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juuhae's review
2.0
His earlier works are not as good as for example 'La petite Bijou'. The main character and his internal struggle were interesting enough, but I didn't understand why Modiano gave so much space to the bickering of these annoying party guests.
mayasspaces's review against another edition
1.0
راوية غريبة غير مفهومة قطع سردية ليست مترابطة ببعض يقال عنها رواية و احداث ، لا تعرف عن الشخصيات شيئاً لا عمر لا عمل لا حوار جيد و لا شي فقط ذكريات متشابكة في بعض لا تعرف من قائلها الذي تغير في الرواية بالمناسبة ٣ مرات .
يقول المترجم انها مكتوبة على الطريقة "الموديانية" و لكن انا اراها مجرد هراء لا تستحق ان تقرأ أو تطبع!
يقول المترجم انها مكتوبة على الطريقة "الموديانية" و لكن انا اراها مجرد هراء لا تستحق ان تقرأ أو تطبع!
audreyvm's review against another edition
5.0
Patrick Modiano’s Night Watch (originally published in English as Night Rounds) is a short novel that yanks the reader in to the grubby underworld of Occupied Paris during WWII, and then holds you there, caught between gritty chaos and the fuzzed edges of memory. The narrator is a young man who, claiming to hold no moral convictions, has been drawn into the world of profiteers and the French Gestapo. He is sent to infiltrate the resistance, who may suspect his double crossing ways. Embedded in both camps, his loyalties are conflicted and – although we know from the beginning that he will betray the French cause – he must decide whether or not to stand up to his malevolent employers.
The story begins mid party. In an opulent room, where ‘the women have too much make up’ and ‘the men are dressed in garish colours’, a celebration of excess is ongoing. The occupants of this world are ‘con-artists, women of ill repute, disgraced police officers, morphine addicts, night club owners, indeed all these marquises, counts, barons and princesses that you won’t find in any almanac of high society…’ There are frequent reminders that their pleasure is heightened by the deprivation in the city outside (‘Very scarce. Three hundred thousand francs a bottle. Don’t worry. There is no rationing at Cimarosa Square.’). Undercutting the debauchery are the quietly menacing figures of the Khedive and Monsieur Philbert, profiteers turned Gestapo, who coax the narrator to give up the addresses of his resistance friends. Torture punctuates the merriment, accentuating the surreal atmosphere.
These scenes are deliberately disorientating and written in a larger than life, cartoonish style reminiscent of Pynchon’s work – 60’s ‘pop’ literature which I love – which is set off well by being juxtaposed with the narrator’s more somber reflections on his life. The things which bind him to the world are few, he tells us. His primary ties are to his mother and two innocents – a blind, red-headed giant and a young girl (or an old woman? he is not always sure) – who he protects, and who he believes bring him some redemption. Frequently the narrator, who in previous times has lived as a thief, whore, and con-man, protests that he is not strong or morally certain enough to do the right thing, but instead must go with the flow and will later face the consequences.
‘…it occurred to me that my particular disposition was well suited to double-dealing and – why not? – to treason. Not enough moral fibre to be a hero. Too distracted and dispassionate to be a real villain. On the other hand I was malleable, I had a fondness for action, and I was plainly good natured.’
Continuously self-effacing, his weak will means that we can never be sure that the story we are told is the truth – and in this world of double crossing, what is the truth?
Night Watch sometimes feels – deliberately – overwhelming in its description of the underworld excesses, but beyond this narrow world is a blank space. We are given no background, no history, and no suggestion of what life in Paris is like for those not profiteering (besides the regular sneering mentions of rationing by the revelers). The contrast between this clear centre and the indistinct world beyond it creates a feeling of being out of time, caught within the haze of memory. The selectiveness of the information which the reader is permitted is reinforced by the unreliable first person narrator. Finally, the lack of a straightforward chronology accentuates the dream like nature of the story, as we jump between events and reflections, parties and despair.
This feeling of being suspended in a particular memory, but, as with a dream, being somehow disconnected from surrounding events recurred in the only other work of Modiano’s I have read, Suspended Sentences, and is a captivating experience that, like a dream, leaves you grasping to hold onto it as you surface. Modiano is a celebrated author in France and globally, but was little known in the Anglophone world until he won last year’s Nobel Prize for Literature. We are lucky that English translations of his work are now becoming more readily available; he is a talented writer with a unique voice and the ability to transport you into someone else’s memories. I can’t wait to read more of his work.
Originally blogged at www.goodbyetoallthis.com
The story begins mid party. In an opulent room, where ‘the women have too much make up’ and ‘the men are dressed in garish colours’, a celebration of excess is ongoing. The occupants of this world are ‘con-artists, women of ill repute, disgraced police officers, morphine addicts, night club owners, indeed all these marquises, counts, barons and princesses that you won’t find in any almanac of high society…’ There are frequent reminders that their pleasure is heightened by the deprivation in the city outside (‘Very scarce. Three hundred thousand francs a bottle. Don’t worry. There is no rationing at Cimarosa Square.’). Undercutting the debauchery are the quietly menacing figures of the Khedive and Monsieur Philbert, profiteers turned Gestapo, who coax the narrator to give up the addresses of his resistance friends. Torture punctuates the merriment, accentuating the surreal atmosphere.
These scenes are deliberately disorientating and written in a larger than life, cartoonish style reminiscent of Pynchon’s work – 60’s ‘pop’ literature which I love – which is set off well by being juxtaposed with the narrator’s more somber reflections on his life. The things which bind him to the world are few, he tells us. His primary ties are to his mother and two innocents – a blind, red-headed giant and a young girl (or an old woman? he is not always sure) – who he protects, and who he believes bring him some redemption. Frequently the narrator, who in previous times has lived as a thief, whore, and con-man, protests that he is not strong or morally certain enough to do the right thing, but instead must go with the flow and will later face the consequences.
‘…it occurred to me that my particular disposition was well suited to double-dealing and – why not? – to treason. Not enough moral fibre to be a hero. Too distracted and dispassionate to be a real villain. On the other hand I was malleable, I had a fondness for action, and I was plainly good natured.’
Continuously self-effacing, his weak will means that we can never be sure that the story we are told is the truth – and in this world of double crossing, what is the truth?
Night Watch sometimes feels – deliberately – overwhelming in its description of the underworld excesses, but beyond this narrow world is a blank space. We are given no background, no history, and no suggestion of what life in Paris is like for those not profiteering (besides the regular sneering mentions of rationing by the revelers). The contrast between this clear centre and the indistinct world beyond it creates a feeling of being out of time, caught within the haze of memory. The selectiveness of the information which the reader is permitted is reinforced by the unreliable first person narrator. Finally, the lack of a straightforward chronology accentuates the dream like nature of the story, as we jump between events and reflections, parties and despair.
This feeling of being suspended in a particular memory, but, as with a dream, being somehow disconnected from surrounding events recurred in the only other work of Modiano’s I have read, Suspended Sentences, and is a captivating experience that, like a dream, leaves you grasping to hold onto it as you surface. Modiano is a celebrated author in France and globally, but was little known in the Anglophone world until he won last year’s Nobel Prize for Literature. We are lucky that English translations of his work are now becoming more readily available; he is a talented writer with a unique voice and the ability to transport you into someone else’s memories. I can’t wait to read more of his work.
Originally blogged at www.goodbyetoallthis.com
stef369's review
3.0
Als je "Ronde de nuit" begint te lezen van Modiano, dan word je meteen met bruut geweld binnen gesmeten in een soort duivelse rondedans met bizarre en macabere personages op de achtergrond. Van het verhaal begrijp je niets. Wie is wie? Wat gebeurt er? Waar zijn we? Je wordt volledig aan je lot overgelaten. Maar je leest verder, naar adem happend en mee geslingerd door de wervelwind van woorden, die maar niet stopt - tot de laatste zin van het boek. Je leest dit dus letterlijk in één adem. Pas naar het einde toe wordt het verhaal duidelijk. Door een geniaal opzet van flash-backs en flash-forwards (echte "cinéma noir" hier!) worden we voortdurend naar zelfde punten van het verhaal gebracht, en na een tijdje beginnen we het te begrijpen: de held (of anti-held?) van het verhaal is tegelijk spion voor het ondergronds verzet én voor een criminele Gestapo-organisatie. En ja, ook weer in Parijs natuurlijk. Een donker Parijs, met zeldzame "zonnige" momenten. Door zijn positie is hij gedoemd om als "martelaar" te sterven. Het einde (hij rijdt met de auto in Parijs en wordt door een lugubere stoet auto's gevolgd) is meesterlijk. Als in een echte "rondo"-vorm herhaalt de auteur regelmatig dezelfde zinnen als "refrein". Het heeft allemaal iets super-obsederend.
Geen eenvoudige roman, in het begin heb je de neiging om op te geven omdat het vrij chaotisch is, maar als je snapt dat dit het opzet van de roman is en als je duidelijk begint te zien... dan wordt dit geniaal. Wat een stijl! Een grote meneer.
Geen eenvoudige roman, in het begin heb je de neiging om op te geven omdat het vrij chaotisch is, maar als je snapt dat dit het opzet van de roman is en als je duidelijk begint te zien... dan wordt dit geniaal. Wat een stijl! Een grote meneer.
elisala's review
3.0
Un récit au rythme un peu déroutant, un peu hypnotisant, qui retranscrit très bien l'ambiguïté du personnage principal, ses hésitations, voire ses errements.
J'ai eu du mal, toutefois, à rentrer dans le récit, et je n'ai pas vraiment pris de plaisir à le lire ; ce livre se rattrape (en partie) par son final, au caractère implacable, inévitable, et par sa capacité à m'avoir touchée, il m'en reste encore aujourd'hui un net goût amer à l'esprit.
J'ai eu du mal, toutefois, à rentrer dans le récit, et je n'ai pas vraiment pris de plaisir à le lire ; ce livre se rattrape (en partie) par son final, au caractère implacable, inévitable, et par sa capacité à m'avoir touchée, il m'en reste encore aujourd'hui un net goût amer à l'esprit.
annabarbarabittner's review against another edition
2.0
Proza Patricka Modiano zupełnie mnie nie uwiodła, co więcej lektura tej książki była męczarnią. Od pierwszych stron czytelnik musi odnaleźć się w mętliku imion, głosów, rozmów. Modiano kreuje świat intuicyjny, pełen improwizacji, wielogłosu. Trudno odgadnąć jego zamysł i cel takiej kompozycji. Z czasem okazuje się, że głównym bohaterem jest młody człowiek, który współpracuje z wrogimi obozami w czasie II wojny światowej.
Zaplątany w tę pułapkę, nie potrafi odnaleźć wyjścia. Narracja zdominowana jest jego rozmyślaniami, rozmowami z wymyślonymi przyjaciółmi-zwierzętami. W moim odczuciu to za mało, by ta książka mogła zainteresować, nie mówiąc już o arcydziele na miarę Nobla. Trochę szkoda, bo sam zamysł jest ciekawy. Uwikłany w wojennym świecie młody człowiek, zamieszany w plądrowanie bogatych domów, których właściciele zostali deportowani przez okupujące Francję Niemcy i równocześnie śledzący grupę oporu, pogrąża się w przypominających halucynacje rozważaniach.
Ciąg dalszy: https://przeczytalamksiazke.blogspot.com/2019/10/nawroty-nocy-patrick-modiano.html
Zaplątany w tę pułapkę, nie potrafi odnaleźć wyjścia. Narracja zdominowana jest jego rozmyślaniami, rozmowami z wymyślonymi przyjaciółmi-zwierzętami. W moim odczuciu to za mało, by ta książka mogła zainteresować, nie mówiąc już o arcydziele na miarę Nobla. Trochę szkoda, bo sam zamysł jest ciekawy. Uwikłany w wojennym świecie młody człowiek, zamieszany w plądrowanie bogatych domów, których właściciele zostali deportowani przez okupujące Francję Niemcy i równocześnie śledzący grupę oporu, pogrąża się w przypominających halucynacje rozważaniach.
Ciąg dalszy: https://przeczytalamksiazke.blogspot.com/2019/10/nawroty-nocy-patrick-modiano.html
peiman198913's review against another edition
1.0
واقعا چرا؟؟ چرا از موضوع به این قشنگی چنین رمان ضعیفی در آوردی آقای مودیانو؟ کتاب واقعا سردرگم و پیچیده شروع میشه که حتما به خواست نویسنده بوده ولی اینقدر زیاده که اگه کسی بگه قبل از 50 صفحه ابتدایی دو بار کتاب رو پرت کرده تو دیوار من تعجب نمیکنم. شما در 50-60 صفحه اول تعداد زیادی اسم و دیالوگ میبینید که انگار همه رو ریختن تو مخلوط کن بعد چاپ کردن... قطعا من این کتاب رو به هیچ کس پیشنهاد نمیکنم
و نتیجه ای که از این کتاب میگیریم اینه که یک نویسنده ی خوب میتونه یک کتاب بد بنویسه
و نتیجه ای که از این کتاب میگیریم اینه که یک نویسنده ی خوب میتونه یک کتاب بد بنویسه
tiron's review
dark
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
gh7's review against another edition
2.0
Not every book by an important writer is an important book.
The first fifty pages went over my head. Lots of talking heads with exotic names making disconnected remarks. The narrative voice was so thin, so elusive that I found it impossible to get any kind of emotional foothold in the story. It was like an artist’s sketch or a jazz musician improvising. A lot of attention is given to the decadence of the Nazis and their sympathisers but I found all this rather clichéd.
Eventually a narrative voice did emerge. A first person narrative of a character who, as we guessed, is informing for both sides during WW2 in Paris and whose two best friends are inventions. Now it did get more interesting. But it never went beyond the artist’s sketch, the jazz musician’s improvisation. In a proper novel no doubt he would have been a compelling character but here, apart from wanting to get his mother to safety in Switzerland we learn little about his motives. Maybe that was the point, that such people are unknowable. But Modiano created him so he must know him even if he pretends not to. The problem was that the artifice of pretending not to know a character you do felt awkward here. Modiano seems to like unknowable characters. But while this technique of creating ghosts rather than characters worked fabulously well in Dora Bruder here it felt forced and trite. I’d be surprised if it took more than a month to write this.
The first fifty pages went over my head. Lots of talking heads with exotic names making disconnected remarks. The narrative voice was so thin, so elusive that I found it impossible to get any kind of emotional foothold in the story. It was like an artist’s sketch or a jazz musician improvising. A lot of attention is given to the decadence of the Nazis and their sympathisers but I found all this rather clichéd.
Eventually a narrative voice did emerge. A first person narrative of a character who, as we guessed, is informing for both sides during WW2 in Paris and whose two best friends are inventions. Now it did get more interesting. But it never went beyond the artist’s sketch, the jazz musician’s improvisation. In a proper novel no doubt he would have been a compelling character but here, apart from wanting to get his mother to safety in Switzerland we learn little about his motives. Maybe that was the point, that such people are unknowable. But Modiano created him so he must know him even if he pretends not to. The problem was that the artifice of pretending not to know a character you do felt awkward here. Modiano seems to like unknowable characters. But while this technique of creating ghosts rather than characters worked fabulously well in Dora Bruder here it felt forced and trite. I’d be surprised if it took more than a month to write this.
frejola's review
3.0
At first bizarre and hypnotic, the novel loses its sense of vertigo as more and more becomes clarified towards its conclusion. Yet it's quite an appetizing introduction to the universe of Modiano. Next time I must read him in French.