Dangling Man

Birkaç kitabı birden anımsatan, farklı olmayan ancak hoş bir kitaptı.

Saul Bellow 76'da hem Nobel edebiyat ödülünü hem de Humboldt'un Armağanı eseriyle Pulitzer'i kazanmış bir yazar. Boşlukta Sallanan Adam ise onun 1944 yılında yazdığı ilk romanı. Yazara giriş yapmanın zamanı gelmişti ve ben de kronolojik gitmek adına bu eserle serüvene başladım. Memnun da kaldım. Yabancılaşma üzerine farklı bir yaklaşım sergilemiş. Askere alınmayı beklediği dört aylık bir süre boyunca Joseph'in tuttuğu bir günlüğü okuyoruz adeta. Günlük falan tuttuğu yok tabi de siz öyle düşünün. Tarihli ilerliyor zira. Joseph bu süreçte kendinden hiç beklenmedik seviyede agresifleşiyor ve içe bakışlarla, yabancılaşan ruhunu gözlemlemeye başlıyor.

İkinci Dünya Savaşı tam gaz devam ederken savaşa gitmekten bile korkmayacak kadar kendi yaşamından soğumuş Joseph'in hikâyesi gerçekten okumaya değer.

Benim gibi kronolojik okuyacaklar için de başlangıç noktası.

Diyor ya kendisi de, yaşasın düzen! Yaşasın disiplin!

The thousands of my fans here at goodreads.com must know by now that I spent a great part of my childhood and early teen years in an island facing the Pacific Ocean (see my review of "Timbuktu" by Paul Auster). when I was around ten years old, a word was invented there, most likely by a close relative of mine named Aputuy (though I'm not sure of this as he may have picked it up also from someone else). I do not know how that word is spelled, but I'll write it here by the way it sounds: POO-CHOOT (the OOs like in choo-choo train). Around 40 years after I first heard it, people in my small town still knows what a poo-choot is.

There were a lot of poo-choots in my town. Then, and even now. They are those (in almost all cases I know, male, most of them unmarried) who do not do anything productive. They don't work. A poo-choot's daily routine goes something like this: he wakes up in the morning (some are early risers), eats breakfast (often just bread called "pan de sal" which is dipped into a cup of coffee before he drinks the coffee itself), walks around the town, stays or sits in a sidestreet or street corner when he finds someone to talk to, stays some place if someone offers him a drink, takes his meals (lunch and/or dinner) somewhere in between, sleeps at night, wakes up in the morning the next day and does the same thing again on that day, and the next, and the next.

The poo-choots survive, even with their unproductive lives, because they usually have females in the family working, or they have income from a few hectares of coconut plantations they inherited, or generous relatives (siblings, children, etc.) working out-of-town or abroad. Besides, it takes very little to keep a poo-choot alive. Often, they can also get free meals by dropping by some townspeople's houses during meal times.

"Dangling Man" is the story of Saul Bellow's poo-choot. Written like a journal, the first entry is for December 15, 1942. Joseph, a Chicago resident, has resigned from his regular job and is waiting to be drafted into the Army and fight in the war. His wife, Iva (they were chldless), continues to work and they live off Iva's meager salary. Seven months had passed, but Joseph is still waiting to be inducted into the Army. With nothing to do, he "dangles." He decides to write a journal to record his thoughts and feelings as a "dangling man," with a life he calls a--

"derangement of days, the leveling of occasions...days (which) have lost their distinctiveness. There were formerly baking days, washing days, days that began events and days that ended them. But now they are undistinguished, all equal, and it is difficult to tell Tuesday from Saturday. When (he neglects) to look carefully at the newspaper (he does) not know what day it it. If (he guesses) Friday and then learn that it is actually Thursday, (he does) not experience any great pleasure in having won twenty-four hours."

He recalls a friend who draws cartoon faces for an advertising agency and who has had an exhibition of his drawings in New York which failed (no one bought any of his pieces). Seeing that he has no talent of that sort, and despite his friend's unimpressive accomplishments, he writes that his friend--

"has escaped a trap. That really is a victory to celebrate. I am fascinated by it, and a little jealous. He can maintain himself. Is it because he is an artist? I believe it is. Those acts of the imagination save him. But what about me? I have no talent for that sort of thing. My talent, if I have one at all, is for being a citizen, or what is today called, most apologetically, a good man. Is there some sort of personal effort I can substitute for the imagination?"

He writes this inside his room in an apartment he and his wife rents. He continues that his friend "is better of"--

"There he is in New York, painting; and in spite of the calamity, the lies and moral buggery, the odium, the detritus of wrong and sorrow dropped on every heart, in spite of these, he can keep a measure of cleanliness and freedom. Besides, those acts of the imagination are in the strictest sense not personal. Through them he is connected with the best part of mankind. He feels this and he can never be isolated, left aside. He has a community. I have this six-sided box. And goodness is achieved not in a vacuum, but in the company of other men, attended by love. I, in this room, separate, alienated, distrustful, find in my purpose not an open world, but a closed, hopeless jail. My perspectives end in the walls. Nothing of the future comes to me. Only the past, in its shabbiness and innocence. Some men seem to know exactly where their opportunities lie; they break prisons and cross whole Siberias to pursue them. One room holds me."

The poo-choots of our town are, indeed, good men. When I left for college they were there, smiling, wishing me luck. When I returned 20 or so years after, they were still there, older, but still smiling, keeping close, hoping that I treat them to rounds of beer. Keeping themselves in one place, with very little opportunity to do great evil, they approach the end of their lives not having stolen taxpayers' money, or lied to the public to conceal crimes, or facilitated corrupt transactions, wronged people for career advancements, cheated on their wives, or did all the other evil things men do when they reject the option to just "dangle" along. And you wonder, at the end of your own life, who had lived better.

Published in 1944 and set in 1942-1943, narrator and protagonist Joseph is a Canadian married to an American. They live in Chicago. He has quit his job and enlisted in the U.S. Army to join the fighting forces during WWII. His enlistment has stalled for numerous bureaucratic reasons, so he finds himself at loose ends. He and his wife move into a rooming house to save money. The storyline follows his waiting period where the waiting causes him to change. He gets angry and flies off the handle at the slightest provocation.

The best thing about it for me is the time period it was written, providing a contemporaneous glimpse at the home front during WWII. Other than that, I found it unpleasant. Joseph is a disagreeable person. He gets into arguments with his wife and extended family members. He rejects everyone who tries to help him. I don’t need every character to be likeable, but this is one of the most unsympathetic characters I’ve ever read. Themes include alienation, existential angst, and indecision.

This is the third book I’ve read by Saul Bellow, and I have not enjoyed them very much. I think he is just not my kind of author. The prose is fine, but the storyline, characters, and messages are not at all appealing. Even though this book is short it felt like a chore to finish it.

Beklemenin ve boşluğun insanı bir elektrikli süpürge gibi vakumlayıp sorgulama girdabına çektiğini ve sonunda posasını çıkarıp torbaya tıktığını sade bir dille anlatan kitap. Sorgulama döneminde okununca çok iyi gelmiyor efendim. Bir yandan da tam da o boşlukta sallanılan dönemde net anlaşılan bir atmosferi, psikolojisi var kitabın. Ne diyeyim, kolay gelsin.

A weirdly contemporary book about a man waiting to be drafted

به نظرم داستان در پردازش شخصیت ژوزف خیلی خوب عمل کرده بود. یه مرد با آرمان‌ها و عقاید مخصوص به خودش که ازشون هم کوتاه نمیاد، بیکار، تا حدی تن لش، حق به جانب و افسرده. کسی که منتظره تا به سربازی اعزام بشه . در طول چند ماهی که انتظار می‌کشه، هیچ کاری نمی‌کنه یا نمی‌تونه بکنه. معلقه. دوست نداره بهش ترحم کنن، در عین حال خودش هم کار خاصی برای بهبود شرایطش انجام نمی‌ده، مبادا از عقایدش بلغزه. ازدواج کرده و با همسرش در یه به اصطلاح خونه زندگی می‌کنه، خرج خونه با همسرشه. ژوزف فقط صبح تا شب روزنامه می‌خونه یا دعوا راه می‌ندازه. کمک کسی رو هم قبول نمی‌کنه. عصبیه. به خودش هم زیاده از حد حق می‌ده. البته فکر می‌کنم هدف نویسنده این نبوده که من خواننده این نظر رو راجع به شخصیتش داشته باشم و اتفاقا احتمالا هدفش این بوده که بگه چطور جامعه این بلا رو سر این شخصیت آورده و نوع نگاه از بالا به پایین پولدارها چقدر زشته و چه فنا شده این شخصیت و اینا. ولی من شخصا چون از این مدل شخصیت‌ها نفرت دارم، نمی‌تونم این‌طوری نگاه کنم.
فضاسازی کتاب رو هم خیلی دوست داشتم. خصوصا یک جایی هست که داره یه مهمونی رو توصیف می‌کنه و جو سنگینی که حاکمه. عالی بود اون‌جا.
ترجمه هم به نظرم روان و مناسب بود.

kitabı bitiriş tarihi olarak bugünü yazdım ama bugün bu kitabı 4. kez bitirişimin tarihi aslında. iki kere orjinalini (pdf) bir kere okuyanus yayınlarından çıkan bir kerede cem yayınlarından çıkan baskısını okudum ve sabaha kadar hakkında konuşabilirim gibi (okuyanus çevirisi berbat, yazım hataları filan can sıkıcı).

blogumda da yazmıştım, kendimi tekrar edecek gibi olacağım ama, kafka'nın dönüşüm'ünde gregor samsa modern hayatta iş ve sorumluluklar yüzünden nasıl böceğe dönüşüyorsa joseph de savaş zamanı boş zamanlar, parasızlık ve gittikçe içine battığı öfke, umutsuzluk ve can sıkıntısı ile böcek demeyeyim ama şu anda bizim yaşadığımız 21. yüzyılın umutsuz, perişan insanına dönüşüyordu. arkadaşları ile paylaştığı bir hayatı kalmamıştı, karısını ona bir şeyleri ima etmekle suçluyor, metresi tat vermiyor, abisinden midesi bulanıyordu. dışarı çıkmak için sebebi yoktu, çıktığında da birileriyle karşılaşmamak için belli sokaklardan geçmiyor, bir mekanda çalışanlarla tanış olmak istemiyordu. ahhh bunlar bana öyle yakın şeyler ki, keşke beni tanısanız ya da bu kitabı 4 kere okusanız.

Saul Bellow wrote Dangling Man when he was about my age and as I read, I recognized some of the thoughts and realizations that Joseph is having. For example, Joseph sees a clear difference between his current self and his younger (college-age) self. There is also the struggle with society's sense that professional progress is the end-all be-all for 20-somethings and that being stalled or focusing on other things means you're "dangling."

I liked this very much about the book because it felt very honest and authentic, both things that are absolutely necessary given that the novel's format is a personal journal. Apart from the very lengthy entires that got into actual story-telling and scene-setting (complete with characterization and dialogue) I really felt I was reading the sometimes inane, sometimes insightful musings, of a man in his late 20s, and I appreciate that perspective. 20 years from now, I might find this book simplistic or sophomoric, who knows?

In one early entry, Joseph writes:

"Trouble, like physical pain, makes us actively aware that we are living, and when there is little in the life we lead to hold and draw and stir us, we seek and cherish it, preferring embarrassment or pain to indifference."

While I haven't quite experienced this (I was never one to get in too much trouble) it resonates with me because it makes me muse a bit on adolescent rebellion - where it comes from and why it happens. Biologically speaking, we're all grown up at 14-16, but we still live a non-adult existence (in the US, anyway) until about 22 and often longer. The world is still closed to us at that age in a lot of ways and when we aren't part of life, we need some other way to feel alive.

There's a later moment when Joseph is conducting a mental conversation with "the spirit of alternatives" and the spirit notes that part of Joseph's problem is that he forgets that "everyone is dangling." This struck me too - I've often had the thought that life entails a lot of waiting -- "dangling".

I feel as though we're socialized as kids to see our childhood and adolescence as preparation for life in 'the real world.' We study hard and do activities and pick up good habits to prepare for 'life.' Then in adulthood, our first job sets us up for the next as we climb the career ladder, and our relationships flow from dating to marriage to having babies. It's unclear when the waiting stops and life begins, so we're all 'dangling' somehow.

Continuing down this rabbit hole (and away from Dangling Man), it strikes me that the problem is the all-encompassing linearity (linear-ness?) of our thinking. Life's blossoming is messy and free-flowing - why do we pretend it's a linear process and that the time we spend between rungs of the ladder is just preparing or waiting?

Themes: idleness, spiritual health, change of character, self-esteem, 1940s, Chicago, friendship, war, journal