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The Holocaust
Fatelessness
At the age of 14 Georg Koves is plucked from his home in a Jewish section of Budapest and without any particular malice, placed on a train to Auschwitz. He does not understand the reason for his fate. He doesn’t particularly think of himself as Jewish. And his fellow prisoners, who decry his lack of Yiddish, keep telling him, “You are no Jew.” In the lowest circle of the Holocaust, Georg remains an outsider.
The genius of Imre Kertesz’s unblinking novel lies in its refusal to mitigate the strangeness of its events, not least of which is Georg’s dogmatic insistence on making sense of what he witnesses–or pretending that what he witnesses makes sense. Haunting, evocative, and all the more horrifying for its rigorous avoidance of sentiment, Fatelessness is a masterpiece in the traditions of Primo Levi, Elie Wiesel, and Tadeusz Borowski.
The genius of Imre Kertesz’s unblinking novel lies in its refusal to mitigate the strangeness of its events, not least of which is Georg’s dogmatic insistence on making sense of what he witnesses–or pretending that what he witnesses makes sense. Haunting, evocative, and all the more horrifying for its rigorous avoidance of sentiment, Fatelessness is a masterpiece in the traditions of Primo Levi, Elie Wiesel, and Tadeusz Borowski.
262 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1975
About the author
Imre Kertész
74 books347 followersBorn in Budapest in 1929, during World War II Imre Kertész was imprisoned at Auschwitz in 1944 and later at Buchenwald. After the war and repatriation, Kertész soon ended his brief career as a journalist and turned to translation, specializing in German language works. He later emigrated to Berlin. Kertész was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 2002 for "writing that upholds the fragile experience of the individual against the barbaric arbitrariness of history".
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May 8, 2021
Han pasado ya unos cuantos días desde que terminé esta novela y todavía me estoy preguntando por qué no me gustó más, por qué no le he otorgado las cinco estrellas. Aunque la parte final de la novela, la estancia en el hospital, se me hizo algo pesada, pienso que la razón fundamental de ello es esa de la que ya hablé recientemente en otra reseña: el hartazgo que tengo sobre el tema del holocausto. Esta razón, que en aquella novela perdió peso en favor de otras más poderosas, parece superar aquí a los argumentos favorables que he encontrado, y no son pocos.
Uno de los grandes aciertos de la novela es el estilo. El tono ligero, frío y distante llama mucho la atención en una novela testimonio como es esta (aunque el autor siempre ha mantenido que se trata de ficción, el fondo tiene un claro carácter autobiográfico). Imposible saber cuáles serían nuestras sensaciones ante la primera parte del relato, previo al campo de concentración, si no supiéramos en todo momento cuál será su destino. La lectura está marcada por ese conocimiento que dota de una especial fuerza dramática, un dramatismo triste y cruel, toda esa ligereza a la que antes me refería. Un efecto paralelo al horror que se desprende de, según nos cuenta Gyürgy Küves, el adolescente que nos relata en primera persona su experiencia, la relativa educación y amabilidad con la que los alemanes dirigían a los judíos a los horrores que les estaban destinados. Unos horrores que se iban produciendo e intensificando paso a paso y que eran asimilados e integrados en la vida cotidiana de los judíos mientras intentaban permanentemente dotar de lógica y normalidad a todo aquello que les iba sucediendo con la esperanza, en contra de toda razón, de que cada cambio fuera para mejor o, en el peor de los casos, terminara pronto.
Esta es una de las grandes originalidades de la novela y la que da significado al título. Todo lo ocurrido no fue parte del destino que Dios tenía reservado al pueblo judío, como muchos de ellos pensaban. Ocurrió porque unos alemanes así lo quisieron y perpetraron y porque otros muchos, judíos y no judíos, permitieron o, al menos, no combatieron con la suficiente determinación. Es más, la admiración que en varias ocasiones siente el adolescente judío por el orden, la marcialidad, la educación de los nazis parece sugerir que los papeles podrían ser perfectamente intercambiables si otras hubieran sido las circunstancias.
Esto constituye una parte del sentimiento de culpa que, una vez terminado el conflicto, embargaba a muchos de los supervivientes y que incluso empujó a algunos de ellos al suicidio. Esa culpa por el “conformismo” con el que se enfrentaron a los horrores se une al hecho de haber sobrevivido. Como decía Primo Levi «Sobrevivían los peores, es decir, los más aptos; los mejores han muerto todos». El preso se convertía en una máquina de supervivencia que no respondía a ningún escrúpulo ético. Quizás esto explique otra de las cuestiones que llaman la atención en la novela: la nostalgia del campo que en ocasiones siente el protagonista tras su liberación y hasta el recuerdo de ciertos momentos felices. En aquellas circunstancias todo era más fácil: vivir o morir.
Uno de los grandes aciertos de la novela es el estilo. El tono ligero, frío y distante llama mucho la atención en una novela testimonio como es esta (aunque el autor siempre ha mantenido que se trata de ficción, el fondo tiene un claro carácter autobiográfico). Imposible saber cuáles serían nuestras sensaciones ante la primera parte del relato, previo al campo de concentración, si no supiéramos en todo momento cuál será su destino. La lectura está marcada por ese conocimiento que dota de una especial fuerza dramática, un dramatismo triste y cruel, toda esa ligereza a la que antes me refería. Un efecto paralelo al horror que se desprende de, según nos cuenta Gyürgy Küves, el adolescente que nos relata en primera persona su experiencia, la relativa educación y amabilidad con la que los alemanes dirigían a los judíos a los horrores que les estaban destinados. Unos horrores que se iban produciendo e intensificando paso a paso y que eran asimilados e integrados en la vida cotidiana de los judíos mientras intentaban permanentemente dotar de lógica y normalidad a todo aquello que les iba sucediendo con la esperanza, en contra de toda razón, de que cada cambio fuera para mejor o, en el peor de los casos, terminara pronto.
Esta es una de las grandes originalidades de la novela y la que da significado al título. Todo lo ocurrido no fue parte del destino que Dios tenía reservado al pueblo judío, como muchos de ellos pensaban. Ocurrió porque unos alemanes así lo quisieron y perpetraron y porque otros muchos, judíos y no judíos, permitieron o, al menos, no combatieron con la suficiente determinación. Es más, la admiración que en varias ocasiones siente el adolescente judío por el orden, la marcialidad, la educación de los nazis parece sugerir que los papeles podrían ser perfectamente intercambiables si otras hubieran sido las circunstancias.
Esto constituye una parte del sentimiento de culpa que, una vez terminado el conflicto, embargaba a muchos de los supervivientes y que incluso empujó a algunos de ellos al suicidio. Esa culpa por el “conformismo” con el que se enfrentaron a los horrores se une al hecho de haber sobrevivido. Como decía Primo Levi «Sobrevivían los peores, es decir, los más aptos; los mejores han muerto todos». El preso se convertía en una máquina de supervivencia que no respondía a ningún escrúpulo ético. Quizás esto explique otra de las cuestiones que llaman la atención en la novela: la nostalgia del campo que en ocasiones siente el protagonista tras su liberación y hasta el recuerdo de ciertos momentos felices. En aquellas circunstancias todo era más fácil: vivir o morir.
October 24, 2018
Fatelessness, the quasi-autobiographical novel and reworking of Kertesz's own experiences at Auschwitz and other camps during WW2 is narrated by Gyuri, an awkward, and I have to say not fully likeable 14-year-old Jewish boy from Budapest, who suffers from the usual teenage sensations of estrangement and diffidence, and is at a highly sensitive age to endure such tyranny and his response is to rationalise everything. His tone is formal, dispassionate, his story peppered with evasions and disclaimers such as 'naturally' and 'in all fairness'. Despite the gravity of its heavy subject, the narrative is punctuated with bursts of adolescent facetiousness, and is almost told as if he were still in total denial of what's going on around him. After his father is taken away, he would take his own train ride into a hellish world he doesn't yet realise.
Gyuri arrives at Auschwitz deluded that it will be a normal work camp and marvels at the emaciated criminals. Before noticing strange chimneys, and a smell in the air he can't quite make out. He describes his situation almost scientifically, and there is a marked lack of compassion to his thinking. There is even the argument he would have made a good Nazi. He sizes up fellow inmates with disgust and feels no affinity what so ever with other Hungarians, and even less so with other Jews. He simply does what is necessary to endure and survive. In places though it felt more like a holiday camp to him than one run by the Nazi regime, and apart from hunger pains, and the time he got some wounds infected whilst at Buchenwald, there was little else that made me feel the plight of his ordeal. Gyuri's tragedy is his failure to fully accept the meaninglessness of Nazi brutality. But then this could also be seen as his triumph. By focusing perversely, on the so called 'happiness' of the camps, rather than on the atrocities, he is somehow victorious in winning the battle of the mind, leaving him less traumatized when he finally returned home.
Considering this was Kertesz's debut novel, it was an accomplished piece of writing. However, and disappointingly for me, as a piece of Holocaust literature, it didn't hurt, and struggled to really get under my skin. I expected to pained by the horrors, haunted by the suffering, kicked where it hurts, have my blood chilled, make me feel something at least. But no, hardly anything . On a harrowing level compared to other books I have read on the same subject (including Tadeusz Borowski's 'This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen') it all came across as pretty tame. Maybe he witnessed such horrors but chose to exclude the worst bits from his novel. I would rather they would have been included. As there is nothing comfortable about Holocaust experiences, and yet I sat there, comfortable. Through the middle sections based at the camps I never truly got the sense that right around the corner mass exterminations were being carried out.
There is no denying this is a work worthy of merit, but it wasn't the book I was hoping for, as it never really hit me with any real significant power. But at least it's another unread Nobel laureate I can now tick of the list.
Gyuri arrives at Auschwitz deluded that it will be a normal work camp and marvels at the emaciated criminals. Before noticing strange chimneys, and a smell in the air he can't quite make out. He describes his situation almost scientifically, and there is a marked lack of compassion to his thinking. There is even the argument he would have made a good Nazi. He sizes up fellow inmates with disgust and feels no affinity what so ever with other Hungarians, and even less so with other Jews. He simply does what is necessary to endure and survive. In places though it felt more like a holiday camp to him than one run by the Nazi regime, and apart from hunger pains, and the time he got some wounds infected whilst at Buchenwald, there was little else that made me feel the plight of his ordeal. Gyuri's tragedy is his failure to fully accept the meaninglessness of Nazi brutality. But then this could also be seen as his triumph. By focusing perversely, on the so called 'happiness' of the camps, rather than on the atrocities, he is somehow victorious in winning the battle of the mind, leaving him less traumatized when he finally returned home.
Considering this was Kertesz's debut novel, it was an accomplished piece of writing. However, and disappointingly for me, as a piece of Holocaust literature, it didn't hurt, and struggled to really get under my skin. I expected to pained by the horrors, haunted by the suffering, kicked where it hurts, have my blood chilled, make me feel something at least. But no, hardly anything . On a harrowing level compared to other books I have read on the same subject (including Tadeusz Borowski's 'This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen') it all came across as pretty tame. Maybe he witnessed such horrors but chose to exclude the worst bits from his novel. I would rather they would have been included. As there is nothing comfortable about Holocaust experiences, and yet I sat there, comfortable. Through the middle sections based at the camps I never truly got the sense that right around the corner mass exterminations were being carried out.
There is no denying this is a work worthy of merit, but it wasn't the book I was hoping for, as it never really hit me with any real significant power. But at least it's another unread Nobel laureate I can now tick of the list.
March 22, 2018
حتى عندما جاءت الأخبار بانهاء الإعتقال والحريّة لم يشعر بها فقد كان بانتظار وجبة الحساء. وعندما جاء الخبر بأن هناك من يصنع الحساء شعر بالحرية.
اُسلوب هاديا ومقتنع بالواقع يعالج المؤلف ظروف اعتقاله في معسكرات النازية.
ويوضح كيف ان الانسان يمكن ان يتأقلم مع الواقع وتحت اَي ظرف وذلك بالتقدم خطوة خطوة والاهداف تتغير حسب طبيعة المرحلة.
في البداية كان الانتظار الى متى سيبقون بالغرفة. وبعد نقلهم بالقطار متى ستنتهي الرحلة. وبعد ذلك في اَي مكان سنرحل اليه. وحتى عندما كان يعمل متى سينتهي هذا العمل مع ان هناك اعمال اخرى.
فأهداف المعتقل تتغير من وقت الى اخر وحسب الواقع الذي يعيش فيه.
وعند نهاية الإعتقال لم يبالغ بما يحدث في المعسكرات ورفض ان يصفها بالجحيم فهو لم يرى الجحيم حتى يقارنه بها.
اُسلوب هاديء بدون اَي مبالغات في شهادته على فترة من اكثر الفترات مأساوية في تاريخ البشرية.
اُسلوب هاديا ومقتنع بالواقع يعالج المؤلف ظروف اعتقاله في معسكرات النازية.
ويوضح كيف ان الانسان يمكن ان يتأقلم مع الواقع وتحت اَي ظرف وذلك بالتقدم خطوة خطوة والاهداف تتغير حسب طبيعة المرحلة.
في البداية كان الانتظار الى متى سيبقون بالغرفة. وبعد نقلهم بالقطار متى ستنتهي الرحلة. وبعد ذلك في اَي مكان سنرحل اليه. وحتى عندما كان يعمل متى سينتهي هذا العمل مع ان هناك اعمال اخرى.
فأهداف المعتقل تتغير من وقت الى اخر وحسب الواقع الذي يعيش فيه.
وعند نهاية الإعتقال لم يبالغ بما يحدث في المعسكرات ورفض ان يصفها بالجحيم فهو لم يرى الجحيم حتى يقارنه بها.
اُسلوب هاديء بدون اَي مبالغات في شهادته على فترة من اكثر الفترات مأساوية في تاريخ البشرية.
July 6, 2012
Nobel prize-winner Imre Kertész survived stays in both the Auschwitz and Buchenwald concentration camps. While he was there, I have no doubt that he suffered a great deal—both physically and psychologically—so I was (understandably, I think) hesitant to dislike his semi-autobiographical Holocaust novel Fatelessness. It seems (at the very least) very inconsiderate of me to criticize his book for failing to 'entertain' me.
Entertainment is a strange, nebulous word. Are we entertained (in whatever sense) when we watch The Sorrow and the Pity? How about when we read Elie Wiesel's Night? I would argue that, yes, we are. Admittedly this is an entertainment only dimly related to that (alleged) enjoyment afforded by a rerun of The King of Queens, but it is a diversion that intends to please its audience. Now don't only think of pleasing as giving an audience what it asks for, but also think of it as giving an audience what it didn't even know it wanted to begin with.
When we think about the Holocaust, unless we are aberrant or sadistic, we are unlikely to be pleased by it, in and of itself, but when we read a text (in the postmodern sense of texts, including films and art, etc.) concerning the Holocaust, if it is well-done, we will be pleased by it. Why? Because it gives us insight into human experience (even of the horrific kind) or it helps us to understand our world in some small way (or, alternately, it helps us to experience what is incomprehensible about our world) or it offers a critique or diagnosis of the systems in our culture which enable things like Holocausts which may inform our future actions or behavior. And of course there are other possibilities of pleasures we might derive from unpleasant subjects—some certainly less honorable.
It isn't without an acute awareness of how it sounds that I claim that Imre Kertész's Fatelessness didn't please me. It sounds terrible, doesn't it? As if I asked for the monkey to dance for me and it failed to dance? But don't confuse these pleasures with the baser forms. Fatelessness is unsuccessful because it has nothing much to say, but it manages nevertheless to say it at great length. It's little more than a neutered story of a boy spending time in concentration camps. There's no insight; there's no emotional weight; there's no humanity—besides which, stylistically speaking, the Wilkinson translation of Kertész is a mess. The sentences are long, dissected by countless clauses, phrases, and parenthetical asides, and often pointless. They accumulate detail but not purpose. Perhaps this is a commentary on life—an existential grammar—but if so, how trite. Our suffering is long and meaningless. At only 260 pages, this book feels long and meaningless itself. An efficacious art.
Entertainment is a strange, nebulous word. Are we entertained (in whatever sense) when we watch The Sorrow and the Pity? How about when we read Elie Wiesel's Night? I would argue that, yes, we are. Admittedly this is an entertainment only dimly related to that (alleged) enjoyment afforded by a rerun of The King of Queens, but it is a diversion that intends to please its audience. Now don't only think of pleasing as giving an audience what it asks for, but also think of it as giving an audience what it didn't even know it wanted to begin with.
When we think about the Holocaust, unless we are aberrant or sadistic, we are unlikely to be pleased by it, in and of itself, but when we read a text (in the postmodern sense of texts, including films and art, etc.) concerning the Holocaust, if it is well-done, we will be pleased by it. Why? Because it gives us insight into human experience (even of the horrific kind) or it helps us to understand our world in some small way (or, alternately, it helps us to experience what is incomprehensible about our world) or it offers a critique or diagnosis of the systems in our culture which enable things like Holocausts which may inform our future actions or behavior. And of course there are other possibilities of pleasures we might derive from unpleasant subjects—some certainly less honorable.
It isn't without an acute awareness of how it sounds that I claim that Imre Kertész's Fatelessness didn't please me. It sounds terrible, doesn't it? As if I asked for the monkey to dance for me and it failed to dance? But don't confuse these pleasures with the baser forms. Fatelessness is unsuccessful because it has nothing much to say, but it manages nevertheless to say it at great length. It's little more than a neutered story of a boy spending time in concentration camps. There's no insight; there's no emotional weight; there's no humanity—besides which, stylistically speaking, the Wilkinson translation of Kertész is a mess. The sentences are long, dissected by countless clauses, phrases, and parenthetical asides, and often pointless. They accumulate detail but not purpose. Perhaps this is a commentary on life—an existential grammar—but if so, how trite. Our suffering is long and meaningless. At only 260 pages, this book feels long and meaningless itself. An efficacious art.
September 3, 2019
"Ναι, γι' αυτήν, για την ευτυχία των στρατοπέδων συγκέντρωσης, θα έπρεπε να σας μιλήσω την επόμενη φορά που θα με ρωτήσετε. Αν με ρωτήσετε βέβαια. Κι αν δεν το ξεχάσω και ο ίδιος."
Ένα αιρετικό μυθιστόρημα για τα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης του Β' Παγκοσμίου πολέμου.
Βαθύ, ιδιαίτερο, ανατρεπτικό, συγκλονιστικό, το μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο είναι ένα από τα σημαντικότερα βιβλία του περασμένου αιώνα.
Ένα αιρετικό μυθιστόρημα για τα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης του Β' Παγκοσμίου πολέμου.
Βαθύ, ιδιαίτερο, ανατρεπτικό, συγκλονιστικό, το μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο είναι ένα από τα σημαντικότερα βιβλία του περασμένου αιώνα.
April 24, 2017
Cynically, this could be recommended as a handbook for survival should you find yourself arrested one fine morning thanks to your offensive identity or favoriting a thousand #resist-related tweets in a single week. I don't think expert knowledge (eg, it's best to be toward the end of the soup line so the ladle is filled with weightier chunks of veggies and maybe some meat) will really come in handy any time soon, but this does have an important function now, the same as it always has, in that it shows how things can escalate step by step -- and all along the way human nature acclimates to whatever happens, gets used to/regulates whatever horror comes next, makes it so you become accustomed to seeing carts filled with body parts or even seeing three Latvian escapees caught and displayed as a lesson not to run, for example -- and all of it somehow doesn't blot out the ability of the sun as it sets to memorably illuminate the world, even when that bit of the world is Buchenwald. The image of the Auschwitz crematorium chimneys (at first they thought the nasty smell was coming from a nearby leather factory) stretching into the distance made me say aloud on the subway something like whoa dude fuck. For the first few chapters it functions like a suspense thriller in that the reader knows more about the horrors up ahead than the narrator, but after a while rumors start to circulate and they have a better idea about what's going on, not that such knowledge changes anything for them really. All the minor instances of luck and goodwill that kept the narrator alive. All the facial features distorted by time spent as a prisoner. ("Lager" means "camp" in German -- didn't know that and will remember it forever after and associate it with this book whenever I drink that style of beer.) Loved isn't the right word but I laughed out loud when he made it back to Budapest and someone asked what he felt and he said hatred and when asked who he hated he said everyone. Loved the last parts where he's trying to describe what it was really like, how it wasn't all horror all the time, or hell, as everyone wants him to say, but that it was boring everyday life, a twisted cousin of freedom in that he was living a fate imposed on him, as though he had no fate (hence the title), and now that he was actually free he felt homesick for when he had no choices to make. Note that this is about FATELESS, the original translation published by Northwestern University Press, not FATELESSNESS, the newer translation published by Vintage. I bought both and A/B'd them before choosing which one to read -- after the first paragraph it was clear that I preferred FATELESS. I just tried to read FATELESSNESS, thinking I'd read it again in a different translation but I couldn't make it very far -- the new translation seems maybe too loyal to the original Hungarian, too often it offers up awkward English phrases and switches tenses oddly. The first translation may have regulated the text a bit and, to me, it reads better, without a doubt. Anyway, this is the third Kertész novel I've read (Detective Story a few years ago by the translator of FATELESSNESS and Kaddish for a Child Not Born more recently by the couple who translated FATELESS) and this one is clearly the strongest and most significant of these three, although the other two are definitely worth it. If you're interested in giving this writer a try, this (his first novel) is probably the one to start with.
For interesting takes on Kertész-related translation issues, see this review by Joshua Cohen and scroll down about midway: http://forward.com/culture/13167/lang...
For interesting takes on Kertész-related translation issues, see this review by Joshua Cohen and scroll down about midway: http://forward.com/culture/13167/lang...
May 24, 2020
Με λιτότητα στα εκφραστικά μέσα και με μια διάθεση απο-ηρωισμού των πεπραγμένων ενός εφήβου, του Γκιόρκι Κέβες (μυθιστορηματικού, εν πολλοίς, alter ego του συγγραφέα) που εκτοπίστηκε βίαια και μεταφέρθηκε στα στρατόπεδα θανάτου του Άουσβιτς, του Μπούχενβαλντ και του Τσάιτς, ο Ίμρε Κέρτες μεταφέρει στον αναγνώστη του την γκρίζα καθημερινότητα της αιχμαλωσίας.
Πλάι στα κρεματόρια και τους θαλάμους αερίων και πέρα από τις φρικαλεότητες που συμβαίνουν εκεί, ο δεκαπεντάχρονος κρατούμενος έρχεται αντιμέτωπος με τις πρωτοφανέρωτες συνθήκες διαβίωσης ενός οποιουδήποτε στρατοπέδου συγκέντρωσης, όπου ο ύπνος είναι ελάχιστος και κακός, το φαγητό λιγοστό (συνήθως λίγο ψωμί και νερωμένη σούπα) και η εργασιά εξαντλητική.
Το μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο δεν είναι ένα ακόμη συγκλονιστικό βιβλίο για το Ολοκαύτωμα. Δεν θα απαντήσει κανείς στις σελίδες του λεπτομερείς αναφορές στις αδιανόητες ωμότητες που συνέβαιναν στα στρατόπεδα θανάτου, ούτε και περισσεύει το συναίσθημα στην αφήγηση. Είναι περισσότερο το ημερολόγιο φυλακής ενός ανθρώπου που, βιώνοντας τόσο νέος τον εκτοπισμό και την αιχμαλωσία, συνειδητοποίησε ότι δεν είχε πεπρωμένο• ότι έζησε κι επέζησε από κάτι που δεν ήταν γραφτό του. Κι ένας τέτοιος άνθρωπος, δίχως πεπρωμένο, είναι στ' αλήθεια ελεύθερος.
Πλάι στα κρεματόρια και τους θαλάμους αερίων και πέρα από τις φρικαλεότητες που συμβαίνουν εκεί, ο δεκαπεντάχρονος κρατούμενος έρχεται αντιμέτωπος με τις πρωτοφανέρωτες συνθήκες διαβίωσης ενός οποιουδήποτε στρατοπέδου συγκέντρωσης, όπου ο ύπνος είναι ελάχιστος και κακός, το φαγητό λιγοστό (συνήθως λίγο ψωμί και νερωμένη σούπα) και η εργασιά εξαντλητική.
Το μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο δεν είναι ένα ακόμη συγκλονιστικό βιβλίο για το Ολοκαύτωμα. Δεν θα απαντήσει κανείς στις σελίδες του λεπτομερείς αναφορές στις αδιανόητες ωμότητες που συνέβαιναν στα στρατόπεδα θανάτου, ούτε και περισσεύει το συναίσθημα στην αφήγηση. Είναι περισσότερο το ημερολόγιο φυλακής ενός ανθρώπου που, βιώνοντας τόσο νέος τον εκτοπισμό και την αιχμαλωσία, συνειδητοποίησε ότι δεν είχε πεπρωμένο• ότι έζησε κι επέζησε από κάτι που δεν ήταν γραφτό του. Κι ένας τέτοιος άνθρωπος, δίχως πεπρωμένο, είναι στ' αλήθεια ελεύθερος.
June 8, 2021
Το μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο είναι συγκλονιστικά ρηξικέλευθο και σοκαριστικό.
«Ήμουν αναστατωμένος σε έναν κόσμο που ήταν για πάντα ξένος για μένα, έναν κόσμο που έπρεπε να ξαναβγαίνω κάθε μέρα χωρίς ελπίδα ανακούφισης. Αυτό ίσχυε για την Σταλινική Ουγγαρία, αλλά ακόμη περισσότερο υπό τον Εθνικό Σοσιαλισμό », δηλώνει ο ίδιος ο συγγραφέας.
Γεννημένος το 1929 στη Βουδαπέστη, ο Kertesz απελάθηκε στο Άουσβιτς το 1944 για σύντομο χρονικό διάστημα και στη συνέχεια μεταφέρθηκε στο Buchenwald. Τα έργα του ασχολούνται με το Ολοκαύτωμα, αλλά δεν μιλούν αυστηρά αυτοβιογραφικά.
•Το μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο, φαίνεται να μοιάζει με τις εμπειρίες του Kertesz σε στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης των Ναζί, αλλά ο συγγραφέας επικεντρώνεται στις ιστορικές-φιλοσοφικές διαστάσεις του θέματος.
Ο Kertesz θεωρεί την περιγραφή του για το Ολοκαύτωμα στο βιβλίο αυτό, ως ρήξη πολιτισμού που πρέπει να εξετάσει και να λάβει σοβαρά υπόψη ολόκληρος ο κόσμος παρά μια εξιστόρηση των δικών του δοκιμαστικών εμπειριών κατά την εφηβεία.•
Και λέει - Φυσικά.
Και λέει- ασφαλώς.
Και λέει - σίγουρα ναι ή μάλλον όχι για όσα έζησε, για όσα πέθανε, για όσα ��ναστήθηκε, για όσα αρνήθηκε εκ πεποιθήσεως να θεωρήσει φρικαλεότητες και εγκλήματα κατά της ανθρωπότητας -που ήταν πάντα με την ταμπέλα της ετυμηγορίας του αθώου κατηγορουμένου για την πορεία της μοιραίας εξέλιξης της ράτσας μας, που κρύβεται πίσω απο το πεπρωμένο, το γραφτό, το αναπόφευκτο,το κατηγορητήριο πάντα κατά των άλλων, ποτέ κατά του Είναι μας και της ελεύθερης βούλησης που επιφέρει ευθύνες και χρονική μοιρολατρία υπέρ της συλλογικής εκστρατείας του
« υπομένω» διότι έτσι ήρθε η ζωή, διότι έτσι δοκιμάζονται οι πιστοί όταν περνούν απο το καθαρτήριο της κόλασης, διότι δεν θα καταλάβουν σε κανένα πραγματικό ή φανταστικό χρονινό προσδιορισμό ή τοπικό χωροχρόνο ότι δεν αναζητούν τον παράδεισο με τις πράξεις, τα έργα, τα λόγια και τα θεωρήματα που οδηγούν τη ζωή τους, απλώς είναι κλειδωμένοι μέσα σε αυτόν.
Και ναι, είναι πολύ δύσκολο και εξόχως ακαδημαϊκό, εγκυκλοπαιδικό και βαθιά φιλοσοφικό για τη μέση νοητική δραστηριότητα - που αποτελεί και την πλειονότητα του πληθυσμού στον πλανήτη- να εμπεδώσει την αλήθεια της πραγματικότητας, χωρίς θρησκευτικές παραμυθίες και κοινωνικές νόρμες μαζικής εκμετάλλευσης.
Παρά το ευρύ κοινωνικο-πολιτικό χαρακτηριστικό και υπαρξιακό χρονικό βηματισμό των θεμάτων του, η μυθοπλασία του Kertesz, ιδιαίτερα στο μυθιστόρημα τούτο διαβάζεται σαν μια οικεία ψυχολογική αφήγηση μιας ανησυχητικής και οδυνηρής εμπειρίας ενός εφήβου παιδιού - άντρα αναγκασμένου απο την ελευθερία του άμοιρου να ξεριζωθεί από την οικογένεια, τους συμμαθητές και τους φίλους του για να ωθήσει τον εξωκοσμικό τρόμο και την βάναυση προσπάθεια επιβίωσης ασυναίσθητα και απολυτρωτικά μέσα στα κρεματόρια των ναζιστικών στρατοπέδων συγκέντρωσης.
Έμαθε να μιλάει τη γλώσσα των νεκρών με καταπληκτική ευφράδεια, έμαθε να πεθαίνει για λίγο, να ζει χωρίς να υπάρχει, να πονάει χωρίς δάκρυα, να πεινάει με απόγνωση και επιμονή, να διψάει πάντα σαν την συνήθεια της αναπνοής, να νοσεί απο οδυνηρές ασθένειες θανατηφόρες και βασανιστικές και ταυτόχρονα να απέχει απο όλα αυτά με μια έμπειρη, εξωφρενική, καταστροφική και αριστουργηματική μαρτυρία ειλικρίνειας του ανθρώπινου πνεύματος. Του υπαρξιακού διαφωτισμού και της ενδόμυχης αναγέννησης.
Υπάρχουν άπειρα βιβλία σχετικά με το ολοκαύτωμα και τις εγκληματικά σοκαριστικές αφηγήσεις των κρατουμένων στα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης. Όλα φυσικά αναφέρονται σε ενήλικες κρατούμενους, ο άνθρωπος δίχως πεπρωμένο είναι παιδί.
Ένα παιδάκι που μην έχοντας καμία ελευθερία στην ως τότε ζωή του και στην οικογενειακή κοσμοθεωρία του, αναγκάζεται να τα αντέξει όλα. Και το κάνει με μεγάλη επιτυχία, όσο οξύμωρο κι αν ακούγεται αυτό για τις συγκεκριμένες δολοφονικά απελπισμένες συνθήκες διαβίωσης, επιβίωσης, αντοχής και ψυχικού σθένους πολύ ισχυρού, μιας και η μνήμη δεν θα τα αφήσει ποτέ αυτά τα πλάσματα, να ξεχάσουν ή να ξαναγεννηθούν χωρίς τα αναμνηστικά του πολέμου.
Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς και σεμνούς ασπασμούς.
«Ήμουν αναστατωμένος σε έναν κόσμο που ήταν για πάντα ξένος για μένα, έναν κόσμο που έπρεπε να ξαναβγαίνω κάθε μέρα χωρίς ελπίδα ανακούφισης. Αυτό ίσχυε για την Σταλινική Ουγγαρία, αλλά ακόμη περισσότερο υπό τον Εθνικό Σοσιαλισμό », δηλώνει ο ίδιος ο συγγραφέας.
Γεννημένος το 1929 στη Βουδαπέστη, ο Kertesz απελάθηκε στο Άουσβιτς το 1944 για σύντομο χρονικό διάστημα και στη συνέχεια μεταφέρθηκε στο Buchenwald. Τα έργα του ασχολούνται με το Ολοκαύτωμα, αλλά δεν μιλούν αυστηρά αυτοβιογραφικά.
•Το μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο, φαίνεται να μοιάζει με τις εμπειρίες του Kertesz σε στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης των Ναζί, αλλά ο συγγραφέας επικεντρώνεται στις ιστορικές-φιλοσοφικές διαστάσεις του θέματος.
Ο Kertesz θεωρεί την περιγραφή του για το Ολοκαύτωμα στο βιβλίο αυτό, ως ρήξη πολιτισμού που πρέπει να εξετάσει και να λάβει σοβαρά υπόψη ολόκληρος ο κόσμος παρά μια εξιστόρηση των δικών του δοκιμαστικών εμπειριών κατά την εφηβεία.•
Και λέει - Φυσικά.
Και λέει- ασφαλώς.
Και λέει - σίγουρα ναι ή μάλλον όχι για όσα έζησε, για όσα πέθανε, για όσα ��ναστήθηκε, για όσα αρνήθηκε εκ πεποιθήσεως να θεωρήσει φρικαλεότητες και εγκλήματα κατά της ανθρωπότητας -που ήταν πάντα με την ταμπέλα της ετυμηγορίας του αθώου κατηγορουμένου για την πορεία της μοιραίας εξέλιξης της ράτσας μας, που κρύβεται πίσω απο το πεπρωμένο, το γραφτό, το αναπόφευκτο,το κατηγορητήριο πάντα κατά των άλλων, ποτέ κατά του Είναι μας και της ελεύθερης βούλησης που επιφέρει ευθύνες και χρονική μοιρολατρία υπέρ της συλλογικής εκστρατείας του
« υπομένω» διότι έτσι ήρθε η ζωή, διότι έτσι δοκιμάζονται οι πιστοί όταν περνούν απο το καθαρτήριο της κόλασης, διότι δεν θα καταλάβουν σε κανένα πραγματικό ή φανταστικό χρονινό προσδιορισμό ή τοπικό χωροχρόνο ότι δεν αναζητούν τον παράδεισο με τις πράξεις, τα έργα, τα λόγια και τα θεωρήματα που οδηγούν τη ζωή τους, απλώς είναι κλειδωμένοι μέσα σε αυτόν.
Και ναι, είναι πολύ δύσκολο και εξόχως ακαδημαϊκό, εγκυκλοπαιδικό και βαθιά φιλοσοφικό για τη μέση νοητική δραστηριότητα - που αποτελεί και την πλειονότητα του πληθυσμού στον πλανήτη- να εμπεδώσει την αλήθεια της πραγματικότητας, χωρίς θρησκευτικές παραμυθίες και κοινωνικές νόρμες μαζικής εκμετάλλευσης.
Παρά το ευρύ κοινωνικο-πολιτικό χαρακτηριστικό και υπαρξιακό χρονικό βηματισμό των θεμάτων του, η μυθοπλασία του Kertesz, ιδιαίτερα στο μυθιστόρημα τούτο διαβάζεται σαν μια οικεία ψυχολογική αφήγηση μιας ανησυχητικής και οδυνηρής εμπειρίας ενός εφήβου παιδιού - άντρα αναγκασμένου απο την ελευθερία του άμοιρου να ξεριζωθεί από την οικογένεια, τους συμμαθητές και τους φίλους του για να ωθήσει τον εξωκοσμικό τρόμο και την βάναυση προσπάθεια επιβίωσης ασυναίσθητα και απολυτρωτικά μέσα στα κρεματόρια των ναζιστικών στρατοπέδων συγκέντρωσης.
Έμαθε να μιλάει τη γλώσσα των νεκρών με καταπληκτική ευφράδεια, έμαθε να πεθαίνει για λίγο, να ζει χωρίς να υπάρχει, να πονάει χωρίς δάκρυα, να πεινάει με απόγνωση και επιμονή, να διψάει πάντα σαν την συνήθεια της αναπνοής, να νοσεί απο οδυνηρές ασθένειες θανατηφόρες και βασανιστικές και ταυτόχρονα να απέχει απο όλα αυτά με μια έμπειρη, εξωφρενική, καταστροφική και αριστουργηματική μαρτυρία ειλικρίνειας του ανθρώπινου πνεύματος. Του υπαρξιακού διαφωτισμού και της ενδόμυχης αναγέννησης.
Υπάρχουν άπειρα βιβλία σχετικά με το ολοκαύτωμα και τις εγκληματικά σοκαριστικές αφηγήσεις των κρατουμένων στα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης. Όλα φυσικά αναφέρονται σε ενήλικες κρατούμενους, ο άνθρωπος δίχως πεπρωμένο είναι παιδί.
Ένα παιδάκι που μην έχοντας καμία ελευθερία στην ως τότε ζωή του και στην οικογενειακή κοσμοθεωρία του, αναγκάζεται να τα αντέξει όλα. Και το κάνει με μεγάλη επιτυχία, όσο οξύμωρο κι αν ακούγεται αυτό για τις συγκεκριμένες δολοφονικά απελπισμένες συνθήκες διαβίωσης, επιβίωσης, αντοχής και ψυχικού σθένους πολύ ισχυρού, μιας και η μνήμη δεν θα τα αφήσει ποτέ αυτά τα πλάσματα, να ξεχάσουν ή να ξαναγεννηθούν χωρίς τα αναμνηστικά του πολέμου.
Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς και σεμνούς ασπασμούς.
November 18, 2016
(4,5*) Ο λόγος του Imre Kertesz είναι πολύ ιδιαίτερος, έχει μία μοναδική προσωπική γραφή που δίνει ένα περίεργα οικείο τόνο στην αφήγηση. Έχει ακόμη ένα εξαιρετικά μη-προβλέψιμο τρόπο να αντικρίζει τα γεγονότα...κάτι που σε αφοπλίζει από τις πρώτες ακόμη σελίδες...μπορεί να σε παραξενέψει, να σε προβληματίσει...ακόμη και να σε εκνευρίσει...αλλά τελικά, τι λόγο έχουμε εμείς μπροστά σε αυτές τις βιωμένες εμπειρίες;
"αυτά όμως δεν ήταν παρά η δική μου εντύπωση και κατά βάθος, έτσι τουλάχιστον το φανταζόμουν, τα πράγματα δεν μπορεί να είχαν γίνει διαφορετικά." (σελ.89)
Η αφήγηση κυλάει ομαλά, κυρίως ως προς την ψυχοσύνθεση του πρωταγωνιστή-αφηγητή. Ξεκινώντας από την αθώα αντίληψη και αντιμετώπιση του έφηβου Ούγγρου, στην σταδιακή συνειδητοποίηση της κατάστασης και την προσαρμογή σε αυτή με μία σχετική προθυμία. Ο νεαρός αφηγητής έχει έναν μοναδικό τρόπο να κατανοεί και να μεταφράζει τις καταστάσεις και τα γεγονότα, έναν τρόπο που σε βάζει σε σκέψεις.
"Η ανία μαζί μ'αυτήν την παράξενη προσμονή: αυτό, αυτή περίπου η εντύπωση, νομίζω, ναι, ότι ήταν το Άουσβιτς - τουλάχιστον στα δικά μου μάτια." (σελ.96)
Φαίνεται σαν ο αφηγητής να άργησε πολύ να καταλάβει την αιχμαλωσία του, γεγονός που βοήθησε την πνευματική και σωματική επιβίωσή του. Την μελέτησε όμως σε όλες τις τις εκφάνσεις, τη βίωσε, την περιεργάστηκε και τελικά την ερμήνευσε μέσα από τη δική του ιδιοσυγκρασία.
"Το είχα ακούσει και τώρα μπορούσα να το επιβεβαιώσω και ο ίδιος: πραγματικά, ούτε καν τα στενά τείχη της αιχμαλωσίας μπορούν να εμποδίσουν τη φαντασία μας να φτερουγίζει" (σελ.126)
Προσωπικά, θεωρώ αριστούργημα το τελευταίο κεφάλαιο και κυρίως τις αυθόρμητα διατυπωμένες απόψεις του ελεύθερου πια νεαρού. Εκεί συνοψίζεται ίσως και το περιεχόμενο όλο των διαδραματιζόμενων σκηνών. Σκέψεις που διαβάζεις, προβληματίζεσαι αλλά όσο και να προσπαθήσεις δεν μπορείς να συμπονέσεις, να συναισθανθείς και ούτε πραγματικά να καταλάβεις. Ό,τι και να έχουμε δει ή ακούσει για την σκοτεινή αυτή στιγμή της ιστορίας είναι μικρό μπροστά στις απλές διατυπώσεις ενός ανθρώπου που τη βίωσε.
"όταν υπάρχει μοίρα, τότε η ελευθερία είναι αδύνατη: όταν όμως υπάρχει ελευθερία, θα πει ότι η μοίρα είμαστε εμείς οι ίδιοι..." (σελ.206-207)
Παρά τη μακρολογία, το συμπέρασμα είναι ότι αποτελεί ένα βιβλίο που αξίζει να διαβαστεί από τον καθένα. Παρά τον τεράστιο όγκο λογοτεχνικού και κινηματογραφικού υλικού πάνω στο θέμα, έχει κάτι καινούργιο να δώσει, προσφέροντας μια διαφορετική οπτική γωνία!
"αυτά όμως δεν ήταν παρά η δική μου εντύπωση και κατά βάθος, έτσι τουλάχιστον το φανταζόμουν, τα πράγματα δεν μπορεί να είχαν γίνει διαφορετικά." (σελ.89)
Η αφήγηση κυλάει ομαλά, κυρίως ως προς την ψυχοσύνθεση του πρωταγωνιστή-αφηγητή. Ξεκινώντας από την αθώα αντίληψη και αντιμετώπιση του έφηβου Ούγγρου, στην σταδιακή συνειδητοποίηση της κατάστασης και την προσαρμογή σε αυτή με μία σχετική προθυμία. Ο νεαρός αφηγητής έχει έναν μοναδικό τρόπο να κατανοεί και να μεταφράζει τις καταστάσεις και τα γεγονότα, έναν τρόπο που σε βάζει σε σκέψεις.
"Η ανία μαζί μ'αυτήν την παράξενη προσμονή: αυτό, αυτή περίπου η εντύπωση, νομίζω, ναι, ότι ήταν το Άουσβιτς - τουλάχιστον στα δικά μου μάτια." (σελ.96)
Φαίνεται σαν ο αφηγητής να άργησε πολύ να καταλάβει την αιχμαλωσία του, γεγονός που βοήθησε την πνευματική και σωματική επιβίωσή του. Την μελέτησε όμως σε όλες τις τις εκφάνσεις, τη βίωσε, την περιεργάστηκε και τελικά την ερμήνευσε μέσα από τη δική του ιδιοσυγκρασία.
"Το είχα ακούσει και τώρα μπορούσα να το επιβεβαιώσω και ο ίδιος: πραγματικά, ούτε καν τα στενά τείχη της αιχμαλωσίας μπορούν να εμποδίσουν τη φαντασία μας να φτερουγίζει" (σελ.126)
Προσωπικά, θεωρώ αριστούργημα το τελευταίο κεφάλαιο και κυρίως τις αυθόρμητα διατυπωμένες απόψεις του ελεύθερου πια νεαρού. Εκεί συνοψίζεται ίσως και το περιεχόμενο όλο των διαδραματιζόμενων σκηνών. Σκέψεις που διαβάζεις, προβληματίζεσαι αλλά όσο και να προσπαθήσεις δεν μπορείς να συμπονέσεις, να συναισθανθείς και ούτε πραγματικά να καταλάβεις. Ό,τι και να έχουμε δει ή ακούσει για την σκοτεινή αυτή στιγμή της ιστορίας είναι μικρό μπροστά στις απλές διατυπώσεις ενός ανθρώπου που τη βίωσε.
"όταν υπάρχει μοίρα, τότε η ελευθερία είναι αδύνατη: όταν όμως υπάρχει ελευθερία, θα πει ότι η μοίρα είμαστε εμείς οι ίδιοι..." (σελ.206-207)
Παρά τη μακρολογία, το συμπέρασμα είναι ότι αποτελεί ένα βιβλίο που αξίζει να διαβαστεί από τον καθένα. Παρά τον τεράστιο όγκο λογοτεχνικού και κινηματογραφικού υλικού πάνω στο θέμα, έχει κάτι καινούργιο να δώσει, προσφέροντας μια διαφορετική οπτική γωνία!
August 31, 2020
"Ήταν κρίμα, γιατί αυτή η στιγμή, αυτή η ευωδιά προκάλεσαν στο κατά τ' άλλα απαθές στήθος μου ένα συναίσθημα που, έτσι καθώς με πλημμύριζε κατά κύματα, ανάγκασε τα κατάστεγνα μάτια μου να σταξουν μερικές ζεστές σταγόνες πάνω στην παγωμένη μύτη μου. Και όσο και να προσπαθούσα να ζυγισω τα πράγματα, όση λογική, όση σύνεση, όση νηφαλιότητα κι αν προσπαθούσα να επιδείξω, δεν βοηθούσε σε τίποτα - δεν ήταν δυνατόν να κλείσω τ' αφτιά μου σ' εκείνη τη μυστική φωνή, σ' εκείνη τη φωνή που κατά κάποιον τρόπο ντρεπόταν κι η ίδια για τον παραλογισμό της κι ωστόσο γινόταν όλο και πιο επίμονη, σ' εκείνη τη φωνή μιας αμυδρής λαχτάρας: θα ήθελα να ζήσω λίγο ακόμα σε τούτο το ωραίο στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης."
Αυτό είναι ένα (ακόμα) βιβλίο για το Ολοκαύτωμα και τα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης, ένα θέμα που όσο κι αν χρησιμοποιείται στη λογοτεχνία φαίνεται ότι δεν μπορεί να κορεστεί, ίσως γιατί δεν το έχουμε ακόμα ξορκίσει. Ίσως ποτέ να μην το ξορκίσουμε, είναι πιθανόν ότι το φάσμα του θα αιωρείται για πολύ καιρό ακόμα από πάνω μας, ότι θα το βρίσκουμε συνέχεια μπροστά μας σα σκοτεινή κηλίδα στο χαλί - όσο κι αν την τρίβουμε, το χαλί έχει ποτίσει και η κηλίδα δε φεύγει.
Ο Κέρτες διηγείται την ιστορία ενός Ούγγρου Εβραίου εφήβου που συλλαμβάνεται και οδηγείται σε στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης και όλα τα στάδια από τα οποία περνάει τον καιρό της αιχμαλωσίας του: την περιέργεια, την πείνα, την εξάντληση, το θυμό, την παραίτηση, την απάθεια. Ακολουθούμε την πορεία του από το Άουσβιτς στο Μπουχενβαλ και τις αλλαγές που προκαλεί ο εγκλεισμός του στο σώμα και την ψυχοσύνθεσή του.
Το βιβλίο είναι αρκετά σύντομο και η ιστορία του απλή - είναι ένα ωραίο βιβλίο όχι γιατί λέει μια ιστορία πολύ διαφορετική από άλλες με το ίδιο θέμα, αλλά - κατά τη γνώμη μου - λόγω του αφηγηματικού στιλ του συγγραφέα, το οποίο βρήκα τουλάχιστον ενδιαφέρον. Αν και δεν έχω διαβάσει άλλα έργα του Ίμρε Κέρτες, σκοπεύω να τα αναζητήσω και σε κάθε περίπτωση νομίζω ότι αυτό δεν ήταν ένα χαμένο Νόμπελ (όπως κάτι άλλα).
Το χαρακτηριστικό στο οποίο αναφέρομαι είναι ότι παρά το θέμα του, το οποίο πάντα φέρει έντονο συναισθηματικό φορτίο, η αφήγηση έχει μια αποστασιοποίηση, ο ήρωας παρατηρεί περισσότερο και βιώνει λιγότερο (βαθμιαία αυτό αλλάζει, αλλά δεν χάνεται ποτέ τελείως η ψυχρή προσέγγιση που φαίνεται να έχει ο ήρωας προς όλα όσα του συμβαίνουν). Αυτό το στοιχείο σε συνδυασμό με την πρωτοπροσωπη αφήγηση (που αντιδιαστελλει την αποστασιοποίηση με την βιωματικοτητα και το προσωπικό στοιχείο) κάνει ένα πολύ ωραίο κοκτέιλ αφήγησης και προκαλεί τη συγκίνηση του αναγνώστη (στο βαθμό που αυτό συμβαίνει) φυσικά, χωρίς συναισθηματικούς εκβιασμούς και πολλές φανφάρες. Ωραίο βιβλίο, πράγματι.
Αυτό είναι ένα (ακόμα) βιβλίο για το Ολοκαύτωμα και τα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης, ένα θέμα που όσο κι αν χρησιμοποιείται στη λογοτεχνία φαίνεται ότι δεν μπορεί να κορεστεί, ίσως γιατί δεν το έχουμε ακόμα ξορκίσει. Ίσως ποτέ να μην το ξορκίσουμε, είναι πιθανόν ότι το φάσμα του θα αιωρείται για πολύ καιρό ακόμα από πάνω μας, ότι θα το βρίσκουμε συνέχεια μπροστά μας σα σκοτεινή κηλίδα στο χαλί - όσο κι αν την τρίβουμε, το χαλί έχει ποτίσει και η κηλίδα δε φεύγει.
Ο Κέρτες διηγείται την ιστορία ενός Ούγγρου Εβραίου εφήβου που συλλαμβάνεται και οδηγείται σε στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης και όλα τα στάδια από τα οποία περνάει τον καιρό της αιχμαλωσίας του: την περιέργεια, την πείνα, την εξάντληση, το θυμό, την παραίτηση, την απάθεια. Ακολουθούμε την πορεία του από το Άουσβιτς στο Μπουχενβαλ και τις αλλαγές που προκαλεί ο εγκλεισμός του στο σώμα και την ψυχοσύνθεσή του.
Το βιβλίο είναι αρκετά σύντομο και η ιστορία του απλή - είναι ένα ωραίο βιβλίο όχι γιατί λέει μια ιστορία πολύ διαφορετική από άλλες με το ίδιο θέμα, αλλά - κατά τη γνώμη μου - λόγω του αφηγηματικού στιλ του συγγραφέα, το οποίο βρήκα τουλάχιστον ενδιαφέρον. Αν και δεν έχω διαβάσει άλλα έργα του Ίμρε Κέρτες, σκοπεύω να τα αναζητήσω και σε κάθε περίπτωση νομίζω ότι αυτό δεν ήταν ένα χαμένο Νόμπελ (όπως κάτι άλλα).
Το χαρακτηριστικό στο οποίο αναφέρομαι είναι ότι παρά το θέμα του, το οποίο πάντα φέρει έντονο συναισθηματικό φορτίο, η αφήγηση έχει μια αποστασιοποίηση, ο ήρωας παρατηρεί περισσότερο και βιώνει λιγότερο (βαθμιαία αυτό αλλάζει, αλλά δεν χάνεται ποτέ τελείως η ψυχρή προσέγγιση που φαίνεται να έχει ο ήρωας προς όλα όσα του συμβαίνουν). Αυτό το στοιχείο σε συνδυασμό με την πρωτοπροσωπη αφήγηση (που αντιδιαστελλει την αποστασιοποίηση με την βιωματικοτητα και το προσωπικό στοιχείο) κάνει ένα πολύ ωραίο κοκτέιλ αφήγησης και προκαλεί τη συγκίνηση του αναγνώστη (στο βαθμό που αυτό συμβαίνει) φυσικά, χωρίς συναισθηματικούς εκβιασμούς και πολλές φανφάρες. Ωραίο βιβλίο, πράγματι.
January 29, 2021
Grazie, piccolo Gyurka di quindici anni di non aver disimparato a sognare anche quando hanno portato via il tuo papà da Budapest per portarlo ad un campo di lavoro dal quale non farà ritorno.
Di aver sognato anche quando i nazisti ti hanno mentito, anche quando ti sei accorto che dietro quella bella stazioncina piena di fiori che recava la scritta "Auschwitz" c'era un camino il cui fumo puzzava di carne arrosto. Umana.
Grazie, piccolo Gyurka sedicenne che a Buchenwald pesavi trenta chili, di aver capito che c'era un modo di uscire che nessuna sentinella avrebbe potuto fermare: il sogno. Grazie di esserti rifiutato di "organizzare" la sopravvivenza a spese del vicino, di non aver ridotto i rapporti umani a reazioni chimiche, di esserti ostinato a considerare il futuro come qualcosa di libero e non fatale anche quando eri ridotto a Musselmann. Grazie di avere scelto di consegnare al ricordo non la bestialità delle SS ma l'affannoso sforzo dei medici di strapparvi al camino, il quotidiano rischio mortale degli infermieri per portarvi qualcosa da mangiare, ma soprattutto quella carezza e quella parola di conforto (detta a rischio della vita) in una lingua incomprensibile, ma che era il nutrimento dell'anima che vi serviva per sfuggire alla rassegnazione.
Grazie giovane uomo tornato in Ungheria di esserti rifiutato di dimenticare, di aver accusato persino gli ebrei come te (che non parli una parola di yiddisch)delle loro colpe. Non si può dimenticare l'Olocausto, così ci insegni, perchè non è stato il frutto del destino: L'essere è senza destino sempre ed è il risultato di miliardi di piccole scelte di adeguarsi , di evitare lo scontro, di fare un altro piccolo passo verso l'abiezione. Non si possono dimenticare quelle scelte perchè esse segnano il tempo della nostra vita e sono quelle scelte che contengono in sè il senso di quello che è accaduto.
Grazie giovane settantenne Gyurka di aver tenuto dentro di te il tuo meraviglioso segreto per tanti anni e quando sorridente col tuo premio Nobel avrai a disposizione il tuo palcoscenico sul mondo ce lo ricorderai: non esiste nessun destino cui rassegnarsi, l'inevitabile è il perverso frutto della pigrizia e della mancanza di coraggio. Perchè l'essere di ogni uomo è in sè libero e senza destino, e l'unica cosa davvero inevitabile, per la quale si può guardare al futuro con sicurezza, e che ci verrà incontro persino nell'abisso, persino in Lager, è la felicità.
Un giorno incontrerai un piccolo vecchio ebreo italiano, giovane Gyurka, che si chiama Primo Levi. Non ha avuto la tua fortuna, è entrato in Lager già adulto e disincantato, per di più laureato in chimica: è sopravvissuto riducendo l'essere umano a elemento chimico, ed i rapporti umani a reazioni chimiche. E' arrivato in fondo Gyurka, ma quello che ha trovato non è stata la pace, ma solo una tregua: mi piace pensare che quando lo incontrerai gli darai una pacca sulla spalla e gli spiegherai che anche per lui come per ogni uomo, il finale, inevitabile destino dell'essere sarà solo la felicità.
Di aver sognato anche quando i nazisti ti hanno mentito, anche quando ti sei accorto che dietro quella bella stazioncina piena di fiori che recava la scritta "Auschwitz" c'era un camino il cui fumo puzzava di carne arrosto. Umana.
Grazie, piccolo Gyurka sedicenne che a Buchenwald pesavi trenta chili, di aver capito che c'era un modo di uscire che nessuna sentinella avrebbe potuto fermare: il sogno. Grazie di esserti rifiutato di "organizzare" la sopravvivenza a spese del vicino, di non aver ridotto i rapporti umani a reazioni chimiche, di esserti ostinato a considerare il futuro come qualcosa di libero e non fatale anche quando eri ridotto a Musselmann. Grazie di avere scelto di consegnare al ricordo non la bestialità delle SS ma l'affannoso sforzo dei medici di strapparvi al camino, il quotidiano rischio mortale degli infermieri per portarvi qualcosa da mangiare, ma soprattutto quella carezza e quella parola di conforto (detta a rischio della vita) in una lingua incomprensibile, ma che era il nutrimento dell'anima che vi serviva per sfuggire alla rassegnazione.
Grazie giovane uomo tornato in Ungheria di esserti rifiutato di dimenticare, di aver accusato persino gli ebrei come te (che non parli una parola di yiddisch)delle loro colpe. Non si può dimenticare l'Olocausto, così ci insegni, perchè non è stato il frutto del destino: L'essere è senza destino sempre ed è il risultato di miliardi di piccole scelte di adeguarsi , di evitare lo scontro, di fare un altro piccolo passo verso l'abiezione. Non si possono dimenticare quelle scelte perchè esse segnano il tempo della nostra vita e sono quelle scelte che contengono in sè il senso di quello che è accaduto.
Grazie giovane settantenne Gyurka di aver tenuto dentro di te il tuo meraviglioso segreto per tanti anni e quando sorridente col tuo premio Nobel avrai a disposizione il tuo palcoscenico sul mondo ce lo ricorderai: non esiste nessun destino cui rassegnarsi, l'inevitabile è il perverso frutto della pigrizia e della mancanza di coraggio. Perchè l'essere di ogni uomo è in sè libero e senza destino, e l'unica cosa davvero inevitabile, per la quale si può guardare al futuro con sicurezza, e che ci verrà incontro persino nell'abisso, persino in Lager, è la felicità.
Un giorno incontrerai un piccolo vecchio ebreo italiano, giovane Gyurka, che si chiama Primo Levi. Non ha avuto la tua fortuna, è entrato in Lager già adulto e disincantato, per di più laureato in chimica: è sopravvissuto riducendo l'essere umano a elemento chimico, ed i rapporti umani a reazioni chimiche. E' arrivato in fondo Gyurka, ma quello che ha trovato non è stata la pace, ma solo una tregua: mi piace pensare che quando lo incontrerai gli darai una pacca sulla spalla e gli spiegherai che anche per lui come per ogni uomo, il finale, inevitabile destino dell'essere sarà solo la felicità.
April 22, 2016
RIP Imre Kertész (1929 - 2016)
Imre Kertész (1929 - 2016) - em Auschwitz (com apenas quinze anos de idade) e na actualidade
Imre Kertész é um escritor húngaro, nascido a 9 de Novembro de 1929, em Budapeste, de religião judaica, sobrevivente ao holocausto nazi durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial, deportado com 14 anos de idade, juntamente com milhares de judeus húngaros, para o campo de concentração de Auschwitz e mais tarde transferido para Buchenwald.
Em 2002 Imre Kertész é galardoado com o Prémio Nobel da Literatura ”por uma obra que fala da experiência frágil do indivíduo contra a arbitrariedade bárbara da história”.
”Sem Destino”, o primeiro romance de Imre Kertész (n. 1929), foi publicado em 1975, é a sua obra mais conhecida e emblemática, que descreve a experiência de um rapaz húngaro de quinze anos, Köves György, nos campos de concentração de Auschwitz, Buchenwald e Zeitz; um livro interpretado por alguns críticos literários como “quase-autobiográfico”, facto que o escritor desmente.
O narrador de ”Sem Destino” é o jovem Köves György, com catorze anos de idade, filho de uma família judaica, de pais separados, e que vive com o seu pai e a sua madrasta em Budapeste, na Hungria, que nos relata o seguinte:”Hoje, não fui à escola. Isto é, fui, mas só para pedir ao director de turma que me deixasse voltar para casa. Entreguei-lhe a carta do meu pai, na qual solicitava a minha dispensa, alegando “razões familiares”. Perguntou que razões familiares eram essas. Disse-lhe que o meu pai tinha sido convocado para um campo de trabalho; e não levantou mais dificuldades.”.
Um almoço de família, uma refeição de despedida…
É com esta ruptura familiar que György começa a enfrentar novos e surpreendentes desafios: ”… os anos despreocupados e felizes da infância…” acabavam; que ele seria para a sua madrasta ”… a sua principal ajuda…” e que ”… iria conhecer antes de tempo “o que são as preocupações e os sacrifícios”.”; assumindo de uma forma compreensiva os ”… sentimentos profundos e acentuada consciência das responsabilidades”. (Pág. 18)
Passados dois meses Köves György é convocado para começar a trabalhar, como “jovem aprendiz auxiliar”, dando serventia a pedreiros nas Refinarias de Petróleo Shell em Csepel, nos arredores de Budapeste.
Um dia algo de estranho acontece. Um polícia manda parar o autocarro em que seguiam para o trabalho: ”Bom, pensei, de certeza querem controlar os papéis…”. (Pág. 32)
György foi obrigado a entrar num combóio, o destino era desconhecido, e decorridos vários dias de viagem, em condições desumanas, chegam a um lugar: ”Lá fora, a fresca aurora cheirava bem, espraiavam-se brumas cinzentas sobre a extensão dos campos, e, de repente, vindo do fundo, como um toque de clarim, um raio fino e vermelho cortou o ar e compreendi que estava a assistir ao nascer do Sol… Distinguia, mesmo, duas palavras, nítidas na luz matinal, na parte superior do lado mais estreito do edifício, contrário à direcção do nosso combóio: “Auschwitz – Birkenau”… “ (Pág. 56)
Köves György luta para viver e sobreviver, um adolescente cândido e submisso, adepto da ordem e das regras, extremamente educado, aceita sem questionar, chegando até a admirar as “estrelas amarelas”, símbolo máximo do despotismo nazi, aguentando estoicamente a tirania e os maus tratos, isentando os carrascos de responsabilidades, racionalizando o seu comportamento, quase como que estando em negação dos factos e da realidade, observando de uma forma minuciosa todos os detalhes, resistindo a doenças e ferimentos infectados, num estado físico e emocional deplorável, por vezes à beira da morte; numa vivência onde a sorte e a amizade são essenciais e determinantes, numa luta diária e permanente, onde está sempre presente a nostalgia e a saudade.
”Sem Destino” de Imre Kertész é um romance de leitura obrigatória sobre um dos períodos mais negros e conturbados da História Europeia e Mundial, a perseguição e assassinato de cerca de seis milhões de judeus durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial, um extermínio étnico perpetrado pela Alemanha Nazi, sob a liderança de Adolf Hitler, numa abordagem original, a de um jovem com apenas quinze anos, Köves György, que viveu e sobreviveu ao holocausto nazi, percorrendo três campo de concentração Auschwitz, Buchenwald e Zeitz.
”Köves mostra-nos a visão de uma criança sobre os acontecimentos, sem os compreender bem, sem os achar anormais ou revoltantes", sublinha a Academia sueca. "A faculdade de adaptação do prisioneiro em Auschwitz é uma expressão de um conformismo idêntico ao que domina o nosso quotidiano e a nossa vida social”, acrescenta o júri do Nobel.
A Academia Sueca realça que: "A obra de Imre Kertész examina se a possibilidade da vida e do pensamento individuais ainda existem numa época onde os homens estão quase totalmente dominados pelo poder político".
Já assinalei para uma futura leitura o livro ”A Recusa”, o segundo volume protagonizado por Köves György, que faz parte da trilogia escrita por Imre Kertész.
"E, mau grado a reflexão, a razão, o discernimento, o bom senso, eu não podia desconhecer a voz de uma espécie de desejo surdo, que se tinha insinuado em mim, como envergonhada de ser insensata, e, todavia, cada vez mais obstinada; eu gostaria de viver um pouco mais neste belo campo de concentração." (Pág. 133)
"E só então compreendi que o amor-próprio é um sentimento que, manifestamente, nos acompanha até aos últimos instantes, porquanto, ainda que eu me importunasse com esta incerteza, não dirigi sequer uma pergunta, nem oração, nem uma só palavra, não lancei o menor olhar para trás ou sobre os que puxavam." (Pág. 132)
"Eu e a Annamária ríamos muito.
Com esta, aliás, dei comigo numa situação meio esquisita. Tudo aconteceu na noite de sexta-feira, durante o último alerta de ataque aéreo, no abrigo, mais precisamente, numa das passagens subterrâneas abandonadas e obscuras, que ali desaguam. Eu só lhe queria mostrar que é muito mais interessante seguir daquele sítio o que se passa lá fora. Mas quando, passado um minuto, se ouviu uma bomba explodir não muito longe dali, todo o corpo dela começou a tremer. Eu senti-o bem, pois, com o susto ela agarrou-se a mim: os braços à volta do meu pescoço, o rosto contra o meu ombro. Depois, só me lembro de ter procurado a sua boca. Senti algo como um toque morno e húmido e um tudo nada pegajoso. Bom, e uma espécie de sereno maravilhamento, porque aquele era o meu primeiro beijo a uma rapariga, e também porque não estava nada à espera.
Ontem, no vão de uma escada, esclareceu que também ela ficou muito surpreendida – Foi tudo por causa da bomba – considerou. No fundo, tinha razão. Depois, voltámos a beijar-nos, e eu aprendi com ela como se pode tornar a experiência inesquecível, como as nossas línguas podem ter também um certo papel." (Pág. 26 - 27)
Imre Kertész (1929 - 2016) - em Auschwitz (com apenas quinze anos de idade) e na actualidade
Imre Kertész é um escritor húngaro, nascido a 9 de Novembro de 1929, em Budapeste, de religião judaica, sobrevivente ao holocausto nazi durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial, deportado com 14 anos de idade, juntamente com milhares de judeus húngaros, para o campo de concentração de Auschwitz e mais tarde transferido para Buchenwald.
Em 2002 Imre Kertész é galardoado com o Prémio Nobel da Literatura ”por uma obra que fala da experiência frágil do indivíduo contra a arbitrariedade bárbara da história”.
”Sem Destino”, o primeiro romance de Imre Kertész (n. 1929), foi publicado em 1975, é a sua obra mais conhecida e emblemática, que descreve a experiência de um rapaz húngaro de quinze anos, Köves György, nos campos de concentração de Auschwitz, Buchenwald e Zeitz; um livro interpretado por alguns críticos literários como “quase-autobiográfico”, facto que o escritor desmente.
O narrador de ”Sem Destino” é o jovem Köves György, com catorze anos de idade, filho de uma família judaica, de pais separados, e que vive com o seu pai e a sua madrasta em Budapeste, na Hungria, que nos relata o seguinte:”Hoje, não fui à escola. Isto é, fui, mas só para pedir ao director de turma que me deixasse voltar para casa. Entreguei-lhe a carta do meu pai, na qual solicitava a minha dispensa, alegando “razões familiares”. Perguntou que razões familiares eram essas. Disse-lhe que o meu pai tinha sido convocado para um campo de trabalho; e não levantou mais dificuldades.”.
Um almoço de família, uma refeição de despedida…
É com esta ruptura familiar que György começa a enfrentar novos e surpreendentes desafios: ”… os anos despreocupados e felizes da infância…” acabavam; que ele seria para a sua madrasta ”… a sua principal ajuda…” e que ”… iria conhecer antes de tempo “o que são as preocupações e os sacrifícios”.”; assumindo de uma forma compreensiva os ”… sentimentos profundos e acentuada consciência das responsabilidades”. (Pág. 18)
Passados dois meses Köves György é convocado para começar a trabalhar, como “jovem aprendiz auxiliar”, dando serventia a pedreiros nas Refinarias de Petróleo Shell em Csepel, nos arredores de Budapeste.
Um dia algo de estranho acontece. Um polícia manda parar o autocarro em que seguiam para o trabalho: ”Bom, pensei, de certeza querem controlar os papéis…”. (Pág. 32)
György foi obrigado a entrar num combóio, o destino era desconhecido, e decorridos vários dias de viagem, em condições desumanas, chegam a um lugar: ”Lá fora, a fresca aurora cheirava bem, espraiavam-se brumas cinzentas sobre a extensão dos campos, e, de repente, vindo do fundo, como um toque de clarim, um raio fino e vermelho cortou o ar e compreendi que estava a assistir ao nascer do Sol… Distinguia, mesmo, duas palavras, nítidas na luz matinal, na parte superior do lado mais estreito do edifício, contrário à direcção do nosso combóio: “Auschwitz – Birkenau”… “ (Pág. 56)
Köves György luta para viver e sobreviver, um adolescente cândido e submisso, adepto da ordem e das regras, extremamente educado, aceita sem questionar, chegando até a admirar as “estrelas amarelas”, símbolo máximo do despotismo nazi, aguentando estoicamente a tirania e os maus tratos, isentando os carrascos de responsabilidades, racionalizando o seu comportamento, quase como que estando em negação dos factos e da realidade, observando de uma forma minuciosa todos os detalhes, resistindo a doenças e ferimentos infectados, num estado físico e emocional deplorável, por vezes à beira da morte; numa vivência onde a sorte e a amizade são essenciais e determinantes, numa luta diária e permanente, onde está sempre presente a nostalgia e a saudade.
”Sem Destino” de Imre Kertész é um romance de leitura obrigatória sobre um dos períodos mais negros e conturbados da História Europeia e Mundial, a perseguição e assassinato de cerca de seis milhões de judeus durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial, um extermínio étnico perpetrado pela Alemanha Nazi, sob a liderança de Adolf Hitler, numa abordagem original, a de um jovem com apenas quinze anos, Köves György, que viveu e sobreviveu ao holocausto nazi, percorrendo três campo de concentração Auschwitz, Buchenwald e Zeitz.
”Köves mostra-nos a visão de uma criança sobre os acontecimentos, sem os compreender bem, sem os achar anormais ou revoltantes", sublinha a Academia sueca. "A faculdade de adaptação do prisioneiro em Auschwitz é uma expressão de um conformismo idêntico ao que domina o nosso quotidiano e a nossa vida social”, acrescenta o júri do Nobel.
A Academia Sueca realça que: "A obra de Imre Kertész examina se a possibilidade da vida e do pensamento individuais ainda existem numa época onde os homens estão quase totalmente dominados pelo poder político".
Já assinalei para uma futura leitura o livro ”A Recusa”, o segundo volume protagonizado por Köves György, que faz parte da trilogia escrita por Imre Kertész.
"E, mau grado a reflexão, a razão, o discernimento, o bom senso, eu não podia desconhecer a voz de uma espécie de desejo surdo, que se tinha insinuado em mim, como envergonhada de ser insensata, e, todavia, cada vez mais obstinada; eu gostaria de viver um pouco mais neste belo campo de concentração." (Pág. 133)
"E só então compreendi que o amor-próprio é um sentimento que, manifestamente, nos acompanha até aos últimos instantes, porquanto, ainda que eu me importunasse com esta incerteza, não dirigi sequer uma pergunta, nem oração, nem uma só palavra, não lancei o menor olhar para trás ou sobre os que puxavam." (Pág. 132)
"Eu e a Annamária ríamos muito.
Com esta, aliás, dei comigo numa situação meio esquisita. Tudo aconteceu na noite de sexta-feira, durante o último alerta de ataque aéreo, no abrigo, mais precisamente, numa das passagens subterrâneas abandonadas e obscuras, que ali desaguam. Eu só lhe queria mostrar que é muito mais interessante seguir daquele sítio o que se passa lá fora. Mas quando, passado um minuto, se ouviu uma bomba explodir não muito longe dali, todo o corpo dela começou a tremer. Eu senti-o bem, pois, com o susto ela agarrou-se a mim: os braços à volta do meu pescoço, o rosto contra o meu ombro. Depois, só me lembro de ter procurado a sua boca. Senti algo como um toque morno e húmido e um tudo nada pegajoso. Bom, e uma espécie de sereno maravilhamento, porque aquele era o meu primeiro beijo a uma rapariga, e também porque não estava nada à espera.
Ontem, no vão de uma escada, esclareceu que também ela ficou muito surpreendida – Foi tudo por causa da bomba – considerou. No fundo, tinha razão. Depois, voltámos a beijar-nos, e eu aprendi com ela como se pode tornar a experiência inesquecível, como as nossas línguas podem ter também um certo papel." (Pág. 26 - 27)
December 17, 2015
This is when I found out that you could be bored even in Auschwitz - provided you were choosy. We waited and we waited, and as I come to think of it, we waited for nothing to happen. This boredom, combined with this strange waiting, was, I think, approximately what Auschwitz meant to me, but of course I am only speaking for myself.As he said, he's only speaking for himself. Here, I am speaking for myself, as is the case for any and all fiction, and even some of the non. What I speak involves my understanding, not my knowledge, my general aversion to gnosticism grown to unpronounceable proportions. Such as it should be with regards to the Shoah, yes? First the horror, then the silence.
Despite that, let's talk. If Kertész is willing, how are we to forbear?
With a cracking voice, she desperately shouted something to the effect that if our distinctiveness was unimportant, than all this was mere chance, and that if there was the possibility of her being someone other than whom she was fated to be, then all of this was utterly without reason, and to her that idea was totally "unbearable."If you are punished, and have committed a crime, you are guilty. If you are punished, and have committed [...], ranging from birth to creed to whatever the reason one condemns another wholesale and complete, each on either side simply one of a many millions, you are innocent. A horror, the horror, your horror, or so they say. They, the bystanders, millions compounded and compounded again muttering in the stands, still capable of wanting, needing, crafting a story. They need their catharsis, especially the diffuse of responsibilities and unwitting (maybe? perhaps? they claim victimhood as well and don't want to think about it) accomplices. You will provide.
You? You lived. That length of time of your life, that skein of events and your reactions to such, the ideas and emotions filling in ever faster as all those gift baskets of audience prescribed sensibilities of disbelief, rage, terror, tears, fall by the wayside. You, a human being, lived, and made full use of your human capacity for feeling. Happiness, annoyance, puzzlement. The finding of beauty in a concentration camp.
All of this, as I said, I noticed, but not in the same way as later, when I started to fit the pieces together and could sum up and recall the events step by step. I had become used to every new step gradually, and this hadn't given me the detachment I needed to actually notice what was happening.Was there a story in there somewhere, one a little more entertaining than the fact you managed to live to this day, and all the turns and twists and often boring banalities involved in such a happenstance? That would imply a reason behind it all, when everyone knows the capriciousness of life. Far deeper down than I would have thought, this knowledge, considering how they keep insisting on the climax, the tragedy, the entertainment. And this is only one genocide out of many, only one part of one genocide if one thinks only of the six million. What of the rest of the voices? Do they not fit within the parameters of what deserves to be heard? If those who still live on refuse the title of "victim", contemplate the multifarious of their experiences within the full range of feeling and thought, grasp their memories of such a time of their life as anyone else would, are they worth the time?
Then, that day I also experienced that very same tenseness, that same itchy feeling and clumsiness that came over me when I was with them, that I had occasionally felt at home: as if I weren't entirely okay, as if I didn't entirely conform to the ideal; in other words, somehow as if I were Jewish. That was a rather strange feeling, because, after all, I was among Jews and in a concentration camp.He speaks of his lack of faith while the blood bound heritage of it couples him to a baffled mind and moldering body.
Only slowly, and not without some humorous puzzlement and wonder, did the idea dawn on me: this situation, this state of imprisonment, had to be what was causing his agony. I was almost tempted to say to him: "Don't be sad. After all, it's not important." But I was afraid to be so bold, and then I also remembered that I didn't know any French.He puzzles at the monotone view of his day to day life by others, one restricted to pity, pity, pity. As if his effort to see the worth in living had time for that, when there were so many other things to think upon.
But who can judge what is possible or believable in a concentration camp? Who could explore, exhaust all those countless ideas, inventions, games, jokes, and ponderable theories, which are easily accessible and transferable from a make-believe world of fantasy into a concentration-camp reality? You couldn't, even if you mustered the totality of your knowledge.The horror, the horror, the horror. What else?
June 5, 2016
Ο Kertesz με διχάζει και είναι ένας συγγραφέας που με βάζει σε πειρασμό να τον κρίνω. Ό,τι εχω διαβάσει από αυτόν είναι αυτοβιογραφικό ("Μυθιστόρημα ενός ανθρώπου δίχως πεπρωμένο" και "Καντίς για ένα αγέννητο παιδί"). Ίσως έχει έναν ιδιαίτερο τρόπο σκέψης, ο οποίος μου φαίνεται παράδοξος.
Σαφώς και δεν ανταποκρίνεται στις προσδοκίες ενός αναγνώστη που διαβάζει για το Άουσβιτς. Με προβλημάτισε και αναρωτιέμαι εάν όλα αυτά τα απάνθρωπα που έβλεπε να γίνονται γύρω του, τον άγγιξαν. Ίσως είναι ψυχρός και δεν τον άγγιξαν, ίσως τον άγγιξαν και η όλη αυτή στάση του να είναι στάση άμυνας για να μην τρελαθεί. Ίσως πάλι εγώ, καθισμένη σε έναν καναπέ, να μην έχω κανένα διακαίωμα να κρίνω έναν άνθρωπο που έζησε αυτά που έζησε.
Το μόνο σίγουρο είναι ότι αυτός ο συγγραφέας μου ασκεί μια περίεργη και ακαταμάχητη έλξη και θα ήθελα να διαβάσω όλο του το έργο.
Σαφώς και δεν ανταποκρίνεται στις προσδοκίες ενός αναγνώστη που διαβάζει για το Άουσβιτς. Με προβλημάτισε και αναρωτιέμαι εάν όλα αυτά τα απάνθρωπα που έβλεπε να γίνονται γύρω του, τον άγγιξαν. Ίσως είναι ψυχρός και δεν τον άγγιξαν, ίσως τον άγγιξαν και η όλη αυτή στάση του να είναι στάση άμυνας για να μην τρελαθεί. Ίσως πάλι εγώ, καθισμένη σε έναν καναπέ, να μην έχω κανένα διακαίωμα να κρίνω έναν άνθρωπο που έζησε αυτά που έζησε.
Το μόνο σίγουρο είναι ότι αυτός ο συγγραφέας μου ασκεί μια περίεργη και ακαταμάχητη έλξη και θα ήθελα να διαβάσω όλο του το έργο.
October 29, 2021
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چرا نمیخواهند بپذیرند که اگر چیزی به نام سرنوشت وجود داشته باشد، دیگر جایی برای آزادی نمیماند؟ در حالیکه دیگر خودم هم از این همه هیجان حیرت کرده بودم، داد زدم: از طرفی اگر چیزی به اسم آزادی وجود داشته باشد، پس دیگر سرنوشتی باقی نمیماند. یعنی... در این لحظه مکثی کردم، اما در همان حد که فقط نفسی تازه کنم _ یعنی اینکه در این صورت ما خودمان سرنوشت خودمان هستیم.
📝
ایمره کرتیس برای این کتاب که نوشتنش سیزده سال طول کشید، برندهی جایزهی نوبل سال ۲۰۰۲ شد. این کتاب یکی از مهمترین آثار ادبی جهان با درونمایهی هولوکاست است.
داستان کتاب در مورد نوجوانی است که به اجبار خانوادهاش را ترک میکند و به اردوگاههای کار اجباری فرستاده می
شود. خود نویسنده هم در نوجوانی تجربهای غمانگیز از این دوران را داشته است.
به نظرم نقطهی قوت کتاب بیان روشن و شفاف حقایق و احساساتی است که یک نوجوان از آنچه دیده و درک کرده بازگو میکند. در آخر از اردوگاه نجات پیدا میکند ولی چه آیندهای در انتظار اوست؟ چگونه میتواند با گذشته کنار بیای��؟ وحشت و ترس از آیندهای مجهول، روابطش با سایرین و...
چرا نمیخواهند بپذیرند که اگر چیزی به نام سرنوشت وجود داشته باشد، دیگر جایی برای آزادی نمیماند؟ در حالیکه دیگر خودم هم از این همه هیجان حیرت کرده بودم، داد زدم: از طرفی اگر چیزی به اسم آزادی وجود داشته باشد، پس دیگر سرنوشتی باقی نمیماند. یعنی... در این لحظه مکثی کردم، اما در همان حد که فقط نفسی تازه کنم _ یعنی اینکه در این صورت ما خودمان سرنوشت خودمان هستیم.
📝
ایمره کرتیس برای این کتاب که نوشتنش سیزده سال طول کشید، برندهی جایزهی نوبل سال ۲۰۰۲ شد. این کتاب یکی از مهمترین آثار ادبی جهان با درونمایهی هولوکاست است.
داستان کتاب در مورد نوجوانی است که به اجبار خانوادهاش را ترک میکند و به اردوگاههای کار اجباری فرستاده می
شود. خود نویسنده هم در نوجوانی تجربهای غمانگیز از این دوران را داشته است.
به نظرم نقطهی قوت کتاب بیان روشن و شفاف حقایق و احساساتی است که یک نوجوان از آنچه دیده و درک کرده بازگو میکند. در آخر از اردوگاه نجات پیدا میکند ولی چه آیندهای در انتظار اوست؟ چگونه میتواند با گذشته کنار بیای��؟ وحشت و ترس از آیندهای مجهول، روابطش با سایرین و...
February 24, 2012
Kertesz won the Nobel prize for literature for this book and it is really not surprising, hence the five stars. I would also advocate that the book be called "Timeless" as well for it is one of those books which has an aura of being beyond time. It could have been written immediately after the end of World War II, or it could have been written yesterday, and there is little way of knowing (at least through the text) when this story was made its way onto paper because it is a single voice in the immense, faceless march of European history where annonymity became the fate of so many individuals.
While not written as an autobiographical exercise, Fateless is partly an examination of Kertesz's own experiences in both Auschwitz and Buchenwald. The introductory chapters highlight how quickly and easily Gyuri accepted the plight of the local Jewish community and while it is not upbeat it is surprisingly sanguine, and perhaps even optomistic in places. Once Gyuri arrives at the gates of Auschwitz -Birkenau however, it is easy to anticipate that the tone of the book will shift dramatically. I did not expect much happiness from there on in.
The brilliance of this book is its clarity and tone and the fact that it ascribes a voice and emotions to a series of events which are widely documented but little understood on the level of the individual. The sheer scope of the atrocity frequently annhilates the notion of "I" and replaces it with "them" or "all".
The narrator Gyuri presents an astounding first-hand account of his existance in the labour camps. Gyuri rarely mentions his family or considers the likely fate of his fellow Jews beyond the walls of whichever labour camp he is interred in at the time. This makes his experience all the more profoundly personal, showing how all his energies are focused on making sense of his own plight and ensuring that he stays alive.
The last chapter of the book also highlights in a startling way how those who were not subjected to time in the labour camps could never grasp the full scope of the horror. At a time when everything in their own world had carried on almost as before, lightly dressed in a thin veneer of normality, how could they believe that such death and suffering had found a common place just beyond the fringes of their community?
While not written as an autobiographical exercise, Fateless is partly an examination of Kertesz's own experiences in both Auschwitz and Buchenwald. The introductory chapters highlight how quickly and easily Gyuri accepted the plight of the local Jewish community and while it is not upbeat it is surprisingly sanguine, and perhaps even optomistic in places. Once Gyuri arrives at the gates of Auschwitz -Birkenau however, it is easy to anticipate that the tone of the book will shift dramatically. I did not expect much happiness from there on in.
The brilliance of this book is its clarity and tone and the fact that it ascribes a voice and emotions to a series of events which are widely documented but little understood on the level of the individual. The sheer scope of the atrocity frequently annhilates the notion of "I" and replaces it with "them" or "all".
The narrator Gyuri presents an astounding first-hand account of his existance in the labour camps. Gyuri rarely mentions his family or considers the likely fate of his fellow Jews beyond the walls of whichever labour camp he is interred in at the time. This makes his experience all the more profoundly personal, showing how all his energies are focused on making sense of his own plight and ensuring that he stays alive.
The last chapter of the book also highlights in a startling way how those who were not subjected to time in the labour camps could never grasp the full scope of the horror. At a time when everything in their own world had carried on almost as before, lightly dressed in a thin veneer of normality, how could they believe that such death and suffering had found a common place just beyond the fringes of their community?
August 3, 2020
Pre nekoliko godina jedna turistička agencija reklamirala je posetu Aušvicu kao mestu koje je bilo „inspiracija mnogim poznatim filmovima”.
Takođe je pre nekoliko godina, jedan nevažni glumac u jednoj isto tako nevažnoj emisiji izjavio kako je negde pročitao jednu rečenicu na nemačkom koja bi, kako se njemu čini, trebalo da znači – rad oslobađa. Bio je oduševljen tom formulacijom.
Opet, pre nekoliko godina, jedan poznanik strastveno je govorio kako je ta priča sa Jevrejima prenaduvana i kako u Aušvicu uopšte nisu imali gasne komore. Nije znao da sam posetio logor pre koji mesec.
Nedostatak empatije mi je nejasan. Neznanje mi je jasnije.
Ali svesni odabir da se ne zna mi je najnejasniji.
Psihologija poricanja i teorija zavera zasniva se na uverenju o posebnosti. Ono funkcioniše na sledeći način: neko je siguran da je u posedu informacije koju niko nema. Zbog posedovanja tajne informacije, on poseduje moć, koju, ironično, ne može da upotrebi, jer, da može, to ne bi bila teorija zavere. Neznanje udruženo sa velikom samouverenošću i lepim mišljenjem o sebi daje kobne rezultate. A nekad nije moguća druga strana. Kada je apsolutno zlo u pitanju, stvari su veoma jednostrane. Crno-bele.
Ukoliko bismo napravili emisiju i u njoj pozvali poricatelja Holokausta i žrtvu, pokazali bismo kako dajemo kredibilitet onima koji to ne zaslužuju. Suočavanje između onoga ko izmišlja i onoga čiji su iskazi verodostojni i argumentovani, potpuno je nepravedno. Izmišljanje uvek pobeđuje jer pripada drugoj kategoriji. Tako mogu, oslanjajući se na detalj neke informacije, da razradim čitavu, novu priču, koja će da odgovara mom svetonazoru. A ako nešto potpuno izmislim, to je najjači argument, upravo jer je neutvrdiv. Ono što je izmišljeno postaje smisao samo po sebi. Na primer, u nedostatku iskustva, priča je podjednako Holokaust, kao i povest neke fantastične zemlje. Sam pakao, kako Kertes tvrdi, jeste priča, neispričiva, ali postojeća.
Veoma je zanimljivo kako je nauka postala svojevrsna sekularna religija – teoretičari zavere će se prikazivati svoja „otkrića” koristeći naučni diskurs. Kao što je pre neki dan jedna priučena gospođa tvrdila u jednoj emisiji kako je objavljeno čak 10 000 naučnih radova o štetnosti 5G mreže. O kakvoj budalaštini je reč, dovoljno je reći kako je 2016. godine objavljeno ukupno 5052 naučna rada iz svih oblasti u Srbiji. A da ne pričam o tome kako nije znala razliku između jonizujućeg i nejonizujućeg zračenja.
Problem je što su stvari u osnovi loše postavljene. Problem je sa obrazovanjem – s time što većina nas iz škole izađe nepismena. Svet nije izdeljen na predmete – sve u istom trenutku uporedo postoji – a škola treba da služi kao obuka za snalaženje u mnoštvu, uputstvo za preživljavanje u savremenom okeanu. Sve može da se sažme kineskom poslovicom – daj čoveku ribu i nahranićeš ga jedan dan, nauči ga da peca i nahranićeš ga za ceo život.
Život može da se da, ali ne i življenje.
Kako se onda formira biće kada je u njegovoj srži jedna rupa?
A u rupi beton patnje koja pretiče reči.
Najpotresniji momenti Kertesove knjige ne tiču se ni kulture sećanja, ni naturalizma, već logora kao formativnog iskustva. Dečak je u logorima postao ono što jeste. I sve mu je bilo nametnuto.
Aušvic – Buhenvald – Cajc i u Buhenvaldu jedno od Geteovih drva, koje je služilo za likvidaciju i mučenje zatvorenika. Nacističko zlo nepopravljivo je zatrovalo sve ono što je u samoj nemačkoj kulturi vrednost. I tu dolaze ona večna pitanja o individualnoj i kolektivnoj odgovornosti – nacionalnoj krivici, sramoti i žrtvi.
I o potpuno užasavajućoj nostalgiji za logorom. Kertesova nostalgija ne proizlazi iz lepote, već iz granice – napora prevazilaženja. Kertes ne misli da je ovaj svet gori od logora, on samo primećuje kako je samo iskustvo logora nedostupno. Na poslednjim stranicama je to očito – ljudi glume razumevanje, ne zato što su opaki, već zato što ne mogu da se zaista sažive.
Za njih, logor je uvek negde drugde, za Kertesa, logor je sve. I zato je bilo potrebno 30 godina da se ovaj roman napiše. Ovo je redak prvenac koji dolazi nakon svega, prva knjiga koja mora biti poslednja. A sve što je Kertes napisao i mogao da napiše, samo je njena dopuna.
I nema boljeg čoveka koji bi „Besudbinstvo” mogao da prevede od Aleksandra Tišme. To je uradio mnogo pre nego što je Kertes dobio Nobela, ali prevod je decenijama trunuo u fioci, da bi ga instant objavili 2002. godine za Sajam knjiga.
Takođe je pre nekoliko godina, jedan nevažni glumac u jednoj isto tako nevažnoj emisiji izjavio kako je negde pročitao jednu rečenicu na nemačkom koja bi, kako se njemu čini, trebalo da znači – rad oslobađa. Bio je oduševljen tom formulacijom.
Opet, pre nekoliko godina, jedan poznanik strastveno je govorio kako je ta priča sa Jevrejima prenaduvana i kako u Aušvicu uopšte nisu imali gasne komore. Nije znao da sam posetio logor pre koji mesec.
Nedostatak empatije mi je nejasan. Neznanje mi je jasnije.
Ali svesni odabir da se ne zna mi je najnejasniji.
Psihologija poricanja i teorija zavera zasniva se na uverenju o posebnosti. Ono funkcioniše na sledeći način: neko je siguran da je u posedu informacije koju niko nema. Zbog posedovanja tajne informacije, on poseduje moć, koju, ironično, ne može da upotrebi, jer, da može, to ne bi bila teorija zavere. Neznanje udruženo sa velikom samouverenošću i lepim mišljenjem o sebi daje kobne rezultate. A nekad nije moguća druga strana. Kada je apsolutno zlo u pitanju, stvari su veoma jednostrane. Crno-bele.
Ukoliko bismo napravili emisiju i u njoj pozvali poricatelja Holokausta i žrtvu, pokazali bismo kako dajemo kredibilitet onima koji to ne zaslužuju. Suočavanje između onoga ko izmišlja i onoga čiji su iskazi verodostojni i argumentovani, potpuno je nepravedno. Izmišljanje uvek pobeđuje jer pripada drugoj kategoriji. Tako mogu, oslanjajući se na detalj neke informacije, da razradim čitavu, novu priču, koja će da odgovara mom svetonazoru. A ako nešto potpuno izmislim, to je najjači argument, upravo jer je neutvrdiv. Ono što je izmišljeno postaje smisao samo po sebi. Na primer, u nedostatku iskustva, priča je podjednako Holokaust, kao i povest neke fantastične zemlje. Sam pakao, kako Kertes tvrdi, jeste priča, neispričiva, ali postojeća.
Veoma je zanimljivo kako je nauka postala svojevrsna sekularna religija – teoretičari zavere će se prikazivati svoja „otkrića” koristeći naučni diskurs. Kao što je pre neki dan jedna priučena gospođa tvrdila u jednoj emisiji kako je objavljeno čak 10 000 naučnih radova o štetnosti 5G mreže. O kakvoj budalaštini je reč, dovoljno je reći kako je 2016. godine objavljeno ukupno 5052 naučna rada iz svih oblasti u Srbiji. A da ne pričam o tome kako nije znala razliku između jonizujućeg i nejonizujućeg zračenja.
Problem je što su stvari u osnovi loše postavljene. Problem je sa obrazovanjem – s time što većina nas iz škole izađe nepismena. Svet nije izdeljen na predmete – sve u istom trenutku uporedo postoji – a škola treba da služi kao obuka za snalaženje u mnoštvu, uputstvo za preživljavanje u savremenom okeanu. Sve može da se sažme kineskom poslovicom – daj čoveku ribu i nahranićeš ga jedan dan, nauči ga da peca i nahranićeš ga za ceo život.
Život može da se da, ali ne i življenje.
Kako se onda formira biće kada je u njegovoj srži jedna rupa?
A u rupi beton patnje koja pretiče reči.
Najpotresniji momenti Kertesove knjige ne tiču se ni kulture sećanja, ni naturalizma, već logora kao formativnog iskustva. Dečak je u logorima postao ono što jeste. I sve mu je bilo nametnuto.
Aušvic – Buhenvald – Cajc i u Buhenvaldu jedno od Geteovih drva, koje je služilo za likvidaciju i mučenje zatvorenika. Nacističko zlo nepopravljivo je zatrovalo sve ono što je u samoj nemačkoj kulturi vrednost. I tu dolaze ona večna pitanja o individualnoj i kolektivnoj odgovornosti – nacionalnoj krivici, sramoti i žrtvi.
I o potpuno užasavajućoj nostalgiji za logorom. Kertesova nostalgija ne proizlazi iz lepote, već iz granice – napora prevazilaženja. Kertes ne misli da je ovaj svet gori od logora, on samo primećuje kako je samo iskustvo logora nedostupno. Na poslednjim stranicama je to očito – ljudi glume razumevanje, ne zato što su opaki, već zato što ne mogu da se zaista sažive.
Za njih, logor je uvek negde drugde, za Kertesa, logor je sve. I zato je bilo potrebno 30 godina da se ovaj roman napiše. Ovo je redak prvenac koji dolazi nakon svega, prva knjiga koja mora biti poslednja. A sve što je Kertes napisao i mogao da napiše, samo je njena dopuna.
I nema boljeg čoveka koji bi „Besudbinstvo” mogao da prevede od Aleksandra Tišme. To je uradio mnogo pre nego što je Kertes dobio Nobela, ali prevod je decenijama trunuo u fioci, da bi ga instant objavili 2002. godine za Sajam knjiga.
September 20, 2023
Imre Kertész was a translator. He translated existence in a concentration camp for those who didn't experience this existence. He did this from the perspective of a fourteen-year-old boy, who he himself was at the time when he was deported first to Auschwitz and then to Buchenwald. And in doing so, he has achieved something incredible: although we do not speak the language from which he translates, we begin - to some extent - to understand it.
He tells the story without pointing the finger, without accusing and because of this his book develops a force that pushes us to the ground again and again. On some pages he tears our hearts out, and that alone through his modest manner, his ability to find a light somewhere even in the greatest darkness.
Above all, his reflections on time make the generally incomprehensible more tangible. He was in Auschwitz for "only" three days, but in those days it was decided whether he would be gassed or not. In general, time passes differently in concentration camps: days become years. Just look at the children who have aged into old men.
Kertész gives the millions of victims a voice that speaks so truthfully and innocently that it hurts. He has put the incomprehensible into understandable words that resonate for a long, long time.
He tells the story without pointing the finger, without accusing and because of this his book develops a force that pushes us to the ground again and again. On some pages he tears our hearts out, and that alone through his modest manner, his ability to find a light somewhere even in the greatest darkness.
Above all, his reflections on time make the generally incomprehensible more tangible. He was in Auschwitz for "only" three days, but in those days it was decided whether he would be gassed or not. In general, time passes differently in concentration camps: days become years. Just look at the children who have aged into old men.
Kertész gives the millions of victims a voice that speaks so truthfully and innocently that it hurts. He has put the incomprehensible into understandable words that resonate for a long, long time.
August 12, 2018
" Στο τέλος θα φταίμε κι από πάνω, εμείς τα θύματα; - κι εγώ προσπάθησα να του εξηγήσω ότι το θέμα δεν είναι ποιος φταίει, το θέμα είναι να καταλάβουμε κάτι, πολύ απλά, για χάρη της λογικής, από ευπρέπεια, θα έλεγα. Δεν μπορεί κανείς, ας προσπαθήσουν να το καταλάβουν, δεν μπορεί κανείς να μου πάρει τα πάντα. Δεν γίνεται να μην μου επιτραπεί να είμαι ούτε νικητής ούτε νικημένος, ούτε η αιτία ούτε το αποτέλεσμα, ούτε να γελιέμαι ούτε να έχω δίκιο. Μπορώ - σχεδόν τους ικέτευα πια να προσπαθήσουν να καταλάβουν: δεν μπορώ να καταπιώ έτσι απλά την ανόητη πικρία του να πρέπει να είσαι απλώς αθώος. "
Στο έργο περιγράφεται το πως ο η ζωή του νέου πρωταγωνιστή ανατρέπεται, καθώς μεταφέρεται σε στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης, την παραμονή του στο Auschwitz και το Buchenwald, την απελευθέρωση και την επιστροφή του στο σπίτι.
Το ιδιαίτερο του συγκεκριμένου βιβλίου είναι ότι ο πρωταγωνιστής αντιμετωπίζει τις φρικαλεότητες και τον παραλογισμό των στρατοπέδων συγκέντρωσης με απάθεια. Θεωρεί φυσιολογικό να συμβαίνει κάτι τέτοιο, ότι τα βασανιστήρια και οι εκτελέσεις, η εξόντωση, είναι κάτι το φυσιολογικό σε κάτι μη φυσιολογικό, τα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης δηλαδή. Ωστόσο, αυτή η απάθεια δεν στερεί από τον αναγνώστη να νιώσει την φρίκη και τον παραλογισμό που επικρατούσε, αφού οι έντονες και γραφικές περιγραφές δεν είναι κάτι απαραίτητο για να συνειδητοποιήσει κανείς τι συνέβαινε τότε.
Το τέλος του έργου, παρά το γεγονός ότι έχει έρθει η ελευθερία και ο ήρωας επιστρέφει στο σπίτι του, είναι στενάχωρο, αφού δείχνει ότι τίποτα δεν είναι ίδιο στο σπίτι και ότι κανείς δεν μπορεί να καταλάβει τους επιζήσαντες των στρατοπέδων συγκέντρωσης. Η ζωή δεν είναι και δεν θα είναι η ίδια ούτε για όσους ήταν στα στρατόπεδα, ούτε για όσους έμειναν πίσω. Οι γνωστοί και συγγενείς του πρωταγωνιστή περιμένουν να ακούσουν περιγραφές φρίκης, αλλά αυτός τους μιλάει για πράγματα που "φυσικά" και θα συνέβαιναν σε ένα τέτοιο μέρος, τους μιλάει για επιβίωση, χωρίς αυτοί να τον καταλαβαίνουν.
Γιατί όπως αναφέρεται και στο βιβλίο:
" Όταν η μέρα εκείνη τελείωσε, ένιωσα ότι κάτι μέσα μου είχε χαθεί ανεπιστρεπτί, στο εξής νόμιζα κάθε πρωί ότι είναι το τελευταίο πρωί που θα σηκωνόμουν, σε κάθε μου βήμα νόμιζα ότι το επόμενο δεν θα το έκανα, σε κάθε μου κίνηση ότι την επόμενη δεν πρόκειται να την κατάφερνα. Προς το παρόν όμως τα κατάφερνα κάθε φορά. "
" Και όσο και να προσπαθούσα να ζυγίσω τα πράγματα, όση λογική, όση σύνεση, όση νηφαλιότητα κι αν προσπαθούσα να επιδείξω, δεν βοηθούσε σε τίποτα - δεν ήταν δυνατό να κλείσω τ'αυτιά μου σ' εκείνη τη μυστική φωνή, σ' εκείνη τη φωνή που κατά κάποιον τρόπο ντρεπόταν κι η ίδια για τον παραλογισμό της κι ωστόσο γινόταν όλο και επίμονη, σ' εκείνη τη φωνή μιας αμυδρής λαχτάρας: θα ήθελα να ζήσω λίγο ακόμα σε τούτο το ωραίο στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης. "
Στο έργο περιγράφεται το πως ο η ζωή του νέου πρωταγωνιστή ανατρέπεται, καθώς μεταφέρεται σε στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης, την παραμονή του στο Auschwitz και το Buchenwald, την απελευθέρωση και την επιστροφή του στο σπίτι.
Το ιδιαίτερο του συγκεκριμένου βιβλίου είναι ότι ο πρωταγωνιστής αντιμετωπίζει τις φρικαλεότητες και τον παραλογισμό των στρατοπέδων συγκέντρωσης με απάθεια. Θεωρεί φυσιολογικό να συμβαίνει κάτι τέτοιο, ότι τα βασανιστήρια και οι εκτελέσεις, η εξόντωση, είναι κάτι το φυσιολογικό σε κάτι μη φυσιολογικό, τα στρατόπεδα συγκέντρωσης δηλαδή. Ωστόσο, αυτή η απάθεια δεν στερεί από τον αναγνώστη να νιώσει την φρίκη και τον παραλογισμό που επικρατούσε, αφού οι έντονες και γραφικές περιγραφές δεν είναι κάτι απαραίτητο για να συνειδητοποιήσει κανείς τι συνέβαινε τότε.
Το τέλος του έργου, παρά το γεγονός ότι έχει έρθει η ελευθερία και ο ήρωας επιστρέφει στο σπίτι του, είναι στενάχωρο, αφού δείχνει ότι τίποτα δεν είναι ίδιο στο σπίτι και ότι κανείς δεν μπορεί να καταλάβει τους επιζήσαντες των στρατοπέδων συγκέντρωσης. Η ζωή δεν είναι και δεν θα είναι η ίδια ούτε για όσους ήταν στα στρατόπεδα, ούτε για όσους έμειναν πίσω. Οι γνωστοί και συγγενείς του πρωταγωνιστή περιμένουν να ακούσουν περιγραφές φρίκης, αλλά αυτός τους μιλάει για πράγματα που "φυσικά" και θα συνέβαιναν σε ένα τέτοιο μέρος, τους μιλάει για επιβίωση, χωρίς αυτοί να τον καταλαβαίνουν.
Γιατί όπως αναφέρεται και στο βιβλίο:
" Όταν η μέρα εκείνη τελείωσε, ένιωσα ότι κάτι μέσα μου είχε χαθεί ανεπιστρεπτί, στο εξής νόμιζα κάθε πρωί ότι είναι το τελευταίο πρωί που θα σηκωνόμουν, σε κάθε μου βήμα νόμιζα ότι το επόμενο δεν θα το έκανα, σε κάθε μου κίνηση ότι την επόμενη δεν πρόκειται να την κατάφερνα. Προς το παρόν όμως τα κατάφερνα κάθε φορά. "
" Και όσο και να προσπαθούσα να ζυγίσω τα πράγματα, όση λογική, όση σύνεση, όση νηφαλιότητα κι αν προσπαθούσα να επιδείξω, δεν βοηθούσε σε τίποτα - δεν ήταν δυνατό να κλείσω τ'αυτιά μου σ' εκείνη τη μυστική φωνή, σ' εκείνη τη φωνή που κατά κάποιον τρόπο ντρεπόταν κι η ίδια για τον παραλογισμό της κι ωστόσο γινόταν όλο και επίμονη, σ' εκείνη τη φωνή μιας αμυδρής λαχτάρας: θα ήθελα να ζήσω λίγο ακόμα σε τούτο το ωραίο στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης. "
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March 7, 2015
I’m not often proud of my brother. Much of the time, and in most circumstances, our personalities and values are very different. However, some time ago a friend of his tried to get him to watch one of those execution videos, in which some poor sod gets his head lopped off. And he refused, quite aggressively so, he told me; he wanted nothing to do with it. It occurred to me then that one thing my brother and I do have in common is an aversion to violence and suffering. Hold on, you’ll say, doesn’t everyone? No, I don’t think they do. Or certainly only an aversion to that which is directed at themselves. I believe that many normally functioning people – by which I mean people who are not dangerous criminals – are drawn to violence and other people’s suffering, they seek them out, at least at a safe distance. I’m sure there are complex reasons for why this is the case – most of which are, in my opinion, based around power and sex. I can imagine many of you shaking your head as you read this; I accept that this is not a popular view; yet to me it is undeniable; one only needs to look at the popularity of certain kinds of TV programmes, or films or books. Take the recent torture porn craze, films that amount to nothing more than 90 mins of people being butchered. And why do more people tune into the news the more horrific, the bigger the tragedy? Who, likewise, is watching all those murder documentaries? Murderers? Maniacs? I don’t think so. Who is reading all those brutal crime novels? The evidence is overwhelming, despite how uncomfortable the reality of it makes people feel. We – human beings – haven’t changed since large crowds gathered to watch public hangings, we just get our kicks in more subtle ways these days.
I think that this attraction to violence and suffering accounts for why many people appear to find Imre Kertesz’s Fateless [or Fatelessness, in another translation] boring or disappointing. Very few people will admit it, of course, but, in a number of the reviews I have read, there is a very real sense of expectations not having been met, without anyone actually truly giving voice to what these expectations were. I can tell you: these people expected grand horror. Fateless is a book about the holocaust, it is a partially autobiographical account of a young man’s experiences in some of the worst concentration camps. These disappointed readers wanted, perhaps sub-consciously, to read about the boy’s suffering, they wanted him to be severely psychologically and physically oppressed. Yet the book lacks these things, in large part, and therefore it is, I believe, for a certain kind of reader, a huge let-down.
For me, however, Fateless is one of the most extraordinary books I have ever read. Indeed, one of the things I like about it is how novel it is, how, in essence, it does not conform to expectations. The horror is there, of course, because the holocaust was absolutely, undeniably horrific, so to side-step it completely is impossible, but it is nearly always in the background, is not lingered over. The book is a first person narrative, and the boy’s voice is detached, relentlessly ironic, and this creates a weird form of tension, because you know precisely what kind of awful things are happening around him, and to him, but he seems, at least for the first two-thirds of the book, unable to see them himself. The boy isn’t stupid, nor particularly naïve, he just appears to take everything in his stride, to see the common-sense in, the rationale behind, everything. For example, one of the most powerful, poignant and moving scenes takes place as Gyorgy and his friends arrive at Auschwitz and are seen by a doctor who divides the inmates into two groups on the basis of who is fit for work and who isn’t. The reader knows what this process is really about, of course, we know what the outcome will be for those unable to work, but Gyorgy, who at this stage does not, mentally joins in the selection process, justifying to himself or questioning the doctor’s decisions to pass or condemn his fellow man. Even when confronted by officers with whips he feels little more than discomforted or wary; and when he finally comes to understand what the crematoriums are for he takes this in his stride too.
Kertesz apparently once said that it was important to him that he did not present the holocaust as something in retrospect, as something that has already happened and is being commented on, but rather as something happening, as something being revealed bit by bit to the people involved [by which I mean the victims]. However, while I think that is both an interesting approach and one the author makes good use of, I don’t believe that it explains why this book is special. It suggests that Gyorgy would behave as expected [i.e. wringing his hands, beating his chest and wailing at the stars] once he understands what is happening, but he doesn’t. It is the boy’s voice, his take on events, that makes Fateless something of a masterpiece for me. Until I read the book I thought it impossible that anyone could bring a freshness to a subject I already knew a great deal about, but Kertesz does exactly that.
Fateless is, it is worth pointing out, also strangely funny. I have seen it compared to Candide by Voltaire, in which a character attempts to keep a sunny, positive outlook in the face of every kind of disaster, and while I can see some of that in Kertesz’s novel, the humour is less slap-stick, is darker, more subtle and sophisticated; indeed, in tone it reminded me more of Gulliver’s Travels, or Kafka, it is similarly deadpan, so that one isn’t sure, at certain moments, whether one is meant to laugh or not. For example, when Gyorgy is moved to Buchenwald he sets off on a long description of the place, which sounds eerily like a holiday brochure or the script used by an estate agent who is showing you around a property you may wish to purchase, a property that isn’t of the highest calibre, of course. It would be possible to read this description and be slightly bewildered, because it is absurd, yet there is no doubt in my mind that the author is playing for laughs, albeit bitter laughs. There are, however, more obviously comedic moments, although these too are shot through with bitterness and a kind of searing irony, like when Gyorgy’s father is taken away:
Or when the boy describes one of the concentration camps as golden days indeed, or when he states, perhaps most movingly of all:
In terms of style the novel is written in Kertesz’s recognisably overly-precise manner. He is a fan of clauses, that’s for sure, some of which do not make a great deal of sense to me, although you could put this down to a translation issue. The narrator is also, as with the author’s other work, pedantic, and partly because of this the sentences are inelegant, ugly even. Furthermore, Kertesz, much like Dostovesky, uses repeated words or phrases, such as 'so to say' and 'somehow,' which can make reading him laborious. However, lyrical is certainly not what the writer was gunning for here, so none of this is intended critically. One thing I would like to say, before I finish, is in response to the review by the usually excellent The Complete Review, which called Fateless something like the autobiography before the art [the art being Kertesz’s later novels]. I don’t agree with that at all. In fact, i think the opposite. Kertesz’s other novels – including Fiasco and Kaddish for an Unborn Child – despite many qualities to recommend them, are the imitation after the art. Fiasco is one part Beckett, one part Kafka and one part Bernhard; Kaddish is Beckett and Bernhard; Fateless, on the other hand, is all Kertesz, it is a singular vision.
I think that this attraction to violence and suffering accounts for why many people appear to find Imre Kertesz’s Fateless [or Fatelessness, in another translation] boring or disappointing. Very few people will admit it, of course, but, in a number of the reviews I have read, there is a very real sense of expectations not having been met, without anyone actually truly giving voice to what these expectations were. I can tell you: these people expected grand horror. Fateless is a book about the holocaust, it is a partially autobiographical account of a young man’s experiences in some of the worst concentration camps. These disappointed readers wanted, perhaps sub-consciously, to read about the boy’s suffering, they wanted him to be severely psychologically and physically oppressed. Yet the book lacks these things, in large part, and therefore it is, I believe, for a certain kind of reader, a huge let-down.
For me, however, Fateless is one of the most extraordinary books I have ever read. Indeed, one of the things I like about it is how novel it is, how, in essence, it does not conform to expectations. The horror is there, of course, because the holocaust was absolutely, undeniably horrific, so to side-step it completely is impossible, but it is nearly always in the background, is not lingered over. The book is a first person narrative, and the boy’s voice is detached, relentlessly ironic, and this creates a weird form of tension, because you know precisely what kind of awful things are happening around him, and to him, but he seems, at least for the first two-thirds of the book, unable to see them himself. The boy isn’t stupid, nor particularly naïve, he just appears to take everything in his stride, to see the common-sense in, the rationale behind, everything. For example, one of the most powerful, poignant and moving scenes takes place as Gyorgy and his friends arrive at Auschwitz and are seen by a doctor who divides the inmates into two groups on the basis of who is fit for work and who isn’t. The reader knows what this process is really about, of course, we know what the outcome will be for those unable to work, but Gyorgy, who at this stage does not, mentally joins in the selection process, justifying to himself or questioning the doctor’s decisions to pass or condemn his fellow man. Even when confronted by officers with whips he feels little more than discomforted or wary; and when he finally comes to understand what the crematoriums are for he takes this in his stride too.
Kertesz apparently once said that it was important to him that he did not present the holocaust as something in retrospect, as something that has already happened and is being commented on, but rather as something happening, as something being revealed bit by bit to the people involved [by which I mean the victims]. However, while I think that is both an interesting approach and one the author makes good use of, I don’t believe that it explains why this book is special. It suggests that Gyorgy would behave as expected [i.e. wringing his hands, beating his chest and wailing at the stars] once he understands what is happening, but he doesn’t. It is the boy’s voice, his take on events, that makes Fateless something of a masterpiece for me. Until I read the book I thought it impossible that anyone could bring a freshness to a subject I already knew a great deal about, but Kertesz does exactly that.
Fateless is, it is worth pointing out, also strangely funny. I have seen it compared to Candide by Voltaire, in which a character attempts to keep a sunny, positive outlook in the face of every kind of disaster, and while I can see some of that in Kertesz’s novel, the humour is less slap-stick, is darker, more subtle and sophisticated; indeed, in tone it reminded me more of Gulliver’s Travels, or Kafka, it is similarly deadpan, so that one isn’t sure, at certain moments, whether one is meant to laugh or not. For example, when Gyorgy is moved to Buchenwald he sets off on a long description of the place, which sounds eerily like a holiday brochure or the script used by an estate agent who is showing you around a property you may wish to purchase, a property that isn’t of the highest calibre, of course. It would be possible to read this description and be slightly bewildered, because it is absurd, yet there is no doubt in my mind that the author is playing for laughs, albeit bitter laughs. There are, however, more obviously comedic moments, although these too are shot through with bitterness and a kind of searing irony, like when Gyorgy’s father is taken away:
All the same, I thought, at least we were able to send him off to the labor camp, poor man, with memories of a nice day.
Or when the boy describes one of the concentration camps as golden days indeed, or when he states, perhaps most movingly of all:
I would like to live a little bit longer in this beautiful concentration camp.
In terms of style the novel is written in Kertesz’s recognisably overly-precise manner. He is a fan of clauses, that’s for sure, some of which do not make a great deal of sense to me, although you could put this down to a translation issue. The narrator is also, as with the author’s other work, pedantic, and partly because of this the sentences are inelegant, ugly even. Furthermore, Kertesz, much like Dostovesky, uses repeated words or phrases, such as 'so to say' and 'somehow,' which can make reading him laborious. However, lyrical is certainly not what the writer was gunning for here, so none of this is intended critically. One thing I would like to say, before I finish, is in response to the review by the usually excellent The Complete Review, which called Fateless something like the autobiography before the art [the art being Kertesz’s later novels]. I don’t agree with that at all. In fact, i think the opposite. Kertesz’s other novels – including Fiasco and Kaddish for an Unborn Child – despite many qualities to recommend them, are the imitation after the art. Fiasco is one part Beckett, one part Kafka and one part Bernhard; Kaddish is Beckett and Bernhard; Fateless, on the other hand, is all Kertesz, it is a singular vision.
July 30, 2020
"Nikada ne možemo započeti nov život, uvijek smo u mogućnosti jedino da nastavimo stari."
"Besudbinstvo" je moj prvi susret sa Kertesom i uopšteno sa mađarskom književnošću. Pored interesantnog naslova, privukle su me i grandiozne pohvale priređivača - navodi se da je "Besudbinstvo" jedno od najvećih ostvarenja moderne literature, ravno Kafkinom "Procesu"!
Roman opisuje iskustva četrnaestogodišnjeg dječaka iz Budimpešte, koji je zbog židovskog porijekla deportovan u Aušvic, da bi svoju odiseju završio u radnim logorima Buhenvalda i Cajca. Kertes je svoja logoraška iskustva opisao na sličan način na koji su to uradili Karlo Štajner u svojim memoarima ili Aleksandar Solženjicin u "Jednom danu Ivana Denisoviča" - u smislu da je pisao jednostavno i hladnokrvno, vješto izbjegavajući dodir etike i estetike, prepuštajući čitaocima da donose sudove, a tek na kraju dajući malo oduška svojoj ljudskoj i kontemplativnoj strani. Ono po čemu se "Besudbinstvo" u pripovjedačkom smislu razlikuje od pomenutih djela, jeste to što je napisano iz ugla djeteta. Pisac je u potpunosti isključio sva ona saznanja do kojih će doći u zrelijim godinama i sve emocionalne tunele kroz koje će kasnije prolaziti, prenoseći čitaocu samo one utiske kojima je svijest njegovog fiktivnog junaka bila zapljuskivana u trenucima kada su se svi ti događaji odvijali pred njim.
Rekao bih da ovo nije toliko priča o logoru samom, niti je to na prvom mjestu potreba da se čitaocima predoči šta su sve Jevreji tamo proživljavali - postoje tone takvih knjiga i bez ove Kertesove - nego je pisac, u skladu sa svojom umjetničkom prirodom, pokušao da prije svega sebi, a onda i drugima, na jedan dublji način rasvijetli neprebol i vivisecira žig koji će nositi do kraja života. Ipak, logoraško iskustvo nije jedno od onih iskustava, gdje se jednom knjigom ili pjesmom stavi tačka i krene dalje: Kertes se nikada nije oslobodio svog žiga i nikada nije prestao pisati o njemu. U tom smislu su posebno upečatljive scene u kojima se prikazuje povratak u Budimpeštu i opisuje susret sa ljudima koji su mu nekada bili tako bliski, a koje nikada više neće moći gledati istim očima; trenuci u kojima postaje svijestan da njegov svijet nikada više neće biti isti, jer nastojanja drugih da sve zaborave i da se opet sve vrati na staro i njegova nesposobnost, ne da oprosti, nego da prihvati svoj boravak u logoru kao nečiju grešku i da ga naprosto izbriše iz sjećanja, stvaraju nepremostivi jaz između njega i okoline (tu bi se mogle povući jake paralele sa Kišovom dramom "Noć i magla").
Još jedna važna crta ovog romana jeste i apsurdnost. Kertes je često isticao sopstvena anacionalna i arelegiozna stanovišta (čak nije poznavao ni hebrejski jezik), pa mu je dolaskom u logor praktično nametnut sasvim nov identitet: "U stanju sam da shvatim jevrejstvo kao simbol, kao životnu situaciju, kao etički zadatak; da u njemu vidim mogućnost spoznavanja, visoku školu preživljavanja potlačenosti, moderne bijede, izopštenosti. Ali, jevrejstvo kao narod, kao religija, kao istorija - šta ja imam sa tim?" Da sumiramo: Mađari ga deportovali, Njemci ga zlostavljali, a mnogi Jevreji ga ignorisali - tako prolaze oni koji nikome ne pripadaju.
Nije isključeno da mi trenutno nedostaje određena vrsta estetskog senzibiliteta za jednu ovakvu knjigu i da ću kroz nekoliko godina imati puno bolje mišljenje o ovom romanu.
Za kraj, preporučujem svima koji su čitali ovaj roman, da pročitaju i "Dnevnik galiota" (meni puno draža knjiga) u kome se Kertes na nekoliko mjesta osvrće na "Besudbinstvo", razjašnjavajući njegove čvorove na vrlo zanimljiv način. Evo jednog strašno bitnog odlomka odatle:
"Šta nazivam sudbinom? U svakom slučaju, mogućnost tragedije. Spoljašnja determinacija, međutim, ona stigma koja sabija naš život u jednu od situacija datog totalitarizma, djeluje kao zapreka: ako, dakle, na nas odmjerenu determinaciju doživljavamo u punoj mjeri kao stvarnost, umjesto nužnosti koja slijedi iz vlastite - relativne - slobode, to ja nazivam besudbinstvom.
Bitno je da naša determinacija bude uvijek u suprotnosti s našim prirodnim shvatanjima, našim sklonostima, na taj način nastaje besudbinstvo u svom najčistijem obliku.
Odbrana može da bude dvojaka: preobražavamo se u vlastitu determinaciju (u stonogu Franca Kafke), takoreći dobrovoljno, pokušavši da na taj način pretvorimo našu determinaciju u vlastitu sudbinu; ili ćemo se pobuniti protiv nje i tako postati žrtva svoje determinacije. Ni jedna varijanta nije, zapravo, zadovoljavajuće rješenje: naime, u oba slučaja bili smo prinuđeni da svoju determinaciju shvatimo kao stvarnost (dakle, kao jednu u potpunosti spolja nametnutu samovolju koju moramo prihvatiti kao nešto posve prirodno, znajući pri svemu tome da je ona teoretski podređena našoj ljudskoj moći, i da još nismo u stanju, nemamo takvu moć da je promijenimo), dok determinirajuća sila, ta besmislena moć, posve jednostavno trijumfuje nad nama: pronalazi za nas ime, koje nije naše ime, i pretvara nas u svoj predmet, premda smo rođeni za nešto drugo."
"Besudbinstvo" je moj prvi susret sa Kertesom i uopšteno sa mađarskom književnošću. Pored interesantnog naslova, privukle su me i grandiozne pohvale priređivača - navodi se da je "Besudbinstvo" jedno od najvećih ostvarenja moderne literature, ravno Kafkinom "Procesu"!
Roman opisuje iskustva četrnaestogodišnjeg dječaka iz Budimpešte, koji je zbog židovskog porijekla deportovan u Aušvic, da bi svoju odiseju završio u radnim logorima Buhenvalda i Cajca. Kertes je svoja logoraška iskustva opisao na sličan način na koji su to uradili Karlo Štajner u svojim memoarima ili Aleksandar Solženjicin u "Jednom danu Ivana Denisoviča" - u smislu da je pisao jednostavno i hladnokrvno, vješto izbjegavajući dodir etike i estetike, prepuštajući čitaocima da donose sudove, a tek na kraju dajući malo oduška svojoj ljudskoj i kontemplativnoj strani. Ono po čemu se "Besudbinstvo" u pripovjedačkom smislu razlikuje od pomenutih djela, jeste to što je napisano iz ugla djeteta. Pisac je u potpunosti isključio sva ona saznanja do kojih će doći u zrelijim godinama i sve emocionalne tunele kroz koje će kasnije prolaziti, prenoseći čitaocu samo one utiske kojima je svijest njegovog fiktivnog junaka bila zapljuskivana u trenucima kada su se svi ti događaji odvijali pred njim.
Rekao bih da ovo nije toliko priča o logoru samom, niti je to na prvom mjestu potreba da se čitaocima predoči šta su sve Jevreji tamo proživljavali - postoje tone takvih knjiga i bez ove Kertesove - nego je pisac, u skladu sa svojom umjetničkom prirodom, pokušao da prije svega sebi, a onda i drugima, na jedan dublji način rasvijetli neprebol i vivisecira žig koji će nositi do kraja života. Ipak, logoraško iskustvo nije jedno od onih iskustava, gdje se jednom knjigom ili pjesmom stavi tačka i krene dalje: Kertes se nikada nije oslobodio svog žiga i nikada nije prestao pisati o njemu. U tom smislu su posebno upečatljive scene u kojima se prikazuje povratak u Budimpeštu i opisuje susret sa ljudima koji su mu nekada bili tako bliski, a koje nikada više neće moći gledati istim očima; trenuci u kojima postaje svijestan da njegov svijet nikada više neće biti isti, jer nastojanja drugih da sve zaborave i da se opet sve vrati na staro i njegova nesposobnost, ne da oprosti, nego da prihvati svoj boravak u logoru kao nečiju grešku i da ga naprosto izbriše iz sjećanja, stvaraju nepremostivi jaz između njega i okoline (tu bi se mogle povući jake paralele sa Kišovom dramom "Noć i magla").
Još jedna važna crta ovog romana jeste i apsurdnost. Kertes je često isticao sopstvena anacionalna i arelegiozna stanovišta (čak nije poznavao ni hebrejski jezik), pa mu je dolaskom u logor praktično nametnut sasvim nov identitet: "U stanju sam da shvatim jevrejstvo kao simbol, kao životnu situaciju, kao etički zadatak; da u njemu vidim mogućnost spoznavanja, visoku školu preživljavanja potlačenosti, moderne bijede, izopštenosti. Ali, jevrejstvo kao narod, kao religija, kao istorija - šta ja imam sa tim?" Da sumiramo: Mađari ga deportovali, Njemci ga zlostavljali, a mnogi Jevreji ga ignorisali - tako prolaze oni koji nikome ne pripadaju.
Nije isključeno da mi trenutno nedostaje određena vrsta estetskog senzibiliteta za jednu ovakvu knjigu i da ću kroz nekoliko godina imati puno bolje mišljenje o ovom romanu.
Za kraj, preporučujem svima koji su čitali ovaj roman, da pročitaju i "Dnevnik galiota" (meni puno draža knjiga) u kome se Kertes na nekoliko mjesta osvrće na "Besudbinstvo", razjašnjavajući njegove čvorove na vrlo zanimljiv način. Evo jednog strašno bitnog odlomka odatle:
"Šta nazivam sudbinom? U svakom slučaju, mogućnost tragedije. Spoljašnja determinacija, međutim, ona stigma koja sabija naš život u jednu od situacija datog totalitarizma, djeluje kao zapreka: ako, dakle, na nas odmjerenu determinaciju doživljavamo u punoj mjeri kao stvarnost, umjesto nužnosti koja slijedi iz vlastite - relativne - slobode, to ja nazivam besudbinstvom.
Bitno je da naša determinacija bude uvijek u suprotnosti s našim prirodnim shvatanjima, našim sklonostima, na taj način nastaje besudbinstvo u svom najčistijem obliku.
Odbrana može da bude dvojaka: preobražavamo se u vlastitu determinaciju (u stonogu Franca Kafke), takoreći dobrovoljno, pokušavši da na taj način pretvorimo našu determinaciju u vlastitu sudbinu; ili ćemo se pobuniti protiv nje i tako postati žrtva svoje determinacije. Ni jedna varijanta nije, zapravo, zadovoljavajuće rješenje: naime, u oba slučaja bili smo prinuđeni da svoju determinaciju shvatimo kao stvarnost (dakle, kao jednu u potpunosti spolja nametnutu samovolju koju moramo prihvatiti kao nešto posve prirodno, znajući pri svemu tome da je ona teoretski podređena našoj ljudskoj moći, i da još nismo u stanju, nemamo takvu moć da je promijenimo), dok determinirajuća sila, ta besmislena moć, posve jednostavno trijumfuje nad nama: pronalazi za nas ime, koje nije naše ime, i pretvara nas u svoj predmet, premda smo rođeni za nešto drugo."
April 7, 2014
I read Fatelessness for the first time not long after Kertész won the Nobel Prize, and without knowing much about Hungarian history or Hungarian writers. I will admit, I was mystified by its tone, which veered back and forth between a disarming intimacy (where the reader is invited to share the naive perspective of the 15-year-old narrator, Gyorgy, on his experiences in the lagers) and the ironic detachment of the narrator's adult self. It was more layered than a work of witness testimony, such as Primo Levi's first book, If This Is a Man, yet less "literary" than Elie Wiesel's Night.
The book left a bitter taste in my mouth, reminding me of how I felt after reading Tadeusz Borowski’s This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen or some of the essays in Jean Améry's unsettling collection, At the Mind's Limits. Behind Gyorgy's naiveté is quite a bit of rage--not unwarranted, mind you--but it's directed everywhere, almost at random.
At one point Gyorgy describes Buchenwald as if he were writing a tourist brochure:
I also see Kertész in dialogue with Sartre, who claimed, in Anti-Semite and Jew that the Jew is wholly defined by others. Although he wore the yellow star and was persecuted on account of his (supposed) race, Gyorgy does not feel Jewish. The devout, Yiddish-speaking Jews in the lager consider him a goy, he thinks of himself as a Hungarian. And yet, he will not deny his Jewish heritage now that he has been punished for it. Another statement by Levi comes to mind: "They [the Nazis] sewed the Star of David on me, and not only onto my clothes."
But the underlying dialogue in Fatelessness is with Communism. The Stalinist regime under which Kertész came of age, with its torturers, its secret prisons and work camps, its network of informers and the pervasive atmosphere of fear, resembled the world into which Kertész himself was thrust at age fifteen.
“It revived the tastes of Auschwitz,” he said in an interview in Haaretz, allowing him to understand as an adult what he experienced as a child.
I'm still pondering this book, and will have more to say about it when I review the film version (Kertész wrote the screenplay) in my monthly column for 3 Quarks Daily. But I've read so many wonderful reviews by my friends here lately that I wanted to offer something in return.
The book left a bitter taste in my mouth, reminding me of how I felt after reading Tadeusz Borowski’s This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen or some of the essays in Jean Améry's unsettling collection, At the Mind's Limits. Behind Gyorgy's naiveté is quite a bit of rage--not unwarranted, mind you--but it's directed everywhere, almost at random.
"Have you come from Germany, son?" "Yes." "From the concentration camps?" "Naturally." "Which one?" "Buchenwald." Yes, he had heard of it; he knew it was "one of the pits of the Nazi hell," as he put it. "Where did they carry you off from?" "From Budapest." "How long were you there?" "A year in total." "You must have seen a lot, young fellow, a lot of terrible things," he rejoined, but I said nothing. "Still," he continued, "the main thing is that it's over, in the past," and, his face brightening, he gestured to the houses that we happened to be rumbling past and inquired what I was feeling now, back home again and seeing the city that I had left. "Hatred," I told him.Now I know more, and it strikes me that Kertész is in dialogue with all the writers I've mentioned. He's picking up Levi's statement about Auschwitz--"Here there is no why,"--but Kertész doesn't leave it there. Gyorgy insists on trying to see things from the point of view of his persecutors. He is too weak to work, which "understandably" irritates the guards. He must smell disgusting, having diarrhea. The lice must eat too, how can he blame them for feasting on him? Naturally he had been starved and beaten.
At one point Gyorgy describes Buchenwald as if he were writing a tourist brochure:
Buchenwald lies on the crest of one of the elevations in a region of hills and dales. Its air is clear, the countryside varied, with woods all around and the red-tiled roofs of the village houses in the valleys down below delightful to the eye. The bathhouse is situated off to the left. The prisoners are mostly friendly, though somehow in a different way than in Auschwitz.Heavily ironic, to be sure, but the reader understands that the fifteen-year-old narrator wants desperately to believe that he has come to a better place and, strange as it sounds, he has a favorite moment, dusk, when he is at peace with his surroundings.
I also see Kertész in dialogue with Sartre, who claimed, in Anti-Semite and Jew that the Jew is wholly defined by others. Although he wore the yellow star and was persecuted on account of his (supposed) race, Gyorgy does not feel Jewish. The devout, Yiddish-speaking Jews in the lager consider him a goy, he thinks of himself as a Hungarian. And yet, he will not deny his Jewish heritage now that he has been punished for it. Another statement by Levi comes to mind: "They [the Nazis] sewed the Star of David on me, and not only onto my clothes."
But the underlying dialogue in Fatelessness is with Communism. The Stalinist regime under which Kertész came of age, with its torturers, its secret prisons and work camps, its network of informers and the pervasive atmosphere of fear, resembled the world into which Kertész himself was thrust at age fifteen.
“It revived the tastes of Auschwitz,” he said in an interview in Haaretz, allowing him to understand as an adult what he experienced as a child.
I'm still pondering this book, and will have more to say about it when I review the film version (Kertész wrote the screenplay) in my monthly column for 3 Quarks Daily. But I've read so many wonderful reviews by my friends here lately that I wanted to offer something in return.
September 30, 2016
"even in Auschwitz, it seems, it is possible to be bored—assuming one is privileged."
IK was in concentration camp himself for a year at an age of around 15 and this novel is semi-autobiographical. Instead of usual double-quotation marks, the protagonist is using reported speech which seems to make the whole thing read more like a confession than a novel. Such things might seem as defects at first sight but, as in case of 'The Bell Jar', they just serve to show how difficult it is for a suffering soul to give their experience a popular form. May be novel as an art is still developing. The author also discussed the difficulty faced in this transition in his Nobel prize accepting speech too.
Another thing worth noticing in the speech was that IK used the pronoun 'we' while discussing what brought Holocausts. He refused to think of it as something brought down on people by some outlandish demons that probably won't happen again. And let us face it - we are still very much the same people who gave power to Nazis, we still love psychopaths, we still vote according to whom we hate and we still need scapegoats and easily learn to hate first the things we wish to harm:
"Somehow, from his angry look and his deft sleight of hand, I suddenly understood why his train of thought would make it impossible to abide Jews, for otherwise he might have had the unpleasant feeling that he was cheating them."
What makes this book stand out is that it is not the big atrocities like ones showed in Schindler's Camp that are described in detail but rather the general experience - not only boredom but amid never ending hunger constantly stocking his consciousness, injuries, suicidal thoughts camps there were still happy moments:
" “...I would like to live a little bit longer in this beautiful concentration camp.”
Another thing, and one that I like to see in protagonists, is the kafkaesque efforts made by the fifteen-year old protagonist to understand the world around him and to speculate how it come out to be such - how they must have come up with all those ideas to make such a brilliant camp. His position is further worsened and made absurd by his lack of significant desire to identify himself as a Jew. He isn't very religious (" I yearned more for sleep than prayers") and doesn't know Hebrew - this attracts disgust from some of his fellow prisoners who claim that he is no Jew. At one point, he retorts by calling one of them 'lousy Jew'.
And yet, it is because he is a Jew, he is forced to suffer. The whole novel is about his coming to terms with his fate. In the very beginning, he gives an impression as if he is an outsider (like those Kafka characters) who is suddenly made to accept a role he doesn't understand:
"You too," he said, "are now a part of the shared Jewish fate,"
In the end, he does come to terms with it - and, no it didn't mean to forget the whole thing as a bad incidence in his life (a whole year)
" we can never start a new life, only ever carry on the old one."
Nor he would be pittied, but still he is sure he will find happinness:
" I already know there will be happiness. For even there, next to the chimneys, in the intervals between the torments, there was something that resembled happiness. Everyone asks only about the hardships and the "atrocities," whereas for me perhaps it is that experience which will remain the most memorable. Yes, the next time I am asked, I ought to speak about that, the happiness of the concentration camps."
April 18, 2018
Başından geçen böyle bir tecrübeyi bu kadar donuk , bu kadar sıradan bir hikayeymiş gibi anlatabilmesi beni çok şaşırttı. Üzerinde düşündükçe, başından geçenleri yıllar sonra artık olgun bir birey olarak yazıyor gibi değil de , toplama kamplarına düştüğü ve bir yıl geçirdiği 16 yaşındaki halindeki gözlemlerini, o yaşının verdiği bakış açısıyla anlatmak istediği kanısına vardım. Yani olduğu gibi , fazladan acındırmaya gerek duymadan ve zaten çok acı olan anılarının inandırıcılık kazanması için ekstra bir çaba harcamadan. Kırmızının kırmızı olduğuna inandırmak için kıpkırmızı demeden yani.
Başlarda sıradan bir 2. Dünya Savaşı zulmü gibi başlasa da son 10 -15 sayfalık kısmı diyebileceğimiz son bölümünden kitap ezber bozan bir duruş sergiliyor ve kitabın adını taşıyan kadersizliğin asıl suçlularını arıyor. Üstelik bunu henüz bir ergenken yapıyor.
Başlarda sıradan bir 2. Dünya Savaşı zulmü gibi başlasa da son 10 -15 sayfalık kısmı diyebileceğimiz son bölümünden kitap ezber bozan bir duruş sergiliyor ve kitabın adını taşıyan kadersizliğin asıl suçlularını arıyor. Üstelik bunu henüz bir ergenken yapıyor.
June 29, 2023
"At the age of 14 Georg Koves is plucked from his home in a Jewish section of Budapest and without any particular malice, placed on a train to Auschwitz. He does not understand the reason for his fate. He doesn’t particularly think of himself as Jewish. And his fellow prisoners, who decry his lack of Yiddish, keep telling him, “You are no Jew.”
Thought this was a terrific book.
February 25, 2022
Bewegend und teilweise hart an der Grenze des Erträglichen. Zu Recht ausgezeichnet!
January 20, 2020
Δεκαπεντάρης ο συγγραφέας έμεινε φυλακισμένος ένα χρόνο στα γερμανικά στρατόπεδα. Γνώρισα και βίωσε τη φρίκη τους. Όλα αυτά δίκην ντοκουμέντο καταγράφονται στο βιβλίο. Μια ακόμα τραγική κατάθεση ψυχής των καταναγκαστικών στρατοπέδων.
August 13, 2015
Ανορθόδοξο μυθιστόρημα, αιρετικό θα έλεγε κανείς.
Η γραφή του Κέρτες μου άρεσε πολύ. 4,5 αστεράκια για την ακρίβεια.
Η γραφή του Κέρτες μου άρεσε πολύ. 4,5 αστεράκια για την ακρίβεια.
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March 11, 2023Jedno je iskošena pripovedačeva odbrana otupelošću i alijenacijom s kojom se bez dramurdisanja, pardona i zazivanja sudbine - ne zato što se veruje da postoji primisao, niti zato što se Bog povukao, već zato što se na tu rutu ni ne pretenduje, izuzev ako Njega ne uvede zamarajući strani element - gleda (unazad) na sebe i sopstveni konc-logorski prtljag. "Zemne ostatke", reći će se (iz)ravno u jednom času.
Citatni intermeco:
"Onda bih pakao zamislio kao mesto gde se ne može dosađivati, a to se, dodadoh, u konc-logorima moglo, čak i u Aušvicu - razume se pod određenim uslovima."
Drastičnije:
"Pa čak i onde pored odžaka bilo je u pauzama mûka nečeg što je ličilo na sreću. Svi me pitaju samo o neprilikama, o 'užasima', iako za mene možda taj doživljaj ostaje najupečatljiviji."
Drugo je stid što se javlja u čitaocu onoga trenutka kada shvati da pripovedača najvećma mimoilazi "ona čaša" o kojoj ovaj prvi - ja prvi! - očekuje(m) da se kaziva. Trenutak kada mesto iščekivanja započne da popunjava dosada trenutak je gorčine.
Otud vam i manjka ocena. Ne igram; baš kao ni pripovedač.
Citatni intermeco:
"Onda bih pakao zamislio kao mesto gde se ne može dosađivati, a to se, dodadoh, u konc-logorima moglo, čak i u Aušvicu - razume se pod određenim uslovima."
Drastičnije:
"Pa čak i onde pored odžaka bilo je u pauzama mûka nečeg što je ličilo na sreću. Svi me pitaju samo o neprilikama, o 'užasima', iako za mene možda taj doživljaj ostaje najupečatljiviji."
Drugo je stid što se javlja u čitaocu onoga trenutka kada shvati da pripovedača najvećma mimoilazi "ona čaša" o kojoj ovaj prvi - ja prvi! - očekuje(m) da se kaziva. Trenutak kada mesto iščekivanja započne da popunjava dosada trenutak je gorčine.
Otud vam i manjka ocena. Ne igram; baš kao ni pripovedač.
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