| Title | : | Out of the Dark |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 080328229X |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780803282292 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 139 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1995 |
The narrator, writing in 1995, looks back thirty years to a time when, having abandoned his studies and selling off old art books to get by, he comes to know Gérard Van Bever and Jacqueline, a young, enigmatic couple who seem to live off roulette winnings. He falls in love with Jacqueline; they run off to England together, where they share a few sad, aimless months, until one day she disappears. Fifteen years later, in Paris, they meet again, a reunion that only recalls the haunting inaccessibility of the past: they spend a few hours together, and the next day, Jacqueline, now married, disappears once again. Almost fifteen years after that, he sees her yet again, this time from a distance he chooses not to bridge. A profoundly affecting novel, Out of the Dark is poignant, strange, delicate, melancholy, and sadly hilarious.
Out of the Dark Reviews
-
***THIS AUTHOR IS THE WINNER OF THE 2014 NOBEL PRIZE FOR LITERATURE.***
”I don’t remember if I ever thought about the future in those days. I imagine I lived in the present, making vague plans to run away, as I do today, and hoping to see them soon, him and Jacqueline, in the Café Dante.”
When our nameless narrator meets Jacqueline and Van Bever they are playing pinball in the Café Dante. ”But Jacqueline is the one playing. Her arms and shoulders scarcely move as the machine rattles and flashes.” Our narrator has spent the day walking around from bookstore to bookstore trying to sell his art books to keep himself afloat for at least a little while longer. They are all drifters who have trapped themselves in the present with a forgotten past and an uncertain future. Van Bever gambles and does plays well enough to pay for the hotel and food, but not well enough for them to escape to Majorca where they have a tenuous invitation from a writer to come visit.
When men look at Jacqueline they see much more than a pretty face. They see vulnerability. They see that complicity can be achieved because she has what they desire and they have the money that she yearns for. Our narrator falls in love with her... as many other men will do. He knows absolutely nothing about her. We are attracted to the mysterious in people because we can write our own story about them. The tall, dark, and handsome is the guy who has learned to be quiet so no one will know how uncomfortable he feels. The pretty wallflower with disdain rumpled lips is hoping no one will discover how insecure she feels. We can make these mysterious people who we want them to be. They try to give us nothing to dissuade us from our conceived vision of them.
He tries a few times to get Jacqueline to reveal something, anything about her past, but she rebuffs him with one word answers given with the proper tone to discourage further inquiries. ”And I didn’t blame her: As I went along I too had forgotten nearly everything about my life, and each time whole stretches of it had fallen to dust I’d felt a pleasant sensation of lightness.”
What are memories, after all, except what we make them to be. They are mummified corpses that are many times unrecognizable to the owner of them except maybe for a sprig of hair, the tattoo on the ankle, or the mole orbiting a nipple.
They leave Paris to flee away from Van Bever.
After arriving in London the narrator realizes very quickly how much he misses Paris and that really they didn’t have to run away any further than to another district of the city. For the moment he is intrigued by Jacqueline more than he loves Paris, but of course in only a few months she disappears without a note, without a word, abandoning the version of herself she was with him.
Fifteen years later he sees her again.
”But surely she hadn’t forgotten those days…. Unless her present life had erased them, in the same way that the blinding beam from a spotlight throws everything outside its path into the deepest shadows.”
This is a short book as I suspect are all of Patrick Modiano’s books. The translator in the forward to this edition talks about how difficult it is to translate Modiano because his writing is sparse; and yet, weighted with so much nuance. There are words in French that have no English equivalent.
I recently read another book by him called
Missing Person in which the narrator has forgotten his past. There is a similar theme in this novel. Though the characters have not forgotten their past it ceases to exist with every change in geography or with the attainment of a new lover. We never learn anything about the past histories of the characters of this novel. They slough off their lives like molting snakes leaving behind the vestiges of the old skin to fully embrace the new life.
A youthful Patrick Modiano...many, many moons ago.
According to professional reviewers Modiano continues to write about lost futures, forgotten pasts, and missing time in the majority of his novels. He certainly has me hooked as I will continue to pick up his books as they become available in English. Translators will continue to struggle to fully capture his meanings without changing his concise, but insightful prose.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit
http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:
https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten -
5 "gauzy, untethered, dreamy, romantic" stars !!
2017 Honorable Mention with High Distinction Read
I sit here with a few tears and I do not understand why. I do not understand why this book moved me so or why I had to read it in such small sections as I felt anxiety and melancholy and a swelling of profound love and yearning.
I have not had the pleasure of yet seeing Paris and yet as I read I was swept back to the Paris of the 1970s where the university drop-out wanders the streets aimlessly and sells his art books and falls in love with a woman named Jacqueline. Aaah Jacqueline who utilizes ether, eats little and wanders from city to city like a spirit, a gentle succubus that enamors men to her. I love her but I love the young writer more. He is sensitive, romantic but aimless and does not know himself or really the world. He flits and floats and although the world is beautiful; it is only shadows and intangible.
As I read this I thought of my previous loves and the errors and betrayals, along with the tender moments and instances of such exquisite passion, that I still shiver when I allow myself to reverie.
Mr. Modiano, you are a genius of atmosphere, of vaporous languor, of deep undefinable romance and nuances that I cannot grasp yet have experienced.
I felt her lips on my neck. I stroked her hair. It wasn't as long as it used to be, but nothing had really changed. Time had stopped. Or rather, it had returned to the hour shown by the hands of the clock in the Cafe Dante the night we had met there just before closing
Merci Beaucoup mon amie M. Modiano. Un petit tresor !! -
'Go pack your bags,’ he told us. ‘And remember, don’t pay the bill.'
For Europeans born after World War II it was an insuperable paradox. Their young minds were burdened with macabre stories of war and death they had not seen firsthand; they were born in a time of durable peace defined by tedium of normalcy that gave war stories a nightmarish, fictional aspect. Despite gaining a sharp consciousness of what had happened in Europe, they perhaps couldn’t quite relate to the stories of their elders in a meaningful way. So great was the disconnect that in France, to cast off the jarring weight of the past and to write a new narrative of future, they mounted a rebellion we have come to call students riots of 1968. It is in this milieu of distended ennui that preceded the volcanic eruption of collective anger that our story begins.
The unnamed narrator, writing in 1994, looks back thirty years to tell the story of his encounter with two drifters, Jacqueline and her love interest Van Bever, staying in rundown hotels and earning their living from gambling, whose mysterious aloofness impresses him into asking questions about the blackholes of his own life. They get up every morning for nothing, drink stale coffee in cafés, click and clack on pinball machines, and while away the remainder of their day walking through deserted Parisian streets, all the while setting up a way out to a better place. There is something going on with Jacqueline and Ven Bever but the narrator can’t point out what. He is a college dropout forced to live in the present nurturing vague plans for escape, “a very Bohemian life, in other words…” The only hint that gives away something is Jacqueline’s mysterious refrain.All we need is some money to get to Majorca…
Just as their futures have no shape, their pasts are also shrouded in the unknown. We are never told about their backgrounds, their childhoods, their lives before Jacqueline met the narrator, abandoned Van Beber, and ran off with him to London, except for passing references to neighbourhoods where they were born. "I can scarcely remember any other details of that time of my life. I've almost forgotten my parents' faces", confesses the narrator at one point. We see them living under a spell of boredom, trying meekly to manipulate acquaintances to fund their lives, and making new plans they don’t believe in themselves. In London they fail; Jacqueline has other ideas, and the narrator will spend the next fifteen, thirty years searching for answers...
This aimless, arbitrary, and circuitous aspect of their lives percolates into Modiano’s writing when he focuses disproportionately on trivial dialogue, commenting on facial expressions and out of season apparel, innumerable trips up and down the streets of Paris and then London, while leaving out conventional plot components to advance the story, and without giving us an opportunity to glimpse into the insides of their minds. The writer through his principal narrator makes us guess what’s happening. Sometimes we get it, sometimes we don’t. Just as there is stream-of-consciousness style of writing, let’s say if there was something called stream-of-boredom, Modiano’s novella would fit that label to a tee.
It is said that Modiano is obsessed with World War II, the Nazi occupation of France, and the death and destruction that came in its wake. I have not read those novels to formulate an informed opinion, but there is nary a sign of his favourite themes in the book under review. This story is completely apolitical, there’s no mention of any historical event, not a word whatsoever. It is by putting this story in the context of its time and location you may get an idea of the external forces closing in on the characters. Or you may not.
I was going to rate it three stars. I am not too pleased for reasons mentioned earlier (translation?), but I asked myself: did the writer manage to create effect? The answer is undoubtedly in the affirmative. You want to hold the narrator’s shoulders in mock embrace and shake him patronisingly to lift his spirits. You want to offer Jacqueline a hot chocolate with a peck on her cheek. You want to wish good luck to Van Bever when Jacqueline dumps him and runs away with a new man every time she embarks on a new leg to her ultimate journey to Majorca. You just want them to feel good about themselves. I was chided indirectly: “Maybe he was trying to strike a flippant and sympathetic tone. If so, he was doing it awkwardly, as older people do who are intimidated by youth.”Every morning I went and wrote near Holland Park, and I was no longer in London but in front of Gare du Nord and walking along the Boulevard de Magenta. Today, thirty years later, in Paris, I am trying to escape from this month of July 1994 to that other summer, when the breeze gently caressed the boughs of the tree in Holland Park. The contrast of shadow and sun was the strongest I have ever seen.
Can present retain something of the past? Can we insulate ourselves from mistakes made decades ago? Can our self be present at multiple locations and be absent from each one at the same time? Does the year in our heads attest to the testimony of calenders? What is the most appropriate wording for the question Modiano is making us ask? I, for one, do not know. -
Mood & atmosphere aplenty, I wouldn't necessarily call the main protagonist a drifter. More like a wallflower, the guy goes about perambulating the most interesting capitols of Europe looking for Love.
Modiano is a (probable?) master at paining landscape. If only it contained a story! -
Kısacık sürede okunabilen bir roman En Uzağından Unutuşun. Konuşmayı çok sevmeyen, sadece yettiği kadarını anlatan hatta sustuğu kadarıyla bir şeyler anlatmaya çalışan bir yol arkadaşı gibiydi. Bu kadar az anlatmasına rağmen ortada büyük bir maharet olmalı ki, ben Paris ve İngiltere bölümlerinde uyudukları her odayı, yastıktaki eter kokusunu, Dante Kafe'nin içindeki tilt makinasının sesini, oturdukları masanın tepesindeki aydınlatmayı, sigara dumanını, Jaqualine'nin öksürük sesini, Paris soğuğunu, İngiltere'nin güneşli havasını, sokakları, hepsini çok net resmedebildim kafamda.
Henüz reşit bile olmamış ve hayata tutunabilmeye çalışan iki gencin yollarının 3-5 aylığına kesişmesi ve kopması, aradan geçen 15 yıl sonra tekrar karşılaşmaları ve karşılaştıkları yerin güzelliği, kaosu. Hepsi güzeldi. Ama daha güzel olan bir yer var benim için; başkahramanımızın aradan geçen onca yıla rağmen belleğinde yalnızca o büyüme sancısı döneminden, ilk ergenlikte karşılaştığı ve çok kısa süre yol arkadaşlığı yaptığı ama muhtemelen de "kim olduğunu ve olacağını" bulmak adına en sağlam temeli attığı o kısa kesiti hiç unutmaması. Daha doğrusu annesin babasının yüzünün bile silikleşmesi ama o kısa sürecin hafızasında daha diri kalması. Bir fotoğraf sahnesi gibi geldi bana. Yollarını bulmaya, tutunmaya çalışan iki gencin, balıksırtı örgü kazak ve ince deri montla Paris ayazında çekilmiş siyah beyaz bir fotoğraf karesi kaldı romandan kafamda.
Tavsiye ederim. -
أول قراءة لي لموديانو صاحب نوبل 2014.
أعتقد أنها جزء من سيرة موديانو الحقيقية؛ لأن ��ارد الرواية من جيل الكاتب وهو مواليد 1945 وفترة السيتينيات الساخنة والمحمومة لجيل شبابها وبوهيميته، والبحث عن الحقيقة، ومفهوم الحياة وتلك الأمور التي كانت تشغل شباب ذلك الجيل.
سرد هادئ وبسيط بدون تعقيدات على لسان شاب وهو بائع كتب متجول، ويرغب في كتابة رواية في يوم ما، يقابل في أحد الأيام شابة في مثل عمره تدعى جاكلين وصاحبها المقامر في شوارع باريس، ويقع في غرام جاكلين تلك الفتاة الغامضة التي يقع في غرامها الجميع، أثناء تجولهم في الشوارع والمقاهي بلا هدف واضح.
وتترك صاحبها المقامر وتهرب مع صاحبنا السارد إلى لندن، وتتكرر مشاهد الحياة بلا هدف غير جمع المال بأي طريقة للهرب إلى جزيرة مايوركا والعيش هناك. ولكن هل سوف يتحقق ذلك؟
علاقة السارد هنا بوالده تشبه أيضًا علاقة موديانو بوالده.
"كان والدي يحدد لي مواعيد في القاعات الخلفية لحانات، في ردهات فنادق ومقاهي محطات قطارات، لكأنه كان يتقصد اختيار أماكن عبور حتى يتخلص مني ويهرب حاملًا أسراره".
رواية بلا بداية ولا نهاية، ناعمة كوشاح الحرير عند تمريره بين أصابعك ولكن بها سحر عجيب لا ينسى. -
" ذكرياتي الطيبة الوحيدة حتى الآن هى ذكريات هروب "
دعنا ننبش معاً جذور الذكريات من أقاصي النسيان يا سيد " موديانو "..، ولكن لابد وإنك تجيد اللعبة عني...
لذا سأكتفي بالحديث عن ما كُتِب هنا ، كالعادة ترانا نتيه ما بين فندق ومقهى وأرصفة مُبللة بالمطر في ليالي باريس ، أسماء وعناوين الشوارع والأحياء بقائمة لا تعرف نهاية ، أصوات واهنة خافتة تصدر عنها كلمات منطوقة تكاد تكون معدودة...
ووجوه بلا ملامح لشخوص كما لو كانوا أشباحاً لا يتركون أثراً غير إنها كانت من بقيت الأكثر حضوراً في الذهن لتستدعيها الذكرى من أقاصي النسيان...
ذكرى عالقة لم تبرح مكانها تنسل من شق الزمن لتزاحم ثقل الحياة فتصبح أكثر خفة...
شعرت كما لو إنني كنت في حلم ولابد من إنني سأستفيق منه بنهاية المطاف....
لكن لأصدق القول ذاك اللقاء الذي عبر الزمن بعد خمسة عشر عاماً كان مؤلماً ، وبعد مُضي خمسة عشر عاماً كان مازال ينتظر لقاءها....
ومازال السؤال يلح عليّ يا سيد " موديانو " لِما الحب يتوارى في عالمك الصغير...لماذا ؟!...
ليس جُرماً لكي لا تُعلن عنه.... -
Không thể dánh giá sao cho cuốn sách này
Cá nhân mình ko thể đánh sao cho sách của Modiano. Vì bản thân không thấy có tiêu chí nào để đánh giá : nhân vật, nội dung, cốt truyện như một tác phẩm thường thấy và thường được nhận xét dựa trên đó.
Cốt truyện của Modiano không có bắt đầu cũng ko có kết thúc, như từ hư không đi ra, một con người ko rõ quá khứ cũng như tương lai, hầu hết đều là những người hết sức mông lung và phần nào đều lạc lối. Tới trang nào hay trang đó, nhưng luôn có 1 dự cảm về những quãng đời mờ mịt và rời xa người đang bên cạnh.
Nhân vật được miêu tả bằng những nét phác. Nhân vật chính mà lại không chính vì bạn chẳng bao giờ biết được ngoại hình, xuất thân, ước mơ hay tham vọng gì của "nhân vật chính " mà hình như còn không rõ cả tên luôn ấy. Thường là nhân vật chính sẽ xuất hiện với những dòng đối thoại hay kể " không rõ quen...từ bao giờ" và cuộc đời nhân vật này sẽ bị cuốn theo những nhân vật khác - những người anh ta gặp gỡ 1 cách tình cờ và cứ thế đi theo họ.
Cũng không có cao trào, bởi dường như ai cũng có thể cảm giác được sự kiện sẽ xảy ra. Nhưng cũng chẳng có những câu từ đao to búa lớn hay những màn lật tình huống thót tim. Không. không hề có.
Thế mà mình đã đọc và đọc để mong muốn tìm ra cái kết cho câu chuyện. Câu chuyện đầu tiên của Modiano không quá mù mờ với mình, danh tính, và tính cách của các nhân vật và đặc biệt là Jacqueline. Ít nhất Jacqueline đã hiện lên khá rõ, một cô giá đẹp, lãng đãng, vừa thực tế vừa mơ mộng, vừa tình tứ lại vừa tàn nhẫn. Về cách cô ấy "cuốn" những gã đàn ông quanh mình, về dáng vẻ thanh lịch tao nhã như chẳng vướng bận điều gì, cũng chẳng để tâm tới cuộc sống. Nhưng cô đã sống và vươn lên địa vị với tất cả những uẩn khúc tình cảm của mình.
Mình khá hụt hơi khi theo dòng sự kiện của nhân vật chính. bởi mình biết chắc kết cục mà tác giả đã vẽ sẵn cho anh ta, anh ta thì chẳng theo đuổi gì, cũng chẳng nói gì ngoài nói về Jacqueline, nhưng trong chuỗi đời màu xám nhàn nhạt ấy, anh ta quên tất cả trừ người đàn bà ấy, người đàn bà bên cạnh anh chỉ vài tháng và để anh cả 1 đời vương vấn. Và anh ta vẫn luôn trân giữ tình cảm ấy, chẳng chút trách cứ nào.
Mình vừa ghét lại vừa không thể ghét cái nàng Jacqueline này.
Mình không quá say đắm câu chuyện này nhưng cũng ko thể quên được nó
Về những con người không thấy ý nghĩa của cuộc sống, họ để cuộc sống trôi đi như gió lùa kẽ tay. Cũng chẳng rõ trong lòng họ là những gì, cuộc đời dường như chỉ trôi đi để có được vài tháng ngày để ghi nhớ rồi tiếp tục trôi đi để gìn giữ những tháng ngày ấy. -
Well, I don't really have much to say on the work other than that that may be the finer nuances of the work were lost on me because I read its English translation.
Jordan Stump, in translator's introduction says-
Modiano is never easy to translate; the apparent simplicity and neutrality of his style conceals a wealth of subtle difficulties for the translator
I hope this is the case and do look forward to read more of his works. -
این طور تصور میکردم که هر لحظه که بخواهم میتوانم پاریس را ترک کنم. در پانزده سال گذشته خودم را اسیر خود و دیگران حس میکردم و همهی خوابهایم مثل هم بود: خواب فرار با قطارهای در حال حرکتی که همیشه از بخت بد همهشان را از دست میدادم. هیچوقت به ایستگاه نمیرسیدم. همیشه در راهروهای مترو گم میشدم و وقتی به سکو میرسیدم، مترو نمیآمد.
از متن کتاب -
23/12/2018: Đọc lại thấy thích quả, cảm giác buồn bã nhẹ tênh và cuộc đời chẳng có gì quá quan trọng, mọi thứ đều dễ dàng bay biến như bọt xà phỏng, cảm giác ấy vừa nhẹ nhõm nhưng cũng gây nản chí làm sao.
-
Modiano, 2014 senesinde Nobel Edebiyat Ödülü'nü aldığında -Murakami'nin ödül için en yüksek popülerliğe sahip olduğu sene olduğundan- bir kesimde hayal kırıklığı yaratmış ve Modiano'nun babasının Naziler ile işbirliği yapmış bir Yahudi olduğuna kadar gitmişti konular. O dönemden beri merak ettiğim, kitaplığımda bulundurduğum yazarlardan bir tanesiydi.
Edebiyatta "Modiano Stili" denen bir anlatım var. O derece iz bırakmış yani yazar. Bu stil aslında biraz Nobel komitesinin yapmış olduğu açıklamalarla da netleşmişti. Sade bir dil ve akış, basit ve kısa cümleler, ayrıntıya yüklenmeme, yoğun bir aktarım olmaması... Bunlar biçimsel özellikleri. Bir de günümüz insanının, yakın geçmişine olan ilgisiz ama etkileyici yaklaşımı, o geçmişi buruk bir şekilde yad etmesi, her daim karakterlerin geçmiş ile güncel arasında gidip gelmesi gibi içeriği kapsayan özellikleri var. Yarım katarsisler, ucu açık sonlar. Okur bilmiyor, çünkü yazar da bilmiyor. Diğer yandan da yazarın hep aynı öyküyü anlattığı ve hepsinde de farklı bir şey hissettirdiği söylenir. Bunun için bir şey söyleyemeyeceğim eserlerinin çoğunluğunu okumadığımdan.
Modiano'nun sanırım Türkçeye henüz altı kitabı çevrilmiş durumda. İçlerinden sivrilen ve yazarı tam anlamıyla yansıttığı iddia edilen de 'En Uzağından Unutuşun'. O yüzden büyük bir merak ile başladım. Fakat yukarıda bahsettiğim biçimsel özellikler beni biraz sersemletti. Sanki öylesine yazılmış karakterlerin öylesine devinimlerini okuyor hissine kapıldım. Kitap bittikten sonra daha genelden bakabilmeye, yazarın yaptığı şeyin nasıl bir şey olduğu hissedebilmeye başladım ancak okurken tuzu yavan geldi.
Avrupa'nın vazgeçmiş, bohemik yorulmuşlukları olan, özgür, kendini arayan gençleri var bu romanda. Okurken Henry Miller'ın Yengeç Dönencesi romanındaki Avrupa geldi gözümün önüne. Miller nasıl açık sözlü, nasıl gerçekçi ise; Modiano'da o kadar örtük, soğuk... Bu anlamda beni yakalayamadı. Bir yerde bu bohem hayatı yaşayan kaybolmuş Avrupalı gençlerin sıradanlığını kırarak, karakterlerin kendilerine bambaşka hikayeler yazacaklarına inandırdım kendimi ancak sonuç hiç öyle olmadı. Burjuvalığa adım atabilmiş, sınıfını beş altı basamak yukarı taşıyabilmiş, ilginçlikleri olan iki karakter kaldı elimde.
Demem o ki, kitap kendini okutuyor. Bir ilginçliği, özgünlüğü, stili var. Ama en mükemmel haliyle bile kalibresi bence üç puanlık. Bir beklentinin olmaması lazım.
Diğer bir eleştirim sonradan yazar olduğunu anladığımız anlatıcımızın Jacqueline dışında hiç mi bir saplantısı olmamış acaba? Yazmak adına bu kadar mı donuk hisler ile kitapları yayımlanan bir yazar haline dönüşmüş? Ki yazar ikisinin ayrıldıkları o önemli noktayı bizden gizlemeyi uygun görmüşken daha tatmin edici bazı ara satırlar koyabilirdi diye düşünüyorum.
İyi okumalar.
6.5/10 -
Geçmişi olmayan, bohem bir hayat süren, Mayorka'ya gitme hayali için para toplamaya çalışan yirmi yaşında genç bir kız Jacqueline. Üzerine giyecek bir paltosu dahi yok Paris'in kışında ince deri ceketiyle gezdiği için sürekli hasta, sürekli öksürüyor. Bu gizemli ve savunmasız haliyle, amaçsızca ortalıkta dolanan yaşıtı erkeklerin ve hayatta hayal kırıklığına uğramış, gençliğin altında ezilen orta yaşlı erkeklerin hepsini kendine aşık edebilir. Öyle de oluyor, Jacqueline bir sevgiliden diğerine, bir hayattan bir başkasına atlayarak hayaline ulaşmaya çalışırken beraber olduğu erkeklerden biri romanımızın ismi belirtilmemiş kahramanı.
Kahramanımız onunla tanıştığında Jacqueline, Van Bever adlı bir gençle beraber. Geceleri kumarhanelerde rulet oynayıp, gündüz kitap satıp para biriktirmeye çalışıyorlar. Bir gün Jacqueline kahramanımıza küçük bir hırsızlık teklifiyle geliyor. Bir dişçiyi soyacaklar. Jacqueline adamı "oyalarken" kahramanımız da çantasını çalacak. Sonra da Van Bever'i ve Paris'i arkalarında bırakıp birlikte Londra'ya kaçacaklar. Suç ortaklığı...bir kadın ve erkeğin paylaşabileceği, aşkı kapsayan ama aşktan çok daha üstün en büyük yakınlık.
"Jacqueline’le ben akşam saat beşe doğru Charring Cross Garı’ndan Londra’ya gelmiştik. Bir rehberden gelişigüzel seçilmiş bir otele gitmek üzere bir taksiye binmiştik. O da, ben de Londra’yı bilmiyorduk. Taksinin Mall’a girdiği ve ağaçlarla gölgelenmiş bu cadde önüme serildiği anda, yaşamımın ilk yirmi yılı toz olup dökülü-verdi, bir gün kurtulacağıma hiçbir zaman inanmadığım bir ağırlık, bir kelepçe, bir semer gibi. İşte böyle, bütün bu yıllardan hiçbir şey kalmıyordu artık. Ve mutluluk o akşam duyduğum geçici sarhoşluksa, yaşamımda ilk kez mutluydum."
----Spoiler----
Jacqueline kısa süre sonra kahramanımızı da bırakıp ortadan kayboluyor. Ardından geçen on beş yılda o birkaç ayı unutturacak hiçbir şey yaşanmıyor. On beş yıl sonra yeniden karşılaşıyorlar.
"...onu iyi tanırmışım gibi bir duygu vardı içimde, onu on beş yıldır görmemiş olsam da, yaşamı konusunda hiçbir şey bilmesem de. Şimdiye kadar karşılaştığım tüm insanlar içinde, belleğimde en canlı kalan oydu. Böyle kolu kolumun çevresinde, ilerledikçe, daha dün ayrıldığımızı sanmaya başlıyordum."
Ertesi gün Jacqueline yeniden ortadan kayboluyor ve bir on beş yıl daha...Koca hayat sanki o birkaç ay ve sonrasında geçirilen birkaç gün için yaşanmış gibi. Jacqueline'in hayatında pek de önemli olmayan belki de unutmak isteyeceği küçük suçları, kaçamakları kahramanımızın hayatının tamamı.
----Spoiler----
Kayıp hayatlar, gerçekleşmeyen hayaller ve unutmamak üzerine detaylarla, nüanslarla çok incelikli yazılmış, beni çok etkileyen bir roman. -
Kitabın isminin cazibesine kapılanlardan biriyim kuşkusuz. Yazar da geçen yıl Nobel aldığından ötürü tanımak, okumak istedim. Uzun süredir okuduklarımdan tat alamayan biri olarak kitabı beğendim. Hissettirdikleri bile yeterli. Mutlu etmeyen ama öte yandan üzmeyen, değişik hüzünlü bir romandı.
Ayrıca sıkmayan, boğmayan bir havası var anlatılan öykünün. Keşke biraz daha yazsaymış dedim bittiğinde. Yazarın dili güzel, genelde kısa ve öz cümleler. Çeviri T.Yücel olunca biraz çekinmiştim ama bir Sisifos vakası yok burada neyse ki. Akıl yerine us demeye devam ama...
Yazar nobelli olduğundan artık, başka kitapları da çevrilir diye düşünüyorum. Varlık'tan çıkan kitabı da vardı sanırım. Modiano yeni favorim. Bir de alıntı:
"Ve konuşma saatler boyunca sürecekti bu taraçanın altında. Boş sözcükler, oyuk tümceler, sanki onunla ben, kendi ölümümüzden sonra yaşıyormuşuz ve geçmişe en ufak bir imada bulunamıyormuşuz gibi." -
Feels like the product of an unskilled beginner. There is no plot, the characters are poorly sketched and the reader is overwhelmed by the names of Paris and London streets. OK, we get it, Jacqueline and the super secret alter ego of Modiano have been to London and Paris, so what? Given the recent Nobel Prize, I read it hoping at every page that the introduction would soon be over and the fabulous writing would start. It never did.
-
“À Bout de Souffle” filmini anımsatarak başladı hikaye.. Önce Paris, sonra Londra sokaklarında aylak aylak dolaşıyor, karakterlerin hikayelerine uzaktan tanıklık ediyor gibi hissettim. Çok keyif aldım okurken!
-
Patrick Modiano okuduğum en farklı yazarlardan birisi. Şimdiye kadar okuduğum yazarlar içinde, anlatımda adeta imkansızı başarmış bir yazar. İnsanın bilerek ve isteyerek yaşadığı boşluğu, amaçsızlığı, yarınsızlığı, unutmuşluğu veya unutma tercihini anlatırken, bu tür bir yaşamın durağanlığını da, bu hayatın aşka ve maceraya açılma olasılığını ve eğlenceli yanlarını resmetmeyi de mükemmel bir şekilde başarıyor. Üstelik anlatısını belli bir tempoda tutmayı da başarıyor.
Romanlarında, İstemli veya istemsiz bir bellek kaybına bağlı amaçsız yaşamanın verdiği rahatlık, hırslardan arınmışlık ve boşluğu ve bir anlamda -bunlara bağlı- huzuru çok etkili anlattığını düşünüyorum. -
9/10
I don't remember if I ever thought about the future in those days. I imagine I lived in the present, making vague plans to run away, as I do today, and hoping to see them soon, him and Jacqueline, in the Café Dante.
~~~~~
I climbed the stairs in the train station and came out into the huge lobby known as the Salle des Pas Perdus. ... The Gare Saint Lazare offered me an escape route that extended far beyond the suburbs or the province of Normandy, where these trains were headed. Buy a ticket for Le Havre, Cartaud's town. And from Le Havre, disappear anywhere, anywhere in the world, through the Porte Océane. ...
Why did they call this the Salle des Pas Perdus, the room of lost steps? It probably took only a little time here before nothing meant anything anymore, not even our footsteps.
Only a marker. Review to come. -
Modiano nos ofrece una historia concebida en el seno mismo de la melancolía. Contada en retrospectiva a través de un protagonista que evoca una historia de amor de varias décadas atrás, nos sumergimos en la nostalgia tácita y embriagadora de Paris, lugar donde ocurre el encuentro entre un joven vendedor de libros antiguos y una curiosa pareja que cambiará el curso de su vida, al menos parcialmente.
El autor consigue impregnar toda la obra con un tono misterioso que nos obliga a seguirlo, a querer desentrañar las verdades detrás de estos sujetos, la auténtica naturaleza de sus motivaciones, sus vínculos, sus verdaderas identidades tan difusas bajo la sombra de una distancia insalvable que éstos crean entre sí mismos y nuestro protagonista.
La novela tiene la virtud de resultar profundamente cercana pese a la apatía con que parecen moverse algunos de sus elementos. Está fantásticamente escrita y emana ese sentimiento melancólico que se le pega a uno sin importar si lo quiere o no. La soledad que evoca es casi violenta pese a la serenidad con que se despliega y acaba siendo sofocante incluso cuando la juventud que la atraviesa debiese resultar descarada o esperanzada. Y quizás es eso lo que más atesoré. -
Nếu có một cột mốc, ta hãy nhớ 2014 là năm Modiano bắt đầu xuất hiện trên nền văn học nước nhà.
Tại sao trong hàng chục tác phẩm của ông, dịch giả lại chọn Từ thăm thẳm lãng quên để giới thiệu tới người đọc? Phải chăng Trần bạch lan, hay Nhị Linh Cao Việt Dũng muốn tiếp nối những mạch văn âm ỉ từ Ở quán cà phê của tuổi trẻ lạc lối. Hay phải chăng anh tìm thấy sự đồng cảm từ những nhân vật trong tác phẩm, từ những kỷ niệm u hoài, từ những con người lạc lõng, lơ lửng giữa Paris hoa lệ.
Ai chẳng có một thời tuổi trẻ băn khoăn giữa muôn ngả cuộc đời. Và ở giữa những tấp nập huyên náo vẫn luôn có những mảnh đời lạc lối. Những mảnh đời những mong tìm thấy chỗ đứng của mình ở đâu đó dù nhỏ hay to, dù tạm bợ hay lâu bền -
If you haven’t yet read any of Nobel Prize winner Patrick Modiano’s novels, Out of the Dark provides an excellent introduction. Modiano’s main characters—typically a late teen or early 20s male narrator, a late teens or early 20s mysterious and vaguely attractive woman, and one or more men perhaps in their mid-30s—appear slightly unfocused: it’s often unclear just how the young man and the young woman feel about each other, except for their need for mutual solace; their backgrounds are also often unclear; and the older men often support themselves through unspecified low-level grift. What is typically clear in Modiano novels is that the young man—now ten, twenty, or thirty years older—looks back with regret at his youthful romance, wonders what happened to the once young mysterious woman, and asks himself whether and how she cared for him.
Published in France in 1996 and reportedly Modiano’s fourteenth novel—comparing the chronological order of Modiano’s novels published in their original French with those translated into English is tricky—Out of the Dark was his most straight-forward and easily accessible novel to date. In most Modiano novels that I’ve read, the complexity and ambiguity of the plot and characters are belied by the seeming simplicity of his prose. Out of the Dark retains Modiano’s usual emblematic direct prose, usual structure, and many usual themes. It’s 1994 and the unnamed male narrator, now in his late 40s, wistfully remembers his romance of thirty years earlier. Both in 1994 and thirty years earlier, the narrator portrays himself as rootless and directionless: ”I don’t remember if I ever thought about the future in those days. I imagine I lived in the present, making vague plans to run away, as I do today. . .” In 1964, the narrator found himself unmoored from a father eager to escape from him: ”My father used to meet me in back rooms of cafés, in hotel lobbies, or in train station buffets, as if he were choosing these transitory places to get rid of me and to run away with his secrets.” On a Paris street, the narrator meets by chance Gérard Van Bever and Jacqueline, a young couple about his age. The narrator pieces together a marginal income by selling rare books to bookshops; Gérard makes money through playing the infamously high risk martingale technique at casino roulette tables; Jacqueline, always mysterious, supports herself through Gérard’s gambling. Gérard and Jacqueline seem a bit shady, a bit shabby, not à la mode shabby, just no-money shabby. The narrator, Gérard, and Jacqueline all live in a student neighborhood, hoping to pass beneath the radar because they were “always afraid of being noticed.” The narrator, noticing the smell of ether in Jacqueline and Gérard’s room and the blue bottle above the sink, guesses that Jacqueline is addicted. Initially friends with Gérard and Jacqueline as a couple, the narrator starts an affair with her when Gérard goes off to gamble. The narrator and Jacqueline flee to England with money stolen from an older associate of Gérard’s, where Jacqueline ultimately disappears. How he loved her! ”One afternoon, at the Holland Park underground station, we had our pictures taken in a Photomat. We posed with our faces close together. I kept the pictures as a souvenir. Jacqueline’s face is in the foreground, and mine, slightly set back, is cut off by the edge of the photo so that my left ear can’t be seen. After the flash we couldn’t stop laughing, and she wanted to stay on my knees in the booth. Then we followed the avenue alongside Holland Park, past the big white houses with their porticoes. The sun was shining for the first time since our arrival in London, and as I remember, the weather was always bright and warm from that day onward, as if summer had come early.”
Fifteen years later and now in his mid-thirties, presumably about 1979, the narrator still finds himself isolated and adrift: ”I’d put the birth certificate back in my pocket. I was in a dream, and I had to wake up. The ties connecting me to the present were stretching. It would really have been too bad if I’d ended up on this bench in a sort of amnesia, progressively losing my identify, unable to give my address to passers-by. . . . Fortunately I had that birth certificate in my pocket, like dogs that become lost in Paris but carry their owner’s address and phone number on their collar. . . . And I tried to explain to myself why I was feeling so unfixed. I hadn’t seen anyone for several weeks.” Sitting on the Paris park bench, he spies Jacqueline, now named Thérèse Caisley and married, speaks with her, and then she again disappears from his life.
Finally it's 1994, thirty years after his romance with Jacqueline, and the narrator wonders what’s become of Jacqueline and can find no trace of her: ”She might have died sometime in the past year. Maybe I would find her one Sunday on the Rue Corvisart.”
Jordan Stump, who translated Out of the Dark into English, beautifully sums up Modiano’s appeal: ”This is perhaps the most extraordinary of Modiano’s feats as a writer: however private his works seems, however inseparable from a personal past, it always speaks to us of something we feel we know, as if these were our own faded memories, our own shapeless uncertainties and apprehensions, our own loose ends. “
I’ve now read more than a dozen Modiano novels—he’s become a favorite author—and I sometimes amuse myself by trying to picture the male and female leads in a film featuring a typical Modiano plot. The male lead is in his late teens or early twenties: slightly shy, bookish and thoughtful, dreamy and somewhat impractical, slender and perhaps barely handsome, dressed neatly in worn clothes. She’s about the same age: slender and neither tall nor short, pale, dark hair, wearing shabby clothes, with a veiled expression and neither smiling nor laughing easily, quietly attractive but not beautiful. Why can’t I think of actors to fill these roles? -
قطعا هیئت داوران جایزه نوبل اثری از نبوغ در کارهای مودیانو کشف کردن که بهش جایزه دادن ولی من یا به اندازه کافی باهوش نیستم و ذوق ادبی ندارم یا اینکه سانسور و ترجمه و ویراستاری بد جای برای حس کردن و دیدن اون نبوغ نذاشته. شاید هم هر دو!
به هر حال فراتر از فراموشی بعد از
برای اینکه در محله گم نشی دومین تجربه بد من با مودیانو و نشونهای برای اینکه بهتره دور کارهای این نویسنده رو خط بکشم -
Okuduğum ikinci Modiano kitabıydı. Benim açımdan 'Bir Gençlik' kadar özel olmasa da çok sade bir şekilde anlatılan hikaye okuru kısa sürede içine çekiyor. Bu sadelikte yakalanan hüzünlü bir huzur var. Büyük beklentilere girmeden, arada soluklanmak istenilen zamanlarda okunmasını önerdiğim, yine de bu kategorideki kitaplardan bir tık üstte olan okunası bir kitaptır kendisi.
-
A pesar de haber leído apenas dos libros de Modiano, hay algunos elementos que pueden considerarse típicos de este autor y, por ende, van delineando su propio estilo narrativo. Los ambientes, los personajes y sus relaciones y la importancia de contar una historia a través de un pasado que no se olvida y un presente que ayuda a sanar y a, paradójicamente, olvidar un poco (todo atravesado por lo que parece un constante tono de gris) hacen de Más allá del olvido una novela de la cual su autor resulta inconfundible.
Si comparo esta historia con la otra que leí,
Domingos de agosto lo cual no siempre es lo mejor, el argumento de Más allá del olvido me supo a poco. Si bien me gustó, considero que le faltó ese "algo" que debería haber tenido para que me gustase más. Encuentros y desencuentros, fugas, vagos triángulos amorosos y escenarios y situaciones confusos son factores constantes en las obras de Modiano; de hecho, creo que fue la falta de esa cuota de misterio que habitualmente propone el autor lo que hizo que el argumento no terminara de convencerme del todo. Me pareció una novela más lineal de lo que yo me esperaba.
A pesar de esto, Modiano tiene un talento especial para describir a sus personajes, los ambientes en los que se sitúan, y los hechos que los relacionan. Es muy fácil imaginarse claramente todo lo que va sucediendo, y esto es un gran mérito del autor. Los acontecimientos no son nada forzados ni irreales, todo lo contrario; fluyen con mucha naturalidad y sencillez. Y todo esto va acompañado de esa prosa que puede parecer sencilla pero que en el fondo esconden una elegancia y un estilo que solo pocos autores poseen.
En conclusión, Más allá del olvido es, sin importar si guste o no, una clara muestra de cómo es Modiano como escritor y sirve para descubrirlo o, en su defecto, reencontrarse con él. -
L'histoire est racontée à la première personne. On est dans les années 60, à Paris. Le narrateur, un jeune homme qui gagne sa vie par la vente des livres aux bouquinistes, rencontrent un couple mystérieux, Jacqueline et van Bever. Les deux vivent une vie sans attache, sans but, sans désir de laisser leur trace. Notre jeune homme, rapidement succombé à la charme de Jacqueline, désire de vivre une relation passionnelle avec elle, de l'emmener à Majorque - l'endroit qui revient souvent dans les conversations et qui laisse supposer que Jacqueline rêvait d'y aller. Au final, tout se termine sans véritable raison. Jusqu'à 15 ans plus tard, le jour où le jeune homme croise une femme qui ressemble à sa Jacqueline du passé...
J'ai entendu plusieurs fois le terme "atmosphère modianesque" et me demande si cette atmosphère vague, détachée dans Du plus loin de l'oubli mériterait cette appellation. En tout cas, ce n'est pas une lecture que j'ai appréciée. Me préparant à lire une histoire portant sur l'oubli sans véritable intrigue, avec des personnages détachés, de caractères flous, j'attendais à une prose touchante, poétique. Or ce n'est pas le cas. Ce livre et son contenu m'éloignera jusqu'au plus loin de l'oubli. Peut-être est-ce l'intention de l'auteur, en intitulant ainsi le titre de son roman??? -
فراتر از فراموشی
دومین کتابی که از مودیانو خواندم.. بلافاصله پس از ماه عسل، هرکدام در یک روز، و مجموعا در دو روز.
خیلی وقته مودیانو رو می شناسم و هیچ وقت تصور نمی کردم این قدر خوب باشه..
مثل کتاب ماه عسل، موضوع یک عشق و یک زوج وسط بود، داستان ش از ماه عسل خیلی سرراست تر و خلوت تر بود، و من بیش تر خوشم اومد ازش.
ماه عسل پیچیدگی های روایی و شلوغی زیادی داشت، که البته اون هم زیبایی خودش رو داشت.
نیمه اول کتاب فوقالعاده بود، فضای ترکیبی عجیب فلسفی، ادبی، پلیسی داشت.. و خیلی به دلم نشست.
میانه کتاب کمی افت کرد و در انتها باز خوب اوج گرفت.
داستان به گونه ای بود که انگار دقیقا وسط ش رو درآورده اند، البته ظاهرا این سبک مودیانو است که نمیخواد داستان بر ادبیات ش و به ویژه مضمون ویژه و روح خاص آثارش پیشی بگیره.. همون مفهوم پرتکرار غیبت، فرار، ابهام، خاطره و...
ادبیات و تعابیر مودیانو ساده و درعین حال خیره کننده است و شدیدا به دلم میشینه..
نمره واقعی من به کتاب سه و هفتاد و پنجه -
"... ağaçlarla gölgelenmiş bu cadde önüme serildiği anda, yaşamımın ilk yirmi yılı toz olup dökülüverdi, bir gün kurtulacağıma hiçbir zaman inanmadığım bir ağırlık, bir kelepçe, bir semer gibi. İşte böyle, bütün bu yıllardan başka hiçbir şey kalmıyordu artık. Ve mutluluk, o akşam duyduğum geçici sarhoşluksa, yaşamımda ilk kez mutluydum." (s.126)
-
Это очень простая история: главный герой знакомится с загадочной женщиной, влюбляется в неё, проводит с ней три волнительных месяца, а затем она исчезает. Спустя пятнадцать лет он случайно находит её, чтобы снова потерять, теперь уже навсегда. Текст Модиано тоскливо меланхоличен и насквозь пропитан какой-то тихой, даже уютной печалью. Его Париж и Лондон тактильны и иммерсивны: кажется, это не главная героиня зябнет в тоненькой курточке где-то на улице Турнель, а я.
Эту историю мог бы экранизировать Вонг Кар-Вай, ещё один исследователь линей судеб, так неуловимо напоминающих кривые и их асимптоты: одна будет бесконечно стремиться к другой, но они так никогда и не пересекутся. Прекрасный текст, который идеально попал в мою осень. -
J'y ai trouvé du réconfort, c'est toujours pareil. Les errances passées d'un jeune homme qui vient à croiser des individus aux activités sibyllines. Une femme et un flacon d'éther. Une valise avec de l'argent. Une enveloppe pour Majorque. Des chambres d'hôtel mal chauffées dans le quartier latin et jusqu'à Londres. Ils se perdent de vue et se recroisent 15 ans après dans une fête d'appartement, elle a changé de nom... Ça flotte sur le fil du réel et c'est infiniment doux.
-
اولین کتابی بود که از مودیانو خوندم...
توقع خیلی بیشتری داشتم. هر چند که مترجم و ویراستار هم از لذت این کتاب به اندازهی سهم خودشون کم کرده بودن.
یک روایت ساده و بی غل و غش... آنقدری که اسم کوچه پس کوچه های پاریس و میدان های لندن را یاد گرفتم، از روایت و توصیفات چیز دیگهای به خاطرم ندارم!
کتابی نیست که بعد از خواندنش ،دوباره به یادش بیفتید.
|۲ و نیم ستاره|
