What do you think?
Rate this book
Desert
Desert is a novel composed of two alternating narratives, set in counterpoint. The first takes place in the desert between 1909 and 1912 and evokes the migration of a young adolescent boy, Nour, and his people, the Blue Men, notorious warriors of the desert. Driven from their lands by French colonial soldiers, Nour's tribe has come to the valley of the Saguiet El Hamra to seek the aid of the great spiritual leader known as Water of the Eyes. The religious chief sends them out from the holy city of Smara into the desert to travel still further. Spurred on by thirst, hunger, and suffering, Nour's tribe and others flee northward in the hopes of finding a land that can harbor them at last.
The second narrative relates the contemporary story of Lalla, a descendant of the Blue Men. Though she is an orphan living in a shantytown known as the Project near a coastal city in Morocco, the blood of her proud, obstinate tribe runs in her veins. All too soon, Lalla must flee to escape a forced marriage with an older, wealthy man. She travels to France, undergoing many trials there, from working in a brothel to success as a highly paid fashion model, but she never betrays the blood of her ancestors.
The second narrative relates the contemporary story of Lalla, a descendant of the Blue Men. Though she is an orphan living in a shantytown known as the Project near a coastal city in Morocco, the blood of her proud, obstinate tribe runs in her veins. All too soon, Lalla must flee to escape a forced marriage with an older, wealthy man. She travels to France, undergoing many trials there, from working in a brothel to success as a highly paid fashion model, but she never betrays the blood of her ancestors.
352 pages, Hardcover
First published May 6, 1980
151 people are currently reading
3,353 people want to read
About the author
J.M.G. Le Clézio
157books636followersJean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, better known as J.M.G. Le Clézio (born 13 April 1940) is a Franco-Mauriciano novelist. The author of over forty works, he was awarded the 1963 Prix Renaudot for his novel Le Procès-Verbal (The Interrogation) and the 2008 Nobel Prize in Literature.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 246 reviews
November 14, 2021
I've read this book in French, and it was not an easy read, I must concede. The writing style is rather poetical, with lots of elements typical for magical realism.
The perspective goes back and forth between 1910 (a little boy Nour and his family on the run for French colonial troops in the Moroccan desert) and the present (the girl Lalla, living in a shanty town on the Moroccan coast). There are a lot of connections between the two characters (they even seem related), but the most important link is the magic of the desert. Le Clezio describes the desert as full of life and light, even life-giving and pure, quite contrary to our intuitive feelings. This is stressed by a short stay of Lalla in the French harbour city of Marseille: apparently, the city is the real desert, killing everything human.
In my opinion Le Clezio clings a bit too much to the Romantic Western myth of the noble savage (in this case the desert-nomads, the blue men). And, in this respect, his story is too black and white. But all in all, this reallyis a beautiful book, written in a very imaginative kind of French, and offering a different view on reality. This is not for every one, for sure, but it definitely is a novel to savour in slow-reading sessions.
The perspective goes back and forth between 1910 (a little boy Nour and his family on the run for French colonial troops in the Moroccan desert) and the present (the girl Lalla, living in a shanty town on the Moroccan coast). There are a lot of connections between the two characters (they even seem related), but the most important link is the magic of the desert. Le Clezio describes the desert as full of life and light, even life-giving and pure, quite contrary to our intuitive feelings. This is stressed by a short stay of Lalla in the French harbour city of Marseille: apparently, the city is the real desert, killing everything human.
In my opinion Le Clezio clings a bit too much to the Romantic Western myth of the noble savage (in this case the desert-nomads, the blue men). And, in this respect, his story is too black and white. But all in all, this reallyis a beautiful book, written in a very imaginative kind of French, and offering a different view on reality. This is not for every one, for sure, but it definitely is a novel to savour in slow-reading sessions.
January 17, 2016
Displacement, exile, refugee crossing, ethnic cleansing. J. M. G. Le Clézio's themes are heavy. They are the stuff of enduring human conflicts, the bane of civilization. Yet the register of his writing makes bearable the human failings and violence it seeks to redress. His prose register is poetry, but it is poetry lightened by silence and simplicity.
"There is no limit to the extent to which we can think ourselves into the being of another", says J. M. Coetzee's eponymous novelist in Elizabeth Costello; "There are no bounds to the sympathetic imagination." Le Clézio's sympathetic imagination in the novel Desert is bounded only by geography (Saharan desert, Morocco, France) and time (20th century). His treatment of the plight of the marginalized people and their culture crosses over from place to place, from one generation to the next. It crosses over from an individual to the collective. Hence, the gaze of a young boy is also the gaze of his tribe or clan: "His face was dark, sun-scorched, but his eyes shone and the light of his gaze was almost supernatural." The young boy is Nour, and his people is being persecuted out of the African desert. In the next paragraph, Le Clézio generalized the particular "light of his gaze":
The poet Wislawa Szymborska expressed a similar journey across an inhospitable landscape. In her poem "" (trans. Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh), the same perilous rhythm can be detected.
A second narrative thread of Desert tells the story of Lalla, a descendant of Nour. Lalla's people no longer flee, but she chooses to escape her village. She runs away with a man when she was forced to marry another. The man she eloped with, "the Hartani", is a shepherd who lives like a hermit and doesn't communicate in the usual way.
Le Clézio conveys the contradiction between silence and the power of words to express feelings and ideas. The Hartani seems to be representative of an old way of life, a simple life dependent on the natural elements, far from the priorities and demands of the city. The only way to speak with him is to look in his eyes.
The novel idealizes communication beyond words, in a natural setting, as opposed to the sounds of modernity in a city. Lalla can derive from the gaze of the Hartani the "essence" of things, maybe even those beyond the capacity of words to express.
The descriptive function of words is not so much challenged as rejected. This passage, obviously of well chosen words, yet offers more than evocation of words. It is in the register of invocation ("like a secret, like a prayer") of a desert life, an elegy to a vanishing culture, to a threatened indigenous way of life.
The novel as a whole offers a way of seeing beyond the surface of things, beyond the superficiality of words. As a persecuted people flee the harsh distances of the desert ("bundles rocking on their backs, like strange insects after a storm", 181-182), their pitiful silence seems both prayer and protest. Their quiet dignity and martyrdom provide a contrast to the people of a European city (the city Lalla escaped to) who are at the mercy of "immobile giants". That city, Marseilles, is worded in void.
The image of monstrous buildings sexually leveling people under them � 180 degrees from the idylls of desert � reinforces the cruelty and devouring of small people by powerful men. In this dank city, Lalla's adventures are told in descriptive words, not sacrificing the things that ought to be said, the things that count. They are words of suffering and degradation. That is, until her transfiguration and acquisition of a new kind of power.
Desert is an imagistic novel. From one exile to another, it recounts the never-ending quest for the equality of races and the security of a home. Beyond words, beyond aesthetic values, compassion resides in its pages.
"There is no limit to the extent to which we can think ourselves into the being of another", says J. M. Coetzee's eponymous novelist in Elizabeth Costello; "There are no bounds to the sympathetic imagination." Le Clézio's sympathetic imagination in the novel Desert is bounded only by geography (Saharan desert, Morocco, France) and time (20th century). His treatment of the plight of the marginalized people and their culture crosses over from place to place, from one generation to the next. It crosses over from an individual to the collective. Hence, the gaze of a young boy is also the gaze of his tribe or clan: "His face was dark, sun-scorched, but his eyes shone and the light of his gaze was almost supernatural." The young boy is Nour, and his people is being persecuted out of the African desert. In the next paragraph, Le Clézio generalized the particular "light of his gaze":
They were the men and women of the sand, of the wind, of the light, of the night. They had appeared as if in a dream at the top of a dune, as if they were born of cloudless sky and carried the harshness of space in their limbs. They bore with them hunger, the thirst of bleeding lips, the flintlike silence of the glinting sun, the cold nights, the glow of the Milky Way, the moon; accompanying them were their huge shadows at sunset, the waves of virgin sand over which their splayed feet trod, the inaccessible horizon. More than anything, they bore the light of their gaze shining so brightly in the whites of their eyes. [2-3, my emphasis]
The poet Wislawa Szymborska expressed a similar journey across an inhospitable landscape. In her poem "" (trans. Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh), the same perilous rhythm can be detected.
Some people flee some other people.
In some country under a sun
and some clouds.
They abandon something like all they’ve got,
sown fields, some chickens, dogs,
mirrors in which fire now preens.
Their shoulders bear pitchers and bundles.
The emptier they get, the heavier they grow.
A second narrative thread of Desert tells the story of Lalla, a descendant of Nour. Lalla's people no longer flee, but she chooses to escape her village. She runs away with a man when she was forced to marry another. The man she eloped with, "the Hartani", is a shepherd who lives like a hermit and doesn't communicate in the usual way.
He doesn't speak. That is to say, he doesn't speak the same language as humans. But Lalla hears his voice inside her ears, and in his language he says very beautiful things that stir her body inwardly, that make her shudder. Maybe he speaks with the faint sound of the wind that comes from the depths of space, or else with the silence between each gust of wind. Maybe he speaks with the words of light, words that explode in showers of sparks on the razor-edged rocks, with the words of sand, the words of pebbles that crumble into hard powder, and also the words of scorpions and snakes that leave tiny indistinct marks in the dust. He knows how to speak with all of those words, and his gaze leaps, swift as an animal, from one rock to another, shoots all the way out to the horizon in a single move, flies straight up into the sky, soaring higher than the birds. [69, The placement of the text of Lalla's sections in the novel are justified, as distinguished from Nour's, which are left-aligned.]
Le Clézio conveys the contradiction between silence and the power of words to express feelings and ideas. The Hartani seems to be representative of an old way of life, a simple life dependent on the natural elements, far from the priorities and demands of the city. The only way to speak with him is to look in his eyes.
She looks at him and reads the light in his black eyes, and he looks deep into her amber eyes; he doesn't only look at her face, but really deep down into her eyes, and it's as if he understands what she wants to say to him. [82]
The novel idealizes communication beyond words, in a natural setting, as opposed to the sounds of modernity in a city. Lalla can derive from the gaze of the Hartani the "essence" of things, maybe even those beyond the capacity of words to express.
Now Lalla knows that words don't really count. It's only what you mean to say, deep down inside, like a secret, like a prayer: that's the only thing that counts. And the Hartani doesn't speak in any other way; he knows how to give and receive that kind of message. So many things are conveyed through silence. Lalla didn't know that either before meeting the Hartani. Other people expect only words, or acts, proof, but the Hartani, he looks at Lalla with his handsome metallic eyes, without saying anything, and it is through the light in his eyes that you hear what he's saying, what he's asking. [100]
The descriptive function of words is not so much challenged as rejected. This passage, obviously of well chosen words, yet offers more than evocation of words. It is in the register of invocation ("like a secret, like a prayer") of a desert life, an elegy to a vanishing culture, to a threatened indigenous way of life.
The novel as a whole offers a way of seeing beyond the surface of things, beyond the superficiality of words. As a persecuted people flee the harsh distances of the desert ("bundles rocking on their backs, like strange insects after a storm", 181-182), their pitiful silence seems both prayer and protest. Their quiet dignity and martyrdom provide a contrast to the people of a European city (the city Lalla escaped to) who are at the mercy of "immobile giants". That city, Marseilles, is worded in void.
Lalla can feel the relentless dizziness of the void entering her, as if the wind blowing in the street was part of a long spiraling movement. Maybe the wind is going to tear the roofs off the sordid houses, smash in the doors and windows, knock down the rotten walls, heave all the cars into a pile of scrap metal. It's bound to happen, because there's too much hate, too much suffering� But the big building remains standing, stunting the men in its tall silhouette. They are the immobile giants, with bloody eyes, with cruel eyes, the giants who devour men and women. In their entrails, young women are thrown down on dirty old mattresses, and possessed in a few seconds by silent men with members as hot as pokers. Then they get dressed again and leave, and the cigarette � left burning on the edge of the table � hasn't had time to go out. Inside the devouring giants, old women lie under the weight of men who are crushing them, dirtying their yellow flesh. And so, in all of those women's wombs, the void is born, the intense and icy void that escapes from their bodies and blows like a wind along the streets and alleys, endlessly shooting out new spirals. [253-254]
The image of monstrous buildings sexually leveling people under them � 180 degrees from the idylls of desert � reinforces the cruelty and devouring of small people by powerful men. In this dank city, Lalla's adventures are told in descriptive words, not sacrificing the things that ought to be said, the things that count. They are words of suffering and degradation. That is, until her transfiguration and acquisition of a new kind of power.
Desert is an imagistic novel. From one exile to another, it recounts the never-ending quest for the equality of races and the security of a home. Beyond words, beyond aesthetic values, compassion resides in its pages.
July 8, 2020
(review in English below)
As principais personagens deste livro são a luz e o vento.
As duas histórias que o autor vai contando alternadamente apenas servem de pretexto para descrever os ambientes, com especial foco naqueles dois elementos.
A escrita é boa, por vezes bela, mas tudo é descrito com tanto pormenor - a terra, o céu, o mar, as pedras, com muito vento e ainda mais luz - que acaba por se tornar monótono, oscilando entre o hipnotizante e o soporífero.
Gostei da história de Lalla. Quanto a Nour, não é propriamente a história dele que é contada, havendo apenas alguns momentos protagonizados por ele no meio da narrativa, o que torna esta história menos pessoal e menos cativante.
Recomendo a quem gostar de descrições "atmosféricas".
The main characters in this book are the light and the wind.
The two stories that are told alternately are just a pretext for the author to describe the ambiences, focusing mainly on those two elements.
The writing is good, sometimes beautiful, mas everything is described in such detail - the earth, the sky, the sea, the rocks, with too much wind and even more light - it becomes monotonous, oscillating between hypnotic and soporific.
I enjoyed Lalla's story. As for Nour's, it isn't so much his story we're told, there are only a few moments centered on him throughout the narrative, making this a less personal and less captivating story.
I recommend this one to those who enjoy "atmospheric" descriptions.
As principais personagens deste livro são a luz e o vento.
As duas histórias que o autor vai contando alternadamente apenas servem de pretexto para descrever os ambientes, com especial foco naqueles dois elementos.
A escrita é boa, por vezes bela, mas tudo é descrito com tanto pormenor - a terra, o céu, o mar, as pedras, com muito vento e ainda mais luz - que acaba por se tornar monótono, oscilando entre o hipnotizante e o soporífero.
Gostei da história de Lalla. Quanto a Nour, não é propriamente a história dele que é contada, havendo apenas alguns momentos protagonizados por ele no meio da narrativa, o que torna esta história menos pessoal e menos cativante.
Recomendo a quem gostar de descrições "atmosféricas".
The main characters in this book are the light and the wind.
The two stories that are told alternately are just a pretext for the author to describe the ambiences, focusing mainly on those two elements.
The writing is good, sometimes beautiful, mas everything is described in such detail - the earth, the sky, the sea, the rocks, with too much wind and even more light - it becomes monotonous, oscillating between hypnotic and soporific.
I enjoyed Lalla's story. As for Nour's, it isn't so much his story we're told, there are only a few moments centered on him throughout the narrative, making this a less personal and less captivating story.
I recommend this one to those who enjoy "atmospheric" descriptions.
December 10, 2019
I was underwhelmed by Désert and mystified at why Le Clézio got a Nobel prize rather than the more-deserving late Philip Roth. There are two intertwined stories here about North Africa. But I found the two stories of Nour and Lulla a bit wanting despite the beautiful language used to describe the desert.
July 13, 2010
This French author won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2008. I had never heard of him before his award, as is embarrassingly true of many of the Nobel Prize winners when they are not American or English. Recently I resolved to read at least one book of each of these writers as long as they write novels. Having read Desert, I understand why he was awarded. The book was originally published in French by Editions Gallimard in 1980 and translated into English for release in 2009.
Easily one of the most intense books I have ever read, Desert takes place in North Africa in two different time periods. The first is the very early 1900s when many tribes, deprived of their homes and lands by European colonialists, are on a desperate march through the desert to a promised land prophesied by their most revered religious leader, Water of the Eyes. This doomed endeavor is seen through the eyes of Nour, a young boy whose family has joined the march.
Lalla is a young girl being raised in a shantytown near a coastal city in Morocco during the late 20th century. She is a descendant of Water of the Eyes, orphaned at birth. When the aunt that is raising her tries to arrange a marriage to an older man, Lalla runs away into the desert with her most beloved friend, a deaf mute goat herder. Later she and her aunt end up as immigrants in Marseilles, eking out a miserable existence in the most depressing area of this modern city.
The power of this book comes from Le Clezio's writing. For example, his account of a religious ceremony held with the natives and their spiritual leader awakes in the reader every impulse for spiritual freedom that mankind has ever had.
The immensity and harsh beauty of the desert, its sand dunes, wind, burning sun and frigid nights, is a continuous presence throughout the story as well as a symbol of both the devastation of these characters and their deepest love.
Never again will I be able to read a novel which romanticizes immigrant life and poverty. In fact, the value of reading the literature of Europe and Asia is its ability to penetrate our very American refusal or inability (I am not sure which it is) to comprehend the hopeless misery and yet the essential strength of the dispossessed peoples of this earth; these victims of greed and "progress."
If there is any chance at all that mankind do a better job of living together, it would have to start with the so-called winners taking a good look at how the so-called losers are created.
March 31, 2013
This book is beautifully written. The language and descriptions of the desert and its people are stunning. But I felt at a remove from the characters, separated from them as by a wall of clouds. Could this have something to do with the translation? Or was it because there was almost no dialogue, just a monologue by an omniscient narrator who tells us what the characters are doing and what they feel?
I don't know. But it isn't often that I throw in the towel on a book only 10 pages from the end.
I don't know. But it isn't often that I throw in the towel on a book only 10 pages from the end.
March 29, 2023
So not impressed by this Nobel laureate. The first 200 pages were desert landscapes, then some human interest but a lot of meaningless time shifting and bs about a sudden supermodel who’s way pregnant while shooting and dancing and getting all the magazine covers. Arrogant colonial policies inflicted on Northern Africa just to rule up some heat, but all pretty pointless. No more Le Clézio for me anytime soon.
January 23, 2022
A desert, a word that resembles an almost infinite expanse. A barren sea of dunes. At least for those who have never felt calmness it gives as the warm wind caresses their faces while sitting on top of a dune, and sand seeps through their fingers. Or until they see at the edge of the light, where the night begins, dancing sand wraiths carried by the wind. JMG Le Clézio saw all this and much more. His desert is not just a place devoid of life. He finds life where others do not see it, as well as death because there is no life without death or death without life.
The desert he paints with words is a way of life, it is a freedom, but also a prison because the desert is not always made up of hills of sand and oases scattered between them. Sometimes the desert is a city with its narrow streets winding through poor neighborhoods, which numerous people call home. Where the cry of a baby coughing and blunt sounds of husbands� fists hitting wife’s body echoes through the night.
Following two narratives, several decades apart, Le Clézio tells his magical 1,001-night story like Scheherazade, not to prolong his own life but to spread the message of hope and perseverance of the human spirit in overcoming everything thrown before it.
The shorter narrative, the one that opens and ends the novel masterfully, begins a few years before World War I and is the story of the Blue Men, who came from the desert and went back into it as if from a dream. Nour, a boy of fourteen, is a member of one of the Berber tribes fleeing a French army made of Senegalese and Sudanese troops. Caravan travel through the desert leaving behind a trail of the dead; survivors, hungry and thirsty, exhausted, they move north in search of freedom from colonizers and their servants.
Lalla's story, the one that makes up most of the novel, takes place decades later. Probably in the 1970s as Le Clézio doesn't specify it anywhere. Lalla lives in slums on the edge of an unnamed town, where the desert ends and the ocean begins. She can't read or write, she doesn't have parents, but she has freedom. Hers is the desert and sky above it, the waves of oceans that crash on the coast, the light of the sun, and the winds that carry happiness and misfortune.
She has an aunt, an old fisherman called Naman who tells her stories about the cities of the world, and Hartani, a mute shepherd who talks without words and understands nature, who is an orphan like her, which is the thing that binds them together. Lalla is a descendant of the Blue Men and like them does not want to be restrained, so as soon as her aunt decides to marry her to a rich older man to save her from the slums, Lalla flees to the desert with Hartani, and then on, to the Marseilles, a city that Naman told her about.
The greatest strength of Le Clézio's "Desert" lies in his language and style, the words with which he paints the surroundings, making it seem as we are watching one of those independent art films with wide shots of nature and zooms on the face of the actors and their eyes from which we read their feelings that he presents to us with a beautiful passage after passage. His symbolism, themes, and decision to masterfully intertwine two narratives, from one where a character flees from the French who want to drive his people from their country to another in which a character flees to the French, just like other nations that have suffered the same fate, tells of his genius. Almost entirely avoiding dialogue, Le Clézio conveys the atmosphere of the desert, contemplating nature, faith, and the human spirit.
People who want the plot will hardly be satisfied with "Desert" because there is hardly any plot here, but for those who want to read slowly, enjoying every sentence and passage that makes us think about ourselves and our relation to life, those who want to get lost in the smells and sounds of a slum on the Atlantic coast or the alleys of Marseilles, "Desert" is an ideal novel.
The desert he paints with words is a way of life, it is a freedom, but also a prison because the desert is not always made up of hills of sand and oases scattered between them. Sometimes the desert is a city with its narrow streets winding through poor neighborhoods, which numerous people call home. Where the cry of a baby coughing and blunt sounds of husbands� fists hitting wife’s body echoes through the night.
Following two narratives, several decades apart, Le Clézio tells his magical 1,001-night story like Scheherazade, not to prolong his own life but to spread the message of hope and perseverance of the human spirit in overcoming everything thrown before it.
The shorter narrative, the one that opens and ends the novel masterfully, begins a few years before World War I and is the story of the Blue Men, who came from the desert and went back into it as if from a dream. Nour, a boy of fourteen, is a member of one of the Berber tribes fleeing a French army made of Senegalese and Sudanese troops. Caravan travel through the desert leaving behind a trail of the dead; survivors, hungry and thirsty, exhausted, they move north in search of freedom from colonizers and their servants.
Lalla's story, the one that makes up most of the novel, takes place decades later. Probably in the 1970s as Le Clézio doesn't specify it anywhere. Lalla lives in slums on the edge of an unnamed town, where the desert ends and the ocean begins. She can't read or write, she doesn't have parents, but she has freedom. Hers is the desert and sky above it, the waves of oceans that crash on the coast, the light of the sun, and the winds that carry happiness and misfortune.
She has an aunt, an old fisherman called Naman who tells her stories about the cities of the world, and Hartani, a mute shepherd who talks without words and understands nature, who is an orphan like her, which is the thing that binds them together. Lalla is a descendant of the Blue Men and like them does not want to be restrained, so as soon as her aunt decides to marry her to a rich older man to save her from the slums, Lalla flees to the desert with Hartani, and then on, to the Marseilles, a city that Naman told her about.
The greatest strength of Le Clézio's "Desert" lies in his language and style, the words with which he paints the surroundings, making it seem as we are watching one of those independent art films with wide shots of nature and zooms on the face of the actors and their eyes from which we read their feelings that he presents to us with a beautiful passage after passage. His symbolism, themes, and decision to masterfully intertwine two narratives, from one where a character flees from the French who want to drive his people from their country to another in which a character flees to the French, just like other nations that have suffered the same fate, tells of his genius. Almost entirely avoiding dialogue, Le Clézio conveys the atmosphere of the desert, contemplating nature, faith, and the human spirit.
People who want the plot will hardly be satisfied with "Desert" because there is hardly any plot here, but for those who want to read slowly, enjoying every sentence and passage that makes us think about ourselves and our relation to life, those who want to get lost in the smells and sounds of a slum on the Atlantic coast or the alleys of Marseilles, "Desert" is an ideal novel.
Read
January 13, 2023Mogla je da se zove i Vetar, jer njegovo neprestano i neumorno hučanje duž svake od četiri stotine strana, svake rečenice i svake misli opija i kovitla čitanje. Suvi, pustinjski vetar pun peska, ne nužno topao i ne nužno nežan, koji dobaci do marsejskih bočnih ulica i verno i večno prati svoju afričku decu. No, Klod Simon je već napisao podjednako melanholičnu priču s istim naslovom.
Mogla je naslovom da asocira i na neprestano ciklično kruženje, uvek vrelih i sunčanih pustinjskih dana i uvek nepodnošljivo ledenih noći, beskonačno i lirsko ponavljanje rečenica koje podvlače snagu životnih ciklusa paralelno pričajući dve priče iz dva različita veka.
Da ne bi Crnjanskog, mogla je da se zove i Seobe, crtajući atmosferu u kojoj se kreće čudno nomadsko pleme plavih ljudi u pretprošlom veku, jureći hrišćanske misionare ili pak bežeći od njih, zar je važno, u svojoj večnoj patnji, bolu i sa mitskim starim šeikom za kojeg znamo da će na kraju izdahnuti; ili pak da bude Roman o Marseju, razdirući iseljeničku patnju pustinjske trudne devojke, iz istog plemena koja u prošlom veku nakratko svoj pastirski život zameni francuskim skverovima, upozna podzemlje, uzme novac i vrati se da se porodi u svojoj pustinji.
Naravno da nije mogla, smela i trebala da se zove ikako drugačije nego Pustinja, niti je ikada ijedan naslov knjige tako jednostavno, višeslojno i precizno opisao mesto, vreme i dušu priče koju će pratiti.
Nestvarna, predivna, topla, ljubavna, ljudska priča ispričana u beskonačno sporom ritmu pustinjske prirode, njenih skrivenih bogatstava, flore i faune i njene božanske snage.
Ne zalećite se sa čitanjem ako nemate svo vreme ovog sveta da poklonite piscu koji vas lagano obmotava slojevima naizgled identičnih i neobjašnjivo jednostavnih rečenica koje nisu za ovaj vek i ovaj ritam života.
Mogla je naslovom da asocira i na neprestano ciklično kruženje, uvek vrelih i sunčanih pustinjskih dana i uvek nepodnošljivo ledenih noći, beskonačno i lirsko ponavljanje rečenica koje podvlače snagu životnih ciklusa paralelno pričajući dve priče iz dva različita veka.
Da ne bi Crnjanskog, mogla je da se zove i Seobe, crtajući atmosferu u kojoj se kreće čudno nomadsko pleme plavih ljudi u pretprošlom veku, jureći hrišćanske misionare ili pak bežeći od njih, zar je važno, u svojoj večnoj patnji, bolu i sa mitskim starim šeikom za kojeg znamo da će na kraju izdahnuti; ili pak da bude Roman o Marseju, razdirući iseljeničku patnju pustinjske trudne devojke, iz istog plemena koja u prošlom veku nakratko svoj pastirski život zameni francuskim skverovima, upozna podzemlje, uzme novac i vrati se da se porodi u svojoj pustinji.
Naravno da nije mogla, smela i trebala da se zove ikako drugačije nego Pustinja, niti je ikada ijedan naslov knjige tako jednostavno, višeslojno i precizno opisao mesto, vreme i dušu priče koju će pratiti.
Nestvarna, predivna, topla, ljubavna, ljudska priča ispričana u beskonačno sporom ritmu pustinjske prirode, njenih skrivenih bogatstava, flore i faune i njene božanske snage.
Ne zalećite se sa čitanjem ako nemate svo vreme ovog sveta da poklonite piscu koji vas lagano obmotava slojevima naizgled identičnih i neobjašnjivo jednostavnih rečenica koje nisu za ovaj vek i ovaj ritam života.
Read
October 20, 2013It so often seems that all late 20th Century French literature lies in the shadow of Proust. Duras, Sollers, Simon, and apparently Monsieur Le Clézio as well. The style is so persistently rapturous, so caught up in breathless reverie and dazzling impressionism, that it might take a while for a "story" to appear. That's fine by me.
Desert is absolutely gorgeous, there's no doubt about that. And I found myself really liking Lalla as a protagonist. OK, she's the sort of existentialist heroine who you've seen before in countless Nouvelle Vague films. A Moroccan slum-daughter in origins, perhaps, but with all the mope of a Parisienne. Again, fine by me.
The ending... less fine. In fact, it was an abrupt anti-climax. But this doesn't detract that much from the quality of the book as a whole. This is largely because right before the bum ending, there is a scene where Lalla sort-of-but-not-really returns to the desert that is one of the most shimmering, pitch-perfect pieces of prose I've ever read. It alone makes the entire book worth reading.
Desert is absolutely gorgeous, there's no doubt about that. And I found myself really liking Lalla as a protagonist. OK, she's the sort of existentialist heroine who you've seen before in countless Nouvelle Vague films. A Moroccan slum-daughter in origins, perhaps, but with all the mope of a Parisienne. Again, fine by me.
The ending... less fine. In fact, it was an abrupt anti-climax. But this doesn't detract that much from the quality of the book as a whole. This is largely because right before the bum ending, there is a scene where Lalla sort-of-but-not-really returns to the desert that is one of the most shimmering, pitch-perfect pieces of prose I've ever read. It alone makes the entire book worth reading.
June 2, 2024
4,5*
Μακριά, λυπητερή ιστορία
Σαν μια μοναχική γέννα κάτω από μια συκιά
μέσα
Στην έρημο
Σαν ένας μπλε αποδεκατισμός
Σαν μια άχρηστη -τζάμπα- ατέλειωτη πορεία
μέσα
Σε μια ελπίδα που είχε
Προ πολλού εξαργυρωθεί
Δεν ξέρω αν είναι ένα άδικο Νόμπελ, το βιβλίο μού άφησε όμως μια πικρή γεύση, και συνεχίζει με την ίδια πικρή επίγευση.
"Un jour le corbeau sera blanc, la mer s'asséchera, on trouvera le miel dans la fleur de cactus, on fera un lit avec les branches de l'acacia, un jour, oh, un jour, il n'y aura plus de venin dans la bouche du serpent, et les balles de fusil ne porteront plus la mort, car ce jour-là, je quitterai mon amour..."
"Μια μέρα το κοράκι θα'ναι άσπρο, η θάλασσα θα ξεραθεί, θα βρούμε μέλι μες στον ανθό του κάκτου, θα φτιάξουμε κρεβάτι με τα κλαριά της ακακίας, μια μέρα, αχ, μια μέρα, δε θα υπάρχει πια δηλητήριο μες στο στόμα του φιδιού, κι οι σφαίρες του τουφεκιού δε θα κουβαλούν πια τον θάνατο, γιατί εκείνη τη μέρα, θ'αφήσω την αγάπη μου..."
Désert, J.M.G. Le Clézio 1980
Μακριά, λυπητερή ιστορία
Σαν μια μοναχική γέννα κάτω από μια συκιά
μέσα
Στην έρημο
Σαν ένας μπλε αποδεκατισμός
Σαν μια άχρηστη -τζάμπα- ατέλειωτη πορεία
μέσα
Σε μια ελπίδα που είχε
Προ πολλού εξαργυρωθεί
Δεν ξέρω αν είναι ένα άδικο Νόμπελ, το βιβλίο μού άφησε όμως μια πικρή γεύση, και συνεχίζει με την ίδια πικρή επίγευση.
"Un jour le corbeau sera blanc, la mer s'asséchera, on trouvera le miel dans la fleur de cactus, on fera un lit avec les branches de l'acacia, un jour, oh, un jour, il n'y aura plus de venin dans la bouche du serpent, et les balles de fusil ne porteront plus la mort, car ce jour-là, je quitterai mon amour..."
"Μια μέρα το κοράκι θα'ναι άσπρο, η θάλασσα θα ξεραθεί, θα βρούμε μέλι μες στον ανθό του κάκτου, θα φτιάξουμε κρεβάτι με τα κλαριά της ακακίας, μια μέρα, αχ, μια μέρα, δε θα υπάρχει πια δηλητήριο μες στο στόμα του φιδιού, κι οι σφαίρες του τουφεκιού δε θα κουβαλούν πια τον θάνατο, γιατί εκείνη τη μέρα, θ'αφήσω την αγάπη μου..."
Désert, J.M.G. Le Clézio 1980
December 31, 2013
Desert nomads' struggle for survival and postcolonial astonishing homecoming, in beautiful prose!
Having grown up in a moderate tropical wet land and immigrated to a moderate filth of metro, I have felt the warm sand and soil, flints of hot stones reflecting light on bare feet, brazier kind of setup in winters, torrential downpours, dust storm of red soil. Once my father got caught in middle of a hailstorm, after our bullocks cart got mangled in the winds. He walked down the last mile to home in the relentless storm. He was never the same in winters after that incident. We have had unpleasant moments and memories, but they were never to the extreme of unbearable. And of course, I never have to dwell in metro's filth everyday as a higher middle-class person. J M G Le Clezio's Desert present those extremes to me.
Desert has two loosely coupled plots of untamed spirits of the descendants of a desert tribe, interwoven till the end. One part of the story follows a caravan of nomadic Berber tribes traveling northwards across the Sahara desert, led by the Tuareg, "Men in blue", the last freemen fleeing from the Soldiers of Christians. It is a fictionalized version of Ma el Ainine's 1909 - 1910 insurgency against French colony, narrated/observed through the eyes of Nour, a coming-of-age boy.
Major part of novel is the story of Lalla, an orphan girl growing in 'the Project', across the river from an unnamed Moroccan town. And, her short stint in modern Marseille. Time of the story is not mentioned, could be guessed as 1970s. Waves of dunes, rugged hills, blazing sun, white light, high plateaus and intimate mythical connectedness of an individual's soul to the land are elaborated in this part. This part contains some beautifully crafted passages I have never read before, such as the wandering of Lella on an unchartered high plateau - on the night the wind of ill fortune flows on the Project, her wanderings in the filth and coastal parts of Marseille etc., Sure, Lella's rags to riches progress in Marseille is unrealistic, guess it gives a kind of depth to the character.
The prose is poetical, descriptions are beautiful. The English translation is flawless, from a reader's perspective for whom English is only a second language. Worthy read!
Having grown up in a moderate tropical wet land and immigrated to a moderate filth of metro, I have felt the warm sand and soil, flints of hot stones reflecting light on bare feet, brazier kind of setup in winters, torrential downpours, dust storm of red soil. Once my father got caught in middle of a hailstorm, after our bullocks cart got mangled in the winds. He walked down the last mile to home in the relentless storm. He was never the same in winters after that incident. We have had unpleasant moments and memories, but they were never to the extreme of unbearable. And of course, I never have to dwell in metro's filth everyday as a higher middle-class person. J M G Le Clezio's Desert present those extremes to me.
Desert has two loosely coupled plots of untamed spirits of the descendants of a desert tribe, interwoven till the end. One part of the story follows a caravan of nomadic Berber tribes traveling northwards across the Sahara desert, led by the Tuareg, "Men in blue", the last freemen fleeing from the Soldiers of Christians. It is a fictionalized version of Ma el Ainine's 1909 - 1910 insurgency against French colony, narrated/observed through the eyes of Nour, a coming-of-age boy.
Major part of novel is the story of Lalla, an orphan girl growing in 'the Project', across the river from an unnamed Moroccan town. And, her short stint in modern Marseille. Time of the story is not mentioned, could be guessed as 1970s. Waves of dunes, rugged hills, blazing sun, white light, high plateaus and intimate mythical connectedness of an individual's soul to the land are elaborated in this part. This part contains some beautifully crafted passages I have never read before, such as the wandering of Lella on an unchartered high plateau - on the night the wind of ill fortune flows on the Project, her wanderings in the filth and coastal parts of Marseille etc., Sure, Lella's rags to riches progress in Marseille is unrealistic, guess it gives a kind of depth to the character.
The prose is poetical, descriptions are beautiful. The English translation is flawless, from a reader's perspective for whom English is only a second language. Worthy read!
February 19, 2017
They’ve lost everything, exiled, beaten, humiliated, they work on the roads, in the freezing winds, in the rain, they dig holes in the stony earth, they ruin their hands and their heads, driven mad by the jackhammers. They’re hungry, they’re frightened, they’re frozen with solitude and emptiness.
February 5, 2017
Alternando o facto histórico com uma realidade fictícia, Jean Marie Gustave Le Clézio, oferece-nos, neste “Deserto� uma narrativa assombrosa sobre as condições de vida de um povo, nómada nas suas perambulações decorrentes da ameaça de uma guerra que, no início do século 20, opôs o povo magrebino à hegemonia do ocidente, nomeadamente, às aspirações colonialistas da França e da Grã-Bretanha que, procuravam no norte de África, processos de exploração territorial aliados à configuração de uma nova estratégia geopolítica que traria, sobretudo, enormes vantagens económicas aos povos ocidentais.
E a história começa, precisamente, com um ato de fé e esperança de um povo que, para escapar à insidiosa ocupação, abandona as suas terras para fazer uma travessia num deserto inóspito, dilacerante onde a fome e a doença surgiam, espectrais, a cada momento, para alcançar a cidade santa de Smara, morada do xeque Ma El Ainine que saberia conduzir o seu povo para Norte, para lá das montanhas do Draa onde haveria água e terra para todos.
Paralelamente a esta narrativa, vamos nos apropriando de uma outra realidade, desta feita fictícia mas que poderia, com certeza, configurar, também ela, uma verdade histórica: somos apanhados na rede da existência Lalla, uma jovem magrebina, órfã de pai e mãe e que cresceu com uma tia na Cidade, onde as cabanas são feitas de tábuas e papel alcatroado para impedir a destruidora força do vento. Lalla cresceu nas dunas, em frente ao mar, numa profunda comunhão com o deserto, com as montanhas, com as serpentes e os escorpiões e com um único amigo, Hartami, um jovem surdo-mudo, personagem também ela extremamente solitária por quem nutre uma profunda amizade. “Quando são dias tristes, dias de angústia, a única pessoa que lhe resta é Hartani e esse nem precisa de palavras. Basta um olhar e ele sabe dar pão e tâmaras sem nada pedir em troca. Ele até prefere que se conservem a alguns passos de distância, como fazem as cabras e as ovelhas, que nunca pertencem completamente a ninguém�.
Por um impulso, Lalla decide partir para Marselha. Grávida de Hartami, a jovem decide tentar recuperar algum ânimo numa cidade que lhe é completamente estranha e intransigente com as dimensões do seu ser, habituado a andar descalço, a correr pelas dunas, a deleitar-se com um céu ricamente estrelado onde, com a ponta do dedo, se poderia acender uma estrela. Mas o silêncio da fome, do medo e, sobretudo, da solidão, levam a que Lalla regresse às origens, apesar de, embora não soubesse ler nem escrever, a sua beleza tenha cativado um fotógrafo que viu, essencialmente na luz que emanava, a alma de bronze da jovem. Por esse facto, torna-se quase uma figura ilustre, requisitada por revistas e jornais da moda que nela viam um rosto simples mas ao mesmo tempo exótico, exatamente o género de que a imagética social necessitava. Mas ainda assim, Lalla sente o forte apelo das suas origens e volta para dar à luz, sozinha, como em tempos fizera a sua mãe, na sua terra, nas suas dunas, junto à sua figueira, perto do mar e com o céu estrelado como testemunha.
É uma história de uma beleza única, sem dúvida! Mas o que mais me tocou, foi a prosa soberba de Le Clézio! Não há um único momento em que não sorrimos, que não nos comovemos ou que não nos emocionamos com a sua escrita. É, de facto, impressionante! A descrição dos rigores da vida no deserto, a morte de milhares de homens, mulheres, crianças e animais por força da fome, da doença, da guerra é algo que não nos deixa incólumes, muito por força da forma como Le Clézio nos mostra, na sua crueldade, todas as vicissitudes de um povo que procura, através de uma longa caminhada, uma vida mais digna do que aquela ameaçada pelos soldados estrangeiros, cristãos.
Conhecemos o desenlace mas escrito pela forte imaginação e capacidade de descrição de Le Clézio, tudo toma uma outra aura: “Não tinham mais nada senão o que os seus olhos viam, o que os seus pés tocavam. À frente deles, a terra muito plana, estendia-se como o mar, cintilante de sal. Ondulava, criava as suas cidades brancas, com muralhas magníficas, com cúpulas que rebentavam como bolhas. O sol queimava-lhes a cara e as mãos, a luz causava vertigem, quando as sombras dos homens são iguais a poços sem fundo�.
Percebo agora porque os membros da Academia Sueca decidiram atribuir, em 2008, o prémio Nobel da Literatura a este extraordinário autor francês!
E a história começa, precisamente, com um ato de fé e esperança de um povo que, para escapar à insidiosa ocupação, abandona as suas terras para fazer uma travessia num deserto inóspito, dilacerante onde a fome e a doença surgiam, espectrais, a cada momento, para alcançar a cidade santa de Smara, morada do xeque Ma El Ainine que saberia conduzir o seu povo para Norte, para lá das montanhas do Draa onde haveria água e terra para todos.
Paralelamente a esta narrativa, vamos nos apropriando de uma outra realidade, desta feita fictícia mas que poderia, com certeza, configurar, também ela, uma verdade histórica: somos apanhados na rede da existência Lalla, uma jovem magrebina, órfã de pai e mãe e que cresceu com uma tia na Cidade, onde as cabanas são feitas de tábuas e papel alcatroado para impedir a destruidora força do vento. Lalla cresceu nas dunas, em frente ao mar, numa profunda comunhão com o deserto, com as montanhas, com as serpentes e os escorpiões e com um único amigo, Hartami, um jovem surdo-mudo, personagem também ela extremamente solitária por quem nutre uma profunda amizade. “Quando são dias tristes, dias de angústia, a única pessoa que lhe resta é Hartani e esse nem precisa de palavras. Basta um olhar e ele sabe dar pão e tâmaras sem nada pedir em troca. Ele até prefere que se conservem a alguns passos de distância, como fazem as cabras e as ovelhas, que nunca pertencem completamente a ninguém�.
Por um impulso, Lalla decide partir para Marselha. Grávida de Hartami, a jovem decide tentar recuperar algum ânimo numa cidade que lhe é completamente estranha e intransigente com as dimensões do seu ser, habituado a andar descalço, a correr pelas dunas, a deleitar-se com um céu ricamente estrelado onde, com a ponta do dedo, se poderia acender uma estrela. Mas o silêncio da fome, do medo e, sobretudo, da solidão, levam a que Lalla regresse às origens, apesar de, embora não soubesse ler nem escrever, a sua beleza tenha cativado um fotógrafo que viu, essencialmente na luz que emanava, a alma de bronze da jovem. Por esse facto, torna-se quase uma figura ilustre, requisitada por revistas e jornais da moda que nela viam um rosto simples mas ao mesmo tempo exótico, exatamente o género de que a imagética social necessitava. Mas ainda assim, Lalla sente o forte apelo das suas origens e volta para dar à luz, sozinha, como em tempos fizera a sua mãe, na sua terra, nas suas dunas, junto à sua figueira, perto do mar e com o céu estrelado como testemunha.
É uma história de uma beleza única, sem dúvida! Mas o que mais me tocou, foi a prosa soberba de Le Clézio! Não há um único momento em que não sorrimos, que não nos comovemos ou que não nos emocionamos com a sua escrita. É, de facto, impressionante! A descrição dos rigores da vida no deserto, a morte de milhares de homens, mulheres, crianças e animais por força da fome, da doença, da guerra é algo que não nos deixa incólumes, muito por força da forma como Le Clézio nos mostra, na sua crueldade, todas as vicissitudes de um povo que procura, através de uma longa caminhada, uma vida mais digna do que aquela ameaçada pelos soldados estrangeiros, cristãos.
Conhecemos o desenlace mas escrito pela forte imaginação e capacidade de descrição de Le Clézio, tudo toma uma outra aura: “Não tinham mais nada senão o que os seus olhos viam, o que os seus pés tocavam. À frente deles, a terra muito plana, estendia-se como o mar, cintilante de sal. Ondulava, criava as suas cidades brancas, com muralhas magníficas, com cúpulas que rebentavam como bolhas. O sol queimava-lhes a cara e as mãos, a luz causava vertigem, quando as sombras dos homens são iguais a poços sem fundo�.
Percebo agora porque os membros da Academia Sueca decidiram atribuir, em 2008, o prémio Nobel da Literatura a este extraordinário autor francês!
May 7, 2010
First the confession: I had never heard of Le Clezio until he won the Nobel in 2008, then when I bought the book a few months later, it was not the Noble prize that compelled me, but the picture on the cover of the verbamundi hardcover edition� an enigmatic woman with a blue veil. (the picture, by the way, is by photographer Dan Heller).
[image error]
To be lead to this book by a picture is ironic, as the reading of Desert is so much akin of watching a painter drawing and coloring on a canvas. It also requires the same patience and attention. Readers who crave plot should be warned that this is probably not a book for you. Le Clezio is a master of description. The desert, a slum in Morocco and the streets of Marseille all comes alive, but their hues and smells and the people populating them take shape slowly and hazily. At times I had to force myself to read the pages and pages of description � the western reader in me wanting to jump the long repetitive paragraphs � but there was such great reward when I got to abandon myself into Le Clezio’s imaginary.
If I stay with the idea of painting with words, I would say that Le Clezio is an impressionist painter at that. There is not much definition in the images, and one should discard rationalization and let feelings/impressions guide the experience of reading this book.
His writing reminded me of, the also Nobel Prize winner, Kawabata. They share the same lyric quality, and write in a form beyond plot, where the character’s actions and their surrounding environment convey more than dialogue and story line. Yet, there is something that I want to call “magic realism� on LeClezio’s writing. I hate to say it because “magic realism� seems overused to me. It is perhaps a “magic realism� closer to Salman Rushdie than Garcia Marquez, but I cannot find other form of describing it.
I will attempt to read other books by Le Clezio, but I probably will wait a while. If Desert is a sample of how he writes, he is an author that demands a certain mood and commitment from his reader. He is not meant to be read in 20 minute allotments, while waiting for the kids� dentist appointments or rushed before going to bed. I will plan for a summer weekend when I can read without interruptions for hours on end. I should be ready for it then...
[image error]
To be lead to this book by a picture is ironic, as the reading of Desert is so much akin of watching a painter drawing and coloring on a canvas. It also requires the same patience and attention. Readers who crave plot should be warned that this is probably not a book for you. Le Clezio is a master of description. The desert, a slum in Morocco and the streets of Marseille all comes alive, but their hues and smells and the people populating them take shape slowly and hazily. At times I had to force myself to read the pages and pages of description � the western reader in me wanting to jump the long repetitive paragraphs � but there was such great reward when I got to abandon myself into Le Clezio’s imaginary.
If I stay with the idea of painting with words, I would say that Le Clezio is an impressionist painter at that. There is not much definition in the images, and one should discard rationalization and let feelings/impressions guide the experience of reading this book.
His writing reminded me of, the also Nobel Prize winner, Kawabata. They share the same lyric quality, and write in a form beyond plot, where the character’s actions and their surrounding environment convey more than dialogue and story line. Yet, there is something that I want to call “magic realism� on LeClezio’s writing. I hate to say it because “magic realism� seems overused to me. It is perhaps a “magic realism� closer to Salman Rushdie than Garcia Marquez, but I cannot find other form of describing it.
I will attempt to read other books by Le Clezio, but I probably will wait a while. If Desert is a sample of how he writes, he is an author that demands a certain mood and commitment from his reader. He is not meant to be read in 20 minute allotments, while waiting for the kids� dentist appointments or rushed before going to bed. I will plan for a summer weekend when I can read without interruptions for hours on end. I should be ready for it then...
December 16, 2012
While there was some very good prose and a very good story concept, this book, for me, was disjointed and, largely, overwritten.
The idea of showing an inherited untamed spirit of the last North African desert tribes to hold out against the "Christian invaders" is a good one. Unfortunately, the stories of past and present, through much of the novel, are only tenuously connected. I like that the author has chosen a woman to embody this spirit.
The freedom accorded to Lalla as a young teenager is not realistic. She can walk alone, talk with men, have a temper tantrum on her first day of work and walk out on marriage contract which was, no doubt, negotiated at some cost. While she may have been from a tribe of "free men", I doubt that women had this degree of autonomy. Once she gets to France, her French language skills (not mentioned as is her illiteracy) and her rise to fame while pregnant are pretty fantastic. Her lack of planning for her baby may be meant to define her as one of the tribe of the "last free men", but it doesn't ring true. While the novel is meant to be representational, it should parallel something approaching real life.
It may be the fault of the translator, but words such as "hunger" and "terrified" are overused such that they lose their meaning. Not that the people in this book aren't hungry and terrified, it's that more creative description is expected from a Nobel Laureate.
Some of the dialog doesn't match the characters, the most egregious example being on p. 115, where Naman, the fisherman, says in his tale, "The celestial music resounded throughout the forest." Naman had traveled outside of the desert, but he had not been portrayed as an educated man as implied by his choice of words.
There are parts and pages where the writing shows the skill of the author, but on the whole, neither the writing nor the development of the story suggests a Nobel quality artist.
The idea of showing an inherited untamed spirit of the last North African desert tribes to hold out against the "Christian invaders" is a good one. Unfortunately, the stories of past and present, through much of the novel, are only tenuously connected. I like that the author has chosen a woman to embody this spirit.
The freedom accorded to Lalla as a young teenager is not realistic. She can walk alone, talk with men, have a temper tantrum on her first day of work and walk out on marriage contract which was, no doubt, negotiated at some cost. While she may have been from a tribe of "free men", I doubt that women had this degree of autonomy. Once she gets to France, her French language skills (not mentioned as is her illiteracy) and her rise to fame while pregnant are pretty fantastic. Her lack of planning for her baby may be meant to define her as one of the tribe of the "last free men", but it doesn't ring true. While the novel is meant to be representational, it should parallel something approaching real life.
It may be the fault of the translator, but words such as "hunger" and "terrified" are overused such that they lose their meaning. Not that the people in this book aren't hungry and terrified, it's that more creative description is expected from a Nobel Laureate.
Some of the dialog doesn't match the characters, the most egregious example being on p. 115, where Naman, the fisherman, says in his tale, "The celestial music resounded throughout the forest." Naman had traveled outside of the desert, but he had not been portrayed as an educated man as implied by his choice of words.
There are parts and pages where the writing shows the skill of the author, but on the whole, neither the writing nor the development of the story suggests a Nobel quality artist.
August 4, 2021
Pirmą kartą ją skaičiau matyt dvidešimties, kai nedidelė stipendija leisdavo nusipirkti tik pigias knygas. Pamenu kaip džiaugiausi šia knyga. Ji ir tuo metu man suspindėjo kaip brangakmenis, Lalos paveikslo pavidalu. Atrodo visai kitaip knyga atsiskleidė dabar. Nepaprastai tiksliai išreikštu skausmu ir nerimu, šalčiu ir mūsų pasaulio realybe. Pilna ramybės, pagarbos, spalvų, muzikos ir nepaprastų pasakojimų, figų, jūros ir dūmų kvapo, vaiskios saulės šviesos. Lėtumo ir likimo priėmimo. Man ši knyga neabejotinai šedevras. Graži kiekvienu sakiniu. Retai knyga iššaukia ašaras. Skaitant "Dykumą" jos man ritosi nevaldomai. Nežinau ar todėl, kad mano vidiniai paveikslai įžodinti šioje knygoje, ar todėl kad knygos įvaizdžiai įsikūrė mano pasamonėje prieš beveik dvidešimt metų ir tapo mano dalimi, man to net nesuvokiant.
August 17, 2011
Was reading this book in French and not a translation, got to page 70 and couldn't take it anymore. It is too effing repetitive, the author just labors on and on and on and on, on unnecessary and redundant details; so much so that you feel as if he got his money per the number of pages he wrote. Trust me, the feeling that you get that the author is just wasting words is not because of the translation {if you are reading a translated version}, but is the essence of the work {in its original language} itself.
March 19, 2013
Two linked stories about tradition and progress and what we as a civilisation have come to sacrifice to get where we are.
Beginning of the twentieth century, Nour, one of the last of a disappearing tribe who have to start a migration through the desert to find their homeland.
Lalla, the descendant of that now disappeared tribe, who has to take her own journey to find what's lacking in her life.
Prose which should be read as poetry, through the senses. I think that if you try to read this novel in the traditional sense, you won't be very satisfied with the experience.
There's a plot to follow, but sometimes great important facts seem to be omitted whereas details such as the smell of the sand or the texture of some clothes or the warm and salty water of a particular beach are described for pages and pages.
You have to feel more than to read this novel.
It reminded me of Woolf's writing style, dense, subtle, elegant and poetic.
Not for everybody.
Beginning of the twentieth century, Nour, one of the last of a disappearing tribe who have to start a migration through the desert to find their homeland.
Lalla, the descendant of that now disappeared tribe, who has to take her own journey to find what's lacking in her life.
Prose which should be read as poetry, through the senses. I think that if you try to read this novel in the traditional sense, you won't be very satisfied with the experience.
There's a plot to follow, but sometimes great important facts seem to be omitted whereas details such as the smell of the sand or the texture of some clothes or the warm and salty water of a particular beach are described for pages and pages.
You have to feel more than to read this novel.
It reminded me of Woolf's writing style, dense, subtle, elegant and poetic.
Not for everybody.
April 7, 2010
Desert by Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio is a perfect example of why Le Clézio won the Nobel in 2008, even though he was little known in the United States –sprawling, place specific narratives that bring to life the histories of cultures we do not know and that the world is quickly forgetting. One thing not to expect when you read Desert is a fast-paced narrative that immediately transplants you into another place and time. It does take to another place, but in as low, slightly repetitive pace that moves like the Earth’s rotation. A pace that you know is happening but don’t notice. He begins the novel telling the story of Nour, fourteen year old boy who is part of a North African people, the Taureg, more commonly referred to as the blue men because of the sky blue robes that they wear to honor the father of their people. In 1909, the French Colonialists are forcing the blue men out of their native land and into an aimless horrifying journey through the desert, led by their frail spiritual leader, Ma al-Aïnine.
From the onset of the novel, there is the presence of an unnamed character, which is the Earth itself and all it’s natural elements. Throughout the novel, we learn Nour has a family � parents, sisters and brothers � and we learn of his staid character, his generous and loyal nature. But mostly he is the observer, the eyes we see through as we watch this Berber tribe lose their land, their leader and their hope to ward off the superior warring efforts of the Christians. Although, it’s the Earth that is just as prominent in the narrative being equal parts friend and enemy, and becoming a major character that only has allegiance to itself. The Earth shows no favoritism. She provides food and water to sustain them yet also tortures them with unrelenting rugged terrains and a scorching sun that dehydrates and destroys. Nour observes the toll of the journey and the effect of the elements on his people:
Standing by the side of the trail, he saw them walking slowly past, hardly lifting their legs, heavy with weariness. They had emaciated gray faces, eyes shiny with fever. Their lips were bleeding; their hands and chests were marked with wounds where the clotted blood had mixed with golden particles of dust. The sun beat down on them as it did on the red stones of the path, and they received a real beating. The women had no shoes, and their bare feet were burned form the sand and eaten away wit the salt. But the most painful thing about them,the most disquieting thing that made pity rise in Nour’s breast, was their silence. Not one of them spoke or sang. No one cried or moaned.
The close third person point-of-view by Le Clézio makes it difficult for us to not feel the effects of the sun, the scorching ground under our feet, the utter exhaustion that Nour and his people must endure. To combat complete fatigue of the reader, he introduces Lalla, a young girl living in the slums of Tangier as a descendant of the blue men. This is where nature becomes cleansing,vivifying and spiritual. Lalla does not go to school. She does not read or write. Instead she wonders her countryside jumping dunes, laying on the white sand and running along with the wind, breathing in its rhythm and essence. She lets the sun edify her, erasing her hunger and loneliness, inhaling it as if it were the source of life itself. She befriends flies and wasps, recognizing their role in the cycle of life and she finds comfort and solitude in the sea and the freedom it offers.
But the voice is still murmuring, still fluttering inside of Lalla’s body. It is only the voice of the wind, the voice of the sea, of the sand, voice of the light that dazzles and numbs people’s willpower. It comes at the same time as the stranger’s gaze, it shatters and uproots everything on earth that resists it. The in goes farther out, toward the horizon, gets lost out at sea on the mighty waves, it carries the clouds and the sand toward the rocky coasts on the other side of the sea, toward the vast deltas where the smokestacks of the refineries are burning.
Lalla lives with her Aunt Aamma. Lalla’s parent died when she was young and what she knows of them is through Aamma. Lalla has friends like the shepherd boy, the Hartani, who does not speak and the fisherman, Naman, who regales her stories of all the places where he has traveled. There is al-Ser, which stands for the Secret, a spirit she visits in the middle of the desert who fills her with an overwhelming sense of well-being and becomes her spiritual guide.
After an attempt by her aunt to arrange a marriage for her, Lalla leaves with the Hartani to escape her destiny. The Hartani and Lalla become separated and Lalla ends up months later in Marseilles, where her aunt has already situated herself in one of the immigrant tenement housing projects. Lalla finds work and befriends a gypsy teenager, Radicz, who steals for a living. She is thrust in the eye of the public as the ethnic model, Hawa, after a photographer spots her in a café and she becomes his muse. She goes through life like the wind, without a true purpose, flowing in any direction that pulls her. But the freedom and solitude that nature offers her are the only real things that compel her to thrive. Eventually she returns to Tangier to give birth to the son of the Hartani in the vast landscape of Morocco with its promise of peace and independence.
Le Clézio facilely creates the symbiotic relationship between the Taureg and nature. Lalla and Nour listen to the earth for answers, sustenance and portents. The wind, the sun and the sea do not control their lives, but they pulse within their blood and live within their hearts. This is what Le Clézio gives to the global readership, a perspective of a people that roamed the desert in search of their own land and their own traditions. But the hunger for power slowly wipes clean the slate of ethnic diversity. Desert is Le Clézio’s effort to give voice to the people who spoke through their journeys and through their respect for nature and through their silence, he makes hear how much they deserve a place on this Earth.
May 25, 2016
In the beginning there were the nomads, men and women whose faces and bodies were tinted blue with indigo and sweat... Those looking for a fast moving plot will be disappointed, but Désert is a beautiful novel full of dreamy prose; a journey, an unromanticised glimpse of life in the Sahara, deep in the desert where only the nomads can live.
The story of Nour is based on true events during the beginning of the 20th century when the sheik Ma El Aïnin, a great leader of the nomads, founded the city of Smara in the Western Sahara and called for a holy war to drive out the French and the Spanish colonists who were occupying the water holes on which the nomads depended for their existence. Through the eyes of Nour, we see how the nomad families are driven from their lands by hunger and thirst, towards the coast of Morocco; how Ma El Aïnin's army of 'blue men of the desert' is crushed by the French forces and how they, defeated though they are, turn back toward their home, toward the south, toward the place where no one else could live.
Lalla is a descendent of Nour's tribe, a little orphaned girl who is fascinated by the creatures of the desert; the insects, the ants, even the flies. In the shade of a tall fig tree, she listens to the stories told to her by an old fisherman about her ancestors, and about places and cities far away, in the north. Fleeing to escape an early marriage, Lalla makes the journey to France, where she discovers that life in the city isn't quite as beautiful as the old fisherman had led her to believe. When she finally returns to her fig tree in the desert, it is as if she had never left.
Le Clézio doesn't judge, but throughout the narrative it is clear where his sympathies lie: not with the European colonists in North Africa (the "Christians", as the people from the desert call them - but isn't their true religion money?) but with the desert itself and the people who call it their land.
The story of Nour is based on true events during the beginning of the 20th century when the sheik Ma El Aïnin, a great leader of the nomads, founded the city of Smara in the Western Sahara and called for a holy war to drive out the French and the Spanish colonists who were occupying the water holes on which the nomads depended for their existence. Through the eyes of Nour, we see how the nomad families are driven from their lands by hunger and thirst, towards the coast of Morocco; how Ma El Aïnin's army of 'blue men of the desert' is crushed by the French forces and how they, defeated though they are, turn back toward their home, toward the south, toward the place where no one else could live.
Lalla is a descendent of Nour's tribe, a little orphaned girl who is fascinated by the creatures of the desert; the insects, the ants, even the flies. In the shade of a tall fig tree, she listens to the stories told to her by an old fisherman about her ancestors, and about places and cities far away, in the north. Fleeing to escape an early marriage, Lalla makes the journey to France, where she discovers that life in the city isn't quite as beautiful as the old fisherman had led her to believe. When she finally returns to her fig tree in the desert, it is as if she had never left.
Le Clézio doesn't judge, but throughout the narrative it is clear where his sympathies lie: not with the European colonists in North Africa (the "Christians", as the people from the desert call them - but isn't their true religion money?) but with the desert itself and the people who call it their land.
January 6, 2013
Peut-être dû au fait d’avoir commencé à écrire pendant qu’il était encore enfant, Le Clézio a gardé dans son texte une perspective infantile, chargée d’humanité, simple, pure � une caractéristique qu’il a su transporter à la trajectoire des deux personnages principaux de Désert. Avec près de 100 ans de distance parmi eux, Lalla et Nour partagent leur existence dans le désert, l’expérience de la migration et la rencontre avec une réalité différente de celle qui leur avait été promise. Tandis qu’il tisse ces deux histoires, Le Clézio fait le récit historique de l’invasion chrétienne-européenne du Sahara Occidental et du Maroc, de l’extermination du peuple du désert et de la soumission à laquelle ils ont été contraints, au nom de la raison économique. En parallèle, un autre contexte historique est établi, celui de l’Europe du sud à la fin du 20ème siècle par rapport aux immigrants. La pauvreté, l’abandon, la saleté, la violence, la criminalité, l’indifférence sont découverts pour ceux qui arrivent à Marseille à la recherche de quelque chose qui leur a été enlevée: un endroit pour vivre.
C’est ainsi que l’histoire du jeune Nour, 100 ans auparavant, montrera pourquoi la jeune fille Lalla vit dans un bidonville, entre le désert et la mer en Afrique du Nord, où les maisons sont de bois et de papier goudronné. Alors que Nour erre dans le désert avec son peuple et les guerriers bleus, chassés par les Espagnols et les Français, il observe les rites religieux et les croyances des gens en quête de survie. Lalla s’est également livrée aux traditions musulmanes dans son village, même si son lien est plus fort avec les forces du désert, du sable, des pierres, de la lumière et de la chaleur qui brûlent sa peau, qui remplissent son corps.
Autant dans le récit de la vie de Nour et de son peuple nomade que dans celui de Lalla, le texte est parsemé d’une poésie descriptive intense et multisensorielle, qui passe du toucher aux odeurs, du cri au silence, de la douleur à la paix, de la vérité jusqu’au nihilisme. Les impressions de l’environnement, les sensations éprouvées par les personnages imprègnent la lecture, renforcées par la répétition constante utilisée à dessein par l’auteur. À travers le point de vue des deux enfants, cependant, pas de jugements. C’est presque une vision d’enfant, candide, de sorte que l’histoire est racontée sans positions politiques, religieuses, mais qui ne manque pas de dénoncer la triste réalité d’un peuple.
Une des facettes intéressantes de ce livre, qui a donné à l’auteur le prix Nobel de littérature en 2008, est d’apporter un morceau de l’histoire du Sahara Occidental, si peu présente et si peu connue. Le Sahara Occidental est l’un des quelques territoires non autonomes dans le monde. Ce pays, qui ne peut même pas être appelé pays, vit entre l’hégémonie du Maroc et de l’Algérie après avoir été abandonné par les Espagnols dans la misère et être passé entre les mains de plusieurs nations. La misère d’aujourd’hui est la misère laissée par ceux qui ont profité de la richesse, ont causé la mort et la douleur, ont pris ce qu’ils pouvaient pour leur pays et ont finalement quitté le désert, laissant derrière une totale désolation. Le moment présent n’est rien de plus que la continuation de nombreux moments historiques, y compris celui dans lequel les autochtones ont été rendus et massacrés par les chrétiens.
À travers les yeux de Nour, nous voyons l’histoire d’un peuple en caravane, misérable, qui essaye jusqu’au dernier moment de garder sa vie, mais à la fin ne peut rien contre la force des armes de l’Europe:
"Debout au bord de la piste, il les voyait marcher lentement, levant à peine leurs jambes alourdies par la fatigue. Ils avaient des visages gris, émaciés, aux yeux qui brillaient de fièvre. Leus lèvres saignaient, leurs mains et leur poitrine étaient marquées de plaies où le sang caillé s’était mêlé à l’or de la poussière. Le soleil frappait sur eux, comme sur les pierres rouges du chemin, et c’étaient des vrais coups qu’ils recevaient."
Ainsi est le désert qui tue, qui brutalise, qui intimide, qui assèche le corps, et qui à la fois fascine Lalla. Héritière des hommes et des femmes du désert, elle trouve dans le caillou, dans le sable sec et déchirant, dans les épines, le refuge du bidonville où elle habite. Là, en sentant la chaleur pénétrer son corps, en écoutant les animaux et les insectes, en laissant la lumière envahir ses yeux, Lalla peut entrer en communication avec ses ancêtres et avoir la force de s’échapper, aller à Marseille, la ville qui a été décrite plusieurs fois par son ami, un vieux pêcheur. Dans les rues du Panier, Lalla vivra en compagnie de gens de la rue et des immigrés méprisés, et va aussi sentir l’odeur repoussante de la maladie, la mort, la misère, la crasse. Toutefois, il est toujours agréable de voir la description de Lalla de cette vie qui bat en Marseille. Pendant qu’elle retrace son parcours à travers le Vieux-Port et le Panier, viennent à l’esprit la couleur, la lumière, les vibrations de cette ville. Dans chaque escalier, petite rue, il y a une vie qui est réelle, imparfaite, mais réelle. La ville se montre, toutefois, une grande ville qui peut finir par écraser ses habitants et qui fait penser Lalla au désert.
Malgré un début de lecture laborieux, pas habituée à des descriptions complexes et répétitives de Le Clézio, je me suis trouvée enchantée par le chemin des deux enfants et la sagesse avec laquelle un morceau d’histoire de l’Afrique est décrit. Il y a dans le texte une façon de ne pas révéler la réalité directement ou clairement. Nous percevons, soupçonnons, jusqu’� ce qu’au cours d’un autre événement, nous apprenions enfin la vérité� Il y a aussi beaucoup de subtilité, de pureté, mais qui sont capables d’animer la révolte contre l’injustice, contre la guerre. Celui qui fait la fusion de tous ces sentiments ne peut qu’être un grand auteur, d’un grand livre.
C’est ainsi que l’histoire du jeune Nour, 100 ans auparavant, montrera pourquoi la jeune fille Lalla vit dans un bidonville, entre le désert et la mer en Afrique du Nord, où les maisons sont de bois et de papier goudronné. Alors que Nour erre dans le désert avec son peuple et les guerriers bleus, chassés par les Espagnols et les Français, il observe les rites religieux et les croyances des gens en quête de survie. Lalla s’est également livrée aux traditions musulmanes dans son village, même si son lien est plus fort avec les forces du désert, du sable, des pierres, de la lumière et de la chaleur qui brûlent sa peau, qui remplissent son corps.
Autant dans le récit de la vie de Nour et de son peuple nomade que dans celui de Lalla, le texte est parsemé d’une poésie descriptive intense et multisensorielle, qui passe du toucher aux odeurs, du cri au silence, de la douleur à la paix, de la vérité jusqu’au nihilisme. Les impressions de l’environnement, les sensations éprouvées par les personnages imprègnent la lecture, renforcées par la répétition constante utilisée à dessein par l’auteur. À travers le point de vue des deux enfants, cependant, pas de jugements. C’est presque une vision d’enfant, candide, de sorte que l’histoire est racontée sans positions politiques, religieuses, mais qui ne manque pas de dénoncer la triste réalité d’un peuple.
Une des facettes intéressantes de ce livre, qui a donné à l’auteur le prix Nobel de littérature en 2008, est d’apporter un morceau de l’histoire du Sahara Occidental, si peu présente et si peu connue. Le Sahara Occidental est l’un des quelques territoires non autonomes dans le monde. Ce pays, qui ne peut même pas être appelé pays, vit entre l’hégémonie du Maroc et de l’Algérie après avoir été abandonné par les Espagnols dans la misère et être passé entre les mains de plusieurs nations. La misère d’aujourd’hui est la misère laissée par ceux qui ont profité de la richesse, ont causé la mort et la douleur, ont pris ce qu’ils pouvaient pour leur pays et ont finalement quitté le désert, laissant derrière une totale désolation. Le moment présent n’est rien de plus que la continuation de nombreux moments historiques, y compris celui dans lequel les autochtones ont été rendus et massacrés par les chrétiens.
À travers les yeux de Nour, nous voyons l’histoire d’un peuple en caravane, misérable, qui essaye jusqu’au dernier moment de garder sa vie, mais à la fin ne peut rien contre la force des armes de l’Europe:
"Debout au bord de la piste, il les voyait marcher lentement, levant à peine leurs jambes alourdies par la fatigue. Ils avaient des visages gris, émaciés, aux yeux qui brillaient de fièvre. Leus lèvres saignaient, leurs mains et leur poitrine étaient marquées de plaies où le sang caillé s’était mêlé à l’or de la poussière. Le soleil frappait sur eux, comme sur les pierres rouges du chemin, et c’étaient des vrais coups qu’ils recevaient."
Ainsi est le désert qui tue, qui brutalise, qui intimide, qui assèche le corps, et qui à la fois fascine Lalla. Héritière des hommes et des femmes du désert, elle trouve dans le caillou, dans le sable sec et déchirant, dans les épines, le refuge du bidonville où elle habite. Là, en sentant la chaleur pénétrer son corps, en écoutant les animaux et les insectes, en laissant la lumière envahir ses yeux, Lalla peut entrer en communication avec ses ancêtres et avoir la force de s’échapper, aller à Marseille, la ville qui a été décrite plusieurs fois par son ami, un vieux pêcheur. Dans les rues du Panier, Lalla vivra en compagnie de gens de la rue et des immigrés méprisés, et va aussi sentir l’odeur repoussante de la maladie, la mort, la misère, la crasse. Toutefois, il est toujours agréable de voir la description de Lalla de cette vie qui bat en Marseille. Pendant qu’elle retrace son parcours à travers le Vieux-Port et le Panier, viennent à l’esprit la couleur, la lumière, les vibrations de cette ville. Dans chaque escalier, petite rue, il y a une vie qui est réelle, imparfaite, mais réelle. La ville se montre, toutefois, une grande ville qui peut finir par écraser ses habitants et qui fait penser Lalla au désert.
Malgré un début de lecture laborieux, pas habituée à des descriptions complexes et répétitives de Le Clézio, je me suis trouvée enchantée par le chemin des deux enfants et la sagesse avec laquelle un morceau d’histoire de l’Afrique est décrit. Il y a dans le texte une façon de ne pas révéler la réalité directement ou clairement. Nous percevons, soupçonnons, jusqu’� ce qu’au cours d’un autre événement, nous apprenions enfin la vérité� Il y a aussi beaucoup de subtilité, de pureté, mais qui sont capables d’animer la révolte contre l’injustice, contre la guerre. Celui qui fait la fusion de tous ces sentiments ne peut qu’être un grand auteur, d’un grand livre.
April 20, 2019
Đọc lại tháng 4/2019:
9 năm trước, khi lần đầu đọc “Sa mạc� của J. M. G. Le Clézio, tôi đã say sưa biết bao với cái chuyến hành trình vào vùng đất hoang sơ, đẹp đ� được ông miêu t� và k� lại giàu màu sắc âm thanh sống động như ta được nhìn được nghe được ngửi được nếm được chạm vào chúng, ngay t� cuốn sách đầu tiên đó, ông đã tr� thành một trong những nhà văn tôi yêu thích nhất. Và rồi những cuốn sách khác của ông vẫn tiếp tục khiến tôi mê mẩn bởi những câu văn dịu dàng đậm chất thơ và đầy nhục cảm. Nhân vật trung tâm trong tác phẩm của ông thường là những người ph� n� và tr� em, và dĩ nhiên kết hợp c� hai: những em bé gái, trong những câu chuyện của ông, nhân vật thường trải qua những cuộc phiêu lưu, những biến c� mà dù h� có chuẩn b� trước hay không đi chăng nữa thì h� đều mang trong mình những ước mơ, khao khát. Đó có th� là s� thôi thúc của những chuyến du hành, s� an ủi v� một t� ấm, niềm tin v� một tương lai tươi sáng hơn, những điều không th� cưỡng lại trong s� xoay vần của th� giới. Ch� nghĩa thực dân và đô th� hóa cũng là một đ� tài được lặp đi lặp lại nhiều lần, ông th� hiện một s� ray rứt với thiên nhiên và s� t� do mà khi s� văn minh đã dần dần tước b� chúng khỏi con người. Những khởi đầu mới và những chuyến du hành trong những cuốn sách của ông không ch� là s� di chuyển v� mặt địa lý, không ch� là s� khám phá những miền đất mới, mà còn là s� khám phá những góc sâu kín nhất của tâm hồn, một nơi bí ẩn với bao điều ẩn giấu mà ta chưa bao gi� hiểu thấu. Sách của ông không dành cho ai mong đợi những cốt truyện giật gân hay tình tiết bất ng�, ông k� chuyện luôn dịu dàng, chậm rãi, ông viết v� những cuộc du hành, những chuyến phiêu lưu và c� s� dấn thân hay khởi đầu mới với s� hân hoan đằm thắm và nỗi bi ai say đắm và chính điều đó khiến tôi luôn lay động.
Sách của ông đ� cập tới rất nhiều vấn đ� khắc nghiệt của cuộc sống: chiến tranh, di cư, mại dâm, cưỡng hiếp, trộm cắp � nên dĩ nhiên không th� tránh khỏi nỗi buồn ng� tr�, dù nỗi buồn và nỗi cô đơn có thấm đẫm những trang sách của ông thì chúng cũng không có chút nào ủy m�. Tôi đã đọc lại “Những nẻo đường đười và những bản tình ca khác� rồi đến “Bão�, “Vòng xoáy� và gi� đây, khi khép lại những trang cuối cùng của “Sa mạc� lần th� hai, tôi cảm thấy một th� giới sống động hiện ra trước mắt: từng ngọn c�, cơn gió hay hạt mưa cũng đều được ông miêu t� hết sức t� m� và J. M. G. Le Clézio luôn nhắn nh� người đọc hãy nhìn th� giới không phải ch� bằng đôi mắt, mà phải bằng c� một trái tim rộng m�, cũng chính bởi điều đó nên những cuốn sách của ông như đi thẳng vào trái tim của tôi. Đôi lúc có ai đó hỏi tôi: “Đọc sách đ� làm gì?� câu tr� lời chắc s� khác nhau theo từng lúc (có l� nhiều nhất là: chẳng đ� làm gì c�) nhưng trong s� đó cũng s� có câu tr� lời th� hiện tôi là một k� hopeless romantic như là: “Để cảm thấy rung động� như cách Clézio đã khiến tôi rung động với những trang sách của ông, và dường như, tôi s� nhìn th� giới một cách khác hơn, qua cái lăng kính k� diệu mà ông trao tặng.
9 năm trước, khi lần đầu đọc “Sa mạc� của J. M. G. Le Clézio, tôi đã say sưa biết bao với cái chuyến hành trình vào vùng đất hoang sơ, đẹp đ� được ông miêu t� và k� lại giàu màu sắc âm thanh sống động như ta được nhìn được nghe được ngửi được nếm được chạm vào chúng, ngay t� cuốn sách đầu tiên đó, ông đã tr� thành một trong những nhà văn tôi yêu thích nhất. Và rồi những cuốn sách khác của ông vẫn tiếp tục khiến tôi mê mẩn bởi những câu văn dịu dàng đậm chất thơ và đầy nhục cảm. Nhân vật trung tâm trong tác phẩm của ông thường là những người ph� n� và tr� em, và dĩ nhiên kết hợp c� hai: những em bé gái, trong những câu chuyện của ông, nhân vật thường trải qua những cuộc phiêu lưu, những biến c� mà dù h� có chuẩn b� trước hay không đi chăng nữa thì h� đều mang trong mình những ước mơ, khao khát. Đó có th� là s� thôi thúc của những chuyến du hành, s� an ủi v� một t� ấm, niềm tin v� một tương lai tươi sáng hơn, những điều không th� cưỡng lại trong s� xoay vần của th� giới. Ch� nghĩa thực dân và đô th� hóa cũng là một đ� tài được lặp đi lặp lại nhiều lần, ông th� hiện một s� ray rứt với thiên nhiên và s� t� do mà khi s� văn minh đã dần dần tước b� chúng khỏi con người. Những khởi đầu mới và những chuyến du hành trong những cuốn sách của ông không ch� là s� di chuyển v� mặt địa lý, không ch� là s� khám phá những miền đất mới, mà còn là s� khám phá những góc sâu kín nhất của tâm hồn, một nơi bí ẩn với bao điều ẩn giấu mà ta chưa bao gi� hiểu thấu. Sách của ông không dành cho ai mong đợi những cốt truyện giật gân hay tình tiết bất ng�, ông k� chuyện luôn dịu dàng, chậm rãi, ông viết v� những cuộc du hành, những chuyến phiêu lưu và c� s� dấn thân hay khởi đầu mới với s� hân hoan đằm thắm và nỗi bi ai say đắm và chính điều đó khiến tôi luôn lay động.
Sách của ông đ� cập tới rất nhiều vấn đ� khắc nghiệt của cuộc sống: chiến tranh, di cư, mại dâm, cưỡng hiếp, trộm cắp � nên dĩ nhiên không th� tránh khỏi nỗi buồn ng� tr�, dù nỗi buồn và nỗi cô đơn có thấm đẫm những trang sách của ông thì chúng cũng không có chút nào ủy m�. Tôi đã đọc lại “Những nẻo đường đười và những bản tình ca khác� rồi đến “Bão�, “Vòng xoáy� và gi� đây, khi khép lại những trang cuối cùng của “Sa mạc� lần th� hai, tôi cảm thấy một th� giới sống động hiện ra trước mắt: từng ngọn c�, cơn gió hay hạt mưa cũng đều được ông miêu t� hết sức t� m� và J. M. G. Le Clézio luôn nhắn nh� người đọc hãy nhìn th� giới không phải ch� bằng đôi mắt, mà phải bằng c� một trái tim rộng m�, cũng chính bởi điều đó nên những cuốn sách của ông như đi thẳng vào trái tim của tôi. Đôi lúc có ai đó hỏi tôi: “Đọc sách đ� làm gì?� câu tr� lời chắc s� khác nhau theo từng lúc (có l� nhiều nhất là: chẳng đ� làm gì c�) nhưng trong s� đó cũng s� có câu tr� lời th� hiện tôi là một k� hopeless romantic như là: “Để cảm thấy rung động� như cách Clézio đã khiến tôi rung động với những trang sách của ông, và dường như, tôi s� nhìn th� giới một cách khác hơn, qua cái lăng kính k� diệu mà ông trao tặng.
March 27, 2020
J. M. G. Le Clézio fue nobel de literatura en 2008 por ser un "escritor de nuevas desviaciones, aventuras poéticas y éxtasis sensual, explorador de una humanidad más allá y por debajo de la civilización reinante".
En Desierto, nos exponen dos historias. La primera basada en un hecho histórico en 1910, que se llevo a cabo una guerra entre varias tribus del norte de África que combatieron contra la colonización francesa y española, aquí tenemos a Nur como protagonista.
Paralelamente se narra la historia de Lalla, decadas despues de la guerra, una joven descendiente de la tribu de "los hombres azules" del Sahara. Se narra de como ella vivía en el desierto, de cuán feliz era en el lugar que nació, conoce a un viejo pescador que le cuenta historias y Lalla lo admira, y conoce también a un joven pastor con el cual conoce el amor. Posteriormente Lalla se va a vivir por unos meses a Francia, en Marsella. Se detalla como fue la vida de Lalla en Marsella, una vida díficil, siempre conviviendo con gente en las condiciones menos deseadas. Y se nos muestra ese contraste entre como es la vida en el desierto y la ciudad desde la perspectiva de Lalla.
El libro es bonito. Me gusta la narración, las descripciones que hace Le Clézio son magníficas, tanto de los lugares como de los personajes. Es una lectura comprensible que deja muchas enseñanzas de vida, creo que es de esos libros que no olvidaré.
En Desierto, nos exponen dos historias. La primera basada en un hecho histórico en 1910, que se llevo a cabo una guerra entre varias tribus del norte de África que combatieron contra la colonización francesa y española, aquí tenemos a Nur como protagonista.
Paralelamente se narra la historia de Lalla, decadas despues de la guerra, una joven descendiente de la tribu de "los hombres azules" del Sahara. Se narra de como ella vivía en el desierto, de cuán feliz era en el lugar que nació, conoce a un viejo pescador que le cuenta historias y Lalla lo admira, y conoce también a un joven pastor con el cual conoce el amor. Posteriormente Lalla se va a vivir por unos meses a Francia, en Marsella. Se detalla como fue la vida de Lalla en Marsella, una vida díficil, siempre conviviendo con gente en las condiciones menos deseadas. Y se nos muestra ese contraste entre como es la vida en el desierto y la ciudad desde la perspectiva de Lalla.
El libro es bonito. Me gusta la narración, las descripciones que hace Le Clézio son magníficas, tanto de los lugares como de los personajes. Es una lectura comprensible que deja muchas enseñanzas de vida, creo que es de esos libros que no olvidaré.
May 7, 2015
I took quite a long time to read this book. Not that the writing is that difficult to read, but the author doesn't exactly narrate a lot of action. There's 80% of thoughts and descriptions in general in this book.
The first thing that I loved about it was the setting of the story. Even in my bed, no sound around the house, I could feel the wind, the sun on my skin. I've definitely been transported by it.
Two stories are assembled, but as there's not a lot of action, and as the characters are really different you have no problem in telling when you switch story.
I'm left with a bittersweet feeling as I close this book. I've traveled, I've thought about a lot of things, and the end feel bitter to me.
It was a really moving book, that made me thought about how perceptions can differ depending on where we were born, and how we're raised, what virtues are taught to us et cetera.
The first thing that I loved about it was the setting of the story. Even in my bed, no sound around the house, I could feel the wind, the sun on my skin. I've definitely been transported by it.
Two stories are assembled, but as there's not a lot of action, and as the characters are really different you have no problem in telling when you switch story.
I'm left with a bittersweet feeling as I close this book. I've traveled, I've thought about a lot of things, and the end feel bitter to me.
It was a really moving book, that made me thought about how perceptions can differ depending on where we were born, and how we're raised, what virtues are taught to us et cetera.
May 29, 2022
بعد از صد قرن تموم شد؛ حس آزادی دارم.
البته خوشحالم از اینکه خوندنش رو طول دادم. کتاب که نیست که یهشب� تمومش کنید. نثرش روون نیست و داستان آنچنان پرهیجانی هم نداره، صرفا باید از مسیر کتاب و قلمِ زیبای نویسنده لذت ببرید. چیزِ دیگها� نمیگ� و فقط چند تیکه از متن میذار� تا خودتون از حجم شاعرانه بودنِ کلمات لذت ببرید!
"آنان مردان و زنان شن، باد، روشنایی و شب بودند. آنان مانند خواب بر فراز تپه� شنی پدیدار شده بودند، گویی از آسمان بیاب� زاده شده بودند و در اندامهایشا� سختی فضارا داشتند. آنان گرسنگی را با خود داشتند، تشنگی را که لبهار� به خون میآورد� سکوت سخت را که در آن خورشید میدرخشید� شبها� سرد را، درخشش راه شیری را، ماه را؛ آنان سایهها� غولآسایشا� را هنگام غروب خورشید با خود داشتند، امواج شن بکر را که انگشتانِ بازِ پاهاشان لمس میکرد� افق دستنیافتنیر�. آنان بهخصو� نور نگاهشان را با خود داشتند که در سپیدی چشمانشا� به روشنی میدرخشی�. "
" روزی، آه، روزی، خورشید در شب برخواهد آمد، آبها� ماه برکههایشا� را در بیابان برجا خواهند گذاشت، آنگا� که آسمان آنقد� پایین خواهد آمد که میتوان� ستارههار� لمس کنم، روزی، آه، روزی، سایها� را خواهم دید که پیشاپیش من میرقصد� و آن روزی است که عشقم را از دست خواهم داد... "
" لالّا صورتش را بهسو� مرکز آسمان برمیگردان� و با تمام توان� نگاه میکن�. شب سرد و زیبا آنهارا دربرمیگیر� و در آبی عمیقش آنهارا میفشر�. لالّا هرگز شبی به این زیبایی ندیده است. "
3.5/5
البته خوشحالم از اینکه خوندنش رو طول دادم. کتاب که نیست که یهشب� تمومش کنید. نثرش روون نیست و داستان آنچنان پرهیجانی هم نداره، صرفا باید از مسیر کتاب و قلمِ زیبای نویسنده لذت ببرید. چیزِ دیگها� نمیگ� و فقط چند تیکه از متن میذار� تا خودتون از حجم شاعرانه بودنِ کلمات لذت ببرید!
"آنان مردان و زنان شن، باد، روشنایی و شب بودند. آنان مانند خواب بر فراز تپه� شنی پدیدار شده بودند، گویی از آسمان بیاب� زاده شده بودند و در اندامهایشا� سختی فضارا داشتند. آنان گرسنگی را با خود داشتند، تشنگی را که لبهار� به خون میآورد� سکوت سخت را که در آن خورشید میدرخشید� شبها� سرد را، درخشش راه شیری را، ماه را؛ آنان سایهها� غولآسایشا� را هنگام غروب خورشید با خود داشتند، امواج شن بکر را که انگشتانِ بازِ پاهاشان لمس میکرد� افق دستنیافتنیر�. آنان بهخصو� نور نگاهشان را با خود داشتند که در سپیدی چشمانشا� به روشنی میدرخشی�. "
" روزی، آه، روزی، خورشید در شب برخواهد آمد، آبها� ماه برکههایشا� را در بیابان برجا خواهند گذاشت، آنگا� که آسمان آنقد� پایین خواهد آمد که میتوان� ستارههار� لمس کنم، روزی، آه، روزی، سایها� را خواهم دید که پیشاپیش من میرقصد� و آن روزی است که عشقم را از دست خواهم داد... "
" لالّا صورتش را بهسو� مرکز آسمان برمیگردان� و با تمام توان� نگاه میکن�. شب سرد و زیبا آنهارا دربرمیگیر� و در آبی عمیقش آنهارا میفشر�. لالّا هرگز شبی به این زیبایی ندیده است. "
3.5/5
December 24, 2020
This book may be a bit difficult to read if you struggle with long, detailed descriptions. For me, those accurately described sensations were key of this book. The theme of freedom, destiny, hope and sense of belonging is core to both parallels of the story. And. I am very grateful that the familiarity of understanding the background and culture of West Africa helped me appreciate this book even more 🙏
December 29, 2021
if you like this review, i now have website:
211120: decided to read this again, decided now it is closer to five than four. i am feeling generous. i still prefer and of le clezio's work of which and about which i have read 18. so i like him a lot. he writes about the ignored, the marginal, the non-first world, peoples and worlds and history. in translation he writes fluidly, descriptively, is almost object case of the 'show do not tell' storytelling mode. the parallel narratives of arabic peoples facing colonial (french) decimation and descendant girl whose adventures as refugee do not necessarily connect directly but thematically...
it is possibly written of its time (1980) in its unflinching, unironic (earnest ok), appraisal of modernity, and all the beauty it leaves behind, as is clearest when one character leaves the 'happiness' of her shanty town for the 'life among slaves' in marseille, descriptive density that makes both environments lived-in. there have been some comments finding le clezio less than model Nobel winner, but i enjoy his approach to major themes through personal story entwined with history: religious piety, colonial cynicism, ethnic cleansing, versus the personal story of journey of awakening, from girlhood innocence through illusions of image-making that can never be more than 'lies'...
having read , i had some idea of what he writes like, but whereas that is more individual story this is of an entire peoples, in historical context, and individual in contemporary (late 1970s). i am glad he won the Nobel, or i would probably not have read him. i have yet to read a philip roth that has 'worked' as well for me. so this one makes me think of all those authors not read because they are not in our major first world reading communities. the best le clezio criticism i have read is ....
having read this twice but only in translation, i do not know if i can truly appreciate the language, but it feels it must originally be excellent, if only that sensory portraits of everything from desert dunes to wash house to shipboard and immigration to garbage in dockside water all are very clear and distinct. that the city is not what she dreams from tales of an old fisherman, that poverty, violence, sadness, rule lives among the slaves, that the only escape is through liars appropriating her image... renders this dark fairytale that she can only walk away from...
211120: decided to read this again, decided now it is closer to five than four. i am feeling generous. i still prefer and of le clezio's work of which and about which i have read 18. so i like him a lot. he writes about the ignored, the marginal, the non-first world, peoples and worlds and history. in translation he writes fluidly, descriptively, is almost object case of the 'show do not tell' storytelling mode. the parallel narratives of arabic peoples facing colonial (french) decimation and descendant girl whose adventures as refugee do not necessarily connect directly but thematically...
it is possibly written of its time (1980) in its unflinching, unironic (earnest ok), appraisal of modernity, and all the beauty it leaves behind, as is clearest when one character leaves the 'happiness' of her shanty town for the 'life among slaves' in marseille, descriptive density that makes both environments lived-in. there have been some comments finding le clezio less than model Nobel winner, but i enjoy his approach to major themes through personal story entwined with history: religious piety, colonial cynicism, ethnic cleansing, versus the personal story of journey of awakening, from girlhood innocence through illusions of image-making that can never be more than 'lies'...
having read , i had some idea of what he writes like, but whereas that is more individual story this is of an entire peoples, in historical context, and individual in contemporary (late 1970s). i am glad he won the Nobel, or i would probably not have read him. i have yet to read a philip roth that has 'worked' as well for me. so this one makes me think of all those authors not read because they are not in our major first world reading communities. the best le clezio criticism i have read is ....
having read this twice but only in translation, i do not know if i can truly appreciate the language, but it feels it must originally be excellent, if only that sensory portraits of everything from desert dunes to wash house to shipboard and immigration to garbage in dockside water all are very clear and distinct. that the city is not what she dreams from tales of an old fisherman, that poverty, violence, sadness, rule lives among the slaves, that the only escape is through liars appropriating her image... renders this dark fairytale that she can only walk away from...
May 7, 2014
Qu'est ce que je pense de ce livre ecrit en 1980 qui est une spiritualite interieure, un chemin personnel dans le monde des annees 80 devenu de plus plus utilitaire et mercantile. L'ecrivain aide par son epouse marocaine, Jemia traverse l'ocean de desert a la recherchew d'un calme interieur qu'une curiosite avive en lui a l'ecoute du bruissement des choses de la terre autour de luiqui suscite, avive et aiguise son interet devant son identite et ce par rapport aux autres.
Le livre est structure comme un va et vient, du passe au present, de l'histoire du tribu de desert, d'un point tournant a leur vie, ou elle traverse le desert, guide par leur chef spirituel religieux, dans un essai impossible d' arreter le changement commence par une modernisation colonial. Une epreuve surhumaine, un mythe d'origine qui se revele un desastre mais portant en lui une lueur d'espoir quoique faible et qui aidera les survivants jeunes a suivre et faire attendre le temps d'assumer leur destin propre
Le moment present relate l'histoire d'une jeune fille, descendante de la tribu, la jeune Lalla qui orpheline et fille de desert mene une vie toute a son interieur vivant dans une bidovville e avec sa tante et sa famille est attiree par le secret du desert et les histoire de sa tribu et de son ancetre. La bas elle prend connaissance de la force de l'identite face a la terre et au territoire aide par un double a lui jeune garcon sourd-muet, Hartani, et un peu medjnoun, etre venu de nulle part, pose au bord d-un puits par un guerrier du desert et il enseigne Lalla l'amour de desert et comme l'amour de son prochain et pareil de L'Autre. Separe de lui dans un parcours a travers desert et venue en ville Lalla traverse son desert spirituel en memme temps et a travers le traversee par le Bateau et a Marseille puis a Paris elle reussit a garder sa foi et sa religiosite de tribu du a son eneignement du desert qui luia enseigne les vraies valeurs.
Elle quitte cette vie contemporaine pour donner naissance a la fille, sa fille et la fille de Harnani, son eoux spirituel, son double, son ami de desert. Elle donne naissance a sa fille un matin sous un figuier come tant de femmes traditionnelles de sa tribu.
Le livre est structure comme un va et vient, du passe au present, de l'histoire du tribu de desert, d'un point tournant a leur vie, ou elle traverse le desert, guide par leur chef spirituel religieux, dans un essai impossible d' arreter le changement commence par une modernisation colonial. Une epreuve surhumaine, un mythe d'origine qui se revele un desastre mais portant en lui une lueur d'espoir quoique faible et qui aidera les survivants jeunes a suivre et faire attendre le temps d'assumer leur destin propre
Le moment present relate l'histoire d'une jeune fille, descendante de la tribu, la jeune Lalla qui orpheline et fille de desert mene une vie toute a son interieur vivant dans une bidovville e avec sa tante et sa famille est attiree par le secret du desert et les histoire de sa tribu et de son ancetre. La bas elle prend connaissance de la force de l'identite face a la terre et au territoire aide par un double a lui jeune garcon sourd-muet, Hartani, et un peu medjnoun, etre venu de nulle part, pose au bord d-un puits par un guerrier du desert et il enseigne Lalla l'amour de desert et comme l'amour de son prochain et pareil de L'Autre. Separe de lui dans un parcours a travers desert et venue en ville Lalla traverse son desert spirituel en memme temps et a travers le traversee par le Bateau et a Marseille puis a Paris elle reussit a garder sa foi et sa religiosite de tribu du a son eneignement du desert qui luia enseigne les vraies valeurs.
Elle quitte cette vie contemporaine pour donner naissance a la fille, sa fille et la fille de Harnani, son eoux spirituel, son double, son ami de desert. Elle donne naissance a sa fille un matin sous un figuier come tant de femmes traditionnelles de sa tribu.
October 9, 2009
Desert was an amazing book. It was published 7 years after the Giants, but it seems like it was written 40 years later by an entirely different man. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Le Clezio still employs alot of the same tricks like long descriptions of people walking and minute objects. While his other books made me go "holy f$%!", the Desert actually managed to effect me emotionally by placing those tricks around a more, well-in comparison more, plot driven narrative. The first 7 of his books seemed to be a sort of mad scream about something awful whereas Desert seemed to be an actual attempt to depict that which so horrified the author. In the first 7 he pulled out all of the pyrotechnic literary tricks, whereas he did more with less in Desert. I can't objectively say which style of his is better. His first 7 books blew my mind. Desert made me cry. Take from that what you will. Either way, they're all worth reading.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 246 reviews
Can't find what you're looking for?
Get help and learn more about the design.