Immortified

I’ve wondered for a long time how to talk to you about this. How to explain myself, if such a thing is necessary or possible. Should I even bother? Would you understand? Will you be able to see things from my point of view? Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?

Ironically, perhaps, if you believe in God, the Holy Spirit, then you might be more likely to understand me and therefore to forgive.

My desire is not so much that you understand what I have done. It’s more important that you understand who or what I am. Therein lies the path to forgiveness. It depends on understanding me, my nature, not what I do.

Perhaps, you have already reached the point where you don’t want to understand or listen to me? Anyway, I will begin my explanation now.

I have had to live with myself for 91 years. During almost every day that I can remember, I have asked myself the same questions: who am I? What am I? Perhaps you have asked yourself the same things?

Every day, I have looked at my body, I have scrutinized my mind, and I have thought that this is not the real me. I am something different.

The best way to explain this is to say, in the simplest way possible, that I am my soul. I am not my body, I am not my mind, I am my soul. I am separate from them.

Before this body and this mind, I resided in other bodies and minds. I have no way of telling how many or for how long. These things are not revealed to our souls. However, I feel confident that there have been many. Speaking to my friends and comparing pasts, I have resolved that I, my soul, am at least 5,394 years old. Sometimes I wonder why I am not older.

I’ve transitioned 15 times that I know of. It fascinates me whether the body or the mind will succumb first, but usually the time between deaths is not long. It doesn't really matter. The important thing is to be close to another carrier, so that I can embark on the next stage of my journey.

With all due modesty, I’ve inhabited some pretty special humans, some merely from the point of view of their minds, some from the point of view of their bodies.

Still, it’s difficult for a soul to relate to a mind or a body.

Bodies, in particular, seem to be driven by DNA. They want to fuck all the time. When they’re not fucking, they’re thinking about fucking. Well, in that case, their minds are thinking about fucking. At least, that’s a pretty fair description of the males I’ve inhabited. The females aren’t as bad, but, to be honest, they’re not that much better. Certainly they’re not as virtuous as they would have you believe.

I’m 90, almost 91 now, in body years. Ironically, Delgadina is only fourteen. I say ironically, because in soul years, she is older than me, not by much, she’s 5,678 years old. She’s had almost four extra earth experiences than I have. Nineteen versus fifteen mightn’t sound like much, but you’d be surprised.

The strange thing is that our soul age counts for nothing on earth. No matter how religious somebody might be, they still judge us by our body age, not the age of our mind or our soul.

Even though Delgadina is technically an adult at age fourteen, people still think of her as a child. Little do they know, her mind is superior to mine. Just because she speaks less than I do, doesn’t mean that she is dumber. In our most recent life before this one, she topped our college in her last year. Sometimes, for her own benefit, I wish she would speak out more in this life, so people appreciated her mind, not just her body. Perhaps, that will come with time. I'm already teaching her to read, write and paint.

We almost didn’t meet in this life. In the last, we had actually been married, but only in our seventies. She had enjoyed a long marriage. I had remained faithful, well, as best I could after 622 lovers. So many of them had been whores, but they were still women, all of them. Delgadina was determined to find out what it had been like to be one of my whores. She knew me well enough, after four earth relationships, to know that the best way to get my undivided attention was to manifest herself as a fourteen year old girl.

I didn’t recognise her at first. She was promised to me. Well, her virginity was. Several times, we went through a ritual whereby I was supposed to deflower her. Each time, I slept next to her, and did nothing but caress her or kiss each centimeter of her body. It was as if my 90 year old body wasn’t up to the task, whatever the capacity of my mind, let alone my soul. I even began to question myself, which was a first for me.

People judge me as if I have done something wrong. Sometimes I wonder if they imagine that I have done only what they would like to have done, or in Delgadina’s position, might have wanted me to do to them.

I wonder whether these people know what it means to be a soul. To be condemned to live forever (although is it really such a condemnation?). To wander from body to body in search of another soul. To, at last, find a soul to whom you can relate, let alone, in my case, one who coincidentally I have loved before.

These are things that mean something to you in eternity. True love. Not whether one of you is 90 or 14. These are just numbers. Notches. Hands that move in a circular fashion around the watch face of time. They mean nothing to someone, to two lovers, like us, whose soul lives have already lasted almost six millennia and show no signs of giving up.

When I think of Delgadina, I don’t think of her legs, her breasts, her lips, even her mind, these things that somehow I have touched or kissed. Instead, I think of her soul. Meanwhile, she smiles when she thinks of how much more experience of life she has had than me. If only I could die now and start another life ahead of her. But, vain man that I am, I have resolved that, in this life at least, I want to see out a century. It comforts me that, when I lie awake in bed, sometimes I can derive some pleasure from observing her naked, legs apart, breasts spread across her chest, dreaming of me, her 90 year old stallion.



Playboy Seeks Sex Toy

The more I read Marquez' post-Nobel Prize works, the more I'm convinced that his modus operandi is to invent characters and situations that will outrage many, if not most, readers.

Here, a sexually-active nonagenarian is offered a fledgling 14 year old virgin whore to celebrate his birthday.

Whether or not he deflowers the girl, whether or not he might only have watched the girl sleeping, he would be condemned by the reader. Society objects not just to the act, but to both the desire and the intention.

The problem is that Marquez employs beautiful language in his enterprise.

In fact, I've always suspected that, as I suspect of Nabokov, he writes a straightforward tale of love and sex, then, only then, twists or perverts it, by adding an element of the forbidden, the taboo, the immoral, the illegal.

Without the perversion, it would be a work of beauty. What happens when he tweaks the ages of the participants? Would a story of love and sex involving a 40 year old male and a 30 year old female be acceptable? Well, what happens when the age of the male is dialled up to 90 and the girl down to 14?

Something in our minds registers, this should not be happening, something is wrong.

Marquez might not explicitly ask, why is it wrong. He might not be expressly challenging morality. It exists, whether we like it or not.

However, I think he is asking us whether, as a work of art, it is any less beautiful because it is transgressive.

Part of what he is doing is questioning the aesthetic nature of transgression.

The novel is inspired by Kawabata's n  "House of the Sleeping Beauties",n which I hadn't read when I read this novel.

In the epigraph from that book, old Eguchi is warned by the madam not to do anything in bad taste. The specific caveat is not to "put his finger into the mouth of the sleeping girl".

Different things are forbidden at different times and in different cultures.

The act of writing the novel doesn't mean that Marquez advocates child abuse in real life. He just wants to ask these questions and explore these issues within the realm of art.

Again, like Nabokov, he wants to treat art and literature as a playground. He wants to explore not just desire and intention, but the imagination as well.

By doing so, he asks of the reader that we suspend moral judgment and engage pure aesthetic judgment. Not all of us will want to, not all of us will be able to.

In this way, he doesn't just confront us with his subject matter, he confronts us with our own temperaments. He utilises the response of the reader as part of his creative enterprise.

His works are all the greater, because they involve and implicate us.



VERSE:

Angels Surround the Bed of Delgadina

Let us share a bed.
You can sleep if you need to.
I'm content to watch.


Breathless

I kissed your body.
I inhaled your wild fragrance.
It made me breathless.


Dear Girl

I'll write words for you.
"We are alone in the world."
I'll teach you to read.


The Abominable No-Man

It does more damage
For authors to write in chains
Than to write freely.



SOUNDTRACK:

Memories of My Melancholy Whores (Title Sequence)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMh3mT...

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - "Breathless"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TI8xP...

Çok güzeldi, çok güzeldi, çok güzeldi.
Marquez okumayı özlemişim. O kadar uzun zaman oldu ki yazarın tarzını unutmuşum. Aklım Yüzyıllık Yalnızlık'ın karmaşasında kalmış olacak ki bol betimleme beklerken sade bir kitapla karşılaştım. Derin anlamlara sahip yalın cümleleriyle huzur veren bir kitapla.
Hayalet hissi veren kitapları seviyorum. Benim Hüzünlü Orospularım'da onlardan biri. Tuhaf bir belirsizlik havası var kitabın, her şey hem gerçek hem de değil. Satır araları okuyucunun hayal gücüyle istediği gibi doldurması için boş bırakılmış. 90 yaşındaki bir adamın hayatından kesitleri okumanın bu kadar keyifli olacağını düşünmemiştim. Marquez sevenler kitabı mutlaka okumalı. Ayrıca yazara başlamak için iyi bir tercih olacağını düşünüyorum.

En esta novela, Márquez narra la conmovedora, pero increíblemente extraña historia de un periodista, que al cumplir su novena década de vida, decide celebrarse con una noche de placer con una virgen jovencita. Sin planearlo, el hombre terminará por enamorarse por primera vez en toda su vida, pero, como ya dije antes, de una adolecente, de una menor de edad.

Mi opinión:
Leí lolita de Vladimir Nabokov, y a pesar de que la historia me pareció brillante, eso no significó que estuviera de acuerdo con la idea de la premisa que se me presentaba. Lo mismo ocurrió esta vez. Creo que la historia es bastante buena, y a pesar de que nos enseña esa última faceta de Gabo, en la que se muestra más romántico que en sus novelas anteriores, sigue siendo increíble el viaje de su lectura. La disfruté.

پیرمردی که می خواهد جشن نود سالگی اش را با شکوه برگزار کند تا طعم تلخ تنهایی را فراموش کند
او گوشی را بر میدارد و زنگ می زند. زن پشت تلفن، پیرمرد را بیاد می آورد و پیرمرد آنچه را میخواسته، به او میگوید
همه چیز خوب پیش می رود و پیرمرد گوشی را میگذارد.قرار است برای شب تولدش، با دختری 14 ساله و باکره همخوابگی کند
ولی این هوس با هوس های دیگر سال های جوانی و میانسالی اش فرق دارد
و این بار عشق است که هوس را به زانو در می آورد

زندگی هدیه تولد غیر منتظره ای برای پیرمرد دارد
درک زیبایی زندگی ، آنهم زمانی که فرصت زیادی نمانده

این بار از روی عادت، ریشش را هر صبح اصلاح نمی کند
بلکه برای دخترک است
و همه کارهایش برای این زیباروست
نوشته هایش در ستونی از روزنامه بوی عشق می گیرد و طرفدار پیدا میکند

این رمان منو یاد جمله هایی از وصیت نامه مارکز انداخت

به همه ثابت می کردم
که انسان ها به دلیل پیر شدن نیست که دیگر عاشق نمی شوند
بلکه زمانی پیر می شوند که دیگر عاشق نمی شوند

....
مارکز گفته بود که آرزو داشت نویسنده کتاب" خانه زیبارویان خفته" باشد و شاید این کتاب را به تقلید از فضای آن نوشته
پیرمردی در برابر دختران جوان
البته کمی متفاوتتر
.......
امروز که نگاهی به کتاب انداختم
قبل از شروع این را نوشته

زن مهمانخانه دار به اگوچی پیر هشدار داد: هیچ کار زشتی نباید بکنی.مبادا انگشت توی دهن زن خوابیده یا یک کار دیگه ای شبیه بکنی

یاسوناری کاواباتا،خانه مهرویان خفته

پس مارکز این کتاب را بخاطر عشقش به کتاب خانه زیبارویان خفته نوشته

Cela prostorija je odisala njenom intimom. Nije bila sasvim gola, jer je za uvetom imala otrovni cvet narandžastih latica, kao Maneova "Olimpija" , a nosila je i zlatnu narukvicu na desnoj ruci i nisku sitnih bisera oko vrata.Nisam pretpostavljao da ću ikada videti nešto što će me tako pomeriti u onome što mi je ostajalo od života, a danas mogu da potvrdim da sam bio u pravu.

Sećanja na moje tužne kurve je poslednji roman kolumbijskog nobelovca Gabriel Garsija Markesa. Tema kojom se koristio u svom proznom opusu je ljubav, ali u ovom kratkom romanu je slavi na jedan duhovit, ali i bolan način. Naime, radi se o kontroverznoj ljubavi starca prema devojčici. Ali niti u jednoj rečenici nećete osetiti omraženost ili nelagodu, Markes je virtuoz u magijskom realizmu, te ćete tek naslućivati ono što je nedozvoljeno.No,da li je ljubav nedozvoljena emocija? Nije. I on kao starac od devedeset leta ima pravo da voli na svoj način, ima pravoda ne bude sam, ima pravo da umre sa saznanjem da je jednomjako voleo.
Priča počinje tako što se naš narator budi na svoj devedesti rođendan sa željom da sebi daruje jednu strastvenu noć sa mladom devicom u javnoj kući. Ali, on koji nikada nije spavao sa ženom a da joj nije platio, po prvi put u svom životu se zaljubljuje u devojčicu.
Ovoj ljubavnoj priči se pridružuju i motivi prijateljstva, prolaznosti života i smrti, tako da se tema od jedne istinske ljubavi kreće do pitanja smisla.
Pitko napisan roman, fascinantne snage i veličanja žene, bez obzira da li se od nje kupuje ili osvaja ljubav.
I da, volećete ovog starca, jer on svojom umešnošću pripovedanja objašnjava suštinu života i, ljubavi kao pokretača svega, pa i smrti.
"Uradi kako ti volja, ali nemoj da izgubiš to stvorenje- rekla je. Nema ništa strašnije nego kad čovek umre sam."
"Oduvek sam smatrao da je umiranje od ljubavi samo pesnička sloboda. To veče, po povratku kući bez nje i bez mačora, ustanovio sam da je moguće ne samo da se umre nego da i ja sam umirem, star i bez igde ikoga, i to od ljubavi."

#Preporuka
#ČitajteDobreKnjige
Hvala Mirnes Alispahić na preporuci i tvojoj odličnoj recenziji.
http://mirnesalispahic.com/language/b...

Είμαι σε φάση ανακατάληψης των μνημείων μου αποστρογγυλοποιώντας τις ακμές που γλύκανα όσο περνούσαν τα χρόνια. Κοινώς ό,τι χρειάζεται για να πω goodbye σε ωραιοποιήσεις που δημιουργούν ανύπαρκτα σημεία αναφοράς. Διασχίζοντας διάφορα σημεία μου πέρασα τη ματιά μου αρκετά πιο κριτικά κι από ένα ταξίδι και τότε θυμήθηκα κι αυτό το βιβλίο και σήμερα μόλις μπήκα εδώ το βρήκα μπροστά μου από κάποιον που το σήμανε ως to read. Μου φάνηκε καλή ιδέα να πω δυο λόγια, διότι παρά τη δυσκολία της περιόδου, είναι κάτι που θυμάμαι από εκείνο το ταξίδι με αγάπη.

Το διάβασα στον προαστιακό από Πειρ��ιά για Κιάτο το 2013. Όσο κι αν δε του φαίνεται είναι πολύ καλή ταξιδιάρικη παρέα, ωστόσο δεν ανήκει στον κύκλο του μαγικού ρεαλισμού, είναι διαφορετικό. Ένα θραύσμα μνήμης σε δικό του κόκκινο χαλί ελαφρώς λερό. Η μαγικότητα ή η μουσικότητα βρίσκεται στο ύφος του. Έχει μια μαλακότητα που με έφερνε πολύ κοντά στο στρώμα που ξάπλωνε ο γέρος και κοιτούσε το νέο κορίτσι να ξαποσταίνει. Δεν κρύβει τις ασκήμιες που συμβαίνουν παντού, τα κακώς κείμενα. Τα υπαινίσσεται και μας προτρέπει να γευτούμε τη λύπη μαζί με τη χαρά του να είμαστε καθαροί, την υγρασία του δωματίου, με το όμορφο κορμί δίπλα που έστω για τον ύπνο, του ανήκει όλη η μυστηριώδης αθωότητα της ψυχής που δεν ανήκει στους άλλους.

Κλείνοντας τα μάτια θυμάμαι το τρένο να κουνάει κάπως, κάποιον απέναντι να χαζεύει σε ένα φορητό και να διώχνω μια σκέψη παρά τη φαινομενική χαρά του σκοπού της γιατί το βιβλίο ήταν πιο θελκτικό από έναν έρωτα που είχε πάρει να σβήσει. Και εκείνη τη στιγμή είχαν αναμιχτεί η λύπη μου μαζί με τη λύπη που πάντα μου δημιουργεί αυτός ο συγγραφέας που διαρκώς τον νιώθω σα να θρηνεί κάποιον έρωτα και σα να τον δοξάζει.

توی ذوقم خورد و دوستش نداشتم: پیرمرد نود ساله و باکره‌ی ۱۴ ساله! اگه عشقه چرا یک زن میانسال یا حتی جوان (سی یا بیست ساله) نباشه؟ اگه می‌شد امتیاز منفی داد تردید نمی‌کردم!

Livro pequenino que se lê muito bem, mas com um enredo que me agoniou um pouco. A velhice não é desejada, mas é imparável; aparece no que parece ser um piscar de olhos. Com ela sabemos que o fim daqueles que amamos está próximo.
O narrador desta pequena história fez-me sentir emoções contraditórias com as suas memórias desde a sua infância até aos seus dias com Delgadina.
Não são muitos os autores que conseguem fazer-me sentir assim.

I really didn't like this story. The writing as always was wonderful - the descriptions, the language, the character development - all excellent. The story however was extremely disturbing and sad.

Chapter 1 in particular, when the narrator describes how upon turning 90 he decided he wanted to have sex with a young virgin was appalling. Then the local madam finds a 14 year old, poor, illiterate girl for him. He goes to see her and finds her asleep because she had been so afraid she had to be sedated. Although he doesn't have sex with her because she's asleep, he describes her naked body in detail - describing her pre-pubescent breasts, etc. It was disgusting and disturbing.

This book wasn't written in a time when this was even discreetly acceptable, it was written in 2004 when it is considered by most societies, certainly Garcia-Marquez's society as taboo. He did it to shock and titillate - well all it did was disgust me. He's a brilliant writer, he doesn't need these gimmicks.

ذكرياتي عن عاهراتي الحزينات رواية فكرتها قريبة جداً من رواية الجميلات النائمات للكاتب الياباني ياسوناري كواباتا وهي الرواية التي تمني ماركيز أن يكون كاتبها...

تحكي الرواية عن قصة رجل عجوز وجد نفسه في التسعين من عمره وقرر الاحتفال بعيد ميلاده مع فتاة مراهقة و عذراء يجلس بجانبها كل ليلة وهي مستغرقة في النوم حتي بدأ يحبها و يتعلق بها بطريقة غير مفهومة و غير منطقية...

الرواية فيها مشاعر إنسانية و بتوضح إزاي التقدم في العمر و الوحدة ممكن يأثروا عليك و علي تصرفاتك بشكل كبير ..
الرواية كانت ممتعة في قراءتها بس يمكن عشان قرأت الرواية اليابانية الأول فغصباً عني بقارن بينهم و أكيد المقارنة مش في صالح ماركيز خالص...
التقييم ٢.٥

Edit 2020
Tal vez se alteren al ver el cambio de rating, pero una estrella según GR significa que no me gustó, y la verdad es esa: no me gustó.
Como expreso más abajo en la reseña original, el género de esta oleada de autores latinoamericanos no me atrae demasiado. Nunca había leído nada del Gabo y lamentablemente tras leer esto no me dieron más ganas de taclear ninguna otra de sus obras, por más que me juren que debo hacerlo. Tal vez lo haga en algún futuro, pero no será pronto.

Lo cierto es que creo que esta novela vio la luz del día solo porque la escribió él. Una especie de Tarantino de la literatura. De haber sido cualquier otro autor, estoy convencida de que no habría sido publicado. Por el tema que trata. Por lo que relata. Porque te quiere convencer de algo.

No me convence. Quedé asqueada.
No me deja ningún mensaje. Ninguna moraleja.
Solo la exaltación de un romance perverso.
No, gracias, not my cup of tea.

Perdón si hiero sensibilidades, pero quizás arranqué por la peor obra con él. Esto que digo no quiere decir que yo creo que Gabo apoyaba la pedofilia, porque bien sé que narrador y personajes son entes diferenciados del autor. Solo estoy cuestionando el motivo de escribir algo como esto. Da para pensar. Si alguien sabe por qué esta obra exista, por favor díganmelo, así mi opinión cambia. Pero por ahora, esto es lo que pienso: una oda a la pedofilia.

--------------------------------------------------

n  El sexo es el consuelo que uno tiene cuando no alcanza el amor. n

Primer libro que leo de este señor, y debo admitir que no la pasé tan mal. Para mí este colombiano es uno de esos autores de los que no se habla ligeramente, y siempre leer alguna de sus obras más emblemáticas me parecía, en sí, una tarea titánica para la que no estaba preparada. El realismo mágico no me va mucho que digamos (incluyo Rayuela de Cortázar) así que admiro a mi cuasi tocayo de apellido desde lejos en general.

La historia es pertubadora por donde la mirés, pero no me afectó tanto como esperaba (y creería que Lolita sí me va a afectar). No sé cuál era el propósito del Gabo cuando escribió esto, o por qué lo escribió, porque me repugnó un poco, y aunque se hace hincapié en la parte de romance platónico, tampoco me causó ternura (POR OBVIAS RAZONES A VER) como este autor suele generar en sus lectores.

En general me gustó, pero no me voló la cabeza. Sirvió para lo que quería que sirviera, que era acompañarme durante un viaje en auto. Me gusta cómo está narrado, pero al fin y al cabo llego a la misma conclusión con estos autores: no me interesa lo que cuentan. Prometo leer más cosas de él e interiorizarme más.

(Y no sé por qué GR pone que lo leí dos veces cuando solo puse una fecha... y no hay forma de eliminar el hecho de que 'lo releí', porque incluso borré el libro de mis shelves y copié y pegué la reseña dos veces y sigue apareciendo. GR arreglá tu programación un poquito.)

Español - English

Este señor sin nombre nunca se ha enamorado, pero sí ha tenido mucho sexo casual, casi siempre con prostitutas. Mantiene una larga relación de negocios con la dueña del prostíbulo que frecuenta. Es por esto que en la víspera de sus noventa años la llama y le solicita algo inusual: quiere celebrar su cumpleaños con una jovencita que sea virgen.

Nunca se ha casado ni ha hecho grandes cambios en su vida: vive en la casa de su familia donde se crió y tiene su trabajo de publicar una columna en el periódico dominical desde hace décadas. Debido a la escasez de dinero su vida es cada vez más precaria. Ha vendido casi todo lo vendible de su otrora buena bonanza familiar y termina sus días siendo realmente pobre.

Cuando conoce a su joven virgen ella está dormida y así es siempre porque la drogan un poco para que le sea más fácil perder la virginidad. En algún momento ella entre sueños le responde algo y él se da cuenta que la prefiere dormida. El se enamora de la joven que él llama Delgadina, pero de la que nunca conoce su nombre. Y este amor platónico lo hace hacer cosas que nunca ha hecho o se ha resistido hacer, cómo cambiar los temas que trata en sus publicaciones y en unos meses que se dejan de ver, desesperado la busca en bicicleta en todos los sitios donde cree poder encontrarla.

Sinceramente creo esta novela solo fue publicada porque la escribió Gabriel García Márquez.

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This man without name has never fallen in love, but he has had a lot of casual sex, almost always with prostitutes. He maintains a long business relationship with the owner of the brothel he frequents. That is why on the eve of his ninety years he calls her and asks for something unusual: he wants to celebrate his birthday with a young virgin.

He has never married or made any big changes in his life: he lives in his family's home where he grew up and has his job as a writer of a column in the Sunday newspaper for decades. Due to the shortage of money his life is becoming more precarious. He has sold almost everything marketable of his once good family bonanza and ends his days being really poor.

When he meets his young virgin she is asleep and is always like that because the brothel's owner drug her a little to make it easier for her to lose her virginity. At some point she between dreams responds something and he realizes that he prefers her sleeping. He falls in love with the girl he calls Delgadina, but he never knows her name. And this platonic love makes him do things that he has never done or has resisted doing, like change the themes in his publications and in a few months that he is not seeing her, desperate he would ride a bike and look for her in all the places where he thinks he can find her.

I sincerely believe this novella was only published because it was written by Gabriel García Márquez.