Rating: 5 out of 5
Book review:
The Tenant or The Chimerical Lodger is still vivid in my mind - the book made quite a powerful impression on me. Although the beginning was rather slow, with depictions of mundane activities which seemed redundant, the strange happenings were not long overdue and from that moment on I couldn't put the book down. It's mesmerizing, it's intense, it's much more than a horror story.
The main character's gradual slip into insanity is skilfully orchestrated by Roland Topor, although it is a little bit difficult to identify the moment when the whole process starts. Maybe Trelkovksy was nuts from the very beginning, although it doesn't show; I definitely have to read this book again.
A look at Roland Topor's surreal drawings show a glimpse of his many talents.
Unfortunately, this story is way too short for its potential. I wanted to go on and on with its surreal madness, I wished for a lot more strange things to happen in that bathroom from across Trelkovksy's window! The plot reminded me of Hitchcock, while the ending would have made David Lynch proud. I'm still not sure what I was supposed to understand from this book, if there is a definitive answer and explanation for all that was happening. But I like puzzles, for their entertaining value and because they play with my mind.
After I finished the book, I was also curious to see the movie, which is really good and follows the book almost faithfully. Good thing it ended up in Roman Polanski's hands, a Frenchman like Roland Topor (it may not be of general interest, but I have to add that topor means axe in both Polish and Romanian).
To get a glimpse of the atmosphere in The Tenant, listen to the wonderful sondtrack:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f7ZTOV0Zdr4&list=PL22B3A964A5E7A3FD
Rating: 4 out of 5
Book review:
I value the books whose plot has managed to stay etched in my mind. Some of the novels I've read are pleasant, but they are soon forgotten. The ones that shape me and teach me are the most valued, of course; but I keep a special place for those that I remember. Kawabata's story is one of those. And incidentally, it talks about memory, among other things. It also speaks about the fear of death and the desire to prolong one's life through the elixir of youth; about regrets and unfulfilled desires wept at the feet of high priestesses; about the wish for peace and reconciliation with one's life.
In a peculiar house, which can't really be called a brothel, beautiful virgins lie in deep slumber, naked, innocent and unconscious. Old men come to lie down beside them, awake, troubled, full of desire. They can't harm the virgins, they are not allowed to wake them. They can only touch their bodies and sleep beside them. Such defenseless bodies and oblivious minds, at the whims and mercy of old men. If you look at the picture this way, the story might make you feel contempt; and yet, it has a beautiful and poetic vein, despite its grain of ugliness.
From ancient times, old men had sought to use the scent given off by girls as an elixir of youth.
Eguchi comes to the house lured by this strange kind of pleasure. On a couple of nights, in the enclosed space of a room, he contemplates the obedient, exposed bodies of the young girls. Deep slumber is reminiscent of death in a way; in their sleep, some of the girls seemed more alive than others. Life was there, most definitely, in her scent, in her touch, in the way she moved.Eguchi experiences an array of feelings and memories awaken by the sounds, the smells and the sights. He remembers his youth, his children, the women he had affairs with. He fights with melancholy, with unhappiness, but also with the urge to do harm.
In their hearts, as they lay against the flesh of naked young girls put to sleep, would be more than fear of approaching death and regret for their lost youth. There might also be remorse, and the turmoil so common in the families of the successful. They would have no Buddha before whom to kneel. The naked girl would know nothing, would not open her eyes, if one of the old men were to hold her tight in his arms, shed cold tears, even sob and wail. The old man need feel no shame, no damage to his pride. The regrets and the sadness could flow quite freely. And might not the 'sleeping beauty' herself be a Buddha of sorts? And she was flesh and blood. Her young skin and scent might be forgiveness for the sad old men.
The story impressed me to such an extent that it entered the realm of my dreams. I have one short but weird story to tell, and I write it here because I want to remember it over the years. One night, after reading the story, I woke up with the feeling that somebody was lying awake behind me, watching me in the dark, keeping a hand on my breast. I felt slightly frightened but then I fell asleep again, or maybe I was never awake in the first place. In the morning I woke up confused, because I wasn't sure if what I remembered had been a dream or reality. When I asked my boyfriend about it, he said he had been sound asleep the whole night. Weird. And yet it felt so vivid, like a lucid dream...
The strange thing about all this is that the scene I experienced is also happening in the novel. It felt like I was projected inside the sleeping girl's mind. Like I was perceiving through her skin, through her senses, even though they seemed to be asleep. Maybe they weren't, maybe she could sense what was happening to her. An unconscious yet alert consciousness.
Well, I couldn't write this review without confessing the connection I had with the story.
My review is only for House of the Sleeping Beauties. If you read this, you should also consider Memories of My Melancholy Whores and see how Márquez made use of the idea behind Kawabata's story.
My rating: 4 out of 5
Book review:
From the first page, I said to myself: I'll love this novel! Which was almost true. This is the kind of book that you browse in a bookstore and immediately decide to buy (if you are not averse to coming-of-age novels, that is).
The writing is juicy, witty and funny. I especially loved Marek's recollections of his mother, which created in my mind a vivid, excentric, powerful character. Neither his father nor his brothers are what might be called "normal" people, not even Mark is an ordinary teenager. I loved the details which sketched the portrait of one bizarre and dysfunctional family.
In the coming-of-age novels, the teenager usually undergoes challenges which help him pass the threshold towards maturity, but in The Story of My Baldness the situation seems to be the opposite: instead of being liberated through love and sex, Marek is gradually overcome by two obsessions: the search of the elusive amour fou and the increasing contempt he fells towards a certain part of his body.
At this point I got a little bored, plus there was some part when Marek started rambling about the crazy love and his cock and seemed to had forgotten about the previous narrative, started dozens of pages ago.
The Romanian translation was really good, it seemed to maintain the playful and comical tone of the original.
My rating: 5 out of 5
Book review:
Here's an Icelandic writer of which I've heard nothing about, despite the fact that he won the Nobel prize for literature. I found the book by chance, the synopsis sounded interesting enough, so I began reading and... helplessly fell in love with the novel.
This is Halldór Laxness' only book translated into Romanian, but I'm anxious to read some of his other works, especially Independent People.
Under the Glacier is truly an amazing book, which made me laugh (or at least giggle), think and wonder. It is a delightful blend of fantasy and reality which immerses the reader in a mysterious, yet earthly dimension. Even now, when I think of it, the magical world of the parish by the glacier is still vivid in my mind and prolongs its fascination upon me.
The way the dialogues are presented is a little bit strange: instead of the usual lines, there are the names of the interlocutors. It was a bit distressing at first, but this annoying fact was gradually forgotten since the dialogue became absurd anyway, yet so savory and funny that I could no longer find it the least fault.
The writing is full of humor (I found myself laughing many times) and the absurd situations that emerge are extremely delicious. The blending of reality with fantasy is in the perfect dose for me - at the end I was left in a state of reverie, wondering how much of what had happened was real. Some facts are confirmed, others are left unexplained, but this doesn't diminish the magic atmosphere of this forgotten place at the end of the world, governed by the glacier and the sea birds and populated by a bunch of more or less bizarre people.
Iceland through the lens of photographer Ragnar Axelsson
The old man may well be the priest from the parish near the glacier (photographer: Ragnar Axelsson)
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