
Really the same spirit-crushing events happened to millions of working-class women during the 20th century, including my own mother (thankfully she had a nice non-alcoholic husband and didn鈥檛 have a nervous breakdown). Society鈥檚 rigid expectations of women were, it鈥檚 true, demolished for a time by World War Two but as soon as that was over women were herded back to the house and specifically the kitchen.
I鈥檓 not sure if I recommend this little book, it鈥檚 completely bleak, but it is a great feminist statement.
The very ordinary miserable story of his mother鈥檚 unhappy existence on earth 鈥�
For a woman to be born into such surroundings was in itself deadly. But perhaps there was one comfort: no need to worry about the future. The fortune-tellers at our church fairs took a serious interest only in the palms of young men -a girl's future was a joke. No possibilities. It was all settled in advance.
is made quite out of the ordinary by Peter Handke鈥檚 almost-out-of-control almost-manic manner of writing. You might say this is not so much writing as very articulate shouting 鈥� 鈥渘ow, do you SEE what you DID?鈥� this book is saying, over and over. This book also breaks the fourth wall and writes about its writing 鈥�
It is not true that writing has helped me. In my weeks of preoccupations with the story, the story has not ceased to preoccupy me.. Writing has not, as I at first supposed, been a remembering of a concluded period in my life, but merely a constant pretense at remembering, in the form of sentences that only lay claim to detachment.
Really the same spirit-crushing events happened to millions of working-class women during the 20th century, including my own mother (thankfully she had a nice non-alcoholic husband and didn鈥檛 have a nervous breakdown). Society鈥檚 rigid expectations of women were, it鈥檚 true, demolished for a time by World War Two but as soon as that was over women were herded back to the house and specifically the kitchen.
I鈥檓 not sure if I recommend this little book, it鈥檚 completely bleak, but it is a great feminist statement.
January 3, 2021
What does it mean to write about Death, not abstract death, or death of some invented Other, but Death in its most personal, intimate, self-shattering form? How, when the act of writing, of composition, is inherently distancing, can one write about that which is closest to us?
The relationship of Life to Death is that of Music to Silence; how can we write about the difference between the silence before a note, and the silence that follows?
The Death of the Mother. This is a hackneyed literary trope and a cliche-ridden mud-plain of endless, soggy, sticky narrative. To speak of it is to Quote. To Quote is to dissemble. To dissemble is to betray.
In this short novella, only 70 or so pages in length, Handke attempts to write about his mother in the weeks after her suicide. Tries and fails. And yet his failing is a masterpiece. It is a work of a writer attempting to control/delineate/contain the ending of this life, and not succeeding.
I urge you to set aside an hour or two one evening and read this in one, unbroken, sitting.
The relationship of Life to Death is that of Music to Silence; how can we write about the difference between the silence before a note, and the silence that follows?
The Death of the Mother. This is a hackneyed literary trope and a cliche-ridden mud-plain of endless, soggy, sticky narrative. To speak of it is to Quote. To Quote is to dissemble. To dissemble is to betray.
In this short novella, only 70 or so pages in length, Handke attempts to write about his mother in the weeks after her suicide. Tries and fails. And yet his failing is a masterpiece. It is a work of a writer attempting to control/delineate/contain the ending of this life, and not succeeding.
I urge you to set aside an hour or two one evening and read this in one, unbroken, sitting.
February 17, 2020
February 16, 2020 - the more I read of Handke, the more it seems that the death of his Slovenian mother is the key to the whole edifice. In addition to being a masterpiece in its own right, this book helps unlock the mysteries of Repetition and the Moravian Night. Clues to his strange and twisted politics are here as well.
***
She was; she became; she became nothing.
A teenage boy gives his mother the books he's been reading - novels by Hamsun, Dostoevsky, Faulkner - and she absorbs them with enthusiasm. For the first time in her life she learns to express herself in words. However,
Literature didn't teach her to start thinking of herself but showed her it was too late for that.
A gain in freedom, or even happiness, may ultimately leave you standing face to face with that thing you were successfully able to avoid for years.
This is one of the saddest books I've ever read.
***
She was; she became; she became nothing.
A teenage boy gives his mother the books he's been reading - novels by Hamsun, Dostoevsky, Faulkner - and she absorbs them with enthusiasm. For the first time in her life she learns to express herself in words. However,
Literature didn't teach her to start thinking of herself but showed her it was too late for that.
A gain in freedom, or even happiness, may ultimately leave you standing face to face with that thing you were successfully able to avoid for years.
This is one of the saddest books I've ever read.
April 29, 2016
The half-lit room. The cream-colored paint on the walls reflecting barely enough light to see. The tiled floor, absent of dirt or dust. The cot which lies empty, barren and untouched. All of these circumstances, all of these facts can be taken as a symbol for the hurt, pain and utter emptiness Handke's mother felt as she grew to become, in her own words, nothing.
"And so she was nothing and never would be anything, it was so obvious that there was no need of a forecast. She already said, "in my day," though she was not yet thirty. Until then, she resigned herself, but now life became so hard that for the first time she had to listen to reason. She listened to reason, but understood nothing."
As she raises a child and is married to a man that she doesn't love, being beaten habitually and for being the unfortunate gender of a woman, she felt nothing anymore. She would laugh while being hit, she would smile when she felt depressed and her inner turmoil while being resigned, was passionate.
Handke wrote this right after his mother's suicide and I can feel his love and angst and power within the pages as he struggles to know what to write, but eventually puts down raw emotion on paper, showing us who his mother was and why she did what she did, what was inevitable, what was needed.
"When I write, I necessarily write about the past, about something which, at least while I am writing, is behind me. As usual when engaged in literary work, I am alienated from myself and transformed into an object, a remembering and formulating machine. I am writing the story of my mother, first of all because I think I know more about her and how she came to her death than any outside investigator who might, with the help of a religious, psychological, or sociological guide to the interpretation of dreams, arrive at a facile explanation of this interesting case of suicide, but second in my own interest, because having something to do brings me back to life, and lastly because, like an outside investigator, though in a different way, I would like to represent this VOLUNTARY DEATH as an exemplary case."
The emphasis of capital letters for certain words makes the reader relate to what is being said, relate in a way that the sorrow is constantly in the foreground, never being forgotten, never being set aside.
This is her life in 100 pages. She was and now IS something, never to be nothing again.
"And so she was nothing and never would be anything, it was so obvious that there was no need of a forecast. She already said, "in my day," though she was not yet thirty. Until then, she resigned herself, but now life became so hard that for the first time she had to listen to reason. She listened to reason, but understood nothing."
As she raises a child and is married to a man that she doesn't love, being beaten habitually and for being the unfortunate gender of a woman, she felt nothing anymore. She would laugh while being hit, she would smile when she felt depressed and her inner turmoil while being resigned, was passionate.
Handke wrote this right after his mother's suicide and I can feel his love and angst and power within the pages as he struggles to know what to write, but eventually puts down raw emotion on paper, showing us who his mother was and why she did what she did, what was inevitable, what was needed.
"When I write, I necessarily write about the past, about something which, at least while I am writing, is behind me. As usual when engaged in literary work, I am alienated from myself and transformed into an object, a remembering and formulating machine. I am writing the story of my mother, first of all because I think I know more about her and how she came to her death than any outside investigator who might, with the help of a religious, psychological, or sociological guide to the interpretation of dreams, arrive at a facile explanation of this interesting case of suicide, but second in my own interest, because having something to do brings me back to life, and lastly because, like an outside investigator, though in a different way, I would like to represent this VOLUNTARY DEATH as an exemplary case."
The emphasis of capital letters for certain words makes the reader relate to what is being said, relate in a way that the sorrow is constantly in the foreground, never being forgotten, never being set aside.
This is her life in 100 pages. She was and now IS something, never to be nothing again.
November 22, 2018
賴賲蹖賳 讴賴 讴賱賲賴 賮賯乇 亘賴 賲蹖丕賳 賲蹖 丌蹖丿貙 賴賲蹖卮賴 亘賴 丕蹖賳 賮讴乇 賲蹖 讴賳賲 讴賴 蹖讴蹖 亘賵丿貙 蹖讴蹖 賳亘賵丿! 賵 鬲丕 丨丿 夭蹖丕丿蹖 賴賲 丌丿賲 丌賳 乇丕 丕夭 丿賴丕賳 讴爻丕賳蹖 賲蹖 卮賵賳丿 讴賴 丿乇 诏匕卮鬲賴 亘賴 丌賳 丿趩丕乇 亘賵丿賴 丕賳丿貙 讴賱賲賴 丕蹖 賲鬲氐賱 亘賴 讴賵丿讴蹖. 蹖毓賳蹖 賳賴 丕蹖賳讴賴 "賲賳 賮賯蹖乇 亘賵丿賲"貙 亘賱讴賴 "倬丿乇 賵 賲丕丿乇賲 丕賳爻丕賳 賴丕蹖 賮賯蹖乇蹖 亘賵丿賳丿". 鬲賵囟蹖丨 賵丕囟丨丕鬲蹖 卮鬲乇倬賱賳诏 亘賴 賯氐丿 乇賳诏 賵 賱毓丕亘 夭丿賳 亘賴 禺丕胤乇丕鬲. 賵賱蹖 丕蹖賳噩丕賳亘 丕夭 诏賱 賵 亘賵鬲賴 夭丿賳 亘賴 禺丕胤乇賴 賴丕蹖賲 賲毓匕賵乇賲
趩賳丿 賴賮鬲賴 丕蹖 丕夭 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲丕丿乇 賲蹖 诏匕乇丿 賵 丨丕賱丕 倬爻乇 賯氐丿 賳賵卮鬲賳 趩蹖夭蹖 卮亘蹖賴 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屬嗀з呝� (賳賴 丿賯蹖賯丕) 亘乇丕蹖 賲丕丿乇 乇丕 丿丕乇丿: 賲亘丕乇夭賴 賳丕賮乇噩丕賲 夭賳蹖 賮乇爻賵丿賴 讴賴 乇賵夭诏丕乇蹖 丿禺鬲乇 乇賵爻鬲丕蹖蹖 爻乇讴卮蹖 亘賵丿賴. 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 乇賵丕蹖鬲 賲丕賵賯毓 賳蹖爻鬲貙 亘賱讴賴 亘蹖卮鬲乇 亘蹖丕賳 丕丨爻丕爻丕鬲 賵 丨丕賱丕鬲 賲丕丿乇 胤蹖 丨賵丕丿孬貙 乇賵夭賲乇诏蹖 賴丕 賵 亘丿亘禺鬲蹖 賴丕爻鬲貙 鬲蹖乇賴 乇賵夭蹖鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 丿乇 鬲賲丕賲 噩賵丕賲毓貙 賲禺鬲氐 夭賳丕賳 丕爻鬲 賵 賲孬賱丕 亘丕 丕蹖賳 毓亘丕乇丕鬲 賲卮鬲乇讴 亘蹖丕賳 賲蹖 卮賵丿: 賮賯胤 賲賳鬲馗乇賲 亘趩賴 賴丕 丕夭 丌亘 賵 诏賱 丿乇 亘蹖丕賳. 丕诏乇 丨蹖賳 禺賵丕賳丿賳 丿乇 睾賲 夭賳 卮乇蹖讴 卮賵蹖貙 亘賴 乇賵夭賴丕蹖 賲賴 诏乇賮鬲賴 丕卮 讴卮蹖丿賴 賲蹖 卮賵蹖 賵 禺賵丕賳丿賳 睾賲 丕賳诏蹖夭 賲蹖 卮賵丿 賵 亘爻 胤丕賯鬲 賮乇爻丕. 乇丕賵蹖 亘賴 诏賮鬲賴 禺賵丿卮 鬲賱丕卮 亘爻蹖丕乇蹖 讴乇丿賴 讴賴 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 倬乇丿丕夭蹖 乇丕 鬲丕 丨丿 賲賲讴賳 讴賳丕乇 亘诏匕丕乇丿 賵 賵 丕賱丨賯 讴賴 丿乇 丕蹖賳 丕賲乇 亘爻蹖丕乇 賲賵賮賯 亘賵丿賴 賵 丨鬲蹖 诏丕賴蹖 讴丕乇卮 亘賴 賮賱爻賮賴 亘丕賮蹖 賲蹖 讴卮丿
毓丕丿鬲 亘賴 鬲賮讴乇 亘乇 丨爻亘 賮丕蹖丿賴 賵 囟乇乇貙 丕蹖賳 倬賱蹖丿鬲乇蹖賳 胤乇夭 賳诏丕賴 亘賴 丨蹖丕鬲貙 丕乇夭卮 氐賵乇蹖 丕卮 乇丕 鬲亘丕賴 賲蹖 讴賳丿. 賴賲蹖賳 讴賴 诏賮鬲賳丿 "賴乇趩蹖夭蹖 賮賵丕蹖丿 賵 賲囟乇丕鬲 禺賵丿卮 乇丕 丿丕乇丿"貙 鬲丨賲賱 賳丕倬匕蹖乇 鬲丨賲賱 倬匕蹖乇 卮丿. 囟乇乇 賲丨囟 賵 丌賳趩賴 乇賵蹖 賴賲 乇賮鬲賴 丿乇 丨讴賲 囟乇乇 丕爻鬲貙 趩蹖夭蹖 賳蹖爻鬲 賲诏乇 囟賲蹖賲賴 丕蹖 囟乇賵乇蹖 亘乇 賴乇 賮丕蹖丿賴. 賮丕蹖丿賴 賴賲 毓賱蹖鈥屫з勝傌ж关� 丿乇 丨讴賲 睾蹖丕亘 囟乇乇 丕爻鬲: 賳賴 爻乇 賵 氐丿丕蹖蹖貙 賳賴 賲爻卅賵賱蹖鬲蹖貙 亘丿賵賳 讴丕乇 讴乇丿賳 亘乇丕蹖 丿蹖诏乇丕賳貙 亘丿賵賳 禺丕賳賴 賵 亘趩賴 賴丕 乇丕 亘賴 丕賲丕賳 禺丿丕 賵賱 讴乇丿賳. 囟乇乇賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 睾丕蹖亘 亘賵丿賳丿 噩亘乇丕賳 丌賳 賴丕蹖蹖 賲蹖 卮丿賳丿 讴賴 丨丕囟乇 亘賵丿賳丿
鬲乇噩賲賴 讴賲蹖 賲蹖 賱賳诏丿 賵 丕蹖賳 丿乇 讴賳丕乇 賳孬乇 亘爻蹖丕乇 毓噩蹖亘 賵 睾乇蹖亘 讴鬲丕亘貙 丿乇讴 賲賮賴賵賲 噩賲賱丕鬲 乇丕 賲卮讴賱 賲蹖 讴賳丿. 鬲賵氐蹖賮 賴丕蹖 胤賵蹖賱 诏丕賴蹖 丿乇 蹖讴蹖 丿賵 讴賱賲賴 禺賱丕氐賴 卮丿賴 丕賳丿 賵 丨賵丕丿孬 毓賲丿賴 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丿乇 蹖讴蹖 丿賵 噩賲賱賴
禺蹖丕賱 賲蹖 讴乇丿賲 毓賳賵丕賳 讴鬲丕亘 丕卮丕乇賴 丕蹖 亘丕卮丿 亘賴 賮乇夭賳丿 (乇丕賵蹖) 丕賲丕 丕蹖賳胤賵乇 賳亘賵丿貙 鬲毓亘蹖乇 丕夭 睾賲 亘丕賱 丿乇 丌賵乇丿賳 亘賴 賲丕丿乇 丕卮丕乇賴 丿丕卮鬲 賵 趩賴 鬲毓亘蹖乇 夭蹖亘丕 賵 鬲賱禺蹖貙 亘乇丕蹖 賲乇诏賽 夭賳丕賳蹖 讴賴 賴賲蹖卮賴 賲丕丿乇賳丿貙 亘乇丕蹖 賴賲賴貙 丨鬲蹖 亘乇丕蹖 卮賵賴乇丕賳卮丕賳
December 19, 2016
鈥淢y sense of horror makes me feel better: at last my boredom is gone; an unresisting body, no more exhausting distances, a painless passage of time,鈥� Peter Handke writes in this distilling memoir about his mother. A Sorrow Beyond Dreams is his attempt at reconciling with his mother鈥檚 suicide, his piecing together of the life she lived.
I didn鈥檛 intend on reading this book now, especially since I just finished Handke's . However, as I arranged my books and thumbed through the first few pages of this short read, I was trapped. Cover to cover I read it, intrigued at how the narrator is able to keep immense distance from such a jarring subject, and yet still allow me to see the immediacy of his pain unfold through these pages. There are no scenes, no attempts at drama (and for a subject like this why should there be?); in fact in some sections there is just the confusion of hysteria. Handke鈥檚 pointed and illuminating prose makes this a captivating read and the beauty of this memoir is its ability to transcend subject and person, because
As immediate as the urge to read this was, the urge to start writing meditatively about it was perhaps even greater, hence these brief thoughts. Lately, books about mothers have filled my reading space: first Elena Ferrante鈥檚 , Halo鈥檚 , and now this book. Reading them, I couldn鈥檛 help but think of my mother, a woman whom I consider an amalgam of all three protagonists, one who has endured many senseless acts, has lived through war, disease, famine, and still carries the pain with her; yet surprisingly, one who never ceases to care for people, even strangers, and one who never ceases to hope. But this is another thing Handke manages, for as he peels apart the layers of his mother鈥檚 life, he brings the reader closer to seeing the mother in his or her life.
I didn鈥檛 intend on reading this book now, especially since I just finished Handke's . However, as I arranged my books and thumbed through the first few pages of this short read, I was trapped. Cover to cover I read it, intrigued at how the narrator is able to keep immense distance from such a jarring subject, and yet still allow me to see the immediacy of his pain unfold through these pages. There are no scenes, no attempts at drama (and for a subject like this why should there be?); in fact in some sections there is just the confusion of hysteria. Handke鈥檚 pointed and illuminating prose makes this a captivating read and the beauty of this memoir is its ability to transcend subject and person, because
merely to relate the vicissitudes of a life that came to a sudden end would be pure presumption.
The reader is left to gather the details of his mother's life and shape it into story What is usually depleted concerning the concept of pain, Handke replenishes by forcing the reader to face this simple horror made lucid through words:Mere existence had become a torture to her.
As immediate as the urge to read this was, the urge to start writing meditatively about it was perhaps even greater, hence these brief thoughts. Lately, books about mothers have filled my reading space: first Elena Ferrante鈥檚 , Halo鈥檚 , and now this book. Reading them, I couldn鈥檛 help but think of my mother, a woman whom I consider an amalgam of all three protagonists, one who has endured many senseless acts, has lived through war, disease, famine, and still carries the pain with her; yet surprisingly, one who never ceases to care for people, even strangers, and one who never ceases to hope. But this is another thing Handke manages, for as he peels apart the layers of his mother鈥檚 life, he brings the reader closer to seeing the mother in his or her life.
September 11, 2023
賮賷 丕賱丌賵賳丞 丕賱兀禺賷乇丞 夭丕丿鬲 丕賱噩賳丕夭丕鬲 丨鬲賶 賲丕 毓丕丿 賱賱賲賵鬲 賴賷亘鬲賴. 賰賱 賷賵賲 賳賯乇兀 賮賷 賵爻丕卅賱 丕賱鬲賵丕氐賱 賳毓賷丕 噩丿賷丿丕. 亘賱 賰賱 爻丕毓丞. 兀賲乇丕囟 賵 夭賱丕夭賱 賵 兀賵亘卅丞 賵 卮賷禺賵禺丞 丨鬲賶 鬲賰丕爻賱賳丕 毓賳 賲賵丕爻丕丞 丕賱賳丕爻 廿賱丕 賮賷 兀賯乇亘 丕賱兀賯乇亘丕亍. 賲丕鬲 丕賱廿丨爻丕爻 亘丕賱乇賴亘丞 兀賲丕賲 丕賱丨賯賷賯丞 丕賱賵丨賷丿丞 丕賱鬲賷 丨丕夭鬲 廿噩賲丕毓 丕賱亘卮乇. 丕賱賲賵鬲. 廿賱丕 兀賳 賲賵鬲 丕賱兀賲 賲丕 夭丕賱 賷賵噩毓 丕賱賯賱亘. 賲丕 兀賳 兀乇賶 兀丨丿丕 賷賳毓賷 兀賲賴 丨鬲賶 鬲鬲賲夭賯 賳賷丕胤 賯賱亘賷 賵 鬲氐賷乇 乇賵丨賷 兀卮賱丕亍 賲亘毓孬乇丞. 賲噩乇丿 丕賱鬲賮賰賷乇 賮賷 賮賯丿 丕賱兀賲 賷噩毓賱賳賷 兀乇鬲毓丿. 賲丕 夭丕賱 賱賱賲賵鬲 賴賷亘鬲賴 賴賳丕 賵 賲丕 夭丕賱鬲 乇賴亘鬲賴 鬲乇噩賮 丕賱賯賱賵亘.
丕賱賰丕鬲亘 賮賷 賴匕賴 丕賱賳賵賮賷賱丕 賮賯丿 兀賲賴 賵 毓賲乇賴丕 廿丨丿賶 賵 禺賲爻賵賳 爻賳丞 亘毓丿 丕賳鬲丨丕乇賴丕 亘噩乇毓丞 賰亘賷乇丞 賲賳 丕賱賲爻賰賳丕鬲 賵 亘毓丿 賲毓丕賳丕丞 賲毓 丕賱賲乇囟 丕賱毓囟賵賷 賵 丕賱賳賮爻賷 賵 卮賯丕亍 丿丕卅賲 賮賷 丕賱丨賷丕丞.
賵賱丿鬲 兀賲賴 賮賷 毓卮乇賷賳賷丕鬲 丕賱賯乇賳 丕賱賲丕囟賷 賵 兀賲囟鬲 卮亘丕亘賴丕 賮賷 兀賱賲丕賳賷丕 丕賱賳丕夭賷丞 兀孬賳丕亍 丕賱丨乇亘 丕賱毓丕賱賲賷丞 丕賱孬丕賳賷丞 孬賲 毓丕丿鬲 廿賱賶 丕賱賳賲爻丕 亘毓丿 丕賱丨乇亘 亘賮鬲乇丞 賵噩賷夭丞 賵 丕爻鬲賯乇鬲 亘賴丕 丨鬲賶 賯氐賮鬲 毓賲乇賴丕 亘賷丿賷賴丕.
賷丨賰賷 賱賳丕 毓賳 丕賱賮賯乇 賵 丕賱卮賯丕亍 賰賲丕 丨賰賶 賱賳丕 爻丕乇丕賲丕噩賵 賲賳 賯亘賱 毓賳 丕賱賮賯乇 賵 丕賱卮賯丕亍 賮賷 爻賷乇鬲賴 丕賱匕丕鬲賷丞 兀賷囟丕 賵 賰兀賳 兀賵乇賵亘丕 丕賱賯乇賳 丕賱賲丕囟賷 賰丕賳鬲 鬲毓賷卮 賵丕賯毓丕 兀爻賵兀 賲賲丕 鬲毓賷卮賴 兀睾賱亘 丕賱丿賵賱 丕賱毓乇亘賷丞 丕賱丌賳. 賰丕丿 賴匕丕 兀賳 賷亘孬 丕賱兀賲賱 賮賷 賳賮爻賷 賱賵賱丕 兀賳 鬲匕賰乇鬲 賲賳丕馗乇 丕賱賲卮乇丿賷賳 丕賱匕賷賳 賷賮鬲乇卮賵賳 丕賱胤乇賯丕鬲 賮賷 丕賱毓賵丕氐賲 丕賱兀賵乇賵亘賷丞 賵 賵噩賵賴 亘丕卅爻丞 鬲賲卮賷 賮賷 卮賵丕乇毓賴丕 鬲賳亘賶亍 亘卮馗賮 丕賱毓賷卮 賵 氐毓賵亘丕鬲 丕賱丨賷丕丞 乇睾賲 丕賱乇賮丕賴賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲賳毓賲 亘賴丕 丕賱卮賵丕乇毓 賵 丕賱丨丕賳丕鬲 賵 丕賱賲賳丕胤賯 丕賱爻賷丕丨賷丞. 賱賲 兀賳禺丿毓 亘賲馗丕賴乇 丕賱丨賷丕丞 丕賱賰乇賷賲丞 丕賱鬲賷 賳乇丕賴丕 賮賷 兀噩賴夭丞 丕賱鬲賱賮丕夭 賵 兀鬲鬲賳賷 賵賲囟丞 賲賳 丕賱丨賰賲丞 鬲賯賵賱 亘兀賳 丕賱爻毓丕丿丞 賱賷爻鬲 賮賯胤 賮賷 丕賱賳賯賵丿 亘賱 賮賷 廿丿乇丕賰 丕賱賵丕賯毓 賵 鬲賯亘賱賴 賵 丕賱鬲毓丕賷卮 賲毓賴 賵 丕賯鬲賳丕氐 丕賱爻毓丕丿丞 賲賳 亘賷賳 兀賳賷丕亘 丕賱丨乇賲丕賳 賵 丕賱賲毓丕賳丕丞.
丕賱賳賵賮賷賱丕 丕賱賯氐賷乇丞 賱睾鬲賴丕 賮賷 賲賳鬲賴賷 丕賱鬲賰孬賷賮 賵 賰兀賳賰 鬲賯乇兀 卮毓乇丕 賲賳孬賵乇丕. 賱丕 賰賱賲丞 夭丕卅丿丞 賵 賱丕 亘賴乇噩丞 賱睾賵賷丞 賵 賱丕 丨卮賵. 賱睾丞 乇丕賯賷丞 賲爻鬲乇爻賱丞 鬲賰丕丿 鬲禺賱賵 丨鬲賶 賲賳 丕賱賲卮丕毓乇. 兀賲丕 丕賱鬲乇噩賲丞 賮賱丕亘丿 兀賳 鬲賱賮鬲 鬲乇噩賲丞 亘爻丕賲 丨噩丕乇 賳馗乇賰 賮賯丿 丕爻鬲胤丕毓 兀賳 賷噩毓賱賰 鬲卮毓乇 亘鬲乇噩賲丞 爻賱爻丞 丕賳爻賷丕亘賷丞 賵 賰兀賳 丕賱賳氐 丕賱兀氐賱賷 賲賰鬲賵亘丕 亘丕賱毓乇亘賷丞.
賳賵賮賷賱丕 賯氐賷乇丞 賱賰丕鬲亘 丕爻鬲丨賯 丕賱毓丿賷丿 賲賳 丕賱噩賵丕卅夭 賵 毓賱賶 乇兀爻賴丕 賳賵亘賱.
猸愶笍猸愶笍猸愶笍猸愶笍
賰丕賳鬲 賵爻丕賵爻 丕賱賲匕賴亘 丕賱賰丕孬賵賱賷賰賷 睾乇賷亘丞 毓賳賴丕. 賵 賱丕 鬲丐賲賳 廿賱丕 亘爻毓丕丿丞 賴賳丕 毓賱賶 丕賱兀乇囟. 廿賱丕 兀賳 賴匕賴 丕賱爻毓丕丿丞 賱賲 鬲賰賳 亘丿賵乇賴丕 爻賵賶 賮毓賱 賲氐丕丿賮丞. 賵 亘賮毓賱 丕賱賲氐丕丿賮丞 兀氐丕亘賴丕 丕賱賳丨爻.
猸愶笍猸愶笍猸愶笍猸愶笍
亘丕鬲 賲噩乇丿 丕賱毓賷卮 兀卮亘賴 亘丕賱鬲毓匕賷亘.
賵 賱賰賳 丕賱賲賵鬲 兀賷囟丕 賰丕賳 賷乇賵毓賴丕.
February 29, 2020
Smrt je 膷udna.
Deluje nestvarno u 啪ivotu, u fikciji deluje stvarnije.
Svako je imao takvo iskustvo 鈥� neko ko mu je zaista blizak, preminuo je i potrebno je dosta vremena da se to osvesti. Neke smrti se uvla膷e pod ko啪u i ne daju mira; najpre se 膷ine jasnim pa postepeno opsedaju. Naro膷ito kada je smrt nagla. Nekad 膷ovek godinama ne mo啪e da otprati sebe u odnosu na gubitak nekog drugog. Ono 拧to je ostalo iza nekoga uporno nas vra膰a toj osobi 鈥� od anegdota do sitnih predmeta o kojima ne razmi拧ljamo. I ponekad pomislim kako nas samo jedan poziv deli, kao da 膰e neko sutra da me pozove.
Svoje voljene nikad ne pu拧tamo, niti oni pu拧taju nas. Svako se膰anje produ啪etak je 啪ivota, 膷itanje, reinterpretacija, novi odabir 鈥� ima tok i boli.
Tako se u mene nakon 膷itanja uvukla neka plima, ono 拧to Handke naziva bezidejnom nesre膰om. Narastaju膰i ose膰aj malodu拧nosti, te拧ko u re膷i uobli膷iv. Ako je se膰anje na umrle njihov nastavak 啪ivota, ovde je posredi obdukcija du拧e, svedo膷anstvo neosve拧膰enosti. U tom nevelikom broju strana smestila se neverovatna silina 啪ivotne celine 鈥� ne toliko odnos majke i sina, koliko bogato predo膷avanje svega onoga 拧to je majka mogla da predstavlja. Handke posredstvom razoru啪avaju膰ih se膰anja ide u same rubove na拧eg ose膰ajnog bi膰a do膷aravaju膰i ono izme膽u, ono 拧to izmi膷e re膷ima. I polazi mu za rukom da kroz distancu do膽e do duboko intimnog.
膶itanje je tako vra膰anje u tu nemilo lebde膰e stanje, koje nije ni 啪alost ni mir ni nespokoj ni tuga, a sve to zajedno.
Kada jednog dana budem nau膷io nema膷ki (a ne, ko sad, samo da znam da brojim i da ka啪em Schildkr枚te i Schmetterling), voleo bih da osetim te re膷enice u originalu.
Ko nije ni拧ta 膷itao od Handkea, neka po膷ne odavde.
Deluje nestvarno u 啪ivotu, u fikciji deluje stvarnije.
Svako je imao takvo iskustvo 鈥� neko ko mu je zaista blizak, preminuo je i potrebno je dosta vremena da se to osvesti. Neke smrti se uvla膷e pod ko啪u i ne daju mira; najpre se 膷ine jasnim pa postepeno opsedaju. Naro膷ito kada je smrt nagla. Nekad 膷ovek godinama ne mo啪e da otprati sebe u odnosu na gubitak nekog drugog. Ono 拧to je ostalo iza nekoga uporno nas vra膰a toj osobi 鈥� od anegdota do sitnih predmeta o kojima ne razmi拧ljamo. I ponekad pomislim kako nas samo jedan poziv deli, kao da 膰e neko sutra da me pozove.
Svoje voljene nikad ne pu拧tamo, niti oni pu拧taju nas. Svako se膰anje produ啪etak je 啪ivota, 膷itanje, reinterpretacija, novi odabir 鈥� ima tok i boli.
Tako se u mene nakon 膷itanja uvukla neka plima, ono 拧to Handke naziva bezidejnom nesre膰om. Narastaju膰i ose膰aj malodu拧nosti, te拧ko u re膷i uobli膷iv. Ako je se膰anje na umrle njihov nastavak 啪ivota, ovde je posredi obdukcija du拧e, svedo膷anstvo neosve拧膰enosti. U tom nevelikom broju strana smestila se neverovatna silina 啪ivotne celine 鈥� ne toliko odnos majke i sina, koliko bogato predo膷avanje svega onoga 拧to je majka mogla da predstavlja. Handke posredstvom razoru啪avaju膰ih se膰anja ide u same rubove na拧eg ose膰ajnog bi膰a do膷aravaju膰i ono izme膽u, ono 拧to izmi膷e re膷ima. I polazi mu za rukom da kroz distancu do膽e do duboko intimnog.
膶itanje je tako vra膰anje u tu nemilo lebde膰e stanje, koje nije ni 啪alost ni mir ni nespokoj ni tuga, a sve to zajedno.
Kada jednog dana budem nau膷io nema膷ki (a ne, ko sad, samo da znam da brojim i da ka啪em Schildkr枚te i Schmetterling), voleo bih da osetim te re膷enice u originalu.
Ko nije ni拧ta 膷itao od Handkea, neka po膷ne odavde.
June 25, 2024
丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 倬爻 丕夭 趩賳丿 乇賵夭 丕夭 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲丕丿乇 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘賴 乇卮鬲賴鈥屰� 鬲丨乇蹖乇 丿乇 丕賵賲丿賴 賵 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 夭賳丿诏蹖 賲丕丿乇 丕夭 夭亘丕賳 倬爻乇 乇賵 亘蹖丕賳 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 賳賵卮鬲賴 丕夭 賳馗乇 賲賳 禺蹖賱蹖 亘蹖 乇賵丨 亘賵丿 賵 丕乇鬲亘丕胤 亘乇賯乇丕乇 賳讴乇丿賲 亘丕賴丕卮.賴
March 12, 2015
Peter Handke has written an elegy for his mother, a suicide, unlike anything I've read before. It is also the story of many women born in Austria between the World Wars, when life was not only difficult, it was hard, even more so for women than men. Opportunities were few, happinesses meager. Escape taken if possible but then came the Nazi era, the post-War years, varying levels of hardship, marriage, family, no aspirations.
He talks of the family and community into which she was born.
For a woman to be born into such surroundings was in
itself deadly. But perhaps there was one comfort: no
need to worry about the future. The fortune-tellers at
our church fairs took a serious interest only in the palms
of the young men; a girl's future was a joke....The girls
in our town used to play a game based on the stations in
a woman's life: Tired/Exhausted/Sick/Dying/Dead. (loc 92)
His mother did break free for a time, escaping to learn to cook. Then came Hitler, the war, fierce changes, the defeat of the Axis powers; poverty and hardship in Europe dictate Handke's mother's life in Berlin and return to Austria in the post-war years.
The author does discuss his methodology also:
These two dangers--the danger of merely telling
what happened and the danger of a human individual
becoming painlessly submerged in poetic sentences--
have slowed down my writing, because in every
sentence I am afraid of losing my balance. This is
true of every literary effort, but especially in
this case, where the facts are so overwhelming
that there is hardly anything to think out.
...I then adopted a new approach--starting not with
facts but with the already available formulations,
the linguistic deposit of man's social experience.
......
And because I cannot fully capture her in any sentence,
I keep having to start from scratch and never arrive
at the usual sharp and clear bird's-eye view. (loc 305)
And then he continues to have difficulty:
She refuses to be isolated and remains
unfathomable; my sentences crash in the darkness
and lie scattered on the paper. (loc 322)
This is ultimately a difficult book to read in spite of its brevity. The narrator avoids all sentiment and virtually all emotion and lets the reader unearth these things within the stark facts of a life lived.
Recommended to those readers who want to share in this hard experience that is so well presented in a very challenging manner. This book was originally written in 1972 after his mother's suicide in 1971.
He talks of the family and community into which she was born.
For a woman to be born into such surroundings was in
itself deadly. But perhaps there was one comfort: no
need to worry about the future. The fortune-tellers at
our church fairs took a serious interest only in the palms
of the young men; a girl's future was a joke....The girls
in our town used to play a game based on the stations in
a woman's life: Tired/Exhausted/Sick/Dying/Dead. (loc 92)
His mother did break free for a time, escaping to learn to cook. Then came Hitler, the war, fierce changes, the defeat of the Axis powers; poverty and hardship in Europe dictate Handke's mother's life in Berlin and return to Austria in the post-war years.
The author does discuss his methodology also:
These two dangers--the danger of merely telling
what happened and the danger of a human individual
becoming painlessly submerged in poetic sentences--
have slowed down my writing, because in every
sentence I am afraid of losing my balance. This is
true of every literary effort, but especially in
this case, where the facts are so overwhelming
that there is hardly anything to think out.
...I then adopted a new approach--starting not with
facts but with the already available formulations,
the linguistic deposit of man's social experience.
......
And because I cannot fully capture her in any sentence,
I keep having to start from scratch and never arrive
at the usual sharp and clear bird's-eye view. (loc 305)
And then he continues to have difficulty:
She refuses to be isolated and remains
unfathomable; my sentences crash in the darkness
and lie scattered on the paper. (loc 322)
This is ultimately a difficult book to read in spite of its brevity. The narrator avoids all sentiment and virtually all emotion and lets the reader unearth these things within the stark facts of a life lived.
Recommended to those readers who want to share in this hard experience that is so well presented in a very challenging manner. This book was originally written in 1972 after his mother's suicide in 1971.
Read
August 25, 2024Writing, Barely Under Control
This is an astonishing book. I recommend getting an early-edition hardcover, because the dust flap has an affecting picture of Handke. He would have been thirty. He looks up with a helpless expression, his mouth slightly open. Bright lights reflect off his thick glasses. He has a sparse moustache and a Beatles haircut. He looks completely lost.
I don't think that photo is on the internet, but it's been painted (badly) for the cover of Three By Peter Handke, which you can see on this site.
Sorrow Beyond Dreams is about Handke's mother's suicide. As Maggie Nelson says when she recommends it in her own book The Red Parts, there's a window of time after a tragedy in which the pain can appear as writing. Write too soon, and the result will be opaque. Leave it too long, and it will be cold. Handke announces, sometimes succeeds, and repeatedly loses the sense of how his prose might work for a reader. By comparison The Red Parts, which has its own awareness of pain, is as clinical as In Cold Blood.
The first half of this book is about Handke's mother's family, beginning with her grandfather. It paints a picture of impoverished German Catholic life before and after the war. Poverty was "clean" (as opposed to "squalor," which was not common), orderly, and quiet (pp. 38-40).
"In this rural, Catholic environment, any suggestion that a woman might have a life of her own was a impertinence: disapproving looks, until shame, first acted out in fun, became real and frightened away the most elementary feelings. Even in joy, a 'woman's blush,' because joy was something to be ashamed of; in sadness, she turned red rather than pale and instead of bursting into tears broke out in sweat." [p. 20]
These often brilliant sociological observations are sometimes abstract or general, but then they veer back into the specific and personal. Some passages attribute attitudes to "people" (as in this quotation); others generalize ("no one had anything to say about himself," p. 33); some use the general or default masculine gender ("being a type relieved the human molecule of his humiliating loneliness," p. 26); others use the second-person pronoun ("this consolation... simply swallowed you up," p. 34): but from all these subject positions they fall, often suddenly, into Handke's mother's life:
"... You no longer had eyes for anything. 'Curiosity' ceased to be a human characteristic and became a womanish vice.
"But my mother was curious by nature and had no consoling fetishes..." [p. 34]
The sudden "my mother" produces a shock, because we've been invited to read "mother" in the "you" of the page leading up to this passage. It's as if the narrator's mind had wandered, for self-preservation, away from its subject. This veering between voices happens in Handke's other books, but then it appears as a poetic trope. Here it's evidence of the narrator's wounded sense of control.
These changes of register are parallel to the way that other family members slip in and out of the book. I'm not sure if a reader could reliably count how many siblings Handke had (it seems like three brothers and a sister), but the reason for that uncertainty is their wavering presence in the narrator's mind. Yet this isn't a narrative in which the son is close to the mother: sometimes the mother seems to be entirely by herself (p. 36), and there are only a few pages in which the son seems to be close to her.
About halfway through the book, a reader may begin to wonder when the sociological, religious, and economic observations will give way to the story of the mother's suicide. This starts to happen around p. 43.
On p. 49, the prose turns again, very suddenly. It is one of the most effective such moments I know in literature. This is the passage when everything sociological turns to everything psychological:
"And then the always identical objects all about her, in always the same places! She tried to be untidy, but her daily puttings-away had become too automatic. If only she could die! ... [p. 49]
Then the narrative moves away again, and the next page presents a list of physical symptoms the mother developed. It sounds at first as if Handke's mother died by suicide because she could not bear the symptoms of a neurological condition, but if that were to be true, why spend half the book desribing an ordinary unhappy life in a rural Catholic town? This question persists. On p. 55 she is diagnosed with a nervous breakdown, but it seems she may actually be suffering from dementia or Alzheimer's. The narrator doesn't decide the issue -- he doesn't even raise it -- and so the purpose of the book's first half remains unresolved.
There are also excellent passages on writing, in which the narrator pauses to assess what he is attempting to do. On p. 66, he says "It is not true that writing has helped me." A reader might expect that's because the writing isn't cathartic, or it opens more questions than it resolves, or it reopens wounds, or it fails to deepen undersanding -- but the reason writing hasn't helped is that the narrator still experiences night terrors. Terror is what writing is supposed to help: an amazing idea, which illuminates the relative calm of the first half of the book.
The world is full of memoirs and narratives of trauma, but I don't know any that try so hard to create suffering as writing.
Revised August 2024
This is an astonishing book. I recommend getting an early-edition hardcover, because the dust flap has an affecting picture of Handke. He would have been thirty. He looks up with a helpless expression, his mouth slightly open. Bright lights reflect off his thick glasses. He has a sparse moustache and a Beatles haircut. He looks completely lost.
I don't think that photo is on the internet, but it's been painted (badly) for the cover of Three By Peter Handke, which you can see on this site.
Sorrow Beyond Dreams is about Handke's mother's suicide. As Maggie Nelson says when she recommends it in her own book The Red Parts, there's a window of time after a tragedy in which the pain can appear as writing. Write too soon, and the result will be opaque. Leave it too long, and it will be cold. Handke announces, sometimes succeeds, and repeatedly loses the sense of how his prose might work for a reader. By comparison The Red Parts, which has its own awareness of pain, is as clinical as In Cold Blood.
The first half of this book is about Handke's mother's family, beginning with her grandfather. It paints a picture of impoverished German Catholic life before and after the war. Poverty was "clean" (as opposed to "squalor," which was not common), orderly, and quiet (pp. 38-40).
"In this rural, Catholic environment, any suggestion that a woman might have a life of her own was a impertinence: disapproving looks, until shame, first acted out in fun, became real and frightened away the most elementary feelings. Even in joy, a 'woman's blush,' because joy was something to be ashamed of; in sadness, she turned red rather than pale and instead of bursting into tears broke out in sweat." [p. 20]
These often brilliant sociological observations are sometimes abstract or general, but then they veer back into the specific and personal. Some passages attribute attitudes to "people" (as in this quotation); others generalize ("no one had anything to say about himself," p. 33); some use the general or default masculine gender ("being a type relieved the human molecule of his humiliating loneliness," p. 26); others use the second-person pronoun ("this consolation... simply swallowed you up," p. 34): but from all these subject positions they fall, often suddenly, into Handke's mother's life:
"... You no longer had eyes for anything. 'Curiosity' ceased to be a human characteristic and became a womanish vice.
"But my mother was curious by nature and had no consoling fetishes..." [p. 34]
The sudden "my mother" produces a shock, because we've been invited to read "mother" in the "you" of the page leading up to this passage. It's as if the narrator's mind had wandered, for self-preservation, away from its subject. This veering between voices happens in Handke's other books, but then it appears as a poetic trope. Here it's evidence of the narrator's wounded sense of control.
These changes of register are parallel to the way that other family members slip in and out of the book. I'm not sure if a reader could reliably count how many siblings Handke had (it seems like three brothers and a sister), but the reason for that uncertainty is their wavering presence in the narrator's mind. Yet this isn't a narrative in which the son is close to the mother: sometimes the mother seems to be entirely by herself (p. 36), and there are only a few pages in which the son seems to be close to her.
About halfway through the book, a reader may begin to wonder when the sociological, religious, and economic observations will give way to the story of the mother's suicide. This starts to happen around p. 43.
On p. 49, the prose turns again, very suddenly. It is one of the most effective such moments I know in literature. This is the passage when everything sociological turns to everything psychological:
"And then the always identical objects all about her, in always the same places! She tried to be untidy, but her daily puttings-away had become too automatic. If only she could die! ... [p. 49]
Then the narrative moves away again, and the next page presents a list of physical symptoms the mother developed. It sounds at first as if Handke's mother died by suicide because she could not bear the symptoms of a neurological condition, but if that were to be true, why spend half the book desribing an ordinary unhappy life in a rural Catholic town? This question persists. On p. 55 she is diagnosed with a nervous breakdown, but it seems she may actually be suffering from dementia or Alzheimer's. The narrator doesn't decide the issue -- he doesn't even raise it -- and so the purpose of the book's first half remains unresolved.
There are also excellent passages on writing, in which the narrator pauses to assess what he is attempting to do. On p. 66, he says "It is not true that writing has helped me." A reader might expect that's because the writing isn't cathartic, or it opens more questions than it resolves, or it reopens wounds, or it fails to deepen undersanding -- but the reason writing hasn't helped is that the narrator still experiences night terrors. Terror is what writing is supposed to help: an amazing idea, which illuminates the relative calm of the first half of the book.
The world is full of memoirs and narratives of trauma, but I don't know any that try so hard to create suffering as writing.
Revised August 2024
January 16, 2025
"脟ocuklu臒umdan an谋msad谋klar谋m: tuvaletten gelen garip h谋莽k谋r谋klar, s眉mk眉r眉rken 莽谋kan ses ve k谋zarm谋艧 g枚zleri annemin. Vard谋 annem; ya艧谋yordu; hi莽 ya艧am谋yordu."
Peter Handke'nin 51 ya艧谋nda intihar eden annesinin ard谋ndan yazd谋臒谋 bir t眉r a臒谋t Mutsuzlu臒a Doyum. 陌ki sava艧 aras谋nda do臒mu艧, ya艧amak nam谋na mecbur olduklar谋 d谋艧谋nda pek de bir 艧ey yapamam谋艧, hayat谋 pek de tadamam谋艧 bir kad谋n olan annesini biraz onurland谋rmak, biraz anlamak, biraz anlatmak i莽in yazd谋臒谋, son derece ki艧isel ve bir o kadar da ger莽ek bir kitap. 脟ok dokundu bana, okuyan pek 莽ok insana da benzer 艧ekilde dokundu臒unu / dokunaca臒谋n谋 tahmin ediyorum. Bamba艧ka bir 眉lkede ge莽se de hikaye, anlatt谋臒谋 hikaye bir ku艧a臒谋n t眉m kad谋nlar谋n谋n hikayesi asl谋nda. 脰nce babalar谋, sonra kocalar谋 taraf谋ndan mutsuzlu臒a mahkum edilmi艧, s眉rekli yetinmek zorunda b谋rak谋lm谋艧, ya艧amam谋艧 ancak hayatta kalm谋艧 kad谋nlar. Handke'nin annesi i艧te bir noktada hayatta da kalmamay谋 se莽mi艧, belki hayat谋 boyunca kendisi i莽in yapt谋臒谋 tek 艧ey bu olmu艧, ne ac谋kl谋.
艦uras谋n谋 da al谋nt谋lamak istiyorum: "(Hayat谋ndaki) iyi yanlar, genelde eksik kalan k枚t眉 yanlard谋: g眉r眉lt眉 yok, sorumluluk yok, yabanc谋lar i莽in i艧 yok, evden ve 莽ocuklardan her g眉n ayr谋lma derdi yok. Ger莽ek k枚t眉 yanlar, eksik olan k枚t眉 yanlar sayesinde kapat谋l谋yordu yani."
Ne tan谋d谋k. Bir avunma arac谋 olarak olmayan k枚t眉 艧eylere sar谋lma hali. Mutlulu臒u burada aramak, hayatta her 艧eyde oldu臒u gibi burada da bir t眉r tasarrufa ba艧vurmak zorunda kalmak. 脺stelik gen莽li臒inde kendini baba evinden atmay谋, kendine bir yol 莽izmeyi ba艧arm谋艧 da bir kad谋n bu anlat谋lan ama i艧te devam谋n谋 getirememi艧 - sava艧 gelmi艧, 莽ocuklar gelmi艧, kalakalm谋艧 枚yle.
Handke'nin k谋sa, kesik c眉mleleri, annesini olabildi臒ince ger莽ek, romantize etmeden ama hakk谋n谋 da vererek anlatma 莽abas谋 da insan ayr谋 dokunuyor. Zaman zaman kendi kendiyle konu艧tu臒u yerler bu 枚zel metni daha da dokunakl谋 k谋lm谋艧.
Bir 枚te d眉nya var m谋d谋r bilmiyorum ama varsa umar谋m oradan o臒lunun Nobel Edebiyat 脰d眉l眉'n眉 ald谋臒谋n谋 g枚rm眉艧t眉r Maria Handke. D眉nyada b谋rakt谋臒谋 izin hi莽 de az olmad谋臒谋n谋 bilsin istedim 莽眉nk眉, 莽ok istedim.
Peter Handke'nin 51 ya艧谋nda intihar eden annesinin ard谋ndan yazd谋臒谋 bir t眉r a臒谋t Mutsuzlu臒a Doyum. 陌ki sava艧 aras谋nda do臒mu艧, ya艧amak nam谋na mecbur olduklar谋 d谋艧谋nda pek de bir 艧ey yapamam谋艧, hayat谋 pek de tadamam谋艧 bir kad谋n olan annesini biraz onurland谋rmak, biraz anlamak, biraz anlatmak i莽in yazd谋臒谋, son derece ki艧isel ve bir o kadar da ger莽ek bir kitap. 脟ok dokundu bana, okuyan pek 莽ok insana da benzer 艧ekilde dokundu臒unu / dokunaca臒谋n谋 tahmin ediyorum. Bamba艧ka bir 眉lkede ge莽se de hikaye, anlatt谋臒谋 hikaye bir ku艧a臒谋n t眉m kad谋nlar谋n谋n hikayesi asl谋nda. 脰nce babalar谋, sonra kocalar谋 taraf谋ndan mutsuzlu臒a mahkum edilmi艧, s眉rekli yetinmek zorunda b谋rak谋lm谋艧, ya艧amam谋艧 ancak hayatta kalm谋艧 kad谋nlar. Handke'nin annesi i艧te bir noktada hayatta da kalmamay谋 se莽mi艧, belki hayat谋 boyunca kendisi i莽in yapt谋臒谋 tek 艧ey bu olmu艧, ne ac谋kl谋.
艦uras谋n谋 da al谋nt谋lamak istiyorum: "(Hayat谋ndaki) iyi yanlar, genelde eksik kalan k枚t眉 yanlard谋: g眉r眉lt眉 yok, sorumluluk yok, yabanc谋lar i莽in i艧 yok, evden ve 莽ocuklardan her g眉n ayr谋lma derdi yok. Ger莽ek k枚t眉 yanlar, eksik olan k枚t眉 yanlar sayesinde kapat谋l谋yordu yani."
Ne tan谋d谋k. Bir avunma arac谋 olarak olmayan k枚t眉 艧eylere sar谋lma hali. Mutlulu臒u burada aramak, hayatta her 艧eyde oldu臒u gibi burada da bir t眉r tasarrufa ba艧vurmak zorunda kalmak. 脺stelik gen莽li臒inde kendini baba evinden atmay谋, kendine bir yol 莽izmeyi ba艧arm谋艧 da bir kad谋n bu anlat谋lan ama i艧te devam谋n谋 getirememi艧 - sava艧 gelmi艧, 莽ocuklar gelmi艧, kalakalm谋艧 枚yle.
Handke'nin k谋sa, kesik c眉mleleri, annesini olabildi臒ince ger莽ek, romantize etmeden ama hakk谋n谋 da vererek anlatma 莽abas谋 da insan ayr谋 dokunuyor. Zaman zaman kendi kendiyle konu艧tu臒u yerler bu 枚zel metni daha da dokunakl谋 k谋lm谋艧.
Bir 枚te d眉nya var m谋d谋r bilmiyorum ama varsa umar谋m oradan o臒lunun Nobel Edebiyat 脰d眉l眉'n眉 ald谋臒谋n谋 g枚rm眉艧t眉r Maria Handke. D眉nyada b谋rakt谋臒谋 izin hi莽 de az olmad谋臒谋n谋 bilsin istedim 莽眉nk眉, 莽ok istedim.
October 25, 2023
U啪as praznine jeste (ili bi mogao biti) ose膰aj (ali kakav?!) gubitka (ali kakvog?!)?
Sa druge (sic!) strane, re膷 je o onom ose膰aju koji vodi ka spoznaji da je egzistencija proma拧ena, da ne mo啪e ni拧ta vi拧e da ti pru啪i, odnosno da je jedino re拧enje iz nje dostojanstveno istupiti. U tom smislu, pripoveda膷eva majka se (pro)nalazi u procepu izme膽u 膷eki膰a postojanja shva膰enog kao tegobe i praznine (li拧enosti, osuje膰enosti, alijenacije, samstvovanja,...) i nakovnja smrti shva膰ene kao u啪asa. U tome je (mo啪da?!) sr啪 njene "bez啪eljne nesre膰e". Za po膷etak, dakle, narativizuje se iskustvo: svoje, o odlasku majke; i tu膽e, o njenom 啪ivotu. Kojim god redom da se krenulo.
Sa prve strane, me膽utim, opstojava u啪as onoga koji je "blizu" i koga je napustio neko ko mu je blizak. Artikulacija mi拧ljenog i artikulacija ose膰ajnog i tada su neprekora膷ivi - 拧to bi trebalo da znamo iz vlastite perspektive - iako nas se, paradoksalno, samo smrt drugih i mo啪e ticati, kao 拧to 膰e se na拧a sopstvena ticati svih drugih, osim nas samih. Ba拧 zato se na prvim stranicama vizuelizuje ruka koja na pisa膰oj ma拧ini kucka samo po jednoj tipci ili autofikcionalno ja jasno izra啪ava stav da je situacija/ose膰aj u kome se nalazi nesaop拧tiva, budu膰i najdublje li膷na i posebna. U takvom vakuumu mo啪e se SAMO BITI i, na啪alost ili na sre膰u, ni拧ta vi拧e od toga.
听
Sa na拧e strane, stoga, nalazi se bli啪nji, ovde aktuelizovan kao pisac, (jer se narativ nesporno i pored svega mora 膷itati/ispisivati kao autobiografski zapis!) raspet izme膽u u啪asne potrebe za saop拧tavanjem i krajnje onemelosti pred prazninom. Svojevrstan hod po tankoj 啪ici. A pisac je, svakako, osve拧膰en - ponekad i metafikcionalno - o tome 拧ta proizvodi gubitak ravnote啪e听 ili (verovatno bolje re膷eno) osvrtanje unazad po svom gubitku. Da, delom bi ovde mogao biti utkan orfejski mit, i to kroz divljenja vredan poku拧aj da se odistinski rekreira tu膽a smrt/minuli 啪ivot drugog putem pisanog, premda je evidentno da su u pomo膰 prizvani dokumenti (novinski 膷lanak, fotografije, pisma i oporuku), nedovoljni. Kao da umetnina svake biografije ne poti膷e iz subjektivnosti biografa (ili bar ne samo odatle), ve膰i i u esencijalnoj nedostatnosti faktografskog. No,...
Ose膰aj/saznanje potom treba izneti na videlo, rasuti po praznini papira, a da se, pri tome, biografski narativ - jer Handkeovo minimafili膷no delo je zaista hrabro rvanje sa maj膷inim 啪ivotom uz istovremeno poniranje dalje niz sopstveni rodoslov - ne zatre u hladno膰i susprezane emotivnosti (beskompromisan je Handke i prema sebi i prema majci) i krutosti 膷injeni膷nog (拧to u sebi, skriva i brutalnost i banalnost) ili skr拧i kroz uvek mogu膰u patvorenost izra啪ajnog, onaj "knji啪evni ritual u kojem 啪ivot pojedinca dejstvuje jo拧 samo kao povod." Takav poduhvat prete啪ak je - bolje re膰i neostvariv ab ovo - pa i za Pisca renomea kakav ima Handke, ba拧 zato 拧to je neostvariv i za bilo kog drugog. A to je, neporecivo, "bez啪eljna nesre膰a" svakog istinskog umetnika ponaosob. U zjapu koji po膷iva izme膽u suvo(parno)g prepri膷avanja 膷injenica听 i bezbolnog utapanja gubitka u estetizaciji krije se veli膷anstveni pad umetnika, svesnog da ostaje zagrcnut u manjkavosti jezika i metoda, i da, najposle, mora da zastane. Jer, o onome o 膷emu ne mo啪e da se govori, valja da se (za)膰uti. Kako nas o tome, la啪u膰i sebe dok napu拧ta narativ, ironi膷no obave拧tava pisac: "Kasnije 膰u poku拧ati da se o tome ta膷nije izrazim." , da se, potom, ovoj problematici, koliko (mi) je poznato, nikada vi拧e ne vrati.
Shodno tome, kako god da je prevedena: "U啪as praznine" ili "Bez啪eljna nesre膰a", ovo je knjiga o bolnim iskustvima. Najbolnijim (za umetnika). O smrti najbli啪(nj)eg i o nemogu膰nosti da se tome pristupi - bez obzira na to koliko poku拧avali sami sebe da ugrebemo na papir - a naposletku i o nemogu膰nosti da se ikada bude zadovoljan(?!), i poku拧anim i postignutim. Prvo nas 膷ini ljudima, a ovo poslednje Piscem.
Sa druge (sic!) strane, re膷 je o onom ose膰aju koji vodi ka spoznaji da je egzistencija proma拧ena, da ne mo啪e ni拧ta vi拧e da ti pru啪i, odnosno da je jedino re拧enje iz nje dostojanstveno istupiti. U tom smislu, pripoveda膷eva majka se (pro)nalazi u procepu izme膽u 膷eki膰a postojanja shva膰enog kao tegobe i praznine (li拧enosti, osuje膰enosti, alijenacije, samstvovanja,...) i nakovnja smrti shva膰ene kao u啪asa. U tome je (mo啪da?!) sr啪 njene "bez啪eljne nesre膰e". Za po膷etak, dakle, narativizuje se iskustvo: svoje, o odlasku majke; i tu膽e, o njenom 啪ivotu. Kojim god redom da se krenulo.
Sa prve strane, me膽utim, opstojava u啪as onoga koji je "blizu" i koga je napustio neko ko mu je blizak. Artikulacija mi拧ljenog i artikulacija ose膰ajnog i tada su neprekora膷ivi - 拧to bi trebalo da znamo iz vlastite perspektive - iako nas se, paradoksalno, samo smrt drugih i mo啪e ticati, kao 拧to 膰e se na拧a sopstvena ticati svih drugih, osim nas samih. Ba拧 zato se na prvim stranicama vizuelizuje ruka koja na pisa膰oj ma拧ini kucka samo po jednoj tipci ili autofikcionalno ja jasno izra啪ava stav da je situacija/ose膰aj u kome se nalazi nesaop拧tiva, budu膰i najdublje li膷na i posebna. U takvom vakuumu mo啪e se SAMO BITI i, na啪alost ili na sre膰u, ni拧ta vi拧e od toga.
听
Sa na拧e strane, stoga, nalazi se bli啪nji, ovde aktuelizovan kao pisac, (jer se narativ nesporno i pored svega mora 膷itati/ispisivati kao autobiografski zapis!) raspet izme膽u u啪asne potrebe za saop拧tavanjem i krajnje onemelosti pred prazninom. Svojevrstan hod po tankoj 啪ici. A pisac je, svakako, osve拧膰en - ponekad i metafikcionalno - o tome 拧ta proizvodi gubitak ravnote啪e听 ili (verovatno bolje re膷eno) osvrtanje unazad po svom gubitku. Da, delom bi ovde mogao biti utkan orfejski mit, i to kroz divljenja vredan poku拧aj da se odistinski rekreira tu膽a smrt/minuli 啪ivot drugog putem pisanog, premda je evidentno da su u pomo膰 prizvani dokumenti (novinski 膷lanak, fotografije, pisma i oporuku), nedovoljni. Kao da umetnina svake biografije ne poti膷e iz subjektivnosti biografa (ili bar ne samo odatle), ve膰i i u esencijalnoj nedostatnosti faktografskog. No,...
Ose膰aj/saznanje potom treba izneti na videlo, rasuti po praznini papira, a da se, pri tome, biografski narativ - jer Handkeovo minimafili膷no delo je zaista hrabro rvanje sa maj膷inim 啪ivotom uz istovremeno poniranje dalje niz sopstveni rodoslov - ne zatre u hladno膰i susprezane emotivnosti (beskompromisan je Handke i prema sebi i prema majci) i krutosti 膷injeni膷nog (拧to u sebi, skriva i brutalnost i banalnost) ili skr拧i kroz uvek mogu膰u patvorenost izra啪ajnog, onaj "knji啪evni ritual u kojem 啪ivot pojedinca dejstvuje jo拧 samo kao povod." Takav poduhvat prete啪ak je - bolje re膰i neostvariv ab ovo - pa i za Pisca renomea kakav ima Handke, ba拧 zato 拧to je neostvariv i za bilo kog drugog. A to je, neporecivo, "bez啪eljna nesre膰a" svakog istinskog umetnika ponaosob. U zjapu koji po膷iva izme膽u suvo(parno)g prepri膷avanja 膷injenica听 i bezbolnog utapanja gubitka u estetizaciji krije se veli膷anstveni pad umetnika, svesnog da ostaje zagrcnut u manjkavosti jezika i metoda, i da, najposle, mora da zastane. Jer, o onome o 膷emu ne mo啪e da se govori, valja da se (za)膰uti. Kako nas o tome, la啪u膰i sebe dok napu拧ta narativ, ironi膷no obave拧tava pisac: "Kasnije 膰u poku拧ati da se o tome ta膷nije izrazim." , da se, potom, ovoj problematici, koliko (mi) je poznato, nikada vi拧e ne vrati.
Shodno tome, kako god da je prevedena: "U啪as praznine" ili "Bez啪eljna nesre膰a", ovo je knjiga o bolnim iskustvima. Najbolnijim (za umetnika). O smrti najbli啪(nj)eg i o nemogu膰nosti da se tome pristupi - bez obzira na to koliko poku拧avali sami sebe da ugrebemo na papir - a naposletku i o nemogu膰nosti da se ikada bude zadovoljan(?!), i poku拧anim i postignutim. Prvo nas 膷ini ljudima, a ovo poslednje Piscem.
September 11, 2016
Barely remembered reading this in 1996, back when I read everything Handke had published. Read a yellowed mass market paperback with a cartoon image of the author on the cover (). Reread the novella in this snazzy < 75 pg. standalone edition -- for what felt like the first time really -- because Knausgaard recently mentioned it as a major influence. This straightforward yet essentially scene-less "life story" about Handke's mother's suicide gave Knausgaard a blueprint for how to write about his father's slow suicide by alcohol. ("My painful memory of her daily motions, especially in the kitchen.") Otherwise, I love Handke's prose and unpredictable movement. Loved the dissolution at the end into a string of memories, observations, quotations, statements as in (an all-time favorite). He mentions going slowly so he doesn't lose his balance and maybe that's what I love about the prose and approach -- it tightropes across a crack in the cement, with the sense that if he missteps what seems solid beneath his feet will give out and reveal itself as a long way down through empty air. Like growing up after WWII in Austria, his mother's slow dissolution and suicide is internalized, it's something that he is, his being, an inheritance that doesn't express itself as a hyberbolic lie. Also great stuff early on about poverty, National Socialism, penny-pinching, restraint, true love, the walls closing in a little by little, more and more, over time. All of which might sound like dire reading, but it's really an "enjoyable" quick read. "Someday I shall write about all this in greater detail."
April 10, 2024
4,5猸愶笍
Toller Stil und Sprache: verknappt, pr盲zise, n眉chtern, distanziert mit Br眉chen. Er erzeugt eine hohe Dichte, die 眉ber kurze Abs盲tze, gro脽e Zeitr盲ume fasst.
Details, Alltagsbanalit盲ten ziehen mitten rein und emotionalisieren die Situation.
Sein Stil transportiert die Ambivalenz menschlicher Beziehungen auf spannungsgeladene Weise- objektiviert, analytisch und dennoch nah, ber眉hrend.
Symbolik und Metaphorik stehen nur durch ein speziell gew盲hltes Wort im Raum und setzen die Gedankenspirale in Gang.
Gegen Ende verliert er ein wenig die Konzentration. Es f盲llt ihm selber auf.
Handke ist einer der zeigt, mit wie wenig Beiwerk literarische R盲ume ge枚ffnet werden k枚nnen, wenn man sein Handwerk versteht.
Toller Stil und Sprache: verknappt, pr盲zise, n眉chtern, distanziert mit Br眉chen. Er erzeugt eine hohe Dichte, die 眉ber kurze Abs盲tze, gro脽e Zeitr盲ume fasst.
Details, Alltagsbanalit盲ten ziehen mitten rein und emotionalisieren die Situation.
Sein Stil transportiert die Ambivalenz menschlicher Beziehungen auf spannungsgeladene Weise- objektiviert, analytisch und dennoch nah, ber眉hrend.
Symbolik und Metaphorik stehen nur durch ein speziell gew盲hltes Wort im Raum und setzen die Gedankenspirale in Gang.
Gegen Ende verliert er ein wenig die Konzentration. Es f盲llt ihm selber auf.
Handke ist einer der zeigt, mit wie wenig Beiwerk literarische R盲ume ge枚ffnet werden k枚nnen, wenn man sein Handwerk versteht.
October 17, 2023
Peter Handke 唳曕 唳Σ唳� 唳灌Ο唳� 唳︵唳唳む唳 唳唳多唳� 唳唳︵唳о唳� 唳Π 唳膏Μ唳氞唳唰� 唳唳班Ν唳距Μ唳多唳侧 唳囙唳班唳唳唳距Θ 唳侧唳栢啷� 唳膏唳灌唳む唳 ' 唳唳粪唳椸Δ 唳︵唰嵿Ψ唳む唳� 唳膏唳ム 唳唳ㄠ唳粪唳� 唳呧Ν唳苦唰嵿唳む唳� 唳Π唳苦Η唳� 唳� 唳膏唳ㄠ唳班唳︵唳粪唳熰Δ唳� 唳呧Θ唰嵿Μ唰囙Ψ唳� ' 唳忇Π 唳溹Θ唰嵿Ο 唳む唳佮唰� 唰ㄠЕ唰оН 唳膏唳侧 唳ㄠ唳唳� 唳唳班Ω唰嵿唳距Π 唳︵唳撪Ο唳监 唳灌Ο唳监イ 唳Ζ唳苦 唳忇Δ唰� 唳栢唳� 唳嗋Κ唳む唳む唳� 唳膏唳粪唳熰 唳灌Ο唳监唳涏唳侧 唳む唳佮Π 唳班唳溹Θ唰堗Δ唳苦 唳唰嵿Δ唳唳� 唳嗋Π 唳曕Π唰嵿Ξ唳曕唳｀唳∴唳� 唳溹Θ唰嵿Ο啷� 唳忇Ω唳� 唳曕唳灌唳ㄠ 唳唳灌唳む 唳溹唳ㄠ唳ㄠ, 唳む唳む 唳唳ム 唳樴唳唳氞唳涏唳ㄠ啷� 唳むΜ唰� 唳忇唳� 唳犩唳曕 唳Σ唳む 唳灌Μ唰� 唳 唳唳熰唳� 唳膏唳灌唳唳� 唳椸Ζ唰嵿Ο 唳 唳侧唳栢Θ唳多唳侧 唳Θ唰� 唳唳� 唳氞唳� 唳膏唳粪唳熰 唳曕Π唳唳� 唳Δ唰�, 唳呧Θ唰嵿Δ唳� 唳む唳佮Π 唳膏Μ唳氞唳唰� 唳唳栢唳唳� 唳唳熰唳� 唳曕唳粪唳む唳班 唳む 唳膏Δ唰嵿Ο啷� 唳ㄠ唳� 唳溹Θ唳ㄠ唳� 唳嗋Δ唰嵿Ξ唳灌Δ唰嵿Ο唳距Π 唳Π 唳忇 唳嗋Δ唰嵿Ξ唳溹唳Θ唰€唳唳侧 唳夃Κ唳ㄠ唳唳膏唳距Θ唳� 唳む唳ㄠ 唳侧唳栢唳ㄠイ 唳唳熰唳� 唳膏唳灌唳唳� 唳ㄠ唳溹唳� 唳嗋Δ唰嵿Ξ唳溹唳Θ唰€ 唳ㄠ 唳犩唳�,唳唳熰 唳む唳佮Π 唳唳唰囙Π 唳溹唳Θ 唳ㄠ唳唰� 唳侧唳栢啷� 唳︵唳唳む唳 唳唳多唳Ο唰佮Ζ唰嵿Η唰囙Π 唳膏Ξ唳唳曕唳侧 唳溹唳班唳唳ㄠ唳� 唳曕唳� 唳忇 唳椸Γ唰嵿Α唳椸唳班唳 唳溹Θ唰嵿Ξ 唳ㄠ唳撪Ο唳监 唳忇唳溹Θ 唳ㄠ唳班唳� 唳椸Σ唰嵿Κ啷む唳唳む 唳む唳Θ 唳樴唳ㄠ唳唰佮Σ 唳唳多唳粪唳熰Δ唳� 唳膏唳� 唳ㄠ唳班唳� 唳溹唳Θ唰囙Π 唳ㄠ唳� 唳曕唳ㄠ唳む 唳曕唳� 唳樴唳ㄠ 唳涏唳∴唳� 唳曕 唳忇唳溹Θ 唳ㄠ唳班 唳樴唳唳� 唳斷Ψ唳� 唳椸唳侧 唳Π唰� 唳Α唳监 唳ム唳曕?
唳唳熰 唳唳� 唳∴唳唳班唳膏唳� 唳嗋Π 唳呧Ζ唰嵿Ν唰佮Δ 唳ㄠ唳班唳膏唰嵿Δ 唳唳粪唳 唳侧唳栢啷� 唳唳熰唳� 唳多唳� 唳唳唳班唳椸唳班唳唳� 唳灌Σ唰�-
"Horror is something perfectly natural: the mind鈥檚 emptiness. A thought is taking shape, then suddenly it notices that there is nothing more to think. Whereupon it crashes to the ground like a figure in a comic strip who suddenly realizes that he has been walking on air.
Someday I shall write about all this in greater detail."
唳む唳ㄠ 唳Π唰� 唳侧唳栢唳涏唳� 唳曕唳ㄠ 唳溹唳ㄠ唳ㄠ, 唳溹唳ㄠ唳� 唳溹Θ唰嵿Ο 唳灌Ο唳监Δ唰� 唳夃Θ唳距Π 唳嗋Π唰� 唳 唳Α唳监Δ唰� 唳唳班啷�
唳唳熰 唳唳� 唳∴唳唳班唳膏唳� 唳嗋Π 唳呧Ζ唰嵿Ν唰佮Δ 唳ㄠ唳班唳膏唰嵿Δ 唳唳粪唳 唳侧唳栢啷� 唳唳熰唳� 唳多唳� 唳唳唳班唳椸唳班唳唳� 唳灌Σ唰�-
"Horror is something perfectly natural: the mind鈥檚 emptiness. A thought is taking shape, then suddenly it notices that there is nothing more to think. Whereupon it crashes to the ground like a figure in a comic strip who suddenly realizes that he has been walking on air.
Someday I shall write about all this in greater detail."
唳む唳ㄠ 唳Π唰� 唳侧唳栢唳涏唳� 唳曕唳ㄠ 唳溹唳ㄠ唳ㄠ, 唳溹唳ㄠ唳� 唳溹Θ唰嵿Ο 唳灌Ο唳监Δ唰� 唳夃Θ唳距Π 唳嗋Π唰� 唳 唳Α唳监Δ唰� 唳唳班啷�
May 21, 2016
毓賲賱 兀丿亘賷 廿賳爻丕賳賷 賲禺鬲賱賮貙 賴丕丿卅貙 乇睾賲 賲兀爻丕賵賷丞 丨丕丿孬丞 丕賳鬲丨丕乇 賵丕賱丿丞 丕賱賰丕鬲亘 丕賱鬲賷 毓卮賳丕 賲毓賴丕 賮賷 丕賱毓賲賱 賲禺鬲賱賮 鬲賯賱亘丕鬲 丨賷丕鬲賴丕 賲賳匕 賵賱丕丿鬲賴丕 廿賱賶 乇丨賷賱賴丕 毓賳 丕賱丨賷丕丞.
丕賱毓賲賱 賮賷 亘毓囟 兀噩夭丕卅賴 賲賰鬲賵亘 亘賱睾丞 亘爻賷胤丞貙 賵賮賷 兀噩夭丕亍 兀禺乇賶 亘賱睾丞 毓賲賷賯丞.
丕賱鬲乇噩賲丞 噩賲賷賱丞 噩丿丕賸.. 賵賴匕丕 丕賱毓賲賱 賴賵 丕賱孬丕賳賷 丕賱匕賷 兀賯乇兀賴 賱賱賲丐賱賮貙 賵爻兀毓賲賱 毓賱賶 賯乇丕亍丞 亘賯賷丞 兀毓賲丕賱賴 丕賱賲鬲乇噩賲丞 賱賱毓乇亘賷丞.
亘卮賰賱 毓丕賲貙 賴匕丕 丕賱賰鬲丕亘 賷爻鬲丨賯 丕賱賯乇丕亍丞
丕賱毓賲賱 賮賷 亘毓囟 兀噩夭丕卅賴 賲賰鬲賵亘 亘賱睾丞 亘爻賷胤丞貙 賵賮賷 兀噩夭丕亍 兀禺乇賶 亘賱睾丞 毓賲賷賯丞.
丕賱鬲乇噩賲丞 噩賲賷賱丞 噩丿丕賸.. 賵賴匕丕 丕賱毓賲賱 賴賵 丕賱孬丕賳賷 丕賱匕賷 兀賯乇兀賴 賱賱賲丐賱賮貙 賵爻兀毓賲賱 毓賱賶 賯乇丕亍丞 亘賯賷丞 兀毓賲丕賱賴 丕賱賲鬲乇噩賲丞 賱賱毓乇亘賷丞.
亘卮賰賱 毓丕賲貙 賴匕丕 丕賱賰鬲丕亘 賷爻鬲丨賯 丕賱賯乇丕亍丞
November 14, 2019
袨胁邪褬 泻褉邪褌泻懈 褉芯屑邪薪/薪芯胁械谢邪 褬械 蟹邪锌褉邪胁芯 啸邪薪写泻械芯胁 锌芯谢褍-邪褍褌芯斜懈芯谐褉邪褎褋泻懈 蟹邪锌懈褋 芯 褋邪屑芯褍斜懈褋褌胁褍 屑邪褬泻械 懈 褮械薪芯屑 卸懈胁芯褌褍.
啸邪薪写泻械 褬械 褕泻褉褌 薪邪 褉械褔懈屑邪 懈 薪邪 芯锌懈褋懈屑邪. 袞懈胁芯褌 屑邪褬泻械 褋械 芯锌懈褋褍褬械 褏谢邪写薪芯泻褉胁薪芯, 褎邪泻褌芯谐褉邪褎褋泻懈, 谐芯褌芯胁芯 斜械蟹 懈泻邪泻胁械 械屑芯褑懈褬械 泻芯褬邪 斜懈 褌芯 芯斜芯褬懈谢邪 (褋胁械 胁褉械屑械 屑懈 褬械 褍 谐谢邪胁懈 斜懈芯 锌芯褔械褌邪泻 小褌褉邪薪褑邪 褋邪 褋胁芯褬芯屑 褔褍胁械薪芯屑 褍胁芯写薪芯屑 褉械褔械薪懈褑芯屑). 孝邪 褕泻褉褌芯褋褌 懈蟹褉邪蟹邪 蟹邪锌褉邪胁芯 胁褉谢芯 写芯斜褉芯 褋褌胁邪褉邪 邪褌屑芯褋褎械褉褍 褌械褋泻芯斜械 懈 褋懈胁懈谢邪, 褍卸邪褋薪械 锌褉邪蟹薪懈薪械 泻芯褬芯屑 褬械 褮械薪邪 械谐蟹懈褋褌械薪褑懈褬邪 斜懈谢邪 芯斜芯褬械薪邪. 校 锌芯蟹邪写懈薪懈 褋械 薪邪褋谢褍褯褍褬褍 懈 懈褋褌芯褉懈褬褋泻邪 锌褉械胁懈褉邪褮邪, 褋锌芯屑懈褮褍 褋械 褋邪屑芯 褍 褬械写薪芯褬-写胁械 褉械褔懈 懈谢懈 褉械褔械薪懈褑懈, 褕褌芯 褬械 褌邪泻芯褣械 褋邪褋胁懈屑 写芯胁芯褭薪芯 写邪 褋械 锌褉械写 褋芯斜芯屑 懈屑邪 褋谢懈泻邪 褔懈褌邪胁芯谐 褌芯谐 写芯斜邪. 袠锌邪泻, 薪械 屑芯谐褍 褋械 芯褌械褌懈 褍褌懈褋泻褍 写邪 褬械 写械谢芯 屑芯谐谢芯 斜懈褌懈 写褍卸械, 屑邪写邪 褬械 懈 芯胁邪泻芯 褉械褔 芯 褋褬邪褬薪芯褬 薪芯胁械谢懈. 袧邪 泻褉邪褬褍, 4,5*.
啸邪薪写泻械 褬械 褕泻褉褌 薪邪 褉械褔懈屑邪 懈 薪邪 芯锌懈褋懈屑邪. 袞懈胁芯褌 屑邪褬泻械 褋械 芯锌懈褋褍褬械 褏谢邪写薪芯泻褉胁薪芯, 褎邪泻褌芯谐褉邪褎褋泻懈, 谐芯褌芯胁芯 斜械蟹 懈泻邪泻胁械 械屑芯褑懈褬械 泻芯褬邪 斜懈 褌芯 芯斜芯褬懈谢邪 (褋胁械 胁褉械屑械 屑懈 褬械 褍 谐谢邪胁懈 斜懈芯 锌芯褔械褌邪泻 小褌褉邪薪褑邪 褋邪 褋胁芯褬芯屑 褔褍胁械薪芯屑 褍胁芯写薪芯屑 褉械褔械薪懈褑芯屑). 孝邪 褕泻褉褌芯褋褌 懈蟹褉邪蟹邪 蟹邪锌褉邪胁芯 胁褉谢芯 写芯斜褉芯 褋褌胁邪褉邪 邪褌屑芯褋褎械褉褍 褌械褋泻芯斜械 懈 褋懈胁懈谢邪, 褍卸邪褋薪械 锌褉邪蟹薪懈薪械 泻芯褬芯屑 褬械 褮械薪邪 械谐蟹懈褋褌械薪褑懈褬邪 斜懈谢邪 芯斜芯褬械薪邪. 校 锌芯蟹邪写懈薪懈 褋械 薪邪褋谢褍褯褍褬褍 懈 懈褋褌芯褉懈褬褋泻邪 锌褉械胁懈褉邪褮邪, 褋锌芯屑懈褮褍 褋械 褋邪屑芯 褍 褬械写薪芯褬-写胁械 褉械褔懈 懈谢懈 褉械褔械薪懈褑懈, 褕褌芯 褬械 褌邪泻芯褣械 褋邪褋胁懈屑 写芯胁芯褭薪芯 写邪 褋械 锌褉械写 褋芯斜芯屑 懈屑邪 褋谢懈泻邪 褔懈褌邪胁芯谐 褌芯谐 写芯斜邪. 袠锌邪泻, 薪械 屑芯谐褍 褋械 芯褌械褌懈 褍褌懈褋泻褍 写邪 褬械 写械谢芯 屑芯谐谢芯 斜懈褌懈 写褍卸械, 屑邪写邪 褬械 懈 芯胁邪泻芯 褉械褔 芯 褋褬邪褬薪芯褬 薪芯胁械谢懈. 袧邪 泻褉邪褬褍, 4,5*.
January 26, 2021
Bez naro膷itog povoda 鈥� osim podsvesne 啪elje da ostanem 拧to dalje od sve one pompe 鈥� ne pro膷itav拧i ni retka pro i conta, Handkea sam ocenila verovatno dosadnim tipom, verovatno vi拧e zainteresovanim za neki 拧tatijaznam aktivizam nego za knji啪evnost. Stotinak strana je malo za neki 膷vr拧膰i stav, no, ovakvih stotinak strana je vi拧e nego dovoljno za priznanje da mi je procena bila veoma lo拧a.
Ovo 拧to je hteo da uradi se radi ba拧 ovako: ni slova gore, ni slova dole.
Ovo 拧to je hteo da uradi se radi ba拧 ovako: ni slova gore, ni slova dole.
July 13, 2021
趩賯丿乇 禺賵亘賴 賯亘賱 賲乇丿賳 亘乇丕蹖 讴爻丕賳蹖 讴賴 丿賵爻鬲卮丕賳 丿丕乇蹖賲貙 賳丕賲賴 亘賳賵蹖爻蹖賲...
丿乇 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丕夭 夭賳蹖 禺賵丕賳丿賲 讴賴 賳丕趩丕乇 亘賵丿 賯賵蹖 亘丕卮丿 賵 丨爻 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 丕夭 倬丕 丿乇 丌賵乇丿卮.
蹖賴 噩丕蹖蹖 丿乇 賵氐賮 卮賵賴乇卮 诏賮鬲賴: "卮賵賴乇賲 倬賳噩 乇賵夭 丕蹖賳噩丕 亘賵丿 賵 賲丕 賴蹖趩 丨乇賮蹖 賳丿丕卮鬲蹖賲 亘賴 賴賲 亘夭賳蹖賲. 賵賯鬲蹖 爻乇 氐丨亘鬲 乇丕 亘丕夭 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁呚� 賳賲蹖鈥屬佡囐呚� 賲賳馗賵乇賲 趩蹖爻鬲 賵 亘毓丿卮 丿蹖诏乇 鬲乇噩蹖丨 賲蹖鈥屫囐� 趩蹖夭蹖 賳诏賵蹖賲." 禺蹖賱蹖 丕蹖賳 丨丕賱 睾賲鈥屫з嗂屫操� 馃様
丿丕爻鬲丕賳蹖 禺賵亘貙 亘丕 鬲乇噩賲賴鈥屫й� 亘丿!
蹖賴 噩丕賴丕蹖蹖 丕氐賱丕 噩賲賱賴鈥屫ㄙ嗀� 賴丕 乇賵 丿乇讴 賳賲蹖讴乇丿賲...
丿乇 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丕夭 夭賳蹖 禺賵丕賳丿賲 讴賴 賳丕趩丕乇 亘賵丿 賯賵蹖 亘丕卮丿 賵 丨爻 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 丕夭 倬丕 丿乇 丌賵乇丿卮.
蹖賴 噩丕蹖蹖 丿乇 賵氐賮 卮賵賴乇卮 诏賮鬲賴: "卮賵賴乇賲 倬賳噩 乇賵夭 丕蹖賳噩丕 亘賵丿 賵 賲丕 賴蹖趩 丨乇賮蹖 賳丿丕卮鬲蹖賲 亘賴 賴賲 亘夭賳蹖賲. 賵賯鬲蹖 爻乇 氐丨亘鬲 乇丕 亘丕夭 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁呚� 賳賲蹖鈥屬佡囐呚� 賲賳馗賵乇賲 趩蹖爻鬲 賵 亘毓丿卮 丿蹖诏乇 鬲乇噩蹖丨 賲蹖鈥屫囐� 趩蹖夭蹖 賳诏賵蹖賲." 禺蹖賱蹖 丕蹖賳 丨丕賱 睾賲鈥屫з嗂屫操� 馃様
丿丕爻鬲丕賳蹖 禺賵亘貙 亘丕 鬲乇噩賲賴鈥屫й� 亘丿!
蹖賴 噩丕賴丕蹖蹖 丕氐賱丕 噩賲賱賴鈥屫ㄙ嗀� 賴丕 乇賵 丿乇讴 賳賲蹖讴乇丿賲...
April 9, 2022
乇賵丕蹖鬲 賴丕賳丿讴賴 丕夭 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲丕丿乇卮貨
亘丕 賱丨賳蹖 鬲賱禺貙 毓亘賵爻 賵 爻乇丿. 亘丕 賮丕氐賱賴鈥屭柏ж臂� 毓丕賲丿丕賳賴 鬲丕 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴 乇丕 亘賴 卮禺氐蹖鬲 賲丕丿乇 诏丕賴蹖 賳夭丿蹖讴 賵 诏丕賴蹖 丿賵乇 讴賳丿貙 鬲丕 鬲氐賵蹖乇蹖 讴丕賲賱 丕夭 趩賴乇賴 賲丕丿乇 爻丕禺鬲賴 賳卮賵丿貙 鬲丕 賲乇賴賲蹖 亘乇丕蹖 夭禺賲 毓賲蹖賯 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘丕卮丿 賴乇 趩賳丿 讴賴 丕蹖賳 丌禺乇蹖 亘賴 夭毓賲 禺賵丿 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘丕 賳賵卮鬲賳 賲丨賯賯 賳卮丿.
鬲乇噩賲賴 讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 亘毓囟蹖 賯爻賲鬲鈥屬囏� 亘賴 卮讴賱 賵丕囟丨蹖 丕蹖乇丕丿 丿丕乇丿 賵 毓亘丕乇丕鬲 賵 噩賲賱丕鬲 诏賳诏 賵 賳丕賲賮賴賵賲 丕爻鬲 賵 賱匕鬲 禺賵丕賳丿賳 丕孬乇 乇丕 讴賲 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�.
丕夭 讴鬲丕亘貙 噩賲賱丕鬲 賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮鈥屬囏й� 夭蹖丕丿 賵 丿乇禺卮丕賳蹖 亘乇丿丕卮鬲賲 丕賲丕 丕蹖賳 蹖讴蹖 乇丕 丕夭 賴賲賴 亘蹖卮鬲乇 丿賵爻鬲 丿丕卮鬲賲.
"丕蹖賳 丨賯蹖賯鬲 賳丿丕乇丿 讴賴 賳賵卮鬲賳 賮丕蹖丿賴鈥屫й� 亘乇丕蹖賲 丿乇 亘乇 丿丕卮鬲. 丿乇 丌賳 賴賮鬲賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 亘賴 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 倬乇丿丕禺鬲賲貙 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 賴賲 丿爻鬲 賳賲蹖鈥屭┴篡屫� 丕夭 倬乇丿丕禺鬲賳 亘賴 賲賳. 賳賵卮鬲賳 丌賳鈥屭堎嗁� 讴賴 丿乇 丌睾丕夭 亘丕賵乇 丿丕卮鬲賲貙 禺丕胤乇賴鈥屫й� 賳亘賵丿 丕夭 賲乇丨賱賴鈥屫й� 亘賴鈥屬矩й屫з嗏€屫必驰屫� 丕夭 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屫з� 亘賱讴賴 賮賯胤 诏乇鬲賴 賲丿丕賵賲蹖 亘賵丿 丕夭 禺丕胤乇賴 亘賴 卮讴賱 噩賲賱賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 賲丿毓蹖 丿賵乇 卮丿賳 丕夭 賲賳 亘賵丿賳丿. 賴賳賵夭 賴賲 卮亘鈥屬囏� 蹖讴鈥屬呚必ㄙ� 亘蹖丿丕乇 賲蹖鈥屫促堎呚� 诏賵蹖蹖 鬲賱賳诏乇蹖 丌乇丕賲 丿乇 丿乇賵賳 丕夭 禺賵丕亘賲 賲蹖鈥屬矩必з嗀� 賵 賲蹖鈥屫ㄛ屬嗁� 讴賴 趩诏賵賳賴 亘丕 賳賮爻蹖 賳诏賴鈥屫ж簇団€屫簇� 丕夭 賮乇胤 丿賴卮鬲貙 孬丕賳蹖賴 亘賴 孬丕賳蹖賴 噩丕賳 賵 丿賱賲 賲蹖鈥屬举堌池�. 賴賵丕 丿乇 鬲丕乇蹖讴蹖 丌賳趩賳丕賳 亘蹖鈥屫壁┴� 賲蹖鈥屫й屫池� 讴賴 丿乇 趩卮賲 賲賳 鬲賲丕賲 丕卮蹖丕 鬲毓丕丿賱卮丕賳 乇丕 丕夭 丿爻鬲 賲蹖鈥屫囐嗀� 賵 亘賴 賳馗乇 賲蹖鈥屫必池� 讴賳丿賴 卮丿賴鈥屫з嗀�. 丕卮蹖丕 亘丿賵賳 賴蹖趩 诏乇丕賳蹖诏丕賴蹖 亘蹖鈥屫地� 丕賳丿讴蹖 賲蹖鈥屭嗀必嗀� 賵 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲 亘賱丕賮丕氐賱賴 丕夭 賴賲賴 噩丕 爻賯賵胤 賵 禺賮賴鈥屫з� 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁嗀�."
氐賮丨賴 鄯鄣 賵 鄯鄱
亘丕 賱丨賳蹖 鬲賱禺貙 毓亘賵爻 賵 爻乇丿. 亘丕 賮丕氐賱賴鈥屭柏ж臂� 毓丕賲丿丕賳賴 鬲丕 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴 乇丕 亘賴 卮禺氐蹖鬲 賲丕丿乇 诏丕賴蹖 賳夭丿蹖讴 賵 诏丕賴蹖 丿賵乇 讴賳丿貙 鬲丕 鬲氐賵蹖乇蹖 讴丕賲賱 丕夭 趩賴乇賴 賲丕丿乇 爻丕禺鬲賴 賳卮賵丿貙 鬲丕 賲乇賴賲蹖 亘乇丕蹖 夭禺賲 毓賲蹖賯 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘丕卮丿 賴乇 趩賳丿 讴賴 丕蹖賳 丌禺乇蹖 亘賴 夭毓賲 禺賵丿 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘丕 賳賵卮鬲賳 賲丨賯賯 賳卮丿.
鬲乇噩賲賴 讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 亘毓囟蹖 賯爻賲鬲鈥屬囏� 亘賴 卮讴賱 賵丕囟丨蹖 丕蹖乇丕丿 丿丕乇丿 賵 毓亘丕乇丕鬲 賵 噩賲賱丕鬲 诏賳诏 賵 賳丕賲賮賴賵賲 丕爻鬲 賵 賱匕鬲 禺賵丕賳丿賳 丕孬乇 乇丕 讴賲 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�.
丕夭 讴鬲丕亘貙 噩賲賱丕鬲 賵 倬丕乇丕诏乇丕賮鈥屬囏й� 夭蹖丕丿 賵 丿乇禺卮丕賳蹖 亘乇丿丕卮鬲賲 丕賲丕 丕蹖賳 蹖讴蹖 乇丕 丕夭 賴賲賴 亘蹖卮鬲乇 丿賵爻鬲 丿丕卮鬲賲.
"丕蹖賳 丨賯蹖賯鬲 賳丿丕乇丿 讴賴 賳賵卮鬲賳 賮丕蹖丿賴鈥屫й� 亘乇丕蹖賲 丿乇 亘乇 丿丕卮鬲. 丿乇 丌賳 賴賮鬲賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 亘賴 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 倬乇丿丕禺鬲賲貙 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 賴賲 丿爻鬲 賳賲蹖鈥屭┴篡屫� 丕夭 倬乇丿丕禺鬲賳 亘賴 賲賳. 賳賵卮鬲賳 丌賳鈥屭堎嗁� 讴賴 丿乇 丌睾丕夭 亘丕賵乇 丿丕卮鬲賲貙 禺丕胤乇賴鈥屫й� 賳亘賵丿 丕夭 賲乇丨賱賴鈥屫й� 亘賴鈥屬矩й屫з嗏€屫必驰屫� 丕夭 夭賳丿诏蹖鈥屫з� 亘賱讴賴 賮賯胤 诏乇鬲賴 賲丿丕賵賲蹖 亘賵丿 丕夭 禺丕胤乇賴 亘賴 卮讴賱 噩賲賱賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 賲丿毓蹖 丿賵乇 卮丿賳 丕夭 賲賳 亘賵丿賳丿. 賴賳賵夭 賴賲 卮亘鈥屬囏� 蹖讴鈥屬呚必ㄙ� 亘蹖丿丕乇 賲蹖鈥屫促堎呚� 诏賵蹖蹖 鬲賱賳诏乇蹖 丌乇丕賲 丿乇 丿乇賵賳 丕夭 禺賵丕亘賲 賲蹖鈥屬矩必з嗀� 賵 賲蹖鈥屫ㄛ屬嗁� 讴賴 趩诏賵賳賴 亘丕 賳賮爻蹖 賳诏賴鈥屫ж簇団€屫簇� 丕夭 賮乇胤 丿賴卮鬲貙 孬丕賳蹖賴 亘賴 孬丕賳蹖賴 噩丕賳 賵 丿賱賲 賲蹖鈥屬举堌池�. 賴賵丕 丿乇 鬲丕乇蹖讴蹖 丌賳趩賳丕賳 亘蹖鈥屫壁┴� 賲蹖鈥屫й屫池� 讴賴 丿乇 趩卮賲 賲賳 鬲賲丕賲 丕卮蹖丕 鬲毓丕丿賱卮丕賳 乇丕 丕夭 丿爻鬲 賲蹖鈥屫囐嗀� 賵 亘賴 賳馗乇 賲蹖鈥屫必池� 讴賳丿賴 卮丿賴鈥屫з嗀�. 丕卮蹖丕 亘丿賵賳 賴蹖趩 诏乇丕賳蹖诏丕賴蹖 亘蹖鈥屫地� 丕賳丿讴蹖 賲蹖鈥屭嗀必嗀� 賵 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲 亘賱丕賮丕氐賱賴 丕夭 賴賲賴 噩丕 爻賯賵胤 賵 禺賮賴鈥屫з� 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁嗀�."
氐賮丨賴 鄯鄣 賵 鄯鄱
June 14, 2020
It would be very difficult to write anything about this book without spoiling it for anyone who wants to read it.
December 9, 2022
賴乇 趩蹖夭蹖 爻賵丿 賵 夭蹖丕賳 禺賵丿卮 乇丕 丿丕乇丿. 亘賴 賲丨囟 丕蹖賳讴賴 丕蹖賳 噩賲賱賴 亘蹖丕賳 賲蹖鈥屫促堌� 鬲賲丕賲 賲賵丕乇丿 鬲丨賲賱 賳丕倬匕蹖乇貙 賯丕亘賱 鬲丨賲賱 賲蹖鈥屫促堎嗀�.
卮丕蹖丿 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 賴賲賴 賮丕讴鬲賵乇賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 蹖讴 讴鬲丕亘 丕賮鬲囟丕丨 亘丕蹖丿 丿丕卮鬲賴 亘丕卮賴 乇賵 丿丕卮鬲 賵賱蹖 亘丕 丕蹖賳丨丕賱 賲賳賵 鬲丨鬲 鬲丕孬蹖乇 賯乇丕乇 丿丕丿. 趩賵賳 乇丕噩毓 亘賴 賲乇诏 亘賵丿. 趩賳丿 爻丕賱蹖 賴爻鬲 讴賴 賲孬賱 讴爻蹖 讴賴 丕夭 讴賳丿賳 夭禺賲卮 賵 噩丕乇蹖 卮丿賳 丿賵亘丕乇賴 禺賵賳 賱匕鬲 賲蹖鈥屫ㄘ辟囏� 丕夭 禺賵賳丿賳 乇丕噩毓 亘賴 賲乇诏 賱匕鬲 賲蹖鈥屫ㄘ辟�. 賲孬賱 讴卮鬲蹖 讴賴 丿乇 賱亘賴 蹖讴 诏乇丿丕亘 賯乇丕乇 诏乇賮鬲賴 亘丕卮賴貙 匕賴賳賲 丕夭 丿丕蹖乇賴鈥屰� 賲乇诏 禺丕乇噩 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�. 賲蹖鈥屭嗀必� 賵 賲蹖鈥屭嗀必�. 賵賱蹖 亘丕夭賲 禺賵亘賴 讴賴 賴爻鬲. 亘诏匕乇蹖賲.
讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 丕氐賱 丕丿丕蹖 丿蹖賳蹖 賴爻鬲 鬲賵爻胤 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘賴 賲丕丿乇 賲乇丨賵賲卮 讴賴 丿乇 丨丿賵丿 倬賳噩丕賴 爻丕賱诏蹖 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 乇賮鬲丕乇蹖 讴賴 亘賱丕卮讴 丨丕讴蹖 丕夭 丨噩賲 禺卮賵賳鬲鈥屬囏� 賵 賳丕賲賱丕蹖賲丕鬲蹖 亘賵丿賴 讴賴 亘乇 丕蹖賳 夭賳 胤蹖 夭賳丿诏蹖 乇賮鬲賴. 毓賲乇蹖 讴賴 鬲亘丕賴 卮丿賴. 噩賵賵賳蹖 讴賴 鬲賱賮 卮丿賴. 丌乇夭賵賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 倬跇賲乇丿賴 卮丿賴. 賵 亘趩賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 丨丕賱丕 賴賲賴 乇賮鬲賳. 丿乇丿賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 鬲賵 爻蹖賳賴 賲蹖鈥屬呝堎嗁� 賵 讴爻蹖 丕夭卮 禺亘乇丿丕乇 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�. 賵賯鬲蹖 趩乇賵讴鈥屬囏� 乇賵 鬲賵蹖 丌蹖賳賴 賲蹖鈥屫ㄛ屬嗃� 賵 賲蹖鈥屬佡囐呟� 讴賴 賮乇氐鬲蹖 亘乇丕蹖 噩亘乇丕賳 賳蹖爻鬲. 丿賱鬲 爻賳诏蹖賳 賲蹖鈥屫促� 賵 卮丕蹖丿 賯胤乇賴 丕卮讴蹖 賴賲 丕夭 诏賵卮賴 趩卮賲鬲 亘蹖丕丿. 卮丕蹖丿 丕蹖賳胤賵乇蹖 賲蹖鈥屫促� 讴賴 蹖讴 丌丿賲 鬲賵蹖 倬賳噩丕賴 爻丕賱诏蹖 鬲氐賲蹖賲 賲蹖鈥屭屫辟� 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 讴賳賴. 卮丕蹖丿 丨爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁� 讴賴 亘賴鬲乇賴 丿蹖诏賴 爻讴丕賳 讴卮鬲蹖 乇賵 乇賴丕 讴賳賴. 卮丕蹖丿 丿蹖诏賴 鬲賵丕賳蹖 鬲賵蹖 賵噩賵丿卮 賳賲賵賳丿賴. 卮丕蹖丿賲 賮讴乇 讴乇丿賴 讴賴 丿蹖诏賴 丕乇夭卮卮 乇賵 賳丿丕乇賴.
讴賱丕 亘禺賵丕賲 亘诏賲貙 讴鬲丕亘 禺胤 丿丕爻鬲丕賳蹖 禺丕氐蹖 賳丿丕乇賴 賵 丕诏乇趩賴 丿乇 賮乇賲 丕亘丿丕毓丕鬲蹖 丿丕卮鬲 讴賴 賳馗乇賲 乇賵 亘毓囟丕 噩賱亘 賲蹖鈥屭┴必� 賵賱蹖 讴賱丕 丕賵賳胤賵乇 賳蹖爻鬲 讴賴 亘賴 讴爻蹖 鬲賵氐蹖賴 亘讴賳賲卮. 亘賳馗乇賲 亘蹖卮鬲乇 賲賳丕爻亘 讴爻丕蹖蹖 賴爻鬲 讴賴 蹖丕 鬲賵蹖 丕丨賵丕賱 讴鬲丕亘 亘丕卮賳 蹖丕 鬲賵噩賴卮賵賳 禺蹖賱蹖 乇賵蹖 賮乇賲 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏蹖 亘丕卮賴. 禺賱丕氐賴 趩賳丿丕賳 禺賵丕賳丿賳蹖 賳蹖爻鬲.
卮丕蹖丿 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 賴賲賴 賮丕讴鬲賵乇賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 蹖讴 讴鬲丕亘 丕賮鬲囟丕丨 亘丕蹖丿 丿丕卮鬲賴 亘丕卮賴 乇賵 丿丕卮鬲 賵賱蹖 亘丕 丕蹖賳丨丕賱 賲賳賵 鬲丨鬲 鬲丕孬蹖乇 賯乇丕乇 丿丕丿. 趩賵賳 乇丕噩毓 亘賴 賲乇诏 亘賵丿. 趩賳丿 爻丕賱蹖 賴爻鬲 讴賴 賲孬賱 讴爻蹖 讴賴 丕夭 讴賳丿賳 夭禺賲卮 賵 噩丕乇蹖 卮丿賳 丿賵亘丕乇賴 禺賵賳 賱匕鬲 賲蹖鈥屫ㄘ辟囏� 丕夭 禺賵賳丿賳 乇丕噩毓 亘賴 賲乇诏 賱匕鬲 賲蹖鈥屫ㄘ辟�. 賲孬賱 讴卮鬲蹖 讴賴 丿乇 賱亘賴 蹖讴 诏乇丿丕亘 賯乇丕乇 诏乇賮鬲賴 亘丕卮賴貙 匕賴賳賲 丕夭 丿丕蹖乇賴鈥屰� 賲乇诏 禺丕乇噩 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�. 賲蹖鈥屭嗀必� 賵 賲蹖鈥屭嗀必�. 賵賱蹖 亘丕夭賲 禺賵亘賴 讴賴 賴爻鬲. 亘诏匕乇蹖賲.
讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 丕氐賱 丕丿丕蹖 丿蹖賳蹖 賴爻鬲 鬲賵爻胤 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 亘賴 賲丕丿乇 賲乇丨賵賲卮 讴賴 丿乇 丨丿賵丿 倬賳噩丕賴 爻丕賱诏蹖 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 乇賮鬲丕乇蹖 讴賴 亘賱丕卮讴 丨丕讴蹖 丕夭 丨噩賲 禺卮賵賳鬲鈥屬囏� 賵 賳丕賲賱丕蹖賲丕鬲蹖 亘賵丿賴 讴賴 亘乇 丕蹖賳 夭賳 胤蹖 夭賳丿诏蹖 乇賮鬲賴. 毓賲乇蹖 讴賴 鬲亘丕賴 卮丿賴. 噩賵賵賳蹖 讴賴 鬲賱賮 卮丿賴. 丌乇夭賵賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 倬跇賲乇丿賴 卮丿賴. 賵 亘趩賴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 丨丕賱丕 賴賲賴 乇賮鬲賳. 丿乇丿賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 鬲賵 爻蹖賳賴 賲蹖鈥屬呝堎嗁� 賵 讴爻蹖 丕夭卮 禺亘乇丿丕乇 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�. 賵賯鬲蹖 趩乇賵讴鈥屬囏� 乇賵 鬲賵蹖 丌蹖賳賴 賲蹖鈥屫ㄛ屬嗃� 賵 賲蹖鈥屬佡囐呟� 讴賴 賮乇氐鬲蹖 亘乇丕蹖 噩亘乇丕賳 賳蹖爻鬲. 丿賱鬲 爻賳诏蹖賳 賲蹖鈥屫促� 賵 卮丕蹖丿 賯胤乇賴 丕卮讴蹖 賴賲 丕夭 诏賵卮賴 趩卮賲鬲 亘蹖丕丿. 卮丕蹖丿 丕蹖賳胤賵乇蹖 賲蹖鈥屫促� 讴賴 蹖讴 丌丿賲 鬲賵蹖 倬賳噩丕賴 爻丕賱诏蹖 鬲氐賲蹖賲 賲蹖鈥屭屫辟� 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 讴賳賴. 卮丕蹖丿 丨爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁� 讴賴 亘賴鬲乇賴 丿蹖诏賴 爻讴丕賳 讴卮鬲蹖 乇賵 乇賴丕 讴賳賴. 卮丕蹖丿 丿蹖诏賴 鬲賵丕賳蹖 鬲賵蹖 賵噩賵丿卮 賳賲賵賳丿賴. 卮丕蹖丿賲 賮讴乇 讴乇丿賴 讴賴 丿蹖诏賴 丕乇夭卮卮 乇賵 賳丿丕乇賴.
讴賱丕 亘禺賵丕賲 亘诏賲貙 讴鬲丕亘 禺胤 丿丕爻鬲丕賳蹖 禺丕氐蹖 賳丿丕乇賴 賵 丕诏乇趩賴 丿乇 賮乇賲 丕亘丿丕毓丕鬲蹖 丿丕卮鬲 讴賴 賳馗乇賲 乇賵 亘毓囟丕 噩賱亘 賲蹖鈥屭┴必� 賵賱蹖 讴賱丕 丕賵賳胤賵乇 賳蹖爻鬲 讴賴 亘賴 讴爻蹖 鬲賵氐蹖賴 亘讴賳賲卮. 亘賳馗乇賲 亘蹖卮鬲乇 賲賳丕爻亘 讴爻丕蹖蹖 賴爻鬲 讴賴 蹖丕 鬲賵蹖 丕丨賵丕賱 讴鬲丕亘 亘丕卮賳 蹖丕 鬲賵噩賴卮賵賳 禺蹖賱蹖 乇賵蹖 賮乇賲 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏蹖 亘丕卮賴. 禺賱丕氐賴 趩賳丿丕賳 禺賵丕賳丿賳蹖 賳蹖爻鬲.
August 6, 2020
Posle " Velikog pada " koji mi se nikako nije dopao, re拧ila sam da ipak Handkeu pru啪im 拧ansu i nisam se pokajala. Ovaj njegov roman mi se mnogo vi拧e dopao. Jasno napisan, bez nepotrebnih metafora i skrivenog zna膷enja. Roman je ina膷e o 啪ivotu i samoubistvu Handkeove majke. Nimalo veselo 拧tivo, ali odli膷no napisano.
May 24, 2021
Most of the Nobel laureates that I have read have this precise way of getting to the bottom of a mundane experience that brings you to tears. Handke is no different, although the events depicted in the book are anything but mundane. In short (and without spoiling anything), the narrator is writing the book as a reflection on his mother鈥檚 life, who has just passed away. His look back on her joys and struggles was at times so depressing that I found myself needing a breather, though this was a 2-3 hour read at most. When the cultivation of empathy is mentioned in the same breath as literature, this book should be pointed to as a prime example. I find it hard to believe that it is possible to read A Sorrow Beyond Dreams and not radiate some form of loving energy toward those around you who may resemble the main character of this book in shape or spirit. Give it a go.
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