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3.7 AVERAGE
3.7 AVERAGE
I am truly sorry that the author had to go through losing a child to write this book.
I don't know what more to say about this book. It is sort of short, it still took me several days to read the 125 pages of the German translation.
I would recommend it to people interested in reading about grieving/liking poetic writings/tragedies (like in the antiquity).
I don't know what more to say about this book. It is sort of short, it still took me several days to read the 125 pages of the German translation.
I would recommend it to people interested in reading about grieving/liking poetic writings/tragedies (like in the antiquity).
CEL CARE NOTEAZĂ TOT CE SE ÎNT MPLĂ ÎN ORAŞ:
Pe când stau şi-şi iau cina, bărbatul se schimbă la faţă. Cu o mişcare bruscă, împinge farfuria din faţa lui. Cuţitele şi furculiţele zăngănesc. El se ridică şi rămâne-n picioare şi pare că nu ştie unde se află. Femeia s-a tras înapoi pe scaunul ei. Privirea lui pluteşte în jurul ei şi nu se propteşte în nimic, iar ea – o dată a lovit-o, de-acum, nenorocirea – simte numaidecât, iată, că se întâmplă din nou, nenorocirea mă atinge din nou, degetele ei reci sunt pe buzele mele. Dar ce s-a întâmplat? Şopteşte ea cu ochii şi bărbatul o priveşte uluit…
— Trebuie să mă duc.
— Unde?
— La el.
— Unde?
— La el, acolo.
— La locul unde s-a-ntâmplat?
— Nu, nu. Acolo.
— Ce-nseamnă „acolo”?
— Nu ştiu.
— Mă sperii.
— Să-l mai văd măcar o singură clipă.
— Dar ce-o să vezi acum? Ce-a mai rămas de văzut?
— Poate că acolo o să-l pot vedea. Eventual, chiar să şi vorbesc cu el.
— Să vorbeşti?!
Pe când stau şi-şi iau cina, bărbatul se schimbă la faţă. Cu o mişcare bruscă, împinge farfuria din faţa lui. Cuţitele şi furculiţele zăngănesc. El se ridică şi rămâne-n picioare şi pare că nu ştie unde se află. Femeia s-a tras înapoi pe scaunul ei. Privirea lui pluteşte în jurul ei şi nu se propteşte în nimic, iar ea – o dată a lovit-o, de-acum, nenorocirea – simte numaidecât, iată, că se întâmplă din nou, nenorocirea mă atinge din nou, degetele ei reci sunt pe buzele mele. Dar ce s-a întâmplat? Şopteşte ea cu ochii şi bărbatul o priveşte uluit…
— Trebuie să mă duc.
— Unde?
— La el.
— Unde?
— La el, acolo.
— La locul unde s-a-ntâmplat?
— Nu, nu. Acolo.
— Ce-nseamnă „acolo”?
— Nu ştiu.
— Mă sperii.
— Să-l mai văd măcar o singură clipă.
— Dar ce-o să vezi acum? Ce-a mai rămas de văzut?
— Poate că acolo o să-l pot vedea. Eventual, chiar să şi vorbesc cu el.
— Să vorbeşti?!
Fick Pär Lagerkvist-känsla av denna. Många häftiga bilder, kentauren som till hälften är ett skrivbord, osv.
Prachtig maar moeilijk boek. Zowel moeilijk vanwege het onderwerp als om de vorm: het is in een heel poëtische taal geschreven is en het is niet helemaal duidelijk wie wie is. Wat duidelijk is is dat alle personages een kind hebben verloren. Vooral dat, dode kinderen, maakt het moeilijk te lezen. Ik wil me daar niet in verplaatsen
I got this book in a shop during a road trip and read it out loud to my family on our way home. It was a short and simple read, but surprisingly complex and powerful. It's written in a very unique format, sort of like a play, but not completely. It is surreal, unconventional, and poignant. It deals with the aftermath of the loss of a child in such a beautiful and touching way, and although I have no firsthand experience with such a topic, the emotion extended beyond the pages and affected me as I read.
I would call this book artistic but I did not find it, by any means, pretentious or showy. The writing was superb, the situation was enthralling, and the entire story was delicate and stirring. It is an unusual thing of beauty, and I'd recommend it to anyone looking for such.
I would call this book artistic but I did not find it, by any means, pretentious or showy. The writing was superb, the situation was enthralling, and the entire story was delicate and stirring. It is an unusual thing of beauty, and I'd recommend it to anyone looking for such.
Grossman me encanta y este es mi favorito de el, sin duda. El duelo es algo que siempre me ha intrigado; creo que es de las emociones y experiencias más humanas qué hay. Este libro la describe de una manera tan puntual y perfecta que se siente como puñaladas al corazón. Especialmente tomando en cuenta la muerte de su hijo.
Wat een hartverscheurend mooi boek... poëtisch, onsentimenteel, onvergelijkbaar
This book was an extremely touching story on the mourning of lost children by their parents. It's written as a script, with most characters speaking in poetry. I think this would be very powerful as an audiobook/readers' theater performance. In print form I often wondered how it would sound out loud. I probably would have enjoyed it more in an aural format.
For me as a reader, several things fell slightly flat. First, the second half of the book, after the walkers hit the wall, became repetitive and lost my interest. Because of this, I had trouble understanding why the characters acted as they did at the end, and why the book concluded as it did. Second, because all characters were mourning the loss of a child, the scope of its statements on death felt limited. I understand that the author, David Grossman, was mourning the loss of his child, and from that standpoint it makes sense not to try to overreach that very personal experience. For another reader in precisely that position-- mourning the loss of a child, a few years removed from the tragedy but still coping with the loss-- I can imagine that this could be a very relevant, even therapeutic, read. But because of my own distance from that particular form of mourning, I felt the distance from the characters. It wasn't so much that the observations shared and feelings expressed weren't universal to mourners of anyone lost, it was that we as readers were never invited to see them as such. For that reason, I felt cut off from what I could have gotten out of it. I still very much enjoyed the experience of reading this book, but I felt that it could have been so much more.
For me as a reader, several things fell slightly flat. First, the second half of the book,
Wie geen kinderen heeft, weet niet hoe het is om ze te verliezen. Ook niet na het lezen van het prachtige, emotionele 'Uit de tijd vallen' van de Israelische auteur David Grossman. In 2006 riep hij, samen met landgenoot Amos Oz, op tot een staken van de Libanese oorlog om 2 dagen later zijn eigen zoon in diezelfde onzinnige oorlog te verliezen.
'Uit de tijd vallen' leest als een toneelstuk tussen 2 wanhopige mensen, worstelend met het verlies van hun kind, maar ook met het verlies van elkaar en alles wat hen lief is. Jij bent de toeschouwer, deelt in hun verdriet en wanhoop, maar kunt alleen maar toekijken.
Ik las het boek met een brok in mijn keel en tranen in mijn ogen. Het boek verdiend het om hardop te worden gelezen, zodat de woorden nog meer tot hun recht komen. Met 'Uit te tijd vallen' heeft David Grossman een buitengewoon indringend rouwportret geschreven. Om een zin uit Les Miserables te citeren: het is een schreeuw van verdriet, dat geen oor zal ontgaan.
'Uit de tijd vallen' leest als een toneelstuk tussen 2 wanhopige mensen, worstelend met het verlies van hun kind, maar ook met het verlies van elkaar en alles wat hen lief is. Jij bent de toeschouwer, deelt in hun verdriet en wanhoop, maar kunt alleen maar toekijken.
Ik las het boek met een brok in mijn keel en tranen in mijn ogen. Het boek verdiend het om hardop te worden gelezen, zodat de woorden nog meer tot hun recht komen. Met 'Uit te tijd vallen' heeft David Grossman een buitengewoon indringend rouwportret geschreven. Om een zin uit Les Miserables te citeren: het is een schreeuw van verdriet, dat geen oor zal ontgaan.