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4.43 AVERAGE
4.43 AVERAGE
I was initially excited by the structure of Your Face Tomorrow, seeing in it something like the inverse of Paul Auster's foray into detective fiction in The New York Trilogy: instead of starting with a distinctly framed genre story and then dissolving its conventions, Marías seems to begin in a fog of abstraction and obsession through which the alluring outlines of a spy novel occasionally coalesce (before again being obscured by the narrator's ruminations).
I was also interested to see how the novel's critique of judgment and the consequences of judgment played out. So many of the characters are invested in their supposedly exceptional powers of observation and interpretation--that is, in their own certainty of apprehension--that it would be easy to go along with the theory that they are indeed gifted far beyond the norm of an age in which knowledge and its sure application have, allegedly, fallen into disfavor. But Deza, the narrator, demonstrates how arbitrary his own judgments seem, how they gather force chiefly because he loses the sense that anything he says about the subjects of his interpretation will have repercussions outside his cozy, anonymous office. This dramatic presentation of judgment without accountability is the novel's surest touch; the question of that judgment's necessity is left embattled but open, which is perhaps the only subtle accomplishment in Your Face Tomorrow.
Neither the structure nor the critique wavers in intent or interest throughout the novel's three volumes. What finally wore me down and made finishing the book an exasperating chore was the grinding pettiness and inanity of Deza's narration. His mode of thoroughness seems less like a development of his thoughts and observations than it does an endless restatement of them, a cycling through synonyms, metaphors, and literary allusions that adds little to the narrative except length (and indeed, without them, this 1,200 page novel could be a tidy but still hefty 500 or so). His expressions are often hackneyed or awkward, as if there is no language in which he is fluent and no cultural context to which he belongs (a criticism he often aims at other characters). Even his taste is irritating, as consistently off-putting as it is casually insisted on: he scorns women who subscribe to this modern fad of not shaving their armpits; he regards with horror a middle-aged man who has the gall not only to sport a ponytail, but also to wear a hat at the same time. Nearly every aspect of Deza's narration conspires to inconsequentiality.
And surely all these irritations are integral to the function of his character in the novel: in the context of his job, pettiness translates to attention to detail, alienation becomes objectivity, and taste stands in for judgment. Deza's own manner is the novel's severest critique of the practices of power without accountability. He is inconsequential, his thoughts are inconsequential, but they are both instruments in games of deadly consequence.
This should be very exciting. It should galvanize readers once we understand that the narrator's modes of thought and expression, with which we have been tricked into sympathy, are odious--or at the very least problematic.
(An aside: in this last volume, I thought I had final proof that Deza's tastes are intentionally faulty, as he declares that The Godfather trilogy is a masterpiece, each part of which is superior to the last. That had to be an authorial joke at the character's expense; surely no one of any discernment who has seen all three movies could believe the third was the best, or even that it was any good at all. Yet, this strikes me now as a joke on the reader, who knows and may well vehemently agree with consensus about the films; it is a trap to implicate us in exactly the kind of inconsequentiality that Deza displays.)
But the total effect of all that dithering and arbitrary pronouncement is dullness. By the time Deza gets involved in anything that might be consequential (or exciting), I am already so thoroughly anesthetized by his account that his actual experience moves me very little. And again, frustratingly, this numbness is appropriate to the themes of the novel. It makes sense as an effect of a work that concentrates on the disconnects between expression and action, action and consequence. But in the end, I am overwhelmed by inconsequence: bored.
I was also interested to see how the novel's critique of judgment and the consequences of judgment played out. So many of the characters are invested in their supposedly exceptional powers of observation and interpretation--that is, in their own certainty of apprehension--that it would be easy to go along with the theory that they are indeed gifted far beyond the norm of an age in which knowledge and its sure application have, allegedly, fallen into disfavor. But Deza, the narrator, demonstrates how arbitrary his own judgments seem, how they gather force chiefly because he loses the sense that anything he says about the subjects of his interpretation will have repercussions outside his cozy, anonymous office. This dramatic presentation of judgment without accountability is the novel's surest touch; the question of that judgment's necessity is left embattled but open, which is perhaps the only subtle accomplishment in Your Face Tomorrow.
Neither the structure nor the critique wavers in intent or interest throughout the novel's three volumes. What finally wore me down and made finishing the book an exasperating chore was the grinding pettiness and inanity of Deza's narration. His mode of thoroughness seems less like a development of his thoughts and observations than it does an endless restatement of them, a cycling through synonyms, metaphors, and literary allusions that adds little to the narrative except length (and indeed, without them, this 1,200 page novel could be a tidy but still hefty 500 or so). His expressions are often hackneyed or awkward, as if there is no language in which he is fluent and no cultural context to which he belongs (a criticism he often aims at other characters). Even his taste is irritating, as consistently off-putting as it is casually insisted on: he scorns women who subscribe to this modern fad of not shaving their armpits; he regards with horror a middle-aged man who has the gall not only to sport a ponytail, but also to wear a hat at the same time. Nearly every aspect of Deza's narration conspires to inconsequentiality.
And surely all these irritations are integral to the function of his character in the novel: in the context of his job, pettiness translates to attention to detail, alienation becomes objectivity, and taste stands in for judgment. Deza's own manner is the novel's severest critique of the practices of power without accountability. He is inconsequential, his thoughts are inconsequential, but they are both instruments in games of deadly consequence.
This should be very exciting. It should galvanize readers once we understand that the narrator's modes of thought and expression, with which we have been tricked into sympathy, are odious--or at the very least problematic.
(An aside: in this last volume, I thought I had final proof that Deza's tastes are intentionally faulty, as he declares that The Godfather trilogy is a masterpiece, each part of which is superior to the last. That had to be an authorial joke at the character's expense; surely no one of any discernment who has seen all three movies could believe the third was the best, or even that it was any good at all. Yet, this strikes me now as a joke on the reader, who knows and may well vehemently agree with consensus about the films; it is a trap to implicate us in exactly the kind of inconsequentiality that Deza displays.)
But the total effect of all that dithering and arbitrary pronouncement is dullness. By the time Deza gets involved in anything that might be consequential (or exciting), I am already so thoroughly anesthetized by his account that his actual experience moves me very little. And again, frustratingly, this numbness is appropriate to the themes of the novel. It makes sense as an effect of a work that concentrates on the disconnects between expression and action, action and consequence. But in the end, I am overwhelmed by inconsequence: bored.
El fraseo nominal de sus títulos, lo hacen de algún manera tendencia con sus novelas. Textos como: Todas las almas, Corazón tan blanco, Negra espalda del tiempo, nos crean una variable de significados, lo cual no deja de lado Tu rostro mañana.
Con este texto, Javier Marías, escribe un texto denso, pues no es una novela para todo público porque requiere una lectura pausada y reflexiva, donde coloca al lector entre la espada y la pared en la forma en que leemos, demanda que lector tenga intuición y presteza mental por las cuestiones que trabaja a lo largo del escrito, donde su tema se va a fijar en el poder de la mente para crear escenarios sobre futuro anónimo, a partir de una situación específica en el presente.
Una trilogía: 1 Fiebre y lanza se publicó en 2002, el segundo Tu rostro mañana: 2 Baile y sueño en 2004 y el último Tu rostro mañana: 3 Veneno y sombra y adiós, 2007, en España, que tiene como personaje central a Jacobo Deza, un hombre solitario, que vive en un país que no es el suyo y donde realiza tarea secreta de espionaje, y que en el discurrir llega a plantearse serias dudas morales que lo hacen sentir un ser cada vez más desarraigado y lo llevan a crear escenarios futuristas a partir de situaciones imaginarias que le infunden el temor como ser el día de mañana los rostros de quienes lo rodean, pues “tu rostro de hoy puede no se el mismo de mañana“
En resumen, el escritor aborda aspectos que conciernen a la existencia humano, como la amistad y la fidelidad, de cómo el ser humano deja aflorar sus silencios internos a otros, la llamada memoria restauradora del olvido, de las atrocidades suscitada durante la Guerra Civil Española, entre otros.
De manera personal, así como otros lectores ha expresado, es una novela, que tu le da continuidad o muere por no ir lejos en las primeras diez página por la densidad del texto. Es un pleito que siempre tengo con Javier Marías y sus texto, pero hay que decir que tiene un buen manejo del idioma por la forma con que juegas con las palabras.
Con este texto, Javier Marías, escribe un texto denso, pues no es una novela para todo público porque requiere una lectura pausada y reflexiva, donde coloca al lector entre la espada y la pared en la forma en que leemos, demanda que lector tenga intuición y presteza mental por las cuestiones que trabaja a lo largo del escrito, donde su tema se va a fijar en el poder de la mente para crear escenarios sobre futuro anónimo, a partir de una situación específica en el presente.
Una trilogía: 1 Fiebre y lanza se publicó en 2002, el segundo Tu rostro mañana: 2 Baile y sueño en 2004 y el último Tu rostro mañana: 3 Veneno y sombra y adiós, 2007, en España, que tiene como personaje central a Jacobo Deza, un hombre solitario, que vive en un país que no es el suyo y donde realiza tarea secreta de espionaje, y que en el discurrir llega a plantearse serias dudas morales que lo hacen sentir un ser cada vez más desarraigado y lo llevan a crear escenarios futuristas a partir de situaciones imaginarias que le infunden el temor como ser el día de mañana los rostros de quienes lo rodean, pues “tu rostro de hoy puede no se el mismo de mañana“
En resumen, el escritor aborda aspectos que conciernen a la existencia humano, como la amistad y la fidelidad, de cómo el ser humano deja aflorar sus silencios internos a otros, la llamada memoria restauradora del olvido, de las atrocidades suscitada durante la Guerra Civil Española, entre otros.
De manera personal, así como otros lectores ha expresado, es una novela, que tu le da continuidad o muere por no ir lejos en las primeras diez página por la densidad del texto. Es un pleito que siempre tengo con Javier Marías y sus texto, pero hay que decir que tiene un buen manejo del idioma por la forma con que juegas con las palabras.
La trilogía con la que termina este libro es como la elaboración del pan: al principio tienes una masa pegajosa y difícil de trabajar. Luego tienes que dejar pasar tiempo, ver cómo la masa cambia poco a poco, lo que a veces resulta un poco -o bastante - aburrido, para al final ver cómo crece en el horno, dando aroma y sabor increíbles.
Las pegas que yo le encuentro a Javier Marías son siempre las mismas: una pedantería excesiva y a mi juicio prescindible, aunque nunca sé decir cuándo es para lucirse y presumir y cuándo para usar una herramienta que lleva al lector a donde quiere. En cualquier caso, Javier Marías no mecesita demostrar su uso de la palabra, y en el caso de que quiera presumir, se podría haber ahorrado todo barroquismo que pone en el libro.
Este libro termina de dar sentido a los dos anteriores, aunque por lo dicho anteriormente, se puede leer como esos libros precedentes: saltándose la pedantería innecesaria e hipnotizándose con el resto de la prosa y la historia.
Me gustaría releer la trilogía en algún momento, porque creo que la aprovecharía bastante más. Es como una niebla en la que a uno le apetece aprender a moverse. Es curioso que a pesar de lo que me sucede con otros libros del autor, que me emoacho y necesito tiempo entre libros, con este no ha sido así. O al menos no del todo.
Las pegas que yo le encuentro a Javier Marías son siempre las mismas: una pedantería excesiva y a mi juicio prescindible, aunque nunca sé decir cuándo es para lucirse y presumir y cuándo para usar una herramienta que lleva al lector a donde quiere. En cualquier caso, Javier Marías no mecesita demostrar su uso de la palabra, y en el caso de que quiera presumir, se podría haber ahorrado todo barroquismo que pone en el libro.
Este libro termina de dar sentido a los dos anteriores, aunque por lo dicho anteriormente, se puede leer como esos libros precedentes: saltándose la pedantería innecesaria e hipnotizándose con el resto de la prosa y la historia.
Me gustaría releer la trilogía en algún momento, porque creo que la aprovecharía bastante más. Es como una niebla en la que a uno le apetece aprender a moverse. Es curioso que a pesar de lo que me sucede con otros libros del autor, que me emoacho y necesito tiempo entre libros, con este no ha sido así. O al menos no del todo.
Awesome, generally as a reader i have been lost in the world of dead writers and this is a voice that's alive and compelling, a three volume set that explores only a few social interactions, but manages to weave a story of how people interact with each other and a narrative of violence that given the ease of the present seems shocking and is awesome because it is very real.
Highly recommended
Highly recommended
Oh what a long strange poisonous fever dream it's been, oh what a shadowy dance with death (and war and violence). And still is, because it's like my head's all foggy and I'm having trouble gathering my thoughts. It's as if they're caught in Marías's intricate web of interrupted stories and conversations, citations (and self-citations) and repetitions.
The fact that it took me a while to finish the book doesn't help either. In fact, it took me a really long time to finish the trilogy as a whole, for several reasons. First, my copy of the 1st volume was faulty (entire pages missing). So I had to wait for a replacement copy to arrive in Brussels (much thanks go to Einaudi for that!); second, the paperback version of the 3rd volume was just coming out as I finished the 2nd volume, so I first waited for its release, then vainly waited for a delivery from an online Italian bookstore (it never came [1]), before placing a second order with amazon [2]; and thirdly, I took my own sweet time in reading the 3rd volume. I'm not sure I can say why: Marías fatigue perhaps? (though in this case I read other books between the volumes; see my review of Tomorrow in the Battle Think on Me); half-paralyzed in that aforementioned web? or poisoned into numbness by Tupra's philosophy? (Most likely all of the above.)
Let's start with the beginning, where Tupra begins to inject us with his poison (which isn't his of course, but the "world's"). Before he begins to show Deza the violent videos, he says (this is the first line of the book), "We don't want it, but we always prefer that the person beside us die [rather than ourselves]..." [3] So right away we're kinda taken aback. Really? Are humans really that mean? Tupra admits that there are exceptions of course, but that in general "that's the way of the world". If the ship's sinking, every man for himself. Deep down, we're violent and uncaring. And so how does Deza finally answer Tupra's question? Why can't we go around hitting and killing people? (which was Deza's objection to Tupra's behavior in the club) "Because no one could live." (page 164) [4] And how does the book answer that question? It doesn't, not directly. Everyone has their own way of dealing with the way of the world, everyone sees their responsibilities differently. But the book's title keeps reminding us that even if today we won't do a certain thing, who can say about tomorrow? In the end, I think the real answer is: it depends; every situation calls for a way to handle that situation, the trick is knowing how to know it...
We could spend all day discussing the themes in this book: violence and fear, war and peace, memory and pain, death and time, the impossibility of knowing not only others but perhaps even ourselves. (Not to mention my favorite: "narrative horror", that is, our morbid attachment to our own story.)
We could spend all day discussing Marías's style [5], the literary and artistic citations that mark our way (the way), marveling at how he manages to haunt us despite our desire to be annoyed by (possibly even to scream at) his repetitions and interruptions, the unorthodox way he creates suspense, right up until the final paragraph.
But in the end, it's the story of a man -- a man who didn't even want to know himself -- who perhaps begins to know himself, a man who starts to see that words/stories/actions have consequences far beyond what we can even imagine...
[1] Not naming any names, but at least I was reimbursed.
[2] Say what you will about amazon, at least they get stuff to you [UPDATE 2020: I cancelled my amazon account because they are evil on so many levels, up to an including customer service.]
[3] My translation from the Italian translation.
[4] Which I suppose is only true if everyone went around hitting and killing people. The fact that only a minority do, makes it simply "the way of the world".
[5] Compared with his other books, this is the one (the trilogy as a whole) that seems the most "planned out".
The fact that it took me a while to finish the book doesn't help either. In fact, it took me a really long time to finish the trilogy as a whole, for several reasons. First, my copy of the 1st volume was faulty (entire pages missing). So I had to wait for a replacement copy to arrive in Brussels (much thanks go to Einaudi for that!); second, the paperback version of the 3rd volume was just coming out as I finished the 2nd volume, so I first waited for its release, then vainly waited for a delivery from an online Italian bookstore (it never came [1]), before placing a second order with amazon [2]; and thirdly, I took my own sweet time in reading the 3rd volume. I'm not sure I can say why: Marías fatigue perhaps? (though in this case I read other books between the volumes; see my review of Tomorrow in the Battle Think on Me); half-paralyzed in that aforementioned web? or poisoned into numbness by Tupra's philosophy? (Most likely all of the above.)
Let's start with the beginning, where Tupra begins to inject us with his poison (which isn't his of course, but the "world's"). Before he begins to show Deza the violent videos, he says (this is the first line of the book), "We don't want it, but we always prefer that the person beside us die [rather than ourselves]..." [3] So right away we're kinda taken aback. Really? Are humans really that mean? Tupra admits that there are exceptions of course, but that in general "that's the way of the world". If the ship's sinking, every man for himself. Deep down, we're violent and uncaring. And so how does Deza finally answer Tupra's question? Why can't we go around hitting and killing people? (which was Deza's objection to Tupra's behavior in the club) "Because no one could live." (page 164) [4] And how does the book answer that question? It doesn't, not directly. Everyone has their own way of dealing with the way of the world, everyone sees their responsibilities differently. But the book's title keeps reminding us that even if today we won't do a certain thing, who can say about tomorrow? In the end, I think the real answer is: it depends; every situation calls for a way to handle that situation, the trick is knowing how to know it...
We could spend all day discussing the themes in this book: violence and fear, war and peace, memory and pain, death and time, the impossibility of knowing not only others but perhaps even ourselves. (Not to mention my favorite: "narrative horror", that is, our morbid attachment to our own story.)
We could spend all day discussing Marías's style [5], the literary and artistic citations that mark our way (the way), marveling at how he manages to haunt us despite our desire to be annoyed by (possibly even to scream at) his repetitions and interruptions, the unorthodox way he creates suspense, right up until the final paragraph.
But in the end, it's the story of a man -- a man who didn't even want to know himself -- who perhaps begins to know himself, a man who starts to see that words/stories/actions have consequences far beyond what we can even imagine...
[1] Not naming any names, but at least I was reimbursed.
[2] Say what you will about amazon, at least they get stuff to you [UPDATE 2020: I cancelled my amazon account because they are evil on so many levels, up to an including customer service.]
[3] My translation from the Italian translation.
[4] Which I suppose is only true if everyone went around hitting and killing people. The fact that only a minority do, makes it simply "the way of the world".
[5] Compared with his other books, this is the one (the trilogy as a whole) that seems the most "planned out".
First off, mad respect for [a:Margaret Jull Costa|24758|Margaret Jull Costa|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1364673971p2/24758.jpg]--I can't vouch for the accuracy of the translation, but I marvel at anything this entertaining, delightful, and poetic after going through translation.
Marías seems to be able to squeeze entire philosophical inquiries and huge sections of this book out of small events, visions, and exchanges. Throughout this whole three-part novel, he weaves together a personal story that touches on the historical (primarily the Spanish Civil War and WWII) and connects it to the present. I fear my analytical/review skills will not do this book the justice it deserves. It's kind of like being in the presence of greatness and knowing it, but not really being able to convey that to others.
The last of this three-part series comes to grips with one's own potential for violence, as well as love. Attempting to sum up this whole, magnificent tale I'd say it revolves around a displaced main character and the slipperiness of language. Jacques Deza is a narrator unhappily separated from his wife and his country, piecing together a kind of directionless existence in London that results in his working for an intelligence operation predicting and shaping future international relations through the careful interviewing and observing (and, often, framing) of key individuals (ranging from celebrities to politicians and criminals). His extraordinary ability to see through others acts as a kind of counterbalance to how little he knows himself. He questions what is means to be loyal and the nature of our ethical limitations (personal, historical, sociological, etc.). It's like a moral exploration masquerading as a spy novel.
Somehow, the writing drips with countless, poignant observations and tangents, without ever feeling forced or unbalanced by these. For instance, Marías touches on our modern obsession with documenting ourselves through social media/selfies/video, framing it as our current stand-in for God's all-seeing eye. We still demand to be observed and judged--to not only know where we stand, but that we have standing. And, of course, the surveillance/self-documenting society makes it ever-easier to frame or compromise individuals (in service of the State, or otherwise).
Ultimately, despite the lengthy quote I'm going to share, it felt like a book about storytelling and the importance of making sure individual stories are not forgotten. It's not so much that the nature of storytelling changes, or needs to change, but that time, our position in history, and knowledge changes between generations of story tellers. The stories we tell are not new but our relationship to them is.
We are always caught between the danger of telling and the danger of remaining silent for once the words are out in the open who can say what will be done with them?
----------------------------------------------------
WORDS I LEARNED WHILE READING THIS BOOK:
preterite | harquebus | usufruct | clepsydra
Marías seems to be able to squeeze entire philosophical inquiries and huge sections of this book out of small events, visions, and exchanges. Throughout this whole three-part novel, he weaves together a personal story that touches on the historical (primarily the Spanish Civil War and WWII) and connects it to the present. I fear my analytical/review skills will not do this book the justice it deserves. It's kind of like being in the presence of greatness and knowing it, but not really being able to convey that to others.
The last of this three-part series comes to grips with one's own potential for violence, as well as love. Attempting to sum up this whole, magnificent tale I'd say it revolves around a displaced main character and the slipperiness of language. Jacques Deza is a narrator unhappily separated from his wife and his country, piecing together a kind of directionless existence in London that results in his working for an intelligence operation predicting and shaping future international relations through the careful interviewing and observing (and, often, framing) of key individuals (ranging from celebrities to politicians and criminals). His extraordinary ability to see through others acts as a kind of counterbalance to how little he knows himself. He questions what is means to be loyal and the nature of our ethical limitations (personal, historical, sociological, etc.). It's like a moral exploration masquerading as a spy novel.
Somehow, the writing drips with countless, poignant observations and tangents, without ever feeling forced or unbalanced by these. For instance, Marías touches on our modern obsession with documenting ourselves through social media/selfies/video, framing it as our current stand-in for God's all-seeing eye. We still demand to be observed and judged--to not only know where we stand, but that we have standing. And, of course, the surveillance/self-documenting society makes it ever-easier to frame or compromise individuals (in service of the State, or otherwise).
Ultimately, despite the lengthy quote I'm going to share, it felt like a book about storytelling and the importance of making sure individual stories are not forgotten. It's not so much that the nature of storytelling changes, or needs to change, but that time, our position in history, and knowledge changes between generations of story tellers. The stories we tell are not new but our relationship to them is.
"... this is a wearisome world of ceaseless transmission, and thus we are born with the work already far advanced but condemned to the knowledge that nothing is ever entirely finished, and thus we carry--like a faint booming in our heads--the exhausting accumulated voices of the countless centuries, believing naively that some of those thoughts and stories are new, never before heard or read, but how could that be, when ever since they acquired the gift of speech people have never stopped, endlessly telling stories and, sooner or later, everything is told, the interesting and the trivial, the private and the public, the intimate and the superfluous, what should remain hidden and what will one day inevitably be broadcast, sorrows and joys and resentments, certainties and conjectures, the imagined and the factual, persuasions and suspicions, grievances and flattery and plans for revenge, great feats and humiliations, what fills us with pride and what shames us utterly, what appeared to be a secret and what begged to remain so, the normal and the unconfessable and the horrific and the obvious, the substantial--falling in love--and the insignificant--falling in love. Without even giving it a second thought, we go and we tell."
We are always caught between the danger of telling and the danger of remaining silent for once the words are out in the open who can say what will be done with them?
----------------------------------------------------
WORDS I LEARNED WHILE READING THIS BOOK:
preterite | harquebus | usufruct | clepsydra
Third and final part of the trilogy 'Your Face Tomorrow', another 500 pages and again but 1 single real scene of action. As in the previous parts Jacques Deza keeps on observing, registrating, interpreting and above all reflecting, pages and pages on end. Yet something has changed. In the previous part his boss Mr. Tupra confronted Deza with the use of bold violence (the intense scene in the toilet for the disabled) and the suggestion that there are no real moral laws. In this part Tupra adds something to this and Deza feels how a 'poison' filters into his brain. This will encourage him to do a bold act himself (the only action scene in this book), but in the end he will keep on doubting.
This short summary again does injustice to this book. Mostly because it does not honour the multi-layered character of the story, but foremost because it doesn’t honour the slow, meandering writing style, with continued side paths, comments on comments, reinterpretation of findings and conclusions and so on and so on. Marias really drags you into an mesmerizing swamp. He rewards your reading effort in this third part by clearing up some storylines (such as the intriguing blood stain on the staircase in part 1), but above all by leaving you after the last page in a kind of trance, and with the feeling not to know for sure where you are, never to know for sure again what you see, to know what you know, to be what you are. Brilliant!
See also my review of the complete trilogy: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2089115348
This short summary again does injustice to this book. Mostly because it does not honour the multi-layered character of the story, but foremost because it doesn’t honour the slow, meandering writing style, with continued side paths, comments on comments, reinterpretation of findings and conclusions and so on and so on. Marias really drags you into an mesmerizing swamp. He rewards your reading effort in this third part by clearing up some storylines (such as the intriguing blood stain on the staircase in part 1), but above all by leaving you after the last page in a kind of trance, and with the feeling not to know for sure where you are, never to know for sure again what you see, to know what you know, to be what you are. Brilliant!
See also my review of the complete trilogy: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2089115348
Just amazing. A very dense, but very rewarding read. I've just put the book down, and it seems far too soon to try and summarise my feelings about the story, and the characters, of whom I find myself feeling extremely fond.
"La chusma quiere explicaciones para todas las cosas, pero las quiere ridículas, inverosímiles, enrevesadas y conspirativas, y cuanto más lo sean más las acepta y se las traga y más la contentan. Incomprensible, pero ese es el estilo del mundo". (48).
"Creemos ser quien más admiramos y tratamos de aniquilarlo para que así eso se cumpla, creemos poder suplantarlo del todo y hacerlo olvidar con nuestros logros que le debemos enteros y expulsarlo del inestable recuerdo del mundo, y nos tranquilizamos diciéndonos que fue sólo un pionero al que ya hemos superado y al que abarcamos, y así lo hacemos prescindible". (124).
"La gente quiere lo que quiere creer, y por eso es tan lógico y fácil que todo tenga su tiempo para ser creído. A pie juntillas: hasta lo manifiestamente falso y lo contrario de lo que estamos viendo, también eso es creído en su tiempo de credulidad, cada suceso en el suyo y todos en su tiempo ido". (124).
"Y al notarme esta reacción pueril e idiota me di cuenta de que nunca nos libramos del patriotismo enteramente, todo depende de las circunstancias y de dónde estemos y de quién nos hable para que de repente surja un vestigio, un resto". (212).
"En cada persona hay ecos de otras y no podemos desoírlos, se producen lo que he llamado 'afinidades' entre individuos muy distintos o incluso opuestos, que en ocasiones nos conducen a ver o captar sombras de parecidos físicos en principio descabellados". (287).
"La curiosidad lleva a tonterías sin cuento y a empeñarse en ellas hasta que la curiosidad se pasa". (309).
"Ellos no detestan el conocimiento como la mayoría de las personas tan pusilánimes de nuestro tiempo, sino que lo afrontan y lo anticipan y lo incorporan y son de los que no avisan por tanto, o no a veces, de los que toman resoluciones en la distancia y sin que sus motivos sean apenas identificables para el que padece las consecuencias o para el ocasional testigo, o sin que los actos establezcan con estos motivos un vínculo de causa a efecto, y todavía menos las pruebas de la comisión de tales actos". (389).
"Quizá la expresión es incorrecta, y lo que se le había ido era el tiempo, que tal vez nunca pasa del todo en contra de lo que solemos creer, como tampoco nunca dejamos de ser enteramente los que hemos sido, y no es tan raro deslizarse en el pasado de un modo tan vivo que éste se yuxtaponga al presente". (422).
Javier Marías exorciza los demonios de la traición y encarcelamiento de su padre, el filósofo Julián Marías, en una trilogía de espías o traductores de personas en la que, pese a las advertencias del "careless talk" o el habla inconsciente, se van deslizando historias de la Guerra Civil española, de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, del miedo, la capacidad del ser humano para el horror y a dónde estaría dispuesto a llegar cada uno para salvarse a sí mismo y para salvar su propia historia, la narración de su vida o cómo lo recordarán los demás una vez que ya no esté en este mundo para seguir contándose a sí mismo. Brillante por cuanto tiene de novela de ficción, escalofriante por cuanto tiene de traición real a un hombre al que la narración ajena de su historia le pudo costar la vida (afortunadamente Julián Marías fue salvado de la cárcel y el fusilamiento, pero eso no exime al traidor de ser el posible causante de una muerte a través de las palabras, porque las palabras matan si no se tiene cuidado con ellas, sobre todo si se escoge con cuidado el momento y el lugar adecuado para pronunciarlas).
Ya he comentado alguna vez que leyendo a Marías se aprende muchísimo. Impresionan sus conocimientos históricos, lingüísticos, literarios, psicológicos y todo un sinfín de afirmaciones de las más diversas materias desfilan como un caudal ante los ojos del lector mientras su autor experimenta lentamente su propia catarsis, su intento de comprender la traición de alguien a quien se había otorgado la confianza, aunque de algunos actos no puedan más que esbozarse las causas que llevaron a su autor a realizarlos y jamás puedan ser entendidos por completo.
"Creemos ser quien más admiramos y tratamos de aniquilarlo para que así eso se cumpla, creemos poder suplantarlo del todo y hacerlo olvidar con nuestros logros que le debemos enteros y expulsarlo del inestable recuerdo del mundo, y nos tranquilizamos diciéndonos que fue sólo un pionero al que ya hemos superado y al que abarcamos, y así lo hacemos prescindible". (124).
"La gente quiere lo que quiere creer, y por eso es tan lógico y fácil que todo tenga su tiempo para ser creído. A pie juntillas: hasta lo manifiestamente falso y lo contrario de lo que estamos viendo, también eso es creído en su tiempo de credulidad, cada suceso en el suyo y todos en su tiempo ido". (124).
"Y al notarme esta reacción pueril e idiota me di cuenta de que nunca nos libramos del patriotismo enteramente, todo depende de las circunstancias y de dónde estemos y de quién nos hable para que de repente surja un vestigio, un resto". (212).
"En cada persona hay ecos de otras y no podemos desoírlos, se producen lo que he llamado 'afinidades' entre individuos muy distintos o incluso opuestos, que en ocasiones nos conducen a ver o captar sombras de parecidos físicos en principio descabellados". (287).
"La curiosidad lleva a tonterías sin cuento y a empeñarse en ellas hasta que la curiosidad se pasa". (309).
"Ellos no detestan el conocimiento como la mayoría de las personas tan pusilánimes de nuestro tiempo, sino que lo afrontan y lo anticipan y lo incorporan y son de los que no avisan por tanto, o no a veces, de los que toman resoluciones en la distancia y sin que sus motivos sean apenas identificables para el que padece las consecuencias o para el ocasional testigo, o sin que los actos establezcan con estos motivos un vínculo de causa a efecto, y todavía menos las pruebas de la comisión de tales actos". (389).
"Quizá la expresión es incorrecta, y lo que se le había ido era el tiempo, que tal vez nunca pasa del todo en contra de lo que solemos creer, como tampoco nunca dejamos de ser enteramente los que hemos sido, y no es tan raro deslizarse en el pasado de un modo tan vivo que éste se yuxtaponga al presente". (422).
Javier Marías exorciza los demonios de la traición y encarcelamiento de su padre, el filósofo Julián Marías, en una trilogía de espías o traductores de personas en la que, pese a las advertencias del "careless talk" o el habla inconsciente, se van deslizando historias de la Guerra Civil española, de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, del miedo, la capacidad del ser humano para el horror y a dónde estaría dispuesto a llegar cada uno para salvarse a sí mismo y para salvar su propia historia, la narración de su vida o cómo lo recordarán los demás una vez que ya no esté en este mundo para seguir contándose a sí mismo. Brillante por cuanto tiene de novela de ficción, escalofriante por cuanto tiene de traición real a un hombre al que la narración ajena de su historia le pudo costar la vida (afortunadamente Julián Marías fue salvado de la cárcel y el fusilamiento, pero eso no exime al traidor de ser el posible causante de una muerte a través de las palabras, porque las palabras matan si no se tiene cuidado con ellas, sobre todo si se escoge con cuidado el momento y el lugar adecuado para pronunciarlas).
Ya he comentado alguna vez que leyendo a Marías se aprende muchísimo. Impresionan sus conocimientos históricos, lingüísticos, literarios, psicológicos y todo un sinfín de afirmaciones de las más diversas materias desfilan como un caudal ante los ojos del lector mientras su autor experimenta lentamente su propia catarsis, su intento de comprender la traición de alguien a quien se había otorgado la confianza, aunque de algunos actos no puedan más que esbozarse las causas que llevaron a su autor a realizarlos y jamás puedan ser entendidos por completo.
Yarınki Yüzün üçlemesine geçtiğimizi yılın nisan ayında başlamıştım. Yaklaşık olarak dokuz aya yayılan bir serüvendi. Zaten çok kısa zamanda da okunup geçilebilecek kitaplardan değil açıkcası. Zira yazması da sekiz yıla mal olan 1144 sayfalık bir yolculuk. Çünkü Marias okuyucusuna karşı talepkar yazarlardan ve eylemlerden-hikayeden çok karakterinin zihnindeki dolambaçlı yollarda gezinip zengin bir metin sunmayı tercih ediyor.
Jaime Deza çok dilli bir çevirmen olarak, eşiyle boşanma arifesindedir. Bu süreci kolay atlatabilmek için Madrid’den ayrılıp Londra’ya gelir. Burada BBC radyosunda çalışmaktayken, Oxford’daki akıl hocalarından birisi olan Peter Wheeler’ın aracılığı ile Bertram Tupra ile tanıştırılır ve kendisini gizli servisin içinde “insan tercümanlığı” yaparken bulur. Ana hikayemiz bu olsa da Marias’ın anlatmak istedikleri ise bambaşka. Birinci kitap genel olarak Deza’nın Wheeler’ı ziyareti ile geçiyor. Sanırım serinin en iyi kitabı da birinci kitap. İspanya İç Savaşı’ndan, İkinci Dünya Savaşı’nda İngiltere’deki “careless talk” kampanyalarına uzanan ve insanlık tarihi ve insanı muazzam bir şekilde irdeleyen bir iç dünya yansımasını takip ediyorsunuz. İkinci kitapta ise Deza’nın eski -henüz boşanmadıkları-karısı Luisa imgesi ön plana gelmeye başlarken hikaye olarak ise sizi sadece diskotekte geçen bir gece bekliyor. Bir çorap kaçmasına on sayfa yazabilen bir yazarın size böylesine önemli bir geceyi anlatması için 296 sayfaya ihtiyaç duymasını yadırgamamayı öğreniyorsunuz ve öğrendikçe daha da fazla büyüleniyordunuz.
Özetle evet takip edilmesi zor bir seri. Zira okurken adeta hipnotize oluyorsunuz, kayboluyorsunuz. Sarkaç gibi ileri geri sallanan bir hikayede zaman zaman sonsuza kadar gidecekmiş gibi hissediyorsunuz. Hatta bazı noktalarda hikaye tamamen duruyor ve tarihin gerçekliğine geçiş yapıyorsunuz. Marias Deza’nın biten evliliği, isimsiz kuruluştaki görevi, iş arkadaşlarının gizemli hayatları ve ilişkileri ile sizi baştan çıkarırken üzerinize asıl derdi olan varoluşsal düşüncelerini saçıyor. Sadakat ve güvensizlik, geçmiş ve gelecek, bencillik ve cömertlik üzerine uzun uzun düşünmenizi sağlıyor. Ama kendi vermek istediği mesajı gayet açık: insan kötülüğe meyilli bir canlıdır ve çoğunlukla - bazı istisnai kişiler haricinde- bundan utanma gereksinimi dahi duymaz. Bu mesajını da bireysel kötülükten kitlesel kötülüğe; gizli arşivlerin derinliklerinde bulunan kişisel kötülük videolarından, kitsele; Ispanya İç Savaşı’na, İkinci Dünya Savaşı’na, edebiyatta çok fazla yer verilmeyen Franco diktatörlüğü döneminden, gizli servislerin manipülasyonlarına uzanan büyük bir liste ile sözünü sakınmadan- acımasızca örneklerle destekliyor.
Üçüncü kitap ile sorularınızın büyük çoğunluğunu cevaplıyor Marias. Benim çoğu zaman “acaba ben mi kaçırdım, açıkladı mı” diye kendimden şüphe etmeme sebep olan birinci ciltteki kan lekesinin cevabını dahi üçüncü cildin son sayfalarında verdi yani. Upuzun yollardan geçip kendisini, karakterlerini ve zehrini içinize akıtan, hapseden ve sizinle yaşamaya devam eden yazarlardan birisi Marias. Bu üçleme muhtemele hayatım boyunca en sevdiğim kitaplardan olacak ve dönem dönem geriye dönüp yine aynı heyecanla, keyifle okuyacağım. Şimdiye kadar hala Nobel verilmemiş olmasını Isveç Akademisi’nin, kendisinin deliliğinden korkmasından kaynakladığına yormayı tercih ediyorum. Zira başka açıklaması olamaz.
Jaime Deza çok dilli bir çevirmen olarak, eşiyle boşanma arifesindedir. Bu süreci kolay atlatabilmek için Madrid’den ayrılıp Londra’ya gelir. Burada BBC radyosunda çalışmaktayken, Oxford’daki akıl hocalarından birisi olan Peter Wheeler’ın aracılığı ile Bertram Tupra ile tanıştırılır ve kendisini gizli servisin içinde “insan tercümanlığı” yaparken bulur. Ana hikayemiz bu olsa da Marias’ın anlatmak istedikleri ise bambaşka. Birinci kitap genel olarak Deza’nın Wheeler’ı ziyareti ile geçiyor. Sanırım serinin en iyi kitabı da birinci kitap. İspanya İç Savaşı’ndan, İkinci Dünya Savaşı’nda İngiltere’deki “careless talk” kampanyalarına uzanan ve insanlık tarihi ve insanı muazzam bir şekilde irdeleyen bir iç dünya yansımasını takip ediyorsunuz. İkinci kitapta ise Deza’nın eski -henüz boşanmadıkları-karısı Luisa imgesi ön plana gelmeye başlarken hikaye olarak ise sizi sadece diskotekte geçen bir gece bekliyor. Bir çorap kaçmasına on sayfa yazabilen bir yazarın size böylesine önemli bir geceyi anlatması için 296 sayfaya ihtiyaç duymasını yadırgamamayı öğreniyorsunuz ve öğrendikçe daha da fazla büyüleniyordunuz.
Özetle evet takip edilmesi zor bir seri. Zira okurken adeta hipnotize oluyorsunuz, kayboluyorsunuz. Sarkaç gibi ileri geri sallanan bir hikayede zaman zaman sonsuza kadar gidecekmiş gibi hissediyorsunuz. Hatta bazı noktalarda hikaye tamamen duruyor ve tarihin gerçekliğine geçiş yapıyorsunuz. Marias Deza’nın biten evliliği, isimsiz kuruluştaki görevi, iş arkadaşlarının gizemli hayatları ve ilişkileri ile sizi baştan çıkarırken üzerinize asıl derdi olan varoluşsal düşüncelerini saçıyor. Sadakat ve güvensizlik, geçmiş ve gelecek, bencillik ve cömertlik üzerine uzun uzun düşünmenizi sağlıyor. Ama kendi vermek istediği mesajı gayet açık: insan kötülüğe meyilli bir canlıdır ve çoğunlukla - bazı istisnai kişiler haricinde- bundan utanma gereksinimi dahi duymaz. Bu mesajını da bireysel kötülükten kitlesel kötülüğe; gizli arşivlerin derinliklerinde bulunan kişisel kötülük videolarından, kitsele; Ispanya İç Savaşı’na, İkinci Dünya Savaşı’na, edebiyatta çok fazla yer verilmeyen Franco diktatörlüğü döneminden, gizli servislerin manipülasyonlarına uzanan büyük bir liste ile sözünü sakınmadan- acımasızca örneklerle destekliyor.
Üçüncü kitap ile sorularınızın büyük çoğunluğunu cevaplıyor Marias. Benim çoğu zaman “acaba ben mi kaçırdım, açıkladı mı” diye kendimden şüphe etmeme sebep olan birinci ciltteki kan lekesinin cevabını dahi üçüncü cildin son sayfalarında verdi yani. Upuzun yollardan geçip kendisini, karakterlerini ve zehrini içinize akıtan, hapseden ve sizinle yaşamaya devam eden yazarlardan birisi Marias. Bu üçleme muhtemele hayatım boyunca en sevdiğim kitaplardan olacak ve dönem dönem geriye dönüp yine aynı heyecanla, keyifle okuyacağım. Şimdiye kadar hala Nobel verilmemiş olmasını Isveç Akademisi’nin, kendisinin deliliğinden korkmasından kaynakladığına yormayı tercih ediyorum. Zira başka açıklaması olamaz.