Read L'autunno del patriarca by Gabriel García Márquez Enrico Cicogna Online

l-autunno-del-patriarca

Dispotico, violento, amante insaziabile ma frettoloso, vendicativo, sanguinario e superstizioso, il "patriarca" è il dittatore di una sperduta isola dei Caraibi. Vive in un palazzo in rovina, circondato da postulanti e adulatori, ma la solitudine del potere è spaventosa: poco più che selvaggio analfabeta, il "patriarca" è giunto ormai al termine della sua vita e, quando laDispotico, violento, amante insaziabile ma frettoloso, vendicativo, sanguinario e superstizioso, il "patriarca" è il dittatore di una sperduta isola dei Caraibi. Vive in un palazzo in rovina, circondato da postulanti e adulatori, ma la solitudine del potere è spaventosa: poco più che selvaggio analfabeta, il "patriarca" è giunto ormai al termine della sua vita e, quando la morte arriverà, non potrà che mostrare il vero, umanissimo e mostruoso volto del potere....

Title : L'autunno del patriarca
Author :
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ISBN : 9788804514541
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 262 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

L'autunno del patriarca Reviews

  • Ahmad Sharabiani
    2018-12-21 11:30

    324. El otoño del patriarca = The Autumn of the Patriarch, Gabriel García Márquezعنوانها: پاییز پدرسالار؛ خزان خودکامه؛ نویسنده: گابریل گارسیا مارکز؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش: ماه فوریه سال 2006 میلادیعنوان: پاییز پدرسالار؛ نویسنده: گابریل گارسیا مارکز؛ مترجم: حسین مهری؛ تهران، امیرکبیر، 1358؛ در 342 ص؛ موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان کلمبیایی - قرن 20 معنوان: پاییز پدرسالار؛ نویسنده: گابریل گارسیا مارکز؛ مترجم: محمد فیروزبخت؛ تهران، فردوس، 1365؛ در 373 ص؛ چاپ دیگر: تهران، ارمغان، 1394؛ در 328 ص؛ شابک: 9789648974768؛ عنوان: پاییز پدرسالار؛ نویسنده: گابریل گارسیا مارکز؛ مترجم: محمدرضا راهور؛ تهران، نشرشیرین، 1381؛ در 318 ص؛ شابک: 9645564956؛ عنوان: پاییز پدرسالار؛ نویسنده: گابریل گارسیا مارکز؛ مترجم: کیومرث پارسای؛ تهران، آربابان، 1385؛ در 336 ص؛ شابک: 9647196326؛ چاپ دوم 1386؛ چاپ سوم 1387؛ چاپ چهارم 1388؛ پنجم 1389؛ هشتم 1392؛ عنوان: خزان خودکامه؛ نویسنده: گابریل گارسیا مارکز؛ مترجم: اسدالله امرایی؛ تهران، ثالث، 1393؛ در 296 ص؛ شابک: 9789643806620؛ چاپ دوم 1393؛ چاپ سوم 1395؛رمانی نوشته گابریل گارسیا مارکز در سال 1975 میلادی است. داستان کتاب به وقایع تاریخی دوران دیکتاتوری فرانسیسکو فرانکو در اسپانیا، آناستازیو سوموزا، و رافائل تروخیو در جمهوری دومینیکن بسیار نزدیک است. داستان ژنرال پیری ست که از جنسیت سرکش او پنج‌ هزار بچه ی نامشروع به دنیا آمده است. او که جباری شکاک و هذیان‌گو ست، ‌با ظلم و وحشت بر کشور استوایی کوچکی فرمان می‌راند، و تن تنهایش را در کاخ فرسوده‌ ای، که پله‌ هایش به تپاله و فضله حیوانات آلوده است، به اینسوی و آنسو می‌کشاند. زیرا یگانه مهمانهای ساکن کاخ، گاوها و مرغ و خروسها هستند. این مردی که تصویر او بر پشت و روی سکه‌ ها، تمبرهای پست، ‌اتیکتها، ‌فتق‌بندها و کتف‌بندها چاپ شده، همانند معاصران واقعی‌ خویش، ‌مادری زحمت‌کش دارد. مادرش، ‌زن مرغداری از فلاتهای مرتفع است؛ که مرغان فرتوت و وارفته‌ اش را با قلم‌ مو رنگ می‌کند؛ و در بازار می‌فروشد. ا. شربیانی

  • William1
    2019-01-19 16:31

    A novel of blazing, indefatigable brilliance. A tale in which absolute power of a uniquely Caribbean variety corrupts its possessor absolutely. Year by year el presidenté grows ever farther from any connection with his people until he's a pampered Howard Hughes-like recluse. In his detachment he looses a succession of evil proxies on his people, who perpetrate genocides without a cause. In one, 20,000 children are murdered for their unwitting collusion in a lottery scam which el presidenté always wins. Then there's the time he literally roasts one of his generals for perceived wrongs and serves him up with fava beans and a nice chianti to the man's officers. At the start of el presidenté's hundred-year reign, he is illiterate; he signs documents with an inked thumb, like a criminal being booked. When a Catholic novice he has despoiled teaches him how to read, entire daily newspapers are produced with an print run of one copy solely for him. How, please tell me, does García Marquez keep the tone skimming adroitly between the comic and tragic? It's entertainment dripping with blood.The reading is no simple task. You've got to want this one; you've got to have the fire in the belly! Written in a Modernist style with many of its esthetic conventions: run on sentences (stream o' consciousness), intersecting/multiple voices without identifying tags, dreams interlarded with so-called reality, with fleeting fantasy, shifting points of view, asynchrony, etc. This works well with the so-called Magic Realism the author helped pioneer, though in this context I begin to think Magic Realism's roots were in Modernism all along. There are oracular basins, seas turned to lunar dust, vanishing virgins, and lots of divination--by tarot card, palm of the hand, coffee grounds--and murderous purges resulting from it. There is also a pervasive sense of the eschatological. Its 255 pages reads like 400 since it's virtually one solid paragraph all the way through. I particularly enjoyed the sacrilegious parts; especially the move by the capricious presidenté to have his mother canonized by the Vatican. Cruelly funny stuff. Not to be missed! Your patience will be amply rewarded.

  • فهد الفهد
    2019-01-17 13:42

    خريف البطريرك في السابع عشر من أبريل رحل ماركيز، صاحب (مئة عام من العزلة)، ثيربانتس الجديد، الكولومبي الذي حصد نوبل بكتابين أساسيين هما حكاية ماكوندو المذهلة – مئة عام من العزلة – وهذه الرواية التي نشرها قبل نوبل بسبع سنوات. كنت قد أحببت عوالم ماركيز رغم أنني ولجتها من ترجمة رديئة لمئة عام من العزلة – فلذا أنوي إعادة قراءتها بترجمة صالح علماني خلال هذا العام الماركيزي -، ولكن (الحب في زمن الكوليرا) و(قصة موت معلن) جعلت ماركيز من كتابي المفضلين، وجعلت بقية كتبه على قائمة قراءاتي الفلكية الطول. وكتأبين ها أنا اقرأ كتب ماركيز المنتظرة وسيرته التي كتبها جيرالد مارتن، أنثر كلمات ماركيز على عامي هذا، لأجعله عابقاً بالسحر الذي كان ينسل من نصوصه. في أدب أمريكا اللاتينية يوجد فرع أدبي خاص، اسمه رواية الدكتاتور، وهي الروايات التي كتبت لتحلل شخصية ديكتاتور ما، متخيل طبعاً، ولكنه مستوحى من دكتاتوريي أمريكا اللاتينية الكثر – الرواية العربية يجب أن تستخدم هذا الفرع، لا أذكر رواية عربية أضعها تحت هذا النوع ما خلا رواية (عالم صدام حسين) -. كتب رواية الدكتاتور عمالقة أمريكا اللاتينية، من ميغيل أنخيل استورياس في روايته (السيد الرئيس) – والتي كتب ماركيز روايته هذه مدفوعاً بتحديها والتفوق عليها -، إلى ماريو فارغاس يوسا في تحفته (حفلة التيس) – وهي برأيي أبرز روايات هذا النوع وأعظمها -، وأجوستو روا باستوس في روايته (أنا، الأعلى)، وأيليخو كاربنتيير وعدد آخر من الروائيين. يعرض لنا ماركيز في روايته هذه التي أقدر أنها أنهكت بأسلوبها ولغتها – التي أبدع محمد اليوسفي في ترجمتها – قراء ماركيز، وربما تراجع الكثيرون عن قراءتها مع الصفحات الأولى – فعلت أنا ذلك مرة -، فالكتاب مكتوب بلغة شاعرية تبدو وكأنها لا تتناسب مع الموضوع المتجهم، ولكن هذا هو ما أراده ماركيز، جمع المتناقضات في هذه الرواية، فموضوعة الرواية الأساس ليست سطوة الديكتاتور ولا جرائمه – رغم أن الكتاب يغص بها -، وإنما هي عزلة الديكتاتور، إلى درجة أن صديق ماركيز عمر توريخوس ديكتاتور باناما قال عندما قرأها "إنها حقيقية، كلنا هكذا". الرواية مكتوبة بأسلوب ماركيز الغرائبي، والضمير يتغير أحياناً وسط السرد، والحدث الذي تعود له الرواية بطريقة غريبة هو اكتشاف جثة الديكتاتور وقد أكلتها العقبان، ولكننا مع القراءة لا نغدو متأكدين من موته، بل يبدو الديكتاتور خالداً، ففي كل مرة نظن أنه مات أو قتل يظهر من جديد، وكأنها إشارة إلى أن وراء كل ديكتاتور، ديكتاتور جديد. ترعبنا جرائم الديكتاتور، وما يرتكبه نظامه من قتل وتنكيل، ويمر بنا رجاله الذين يقضي عليهم عندما تنتهي الحاجة لهم ويتلطخون كثيراً، وتمر بنا النساء اللواتي يحضرن في حياته، من أمه التي حاول أن يجعلها قديسة بعد موتها، إلى الراهبة التي اختطفها وجعلها امرأته، وحتى الطالبة الصغيرة التي أخذها إلى سريره. إنه الديكتاتور ذو اليدين الناعمتين كيدي امرأة – إشارة إلى ستالين -، ببزته ومعاركه ووحدته الخانقة، التي تخنقنا نحن كقراء، حيث لا نجد في الرواية ذلك التواصل الإنساني الذي يعكسه حوار ما، أي حوار ولو كان تافهاً. رواية عظيمة، كانت عمل ماركيز الكبير التالي بعد (مئة عام من العزلة)، وقد أكدت مكانته وموهبته.

  • K.D. Absolutely
    2019-01-09 19:40

    Hypnotic and brilliant.This is my fourth Garcia Marquez book and this is said to be his most difficult book to read. It took him four (1968-1971) years to write this book. Four years. He wrote this as a follow up novel to his masterpiece, One Hundred Years of Solitude that catapulted him to stardom in the world literary arena. This was his most recent novel when he won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1982.I picked this 1001 book because there was a new member in our book club who is also a GGM's fan and this is the book that he hadn't read yet. We read 1 chapter a day and so we were able to read this in less than a week. We posted our daily insights here. Please take my 6-day insights as my review, please. Because right at this moment, my heart is bleeding.The reason is that in the same thread though, another member informed us that Garcia Marquez is now suffering from dementia.because this reminded me of what happened (Alzheimer's being similar to dementia in some ways) before Dame Iris Murdoch died in 1999. This entry in the Wiki broke my heart:In July 2012, his brother reported that García Márquez was "suffering from dementia". His treatment for lymphatic cancer was considered a possible cause. García Márquez's brother attempted to keep the details private but was dismayed at speculation "always filled with morbid details" over his brother's condition. He explained: "Dementia runs in our family and he's now suffering the ravages prematurely due to the cancer that put him almost on the verge of death. Chemotherapy saved his life, but it also destroyed many neurons, many defences and cells, and accelerated the process. But he still has the humour, joy and enthusiasm that he has always had." However, he also said his brother was unable to continue with the autobiography he is working on.I am very sad because I'd like him to write that autobiography as I'd like to know more about him. He is my most favorite novelist. This farewell message in You Tube is guaranteed to make you cry especially if you are one of his million fans (like me).THE FAREWELL LETTER of Gabriel Garcia Marquez"If for a while God forgot that I’m a puppet and gave me a piece of life, probably I wouldn’t say everything that I think, but definitivelly I would think everything that I say.I would give more value to things not because of what they cost but because of what they mean.I would sleep less and dream more. I understand that for each minute that we close our eyes, we lose sixty seconds of light. I would walk when the others stopped, I would wake up when the others slept, I would listen when the others spoke, and how much I would enjoy a chocolate ice-cream!If God gave me a piece of life I would dress simply, I would lie on the sun, “showing” not only my body but my soul. My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hate on the ice and I would wait for the sun to rise.[image error]My God, if I had a piece of life... I won't let a single day pass without saying people I love how much I love them. I would convince every single women and men that they are my favourites and I would live in love with love.I would prove people how wrong they are to think that they stop falling in love when they get older, without knowing that they get older when they stop falling in love!To a kid... I would give him wings, but I let him alone to learn how to fly. To the elder, I would teach them that death does not arrive with being old but with forgetting.[image error]There are so many things I have learned from you, people... I have learned that everybody wants to live at the peak of the mountain without knowing that the true happiness lays in the way “you get into it”.I have learned that when a new born grasp his father’s fist for the first time, he caught him forever.I have learned that a man has only the right to look down to another when he has to help him to stand up. There are so many things I have been able to learn from you, but actually they won’t be that worth, because when they keep me into this suitcase, unhappily I will be dying.Always say what you feel and do what you think.If I knew today as the last time I’m gonna see you sleep, I would hug you so strong and I would pray the lord to be able to be the guardian of your soul. If I knew this is the last time I’m gonna see you going out through that door, I would give you a hug, a kiss and I would call you again to give you more. If I knew this was the last time I am gonna hear your voice, I would record each one of your words to be able to hear them forever. If I knew these were the last moments I see you I would tell you “I love you” and I wouldn’t assume, stupidly, that you already know it.There is always a tomorrow and life gives us the opportunity to do things right, but in case I’m wrong and today is the only thing we have left, I would like to tell you how much I love you, and that I’m never going to forget you.Nobody has for sure a tomorrow, young or old. Today can be the last time you see the ones you love. So... don’t wait more, do it today, because if tomorrow never comes, you will for sure regret the day you didn’t take time for a smile, a hug, a kiss, and that you were so occupied to give them their last wish. Keep the ones you love near you, tell them in their ear how much you need them. Love them and treat them good. Take time to tell them “I’m sorry”, “forgive me”, “please”, “thank you”, and all the love words you know.Nobody will remember you for your secret thoughts. Ask God for the strength and the wisdom to express them. Show your friend how important they are for you."As I am reading these phrases, I am crying. They are so beautiful and expresses for the last time the brilliance that we've learned to love in reading Garcia Marquez's works.Sorry if I am not reviewing this book and focusing on this news. This just broke my heart and I could not concentrate. Many of us address our review to dead authors as if they were alive. I am just taking my shot that since Garcia Marquez or "Gabo" to his friends is still alive and his beautiful soul is still on earth, I'd like him to hear me say "I love you, Mr. Garcia Marquez." Godspeed, sir.Hypnotic and brilliant - take this as my 3-word review. Him being either alive, dying or dead, this is my best description of this book. Not for everyone but a definite must-read for people who enjoyed his other works. Please God make Garcia Marquez well and let him finish his last book. Please oh please....

  • Fabian
    2019-01-06 11:44

    It's hard not to distinguish the writer's infamous tone & subject matter in this sumptuous tale which might be the first time that a character study is so well meshed with the locale of his biography: "The Autumn of the Patriarch" in less than 50 sentences spanning pages & pages and a thick layering of symbols and leit motifs, tells the sad story of a mad tyrant ruler who, despite being bathed in power and glory, is nonetheless a HUMAN: he kills but suffers immensely and if the book were a painting (it kind of is: the words span an entire panorama... the Caribbean island is so fully described in words that convey both stagnation AND movement at the same time... fantastic magic and awful reality) it'd be an enormous canvas of colors, moods, unbelievable sights and smells; the flow of words, a literal bombardment of them, gives the novel its undeniable charm (hey! the format is difficult... it really is more poetry than prose) & robust beauty.

  • Ahmed Oraby
    2019-01-11 13:48

    ممل أنت يا ماركيز ، ومملة هي حكاياتكالرواية، على الرغم من كونها من نوعي المفضل؛ واقعية سحرية، أدب لاتيني، أدب سياسي وأدب سجون، وهي كذلك رواية فانتازية ذات أجواء غرائبية للغاية، باعتراف المترجم نفسه، فتجد مثلا أثناء قراءتك بحر يقطع أجزاءً، بقرات ضاحكة، معجزات لأنبياء وقديسين مزيفين، وغيرها من الأعاجيب، إلا أنها، حقيقة، أصابتني بالخيبة الشديدة، فضلا عن الملل والضجر الشديدين. لم؟ لأن ماركيز، وبكل بساطة، ممل، ومبهم، وغامض لأبعد الحدود، أكثر مللا من ساراماجو، وأكثر بطئًا من يوسا، وأكثر اهتماما بالتفاصيل المملة، التي أراني في غنى عنها، أكثر منهما هما الإثنين مجتمعين. تحكي الرواية عن طاغية متخيل، في بلد حقيقي وشعب حقيقي وأحداث شبه حقيقية. لو تكلمت عن ماركيز، فهو بحق إله السرد، لو كان له إله، وهو، في وصفه، أكثرهم دقة وقوة على الإطلاق، أما حوارات أبطاله، فهي شبه معدومة تماماالرواية عبقرية في سيرها، فهي تحكى لك على شكل سرد مسترجع، إن صح هذا اللفظ، يحكي من الماضي للحاضر، ومن الحاضر للماضي، حتى الالتقاء في نقطة واحدة مرتبطة، أساسًا بالرواية، هي موت الطاغية البطريرك حبيب الشعب.الرواية كذلك، تحكي لك بسخرية عن العلاقة المتشابكة بين الحاكم، والشعب، وأدوات السيطرة الدائمة؛ الكنيسة، والإعلام، مقروءً ومسموعًايحكي لك ماركيز هنا عن عنجهية وغرور الحكام، وفسقهم وكبرهم وآمالهم الكبيرة، وعن عوالمهم الضيقة، الصغيرة، الملأى بالكوابيس. الرواية جيدة، لكن نظرًا للإبهام والغموض والملل الشديدين فقد أصابتني بالإرهاق، لذا أنقصت نجمتين. لكنها تستحق القراءة على كل حالقرأتها، كذلك، مع هدىفلها الشكرملحوظة: الترجمة مكئبة، واللهم إني صائم بقى عشان مينفعش أتكلم :Dملحوظة ثانية: أضفت نجمتين للتقييم القديم، بعد قراءة أخرى للرواية. فهي بحق ليست مجرد رواية، بل كابوس أسود مطبق

  • foteini_dl
    2019-01-16 17:44

    Αυτό εδώ το βιβλίο,σε μια άλλη κοινωνία,θα διδασκόταν στο σχολείο.Είναι το πιο καθαρά πολιτικό βιβλίο του Marquez που έχω διαβάσει μέχρι τώρα.Σ’όλα του τα βιβλία υπάρχει το πολιτικό σχόλιο,μα εδώ ο συγγραφέας εξαπολύει ένα οργισμένο κατηγορώ ενάντια σε όσους που έχουν την εξουσία στα χέρια τους και καταπιέζουν τους λαούς.Ενάντια σ’ αυτούς που διαπράττουν εγκλήματα για την ικανοποίηση ξένων συμφερόντων.Και αν σκεφτούμε ότι υπάρχουν ακόμα δικτάτορες («φανεροί» ή «κρυφοί»),καταλαβαίνουμε πόσο επίκαιρος είναι ακόμα,δυστυχώς,ο Marquez. Επίσης,το βιβλίο αποτελεί άλλο ένα ξεκάθαρο δείγμα «μαγικού ρεαλισμού» του Marquez.Με το «καλημέρα σας» μας παρουσιάζει τον Πατριάρχη,έναν γέρο στρατηγό ακαθόριστης ηλικίας «μεταξύ 107 και 232 χρονών».O δικτάτορας από παντοδύναμος,απομυθοποιείται, και καταρρέει.Η γραφή ιδιαίτερη.Μεγάλες προτάσεις (μαύρα μάτια έκανα να δω καμιά τελεία),και ο Marquez κλείνει το μάτι στον Joyce.Όμως,με εξαίρεση λίγο στην αρχή μέχρι να συνηθίσω,δεν μπορώ να πω ότι δυσκολεύει.Ίσα-ίσα,κυλάει ομαλά,σαν μια γνώριμη μελωδία.Δεν έχω να πω άλλα,γιατί με κάτι τέτοια βιβλία καταλαβαίνω την τεράστια δύναμη που κρύβουν μέσα τα βιβλία,και νιώθω πολύ λίγη για να πω ο,τιδήποτε.Διαβάστε το χθες. Και αυτό δεν το λέω εύκολα.Υ.Γ.Σήμερα συνειδητοποίησα ότι τα τελευταία χρόνια ο Ιούνης με βρίσκει παρέα με τον Marquez.Μάλλον είναι κάποιου είδους παράδοση.

  • Cheryl
    2019-01-10 19:28

    Update: Rest in peace, dear Márquez. Your books will always live on. Why do I let Márquez torture me so, with his convoluted sentence structures and brilliant use of the comma, his obvious disdain of the semi-colon and colon, the thoughts that go on and on, so intricate and philosophical these sentences that he has me choosing his words over the weekend movie or tennis game, has me so brainwashed that I'm typing this review and can't seem to stop for something as simple as that small dot known as the period or that brief pause known as the paragraph break, because after all, a review of this book does not deserve a break, written as it is and all, where the biggest breaks are when the man takes a breath to give us new chapters, when each new sentence and thought is separated only by commas, no such thing as dialogue tags because really, who needs dialogue tags when you're dealing with the mentality of a brutal dictator who will take you, the reader, chew you up for dinner and spit you out, have you crawling for the safety of your real world when you realize that the protagonist is an animal, that these characters are all strange indeed, this dictator president and his matriarch mother, Benidicion Alvarado with her entertaining grotesqueness, yet you follow her meanderings and those of her son's, a main character you want to strangle, especially when he serves one of his generals on a platter, literally, but you instead choose to take a deep breath and keep following him around because you realize what Márquez is doing here, letting you inside the disaster of a troubled mind, bringing you pleasure and pain through mysticism, taking you through this great season of autumn without even bothering to show you the colors (oh but this takes place within the Caribbean, I remind myself, so the seasonal color changes might be minimal) still, he does something you've never seen any author do so successfully when he transports you back and forth through time, switches from third to first-person perspectives and narrators without even ending a sentence, thoughts from both mother and son, because alas, a Marquez novel never introduces such an omnivorous patriarch without having an equally rapacious matriarch present. A person needed an iron liver to refuse a favor to someone who was singing his praises, and now on the contrary there was no one to ask him for anything, no one to say to him at least good morning general sir, did you have a good night, he didn't even have the consolation of those nocturnal explosions that woke him up with a hail of broken glass and blew the doors off their hinges and sowed panic among the troops but which at least made him feel he was alive and not in this silence that buzzes inside my head and wakes me up with its noise, all I am now is a fright painted on the wall of this horror show…

  • Ahmed Ibrahim
    2019-01-14 13:45

    يقول ماركيز عن هذه الرواية أنها أكثر رواية واجه صعوبة أثناء كتابتها متفوقة على مائة عام من العزلة، والحق أنها كانت أصعب وأثقل في القراءة كذلك من مئة عام من العزلة. رواية مُرهقة لقارئها لما فيها من تلاعب بالزمن، كما أن النص قطعة واحدة لا يُفرق بين السرد والحوار، لكن الأصعب هنا في الضمير السردي في الرواية، فقد ينتقل الضمير من المخاطب إلى الغائب إلى المتكلم في نفس الفقرة، فلا بد للقارئ من أن يكون متيقظًا، إن شرد لثوانٍ سيغرق في لُجة النص.خريف البطريرك رواية تنتمي لأدب الديكتاتور، نموذج الديكتاتور هنا خيالي في رسم شكله الخارجي والداخلي، كما أنه ليس شخصًا واحدًا، وإن ظهر في النص كذلك لكنه مع كل فصل نرى شكل داخلي آخر للديكتاتور. تدور الرواية في إطار سردي دائري، حيث تبدأ على مشهد دخول حشد من الشعب لقصر الرئيس بعد أن ملئته العقبان، يجدوه بالداخل ميتًا لينتهي بهذا زمن الأبدية الهائل، الزمن الذي امتد أكثر من مائتي عام، ثم دون تمهيد يعود ماركيز لمقطع من حياة الديكتاتور الأولى، وينتهي الفصل بموته، ثم تفجأ في الفصل التالي أن الرئيس ما زال حيًا، ثم يستمر ما بين موت وحياة وما بينهما من توصيف شعري لحياة الرئيس، إلى أن يأتي خريف البطريرك في النهاية ونعود لبداية الدائرة. ما يريد ماركيز في النهاية قوله هو أن كل شيء سيأفل، حتى زمن الديكتاتور الأبدي، وكالعادة نراه يركز على الجانب الإنساني من الشخصية ليجعلك ترثى لحاله، ويُظهر أن هذا الديكتاتور متحجر القلب الذي أمات مئات الرجال والنساء والأطفال لأسباب واهية يتحول في حضرة امرأة يحبها إلى شخص ضعيف يفعل لأجلها أي شيء، نجده دائمًا يُخاطب أمه في كل المواقف والأوقات حتى بعد موتها، نجده يعاني من ثقل الوحدة فيجعل البرصى والمكفوفين في قصره مع الحيوانات ترتع كيف تشاء، نجده في النهاية لم يعِش ولم يذق طعم الحياة. عند خريف الرئيس الأخير كل شيء يذوي، قدرته على التذكر، وسلطته، والناس من حوله، حتى الموسيقى التي كانت تنبعث في فتق خصيته لتؤنسه ستصبح صفيرًا مكتومًا، سيأخذه الموت كما يريد، لا كما تنبأت العرفات بالكيفية التي يموت بها.جابو يمارس نوع لعين من السحر، يجعلك مستمتع بالرغم من اجتهادك في مجاراته. غرائبية حكاياته ودوامات الأحداث وإطارها السردي الدائري لا تتلائم مع هواة أكل السطور والمتسابقين للانتهاء سريعًا.

  • Astraea
    2019-01-03 11:24

    finally i finished this book...so disgusting but admirable ..."The Autumn of the Patriarch" is a remarkable and clear psychological portrait of a dictator, and beautifully written but it is despicable and terrible subject. At first people loved him beacuse they thought and believed he has the power of healing. But his infinite power created a lot of political corruption. so ancient dictator remained alone and wandered in the empty palace with cows and hens. it was an image of death and decay and fall."The Autumn of the Patriarch" isn't difficult to understand, it can be difficult to read because the style is so dense and rich.but it is a unique and great book.-----when i read this book, i remembered :"The President" a film by Iranian director Mohsen Makhmalbaf!!!

  • Paul
    2019-01-13 17:21

    This is Garcia Marquez at his most complex and polemical. It is an uncomfortable read, disturbing at times. It is also difficult with very few chapters, no paragraphs and sentences that go on for several pages. Garcia Marquez conducts an extended love affair with the comma; his punctuation mark of choice in this book. The novel concerns the nameless dictator of a nameless Caribbean nation; principally it is the story of his decline and death with added detail concerning his bloody reign. He has modestly titled himself “General of the Universe”. Garcia Marquez does have experience of living under dictatorship (Pinilla in Columbia and Franco in Spain). It is a mass of influences that hits you like a torrent of water. As you would expect there is magic realism and surrealism at its heart. However the influence of Rabelais is also clear and there is a strand of mysticism running through it all. The jumps in time are reminiscent of Faulkner. It is also crude, vulgar, violent and cruel as you would expect of any analysis of the internal dynamics of dictatorship.There are also some deeply comic moments. The dictator sells the sea around his island to the Americans who keep him in power. The sea is packaged up and sent to somewhere in Arizona; the general is given a wind machine as a present to replace the sea breezes. The cows on the island are born with the presidential mark already on them. However, the novel is deeply depressing, polemical and focuses on excess. The General is a grotesque and the excesses are completely over the top, even though there is a dreamlike quality even to the violence and perversions. Garcia Marquez captures the chaos and unknowing of life in a dictatorship; there is little sense of time (the General changes it at will), memories are changed at will and reinvented. The atrocities are trotted out and explained by the General. We spend a great deal of time in the General’s head and Garcia Marquez exposes what one reviewer has called “the solitary vice of power”. The General comes to see himself as a god and names his son Emmanuel. This is a fascinating, confusing, shocking and mystical analysis of the heart of dictatorship and the heart of a dictator; charting his decline from charismatic leader to depraved beast.

  • Carmo
    2019-01-01 16:25

    "Um poema sobre a solidão do poder", assim lhe chamava García Márquez, que levou 17 anos a aprimorar a ideia deste livro, 7 dos quais a escrevê-lo: "escrito como se escrevem os versos, palavra por palavra".Uma obra que não é de leitura fácil e nos deixa sem fôlego. Narrativa complexa composta por parágrafos excessivamente longos, e com uma pontuação que não aconselha pausas. Brincou com a geografia e o plano temporal, baralha-nos com um monólogo múltiplo, confuso, em que na maior parte do tempo não identificamos o narrador. A temática e a constante repetição de algumas expressões levam o leitor à beira do exaspero. Não se pense contudo que foi distração do autor, as repetições têm como finalidade o reforço da mensagem, são a pincelada final num quadro que é o retrato duma América Latina pródiga em tempos lendários de autoritarismo e ditadores delirantes.Toda a obra de García Márquez evoca uma solidão peçonhenta que se cola às personagens - e a nós -como uma segunda pele. Até mesmo um ditador déspota a viver na sua mansão decrépita partilhada com vacas, galinhas e leprosos, acaba por conquistar a nossa compaixão quando lhe sentimos o vazio da alma, as ilusões vãs em que viveu, "os anos de infortúnio e dos instantes inapreensíveis de felicidade, onde o amor estava contaminado pelos germes da morte..." Um jogo de realidade/fantasia perfeitamente dominado pelo autor.G.G.Márquez conhecia o Caribe ilha por ilha, cidade por cidade, este livro brota desse conhecimento e das suas próprias vivências. " É um livro raivosamente caribenho...um livro de confissão. O único que desde sempre quis escrever..."O esforço que a que nos obriga não lhe retira de maneira nenhuma o brilhantismo da escrita febril a que nos habituou este homem; este génio criativo e mestre do realismo mágico.Ainda alguém duvida da devoção desta humilde criatura a Gabriel García Márquez?

  • Adriana
    2019-01-05 15:32

    "dumneavoastră înşivă abia dacă eraţi o imagine incertă a unor ochi jalnici prin perdelele prăfuite de la fereastra unui tren, tremurul unor buze taciturne, gestul fugitiv de rămas bun al unei mănuşi de atlaz din mîna anonimă a unui bătrîn fără destin despre care niciodată n-am ştiut cine a fost, nici cum era, nici dacă n-a fost doar o amăgire a închipuirii, un tiran de batjocură care n-a ştiut vreodată care era dosul şi care era faţa acestei vieţi pe care o iubeam cu o patimă nesăţioasă pe care dumneavoastră nu v-aţi încumetat nici măcar să vi-o imaginaţi de teamă să nu aflaţi ceea ce noi ştiam prea bine, că era grea şi efemeră, dar că nu mai există alta, domnule general"La început am comparat această carte cu un fluviu implacabil, care duce cu el spre infinit imagini şi trăiri atât de profunde şi de complexe încât am putea crede că nu aparţin acestei lumi. Acum, la final, mă corectez şi spun: această carte e un ocean. E statică şi, în acelaşi timp, în continuă mişcare. Valurile ei oscilează perpetuu între prezent şi trecut, între un personaj şi altul, iar acţiunea ei e stăpânită de flux şi reflux.Ce înseamnă viaţa unui dictator? Este ea suma atrocităţilor comise cu bună-ştiinţă sau din capriciu? E teama permanentă de moartea livrată de mâna unui apropiat? E beţia dată de puterea nemărginită şi de adoraţia (falsă) a mulţimii? E singurătatea eternă a unui om care n-a înţeles niciodată ce e iubirea? Marquez ne spune, în stilul lui inegalabil, că viaţa unui dictator nu e nimic din toate acestea. Sau că, dimpotrivă, e suma tuturor.

  • Nicholas
    2019-01-10 12:44

    Maintaining lucidity is a central challenge for both audience and protagonist in the dizzying and illusory narrative of Marquez's Autumn of the Patriarch. While its easy to dwell on the uncompromising style of a novel devoid of paragraphs, punctuation, and quotations delineating dialogue, such blurry tactics seal the bizarre entrancement of a novel concerned with the solitude of a bastard patriarch. Certainly it's no easy pie being tossed randomly into an unspecified Caribbean climate and period, but for those readers willing to tunnel into the narrative, a luscious comfort settles in and Marquez's familiar descriptive and story-telling abilities begin to sparkle. In the words of the author: "my most important problem was destroying the lines of demarcation that separates what's real from what's fantastic," of which he succeeded marvelously. Time periods shift in mid sentence, making it difficult to establish an objective point of reference between past and present, transitioning from narrative voice into undifferentiated dialogue in an endless stream of dreamlike storytelling. An eccentric and daunting cast of scheming subordinates, presidential impostors, deceptive right-hand men, fine-tailored assassins, foreign dignitaries, and erstwhile nun love interests litter the storyline in the endless shifting between invisible arrangements of power. But what's so redeeming about all of this, the disorienting prose and the frequent descriptive escapades, is the substantive exploration of power and illusion lying underneath it all. What is power if not a perception? An artifice exercised through others' mutual perception? Marquez underscores this artfully and brilliantly in his use of magical realism, heaving his readers into the same boat of illusions as his characters. One wavers like the throngs of peasants outside the general's palace, questioning his power -even his existence- one moment, exalting in it and praying for him days later. It's a calm delirium everyone gets used to. After all, don't we all, in various self-serving ways and forms, blamelessly submit to and exert control over one another? Marquez does not limit his comment to just those in positions of ultimate authority. There is a kind of symbiosis existing in the compatible illusions maintained across and between the layers of Caribbean society; between the general and his officers' fealty, the public and their expectations of royal power, between the general and his own position of authority, all transpiring unspoken and intimately connected. It all starts to feel so patently absurd as the novel spirals tighter and tighter into itself. You are left feeling the distant despair of life as some ridiculously orchestrated illusion, like an elephant floating by a balloon string, maintained by the inexplicable conviction that if we all pretend it floats, it really must.It's easy to condemn the despicable and senseless acts governing the conscience of such a corrupt, festering patriarch, hell bent on perpetuating his appearance at all costs. Yet Marquez's careful attention to nuance while exploring the psyche of supreme power inspires a kind of sympathetic melancholy meditation of sorts, while simultaneously constituting a scathing, mocking indictment. Ultimately the illusion of power, or lack thereof, becomes all-reaching and unintelligible, even swallowing up the emperor himself. In his abject loneliness, pity replaces envy, power feels like a pestilent disease, and one is left with the conclusion that wherever happiness or a meaningful life may lie, the hierarchies of power afford little direction.

  • Ian
    2018-12-29 16:23

    It took Garcia seven years to write this book. Seven years. I guess that's how long it takes to make sure fifty-page chapters are turned into one paragraph and as few sentences as possible. But the effect is to make the entire book run together and make each story within the story melt into the ones around it. The consequence is ending the reader's sense of chronology, timeline, and even details. We are only left with the horrible man - and leader - that was the patriarch. And when the story about him seems unending, the reader feels what his subjects felt. Kundera wrote that people living under a dictatorship lose all concept of time. As their brains adapt to the life they're left with, it replaces any memory of former times with current memories about despotism. The ultimate consequence is that people cease to know anything but despotism; everyone feels as though the dictator has been there forever. That is what Garcia writes about in this book, and that is what his style creates for the reader. It is quite amazing.And since Garcia writes about "his Czech friend" in his memoirs, it is fair to assume that those two men run their book ideas past one another. To have a cup of coffee and sit in on that conversation might just be the coolest thing ever.

  • Sanabel Atya
    2018-12-19 15:42

    "خريفُ البطريرك،،روايةخطب الديكتاتور الموزونة،،قصيدة لمحمود درويشوكلاهما يخطان السيرة ذاتها!"للوهلة الأولى،وربما تنتهي من الفصل الأول دون أن تفهم شيئاً،أو بمعنى أدق-مش عارف وين راس الرواية و وين رجليها!-وهذا بسبب كيفية صياغة العبارت،في طريقة فريدة من نوعها.حقاً،لحتى هذه اللحظة،أقفُ عاجزة أمام عبقرية هذا الرجل -على الأقل- في كيفية صياغة الجمل،صياغة جمل طويلة جداً،بحيث أنه نادراً ما استخدم الفواصل والنقاط! ربما استخدم نقطة واحدة فقط في فصل كامل.قرأتها بالعربية،،ويقول المُترجم أنه حاول قدر المُستطاع في نقل العبارات كما أرادها أو كتبها صاحبها تماماً.بصراحة،كنتُ مُنسجمة في قرائتها أكثر مما انسجمتُ في قراءة مائة عام من العُزلة!

  • Sarah saied
    2019-01-19 19:48

    (كانت الأمة علي قدر كاف من الحياة يجعله يحس بتهديد الموت له حتي في عزلة مخدعه. الأمر الذي لم يمنعه من الحكم كما لو كان قدره في عدم الموت أبدا...)ماركيز من جديد....في واحدة من أبشع رواياته علي الإطلاق!!!هذا ما توصف به هذه الرواية باختصار..رواية بشعة..مقززة ..صعبة..مجهدة في قراءتها..ومع ذلك لا تستطع صبرا علي ترك قراءتها..ربما رغبة في الخروج من تلك الشعوذة التي يصنعها لنا ماركيز في هذه الرواية...الرواية التي تعيد الي الأذهان رواية خوان رولفو الشهيرة.. (بيدرو بارامو)..الرواية التي يخلق راويها عالم كاملا من الموتي المتعايشين فيما بينهما..في تحدي صارخ للمنطق..وهو ما يفعله بنا ماركيز في روايته هذه باستثناء أنه خلق ذلك الجحيم علي الأرض وليس تحتها!(عندما تتأكد شائعة موته أكثر. كان يلوح أكثر حياة وأكثر سلطة مما سبق في اللحظة الأقل افتراضا. كي يفرض علينا مرافئ أخري غير مواتية تتخلل بحر مصيرنا.)بقرات تحلب وتلد في الأنحاء..دجاجات تلهو وتلعب..طيور وببغاوات تتصايح فيما بينها ...خادمات يملأن الأجواء ويعتنين بزمرة الأبناء الغير شرعيين...أناس من الجذام والبرصي والعميان والمشلولين قابعين في انتظار البركة التي ستشفيهم...جنرالات مدججين ببدلاتهم العسكرية في انتظار أوامر لا معقولة لتنفيذها....هذا العالم اللامعقول...المضحك في جنونه وعبثيته...هو ما يخلقه لنا ماركيز الساحر..ولا رابط لكل عناصر ذلك العالم سوي...الجنرال الأكبر...البطريرك الأبدي للدولة..جنرال لا نعرف عنه سوي صورته بمهمازه الذهبي وبدلته العسكرية..بقدميه المفلطحتين..وصرير فتق خصيتيه أثناء مشيته....الجنرال المعزول بسلطته وحكمه...الجنرال العصي علي الموت..الذي حين ينظر الي المرآه في غرفة نومه..يري نفسه منعكسا في المرايا جنرال واحد ثم جنرالين اثنين ثم....ثم أربعة عشر جنرالا ..في اشارة للأربعة عشر جنرالا الذين تعاقبوا علي السلطة في ظل الدكتاتورية العسكرية التي حكمت البلاد...ذلك الحكم الأبدي للجنرال الأوحد الذي لم ينتهي سوي بانهيار الدكتاتورية في صورة ملك الموت الذي يقتلع رأس الجنرال بضربة مدوية..الجنرال الذي قال لا للموت مرات عديدة لأن ساعته لم تكن قد حانت بعد..الموت النهائي الوحيد للجنرال الذي لم يكن مزيفا كما موته ...أو ميتتاته المتتالية طوال أحداث الرواية...(لقد جعل نفسه ضحية لبدعته حتي يضحي بنفسه في نيران هذه المحرقة اللانهائية ولقد أتخم نفسه بالخداع والجريمة. ونما بين أحضان القسوة والخزي. وتجاوز بخله المحموم وخوفه الوراثي لا لشئ الا لكل يحافظ حتي النهاية علي كرته الزجاجية في قبضته من دون أن يعلم بأن في ذلك آفة لا نهاية لها..من اشباعها يتولد جوعها. حتي نهاية الأزمنة سيدي الجنرال )ماركيز لم يرد بروايته الاستثنائية تلك الحديث عن الطغيان أو الظلم أو دكتاتورية الجنرال في مجملها...ما أراد الحديث عنه حقا هو عزلة ذلك الجنرال عن الجميع...عزلة متجذرة عميقة لشخص يعرف بأنه مرفوض..بأنه مكروه..لكن لا يمتلك الابتعاد عن ذلك الألق المتوهج المضئ المسمي بالسلطة..عزلة وصفها لنا ماركيز في نهاية كتابه فيقول علي لسان جنراله:لقد عرف منذ أصوله الأولي بأنهم كانوا يخدعونه طلبا لمرضاته. وبأنه كان يدفع كي يخدعوه. وبأنهم كانوا يحشدون بقوة السلاح تلك الحشود التي كانت تجمع لدي مروره مع صراخات الفرح ولافتاتها المهتمة به. الحياة الأبدية للعظيم الأقدم من عمره. غير أنه كان قد تعلم العيش مع كل مصائب المجد تلك. خلال اكتشافه علي مر السنين بأن الكذب هو أنسب من الشك. وأنفع من الحب. وأبقي من الحقيقة. وتوصل بذلك الي التوهم المخزي في الحكم والقيادة من دون أن تكون له سلطة. وفي أن يكون ممجدا بلا مجد ومطاعا بلا نفوذ . عندما اقتنع وهو في ذلك النثار من اوراق خريفه الصفراء بانه لن يكون أبدا سيد سلطته الكاملة. وأنه محكوم بألا يري الحياة الا من قفاها.رواية تحتاج للصبر علي قراءتها..صبرا يكاد يشبه صبر ماركيز علي كتابتها في سبع سنوات كاملة!! ..لذلك هي لم تكتب سوي لعشاق الساحر ماركيز أولا وأخيرا..لأنها روايته الغير جماهيرية كما يصفها....

  • jess
    2018-12-28 13:45

    on the whole, the novel is impressive. i can't imagine what it took for him to write this whole thing the way that he did. most of the sentences run for ten pages, moving from one point-of-view to another without warning, from dreams to real-life (maybe?)action. at the beginning of each chapter, we are reminded that the patriarch of the novel's title is dead, but we are quickly taken back to years before his death and pushed through memories of the years leading up to his first fake and then real death. it certainly makes your head spin, and it's difficult to read less than 40 pages at a time without completely losing track of what the hell is going on.his technique of using one event as the touchstone from which he begins each section of the book, in this one the death of the patriarch, is common for marquez, but this stream-of-consciousness style of writing is not. what makes it more intriguing is how any given sentence switches from the 1st- to the 3rd-person point-of-view, and is usually delivered by at least 3 different characters. factor in that the characters telling the story are sometimes extremely minor and therefore hard to keep track of and you become quite dizzy.all of this said, however, the style works with the subject matter. the main character doubles as both protagonist and antagonist, and marquez does such a good job of winning the reader's sympathy for him that by the time he is filling a crate full of children with concrete in order to more easily dispose of them in the ocean, we have forgotten that he is a monster, that we hate him. the narrative style makes it clear that marquez does this on purpose. knowing what is known about him politically (he has infamously opposed numerous latin american leaders throughout history) combined with what is known about him as a deeply romantic humanitarian, all of this makes sense. his dictator is painted on one hand as horrific, maniacal, and frighteningly self-absorbed and on the other hand as troubled, insecure, and confused by his own power.i struggled with this one, in part because it didn't do what his other books do for me. approaching it with that expectation was a bad idea, though. i usually read "100 years of solitude" every summer, and i have found marquez to be a perfect travel companion, particularly if i'm going into mexico; his stories are always dreamlike with such a strong dose of reality added to the characters and relationships that i enjoy his books the same way i enjoy a good drug experience. this story was not a comment on human relationships, however, as much as it was on the nature of leadership and the vulnerability of those being lead. all in all, i'd say it's definitely worth picking up, but be sure you've got some time to commit to digesting it properly.

  • Seemita
    2019-01-06 15:22

    They walk under its shadow. And it feels forever. They breathe their warm heart out under its all-pervasive blanket for so many countless instants (sometimes their entire lives) that the line drawing its glistening touch and blistering wrath becomes blurred. Ask the earth that curled under its downpour, seek the fauna that lies huddled in apprehensive terror, summon the pebbles that were no match to its stony shower, shuffle the air that still carries its haughty scent in its chest, question the sun that drowned beneath its sultry curtain, sample the flowers that hold its diaphanous kiss on their bodies and they all would speak through their dilated eyes and smothered hearts of the vindication the Cloud scored on each of them, emphatically and routinely. The Cloud roared. And so did the General whose seemingly perennial autumn spelt more decay than the word itself can ever hold in all its ramification. He thundered; hovering over people’s life like an alien whirlpool, sucking them dry of their joy and pride, lashing them with his barbaric rain of punishment and defecation, turning them blood red with his incessant shower of rancid pride, contaminating the chastity of innocent buds, stoning down the walls of wise ears with his indisputable authority and wiping clear the lifelines of cursed countrymen and political heads. He overgrew his dictatorship by his own ambitious standards and there lay a horizon where no light could be seen except for the floating candle, bewitching from the high, frosted glass-pane of his palace.Then, he fell silent. Much like how when the pulse of the mighty black, gigantic, ravenous, whimsical Cloud is held in the excruciating shadows of solitude, it throws no beat. Because it is empty.The General succumbed, at last, to the emptiness of his façade and rancour of his actions. After wandering in condemned streets, indulging in make-shift adultery schools and battling the crossed murderous dominions, his identity got gradually locked in those nebulous shackles which seemed romantic to a passer-by but were nothing more than a hot-melting liquid of loneliness and grief that seeped in his body slowly, displacing his cells of arrogance and power with acute precision. His family including his mother, his wife and a child, also got dissolved in the tornado of reckless complacence and the Cloud of his Being shrunk to its embryonic form, albeit with sprigs of death this time. And the vast sky of life finally sucked this Cloud into its throes, dismissing it into the nothingness of death.Garcia Marquez’s prose needs a special mention here since this journey of the General read like an eternal prose; the rhythm overpowered me frequently with its mellifluous body and throbbing heart. Describing the restless sojourns that the General undertakes to meet his secret beloved, he writes:”… he went in civilian clothes, without an escort, in the taxi which slipped away back-firing the smell of rancid gasoline through a city prostrate in the lethargy of siesta time, he avoided the Asiatic din of commercial district alleys, he saw the great feminine sea of Manuela Sanchez of my perdition with a solitary pelican on the horizon, he saw the decrepit streetcars with frosted glass windows with a velvet throne for Manuela Sanchez…... God damn it, which house do you live in this clamor of peeling pumpkin yellow walls with the purple trim of a bishop’s stole and green parrot windows with fairy blue partitions and columns pink like the rose in your hand…”The never-ending thread of honeyed words hit the heart soft, and sticky too. The juxtaposing emotions of characters was a beautiful case of panoramic writing, where too many striking elements made their presence felt with élan. Don’t be deluged under the avalanche of sematic wordsplay though. The sentences are long and breathless but you won’t miss a single stone lying beneath the velvety brook of prose if you set your sincere gaze upon it. And Garcia Marquez and the General, both would not mind waiting for you to come under their Cloud; nothing more satisfying to them than getting you hypnotized with their rainbow spell!

  • Laura
    2019-01-12 14:47

    If I was forced to chose a single favourite book, this would be it. I red it when I was 16 for the first time and I can still remember myself thinking "bloody hell, that's it! that's how books are supposed to be written - no rules, no boundaries, no cliches or fake emotions. Just plain, nude feelings and thoughts... so deep, so poisoning and suffocating!". This love of first sight (or, to be more accurate, of first page) totally ruined my literature grades - with notes from the teacher "shorten your sentences", but this book was worth it. I have read "The Autumn of the Patriarch" many times already and I know I will read it again... It's like watching the ocean - vast, mesmerizing and so overwhelming.

  • Jessica
    2019-01-03 16:45

    If ever a book a stumped my rhythm, this one takes the prize. It is written as one fluid thought, one ranting narrative, sans paragraphs, with sentences that rival even St. Paul's run-ons. It's racy, delusional, oh so very violent (in language, sex, war, illness, execution, thought, etc.), and even comical at times. Each time I laugh, I feel a tinge of guilt - like the uncontrollable snicker at a disabled person tripping over their untied shoelaces into a puddle of water.I've decided that it's better to treat this book like a well in the desert, to be dipped into when necessary, but not to gorge oneself on for fear of being baked in the sun or having your stomach explode, whichever occurs first.

  • Marko Đaković
    2019-01-19 11:31

    Imao sam utisak da knjiga ima 500 stranica a ne 240. Teska knjiga za citanje ali trud se isplati. Recenice su po nekoliko strana drugacke, dijalog je upisan u recenice i moras da budes koncentrisan sve vreme da bi razumeo kada je san a kada java. Sto se tice radnje, prepoznatljiv je Markez, ako ste procitali i jedno delo znacete. Najupecatljiviji je dolazak placenog ubice pred kraj knjiga i generalovo shvatanje njegovog karaktera, kao i posluzivanje jednog od njegovih generala drugim generalima za veceru kada nas "patrijarh" posumnja na njegovu izdaju. Ne volim da otkrivam radnje tako da procitajte, necete zazaliti.

  • Safura
    2018-12-29 11:36

    خیلی تلاش کردم پایداری کنم تا ته کتاب، اما نشد. باهاش ارتباط برقرار نکردم. دوباره بهم ثابت شد با وجود شیفتگی م نسبت به ادبیات آمریکای جنوبی، مارکز نویسنده من نیست.

  • Mohamed Omran
    2018-12-20 16:40

    ما قام به المترجم الفذ محمد كامل اليوسفي حينما أقدم على ترجمة خريف البطريرك فأنه أقحم نفسه في رهان صعب، وهذا ما كتبه في مقدمة الكتاب، شرح فيها صعوبة الترجمة، وكيف انه استطاع أن يفلت من الفخاخ الكثيرة في الرواية عبر إتقانه وسيطرته على التفاوت في الحوارات والوصف، لان ماركيز كتب بلهجات عدة .. فلهجة بائعات السمك في السوق تختلف عن لهجة البطريرك ذاته الذي كان أميا فكان يتعمد ان يكتب ما يقوله الجنرال بأخطائه الإملائية ذاتها، وأحيانا يستخدم العبارات الطويلة .. عبارات تشبه البلوكات بلا نقطة او فارزة او قوس .. وهذا جزء من الصعوبة التي أشار إليها المترجم، لكني وجدت ان الترجمة كانت موفقة برغم كل الجمل والصور المركبة . * في خريف البطريرك يجمع ماركيز بين الشعر والسيناريو انا وجدتها قطعة فنية راقية جدا، ففيها كل ما في السرد من فنون، وإذا قلنا ان الرواية هي سيدة الفنون الإبداعية، فيمكن ان ينسحب هذا التوصيف على رواية خريف البطريرك ففيها اللوحات الفنية والشعر والموسيقى والأصوات والمسرح والحوارات الرائعة .. وعلامات التعجب التي تطرح كاستطرادات سردية مثلا قول أمه عنه حينما رأته يترأس اجتماعا رئاسيا وهو يرتدي بزته وبكامل نجومه ونياشينه لو كنت أعلم ان ابني سيصبح رئيس جمهورية، لأدخلته المدرسة على الأقل من هذه الكلمات التي تطرحها الأم بسذاجة، نفهم انه كان أميا وغيرها من الاستعارات والصور المكثفة والعميقة الكثير من المناصب الرسمية والحكومية والوزارية لكنه رفضها، وفضل ان يعيش مع مرسيدس في حراك المدن يكتب السيناريوهات والروايات والمقالات الصحفية، والاقتراب من السلطة يمكن ان يحجم مخيلة الكاتب ويجعله يفكر أولا وأخير في خدمة هذه السلطة والترويج لها وهذا يتعارض مع مهمة الإبداع الأساسية القائمة على البحث والتقصي واستكشاف عوالم سحرية كما فعل ماركيز وغيره .

  • Hoda Elsayed
    2018-12-27 17:33

    عُذرًا ماركيز ..وصلت لمنتصف الرواية بصعوبة "وعصرت على نفسي لمونة" ولم أستطع إكمالها.. وليس لدى النية.هى مملة بلا شك، لم تجذب انتباهى ، وقد يكون العيب منى ليس أكثر . :'))سأكرر محاولتى معك، فى روايات أخرى .. آمله أن تكون أفضل :))

  • Rosa Ramôa
    2018-12-22 18:32

    Sobre um ditador,de 107 a 232 anos,que permanece no poder sem saber quando lá chegou.Foi pai de 5000 filhos.Tem um testículo inchado e orgulha-se das suas proezas sexuais...Tem tanto poder que até as rosas lhe obedecem...

  • بثينة العيسى
    2018-12-25 16:35

    هذه رواية من العيار الثقيل، وهي لأصحاب النفس الطويل في القراءة، ليس بالضرورة لطول المحتوى، بل لدسامته، وهي تفتح لك عالما من الواقعية السحرية التي دشن ماركيز معالمها ببراعة ..أنصح بقراءته.

  • Aubrey
    2019-01-02 12:34

    TW: rape...it was the same one, queen, older than the earth, the painful medusa of light the size of the sky which with every hand measure of its trajectory was returning a million years to its origins......we had even extinguished the last breath of the hopeless hope that someday the repeated and always denied rumor that he had finally succumbed to one of his many regal illnesses would be true, and yet we didn't believe it now that it was, and not because we really didn't believe it but because we no longer wanted it to be true, we had ended up not understanding what would become of us without him, what would become of our lives after him...Reading this was relaxing in some ways. The author was one I had encountered many times before, the text spooled out in all the wonderfully unconstrained ways that go against all mores taught by the testing place that shells out my paychecks, and the thematic material was of such a grotesque degree that I could rest easy in my reading and my evaluating, knowing there would be very few out there telling me to sympathize with a dictator and even fewer who would attempt to say it to my face. It was bothersome at times to figure out when to stop when there was no period for pages around, but there are few who can pull off the page long sentences and chapter long paragraphs and book long chapters, and I've read enough of them to know that Márquez is one of them. If my sentences seem overly long as consequence, this subconscious mimicry is how I learned to write in the first place, and I can think of worse authors to follow after....he proclaimed a new amnesty for political prisoners and authorized the return of all exiles except men of letters, of course, them never, he said, they've got fever in their quills like thoroughbred roosters when they're molting so that they're no good for anything except when they're good for something, he said, worse than politicians, worse than priests, just imagine......don't be such horses' asses, misters, the only plague here is you people..."Magical realism" as a term is useful for alerting me that whoever's using the term uncritically has this magical separation between white experimentation and non-white experimentation and little else. The great thing about history is, if you get down and dirty into the politics that displays itself via vast theatres of violence beyond imagination and the intricacies of time and space and capitalism that shoves the whole world into a 100 square meter island and sells the sea around it for a song, you get a cross section of blood and gore and nobility that heralds the coming of the Internet long before Edison started his long and brilliant career of being a patent troll. The only problem is that living this cross sections is lethal for all who are unwilling to bomb ships full of children and literally serve their right-hand man to a traitorous cabinet on a silver platter, so how do the rest of us get an eyeball of the sights and sounds of smells of one of the many iterations of, as unmetaphorically as and irreligiously as one can put it, absolute power? Fortunately, you're in luck. Grab onto an author (probably this one or Shan Sa, although Waiting for the Wild Beasts to Vote and Wizard of the Crow are looking like favorable contenders), and hang on....there were orders that can be given but which cannot be carried out......Saenz de la Barra explained to him impassively that you aren't the government, general, you are the power...The only rough spots to this tale is whenever the dictator would try to venture out of his own head and into those of a few others, usually women, who had the misfortune of crossing his path. Unless you had the benefit of being able to disappear during a total eclipse and adding some mysticism to your escape from a personage who could (supposedly) order the 100 year comet to come right round again two weeks after it had vanished into the aerospace for the sake of a lovesick obsession, you supposedly thought it to be a grand old time to have every personal boundary and then some violated because it was the grand old goat (he's never actually ever called a goat, but I chalk that up to a missed opportunity) who was doing it. The only quality that made it less of a chore was that this was yet the further handiwork of a genocidally ridiculous individual with too much mythos accorded to his balls and too little holistic civilization-running in his head, so the ploys of eliciting sympathy amidst more than one fixation of the anal and scatophilic sort registered as much to me as the demands that one must pay one's national debts must have to the sleepy Caribbean dictator, faced with yet another ambassador from the US or the League of Nations or the Catholic church while resting in his hammock. As long as I don't ever encounter anyone who tries to romanticize/normalize this rape culture, I'll rest content....all I am now is a fright painted on the wall of this horror show where it was impossible for him to give an order that hadn't been carried out long before......the regime wasn't being sustained by hope or conformity or even by terror, but by the pure inertia of an ancient and irreparable disillusion...I don't have any other books by GGM on my horizon. This may well end up changing in the future, but I'm not interested in forcing the issue. My ongoing endeavor to spring clean a number of authors whom I've read a great deal of and yet still have other unencountered works lying around means he's not the only one who will undergo this fate, but considering how I still think of his death as recent (it was probably last year, but I can never keep track of these things), he's more present in my peripheral awareness than others. As such, I cannot finish off this work without bidding him adieu to some extent. As with McCullers, I can well imagine coming back to any one of these already read works of his in a decade or so, but for now, I'm ready to leave off for a while. One can only deal with so much impetuous richness for so long, and I do not intend to mimic forever....after so many long years of sterile illusions he had begun to glimpse that one doesn't live, God damn it, he lives through, he survives, one learns too late that even the broadest and most useful lives only reach the point of learning how to live, he had learned of his incapacity for live in the enigma of the palm of his mute hands and in the invisible code of the cards and he had tried to compensate for that infamous fate with the burning cultivation of the solitary vice of power, he had made himself victim of his own sect to be immolated on the flames of that infinite holocaust, he had fed on fallacy and crime, he had flourished in impiety and dishonor and he had put himself above his feverish avarice and his congenital fear only to keep until the end of time the little glass ball in his hand without knowing that it was an endless vice the satiety of which generated its own appetite until the end of all times general sir, he had known since his beginnings that they deceived him in order to please him, that they collected from him by fawning on him, that they recruited by force of arms the dense crowds along his route with shouts of jubilation and venal signs of eternal life to the magnificent one who is more ancient than his age, but he learned to live with those and all the miseries of glory as he discovered in the course of his uncountable years that a lie is more comfortable than doubt, more useful than love, more lasting than truth, he had arrived without surprise at the ignominious fiction of commanding without power, of being exalted without glory and of being obeyed without authority when he became convinced in the trail of yellow leaves of his autumn that he had never been master of all his power, that he was condemned not to know life except in reverse, condemned to decipher the seams and straighten the threads of the woof and the warp of the tapestry of illusions of reality without suspecting even too late that the only livable life was one of show...

  • Ali Heidari
    2019-01-18 19:25

    پاییز پدرسالار » از آثار درخشان ماركز است كه نوشتن آن هفت‌سال طول می‌كشد. اين رمان با ترجمه محمدرضا راهور از سوي انتشارات روزگار روانه بازار كتاب شده است. طرح نگارش رمان « پاییز پدر سالار » زمانی در ذهن ماركز شكل می‌گیرد كه يك دیكتاتور بعد از هشت‌سال حكومت، كشور را ترك می‌كند. زمانی كه هواپیمای "پرث خیمه نث" بر آسمان دیده می‌شود و رادیو فرار دیكتاتور را اعلام می‌كند، مردم شادی را شروع می كنند و به سراغ زندان‌ها می ‌روند تا زندانیان را آزاد كنند. اما ماركز به طرف قصر ریاست ‌جمهوری مي‌رود و با پیشخدمت دیكتاتور به صحبت مي‌نشيند. از همين زمان در ذهنش نگارش رمانی شكل می‌گیرد كه می‌خواهد در آن تكلیف خود را با دیكتاتورها روشن كند. به گفته ماركز دیكتاتورها تنها اسطوره ‌های كشورهای امریكای‌ لاتین هستند.در « پاییز پدر سالار » ماركز تلاش كرده تا با نمايش «تنهایی» كه قدرت با خود به دنبال می آورد، خواننده را تحت‌تاثیر قرار دهد ؛ زيرا انسان بدون علم به تبعات قدرت، دنبالش می‌رود و به تعبیر ماكز قدرت فساد می‌آورد و قدرت‌مطلق به معناي فساد مطلق است

  • ZaRi
    2018-12-29 18:30

    زمان هیچ گاه دردی را درمان نکرده ...این ما هستیم که به مرور به درد ها عادت می کنیم !