|Publisher||:||Actes Sud 27 Oktober 2014|
|Number of Pages||:||270 Pages|
|File Size||:||882 KB|
|Status||:||Available For Download|
|Last checked||:||21 Minutes ago!|
vorab. schlechtes, zu kleines Schriftbild, muss ja alles billig sein.Überwiegendes Kriegsgeschehen, Jugoslawien, naher Osten. Brutal, menschenverachtend. Vielleicht bin durch das vorherige Lesen von Enards "Kompass" derart begeistert gewesen, dass von ihm mehr erwartete. Die französischeSprache ist facettenreicher und auch melodischer. Dies hat er selbst bewiesen. Schade !
hatte ich von einem kollegen bempfohlen bekommen,hat die brisanz der situation sprachlich voll im griff,zu enpfehlen, wenn man sich in diese materie einlesen möchte.
Énard is a unique writer, at least in my experience, and for my money he has been extending the scope of what a novel can be. Both of his books that I have read, this and Compass, are accounts of recent European and near-European history as much as they are stories, without at all being historical fiction. His writing certainly does not wear its erudition lightly, but is none the poorer for that. Because of that and the entire absence of any plot, it is also not for everyone. But for me these have both been works of great pleasure as well as learning, dragging me along early in their momentum and never letting go (especially true for Zone, given its much-touted single sentence spanning the 500 pages; don't be put off by this last bit though, it's an easy enough book to read, since the structure just boils down to a lack of full stops, not one insanely long and complex sentence; it does mean that the reading continues breathlessly along, so it's a technique gainfully employed here). If per chance you have read and liked Compass (Boussole, in French), then do try this one as well.
J.G. Ballard once said that "Any day not spent reading contemporary novels is a day well spent." Well, this book is the rare exception that proves that rule. Spoiler alert: I don't like most popular writing; 9/10ths of NY Times best sellers are trash; vacuous trainspotterish detail-hoarding inflicted on an uncaring public by smug bourgeois posers whose safe upbringings and utter lack of imagination leave them with nothing to sharpen their pointlessly overeducated claws on but the dull old fenceposts of false irony, maudlin sentiment, and navelgazing pop culture worship. Zone is none of these things, and all the better for it. Brave, ugly-beautiful, terrifyingly real, and uncompromisingly formally experimental (it's basically one long sentence); it's a boiling cauldron of geopolitics, human consciousness, and mythology, set in the most history-haunted region of the West: the countries that ring the Mediterranean Sea. Zone is beyond good and evil. Fasten your seatbelt.
There is no way to describe this book. It is, to my mind, masterful. One man's thoughts as his train takes him from Milan to Rome, about war, atrocity, torture. From the Greeks through the Balkan Wars. Devastating reading.
Good books lay out the rules for you. Bad books fail to follow their own rules, or never lay them out at all. This book does a good job of laying out the rules: the book will be something you experience as much as something you understand, the book will build by slow accretion, the book will have meaningful rest points for you to collect yourself and your thoughts. I found it took me a while to figure out these rules, especially the third one, but that once I did, the book followed them faithfully and the rewards were proportionate to the effort required to read it. Some passages were gruesome and painful to read, but they weren't gratuitous or exploitative, they were appropriate to the subject. I would be interested to read more from this writer. If you've already read some Bernhard, Joyce, or Proust, this book will not be too challenging as far as the form it uses, which does required sustained concentration.
Great books teach you how to read them. A 500-plus page novel in a single sentence that spends a great deal of 20th-century Yugoslavian history while also referencing William Burroughs and sundry other cultural landmarks. All set on a train from Milan to Rome and narrated by a man carrying a suitcase to the Vatican full of ? If you haven't already decided that this isn't your kind of novel, then there's not much more I can say. The shady narrator, the seamless interweaving of past and present draw you in, Even though his new novel doesn't have a single review, I'm willing to pick it up on the basis of Zone. The book is broken into chapters and I read a chapter or two every day. I'm sure I'll read it again some day.