Read Doğmayacak Çocuk İçin Dua by Imre Kertész Ayşe Selen Online

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Doğmayacak Çocuk İçin Dua, İkinci Dünya Savaşı'na ve Faşizm'e tanıklık etmiş, Auschwitz'in çocuk kurbanlarından biri iken Hitler'in soykırımından sağ çıkmayı başarmış Yahudi bir Macar aydınının iç hesaplaşması. Çocuk sahibi olmak istemediği için evliliği son bulan B. bu iç hesaplaşmada ister istemez toplumsal tarihe ve onun içinde yer almış olan kendi bireysel tarihine, baDoğmayacak Çocuk İçin Dua, İkinci Dünya Savaşı'na ve Faşizm'e tanıklık etmiş, Auschwitz'in çocuk kurbanlarından biri iken Hitler'in soykırımından sağ çıkmayı başarmış Yahudi bir Macar aydınının iç hesaplaşması. Çocuk sahibi olmak istemediği için evliliği son bulan B. bu iç hesaplaşmada ister istemez toplumsal tarihe ve onun içinde yer almış olan kendi bireysel tarihine, başka bir deyişle Yahudi olarak kendi yazgısına da geri dönmek zorunda kalır. Kendisini seven ve normal bir yaşama dönmesi için yüreklendiren karısına karşın, dünyaya karşı duyduğu derin güvensizlik, B.'yi adeta çift kişilikli biri yapmış, bilincinin silinmez bir parçası haline gelmiştir. Kendi geçmişini hala büyük bir yük olarak sırtında taşıyan B. ondan kurtulmanın tek yolunun içine kapanmak ve yazmak olduğunu düşünür. Oysa Auschwitz'i bahane etmesinin gerçek nedeni, belki de yaşamla başa çıkamamasıdır. B.'nin, dünyaya getirmeyi reddettiği çocuk için okuduğu dua, öldürülen milyonlarca kişi için, doğmamış kuşaklar için ve bağnazlık ve kinle karalanan her bir yaşam için de bir ağıttır. 1944 yılında soykırımdan ve toplama kamplarından sağ çıkmayı başarmış olan Imre Kertesz, bu kısa ama izleri okurun belleğinden silinmeyecek romanında, tarihin karanlık bir noktasının ve Yahudi 'damgası'nın birey üzerindeki yıpratıcı gücünü çarpıcı bir biçimde betimliyor....

Title : Doğmayacak Çocuk İçin Dua
Author :
Rating :
ISBN : 9789750701023
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 136 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

Doğmayacak Çocuk İçin Dua Reviews

  • Diane S ☔
    2018-11-17 02:35

    Our unnamed writer/translator writes to his unborn child, a child he unequivocally refused to bring into this world, an astounding NO the answer he gave to his then wife when she asked for a child. A man who tries very hard to explain his thoughts, his rationality about his decision to not father a child. A man who had been imprisoned, like the author himself, in Auschwitz which left him with a great deal survivor guilt, and trying to make sense of a world that would allow something like this to happen, even exist.This is a difficult book to read, it is a stream of consciousness novel, thoughts coming quickly and often circuitous. There is so many thoughts in this book, I reread sections again and again, and also read this with two other group friends and despite their added insights still do not feel I have a firm grasp on everything meant to be conveyed. At times I felt the words were angry, almost flung at me, his torment, his regret, his longing, filling the pages. His need to keep writing just to feel as if he exists, his trying to explain the events that were in place, people's apathy, that allowed the Holocaust to destroy so much. I originally rated this a three, but have upped it to four because I find I can't quite get it out of my mind. It is important to realize that the author was imprisoned in both Auschwitz and then Buchenwald so this I believe is an autobiographical novel.

  • Lee
    2018-12-11 00:44

    A great, short, dense, post-Holocaust novel by Kertész, who probably didn't win the Nobel Prize solely on this one's strength. I've only read his Detective Story (by a different translator) and should soon at least get to Fatelessness, so I'm not sure how this fits among his other novels, but it feels very real as it digresses, loops back on itself, repeats images (a bald woman in a dress in front of a mirror [what he thinks about when he thinks about his so-called Jewishness]; writing as digging a grave in the air he was meant to be buried in [alluding to gas chambers at Auschwitz, which the author/narrator survived]), not like Bernhard although Bernhard is mentioned at one point, not a single paragraph though it feels like one. Questions what his sense of Jewishness really means, contradicts or destructs sentiments like "Auschwitz cannot be explained," realizes that he must work to live and work sets him free into what's essentially a prison of melancholy and pain, an existence that denies life, the only existence possible for him, which ultimately undermines his marriage to a woman who chooses life and children. "A life lived happily is a life lived mutely, I wrote. It turned out that to write about life means to think about life, to think about life is to question it, and the only one to question the element of his life is one suffocated by it or feeling out of place for one reason or another. It turns out, I don't write to find joy; on the contrary, it turns out, I seek pain, the sharper the better, bordering on the unbearable sort, quite probably because pain is truth, and the answer to the question of what constitutes truth is quite simple, I wrote: truth is what consumes." Long, semi-colon replete sentences. An approach that follows its instinct or its anti-instinct. Repeats "so to say" a lot and every time it distracted me since it seems like people say "so to speak." Again, as with Detective Story (just re-read my review), felt like the translation was a bit wonky at times (interesting that I sensed something off at times with different translators -- maybe they're both maintaining loyalty to occasional wonkiness in the author's prose?). A few typos in my edition. Either I read the last ten pages poorly or the last ten pages when he reveals the end and the aftermath of his marriage didn't quite hold my attention as some of the previous pages had, but I read them in bed super-tired and so I probably failed them. Will try to re-read (I'm thinking about a year of re-reading starting May 1 to celebrate my 10-year anniversary of writing reviews on here). The sort of short dense real hefty novel I love.

  • Trinh
    2018-12-07 22:46

    "Về Auschwitz không có lời giải thích”Nỗi ám ảnh kinh hoàng về Auschwitz chỉ vỏn vẹn trong một câu ấy nhưng cả tác phẩm là một quá trình đấu tranh với chính mình của tác giả, một người từng sống trong những trại tập trung khắc nghiệt và man rợ của phát xít Đức. Nỗi đau, quá khứ đau thương ấy một lần nữa rỉ máu khi tác giả đặt bút xuống và viết chúng thành câu chữ...P.S: Rất muốn tìm sách để đọc lại một lần nữa.

  • Gill
    2018-11-16 02:47

    September 2016Reading this for a second time, now as a group read. The discussion is thought provoking and is enhancing my understanding of the book.Finished for a second time- there ar a lot of layers to the book. Beautiful and moving writing, and I'll probably read it another time at some stage.April 2016I found this book difficult, both emotionally and because its style is complicated. I intend to re-read it at some stage, especially if I can do this as a readalong, so that I have people to discuss with on the way. Available on Openlibrary.

  • Eugene
    2018-12-07 02:50

    a great and dark autobiographical book, speaking impossible truths with brazen and an often almost obscene courage... a courage so courageous it becomes obscene.echoing bernhard -- whom kertesz has translated -- this is a great monologue of negation and destruction, which nonetheless (hopelessly) creates. speaking about the one thing that saved him ("albeit it saved me for the sake of destruction"), i.e. his work, kertesz writes, "In those years I recognized my life for what it was: as a fact on the one hand and as a spiritual form on the other, or, more precisely, the spiritual form of the survival instinct that no longer can survive, doesn't want to survive, and probably is no longer capable of survival, but one that still and because of it all demands its own, that is to say, its own formation like a rounded glass-hard object so that it could continue to exist, no matter why, no matter for whom--for everyone and no one..." (94).also, to mention: some reviews i read somewhere favored the wilkinson translation over the wilson's. because of this i picked up both to compare (after starting with the wilson's)... even if kertesz himself seems to prefer the wilkinson (perhaps because this more recent, post nobel-winning translation is being done by a larger house), the wilson's was to me the far better translation, much more readable, and one that seemed to capture the book's bravura and darkness and humor with much more panache. of course i don't speak hungarian so maybe i'm wrong, but a little research has at least this agreeing opinion: from www.forward.com/articles/13167/Kertész’s early novels exist in two English translations: Tim Wilkinson, a British expatriate in Budapest and translator of both fictions under review, retranslated two books for Knopf that had earlier been translated by Christopher C. Wilson and Katharina M. Wilson and published by Northwestern University Press in the days before the author’s laureate and fame. Kertész himself is said to approve of Wilkinson’s translations, or at least to disapprove of the Wilsons’, telling The Journal News: “I really tried to protest against the first translations, but I found complete rejection. The publisher was not willing to do new translations. It was a really bad feeling. It was as if you had a very sane character who has a rendezvous with the reader and the person who shows up is basically a real jerk, with a stammer, bad breath and a foul mouth.”Ladies and gentlemen of the jury of those of us who care about translation — this is a case of an author having to be saved from himself, or from his enthusiasm at being retranslated, at interest being breathed anew into his work. “Fateless” by the Wilsons is every word as effective as Wilkinson’s “Fatelessness,” and “Kaddish” I would reread in the Northwestern translation (titled “Kaddish for a Child Not Born”), which called upon the example of Austrian writer Thomas Bernhard — an unavoidable influence, whom Kertész has translated — without burying the text in received style or homage.While the Wilsons are guilty of egregious sins of omission, they served their Muir roles with selflessness (husband and wife Edwin and Willa Muir being the first, though flawed, translators of Kafka), having Englished an uncompromising writer of inaccessible Europe relatively early and well. As for Wilkinson, one does not know what poetry Kertész reads into his prose. If Wilkinson is a good translator, he’s a middling writer. He knows Hungarian, he must, but he hasn’t much art in his native English, which is paramount for a prose as spare as Kertész’s, in which every word, every comma, counts.from www.forward.com/articles/13167/

  • Seth the Zest
    2018-11-21 18:40

    While I had planned to read only twenty pages today because the books so dense, I found myself so drawn into the book that I had to finish almost all of it in one burst. I realized after a few pages that a paragraph hadn't ended and so I naturally wanted to see when it would so I could put the book down and go do something else. I believe it lasted twenty pages. So I then looked for a logical stopping point but couldn't find one. And one thing led to another and I finished it as if in a dream. The intensity of the book so overwhelmed me that I couldn't stop reading.This was one of the strangest, densest, bravest, and most brilliant and beautiful things I've ever read.

  • qwerty
    2018-12-07 23:41

    Η ομορφιά του έγκειται ακριβώς στις υπερβολικά μακροσκελείς προτάσεις, στην έλλειψη κεφαλαίων και παραγράφων. Είναι ένας τρόπος γραφής που σε συνεπαίρνει. Μεταβαίνει από τον έναν συνειρμό στον άλλον αστραπιαία και συχνά "το χάνεις" και επιστρέφεις στην αρχή της πρότασης.Ο συγγραφέας μας παρουσιάζει τα εσώψυχά του και το κεντρικό θέμα του βιβλίου είναι η άρνησή του να αποκτήσει απογόνους. Η άρνησή του, γενικότερα, προς έναν τυπικό τρόπο ζωής (δουλεύω, βγάζω χρήματα, επιτυγχάνω επαγγελματικά, παντρεύομαι, κάνω παιδιά) κι αυτό επειδή τα παιδικά του βιώματα, αλλά κυρίως το Άουσβιτς και το Μπούχενβαλντ τον σημάδεψαν.

  • Jonfaith
    2018-11-20 22:41

    This piercing unbroken paragraph novella ups the emotional and philosophical ante concerning the Shoah and leaves only scorched earth and tattered memories in its wake. Throughout the work there a number of nods to Bernhard, whereas Kertesz further gilds the homage to the Austrian with trademark recurrences and stilted rhythms. These circumstances extend beyond, of course. The decision reached is also an imperative, one which still bears considerable weight.

  • Kris McCracken
    2018-11-15 02:36

    Kaddish for a Child Not Born by Imre Kertész is one of a series of four novels which examine the life of a man who survives the Nazi concentration camps of World War II.If Fatelessness offered a relatively conventional narrative approach, Kaddish for an Unborn Child, written fifteen years later, is anything but. It is a difficult novel of repetition and ambiguity, the narrator acknowledging all his uncertainty, and constantly reminding the reader of the difficulty of exact expression. In many respects, it’s an artist’s attempt at public self-flagellation.Broadly, the novel is a meditation on the narrator's failed marriage, and in particular, his refusal to have children. Identity is fixed firmly to the present perspective, with the narrator constantly reminiscing yet always acknowledging what was to happen: history is fixed, even if, at the points he returns to, anything seemed possible. So he writes repeatedly of the woman he was to marry: "my wife (who at that time was not yet and is now no longer my wife)". It’s an interesting text, a (self-) analysis of a state of being that is, in turn, deliberate and emotional, troubled by the inadequacy of the written word (and of human reaction). The author cannot rise above his inadequacies, but can only try to give them expression. As such, it is a jarring read. This is not a fluid narrative, but there is purpose to the careful locutions and the doubling back and emphasis on the contradictory. It’s not easy going, and one best reserved when your strength of concentration is high!

  • Brandon Prince
    2018-11-25 00:46

    Kertész is inspired by Thomas Bernhard, but surpasses him. Rarely have the contradictions and unity between domination and freedom been so powerfully realized in a work of fiction. A definitive work of critical holocaust literature, Kaddish draws attention to the tenuous threshold that connects the horrors of Auschwitz to the banal assimilations of everyday life. Absolutely brilliant. One of the greatest books I have ever read.

  • Chim Cụt
    2018-11-18 19:43

    SỨC MẠNH CỦA RỪNG CÂU DÀI MIÊN MANHồi nhỏ, nếu bất chợt được nghe những con chiên của Chúa đọc kinh, một nỗi sợ hãi không tên cứ chạy khắp người làm tui lạnh tóc gáy, như thể vừa bị một sức mạnh vô hình bủa vây. Vì họ phát ra những âm thanh tui thắc mắc liệu nó có phải tiếng mẹ đẻ - tui đã nghĩ Chúa dạy họ ngôn ngữ riêng của Người. Vì họ đọc liền tù tì tui không biết nên nghỉ chỗ nào để nghe tiếp hay thậm chí để họ hít thở. Vì, quan trọng hơn cả, họ tạo nên bầu không khí dâng tràn sự thiêng liêng và đức tin.Quyển Kinh này khiến tui cũng sợ vậy, sợ đến phát mệt, mệt đến phát nản, nản đến phát chửi rủa bản thân khi thời gian gần đây toàn đọc phải những quyển sách chả lôi cuốn gì mấy ở những lần giở trang đầu tiên.Đến con số 69 rồi nhưng tui không chắc (thật ra là hoàn toàn không) hiểu được những gì đã đọc, chẳng biết phải đến con số bao nhiêu mới gặp được dấu chấm kết câu tiếp theo, và hơn hết, chả rõ tình trạng này sẽ còn kéo dài đến bao nhiêu phần của quyển sách, hay có lẽ đến tận con số cuối cũng nên.Imre trồng một rừng câu dài miên man trong quyển Kinh.Có lúc, tui muốn quẳng nó sang bên, phản bội lòng tin dẫu có dở đến đâu quyển sách cũng sẽ có điểm sáng trước giờ của mình. Nhưng ông là tác giả đoạt giải Nobel Văn Chương. Hãy đọc đi, hãy cố đọc đi! Nếu mày không phù hợp với mọi cái gắn với tính từ hàn lâm thì hãy vì tên của quyển Kinh mà đọc. Hãy tìm kiếm điều mày không thấy ở Thư gửi đứa trẻ chưa từng sinh ra của Oriana Fallaci.Khi chưa đến được khúc cua tiếp theo của rừng câu này, tui lại động viên mình.Như giờ đây ngộ ra, đọc kinh là nhắc lại những lời răn của Chúa với tốc độ nhanh hơn bình thường và lặp lại với số lần cần thiết trong tâm trí hòa nhập và dâng hiến, thì tui cần đọc nhanh để chóng hiểu ý nghĩa của xuất phát điểm ông muốn nói, hay có khi là cái ông muốn nói nhưng lại không nằm ở rừng chữ hiển hiện trước mắt, chứ không nên hoặc chưa phải lúc dừng lại phân tích từng câu từ - thói quen đọc sách trước đây, nguyên nhân khiến tui (tạm nhận) là con mọt mang họ rùa - để rồi đến cuối câu cũng quên luôn ông ấy mở đầu đoạn văn (tui cá nó không phải câu văn, có lẽ ông tác giả đã ngủ gật giữa chừng và ngỡ rằng mình đã đặt dấu chấm trước đó nên mới viết tiếp) với mục đích gì; nhưng đồng thời cũng phải đọc đi đọc lại nhiều đoạn (không dám nói là cả câu, vì nào biết phải lùi lại mấy trang để bắt gặp, ơn trời, dấu kết câu trước đó) để nhắc nhở bản thân hãy nắm bắt điều Imre gửi gắm đâu đó trong đoạn mà tui đã lướt qua theo triết lý rởm đọc nhanh chóng hiểu vì bất lực với cái tài múa bút vẽ câu của ông.Khỉ gió thật, ai nói dài nói dai nói dại chứ tui thấy ông tài lắm! Tui mệt muốn đứt hơi khi cũng bày đặt múa bút vẽ câu như ông.Không thể tin được là rừng câu này mọc từ trang 15 đến tận 143 trong độ dài (hoặc dày) 193 trang mới (hoặc lại) đưa tui quay về với đoạn mở đầu ở trang thứ mười lăm: ... những bản năng của chúng ta hoạt động chống lại những bản năng của chúng ta, có thể nói những phản bản năng của chúng ta hoạt động thay cho những bản năng của chúng ta... Đó là rừng câu dài nhất và kia là câu (thật ra chỉ là một ý) được lặp lại nhiều nhất, nếu trí nhớ tui có thể tạm sử dụng được (vốn nó rất tệ, mà khi đọc quyển này thì tui nhận ra nó còn tệ hơn tui tưởng) thì đó là bốn lần.Bốn lần đã là gì!Vợ, vợ tôi, vợ cũ tôi, đã từ lâu không còn là vợ tôi, giờ đã là vợ cũ, khi đó còn chưa là vợ tôi... cùng với những dấu ngoặc đơn đóng - mở rơi rớt trên trang giấy như lá rụng vào mùa. Sang đông, tưởng bước chân đi không còn ngập ngụa trong lá cây (hay câu) nữa thì lại vấp phải những hòn đá (hay dấu phẩy thân thiết của Imre - đôi bạn quấn quýt nhau với tần suất cao bất thường đến làm dấu chấm kết câu phải phát hờn), mà sau nó là những cơn mưa như trút nước tôi nói, tôi viết, tôi nói với vợ tôi, vợ tôi nói...Bốn lần đã là gì! Không đếm được mới thật sự nhiều. Nào ai đếm được lá rụng, nào ai đếm được hạt mưa?Chợt nhớ đến câu nói để đời của cụ cố Hồng trong Số đỏ, tui những muốn hét lên: Biết rồi, khổ lắm, nói mãi! Tui biết ông ở hiện tại đang nói về vợ cũ của ông rồi, hay ông ở quá khứ đang nói về vợ tương lai của ông rồi. Tui biết ông đang nói hay đang viết mà, vì tui đang nghe và đang đọc đây mà. Tui biết vợ ông đang nói mà, vì ngoài ông và bà ra thì còn ai vào đây nữa đâu mà.Khỉ gió thật, tui biết mà, đừng nhắc mãi như thế!Khỉ gió thật, rốt cuộc, ông cũng dừng múa bút vẽ câu!Khỉ gió thật, người ta đọc kinh như thế nào thì ông viết Kinh y chang thế đó và tui đọc Kinh y chang thế đó!Nói cách khác, tinh thần quyển Kinh của Imre đã phản ánh đúng tên của nó (hay phải nói cái tên rất phù hợp với tác phẩm) và phần nào đó các buổi đọc kinh cùng Chúa - dài không điểm dừng, nhanh không kịp thở, lặp lại nhiều đến thuộc theo quán tính. Và đương nhiên, có thiêng liêng. Và đương nhiên, có đức tin. Của một người làm chồng. Của một người không làm cha.Tui nói mà, quyển sách dẫu có dở đến đâu cũng có điểm sáng. Hoặc nói là tui có tối dạ đến đâu thì cuối cùng cũng được khai sáng.Thì ra là như vậy.Do Thái!Chối bỏ nguồn gốc Do Thái!Chối bỏ bản tính Do Thái!Chối bỏ hệ lụy Do Thái!Chối bỏ đứa con Do Thái!Tui hiểu rồi, thật ra ông cũng bị một sức mạnh bủa vây.Nỗi sợ Do Thái!Con không muốn làm một người Do Thái!

  • Du Nguyen
    2018-12-05 01:32

    Điểm: 5.5/10Một tiểu thuyết ngắn được viết bằng văn phong quá dài dòng, rườm rà, trùng lặpToàn bộ cuốn tiểu thuyết ngắn này là dòng hồi tưởng của nhân vật chính, một nhà văn Do Thái, đã từng trải qua cuộc sống trong trại tập trung Auschwitz, có cách hồi tưởng, hay đại loại như thế, quá rườm rà, có rất nhiều chỗ trùng lặp không cần thiết, theo mục đích của tác giả, sử dụng rất ít dấu chấm câu để tạo nên hiệu ứng liền mạch và rối rắm trong suy tưởng của nhân vật chính và ngăn chặn người đọc dừng lại nửa chừng (?).Tựa sách có nói đến một đứa trẻ nhưng thực ra đứa trẻ chỉ xuất hiện thoáng qua.Cả tác phẩm chỉ diễn ra trong vòng vài giờ nhưng gây ra cảm giác lê thê, mệt mỏi vì đọc hoài mà không hết một câu, nhiều nội dung cứ lặp đi lặp lại.Nếu bạn cần tìm một cuốn sách có văn phong rườm rà để thử sự kiên nhẫn của chính mình thì đây là một lựa chọn tốt.

  • julieta
    2018-11-25 21:46

    Ese "¡No!" Con el que empieza el libro es un "No", que atraviesa todo el libro. Una negación a muchas cosas, a un hijo, empecemos por ahí. Pero también a poder soltar el pasado, un pasado duro y terrible, un pasado que hace a IK, porque de entrada este libro no tiene nada de ficción, o no lo parece. Kertész vivió cosas terribles, y sobrevivió a Auschwitz, pero sus heridas llegan más profundamente, ya que llega a decir que para el estar en el campo de concentración es una extensión de la educación que recibió con su padre, y al haber estado en un internado cuando era niño. Al final es una negación de el Yo. Es un libro difícil, hasta en la manera en cómo está escrito, sin pausa, sin párrafos, sin historia. La única historia es la negación al hijo, a la ex mujer, que intenta acompañarlo, intenta estar, y al final lo deja, por no poder soportar la negación en la que el vive, a estar mejor. Porque ella es un elemento importante, así como el escribir. Su trabajo, es un escape, y a la vez donde vive sus neurosis, y desde donde también la aleja a ella. Ella llega a mencionarle la posibilidad de ser un escritor "exitoso" y eso lo hace cuestionarse las razones por las que escribe, que no llegan ni de lejos a el tener "éxito" y ahí siente que ella está metiendo la mano en algo en donde no puede, supongo que se siente invadido, por ese instinto de poseer esa libertad en lo que hace, aunque eso es algo que supongo, porque el reacciona mucho a ese comentario que ella le llega a hacer. Es duro, tiene algo de terrible todo lo que cuenta, es como un libro-monólogo contado casi para sí mismo, o para el hijo que se negó a tener, porque tiene esa relación compleja con su propio padre, y porque no quiere imponer a nadie el ser su padre, o el ser judío. Se siente mucho odio a sí mismo, es un libro lleno de tristeza profunda, de horror, de incluso un poco de autodestrucción, pero a la vez sí, me conmueve, me metí en su viaje, y sufrí con el.

  • Andreea Ursu-Listeveanu
    2018-12-04 02:38

    A very, very heavy read. Both from the point of view of Kertesz's style and of the subject. A broken man, a very broken Jewish man who had a sad childhood, a tough father, no mother, and if that weren't enough, he is a survivor of Auschwitz. No wonder he cannot fully belong to someone, he cannot love himself, he couldn't love a child. So he writes and pours all his sadness, his hatred, his loneliness, in words. He also spends his time telling his wife what his father, Auschwitz, and life itself did to him, which makes her leave him, because he cannot be saved and he doesn't even want to. The unborn child that this book seems to be dedicated to, although the direct refference to him or her is very rare, doesn't exist and will never exist, because the author cannot conceive of bringing a child into this cruel and absurd world. When asked, either by a doctor or his wife, he immediately and instinctively replies "NO" and this "no" carries within all his pain and all his past. I gave it 3 stars because even if it's a really short novel, it was very hard to read, to restart reading after a pause. It's interesting, but an overwhelming stream of consciousness.

  • Κατερίνα Μαλακατέ
    2018-11-15 21:49

    Όταν πρωτοδιάβασα το «Καντίς για ένα αγέννητο παιδί»- λίγο μετά την εποχή που πήρε ο Ίμρε Κέρτες το Νόμπελ- ήμουν σε μια διαφορετική φάση ζωής κι η stream of consciousness γραφή του, που μου θύμισε έντονα Μπέρνχαρντ, με άγγιξε αλλά δε με συγκλόνισε. Κοντά δέκα χρόνια μετά ξαναγύρισα στο Καντίς, γιατί μάλλον είχαμε αφήσει ανοιχτούς λογαριασμούς κι η κραυγή του συγγραφέα είχε πάνω μου πολύ μεγαλύτερο αντίκτυπο.Η νουβέλα ξεκινά με ένα εμφατικό «Όχι», όχι στη συνέχιση της ζωής, στη διαιώνιση του είδους, στην προσπάθεια για ένα παιδί. Όχι στην ίδια την επιβίωση. Όπως και στο «Ο άνθρωπος δίχως πεπρωμένο», ο συγγραφέας μας λέει εμφατικά πως μετά την εμπειρία του στο Άουσβιτς δε θέλει να συνεχίσει να ζει ∙ έχοντας ζήσει αυτήν την αγριότητα, αυτή την εξαθλίωση, δε θέλει να εξακολουθήσει να είναι άνθρωπος και πολύ περισσότερο να φτιάξει ένα άλλο ανθρώπινο ον.Ο λόγος του Κέρτες, μακροπερίοδος, γεμάτος επαναλήψεις, δυσκολεύει την ανάγνωση (πιθανώς και τη μετάφραση), δε μιλάμε για ένα βιβλίο που θα το ρουφήξεις, αλλά για μια επίμονη προσπάθεια κατάδυσης σε μια ψυχή ανεξίτηλα στιγματισμένη. Ο αποτυχημένος γάμος, οι δυσκολίες στην καριέρα, η εβραϊκότητά του, γίνονται σημαία για την τέχνη του, αφορμή, αιτία, δικαιολογία για την άρνηση, την επιθυμία του να παραμείνει στη μιζέρια.Ως τώρα δεν έχω διαβάσει βιβλίο του Κέρτες που να μην είναι αυτοβιογραφικό. Αυτό κάποτε πίστευα πως είναι μειονέκτημα, δείχνει έλλειψη φαντασίας και ίσως αντίκειται στον ορισμό της τέχνης. Γραφιάδες σαν κι αυτόν όμως με κάνουν να αλλάξω γνώμη, δε χρειάζεται πάντα ένας φανταστικός κόσμος για να συγκαλύψεις την αλήθειά σου, μπορείς να την πεις ανοιχτά, βασανιστικά, φορτικά. Ειδικά όταν αυτή κρύβει τόσο πόνο.«Καντίς για ένα αγέννητο παιδί», Ίμρε Κέρτες, μετ. Μάγκυ Κοεν, εκδ Καστανιώτη, 2003http://diavazontas.blogspot.gr/2012/1...

  • Hanna
    2018-11-16 23:21

    There were parts, formally and tonally, that reminded me of Ponge's Soap and Dostoevsky's Notes from the Underground. However, the prose in Kaddish feels far less intentional or purposeful than either of those texts it is resembling. While I understand and appreciate what this book is trying to accomplish -- a painfully honest psychological portrait of its author through unmediated stream of consciousness -- for me it falls short aesthetically. The formal structure it seems to be following in the beginning pages -- a constant repetition of a story that builds itself more with each iteration -- is very interesting, but falls apart half way through the text upon which the narrative becomes dense psychobabble, to put it bluntly. This books requires a bit of patience and an enjoyment of unceasing rambling prose, neither of which I possess in great quantity.

  • Judy
    2018-11-16 01:38

    This is a pretty amazing book. It is undeniably difficult to read, with extremely long sentences and stream of consciousness narrative. However, the author certainly captured the inner life of a tortured and traumatized Holocaust survivor. The poor man in this book is just trying to get through life, but he has so much horror in his head that works against him, that he can never get away from. It's sad. It's also frightening, because humans did this to each other.Kertész was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 2002 for "writing that upholds the fragile experience of the individual against the barbaric arbitrariness of history." That really says it all.

  • Jo
    2018-11-20 02:41

    To begin with: I'm not a fan of uber-long sentences. They actually drive me mad, more often than not. But I'm glad, very glad indeed, that I kept on reading. Kertész writes with much tenderness and fury and disarming frankness. Definitely a book I'd recommend to anyone who is even remotely interested in literature by Holocaust survivors. Don't let the long sentences put you off reading it.

  • Kirsty
    2018-11-20 23:28

    Previous to picking up Imre Kertesz' Kaddish for an Unborn Child for my Around the World in 80 Books challenge, I had read one of his novels, Liquidation, which I bought whilst in Budapest. As with Liquidation, this novella is a meditation on the Holocaust, and also features literary translator B. as its protagonist. In the highly autobiographical Kaddish for an Unborn Child, B. 'addresses the child he couldn't bear to bring into the world, [and] takes readers on a mesmerising, lyrical journey through his life, from his childhood to Auschwitz to his failed marriage.'My high hopes for this novella were met; whilst it was rather difficult to read due to its terribly long and sometimes convoluted sentences, it proved to be one of the most powerful and haunting works on the Holocaust which I have yet read. The dense and complicated prose was sometimes exhausting to read, especially given its subject matter, but the stream-of-consciousness style fitted so well with the points which Kertesz brought to the fore. The core idea here is both beautiful and unsettling, and it is sure to linger in the mind for weeks after the final page has been read. The full concentration which you have to allow this novella is entirely worth the effort.

  • Edith
    2018-12-02 19:49

    “No!” I will never forget: Kaddish for an Unborn Child by Imre KertészAbridged version of my review posted on Edith’s Miscellany on 22 November 2013The Kaddish is the Jewish prayer for the dead. The narrating protagonist writes his Kaddish for an Unborn Child or to be precise for a son or daughter who could have been, but never even was conceived because he always refused to bring children into a world in which Auschwitz, Buchenwald and concentrations camps like them had been possible. It’s the introspective monologue of a holocaust survivor who feels that he has no right to exist and that his remaining purpose in life is to complete the task which the Nazi bloodhounds began in the concentration camps. So he is constantly “digging his grave in the air” not allowing himself to ever forget and opening ever again the sores. As a natural consequence of his past he is unable to commit to anyone or anything with his entire self, be it his wife, his career, his dwelling – or a child.Kaddish for an Unborn Child is a slim novel with heavy content. There are no chapters and only few paragraphs; sentences are long and meandering. Form and style are entirely subordinated to the natural flow of the stream of consciousness which also forces a line break whenever the narrator hurls another firm “No!” at his wife and at the world. Also the inner order of the story works like our mind picking up ideas and thoughts on the spur of the moment. So in a certain way it’s a difficult read requiring sometimes to leaf back and to re-read passages to understand properly. The mood of the book is dark and full of grief, but also philosophical and historically instructive.Highly recommended to everyone who wishes to understand the minds of holocaust survivors and their children.For the full review please click here to go to go directly to my blog post on Edith’s Miscellany.

  • Mariana Orantes
    2018-11-14 20:22

    El libro empieza con un ¡NO!. Después, desmenuza las preocupaciones del personaje principal: B, un autor y traductor que tiene pequeños tintes autobiográficos de Kértesz. La novela, después, a la manera de un ensayo, habla del entorno, vivencias y cuestiones personales desarrolladas. Cómo los judíos se asumen, qué hace él como escritor, porqué el mal tiene una explicación y el bien no tiene lógica y así. Sin embargo, también se cuenta una historia. Él, su vida, su ex-esposa, los hijos que no llegaron porque él no quiso asumir ese papel de autoridad, no quiso tener un hijo, de alguna forma porque su libertad no era libertad y era una trampa. Como sucede todo en la mente del personaje, el punto de vista es de él sobre las cosas, pero a veces resulta ambiguo por todos los elementos narrativos que maneja. Me llegó mucho en lo personal porque habla sobre lo que más duele al escribir, la vida que dejamos, los impulsos destructivos con los que tenemos que vivir y que son parte del trabajo. "...tocad más sombriamente los violines / luego subiréis como humo en el aire / luego tendréis una fosa en las nubes / allí no hay estrechez”. Todos los escritores cavamos nuestra tumba en las nubes, o al menos deberíamos hacerlo, intentarlo cada vez. La novela, por supuesto, como todo lo que he leído de Kértesz hasta el momento, es impecable. El nobel lo ganó a pulso y bien

  • Krocht Ehlundovič
    2018-11-30 20:29

    Uf, a tough book, author style, content, problem which is narrated by a main character (two times divorced man without children) and... Well, I was shocked a little bit by his style - very long sentences (one or two page´s long sentences) - this reminded me the modern novel wave (J. Joyce), then the content of those sentences - "yes-no" ideas, like the author would talk to you without preparation and concept (just apparently) and directly - so I had to be very focused and concentrated, plus lost time-to-time, and Jewish-Oswiencim problem - how the author sees it, deals with it (within his specific style, I felt like a monkey jumping from one tree to another...), understands it ("Oswiencim like a God´s touch..., school and father like preparation for it...") - extending it (Oswiencim stuff) to the whole Jews, how it shape his peoples, what about future and past. When I finished the book I did not know what to think about it; maybe it is because I am pretty much involved into that topic... maybe it has raised new ideas, questions... I must read more of this author.

  • Rüçhan
    2018-12-07 00:39

    Bir kimlik bunalımının, içsel bir hesaplaşmanın, tarihin bir ulusa dayatmış olduğu güçlüklerle perçinlendiğaslkabişlsdjaklf :D Şaka yapıyorum sevgili kitapseverler, kitap bir şeye benzemiyor. Güçbela bitirdiğim nadir kitaplardan biriydi "Doğmayacak Çocuk İçin Dua". Ne anlattığı, neden yazıldığı belli olmayan bir sözcük yığınıydı benim için. Bir kere okuması çok güç ve sıkıcıydı. Hiç paragraf yok. Baştan sona kadar çölde yürür gibi okuyorsunuz. 80'li sayfalardan sonra birkaç ilgi çekici satır gözüme çarptıysa da kitabın geneli bir vakit kaybı oldu benim açımdan. Daha edebî eserler okusaydım keşke. Kitap nasıl goodreads'te bu kadar yüksek bir ortalama almış, insan hayret ediyor doğrusu.

  • Kristina
    2018-11-27 21:42

    I don't get what's going on

  • Megan
    2018-11-24 23:43

    Kaddish for an Unborn Child is truly worthy of its esteem, and Imre Kertesz is absolutely worthy of his Nobel Prize. I read the Wilkinson translation, unaware that there was another translation available. Now that I know it has been translated before, I am curious to see for myself how they differ in language, poetics and style.I found the Wilkinson translation haunting, musical with a unique rhythm to its words. How do you describe something that is so perfectly beautiful? The stream-of-consciousness style of writing is difficult to digest (much like the story that is being told - it is not a glass of milk you swallow down easily; rather, it is more like something you need to crunch your way through), but nonetheless shows off what Kertesz ends up stating on the penultimate page (of my edition at least):"During these years I became aware of my life, on the one hand as fact, on the other as a cerebral mode of existence, to be more precise, a certain mode of existence that would no longer survive, that did not wish to survive, indeed probably was not even capable of surviving survival, a life which nevertheless has its own demand, namely that it be formed..."His emphatic "No!" which opens the book leads the reader to believe he is incapable of producing offspring. But as another reviewer noted, he does produce offspring - this book. It is written on paper, it is solid, and it brings to life every fear, every doubt, every thought and experience that leads him to write it in the first place.The narrator talks about his experience at Auschwitz only briefly, despite many mentions of the concentration camp, through the story of "Teacher," another inmate who retrieved the narrator's rations when he was too ill to get them himself. He says that "Teacher's" act may have shortened "Teacher's" life, his existence, but it was the human thing for him to do - it was natural, it was benevolent, it was in extreme opposition to everything Auschwitz stood for. Auschwitz is a character in the novel, looming over all and seeking to destroy the humanity inside its walls. The survivor of the narrator foils Auschwitz, but his refusal to truly live and bring forth further life is almost an affirmation of it. However, despite his best efforts to justify his decision not to have children, his work becomes his child.The most intriguing part of the novel is when the narrator finally talks about the relationship with his ex-wife. In this section of the book he really gets down to the dirty business of being a survivor who doesn't actually survive. It seems desolate, hopeless, and maybe that is truly what he has become. In the end I was left with sadness, knowing he never truly survived Auschwitz, but relief that this work sprang from the experience.I wrote in a preliminary review on my blog:This is my first foray into Nobel Prize-winning literature. I have to explain, my reasons have to be set out so you understand exactly what drew me to this book, surrounded by other, much larger and more epic books on the table at the front of the shop. No one else was touching it, or even noticing it. First, I saw the book on the table and noticed its small size. It’s a thin book, only 120 pages, and not quite a trade-size paperback. Books like this attract me because I know that it takes some seriously powerful writing to get a book this size published.Second, I picked it up and read the back cover to see what exactly this was about.The first word of this haunting novel is 'no'. It is how the narrator, a middle-aged Hungarian Jewish writer, answers an acquaintance who asks if he has a child and it is how he answered his, now ex-, wife when she told him she wanted a baby.The loss, longing, and regret that haunt the years between those two 'no's give rise to one of the most eloquent meditations ever written on the Holocaust. As Kertész’s narrator addresses the child he couldn’t bear to bring into the world, he takes readers on a mesmerizing, lyrical journey through his life, from his childhood to Auschwitz to his failed marriage.What jumped out at me here? It was the "no" that opens the book. It was the mention of the Holocaust. It was that this is the first book I’ve ever seen where a Holocaust survivor meditates on not being able to bring children into this world. What could have possibly been going on in his mind? I needed to know how he came to that decision, and how it affected those around him.Third, I opened the cover and read the very first word. That "No!" was, indeed, very powerful. It was shouted at the reader, with a giant "N" in the style of most chapter beginnings, and a small "o" following but no less loudly. The "!", the third character of this tiny novel, left a lingering cry in my mind. I could see the word coming out of someone’s mouth, I could see the desperation and anger and refusal spilling out of the mouth and onto the page. It was literally the one word I needed to read in order to know I wanted to read this book. I read a few more words, I tried to finish the sentence. It was so long. The first entire sentence of the book lasts the entire first page and ends two lines onto the second. Who on earth writes like this? Salman Rushdie. Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It’s stream-of-consciousness. It’s something I studied but could never do myself. This was the work of a master.

  • Farhan Khalid
    2018-12-06 01:22

    No! I said instantly without hesitationSince it has become quite natural by now that our instincts should act contrary to our instinctsExplanationsThere is no getting around explanationsWe are constantly explaining and excusing ourselvesLife itself, that inexplicable complex of being and feeling, demands explanations of usThose around us demands explanationsIn the end we ourselves demand explanations of ourselvesUntil in the end we succeed in annihilating everything around usIn other words explain ourselves to deathExistenceI were not working I would be existingAnd If I were existing I don’t know what that would drive me toA deadly serious association is sustained between my sustenance and my workMy existence viewed as the potentiality of your beingI can describe anything now with a pen dipped in sarcasmI sense a thousand-fold concordance which rings out from everything and everybody[From] One creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love revive, filling it with sublimityContemplating my life as the potentiality of your existenceEscapeJ.W.G: I was born a private person and I have remained a private survivorI write because I have to write. If one writes one engages in a dialogueI may perhaps have considered writing was an escapeI was escaping in another direction towards a goal other than the one towards which I was actually escapingAn escape is salvation and absolutely indispensable demonstration of myself, through myselfYour nonexistence viewed as the necessary and radical liquidation of my own existenceAuschwitzThere is no explanation for AuschwitzI am digging my grave with my ballpoint penThere is no explanation for AuschwitzAuschwitz does not exist because the thing for which there is no explanation is something that does not existHistoryThe history of the world presents us with a rational processI see the world as a series of arbitrary accidentsAuschwitz is a rational process of individual livesThere is no explanation for AuschwitzAuschwitz was product of irrational, incomprehensible forces because there is always a rational explanation for evilWritingI live and write and both are willing, life being more a blind willing, writing being more sighted willingWriting were itself lifeThe freedom only filled me with emptiness and boredom As long as I am working I am, if were not working who knows would I beDeath is a blue-eyed master from GermanyShameSome mysterious shame is attached to my name I brought this shame with me from some place where I had never been SinI bought it on account of some sin which I never committedThe sin will pursue me throughout my life. SufferingA life which is not my own life, even though it is me who is living it, suffering from it, will later die from itThere is no cure for AuschwitzNobody will ever recover from the disease of AuschwitzWriting about life amounts to thinking about lifeThinking about life amounts to casting doubt on lifePainI don’t write in order to seek pleasureBy writing, I am seeking painBecause pain is truthTruth is what consumes youI always did have a secret life and that was always my real lifeI said to my wifeOnly that way we were able to produce an ideally routinized structure of existence, I said to my wifeWe are always sinner before our father and God, I said to my wifeI therefore overthrew paternal power, I became achingly lonely, I said to my wifeI was a bad son and bad pupil. I was also a bad Jew, I said to my wifeAuschwitz seemed to me to be just an exaggeration of very same virtues, I said to my wifeAuschwitz manifests itself to me in the image of a father, I said to my wifeThe words father and Auschwitz elicit the same echo within me, I said to my wifeGod manifested himself to me in the image of Auschwitz, I said to my wifeMy wife saidI was sitting there and reading, reading or writing, reading and writing, all the same, my wife saidShe had wanted to save, my wife saidMy kind of freedom was directed against something(s) or somebody(s), my wife saidMy kind of freedom did not actually exist, my wife saidIt was my work that saved me. It has saved me from destructionDuring those yearsDuring those years, I arrived at certain decisive momentsDuring those years I became aware that my intuitions were in turn tightly interwoven, knot to knot, with my destinyDuring those years, I became aware that my work is nothing other than to digTerrorI start at each sound or sight, as if the scent of faltering memories were assailing my callousedI stop in terrorI want to flee but something holds me backFlood of my memories were seeking to burst out of its hidden channel and sweeping me awayLet it. I am ready for it

  • risha
    2018-11-22 01:47

    …Скрипки мрачнее чтоб голос ваш дымом густым воспарил в облаках обретешь ты могилу там где не тесно. Целан. Фуга смертиХотя в то же время я, конечно, хочу вспоминать, но, хочу или не хочу, выхода у меня нет: если я пишу, я вспоминаю, должен вспоминать, хотя не знаю, почему должен: наверное, ради знания, ведь воспоминание — знание, мы затем и живем, чтобы помнить о том, что мы знаем, потому что нельзя забывать, что узнали, и не бойтесь, ребята, это не какой-то там «моральный долг», полно; просто мы на это не способны, мы не умеем забывать, так уж мы созданы, мы живем для того, чтобы знать и помнить, и, может быть (даже скорее всего, даже почти наверняка), знаем и помним мы для того, чтобы кое-кому, коли уж он сотворил нас такими, стало из-за нас стыдно; да, да, помним мы ради него, который то ли существует, то ли не существует, какая разница, ибо, есть он или нет, это в конечном счете все равно, суть в том, чтобы помнить, знать и помнить, чтобы кое-кому — не важно кому — стало когда-нибудь стыдно из-за нас и (возможно) за нас.Все вы норовите из грандиозного кораблекрушения, когда все в кусках, что было целым извлечь частные, мелкие полуистины, только чтобы не видеть перед собой, за собой, под собой, повсюду зияющую бездну, не видеть Ничто, пустоту, то есть наше истинное положение, не видеть, чему вы служите, не видеть всегдашнюю природу власти, всегдашней власти, той власти, которая ни необходима, ни ненеобходима, которая только вопрос решения, решения, принятого или не принятого в отдельных жизнях, решения, которое не является ни сатанинским, ни непостижимо, завораживающе изощренным, ни влекущим своей масштабностью, — нет, оно просто банальное, подлое, жестокое, глупое и лицемерное, оно, даже в величайших своих свершениях, в лучшем случае лишь хорошо организованное, говорил, должно быть, я; да, а что самое-самое главное, оно, это решение, несерьезно, ибо с тех пор, как и здесь, и там, и еще во многих, многих местах были открыты на всеобщее обозрение целые заводы, целые конвейеры истребления людей, теперь на какое-то, и немалое, время покончено со всякой, всерьез принимаемой серьезностью, во всяком случае, такой серьезностью, которую можно связать с идеей власти, какой бы то ни было власти. И бросьте вы наконец твердить, сказал, должно быть, я, что Освенциму нет объяснения, что Освенцим — порождение иррациональных, не доступных разуму сил, ибо для зла всегда найдется рациональное объяснение; возможно, сам Сатана, как Яго, иррационален, но создания его, да-да, они — существа рациональные, любой их поступок можно вывести, как математическую формулу, вывести из каких-нибудь интересов, корысти, лени, властолюбия, похоти, трусости, необходимости удовлетворить тот или иной инстинкт, а если все это не подойдет, то в конечном счете из какого-нибудь психического отклонения, паранойи, депрессивной мании, пиромании, садизма, сексуальной одержимости, мазохизма, демиургийской или иной мегаломании, некрофилии, да Бог знает, из какого еще извращения из великого множества извращений, а может, из всех из них сразу.«…чтобы мы могли любить друг друга и все-таки оставаться свободными, хотя я прекрасно знаю, что от мужской судьбы и от женской судьбы ни один из нас не в состоянии уклониться, так что мы и дальше будем участвовать в той бесконечной муке, которую какая-то таинственная и, честное слово, не слишком мудрая природа сделала нашим уделом; значит, все будет и дальше так: я протяну тебе руку, и пожелаю тебя, и буду желать, чтобы ты и дальше была моей; а в то же время, то есть тогда, когда и ты протянешь мне руку и станешь наконец моей, я все-таки помешаю тебе отдаться, чтобы сохранить то, что я представляю как свою свободу…»

  • Greg
    2018-11-28 22:40

    This is a novel of destruction. It is negative. It is tough to read. That being said, it is worth it. The novel is short, and follows the memory of a man explaining to his friend that he can not bring a child into the world given the horrors of the Holocaust, and the fact that the underlying causes of the Holocaust have not been remedied. He is an unhappy and unlucky man – failing in his career and failing in his own marriage. It is a novel of despair.Kertesz’s style is quite difficult to read. Two examples illustrate fully that the writing can be profound and opaque/unreadable at the same time. “And on this path I faithfully resolved to accompany him, appropriately moved by his moving words, though less taken by his fear, which, I’m afraid (or rather, I hope, nay, I am convinced, I know) is only a momentary fear and in that sense sacred and only a fear that can be submerged in eternity as if in a bowl of consecrated water, for when it materializes, we won’t fear it anymore, we won’t even remember what it was we had feared because it will have taken over our being, we will be totally submerged in it, it will be ours and we will be its. This, too, is simply digging the ditch, digging the ditch for the grave I am digging int the air (because I’ll be comfortable being there) and, therefore, I say – not to the philosopher, only as myself – one need not be afraid of emotional atrophying, one must accept it or even welcome it, like a helpful hand that, although undoubtedly it is helping us toward the grave, still helps us along – “this world is not directed against us, and even though it has its pitfalls we have to try to love them”; even though I interject, addressing not the philosopher, not even this hack who was able to receive all those letters from Rainer Maria Rilke.” (7) “It is, however, a fact that all facts have at least two lives: one factual, the other, shall we say, spiritual, the latter of which is nothing more than an explanation or explanations or, rather, the slew of overexplaining, that is to say, in the final analysis, annihilating, but at least confiscatory explanations of the given fact.” (28) These long, unbroken paragraph/sentences have a pure voice, as well as an unreadability to them.On the whole, the novella is only 95 pages. Despite the style and the difficult material, it is a novel of emotion, and a good one at that.

  • Dara Salley
    2018-11-16 21:33

    This short novel takes place entirely inside the nervous, active mind of its narrator. The stream of consciousness that we are privy to is prompted by a question posed by a philosopher-acquaintance on an artistic retreat. He asks the narrator if he has any children. This leads to a long chain of thought that encompasses the narrator’s history, philosophy and love life. He describes why his answer to that question is difficult.This book was written as one long stream of consciousness. There are no chapters and few paragraphs or periods. This made it a little difficult for my mind to focus. The narrative kept running on and on, flowing smoothly from one thought to another and I would find my mind drifting. Kertesz’s style is lively and engaging, which helps. It’s like having a conversation with a friend who talks too fast and says too much. I wanted to ask him to slow down and breathe.I found the stream-of-consciousness nearly unintelligible towards the end. It was hard to tell if the point of the novel was to be a statement of existence, or if there was meant to be some sort of emotional resolution or revelation at the end. Overall, I found the book to mostly a pleasant sounding stream of words with an occasional beautiful insight. Others, who can relate to the narrator more easily, might find it illuminating, but I thought it was mostly a mild intellectual diversion.

  • Zoltán
    2018-12-07 22:44

    Kaddis: ősrégi ima, mely "egyértelműen Isten dicsőítéséről szól", "a gyásszal sújtott hozzátartozók ezzel (...) azt szeretnék kifejezésre juttatni, hogy súlyos fájdalmuk ellenére sem veszítették el hitüket."Mi is ez a könyv? Szerintem egyetlen mély lélegzetvételre kiadott vallomás, önmarcangolás, egy tönkretett élet magából kiokádott krédója. Könyv arról, amiről sem beszélni, sem írni nem lehet, mégis beszélni és írni kell. Könyv arról, ami feldolgozhatatlan, s amelynek feldogozása mégis egy teljes írói pálya motorja lehet. Könyv arról, miként nem lehet túlélni azt, amit túl lehetett élni. Könyv arról, amit ma is ki kellene mondani, s amit ma sem mond ki hangosan senki, vagy csak kevesen, s azok hangja se hallatszik messzire. Könyv a feladott és a kijózanító apaságról.Kertész Imre nehezen befogadható írása. Zaklatott, csapongó, önmagával megbékélni képtelen. Soha véget nem érő mondatok, vissza- visszatérő frázisok staccatoja, egy falat írom-mintha-mondanám. Felzaklat? Felzaklat. Nem érted? Ő sem mindig. Önmagát sem. Befogadható? Aligha. Csodálod? Ne csodáld!Azt hiszem, Siegmund Freud mind a tíz ujját megnyalta volna, ha ezt a könyvet a kezébe veheti. Nemcsak azért, amire most gondolsz, hanem mert lett volna mondanivalójuk egymásnak - Kertész és Freud, két önnön zsidóságával hadilábon álló géniusz. Olyannyira különbözőek, hogy az már hasonlít.De áruld már el, az utolsó oldalra érkezve, férfi létemre miért kellett egy könnycseppet szétmorzsolnom a szemem sarkában?