Profoundly moving, beautifully written with deep compassion and empathy for human grief, for the tragic moments that define our lives and characters. Nine-year-old Oskar Schell will stay with me, I think, for a very long time.

I finished late last night (early this morning) and immediately got out of bed to look up a feature written by Ian Brown, published in The Globe & Mail on September 15th, 2001. I've remembered it to this day, because Brown wrote so eloquently about the question: "Would you rather fly to your death, or burn to it?" (The things we can't get out of our minds) There were two photographs that illustrated the story: one of a group of people leaning out of the broken windows of one of the Twin Towers; the other of a man falling (jumping) from one of them. Very similar to the ones in EL&IC.

Foer takes us convincingly into the mind of an extremely (but not unbelievably) sensitive boy whose father had to make the decision whether to fly or to burn. Oskar's journey to put some sense around the circumstances of his father's death, and the parallel stories told by his grandmother and grandfather, is a remarkable literary accomplishment of both characterization and plot. It is incredible story telling, period.

The textual 'gimmickry', as some have called it, is evocative of Vonnegut, in that it sheds an obliquely-angled light on these characters, and their struggles to communicate--after trauma--their deepest feelings, their shame and their guilt, their loss and their grief. These things that are so difficult to render in words. Foer creates a character whose trauma left him mute. He creates a deaf character who reduces every individual to one word. He creates a character who has not attained the level of cognitive or emotional development to express his grief. He creates a character who, at the moment of his death, is leaving an unanswered/unanswerable message on an answering machine.

These are characters who all, in different ways, cannot communicate their truth, cannot connect to those they love, at a moment in their lives of unimaginable trauma. Actually, at a moment of vicarious trauma such as that we all experienced close to 10 years ago. Vicarious trauma = survivor's guilt, and this is a novel that really explores that.

In the aftermath of trauma, when we lose the ability to communicate in words, this is what our minds do: they fixate on objects that appear disembodied; they blur the distinctions between what is real and what is not. They run thoughts and ideas together in ways that lack any kind of linear logic or coherence. While experiencing trauma and grief and survivor's guilt, we make choices that we would never make if we were in "our right minds" and we exhibit behaviour that appears irrational. Would you choose to fly or burn to your death?

We descend, in our grief, to isolation, to catatonia--temporary or lasting--and sometimes, to madness.

Foer's novel shows us his characters' pain. So that when we see a photograph of a doorknob, or a key, or a blurred flock of birds -- these visual images connect to textual ones and then resonate with themes. It is more akin to how poetry works than how literature usually does.

Isn't this exactly what we want a novel to do? It is to me.

I would rip into Foer if I believed his textual gimmickry was in any way manipulative, derivative or unnecessary. I think the opposite: it reveals character, it cuts through sentiment, and it brings the reader into the characters' minds to a depth that would be absolutely impossible with straightforward narrative style. Without it, I believe the story and Oskar would have lost a dimension that it needed to avoid the very accusations of manipulativeness and sentiment that have been made against it.

I hate that I am defending Foer against the nay-sayers in this review, when what I actually want to do is examine everything that he did so very right, so incredibly perfectly and extremely well, to bring this story to light.

Five stars, unequivocally. A must-read.

When I first this read this my socks exploded out the window and into the lake. Foer’s debut Everything is Illuminated impressed me with its Russian-Engrish humour (faultlessly rendered) and inventive helter-skelter structure, but became melodramatic when discussing the Holocaust and unnecessarily perverse in its historical narratives. This novel seemed to correct the flaws in his debut and make an impressive use of typographical kookery for direct, emotional blasts. It showed me it was possible to bring esoteric literary tricks to a mainstream audience, to move the reader more than using well-worn literary stuff: poetic language, manipulative drama, etc. (This was before I had read B.S. Johnson, who deployed more impressive book-breaking tricks to similarly devastating ends). But now it’s become popular to dislike Foer—he hasn’t produced a novel in seven years, his Tree of Codes was derivative of B.S. Johnson, this has been turned into a soppy film that I am informed strips all inventiveness from the text. But I still think this book is awesome. All the techniques (don’t say gimmicks—if you say gimmicks you’re dead to me) he deploys here feel essential to the text, and although tackling 9/11 brings Foer to the ice-capped peaks of swooning melodrama (where he wants to be), nothing in here feels gratuitous or unnecessary. Also, there’s something about using unconventional techniques in one of the first post-9/11 novels, that expresses the loss and weight of loss better than any insightful language. These techniques help say the unsaid: they’re cathartic, purging. At the time this book was written emotions were still surging. When read in context it makes all the right moves. So this novel is made of win. Ignore the idiotic movie version and new film tie-in edition. And pray for Foer, he needs us.

After reading a few reviews about this, it turns out my expectations were far too grand. 2 of 10 stars

There has been a voluminous outpouring of love for this book and it definitely taps into the inexpressible sadness of 9/11 and the untimely separation of thousands of individuals from their family and their loved ones. Writing about a world event which affected so many people is not an easy task and there are a veritable cats-cradle of tight ropes to be walked when putting 9/11 into what is essentially a work of popular fiction. Foer took the most neutral route by examining the aftermath of the event and the way people deal with grief, by allowing the reader to see it from a child's perspective.

I have what might be classed as a slightly odd perception of the events surrounding 9/11. Fear not, I am not about to say anything incendiary or untoward about the events, motives or politics surrounding that day. Bear with me.

When 9/11 occurred I was living in a remote part of Turkey working on an archaeological site. We had very little communication with the outside world, no television, no internet access and only one public phone in a communal area of the dig house. 9/11 happened and I didn't find out about it till nearly 48 hours later. I travelled by Land Rover into the nearest town and when I arrived people kept coming up to me and saying "I am sorry about America", but no more than that and no one stopped to explain. I was confused but I completed the various errands I needed to run at the market and drove back to site. During my absence someone had managed to contact us on the payphone (all the international lines had been jammed and no one knew why) to explain what was going on.

We could not fathom for one instant what was going on. Were we at war? How has this happened? How could the World Trade Centre simply have ceased to exist? What happened to the Pentagon? We had no images, or video footage and we did not get to see events unfold on live television as most of the world had done. We had no newspapers to explain the sequence of events that had taken place 48 hours before. For us, isolation had caused an unintentional media blackout and the whole event passed us by until the information gradually began to filter through.

That night, we sat around a small portable radio, passing a bottle of whiskey between us and listened to the BBC World Service as generals, politicians, analysts and broadcasters discussed the event in the smallest of details while we, in our isolation still could not grasp the bigger picture. Even today, having seen the photographs and read some of the later newspapers, I feel as if there is a hole in my memory but it is a memory that doesn't exist because I never saw the events of 9/11 as they unfolded.

Oskar Schell has lost his father in the 9/11 attacks and precocious Oskar is struggling to come to terms with the events of that day. He has, as he puts it, "heavy boots". Mr Schell, an unassuming jeweller, teller of tales and loving father to Oskar, did not work in the World Trade Centre but a twist of fate saw him visit the building on that terrible day. Oskar is seeking a message or hidden meaning in the things that his father left behind and one of these objects is a mysterious key labelled "Black". In his journey to find out exactly what the key opens, he inadvertently unlocks other people from their own emotional prisons and together he, and his new friends can move forward. What the key ultimately unlocks has little to do with the story - it is merely a tool and a focus for Oskar to help him deal with his grief.

A unique story prompted by the sadness of a world changing event.

How I hate being a hater. Yet, in the most basic sense, this book didn't do much for me. For all the attempts at deep emotional and thematic resonance (i.e.: long lost loves, dead sisters, dead fathers, dead babies, war, war, war) a single tear didn't even come close to escaping my normally hyperactive tear ducts. I have some half-formed theories about why this came through cold for me. Here are a few:

1) The formal experimentation in this book--not the pictures, but the way the text was organized-- was extremely annoying and incredibly hard to read. All the odd spaces in the Grandma prose, all the giant blocks of text in the Grandpa prose, all the dialogue after the attribution in the Oskar prose, it detracted from the content instead of adding to it. I felt like iwasreading something that was trying sohard to have meaning but f a i l i n g.
So it relied on trickery to make itself interesting.

2) There was a lack of basic momentum in the plot. Nothing really ever comes to a boil, because it's always boiling over throughout. Oskar cries all the time (I know why he's crying, but it let the air out of the emotional balloon to see him do it so much). He mentions the messages from his father over and over. His mom is always worried about him for the same reasons. It just felt very repetitious.

3) While it was interesting to consider different wars and atrocities in relation to 9/11, I don't think the book ever risked making any real points about those connections. It just kind of tossed out some terrible things and nudged us and said...isn't this terrible?

4) I never really got interested enough in the grandparents. Their characters were so totally eclipsed by their epic backstory that I couldn't really believe them or see them clearly as actual people.

Of course there were things I liked. Oskar's voice could be really funny and original at times. The minor characters he meets along the way were often wonderful and surprising. And the flashbacks with the father were very tender and affecting.

But on the whole, I just couldn't get on board with this. And since it's a book about something I feel like I should feel something about, it made me feel unfeeling and bad about myself (that's my best shot). Oh well. Heavy boots for me.

“دلم می‌خواست صدای قلبشان را بشنوم و می خواستم آن ها هم صدای قلب من را بشنوند.”
بی نهایت بلند و به غایت نزدیک، تنها حقیقت احساسات و زندگی را نشان می دهد، چرا که از زبان یک پسربچه داستان را دنبال میکنیم. این کتاب را بیش از اندازه دوست داشتم. تایپوگرافی کتاب افکار را به کلمات نزدیک می کند و این امکان را به خواننده می دهد که از درون خود و قلبا، ذره به ذره ی ماجرا را بفهمد. ارتباط افراد و مکان های مختلف نیویورک و ارتباط گذشته و حال باعث می شود که با هر سرنخ، فکر و احساس و ریشه های افراد را درک کنیم. اما مثل تمام زندگی ها، در آخر معما حل نشده اما قابل درک باقی می ماند

“اشاره کرد، گاهی اوقات یک نفر خیلی ساده می خواهد گم شود.
اشاره کردم، هیچ اشکالی ندارد که آدم خودش را درک نکند.
اشاره کرد، چقدر غم انگیز.”

بعد از اتمام کتاب به این فکر میکنم که چه طور مرگ خیلی آسان تر از زندگی است و چرایی ندارد، اما برای زندگی باید raison d'etre داشته باشی.

“ اگر می گفتم « خیلی میترسم از این که چیزی را که دوست دارم از دست بدهم که نمی‌خواهم چیز دیگری را دوست داشته باشم.» شاید غیر ممکن را ممکن می کرد.”

و این که چه طور پس از مرگ، تمام زندگی و خاطرات‌مان تنها در یک کلمه خلاصه می‌شود:

“جنگ، پول، پسر، مادر، عشق سگ، دربان، تنها فرزند، پیشخدمت، پدربزرگ چهار نوه، پرستار تجربی، پدر، پدر، کتاب خوان مشتاق، بازیکن مسابقات شطرنج، مربی، برادر، سرآشپز، تازه پدر،...”

و در آخر جمله ای که بار ها و بارها تکرار می‌شود و حتی پرسش نیست...

“چرا جایی که تو هستی من نیستم.”

Whatever with what happens to us when we die, this book reminds us of how connected we are right now and being connectioned to somone as brilliant as Foer is reason enough to be grateful!
I was completely baffaled at Foer's ability to know and convey so many things at once. His intimate view into grieving was what amazed me the most, his ability to carry you into the horrible realities without turning it into a sappy, poor kid type story was amazing.
So many things were familiar about living after someone you love has died in a tragic way:
-the reeling mind that happens when somone is late.
-the hiding that goes on in an attempt to lessen other peoples grief.
-the dismay at seeing other people take babysteps towards healing and the utter horror with the people that seemingly leap there without a step.
-the realization of guilt you feel when you step away from grief, even for a second.
-the re-playing and imagining of the gory details.
And all of that is only one part of the tons of stories told in this book. When I was done I felt like I couldn't verbalize the connections fast enough.
I found it difficult to look at the photo's and felt weak for not being able to view what Oskar couldn't delete from his mind.
I've never felt as impacted by graphic effects as I was with this book. I was lightened and stressed out and saddened by their presence.
I am going to buy my own copy of this book and I'm fairly certain it wont come off my shelf unless there is someone here to share it with. I can't imagine going there alone again.
Did I mention I LOVED THIS BOOK?
p.s. if you see anything by Elizabeth Kubler Ross anywere, please burn it and leave this book in it's place.

“My life story is the story of everyone I’ve ever met.”

Wow. W O W.

I had an inkling when I first tried to read this book that it would trigger some unresolved trauma within me, which is why I set it aside back when it still felt a bit too much. But coming into this now, I can say I’m glad for the wait. I needed it.

Funny enough, I decided to pick up Foer’s book after seeing it in a dream recently where I was roaming the library shelves for the right read. My dream featured Foer’s Here I Am, but in real life, my local library currently only holds his Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close. It felt like the right time to dive in.

Firstly, I have to highlight my keen appreciation for Foer’s characters. He breathes life into his creations. I’m a sucker for his dialogue and curious character traits. I still think about a particular line I read in Here I Am that gave voice to the process of growing up – it all happens in one day when you don’t pick up the little one and then you realize they’re not so little anymore.

I have trust in his writing. The quote I opened this review with has been with me since at least 2014. His words have staying power.

Usually, I’d cover my thoughts and feelings throughout my reading. Usually. This book is different in that the last 30 pages had me releasing tears that have felt stuck for the last ten years. Like, I could wash my face with all the tears that kept on coming. I feel compelled to focus on that experience. I’ve never had a book release me so. Is this the peace of mind everyone keeps mentioning? I guess that’s why I kept avoiding this book like the plague.

I’ll admit at first I had a bit of a tough time with this book because I felt so invested in Oskar, and I just couldn’t bring myself to care about this other bizarre storyline happening with his grandparents or the hunt. The author excels at interactions – so please, don’t bore me with subplots of characters we won’t see again.

The book built itself up just for the ending. And so it felt heavy because we spent so much time circling around the real issue for it to then be uncovered so completely felt a bit jolting, at least for me. I mean, that would explain my extreme reaction.

“My search was a play that Mom had written, and she knew the ending when I was at the beginning.”

Oskar’s mental state was all I cared about. The last 40 pages granted me peace of mind after seeing someone you care for finally receiving the attention they deserve. Protect him at all costs! I kept yelling whenever I’d read how no one monitors the terrible things he looks up online (“which I know about but really, really wish I didn’t”). But I have an affinity for his inventions and curiosity, though I feel bad that they keep him from falling asleep. I love the thought that he’d be thrilled to know that some of his inventions finally exist, like the cuddle bed. What a gem of a boy!

What keeps echoing in me are the phone calls (and when the tears really hit):

“Are you there? Are you there? Are you there?”

Tears.

For a book that started off barely keeping my attention throughout it, those last pages really picked up the game. If I were to draw a graph of my reading experience, the spike shows with the chapter, “A Simple Solution To An Impossible Problem.”

It took me a full day to come back to write about it.

Oh, and coming into this book after having watched The King of Staten Island, I can’t help but go back to this scene in the movie that mirrors the thought-process of children who went through trauma: When they drop Harold off at school, Scott tells him to kiss his sister goodbye. “Now, if she dies tomorrow, you’ll remember that.” The end is always in sight.

There’s also this line in the book “the end of missing someone” that pains me because it hit me now as I’m writing that Oskar won’t experience that feeling again… heavy boots. That’s why he’s so eager to hear new memories people have of his dad. Oh. I’m telling you, this read isn’t light.

But the fact that I can write so many lines simply over that ending shows just how its all-encompassing nature. I’ll have to prepare for Here I Am next.

n  n
n  n

This review and more can be found on my blog.

Είχα δει την ταινία πριν από κάποια χρόνια. Ήξερα λοιπόν καλά την υπόθεση. Κι όμως... συγκινήθηκα τόσο πολύ...
Κάποιες φράσεις με συγκλόνισαν.
«Είναι καλύτερο να χάνεις παρά να μην έχεις»
«Δεν φοβάμαι τον θάνατο. Τη ζωή φοβάμαι»
«Τη βρήκα (την κλειδαριά) και τώρα δεν μπορώ να την ψάχνω. Όσο την έψαχνα, ήταν σαν να μπορούσα να μείνω κοντά του λίγο περισσότερο»

Κι αυτά τα μηνύματα που άφησε στον τηλεφωνητή ο μπαμπάς του Όσκαρ... κι εκείνος που δεν μπορούσε να σηκώσει το τηλέφωνο...

Ίσως επειδή μεγαλώνω έχω γίνει πολύ ευσυγκίνητη... Ίσως επειδή είδα ζωντανά στην τηλεόραση την επίθεση στους Πύργους....Ίσως επειδή είχα την τύχη να επισκεφθώ τη Νέα Υόρκη και το Ground Zero με αυτό το φοβερό μνημείο με το νερό που εξαφανίζεται και τα χαραγμένα ονόματα που γεμίζουν τον αέρα ψιθύρους...
Ίσως για όλα τα παραπάνω, λοιπόν ή γιατί απλά ήταν ένα καταπληκτικό βιβλίο, δεν πρόκειται να το ξεχάσω ποτέ.

▪️من تنها آدمی را که می‌توانستم تنها زندگی‌ام را با او بگذرانم از دست داده بودم.

اُسکار نه ساله، پدرش را در سانحه‌ی تروریستی یازدهم سپتامبر از دست داده و تمام دنیای امن کودکانه‌اش نابود شده است. همه‌ی ذهن او درگیر اینه که پدرش چگونه مرده. آیا بر اثر ریزش سقف مرده یا در پله‌های اضطراری گیر افتاده؟ شاید هم خودش را به بیرون ساختمان پرت کرده؟ زمان مرگش در آرامش بوده یا عذاب؟ نمی‌دونه و این ندونستن آزارش می‌ده.
تا اینکه روزی در کمد، کلیدی را در یک پاکت پیدا می‌کنه که نام " بلک" بر رویش نوشته شده.
اسکار با امید به اینکه این کلید او را به جواب سوالهاش می‌رسونه، پیاده راه میفته و با افراد و اتفاقات متفاوت مواجه می‌شه.

کتاب سه تا راوی داره؛ اسکار، پدربزرگ و مادربزرگ که در زمان‌های مختلف روایت می‌شه.

بخش‌هایی از کتاب:

▪️یک روز هم کارهایی برایم می‌کنی که از همه‌شان نفرت داری. خانواده یعنی همین.

▪️ متاسفم بخاطر ناتوانی‌ام بابت اینکه چیزهای بی‌اهمیت را رها نمی‌کنم، بخاطر ناتوانی‌ام در نگه داشتن چیزهای با‌اهمیت.

▪️می‌دانی، قلم زورش از شمشیر بیشتر است.

▪️این تراژدی عشق است، نمی‌توانی چیزی را بیشتر از آنچه دلت برایش تنگ شده دوست داشته باشی.

▪️هیچ کس نمی‌تواند آدمی را که نمی‌خواهد قانع شود، قانع کند.

▪️چرا یاد نمی‌گرفتم با همه چیز طوری برخورد کنم که انگار آخرین بارم است، بزرگترین افسوسم این بود که چقدر به آینده اعتقاد داشتم.

▪️متاسفانه بهای یاد گرفتن زندگی، خود زندگیه.

▪️یه دفترچه‌ی پربرگ بی‌انتها می‌خواستم و باقی زمان را...


پ.ن: اتمام این کتاب مصادف شد با درگذشت خسرو آواز ایران، استاد محمدرضا شجریان، که در دل همه‌ی ایرانیان جاودان است و محبوبیتی بی‌نهایت بلند دارد.


۹۹/۷/۱۷

Sometimes, I'm actually grateful for when good ol' insomnia kicks in. I can deep clean my kitchen without any distractions, play catch-up with the never-ending, nervous-breakdown-inducing amount of laundry I have, and even try to finally watch a movie (surprisingly, even snooze-worthy The Wolfman couldn't get me to sleep). And of course, I can read. Sure, I hate myself in the morning and feel like crap all day, but there's times that it's worth it. Especially when the book I'm reading is as good as this.

I loved all the characters in this just as much as I did in Foer's Everything is Illuminated. Admittedly, when I first started, I was thinking, "This Oskar kid is supposed to be nine years old??? Really?" But the more I read, I didn't care; I totally bought it. Bringing to life not only the events on 9/11, but also the Dresden bombings, Foer does show that some good can come out of such horrors. Which I think is really the only thing any of us can do--continuing to live while trying to comprehend something so unimaginable would be almost impossible.

While finishing this early this morning, my son came in to sneak in bed with me, not knowing I was still awake. He saw me, and quietly crawled under the covers. I hugged him so hard and didn't let him go. Though I tell him all the time, this morning I told him over and over how much I loved him, to the point where he got annoyed, rolled over, and went back to sleep-with me still hugging him. That's what this book did to me. As much as we don't like to think about it, the unimaginable does happen, and I just want people to know. This really was an inspiring, beautiful and touching story. Another member for TEAM FOER checking in.



Side note: This is the only book where font size has made me cry. This should have never even been released in audio format. Just sayin'...Ben.

*cries forever* This was such a beautiful story! I'm so attached to the main character, an 8 year old boy named Oskar. I want to hug him & protected him from the world :'(