Заборавио сам да овде нисам написао своју тираду против Френзена, а понукан новом хистеријом поводом скорог новог романа, морам да се самоцитирам са једног форума :):

Роман се бави типичном америчком породицом, њиховим несређеним животима и труду да се одржи привид среће. Мајка Инид, која се труди да све држи на окупу, сенилни и болесни отац Алфред, троје деце (Гери, Чип, Дениз) од којих нико није испунио родитељска очекивања – све је ту за једно монументално дело тј. за дело које је могло бити монументално. Сиже се може пронаћи на интернету, па не бих дужио о томе.

Ипак, ликови су јако слабо карактерисани и нимало продубљени, тако да све делује бледо, неубедљиво, пуно клишеизираних реченица и односа. Наравно, не морам да пронађем себе у неком од ликова да бих уживао у прочитаном, али читајући Корекције, било ми је смртно досадно; заиста ме нимало није дотицало, нити занимало шта ће се десити у животу било кога од ликова. Свему томе допринели су и бесмислени, испразни дијалози које ликови воде. Бла-бла-бла, толико бесмислено да стварно нема поенту (хм, можда је у томе и квака? Можда је писац желео да прикаже сву испразност тих малих и небитних живота, али може то и на мање од 600 страна!)

Желећи ваљда да буде шокантан, писац с времена на време убаци по неки натуралистички опис радњи попут вршења нужде, умокравања, ту и тамо се провуче и по једна сцена коитуса, за сваки лик бар једна. Све пропраћено јако баналним поређењима, тако да све скупа делује веома претенциозно. Синтагме и фразе попут „лизање мачкице“ или „дечкић је растао, док га је држала у рукама“ примереније су, рекао бих, неком софтпорн нижеразредном магазину него нечему што претендује да буде највећи амерички роман 21. века. (да се разумемо, нисам против натуралистичких описа секса или неких гадних ствари у литератури, али никако са овако мало стила)

Друга ствар, писац као да се труди да свој језик упросечи и да дода пар клишеа, како би се приближио просечном читаоцу. Уметнуто је ту и пар Хегелових цитата, без икаквог смисла, вероватно да би све добило интелектуалнији призвук.
И, коначно, нешто што ме је апсолутно и коначно одбило од Френзена и утврдило у ставу да ово није ни приближно Толстоју, а камоли најбољем роману 21. века – поређења; гомила и гомила бесмислених и баналних, ужасних поређења. Баналних до неиздрживог.

Како бисте се уверили, ево пар потпуно насумично одабраних метафора и поређења:

„Убрзо је оно што је на први поглед Герију изгледало као апсурдна могућност – да је залиха валуте љубави и спремности у каси њиховог брака постала недовољна за покривање емоционалних трошкова које би претрпела Керолајн кад би се ишло у Сент Џуд или које би претрпео он кад се не би ишло у Сент Џуд – попримило обрисе нечег ужасно стварног.“

„Брајан је кроз живот пролазио попут златног ретривера.“

„'А како су наши слободњаци јутрос?', заблудела координаторка активности Сузи Гош питала је цео сто гласом налик коси у реклами за шампон.“

„Хибардов осмех личио је на свеж угриз у меку воћку. Имао је трепавице густе као у штенета, главу која је мамила на мажење.“

„Ту је нашао избор француских павлака по ценама које су сугерисале транспорт суперсоничним авионима.“

Све у свему, једно јако ментално напорно путешествије. Иако сам већ после првих педесетак (можда и мање!) страница увидео да ово дефинитивно није оно што мени прија, надао сам се да ће се можда нешто променити. Читао сам и читао, све надајући се, али узалуд.
Знам да би, можда, требало оставити неку књигу ако видимо да нам не иде, али желео сам да довршим ову, ако ништа друго, да бих могао да напишем лош приказ са пуним правом. :D

Ne volim da za ocenjivanje knjiga raspolažem ocenama od 1 do 5. Onda petica može biti klimava, solidna, ubedljiva ili velika ko vrata, a sve se nagurale u isti koš. Tako da, ja Korekcijama dajem najveću fakultetsku desetku, i prekrštam indeks kad je upišem. Amin. Jedan je Frenzen.

Correcções é para ler...

Até mais de metade pensei que era um livro para a minha estante das quatro estrelas mas, ao cerrar a última página e já com saudades da família Lambert, corrigi para cinco estrelas.
É um romance poderoso. Sim, muito chato nalguns partes. Mas as pessoas e as suas vidas nem sempre, ou raramente, são interessantes. Este é um livro sobre gente vulgar, que comete erros, injustiças, que tenta corrigir, mas em vão, pois o passado não pode ser rasurado e a vida não se compadece de arrependimentos.

A acção é situada nos anos 90, e relata a vida de uma família americana.
Enid, a mãe. Uma dona de casa, eternamente apaixonada pelo marido, embora desiludida por ele não ter aproveitado as oportunidades para enriquecer. Vive também um pouco desencantada por os filhos não terem a vida que ela lhes desejava. Sonha juntar a família num último jantar de Natal na casa onde criou os filhos.
Gary, o filho mais velho. É casado e tem três filhos. Vive preocupado com os pais e em conflito com a mulher, que lhe incute a suspeita de estar com uma depressão.
Chip é o filho intelectual. Um professor universitário que foi despedido por ter um relacionamento com uma aluna. Está a escrever um guião cinematográfico que já vai na oitava revisão.
Denise, a filha mais nova, é uma chefe de cozinha. Bissexual, envolve-se em relacionamentos amorosos que, geralmente, resultam em fracasso.
Alfred, o pai, é um engenheiro ferroviário já reformado. Foi um homem de princípios, um marido e pai rígido que impôs sempre a sua vontade à família. Vítima de Parkinson é, no fim da vida, subjugado pela doença, que o destrói física e mentalmente. Ainda tenta corrigir mas é tarde demais...
"- Eu...
Eu cometi erros...
Eu estou só...
Eu estou molhado...
Eu quero morrer...
Eu lamento...
Eu fiz o que pude...
Eu amo os meus filhos...
Eu preciso da tua ajuda...
Eu quero morrer...
- Eu não posso estar aqui - disse."
(...)
"Recusar, foi a única coisa que nunca esqueceu."
Alfred é a personagem mais marcante e comovente. As descrições da evolução da Parkinson, até à demência, são aterradoras e dolorosas embora, por vezes, mescladas de humor.

Correcções é para não esquecer...

The critics loved The Corrections. Published in 2001, it won the National Book Award for fiction for that year and was a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize a year later. It also won or was nominated for a number of other prestigious literary prizes.

David Gates wrote in his glowing review in the New York Times that the book had “just enough novel-of-paranoia touches so Oprah won’t assign it and ruin Franzen’s street cred.”

Wrong, David. Oprah not only chose it for her book club but went so far as to proclaim it “the great American novel.��� Franzen, who recognized that his book’s selection by Oprah meant that sales would sharply increase, was nevertheless ambivalent about the situation because he believed that heretofore her selections had been on the “schmaltzy” side. Consequently, when he voiced his feelings in several interviews Oprah withdrew her invitation to have him as a guest on her show (And the dust cover of my hardback copy does not feature her stamp of approval, which had been embossed on earlier copies of the book.). Of course, the publicity engendered by the tempest in a teapot may have had as much of a positive impact on sales as his appearance on her show would have had. But perhaps he did salvage his “street cred.” I hope so.

So how is it that I would give such a heralded book two out of five stars? I’ll answer that, but first here is another quote from David Gates’ review: “If you don’t end up liking each one of Franzen’s people, you probably just don’t like people.”

My answer for the two stars is I didn’t like any of the people. I didn’t like the father, the mother (I did feel some pity for her, but I can’t say I liked her.), the older son (or especially his wife), the younger son, or the daughter (At first I liked her, but only because I didn’t know her. When I did get to know her, I found her to be the most unlikable of the entire crew, except for the older son’s wife.).

Is this because, in Gates’ words, I “probably just don’t like people”? No, it is because I just don't like THESE people or for that matter, any of their friends or associates. There was not a single person that I could pull for – not one. And after 568 pages, I not only don’t like the people, I don’t like the book either.

The two stars were for the writing (otherwise it would have been one), and even then, there were times I wasn’t crazy about the writing either. For example: “…Susy Ghosh asked the table in a voice like hair in a shampoo commercial.” (p. 326) I’m still trying to figure out what the hell that means.

Ich war schon ewig lange nicht mehr soweit, ein Buch fast abzubrechen wie dieses, weil es mich gar so geärgert hat. Ein Werk mit derart viel Potenzial verkommt ab der Hälfte nur noch zu einem geschwätzigen Stückerl Papier ohne Substanz, Entwicklung und Aussage.

Ja Franzen kann tatsächlich ein bisschen gut formulieren, aber das ist meiner Meinung nach schon alles, was er mit diesem Roman positiv - letztendlich wenn man es gesamt betrachtet - in die Waagschale werfen kann. Dabei beginnt die Geschichte sogar extrem ambitioniert: Eine Familie, mehrere vordergründige Dramen ein paar ernsthafte Probleme, wie die Demenz des Familienoberhauptes, unter der Oberfläche brodelnde Beziehungs-Konflikte und Personen mit sehr fiesen Tendenzen, lassen die Story bis ca. Seite 400 sehr vielversprechend wirken. Das wäre nun kein Drama, wenn sich das Finale in den letzten 100-200 Seiten auflösen würde, aber bei Seite 400 sind wir leider erst in der Mitte dieser Lesefolter angelangt.

Also Franzen hat uns die Familie Lambert aufgestellt und die fiesen Winkel der Persönlichkeiten vor uns ausgebreitet.... und dann passiert zumindest mit den Figuren und dem Plot fast gar nichts mehr. Der Autor drückt sich davor, dem Leser zu erklären, warum er die Beziehungsgeflechte so konzipiert hat. Die Figuren werden auf 400 Seiten fast gar nicht mehr entwickelt, bis auf das letzte Kapitel, aber da hatte ich als Leserin die Schnauze schon so voll von dieser Papierverschwendung und Leserverarsche, dass es nicht mehr ins Gewicht fiel.

Der Antrieb der fiesesten Haupt-Figuren der Famile wie beispielsweise jener von Caroline oder auch die Gründe für Denises Verhalten bleiben für immer im Dunkeln, auf die wartet der Leser vergeblich. Stattdessen werden mit erzähltechnischen Schnörkeln und Verzettelungen, Motive und Lebensgeschichten von für die Geschichte völlig irrelevanten Personen wie zum Beispiel die Zufallsbekanntschaft am Kreuzfahrts- Restauranttisch, oder die gesamte Abteilung von Denises erstem Ferialpraktikum ausgebreitet.
Wenn mir jetzt jemand mit den Worten Karaseks kommt "Aber der Subplot ist grandios", dann muss ich leider darauf verweisen, dass ein grottenschlechter Plot nicht mit einem Subplot kompensiert werden kann. Mammamia es ist der eigentliche Job des Autors, eine konsistente spannende Geschichte zu erzählen und die Hintergründe und Motivationen der "Handelnden Figuren" zu erleuchten und nicht jene von Humsti und Bumsti, die uns zufällig über den Weg rennen. Manchmal kann man wirklich meinen, der Autor hätte ab der Mitte, die Lust an den eigentlichen Figuren verloren.

Was ist eigentlich mit den Kritikern los, die diesen Roman als grandios bezeichnet haben. Manchmal kommt mir vor, die lesen so viel und sind so konzentriert auf Kritik, dass sie sich nur noch für die Schnörkel am Rande interessieren und dabei die zentrale Geschichte komplett aus den Augen und aus ihrem Fokus verlieren. Um es mit den Essensmethaphern aus dem Denise Kapitel zu untermauern, das war so wie in den Zeiten von Boccuse oder heute bei Adrian Ferreira in der Küche, in der das Essen und der Geschmack die Bedeutung verlieren, weil man sich nur auf Chichi-Mini Anrichtung (Boccuse) oder unerwartete Textur mittels Chemie (Ferreira) konzentriert. Die eigentliche Dienstleistung wird so auf Randaspekte reduziert und dekonstruiert, dass sie keine ursprüngliche Dienstleistung mehr ist. Der Roman ist kein Roman, keine Geschichte mehr und das Essen kein Essen, sondern nur mehr Chemie.

Und dieser Plot ab der Kreuzfahrt ist zäh wie Sirup und zieht sich wie amerikanischer Kaugummi. Muss man über Denise wirklich seitengreifend und raumfüllend ihre ganzen Sexualerfahrungen der Jugend ausbreiten, ohne irgendeinen eigentlichen Konflikt in Beziehungen z.B. mit den Eltern oder den Brüdern zu beleuchten? Und was soll dieses komplett unnötige laange Kapitel in Litauen? Wir lernen einen relativ unwichtigen Arbeitgeber von Chip genauer kennen als Chip himself.

Ja so ist dieser Roman von Franzen, der Autor hat sich wirklich erfolgreich davor gedrückt, seine eigentliche Geschichte seinen Roman zu Ende zu erzählen, indem er den Leser mit unwichtigen Details vollstopft. Ab der Szene mit dem Scheißhaufen (ja Ihr hört richtig - es gibt tatsächlich eine Unterhaltung mit einem Scheißhaufen in einer Demenzphase des Familienoberhauptes Alfred), war das Papier auf dem die Geschichte geschrieben steht, meiner Meinung nach nur mehr zum Wegwischen desselben zu gebrauchen.

Ich habe ja in letzter Zeit mehrere Romane gelesen, die auch nicht gerade gradios waren und sie dennoch wohlwollend von 2,5 auf 3 Sterne aufgerundet. Warum ich das hier ums Verrecken nicht tue, ist einfach erklärt: Diese unglaubliche Frechheit, mich mit 800 Seiten Schwachsinn bis ans Ende meiner Duldungsfähigkeit zu quälen, gehört abgestraft. Mich - mit wirklich großer Lese-Leidensfähigkeit gesegnet, die in ihrem Leben bisher weniger als 10 Bücher abgebrochen hat.

دگرباش‌ها نمی‌توانند کاری کنند دگرباش نباشند
وا، اصلا، این یه انتخابه، این یه ضعفه و شروعش هم از دوران بلوغ. چون‌وچرا هم نداره. همه‌ی متخصص‌ها همین عقیده رو دارند
با این همه آدمی که از دگرباش‌ها متنفرند و ازشون انتقاد می‌کنند، اگر بحثِ خواست مطرحه، چرا کسی باید دگرباش بشه؟
برای اینه که حقوق ویژه می‌خوان. چون دوست دارند جشن افتخار داشته باشند. برای همینه که، سوای غیراخلاقی بودن عمل‌شون، اکثر آدم‌ها ازشون خوش‌شون نمی‌آد. انتخاب شیطانی‌شون کافی نیست، تو بوق‌وکرناش هم می‌کنند
...
این کتاب یقر چه ملالت و تصنع دل‌آزاری دارد. یحتمل در زمان خودش این‌قدر تباه نبوده، ولی امان از گذر زمان

Epic American family saga of a moderately dysfunctional family, loosely based around whether they will return to the family home for one last Christmas together. Some of the shifts from one section/viewpoint/situation to another take a bit longer to settle into than others, and the Lithuanian plotline stretches credulity a little. Wonderful descriptions and insights into people's fears, behaviour and motivation - especially when one inevitably sees parallels with characters in the book and people one knows. Funny and desperately sad; compulsive and satisfying to the end - and it is a cleverly balanced ending with just the right mixture between happy and sad, loose and tidied up ends.

For a far better review than mine, see Kelly's: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...

Dostlarla birlikte yenilen yemeğin lezzeti başka oluyor. Herkes bir şey söylüyor, ortaya başka bir şey çıkıyor. Bir eserin ya da bir yazarın değeri bazen birilerinin söylediğinin ışığı altında ortaya çıkıyor. Eserle ilgili son zamanlarda yapılan yorumlar veremediğim yıldızı da iade etmeme neden oldu. Teşekkürler Goodreads..

Reading this book a second time (the first being in August last year), I am happy to report that this time, I was able to leave the house and be a fully-functioning member of society (well, as much as I ever am) while in the midst of it. Yay for me!

That's not to say this book didn't have as profound an effect on me the second time around; it did. It was just that I knew what to expect. The first time, I was so hooked that there was nothing else I wanted to do, other than read it. Food lost all taste; hobbies lost their lustre; colors muted...okay, possibly going too far, but seriously, it was so good it actually diminished my quality of life, in some paradoxical way. There wasn't anything I wanted to do but read it, yet it was like watching 500 pages of a multi-car collision occuring right in front of my eyes. I'd pick it up, read, get upset, put it down, stare at it for awhile, pick it up, read, etc. ad nauseum. (And I mean that literally - I once felt physically nauseous.)

I hate when people ask you what a book's about. I hate it for many reasons, which include (but are not limited to):
1. It seems like a really lazy way of getting a synopsis so that they can pretend that they've read it.
2. If a book can be properly summed up in thirty seconds, nobody should be reading it anyway.
3. Books worth reading are always about the things in life worth reading and writing about, namely: love, hate, truth, personal freedoms, battles, growth, change, continuity, friendship, betrayal, relationships, the moon, faith, hope, optimism, blindness, narcissism, and me. Not necessarily in that order. And there are more, but I got tired of thinking. Anyway, so any good book will be about some combination of these, and generally, the best books will be about all of 'em. So who needs to ask?

That being said, the one achingly poignant truth of this novel was, for me, the fact that it realizes the deeply seated level of loneliness that pervades life in this country today. It's a rotten condition, and Franzen holds up the mirror to expose it in its stark nakedness.

In short, it's the finest piece of contemporary literature I've ever read. And while my arsenal of contemporary fiction may not be as well-stocked as my classical, well, that's still saying something, i.m.h.o. And, on that note, I'll also add that probably the best thing that contemporary fiction has over classical - and that's why this book ranks number one for me - is that in classical fiction, the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys' are generally clearly delineated. Jane Eyre is good; Blanche Ingram (Mr. Rochester's potential wife) is bad, etc. In contemporary fiction, the line between who's good and bad is blurred to reveal a much more realistic and satisfying portrayal of human virtue and vice. This novel is simply the best actualization of this modern rendering that I've come across. You'll hate, on multiple levels, every character in this novel. You'll also realize that you hate them all because you see yourself in every last one of them. In their awful decisions. In their betrayals. In their utter refusal to take the high (read: societally acceptable) road time and again, and yet, each time, foolishly believing that this time, THIS time, things will turn out differently. You'll hate them for it and you'll love them for it, just as you hate and love yourself for all the goddamn stupid things you do day in and day out.

It's a masterpiece. Read it.

Monumental, very dynamic, packed with action and emotion, all super cringeworthy but super relatable, even in the parts that have nothing to do with me

Upd: here is my more detailed review

While a lot of people are already discussing Crossroads, the new novel by Franzen, I have just discovered his first one, and will gladly read his other books.

The Lambert family is going to reunite for their last Christmas together in their old family home. The father's health is quickly deteriorating, the mother can hardly handle both him and the house, and the children all live so far away from their childhood home, and can hardly be called the embodiment of their mother's highly conventional dreams or their father's brutally uptight hopes. 

Their every step violates whatever might be called normal, but on the surface they are all pretty ordinary conventional people, gray particles of the human mass. But at a closer look the mass evaporates, breaking into a kaleidoscope of particles of pain, contradiction, fear, ambition, passion, lust, depression, inner struggle and a constant and keen feeling of not being cut out for the place they occupy in life.

Some of them are bold enough - or should I say impulsive or hysterical? - to try and make a headlong rush for a radical change. And the others are afraid even to lighten up a bit, unwilling to meet anyone halfway, on a vigilant guard of their identity that always seems to be in danger. 

Three grown up people are still unable to take full control of their lives, just like their old parents are losing control of their own. And no matter how different from their parents the three Lambert children strive to become, it will never work until they finally acknowledge how much of a Lambert each of them really is - and make peace with it. 

The book is a magnet, its plot a wild dramatic adventure. And Franzen's mastery really astonished me, when I marvelled at this or that turn of a phrase or an image so vivid I could see it on the back of my eyelids.

July 2012

Facts concerning Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections
•Print runs of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections are believed to be the largest in recorded history.
•Although no reliable count exists, experts believe that the number of printed copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections runs into the hundreds of millions in the United States alone, with perhaps more than one billion copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections in existence worldwide.
•Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections was expected to be the Next Big Thing, but buyers became bored when they realized the book couldn't be tickled like Elmo, or fed like a Tamagotchi, or collected like Beanie Babies. The unprecedented print run, as well as low sale numbers and high return rates, led to overcrowding. Some bookstores resorted to giving away copies for free, but recipients usually passed them on to unsuspecting friends, like fruitcake.
•By 2004, it is believed that every used bookstore in the continental United States contained at least two dozen copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections on its shelves.
•However, according to rumor, for every copy of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections you can see, ten more are hiding inside the walls or beneath the floorboards.
•Professional ex-libris-terminators worry that the infestation has spread from used bookstores to private homes. In fact, you may have several copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections on your bookshelves RIGHT NOW, and you may not even know it.
•In 2006, several bookstores along the East Coast and in and around Portland, OR, were found to contain nothing but copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections, lying in their own filth in crowded stacks and boxes.
•Following this discovery, Congress passed legislation mandating population controls for Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections. According to regulations, copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections may not outnumber other books that are not Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections by more than 2 to 1. This keeps the copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections from becoming too self-conscious.
•However, overcrowding persists, and some bookstores have been forced to destroy entire stacks of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections to make room for books that are not Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections.
•To escape this fate, some of the more clever copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections have taken to disguising themselves as books in Tim LaHaye's and Jerry B. Jenkins' Left Behind series. Few manage to find good homes. Some bolder, braver copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections occasionally venture forth into the Ts, to hide among Tolstoy and Trollope, but are usually ambushed by gangs of Edith Wharton novels and never seen again.
•Sadly, due to gridlock in the current session of Congress, no action has been taken lately, causing tens of millions of copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections to be rounded up and destroyed in the last two years.
•Although the world of books has developed many religious beliefs regarding what will happen in the after-livre, Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections remains firmly agnostic.
•This is just as well, since all pulped and recycled copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections are eventually reincarnated as copies of Jonathan Franzen's novel Freedom.

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A friend gave me Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections a few years ago (hers had had a litter of baby Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections, free to a good home), and I've had it burrowed in the shelves ever since. Finally took steps to get rid of the infestation, but I decided to read it first.

And now it's time to put Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections out of its misery. Its characters range from dull to awful, the story takes way too long to go nowhere, and yet the writing--the goddamn writing!--is damn fucking good. Jonathan Franzen can craft a delicious sentence, I'll grant him that. But I had little desire to read this book and I have no desire to read his others, so I'm going to box up this copy of Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections, drop it at the back door of the nearest thrift store, and run like hell. Goodbye, little Jonathan Franzen's novel The Corrections. I hope you find a good home.

Now if you'll excuse me, Edith Wharton awaits.

It takes a special kind of writer to create a cast of characters each and every one of which is extremely irritating. I couldn't finish it. It was "seinfeld" in book form for me. Blech.