Many works, including Siddhartha (1922) and Steppenwolf (1927), of German-born Swiss writer Hermann Hesse concern the struggle of the individual to find wholeness and meaning in life; he won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1946.
Other best-known works of this poet, novelist, and painter include The Glass Bead Game, which, also known as Magister Ludi, explore a search of an individual for spirituality outside society.
In his time, Hesse was a popular and influential author in the German-speaking world; worldwide fame only came later. Young Germans desiring a different and more "natural" way of life at the time of great economic and technological progress in the country, received enthusiastically Peter Camenzind, first great novel of Hesse.
Throughout Germany, people named many schools. In 1964, people founded the Calwer Hermann-Hesse-Preis, awarded biennially, alternately to a German-language literary journal or to the translator of work of Hesse to a foreign language. The city of Karlsruhe, Germany, also associates a Hermann Hesse prize.
citas y/o fragmentos subrayados en mi kindle: 鈥� 鈥溌u茅 vida m谩s desgraciada y repulsiva, falsa e hip贸crita! Los adultos se conduc铆an como si el mundo fuera perfecto, como si fueran semidioses. Y nosotros, los muchachos, chusma y la hez de la humanidad.鈥�
鈥� 鈥溌縋or qu茅 reconoc铆amos y sent铆amos tan hondamente la belleza y la justicia de los buenos prop贸sitos, si la vida (inclu铆amos en este concepto a los adultos) hed铆a a trivialidad y estaba organizada para el triunfo de lo mezquino y lo vulgar?鈥�
鈥� 鈥淐uando mi padre pronunci贸 la oraci贸n final: 芦Se帽or nuestro, te agradecemos pues eres piadoso y tu bondad es eterna禄, me pareci贸 como si un cuchillo ardiente me separara de las puras y edificantes palabras sagradas, y de todos los que se encontraban en la mesa. Mis manos unidas para rezar eran una mentira y mi actitud devota una blasfemia.鈥�
鈥� 鈥淎bandon茅 mi piecita y sal铆 por la puerta trasera del jard铆n. Las quintas y los prados se extend铆an ba帽ados por la luz del sol, y las mariposas revoloteaban en el aire. Sin embargo todo se me antojaba feo y amenazador, mucho m谩s que a la ma帽ana, ya conoc铆a esa sensaci贸n, pero me parec铆a no haberla experimentado jam谩s tan intensamente. El paisaje, con su conciencia tranquila, me miraba como si nada hubiera pasado; la ciudad y la iglesia, los prados, el camino, las flores y las mariposas, todas estas cosas hermosas y alegres que siempre deleitaban mi vista, me parec铆an extra帽as y alejadas como por arte de encantamiento. S铆, yo conoc铆a este sentimiento; yo sab铆a lo que era atravesar presa de remordimientos una regi贸n familiar. Podr铆a volar sobre la pradera la m谩s rara mariposa y luego venir a posarse a mis pies: todo ser铆a en vano; nada me producir铆a placer, ni me dar铆a consuelo, y si el cerezo m谩s soberbio me ofreciera sus ramas cargadas, tampoco me interesar铆a, tampoco me har铆a feliz. Lo 煤nico que importaba era huir, huir del padre, del castigo, de m铆 mismo, de mi conciencia, huir sin descanso, hasta que llegara el fin inevitable e inexorable que yo presum铆a.鈥�
鈥� 鈥淧or doquiera huellas, por doquiera espejos, desde los cuales me miraba un muchacho, distinto del que era en ese momento. 驴Pod铆a haber sido yo aquel chico alegre, contento y agradecido, tan cari帽oso con mi madre, valiente, buen compa帽ero y maravillosamente feliz? 驴De veras hab铆a sido yo ese ni帽o? 驴C贸mo pude transformarme as铆, hasta llegar a ser un muchacho tan distinto del que era entonces, tan malo y miedoso, y destrozado? Todo estaba igual que anta帽o: el bosque y el r铆o, los helechos y las flores, el castillo y los hormigueros; y sin embargo todo parec铆a envenenado y desolado. 驴No exist铆a ning煤n camino para retornar hacia la felicidad y la inocencia? 驴Jam谩s podr铆a ser como antes?鈥�
鈥� 鈥淨uiz谩s por primera vez en mi vida infantil experiment茅 hasta el l铆mite de la raz贸n y de lo consciente, hasta que punto la incomprensi贸n puede separar a dos personas cercanas, que se quieren y que sin embargo se atormentan y martirizan rec铆procamente y c贸mo en estos casos todas las palabras y toda la prudencia y todos los razonamientos s贸lo vierten a煤n m谩s veneno, creando nuevos tormentos, nuevos dolores, nuevos errores.鈥�
En los libros de Hesse que he le铆do hasta ahora hay tres cosas en com煤n: el ser humano como un producto que 茅l mismo y su entorno crean (su inclinaci贸n existencialista es lo que m谩s me atrae de sus letras), el individuo como una dualidad, y los terrores de la infancia. El problema de esta novela es que es una copia casi exacta de los primeros cap铆tulos de Demian; ni siquiera es posible imaginarse a otro protagonista que no sea el mism铆simo Sinclair, se trata de su mismo remordimiento, el mismo miedo hacia el mundo, sus mismos peque帽os cr铆menes y la misma aversi贸n hacia los adultos. Hermann Hesse fue un excelente escritor, pero creo que Alma de Ni帽o fue un peque帽o desliz.
My best book of 2018! My fav quotes (not a review): -Page 7 | "With this repulsive feeling, truly the feeling of a criminal, I entered the hall and then the living room. I sensed that the devil was afoot today, that something was going to happen. I sensed it as the barometer senses a change in the pressure of the air, with utterly helpless passivity. Ah, here it was again, the inexpressible horror. The demon was skulking through the house. Original sin gnawed at my heart. Vast and invisible, a ghost stood behind every wall, a father and judge. As yet I knew nothing. It was all mere foreboding, a gnawing, anticipatory uneasiness. In such situations it was often best to fall ill, to throw up and go to bed." -Page 8 | "Then the dangerous time sometimes passed harmlessly; Mother or Sister came in, I would be given tea and felt surrounded by loving solicitude. I could cry or sleep, and afterwards waken sound and cheerful in a wholly transformed, relaxed, and bright world." -Page 15 | "Because I hate you and I spit at your feet, God. You have plagued me and hurt me, you have made laws nobody can keep, you have set grownups to make life a hell for us boys.鈥�" -Page 20 | "I put on the gentleman鈥檚 son, indicated that it was no loss to me to give up friendship with a street urchin. I told him there would be no more of his eating berries in our garden and playing with my toys. I felt myself coming to life again in red-hot fury. I had an enemy, one who was to blame, one I could come to grips with. All my vital impulses gathered together into this releasing, welcome, liberating fury, into fierce delight in hating the foe who this time was not within myself, who stood facing me, staring at me with eyes at first alarmed, then angry, whose voice I heard, whose recriminations I despised, whose abusive language I could top." -Page 21 | "When he desperately grabbed and tore my shirt collar, I felt with ecstasy the stream of cold air pouring over my burning skin." -Page 25 | "Sunday was usually something like that, especially when I had to go to church or Sunday school, which fortunately was not always the case. If I did, the free day acquired an added taste of duty and boredom. And although walks with the whole family could often be very fine, usually something happened. There was a quarrel with my sisters, or I walked too fast or too slow, or I smeared resin on my clothes. Most of the time there was a catch to it." -Page 27 | "Now came the finest part of Sunday: the two hours between church and Sunday dinner. I had done my duty, and now after sitting so long I was eager for movement, for games or walks, or for a book." -Page 31 | "Maybe it was better to have a coarse father than such a refined and just one. When the kind of father I read about in stories gave his children a terrible beating in rage or drunkenness, then the father was in the wrong, and although the blows hurt, the child could shrug his shoulders inwardly and despise him." -Page 32 | "Perhaps for the first time in my life I felt, almost to the verge of understanding and consciousness, how utterly two well-intentioned human beings can torment each other, and how in such a case all talk, all attempts at wisdom, all reason merely adds another dose of poison, creates new tortures, new wounds, new errors. How was that possible? But it was possible, it was happening. It was absurd, it was crazy, it was ridiculous and desperate鈥攂ut it was so."
鈥淗idup ini terkutuk dan memuakkan, mengerikan dan penuh kebohongan. Orang dewasa bersikap seakan-akan dunia ini sempurna dan seolah mereka itu setengah dewa. Kami anak kecil bukan apa-apa, melainkan sampah. Para guru ini...!鈥� Kisah jeritan hati seorang anak. Penderitaan yang dialaminya karena kesalahan kecil yang dilakukannya. Protes dirinya pada sang ayah, orang dewasa, lingkungannya dan bahkan pada Tuhan. Sebuah kisah yang pantas kita ikuti dan renungkan!
Kurze Geschichte von Baby-Hesse, die Gef眉hle aus der Jugend hochleben lassen, die ich selbst damals nicht verstehen und schon gar nicht kommunizieren konnte