Schelmenroman, avonturenroman. Twee jongens gaan op een motor het avontuur tegemoet en ontwikkelen, anti-autoritair juist vanwege de naweeen van een tijdperk van autoriteit van Nazi-Oostenrijk, het plan om de dieren in een dierentuin los te gaan laten. Hun vrijheidsdrang en levenslust worden sprankelend en vol vertelplezier aangevoerd. Onbekommerd is het echter niet, met de wonden en alle doden van de oorlog nog vers in het geheugen. Overal "de rol van het niet goed met elkaar omgaan", waar Irving op zinspeelt.

I have a 2024 goal of reading all of John Irving’s books. He is one of my favorite authors, having absolutely loved Garp and a Prayer for Owen Meany when I devoured those years ago. Now, because I am past 40 and so remember nothing, and because GoodReads-let alone Google- didn’t exist when I read any of them, I can’t quite remember which of his others I might have also perused. I know for sure Until I Find You, but between the movies (The Cider House Rules) and the common themes between his earlier books-hotels, wrestling, author POV, and bears, I really can’t recall the others. So, starting from the beginning.
This book involved a lot of skimming on my part. Set in mid-century Vienna, it goes back and forth between pre-war and post-war timelines. And there is a lot of droning on and on, so much so that the first person POV even mentions it at the beginning of the 3rd part.
I’m just going to say that if the characters in your book also think that it’s overwritten and drawn out, then it’s likely not to be a great read.
In 3 words: everyone starts somewhere.
Also, with this title, you already know the ending. This book can stay in 1968. Along with its minuscule font and smushed together lines that gave me strabismus.

I love everything about John Irving. It's always fascinating to go back and read a famous author's early works to see how they developed and matured over time. This was Irving's first novel, written when he was just 25, and so many of his hallmarks were already present - the complex character sketches, the psychosexual drama, Vienna, bears, etc. Not as fully realized as some of his later works, but still better than what many writers ever accomplish.

Essentially unreadable - I don't know how much acid went into the writing of this, I wonder what persuaded the publishers to waste paper setting this one free. Some sort of allegory about Austria's experience after the Anschluss, the experience of war, then ten years of occupation? If it is, I think I missed it.
Just seems like hundreds of pages of self-indulgence, and hundreds of pages of self-indulgence do not a story make. If there is a story in there, it might have been better if Irving had devoted his skills to setting it free.

IRVING, John: „Laßt die Bären los!“, Zürich 1987
Der Autor verbrachte 1962/1963, zwei Semester in Wien, wo er die Idee zu diesem Buch, seinem ersten Roman hatte. Den Hintergrund dazu verschaffte er sich durch viele Besuche im Tiergarten Schönbrunn und Cafés. Daneben fuhr er viel mit dem Motorrad. Auf diesen persönlichen Erfahrungen baut das vorliegende Buch auf.
Der erste Teil des Buches handelt in den 60er Jahren in Wien. Zwei Studenten – einer war bei einer Prüfung durchgefallen – machen sich mit einem Motorrad auf den Weg nach Westen. Mit wenig Geld schlagen sie sich durch. Fischen und grillen die Beute. Stehlen und machen allerhand Unfug. Letztlich bekommen sie in Waidhofen an der Ybbs, wo sie in einem Hotel wohnen Probleme mit der Polizei. Einer von ihnen muss flüchten und fährt mit dem Motorrad nach Wien zurück. Der andere wird zur Zwangsarbeit – dem Transportieren von Bienenstöcken – verpflichtet. Der Freund aus Wien kommt zurück. Die Flucht wird aber zum Verhängnis.
Im zweiten Teil – genannt Notizbuch – werden zwei Erzählungen ineinander verschachtelt. Einerseits plant der Motorradfahrende Kumpel die Freilassung von Tieren des Tiergartens Schönbrunn und andererseits erzählt er von seinem Vater, der aus dem ehemaligen Jugoslawien stammt und sich durch die Kriegsjahre mit verschiedensten Personalien durchschlug und letztlich im zerbombten Wien in einer leerstehenden Wohnung landete. Die Wohnungseigentümer kamen zurück und er wird mit der Tochter verheiratet. Das gemeinsame Produkt: der 1946 geborene Protagonist des Buches. Im Tiergarten verbringt er eine Nacht und fährt dann zurück zu seinem Freund nach Waidhofen, wo er auch sein – im ersten Teil beschriebenes – Lebensende findet. Dieser Teil verschachtelt die Kriegs- und Nachkriegszeit und die „Jetztzeit“ der 60er-Jahre dieser Erzählung. Irgendwie kommen die beiden Zeiten auch zusammen.
Im dritten Teil des Buches erzählt sein überlebender Freund das Finale. Wie er nach dem Unfall gesund gepflegt wird und dann mit dem Zimmermädchen flieht. Sie hat das Motorrad sichergestellt und auch das Fahren der Maschine erlernt. Gemeinsam fahren sie quer durchs Land und wohnen im Freien. Ernähren sich von gefangenen Fischen. Als das Geld ausgeht fahren sie nach Wien. Sie verkauft einem Frisör ihren langen Haarzopf und sie sind wieder liquid. Sie fahren aber nicht ans Meer nach Italien – wo er hinwollte – und nicht in die Stadt hinein um einen Job zu suchen und ein gemeinsames Leben zu beginnen – wie sie es wollte -, sondern machen den Plan des verstorbenen Freundes zur Realität. Sie dringen in den Zoo ein, rächen sich an dem Nachtwächter und lassen viele Tiere frei. Es entstand ein unbeschreiblicher Aufstand, der dramatischer nicht beschrieben werden könnte, als es John Irving tut. Die weitere Zukunft des Pärchens, das getrennte Wege geht bleibt offen. Auch ein Happyend könnte möglich sein, wird aber nicht ausgedrückt.
Es ist ein großartiger Roman, der in die Zeit des Zweiten Weltkriegs, die Nachkriegsjahre und die 60er Jahre des 20. Jahrhunderts führt und einen Teil Österreichs beschreibt. Das Buch ist aber auch eine Art Geschichtsbuch. Interessant nur, dass wir Österreicher uns unsere eigene Geschichte aus dem Krieg und nach dem Krieg von einem Amerikaner – dem Dichter John Irving -, der als Student nur zwei Semester in Wien war - erklären lassen.

This book might have been better without part two, titled "The Notebook". The portions of part two involving Siggy were fun, but the flashback portions were tedious and lost me for a good while. I think that whole section could have easily been left out.

There were some positives and some negatives

Positive
-characters were human and while not lovable per say they were more human not awful
-having read a reasonable handful of John Irving books or was interesting to read his first and see him already playing with elements that occur over again(Vienna, bears, motorcycles, awkward sex with questionable consent, students, story within a story etc, over all flow of how certain events go down) while other common themes were missing(no boarding schools, wrestling New England etc)--so from the perspective of getting context on later books from his earliest book it was written reading
-some parts of the story were entertaining(ish)

Negatives
-i was totally lost, especially when he got into the weeds about WW2 history, invasion of Austria by Hitler, Croatia/Serbia etc no idea what was true, what was made up, what was important-maybe for a contemporary(someone who was at least alive in the 1940-60s) more of it would have made sense but I struggled
-it got totally unhinged from there with the zoo break after the death etc like I said I was totally lost
-I crawled through this book(and another first book by a different author I also love) taking almost 4 months to get through it... In the same time frame I finished about 12 other books

Interestingly in the afterward he notes that after writing this book he learned the value of rewriting (in the context of writing an ultimately failed screenplay for this book)... So all books after this were edited/reworked more than this one and it shows, they just make more sense. But I'm glad some editor that is smarter than me decided to publish it for the work that ultimately came later

I'm glad I got through it, I don't think I will re read it, if you are new to John Irving start with anything else, read this last

John Irving's first novel begins with an odd "meet cute" and quickly segues into "On the Road" from Rory Gilmore's back pocket. Along the way we encounter a history of the Anschluss, a Hemingwayesque fishing tale, an awkward and oblivious love story between two people who don't have the slightest idea about each other, a motorcycle manual, and more unnecessary showing off. Irving tries to bring in a sense of the Sixties but doesn't convince. His writing is confident but some odd constructions left me baffled. Even here Irving is obviously a talented writer as he shifts voice, viewpoint, narrator, but after all that it was still repetitive and uninteresting. One of the easiest books to put down I've ever read. I found it hard to be interested in any of the characters, and Gallen the love interest is a coy cardboard fantasy. Irving had no clue what he was doing there. Only interesting as a pedagogical exercise analyzing a writer's growth in the sequence leading to The World According to Garp (1978), ten years later.

Autocertificazione di sana e robusta costituzione letteraria.

Salve a tutti.

Sono “Libertà per gli orsi”. Sì, il libro di Irving, proprio quello, sono io.

Sono approdato in casa di questa tipa con la testa un po’ per aria, che in Internet pretende di farsi chiamare Noce Moscata, quando io l’avrei chiamata invece Prezzemolo, data la continuità con cui me la trovo tra i piedi e la costanza con cui ha preteso negli ultimi giorni di essere accompagnata dappertutto: dal dentista, in una stanzetta d’attesa dove la luce era talmente fioca che i miei caratteri si rifiutavano di farsi leggere; in bagno, accanto a quell’enorme pila trasandatissima di Settimane Enigmistiche che avevano le orecchie ovunque; a letto, che vabbè, tutto sommato stavo comodo, salvo quando spegneva la luce e mi appoggiava nella parte vuota dell’alcova, dove venivo regolarmente schiacciato dal suo peso a intervalli regolari di due o tre ore; in cucina all’alba, dove mi faceva morire dal freddo, perché era talmente lenta a leggere, che rimanevo con la stessa pagina aperta per interi quarti d’ora, non vi dico tutto quello star fermi, senza neanche una copertina addosso, che dolori mi ha procurato alla mia povera costa già provata dal tempo.

Ma non è questo il punto.

Il punto è che, siccome la qui presente Signorina Noscata, o Moscata, insomma quello che è, ha avuto l’ardire di violentare la mia privacy, prendendomi dalla biblioteca in una bella giornata di Dicembre, e privandomi della mia routine quotidiana, fatta di partite a tressette con i miei vicini, passeggiate negli scaffali adiacenti, pennichelle omeriche nella quiete di silenziosi pomeriggi solatii, ho deciso di approfittarne e di farle scrivere questa dichiarazione in mia vece.

Non crediate sia stato facile. Questa tipa stramba è più cocciuta di un asino. Perché è ovvio che io non so parlare, però con l’alfabeto Morse sono un campione. Ma vallo a spiegare a questa capra, che ogni pagina aperta a caso da lei, e volutamente da me, corrispondeva a una precisa lettera dell’alfabeto? Ci abbiamo messo un’intera settimana solo per riuscire a intenderci.

Quindi, bando alle ciance. Quello che vorrei dire al mondo, di cui fa parte anche l’esponente umano di cui mi son servito, è questo. È inutile che diciate che sono un libro totalmente differente da quelli che il mio caro papà John ha scritto in età matura. Vorrei ricordarvi che sono stata la sua prima creazione letteraria, e grande fu la delusione quando non ebbi il giusto successo. Certo, lo stile era un po’ acerbo. Ma anche questa capra Moscatizia o Moscatella si è accorta che il genio era già li, in attesa di dispiegare le ali.

In fondo, allora mio padre aveva solo 26 anni, età in cui il talento se lo si ha, è già ben visibile, ma manca ancora l’esperienza per poter afferrarne il colore. E il colore è venuto dopo. Ma quello su cui voglio che vi soffermiate, è il John in potenza che si cela dietro le mie pagine. Ok, la storia non è né ricca e commovente come quella di mio nipote Owen, o di mio cugino Garp, e neppure tanto ben architettata, ma avete fatto caso alla lingua? Quanto maledettamente articolata è? Quante sfumature di ironia e di profondità lessicale è capace di partorire mio padre? Un genio, un fottutissimo genio (si può dire fottutissimo in Internet?).

Per cui, cari esponenti bipedi dei miei paragrafi, vedete di giudicare l’opera per quello che è. Un’embrione di perfezione, che va apprezzato per ciò che il mio paparino sarebbe riuscito a dare in seguito, per la sua lampante capacità innata di dotare qualsiasi cosa racconti, di una morale profonda che pervade la mente.

Poi certo, bizzarra quest’idea di raccontare di un giovanotto scapestrato e folle (mi ricorda quasi questa zucca spettinata che sta scrivendo) che decide di liberare gli animali di uno zoo. Ma allora mio padre era giovane e le sue idee erano estrose quanto la sua età.

Quindi acerbo o meno, prolisso magari un po’ qui e un po’ là, dalla struttura binaria come quello di una doppia pista di idee, cosa tipica dei talenti, io sono comunque un manifesto di brillante fantasia (io volevo dire “acuminata brillantezza” ma la signorina So tutto io mi ha detto che “brillante fantasia” rende meglio).

Così, siccome ho saputo che voi misurate le cose a stelline (che razza di metodo cretino, non potreste limitarvi a dire, bello, brutto, discreto, orripilante?), mi auto-promuovo portatore di tre stelline e tre quarti. Avrei detto quattro, ma la cialtrona che scrive dice che non ci si puo’ promuovere da soli, perciò ci siamo accordati sulle tre stelline e tre quarti.

Vi saluto lettori di tutto il mondo. Seeee, vabbè ho esagerato.

Vi saluto sparuti lettori, manipolo di screanzati, ultimi di una stirpe infame, che leggete Noce Mostarda (ahahah, sono burbero in superficie, ma scherzoso dentro). E ricordatevi che io sono fascinoso e brioso nonostante l’immaturità. Ah sì, e che ho anche una copertina molto animalista, perciò sono comunque al passo coi tempi.

Cià.

- Was trying to figure out why certain points of this novel seemed so familiar. Then it dawned on me. The zoo escape? The imagery of animals and anarchy was used in the Brad Pitt sci-fi spectacular-spectacular, Twelve Monkeys.

- Wasn't a big fan of some of the overelaborate scenes of slapstick, motorcycle gear shifting

- nudged to delve into this after learning that it has been translated into the Japanese by none other than Haruki Murakami

- a ridiculously, generously, ambitious first novel full of incidents comic and tragic, mordant and strange, with creamy dollops of lyrical romanticism that will have readers everywhere standing up, cheering, and setting free the bears

For me the form of this novel is more interesting than the content; short scenes, almost vignettes with names like “Fine Tuning” and “The Beast Beneath Me” that are self-referential and also used as direct lines in earlier and later passages. Woven together. Brief (bad) poems appear, and also little half-truth phrases such as:

“Good habits are worth being fanatical about.”

The middle of book is interleafed notebooks of Siggy, one being “Highly Selective Autobiography” and other being “Zoo Watch”. All is past tense, and this factors importantly in the future of the book. As Siggy says: “it’s the pre-history that made us and mattered to what we’d become.”

I like that idea, and the reckless naivety of the characters.

I believe this was Irving’s first published work. The novel, one of my favourites of his, foreshadows some of Irving’s greatest writings. It deals with the rebelliousness of youth, which is often a blind vision, or takes the form of a comic revolution. Graff, a student, and Siggy, a mechanic, go on a motorcycle tour in Austria, which culminates in Graff, after Siggy’s death in an accident, setting free the animals of the zoo in Vienna, with disastrous consequences. Written with great verve and sometimes bordering on the fantastical, like all of Irving’s books, it reminds me a bit of Günter Grass’s work, who I understand Irving admires.