Maybe it goes without saying that we write differently in letters than we do in email or text. Something about putting pen to paper makes a handwritten letter more intimate and less imposing than electronic media. We take off the tin-foil hat. Our mistakes are not made invisible by a backspace key, but crossed out with our own hand. We reveal ourselves. And letters to people we love are that much more intimate and revealing, even sentimental. We create something, a product, that you can hold in your hand, and then send it off, like a little piece of ourselves. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is Jonathan Safran Foer’s love letter to New York City.

I’ve seen some readers complain that its sentimentality is manipulative, and even though I can imagine reading the book that way, I can’t understand it. I think this book is one of the most beautiful explorations of love, grief, and humanity that I’ve ever experienced. It’s been years since I last read it, and I wanted to read it again before reviewing, but I’m not really at an emotional place where I could take it right now. What is love without death? And sometimes both are too harsh to look in the face. I have to make a nothing place for them. But I’ve had this review percolating in my brain, and I felt like I needed to share it, even though it’s only impressions.

Traditional wedding vows summarize pretty economically that classic feeling of being in love. I will love you in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, till death do us part. It’s that feeling of “I loved you before I knew you, and I will love you after we’re dust.” Foer does something similar here. He’s saying to the City, “I loved you as a child. I love you as an old man, as an old woman. I loved you when I only had a key to your secrets, but didn’t know what door it belonged to. I love you in the health of family and in the sickness of grief.” And somehow, for right or wrong, it is more meaningful to be reminded of love when we are at our most worthless and broken. This love letter takes place just after the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Center, and it gives me the feeling of Foer sewing up the wounds of the city.

I lived in New York a couple of years before the September 11th attack, and I hated the city. When the attacks happened, I lived in one of the religiously fanatical far-away places where a lot of people felt, secretly or openly, that New York deserved to have a symbol of its decadence cut down. I lived in Oregon. People would say that “we” brought this upon ourselves, but, despite my aversion to New York City, that always offended me. New York is not “we” to anyone in Oregon. “We” is Rainie Falls and Mount Pisgah and Voodoo Doughnuts and Dutch Bros and Rice Hill. “We” is the Caveman statue and Powell’s and the stupid Enchanted Forest. The World Trade Center is just as foreign to “us” as Afghanistan or Nicaragua, Dresden or Hiroshima. Not only do I not believe that anyone, English speaking or not, brings that kind of devastation upon themselves, I also do not believe that it is “our” right to speak to the justice of that kind of event. I love where I live, and I feel that same kind of love and care in Foer talking about where he lives. I think it is beautiful. I think that it is not possible for a place that could be so beloved, no matter how much I dislike it myself, to have deserved bombing. I would say the same about Afghanistan, Nicaragua, Dresden, and Hiroshima.

On a lighter and more bitchy note, Nicole Krauss is married to Foer, and her book The History of Love is very, very similar to Extremely Loud. I think that if you’ve read one of those, you can’t really like the other, unfortunately. They are both, to some extent, about the injustices of growing up, but Krauss takes the tone of overcoming adversity, where I think Foer takes the tone of reconciliation and healing. Maybe they both have all of those elements. I’m one thumb up, one thumb down on History of Love, but words cannot tell you how much I love Extremely Loud. Some of the similarities are in the family phrasings, some are in the plots. You can see how they are very different writers who suffer from the disadvantage of living in the same house with another great writer. It’s stressful.

Extremely Loud is American folklore. It is regional, but can’t be held responsible for it. Not that regionalism is necessarily a turn-off, but we want to read about ourselves. Cultures that are familiar but foreign can be suspicious. At the same time, this story does bring me into the culture that was devastated by 9/11. I was not the target of the 9/11 attacks, just like Oskar, the protagonist of this book, was not. But also, we both were. We both are Americans, despite our foreignness. It is one of those muddles that political boundaries make out of culture. We are foreigners and family at the same time. It’s confusing and figurative and sentimental. In fact, all of this, everything in this book, is more figurative and sentimental than many readers care for, but what do you expect from a love letter?

Whatever with what happens to us when we die, this book reminds us of how connected we are right now and being connectioned to somone as brilliant as Foer is reason enough to be grateful!
I was completely baffaled at Foer's ability to know and convey so many things at once. His intimate view into grieving was what amazed me the most, his ability to carry you into the horrible realities without turning it into a sappy, poor kid type story was amazing.
So many things were familiar about living after someone you love has died in a tragic way:
-the reeling mind that happens when somone is late.
-the hiding that goes on in an attempt to lessen other peoples grief.
-the dismay at seeing other people take babysteps towards healing and the utter horror with the people that seemingly leap there without a step.
-the realization of guilt you feel when you step away from grief, even for a second.
-the re-playing and imagining of the gory details.
And all of that is only one part of the tons of stories told in this book. When I was done I felt like I couldn't verbalize the connections fast enough.
I found it difficult to look at the photo's and felt weak for not being able to view what Oskar couldn't delete from his mind.
I've never felt as impacted by graphic effects as I was with this book. I was lightened and stressed out and saddened by their presence.
I am going to buy my own copy of this book and I'm fairly certain it wont come off my shelf unless there is someone here to share it with. I can't imagine going there alone again.
Did I mention I LOVED THIS BOOK?
p.s. if you see anything by Elizabeth Kubler Ross anywere, please burn it and leave this book in it's place.

تعريف الوجع والألم يتجسد فى فقد الأب ، خط الأمان والدفاع الأول عنك فى الحياة
شاهدت الفيلم مدفوعاً برغية فى إنهاء أعمال الممثل الأمريكى الأقرب لقلبى توم هانكس وكذلك بمراجعة ست الكل نيرة حسن عن الرواية والفيلم معاً
ليس أى فيلم أو مسلسل أشاهده أكتب عنه مراجعة إلا الأفلام التى تؤثر فيا تأثيراً كبيراً أو تستدعى لدى الرغبة فى البكاء أو التفكير
فهذا الفيلم للأسف أعادنى 25 سنة للوراء عندما كان صوت أبى فى أذنى مازال صاخب جداً وإحساسى به قريب للغاية

کتاب را خواندم و سپس اقتباس سال ۲۰۱۱ استفن دالدری را دیدم که متاسفانه خوب نبود.
نمی‌دانم چرا و به چه دلیل بعضی از قسمت‌های کتاب سانسور شده بود، مثلا همان پاراگراف اول کتاب که از انتهایش این خطوط سانسور شده‌اند:
Another good thing is that I could train my anus to talk when I farted. If I wanted to be extremely hilarious, I'd train it to say, "Wasn't me!" every time I made an incredibly bad fart. And if I ever made an incredibly bad fart in the Hall of Mirrors, which is in Versailles, which is outside of Paris, which is in France, obviously, my anus would say, "Ce n'étais pas moi!"
*********************************************************************
بی‌خبری سعادت است، نمی‌دانم، اما فکر کردن رنج داشت و به من بگو فکر کردن چی نصیبم کرده بود، فکر کردن من را به چه جای بزرگی رسانده بود؟ من فکر می‌کنم و فکر می‌کنم و فکر می‌کنم، میلیون‌ها بار با این فکرها شادی را از وجودم بیرون کردم و یک‌ بار هم نشد که با این فکر کردن‌ها شاد بشوم. صفحه ۳۶ کتاب
امیدوارم روزی همین تجربه را داشته باشی و برای کسی که دوستش داری کاری انجام دهی، بدون آنکه از کاری که انجام می‌دهی سر در بیاوری. صفحه‌ ۹۹ کتاب
انسان‌ها تنها موجوداتی هستند که سرخ می‌شوند، می‌خندند، مذهب دارند، آتش جنگ را شعله‌ور می‌کنند و با لب‌ها می‌بوسند. بنابراین، این‌جوری نگاه کنیم، هر چه بیشتر ببوسی، انسان‌تری. صفحه ۱۲۷ کتاب
برای اولین‌ بار در زندگی‌ام به این فکر کردم، که آیا زندگی ارزش همه‌ی این کارها را برای زندگی کردن دارد. دقیقاً چه چیزی ارزشمندش می‌کند؟ این که آدم برای همیشه بمیرد و چیزی را حس نکند و رؤیایی نبافد، چه چیزش وحشتناک است؟ چه چیز رؤیا بافتن و حس کردن این‌ قدر خوب است؟ صفحه‌ی ۱۸۱ کتاب
یک عالم آدم وارد زندگی‌ات می‌شوند و می‌روند! صدها هزار آدم! مجبوری در را باز نگه داری که بتوانند وارد شوند! اما معناش این است که باید هم بگذاری بروند! صفحه ۱۹۱ کتاب
اگه خورشید منفجر شه تا هشت دقیقه هیچ‌ کس متوجه ماجرا نمی‌شه چون هشت دقیقه طول می‌کشه تا نور به ما برسه، تا هشت دقیقه زمین همچنان روشن می‌مونه و گرما شو حفظ می‌کنه. یک‌ سال از فوت بابام گذشته بود، احساس می‌کردم اون هشت دقیقه داره کم‌کم تموم می‌شه. فیلم اقتباسی ۲۰۱۱، دقیقه ۱۲.
If the sun were to explode, you wouldn't even know about it for 8 minutes because thats how long it takes for light to travel to us.
For eight minutes the world would still be bright and it would still feel warm.
It was a year since my dad died and I could feel my eight minutes with him... were running out.

n   “Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living.”n

I could write an endless review about this book and how amazing it is... but I'm not going too, because I would never want to take or give away anything about this book. You'll want to feel every emotion this book gives off. such a powerful, beautiful, and moving novel.

Nine year old Oskar Schell finds a key among his dead father's things and embarks on a quest to find the lock it fits. Will Oskar Schell's quest give him the answers he's looking for?

Quite some time ago, I watched a fragment of the movie based on this book on a rainy day before deciding I wanted to read the book. Now that I've read it, I'm not sure it was the right choice.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is the story of Oskar Schell, a nine year old possible genius with issues whose father died in the World Trade Center collapse. After discovering a mysterious key, he wanders New York's five boroughs, meeting people and drawing closer to the end of his quest.

I loved the Oskar Schell character, a smart boy who has trouble fitting in, and I loved the idea of a boy on quest. Oskar's relationship with his deceased father was very well done, as was his anger with his mother. However, I found the book to be on the gimmicky side with all the photographs and typographical razzmatazz. Also, I found the elder Thomas Schell to be an unsympathetic character. He ran out on his family. Why is Foer so bent on making us feel sorry for him?

As much as I loved the idea of a nine year old attempting to solve the mysteries behind his father's death, I found the execution far=fetched, but not as far-fetched as the ending. The ending denied the book an entire star for me.

Even so, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was not without its charm. It was an engaging read and had some poignant moments. Three out of five stars.

I really enjoyed this movie. It was well done and touching, so I picked up the book. It is a powerful story told, but I think this is an instance the movie is better than the book.

I didn't like the narration of the grandmother and grandfather running throughout the book. I felt the point of view worthy of our time was o Oskar Schell. I wanted the other parts to hurry up and be over. It was strange and didn't seem to have that much import on the story really.

I did like the book. There were some touching parts and there were some funny parts and there were uncomfortable parts. Oskar is 9 years old and he wants to kiss this 40 year old woman.

I do like the idea of this little kid connecting all these different people with a last name of black. Many of them were very lonely and he was able to make them feel not so lonely. I like that idea.

The destruction of the Twin towers is part of the plot in this novel. He goes into thinking what could have happened to those people and he discusses footage that the news did not show of people jumping out of the windows. It is fairly intense. Oskar lost his dad in the attack.

It is a unique little story and I'm glad I read this. It took me a while to finish it, but I'm glad I did. I went back and forth on how many stars. I could give it 3 stars and I could give it 4 stars so I went with this is unique and not like much else out there, so I gave it 4 stars.

بی‌نهایت، بی‌نهایت دوسش داشتم.. با همه‌ی سادگیش بارها قلبمو به درد آورد و غرق لذتم کرد. پر از عشق‌بازی کلمه‌ها و یه تایپوگرافی عجیب غریب و سرشار از خلاقیت.
داستان غم و زجری که جنگ‌ها به انسان‌ها تحمیل میکنن که خوندن ازش حتی برای چندمین بار هم تلخه، انگار اگه تا پایان دنیا هم ازش بخونی تلخیش همینقدر تازه است و دردناک..
و یکی از قشنگ ترین صفحای پایانو داشت، کلمات آخر و عکس‌ها فوق‌العاده بودند.. خیلی خیلی بلند، نزدیک و دوست داشتنی..

Frankenstein Emotions

Infuriating and baffling that Foer is so widely read. This is appalling schmaltz. He wants us to feel a twinge, maybe tear up, hopefully even bawl, and to do it, ideally, on every page. It isn't enough that a man is losing his ability to speak: his wife has to be going blind. It isn't enough that another man hasn't spoken in two decades: he has to have a bed with three thousand nails driven into it, one for each year since his wife died. It isn't enough to have a heart-rending letter from your father: you have to also have one from a convict who doesn't even know he's been in prison forty years, and anther letter, and another.

At one point there is an unintentional parody of the pulp paperback one-cathartic-moment-per-page formula, when a woman is abandoned by her husband, and everything moves her:

"A dog following a stranger. That made me feel so much. A calendar that showed the wrong month. I could have cried over it. I did. Where the smoke from a chimney ended. How an overturned bottle rested at the edge of a table." (p. 180)

These sentences are separated by four or five spaces, because it isn't enough just to read them: we have to feel the spaces, the emptiness, in the woman's life, and we have to feel it again every time she says anything.

People say the book is well written. But when the writing is good, it is always necessary to say what purpose it serves. The most stupefyingly miasmic adventitious emotional crises are propped up, electrified, by Foer's cleverness: but why do that? Why not write standard Romantic prose? The book is like an emotional Frankenstein, a nineteenth-century romance novel brought to life with McSweeney's style wit and dispatch, given the facsimile of life by jolts of artificial feeling.

The book is a swill of perfumed emotions. It is elaborately artificial and yet gluely emotional: as if the exotic perfumes of Huysmans were to meet the kitschy sentimentality of O Henry. What kind of people feel emotion this way? What kind of reader thinks that real, powerful emotion comes in 300-word bursts, repeated 300 times in the course of a novel? What kind of person is always so close to tears that they are moved by this kind of writing? It's frightening, really, that there are people for whom this is a persuasive account of our emotional lives.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close is a 2005 novel by Jonathan Safran Foer. The book's narrator is a nine-year-old boy named Oskar Schell. In the story, Oskar discovers a key in a vase that belonged to his father, a year after he is killed in the September 11 attacks. The discovery inspires Oskar to search all around New York for information about the key and closure following his father's death.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز یازدهم ماه ژانویه سال2019میلادی

عنوان: بی‌نهایت بلند و به‌ غایت نزدیک؛ نویسنده: جاناتان سافران‌ فوئر؛ مترجم: لیلا نصیری‌ها؛ ویراستار احسان نوروزی؛ تهران نشر چشمه، ‏سال1397؛ در415ص؛ شابک9786002298553؛ چاپ دوم سال1397؛ موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده21م‬

داستان «بی‌نهایت بلند و به‌ غایت نزدیک» درباره ی پسربچه ی نه ساله‌ ای به نام «اسکار شل» است، که پدرش را در حملات «یازدهم سپتامبر» از دست می‌دهد؛ رمان درباره ی جستجوهای این پسربچه، برای پیدا کردن قفلی است، که پدر کلید اسرارآمیزش را، برایش به جا گذاشته است؛ نویسنده برای نگارش رمان، از تکنیک‌های «پست مدرن» از جمله «راوی‌های گوناگون»، و «تایپوگرافی»، استفاده کرده است؛ پس از انتشار رمان، فیلمی سینمایی با برداشت از رمان ساخته شد، که کارگردان و بازیگرش به ترتیب، «استیون دالدری» و «تام هنکس» بودند

چند سال پس از درگذشت پدرش، در یورش «یازدهم سپتامبر»، «اسکار شِل» کلیدی را در گلدانی پیدا می‌کند؛ کلید به پدرش تعلق دارد، «اسکار» از این بابت مطمئن است؛ اما این کلید کدام یک از یکصدوشصت و دو میلیون قفل شهر نیویورک را باز می‌کند؟ این پرسش، «اسکارِ» کاشف، نامه‌ نگار، و کارآگاه آماتور را، بر آن وامی‌دارد، تا هر پنج محله‌ ی نیویورک را، زیر پا بگذارد، و وارد زندگی دوستان، اقوام و آدم‌هایی کاملاً غریبه شود؛ در این راه، غم‌ و غصه‌ های بسیاری، روی شانه‌ های «اسکار» سنگینی می‌کند، زیر ‏تأثیر این غم‌ و‌ غصه ‌ها، حتی جراحت‌هایی به خودش وارد می‌کند، و با هر کشفی، یک گام به دل ماجرای پُر رمز‌ و‌ رازی نزدیک می‌شود، که به پنجاه سال پیش، و تاریخچه‌ ی خانوادگی‌شان بازمی‌گردد؛ اما آیا این سفر او را از پدر درگذشته‌ اش دورتر، یا او را به پدرش نزدیک‌تر می‌کند؟

نقل نمونه متن: (پس صندلی چرخ‌دار را آوردم دم پله‌ ها، و با هم داد زدند که یک جورهایی عجیب بود، چون صداهاشان می‌آمد بالا و می‌رفت پایین، اما صورت همدیگر را نمی‌توانستند ببینند؛ با هم زدند زیر خنده و صدای خنده‌ شان کل راه‌ پله را پر کرد؛ بعد آقای «بلک» داد زد، «اسکار»! و من داد زدم، این که اسم من است، چرا داد می‌زنی؛ و او داد زد، بیا پایین! وقتی برگشتم لابی، آقای «بلک» توضیح داد شخصی که دنبالش بودیم پیشخدمت «ویندوز آن د ورلد» بوده؛ یعنی که چه؟ «فلیز»، زنی که باهاش حرف زده بودم، خودش شخصا او را نمی‌شناخت؛ وقتی اثاث‌ کشی کرده بود این‌جا، در موردش شنیده بود؛ - واقعا؟ - از خودم که در نیاوردم؛ رفتیم توی خیابان و شروع کردیم به راه رفتن؛ ماشینی گذشت که صدای آهنگش واقعا بلند بود، و قلبم را به لرزه درآورد؛ بالا را نگاه کردم، و بند رخت‌هایی را دیدم، که پنجره‌ های زیادی را با لباس‌هایی که روی‌شان آویزان بود، به‌هم وصل کرده بودند؛ از آقای «بلک» پرسیدم «وقتی آدم‌ها می‌گویند بند رخت، منظورشان این است»؛ - گفت «منظورشان همین است» - گفتم: «من هم همین فکر را می‌کردم»؛ - باز هم کمی پیاده رفتیم؛ بچه‌ ها توی خیابان‌ها داشتند سنگ‌ها را با پا پرت می‌کردند، و خوشحال می‌خندیدند؛ آقای «بلک» یکی از سنگ‌ها را برداشت، و توی جیبش گذاشت؛ به تابلوِ خیابان نگاه کرد، و بعد به ساعتش؛ چندتایی پیرمرد جلوِ مغازه‌ ای روی صندلی نشسته بودند؛ سیگار می‌کشیدند، و دنیا را مثل تلویزیون تماشا می‌کردند، - گفتم: «به نظرم خیلی عجیب است وقتی به‌اش فکر می‌کنم» - چی؟ - که «اگنس» آن‌جا کار می‌کرد؛ شاید بابام را می‌شناخت؛ یا نمی‌شناخت، اما شاید آن روز صبح «اگنس» سفارش قهوه‌ اش را گرفته بوده؛ بابا آن‌جا بود، توی رستوران؛ جلسه داشت؛ شاید «اگنس» قهوه بابا را دوباره پُر کرده بود یا همچین چیزی؛ - ممکن است؛ - شاید با هم مرده‌ اند؛ می‌دانستم که نمی‌داند چی در این مورد بگوید، چون معلوم است که با هم مرده بودند؛ سئوال واقعی این بود که چه‌ طوری با هم مرده بودند، مثلا هر کدام‌شان یک طرف رستوران بوده‌ اند، یا کنار هم یا یک‌جور دیگر؛ شاید با هم رفته بودند پشت بام؛ توی بعضی از عکس‌ها که می‌شد دید مردم با هم پریده‌ اند و دست هم را نگه داشته‌ اند؛ پس شاید این کار را کرده باشند؛ یا شاید تا موقعی که ساختمان پایین ریخته با هم حرف زده بودند؛ درباره چی با هم حرف زدند؟ دوتاشان زمین تا آسمان با هم فرق داشتند؛ شاید درباره من باهاش حرف زده بوده؛ فکر کردم به‌ اش چی گفته؛ نمی‌توانستم بگویم این‌که بابا دست یکی دیگر را نگه داشته بود، باعث می‌شد چه فکری درباره‌ اش بکنم.»؛ پایان نقل

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 22/04/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 09/02/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

I'm trying to sort out my feelings with this book... there were parts that disturbed me and made me feel uncomfortable, like the way the grandfather and grandmother were intimate. There are places where I tried to go along with the story but couldn't stop myself from going, this is just too contrived. Why couldn't the mom handle things differently? Why is she so absent? Why go allow a child to dig up a grave? I can't help but feel like I've been taken on a wild goose chase with an ending that left me unsatisfied. I was especially upset how Mr. Black was just tossed aside. I honestly tried to understand the grandfather's trauma but I still didn't agree with his decisions to leave but then have to write so many letters to someone who won't even read them, or again try to enter the life of his wife and wanting to know his grandson after leaving her so cruelly in the first place..I feel somehow in this story I got stuck in a nothing place.

Afterthoughts: I don't for a second believe Oskar would have waited out the rings instead of picking up the phone right away.
> I still feel like the grandmother was almost like a stifled character, and her husband was awful to her.
> I don't understand why the grandparents wrote about such intimate details for their child/grandchild to read.

Na destruição de Dresden, pelos aliados entre 13 e 15 de Fevereiro de 1945, morreram cerca de 25 000 pessoas.
Na destruição do World Trade Center, pelos jihadistas no dia 11 de Setembro de 2001, morreram cerca de 3 000 pessoas.
Num ataque morreram alemães, no outro americanos; dizem que um foi legítimo e o outro criminoso. Mas o trauma, o remorso, a revolta, a impotência, o drama, o horror, a dor...dos que não morrem e têm de fazer o luto, é universal e desumano.

Este livro conta a história de quem tem de viver depois:
do Homem que perdeu toda a família em Dresden, onde viveu os maiores horrores que o transformaram para sempre num ser atormentado...
da Criança, que empreende uma investigação para saber como morreu o pai: esmagado num corredor, num elevador, ou foi um dos que se atirou das janelas...
da Mãe que carrega para casa um pedregulho na ilusão de que nele reste, nem que seja um átomo, do seu único filho...
da Esposa que enterra um caixão vazio...

Um livro com uma prosa bonita, uma estrutura original e que transmite uma tristeza infinita.

"houve uma explosão prateada; vi uma mulher com o cabelo louro e o vestido verde em chamas, a correr com um bebé silencioso nos braços; vi seres humanos derretidos, transformados em poças de líquido espesso; vi corpos a crepitarem como brasas..."

"Aviões a embaterem em edifícios.
Corpos a caírem.
Edifícios a desmoronarem-se.
Aviões a embaterem em edifícios."