| Title | : | The Life of Insects |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0571194052 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780571194056 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 176 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1993 |
| Awards | : | Metų verstinė knyga (2015) |
The Life of Insects Reviews
-
Future Nobel, maybe? As part of the Academy clearly are embracing their inner insects?
As I am reading two other novels by Victor Pelevin at the same time right now, I am trying to put my thoughts on "The Life Of Insects" into order. Whoever is familiar with his writing would probably now tell me that it is a very unwise choice to read several of the stories simultaneously, as one alone is complex enough. And I agree. But just like the characters in Pelevin's books, my reading self acts on impulses and is prone to literary accidents, so here I am, in the confusing landscape of surrealistic Russia - a place that is quite foreign to me even it its most realistic description!
"The Life of Insects" is a challenging read at times, as the characters constantly swap between being human and insects of various kinds. Once I had accepted that, in much the same fatalistic way that the characters themselves accept it, I loved every turn of the story. Despite the Kafkaesque metamorphoses, it has very realistic story lines, showing the different facets of life in a dysfunctional society, with people in complicated relationships. I sympathised with the predicaments of insects dying in strange accidents, and I understood their need to dig burrows and lock out the world.
The death scene of one of the characters is highly dramatic and very touching, despite the inevitable comical aspects:
"A small crowd had gathered by one of the tables, and a single glance was enough for them to see that something unpleasant had happened. Sam turned pale and ran on ahead. Elbowing aside the idle spectators, he squeezed his way through, and then froze.
Hanging from the edge of the table and swaying in the wind was a narrow strip of fly-paper. There were several small leaves and pieces of paper stuck to it, and hanging in the very centre, with her head already slumped forward in exhaustion, was Natasha. Her wings were stuck flat against the tacky surface, and they were already permeated with its poisonous slime."
In her death, Natasha merges human and insect identities into one.
The scene is closing with a busy-body pushing the mourning Sam aside:
"Let me through, please", the figure repeated. "And if you're feeling sad, try re-reading page forty-eight."
Following the character's instruction would put the reader into a repetitive vicious circle, reliving the different stages of the characters in their insect and human forms again. In all likelihood, one would identify even more with Natasha during the second reading, so her death scene would make the reader even more sad, and obliged to return to page 48 yet again.
This is what I learned from the novel: people are at odds with the different parts of their identities, their official and secret nature. They can never feel completely safe, as chance meetings and silly accidents await them around every corner. There is no real trust, as the world is in a state of constant change, and people adopt strange methods to survive - for a while. In a way, it describes the Post-Soviet anxiety of a people deprived of an overarching structure quite realistically, and with brilliant humour and sadness.
It is not a book for everyone, but if you like Marquez, Kafka, George Orwell and other masters of absurd realism, "The Life of Insects" adds a nuance, and leaves a bitter-sweet feeling of not quite having understood what happened, but having enjoyed it anyway.
I'll be on page 48 if you are looking for me! -
Na nebu nikada nema nikakvih promjena, i ma kako da se grozni oblaci spuste nad Moskvom u praznične dane, visoko iznad njih uvijek svijetli to čisto viječno plavetnilo.
Vrlo prijatno čitanje Peljevina. Ovaj roman bi mogao poslužiti kao svojevrsni putokaz za one koji budu pisali o društveno-političkom ambijentu, a da su pritom cenzurisani. Život insekata je vrlo otkačen roman, pun humorističnih doskočica i egzaktno pokazuje veličinu prirode spram ljudskog bića. Sva zebnja, strepnja i na kraju strava sa kojom se čovjek suočava prikazana je u svakodnevnom ponašanju insekata. Na primjer, mravi su robovlasnici, često se i čovjek tako ponaša. Roman je sastavljen od više priča gdje svaka od njih ima neku svoju inventivnost. Svaka stranica nosi podozrenje koje Peljevin koristi kao pribježište. Njegov svijet je prečesto popunjen fatazmagorijama koje se obrću od slučaja do slučaja. Zanimljivo je bilo hvatati taj prelaz čovjeka u insekta i obrnuto. Kako se u pojedinim dijalozima to skromno osjeća. Peljevin je kroz putovanje insekata iz dijelića dolazio do cijeline, a potom pokušao da uhvati i ukopča suštinu te ostvarene cijeline. Možda bi takva cijelina bila jedan Skarabej. -
U svom satiričnom, komičnom, kafkijanskom, grotesknom, postmodernističkom romanu pod naslovom „život insekata“, Viktor Peljevin stvara jedan iščašeni svet magičnog realizma u kom su, u maniru filozofskog shvatanja paralelizma kao psihičkog i fizičkog međusobnog i uporednog procesa, protagonisti u isto vreme i ljudi i insekti. Za razliku od drugih dela, metamorfoza u ovom romanu nije proces koji se odvija, već je liminalni prostor konstanta, zbog čega se preobražaj događa iznenada, bez ikakve začuđenosti samih likova povodom metamorfoze koju su doživeli. U tom kontekstu, sugestivan je i sam naslov kao neka vrsta komentara, objašnjenja fikcionalnog sveta: život insekata – naslov ovog alegorično-satiričnog romana – zapravo je život ljudi, odnosno život insekata koji se ne razlikuje od ljudskog. Mapirajući probleme u društvu, kao i one koji se tiču same egzistencije, Peljevin iz poglavlja u poglavlje širi tematski okvir: susrećemo sa zavisnicima od narkotika, eksploatisanim radnikom zaglavljenim u kolotečini bez mogućnosti vertikalne društvene pokretljivosti, ženom u okovima patrijarhalnog sistema, pa i sa čisto egzistencijalističkom prozom. Drugim rečima, radi se o „romanu“ uvezanih priča od kojih su neke od njih narativno sjedinjene samo na osnovu činjenice da se radi o svetu insekata.
https://pulse.rs/zivot-insekta/
P.S. ima tu i nekih progutanih slova, jedne reči, ponavljanja itd. ali to prepisujem mojoj brzopletosti i nedostatku obazrivosti :d -
Након прочитаних четрдесетак страница, остах забезекнут колико је ово глупо. Пељевин је хтео мало да му га дâ - француски, клавир, гео-графија...але-горија...
o((⊙﹏⊙))o.
За књигу сам први пут чуо када сам је видео код колегинице са којом сам седео на вежбама из неуробиологије где смо микроскопирали и цртали мождане и мождинске пресеке, одговарали на неуроанатомска питања и ћаскали о књижевности, фотографији... Да, радо ћу се сећати двочасовних занешености над оловком и окуларом - и уметношћу (!), а ову језу од књиге бих волео да потиснем у заборав. -
Reading this felt like listening to someone tell a joke in a language you only kind of understand. The book is supposed to be a satire, and the things being satirized didn't really mean anything to me, and most of these stories just did not make sense on a superficial, non-symbolic level. That said, the premise is really cool, and I love the way that Pelevin handles the simultaneous humanness and insectness of the characters - they never transition from one to the other, but exist as both, and that makes for some interesting images, particularly when dealing with size. One minute a character is a mosquito sucking blood from an enormous human, the next minute the character is human size and is barfing that blood up all over the street. And a few of the stories are pretty interesting, particularly the ones that stand alone and aren't split up to create a continuous thread throughout the book. I have a feeling that this book deserves another shot. Maybe I'll read it again sometime and increase its starrage.
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Il secondo mondo
“Ti stai attaccando alle parole. Posso dirlo anche in un altro modo: quando cerco di prendere una decisione, dentro di me mi imbatto sempre in qualcuno che ha preso la decisione opposta, ed è proprio questo qualcuno che poi fa tutto”.
Il romanzo di Pelevin racconta le vicende grottesche e e surreali di diversi personaggi incarnati in insetti umani: mosche e formiche, lucciole, falene e scarafaggi sono protagonisti di storie esilaranti e allegoriche in un mondo di passione e crudeltà, nichilismo, non-sense e filosofia, metamorfosi e immaginazione fantastica, portando in superficie le contraddizioni, le zone d'ombra, le verità stranianti e le fratture di una società e di una cultura rappresentata nella sua disancorata follia e alla completa e malinconica deriva di valori e priva di riferimenti, moralità e sicurezze. Il romanzo si fonda su un'entomologia immateriale che svela il carattere inautentico e inattendibile della cultura di massa, dove ogni transizione è negativamente ambigua. Pelevin ambienta il racconto in una località di mare in Crimea, alla periferia dell'impero, nel tramonto di ideali e aspirazioni, con una tonalità grottesca e satirica che non rinuncia mai a indagine psicologica, raffigurazione dei sentimenti, gioco delle relazioni e poesia visionaria. Comicità e spiritualità sono sapientemente alternate in episodi dal colore esistenziale e dissacrante, in un linguaggio vitale e versatile, con uno stile intimo e universale che disorienta il lettore, lo trasporta in una parabola intessuta di consistenti allucinazioni. Dietro al riso appaiono il vuoto e la tristezza, la perdita di senso e la disillusione di una realtà che non offre alcuna apertura, un passato che insegue l'attimo senza scorrere, sviluppandosi in un assurdo e indistinguibile male che pervade ogni minima frazione di esperienza; nelle cose c'è una falsità irreale e dogmatica che finisce per intrappolare tutti quanti, dietro una barriera impenetrabile, e lasciarli incapaci, senza respiro né sguardo, mostrando l'inesorabile inutilità di ogni possibile trasformazione o cambiamento, in uno sradicamento continuo e pessimisticamente metafisico.
“E' come se prima, nella vita, ci fosse stato qualcosa di incredibilmente semplice, qualcosa di più importante di tutto il resto; poi è scomparso, e solo allora si è capito cosa fosse. Ed è venuto fuori che tutto, ma proprio tutto quello che desideravamo un tempo, aveva un senso solo perché c'era questa cosa fondamentale. Senza di essa, non ci serve più niente. Ed è qualcosa che non si può neanche definire. Sai qual è la luce verso cui volevo veramente volare? C'era una poesia che diceva così: 'Non rimpiango il respiro tormentoso della vita, perché cos'è la vita, e cos'è la morte? Ma rimpiango la luce che splendeva sull'intero universo, e nella notte va, e piange mentre va via...” -
خیلی خوب بود
پر مفهوم و معنا و درجه یک.
لذت بردم از خوندنش
تحلیل آخر کتاب هم بسیار در فهم و ریزه کاری های خاص پلوين کمک میکنه. -
Visiškai crazy knyga 😅 Jau ko ko, bet nesitikėjau uodų su šortais sudarančių sandorius dėl narkotikų, mėšlavabalių filosofavimo apie tai, kad visas pasaulis tik mėšlo krūva, bei blakių rūkančių marihuaną. Žodžiu kosmosas. Net nežinau ką parašyti ���
Tikrai KITOKIA knyga. Tik gal ne tiek apie vabzdžius, kiek apie pačius žmones tik įspraustus į vabalų gyvenimo rėmus. Dargi apie patį pasaulį ir jį veikiančius dėsnius. Nors iš pirmo žvilgsnio knyga atrodo kaip kupina sarkazmo, bet pažiūrėjus atidžiau gali rasti tokias temas kaip vienatvė, savęs suvokimas, motinystė, sąvojo kelio pasirinkimas, net ir egzistenciniai klausimai. O šalia visų šių filosofinių klausimų glūdi ir tokių problemų iškėlimas kaip narkotikai, emigracija, skurdas… žodžiu “kabliukai”, kurie dar ir dabar gan aktualūs.
“Aš manau, – prabilo vienas vabalas, – kad pasaulyje nėra nieko aukštesnio už mūsų vienatvę.”
Visai nedidelė knygelė, bet tikrai visko labai daug. O tai, jog autorius renkasi apie viską rašyti per vabzdžių gyvenimo prizmę suteikia knygai originalumo. Tikrai nieko panašaus neteko skaityti. O jau ką ir kalbėti apie humoro jausmą! Net pirmasis sakinys leidžia suprasti kokį toną autorius renkasi knygai.
“Pagrindinis pensiono korpusas, slepiamas senų topolių ir kiparisų, buvo niūrus pilkas pastatas, tarsi pagal kvanktelėjusio Ivanuškos komandą atgręžęs jūrai užpakalį.”
Bet turbūt kaip ir gyvenime yra dvi pusės – ta linksmoji, kuri verčia juoktis iš tam tikrų situacijų (ar jų pateikimo) ir ta liūdnoji. Tai ir ši knyga tokia dviprasmiška, nes buvo vietų, kai negalėjau nustoti juoktis, o buvo tokių taiklių įžvalgų, jog privertė surimtėti.
Knyga manau turėtų patikti tiems, kurie ieško kitokio požiūrio, kuriems nesvetimas gyvenimo suvokimas per filosofinę prizmę. Man patiko! Tad mano vertinimas 4/5. -
Move over, Franz Kafka. You only have Gregor Samsa turning into a giant Austrian bug. Victor Pelevin has so many insects turning into Russian politicians, soldiers, etc. You both use the insectness of human beings or humanness of the insects as a readable interesting satire or metaphor but since Pelevin has more in his arsenal, he, for me, is your rightful heir in the satire arena of world literature.
This book is mesmerizing in its prose. It will keep you on your toes because you have to figure out while reading if the characters are in their insect or human form. If they fly for example or if there is a word like probocis then they are insects but if they drink alcohol from a glass or rolling a round dung, then they are human beings. I really didn't have much interest about what Pelevin satirized here, presumably the post-Cold War Russia (it would have been better if I did) but I enjoyed his immensed imagination into thinking like this despite the fact that this of course is now being described as a substantiation of Kafka's
The Metamorphosis (3 stars). But one cockroach against 14 (that's how many stories are there in this book) bugs? Hands down, you know who has stronger imagination.
This is my first time to read a Pelevin book and it made me excited to read his other 1001 book,
The Clay Machine-Gun. His careful construction of satire or allegory is something to behold because some writers can put something together and because it is an allegory or metaphor or something that represents facts, one can just say something without paying attention to the form or writing. Here, Pelevin, does something beyond plain satire actually. The book can also be seen as allusion, double-entendre, allegory, metaphor or even a creation of a new mythology. It is a strong work of fiction and considering that this was originally written in Russian, can be an obscure work that needs to be read by more people especially those in the West.
Brilliant. One of the most brilliant ones I read this year. -
"Da bi izašao iz bunara, moraš prvo da upadneš." - repllika jednog od likova ovog čudnovatog romančića. A to se upravo odnosi na samog Peljevina - sa njim samo moraš početi. Sjećam se njegovog romana Čapajev i Praznina, very weird ali kada na kraju izađete iz tog romana - bum!
Život insekata je, meni lično, lošiji od Peljevina kojeg sam upoznala sa ČiP. I dalje je to isti miks budističke filozofije, kafkizma, egzistencijalizma... ma, kako to sam Peljevin kaže, kao ruski pisac, kako god da pišete uvijek ćete nastavljati nečije učenje jer ih je bilo previše. Mislim, Peljevinov jezik je krem de la krem ruskog žargona i suptilnih (i manje suptilnih) nijansi na život u Rusiji devedestih kroz, guess what, život insekata.
Metamorfoze od insekata ka čovjeku i obrnuto budu malo konfuzne na početku, ali se uspijeva izbalansirati i dobije se roman od sličica iz života komaraca, balegara, skarabeja, mrava, muha itd.
Ono što je meni zapalo za oko jeste način na koji Peljevin koristi prostranstvo (ili nepostojanje istog) da oblikuje svoje junake. Da pokaže svu apsurdnost života malog čovjeka/insekta pred silom prirode (koje, kao i kod svih Rusa, ima), vremena i sopstvenih izbora. Međutim, nije Peljevin crn, on pokazuje borbu da se vrati izgubljeno dostojanstvo čovječije/insekatske ličnosti.Koliko je to uspio svaki od njegovih likova... moglo bi se pričati dok se gura lopta od balege ispred sebe.
3,5* jer ne mogu dati više, ne nakon Čapajeva. -
Despite its title, this book doesn't speak about entomology. Not in its common terms, at least.
Six years have passed since I've read "The life of insects". In the meanwhile Viktor Pelevin, who was considered one of the best contemporary novelists of the so called "new Russian generation" has been forgotten by many reviewers. Unfortunately for him there has been a new wave of angry, young and often attractive teenagelike Russian novelists to talk about. Pelevin who's in his fourties looks like a dinosaur.
On the Italian edition of this book there is an absurd line who calls Pelevin "a cybernetic Nabokov for our times". That's pure nonsense.
The Life of Insects is definitely an astonishing work of genius. Pelevin's insects have human beings, they behave like people, they spend their holidays in Yalta in a postmodern version of the fin-de-siecle and bourgeois scenario chosen by Checkov for his famous "Lady with the little dog" tale.
There is plenty of social satire against the Russian habits, decadence, corruption and neverending bureaucracy in this book and it's expressed with a very good writing technique.
If you want to have an interesting portrait of a changing Russia caught in the late 90s, you have to read other works of this novelist, like "Babylon", but this one is the best book Pelevin has ever written. -
This book took me on an absorbing journey filled with confusion and surrealism. Pelevin constantly keeps his readers on guard by having characters undergo metamorphosis (literally) between the human and insect state in the middle of sentences. Communism, society, and post-USSR Russia are satirized through such characters as a moth who questions his own existence, a dung beetle who adheres to what he has been taught all his life even when his beliefs do not answer his son's questions, an attractive ant who gets trapped in a domestic lifestyle she never wanted in the first place, and, of course, Sam the capitalist mosquito who drinks the blood of locals wherever he travels. Though there were several subplots occurring simultaneously, none of them were extraneous and all contributed to making this a unique and thought-provoking read.
Favorite quote from this book:
"The genuine light is any light that you can actually reach. The real point is not what you fly toward but who is doing the flying."- Mitya the moth -
In Pelevin's native Russia, there are two specific cricisms aimed at him by the formidable Russian literary establishment. Apart from people whining that he destroys culture, but these we give a wide berth. Anyhow, criticism one is that he doesn't really write novels, but thinly disguised social satires which peddle absurdist Zen values. The second criticism, is that he always retells the same Zen story in every book.
Indeed, that is exactly what Mr. Pelevin does, and exactly why I love his stuff so much.
A lot of Western readers seem to think that Pelevin lampoons post-soviet Russia, and hence feel cut off from the flow. Mr. Pelevin is not in the business of lampooning post-soviet Russia. Mr. Pelevin uses post-soviet Russia to do something much more exciting. It's like thinking that the point of Kafka is that he lampoons Austrian beurocracy.
In this collection about insects, the author is merciless as usual, but has not yet grown as bitter as he has since about 2008. Enjoy the freshness! -
Mind blown. Beautiful, luminous, heartfelt. Transcendent. (And I don't use that word lightly)
Chekhov meets Gogol meets Ovid.
The Seryozha chapter might be the single greatest short story I've ever read.
Read it. -
"Единственная реальная российская литературная традиция — писать хорошие книги способом, которым никто не делал этого прежде."
-Виктор Пелевин -
This is a work of "post-Socialist surrealism" that depicts typical Russian life through a wildly imaginative lens. The edition I read actually included two very different short novellas. In the first, a satire of Space Race-era gung-ho, an aspiring cosmonaut begins to suspect that the mission he has been training for is not what it seems. In the second, ordinary Russians from all walks of life are depicted as anthropomorphic insects, whose instinct-bound lives provide a metaphor for the meaningless drudgery that afflicts most people's daily living. The cicada spends his lifetime burrowing underground with vague hopes of someday breaking through to the surface, reflecting the pointless ambitions of a 9-to-5 office worker. Meanwhile, the moth spends his nights flittering towards any lights source he sees, like the armchair mystic who throws himself at whatever philosophy might lead him towards what he hopes is enlightenment. And so on. The lesson, of course, is that most people's lives are as deeply stuck on the pre-set rails of habit, social expectation and primal urges as a mindless bug's, and they are just as helpless to deviate from their given life-cycles. Pretty bleak if it weren't so absurdly funny.
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This is a book about bug people or people bugs, depending on how you want to look at it. A small cast of characters meander through their holiday by the Black Sea, flitting back and forth between human and bug. It is this muddy distinction that charges the novel with its pecualiar beauty, for the characters, whether its the trio of businessmen/mosquitoes, the ant queen dealing with motherhood, or the philosophizing dung beetles, are wonderfully rendered. The ambiguity of their identity, or rather the mutually reinforcing dualities of their natures, usually quite hilarious, is what drives the book. There isn't much of a plot to speak of. Each group of "insects" have their own little tales and most of them intersect at some point, but the lack of overarching plot doesn't detract from the read.
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به روایت پلوین، آدمی بین فلسفههای ذهنی و رویا و نقشی که طبیعت و اجتماع به او میدهد در نوسان است. اینجاست که نویسنده سعادت بشر را در این میداند که بتواند در این میان راه درست را پیدا کند.
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The Life of Insects is by Russian writer Victor Pelevin, and was first published in Russian in 1994, with the English translation following in 1996. I was attracted to the story by Pelevin's approach to combining human and insect traits at will; one moment a character is swimming in someone's food as a small insect, and the next they are plucked out and seated at the table as a full grown human.
I wanted to see how he would accomplish this, and if I liked the results. I was surprised at how much I did like this unusual melding of duality and I was further impressed by the many different ways that Pelevin explored it. Sometimes he played with size, sometimes with physical attributes and sometimes with human vs insect activities. He also explored how to write it; fast or slow transition, sudden or expected, complete change or small detail.
Below is an excerpt that features this insect/human transition in a graduated way:Sam raised his fork and held it over his plate, and then he noticed a young fly sitting on the edge between the potato and the sauce - at first he'd taken her for a bit of dill. He slowly held out his hand toward her. The fly trembled, but she didn't fly away. He carefully took her between his finger and thumb and set her on an empty chair.
The fly was very young. Her firm green skin glittered gaily in the sunlight, and Sam thought how precise the name "greenbottle" was. Her limbs were covered with dark hairs and ended in delicate pink suckers, as if two half-open mouths waited invitingly on each of her palms, and her waist was so slim that she looked as though the slightest breath of wind could break her in two. The shyly fluttering wings, looking like two sheets of mica glimmering with all the colours of the rainbow, were covered with the standard pattern of dark lines; no special skill in wing reading was required to read her simple fate in them. Her eyes were also green, with a slightly sullen look, and a long dark fringe fell down over them from her forehead, making the fly appear even younger than she was and creating the impression of a schoolgirl dressed up in her older sister's dress.
And here is an excerpt that features this insect/human transition quickly:Natasha unbuttoned Sam's shirt and pressed the tender suckers on her palms against the course hair of his chest.
The below quote features a transformation in the act:Sam coughed, covering his mouth with his hand, and Natasha saw his lips extending into a long tube. Pretending that he was picking something up off the floor, he leaned toward the back of the driver's seat, winked conspiratorially at Natasha, and put a finger to his extended lips to tell her not to say anything. Natasha nodded. The sharp point of Sam's proboscis slid gently through the gray covering of the seat. The driver shuddered. His eyes glanced uneasily at the passengers in the rear-view mirror.
And here, subtlety:It was easier to run barefoot, and quite soon the mound of dirt by the road looked as though it had been dumped by a truck, and the entrance to the burrow was no longer visible. Marina was dead on her feet, but she still had enough strength to find a piece of cardboard from a pack of cigarettes with a picture of an umbrella and the word Parisienne printed on it. She covered the entrance with it as she descended into the borrow. Everything was done-she'd done it.
One of the most striking features of this world and the multitude of characters that inhabit it (mosquitoes, moths, dung beetles, flies, ants, cicadas, et cetera) is that they are all aware of, and accept, their dual natures. One minute they have wings and the next a long coat is in their place, and this is observed and understood to be normal by all. They spend the majority of their time thinking about or discussing their insect natures and the meaning of life as their particular species understands and approaches it, in addition to discussing how the different species interact as an insect society. This insect POV philosophy alongside their interchangeable states of being combines to raise a poignant question; are our natures and our lives really so different from those of insects, which are creatures that we consider to be far inferior to us?
Each species has its own way of conducting itself in the world, and each species is convinced that theirs is the right way, much like how each subset of humanity (be they defined by culture, religion, race, nationality et cetera) is convinced that theirs is the true/right/correct way to conduct a life. Through this tactic, Pelevin succeeded in suggesting that each view is valuable, the 'right' way to do things is highly personal and subjective, and that when you follow one prescription for life, you are dismissing various equal possibilities.
The Life of Insects lost points with me because quite often I had no idea what importance or significance things carried. Perhaps because of this, I find some chapters much more enjoyable than others. Also perhaps because of this, I find the pacing to be choppy. I've read that this story satirizes Russian culture at the time, but it was far too nuanced for me to make head or tails of most of it.
Granted, I don't know a lot of detailed Russian history, and I would be lost if someone asked me to describe the national mindset of the early 1990s. I know who Stalin was, I know who Lenin was, I know what happened to the Czar Alexander and his family. I know the basics about their involvement in WW2, how brutal orders were passed to officers to kill their own men if they were showing signs of defection (or any other reason they deemed appropriate) and the besieging of Stalingrad. I've heard of the Gulag, the Iron Curtain and mail order brides. I know that the Cold War ended around the time this story was originally published, and that Putin is a posturing propagandist, to put it mildly. Moscow is the capital, Yalta is a resort town and Siberia is really cold. I know that Russians dance the ballet like a boss and make really cool decorative eggs. Someone who possesses a better understanding of Russian culture and history than the above may have no problem with following the subtleties, references and allegorical comparisons.
Aside from these things, I don't really know much else about Russia, which makes it hard to discern if the general charmed bewilderment and confusion that I experience when I read most Russian literature is due to the fact that I am culturally ignorant or that they're all crazy. If you gave me a Russian story without telling me it's Russian and replacing any obvious markers like names or locations, I am willing to bet that I would be able to tell that it was Russian 3/4 times. I wish that I could articulate their collective style better than I am; but as it is an enigma to me, so is its description. I keep reading their stories, so it has obviously grown on me.
I would recommend this for anyone who has an interest in Russia, Russian culture, philosophy, weird characters, insects, experimental writing, the bizarre and the surreal. -
I need to read this book again in about 30 years... It's so craftily constructed, with separate narrative strands so intricately interwoven, that you feel you have encountered the ensnaring web of a master. So much comes together at the end that you're left wondering if you really were smart enough to successfully maneuver in and out and around the silk-like threads of Pelevin's web... Or if you are merely a dazzled moth, suspended in flight, vulnerable and unknowing, a Pelevin success.
Either that, or I read this book way too fast. -
I think it’s very well written – the stories that seem to be separate short novels at first turn out to be all interconnected. And the human-insect parallel is a very nicely grotesque idea. It really puts your imagination to work, when you read about completely human-like scenes and acts and find them decorated with bits and pieces from insect life.
P. S. Who knew, that the night moths I am so repelled by are actually the misanthropic and melancholic types, I usually tend to get along with very well. -
Є така відома серія книг «Жизнь замечательных людей», так от, назву книги Пєлєвіна сміливо можна перефразувати у «Жизнь насекомых людей». Тут відбуваються такі кафкіанські метаморфози, що ледь за ними встежиш: хвилину тому батько розмовляв із сином, а тут ми вже бачимо, як котяться набережною два жуки-гнойовики зі своїми кульками-скарбами.
А як вам російські комарі Артур та Арнольд, які ведуть свого американського колегу Сема «атвєдать кровушкі русскай», але «ядрьоний» одеколон «Русский лес» трохи не вбиває манірного закордонного гостя? Чи як мурахи Марина та Нікалай «строїли» сім’ю, однак потім Нікалай трагічно загинув, і голодною зимою Марина з’їла його рештки, щоб дати потомство?
На перший погляд може здатися, що це якісь хорор-історії, але насправді усе тут реальне: і герої-комахо-люди (рекетири, наркомани, містики, проститутки), і життєві ситуації, і роздуми над життям-буттям, і глибоке філософствування… Книжка Віктора Пєлєвіна – це особливий фантасмагорійний світ із безліччю ритуалів, де люди-комахи намагаються пізнати себе, але, розкриваючи брехню, не наближаються до правди.
«Права насекомых, говоришь? А про серно-карболовую смесь слышал? Одна часть неочищенной серной кислоты на три части сырой карболки – вот и все наши права. Никаких прав ни у кого тут не было никогда и не будет». -
I loved this book. A truly delightful collection of short stories about a group of characters that essentially live simultaneously as insects and humans, inviting us into their lives as they navigate their thoughts and feelings about life, love, hopes and destiny.
From the first page I was chuckling away to myself, immersed in the charm and wit of what to me, felt like an entomological version of Aesops fables.
I’m sure there are many ways to look at this book and it’s meanings, and I’m sure my own thoughts differ from others, and indeed the authors’. Each story felt like metaphor for different aspects of life that we encounter, experience or observe, and it’s was impossible not to smile a little at the end of each one, or indeed say ‘Ah!’ when the penny drops.
Whilst the book was originally written in Russian, the translation to English was excellent. It was cleverly written, with some lovely dialogue and phrases that I felt reflected life perfectly in some cases. Blink and you might miss something that a later story refers to. I’d read this book again, and probably will.
To the human (not insect) that gifted me this book - thank you! :) -
Pelevin e un scriitor foarte bun. O spun chiar dacă e prima carte scrisă de acesta pe care o citesc/ascult.
Pelevin e un scriitor bun deoarece el te face să crezi în ceea ce citești chiar dacă el vorbește niște aberații de neînchipuit dacă stai să te uiți, așa, dintr-o parte. Dar tragi concluzii din astea, învățături, exemple de conduită sau recunoști tipuri de oameni cu care ai avut (ne)norocul să te întâlnești în societate.
Pelevin lasă să se vadă sufletul și modul rusesc de gândire chiar dacă personajele sale sunt viespi, țânțari, furnici, gândaci de bălegar (nu spun scarabeu pentru că seamănă cu expresia ruso-moldovenească "скоро beu", și vă duc în eroare).
Vă recomand călduros această carte.
Dar să nu uit, am început o altă carte de Pelevin care se numește "IPhuck 10", și are o prefață extraordinară, sincer. Spor la citit! -
My first book by Pelevin. Unforgettable, unique book, which left an "afterglow" and gave me new strength to face life's absurdities. I completely did not find it depressing as other readers mention - no this was very refreshing and I was hysterically laughing at times! Rarely a book does that to me.
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Why does 1993 look so much like 2022? Is that because Pelevin is a genius writer or because we never change... or maybe it’s both? In any case, if you ever want to understand anything about post-Soviet reality in particular or human nature in general, then Victor Pelevin is an essential read!
https://youtu.be/ueZZZiJMCsc -
Skruzdėlė raudonais bateliais, cigaretes rūkantis naktinis drugys, kuris iš tiesų yra jonvabalis, vilnoniu švarku vilkintis uodas, o kur dar skarabėjas, pasidalinęs būties išmintimi, kad tu pats esi viskas aplinkui. Tas ridenamo šūdo rutulys taip pat. Ir dar krūva kitų personažų, kurių esatis persipina tarp žmogaus ir vabzdžio pavidalo, taip autoriui satyriškai nagrinėjant identiteto problematiką, būties beprasmybę ir žmonių santykius mums geriau pažįstamame rytų Europos bloke.
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Не знаю чим, але зачепило.
Сподобалися філософствування і метаморфози, схожість комах до людей, а людей до комах.
Наше життя таке ж не передбачуване, як і їхнє. Ніколи не знаєш, чи не наступить на тебе наступної миті чийсь черевик. -
this guy freakin GETS IT.
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Ну что ж тут вообще о чем "bla-bla-bla" иль "ooops" на щет книги этой - просто чертовски ё насекомно гениально. Нужно прочесть, или прослушать... и, конешно, угадали - о людях это.
