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3.17 AVERAGE
3.17 AVERAGE
The lesson here is easy reads are not always good reads.
In fact this just felt like someone banging on about his beliefs and hiding them in a story, not quite the Daniel Quinn rubbish of previous years but really a preachy tome which I struggled to maintain interest, despite being easy in style.
And just use chapter numbers - it's not hard and it makes you look less like a pompous git.
In fact this just felt like someone banging on about his beliefs and hiding them in a story, not quite the Daniel Quinn rubbish of previous years but really a preachy tome which I struggled to maintain interest, despite being easy in style.
And just use chapter numbers - it's not hard and it makes you look less like a pompous git.
For English, please visit Community Bookstop.
Orijinali, canlabirsene'de yayınlandı.
Pislik'i okuduktan sonra aklımdan geçen bir düşünce olmuştu; Keçi Dağı'nı okurken de aynı şeyi düşünürken buldum kendimi: "David Vann yazmayı seçmeseymiş çok iyi bir seri katil falan olabilirmiş." Adamı tanımam, etmem haliyle. Önce kocasını, sonra kendisini vurmuş bir üvey anneanne, intihar eden bir baba gibi kısıtlı bilgilerim var hakkında. İki kitaptan çıkarabildiğim kadarıyla bu büyük travmalar ona yetmiş de artmış bile. Damarlarımın içinin yandığını hissediyorum Vann'ı okurken. Yatağımda rahat rahat yatarak okusam da tüm bedenim acıyor. Bu da yetmezmiş gibi kalbim ve beynim acıyor. Bir yandan da hayran kalıyorum kendisine... Acı ve zevk arasındaki o garip çizgide gidip geliyorum yani.
Kitap, bir baba, oğul ve dede ile babanın en yakın arkadaşı Tom'un (ki ismi geçen tek karakter de Tom) ormanda geleneksel geyik avına çıkmalarıyla başlıyor. Silahını hak ettiğin, artık büyüdüğünü kanıtlamak için bir geyik vurması gerektiğinin farkında olan oğul, geyik vuramıyor. Onun yerine bir kaçak avcıyı vuruyor. Adamlar hep birlikte "ne yapsak, ne etsak?" moduna girince olaylar zaten sarpa sarmaya başlıyor. Oğlumuzun da Vann'ın Pislik kitabındaki derecede bir saykoluğa sahip olduğunu da söylemek lazım...
Vann, bu tek bir olaydan çıkarak, tüylerimizi ürperte ürperte daha büyük şeyleri sorgulatıyor bize. Ana sorusu da şu: NEDEN AVLANIRIZ? Öldürmek, insanın sağ kalmak için mecburen yaptığı bir şey mi mesela, yoksa içine kazınmış bir güdü mü? Öldürmekten zevk almak psikopatlık mı, içgüdüsel bir his mi? Hayvanları öldürmek doğruyken insanları öldürmek neden yanlış? Neden yaşıyoruz? Neden ölüyoruz? Neden "öldürmek" diye bir şey var? Nedir olayımız, ne?! Kalbi sağlam olmayanlar uzak dursun bu kitaptan.
Bu kitapla ne içilir: Buz gibi su içilir anca
Bu kitapla ne dinlenir: Talking Heads - Psycho Killer
Orijinali, canlabirsene'de yayınlandı.
Pislik'i okuduktan sonra aklımdan geçen bir düşünce olmuştu; Keçi Dağı'nı okurken de aynı şeyi düşünürken buldum kendimi: "David Vann yazmayı seçmeseymiş çok iyi bir seri katil falan olabilirmiş." Adamı tanımam, etmem haliyle. Önce kocasını, sonra kendisini vurmuş bir üvey anneanne, intihar eden bir baba gibi kısıtlı bilgilerim var hakkında. İki kitaptan çıkarabildiğim kadarıyla bu büyük travmalar ona yetmiş de artmış bile. Damarlarımın içinin yandığını hissediyorum Vann'ı okurken. Yatağımda rahat rahat yatarak okusam da tüm bedenim acıyor. Bu da yetmezmiş gibi kalbim ve beynim acıyor. Bir yandan da hayran kalıyorum kendisine... Acı ve zevk arasındaki o garip çizgide gidip geliyorum yani.
Kitap, bir baba, oğul ve dede ile babanın en yakın arkadaşı Tom'un (ki ismi geçen tek karakter de Tom) ormanda geleneksel geyik avına çıkmalarıyla başlıyor. Silahını hak ettiğin, artık büyüdüğünü kanıtlamak için bir geyik vurması gerektiğinin farkında olan oğul, geyik vuramıyor. Onun yerine bir kaçak avcıyı vuruyor. Adamlar hep birlikte "ne yapsak, ne etsak?" moduna girince olaylar zaten sarpa sarmaya başlıyor. Oğlumuzun da Vann'ın Pislik kitabındaki derecede bir saykoluğa sahip olduğunu da söylemek lazım...
Cesedin yanına varıp ona bakabildim ve bir geyiğin leşine bakmaktan daha fazla rahatsız olmadım. Hatta heyecanlandığımı bile söyleyebilirim.
Vann, bu tek bir olaydan çıkarak, tüylerimizi ürperte ürperte daha büyük şeyleri sorgulatıyor bize. Ana sorusu da şu: NEDEN AVLANIRIZ? Öldürmek, insanın sağ kalmak için mecburen yaptığı bir şey mi mesela, yoksa içine kazınmış bir güdü mü? Öldürmekten zevk almak psikopatlık mı, içgüdüsel bir his mi? Hayvanları öldürmek doğruyken insanları öldürmek neden yanlış? Neden yaşıyoruz? Neden ölüyoruz? Neden "öldürmek" diye bir şey var? Nedir olayımız, ne?! Kalbi sağlam olmayanlar uzak dursun bu kitaptan.
Bu kitapla ne içilir: Buz gibi su içilir anca
Bu kitapla ne dinlenir: Talking Heads - Psycho Killer
dark
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I did not read this on purpose, libby spliced it in with love in the time of cholera
It was very confusing
It was very confusing
challenging
dark
emotional
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
dark
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
A man recalls his 11th year in 1978, the year in which he makes his first kill. Family tradition has his father, his grandfather, and his father’s best friend Tom setting out across their land – Goat Mountain. The terrain is rough, but these men are rougher, as is evidenced when they set out for the three-day trip, spotting a poacher and sighting him in the scopes of their guns. When the boy takes his turn, coolly and without thought, he pulls the trigger.
What you want to read, what you want to see is the boy’s remorse. You want to understand that it was a mistake, that it didn’t happen, couldn’t have happened on purpose. But what the boy’s father, grandfather, and Tom see is a boy so little affected by the act that he readies himself to go on with the hunt immediately. Appalled, the three grown men are forced to deal with the aftermath and the effects of the death and the boy’s nonchalance, each wanting reparation but unable to do what it takes to make that happen.
It is evident that a man is remembering these events in moments when he examines what the men must have thought and ties his own actions to Biblical stories, yet the purpose of the recollection isn’t at all evident. Grim and horrific at times as he describes the dead man’s body and the manner of its disposal as well as his later kill – a buck, this time – the book waxes on about the human condition, sometimes eloquently; other times in excess:
The great flood. Think of how many lost. Drowned like rats, no burials, no apologies, no reparations….Imagine that wall of water coming over a hill, the sheep scattering, and you feel the cold breath of it, a thrill in that dry heat, the sudden change, and the sun is underwater, pale shafts of light reaching through the blue, and that can only be beautiful, the moments right before annihilation can never be anything less than the very best moments, held suspended.
The narrator dissects the Bible but in such a way as to divorce God from it, to explain our natures differently:
The Bible has nothing to do with god. The Bible is an account of our waking up, an atavistically dreamed recovery of how we first learned shame in the garden and first considered ourselves different from animals, and Cain was the first to discover that part of us will never wake up.
And in this exploration, he also examines family ties between him, his father, and his grandfather, and his inability to know them, especially during the hunt. At times, they understand one another’s intentions or gestures without at all understanding the person.
The book is disturbing, and I cannot say it was a pleasure to read, though there were moments of beautiful writing. However, for those who enjoy Cormac McCarthy or, going back further, Frank Norris or Stephen Crane, I’d recommend it. The depiction of the land and of those tied to it is stark and brutal but with good reason.
What you want to read, what you want to see is the boy’s remorse. You want to understand that it was a mistake, that it didn’t happen, couldn’t have happened on purpose. But what the boy’s father, grandfather, and Tom see is a boy so little affected by the act that he readies himself to go on with the hunt immediately. Appalled, the three grown men are forced to deal with the aftermath and the effects of the death and the boy’s nonchalance, each wanting reparation but unable to do what it takes to make that happen.
It is evident that a man is remembering these events in moments when he examines what the men must have thought and ties his own actions to Biblical stories, yet the purpose of the recollection isn’t at all evident. Grim and horrific at times as he describes the dead man’s body and the manner of its disposal as well as his later kill – a buck, this time – the book waxes on about the human condition, sometimes eloquently; other times in excess:
The great flood. Think of how many lost. Drowned like rats, no burials, no apologies, no reparations….Imagine that wall of water coming over a hill, the sheep scattering, and you feel the cold breath of it, a thrill in that dry heat, the sudden change, and the sun is underwater, pale shafts of light reaching through the blue, and that can only be beautiful, the moments right before annihilation can never be anything less than the very best moments, held suspended.
The narrator dissects the Bible but in such a way as to divorce God from it, to explain our natures differently:
The Bible has nothing to do with god. The Bible is an account of our waking up, an atavistically dreamed recovery of how we first learned shame in the garden and first considered ourselves different from animals, and Cain was the first to discover that part of us will never wake up.
And in this exploration, he also examines family ties between him, his father, and his grandfather, and his inability to know them, especially during the hunt. At times, they understand one another’s intentions or gestures without at all understanding the person.
The book is disturbing, and I cannot say it was a pleasure to read, though there were moments of beautiful writing. However, for those who enjoy Cormac McCarthy or, going back further, Frank Norris or Stephen Crane, I’d recommend it. The depiction of the land and of those tied to it is stark and brutal but with good reason.
Goat Mountain follows an 11-year-old boy, his father, grandfather, and family friend as they seek to navigate their respective levels of culpability in the unspeakable act that upends a routine hunting trip.
The narrator (the boy, now a man, looking back on the incident) offers retrospective reflections that are repeated with such rhythmic regularity that they become a bit like philosophical wallpaper at times. But Vann’s prose is, more often, haunting and brutally poetic—he parses the matter-of-fact brutality of Old Testament law, and muses on the primordial connectivity of humans to the natural world. There is an unnerving flatness to the novel’s unmarked dialogue—as the men repeatedly argue about whether a primal wrong can or must be righted and how, the narrator’s retelling shrouds the words of his kinsmen in the dulling haze of memory and childhood naïveté.
This is a book about how humans create meaning through ritual, tradition, law, and responsibility—and how masculinity is bound up in the making and unmaking of it all.
The narrator (the boy, now a man, looking back on the incident) offers retrospective reflections that are repeated with such rhythmic regularity that they become a bit like philosophical wallpaper at times. But Vann’s prose is, more often, haunting and brutally poetic—he parses the matter-of-fact brutality of Old Testament law, and muses on the primordial connectivity of humans to the natural world. There is an unnerving flatness to the novel’s unmarked dialogue—as the men repeatedly argue about whether a primal wrong can or must be righted and how, the narrator’s retelling shrouds the words of his kinsmen in the dulling haze of memory and childhood naïveté.
This is a book about how humans create meaning through ritual, tradition, law, and responsibility—and how masculinity is bound up in the making and unmaking of it all.
Сказати, що я в шоці - нічого не сказати. Дейвід Венн шокує. Шокує сильно. Та я впевненістю можу сказати, що цю книгу я точно ніколи не забуду. Але! Вона не для людей зі слабкими нервами. Хах, а я думала, в мене нерви слабкі 😂 А я це пережила!
Цю книгу можна читати з двох перспектив: сприйняття того, що відбувається, буквально, або ж читаючи між рядків, інтерпретуючи все глобальніше, масштабніше. Це те саме, що й із Вегетаріанкою Ган Канг.
Ця книга не просто про історію однієї маленької людини чи декількох, це історія не про насилля і не про родинні стосунки. Насамперед це історія про те, що в кожній людині десь там глибоко (а може й не дуже) ховається монстр та про те, що трапляється, коли ми випускаємо його назовні. Історія про те, що якщо й існує Бог, то він створив людей із двох половин - добра і зла. Ця історія показує, наскільки жорстокими можуть бути люди, коли вони на краю прірви. Чи коли навколо нема інших людей. А що таке взагалі людяність і чи можемо ми бути людяними, якщо йдеться лише про виживання.
Ще тут багато відсилів до Біблії, але нерелігійної людини. Якщо, наприклад, у «Оповіді служниці» Біблію використовували як частину ідеології, то в Goat Mountain головний герой спекулює над біблійним текстом і викручує все в потрібну йому сторону (і все ж це трохи нагадує «Оповідь служниці», чи не так?).
Книга вражає, шокує, вона повна огидних жахливих і жорстоких сцен. Тому якщо можете - не читайте. Нізащо не читайте в юному віці. Тільки дорослими, коли зможете сприйняти цей текст по-іншому. Тому що інакше у вашій пам‘яті залишаться лише кадри із фільму жахів, а не переосмислення всього феномену життя.
Цю книгу можна читати з двох перспектив: сприйняття того, що відбувається, буквально, або ж читаючи між рядків, інтерпретуючи все глобальніше, масштабніше. Це те саме, що й із Вегетаріанкою Ган Канг.
Ця книга не просто про історію однієї маленької людини чи декількох, це історія не про насилля і не про родинні стосунки. Насамперед це історія про те, що в кожній людині десь там глибоко (а може й не дуже) ховається монстр та про те, що трапляється, коли ми випускаємо його назовні. Історія про те, що якщо й існує Бог, то він створив людей із двох половин - добра і зла. Ця історія показує, наскільки жорстокими можуть бути люди, коли вони на краю прірви. Чи коли навколо нема інших людей. А що таке взагалі людяність і чи можемо ми бути людяними, якщо йдеться лише про виживання.
Ще тут багато відсилів до Біблії, але нерелігійної людини. Якщо, наприклад, у «Оповіді служниці» Біблію використовували як частину ідеології, то в Goat Mountain головний герой спекулює над біблійним текстом і викручує все в потрібну йому сторону (і все ж це трохи нагадує «Оповідь служниці», чи не так?).
Книга вражає, шокує, вона повна огидних жахливих і жорстоких сцен. Тому якщо можете - не читайте. Нізащо не читайте в юному віці. Тільки дорослими, коли зможете сприйняти цей текст по-іншому. Тому що інакше у вашій пам‘яті залишаться лише кадри із фільму жахів, а не переосмислення всього феномену життя.
All of David Vann’s novels are dark, exploring the depths of the human experience in all its tragic glory. Goat Mountain is no different from his previous novels in that aspect, but in this newest novel, he takes the darkness one step further and approaches the realm of violence that sits just below the surface of every human. As the story of the family-hunting-trip-gone-awry progresses, there is an intimacy about the boy’s experiences and feelings that makes the story even more challenging and surprisingly personal. It is a novel that forces readers to reflect on the myriad shades of evil and our perpetual tolerance of violence in various forms.
While the novel is told as a flashback, the story of the hunting trip is told in such a way that all of the action is immediate. What is occurring on the mountain is timeless in a way, as if it could happen at any time and to anyone. This feeling of immediacy increases the intimacy of the story, bringing the terror of the three days on the mountain to life. What occurs to the boy and what occurs because of the boy’s actions are brutal, ugly, and in some aspects very warranted, and readers will find themselves conflicted about the consequences of the act as enacted by each of the three men. The discussions about evil and killing, especially the religious connotations of both, are profound but provide no easy answers for anyone.
Mr. Vann is known for his lyrical writing style, and it is back again in Goat Mountain. Make no mistake however that lyrical does not mean pretty. Mr. Vann is a hunter and is very explicit on what that entails. His descriptions are intense and leave nothing to the imagination. While it does lead to some very nauseating scenes that should definitely be avoided by vegetarians or the squeamish, the explicitness of the descriptions fit the intimacy of the story. The violence done by the boy and to the boy are meant to disturb and upset because therein lies the power to reflect and reassess a culture that applauds such behavior under the guise of male companionship or tests of manhood.
Not for the faint of heart, David Vann’s Goat Mountain leaves a reader reeling from its gut-wrenching exploration of violence and its consequences on an 11-year-old boy. Vann’s brutally vivid prose creates a chilling, visceral, and haunting story that burrows its way under a reader’s skin and leaves a permanent impression. For all its disturbing imagery and violence, the questions raised about violence and evil make Goat Mountain well worth the read.
While the novel is told as a flashback, the story of the hunting trip is told in such a way that all of the action is immediate. What is occurring on the mountain is timeless in a way, as if it could happen at any time and to anyone. This feeling of immediacy increases the intimacy of the story, bringing the terror of the three days on the mountain to life. What occurs to the boy and what occurs because of the boy’s actions are brutal, ugly, and in some aspects very warranted, and readers will find themselves conflicted about the consequences of the act as enacted by each of the three men. The discussions about evil and killing, especially the religious connotations of both, are profound but provide no easy answers for anyone.
Mr. Vann is known for his lyrical writing style, and it is back again in Goat Mountain. Make no mistake however that lyrical does not mean pretty. Mr. Vann is a hunter and is very explicit on what that entails. His descriptions are intense and leave nothing to the imagination. While it does lead to some very nauseating scenes that should definitely be avoided by vegetarians or the squeamish, the explicitness of the descriptions fit the intimacy of the story. The violence done by the boy and to the boy are meant to disturb and upset because therein lies the power to reflect and reassess a culture that applauds such behavior under the guise of male companionship or tests of manhood.
Not for the faint of heart, David Vann’s Goat Mountain leaves a reader reeling from its gut-wrenching exploration of violence and its consequences on an 11-year-old boy. Vann’s brutally vivid prose creates a chilling, visceral, and haunting story that burrows its way under a reader’s skin and leaves a permanent impression. For all its disturbing imagery and violence, the questions raised about violence and evil make Goat Mountain well worth the read.
A man recalls his 11th year in 1978, the year in which he makes his first kill. Family tradition has his father, his grandfather, and his father’s best friend Tom setting out across their land – Goat Mountain. The terrain is rough, but these men are rougher, as is evidenced when they set out for the three-day trip, spotting a poacher and sighting him in the scopes of their guns. When the boy takes his turn, coolly and without thought, he pulls the trigger.
What you want to read, what you want to see is the boy’s remorse. You want to understand that it was a mistake, that it didn’t happen, couldn’t have happened on purpose. But what the boy’s father, grandfather, and Tom see is a boy so little affected by the act that he readies himself to go on with the hunt immediately. Appalled, the three grown men are forced to deal with the aftermath and the effects of the death and the boy’s nonchalance, each wanting reparation but unable to do what it takes to make that happen.
It is evident that a man is remembering these events in moments when he examines what the men must have thought and ties his own actions to Biblical stories, yet the purpose of the recollection isn’t at all evident. Grim and horrific at times as he describes the dead man’s body and the manner of its disposal as well as his later kill – a buck, this time – the book waxes on about the human condition, sometimes eloquently; other times in excess:
The great flood. Think of how many lost. Drowned like rats, no burials, no apologies, no reparations….Imagine that wall of water coming over a hill, the sheep scattering, and you feel the cold breath of it, a thrill in that dry heat, the sudden change, and the sun is underwater, pale shafts of light reaching through the blue, and that can only be beautiful, the moments right before annihilation can never be anything less than the very best moments, held suspended.
The narrator dissects the Bible but in such a way as to divorce God from it, to explain our natures differently:
The Bible has nothing to do with god. The Bible is an account of our waking up, an atavistically dreamed recovery of how we first learned shame in the garden and first considered ourselves different from animals, and Cain was the first to discover that part of us will never wake up.
And in this exploration, he also examines family ties between him, his father, and his grandfather, and his inability to know them, especially during the hunt. At times, they understand one another’s intentions or gestures without at all understanding the person.
The book is disturbing, and I cannot say it was a pleasure to read, though there were moments of beautiful writing. However, for those who enjoy Cormac McCarthy or, going back further, Frank Norris or Stephen Crane, I’d recommend it. The depiction of the land and of those tied to it is stark and brutal but with good reason.
What you want to read, what you want to see is the boy’s remorse. You want to understand that it was a mistake, that it didn’t happen, couldn’t have happened on purpose. But what the boy’s father, grandfather, and Tom see is a boy so little affected by the act that he readies himself to go on with the hunt immediately. Appalled, the three grown men are forced to deal with the aftermath and the effects of the death and the boy’s nonchalance, each wanting reparation but unable to do what it takes to make that happen.
It is evident that a man is remembering these events in moments when he examines what the men must have thought and ties his own actions to Biblical stories, yet the purpose of the recollection isn’t at all evident. Grim and horrific at times as he describes the dead man’s body and the manner of its disposal as well as his later kill – a buck, this time – the book waxes on about the human condition, sometimes eloquently; other times in excess:
The great flood. Think of how many lost. Drowned like rats, no burials, no apologies, no reparations….Imagine that wall of water coming over a hill, the sheep scattering, and you feel the cold breath of it, a thrill in that dry heat, the sudden change, and the sun is underwater, pale shafts of light reaching through the blue, and that can only be beautiful, the moments right before annihilation can never be anything less than the very best moments, held suspended.
The narrator dissects the Bible but in such a way as to divorce God from it, to explain our natures differently:
The Bible has nothing to do with god. The Bible is an account of our waking up, an atavistically dreamed recovery of how we first learned shame in the garden and first considered ourselves different from animals, and Cain was the first to discover that part of us will never wake up.
And in this exploration, he also examines family ties between him, his father, and his grandfather, and his inability to know them, especially during the hunt. At times, they understand one another’s intentions or gestures without at all understanding the person.
The book is disturbing, and I cannot say it was a pleasure to read, though there were moments of beautiful writing. However, for those who enjoy Cormac McCarthy or, going back further, Frank Norris or Stephen Crane, I’d recommend it. The depiction of the land and of those tied to it is stark and brutal but with good reason.