brutt, or The Sighing Gardens (Avant-Garde \u0026 Modernism Collection) by Friederike Mayröcker


brutt, or The Sighing Gardens (Avant-Garde \u0026 Modernism Collection)
Title : brutt, or The Sighing Gardens (Avant-Garde \u0026 Modernism Collection)
Author :
Rating :
ISBN : 0810119668
ISBN-10 : 9780810119666
Language : English
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 280
Publication : First published August 1, 1998

brütt , or The Sighing Gardens is the hallucinatory tale of an obsessive writer’s love affair late in life as told through the daily journal entries of the writer—a montage of relentless observation interspersed with found materials from newspaper articles, literature, and private correspondence. The process of aging and the process of writing are two persistent and carefully intertwined themes, though it is apparent that plot and theme are subordinate to the linguistic experiments that Friederike Mayröcker performs as she explores them.

Mayröcker is known for crossing the boundaries of literary forms and in her prose work she creates a hypnotic, slurred narrative stream that is formally seamless while simultaneously overstepping all the bounds of grammar and style.  She is always pushing to expose the limits of language and explore its experimental potential, seeking a re-ordering of the world through the re-ordering of words. Her multilayered texts are reminiscent of the traditions of Surrealism and Dadaism and display influences from the works of Beckett, Hölderlin, Freud, and Barthes. Yet, much of Mayrocker’s writing simply has no corollary and the experience of reading Roslyn Theobald’s brilliant translation grants the English-speaking audience an unforgettable encounter with this completely original work. 

brutt, or The Sighing Gardens (Avant-Garde \u0026 Modernism Collection) Reviews

  • Pin

    ("The wind outside is writing this book," Georges Bataille)

    Wanting to praise a book after having read only one page... the feeling persisted, every new page I turned... sometimes they wrecked me, sometimes they saved me, every time they did things i've no words for, any page... one hell of a beautiful ride through and far beyond this linguistic consciousness.

    If you ever finish a book to find yourself staring at a single blank page lost behind the final words... trying to imagine the end turning into endlessness. This book has 3 blank pages once the words disappear, i'm still reading them... thoughts haven't been captivated this intensely since, perhaps, Rilke... endless stream of thought going nowhere.

    I feel perpetual again.

    ("SOMEONE ELSE HAS WRITTEN MY BOOKS." quotation marks)

  • Paul Bisagni

    desert-island book 🥺