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Om udregning af rumfang #2
Sobre o cálculo do volume: 2
Sobre o cálculo do volume 2 avança na história do primeiro livro da série, e continuamos com Tara para entender a fenda temporal e suas consequências. Depois de mais de 364 dias, ela vai criando um 18 de novembro sempre diferente a partir de suas escolhas, tentando se alienar de sua nova realidade. No entanto, a oportunidade de frequentar aulas em diferentes universidades lhe oferece uma chance de compreender o que está vivendo � e também lhe traz uma surpresa. Com uma escrita hipnotizante, os livros de Solvej Balle prometem cativar os leitores desde as primeiras páginas.
190 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 10, 2020
295 people are currently reading
2,326 people want to read
About the author
Solvej Balle
20books234followersSolvej Balle er en særegen stemme i dansk litteratur. Hun var del af en gruppe hovedsageligt kvindelige forfattere, som debuterede eller slog deres navne fast i begyndelsen af 90’erne. Siden Balle debuterede i 1986 med romanen ”Lyrefugl�, har hun udgivet ganske få værker, så det var en overraskelse, da hun i 2020 annoncerede det ambitiøse og filosofiske syvbindsværk ”Om udregning af rumfang�, som hun i 2022 modtog Nordisk Råds Litteraturpris for, for de første fire bind
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 397 reviews
January 8, 2025
When Tara Selter discovers she is stuck, à la Groundhog’s Day, in an endlessly repeating 18th of November, she barely fights. The misfiring machine of time clatters on without her. Tara withdraws. In the first book she burrows into a silent eternity hidden in the margins of her husband’s day. She learns to notice the subtle ambiences that inhabit those margins. In the second book, she goes looking for them. Specifically the seasons. She wanders north and south searching for certain qualities of light, shifts in the music of the crowd. She makes her own year. Then she embarks on making her own sense of time.
This is a quiet book. I have no idea where the next volumes will go and I like not knowing. I’m reminded of those moments we drop out of life. We step out the door and just go wherever. I’m having one of those moments right now, actually. About an hour ago I lost internet connection. One minute I was in the noise of online conversations with coworkers and friends, the next I’m here at home listening to the clock tick, hearing my apartment building’s tummy gurgling. So I decided to write this review because all this reminded of this book.
Books, all of books, are like getting a hall pass from life. Things go on without you; you are free to have a look around. Books hold the world away from you, so that you can actually see it. This year I’m taking more hall passes.
This is a quiet book. I have no idea where the next volumes will go and I like not knowing. I’m reminded of those moments we drop out of life. We step out the door and just go wherever. I’m having one of those moments right now, actually. About an hour ago I lost internet connection. One minute I was in the noise of online conversations with coworkers and friends, the next I’m here at home listening to the clock tick, hearing my apartment building’s tummy gurgling. So I decided to write this review because all this reminded of this book.
Books, all of books, are like getting a hall pass from life. Things go on without you; you are free to have a look around. Books hold the world away from you, so that you can actually see it. This year I’m taking more hall passes.
January 20, 2024
Klagan över tidens framfart är apriorisk. Trots att vi vet att alternativet är sämre ondgör vi oss över att bli äldre. Kanske tycker Solvej Balle att detta kverulerande måste få ett slut. Med prosans medel förevisar hon möjliga konsekvenser av vår ogenomtänkta önskan. Om tiden stannar blir vi utan matrester, erfarenheter, moral, årstider som ligger till grund för traditionerna. Vi kan inte bygga, saker kan inte växa och vem är människan utan tillväxt? För att bara nämna några saker i vår värld som bygger på att tiden går.
När jag ger mig i kast med andra delen av Om uträkning av omfång blir jag snabbt indragen i Tara Selters universum, dit har jag längtat. Det är å ena sidan skönt att levitera in i hennes relativt problemfria vardag eftersom allt som görs här är glömt i morgon (av andra), å andra sidan är det en mycket ensam tillvaro. Att som människa ha någon att dela sin upplevelser med känns som ett grundläggande mänskligt behov som exempelvis Defoe undersökte redan på 1700-talet.
Ständigt denna artonde november! Tara är nu inne på sitt andra och tredje år i rondellen, eller om det är mer som en återvändsgränd. Tiden är en behållare hon fallit ner i. I morgon är i dag, hela tiden. Eftersom det blivit omöjligt att förflytta sig i tiden satsar Tara nu på förflyttning i rummet. Första stoppet är hos föräldrarna som utan större knussel är med på att ”leka jul� trots att det bara är november. Tara lämnar alltså sin sambo Thomas � kärleken tycks omöjlig om man inte delar tidsuppfattning � och ger sig ut på jakt efter årstider. Hon söker sig till folkströmmar i kollektivtrafiken. Det kryllar av människor i hennes ekande ensamhet där hon tycks vara mol allena om att ha koll på tideräkningen i övriga världens glömska. Hon överhör när en gubbe berättar om sina två älskade hundar som han antog älskade honom tillbaka. Men när den gamla hunden dog ville den fläckiga hunden inte längre dela säng med honom, det var hundarna som ville ligga tillsammans. Den berättelsen fungerar som en allegori för Tara och Thomas kärlek som var beroende av tiden som en tredje part.
”Jag saknar Thomas steg i trappan, men det är steg i en sommartrappa jag saknar. Det är inte novembertrappan. Jag saknar inte Tomas i artonde november, jag saknar inte huset i Clarion.�
När Tara beskriver att hon måste resa norrut för att uppleva vinter går tankarna till vår klimatkris. Kanske uppkom idén till boken en varm novemberdag? Men Balle ballar inte ur utan fortsätter att smita undan mina försök att ringa in vilket omfång det är som egentligen ska räknas ut. Är detta en hommage till handväskan? Likt Skalman med sitt förråd på ryggen har Tara det mesta i sin närmast magiska väska. Klart är i alla fall att Balle med filosofiska ansatser resonerar om hur människan, tingen, kunskapen förhåller sig till tid och språk. Årstiderna är, kommer Tara på, egentligen ett mänskligt påfund som vi bygger med hjälp av språket. Jag längtar till exempel efter att vädra vårluft, lyssna till en vårbäck, medan jag sitter i vårsolen, klädd i vårjacka, ätandes grön vårsoppa gärna med vårlök, och med blicken leta efter vårtecken. Tara skriver ner sina sommarlögner och andra byggstenar för kommande års årstider. Det blir tydligt hur tokigt mänskligt beteendet att resa runt för att hitta rätt väder är. Oavsett tideräkning möter man gärna våren i London som svensk medelklass.
Sen ska man inte glömma att det kan vara så att Tara är en opålitlig berättare. Hon skriver inte uttalat att hon mår skit men man kan ana det i Balles gestaltning:
�#654
Det är en skälvning, en stillsam form av panik. Jag letar efter september. Jag letar efter platser som känns som september […] jag känner en rastlöshet men det händer ingenting. I går kväll gick jag på teater, men det enda jag såg var människor fångade i ett rum, en scen. De går rastlöst omkring men de kan inte hitta ut.�
Det är spännande att vara i en roman och inte ha en aning om vart man är på väg. Men det är också lite jobbigt. Del två är faktiskt pyttelite tråkig emellanåt. Men självklart ser jag fram emot att en tredje gång försätta existensen i fritt fall.
När jag ger mig i kast med andra delen av Om uträkning av omfång blir jag snabbt indragen i Tara Selters universum, dit har jag längtat. Det är å ena sidan skönt att levitera in i hennes relativt problemfria vardag eftersom allt som görs här är glömt i morgon (av andra), å andra sidan är det en mycket ensam tillvaro. Att som människa ha någon att dela sin upplevelser med känns som ett grundläggande mänskligt behov som exempelvis Defoe undersökte redan på 1700-talet.
Ständigt denna artonde november! Tara är nu inne på sitt andra och tredje år i rondellen, eller om det är mer som en återvändsgränd. Tiden är en behållare hon fallit ner i. I morgon är i dag, hela tiden. Eftersom det blivit omöjligt att förflytta sig i tiden satsar Tara nu på förflyttning i rummet. Första stoppet är hos föräldrarna som utan större knussel är med på att ”leka jul� trots att det bara är november. Tara lämnar alltså sin sambo Thomas � kärleken tycks omöjlig om man inte delar tidsuppfattning � och ger sig ut på jakt efter årstider. Hon söker sig till folkströmmar i kollektivtrafiken. Det kryllar av människor i hennes ekande ensamhet där hon tycks vara mol allena om att ha koll på tideräkningen i övriga världens glömska. Hon överhör när en gubbe berättar om sina två älskade hundar som han antog älskade honom tillbaka. Men när den gamla hunden dog ville den fläckiga hunden inte längre dela säng med honom, det var hundarna som ville ligga tillsammans. Den berättelsen fungerar som en allegori för Tara och Thomas kärlek som var beroende av tiden som en tredje part.
”Jag saknar Thomas steg i trappan, men det är steg i en sommartrappa jag saknar. Det är inte novembertrappan. Jag saknar inte Tomas i artonde november, jag saknar inte huset i Clarion.�
När Tara beskriver att hon måste resa norrut för att uppleva vinter går tankarna till vår klimatkris. Kanske uppkom idén till boken en varm novemberdag? Men Balle ballar inte ur utan fortsätter att smita undan mina försök att ringa in vilket omfång det är som egentligen ska räknas ut. Är detta en hommage till handväskan? Likt Skalman med sitt förråd på ryggen har Tara det mesta i sin närmast magiska väska. Klart är i alla fall att Balle med filosofiska ansatser resonerar om hur människan, tingen, kunskapen förhåller sig till tid och språk. Årstiderna är, kommer Tara på, egentligen ett mänskligt påfund som vi bygger med hjälp av språket. Jag längtar till exempel efter att vädra vårluft, lyssna till en vårbäck, medan jag sitter i vårsolen, klädd i vårjacka, ätandes grön vårsoppa gärna med vårlök, och med blicken leta efter vårtecken. Tara skriver ner sina sommarlögner och andra byggstenar för kommande års årstider. Det blir tydligt hur tokigt mänskligt beteendet att resa runt för att hitta rätt väder är. Oavsett tideräkning möter man gärna våren i London som svensk medelklass.
Sen ska man inte glömma att det kan vara så att Tara är en opålitlig berättare. Hon skriver inte uttalat att hon mår skit men man kan ana det i Balles gestaltning:
�#654
Det är en skälvning, en stillsam form av panik. Jag letar efter september. Jag letar efter platser som känns som september […] jag känner en rastlöshet men det händer ingenting. I går kväll gick jag på teater, men det enda jag såg var människor fångade i ett rum, en scen. De går rastlöst omkring men de kan inte hitta ut.�
Det är spännande att vara i en roman och inte ha en aning om vart man är på väg. Men det är också lite jobbigt. Del två är faktiskt pyttelite tråkig emellanåt. Men självklart ser jag fram emot att en tredje gång försätta existensen i fritt fall.
January 10, 2024
Jag blir irriterad av att det är så tråkigt.
April 18, 2025
Okay, now I’m officially hooked. Finally. Volume 2 gave me what I needed; what I had hoped for but never fully got from Volume 1.
Here, the concept and premise were expanded. The narrator had more agency, and I like that she started to finally take matters into her own hands.
There’s more of an exuberance to the tone here, without it sacrificing the mournful atmosphere of the situation. Sensations play a bigger role: taste, smell, sights, sounds, touch —which gave the novel a larger scope. And this provided a universal aspect that was missing from Volume 1 —a reminder that there’s a whole world out there outside our initial worldview.
And then the ending made me desperate for the next book in the series. I just realized that the next two books come out on *drumroll* November 18. That is some brilliant marketing and branding.
Here, the concept and premise were expanded. The narrator had more agency, and I like that she started to finally take matters into her own hands.
There’s more of an exuberance to the tone here, without it sacrificing the mournful atmosphere of the situation. Sensations play a bigger role: taste, smell, sights, sounds, touch —which gave the novel a larger scope. And this provided a universal aspect that was missing from Volume 1 —a reminder that there’s a whole world out there outside our initial worldview.
And then the ending made me desperate for the next book in the series. I just realized that the next two books come out on *drumroll* November 18. That is some brilliant marketing and branding.
March 4, 2025
Solvej Balle, the unexpected queen of cliffhangers and incorporating "How often do you think of the Roman empire" en passant in books as well. A reflective take on being stuck in time and how to create your own world in an unmoored world
I was very happy that the third volume of is available immediately in Dutch, because the last two pages of this book take such a turn. From chasing the seasons through an endless November, across Europe, to the silent pain being aware of time passing brings in relation to oblivious loved ones, this book packs quite a punch. Travelling makes time being stuck less evident and immediate while the search for winter feels kind of climate change inspired in a certain manner and especially the return to Christmas and New Year with family is emotional, because what does something no one but you remember even mean?
The recording of days in a book felt distinctly medieval, while the Roman fixation near the end feels like a foreshadowing of commentary on society and how individuals relate to each other in ever more complex configurations.
I am betting this series will be the international literary sensation of 2025 and was right in predicting an International Booker Prize nomination!
Dutch Quotes:
Er zijn minder details nu. Het voelt concreet, bijna fysiek, alsof het verkeer uitgedund is, of de voetgangers verdwenen zijn, alsof het licht en de geluiden veranderd zijn, alsof de afstand tussen de huizen groter is geworden, de straten breder zijn geworden, maar ik weet best dat er niets is veranderd, er zijn nog steeds mensen en er is nog steeds verkeer, de geluiden zijn niet veranderd en het licht is ook niet veranderd. Het zit in mezelf, ik heb hier niets meer te zoeken, dat is het. Ik loop door dezelfde straten, maar ik word gedreven door de macht der gewoonte, meer niet. Ik was hier altijd met een goede reden, maar nu voel ik me overbodig. Ik loop door de stad en ik heb geen ander doel dan van de ene dag in de andere te komen. Ik ben gewoon een mens die door de straten cirkelt, misschien niet eens een mens, misschien eerder een dier, geen roofdier, geen prooidier, geen dier dat honger heeft of verzadigd is, gewoon een wezen dat langs de huizen trekt.
Ik stelde ze gerust. Er waren geen doden of gewonden gevallen. Er was alleen een defect in de tijd. Ik zei dat ik aan de gedachte gewend was geraakt. Dat ik veranderd was. Dat er een paadje in mijn hoofd was schoongeveegd, er was sneeuw geruimd, wat kreupelhout verwijderd. Dat ik een weg probeerde te vinden, dat ik zou terugkeren naar een gewone tijd, maar dat ik behoefte had aan kerst zodat de tijd verstreek, om even uit een eeuwige novemberdag te ontsnappen.
Er komt een grijsblauwe strook onder mijn oude jurk uit, maar het lijkt net alsof dat zo hoort. Niemand kan zien dat ik een jurk aan het trainen ben om bij me te blijven
Ik vroeg haar of ze zo tegen de wereld aankeek, of het echt zo eenvoudig was, en dat vond ze inderdaad. Eenvoudig, ja, zei ze, niet gemakkelijk.
Als ik een toekomst wil hebben, moet ik jaren hebben, en als ik jaren wil hebben, dan moet ik jaargetijden hebben. Zonder jaargetijden geen tijd. Als ik jaargetijden wil hebben, moet ik ze zelf construeren. Als ik een toekomst wil hebben, dan moet ik die zelf construeren. Ik zoek de stukjes bij elkaar, kleine stukjes jaargetijde, en ik schrijf dat allemaal in mijn handboek: ingrediënten van de jaargetijden.
Jaargetijden zijn geen decors of locaties en je kan geen jaar construeren op basis van fragmenten van november.
Mijn novemberdag is warm, eeuwig en van goud. Wat moet ik met jaargetijden als ik in een aangename en gouden eeuwigheid ben blijven steken. Een vriendelijke herhaling. Kun je meer verlangen?
Niet vastgelegd is in zekere zin niet gedaan
I was very happy that the third volume of is available immediately in Dutch, because the last two pages of this book take such a turn. From chasing the seasons through an endless November, across Europe, to the silent pain being aware of time passing brings in relation to oblivious loved ones, this book packs quite a punch. Travelling makes time being stuck less evident and immediate while the search for winter feels kind of climate change inspired in a certain manner and especially the return to Christmas and New Year with family is emotional, because what does something no one but you remember even mean?
The recording of days in a book felt distinctly medieval, while the Roman fixation near the end feels like a foreshadowing of commentary on society and how individuals relate to each other in ever more complex configurations.
I am betting this series will be the international literary sensation of 2025 and was right in predicting an International Booker Prize nomination!
Dutch Quotes:
Er zijn minder details nu. Het voelt concreet, bijna fysiek, alsof het verkeer uitgedund is, of de voetgangers verdwenen zijn, alsof het licht en de geluiden veranderd zijn, alsof de afstand tussen de huizen groter is geworden, de straten breder zijn geworden, maar ik weet best dat er niets is veranderd, er zijn nog steeds mensen en er is nog steeds verkeer, de geluiden zijn niet veranderd en het licht is ook niet veranderd. Het zit in mezelf, ik heb hier niets meer te zoeken, dat is het. Ik loop door dezelfde straten, maar ik word gedreven door de macht der gewoonte, meer niet. Ik was hier altijd met een goede reden, maar nu voel ik me overbodig. Ik loop door de stad en ik heb geen ander doel dan van de ene dag in de andere te komen. Ik ben gewoon een mens die door de straten cirkelt, misschien niet eens een mens, misschien eerder een dier, geen roofdier, geen prooidier, geen dier dat honger heeft of verzadigd is, gewoon een wezen dat langs de huizen trekt.
Ik stelde ze gerust. Er waren geen doden of gewonden gevallen. Er was alleen een defect in de tijd. Ik zei dat ik aan de gedachte gewend was geraakt. Dat ik veranderd was. Dat er een paadje in mijn hoofd was schoongeveegd, er was sneeuw geruimd, wat kreupelhout verwijderd. Dat ik een weg probeerde te vinden, dat ik zou terugkeren naar een gewone tijd, maar dat ik behoefte had aan kerst zodat de tijd verstreek, om even uit een eeuwige novemberdag te ontsnappen.
Er komt een grijsblauwe strook onder mijn oude jurk uit, maar het lijkt net alsof dat zo hoort. Niemand kan zien dat ik een jurk aan het trainen ben om bij me te blijven
Ik vroeg haar of ze zo tegen de wereld aankeek, of het echt zo eenvoudig was, en dat vond ze inderdaad. Eenvoudig, ja, zei ze, niet gemakkelijk.
Als ik een toekomst wil hebben, moet ik jaren hebben, en als ik jaren wil hebben, dan moet ik jaargetijden hebben. Zonder jaargetijden geen tijd. Als ik jaargetijden wil hebben, moet ik ze zelf construeren. Als ik een toekomst wil hebben, dan moet ik die zelf construeren. Ik zoek de stukjes bij elkaar, kleine stukjes jaargetijde, en ik schrijf dat allemaal in mijn handboek: ingrediënten van de jaargetijden.
Jaargetijden zijn geen decors of locaties en je kan geen jaar construeren op basis van fragmenten van november.
Mijn novemberdag is warm, eeuwig en van goud. Wat moet ik met jaargetijden als ik in een aangename en gouden eeuwigheid ben blijven steken. Een vriendelijke herhaling. Kun je meer verlangen?
Niet vastgelegd is in zekere zin niet gedaan
April 16, 2021
Andet bind i Solvej Balles ambitiøse syv-bindsværk: 'Om udregning af rumfang' holder højden fra det første bind, som var aldeles fremragende.
Jeg tror ikke jeg er den eneste læser af første bind, der ellers tænkte om Solvej Balle kunne formå at spinde videre på hovedperson Tara Selters fangenskab i den 18. november, som i bind 1 blev beskrevet aldeles klaustrofobisk og uhyggeligt - dog med smukke, poetiske elementer om kærligheden til hendes mand Thomas og sansernes gentagelser. Men de helt store spørgsmål, som også står smukt tilbage efter andet bind, er jo hvordan man kan have et værdifuldt liv uden noget at se frem til og menneskelige relationer, som man kan udvikle sig sammen med.
Solvej Balle leger stadig fornemt og utroligt velskrevet, hvor hver eneste sætning er en lækkerbisken, med tankespindet om hvordan det ville være at skulle være den eneste, der hver eneste dag vågner og til og gentager den samme efterårsdag i det uendelige og om det er muligt at slippe ud af.
Jeg vil helst ikke afsløre hvad temaerne er i det her andet bind, for det er en del af det skønne ved værket at det udrulles langsomt i fællesskab mellem Tara og læseren, men bare sige at Solvej Balle har fundet på et nyt fokus til hende og at hun formår at bevare spændingen til tredje bind, som forhåbentlig snart udkommer.
Jeg har aldrig læst noget, der ligner 'Om udregning af rumfang' og synes indtil videre at det nærmest er en genistreg forfatteren skaber.
Jeg tror ikke jeg er den eneste læser af første bind, der ellers tænkte om Solvej Balle kunne formå at spinde videre på hovedperson Tara Selters fangenskab i den 18. november, som i bind 1 blev beskrevet aldeles klaustrofobisk og uhyggeligt - dog med smukke, poetiske elementer om kærligheden til hendes mand Thomas og sansernes gentagelser. Men de helt store spørgsmål, som også står smukt tilbage efter andet bind, er jo hvordan man kan have et værdifuldt liv uden noget at se frem til og menneskelige relationer, som man kan udvikle sig sammen med.
Solvej Balle leger stadig fornemt og utroligt velskrevet, hvor hver eneste sætning er en lækkerbisken, med tankespindet om hvordan det ville være at skulle være den eneste, der hver eneste dag vågner og til og gentager den samme efterårsdag i det uendelige og om det er muligt at slippe ud af.
Jeg vil helst ikke afsløre hvad temaerne er i det her andet bind, for det er en del af det skønne ved værket at det udrulles langsomt i fællesskab mellem Tara og læseren, men bare sige at Solvej Balle har fundet på et nyt fokus til hende og at hun formår at bevare spændingen til tredje bind, som forhåbentlig snart udkommer.
Jeg har aldrig læst noget, der ligner 'Om udregning af rumfang' og synes indtil videre at det nærmest er en genistreg forfatteren skaber.
March 3, 2025
What had I imagined? Time as a carousel one could jump on and off? The year as a stream running underneath my eighteenth of November?
As if a plank would come floating by, a different eighteenth of November, to rescue me from my sea of repetitions, a piece of driftwood I could grab and cling to until I reached solid ground, until I was tossed ashore on a nineteenth of November, on a day with a fresh newspaper to read with my coffee, a different receptionist at the desk, a morning with no rain. Or with pouring rain, flooding, thunder, snow, anything, as long as it was different.
On the Calculation of Volume II is Barbara J. Haveland's translation of Om udregning af rumfang #2 by Solvej Balle, and picks up where (Volume I) left off with Tara in Paris, on #368, two days after her unsuccessful attempt to break out of her cycle of endless 18th Novembers on the first anniversary of the repeated days.
And this failure leads her to the realisation that she doesn't really belong with Thomas in their house in Clairon-sous-Bois, nor in Paris:
She is no more: the Tara Selter who goes in to inquire, deal, inspect, purchase, agree, organize. It is the Tara Selter, antiquarian bookseller, who is gone, a person at work, with a business that is growing, flourishing, a dealer with customers and colleagues. It is the Tara Selter with a future who is gone.
[...]
I have a husband who thinks I have a better chance of finding a solution on my own. I have friends who do not think they can help and who may not even believe I am telling the truth, but who sent me away with a Roman sestertius in a bag.
[...]
I am a strange creature that ought not to be among people with a direction. That ought to be moving on. That gets in the way of people trying to tend to their business.
Tara starts to travel, particularly on trains, and becomes more of a passive observer, and recorder, of others' conversations. In my review of Volume I I quoted apposite description of the novel as "Groundhog Day written by Rachel Cusk", and here Tara channels Faye from the Outline trilogy, although unlike Faye she listens in to conversations to which she is not party, and as she explains to her hitherto unmentioned parents (he Belgian; she British) when she visits them, on what for her is Christmas Eve, but for them is of course November 18th, in Brussels:
I told them about the forlorn girl in the railway compartment, about Weihnachtsgeschenke and Wahlverwandtschaften: how I liked the sound of the words, and maybe the rhythm, and that I had read Goethe and given the appearance of making notes on what I was reading because I wasn’t sure whether my fellow passengers were actually telling their stories to me. In a way I felt that I was stealing from them .. My father did not think it was stealing. He felt, rather, that the broadcasting of private phone conversations in public spaces was theft. Of other people’s peace and quiet, their privacy, possibly even their humanity.
Her parents accept her explanation of her situation rather too readily (in Volume I she was able to convince Thomas by predicting small events such as a neighbour passing), although perhaps they are humouring her, and together they re-enact a family Christmas, blending English and Belgian traditions - Bûche de Noë and Christmas Pudding. Brussel Sprouts are obviously a key feature (although the link of names doesn't exist in the Danish original and it was a little disappointing the English translation didn't add a gloss). But having to explain on the second day of her stay, but another first day to them, why they are eating Christmas leftovers, she moves on.
As she travels, both Tara, and the author, work through some of the practical logic of her situation for example she avoids overnight travel as she is unclear what will happen, and ensures that when she books a hotel it wasn't occupied the previous night. She knows when she does computer research that her search history and any documents she has made will be erased each morning, although the physical notebook she keeps on her is preserved, and - rather fortunately for Tara and indeed for the plot - her bank account is replenished each morning. If anyone, e.g. in a shop, tells her to come back tomorrow:
I have grown used to the idea that nothing can be put off till tomorrow, that everything has to happen instantly and that, in my few encounters with other people, I always have to convince them that everything needs to be done that very minute, I can’t come back the next day, it has to be here and now, because tomorrow is today, although I don’t usually tell them that.
Nearly causing an accident, and conscious (as in Volume I) of how she depletes the word around her, she tells herself:
I already know that I leave a mark. I consume my world. I sustain burns and sprained ankles. But I also put other people in danger. I drag them out of their eighteenth of November. Out of their routine. I risk killing someone. I don’t imagine that the world will repair itself, that if I lead people off course they will simply wake up again the next morning.
One key philosophical concept of the novel is her realisation that for her time is a container .. it is a day one can step into. Again and again. Not a stream which one can only dip into once. And actually this does highlight an issue with how I read the novel - the short diary entries and 'what will happen next' plot encourage one to turn the pages - I read this book straight through in less than 90 minutes - but both the prose and the ideas would be better contemplated at more length.
Another key development in this Volume is that she realises she misses the seasons, prompted by a metrologist she meets who (as she relays in Faye-Cuskian fashion, here a direct rather than overheard conversation) did not believe, however, that the seasons could be regarded as meteorological phenomena. Temperature and precipitation were meteorological phenomena, she said. Cold and heat, cloudbursts and drought. But seasons? She saw them more as psychological phenomena. Memory concentrates. Accepted stereotypes. Conglomerates of experiences and feelings, perhaps.
And Tara, using meterological data (not entirely clear to me why she doesn't search actual weather at the end of each 18th November rather than that seasonally predicted) decides to live her life, as best she can, as if the calendar in progressing, recreating the seasons by travelling around Europe:
It is a new life. A life with seasons. It is not a truer year, moving in the depths under my day. It is a year that runs parallel to my eighteenth of November. I know that I am building something. A construction. A jigsaw puzzle, which I am putting together from the pieces I can find [...] I no longer believe that I will suddenly wake up to a time that has returned to normal. But I believe in seasons [...] If I am to have a future I must have years, and if I am to have years, I must have seasons. Without seasons, no time. If I want seasons, I will have to build them myself.
Her third year though she settles in Düsseldorf, for almost the opposite reason - a 18th November day that is unseasonable in its weather: I am here because of a small ridge of high pressure a little to the east of the city. It is the weather that has brought me here. I am here because it is not raining. Because it is not snowing. It is a November day, but it doesn’t feel like autumn. It is just a day. Warm enough for me not to long for summer. Without rain, without the sharpness of winter. A mild breeze blows through the streets and at around three o’clock there is sunshine, but it is not winter sunshine, it is not the slender rays of spring or blazing summer sun, just sunshine.
I have found a place that doesn’t make me think of Clairon-sous-Bois in the rain or Thomas without an umbrella. A place that doesn’t make me long for the winters in old Selter’s garden, with rime frost and a thin layer of snow. That doesn’t send me wandering around shops, looking for signs of spring. I have found a place that doesn’t make me think of Thomas carrying his summer body up creaking stairs. And down.
Her first day in Düsseldorf sees a Bundesliga relegation play off, between, I assume, Fortuna Düsseldorf and a local rival (1. FC Köln?) - which is rather odd for November and I wondered if suggested some form of time slippage in the area .. but just a lack of football research?
And there one day (#889) while looking through her belongings she rediscovers the long-forgotten Roman sestertius.
I looked at the head of Antoninus Pius and briefly traced the embossed image with my finger. I flipped the coin over and studied Annona with her grain measure and ears of corn. I ran a fingertip over the uneven edge, weighed the coin in the palm of my hand, dropped it onto the countertop and picked it up again. A tiny piece of the past, a leftover from my clear-out, no longer able to find a place in my world.
Maybe it was simple: I was caught in time and there was the sestertius. Once it had been just metal, it had been molten, fluid, formless and then it had stopped at the moment that it was stamped with the images of Antoninus Pius and Annona, a modius, ears of corn and all. Stop. Fixed. Chink. Out onto the pile of newly minted coins. A frozen moment. The Romans too had stopped. A long journey and then they could go no farther. They had reached their limit, they had advanced a little, then
retreated, and then they stopped and built a wall and the empire ceased to expand.
From there she develops a fascination with Roman history - again the container idea appears ("everything the Romans touch becomes a container. It’s not only Annona with her modius. It’s not only all that freshly blown glass, all those Roman cups and flacons and vases. It’s not only amphoras and bowls, jars and pots and pitchers, household utensils of earthenware or wood") whose significance I unfortunately missed.
And the novel ends on not so much a cliffhanger as a preview of Volume III, as, out of the blue, she informs us she may have found a fellow .. traveller, sufferer .. I'm not sure what the right word is.
As if a plank would come floating by, a different eighteenth of November, to rescue me from my sea of repetitions, a piece of driftwood I could grab and cling to until I reached solid ground, until I was tossed ashore on a nineteenth of November, on a day with a fresh newspaper to read with my coffee, a different receptionist at the desk, a morning with no rain. Or with pouring rain, flooding, thunder, snow, anything, as long as it was different.
On the Calculation of Volume II is Barbara J. Haveland's translation of Om udregning af rumfang #2 by Solvej Balle, and picks up where (Volume I) left off with Tara in Paris, on #368, two days after her unsuccessful attempt to break out of her cycle of endless 18th Novembers on the first anniversary of the repeated days.
And this failure leads her to the realisation that she doesn't really belong with Thomas in their house in Clairon-sous-Bois, nor in Paris:
She is no more: the Tara Selter who goes in to inquire, deal, inspect, purchase, agree, organize. It is the Tara Selter, antiquarian bookseller, who is gone, a person at work, with a business that is growing, flourishing, a dealer with customers and colleagues. It is the Tara Selter with a future who is gone.
[...]
I have a husband who thinks I have a better chance of finding a solution on my own. I have friends who do not think they can help and who may not even believe I am telling the truth, but who sent me away with a Roman sestertius in a bag.
[...]
I am a strange creature that ought not to be among people with a direction. That ought to be moving on. That gets in the way of people trying to tend to their business.
Tara starts to travel, particularly on trains, and becomes more of a passive observer, and recorder, of others' conversations. In my review of Volume I I quoted apposite description of the novel as "Groundhog Day written by Rachel Cusk", and here Tara channels Faye from the Outline trilogy, although unlike Faye she listens in to conversations to which she is not party, and as she explains to her hitherto unmentioned parents (he Belgian; she British) when she visits them, on what for her is Christmas Eve, but for them is of course November 18th, in Brussels:
I told them about the forlorn girl in the railway compartment, about Weihnachtsgeschenke and Wahlverwandtschaften: how I liked the sound of the words, and maybe the rhythm, and that I had read Goethe and given the appearance of making notes on what I was reading because I wasn’t sure whether my fellow passengers were actually telling their stories to me. In a way I felt that I was stealing from them .. My father did not think it was stealing. He felt, rather, that the broadcasting of private phone conversations in public spaces was theft. Of other people’s peace and quiet, their privacy, possibly even their humanity.
Her parents accept her explanation of her situation rather too readily (in Volume I she was able to convince Thomas by predicting small events such as a neighbour passing), although perhaps they are humouring her, and together they re-enact a family Christmas, blending English and Belgian traditions - Bûche de Noë and Christmas Pudding. Brussel Sprouts are obviously a key feature (although the link of names doesn't exist in the Danish original and it was a little disappointing the English translation didn't add a gloss). But having to explain on the second day of her stay, but another first day to them, why they are eating Christmas leftovers, she moves on.
As she travels, both Tara, and the author, work through some of the practical logic of her situation for example she avoids overnight travel as she is unclear what will happen, and ensures that when she books a hotel it wasn't occupied the previous night. She knows when she does computer research that her search history and any documents she has made will be erased each morning, although the physical notebook she keeps on her is preserved, and - rather fortunately for Tara and indeed for the plot - her bank account is replenished each morning. If anyone, e.g. in a shop, tells her to come back tomorrow:
I have grown used to the idea that nothing can be put off till tomorrow, that everything has to happen instantly and that, in my few encounters with other people, I always have to convince them that everything needs to be done that very minute, I can’t come back the next day, it has to be here and now, because tomorrow is today, although I don’t usually tell them that.
Nearly causing an accident, and conscious (as in Volume I) of how she depletes the word around her, she tells herself:
I already know that I leave a mark. I consume my world. I sustain burns and sprained ankles. But I also put other people in danger. I drag them out of their eighteenth of November. Out of their routine. I risk killing someone. I don’t imagine that the world will repair itself, that if I lead people off course they will simply wake up again the next morning.
One key philosophical concept of the novel is her realisation that for her time is a container .. it is a day one can step into. Again and again. Not a stream which one can only dip into once. And actually this does highlight an issue with how I read the novel - the short diary entries and 'what will happen next' plot encourage one to turn the pages - I read this book straight through in less than 90 minutes - but both the prose and the ideas would be better contemplated at more length.
Another key development in this Volume is that she realises she misses the seasons, prompted by a metrologist she meets who (as she relays in Faye-Cuskian fashion, here a direct rather than overheard conversation) did not believe, however, that the seasons could be regarded as meteorological phenomena. Temperature and precipitation were meteorological phenomena, she said. Cold and heat, cloudbursts and drought. But seasons? She saw them more as psychological phenomena. Memory concentrates. Accepted stereotypes. Conglomerates of experiences and feelings, perhaps.
And Tara, using meterological data (not entirely clear to me why she doesn't search actual weather at the end of each 18th November rather than that seasonally predicted) decides to live her life, as best she can, as if the calendar in progressing, recreating the seasons by travelling around Europe:
It is a new life. A life with seasons. It is not a truer year, moving in the depths under my day. It is a year that runs parallel to my eighteenth of November. I know that I am building something. A construction. A jigsaw puzzle, which I am putting together from the pieces I can find [...] I no longer believe that I will suddenly wake up to a time that has returned to normal. But I believe in seasons [...] If I am to have a future I must have years, and if I am to have years, I must have seasons. Without seasons, no time. If I want seasons, I will have to build them myself.
Her third year though she settles in Düsseldorf, for almost the opposite reason - a 18th November day that is unseasonable in its weather: I am here because of a small ridge of high pressure a little to the east of the city. It is the weather that has brought me here. I am here because it is not raining. Because it is not snowing. It is a November day, but it doesn’t feel like autumn. It is just a day. Warm enough for me not to long for summer. Without rain, without the sharpness of winter. A mild breeze blows through the streets and at around three o’clock there is sunshine, but it is not winter sunshine, it is not the slender rays of spring or blazing summer sun, just sunshine.
I have found a place that doesn’t make me think of Clairon-sous-Bois in the rain or Thomas without an umbrella. A place that doesn’t make me long for the winters in old Selter’s garden, with rime frost and a thin layer of snow. That doesn’t send me wandering around shops, looking for signs of spring. I have found a place that doesn’t make me think of Thomas carrying his summer body up creaking stairs. And down.
Her first day in Düsseldorf sees a Bundesliga relegation play off, between, I assume, Fortuna Düsseldorf and a local rival (1. FC Köln?) - which is rather odd for November and I wondered if suggested some form of time slippage in the area .. but just a lack of football research?
And there one day (#889) while looking through her belongings she rediscovers the long-forgotten Roman sestertius.
I looked at the head of Antoninus Pius and briefly traced the embossed image with my finger. I flipped the coin over and studied Annona with her grain measure and ears of corn. I ran a fingertip over the uneven edge, weighed the coin in the palm of my hand, dropped it onto the countertop and picked it up again. A tiny piece of the past, a leftover from my clear-out, no longer able to find a place in my world.
Maybe it was simple: I was caught in time and there was the sestertius. Once it had been just metal, it had been molten, fluid, formless and then it had stopped at the moment that it was stamped with the images of Antoninus Pius and Annona, a modius, ears of corn and all. Stop. Fixed. Chink. Out onto the pile of newly minted coins. A frozen moment. The Romans too had stopped. A long journey and then they could go no farther. They had reached their limit, they had advanced a little, then
retreated, and then they stopped and built a wall and the empire ceased to expand.
From there she develops a fascination with Roman history - again the container idea appears ("everything the Romans touch becomes a container. It’s not only Annona with her modius. It’s not only all that freshly blown glass, all those Roman cups and flacons and vases. It’s not only amphoras and bowls, jars and pots and pitchers, household utensils of earthenware or wood") whose significance I unfortunately missed.
And the novel ends on not so much a cliffhanger as a preview of Volume III, as, out of the blue, she informs us she may have found a fellow .. traveller, sufferer .. I'm not sure what the right word is.
March 31, 2025
⭐⭐⭐✨
7/10
Me ha gustado mucho más que el anterior. Plantea más alternativas en la repetición de sus días, de su mismo día. En esta segunda parte aparece su familia. Y más detalles sobre el tránsito del tiempo en esa día, como una superposición de imágenes del nuevo día sobre el anterior, ejemplificado muy bien en el pasaje de las patatas asadas...con una zona de incertidumbre en la que los dos tiempos se encuentran. Sigo viendo lagunas que se contradicen (en los días de navidad con la madre por ejemplo, y en casi cualquier interacción con otras personas) pero tal vez esa sea toda la intención de la autora hasta despejarnos la incógnita.
Su madre le dice que ella siempre "ha seguido su propio rumbo". Poco después la protagonista comenta que "el mundo está lleno de detalles para quien sabe escuchar, con soluciones para todo, para las grandes cuestiones de la vida".
Desde luego en este segundo volumen ha comenzado a explorar su realidad, continúa reflexionando y percibiendo cada detalle pero ya no está encerrada en casa contando días repetidos. Ha salido al mundo, asumiendo su tiempo, y viaja, está viviendo su año, encuentra matices muy diferentes en su día "repetido", ahora tiene un cuaderno de las estaciones y está dispuesta a vivirlas.
La narración ha tomado para mí mucho más fundamento. "Ahora no tengo nada en contra de que pase el tiempo" nos dice al final del 18 de noviembre número 476. Ella me resulta ya más equilibrada en su circunstancia: "mis días son simples, mi cabeza está repleta, mis noches discurren tranquilas" (día 992).
Al repetir el mismo día pudiendo vivirlo de muy distintas maneras, tiene la oportunidad de observar cada detalle de forma minuciosa, reflexionar sobre sus acciones y sus efectos distintos, explorar su realidad y conocerse a sí misma. Aunque tanta minuciosidad se hace pesada! Igual por eso lo divide en siete volúmenes, porque del tirón sería una lectura agotadora.
Y termina con una novedad para querer seguir leyendo...
7/10
Me ha gustado mucho más que el anterior. Plantea más alternativas en la repetición de sus días, de su mismo día. En esta segunda parte aparece su familia. Y más detalles sobre el tránsito del tiempo en esa día, como una superposición de imágenes del nuevo día sobre el anterior, ejemplificado muy bien en el pasaje de las patatas asadas...con una zona de incertidumbre en la que los dos tiempos se encuentran. Sigo viendo lagunas que se contradicen (en los días de navidad con la madre por ejemplo, y en casi cualquier interacción con otras personas) pero tal vez esa sea toda la intención de la autora hasta despejarnos la incógnita.
Su madre le dice que ella siempre "ha seguido su propio rumbo". Poco después la protagonista comenta que "el mundo está lleno de detalles para quien sabe escuchar, con soluciones para todo, para las grandes cuestiones de la vida".
Desde luego en este segundo volumen ha comenzado a explorar su realidad, continúa reflexionando y percibiendo cada detalle pero ya no está encerrada en casa contando días repetidos. Ha salido al mundo, asumiendo su tiempo, y viaja, está viviendo su año, encuentra matices muy diferentes en su día "repetido", ahora tiene un cuaderno de las estaciones y está dispuesta a vivirlas.
La narración ha tomado para mí mucho más fundamento. "Ahora no tengo nada en contra de que pase el tiempo" nos dice al final del 18 de noviembre número 476. Ella me resulta ya más equilibrada en su circunstancia: "mis días son simples, mi cabeza está repleta, mis noches discurren tranquilas" (día 992).
Al repetir el mismo día pudiendo vivirlo de muy distintas maneras, tiene la oportunidad de observar cada detalle de forma minuciosa, reflexionar sobre sus acciones y sus efectos distintos, explorar su realidad y conocerse a sí misma. Aunque tanta minuciosidad se hace pesada! Igual por eso lo divide en siete volúmenes, porque del tirón sería una lectura agotadora.
Y termina con una novedad para querer seguir leyendo...
December 23, 2024
4,5🌟
Sprachlich 1A
Diesmal hat die Protagonistin Sehnsucht nach den Jahreszeiten und spürt der Frage nach, warum seinerzeit die Expansion des römischen Reiches zum Stillstand gekommen ist.
Ein halber Punkt bleibt auf der Strecke, weil Band 2 nicht mehr so phänomenal rüber kommt wie Teil 1 und am Ende wird einem wie aus dem Nichts hurtig noch ein Cliffhanger untergejubelt. Aber ich freue mich trotzdem auf Band 3.
Sprachlich 1A
Diesmal hat die Protagonistin Sehnsucht nach den Jahreszeiten und spürt der Frage nach, warum seinerzeit die Expansion des römischen Reiches zum Stillstand gekommen ist.
Ein halber Punkt bleibt auf der Strecke, weil Band 2 nicht mehr so phänomenal rüber kommt wie Teil 1 und am Ende wird einem wie aus dem Nichts hurtig noch ein Cliffhanger untergejubelt. Aber ich freue mich trotzdem auf Band 3.
March 22, 2025
Absolutely incredible. I am absolutely gobsmacked at the cliffhanger and I need the third volume immediately.
Tara is still trapped in her time loop and as she accepts her potentially eternal fate she decides to try and replicate the passage of time by travelling to countries with different seasons. She goes to the north of Sweden for winter and travels to London for spring and the Mediterranean for summer. But she can’t help but become increasingly obsessed with her situation and why she specifically has become trapped in time.
Beautifully written, funny, pensive and just all around loveable. I am so obsessed with this series and I can’t wait for the other volumes to come out. It’s probably the best literary series I have ever read.
Tara is still trapped in her time loop and as she accepts her potentially eternal fate she decides to try and replicate the passage of time by travelling to countries with different seasons. She goes to the north of Sweden for winter and travels to London for spring and the Mediterranean for summer. But she can’t help but become increasingly obsessed with her situation and why she specifically has become trapped in time.
Beautifully written, funny, pensive and just all around loveable. I am so obsessed with this series and I can’t wait for the other volumes to come out. It’s probably the best literary series I have ever read.
December 12, 2023
Tara Selter tänker ofta på Romarriket.
February 5, 2025
Gražiausia, ką esu skaičiusi apie metų laikus (ir visa tai, ką jie talpina).
March 1, 2025
Mietin ensimmäisen osan kohdalla, että lähteeköhän tämä ja milloin � ja heti toisen osan ensisivuilla se jonkinlainen lähtö tapahtui. En odottanut käännettä, en juonta, en suuria tapahtumia vaan jonkinlaista kielen tihentymistä, yksityiskohtien kirkastumista. Ja sen todella sain, II vangitsi täysin. Onneksi kolmonen odottelee jo hyllyssä lukuvuoroaan, tähän maailmaan tahtoo palata pian.
January 18, 2024
Det mesta pekade på att det var dags för mig att ge prov på min ökända storsinthet (dvs. 3 krumelurer), men så började ballen yra om romarriket och fisken var åter kall, kall men inte död.
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January 18, 2025my new Harry Potter�. Pls someone i know read�. I want to discuss� do i need to learn danish so i can read the others
December 31, 2024
i think that i will go on waking up to the eighteenth of november. to a time without seasons. a time without days of the week or months, without holy days or holidays or feast days, without calendars or dates. it is chronic and there is nothing to be done about it. i roam the streets, i am in november, i have lost my seasons. goodbye seasons. hello november.book two of solvej balle's septology, on the calculation of volume (om udregning af rumfang), begins with tara selter embarking upon a second year trapped within time. as ever more hours and days and weeks and months (all november 18ths of course) come and go, she remains unable to slip beyond the unyielding today. balle's tale is wonderfully enthralling and there is something so irresistible about this story... even before book two's gasp-inducing conclusion.
with books three, four, and five already written (though as yet untranslated) � and balle apparently at work on book six now � the reader's impatience pales in comparison to tara's endless waiting for time to offer her a way out.
as if a truer chronology were to be found somewhere down there in the depths, as if all my repetitions were just the surface and the real year had sought shelter under a succession of eighteenths of november.
*translated from the danish by barbara j. haveland (tiller, ullmann, høeg, et al.)
March 25, 2025
Tara ir toliau sukasi lapkričio 18-oje, sykį pasirodo sau jau kažkokia nušiurusi. Kelionių spindulys nuo namų ištįsta, nes ji ima ieškoti metų laikų. Dabar ji kaip migruojantis paukštis, tik atvirkštinis. Šita romano dalis kalba apie gyvenimą vienam ir kiek susvetimėjus � keleivių (o ypač futbolo sirgalių) srautas rodosi homogeniškas, net jei ten ir daug nepažįstamų, o tu � kitoniškas inkliuzas. Bet galì kada užsimanęs į Suomiją ar pietų Prancūziją iškeliaut, niekam nieko nesakęs, tai čia lyg kompensacija. Knygos pabaiga � kaip seriale, atveriamos intriguojančios durelės į trečiąją dalį.
Sakyčiau, kad šiaip antroji dalis už pirmąją vis dėlto silpnesnė: pirmojoj patirtys aštresnės ir keistesnės, abejoju ir dėl romėniškojo gabalo būtinybės. Bet susipažinau su šliandros obuoliukais, apsvarsčiau pagirių pojūtį iš ryto, kai gerti galimybė bus tik vakare, tad laukiu trečiojo epizodo. Matyt, jau šį lapkritį jis bus padėtas po kilimėliu su kodu.
Sakyčiau, kad šiaip antroji dalis už pirmąją vis dėlto silpnesnė: pirmojoj patirtys aštresnės ir keistesnės, abejoju ir dėl romėniškojo gabalo būtinybės. Bet susipažinau su šliandros obuoliukais, apsvarsčiau pagirių pojūtį iš ryto, kai gerti galimybė bus tik vakare, tad laukiu trečiojo epizodo. Matyt, jau šį lapkritį jis bus padėtas po kilimėliu su kodu.
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October 31, 2024I'm obsessed
January 16, 2025
Em continuação de , ainda cercada pelo mistério do dia 18 de novembro que se prolonga no tempo e não permite que os demais dias cheguem, o leitor continua a acompanhar o caminho traçado por Tara a fim de encontrar um meio de se não escapar, ao menos compreender como foi inserida na situação anômala.
Fazendo diversas viagens em busca das estações do ano, que é sobretudo um modo de praticar a lucidez, a protagonista persegue o inverno, o verão e a primavera meio a encontros e desencontros diários com pessoas que convive, mas que dela nenhuma lembrança guarda.
É, assim, uma obra mais amena que a primeira, na qual a solução ou abordagem do mistério fica em segundo plano para que possamos observar como Tara lida com a quase perda de esperança de escapar do dia repetitivo. Todavia, ainda assim, as páginas finais compensam nossa paciência com um novo e importantíssimo evento com poder de alterar o que parecia imutável. Tive uma boa leitura.
Fazendo diversas viagens em busca das estações do ano, que é sobretudo um modo de praticar a lucidez, a protagonista persegue o inverno, o verão e a primavera meio a encontros e desencontros diários com pessoas que convive, mas que dela nenhuma lembrança guarda.
É, assim, uma obra mais amena que a primeira, na qual a solução ou abordagem do mistério fica em segundo plano para que possamos observar como Tara lida com a quase perda de esperança de escapar do dia repetitivo. Todavia, ainda assim, as páginas finais compensam nossa paciência com um novo e importantíssimo evento com poder de alterar o que parecia imutável. Tive uma boa leitura.
August 29, 2024
Olen oppinut erottamaan tietyn kehollisen tunteen, joka kertoo että kirja on hyvä, täydellinen. Kun otat kirjan käteesi illalla pään painuessa tyynylle, ja huomaat, että on kuin keho laskeutuisi viileään, tyyneen veteen kesäillan autereessa. Kaikki arjen meteli katoaa, ja on vain tämä kupla, jonka kirjan sivut tuovat tullessaan.
Tilavuuden laskemisesta on juuri sellainen kirja. Sen rivien välit ovat väljät (henkisesti, luen e-kirjaa ja välit ovat hyvin väljät aina, että näen lukea), teksti hengittää juuri oikealla taajuudella. Aivoissa kihelmöi, kun äimistelee kirjailijan mielikuvituksen neroutta, taitoa luoda paikan tuntu, ja ajan säilö. Miten monta eri marraskuun kahdeksattatoista onkaan olemassa, miten monella tavalla onkaan mahdollista tutkia olemistaan siellä ja toisaalta fyysisen maailman paikoissa.
En haluaisi lopettaa lukemista ollenkaan. Onneksi päädytään cliffhangeriin, jaksan odottaa seuraavaa osaa, ehkä. Tai sitten luen sen ruotsiksi, mutta pelkään menettäväni jotain, jos en lue tunnekielellä. Suomennos on suorastaan nerokkaan erinomainen.
Tilavuuden laskemisesta on juuri sellainen kirja. Sen rivien välit ovat väljät (henkisesti, luen e-kirjaa ja välit ovat hyvin väljät aina, että näen lukea), teksti hengittää juuri oikealla taajuudella. Aivoissa kihelmöi, kun äimistelee kirjailijan mielikuvituksen neroutta, taitoa luoda paikan tuntu, ja ajan säilö. Miten monta eri marraskuun kahdeksattatoista onkaan olemassa, miten monella tavalla onkaan mahdollista tutkia olemistaan siellä ja toisaalta fyysisen maailman paikoissa.
En haluaisi lopettaa lukemista ollenkaan. Onneksi päädytään cliffhangeriin, jaksan odottaa seuraavaa osaa, ehkä. Tai sitten luen sen ruotsiksi, mutta pelkään menettäväni jotain, jos en lue tunnekielellä. Suomennos on suorastaan nerokkaan erinomainen.
December 25, 2023
Varför gillar jag berättelsen om kvinnan i den upprepade novemberdagen så mycket? För mig blir den den perfekta allegorin för dystymi, eller helt enkelt för att leva i vår hopplösa samtid. Jag relaterar till hur Tara Selter letar fragment av årstider i sin enda dag och lyckas så bra i detta konstgjorda att hon kan fortsätta, om bara för ett tag. Till hur hon låter sig uppslukas av historien när ingen framtid finns. Det känns igen och ger något slags hopp. Man kan ingjuta mening i allt. Även i den här septologin.
March 29, 2025
Antroji knyga jau kupina nerimo, žmonių, artumo, įprasto gyvenimo ritmo ilgesio. Sakyčiau ji apie bandymą prisitaikyti o gal susitaikyti?
Man itin patinka autorės pastabumas, atidumas detalėms. Tas rašymo stilius mane visiškai panardina į aprašomą atmosferą, į herojės būseną. O pabaiga! Na tikrai labai lauksiu kitos dalies.
"Štai ir praėjo metai. Metų laikų metai, galvoju, bet ten buvo ne metų laikai. Ten buvo sudužusių laivų nuolaužos, sužvejotos lapkričio dienų sraute."
"Nežinau, kaip galima priprasti prie tokios situacijos, bet vyksta būtent tai. (...)
Mano katastrofos mažos, mano nelaimės laikinos: nestiprus nudegimas, išsukta pėda ir automobilio avarija, kurios buvo išvengta dėl stabdžių sistemos. (...) Turiu viską, ko man reikia. Nebadauju. Galiu nusipirkti, ko panorėjusi. Galiu grįžti pas Tomą ir atsikraustyti į jo rutiną. Jis vis dar gyvas. (...) Aš nepatyriau jokių netekčių, nebuvau išduota, atstumta, apleista. Nenutiko nieko, ko galėtum bijoti. Nieko baisaus."
Man itin patinka autorės pastabumas, atidumas detalėms. Tas rašymo stilius mane visiškai panardina į aprašomą atmosferą, į herojės būseną. O pabaiga! Na tikrai labai lauksiu kitos dalies.
"Štai ir praėjo metai. Metų laikų metai, galvoju, bet ten buvo ne metų laikai. Ten buvo sudužusių laivų nuolaužos, sužvejotos lapkričio dienų sraute."
"Nežinau, kaip galima priprasti prie tokios situacijos, bet vyksta būtent tai. (...)
Mano katastrofos mažos, mano nelaimės laikinos: nestiprus nudegimas, išsukta pėda ir automobilio avarija, kurios buvo išvengta dėl stabdžių sistemos. (...) Turiu viską, ko man reikia. Nebadauju. Galiu nusipirkti, ko panorėjusi. Galiu grįžti pas Tomą ir atsikraustyti į jo rutiną. Jis vis dar gyvas. (...) Aš nepatyriau jokių netekčių, nebuvau išduota, atstumta, apleista. Nenutiko nieko, ko galėtum bijoti. Nieko baisaus."
March 15, 2025
Faina mintis, kad metų laikai yra psichologinis reiškinys. Dabar pats metas skaityt, kai žmonių stebėjimasis, kad “meteorologiniai reiškiniai nesutampa su kalendorium� pats stipriausias. Šita Taros strigimo dalis buvo įdomiausia. Po to patyriau strigimą pas romėnus, kol atgijau mintyse apie indus ir imperijų ekspansijas (monstras tampa imperatorium?). O pabaigos posūkis toks netikėtas, kad tikiuos trečioj daly bus gerai išaiškintas! :D
April 20, 2025
Wow! Jeg venta på reise gjennom hele den første boka, og nå får jeg en hel dedikert til det, heldige meg! Med en gang syklisten ble introdusert, visste jeg hva som skulle komme. Jeg gleder meg til neste!
January 14, 2025
birthday book two, because can’t help but dive more into this world of November 18 (tho waiting for books three thru seven will be a challenge)!
such an interesting way to think about time & others within our day� I think I maybe enjoyed this one more than the first, but of course it ended on a cliffhanger & now I need to wait to find out what happens next!
such an interesting way to think about time & others within our day� I think I maybe enjoyed this one more than the first, but of course it ended on a cliffhanger & now I need to wait to find out what happens next!
July 14, 2023
Jeg er fanget. Jeg må have mere af den 18. november, fylde mere i beholderen. Jeg må indrømme, at da jeg først hørte om konceptet tvivlede jeg på og det kunne bære 7 bind. Det kunne helt sikkert bære de to første og nu glæder jeg mig bare til at gå i gang med næste i rækken.
February 4, 2024
Jag är i stort behov av nästa del och det är omgående
February 10, 2024
Förunderlig. Det händer ingenting men jag vill ha mer.
March 7, 2025
No segundo volume da saga de Tara Seldon para encontrar uma resposta sobre o loop temporal em que se encontra (e quem sabe, encontrar uma saida), os dias nas páginas do seu diário só vão avançando sem que haja um vislumbre do que tenha causado essa ruptura do ciclo temporal. Permanecer na pequena cidade junto a Thomas, seu marido, já não é possível, não só por temer as consequência desse repetir e retornar ao mesmo ponto diariamente, apesar do apoio que tem dele, mas também por perceber que cada vez mais vai "consumindo o mundo" ao seu redor, de uma forma que pode causar sérios distúrbios para si e para aqueles que vivem próximos.
Talvez a resposta esteja em Paris, onde tudo teve início? Ou quem sabe, seguir o ciclo das estações do ano possa indicar algum caminho? Ou se não indicar, será que isso posa lhe permitir sentir a vida pulsando de novo, além de um determinado 18 de novembro? E como fazer para assim proceder? Como seguir o ciclo das estações, do tempo, da vida? Como contonar as diversas dificuldades que a levam a se arriscar no mundo?
Seu diário é quase uma forma de se manter lúcida, ao mesmo tempo que anota coisas nas quais possa vir a encontrar respostas para a situação que vive. É uma rica possibilidade de refletir sobre si, mas também sobre o mundo.
Solvej Balle continua, aqui, suas reflexões sobre a vida e o estar nela, sobre as relações, sobre a nossa presença no mundo e suas consequências, sobre o mundo que era, que é e que pode vir a ser, sobre a instabilidade do todo. Acho incrível a expressão que utiliza, de "devorar o mundo", pois é assim que nesse mundo em que vivemos, apredemos a fazer, tomar a nós o que cremos ser nosso sem refletir que aquilo que tomamos do mundo e consumimos de uma forma muitas vezes egoistica e sem levar em conta suas consequências, acaba por também ocasionar uma disruptura num mundo de recursos finitos e de bilhões de outros indivíduos, dos quais, uma grande parte nem tem com o que se alimentar ou que vivem em estados de degradação e escravidão advindos dos próprios processos de geração de riquezas criados por nós mesmos. O homem, nesse sentido, se mostra cada vez mais o próprio lobo do homem, o que é imensamente triste visto que se temos a capacidade de consciência do mundo, também temos a capacidade de lutar contra os nossos instintos, mas não o fazemos; usamos a razão para fins de proveito próprio, nada humanos. O ser humano é o pior animal.
Se entre os volumes 1 e 2, não tinhamos algo claro no qual pudessemos basear o que seria o segundo livro, já ao final desse livro, já nas últimas linhas, Tara nos dá um presente: a ideia do que possa vir a ser o terceiro livro, já publicado em Italiano.
Talvez a resposta esteja em Paris, onde tudo teve início? Ou quem sabe, seguir o ciclo das estações do ano possa indicar algum caminho? Ou se não indicar, será que isso posa lhe permitir sentir a vida pulsando de novo, além de um determinado 18 de novembro? E como fazer para assim proceder? Como seguir o ciclo das estações, do tempo, da vida? Como contonar as diversas dificuldades que a levam a se arriscar no mundo?
Seu diário é quase uma forma de se manter lúcida, ao mesmo tempo que anota coisas nas quais possa vir a encontrar respostas para a situação que vive. É uma rica possibilidade de refletir sobre si, mas também sobre o mundo.
Solvej Balle continua, aqui, suas reflexões sobre a vida e o estar nela, sobre as relações, sobre a nossa presença no mundo e suas consequências, sobre o mundo que era, que é e que pode vir a ser, sobre a instabilidade do todo. Acho incrível a expressão que utiliza, de "devorar o mundo", pois é assim que nesse mundo em que vivemos, apredemos a fazer, tomar a nós o que cremos ser nosso sem refletir que aquilo que tomamos do mundo e consumimos de uma forma muitas vezes egoistica e sem levar em conta suas consequências, acaba por também ocasionar uma disruptura num mundo de recursos finitos e de bilhões de outros indivíduos, dos quais, uma grande parte nem tem com o que se alimentar ou que vivem em estados de degradação e escravidão advindos dos próprios processos de geração de riquezas criados por nós mesmos. O homem, nesse sentido, se mostra cada vez mais o próprio lobo do homem, o que é imensamente triste visto que se temos a capacidade de consciência do mundo, também temos a capacidade de lutar contra os nossos instintos, mas não o fazemos; usamos a razão para fins de proveito próprio, nada humanos. O ser humano é o pior animal.
Se entre os volumes 1 e 2, não tinhamos algo claro no qual pudessemos basear o que seria o segundo livro, já ao final desse livro, já nas últimas linhas, Tara nos dá um presente: a ideia do que possa vir a ser o terceiro livro, já publicado em Italiano.
March 15, 2025
#Բⲵųٱ辱Ჹ
Nepaprastą malonumą patyriau skaitydama šias knygas. Tekstas kaip terapija, būtent taip apibūdinčiau.
Apie sulūžusį laiką, apie tikrą “mindfulness� iš esmés, nes gyveni vieną tapačią dieną, lapkričio 18-ąją. Niekas nemirė, niekas nesusižeidė, nieko nenutiko. Tik laikas sulūžo.
� Aplink mane žmonės su paltais, portfeliais ir telefonais. Girdžiu, kad kai kurie turi gyvenimą, kurį dabar gyvena, turi vietų, į kurias jiems reikia nusigauti, ir dalykų, kuriuos reikia spėti padaryti. Nežinau, ar aš turiu gyvenimą, kurį dabar gyvenu, bet man nereikia nieko spėti, ir aš neturiu niekur nusigauti. Turiu ausis, kuriomis galiu klausytis, ir jei norisi, galima pasiskolinti truputį iš savo pakeleivių. Jų gyvenimų ir vietų. Dalykų, kuriuos jie turi suspėti"
“Pripratau prie šių žaibiškų akcijų. Pripratau, kad negali palaukti rytojaus, kad viskas privalo įvykti per vieną akimirką, ir per savo retus susitikimus su kitais žmonėmis visada turiu juos įtikinti, kad viskas privalo įvykti tuoj pat, aš negaliu grįžti kitą dieną, reikiantai daryti čia ir dabar, nes rytoj bus šiandien..�
Kai turi visą laiką, bet nėra rytojaus.
I dalis man labiau apie savęs ribas, naujo savęs supratimą, II-oji surezonuos tiem, kas gyvenimo aplinkybių priversti ieško naujų ritualų, naujos rutinos, naujo ritmo.
Lentyna - šalia Bėgūnų
Nepaprastą malonumą patyriau skaitydama šias knygas. Tekstas kaip terapija, būtent taip apibūdinčiau.
Apie sulūžusį laiką, apie tikrą “mindfulness� iš esmés, nes gyveni vieną tapačią dieną, lapkričio 18-ąją. Niekas nemirė, niekas nesusižeidė, nieko nenutiko. Tik laikas sulūžo.
� Aplink mane žmonės su paltais, portfeliais ir telefonais. Girdžiu, kad kai kurie turi gyvenimą, kurį dabar gyvena, turi vietų, į kurias jiems reikia nusigauti, ir dalykų, kuriuos reikia spėti padaryti. Nežinau, ar aš turiu gyvenimą, kurį dabar gyvenu, bet man nereikia nieko spėti, ir aš neturiu niekur nusigauti. Turiu ausis, kuriomis galiu klausytis, ir jei norisi, galima pasiskolinti truputį iš savo pakeleivių. Jų gyvenimų ir vietų. Dalykų, kuriuos jie turi suspėti"
“Pripratau prie šių žaibiškų akcijų. Pripratau, kad negali palaukti rytojaus, kad viskas privalo įvykti per vieną akimirką, ir per savo retus susitikimus su kitais žmonėmis visada turiu juos įtikinti, kad viskas privalo įvykti tuoj pat, aš negaliu grįžti kitą dieną, reikiantai daryti čia ir dabar, nes rytoj bus šiandien..�
Kai turi visą laiką, bet nėra rytojaus.
I dalis man labiau apie savęs ribas, naujo savęs supratimą, II-oji surezonuos tiem, kas gyvenimo aplinkybių priversti ieško naujų ritualų, naujos rutinos, naujo ritmo.
Lentyna - šalia Bėgūnų
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