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A review by ube_cake
Satantango by László Krasznahorkai
5.0
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this book deserves 5 stars—imo, it stands alongside García Márquez’s “Cien años de soledad”, Lispector’s “A paixão segundo G.H.” and Cărtărescu’s “Nostalgia” as favourite books of mine.
I would even give it 6 stars if Goodreads had the option to.
Legit, I don’t think I have the capacity to string up a review that reflects the «e x p e r i e n c e» of reading the book—to confront walls of text with each chapter, to read sentences that stretch into infinity. In a sense, after finding out that Krasznahorkai often collaborated with the film director Béla Tarr, the meandering sentences felt analogous to the film technique of one-take film—prose that captures any and all that can be perceived within a set moment in time.
Even as it explores the theme of decay of the physical, psychological, social and moral sort, often with shades of apocalypse and the end-times—the prose shines with an obsidian lustre. Here are some of them that I especially loved:
(A) pg 12
“The clouds that was slowly proceeding eastwards: the light in the kitchen dimmed as if it were dusk and it was hard to know whether the gently vibrating patches on the well were merely shadows or symptoms of the despair underlying their faintly hopeful thoughts.”
(B) pg 91
“The entire end-of-October night was beating with a single pulse, its own strange rhythm sounding through trees and rain and mud in a manner beyond words or vision: a vision present in the low light, in the slow passage of darkness, in the blurred shadows, (…) all these thousands of echoing rhythms, this confusing chatter of night noises, all parts of an apparently common stream, that is the attempt to forget despair (…)”
If ever the opportunity presents itself, GET A COPY OF THIS BOOK!
I can’t wait to read more from Krasznahorkai, and I might even watch the 7 hour adaptation of this novel—once my schedule allows for it!
P.S.: I know that their efforts have been recognised as part of Krasznahorkai receiving the prestigious International Booker Prize 2015, but I’d love to give a massive Thank You to Krasznahorkai’s translators: George Szirtes and Ottilie Muzlet.
I would even give it 6 stars if Goodreads had the option to.
Legit, I don’t think I have the capacity to string up a review that reflects the «e x p e r i e n c e» of reading the book—to confront walls of text with each chapter, to read sentences that stretch into infinity. In a sense, after finding out that Krasznahorkai often collaborated with the film director Béla Tarr, the meandering sentences felt analogous to the film technique of one-take film—prose that captures any and all that can be perceived within a set moment in time.
Even as it explores the theme of decay of the physical, psychological, social and moral sort, often with shades of apocalypse and the end-times—the prose shines with an obsidian lustre. Here are some of them that I especially loved:
(A) pg 12
“The clouds that was slowly proceeding eastwards: the light in the kitchen dimmed as if it were dusk and it was hard to know whether the gently vibrating patches on the well were merely shadows or symptoms of the despair underlying their faintly hopeful thoughts.”
(B) pg 91
“The entire end-of-October night was beating with a single pulse, its own strange rhythm sounding through trees and rain and mud in a manner beyond words or vision: a vision present in the low light, in the slow passage of darkness, in the blurred shadows, (…) all these thousands of echoing rhythms, this confusing chatter of night noises, all parts of an apparently common stream, that is the attempt to forget despair (…)”
If ever the opportunity presents itself, GET A COPY OF THIS BOOK!
I can’t wait to read more from Krasznahorkai, and I might even watch the 7 hour adaptation of this novel—once my schedule allows for it!
P.S.: I know that their efforts have been recognised as part of Krasznahorkai receiving the prestigious International Booker Prize 2015, but I’d love to give a massive Thank You to Krasznahorkai’s translators: George Szirtes and Ottilie Muzlet.