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‎أول تجربة سيئة في 2020 .

‎خذها مني نصيحة وبشكل عام :

‎اذا رأيت المؤلف يُسهب ويكثر ويستطرد في الإباحية
‎ويغرسها هنا وهناك في صفحات روايته فتأكد أنك أمام
‎عمل فاشل وأنك قد شاهدت وقرأت أقصى ما في قدراته
‎" الإبداعية " وأن الكاتب هنا كالتاجر صاحب البضاعة
‎الرديئة فكل ما عليك فعله أن ترد بضاعته إليه وتمضي
‎ لكتاب غيره .

‎تتحدث الرواية عن رحلة سياحية يقوم بها رجل وإمراة الرجل

‎اسمه كولين وبمواضع متفرقة يصبح اسمه " طولين "
‎- فعديها لا تركز ما وقفت عليها - والمرأة اسمها ماري
‎، كلاهما يعاني من حالة من الفتور والملل في حياتهم
‎فيجتمعان بهذه الرحلة ويلتقيان خلالها بغريب اسمه
‎"روبرت " غريب الأطوار الثرثار الذي يسرد تفاصيل حياته
‎ لغرباء تعرف عليهم منذ ثواني معدودة ، روبرت هذا سيعمل
‎عمل الأداة المحركة للأحداث ويمكن القول بأن خلف
‎شخصية روبرت " السادية " تقف علامات وإشارات على
‎تأثير الطفولة المعنفة على حياة الفرد .

‎تعقيباً على ماورد على من غلاف الرواية " القارئ لن يترك
‎الكتاب حتى ينهيه فهنا مشعوذ يتلو عليه سحرًا أسود "
‎فعلاً أنا أعترف أني لم أترك الكتاب وكنت أمشي في الممر
‎ذاته مع المؤلف لأرى أين سنصل ، أنتهى المطاف بي
‎بعلامتي تعجب واستفهام فوق رأسي، فلم أرى سحرًا ولا
‎مشعوذًا .
‎ماذا بعد القراءة ؟
‎لا تثق بالغرباء في السفر

Un romanzo enigmatico e inquietante, che parte lento e sonnolento, nel descrivere la relazione tra Colin e Mary, una coppia che non si parla più eppure ciascuno conosce l’altro almeno come sé stesso, per la lunga e abitudinaria convivenza, in vacanza in una città innominata, dominata dall’acqua –un’acqua stagnante ed immobile come le esistenze dei due protagonisti-. Il racconto prosegue in un’atmosfera onirica, come nel mondo ovattato del sogno fatto di silenzi e di gesti lenti e sguardi muti.
Un incontro con un singolare personaggio di cui sappiamo solo il nome, Robert, smuove le acque intorno a Colin e Mary, che cominciano ad annaspare nell’acqua trasformata in mare increspato dalle onde, da affrontare con estrema attenzione perché può travolgere e annegare tutto ciò che incontra. La morte aleggia sinistra come il vento che dà forza al moto marino, in un crescendo di tensione ed ansia che McEwan dosa in modo sapiente, grazie a piccoli particolari, a gesti apparentemente insignificanti, a sguardi misteriosi, a frasi spezzate, in un gioco macabro tra Colin e Mary, da un lato, e Robert con sua moglie Caroline dall’altro. Fino all’epilogo orribile, che sconvolge, anche se annunciato, perché le acque calme della coscienza sono sopraffatte dal tremendo uragano delle pulsioni umane che esplodono con violenza.
McEwan è uno scrittore abilissimo, riesce a tenere incollati al libro pur non desiderando altro che gettarlo via, per il disagio e l’inquietudine che ne permeano ogni riga. E poi come scrive bene, con uno stile corposo e fluido che dà vita ad una lettura in ci si gusta ogni frase ed ogni parola.

IAN MACABRE


Christopher Walken è Robert, Natasha Richardson è Mary, Rupert Everett è Colin nel film omonimo di Paul Schrader del 1990.

Abitavamo due mondi
le figlie e le madri
nel regno dei figli.
L’epigrafe della poetessa americana Adrienne Rich.

“Ian Macabre” all’ennesima potenza, qui, più che mai, il soprannome di McEwan mi sembra azzeccato.


I quattro i protagonisti, inclusa Helen Mirren nel ruolo di Caroline, la moglie di Robert.

In una città sull’acqua, mai nominata ma nella quale è facile riconoscere Venezia, una coppia di turisti inglesi, Colin e Mary, trascorre giornate consultando la cartina e continuando a perdere la strada, cercando l’ombra per ripararsi da un caldo che toglie le forze, dormendo nella stessa stanza d’albergo, ma in letti separati pur ‘consumando’ sesso insieme, sesso che appare una specie di rituale residuo di sette anni di convivenza e poco ha a che spartire col desiderio e la passione.



Una sera, smarrita la strada come di consueto, incontrano Robert, misterioso e affascinante abitante della città. Lo incontrano per caso o Robert ‘facilita’ l’incontro?
Robert si prende subito cura dei due giovani, li porta nel suo splendido palazzo, li rifocilla, li introduce alla moglie Caroline, che appare sottomessa al marito.



La mattina dopo Colin e Mary si risvegliano nudi in una stanza da letto della magione di Robert e Caroline. Da questo momento il sesso tra loro comincia a fare scintille, hanno ritrovato slancio e linfa vitale. E da questo momento sono oggetto delle cure e attenzioni di Robert e Caroline, ma soprattutto del primo, diventano gli ospiti da riempire di cortesie, ma dai quali anche attendere conforto e consolazione, come il titolo originale lascia intuire (The Comfort of Strangers).



Robert racconta ai due ospiti del padre dispotico e autoritario che ha avuto, lui, figlio minore e unico maschio. Robert lancia, o semina, indizi che costruiscono inquietudine. Cos’è che può succedere, cos’è che accadrà? C’è per caso un’attrazione omosessuale tra lui e Colin, o è piuttosto un rapporto tra due maschi di età diversa che ricorda quello tra un padre e suo figlio?



Un po’ gotico, un po’ à la Morte a Venezia, tra decadenza e sentore di pericolo McEwan gioca col suo consueto sadismo e la perversione a tenere inchiodata l’attenzione del lettore. Ma non aspettiamoci colpi di scena: non prima del gran finale. McEwan sparge indizi, lavorando sui particolari con una minuzia descrittiva che evoca una cura visiva molto stimolante per il cinema.
Robert e Caroline, come ragni esperti, imbastiscono la loro tela, aspettando che si presentino le prede giuste.
E poi, ecco, improvvisamente fu lungo il doppio, zac, la crudeltà è servita.

İnanılmaz gerildim okurken. Tekinsiz atmosferin içinde dolanırken "hayır ya kötü bir şey olmayacak" diyip durdum. Kendimi sakinleştirmeye çalıştım. Robert tatlı bir adam, Caroline ve ikisi biraz garip yalnızca dedim. Hacimsizsizliğine aldanmamak lazımmış Yabancı Kucak'ın. Son sayfayı okuyup kapağı kapadığımda sarsılmış şekilde kalakaldım olduğum yerde.

Görselliği epey kuvvetliydi romanın. Karakterler, bar, ev, otel, sokaklar, iskele, hepsi capcanlı kafamda. Diyaloglar çok gerçekçi, inandırıcı. Tatilin tatlı rehavetiyle, tekinsiz atmosferin gerginliğini birbirine karıştırıp akılları, bünyeyi dalgalandırmayı baya iyi başardı.

Tavsiye ediyorum.

العمل الثاني في مسيرة مكيوان الروائية 1981، رواية من النوع الوصفي وهو ما يبرع فيه الكاتب بشدة.

تدور الرواية في قالب نفسي ايروتيكي مع قليل من الاثارة والتشويق افسدتها الترجمة الركيكة وجملة من الأخطاء المطبعية.

"De ce-o fi atat de infricosator sa iubesti pe cineva asa de tare? De ce-o fi atat de inspaimantator?"

Two lovers no longer in their first flush of youth, Mary and Colin, are on holiday in a city that seems very much like Venice, hoping to rekindle the passion that has ebbed from their relationship; Mary's occasional worries about how her kids are getting along with their father hardly help the cause.

One night, while lost among the city's twisting streets, they encounter the enigmatic Robert. Soon he and his wife, the near-crippled Caroline, have more or less taken over the English couple's lives. Finding themselves enmeshed in a web of power games and perverse sexuality, Mary and Colin can seem to find no means of escape. On the plus side, their love life has suddenly begun to sparkle.

While reading this short novel I found myself frequently reminded of Don't Look Now -- the 1973 Nicolas Roeg movie rather than the Daphne du Maurier novella. The plots aren't the same, but there's the same ambience of sexual corruption and inevitable death. McEwan's tale is a far subtler one than the movie's, and to be honest I'm -- for once! -- not so sure that's a good thing. There's a murderous climax to The Comfort of Strangers, all right, but, because of the low-key nature of what's gone before and the allusive nature of the climax's depiction, the affect is chilly rather than blooded. This, too, affects the poignancy that the final, post-climax pages might have had; while reading them, I couldn't help but recall the far stronger emotional punch of the final minutes of Don't Look Now.

There's one section of the novel that isn't low-key. Not long after Mary and Colin have met Robert, he tells them at some length a story of his childhood -- of the punishment his sisters meted out to him because he was such an insufferable little bastard, always getting them into trouble with their disciplinarian father, the apple of whose eye the boy smugly was. It's an entertaining and very scatological tale . . . but it has nothing to do with the main thrust of the novel.

For a writer so widely admired as a stylist, McEwan is occasionally guilty here of some quite surprisingly sloppy writing. "Respectfully, Colin stood a few feet off and regarded the objects which suggested a memory game played at children's parties" (p71), for example. I assume McEwan was aiming for something like "regarded the objects in a way suggestive of a memory game", but that's not what he gave us. There were several other such wince-inducing moments.

Again, there's all too often the pretentious notion that it's posh writing -- yer literature -- to run on paragraphs that shouldn't have been run on. I think this is a product of the observation that literary writers tend to use longer paragraphs than popular ones. But there's a big difference between, so to speak, thinking in longer paragraphs and just stringing together several shorter ones to create a solid block of type.

And McEwan really ought to learn how to use commas.

Come to that, the publisher of the reprint edition that I read (Anchor/Doubleday, 2002) should be looking to its laurels too. Although this is supposedly a quality paperback, with cover price to match, the text has been reproduced by good ol' cheapola photo-offset, presumably in order to save the few hundred bucks it'd have cost to OCR the text and proofread the result. Even the small, POD presses generally have a bit more professional pride than this. One consequence of Anchor's cheeseparing is that there are several words missing at the bottom right of page 55. Hey, who needs to spend that extra hour checking the layouts for stuff like this?

I have a sort of love/hate relationship with McEwan's writing. I loathe the first part of Atonement, for example, for its turgid, dreary self-regard, its constant, creaking strain for Good Writing at the expense of genuinely alive prose; yet I love the second half of the novel, which is very me-ish in its portrayal of constantly shifting realities. Amsterdam I can take or leave, but in general find less well written than various tales by genre authors with similar themes. And so on.

The same is true, in microcosm, for The Company of Strangers. As you'll have noticed, I have lots of reservations about it and yet, overall, I really quite enjoyed the experience of reading the book. Despite everything, McEwan does succeed in pulling you into his tale. Other writers might have done it better (the aforementioned du Maurier is one who springs to mind), but the fact is that it's McEwan who's done it here. If the book were twice or three times the length, I imagine the irritations would finally have come to outweigh the pleasures. As it is, at ~120 pages, The Comfort of Strangers satisfies the moment.

Thanks, I hated it

The only thing I love about this book is - unsurprisingly - not about the book itself.

If you're not familiar with Italian broadcast television, you have probably never watched a tv program called Cortesie per gli ospiti, which is basically an hospitality contest: a couple of friends hosts a dinner for a couple of strangers and three judges - a cooking expert, a interior design expert and a bon ton expert - and then it's the other couple's turn.



It's fun.
You get to learn where to put your spoon when you set the table, and which kind of presents you can give to your guests. It's a nice show, if you ask me.

What does it have to do with the book?
That this format has been called Cortesie per gli ospiti because that's the literal translation of McEwan famous novel Comfort of strangers, which is not nice, not fun, and sure as hell NOT a good example of how you should treat your guests.

I love picturing the TV show creators that sit around a table and wonder how to call the show and then one of them screams "I got it!".
The must have thought it was a brilliant idea to call it exactly like the book.

I guess they hadn't read it (lucky guys!).

Sometimes, a novel's concept feels more suited for the screen than the page—and Ian McEwan’s The Comfort of Strangers is a perfect example of this. The story, which reads like it could have been effortlessly transformed into one of Roman Polanski’s chilling thrillers, ended up in the hands of Paul Schrader, whose 1990 film adaptation failed to leave much of a mark critically. Sadly, the novel itself doesn’t fare much better.
The plot follows Colin and Mary, a couple stuck in the monotony of a fading relationship, who travel to an unnamed city—clearly Venice, despite McEwan’s refusal to name it—in hopes of reigniting their passion. Their days drift by in a haze of routine, marijuana, and disconnected intimacy until they meet Robert, a mysterious stranger whose presence sets off a series of unsettling events.
Robert, with his unsettling charisma and dark personal stories involving sadistic parenting and cruel sibling revenge, quickly embeds himself in their lives. A visit to his home and an encounter with his equally strange wife appear to breathe life back into Colin and Mary’s relationship. But this renewed spark soon turns ominous. After days of surreal sexual intensity, Mary has a nightmare in which she remembers seeing a photograph of Colin in Robert’s home. From there, everything begins to spiral downward.
It’s an intriguing setup, but unfortunately, McEwan fails to make us care. His prose, though polished, feels sterile, almost clinical. His omniscient narrative voice keeps the characters at arm’s length and, in doing so, alienates the reader as well. There’s a distinct lack of emotional investment; we’re told how the characters feel but are rarely shown in a way that makes us believe it. The suspense, which should simmer, is handled with a clumsiness that blunts its impact.
In comparison, Ryu Murakami’s Audition, which explores similar themes of deception, vulnerability, and escalating psychological dread, handles the tension with far greater skill. Murakami makes us care about his characters. He builds dread patiently, letting it burrow under our skin. McEwan, by contrast, feels like he’s rushing through a workshop exercise—eager to disturb, but lacking the emotional weight or narrative discipline to pull it off.
The behavior of the characters often borders on unbelievable, and it’s hard not to question whether McEwan was aiming for satire. But no, this doesn’t feel like an intentional subversion. Rather, it reads like a strong idea that collapsed somewhere in execution. In the hands of a more capable storyteller, The Comfort of Strangers might have become a haunting novella about desire, alienation, and the dangerous pull of the unknown. Instead, we’re left with a flat narrative occasionally jolted by strange sexual fantasies and implausible decisions.
To be fair, this was only McEwan’s second novel, and his early work did earn him the nickname “Creepy Ian” for a reason. Still, The Comfort of Strangers doesn’t feel like essential reading. It's more of a curiosity—a slim book (closer to a novella than a novel) that’s quick to read but ultimately forgettable. This is not the place to start for those unfamiliar with McEwan’s work. You’re better off beginning with one of his later, more refined novels.
In the end, The Comfort of Strangers feels like a wasted opportunity: a potentially gripping story let down by flat prose, distant characters, and a lack of narrative cohesion. You’ll turn the final page not disturbed—but disappointed.

Η Βενετία δεν αναφέρεται ποτέ ονομαστικά στο The Comfort of Strangers, το δεύτερο μυθιστόρημα του Ίαν ΜακΓιούαν, όλα όμως υπονοούν/μαρτυρούν/κραυγάζουν πως η δράση εκτυλίσσεται εκεί: στην πιο τουριστική πόλη του πλανήτη, εκεί όπου η αίσθηση του αριστοκρατικού ξεπεσμού, της μούχλας και της πολυπληθούς ανωνυμίας σε συντροφεύουν σε κάθε μετέωρο βήμα ανάμεσα σε στενά και γέφυρες που είναι νομοτελειακό πως θα χαθείς. Με ή χωρίς χάρτη.

Δείχνοντας για πρώτη φορά την ικανότητά του να υφαίνει μαεστρικά ιστορίες όπου ο ρομαντισμός συναντά το μακάβριο και η ανατροπή της τελικής πράξης επαναπροσδιορίζει όποια εντύπωση είχες σχηματίσει μέχρι τις τελευταίες σελίδες, ο Μακ Γιούαν μιλάει για τον πόλεμο των δύο φύλων μέσα στη σχέση, την ανία και τη σαρκική εξάρτηση, την ανάγκη να νιώσεις κάποιες φορές τουρίστας ακόμα και στην ίδια σου τη ζωή, πόσο μάλλον σε ένα περιβάλλον το οποίο τρέφεται κυριολεκτικά και σχεδόν βαμπιρικά από τον τουρισμό και τους ξένους.

Τίποτα δεν προμηνύει την κατάληξη που θα έχουν οι διακοπές του ζευγαριού των εύπορων Βρετανών που βρίσκονται στη δύση της νεότητάς τους και προσπαθούν να καταλάβουν τι ακριβώς γυρεύουν ακόμα μαζί. Η συνάντηση με έναν μυστηριώδη κοσμοπολίτη ντόπιο και την άβουλη γυναίκα του θα δώσει τις απαντήσεις σε ερωτήματα που δεν τολμούσαν ποτέ να κάνουν. Με τον πιο αναπάντεχο και τον πιο σοκαριστικό τρόπο.

Κι αν η Μπλανς Ντιμπουά βασιζόταν πάντα στην καλοσύνη των ξένων με τη γνωστή σε όλους κατάληξη, εδώ ο τίτλος του βιβλίου ξεδιπλώνει όλη την πολυσημία του, αφού η άνεση του να βρίσκεσαι ανάμεσα σε αγνώστους μπορεί να οδηγήσει μόνο σε μια πρόσκαιρη ανακούφιση, αλλά δεν προσφέρει στο τέλος καμία παρηγοριά.

(Η ομότιτλη ταινία του Paul Schrader σε σενάριο του Harold Pinter, αν και εκ των πραγμάτων δεν μπορούσε να είναι τόσο υπαινικτική ως προς το πού διαδραματίζεται, αποδίδει στο έπακρο την ατμόσφαιρα του βιβλίου.)

(Ίσως να το αγάπησα τόσο γιατί το διάβασα -εν μέρει- στην Βενετία.)

Ian McEwan es un gran creador de atmósferas inquietantes y opresivas, además de un analista de primer orden de la conducta humana. Gracias a una prosa sencilla pero cuidada, construye un mundo de cada simple gesto, e incluso de la rutina, que es el más difícil todavía.

No obstante, un final tan predecible desluce sobremanera el desarrollo del libro, pues te quedas con sensación de incompletitud, los famosos "¿y ahora qué? ¿Ya está?". Es como ver un truco de magia cuya conclusión sabes de antemano.

Me ha defraudado bastante mi toma de contacto con este autor. Espero que otras novelas suyas me quiten este mal sabor de boca.

Yet another good read from the much lauded McEwan. Coli and Mary, a couple content and comfortable with each other are on holiday, a break from their lives and an idyllic time to re-confirm their strong intimate and emotional bonds… then along comes, a pushy, enigmatic stranger into their lives, Robert. McEwan artfully pens a believable and beautiful romantic relationship that is so consumed with itself that the couple don't fully realise the threat that Robert poses to them and their future together, until it's too late... 7 out of 12