To these questions he has no answer.

Milan Kundera is a philosopher in the garb of novelist; but a philosopher of life lived, dreamed and yearned for; a philosopher who will not deal in abstract metaphysics and grand scheme of ideas that, in the last analysis and against the banality of the real world, bears little of its weight on who we are, what we do, and mostly importantly, why we do it.

Through the story of an odd people, Jean-Marc and Chantal, who get together as a result of more oddness in their previous lives, Kundera explores the chemistry of a modern-day relationship with an acute eye over the dimensionless mass of contradictions and conflicts of the social and the personal that, in our day and age, drives people into the abyss of dissatisfaction and ennui without there being a hope for salvation, of a freeing revelation. Perhaps an abyss made by our own hands, because Jean-Marc one day decides to write anonymous love letters to his partner Chantal to see how would she respond to the anonymity of a rude intrusion into their love life.

Because the gaze of love is a gaze that isolates.

The consequences were catastrophic. Despite the full knowledge and clear understanding of where they're heading, basic human emotions of love, revenge, jealousy, sadness, suspicion, disbelief- all get together to play their part in a Shakespearean pantomime of Kafkaesque proportions about which even Nietzsche wouldn't have much to say except put his arms around the neck of a horse and cry in utter despair.

It's a difficult book to paraphrase - something I have felt with most novels of his that I have read. And I do think it futile to give a synopsis of the plot and a sketch of its principal protagonists, for talking about this novel in any other way would amount to reducing it down to the unreliability of a reader's perception when there's so much in there to see, to perceive, to muse and deliberate over; and so I'd end this short review with a recommendation: please read it.

n  The word 'life' is a king of words. The King-word surrounded by other grand words. The word 'adventure'! The word 'future'! And the word 'hope'! By the way, do you know the code name for the atom bomb they dropped on Hiroshima? 'Little Boy'! That's a genius, the fellow who invented that code! They couldn't have dreamed up a better name. Little boy, kid, tyke, tot - there's no word that's more tender, more touching, more loaded with future."n

June '16.

بعد از هشت سال که از اولین باری که هویت رو می‌خونم می‌گذره، تصمیم گرفتم انگلیسی بخونمش‌. بر خلاف تصورم کلمات سخت زیاد داشت و خوندنش طول کشید اما واقعا لذت بردم.

شانتال و ژان مارک، آدم‌هایی که به نظر میاد کاملا می‌شناسیم و اصلا نمی‌شناسیم. میلان کوندرا به خوبی می‌تونه روی لبه حرکت کنه و این ویژگیش برای من درخشانه. فضای مه‌آلود داستان و جاهایی که کوندرا رهات می‌کنه تا در تعلیق، خودت تخیل کنی، برام بی‌نهایت خوشایند بود.

حتما بعدها باز هم این کتاب رو خواهم خوند.
----------------------
یادگاری از کتاب:
She hated to raise her voice.
...
Said Chantal, unsure how to turn talk of a tragedy to the mundane issue of food.
...
That is why she dislikes dreams: they impose an unacceptable equivalence among the various periods of the same life, a leveling contemporaneity of everything a person has ever experienced; they discredit the present by denying it its privileged status.
...
That to be dead is to live an endless nightmare.
...
The thought of death had made all other subjects meaningless.
...
This is the real and the only reason for friendship: to provide a mirror so the other person can contemplate his image from the past, which, without the eternal blah-blah of memories between pals, would long ago have disappeared.
...
Chantal thinks: men have daddified them­selves. They aren’t fathers, they’re just daddies, which means: fathers without a father’s authority.
...
It’s a misunderstanding but she cannot explain it to him.
...
Whatever I do, like it or not, I do with the intention to do well.
...
I can have two faces, but I can’t have them at the same time.
.‌‌..
Who knows how long I’ll still be able to hold on to my two faces? It’s exhausting.
...
Do you know the code name for the atomic bomb they dropped on Hiroshima? ‘Little Boy’!
...
A shadow rapidly fading into its successor.
...
she was struck by a feeling of unbearable nostalgia for Jean-Marc.
Nostalgia? How could she feel nostalgia when he was right in front of her? How can you suffer from the absence of a person who is present?
...
no one can do a thing about feelings, they exist and there’s no way to censor them.
...
We can reproach ourselves for some action, for a remark, but not for a feeling, quite simply because we have no control at all over it.
...
she wished she could say this aloud but did not dare. She was not confident of his reaction, she feared he would see her as a monster.
...
“You’re upset after all.”
“No,” said Jean-Marc, “or rather, I’m upset that I’m not.”
...
What I’ve always wanted, since my early adolescence, maybe even since childhood, was something else entirely: friendship as a value prized above all others.
...
Friendship, to me, was proof of the existence of something stronger than ideology, than religion, than the nation.
...
Well, it’s impolite to ask a friend for something that could be embarrassing or unpleasant for him.
...
She felt hunted, unable to hide anywhere.
..‌.
You realize that even in your mother’s belly, which they call sacred, you’re not out of reach. They film you., they spy on you, they observe your masturbation. Your poor little fetus-masturbation. Youll never escape them while you’re living, everybody knows that. But you don’t even escape them before you’re born. Just as you won’t escape them after you die.
...
the eye: the window to the soul; the center of the face’s beauty; the point where a person’s identity is concentrated; but at the same time an optical instrument that requires constant washing, wetting, maintenance by a special liquid dosed with salt.
...
Managing silence under the eyes of other people is not easy.
...
You can’t measure the mutual affection of two human beings by the number of words they exchange.
...
Everything changed when I met you. Not because my little jobs became more exciting. But because everything that happens around me I turn into fodder for our conversations.
...
She and she alone releases him from his apathy.
...
If the woman keeps those letters secret, it is because she wants today’s discretion to protect tomorrow’s adventure. And if she saves them besides, it means she is prepared to see that future adventure as a love affair.
...
She says to herself: this apartment belongs to me, and I have an enormous desire to be alone in it; to be superbly, supremely alone.
...
pain doesn’t listen to reason, it has its own reason, which is not reasonable.
...
our only freedom is choosing between bitterness and pleasure.

”Aş zice că volumul de plictiseală, dacă plictiseala e măsurabilă, e mult mai mare astăzi decât în trecut. Pentru că meseriile de altădată, într-o bună măsură, nu erau posibile fără ataşament, fără pasiune: ţăranii îşi iubeau pământul; cizmarii ştiau pe de rost tălpile tuturor sătenilor; pădurarii, grădinarii, bunicul meu, magicianul mobilelor frumoase, toţi îşi făceau meseria cu dragoste; cred că până şi soldaţii ucideau pe atunci cu pasiune. Sensul vieţii nu era pentru ei o întrebare, sensul vieţii era cu ei, în ateliere, pe ogoare, în modul cel mai firesc. Fiecare meserie îşi crease propria mentalitate, propriul mod de a fi. Un medic nu gândea ca un ţăran, un militar nu se purta ca un învăţător. Azi suntem toţi la fel, uniţi printr-o indiferenţă comună faţă de munca noastră. Indiferenţa asta a devenit pasiune. Singura mare pasiune colectivă din epoca noastră.”

„Но човек не може да се съпротивлява на чувствата, те просто съществуват и не се поддават на цензура. Човек може да съжалява за някое свое действие, за произнесени думи, но не и за чувство, защото над него няма никаква власт.“


„Самоличност“ е кратка, но и силна книга, наситена с ярки емоции и размисли! В този необикновен любовен роман, Милан Кундера майсторски съчетава философския си поглед върху живота и вълнуващи еротични моменти, засягайки важната тема за идентичността в свят, обхванат от повсеместно колективно безразличие. Основни персонажи са влюбената двойка Жан-Марк и Шантал, чиито съдби и сложни взаимоотношения читателите проследяваме, както и постепенно ги разбираме като личности с техните силни и слаби страни... Междувременно се потапяме в потискащата атмосфера от средата на 20-ти век, обръщайки внимание на обществените проблеми... Единствено финалът не ми допадна, тъй като ми се струва претупан, обаче романът несъмнено е стойностно четиво!






„Защото тя страстно държи на настоящето си, за нищо на света не би го сменила нито с миналото, нито с бъдещето. Затова не обича сънищата — те ви налагат неприемливо равенство между различните периоди от един и същи живот, уеднаквяваща едновременност на всичко, което човек е преживял, те обезценяват сегашното, като му отнемат привилегированата позиция.“


„Но всъщност, казва си Жан-Марк, управляваните от децата платноходни автомобили заплашват повече пешеходците. Защо и на тих не им предложат каски? Защото тези, които се дърпат от организираните развлечения, са дезертирали от голямата обща битка срещу скуката и не заслужават нито внимание, нито каска.“


„Някои от тях се изразяват в писмата си на такъв съвършен модерен език, с всичките клишета, с целия жаргон, със задължителния оптимизъм. Няма нужда да ги виждам, нито да разговарям с тях, за да ги намразя...“


„Как да повярваме, че другият срещу нас е свободно, независимо същество, господар на самия себе си? Как да повярваме, че тялото му е верният израз на обитаващата го душа? За да повярваме в това, е било нужно да забравим непрекъснатото мигане на клепача. Нужно е било да забравим любителската работилница, от която произлизаме. Да сключим договор за забрава.“


„Знаеш ли, Шантал, много обичам тези прости, обикновени фрази, които звучат като дефиниция на някаква мистерия. Това „така времето минава по-бързо“ е основополагаща фраза.“


„Бих казал, че днес количеството скука, ако скуката изобщо може да се мери, е много по-голямо, отколкото някога. Защото някогашните занаяти, поне повечето от тях, са били немислими без известна доза страст...“


„Най-напред да си издейства като необходим минимум да я наричат с името ѝ, с истинското ѝ име. Това е първото, което ще поиска от човека отсреща.“

Umm, so where to start with this one?
This was my first reading by Kundera, of course it wouldn't be the last, but this book was just.. I don't know.
It was weird, I had the feeling sometimes that I was reading L'Écume des jours by Boris Vian, there were so many resemblances with regard to the abnormality and the absurd.
I liked how Kundera tried to draw an image of the nowadays relationships, with all the contradictions, the conflicts, the toxicity and all the dissatisfaction of couples.
It was weird, reading this left me in a weird state of mind, especially at the very last page.
And it was definitely so gripping, I felt all along that I was getting nothing from it, but at the same time I didn't want to put it down, I still wanted to keep reading.

هویت (نشر قطره/ پرویز همایون پور): کوندرا به حرفش عمل کرده! او که اعتقاد دارد در هر کتابی باید سخن تازه ای گفت، حرف تازه اش را در قالب جدیدی از رمان و داستان بیان کند. مثل دیگر کتابهایش، کوندرا تا جایی که توانسته به کاویدن لایه های شخصیتی کاراکترهای داستانش پرداخته اما شاید آنچه در این کتاب بیش از هر چیزی جلب توجه میکند، مسئلۀ توهم است؛ نویسنده نشان داده که مرز خیال و واقعیت گاهی آنچنان که در ذهنمان حک شده مشخص نیست! در خلال داستان، نویسنده سخنانی را از زبان شخصیت ها بیان می کند که واقعا انسان را به تعمق وامیدارد و این تنها ویژگی این کتاب کوندرا نیست، در سایر کتابهایش نیز این مشهود است: اینکه خواننده، کتاب را نه بخاطر دانستن ادامۀ داستان بلکه برای شنیدن سخنان بیشتر از تفکرات شخصیت ها میخواند و گاهی حتی از ظرف زمان هم خارج میشود و آنقدر به خواندن ادامه میدهد که متوجه میشود تمام شد! نگاه نویسنده در این اثر به عشق جذاب است، اینکه برخلاف آنچه می اندیشیم حتی اگر دو نفر با هم باشند، به یکدیگر وابستگی کامل داشته باشند و دنیایشان بدون یکدیگر معنا پیدا نکند، بازهم درکنار هم و از وجود هم رنج می بینند و چه بسا شاید همین رنج است که آنان را در کنار هم نگه داشته است!

یک داستان ساده، اما پر معنا با پایانی شبیه به رئالیسم جادویی.
پر از جملات فلسفی، روانشناختی و عمیق.
از مفاهیم اگزیستانسیالیستی چون مرگ و پوچی و مواجهه با آنها گرفته تا میل و ملال. از ترس از تنهایی و در آن واحد میل به تنهایی.
و نفرت از از دست دادن آزادی و همچنین ترس از خود آزادی.
بسیار عمیق و خواندنی بود. اولین کتاب کوندرا بود خوندم و بسیار راغب شدم کارهای دیگرش رو هم بخونم.

فكرة متداولة في رواية تثير التساؤلات
هوية الانسان .. ذاته وميوله وأفكاره وعلاقاته
الهوية التي تتغير مع مراحل العمر وتعقيدات الحياة
وتناقضات النفس البشرية التي تظهر مع تفاصيل الحياة اليومية
نعجز أحيانا عن فهم أنفسنا وفهم الآخرين
ونرسم هوية القريبين منا حسب أهواءنا ورغباتنا وبمرور الزمن نكتشف وهم تصوراتنا
كونديرا يكتب من زوايا مختلفة

ميلان كوندرا آرمان زيبايي از رمان نوشتن دارد.به گفته مترجم،آرمانش يادآور اين سخن از هرمن بروخ است
رماني كه جزء ناشناخته اي از هستي را كشف نكند،غيراخلاقي است. شناخت،يگانه اخلاق رمان است

این بار کوندرا به سراغ هویت ناشناخته انسان ها رفته است و سوتفاهمی که بین زن و شوهری بخاطر عدم شناخت واقعی آنها از هم بوجود می آید

داستان اصلی از آنجا آغاز می گردد که شانتال شخصيت زن داستان به شوهرش مي گويد :مردها ديگر براي ديدن من سر بر نمي گردانند

...و شوهرش دچار سوتفاهم مي شود

شانتال دو شخصیت دارد یکی در محل کارش و یکی در کنار همسرش
شاید به شوهرش باید حق داد که فکر کند از کجا معلوم "شخصیت کنار من" مانند دیگر شخصیتش ساختگی نباشد!!؟؟

قسمت هایی از کتاب را یادداشت کرده بودم و حیفم آمد همه را در اینجا
:نیاورم مخصوصا قسمت مربوط به دوستی ها

انسان براي آنكه حافظه اش خوب كار كند٬ به دوستي نياز دارد. گذشته را به ياد آوردن٬ ‌آن را هميشه با خود داشتن٬ شايد شرط لازم براي حفظ آن چيزي ست كه تماميت ِ من ِ آدمي ناميده ميشود. براي آنكه من، كوچك نگردد براي آنكه حجمش حفظ شود٬ بايد خاطرات را همچون گلهاي درون گلدان٬ آبياري كرد و اين مستلزم تماس ِ منظم با شاهدان ِ گذشته، ‌يعني دوستان است. آنان آينه ي ما هستند٬ حافظه ي ما هستند. از آنان هيچ خواسته نمي شود٬ مگر آنكه گاه گاه اين آينه را برق اندازند تا بتوانيم خود را در آن ببينيم

دوستي براي من نشانه آن بود كه چيزي نيرومندتر از ايدئولوژي،نيرومندتر از كيش و آيين،و نيرمندتر از ملت،وجود دارد.در رمان دوما،چهار دوست اغلب در اردوگاههاي مخالف هم هستند و ،بدين سان،مجبورند با يكديگر زد و خورد كنند.آنان در خفا،و با نيرنگ،دست از كمك به يكديگر بر نمي دارند،در حالي كه حقيقت مورد قبول اردوگاههاي خويش را به تمسخر مي گيرند.
آنان دوستي شان را برتر از حقيقت و مصلحت،برتر از اوامر مافوق،برتر از حقيقت و مصلحت،برتر از اوامر مافوق،برتر از شاه و ملكه،و برتر از همه كس و همه چيز مي دانند

دوستي تهي شده از محتواي سابقش،امروز مبدل به قرارداد رعايت ادب،شده است.پس ،بي ادبي است كه از دوست چيزي بخواهيم كه اورا به زحمت اندازد يا برايش ناخوشايند باشد
چگونه دوستي پديد مي آيد؟مسلما همچون اتحادي بر ضد تيره روزي،اتحادي كه،بدون آن،انسان در برابردشمنانش خلع سلاح شده است.چه بسا ديگر نيازي به اين چنين اتحاد نداشته باشيم

دوستي معظل مردان است، رمانتيسم آنان است،نه رمانتيسم ما زنان

به نظرم مقدار ملال (اگر ملال قابل اندازه گيري باشد) امروز خيلي بيشتر از گذشته است. زيرا حرفه هاي سابق، دست كم بيشتر آنها، بدون عشق و علاقه تصورناپذير بود: روستاييان عاشق زمين خود بودند؛ پدربزرگ من (نجار) ساحر ميزهاي زيبا بود؛ كفاشان اندازه پاهاي تمامي اهل ده را از بر داشتند؛ همچنين در مورد جنگلبانان و باغبانان؛ تصور مي كنم كه حتي سربازان در آن زمان با شور و شوق مي كشتند. مفهوم زندگي مسئله نبود؛ اين مفهوم، به طور كاملاً طبيعي، در كارگاههايشان و در مزارعشان با آنان بود. هر حرفه اي طرز فكر خاص خودش، شكل وجودي خاص خودش را آفريده بود. طرز فكر پزشك با روستايي متفاوت بود، رفتار فرد نظامي با معلم فرق مي كرد. امروز همه ما همانند هم هستيم و، از رهگذر بي اعتنايي مشترك نسبت به كارمان، با يكديگر متحديم. اين بي اعتنايي به شور و شوق، يگانه شور و شوق همگاني زمان ما مبدل شده است

Milan Kundera’nın yazarlığı, sözleri usta kullanışı bu sıradan hikayeyi kurtarıyor. Uyumsuz bir çiftin, kadının erkekten yaşça çok büyük olduğu, kaybettiği çocuğunun ardından yaşadığı olumsuz duyguların yoğunluğuna rağmen kendini bu kayıp sonrası özgür hissettiğini söyleyecek kadar ipte yürüyen cambaz misali heran düşecek ve yere yapışacak ruh yapısında bir kadın ile, onu seven ama güvensizliğinden sorgulayan bir erkek arasında yıpranan ve biten bir aşk hikayesi. Kurgu gğzel, anlatım güzel ve akıcı, varoluşu sorgulayıcı bir hikaye, hepsi bu.

A great novelist is like a gypsy fortune teller, one whose wisdom and prophecies and rich tales are enhanced by the palpable rasp of the voice and the heat of her garlic breath in your face. In this book, Kundera is more like one of those mechanical gypsy automatons behind glass that dispenses wisdom on pre-written slips of paper from the hand of a hollow machine.

In Identity, Kundera offers much food for thought on the nature of personal identity; what we think of ourselves and what others think of us; and what social, environmental and genetic forces make us who we are. Much is pondered about the two faces we show, the public and private ones.

I have to admit, for about half the way I found this all to be very stimulating and admirable, but then at some point I realized that this was supposed to be a novel, and I kept waiting for all the brilliant insights to be framed by a credible narrative and characters. In the end, it ends up being a philosophy lecture that wears out its welcome. It has the feel of a short story, at best, and doesn't even achieve the weight of a novella.

Kundera seems to think that all of his scintillating observational ideas will somehow animate the cardboard characters he's created. It's instructive reading this on the heels of reading Turgenev's Fathers and Sons, wherein the characters, history and situations illustrate and deepen the thematic issues. The two books side by side show the difference between a significant and an insignificant novel. Because, in the end, it's the depth of story and character that make the ideas and themes work, not the other way around.

I liked a lot of what Kundera had to say and liked the Bach-like precision in which he said those things, but by the end it all plays like some Robert Bresson French movie where everyone has blank expressions. Kundera's humans seem perfunctory, like mannequins on which he has placed very stylish garb. They are blackboards on which great thoughts are written out elaborately in chalk.

It's a coldly efficient book that resorts to a trick so cheap and old for its finale that you'll lose some of your respect for the author. He's better than this.

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(KR@KY with a minor modification in 2016)

عندما لا يستطيع الإنسان تحديد الخط الفاصل بين الواقع والخيال، بين الحياة والموت، عندما يمَّحي الخط الواهي الذي يربط هويتنا بالوجود وصنع خط آخر في العدم، عندها يتحول الأمر لكابوس!

في هذه الرواية يحلل كونديرا علاقة الرجل بالمرأة، العلاقة التي تكمن خلف الحياة الجنسية، هذا العامل السحري الذي يجذبنا للوجود، تنهي شانطال الرواية برفضها تقبيله: "أريد أن أنظر إليك فقط"
كونديرا يصور علاقة الرجل بالمرأة كأعمق ما يكون، في هذه العلاقة تكمن الهوية الوجودية للإنسان، حالة القلق الدائمة لا بد لها من شخصية يرتكن إليها الآخر كي لا تنمحي الهوية الإنسانية.

علاقة الرجل بالمرأة ليست من قبيل العلاقات الاجتماعية الغوغائية التي تمحو هوية الفرد بل هي ما تعززها، نجد هنا كونديرا يطبق قول هيدجر باجتماعية الإنسان، لكن المقصود ليس الانخراط الذي حدث من شاطال في النهاية مع الجمع، بل هذه الحاجة لأنيس نشاركه حياتنا دول أن نمحي عزلتنا الخاصة عن العالم، فالإنسان لابد أن يفقد جزء من خصوصيته، فالأفضل فقد هذا الجزء اليسير بجانب الحبيب وليس فقد الخصوصية والحرية بانخراطه في المجتمع.

معالجة أدبية فلسفية أصيلة لمحاولة فهم الإنسان والهوية التي اختلف الفلاسفة المعاصرون في تحديدهم كنهها.