Още една хубава норвежка книга. Много се радвам, че я прочетох (първа среща с автора). Когато я взех от библиотеката, изобщо не бях сигурна, че ще я започна и завърша. Но реших да пробвам и на първите страници разбрах, че ще се чете (не винаги ми се четат 730 страници).Още в началото ме заинтригува – първо с особеното описание на „случая“ с Вера и изобщо на трите жени – внучка, дъщеря, баба, а по-късно с препратките към сънародника на Кристенсен - Кнут Хамсун. При появата на Арнолд като възрастен (че и като дете) усетих сходството с Нагел от „Мистерии“ на Хамсун. След дългото "безмъжие" на трите жени не беше изненадващо Арнолд да ги омагьоса. И докато „Мистерии“ бях нарекла стъклена, в "Полубрат" има повече топлота, наред с изгубеността… А за Кнут Хамсун – сигурно с горенето на книгите му Кристенсен изразява това, което се опитвам да е валидно и за мен – личността и предпочитанията (включително политически) на даден творец би следвало да се разграничават от таланта му като автор. “ - Имаш ли любим писател, на когото би искал да подражаваш, Барнум? – Хамсун. – отвръщам аз. – И какво точно ти харесва у Хамсун? – Това, че е негодник, който пише добре.” Интересен е и стилът. На практика – спомени на единия брат (Барнум) за детството и младостта, за необикновеното семейство, чиято съдба се заплита в началото на 20-ти век и претърпява още един обрат в края на Втората световна война. „Вградена“ пряка реч, което напълно подхожда на спомени. Изобилие от кратки изречения, но често с ритъм, градация. "Леглото е лодка. Лодката се носи с Арнолд. Носи Арнолд към пътеводните знаци на мечтите.“ „Този път ще се справи. Той е гребчията, Арнолд гребчията! И той гребе право срещу прибоя.“ (Мъничка забележка по отношение на езика (или превода) – думата „внезапно“ твърде често и необяснимо се повтаряше. Редакторската работа е недостатъчна. Корицата не ми харесва особено.)Бях свикнала с трите жени, но когато си отиде Старата, сякаш изчезна и опорният стълб, макар и не винаги стабилен. Все пак винаги намираше как да отвърне на недружелюбните по най-точния начин. И въпреки че думата „достойнство“ не ми е от най-любимите, се радвах, когато Старата успяваше да постави на мястото злобарите. Изобщо поредицата от жени е забележителна (неизбежна приемственост). Самата Болета възкликва "О, по дяволите! Нима съм почнала да приличам на майка си!" И макар че са заедно жените (и децата по-късно), не могат много да си помогнат взаимно - опитват, но са заключени в собствената си болка.Липсващи мъже… Но жените са длъжни да остават – особено като има дете, няма мърдане… Майките не могат да изчезват. Поне телом, духом могат и те да си витаят…Беше започнало малко да ми писва към средата и добре, че се появи новата тройка младежи (приятелите Барнум, Педер, Вивиан) – хем по-интересно, хем по-спасително! Разбира се „аутсайдери“. „Сега беше наш ред! Сега ние им се смеехме. Превъзхождахме ги. Бяхме заедно. Ние срещу тях, срещу тълпата, и имахме превес. И може би тогава за първи път, именно там, под черния чадър, зад червеното дърво, почувствах какво значи принадлежност, извън семейството ти, която прогонва тревогата от най-мрачните ти дълбини и ти дава място за покой, почувствах го, силно и отчетливо, заедно с Педер и Вивиан тази вечер.“ През цялото време бях с болка на сърце (и симпатия) за Фред. Той ли беше най-голямата жертва? Явно да, но му се ядосвах за по-късните решения. Външно връзката между двамата братя беше плаха, но вътрешно беше болезнено силна (до силна зависимост и потребност, до степен на нараняване, дори желание за липса). „И още веднъж ме изпълва чувство на смазваща доброта към Фред, виждам го пред очите си да скита безшумно наоколо с добрите си постъпки, скрити от очите на другите.“ Друг момент, който ми направи силно впечатление: срещата на Барнум и майка му с жената на застрахователя преди заминаването беше един от най-трогателните мигове в книгата за мен - топяща сърцето проява на съпричастност между „сходно-различни“ жени.Много се зарадвах и на първия литературен триумф на Барнум – сякаш ми беше личен познат. Най-после „малкият“ човек можеше да се изправи пред внушената слабост. Звучи малко като изтъркана фраза, но на фона на самоподценяващите се герои в романа знам колко е изстрадано това. „- Тогава какво си искал да кажеш с тази странна история?- Че няма малки и незначителни хора. Ако човек се вгледа добре в тях.“ Впечатли ме и сливането на различни нюанси на емоциите, връхлитането на неудържими противоположни чувства. „Тъжна радост.“„… мама замахва, побесняла от щастие и възхитена от ужас.“„Бях щастлив, да, бях щастлив, че Фред беше заминал. Но не усещах никаква радост“. Алкохолът – норвежкото пиене! Известно е руското пиене, българското пиене, английското пиене… Но аз като норвежкото пиене мисля, че не съм виждала досега (така ми се е запечатало от годините по курортите – по-трайно пияни от норвежците нямаше). Когато в един късен период Фред и Педер ги нямаше, за мен всичко помръкна, загуби цвят и жизненост (въпреки очакването). Загубих интерес към края въпреки любопитството - какво ще стане ясно и какво не. По-скоро се зарадвах, че не се дава точен отговор, сама си имах убеждения какво се е случило. Стори ми се по-скоро нормално да не е ясно – както в живота някои тайни не се разкриват (особено като си заминат хората с тях) - защо трябва да става ясно в книгите.Когато свърших книгата и се върнах към началото от 1945 г., то ми се стори на светлинни години. Позабравила бях периодите на мълчание. Дори „развръзката“ с Арнолд ми изглеждаше много далече. Защото след това Педер и Вивиан заеха важно място (но имах някои неясноти относно Вивиан). Като цяло - много пълноценна книга за липсите, чакането, самотата, капана на наследствената болка.
[This review originally appeared in Issue #12 of "The Cambridge Book Review."]Winner of the 2002 Nordic Prize for Literature, Lars Saabye Christensen's epic about a Norwegian family living in Oslo in the wake of Nazi occupation, has achieved major critical acclaim and commercial success wherever it has been published. Having conquered more than twenty countries to date, Christensen's The Half Brother (translated from the Norwegian by Kenneth Steven) is now poised to take North America in true Viking fashion.The opening scenes of the novel unfold on VE Day, May 8th, 1945, and center around three generations of women (The Old One, Boletta, and Vera) who live in a working class neighborhood in the Norwegian capital. Their collective joy at the end of World War II is shattered, however, after Vera (who is not yet twenty) is sexually assaulted by a soldier of unknown nationality in a remote corner of their apartment building. Vera gives birth to the first of two sons, Fred, whose emotional presence is as conspicuous as his physical absence for most of the book. Vera's second son, Barnum, is born years later after her marriage to an enigmatic entrepreneur who manages to keep his vocation from the family until well after his own demise.Barnum narrates the majority of this work and his perspective on the world around him is skewed in equal measure by his stature (which is quite small) and by the combination of protection and menace offered by his older sibling. Barnum's interest in cinema, and his subsequent development into a celebrated screenwriter, stems from an early encounter with a film crew shooting on location in one of Oslo's myriad urban parks. Christensen uses his city as a force that informs the essential cores of his main characters just as Joyce did before him with Dublin and Hugo with Paris."It's not what you see that matters most but rather what you think you see," a refrain echoed and mimicked by various characters throughout the course of the narrative, works as a constant reminder of the overwhelming sense of loss that pervades this novel. All of the men in this family leave in some way, shape or form, either literally or figuratively, leaving only trails of question marks in their wake. Fred, the enigmatic half-brother, starts to disappear from the apartment as soon as he is physically able. At first, he is gone for a night, maybe two, but then for weeks and months at a stretch and his restless wanderings in search of something equally unnamed affects everyone in the house and, to a certain extent, everyone in the city quite profoundly. Fred grows up to be a man of few words and long silences and his brutish character is miraculously developed by Christensen in what seems like a handful of sentences uttered in the darkness of the small room that he shares with Barnum. One night, late at night, Fred takes a wrong turn, down the wrong alley at the wrong time and is brutally beaten by four men. His first medical attention is delivered by the hands of a recent WWII veteran as Christensen writes eloquently about carnage and the repercussions of war after hostilities have officially ended."And I can hear Montgomery screaming. And when Montgomery screams, he wakes the entire city, whether we're sleeping or not. Montgomery screams like a possessed rooster, and no longer knows the difference between the sun and the moon. He crawls along the railway tracks in his long army jacket, weeping and screaming, the old and broken soldier. He's still at war, because the war is still in him. He left his senses in Normandy in 1944, and now there's just a front-line trench in his soul and a bloody beach in his heart as far as he can see. And every night Montgomery screams to wake the dead. He lies down beside Fred, who's sunk into the frail brown grass now. And Montgomery carefully lifts his head and pours brandy into his mutilated mouth. Montgomery cries; he screams and cries and whispers. "Don't be frightened, boy. The Allies are coming soon.""When Barnum asks him where he's been, before he sees his brother's damaged face, Fred's only response is, "Shut it." After Fred disappears for over two decades, it will be these conversations, cloaked in late night mystery and clouded by the passage of time, that will most affect Barnum as an adult and inform his own life and work as he wrestles to transform the shadow of his brother from two into three dimensions.The novel is massive (metaphorically and otherwise) and Christensen is aware of the fact that what he has written is most definitely a contemporary Norse saga that simultaneously upholds and upbraids thousands of years of Scandinavian literary history. (His treatment of the work of Knut Hamsun, the Nobel Prize-winning Norwegian author who fell from grace after publishing a sympathetic obituary for Adolf Hitler, is especially hilarious in its vehemence.) Typically, books about writers writing about writing lack a certain level of dramatic action, but Barnum's antisocial personality, his penchant for strong drink, and his complex familial, platonic, and romantic relationships propel this incredible narrative with a highly volatile, yet consistently graceful, momentum.
Do You like book The Half Brother (2005)?
Ik heb genoten van dit boek, het staat voor mij nu al hoog in mijn top van 2004 (en dat in de eerste week van januari!). De stijl en de personages deden met wel wat aan John Irving denken, en in de gauwigheid zag ik dat ik niet de enige was met die associatie. En als het boksen van Fred worstelen was geweest, helemaal!Voor mij was het begin echt worstelen, ik had de grootste moeite met die zuiplap en hoogst irritante Barnum. Maar vanaf het moment dat hij terugging in de tijd, naar de verkrachting van Vera door de man met de negen vingers, werd ik gegrepen. Christensen weet met prachtzinnen, die wonderlijke maar niet ongeloofwaardige personages en gebeurtenissen beschrijven, voor mij zijn verhaal tot leven te brengen.Ten eerste natuurlijk de halfbroers, het koekoeksjong Fred en het kleintje Barnum. Hun familieleden: hun overgrootmoeder, ooit actrice en nog immer wachtend op haar grote liefde die vermist is geraakt op de Noordpool. Het enige dat ze nog van hem heeft is zijn laatste brief. Deze brief speelt in de rest van het verhaal een belangrijke rol trouwens. Haar dochter, Boletta, van wie we eigenlijk te weinig te weten komen, die ook al ongetrouwd (bewust?) een kind gekregen heeft, die jarenlang werkte op het telegraaf-kantoor, en die telkens 'als ze het op haar heupen krijgt' vertrekt naar De Noordpool. De dochter van Boletta, Vera, wiens vriendin Rakel in WOII is afgevoerd naar Ravensbrück, en die op bevrijdingsdag verkracht wordt. Na de oorlog trouwt ze met oud-circus-artiest en sjacheraar Arnold Nilsen, en uit die verbintenis wordt de ik-persoon, Barnum, geboren.Naast deze familie komt er nog een flink aantal kleurrijke bijrollen in beeld. Zo zijn er de twee beste vrienden van Barnum, de dikke Peder en het meisje waarop beiden verliefd zijn, Vivian. Of is het Vivian die verliefd is? En hun ouders, de verminkte moeder van Vivian, de postzegelverzamelende vader van Peder. De verzekeringsagent Arnesen en zijn vrouw, huismeester Bang, het Chocolademeisje en langste man ter wereld in het circus waar Arnold werkt voor hij Vera leert kennen, Esther van de kiosk.Voor mij was er een aantal thema's. Ten eerste wachten. Fred op zijn kans om te bewijzen dat hij ook wat voorstelt, of wacht hij op een moment om wraak te nemen op Arnold? Barnum op zijn perfecte script en later op Fred. De Oude op haar geliefde. Boletta, waar wacht zij op? Arnold op zijn gouden kans om beroemd te worden? Vera op Rakel en daarna Fred. Peder? Vivian? Eigenlijk wachten Peder en Vivian op Barnum.Ten tweede gaat het over grenzen aan jezelf stellen danwel die oprekken of negeren door hongeren, langdurig stilzwijgen, je moedwillig in elkaar laten trimmen, het perfecte script, vergetelheid dan wel geluk in de alcohol.Ten derde onvolmaaktheid: Barnum is te klein, Peder te dik, Freds dyslexie en wat is er mis met Vivian: zij werd geboren tijdens een ongeluk.Wel een paar open eindjes die in mijn kop blijven hangen: wat is er nou toch precies gebeurd met De Oude? En hoe zat het nou met het ongeluk waarbij Vivian geboren werd? Wie is nou de vader van Fred? Zal er ooit een script verfilmd worden? Is Barnum nou wel of niet de vader van het kind van Vivian? Lekker om nog over na te blijven peinzen.Op mijn blog een aantal prachtige quotes:http://elsjelas.blogspot.com/2004/01/...
—Elsje
This is easily the best novel I've read in recent memory. The characters are incredibly well developed. The prose manages to be simultaneous economical and poetic, filled with marvelous images and vivid description. This is an amazingly skillfully written book. It is quite a long novel, at just under 700 pages. It actually took me longer to finish than any of George R.R. Martin's notoriously lengthy ASOIAF series, but that is because the writing was so incredible I took my time to savor every bit of it. The subject matter is often dark and bleak, and yet their is so much genuine humanity that comes through. I cannot say enough good things about this novel. My wife found it in the bargain bin at hospital book sale for $1. What a find.
—Nate Hile
I have a distinct penchant for long novels (in the last six months, I have read The Luminaries and The Goldfinch and reread Middlemarch), but I’m not sure I ever remember reading a novel that felt quite as long as The Half-Brother. By the end I felt as if I had lived through the childhood and adolescence of the protagonist, Barnum Nilsen, in real time. That’s not at all to suggest that I didn’t enjoy this novel. It’s an easy and pleasant read for the most part, and often very striking, though it slackens a bit towards the end. The sequence I was probably least convinced by, though it’s important thematically, is the extended passage towards the beginning of the book recounting the adolescence of Barnum’s father, Arnold, in the remote Lofoten islands, and later in a circus. I felt at this point that the novel was a little too skittish and too much in love with its own powers of whimsical inventiveness to hold my attention. I was glad I persevered with The Half-Brother, however. There’s a great deal to like in the novel, and it’s very well written, even when read in translation (and in a shockingly ill-edited Kindle edition). I liked the setting (in Oslo, but with the far north a constant presence on the margins), and Barnum’s rackety matriarchal family is wonderfully rendered, as is his three-oddballs-together friendship with Peder and Vivian, and his tortuous relationship with his damaged brother, or half-brother, Fred. Various people have compared this novel to The Tin Drum, and there are certain similarities—a taste for the grotesque, a height-challenged protagonist, and an aspiration to tell a slice of history (here, the end of the second world war to the fall of the Berlin Wall) through a dysfunctional family saga. They seem to me very different novels. The Half-Brother is less surreal and experimental than The Tin Drum, and it has a much softer heart. It’s fond, in particular, of the battling women at the core of Barnum’s family (contrasted with the men, all variously incomplete or fraudulent or elusive). And it’s fond of Barnum himself, whose emergence as a writer is a major theme of the last quarter of the book.
—Issicratea
