Nohow On: Company, ill seen, ill said; and Worstward Ho

Hello Gentle Reader

Its a book review. I finally got off my lazy ass and decided it is time to do a book review. "Nohow on: Company, Ill see, Ill Said; and Worstward Ho," are three novella's by Samuel Beckett. Though Samuel Beckett refused to call these three novella's a trilogy, or a trinity or a triptych or a trifle or whatever. They are often considered to be a trilogy in their own right. Much like Samuel Beckett's earlier prose work or rather his mature trilogy of novels: "Molloy," "Malone Dies," and "The Unnamble." The novellas of "Nohow On," are also considered a trilogy -- even though Samuel Beckett often said otherwise. But that is not what matters. The trilogy or trinity or triptych or trifle of "Nohow On: Company, Ill seen, Ill Said, and Worstward Ho," are written in what is considered Samuel Beckett's later period. This period, is where Samuel Beckett, had stripped down his working prose, to the bare essentials -- even falling into repetition of repetition. These novella's are often noted as being called "Closed Space," stories, in which Samuel Beckett's work has got more and more and more, minimalist, and preoccupied his stories with memory and its effects on those (the characters) who are confined in these "Closed Space," stories.

The idea of memory perhaps best shown in the first novella, called "Company." This short novella (though I think it is the longest of the three novella's collected here.) is the first novella that gives the reader the taste of what they are in for, for sure. I think in most cases the novella is going to be a like it or don't like it. But it expertly shows the use of memory. I would like to wonder, if these memories, that are being used, are autobiographical in some sense or another . . . perhaps I am wrong, but it does appear, that they could be. As the introduction to this slim book of novella's says, Samuel Beckett, had wrote a letter to a friend or someone about a nightmare he was having (I believe this was all recorded during his last days) where he explained that he kept having a nightmare, when he was younger and his father urged him to jump off the diving board (or whatever they are called) down in the pool below. Needless to say I think the younger Samuel Beckett was quiet frightened by this. Quite frightened indeed, and this passage was latter recorded in the novella called "Company."

The Novella called "Company," shows many of these memories. But they are presented t the man laying in the dark on his stomach or was it his back (?) -- by a voice. This voice speaks to this man who is lying in the dark, about the past and the present and sometimes (as we can guess) the future. All of this is done to the man who is sitting in the dark. Now that is appears rather straightforward doesn't it? But it isn't. Samuel Beckett's use of language, and structure, is what gives his stories, and his works such a odd edge. The first paragraph of "Company," really gives you the understanding of what you are in for. and if you do not like it, then sorry to say, I would recommend returning the book, or giving it to someone as a present, because it is not going to get any better from there on out.

"A voice comes to one in the dark. Imagine. To one on his back in the dark. This he can tell by the pressure on his hind parts and by how the dark changes when he shuts his eyes and again when he opens them again."

And so is the brief summarization of "Company," by Samuel Beckett. We assume the first character in this first "Closed Space," story/novella, is a male.

The next novella or perhaps best seen as anti-story is "Ill Seen, Ill said."

Well this novella or story or anti-story takes place in a rural unspecified area. It focuses on a nameless woman. She is old, and her body is decaying because of her old age. Everything about her is failing. Her eye site is the most predominate physical trait that is failing. Her sense of direction is gone. East, West, North, South no longer matters. Her eye site is gone, and her body is failing. She lives alone. She has nothing really. She has a few rustic items. So far as the reader you know, this old woman's eyes and health and body is failing her. It’s fair to say that her mind is failing her as well. Most of this novella centers and revolves around the questioning of what is often seen as "universal truths." Pleasure and pain; right and wrong; good and evil. All these notions, this old woman questions. Now that she is older, and everything is failing her, she finds herself questioning in the meaning of these notions. Sure they are in place, and people believe them, but the old woman wonders, if anyone -- even herself; has ever understood these notions. She later just determines, that no one -- not even herself; knows what these ideas mean or even what these words mean. This novella really just relies on this woman and her three activities and her questions and suspicions. In the end all these activities, questions and suspicions, are all meaningless, and have no meaning, no value, nothing. Much like real life. Every action, every question, every theory, and every wonder, never has much meaning, and all -- much like this old woman, in this novella or anti-story "Ill Seen, Ill Said," the day to day activities, and questions, suspicions, and wonderings, are all meaningless. For much like this old woman, we are also waiting for death. Some have shorter time to wait, while others have a longer time to wait.

"Worstward Ho," is the last novella of this collection. This last story is perhaps the best example of Samuel Beckett's best example of, his use of minimalism, and use of repetition and repetition of repetition.

Here is an example of Samuel Beckett's use of minimalism from page 89 (eighty-nine) paragraph Four (4).

"All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."

That is perhaps one of my favourite lines from the entire collection, of these novellas. I love the quote: "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." Is it fair to say its inspiring. Sure why not. But what I like the most of it, is its contradiction. Try? and you failed? Oh well fail better next time. Failure is not always the end.

But with that line one can certainly see Samuel Beckett's use of minimalism. The very short sentences. The repetition. The very choice economy of words. This is what minimalism is. Its taking . . . splinters of a scene or a event, or something and then just gluing this splinters back slowly. I think (and I could be wrong) that Samuel Beckett was the first man to really use this type of a style in such an odd and ambiguous way. He ripped apart scenes, and took slivers off the scene, and then placed them back together. Minimalism, is often noted for stripping not only the prose but even characters, and other forms of literary conventions down to the bare essentials. Eugene Ionesco’s plays (or rather his earlier plays) where often noted for their use of characters speaking in odd ways. such as: "One should always take an umbrella when it rains." the use of the word as "one," replacing "I," or "You," or "They," is what Eugene Ionesco wanted to do, by creating puppets of play characters, via the use of dialogue or its failure.

The use of minimalism is most predominantly put to its radical form in Samuel Beckett's, latter works. While reading all of these novella's or tales, I found it difficult to really find the characters in these works. Especially "Ill Seen, Ill Said," but they were all good, in their form of style and structure. I personally loved the use of repetition, which can adequately be displayed in the following, paragraph or passage, from page one hundred and six (106) paragraph/passage number one (1):

"Worse less. By no stretch more. Worse for want of better less. Less best. No. Naught not best worse. Less best worse. No. Least. Least best worst. Least never to be naught. Never to naught be brought. Never by naught be brought. Never be naught be nulled. unnullable least. Say that best worse. With leastening words say least best worse. Fow want of worser worst. Unlessenable least best worse."

While reading the work -- every one of these novellas; but especially "Worstward Ho," it felt a lot like, poetry. Reminded at times, like Herta Muller's work . . . but it is also quite different then her work. Which is also quite interesting to say the least because both Samuel Beckett and Herta Muller are Nobel Prize in Literature winners. Samuel Beckett one the prize in 1969 and Herta Muller won the prize in 2009.

In all these novella's are a great example of Samuel Beckett's prose in his late period, where his work was stripped down to the bare essentials, even borderline poetic at times, and all much different than his early and middle period work. Its certainly though work of: if you do like it or if you don't like it. That is for sure, a big question, and if you don't, you don't, that’s fine, and if you do, you do. Samuel Beckett, is certainly no easy author to read, but he is an enjoyable author to read also, once you get past certain things, and he can be quite funny at times. But these works appear a bit more hopeless and despairing then comedic. But still they are good, and I enjoyed them nonetheless.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
And As Always
Stay Well Read

Take Care
My Dear Gentle Readers

M.Mary

Is it Thursday Already?

Hello Gentle Reader

Is it already Thursday, is what I had asked myself this morning when I had awoken to the sound of my alarm clock, ringing in my ear -- alright it was not actually ringing in my ear, it was playing music, but the singer could certainly have used some vocal lessons in my opinion . . . Anyhow, so it is Thursday already you say. Of course you say that, yes of course you do. Because it is Thursday January 27 of 2011, and oh dear does it feel like January has just ran out the door, slipping on some ice, and heading for the door? Is that a good way to start the New Year? With a quick fast paced, fleeting moments and fading time? Soon we head into the frozen hearted, month of February.

Well enough of that. Why am I blabbering on and on and on? Who knows. Perhaps because I -- dare I say it; I do not have anything to write about. Yes, yes I can hear the gasps now. How dare I bother to write anything if I have nothing to write about, yes, yes, yes, I do understand what you are saying. While others are out there screaming, well haven't you finished "Palace Walk," the first book in "The Cairo Trilogy," by Naguib Mahfouz Nobel Laureate in Literature of 1988, and I must say the following . . . No, no I have not. Well haven't you read the short novella's by Samuel Beckett? The trilogy or trinity or tiphyt or trifle or whatever they can be described as "Nohow On: Company; Ill Seen, Ill Said; and Worstward Ho,"? And again I must answer that question with the following answer, No, i have not. I must confess that I am reading "The Cairo Trilogy," at a very leisurely pace -- if one could describe it like that. However lately I watched some movies. But they were actually good movies. I know, such a rare item does exist.

SO the three movies I watched were:

"The Fountain," -- which was directed by Darren Aronofsky who also directed the new movie out "Black Swan," and the past movie "Requiem for a Dream," -- which was highly disturbing, but also really great for its acting and its cinematography. "The Fountain," is a lovely movie. It truly is a lovely movie, one in which I thoroughly enjoyed. Its difficult to describe really. the movie is told in three different parts. we have the first tale "Tomas the Conquistador," (past) and then we have "Tommy the neuroscientist," (present) and then we have "Tom the space traveler," (future) each one. Each part overlaps with the other. But the movie doesn't go forward in simple narration. It goes together in a nonlinear storytelling, with great cinematography techniques. But really the story centers around the simple love story of a man and a woman. However, its the way that Darran Aronofsky had presented the entire work of the film, that made it such a delight. It goes to show, that the way you tell a story is just as important as the story itself, as well as the characters.

"Memento," was the next film that I watched directed by Christopher Nolan. This film is very interesting. Not in stylistic techniques but rather story telling. Its told in the way the main character, would experience life. through notes, pictures, and the tattoo's that are marked on his body, with important information. The entire movie overlaps itself, but always leaves just a bit of information, left unsaid to keep the viewer engaged. With the use of overlapping, and repetition the movie was able to keep me engaged, kept me enjoying the film from start to end. Even the scientific and medical community were impressed, sitting the fact that the film was the most realistic depiction of anterograde amnesia.

The last movie was "Spliced," but I don't feel like talking anymore, gentle reader. So I'll let you go until next time. If I have nothing to write about next week I'll talk about "Spliced," for you.

Thank-you for Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always Stay Well Read

M.Mary

Monday's With Mr. K (No.1)

Hello Gentle Reader

Here is the suprise and hopeful monthly to bi-weekly installment that I had promised you. Please enjoy, and thank-you for being so patient while I got it up.

___________________________________________


Everyone knew – or rather everyone who knew Mr. K (so therefore everyone); that Mr. K, lived in a very small, narrow, apartment that was rundown. Mr. K did live alone. However, time to time a cat or two or three but no more than that; would pop up and come and visit Mr. K. Though Mr. K was not someone one could call, a cat lover, he did however pity the poor creatures.

“Cats do not like people – therefore people do not like cats. They do however rely on cats to get rid of the rats. The sworn enemy of the cat! Therefore there is a treaty and neutral understanding between cats and people. I am a person therefore I too have a little bit of respect for cats. I have no rats, in my apartment though. But my apartment is warm, and unlike rats, cats are unafraid of heights. However cats – also unlike rats; are afraid of the lower regions of the world, and therefore, since my apartment is up high – therefore the lack of rats; but also the inviting warmth of the fireplace and stove, cats are found here.”

However the one cat or two cats or three cats but no more cats then that, would only stay the night before, leaping out of the window, onto a nearby branch of a tree and scurry off – or so he (Mr. K) would say.

Mr. K however was not a lonely person. He had acquaintances – he never had friends. For the reasons that:

“A friend is like family. My apartment and my bed are small enough as it is, I certainly could not have a family – and therefore I cannot afford friends.”

In fact Mr. K had many acquaintances. Everyone on the street in which Mr. K had lived – was acquainted with Mr. K. Often times Mr. K could be found mindlessly wandering around – or what would appear to be mindless wandering; but in fact could have had a purpose. It was always hard to judge with Mr. K. Though if one were to stop and talk with Mr. K he would certainly share both his wisdom and stories with all who would lend him an ear and would talk to him.

And so everyone would walk with Mr. K – or come visit him in his apartment and he would share stories and wisdom with all. No one was turned away from him. Not even one, or two or three cats – but of course no more.

Authors who repeat versus recycle

Hello Gentle Reader

It is early Sunday morning, and I can't seem to get back to sleep, so I decided I would give a blog even though its Sunday and not the usual Thursday but oh well, I had a fascinating idea, for a blog entry and therefore decided to give it a shot. Well I was lying in bed trying my best to get to sleep, I was thinking over some ideas for novels and stories. I started to see that there were common elements in some of them. I started to wonder. Do all authors write the same story with slight variations and different plot lines? I started to think of some great authors. Like Haruki Murakami, Margaret Atwood, and John Irving and others. Each one repeats themselves in slight different ways. Each one tackles the same themes, in their work, but also their work differs greatly from another novel or a previous story. But what about small slight details, that appear to become common motifs, that they soon start to become dull or something that is to be expected. For example:

One would suspect that in a Haruki Murakami novel that a woman will go missing. Or that in a Margaret Atwood novel, the female protagonist and characters are usually more complexly drawn then that of their male counterparts. In a John Irving novel one would only be shocked not to see old women taking advantage of younger men. (Alright I admit I stole the last example from a blog I read but I'll leave a link at the end of this blog to give credit)

So as I laid in bed thinking about this, I wondered to myself, if others have noticed this common trait. Soon I found a blog that discussed the same observation but in my opinion criticized and made sarcastic remarks rather than actually try to understand why this happens to an author.

This has me thinking. I want to be a published writer/author whatever. But sometimes I start to think that I am much better at reading novels then writing stories and novels. But now is not the place for that discussion. So upon noticing a slight variation of my work is repeating itself at times, I wondered if this is a common practice that authors find certain themes, and stories so enjoyable that they keep presenting them in different situations and areas.

In some aspects it is human nature. If the process or the formula for success has worked so far, why change it? Lets face it. Where would Margret Atwood be without her strong willed female protagonists and flashback like prose revealing the nature of the characters, and what has shaped them? Where would Haruki Murakami be without talking cats, and magical abilities, and other bizzare events as being mundane, and just accepted. Where would David Mitchell be without his stylistic firework like prose, grand story-telling capabilities, and works that sometimes over-lap or come into contact with each other. Where would any of them be indeed? And where would I be without my certain traits that keep popping into my head.

Though as a reader, after reading three novels by the same author and one can pick out a farting dog, or a repair man that loses his wrench and later finds it has been used as a murder weapon, or speech that is so unique and original it’s hard to make the words out, or female characters discovering themselves and their sexuality and gender identity; don't you feel slightly . . . cheated? I mean yes i would feel slightly cheated. In some aspect or another, it would appear that one was reading the same story with a variation or so. At the same time, do these common motifs, become a certain trademark of the author that they are expected to use these traits here and there simply because if they don't they wouldn't be the same?

But my constant thinking of this, still refuses to answer my question. How does an author fight this? How does an author stay original and fresh? There does not appear to be an answer to this question. At least not a sole easy answer to this question. However i do notice something’s do appear of interest to me sometimes. In David Mitchell's novels (at least two anyway) "Ghostwritten," and "Cloud Atlas," the novel is split up into stories, that connect to each other. Sometimes they are globally connected and sometimes they are connected through time. But then David Mitchell changed his way of writing once again with the historical novel of "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet," and in his autobiographical novel "Black Swan Green," David Mitchell miniaturizes his sense of time through the ages to simply thirteen months. Perhaps the re-use of motifs and symbolize, is something that we all do. Musicians do it. How many times does Britney Spears need to sing about sex and how she wants to be someone’s sex slave? How often does what his face need to sing about the countless girls that have broken his heart before he decides to sing of something else. These traits -- be it a bicycle re-used, or cannibalism, or a female character discovering themself, or a tale of a character escaping a foreign city that makes no sense to them. It all becomes a trademark or a certain theme to the author.

Perhaps the best way to combat the sense of being a broken record or repeating oneself to many times, is to simply write the story in a different manner or a different style and it soon becomes a newer fresher story and therefore not the same old same old, piece of work that is simply expected to appear on the list of work the author has done.

Thank-You For Reading Gentle Reader. I am not sure if I will blog this Thursday depends if I have any fresh and new ideas to share with you.

Take Care for Now
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M.Mary

P.S. The Promise Link

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2010/jan/11/fiction-johnirving

Early Dusk

Hello Gentle Reader

This evening I had taken my dog for a walk. This time of day is best described as dusk and the last part of the sunset. I really like this time of day. It’s beautiful. Its the time where the east is dark, and the west, is just a little bit brighter. The contrast is rather gorgeous and beautiful depending on the day. Throughout our small and short winter walk, of 2011, we observed many sites and scenes -- none of which are connected, and none of which are significant in any way shape or form. In the distance of the small town in which my parents are living, there is a drill site or something to do with oil, is being set up. Most likely a sour gas well. There are plenty of those around here. The birds were awfully quiet, and silent. Sad really. I kind of miss the chirping and the songs that they can give off. Without those bright few songs, and the repeating notes and flashy natural generic music that flows from their beaks, the dusks and days appear, darker and lifeless. For the trees have leaves on them. The humming of insects, and other small life forms is not in the air. The feeling of life appears to be lacking. Everything feels dormant and lifeless. As if in a long sleep.

But that is what winter is. Its a long sleep really. A time where life is rejuvenating and creatures rest and keep hidden and wait for the summer months and warmer times of the year to roll around. However their is still life, lurking here, and there. Just behind my parents house is a small shed, and underneath the shed lies "Pipkin," the bush bunny. That is right though I did name him after one of the rabbits from "Watership Down," by Richard Adams. Call me pretentious, but I thought it was a nicer and more unique name then calling the poor thing "Bush," "Bunny," "Fluffy," or something generic along those lines. So I am rather proud of the "Pipkin." Yet that is how life continues to survive in these months. The world and the air is not humming with life, but it is there nonetheless and can still be seen in the most secluded places, in the most hidden of holes, and sometimes in the tallest tree's.

Our walk also had shown me through the many years of my life I had lived in this small town, nothing has significantly happened or changed the town. In fact the use of the word "Town," appears far to large for something so mall -- its best to call it a village if anything. There has been no construction of buildings in the village, other than (maybe) a house or two -- or rather the repair of a house or two. There have been no large buildings built. In fac the curling rink is still running. But one would not guess because of the state that it is in. Its almost never in use, and appears as useless and as disgusting as everything else in the village. But that is village life for you. Its stuck in a repeated cycle of never changing except for the small decaying ways until places -- outside of homes; go in states of disrepair. Such a point was proven upon taking the dog through some back alleys to avoid the few cars driving about -- where I could see the state of disrepair of some very old looking vehicles. That is if they can still be called vehicles. They were rusted beyond belief. Hard to believe tires were once on them, as well as windows, and other odds and ends. There was nothing there anymore. Just an empty rust shell of once could be scarcely called a vehicle.

Most people when they think of small villages set in the countryside, the think of pristine beautiful little villages, of cobblestone streets, tree lined ways, small little cottages with rose gardens, and apple pie cooling on a open windowsill, and a small stream and other odds and ends. The air is clear, the people are friendly, and the wildlife and agriculture domesticated animals all live on the outskirts of the village, with watchful farmers and ranchers keeping an eye on them. This all might be true, and all in some places, but in this small village I must protest it looks more like a large scrap yard with living residents. The entire place is in a state of disrepair. The old buildings look like they would catch fire like a pile of dry sticks, and hay. Everything is just sad. Sometimes the beautiful world -- or what one thinks is a beautiful world is not really that beautiful at all.

Once the dog and I had gotten home, my mind had turned away from such thoughts such as the decaying village my parents live in, and the natural scenes in which we had observed -- such as the beautiful blue, grey, green and faint yellow sky; to the pounded in snow that walks just like a sidewalk in the usual gravel back alleys; to the wild (now golden) grasses sticking up through the snow in the farmers’ fields. My mind had turned to the thoughts of Leo Tolstoy, Anton Chekhov, Honor de Balzac, Emile Zola, John Galsworthy and Naguib Mahfouz. How they wrote about life and even documented the current times of their day and age in their works. I just though such work is amazing pieces of works, in their saga's and trio's and other work documented life. In some ways I wonder what interested these authors in documenting life and what made them do it. yet at the same time I think the work of Naguib Mahfouz's "Cairo Trilogy," is beautiful -- even though I am reading it at a rather leisurely pace, but even though it depicts the mundane and unordinary life of these characters it is still a great work of fiction and maintains my interest. I can't say how it does, but for some reason, it kind of feels interesting looking into the lives of others, who face small day to day challenges in their lives, and just going on living, faced with their surroundings. Perhaps life is more interesting then I sometimes give it credit for, and perhaps that is what these authors say when they documented life itself.

Well Gentle Reader Thank-you for Reading.
Take care
And As Always Stay Well Read

As much as I can't wait to review the first book of "The Cairo Trilogy," by Naguib Mahfouz I don't want to rush through it and miss the beauty that Naguib Mahfouz writes in. Please be patient as I read the book, and so far I would most certainly offer it and recommend any one interested in world literature to read.

Take Care Gentle Reader

M.Mary

Mahu or: The Material

(H)ello Gentle Reader

Pardon me for the large picture of the "H," I just wanted to try something new for this blog. Which may or may not be the second last blog of the 2010. I hope all my wonderful and Gentle Readers had themselves a magical and Merry Christmas. Hopefully Santa had been good to everyone. Unless of course you were naughty. Alright so it had been a while since I had read, a book and reviewed a book I think. Well here is the first review of a book since the book review hiatus. Well the chosen novel is: "Mahu or The Material," by Robert Pinget.

First things are first though. A quick background story or sketch before the review. It should be noted first and foremost that "Mahu or: The Material," is a difficult book or novel to review, because of the surreal nature and absurd(ity) of the world that Robert Pinget had created, for this novel.

Robert Pinget was a writer and author (imagine that) who was born in 1919 and died in 1997. Robert Pinget was often classified or labeled as a writer under the literary movement called "Nouveau Roman," or "New Novel," which much like the Modernist predecessors spoke of taking the novel -- literature in general; to different heights and extremes and places that they had never been to before. This explains why Robert Pinget's work often grew comparison to Samuel Beckett and his work.

How does one try to explain what "Mahu or: The Material," is about? According to the back of the book "Mahu or The Material," is described (word for word) as the following:

""Robert Pinget's Mahu or The Material tells the story of Mahu, who, unlike his ambitious, successful brothers, is a lazy man who approaches the world around him with a defiant spirit and a witty outlook on life. Part of the reason for Mahu's laziness is that he may be nothing more than a character in a failing novel by his friend Latirail, a novel that is being overrun by characters invented by yet a different author" The second half of this book consists of Mahu's strange and hilarious musings on everything from belly dancers to how he catches ideas from other people in the same way he catches germs."

This describes the book to a "T," for sure -- word for word, what the book is about. However it is about a man named Mahu, who may or may not be a character in a novel that a friend of his is writing. However, this does not do the way the book is written any justice. Mahu is a lazy man. His life is absurd and odd, all at the same time. Nothing makes sense, and nothing is as it first appears or what is first heard. The novel is very absurd. The first part; which properly titled "The Novelist," is about the novel that Mahu's friend is writing. This part appears strange and bizzare, characters are often introduced and then disappear and sometimes they come back and sometimes they do not come back. There is the Louse and the Policeman, who were drinking in a bar and got emotional and were kicked out of the bar, among other events. There was also the odd art model who stayed with Mahu in the warehouse and often claimed that he loved Mahu, and was yet never seen again throughout the novel. Mahu apparently has 14 siblings (including him I think) who we never meet. It’s hard to even say if "Mahu: Or the Material," has/had any plot whatsoever. The first part of the book is absurd short story snap shots of the absurdity of people and life. However Pinget's dry and often sardonic humour can be seen.

The second part of the book titled "Part Two: Mahu Speaks," made a bit more sense to me in many ways. That is more sense the first part. In the second part of the book Mahu tells us all about his thoughts and ideas about life et cetera. However Part one of the book and Part two do not evenly match with each other and are disjointed, greatly.

Before I finish up this quick review -- if one could call this review; how can I write a review about something that barely can be summarized or detailed(ly) looked at? I would like to add two passages from the book -- both from Part Two: Mahu Speaks, which both brought me great enjoyment.

"The People in these bistro's on Sunday evenings look very miserable, unless they make an effort not, they're on the look out for the slightest thing to make them laugh, someone with double sight would be horrified to see what icebergs we are hidden in our clothes, trying to warm ourselves up grinning beneath the neon lights."

-- The Poet and the Pineapple (all chapters are named as such -- by that I mean are given odd titles)

"No need to lie anymore, I lied a great deal at the beginning of this book in order to get to this point, to arrive at the truth, which proves that truth emerges from an in extricable confusion, I wanted to like that, I don't deny anything not even a difference in speech."

-- The Key

both of these passages show Robert Pinget's use of dialogue and word play, as well as his use of absurd statements that often make no sense but yet they appear profound and stick with you. The first one from the chapter "The Poet and The Pineapple," left a mark on me for sure. For some odd reason or another it just felt right, in some odd way or another. I did enjoy it for sure. Can't say why I enjoyed it but I did.

"Mahu or: The Material," has been an enjoying and yet difficult book to read. It’s difficult to say if it brought any pleasure or enjoyment, to be honest. It is a good book to say the least, but one cannot say that it is what would typically called a "Beach Read," or something someone would read for the sheer enjoyment and pleasure of reading it. No not at all. "Mahu or The Material," by Robert Pinget, is a slim book. Almost one hundred and fity pages long, but it still packed a punch for sure. Each chapter was a brief little sketch to say the least of some form of incident or another, and even though they were small, they also packed in some profound comment or another. However the characters appear to run around freely -- if such a thing is possible, and there is little characterization, and no definite linear plot. But the book is interesting on its own. Certainly a great glimpse in to the world of the French Literary Movement called "Noveau Roman." One thing that I can say for certain is that Robert Pinget, is a master of dialogue. His use of dialogue and the way the characters speak is often noted, to helping the book progress, as well as showing a lot of the absurdity of the world that Robert Pinget had created. In fact the characters kind of spoke more in a way that appeared to resemble reality and everyday conversations made some sense in some form or another.

Well Gentle Reader "Mahu: Or The Material," was a nice read, and I am glad to have been able to review it before the New Year is here. It has been a stupendous read, and a lovely taste of the modernist inspired writers -- much like Tom McCarthy. May Robert Pinget rest in peace if I do say so myself.

By the way the letter at the top of this blog (The letter H,") is brought to you from this website link that follows -- yet why does one put links up right? Not like anyone follows them, but at the same time it is a sign and a symbol of respect for the hosting website.

http://just-write.contentquake.com/

Thank-You For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Reader

M. Mary

Recollections and Reminiscences of 2010

Hello Gentle Reader

Even though that 2010 is far away from ending, and that I have already written a blog this week, I have decided to write next weeks blog, early. Partly because I have guests coming out next week, and I need to give my full attention to them -- even if that means I stare at them blankly, with giving the occasional nod time to time. Anyhow so more or less, this blog is about the recollections and reminiscences of 2010.

2010 was/is much like 2000 -- without the "Y2K," scare that was happening. Not that I can really comment on that, I was/still am so absorbed in my own world that this entire scare meant nothing to me. However for some people it did mean something. It meant something badly, and the world -- or parts of the world, or rather people -- that is some people; went absolutely hysterical about the entire situation. But that's just people acting on one of their prime emotions and basic instinct -- Fear. Now as we finish with the first year of a new decade, we find ourselves into a new phenomenon and chaotic scare. This new scare is the 2012 phenomenon, which is still very popular to this day because conspiracy shows, Pseudoscience and those fools that back that up as science, new age mysticism, and street preachers all claim that the end times is near. Not like that is a first, and here is the funny part. The human race is stupid enough -- for the umpteenth time; to believe in it.

Lets look back at some recent religious and other wise false predictions, that have come and past, without anything happening:

In 1995 Benny Hinn predictided that "God would destroy America's Homosexual community."

David Berg (or Moses David) Founder of the cult movement "Children of God," now known as "Family International," predicted that in 1993 that Jesus Christ would return.

In June (21st) of 1985 Benjamin Creme (another whack job) had said that Jesus Christ or as he called him the "Maitreya," will announce his presence on World Wide Television

(Thank-you wikipedia for that information a link for the cited page can be followed at the end of this blog)

There have been many predictions and theories about when or how the world will end. It is a sick fascination with the world if you ask me, and with the human race. It appears to me that the human race is doomed to always feed into their instinct of Fear, and pessimistic thoughts about things that can never change. Such as death, or their mortality. Therefore the people of the world -- or the human race, are then forced to predict, or try to see the world as ending, because if the world ends, then they have a certain sense of relief. There is no guessing when it is going to end, they just know or believe or have faith that the world will end, because they would rather hope it ends, then truly live their live. It appears to me that the human race is more interested in focusing on the negative and the possibilities of their bending and ultimate ending, rather then enjoying the prospect of living.

But enough about such depressing and nonsensical topics. the year 2010 has been an interesting decade for me. From working in the municipal elections, to do simple general labour job during a night shift. I had had many attempts at writing novels, which has helped further me in my writing process, as well as reading some very interesting intellectual and great novels. From Jose Saramago's "Blindness," to Tom McCarthy's "C," to "Cloud Atlas," and "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet," by David Mitchell to the stylish yet readable novel "The Blind Assassin," by Margaret Atwood. The year 2010 has been a fascinating year of reads for me. I have read books by Nobel prize winners in Literature (Herta Mueller, Jose Saramago.) To up and coming and well establish postmodernist authors (David Mitchell, Margaret Atwood) to my first short story collection (Thomas Ligotti) to other great authors, and their books. Each one has showed me a different side of the world of Literature. Each one continues to make me think time to time, and each one always makes me wonder, when well I go back and re-read that book again?

A new decade is to start. The 2000's Nobel Laureates of Literature, are now complete and the new Nobel Laureates will start next at a dawn and beginning of a new decade of Nobel Prize Winners in Literature.

This Decades Nobel Mind in Literature are as follows:

2000 - Gao Xingjian
2001 - V.S. Naipaul
2002 - Imre Kertesz
2003 - J.M Coetzee
2004 - Elfriede Jelinek
2005 - Harold Pinter
2006 - Orhan Pamuk
2007 - Doris Lessing
2008 - J.M.G le Clezio (Jean-Marie Gustave le Clezio)
2009 - Herta Mueller
2010 - Mario Vargas Llosa

But even these ten Nobel Laureates (3 of which are female, and 7 are male) all were met with some very interesting criticisms of winning the prize, and sometimes, some interesting events surrounding them.

Gao Xingjian winning the Nobel Prize was not favourable at all. The government and the media's attitude toward Gao Xingjian is that of giving him the cold shoulder, and refusal to recognize him or his work as "World Class."

V.S. Naipauls winning (from the looks of it) was generally favourable, and did not come into much criticism.

Imre Kertesz after winning the Nobel Prize in Literature, work became more well known, and well received. Before winning the Nobel Prize in Literature the Laureate was not well known.

In 2003 J.M. Coetzee one of only two authors who have won the Booker Prize twice, comes to no surprise. Many people and critics (critics are their own kind of race) have long since cited J.M. Coetzee as a Nobel Prize winner as a contender. Does it come to much shock not really?

Then Comes 2004, where the Austrian Writer Elfride Jelinek, had caused quite a stir, within the Swedish Academy. Knut Ahnlund had these comments to say on Elfried Jelinek's Work:

"whining, unenjoyable public pornography."
"a mass of text shovelled together without artistic structure."
"has not only done irreparable damage to all progressive forces, it
has also confused the general view of literature as an art."

Elfride Jelinek was also highly criticized, for not accepting the prize personally -- which is quite surprising, considering that her works are infamous for being sexually graphic (sexual sado-masochistic power games) and very violent; and yet Elfride Jelinek herself, admits to suffering from social phobia and agoraphobia, and is the reason why she did not accept the prize personally. Many applauded Elfride Jelinek's courage for revealing her social conditions.

Yet the Nobel Prize in Literature of 2004 surely was quite a controversial and critical event in Elfride Jelinek's already controversial life in her country Austria.

Harold Pinter's Nobel Prize in Literature Lecture titled "Art, Truth and Politics," was met with much controversy and is widely debated to this day (I believe you can find it on youtube) Harold Pinter was often branded as being "Anti-American," in his Lecture, but I suppose when you are at his age, and have such a life behind you, you don't really give a damn what people call you.

In 2006 Turkey won its first Nobel Prize In Literature going to the author Orhan Pamuk. Many criticise the prize given to Orhan Pamuk as being very political and in some cases a Political statement.

Doris Lessing won the Nobel Prize in Literature of 2007. Many were quite impressed with Doris Lessing winning the prize, and even Ms. Lessing commented that winning the prize was a "royal flush." However Harold Bloom (a US Literay Critic) had something else to say:

"although Ms Lessing at the beginning of her writing career had a few admirable qualities, I find her work for the past 15 years quite unreadable ... fourth-rate science fiction."

Doris Lessing as far as I know is still alive at the current age of 91

The Nobel Prize in Literature of 2008 was characterized by the catch phrase "JMG Who?" (or something like that) J.M.G Le Clezio was not a well known author in North America before winning the prize -- and I still think its hard to find him in stores to this day. JMG Le Clezio was the first French Writer to win the Nobel Prize in Literature since Claude Simon in 1985, who is an author of a book I recently ordered.

"Herta who?" you say? Well I say Herta Muller! The Nobel Prize winner of Literature of 2009, whose work is finally brought to the world stage, and has showed the world the cruelties and inhumane life under communism and dictatorships as being what they are, and keeps the memory alive, so we may never forget the atrocities of certain people in this world . . . Stalin.

Finally the end of the decade of the Nobel Prize in Literature has come. Mario Vargas Llosa, the first Peruvian author to win the Prize, and is a step back away from continental European Literature, that had dominated the platform for most of the decade. Mario Vargas Llossa can often be compared to a previous winner of Latin American Literature/South American Literature of 1982 Gabriel Garcia Marquez -- the two actually used to be friends, but there is an icy cold silence between the two. Many have claimed that Mario's win of the Nobel Prize has breathed new life into the Prize. A good way to end another decade of Nobel Prizes in Literature I think.

Well Gentle Reader, 2010 has been fun. It has been wild, chaotic, stupid, boring, and all around general life like stuff. But as one Decade ends another begins. And So I look forward to seeing, more Nobel Prize winners in Literature, and to keep reading, and writing and hopefully someday become a writer myself, with published books -- I know I know, don't hold my breath I might die. But it has been a great year and this is our 70th blog, and the final blog of 2010. I look forward to the New Year, and I the books I will read and review and share with you.

Thank-You For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M.Mary

interpretation(s)

Hello Gentle Reader

Lately all I have done via this blog is review books. Since finishing "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet," I found that there are still books that I own and should read. So the other night or rather last night I cracked open "The Savage Detectives," by Roberto Bolano -- he died in 2003 at the age of fifty (50). It should be noted that Roberto Bolano thought of himself primarily as a poet not a novelist. "The Savage Detectives," however is a novel. So any how I got to page forty-six, and I just shut the book. I thought to myself. Why, why am I reading this? It fails to capture me somehow. I can't explain why but it just fails to capture me. Not saying that at page forty-six is the correct amount of pages to judge a book, but this was my second try and it felt tedious or failed to keep me interested in what happened. So I close the book for the second -- and perhaps last time. Maybe I'll give it to a friend of mine along with all those old mass market paperback "Dragonlance," books that I never really liked.

But anyhow, since I don't feel like reading any of the books I have at the moment, I decided that I'll just blog with a couple of my own thoughts and ideas. I know for starters I'll probably go back and re-read a few novels a few of them being: "The Waves," by Virginia Woolf as well as "To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf," as well as "The Gormenghast Series," by Mervyn Peake. I feel like I didn't do those books any justice when I read them the first time around, and now it is time for me to re-read those books in the future and review them and hopefully do some justice.

Anyhow today's blog comes from something funny I saw on a website called:

"http://9gag.com,"

and I thought to myself when I saw the picture (here it is following):

http://9gag.com/gag/49672/


That is was just funny. I mean in English Class -- when I went to school; we had to learn poetry. I have little respect for poetry or rather appreciation for poetry, may I add so humbly. There is something about that is just, beautiful yet enigmatic and or obscure. Poetry also usually follows strict rules and form. Sonnets, Haiku's, Ode et cetera. So I have little patient for poetry. I have little, very little patient for poetry, if it cannot reveal its meaning to me, with some clues, other than oblique rhymes then I have no point in giving a two damns about it. This leaves poetry open for interpretation. However in English Class the student interpretation, is useless, compared to the teacher. Let’s face it, the teacher went to "X," amount of years of school in university studying literature and poetry and all that fun stuff, so what on earth would some ignorant student know right? So in hind-sight the only true interpretation in a English Class -- be it High School or Junior High School, is that of the teachers. The students are to squawk back the meaning like trained parrots.

But this is something I found interesting in a recent interview I read by the Nobel Laureate of 1985 in Literature Claude Simon. For the duration of this blog I'll use his words as well as a fictitious example to prove my point on how literature can be interpreted by anyone in any form. Because we all have different eyes, and different thinking patters, and that is what makes the interpretation of any work of literature amazing and beautiful.

in The Paris Review, The Art of Fiction No. 128 - Claude Simon Interview (link following)

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/2096/the-art-of-fiction-no-128-claude-simon

In the interview the Interviewer (Alexandra Eyle) asked Claude the following:

_____________________________________________________________________________________

INTERVIEWER

"Symbolism seems important in your writing. In The Grass, for example, a T-shaped shadow grows and shrinks as it passes across the room in which Marie lies dying, representing the passage of time and the inevitability of death. How do you decide on such images?"

SIMON

"I am not a symbolist. I saw the light drawing a T that moved slowly across the floor and the furniture of a room. The T suggested to me the word temps and the march of time. It seemed like a good image."

INTERVIEWER

Trains appear often in your novels—what do they symbolize?

SIMON

Nothing but trains.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

So in an English class the English Teacher assigns "The Trolley," by Claude Simon. (this is a book that I have on a list of books right now by authors that I want to read) and she asks the students: "What does the train/trolley symbolize?" (now we all know that Claude Simone had said quite frankly that the trains symbolize exactly what they are. They are trains.) One student says the train/trolley in the novel by Claude Simone symbolizes the cycle of life and death. Birth, Childhood, Adulthood, Old Age, and Death. Another student says that the train simply symbolizes the beginning and ending of a journey. Another student, says that the trains can't possibly symbolize anything, other then trains. Needles to say the student that spoke Claude Simon's words, failed.

But what can a student know? Did they go to University for "X," amount of so many years, and study Literature and Literary Theory and all that? No, so how could an ignorant uneducated mind, possibly know what Claude Simon himself -- One of the twentieth century’s greatest writers (among many others); know? Nothing as far as the teacher is considered.

It appears that English Classes are not asking their students what something symbolizes or is interpreting it, but rather what the teacher says. English class is not opening the students minds to think for themselves, but rather hindering the growth of the mind of the students to see the world of Literature in an entirely new way. It is sad, and it is true, but we must always face the fact that this is what we call "English Class," unless you are special.

Take Care Gentle Reader
Thank-you So Much For Reading This Blog Gentle Reader
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M.Mary

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

Hello Gentle Reader

One at times looses a sense of time. Just today for instant, I thought it was Thursday and later learned it was Friday, and now as I write this blog a day late, I look at the time (for it is 11:45pm) I am going to soon be late another day. Sad really. For that my sincerest apologies for being late. But I suppose this time of year gets the better of us all. Running around, trying to finish Christmas shopping. Hanging Christmas lights for the sheer enjoyment of lighting up those dark, early dusks and nights that befall people on winter; and of course the general good will and cheer that people feel for each other. Yet precautions should always be taken no matter what. Especially this holiday season -- among all holiday seasons. There is something about Christmas, that people, just feel the need to drink and drive. Not the greatest idea on the slippery roads. If people of this world had any common sense -- which the general population doesn't I can see that; they would not drink and drive.

But enough about that. Even though this type of season gets us all busy and running around -- will this pink sweater please my daughter? Will this shirt make my son smile? Will my husband love this new watch? Will my wife adore these diamond earrings? And all that other selfless thinking of getting gifts for others, I was able to maintain a reading schedule. I was able to finish David Mitchell's Booker Prize 2010 long listed, novel "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet."

Once again the amazing ventriloquist author David Mitchell (each time I put that name down I keep almost changing it to 'Jacob de Zoet,') gives his talents, of creating unique voices to his characters. His imaganation makes the historical novel, a interesting read, and his research for this novel, gives the entire land of Japan a well thought out image, but also leaves the magical land in some form of obscurity, letting the unknowing of our main character "Jacob de Zoet," and this mysterious land of Japan be felt all the way through.

With this novel David Mitchell takes us away from the stylistic showmanship of his well-known novel "Cloud Atlas," and takes "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet," into a different route. The novel is written in the third-person perspective. The novel would appear rather straightforward, and linear and easy to understand compared to "Cloud Atlas," there is no jumping of time and space -- no nothing of that sort. But "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet," captures the periods feelings, and politics, and the desire of the period -- and often its ever so familiar idea's and themes that can be seen in today’s world -- so perfectly.

Of course sometimes the conversations appear a bit to formal or out of place in today’s society, but at the same time there is a certain understanding that this is probably the way that some of those people talked. But speech is one of David Mitchell's strong points. Sometimes to a fault though. The Japanese accent when the Japanese interpreters talk in Dutch -- as they almost sound like children because they forget certain words, but there is enough there to understand just what they are saying. There is of course, then the sometimes crash and rude talk of the less educated or well-off people, who speak in very vulgar terms, and ways. Or what would probably vulgar at the time. Yet even though their grotesque language there is a certain honourable trait about them, that one soon learns to admire in later points of the novel. Well others, truly are cowards that we have all encountered in our day to day lives.

That is something that David Mitchell, much like Charles Dickens is able to do. He is able to create certain situations -- no matter how absurd in today’s world (if such a thing exists!); and makes it relatable through characters or common universal experiences that one can have a form of sympathy with the characters. Betrayal and political jingoism are two of the keys that allowed me personally to relate to some of the characters.

There is one thing that I will point in this novel -- as it feels in David Mitchell's last novel "Cloud Atlas," is the characters on some level or another are connected to each other. Each one is bridged to the others, through a common interest or love. Look at the character Doctor Marinus. He is connected to his students -- One of which is Orito Aibagawa; is connected his students via his love learning, teaching, knowledge, medical practice, and his love of botany.

Of course one would argue that we all argue on some level or another, that the novel would not be able to progress without some form of character like connections even on a minor degree. Perhaps, and perhaps not. I wont argue how a novel should progress or how a novel should not progress.

"The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet," even though set in the past, has many reminiscent(s) of the present. The cheating, that two people do to each other. Each time one tries to cheat the other in some deal or another. The amount of what makes a human better then another human. Look at the treatment of what people in this novel call "Slaves," what makes them less human then those that consider them less human? This is a question that to this day is being asked. Cruelty to each other is a universal theme, and the idea of "slavery," is something that David Mitchell seems to use to ask the question: what makes one person better then another?

As someone else pointed out to me however, with the characters there are good characters and bad characters. The protagonists and the antagonists. Yet in some way or another David Mitchell makes the good from the bad quite clear. Jacob de Zoet, Doctor Marnius, and Orito Aibagawa all have certain aspects in common. They are all have this "moral superiority," that others do not have. They have this humbling air about them. They all search for knowledge -- two are in the medical field one is a book keeper exposing lies and truths. They all have a sense of right and wrong. Then there are the antagonists. Enomoto, Fischer, John Penhaligon. Though I must say quickly John Penhaligon is not really a bad man he just see the worst of him for the most part. These characters are all selfish. They would kill, betray and throw their own mother and grandmother underneath a train to move ahead in the world. They all have a certain aspect that speaks of themselves to look out for themselves, and move themselves faster and higher in their own world.

So the idea of antagonist and protagonist is quite clearly seen. There is good and there is bad. there is no real neutral in this idea and form. You are either good or you are either bad, in some ways.

There are a few other problems that I had also noticed.

The Novels ending though quite good, was upsetting in some ways. It felt exhausted and tired out. Surely I can understand however that David Mitchell after four years of doing research and writing this novel would have gotten tired of this novel. It must have been very stressful upon him, and I am a sympathetic person and I understand, but still the ending appeared toe end in a fashion that felt neat and tidy. Even though it did betray my first thoughts on how it would end. On how everyone lived happily ever after. However it still did not satisfy me. I wanted to know more about Orito Aibagawa's time in her imprisonment in the shrine. I wanted to know about how Dejima in the in-between time after the attack on it, and before the ending. There was so much that I wanted to know, and yet if I got my way the novel would blow up to a huge unreadable melodramatic extreme. So I can say that in some way or another I am happy that the novel ended -- to a degree(!); the way it did.

I can see why this novel was not placed as one of the shortlisted books for the "Booker Prize." Even though it was a great novel, I can see why it was not placed there. However David Mitchell's talent can still be seen. His novels (for I have only read two) are not of the same calibre, and are certainly different from each other, which will hopefully never make David Mitchell a boring author to read.

Take Care Gentle Reader
Thank-you for Reading Gentle Reader
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M.Mary

The Land of The Green Plums

Hello Gentle Reader

History is full of dictatorships. People mad with power. The ever corrosive touch that power has on the mind of people. How the very sensation of power, slowly twists, turns, warps and eventually consumes the mind of the person. History is full of these people. People who inspire, and yet slowly become deranged, and unstable.

History is full of these people. There are the common names:

Adolf Hitler
Josef Stalin
Benito Mussolini
Fidel Castro
Jorge Rafael Videla
Pol Pot
Muhammed Omar
Yahya Khan
Mao Zedong
Mahathir bin Mohamad
Kim Jong-il
Sonthi Boonyaratglin
Victoriano Huerta
Alexander Lukashenko

History is full of dictators, and will always be full of dictators. For when people -- be it a man or a woman, have a taste of power, the desire, and false "need," for power becomes all that the person can think about. "The Land of the Green Plums," a novel -- perhaps the most well known novel; of Herta Muller (Nobel Laureate in Literature of 2009). The novel however does not concern itself with any of the above dictators. It concerns itself with one dictator not listed, but has done his own evil, and has certainly left his own special brand on Herta Muller's mind, and certainly her life. This man who had such power? Who corroded his country with his acidic touch? Who is this man who grew up a peasant? Who later, later stirred the political pot with his communist preaching, and activities? Who is the man who forever destroyed so many lives? His name -- for such a disaster of a creature does have a name -- was Nicolae Ceauşescu.

Written in Herta Muller's signature style, of quick short sentences, that explode with expressions, and symbolism, the novel certainly is something of its own calibre. There are however many points to be made her, and warnings to be said. Herta Muller's characters, are now well drawn or characterized. That does not mean that the roughly 250 page (hardcover) book, is not worth the read, or even tedious. Herta Muller is more or less a poet, writing in the novelist form, to put it in some form of understandable terms. Does this mean that this novel is going to please everyone. As is very common in today’s world, that is impossible. Will people who enjoy poetry enjoy the style? The metaphorical language? The densely packed prose? The scalpel almost laser like precision in which Herta Muller, pieces together her words, and sentences, making the entire story hand selected, personal. Maybe and maybe not. Will novelists, enjoy the books length? The playfulness of form, and the story telling technique taken to a new extreme, or maybe a new minimalist extreme? It would be wrong for anyone to judge or assume that either one would full heartedly enjoy the book. However certainly their will be individuals on both sides that will enjoy the novel.

At times, Herta Muller's sentences, almost feel like they are each floating in their own world, and each world is separated by some mist or fog blurring the connections between sentences. However this comes off to be strong at times. In a country where fear is everywhere. Where the dictator (Nicolae Ceauşescu is barely named in this novel) is seen as an omnipotent being. All watching. All knowing. All around. In every chink, every home, every building. He see's all and makes notes on it. One can only suspect that sometimes, the people would barely make sense living under this oppressive, and often absurd, moments.

Where your interrogator is named "Pjele," who has a mean dog named "Pjele," -- though to separate confusing the owner of the dog "Pjele," is called Captain "Pjele." Yet a pivotal moment of fear, and the atmosphere got dark and surely we were going to find out how the dictatorship infiltrated the lives, the minds, and oppression of the people that it had housed underneath its large roof. Yet the absurdity of "Pjele," and "Pjele," sharing the same name offers a sense of quick sigh of relief, before things start to get worst and worst. The friends, (the narrator) Edgar, Kurt, Georg are frequently interrogated, and are good friends. This is when the reader learns, the secret code, that the characters, follow through and start using, to explain if they have been followed, interrogated, among other serious events that may happen as each one lives individual lives. They make sure that they know their letters are tampered with by the cunning use of hairs.

Then a new member comes into the group. A woman by the name of Tereza. This new character, is a woman. She appears odd, to the reader (or at least to me) she's bubbly, and awkward. She doesn't seem genuine (if that could be said) she more or less acts on the orders of Captain Pjele.

The novel however goes further downhill. One learns about the evil of the dictatorship, and how it either brakes you or makes you confirm to it. Surely this explains Herta Mullers, strong urge not to confirm into the dictator, and explains why her strong will has kept her alive and survived the dictatorship. However as the story progresses, we learn that others are not so fortunate. Fired from their jobs, harassed, interrogated, and surely on the brink of giving in, and letting themselves to be taken into the collectivism of the communist regime. Eventually some escape, and some are not so fortunate, and escape in other means necessary.

Herta Muller's novel, relies heavily on atmosphere, and disquieting symbolism, allegories, and the realization that the dictatorship often made no sense, as sometimes this novel did. Laughing, crying, scratching your head. Trying to pick out the metaphors from the facts that lay beneath. This novel is a puzzle, and also enjoyable. However it certainly is not for everyone.

Take Care Gentle Reader
Thank-You For Reading Gentle Reader
And As Always Stay Well Read

M.Mary