უკარგესი ვინმეა ეს ჯონათან საფრან ფოერი!

ჯერ "სრული გასხივოსნება" რა სიგიჟე იყო და ესეც არანაკლები აღმოჩნდა: პერსონაჟებს, მათ საოცრად სევდიან ამბებსა და ამ ამბების გადაკვეთას ისეთი ბუნებრივი და მოქნილი ენით აღწერს ავტორი, რომ ნაძალადეობის შეგრძნება ოდნავადაც არ გიჩნდება.

ამ წიგნში მოყოლილ ბებიისა და ბაბუის ისტორიაზე გულისგამხეთქავ რამეს კი იშვიათად თუ იპოვით ცხოვრებაში, ან საერთოდ ერთად აღებულ მთელ მსოფლიო ლიტერატურაშიც კი.

Thanks to GR I now want to read essentially every book my friends rate/review highly. On top of that, I have a problem of loving to buy books the way the some women love to buy shoes or handbags. (I hate stereotypes, but I think that one holds up pretty well.) So after I finished my last book I was like "Now what?" I decided to dive into a sci-fi book gifted from a GR friend (who is now my "real life" friend), but had a hard time getting into it. So I cheated on her, err it. I went back to my stack of unread books and decided to pick up Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I was hesitant about Foer b/c I know his other book (or one of his other books, I haven't done any research to see how many he's written) was turned into what to me looked like a ridiculous movie with the dude from the hobbit movies with the big weird eyes who annoys me. Ultimately I decided it's not really fair to hold that against him. Maybe the book is good? Anyhow, I'm rambling now so let's get to it.

I really, really liked this book. I found myself thinking about it when I wasn't reading it and being excited to get back to it. I finished in three days, which for me says a lot.

OK, so, IF I had rated this book as soon as I finished it I probably would've given it at least four stars, maybe even five. But since I didn't want to get busted for cheating on my sci-fi book, I put off reviewing it for awhile. In that time I have read a couple of somewhat negative reviews that brought up some points that rang true to me.

First let me give a brief summary of the story (for the very few of you who don't know by now): Time: 9/11, one year later. Setting: NYC. Main Character: Nine year old boy, Oskar, who's just lost his Dad in the WTC. Oskar is also the story's narrator. Oskar loves the internet and knowledge and tinkering and inventing and exploring and hasn't yet come to terms (not that one ever does) with his Father's death. His mom has started dating again and this is problematic for Oskar. Although he is extremely bright, the adults in Oskar's world can't get a handle on him and worry about his behavior/state of mind. His grandmother (his Dad's mom) lives right across the street from him and, as most grandmother's do, loves to dote on him and spend lots of time with him. Oskar, unlike most grandkids, likes to spend time with her, too. I'm not sure Oskar has a friend his own age. I think part of Oskar's shtick is that kids his own age don't get him. I could be wrong, though.

OK I don't think I'm being as brief here as I intended but let me just add that the plot of the story has to do with a key Oskar finds in his Dad's closet that he is convinced will, if he can just figure out what it goes to, give him more insight into who his Dad was, thus helping him deal with his loss. The quest begins! Enter a varied cast of assorted New Yorkers with stories of their own who all find Oskar as endearing as the reader does, or should. Apart from the main plot consisting of the mystery of the key, there is a subplot involving Oskar's estranged grandfather and the relationship (or lack thereof) he has with his grandmother and father. The two stories end up weaving together and, in the end, there is, for me, an extremely sweet and touching denouement involving Oskar, his Dad, and his Grandfather.

Now onto the criticism (finally!). The character that is Oskar's grandfather was sort of annoying and there was a bit of nonsense involving the marriage between the grandfather and grandmother and private spaces and silent communication and magazine purchasing. I'm afraid Foer may have felt that creating Oskar's grandfather as a WWII/Dresden bombing survivor might not make him sympathetic enough and decided to throw in a dead girlfriend and a loss of the ability to speak. For me this was going too far. On top of that his grandmother (sister to the dead girlfriend) was just plain weird when it came to the relationship between her and the grandfather. So for me, it was all about Oskar's story and his voice. Fortunately (for me anyway), that part of the story is so strong and so well written that the other more unbelievable bits are (overall) easy to put up with.

There is one scene in particular that really got to me and made me forget about all the other bullshit that may have bothered me. It's the scene where Oskar finally meets the man behind the key. Their encounter is sincere and sweet and emotionally moving without being gimmicky or overly sentimental. And anyone who reviews this book and fails to acknowledge that is full of shit. Granted, one honest exchange between two characters does not a great book make, but it does go to show that Foer has created something at the least credible and at best truly special here. Bag on his literary tricks and gimmicks in other parts of the book all you want, but the emotion evoked in this particular scene is completely legit and to suggest otherwise is proof that you are either pigheaded or emotionally bankrupt.

While I do think there's some legitimate criticism out there regarding what some refer to as Foer's use (or misuse, or confused use--whatever) of magic realism, the bottom line is there's not enough distraction there to take away from Oskar's story, and that's what the book is truly all about.

Είχα δει την ταινία πριν από κάποια χρόνια. Ήξερα λοιπόν καλά την υπόθεση. Κι όμως... συγκινήθηκα τόσο πολύ...
Κάποιες φράσεις με συγκλόνισαν.
«Είναι καλύτερο να χάνεις παρά να μην έχεις»
«Δεν φοβάμαι τον θάνατο. Τη ζωή φοβάμαι»
«Τη βρήκα (την κλειδαριά) και τώρα δεν μπορώ να την ψάχνω. Όσο την έψαχνα, ήταν σαν να μπορούσα να μείνω κοντά του λίγο περισσότερο»

Κι αυτά τα μηνύματα που άφησε στον τηλεφωνητή ο μπαμπάς του Όσκαρ... κι εκείνος που δεν μπορούσε να σηκώσει το τηλέφωνο...

Ίσως επειδή μεγαλώνω έχω γίνει πολύ ευσυγκίνητη... Ίσως επειδή είδα ζωντανά στην τηλεόραση την επίθεση στους Πύργους....Ίσως επειδή είχα την τύχη να επισκεφθώ τη Νέα Υόρκη και το Ground Zero με αυτό το φοβερό μνημείο με το νερό που εξαφανίζεται και τα χαραγμένα ονόματα που γεμίζουν τον αέρα ψιθύρους...
Ίσως για όλα τα παραπάνω, λοιπόν ή γιατί απλά ήταν ένα καταπληκτικό βιβλίο, δεν πρόκειται να το ξεχάσω ποτέ.

There has been a voluminous outpouring of love for this book and it definitely taps into the inexpressible sadness of 9/11 and the untimely separation of thousands of individuals from their family and their loved ones. Writing about a world event which affected so many people is not an easy task and there are a veritable cats-cradle of tight ropes to be walked when putting 9/11 into what is essentially a work of popular fiction. Foer took the most neutral route by examining the aftermath of the event and the way people deal with grief, by allowing the reader to see it from a child's perspective.

I have what might be classed as a slightly odd perception of the events surrounding 9/11. Fear not, I am not about to say anything incendiary or untoward about the events, motives or politics surrounding that day. Bear with me.

When 9/11 occurred I was living in a remote part of Turkey working on an archaeological site. We had very little communication with the outside world, no television, no internet access and only one public phone in a communal area of the dig house. 9/11 happened and I didn't find out about it till nearly 48 hours later. I travelled by Land Rover into the nearest town and when I arrived people kept coming up to me and saying "I am sorry about America", but no more than that and no one stopped to explain. I was confused but I completed the various errands I needed to run at the market and drove back to site. During my absence someone had managed to contact us on the payphone (all the international lines had been jammed and no one knew why) to explain what was going on.

We could not fathom for one instant what was going on. Were we at war? How has this happened? How could the World Trade Centre simply have ceased to exist? What happened to the Pentagon? We had no images, or video footage and we did not get to see events unfold on live television as most of the world had done. We had no newspapers to explain the sequence of events that had taken place 48 hours before. For us, isolation had caused an unintentional media blackout and the whole event passed us by until the information gradually began to filter through.

That night, we sat around a small portable radio, passing a bottle of whiskey between us and listened to the BBC World Service as generals, politicians, analysts and broadcasters discussed the event in the smallest of details while we, in our isolation still could not grasp the bigger picture. Even today, having seen the photographs and read some of the later newspapers, I feel as if there is a hole in my memory but it is a memory that doesn't exist because I never saw the events of 9/11 as they unfolded.

Oskar Schell has lost his father in the 9/11 attacks and precocious Oskar is struggling to come to terms with the events of that day. He has, as he puts it, "heavy boots". Mr Schell, an unassuming jeweller, teller of tales and loving father to Oskar, did not work in the World Trade Centre but a twist of fate saw him visit the building on that terrible day. Oskar is seeking a message or hidden meaning in the things that his father left behind and one of these objects is a mysterious key labelled "Black". In his journey to find out exactly what the key opens, he inadvertently unlocks other people from their own emotional prisons and together he, and his new friends can move forward. What the key ultimately unlocks has little to do with the story - it is merely a tool and a focus for Oskar to help him deal with his grief.

A unique story prompted by the sadness of a world changing event.

Jonathan Safran Foer mi lascia interdetta. Mi era capitato con “ogni cosa è illuminata”, mi ricapita anche questa volta. Sono giunta alla conclusione che sia geniale.
Come non definire geniale uno scrittore che riesce a farti emozionare di fronte alle vicende di un ragazzino di nove anni (che parla come un uomo di trenta), Oskar Schell, saputello, dopo aver raccontato per oltre la metà del libro, con uno stile originale, con pagine bianche dove c’è scritta una sola frase o addirittura una sola parola, che si susseguono a pagine con fotografie, il suo vagabondaggio per le strade di New York alla ricerca della soluzione del mistero rappresentato da un bigliettino trovato nel ripostiglio in cui il padre Thomas, morto durante l’attacco alle torri gemelle, teneva le sue cose; oltretutto con una narrazione frammentaria, in cui si alternano le vicende di Oskar con quelle dei suoi nonni paterni, vissuti in Germania durante la seconda guerra mondiale e trasferitisi da Dresda a New York, personaggi strambi come tutti quelli che animano le pagine dei libri di Safran Foer, che manifestano le loro sofferenze interiori con comportamenti assurdi. Insomma, una gran confusione di storie, che si accavallano a volte compenetrandosi, ogni personaggio con il racconto in prima persona della propria storia, fatta di dolore, di un grande e profondo dolore che trabocca ed invade ogni parola, ogni riga, ogni pagina del romanzo. E’ eccessivo in tutto, Foer, nelle parole e anche nel compiacimento di essere tanto bravo (anche se riconosco di averlo trovato più sobrio rispetto a “ogni cosa è illuminata”).
In un tale caos narrativo, ci sono dei gioielli che mi hanno emozionato come poche altre pagine lette finora: la favola del sesto distretto di New York raccontata dal papà Thomas a Oskar la sera prima che morisse, il racconto del bombardamento di Dresda e poi il dialogo finale di Oskar con la madre, un personaggio che non si capisce per quale motivo rimane sempre ai margini della storia, fa quasi da spettatrice silenziosa fino alla fine.
Sì, Jonathan Safran Foer, per me, è geniale. Per le emozioni che mi ha dato si merita 4 stelline.

I liked this better than expected, and for the storytelling more than because it was particularly moving.

I won’t say I was unmoved, but I did feel at a remove from what I thought might be either an overly intense or unfortunately contrived retelling of the 9/11 tragedy. So difficulty to novelize a formative disaster that’s still fresh in the hearts and minds of most of the generations reading the book.

I visited the memorial in NYC last year and was nearly overwhelmed by its impact—and I didn’t even go I to the interpretive center. If you lived through it by living in the US as an adult at the time, it’s still a lot to take in.

This novel naturally sparked my own memories of that period of time, but it didn’t itself transport me to time, place, or event—for better or worse and not sure which of those judgments I would pick.

After gradually getting over how irritating I at first found the kid—the first up of three rotating narrators, I found the characters and their entwined narratives engaging.

I was really irked to randomly see a preview for this movie a couple of months ago. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close has been sitting on my to-read list for years. It kept getting pushed back in favor of other books, not sure why, but when I saw Sandra effing Bullock on TV promoting the movie I hustled to get myself on the long wait list for the e-book at the library. Damn it. Now I look like one of THOSE people who pick up the flavor of the month book. You know, like back when every chick in the world was reading "Memoirs of a Geisha" on the train, or like now when every middle aged soccer mom at my office is passing around copies of "The Help". Urgh.

So after finally digging in I was not off to a good start. I thought this was going to be a 2 star read. It felt manufactured and the kid Oskar annoyed me instantly - and he continued to annoy me until the end. But it wasn't his fault, it was the author over writing that character into a neurotic 9 year old Woody Allen. But then a third of the way through the book something started to creep into my psyche and charm me with lines like "...sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living..." p.74. It was the chapters pertaining to the grandparent's story that I loved most. While Oskar was trampling around with the key being a pretentious and completely unbelievable 9 year old character, I was waiting for the grandparent's chapters. Those were filled with such longing and darkness and were so abrasive and raw. I liked those parts so much that I'm bumping it up to three stars and forgiving, for now, the uneasy manipulative feel of the 9/11 chapters being rammed down my throat by JSF screaming off the page for me to feel sad and horrified and wanting to squeeze a tear out of me. Not going to happen. Not like this.

The words "extremely" and "incredibly" are used at least fifty times each. I wanted to hate that. I wanted to be so damn annoyed about that. And yet: "I felt incredibly close to everything in the universe, but also extremely alone. I wondered, for the first time, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it? What's so horrible about being dead forever, and not feeling anything, and not even dreaming? What's so great about feeling and dreaming?"

Beautiful.

*cries forever* This was such a beautiful story! I'm so attached to the main character, an 8 year old boy named Oskar. I want to hug him & protected him from the world :'(

Beat the Backlist Challenge: Read the oldest book that’s currently on my TBR.

Just as good as the movie...fantastic audiobook narration....highly recommended.

Het is die 9/11-thematiek. Dat moment waarop onze Westerse wereld compleet veranderde en het mooie naïef-optimistische wereldbeeld een flinke deuk kreeg die, zo blijkt nu, nooit meer hersteld werd. We hebben het allemaal "dankzij" de televisiebeelden van dichtbij meegemaakt, het is die herkenbaarheid die dit boek zo sterk maakt. Maar dat niet alleen.

Het gaat over Oskar, die zijn vader verloor bij 9/11, een sleutel terugvindt tussen de spullen van zijn vader en op zoek gaat naar het bijhorende slot. Het gaat ook over zijn grootouders, die elkaar niet vonden. Het leven is constant een oefening in afscheid nemen. Het boek vertelt uiteindelijk niet veel meer behalve dat: hoe moet je in godsnaam afscheid nemen. En hoe lastig dat dat is.

En dan is er die fantastische schrijfstijl van Jonathan Safran Foer. Uitzinnig als het over Oskar gaat, wat een heerlijke 9-jarige is dat toch: veel te slim voor zijn leeftijd, maar tegelijkertijd toch een echt kind in hoe hij alles wil verwerken. En wat ingetogener als het standpunt verandert naar de grootouders. Een zwaar thema wordt daardoor op een lichte en erg persoonlijke manier behandeld. Prachtig.

Het verhaal wordt aangevuld met foto's. En het klopt. Het is geen gimmick. Die laatste pagina's zijn de beste laatste pagina's ooit. Die vergeet je nooit.

Een kleine tien jaar geleden riep ik dit boek uit tot mijn lievelingsboek. Na het herlezen te hebben zoveel later kan ik alleen maar zeggen: ja. Dit is zo een ontzettend mooi boek.
Maar echt, zo ontzettend ontzettend ontzettend mooi.

Narrated by precocious nine-year-old Oskar Schell, this book relates his journey to express grief for his father, who died in the 9-11 attacks on the World Trade Center. After finding a key in his father’s closet, Oskar embarks upon a quest to locate what it opens, symbolically paying tribute to his father's life while also helping him heal. An intertwined story tells of Oskar's grandparents' difficult lives after surviving the bombing of Dresden during World War II. Their stories involve letters written from Oskar’s grandfather to his father and from Oskar’s grandmother to Oskar. Themes include the silence of suffering, the impact of trauma, and how difficult it can be to overcome.

This is another book where I can appreciate its artistry but is not a particularly enjoyable reading experience. I thought Oskar’s story, though it stretches the limits of belief, was touching. I felt compassion for the child who has suddenly lost his father and describes what is obviously depression as “heavy boots.” It hits very close to home for me. However, I found the grandparents’ storylines disjointed and difficult to follow. The chapters narrated by Oskar are the strongest and most direct, though his voice is much more analytical and mature than a typical child. There were many interesting parallels between the experiences of Oskar and his grandfather. The tone is very sad and there are many loose ends.

I think the overall impression of this book is more effective than the individual parts. It would be a good book to read with another person or as part of a book club.

“La settimana è stata una barba incredibile, a parte quando mi sono ricordato la chiave. Anche se sapevo che a New York ci sono 161.999.999 serrature che non avrebbe aperto, avevo l’impressione che aprisse tutto.”

Ci sono giorni in cui non viene spontaneo alzarsi dal letto. Rimani lì a fissare il soffitto chiedendoti cos’è che muova i tuoi piedi. Ti siedi a tavola e ascolti la gente parlare e intanto la tua testa è altrove. Pensi a persone che sono lontane, a cose che non sono successe però potevano succedere, a cose che potrebbero succedere ma non succederanno, pensi di essere chilometri e chilometri lontano da lì e in testa ti galleggiano milioni di conversazioni possibili. Fai le invenzioni.
Fare le invenzioni secondo me è anche questo, è “essere schiacciati sotto il peso di tutte le vite che non stiamo vivendo”. E non c’è bisogno di chiamarsi Oskar Schell, di avere nove anni e di aver perso il padre nell’attentato dell’undici settembre; non c’è bisogno di essere Oskar Schell per sentirsi Oskar Schell.
In questa settimana passata con Oskar mi sono sentita molto Oskar. Ho litigato furiosamente coi miei genitori, fino ad avere la percezione di averli persi e di essere sola al mondo. Ho rimestato nel ripostiglio dei miei ricordi e delle mie speranze senza trovare indizi che possano riportarmi sulla pista giusta. Ho desiderato spaccare la testa ai tanti Jimmy Snyder che si pavoneggiano sui palcoscenici di questo mondo. Sono stata dal dottor Fein – che in questo caso aveva le sembianze di mia madre – e ho detto una cosa non molto dissimile da questa: “Seppellirò i miei sentimenti nel profondo di me. […] Anche se saranno fortissimi non li lascerò uscire. Se dovrò piangere, piangerò dentro. Se dovrò sanguinare, mi verranno dei lividi. Se il mio cuore comincerà a dare i numeri, non ne parlerò con nessuno al mondo. Tanto non serve. Rovina solamente la vita a tutti.”

Di questo romanzo si è parlato e straparlato, fino a mettere in luce ora una cosa ora l’altra. Ci si è soffermati con pignoleria sui difetti e si è insistito con cecità sui pregi, fino a dimenticare che un libro non è una somma di pregi e di difetti, non è una somma di parti ma un disegno. E come un disegno non è una somma di tratti ma un’unione di tratti, così un romanzo dev’essere qualcosa di organico e di vivo.
E allora io sono d’accordo con chi dice, questo romanzo è un esercizio di stile! questo romanzo vuol essere accattivante e catturare la simpatia del lettore! questo romanzo si avvale di mezzi tipografici scorretti per fare scena! questo romanzo presenta situazioni paradossali, vuol fare della metafora una cosa vera e, cristo, io ci posso credere fino a un certo punto!
Però sono anche d’accordo con chi dice, questo romanzo dimostra una sensibilità squisita! questo romanzo vuol essere una polifonia che unisca tanti dolori, tanti lutti, tante barbarie! questo romanzo dimostra che la narrativa può contare su altri mezzi rispetto ai canali che abbiamo sempre considerato appropriati! questo romanzo coniuga una storia accattivante con una bella scrittura con una documentazione ampia e approfondita!
Poiché sono d’accordo con entrambi, in fondo non sono d’accordo con nessuno. E penso che siamo noi a mancare il cuore delle cose. Sono io a mancare il cuore delle cose quando faccio oscillare il contatore tra le quattro e le cinque stelline. Sono io a mancare il cuore delle cose quando mi rotolo nel letto pensando, Ma Foer… ci fa o ci è?

Il cuore di questo romanzo è una storia di perdita e di contatto.
Oskar perde il padre e perde la bussola, perde la leggerezza, la capacità dell’infanzia di semplificare i problemi. La madre di Oskar perde un marito e perde Oskar, tanto difficile è stabilire con lui un contatto. Il padre di Oskar perde la vita, ma non l’amore che ne tiene vivo il ricordo. Il nonno di Oskar perde un figlio, la donna che amava, la sua famiglia, la sua città sotto i bombardamenti di Dresda e poi perde la voce. La nonna di Oskar perde una sorella e un’amante, perde la famiglia, la sua città sotto i bombardamenti di Dresda e poi perde un marito, un’occasione di reintegrare le parti. I tanti Black che vivono a New York hanno tutti perso qualcosa, chi un amore chi un’occasione chi una chiave. E così non stupisce affatto che il romanzo si impronti su una caccia al tesoro: Oskar, armato solo di una chiave e di un nome (Black), si mette in cerca dell’ultimo tesoro sepolto da suo padre, l’ultima occasione di trattenerlo, di stare con lui ancora per un poco o per molto o per sempre. La sua ricerca è destinata al fallimento perché il contenuto stesso della ricerca è un vuoto. Il contenuto è una perdita.
Ma attraverso la ricerca Oskar approda al contatto. Il contatto è il rapporto reciproco tra le perdite, il mettere a confronto i dolori e le cicatrici, non per darne una stima e nemmeno per arrivare a una compensazione, ma per raggiungere una consapevolezza, una verità che è quasi una salvezza. E cioè che se la perdita accomuna tutti, allora tutti siamo un po’ perduti e un po’ morti, tutti stiamo cercando qualcosa e la ricerca di tutti è fallimentare. Questa è la vita. Eppure tutti vivono. E allora per vivere dobbiamo raggiungere un compromesso. Dobbiamo stabilire un equilibrio tra ciò che abbiamo perso e ciò che possiamo ottenere o trattenere o salvare dalla perdita. Dobbiamo stringere insieme tutte le cose che amiamo e farne una camicia di becchime.
È un messaggio di speranza? Un messaggio di rassegnazione? Io credo sia un messaggio di umanità, e questa è la cosa più importante di tutte.