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3.66 AVERAGE
3.66 AVERAGE
dark
mysterious
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
A fascinating character in the final fifty pages, along with an wild, vivid ending, rescues this story from complete belly-flopdom. Expertly crafted sentences and paragraphs do appear, one fall-down funny and many deeply grotesque scenes, but, c'mon folks, Auto de Fe a 20th century masterpiece?
I LOATHE when characters hallucinate and the reader is left to sort out the real from the imagined. It's weak storytelling, it's cliche, it's the author shrugging lazy shoulders or screaming, "Hey! I'm doing symbolism now!" The book is a bleak, disjointed, machine gun of non-sequitur. Pretty words and a few clever scenes do not excuse a confusing an attentive reader.
Not to say there's no audience for the novel, clearly there is with so many five star reviews. Readers who enjoy Marquez, Rushdie, and fantastical realism seem more inclined to roll along with plots carried by dreams and visions. It never hurts to try a book by a Nobel Prize winner, but this one I did not connect with.
I LOATHE when characters hallucinate and the reader is left to sort out the real from the imagined. It's weak storytelling, it's cliche, it's the author shrugging lazy shoulders or screaming, "Hey! I'm doing symbolism now!" The book is a bleak, disjointed, machine gun of non-sequitur. Pretty words and a few clever scenes do not excuse a confusing an attentive reader.
Not to say there's no audience for the novel, clearly there is with so many five star reviews. Readers who enjoy Marquez, Rushdie, and fantastical realism seem more inclined to roll along with plots carried by dreams and visions. It never hurts to try a book by a Nobel Prize winner, but this one I did not connect with.
Okay. I read exactly half of this book, and hope to get back to it... it didn't defeat me, per se; but it's the sort of book that absolutley demands that you read every ... single... sentence ... becuase if you don't, something will happen / perspective will change / a new narrator will take over. And nearly every character is absolutely crazy, so it's not exactly an upper. But impressive. Maybe one day...
Muhteşem!
Canetti 8 romandan oluşacak roman dizisi projesi planlamış. Kitap için Türkçe'ye kamaşma adıyla çevirebileceğim "die blendung" adını uygun gören yazarımız eseri tamamlanışından 4 yıl sonra Viyana'da yayınlayabilmiş. Bunda Nazi etkisi, 2. Dünya savaşı gibi etkenler var.
Bana göre insanın kendi beynindeki dünyayla, gerçek (?) dış dünyanın çarpışmasının eşsiz bir sunumu olan kitap; yazarın fikirlerinin, eserini kaleme aldığı yıllardan bu günlere her geçen gün geçerliliğini koruması yönünden çok değerli. Her nefeste daha fazla körleşiyoruz velhasıl.
Kitap bitince sonra prof j. Isaacs'ın bir konferansta söylediği sözleri okurken en genel geçer fikri okuduğumu düşündüm: Prof. Kien'in tüm dünyası, kafasının içindedir ama kafasının bir dünyası yoktur.
Hepimiz itiraf etmekten çekinsek de zaman zaman gerçeklikten kopup bilerek körleşmiyor muyuz?
Hayatımın ilerleyen yıllarında yeniden okumak isteyeceğim bir eser... Sindire sindire okuduğum için mutluyum.
Okumadan ölmeyin efendim.
Canetti 8 romandan oluşacak roman dizisi projesi planlamış. Kitap için Türkçe'ye kamaşma adıyla çevirebileceğim "die blendung" adını uygun gören yazarımız eseri tamamlanışından 4 yıl sonra Viyana'da yayınlayabilmiş. Bunda Nazi etkisi, 2. Dünya savaşı gibi etkenler var.
Bana göre insanın kendi beynindeki dünyayla, gerçek (?) dış dünyanın çarpışmasının eşsiz bir sunumu olan kitap; yazarın fikirlerinin, eserini kaleme aldığı yıllardan bu günlere her geçen gün geçerliliğini koruması yönünden çok değerli. Her nefeste daha fazla körleşiyoruz velhasıl.
Kitap bitince sonra prof j. Isaacs'ın bir konferansta söylediği sözleri okurken en genel geçer fikri okuduğumu düşündüm: Prof. Kien'in tüm dünyası, kafasının içindedir ama kafasının bir dünyası yoktur.
Hepimiz itiraf etmekten çekinsek de zaman zaman gerçeklikten kopup bilerek körleşmiyor muyuz?
Hayatımın ilerleyen yıllarında yeniden okumak isteyeceğim bir eser... Sindire sindire okuduğum için mutluyum.
Okumadan ölmeyin efendim.
challenging
dark
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Questo è un libro che è facile fraintendere e per il quale è ancora più semplice indignarsi. Forse l'unico modo per comprenderlo davvero è aver letto precedentemente l'autobiografia del suo autore: solo così, infatti, diventano chiari i meccanismi che lo sostengono, la misoginia che sembra esserne il filo conduttore, la natura stessa di Peter Kien. È un romanzo che ha avuto una lunga gestazione e che affonda le sue radici nella storia stessa di Canetti, nei suoi rapporti con le donne (da Veza ad Anna Mahler) e col fratello Georg che, non a caso, presta il nome anche al personaggio del fratello di Kien. Il titolo originale, "Accecamento", è forse ancora più adatto di quello scelto per l'edizione italiana perché restituisce il senso della portata delle illusioni, della pericolosità dell'ignoranza e della sua eterna lotta contro la cultura. Non è affatto una lettura semplice, eppure la prosa di Canetti sa essere fluida e avvincente, nonostante la lunghezza del libro e l'importanza dei temi trattati. Pur non essendo più "giovanissima", questa è un'opera che ha mantenuto intatta tutta la forza della sua modernità.
One of the most peculiar books I have ever read. And one which, despite its length, I couldn't put down. Each chapter pulled me further and further into this bizarre world and its abnormal characters.
There is a man named Peter Kien, a great academic, a sinologist, a man utterly obsessed with books. Never have you encountered a man more devoted to his books, never in literature have you met someone more fixated, to the point of lunacy, on his private library. They are more important than people, more important than life.
Peter is anti-social, perhaps autistic, to the extent that he isn't always fully present or cognizant of his surroundings; he is eternally living in his mind and cannot always grasp the nuance of life or those around him -- the real world is beyond him. He has a housemaid who has, unnoticed, served him for eight years but who, one day, ushers away a child that Peter had promised could see the library; this leads him to view her somewhat differently, perhaps as a kindred spirit. She is someone serious, someone who will look after his books and protect them as much as he does. What follows is a rash marriage and a spiral of events which lead to mental decline and uncertainty. She is a witch! She takes over his house, his books, she kicks him out! He is left to roam the streets, living in a hotel, manipulated and taken advantage of by almost everyone he meets. None more so than a dwarf named Fischerle who has ambitions of being a chess champion. Deeper and deeper goes Peter Kien, his mind collapsing about him, his capacity for control and sanity out of reach. His precious books escaping him. The world is a cold, nasty place occupied by vile, greedy insects!
I honestly can't remember reading anything quit like this; on the one hand, dark and depraved, a world of deformed characters and ignoble motivations, but on the other, comical and ludicrous, almost perverse in its unnatural behaviours and cynicism. The book was like a combination of 'The Man Without Qualities,' 'A Confederacy of Dunces,' and 'Don Quixote' all at once. Maybe even an element of the ghoulish yet heartwarming 'Geek Love' can be thrown in too. How a man under 30 could write this in 1935 is beyond me. It is a masterpiece of the human condition, and yet it is also a small story concerning trivial human frailties. I will lovingly place the book on my shelf and occasionally contemplate the life of Peter Kien; as well as the cost of loving books a little too much.
Give the man a Nobel prize. Oh wait, he already has one.
There is a man named Peter Kien, a great academic, a sinologist, a man utterly obsessed with books. Never have you encountered a man more devoted to his books, never in literature have you met someone more fixated, to the point of lunacy, on his private library. They are more important than people, more important than life.
Peter is anti-social, perhaps autistic, to the extent that he isn't always fully present or cognizant of his surroundings; he is eternally living in his mind and cannot always grasp the nuance of life or those around him -- the real world is beyond him. He has a housemaid who has, unnoticed, served him for eight years but who, one day, ushers away a child that Peter had promised could see the library; this leads him to view her somewhat differently, perhaps as a kindred spirit. She is someone serious, someone who will look after his books and protect them as much as he does. What follows is a rash marriage and a spiral of events which lead to mental decline and uncertainty. She is a witch! She takes over his house, his books, she kicks him out! He is left to roam the streets, living in a hotel, manipulated and taken advantage of by almost everyone he meets. None more so than a dwarf named Fischerle who has ambitions of being a chess champion. Deeper and deeper goes Peter Kien, his mind collapsing about him, his capacity for control and sanity out of reach. His precious books escaping him. The world is a cold, nasty place occupied by vile, greedy insects!
I honestly can't remember reading anything quit like this; on the one hand, dark and depraved, a world of deformed characters and ignoble motivations, but on the other, comical and ludicrous, almost perverse in its unnatural behaviours and cynicism. The book was like a combination of 'The Man Without Qualities,' 'A Confederacy of Dunces,' and 'Don Quixote' all at once. Maybe even an element of the ghoulish yet heartwarming 'Geek Love' can be thrown in too. How a man under 30 could write this in 1935 is beyond me. It is a masterpiece of the human condition, and yet it is also a small story concerning trivial human frailties. I will lovingly place the book on my shelf and occasionally contemplate the life of Peter Kien; as well as the cost of loving books a little too much.
Give the man a Nobel prize. Oh wait, he already has one.
Abandoned on page 297. I had been looking forward to reading this for quite some time; the synopsis is right up my alley. The experience of the book, though, was too tedious. With more than 100 pages left, I had to admit that I was only going to read them out of a completionist’s obligation. I appreciate what Canetti set out to do here, and he succeeds terrifically, horrifyingly, contemptibly; but the treatment could have benefited from some restraint. Then again, I can appreciate an uncompromising author who realizes their vision to the nth degree. Ultimately, I think this is a decent book, but I have a few Bernhards mounting up and I’d rather read them. This one not worth the investment for me. So long, Canetti.