▪️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

از بابت یک چیز مطمئنم؛ اگه یه روز بخوام برای همیشه زمین ُ ترک کنم [درحالی که زنده‌ام ، البته.] این کتاب ُ با خودم می‌برم.

I don't think I read enough contemporary fiction to make sweeping, definitive statements about it. So I won't say that Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is the best book of the 21st century so far. But I will say that it's the best book I've read so far this century, and that Foer belongs in the rarified category of contemporary greats like Phillip Roth and Kurt Vonnegut.

This is not a perfect novel; it gets a little (but just a little) gimmicky in spots, and there are times when you just wish Foer would tell his story and get on with it. But the overall effect is amazing. Oskar Schell, the pre-pubescent protagonist, is one of the most memorable characters in all of American literature. His quest--to find the lock opened by a mysterious key he finds while mourning his father's death in the 911 attack--takes him all over NYC and into contact with a host of striking characters. Interwoven along with Oskar's quest are two other epistolary stories that reminisce on the Dresden bombings and the regrets of a life shattered by trauma.

Extremeley Loud and Incredibly Close reads like an attempt at salving the wounds of 911, but it's more than that. It's a meditation on survival and hope. And it's not nearly as hokey as I just made it sound.

This book gives me heavy boots.

On the one hand, Foer writes an interesting story. An eight year-old boy Oskar, two years after his father’s death in the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, embarks on a scavenger hunt, searching for clues to a key his father left behind, a key that he believes opens a mysterious lock somewhere in New York City. Oskar is precocious to say the least. I thought several times that he reminds me a bit of Holden Caulfield, albeit younger and somewhat less pessimistic. Intertwined with Oskar’s account are the stories of his grandparents who are survivors of the bombings of Dresden, Germany during World War II. The grandparents relate their own experiences of loss and grief through letters and journal entries that shed light on the national tragedy they lived through two generations earlier.

One of the problems I have with this book (i.e. the other hand) is that Foer’s heavy use of typographical gimmicks is distracting and unnecessary. Some of Oskar’s discoveries during his scavenger hunt occur somewhat too conveniently. And are we really supposed to feel bad for Oskar’s grandfather for being so “broken” over losing the love of his life? Because I don’t. It’s been 58 years, guy—get over it. You’re not tragic and pitiable, you’re a fucking loser for leaving your family.

And if there’s one thing I can’t wrap my head around, it’s the timing surrounding the disappearance of Oskar’s friend Mr. Black. Although it doesn’t weigh heavily on the plot of the novel, small details like this bother me. On p. 285, the first sentence reads, “The day after the renter and I dug up Dad’s grave, I went to Mr. Black’s apartment.” We know that when Oskar does go to Mr. Black’s apartment, he retrieves a biograph card from Mr. Black’s index. We also know that he is wearing this biograph card on his person during his meeting with William Black (a different Black) later that day (p. 295). How, then, is it possible that directly before the grave digging operation, Oskar is able to relate to his grandfather (the “renter”) the details of what he learned in his meeting with William Black (p. 302) if the grave digging operation itself is supposed to have happened the day before retrieving the biograph card??

If someone could explain that last part for me, I’d greatly appreciate it. In the meantime, here’s an overall timeline I made to help myself better understand the interweaving plot lines:

1921 – letter written by prisoner of Turkish labor camp
1936 – prisoner’s letter received by Oskar’s grandmother (who must have been about 6 years old and therefore born around 1930)
1943 – after spending 7 years collecting letters for handwriting samples, Oskar’s grandmother collects a letter from Thomas Schell who is seeing her sister
1945 – Dresden firebombings (indisputable), Anna dies
1950 – Oskar’s grandmother (~20 years old) moves to USA and meets a mute Thomas Schell; this date is based on the grandmother’s declaration that “7 years had passed” which I took to assume since obtaining Thomas’s handwriting sample in 1943, as it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.
1963 – Thomas Schell leaves Oskar’s grandmother
1964 – Oskar’s father is born
1995 – Oskar is born
2001 – Oskar’s father dies (indisputable), Thomas Schell returns
2003 – present day (Oskar discovers key, learns mystery of its origin, digs up his father’s grave, and Oskar’s grandparents move to the airport).

I had never done it before, but this time, after watching a movie trailer (and without having seen the whole thing) I bought the book the film was based on. To be precise, the book found me in a bookstore while checking out some other tittles and I couldn't resist buying it after having seen the movie trailer.

Result: It happened what usually happens in these cases: disappointment.

The story: Oskar, a nine year-old Jewish boy who lives in New York and whose father was killed on September 11th, 2001. After finding a hidden key in his father's closet, he is determined to find the lock which can be opened with that key, meeting all kind of different people on the way.

My opinion: The story had potential (as the movie trailer), it seemed an imaginative and even magical story, one of those who leaves you in a estate between emotional and wishful, one of those stories which makes you remember of your childhood days and leaves a permanent stupid smile on your face.

It seemed to start that way, but as the story moved forward, I started to dislike the kid. He seemed a bit obnoxious, a know-it-all, even a bit impertinent and difficult to sympathise with.

The fact that there's also the story of Oskar's grandparents (and a strange story if I may say so) told by his autistic disappeared grandpa didn't help to keep me hooked, the main subject became blurred and unfocused and I ended up wanting to finish as soon as possible in order to start another book, one of the worst things, in my opinion, which can happen while reading a novel.

So, as much as I regret it, I wouldn't recommend this novel, even though I won't deny it's told in an original kind of way and that it might appeal to those with a more artistic soul than mine.

Either I might be getting older or I just like classic and plain direct stories without too many distracting ornaments which lead you to a predictable ending, but I can't say I enjoyed this novel as much as I expected.

كل منا يبحث عن شيء ما
و لكن هل خطر في بالك ان كلنا نحلم باسكات الصوت المدوي لتلك اللحظة المخزية؟
لحظة قرار اخذناه في لحظة غباء و صار مستحيل تغيير تبعاته؛قد لا يعرف به احد؛ َلكن يظل صوت الخزي و الندم مدوي و قريب جدا
أوسكار طفل في التاسعة لامع الذكاء يعاني من متلازمة  اسبرجر التوحدية؛ يفوز بأفضل أب من الممكن أن نحلم به جميعا

اب يستثمر اعراض مرضه في تنمية ذكاءه؛ يصنع منه مستكشفا عبفريا و بالطبع العالم لن يترك له مثل هذا الاب و يموت بشكل مأساوي في انهيار البرجين في ٢٠٠١.
فهل يترك رسالة او مهمة استكشافية اخيرة لاوسكار ؟

لا تيأس، فعادة ما يكون آخر مفتاح في مجموعة...هو المناسب لفتح الباب
ينطلق أوسكار بعد عام من حداده المصدوم: بمفتاح باحثا في رحلته عن باب يفتحه به
يقابل بشر وراء أبواب تخفي أحمال يرزحون تحتها
يقابل الوحدة َ و الضياع و الصمت و الخوف و الأهم: انعدام الأمان

الفيلم أجمل بكثير من الرواية التي لم تترجم بعد
بابطال مختارين بعناية لن تتكرر

توم هانكس بأداء اسطوري للأب الذي لن ينسى َ
ساندرا بولوك بصمتها الصاخب
و الجد ماكس فون سايدو بسكوته المفزوع ويديه المعبرتين

و اخيرا الطفل توماس هورن بلغته الغير نمطية َ؛عيناه التي تحكي الكثير.. والذي اختفى في شبابه و خسرته السينما

قد افلح السينارست إريك روث في كشف غموض الرواية بصفحاتها الممتدة بدون فواصل و تحتوي بعضها على أرقام لصفحات متتالية مثل هذه لتوضيح النمط التكراري للمتوحدين

او عشرين صورة متكررة تكّون فيلم متحرك مثل هذه

ليؤكد لنا أوسكار..ان فاقد الشيء؛ من الممكن أن يكون أفضل من يعطيه
و يقنعنا بان نكف عن إيجاد سبب و معنى في عالم يخّيرك بين  الأمان و العدل

I read the first chapter and stopped. I am pissed off. I have rarely felt so manipulated as a reader in my life, and I think the manipulation is more about the way it is written than what it is written about, although that is, in itself, fairly manipulative. If this is how Foer usually writes, I want no part of him or his work. Still, if this was a short story and I reached the point where the Dad is about to talk to his son before the towers collapse, I would be excited by the cleverness of the moment, would look forward to the conversation, and be pleased in anticipation of the genuine anguish that must be coming. But it's not a short story. It's the first chapter in what is a pretty long book, and I imagine all manner of excruciating crapness is to come. Couple that with a first person narrative in the voice of a "precocious" kid -- so precocious, in fact, that he sounds like a thirty-something man trapped in a kid's body rather than a genuinely precocious kid (I often suspect, when these impossibly precocious characters appear, that the author wants to write as a child but realizes he isn't good enough, so he makes them precocious so he can just write as themselves at their least disciplined and pretend it is a child) -- and I want to tear my eyeballs out after only twenty some-odd pages. Even worse, I didn't know this was about the WTC attack until I got this to the cash register. I just saw it on sale, knew it had good buzz, liked the cover and thought, "What the hell?!" I need to reexamine my impulse buying, apparently, because I would not have bought this book if I'd known what it was about before I did. I think, too, that if I keep reading this book it is going to be lucky to get one star, so it's probably best to leave it where it is for now: on my to-read shelf, buried under that copy of Shogun that's been there for a decade.

Oskar Schell is a 9 year old New Yorker. His self-made visiting card describes him as "an inventor, amateur entomologist, Francophile, letter writer, pacifist, natural historian, percussionist, romantic, Great Explorer, jeweller, detective, vegan, and collector of butterflies." Intelligent beyond his years and almost too smart for his own good, his world collapses suddenly when his father dies in the September 11th terrorist attack on the World Trade Center.

In the aftermath of this tragedy, he happens to discover a key left by his father in a vase. Considering it one last treasure hunt to connect with his father, Oskar takes it on himself to locate the lock to which the key corresponds. On the way, he meets many New Yorkers, most of whom have something to teach him and something to learn from him. Oskar's search becomes yours, his joy becomes yours, his heartbreak becomes yours.

EL&IC was a wonderful read for me. It does not just have a well-written story but also a interesting (maybe even quirky!) writing style that keeps you moving on steadily. The book has as many light-hearted moments as intense ones. It even contains stories of fictional WWII bombing survivors within its narrative, and those are really horrifying.

I couldn't help but feel that Oskar has some mild form of autism because of certain behavioural aspects manifested by him in the story, but the author doesn't mention this. This made me connect to the book even more. Usually, if the protagonist is depicted as a sufferer of some intellectual disability, then the author gives the prime position in the story to the disorder than the character. In this book, it is Oskar who is the focus of the story, not his behaviour.

A word of caution though. Just because the protagonist is a 9 year old, don't hand this book to your children, not even young teens. I'd recommend this only for mature readers because of its language (which is quite vulgar for a 9 year old) and certain graphic scenes of violence and death.

If you are an audiobook listener, then go for the audiobook without any hesitation. The audio version has multiple narrators, and each of them plays their character so wonderfully that you can't help but live the same emotions while hearing them read. They enhance the book even further.

This has been a nice soul-satisfying book. It's been a really long time since I've smiled and sobbed in the course of a single book.

My rating: 4.5/5

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According to E. Wilson 'No two persons ever read the same book.' I love an author that allows a story to just unfold; that leaves me to draw my own conclusions. I love that it wasn’t just about 9-11 but also war torn Dresden and Hiroshima. Well my spin is this is probably the most powerful anti-war book I’ve ever read.
The stream of consciousness writing style is the perfect choice. It’s lyrical and appropriate, just go with it. It’s not depressing; in fact parts of it are really funny. Then again, I’d be lying if I didn’t warn you - it will punch you in the gut. Oskar is such a little charmer (particularly with the ladies), a heartbreaking combination of pure innocence & genius; a compulsive inventor gifted with that enviable ability to think outside the box. He dreams up everything from portable pockets and birdseed shirts to biodegradable cars & skyscrapers with roots; yet never imagines any kind of weapon, never fantasizes revenge. He loses the most wonderful father during 9-11 yet somehow remains himself. A survivor that emerges wounded but not shattered, perhaps by choosing to transfer all that bottled up love for his lost father to others.
It’s not the perfect novel, what is? I’ll nit-pick, I got lost with the 1st person narrative switching - the grandparents were over-the-top bizarre. Trivial complaints, if it bugs you just skim over those parts, there’s plenty of magic.

It’s strange but I finished this book feeling cautiously hopeful. I like to imagine 9-11 could have spawned an Oskar. A free-thinking genius bound & determined to invent a world without war – heavy boots and all.

memorable quotes:
"She laughed enough to migrate an entire flock of birds. That was how she said yes”
“I knew him, Horatio; a jerk of infinite stupidity, a most excellent masturbator in the second-floor boys’ bathroom – I have proof.”

There are books that affect me and then there are books that kill me. This falls in the latter. I cried on the couch, I cried on the bus, I cried at stoplights, I cried at work.. I cried more over this book than I did on the actual September 11th. Then I became upset that this piece of fiction could invoke such melancholia. Can I use the excuse of being in shock during the actual event? That it seemed like a movie?

I have no excuse.

Flash back: The second half of 1994, my then boyfriend and I living in the East Village, 23 years old and clueless. We were broke most of the time, not much into clubbing, so about 4 out of 7 nights we would walk. Never north.. only through the Village or SoHo and eventually our meandering would lead us to the Towers. No matter what path we’d take, it was our destination. I remember many nights sitting on this ratty red paint peeled bench staring across the river at Jersey, specifically the Colgate sign, and just talking about everything. Hours sped by and we’d drag our sorry asses back to the train and to our tiny apartment. I remember nights where I’d hug the side of Tower One, pressing against it and lift my head as far back as I could and stare up until the glass met the sky and I’d get so dizzy I’d stumble back. I remember the night that we decided to marry, I remember exchanging our vows leaning against the railing staring up, always up.

I haven’t been to New York in 13 years, I can’t even imagine a New York without those buildings.

Anyway…

There are 43 ‘Incrediblys’ and 63 ‘Extremelys’ within this book. Does anyone really ever use those adverbs anymore? Is anything ever extreme or incredible enough for us? My daughter has taken to using ‘perfectly’ in almost every sentence and it brings a smile to my face each time.

The journey that the boy, Oskar, takes in this book is beautiful. The need to feel close to his father who died in the attacks, to spend just a bit more time with him. While Oskar is a bit unbelievable as a character, I felt that that was soon overshadowed by the images presented. I know I do this a lot in reviews, but I can’t help it: Lines like “Being with him made my brain quiet. I didn’t have to invent a thing.” or “ My insides don’t match up with my outsides.” and “It takes a life to learn how to live.”

I’m a sucker for a good line.

When Oskar is anxious he describes it as ‘wearing heavy boots’ and when his Grandmother likes something or in a good mood she uses the term ‘that was One Hundred Dollars’ and then there’s a whole mention of a ‘Birdseed shirt’ that I’m still unclear about but enjoy the imagery of.

But, this isn’t just Oskar’s journey.. this is also about Oskar’s grandparents and that piece is as strong as his story, sometimes stronger. I won’t go into that anymore, I’ll let you read about it.

Some have called this ‘gimmicky’ or ‘precious’ but I was truly moved by this story and combined with the images presented, it will stay with me for a very long time to come. As will 1994.

This is a book about grief and how to deal with the loss of someone you love. Oskar lost his father in 9/11 and is obviously filled with sorrow, pain and also guilt. He loved his father dearly, and he doesn’t feel like he have that same special connection with has mother.
When he one day finds a lost key of his father’s, he decides to undertake the endeavour to find out what this key opens. This takes him on a journey all around New York which helps him cope with the loss of his father and also opens up his world.
Naturally, this story (or most of it) is told from Oskar’s perspective and I loved those passages. The rest of the book, though, is told from a different perspective, and I didn’t like that as much. Oskar was the person I cared the most for, and I was very satisfied with the beautiful ending that makes the loose ends come together.
This was a touching and warm story that I at times devoured and at other times was a bit bored with, which is an odd combination. But all in all, I think this is an important piece of work because it gives you an insight into what goes on inside Oskar’s head and, ultimately, how he learns to deal with his father’s devastating death. I wonder what the story would be like told from the mother’s perspective...

Perhaps I'm just stupid, but I don't get this book, nor am I really crazy about it.

It's a little too hip for me, in the sense that I don't think anybody really gets what the hell Foer is trying to say, but because it's obscure everyone likes it.

Or maybe I'm just looking too much into the book. But I found myself having to read and re-read pages over and over again to make sense of it all.

It doesn't do it for me, but I might try to get through it one last time, mainly because I feel very guilty if I don't finish a book, despite how bad as I think it is.