Take a photo of a barcode or cover
nateisdreaming 's review for:
Hopscotch
by Julio Cortázar
The final book I read in 2018 is possibly one of the best books I've ever read; which is crazy, cause this year I've read three of the "best books I've read" (Moby Dick, Anna Karenina, and this).
However, I say "possibly" because I loved part one much better than part two, which kind of made me lose all sympathy with the character. This was while reading the "linear" version of the novel. I then read the nonlinear version (re-reading chapters again); and it made me fall in love even more with part one -- but again, left me a little dry in part two.
Narrative-wise, part two makes sense -- its the insanity and fall from grace that stems from trauma and from indecision and inaction (and disassociation). However, its hard to take at times, and you feel like strangling the protagonist Oliveira more then anything else.
Part one however is filled with so much accurate wonder, nostalgia, romance, dreaminess ... It reminded me of my 20s, living among "bohemians" in New York (or really, among wanna-be bohemians, and I count myself among the wanna-bes, so I'm not judging) -- it captures the romance and aimlessness of that lifestyle better than anything else I've read, including Kerouac or Bolano. Each chapter is like an unfolding origami poem filled with sentences to dissect and re-read and ponder over.
Its shocking to me that Cortazar was able to hold on to this feeling throughout his life; as he wrote this in his 60s I believe (correct me if I'm wrong). The feelings and atmospheres he evokes are ones that were lost to me, hollowed out by modern living and by the reality that enters our 30s (I'd love to read this again in 10 years, as I'm 36 now and think this book will be filled with surprises and transformations in years to come).
There are, aside from the apathy in book two; more than a few scenes of masculine offensiveness ; and like much art, I'm often conflicted and torn between my enjoyment of the novel's "truths" and some of the behaviors it can glorify, or at least, justify, or at least, make relate-able. And its hard for me to know if my "maleness" accentuates or obscures the sections that offend me. However, the novel inspired so many feelings (including the desire to write), and inspired so many memories, and magical moments of reading that I found myself reading it (and immediately re-reading it) as. slow. as. possible. Each chapter was a slice of mysticism.
So, despite many faults (mostly psychological -- stylistically, its near perfect), I say with a giant grain of salt that Hopscotch is among the best books I've read.
However, with that same grain of salt, I would say that I'm maybe wrong or maybe exaggerating, and I somehow think that's appropriate for a novel of this sort of mystery and whimsy, and that Cortazar would probably approve of this shifting opinion.
(In any case, above five stars -- and highest recommendation.)
However, I say "possibly" because I loved part one much better than part two, which kind of made me lose all sympathy with the character. This was while reading the "linear" version of the novel. I then read the nonlinear version (re-reading chapters again); and it made me fall in love even more with part one -- but again, left me a little dry in part two.
Narrative-wise, part two makes sense -- its the insanity and fall from grace that stems from trauma and from indecision and inaction (and disassociation). However, its hard to take at times, and you feel like strangling the protagonist Oliveira more then anything else.
Part one however is filled with so much accurate wonder, nostalgia, romance, dreaminess ... It reminded me of my 20s, living among "bohemians" in New York (or really, among wanna-be bohemians, and I count myself among the wanna-bes, so I'm not judging) -- it captures the romance and aimlessness of that lifestyle better than anything else I've read, including Kerouac or Bolano. Each chapter is like an unfolding origami poem filled with sentences to dissect and re-read and ponder over.
Its shocking to me that Cortazar was able to hold on to this feeling throughout his life; as he wrote this in his 60s I believe (correct me if I'm wrong). The feelings and atmospheres he evokes are ones that were lost to me, hollowed out by modern living and by the reality that enters our 30s (I'd love to read this again in 10 years, as I'm 36 now and think this book will be filled with surprises and transformations in years to come).
There are, aside from the apathy in book two; more than a few scenes of masculine offensiveness ; and like much art, I'm often conflicted and torn between my enjoyment of the novel's "truths" and some of the behaviors it can glorify, or at least, justify, or at least, make relate-able. And its hard for me to know if my "maleness" accentuates or obscures the sections that offend me. However, the novel inspired so many feelings (including the desire to write), and inspired so many memories, and magical moments of reading that I found myself reading it (and immediately re-reading it) as. slow. as. possible. Each chapter was a slice of mysticism.
So, despite many faults (mostly psychological -- stylistically, its near perfect), I say with a giant grain of salt that Hopscotch is among the best books I've read.
However, with that same grain of salt, I would say that I'm maybe wrong or maybe exaggerating, and I somehow think that's appropriate for a novel of this sort of mystery and whimsy, and that Cortazar would probably approve of this shifting opinion.
(In any case, above five stars -- and highest recommendation.)