کتاب جالبی بود فقط یک مقدار خواندنش کند پیش می‌رود. *********************************************************************
«راه سومی میان حرف زدن و سکوت وجود دارد و آن ادبیات است. زبانی که من حرف می‌زنم مناسب نوشتن است، و نه گفت‌وشنود.» (جی. ام. کوتسیا) پیشگفتار مترجم - صفحه سیزده کتاب
مایکل یک انسان بکر است که جهان را از دید خاص خودش می‌بیند. با اینکه خشونت تبعیض نژادی را تجربه می‌کند- و کوتسیا در طول رمان حتی یک ‌بار هم اشاره‌ای به رنگ پوست او نمی‌کند- از طریق شکیبایی به آزادگیی دست می‌یابد که هم رژیم آپارتهاید و هم نیروهای چریکی را شگفت‌زده و مبهوت می‌کند؛ زیرا او، درنهایت سادگی، هیچ‌چیز نمی‌خواهد: نه جنگ و نه انقلاب، نه قدرت و نه پول. مایکل ک فقط کرامت انسانی را می‌خواهد. پیشگفتار مترجم - صفحه پانزده کتاب
نمی‌دانست چه خواهد شد. داستان زندگی‌اش هیچ‌ وقت جالب نبود؛ معمولاً همیشه کسی بود که به او بگوید بعدش چه کار کند؛ حالا کسی نبود، و بهترین کار این بود که صبر کند. صفحه ۸۳ کتاب
در نظرش زندگی صحنه به صحنه جلو چشم‌هایش اجرا می‌شد و تمام صحنه‌ها ربطی منطقی داشت. قلبش گواهی می‌داد که تمام این صحنه‌ها که با هم تلاقی می‌کردند یا بیم تلاقی شان می‌رفت، به ‌معنای واحدی می‌رسند. اما نمی‌دانست آن معنا چیست. صفحه ۱۰۹ کتاب
حیف که برای زندگی کردن تو این دوره و زمونه باید قبول کرد که مث حیوون زندگی کنیم. آدمی که بخواد زنده بمونه نمی‌تونه توی خونه‌ای زندگی کنه که پنجره‌هاش روشنن. باید بره تو یه سوراخی تموم روز قایم بشه. باید جوری زندگی کنه که ردی از زندگیش معلوم نشه. زندگی اینجوری شده. صفحه ۱۲۰ کتاب
همیشه، وقتی می‌خواست خودش را برای خودش توجیه کند شکافی باقی می‌ماند، یک حفره، ظلمتی که درک او در برابرش متوقف می‌ماند و پر کردن آن با کلمات بی‌فایده بود. کلمات تمام می‌شدند و شکاف باقی می‌ماند. داستان او همیشه حفره‌ای داشت: داستانی اشتباه، داستانی همیشه اشتباه. صفحه ۱۳۳ کتاب
آیا احساس نمی‌کرد زندگانی‌اش معلق است، هم زنده است و هم زنده نیست، در جایی‌ که تاریخ در تردید است چه راهی را برگزیند؟ صفحه ۱۹۲ کتاب

Both brilliant and flawed. The writing is fabulous. And it’s a tremendous achievement of imaginative prowess. The story is about Michael, a young black man who is born with a harelip and thus has difficulty speaking which he rarely does. He grows up in a home for handicapped children. He has no father and his mother is a servant in Cape Town. Michael works as a gardener. South Africa is in the grip of civil war. When his mother becomes ill she asks to be taken back to her childhood home, a remote desert region some distance from Cape Town. The novella is about Michael’s journey back to his roots.

Coetzee does a fabulous job of imagining a mind almost bereft of intelligence. Michael becomes a thing of the earth, half human, half earthworm (as he once refers to himself). But the regime sees him as a parasite and all his (admirable) efforts at self-reliance are threatened at all times by an order intent on hunting him and his like down. It has to be said Michael himself, his simplicity, drives you a bit nuts at times – you stumble over that suspending of disbelief tripwire at times because although we’re constantly reminded how simple Michael is there’s a sense that such pure simplicity has to be a construct. However this is only an intermittent misgiving. The big flaw though is the late intervention of another voice. That of the doctor in the camp in which Michael is interned. There’s a sense here that Coetzee is sermonising, telling us what we ought to make of Michael as allegory or symbol of his country’s plight. Michael vanishes from the novella has a living presence to be replaced by an intellectual idea. And when we return to Michael in part three most of the magic has gone. If there had been no sermonising from the camp doctor I might have given this five stars but I can’t get away from the feeling that this section of the novella was a clumsy error of judgement on Coetzee’s part.
Towards the end Michael remembers a schoolroom moment. His teacher sets the class a maths task. Twelve men eat six bags of potatoes. Each bag holds six kilograms of potatoes. He is asked what the quotient is. “He saw himself write down 12, he saw himself write down 6. He did not know what to do with the numbers. He crossed both out. He stared at the word quotient. It did not change, it did not dissolve, it did not yield its mystery. I will die, he thought, still not knowing what the quotient is.”
And this is the case, though we are also asked to acknowledge that “enough men had gone off to war saying the time for gardening was when the war was over; whereas there must be men to stay behind and keep gardening alive, or at least the idea of gardening; because once that cord was broken, the earth would grow hard and forget her children.”

Another one I'd need to read again to do justice to - very much a book of its time and place but a very moving one

Is life a journey? And how to survive when the entire world seems to turn against you?

His first step was to hollow out the sides of the crevice till it was wider at the bottom than the top, and to flatten the gravel bed. The narrower end he blocked with a heap of stones. Then he laid the three fence posts across the crevice, and upon them the iron sheet, with slabs of stone to hold it down. He now had a cave or burrow five feet deep.

Even a tiny miserable ant needs home… To escape the storm one must get smaller and smaller…

He thought of himself not as something heavy that left tracks behind it, but if anything, as a speck upon the surface of an earth too deeply asleep to notice the scratch of ant feet, the rasp of butterfly teeth, the tumbling of dust.

To become free of the world one must be ready to diminish one's consciousness until it turns into an infinitesimal dot.

"The obscurest of the obscure, so obscure as to be a prodigy".

"He was living beyond the reach of calendar and clock in a blessedly neglected corner, half awake, half asleep".

"If he ate, eating what he could find, it was because he had not yet shaken off the belief that bodies that do not eat die."

'Life & times of Michael K'
[A real page-turner]
This book is Incredibly awesome though every page makes my heart cringe but this is really something very powerful yet shattering. :'( You are forced to get engrossed in the ingenious write-up having heart-wrenching description, deep down in the world of K. Sorry it's Michael K.

I didn't read this writer before but its never too late :)

Thanks a lot Bilawal for the recommendation. This one is really worth-reading.

Tıpkı Barbarları Beklerken gibi alegorik bir roman Michael K da. Yarık dudaklı ve zihinsel engelli dünyaya gelen Michael K, belirtilmeyen ama 1970-80’ler hissi veren bir dönemde, Güney Afrika’da hizmetçilik yapan annesiyle yaşayan, parklarda bahçıvanlık yaparak hayatını idame ettiren biri. Kitabın başlarında bu iki karakterin, Eduardo Agualusa’nın Unutmanın Genel Teorisi’ni bana çokça anımsatan şekilde, iç savaşın sürdüğü dış dünyadan kendilerini soyutlayarak, bir apartmanda yaşamaya çalışmaları anlatılıyor. Giderek hararetlenen iç savaş, isyancılarla askerler arasındaki çatışma nedeniyle Michael K, hasta annesini doğup büyüdüğü köye götürmek üzere yola çıkıyor ve romanın kalanında karakterin başından geçenleri okuyoruz.
Çok derinlikli, pek çok yorumu mümkün kılan bir alegorik roman bu. Coetzee’nin hemen her eserinde gördüğümüz ırkçılık ve sömürgecilik meselelerinin yanı sıra, daha geniş bir açıdan bakarak oldukça güçlü bir sistem eleştirisinin de kurguya yedirildiğini görüyoruz. Zihinsel engelli ancak aslında hepimiz gibi, kendi dünyasında yaşamak, toprağını ekip biçerek karnını doyurmak ve huzurlu bir şekilde yaşayıp gitmek isteyen bir insanın sistemin çarkları tarafından öğütülmesinin ve buna karşı pasif direnişinin hikayesi roman. Sistemin her insanı hizmet ettiği ölçüde barındırdığı, etmeyen ya da edemeyenin ‘anormal’ olarak etiketlenip yine aslında sisteme hizmetle yükümlü güvenlik güçleri, sağlık çalışanları tarafından ‘iyileştirme, bakılma’ adı altında tekrar ‘işlevsel’ hale getirildiği düzeni muhteşem yansıtıyor Coetzee. Doğadan koparılan, kendine ve diğer insanlara yabancılaşan insanın, ihtiyaçlarının dahi düzene hizmet etmesi koşuluyla ve sadaka verilir gibi karşılanması, ister bir birey ister bir ülke, hizmeti bitip sömürüldükten sonra da bir kenara atılması ve bunun ‘asalak’ damgasıyla kendisinden kaynaklanan bir sorun olduğu algısı yaratılarak yapılmasına da keza çok güzel parmak basıyor. Böyle bir düzende dışarıda kalan karakterin, bana biraz Han Kang’ın Vejetaryen romanını da anımsatan pasif direniş haliyle de çok etkileyici bir hikaye anlatıyor.
Üç bölümden oluşan romanın, ilk ve son bölümleri üçüncü tekil anlatıcıyla Michael K’nın yaşadıklarını aktarırken, ikinci bölümü karakterin alıkonduğu bir kampın rehabilitasyon bölümünde ona bakan doktorun içsel monoloğundan oluşuyor. Bu sayede hem karaktere uzaktan bakarak yaşananları hem de bunların başka bir insanın gözünden yansımasını okuyabilmeyi mümkün kılmış Coetzee ve daha da önemlisi kim ‘normal’, kim ‘asalak’ sorularının altını çok güzel çizmiş.
Çok, çok iyi bir roman Michael K. Utanç’ı da sevmiştim ama açıkçası Coetzee’nin Barbarları Beklerken ve Michael K romanlarının çok, çok daha iyi olduğunu düşünüyorum.

mi sono un po’ emozionata. michael.

Cuando la vida te quiebra por completo.
El sinsentido de la guerra y hasta de la misma vida.

Ik heb deze prachtige, ontroerende roman van J.M. Coetzee gelezen op aanraden van Hilde Van Mieghem in de podcast drie boeken.

Hoofdfiguur Michael K is geboren in Zuid-Afrika met een hazenlip, hij werkt een tijd bij de groendienst van de stad maar hij vlucht voor de oorlog: eerst samen met zijn moeder, later alleen. Hij woont langs de weg als een zwerver, leeft in een grot in de bergen, belandt in een werkkamp en op landerijen naast een verlaten boerderij. Daar kweekt hij pompoenen op een akkertje en woont hij in een hol. Hij verzwakt, eet bijna niets meer, en wordt zo steeds meer één met de natuur. Uiteindelijk wordt K verdacht van het helpen van vijandelijke troepen en wordt hij meegenomen naar een heropvoedingsgevangenis.

Wereld en wandel van Michael K is een schitterende roman over een arme figuur die verstandelijk niet helemaal ontwikkeld lijkt en die zich niet thuisvoelt in de samenleving. Als er bovendien nog oorlog uitbreekt, valt hij volledig tussen de plooien en is er voor hem geen enkel vangnet. K blijft onzichtbaar binnen de administratie van de oorlog. De roman voelt soms dystopisch aan en gaat over natuur, mens en diepe, fundamentele eenzaamheid.

Wereld en wandel van Michael K is een onvergetelijk boek. Het won in 1983 de prestigieuze Booker Prize. Het werd vurig aangeraden door Hilde Van Mieghem in de podcast drie boeken.

https://wimoosterlinck.wordpress.com/...

This is not a book I would have picked up on my own. I read it because it was a GR group selection. I struggle to engage with the characters and story lines of novels by Coetzee. Born into poverty with a hare lip, Michael has never felt socially connected. When his mother dies, his final tether is broken. Slowly he disengages with every aspect of living including his own story.

في هذا العمل يعلو الصوت الشخصي، ولكن بمعنى آخر غير ما اعتدناه من فردانية حداثية تميل لجعل الفرد أولوية نفسه، وقد تجنح إلى شطب الاخرين ومشاعرهم. أما هنا فصوت الفرد أتى من مكان مختلف، فمايكل شخص قد نساه الكل والمجتمع والنظام القاسي الشمولي. نعيش معه ضمن أضلاعه ومكنونات صدره ورؤيته وحده للعالم دون إخبار - إخبارنا، وذلك لكونه شخص صموت، وواجم وغير واعٍ لما يحيط به من مآسٍ، ولأن الصمت أبلغ من الكلامح أحيانًا؟

فألمه ألم جسدي وحسب حتى الأذى الذي يتعرض له ترى أثره جسديًا (إن وجد) أمر أشبه بشكل الألم عند الحيوان، وكيفية استقباله له. دون تراجيديا كلامية واعية، إنما صفات شكلية أبلغها ما قد يظهر على الوجه، وأقساها يعبّر عنه حركيًّا.

علاقة مايكل بأمهِ موضوع آخر؛ هي تلك الأم التي قرفت منه فور رؤيتها لشفتهِ الأرنبيّة. وما أحداث الرواية إلّا توالٍ لهذا الحدث الأساس، حتى إن لم يستعاد ولا حتى يُذكر.

أيضًا للطبيعة مكانها الأكبر في الرواية، وفي حياة مايكل بطبيعة الحال، فهو يهرب إلى الجبال ويحتضن المياه والأعشاب مع كل خذلانٍ وألمٍ وفقد وخوف جديد. هربهُ غريزيّ حيوانيّ لا يحكمهُ وعي ضروري بما يحصل، إنما ألمًا موجهًا بقوى خارقة تحاول هدهدته.

رواية جميلة، طبعًا أنصح بقراءتها.

Obviously there're a lot of people out there who write much better than I do, and in this way I feel writing's similar to distance running. I can run a passable marathon, though of course a lot of amateur runners out there run a much faster one. I'm impressed by people who run faster than I can, just as I am by those who write better than me. These people are humbling, but they're also inspiring: reading good writing or watching good running makes me want to write better and run faster. It's healthy to see the thousands of names before my own in the race finishers' list, just as it's exciting to read what talented writers have written. I like looking at them and thinking that someday by training harder on the road, or working to improve my writing skills, perhaps I might rise a little higher in the ranks. And that's nice, right? That's a nice little thing!

Then, though, there are the Paula Radcliffes and Haile Gebrselassies of the world. Elite athletes' two-hour-and-change marathons aren't exactly inspiring to me in any normal or useful sense, and describing them as humbling is so understated as to be meaningless. What these runners do doesn't fall under the same classification as what I and most other people do when we run. These runners' bodies do not seem human: they accomplish feats that aren't physically possible. There is barely a relationship between their "running" and my "running," and that's where inspiration in its normal sense stops, and beyond even just being impressed with the individuals themselves, there's not much left to do except sit there and marvel that such things occur.

Anyway, sometimes I feel like this when I'm reading. In the same way that I can't actually believe Radcliffe's human legs are capable of what they have done, I don't quite understand how Coetzee's brain manufactured this book.

In my professional capacity, I've come to know some people who one might describe as being among the wretched of New York City. I'm talking about impoverished, chronically homeless, physically and mentally ill, largely powerless, pitied, and despised people who spend decades being shuffled through systems and slipping through cracks, sleeping in Port Authority tunnels and on trains and sidewalks, living under conditions that most other people can barely imagine. For a long time I've been impressed by how infrequently I come across good representations of these kinds of experiences in literature and other art forms, but I guess this makes sense. Illiterate people with little power or resources don't have much opportunity to create their own literature, and there are clear limits to knowledge of and empathy for these experiences by people who haven't lived through them. Okay, so to be fair I probably miss some good books about this, since I don't seek out that kind of literature and even consciously avoid it most of the time. This is in part because by the end of the day I'm a bit sick of the topic, but also because I do feel many treatments of this subject seem naive, insincere, idealized, unrealistic, or condescending.

Not this book!

I've known some guys over the years whose existences seem so fascinatingly horrible, but also almost miraculous and even kind of (uh, sorry) weirdly beautiful. I'm not generalizing here about the majority of my homeless clients, but thinking specifically of a few who just clearly weren't made for this earth. Like the HIV+ homeless schizophrenic who heard the voice of angels and looked like a saint, and it was just so unfathomable that he lived in a shelter among all this awful, sickening, dirty sad stuff that just had no relevance to him, dressed in gorgeous, outlandish outfits and cheeking his antipsychotics and antiretroviral drugs and talking to God.... Then those other ones, street-homeless for years, guys with mild mental retardation or traumatic brain injury and serious drug problems, who just don't have anything and there's no one who cares about them, and they wander through all these hells and horrors that you've got to think no one could ever survive, let alone someone with the mental capacity of a kindergartener.

But really, it turns out, the world's full of these people, out there navigating streets filled with drugs and violence or being shuttled in and out of mental hospitals and jails and other institutions. It's pretty wild and disturbing stuff, and it seems almost impossible to imagine what kind of sense they make of these experiences that I could never fathom undergoing myself. This book pushed me further than my own imagination could towards a theory of what it might be like to exist while maintaining some part of oneself amidst levels of chaos and cruelty beyond my comprehension. I mean, this from a girl who gets pushed near complete mental breakdown by rude public cellphone use, or girls who spread their stuff out all over the bench in the gym locker room and won't share the space, or people getting uncivil on Bookface -- I mean, I've got an extremely low tolerance for any evidence of man's inhumanity (a questionable term -- "brutality" being similarly problematic) to man, and thinking about what it might be like to exist in war-torn, apartheid South Africa really does strain the limits of my gentle mind.

But Coetzee sent me there, and pushed me through it.

The Life and Times of Michael K hooked me at the beginning with its chillingly plausible description of homelessness. It's rare that reading a novel now, as an adult, can become the completely immersive, empathic experience that reading was for me as a child, but this book did that, and it did it starting in a situation I've spent a lot of time thinking about, but never lived through myself. Michael K follows the journey of a man who was born at the bottom, once the bottom falls out, and even though his situation's much worse than any of my clients', that was one place where it gave a possible answer to some long-standing questions I've had about the people I mentioned above. The book gave me an idea of what it might be like to experience things that are nearly impossible to convey in words. But as far as I'm concerned, Coetzee conveyed them!

Another place it resonated with my professional experience was the second part of the book, which is from the perspective of a doctor who tries to care for Michael K in a work camp. Relating this to my own position as a social worker was such an intensely personal experience that I don't know if I can really get into it here. I'll just say that I'm really astounded by Coetzee's ability first to cultivate empathy like crazy, then to smash the reader brutally into its limitations. At least, that was one way I experienced it.

This book presented a vision of individuals, systems, and societies that really is beyond the grasp of my own language abilities to describe or even comment on in a meaningful way. It also was just so successful in transporting me into another person and a different world, which is on the most basic level what any successful novel should do. I can't begin to guess at how this guy Coetzee's mind works; meanwhile, though, I'm intimately familiar with how his character Michael K's does! Yeah, so it wasn't vastly entertaining or necessarily a lot of fun all the time, but this book was pretty good, all right. Its author is, IMHO, among writers what Catherine Ndereba is among marathoners. That is to say, I can't pronounce either one of their names, and I have no idea how they do what they do, but I gotta admit that it's pretty amazing.