| Title | : | Honeymoon |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | - |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Hardcover |
| Number of Pages | : | 128 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1990 |
| Awards | : | Prix Relay (1990) |
Honeymoon Reviews
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I really enjoyed this story by France’s 2014 winner of the Nobel prize. I found the story riveting in the sense that I could have read it in a sitting (although I didn’t).
The main character has what many folks, especially young people, would consider a dream job: he travels around the world with a crew making documentary films. They are finishing up a project in Brazil and for the next one they will trace the route of 1931 auto expedition across Asia. Yet he’s disillusioned by this work and feels the need to “grow up.”
Some of his disillusionment is surely related to his marital situation. He knows his wife is having an affair with one of the crew and she knows he knows. On and off they try to get back together even though it seems he doesn’t hold her in very high esteem. At one point she writes him a note and he thinks [and what would their marriage counselor think of this?] “On the envelope…I recognized one of the qualities I most admired in my wife: the beautiful big handwriting of the illiterate that she was.” An intermediary sent by his wife tells him “She’s afraid you’re going to involve her in an adventure that leads nowhere…She told me that she isn’t twenty anymore.”
The real story begins while he’s in a hotel in Milan. He happens to hear from the concierge that a French woman from Paris had committed suicide in the hotel last night. When he returns to Paris he learns more about the event and he realizes that he knew this woman and her husband twenty years ago when he was a youth back-packing across Europe.
The woman who killed herself was about twenty years older than the young man. She was a teenager during WW II and the Nazi occupation of France. Although the boy and the woman were not lovers, he seems obsessed with her now that she is gone. He recalls that “The contact of her arm and shoulder gave me an impression I had never yet had, that of finding myself under someone’s protection. She would be the first person who could help me.”
The woman’s death triggers something in him.
He hides out in suburban Paris and starts tracking down her life and writing a biography of her – which he had actually started and set aside long before her death. We imagine it might eventually turn into a documentary. He goes through old records and newspaper articles, tracking down where she lived. So I don’t introduce any spoilers I won’t reveal what he finds out about her other than that she and her father, a doctor, were “underground” in Paris during the Nazi occupation. The author never tells us specifically why, but he gives us enough clues to quickly figure it out.
There is good writing and humor. Here’s a scene when he is hanging out on the patio at the house of the woman and her husband in Provence and they are trying to avoid pesky neighbors:
“If they come right up to us, we’ll just have to pretend to be asleep, he [the husband] said.
And if they tap us on the shoulder to wake us up? I asked.
Well in that case we’ll pretend to be dead, she [the wife] said.”
Some of Modiano’s writing is quasi-autobiographical. Apparently a recurring theme in his novels is a young man whose parents sent him off to boarding schools to get rid of him, as is the case in this story. This was true of Modiano himself. It’s recalled in a line made by the woman after she and her husband picked him up hitchhiking: “When I saw you by the side of the road this morning, I wondered whether you had parents.”
A good story and a fairly quick read – almost a novella. But I should also say it’s my preference to give this a ‘5,’ – the overall GR rating is 3.7 – good but not great.
Top photo of Paris by Steve Whiston from gettyimages.com
Photo of Nazi-occupied Paris from api.time.com
The author from
wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons -
”It does also happen that one evening, because of someone’s attentive gaze, you feel a need to communicate to him not your experience, but quite simply some of the various details connected by an invisible thread, a thread which is in danger of breaking and which is called the course of life.”
Jean B. is in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe it is the right place at the right time. He chases the ghosts of lost explorers for a living so he is used to going to places much more uncomfortable than Milan in August. The shops have closed down. The hotel is barren of guests, but the staff is still talking about he Parisian woman who came to Milan in the heat of the summer and killed herself.
The world is still a small place despite the fact that it is teaming with more human beings every nanosecond. What are the chances that Jean would be in Milan the very August that Ingrid decides to kill herself, and to make it more improbable, book a room in the same hotel? He is supposed to be preparing to go to Rio de Janeiro to meet up with the film crew that will follow him as he reconstructs another missing explorer’s final trudging moments.
”The public had lost interest in the documentaries we were bringing back from the antipodes. All those journeys, those countries where they had monsoons, earthquakes, amoebas and virgin forests, had lost their charm for me. Had they ever had any?”
We are confronted with mysteries all the time. We hear stories about someone we knew or someone we met who died without anyone understanding why. People disappear and never reappear. When we hear these things, we usually shrug our shoulders or maybe shake our heads, and in the time that it takes to sip some wine, we have moved passed that unpleasantness and turned our mind to other more immediate concerns.
Not Jean.
He is a barnacle attached to the bottom of a rotting boat. His life is mildewed and stagnant, so maybe without ever articulating it or ever consciously accepting it, he has reached a point where he needs to be scraped off the rotting boat. The mystery of Ingrid’s suicide is a catalyst, or maybe the enigma of who she is has always been percolating in his mind. He blows off Rio de Janeiro and goes back to the beginning, back to where Ingrid lived with her husband Rigaud in Paris. Jean met her twice. The first time she was cool, crisp, and strange, but the second time she had become a paler version of herself, diminished by an epoch of life characterized by insecurities and growing fears.
“Then she lowered her arm and the gate closed behind her. That arm suddenly falling and the metallic clank of the gate shutting made me understand that from one moment to another one can lose heart.”
Jean lives in Paris with his wife Annette, but Paris is such a big place, and the area where he needs to research the final days of Rigaud and Ingrid is the poorer section of Paris, a place where he and Annette used to go when they had no money. He even stays in the same hotels, in a sense, reconstructing his life before he became trapped in capitalism. He avoids the areas of Paris where he runs the risk of running into people he knows.
The threads of his search are slender.
Patrick Modiano writes sparse, fascinating tales. I’ve now read and reviewed three of his books. They are cerebral stories with no action, no grand events, but usually based around a niggling of a thought, something not quite right that needs to be investigated further. The majority of readers will find points of comparison between the characters dilemmas and their own lives. It is almost impossible to read a Modiano without taking moments to contemplate your own state of being as the plot gently unspools before you.
Out of the Dark
Out of the Dark Review
My favorite book by him so far is Missing Person
Missing Person Review
See more of my writing at
http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
You can like my blog page on Facebook here. JeffreyKeeten Blog page -
Voyage de Noces = Honeymoon, Patrick Modiano
Honeymoon is a novel by Patrick Modiano published in 1990.
Honeymoon presents Jean B., a forty-year-old man, who travels to Milan during the month of August and learns that a French woman has ended her life in a Milan hotel. By taking a closer look at this tragic fate, he discovers that he knew the woman in question. He gets lost in memories of the past. Back in Paris, he organized his own disappearance and decided to leave his loved ones to follow in the footsteps of Ingrid Teyrsen and her husband Rigaud. The biography of Ingrid, which he had undertaken, brings him back to the past, when Ingrid and Rigaud fled the war and took refuge in a hotel on the Côte d'Azur.
عنوانهای چاپ شده در ایران: «سفر ماه عسل»؛ «ماه عسل»؛ نویسنده: پاتریک مودیانو؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز بیست و سوم ماه می سال2010میلادی
عنوان: سفر ماه عسل؛ نویسنده: پاتریک مودیانو؛ مترجم: نسرین اصغرزاده؛ تهران، نشر افراز، سال1388، در176ص، شابک9789642432127؛ موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان فرانسه - سده ی20م
عنوان: ماه عسل؛ نویسنده پاتریک مودیانو؛ مترجم: حسین سلیمانی نژاد؛ تهران، نسر چشمه، سال1393، در126ص، شابک9789643627973؛
داستان «ماه عسل» در باره ی زندگی مردی چهل ساله، به نام «ژان» است، که در سفری راهی «میلان» میشود، و در زمان سفر، خودکشی کردن زنی «فرانسوی» را در هتل محل ماندنش درمییابد؛ «ژان» به دنبال کنجکاویهای خود، پی میبرد که زن برایش آشناست؛ وی به «پاریس» باز میگردد، و میخواهد برای شناسایی آن زن و همسرش، به گذشته های دور سفر کند؛ در پایان درمییابد، که آن زن و شوهر برای گذران «ماه عسل» خود، در آن هتل سکنی گزیده بودند...؛
نقل از متن: (روزهای تابستان دوباره برمیگردند، ولی هیچوقت گرما به سنگینی گرمای آن سه شنبه، و خیابانها به خلوتی خیابانهای «میلان» نمیشود؛ فردای پانزدهم ماه «اوت» بود؛ چمدانم را توی انبار امانات گذاشتم؛ از ایستگاه که بیرون رفتم، لحظه ای دودل ماندم؛ زیر آن آفتاب سوزان نمیشد، توی شهر قدم زد؛ پنج بعد از ظهر؛ چهار ساعت انتظار، برای قطار «پاریس»؛ باید سرپناهی پیدا میکردم؛ پاهایم مرا به چندصد متری خیابان کنار ایستگاه کشاند، تا به هتلی رسیدم، که نمای باشکوهش را، از دور دیده بودم؛ راهروهایی که از مرمر ساخته شده بودند، از تیغ آفتاب نجاتتان میدادند؛ در تاریک روشن و هوای خنک بار، آدم حس میکرد، ته چاه است) پایان نقل
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 10/03/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ 02/02/2401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی -
Another slender tale of memories, mystery and poignant nostalgia from the 2014 Nobel recipient, that is well within the realms of reading in one sitting (I did it in two as I needed a coffee & Croissant fix), and right from the off there is something beguiling about how Modiano opens the story. Jean, the aging documentary film-maker and narrator, a stop-over in Milan, and the suicide of a French woman who he finds out was known to him when he was twenty. In a sudden move he returns to Paris instead of flying to Rio on Business, and in the suburbs begins, in a sporadic dreamy state of mind, to piece together the life of Ingrid Teyrsen, the woman who took her own life.
Jean investigating her disappearance has now become a disappeared person himself. This is classic Modiano territory, and he does owe a lot to both sleuth-hound fiction and film-noir. He has a knack of creating these atmospheric and achingly tender narratives with the puzzle like effect of being stuck in a house of mirrors. As the story slowly opens up Jean learns of a time during World War II occupied Paris when sixteen-year-old Ingrid meets and falls in love with Rigaud, a young man who shelters her after she didn't return home after curfew. At some point they fled Paris for the Riviera, and with false papers made out they were newly weds on their Honeymoon.
As this was France during the occupation, a world of shifting identities and mysterious hidden agendas, the couple are careful who to trust, not attract unwanted attention. And this is when Jean would enter their lives. Again Modiano emphasizes that what interests him the most is not the clear and obvious actions but the gaps in people's lives. The parts that can be difficult to account for.
Jean is trying to imagine or reconstruct a lost world that is simply an obsession to him, but, alas, he also knows that the task has a high probability of failure.
This was my fifth Modiano, and four of them (this one included) felt like a different variation on the same story. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that the earlier ones, especially Missing Person which I think is a masterpiece, seeped into my consciousness on a deeper level. Despite the caffeine, this one kind of went in and out again. If only it has been the first. 3.5 stars. -
I felt a vague twinge of remorse: has a reader the right to criticize certain details under the pretext that she considers them superfluous?
Beginning my review by borrowing a line from the novel and infusing it with my words means two things: one, the novel did not leave me without anything and two, the novel did not stay with me enough.
Honeymoon; the title alone was a powerful catalyst to tilt the scales in its favour, overpowering its more compelling cousins namely
Missing Person and
The Search Warrant to emerge as my first choice to explore the Modiano world. But like many honeymoons of recent times, the euphoria around the event was far more jubilant than the event itself.
I met a forty-something Jean, a documentary film-maker on the streets of Paris where he was determined to conjure a breathing parallel life with a couple he had met twenty years ago; within the warm pages of a ‘Memoir’, of course. Amid changing hotels and treading streets that he suspected would have borne Ingrid’s and Rigaud’s footprints two decades back, dodging known faces and sinking into unknown ones, striking random conversations and hiring dilapidated, isolated villas, his search for a version of redemption that one seeks after breaching the finishing line in the worldly race with a frantic pace, was a tantalizingly delicious premise to shift the gear to one and then, two. However, that’s exactly where the gear got stuck for the rest of the journey. And this happened when we had hardly ever gone a few furlongs. Hard as I tried, I could not walk alongside Jean for long before looking to recede into a café to gorge on macaroons and Mistry. I re-emerged at another junction, half-hoping Jean would pull a surprise by talking less of Ingrid and Rigaud and more about himself, occasionally pushing an anecdote to act as an antidote to my boredom. But alas! film-makers are crafty people; what they craft, sometimes, they alone understand. So I went back home and rejoined him the next morning, assured that the sun might have enervated his cells and the lubricant might get him to pace up to the desired destination. But much as I love the journey, this gentleman loved to stand still. And still, at a junction that had nothing to cheer me up, unless his idea of supine street lamps, lethargic petrol pumps boys, damp hotel rooms, gloomy rains, confused agents and insipid memory flights had a cryptic aurum streak under their lacklustre veneers that my myopic eyes could not see.
Have you ever sat next to a person in a car which he/she abruptly brings to a halt at the behest of a breathtaking rainbow that despite your best glasses and intent, eludes your vision? Or that wonderful song that he/she plays with the most enthusiastic nod that can resurrect the dead which you can only, at best, attribute to a lullaby for the toddlers?
My apologies, Mr. Modiano. I assume much has been lost in the translation. -
آیا یک زندگینامه نویس حق دارد به بهانه ی اینکه برخی جزییات را اضافی میبيند حذفشان کند؟ یا هر کدام از آنها برای خودش اهمیتی دارد و باید همه را گردآوری کند و به خودش اجازه ندهد از امتیاز یکی چشم بپوشد و آن را به دیگری بدهد و نباید حتی یک مورد هم حذف شود، درست مانند صورت اموال توقیفی!
مگر آنکه خط زندگی کسی با رسیدن به نقطه ی پایانی ، خود به خود از تمام عناصر تزیینی و بی مصرف پاک شود.
آن وقت فقط عناصر اصلی باقی می ماند.
نانوشته ها ، ناگفته ها و سکوت ها...! -
4.5*
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گمشده: دختر جوان، به نام انگیرید تیرسن،شانزده ساله ، قد یک متر و شصت سانتی متر، صورت بیضی شکل ، چشمهای خاکستری، با کت ورزشی قهوه ای ، پلیور آبی روشن،دامن و کلا بژ رنگ ، کفش ورزشی مشکی،خواهشمند است اطلاعات خود را به آقای ترسن به نشانی پاریس ، بلوار ارنانو ، در دوم پلاک 39 ، ارسال کنید.
جمله پایانی کتاب:شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هرچه باشد، روزی حس خلا و ندامت گذشته شما را فراخواهد گرفت. سپس مثل یک موج عقب می کشد و ناپدید می شود. اما سرانجام بازمی گردد و اینگرید نمی توانست از آن خلاص شود. من هم.
این کتاب از جمله کتاب های بود با فضایی سرد و تاریک و ارام و بی هیچ هیجان و تندی...در فضایی بسیار آرام و بسیار منزوی و دپرسی پیش میرفت و من با حس آرامش همراه با ناراحتی این کتاب رو خوندم.شاید کتاب چیز خاصی نداشت و در 2-3صفحه آخر چیز خاصی بیان نشد و کل داستان سفرگونه و سیر در گذشته بود اما صفحه آخر یعنی اخر سفر با بغض همراه بود. -
Like Camus' The Stranger in its brevity and intensity. A powerful meditation on the past and how memory can both separate us from and connect us to our present life. He says, “There’s no frontier between the seasons anymore, or between the past and the present.” If all his books are this good no wonder he won the Nobel.
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Mi-am propus să-l citesc pe Modiano sistematic & integral - toate edițiile romanelor sale în românește! Dar m-ar tenta (barem câteva) și-n franceză, i-o intuiesc a fi tare dulce.
Nu m-aș sătura niciodată de modul lui de a împleti fraza cu timpul, pe față și pe dos, în ochiuri mari și line, avântând-o bine temperată către final ca într-un vals lent de secol 19. E un geniu al atmosferei Modiano! Odată ce “setează” atmosfera, ar putea relata orice pe fundalul acela, iar noi - gata înrobiți, vrăjiți...
Îmi aduce aminte cu stăruință de Camus și în mod particular de Juan Carlos Onetti (Șantierul fantomă, de exemplu): dezabuzare, abur de vis, o pătimire surdă, înăbușită, dusă pe picioare, o depresie senină, psihosomatizată într-o stare de nestare, în plimbări, în călătorii semiconștiente și evaziuni neobosite.
Traducerea: perfectă! -
وقتی می خواستم،نمره به این اثر مودیانو بدهم ،خیلی راحت بدون ذره ای تردید دستم رفت سراغ نمره 5،مودیانو نویسنده مورد علاقه ام است چند سالی است جایش را در دلم باز کرده،نثر روان،پرسه زنی های شخصیت های داستان،غبار خاطرات دور،جستجویی بدون توقف در مورد هویت و روایت زندگی هایی غبار گرفته و خاک گرفته.... مودیانو همیشه از بلوارها خیابان هایی برایمان حرف میزند،در پاریس ،شهر رویایی خیلی از ما (خیلی از کسانی که من لااقل میشناسم... به تعبیری شهر عشاق)تصاویر را به ساده ترین شکل ممکن در برابر چشم های خسته و خواب الوده ،تصویر میکند،ریتم داستان هایش کند و کشدار است برای من داستان های مودیانو مثل سواری روی یک canoe کهنه در یک رودخانه ارام میان درختان انبوه جنگلی حاره ای است... سکوت عجیبی که تو را در بر میگیرد و ارامش فرای توصیفی که در وجودتت ارام ارام رخنه می کند،تنها تصویر لرزان موج های کوچک از حرکت canoe و بازی لطیف نوری که به زور از میان برگ های درهم پیچده درخت ها، روی چهره ات می لغزد در برابرت رنگ میگیرد. کافی است بدون هیچ تفکری،بدون هیچ سوالی خودت را به این جریان بسپاری...سفر ماه عسل داستان کلیشه ای مدرنی دارد ؛مردی که شغل اش، سفر اکتشافی به نقاط دنیاست ناگهان خانه و زندگی اش را رها می کند تا در مورد زندگی یک زنی که بصورت تصادفی در جوانی ملاقات کرده تحقیق کند!این تم رها کردن زندگی ،انهم بصورت ناگهانی،در خیلی از رمان های قرن 20 تو چشم میزند،اما نکته قابل تامل اثر مودیانو شخصیت پردازی این مرد است،مردی که تمام زندگی اش در دور تند، در میانه اقیانوس ها و قاره ها در سفر و کشف بوده،بیشتر زندگی اش سوار بر هواپیما یا کشتی منتظر دیدار سرزمین های نو بود؛او چرا باید یهو دچار مرض دلزدگی شود!!! بعد در کنار ماجرای ژان(همین شخصیت)داستان زن و مردی به نام ریگو و اینگرید،روایت میشود،ژان به گذشته سفر میکند با تخیل و اطلاعات اندکی، سعی میکند زندگی این دو را به تصویر بکشد،چرا؟نمی دانیم ....خودمان را به جریان روایت میسپاریم(ژان در جوانی یک بار زمانی که تمام پولش تمام میشود این دو را ملاقات می کند ،و ان ها هم بدون هیچ سوالی به او کمک می کنند.)حالا همین برخورد کوتاه که در عنفوان جوانی اش رخ داده، جایی در گوشه ذهن ژان ،حک شده و تصمیم میگیرد به تمام مکان هایی که ریگو وانگیرید رفته اند برود در جست جویی رد پایی از گذشته!مطمئنم روایت خطی و اشفته من از خط سیر داستان ترغیب برانگیز نیست. اما ان ها که مودیانو را می شناسند و طعم سواری میان قصه های خواب گونه اش را چشیده اند می دانند از چه حرف میزنم."برگشت و با چشم هایی خاکستری اش به سوی من نگاه کرد.به آرامی دست ش را بلند کردو با سر انگشتانش،شقیقه و گونه مرا لمس کرد،گویی به دنبال یک تماس برای اخرین بار بود.سپس دستش را پایین آوردو در،پشت سرش بسته شد.دستی که ناگهان افتاد و صدای زنگ دار دری که بسته شد،به من گواهی داد زمانی از زندگی میرسد که دیگر هیچ دلبستگی وجود نخواهد داشت." و من به جمله ای فکر میکنم که خواندم که در زندگی زمانی است که دلبستگی معنا ندارد....راست اش ترسیدم،زندگی بنظرم بدون دلبستگی و دلداگی هیچ است.....به فکر فرو رفتم بلند شدم و کتاب دیگری از قفسه برداشتم دورا برودر!اثر دیگر در راستای این اثر......جملات پایانی در سرم چرخ می خورد ،"شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هرچه باشد،روزی حس خلا و ندامت گذشته شما را فرا خواهد گرفت.سپس مثل یک موج عقب میکشد و ناپدید می شود. اما سرانجام باز میگرددو اینگرید نمی تواست از ان خلاص شود.من هم"این روزها نیاز دارم خودم را به جریان واژه های گرم و فضای مه گونه قصه های مودیانو بیاندازم باشد که من خلاص شوم،از تلخی ها از ....روزگار عجیبی که در ان هستم... راستی خاطره این روزهایم چه شکلی میشود.؟
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Modiano has an annoyingly imprecise writing style. He alludes and hints, but never makes things explicit. Some of the details seem extraneous. Character development is very superficial. The type of philosophical discussion typical of authors like Hesse is completely missing. Finally, the novel is provincial in the sense that it seems to be directed at a French readership intimately familiar with Parisian streets and landmarks.
The style reminds me of the stereotypical French movie: endless talking and smoking, but no action.
I am giving the novel three stars because it does accomplish a continuous time shift between France in the time of the narrator and the Vichy period. -
مرور خاطره ای دور در میان مقطع ی از زندگی که تردید دمار از روزگار آدمی در می آورد!!...
کل رمان همان حس بالاست برای راوئی که اسیر خاطرست و تردید...
متن بسیار عالی ، پر احساس و زنده. نوشته ای مثل نوک انگشتانی نرم که گونه ات را نوازش می کند!
از متن کتاب:
مگر نه اینکه مسیر یک زندگی، روزی که به پایان می رسد،خودش را از تمام چیزهای بی فایده و تزئینی پاک می کند. پس تنها موارد اصلی باقی می ماند: جاهای خالی، سکوت ها و مکث ها.... -
وقتی روی جلد کتابی مینویسند برندهی نوبل ادبیات کار اظهارنظر دربارهاش اگر به ریاکاری نکشد قطعاً خیلی سخت میشود. من ترجیح میدهم همان کار سخت را انجام بدهم.
خب، شروعش خوب است و میگیرد. زبانش پخته است. بیتکلف، آرام و صیقل خورده. البته ترجمه هم خوب و هموار و درست است و این جای خوشحالی دارد. یعنی اگر چیزی به کتاب اضافه نکرده باشد بعید میدانم ضربهای زده باشد. درستترش این است که متن را مقابله کنیم تا بفهمیم چه کرده که چون متن اصلی فرانسه است فعلاً از من برنمیآید.
نقطهی قوت دیگرش این است که لحنش به درستی لحن یک مرد میانسال است. همانقدر خسته و همانقدر پخته. دوباره رسیدیم به پختگی. چقدر این خصیصه مهم است و چقدر دست یافتن به آن سخت. به هر حال اینجا هم باید از مترجم ممنون باشیم که کارش را درست انجام داده.
اما همهی اینها بیشتر از آن دو ستاره نمیشود. چون قصهی خوب به گمان من باید چیز بیشتری داشته باشد. خیلی حرف پیچیدهای هم نمیخواهم بزنم. یعنی بلد نیستم. مسئلهام این است که اگر قرار نیست در هر قدم بدانیم که داریم چه چیزی را میخوانیم دستکم حق داریم که آخرش بفهمیم برای چه چیزی وقتمان را هدر دادهایم. باید معلوم بشود که نویسنده میخواسته چهکار بکند. چه چیزی را بگوید. حواسمان باشد که این لزوماً ربطی به پایانبندی کلاسیک ندارد. تکلیف باید «اساساً» معلوم باشد. بلاتکلیفی به مسخره بازی بیشتر شبیه است تا هر چیز دیگری.
مثلا در داستان «علت» بریدن و خستگی ژان «معلوم» نمیشود. آدمی که شغل جذاب و هیجانانگیزی هم دارد باید علت خوبی برای درماندگیاش داشته باشد. یک علت قانعکننده. علت علاقهاش به سرنوشت اینگرید و ریگو هم مبهم و دمدستی است. علت بیتفاوتیاش نسبت به خیانت همسرش هم. اینکه چطور این هجم از اطلاعات را دربارهی زندگی ریگو میداند و چرا باید آن را برای ما «بازگو» کند هم مجهول است. مثلا قرار است از مقایسهی زندگی او و ریگو به بصیرت خاصی برسیم؟ نباید این چیزها «صورت» داستان به خودشان میگرفتند؟ یعنی همینطور از وسط زندگی ایشان سردرآوردیم و همان وسط ها هم ول شدیم که چه؟ با یک مشت مجهول که نمیشود قصه گفت. درام و تعلیقش با معما باید یک فرقهایی داشته باشد.
بسیار خب، معلوم شد که من اصلا از این اثر برندهی نوبل خوشم نیامده است. بهعلاوه به عقیدهام کتاب به شدت بومی است. یعنی به بوم فرانسه و زندگی فرانسوی به ویژه پاریسی ربط دارد و اصلا اگر فهم بشود در همان بوم فهم میشود نه اینجا. بعد از همهی آن تعریفهایی که از مترجم کردم باید دربارهی انتخابش جداً از دستش عصبانی باشم. از آنجا که نمیشود توقع داشت که در یک اثر داستانی دایم پانویس بزنیم و دربارهی اصطلاحات و مکانها و روابطی که نویسنده از آنها حرف میزند توضیح بدهیم، البته به شرطی که توضیح واقعاً ممکن و موثر باشد، پس حتیالامکان باید کتابی را انتخاب کنیم که با حداقل انرژی به فضایش وارد می شویم. نه چیزی مثل این کتاب که اهمیت شناختن کوچهها و محلههای پاریس در همراهی با قهرمان نقش اساسی دارد.
اگر رمان را یکجور سفر درنظر بگیریم توقعمان از آن چه خواهد بود؟ اینکه مجموعهای باشد از پیادهرویها، ولگردیها و سفرهای نصفه و نیمهی بیسرانجام یا یک سفر «کامل» که ممکن است لابه لایش از این کارها هم از ما سربزند؟ پاسخ من که روشن است ولی جواب «درست» هرچه که باشد قطعاً این کتاب مصداق یک سفر کامل نیست. -
و حالا من به جلوی آن سینما رسیدم که به یک فروشگاه تبدیل شده است. سمت دیگر خیابان، هتلی که اینگرید با پدرش در آن زندگی میکردند، ساختمانی شده است مانند ساختمانهای دیگر. کافهی طبقه همکف که راجع به آن با من صحبت کرده بود، دیگر وجود ندارد. شبی خودش نیز به این منطقه بازگشته بود و برای اولین بار احساس خلأ کرده بود.
شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هر چه باشد، روزی حس خلأ و ندامت گذشته شما را فراخواهد گرفت. سپس مثل یک موج عقب میکشد و ناپدید میشود. اما سرانجام بازمیگردد و اینگرید نمیتوانست از آن خلاص شود. من هم.
از متن کتاب -
دوستان اومدن میگن داستان جمع بندی و پایان و فراز و فرود نداشت
پس ضعیفه و نوبل ادبیشو نقد میکنن بنظرم شما فهیمه رحیمی بخون لذت ببر
دوست عزیز سبک ادبی و نوشتاری مودیانو اینجوریه
داستان سرشار از احوالات درونی نویسندس، گذشته، پوجی، خستگی،
و با اینکه کتاب کم حجمیه ولی ساده خون نیست نه اینکه اذیت کنه ولی زمان باید بذاری پاش -
به مانند تمام آثار مودیانو،احساس پوچی و یاس در فرد و جستجویش در گذشته خود.
آثار مودیانو برای من همچون میان وعده لذیذی است که همیشه با اشتیاق پذیرایش هستم. -
Attenzione: in questa recensione potrebbero esserci quelli che vengono solitamente definiti “spoiler” o che voi potreste considerare tali, benché ci sia poco o nulla da rivelare, perché è un viaggio dell’anima e nell’anima, più che un romanzo, e ciascuno trarrà, ovviamente, le conclusioni che crede. Ad ogni modo, prestate la dovuta cautela.
Non posso assolutamente affermare che quest’opera di Modiano mi sia piaciuta, però ne ho molto apprezzato il ritmo e l’andamento. Ho commesso un errore nel non leggerlo tutto di seguito, inframmezzando una pausa per rispettare i tempi del GdL. Cosa che vi sconsiglio assolutamente di fare, se avete intenzione di leggerlo. E’ meglio prenderlo in mano e immergervisi completamente, perché, altrimenti, è possibile che vi sfugga la struggente armonia che lo regge.
Jean e Ingrid sono due figure speculari, benché appartengano essenzialmente a due tempi diversi. Tuttavia, il ricordo fa sì che, comunque, continuino a incrociarsi. A volte, brevemente, anche nella realtà, ma molto più spesso nella memoria di Jean. Sono due persone in fuga e piene di rimorsi, perché hanno entrambe tradito qualcuno e qualcosa, ciascuno a modo proprio e pur senza l’intenzione di farlo. Ma, come dice Modiano:
Non contano le circostanze e lo scenario. Quella sensazione di vuoto e di rimorso ti sommerge, un giorno. Poi, come una marea, si ritira e sparisce. Ma alla fine ritorna con violenza, e lei non poteva liberarsene. Io neppure.
Quindi, credo proprio che anche la loro fine sarà la stessa.
Ed è proprio in questa angosciante chiusa che il lettore ritrova finalmente il senso di tutto quell’apparentemente inutile vagabondare di Jean per una Parigi notturna, periferica, descritta con abbondanza di particolari, quasi a farla diventare un personaggio essa stessa. Cerca Ingrid, certo, ma cerca anche il se stesso che era e che ha smarrito per strada. Ma è troppo tardi. Come troppo tardi era per Ingrid.
Di primo acchito, il libro lascia perplessi e, più che altro, si ha l’impressione che l’autore non sapesse nemmeno lui dove andare a parare. Ma poi, bisogna riconoscerlo, si impone alla coscienza del lettore, quasi di soppiatto, e suggerisce di ripensarlo, di riassaporarlo col palato e ritrovarne il gusto. Come un bicchiere di vino bevuto un paio d’ore prima, di cui non ci si era accorti, al momento, quante sfumature possedesse.
Resta il fatto, però, che quello di Modiano è un percorso e un modo di esprimersi personalissimo, intimamente legato alle sue personali esperienze. Non di facile approccio, direi, perché pare più parlare a se stesso che non al lettore. L’esigenza, sembrerebbe, è quella di far chiarezza dentro di sé, piuttosto che condividere. C’è quasi un senso di isolamento, di distacco, di solitudine, che si riflette nella scarna, benché precisa, scrittura.
Comunque, mi ripropongo un’ulteriore esperienza con Modiano. Penso valga la pena approfondirlo.
******
Ventiquattresimo GdL della Stamberga dei Lettori:
Da lunedì 01/12/14 a domenica 07/12/14: dalla frase "Ritorneranno ancore le giornate estive …" alla frase "e far finta di essere morti."
Da lunedì 08/12/14 a domenica 14/12/14: dalla frase "Sono andato di nuovo davanti …" alla frase "Io neppure." -
She raised her arm gently and ran the tips of her fingers over my temple and cheek, as if she was for one last time seeking a contact. Then she lowered her arm and the gate closed behind her. That arm suddenly falling and the metallic clank of the gate shutting made me understand that from one moment to another one can lose heart.
*
They had to get used to this world in which everything could fluctuate from one moment to the next.
*
Circumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse submerges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in force, and she couldn't shake it off. Nor could I. -
ما جوان تر نمی شیم، گذشته برنمیگرده،درعوض همیشه مارو دنبال می کنه و اگه روزی بلاخره گیرمون بندازه،دیگه از حس پوچی
گریزی نخواهیم داشت
We are not getting any younger, the past won't return, instead it will always haunt us, and if one day it catches us, there will be no escape from the emptiness inside. -
Honeymoon is an especially puzzling Patrick Modiano novel. Brief but dense, it rewards careful reading and perhaps even immediate rereading. Honeymoon is best read more for its moody remembrances and less for the twists and turns of its plot, which moves back and forth over several decades. As sometimes with Modiano novels, Honeymoon’s time-frame confuses.
In Honeymoon, Modiano gives us Jean, a documentary filmmaker and explorer, newly questioning his marriage, his profession, his life. Escaping from his life in Paris, Jean finds himself in Milan and remembers reading eighteen years ago in the Corriere della Sera of the suicide of Ingrid Rigaud, née Teyrsen, on an August 15th when she was forty-five years of age. Feeling the threads of his own life unravel, Jean seeks understanding in trying to unravel the threads of Ingrid’s life and the mystery of the motives behind her suicide. ”What a strange idea to come and commit suicide here, when friends are waiting for you in Capri. . . What caused her to do it I might never know.” As typical of Modiano’s principal characters, Jean becomes obsessed with the lives of the Rigauds and especially of Ingrid, trying to recreate how they lived separately and together in the Côte d'Azur, the Midi, in America, and in Paris. Jean even rents the Paris apartment that they lived. Jean’s unmoored from his life, and feels a kinship with the long-dead and equally unmoored Ingrid as he imagines her: ”Circumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse submerges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in force, and she couldn’t shake it off. Nor could I.”
Modiano’s novels serve as vehicles for his meditations about life, memories, and time, and especially so in Honeymoon. Here’s Jean musing about biography, but even more basically about how to understand lives: ”I felt a vague twinge of remorse: has a biographer the right to suppress certain details under the pretext that he considers them superfluous? Or do they all have their importance, and must he present them one after the other, impartially, so that not a single one is left out, as in the inventory of a distraint? / Unless the line of a life, once it has reached its terms, purges itself of all its useless and decorative elements. In which case, all that remains is the essential: the blanks, the silences and the pauses.” And here’s Jean on memory: ”I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t entirely share their lightheartedness and joie de vivre. I was somewhere else, in another summer, more and more distant, and with time the light of that summer underwent a curious transformation: far from fading, like old, over-exposed photos, the contrasts of sun and shade became so accentuated that I recall everything in black and white.” And Jean on time: ”The past and the present merge in my mind through a phenomenon of superimposition. That’s where the malaise musts come from. It’s a malaise that I don’t only feel in a state of solitude, as today, but at all our fourteenth of July parties. . .”
Honeymoon should reward the Modiano fan and the careful reader, and may frustrate other readers seeking clarity and a straight-forward plot. -
Jean, narratore e protagonista del romanzo, lascia improvvisamente la famiglia e il lavoro alla ricerca delle tracce lasciate da una donna francese che si è uccisa diciotto anni. Jean aveva incontrato la donna da ragazzo in Costa Azzurra ed aveva condiviso, con lei e con l’uomo che era con lei, un breve periodo di tempo. I due erano in Costa Azzurra per ricordare il loro viaggio di nozze fatto nel 1942 in seguito al finto matrimonio fatto per evitare alla donna, ebrea, le persecuzioni naziste.
Il romanzo non è facile, come tutti i libri di Modiano; la scrittura è intima, raffinata, fredda, distaccata, affascinante. Va letto con molta attenzione e senza pause per non perdere i dettagli dei temi trattati e per non perderne l’atmosfera che è parte integrante della storia.
"Il sole era appena calato e il cielo era ancora azzurro. Prima che si accendessero i lampioni, volevo godermi il mio momento preferito della giornata. Non completamente giorno, ma non ancora buio, dà un senso di tregua e di calma e invita a prestare orecchio agli echi che vengono da lontano"
Ci sono molti elementi in comune con “Dora Bruner”: la ricerca di informazioni su qualcuno scomparso, la guerra e l’olocausto in sottofondo, Parigi e le sue strade da percorrere per rivivere le stesse sensazioni.
Come Dora Bruder colpisce la malinconia profonda, l’ossessione per i ricordi di qualcosa che c’era e ora non c’è più. Atmosfere crepuscolari che si placano solo con il suicidio o con la dissoluzione dei rapporti. Per Modiano sembra che l’oggi non conti, conta solo il passato con le sue ossessioni, con quella sensazione di vuoto che lo scrittore, con la sua continua ricerca degli altri e di sé stesso, sembra voler colmare.
"Non contano le circostanze o lo scenario. Quella sensazione di vuoto e di rimorso ti sommerge, un giorno. Poi, come una marea, si ritira e sparisce. Ma alla fine ritorna con violenza, ma lei non poteva liberarsene. Io neppure."
Non manda messaggi espliciti, Modiano. Investiga ed espone i risultati, inquadrandoli nella cornice appropriata. Il resto, ossia la comprensione, le associazioni, il peso dei singoli episodi e delle singole parole, in qualche modo ce lo dobbiamo mettere noi, con la nostra attenzione e la nostra sensibilità.
Forse è per questa ragione che i pareri in merito a Modiano sono così controversi. Forse il lettore deve metterci un contributo importante... -
I first heard of Patrick Modiano in a Times review, from December '15. Modiano won the Nobel Prize in 2014 and a translation of Modiano's autobiography was being reviewed along with four of his other books. Despite that the review doesn't mention Honeymoon at all (It turns out he is quite prolific although most of his English translations have come out since winning the Nobel). Instead I picked my first Modiano from a tripadvisor post on the topic "fiction set in Provence and Côte d'Azur". (Yes, I am one of those types.)
Indeed, Honeymoon, is partly set in the Côte d'Azur town of Juan-les-pins. A rootless young man hitches a ride with a couple in their forties. In the effortless manner of a Murakami novel he is swept along on a sort of honeymoon. He finds himself tagging along with them on an errand and then to their villa on the beach: one follows the signpost "Tahiti-Moorea". He falls asleep exhausted and feels contented for what he claims is the first time in his life. He hints at an unhappy childhood. His gracious hosts, a man named Rigaud and his wife Ingrid née Teyrsen, are polite, partial to wry asides and maybe a little bit eccentric. They take the young man under their wing, finally sending him on his way back to Paris after secretly slipping some money into his suitcase.
Honeymoon takes place in three distinct periods sometimes forcing you to do a bit of math to figure out the ages of different characters. Also the narrator's subplot and numerous references to street names and neighborhoods can be distracting. But the mystery of M. et Mme. Rigaud was compelling enough to hold on to me. You too may feel some of that contentment that our narrator felt on the beach that day when reading about them. Don't be too complacent of course. This idyll is tinged with melancholy. One of Modiano's themes is "the impenetrability of France's wartime past." The shadow of the occupation falls even on the sunny beaches of Juan-les-pins and St Tropez.
The review:
http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/12/13/...
Tripadvisor lit picks:
https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowTopic... -
life is too short to read a book you are NOT enjoying.
That is why I read half the book even if am really bored.
I force myself till the half or maybe a little less.
The established Nobel winner writer knows how to take his time to build the story. After deciding to stop reading this book.I reached page 64,but the book turned interesting somehow
so Jean leaves his wife and wanders France and Brazil till his wife thinks he is dead and remarry
Jean is sick of his old life routine which is exploring the world for life "one starts out full of enthusiasm and the spirit of adventure, bur after a few years it becomes a job and a routine"
still loves his wife and obsessed over a unique couple (Ingrid & Riguad) he met and spent days with when all his money got stolen
totally head over heals for Ingrid. Riguad adores her and protects her as Jean keeps up with the ongoing relationships she went through leading to her mysterious suicide.
The final pages gives you why Jean and all the fucked up character are stuck in the void though their fabulous life.
HERE ARE SOME LONG QUOTES THAT WOULD NOT FIT THE READING PROGRESS POSTS
* he took my arm because of the sloping road. The contact of her arm and shoulder gave me an impression I had never yet had, that of finding myself under someone's protection. She would be the first person who could help me. I fe lt light headed. All those waves of tenderness that she communicated to me through the simple contact of her arm, and the pale blue look she gave me fr om time to time- I didn't know that such things could happen, in life.
* Cir cumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse sub merges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in fo rce, and she couldn' t shake it of f. Nor could I. -
Tanto era l'entusiasmo iniziale quanto la delusione a fine lettura.
La sinossi non mi aveva colpito in modo particolare, ma la curiosità di scoprire un nuovo autore, per di più appena insignito del Nobel per la letteratura, mi ha avvicinato al testo con, forse, troppe aspettative.
La lettura è stata veloce: ho bevuto il breve racconto nell'arco di una mattinata, spinta dall'incontrollata speranza che prima o poi qualcosa sarebbe successo, narrativamente parlando. Così non è stato. Neanche nel finale, ché avevo intuito quello che molti hanno definito "un colpo di scena" quasi da subito.
Lo stile non mi ha trasmesso nulla. Asciutto, troppo pulito da sembrare freddo, per niente incisivo. Non ne conservo alcun ricordo né in positivo né in negativo, e questo a mio modesto avviso è il difetto maggiore.
Si assiste a un avvicendarsi appena sbozzato e singhiozzante di vari eventi. La storia si svolge su due piani narrativi diversi, ma inesorabilmente destinati a concludersi in modo identico: da una parte la vita di Jean, in avanti, dall'altra quella di Ingrid, a ritroso.
Per quanto Modiano si sia sforzato di rendere i personaggi peculiari, la caratterizzazione è talmente poco analizzata da ottenere un effetto macchiettistico.
L'impressione che ho avuto, è che Modiano/Jean fosse troppo stanco per scrivere e analizzare, mettendo a fuoco l'insufficiente e lasciando il resto in balia delle speculazioni e delle interpretazioni del lettore; come se fosse partito da un effetto e avesse tentato di ricercare la/le causa/e in corso d'opera, e mio parere c'è riuscito per metà e in modo banale. -
Omaggio a Parigi
A qualcuno può sembrare ripetitivo, noioso, o confuso; ma per me Modiano è diventato un amico con cui passare volentieri il tempo, da ascoltare in silenzio; un amico che ormai conosco e apprezzo proprio per quelle atmosfere pacate e nebbiose; per le sensazioni di vaghezza e mistero; per l'alternarsi di ricordi e sogni, di realtà e fantasie. E anche questa volta la sua storia ogni tanto confonde, sembra fluttuare e sfuggire. Anche questa volta riflette ansie, inquietudini, disagi, vertigini; fughe continue e ritorni; eppure fa respirare sempre un'aria calma e leggera. Un'aria ovattata di nebbie, in cui sembra di perdere la storia principale, per vagare tra sfumature di silenzi e foschie, eppure sentirsi presenti e partecipi. Aria confusa e malinconica ma lieve, su Parigi.
Ogni volta, alla stessa ora, un annunciatore dalla voce metallica dava notizie della guerra leggendo un editoriale. [...] Quella voce non poteva durare, si capiva dal timbro sempre più metallico, era già una voce dell'oltretomba. Si sarebbe sentita ancora un po' fin che fosse durata la guerra e poi si sarebbe spenta dall'oggi al domani. [...] La voce avrebbe tentato invano di lottare contro la tempesta che la sommergeva. Un'ultima volta prima di annegare, avrebbe scandito una frase ripetuta come un grido di odio o un'invocazione di aiuto. [...] Talvolta la guerra si avvicinava e turbava il loro viaggio di nozze, come continuava a chiamarlo Rigaud. [...] Bisognava spegnere le luci e far finta di essere morti. -
Có những cuốn sách mà khi mở ra đọc ta có cảm giác như là sự sắp xếp của số mệnh, mà đây là một trong số đó. Chứ điều gì có thể giải thích cho việc ngày 16/08/2020 tôi giở sách ra thì một trong những dòng đầu tiên là: "It was the day after the fifteen of August" để rồi từ đó đi theo Jean kiếm tìm những bóng ma quá khứ đã ám ảnh ông mãi vào những mùa hè, mà ông đã chọn cách sắp xếp cho sự biến mất của mình như một lời đoạn tuyệt với cuộc sống hiện tại để sống trong những ký ức mà thôi.
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ماه عسل
اولین کاری بود که از مودیانو خوندم. به علت حجم کمش تصور میکردم راحت میشه خوندش، اما این طوری نبود. البته که اصلا اذیت نکرد.
محور اصلی همهکارهای مودیان مفاهیمی چون گم گشتگی، غیبت، نوستالژی، خاطره،گذشته، ابهام و تردید است.
ادبیات فوقالعاده ای داره و البته خالی از قصه هم نیست و قصه گوی خوبی هم نیست، اما علاقه داره قصه ش رو باز و مبهم بگذاره.
من داستانش رو هم دوست داشتم، هرچند ظاهرا قرار نیست تو کارهای مودیانو داستان به سرانجام مشخصی برسه.
به قدری از ادبیات ش خوشم اومد که بلافاصله همه کارهاش رو بررسی دقیق کردم و دوتا کار خوبش رو گرفتم و سریعا مشغول خوندن شدم، فراتر از فراموشی و در کافه جوانی گم شده.
نم��ه واقعی من به این کتاب سه و نیمه. -
Cãlãtorie de nuntã =/ sau cãutarea identitãţii. Pînã atunci doar trec anii, creştem, supraviețuim şi ne uitãm cu regret la oamenii care ne-au plãcut şi care nu se mai întorc. E cleioasã lumea lui Modiano, am citit cartea aceasta cu ochii mijiţi si simțurile ascuţite, aşa cum cred cã te simţi când eşti într-un tunel cu multe ramificaţii si trebuie sã descifrezi/rezolvi puzzle-uri. "Cãlãtoria de nuntã" a lui Modiano e un vis din care vrei şi nu vrei sã scapi, periculos de ademenitor tocmai prin senzatia de imaterial pe care ţi-o lasã.
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Otra tanda de prosa balbuceante de Modiano, que de forma extraña, tarde o temprano, logra atraparte con sus narradores reconcentrados y timoratos, además de sus amplios recorridos por las calles menos acogedoras o vistosas de París. Pequeños bocados del mundo clandestino marca de la casa.
El relato, si es que se puede llamar así, se inicia en Milán, cuando Jean B., el narrador, oye del suicidio de una mujer, de la cual descubre no sólo que la conocía, además tuvo un especial impacto en su primera juventud, cuando la II Guerra Mundial, momento en el que coincidió con ella en el sur de Francia. De forma poco verosímil descubrimos que Jean B había escrito algunos apuntes biográficos de esta mujer, llamada Ingrid Teyrsen, de la que, por más motivos extraños, reunió información muy precisa sobre escenas nada públicas.
Todo esto se justifica mediante el clima onírico que crea la novela. Jean B además también carga sus propios problemas matrimoniales, se encuentra desencantado en su oficio como explorador y documentalista, su estado mental es de agobio, así que sencillamente huye de Cité Verón y se oculta cerca de Porte Dorée, que nunca he estado pero no tiene pinta de ser el escenario para las típicas ensoñaciones parisinas comerciales. Es como si el explorador se convierte en náufrago urbano.
No creo que esté muy bien hilada la trama de Jean B con la de Ingrid, que transcurre durante la Ocupación nazi en Francia, pero es cierto que cuando Modiano aborda su territorio de ficción preferido, precisamente la Ocupación, la novela cobra grosor y es poblada por granujas que trafican con los objetos incautados a los judíos, el mercado negro, cafés de mala muerte y oportunistas de todo pelaje, siempre atentos para aprovecharse de las brechas en el sistema para sacar un pellizco o algo de tajada. En esos extraños escenarios misteriosos dentro de las ciudades, Modiano, con su habitual talante abrumado, compone sus mejores páginas, de forma que esos paisajes pintados con vagas pinceladas resultan más convincentes e interesantes. Pero hasta ese momento es casi una demostración de lo que puede salir mal con los riesgos que, por estilo, adquiere Modiano: como la trama minimizada, las caracterizaciones esquivas y las escasas pinceladas carecen de vigor, no despiertan mucho interés y todo queda reducido a una nadería. Por ejemplo, nos narra el mencionado encuentro en las carreteras de la Provenza o el trasfondo de infidelidades matrimoniales que sufre Jean B y esas partes no mejoran a un informe pericial.
En lo que a mí respecta es de sus libros que menos me han gustado. Un Modiano mediano.
