What do you think?
Rate this book
Refugiul timpului
Într-o clădire înconjurată de flori de nu-mă-uita, Gaustin, misteriosul personaj al romanului Refugiul timpului, deschide prima „clinică a trecutului", un loc unde bolnavii de Alzheimer să-și aline suferința. Camerele acestei clinici neobișnuite reproduc detalii din trecut care le îngăduie pacienților să retrăiască momente preferate din tinerețe, să recupereze scene demult pierdute datorită unor clipe care, cândva, le-au marcat viața. Asistentul lui Gaustin, vocea care-i spune povestea, e însărcinat să găsească recuzita acestui refugiu: obiecte din trecut, mobilă din anii 1960, nasturi din 1940 sau parfumuri uitate. Treptat, aura acestui adăpost crește, el începe să fie căutat și de oameni sănătoși, care încearcă să uite de prezent și să se retragă în scene din propria istorie, ba chiar națiuni întregi se îndreaptă către iluzia unor vremuri mai bune îngropate în straturile memoriei.
352 pages, Paperback
First published April 29, 2020
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 3,000 reviews
July 10, 2023
Now Winner of International Booker Prize 2023. Not my choice but I am happy for our neighbour.
The review discusses some of the plot but I do not consider them spoilers as the book focuses more on ideas. A comment said I should have put a spoiler alert so here it is.
Time Shelter is the 1st novel by Georgi Gospodinov that I’ve read although I’ve wanted to get to him for years. The idea of the novel is remarkably smart. The narrator, named as the author, opens up a clinic of the past together with the enigmatic Gaustine. The objective of the clinic is to transport Alzheimer patients to the periods they felt safe and to make them remember their past. The narrator’s job was to gather mementos and stories from the past in order to decorate the rooms of the clinic and make the past come to life into the present.
The experiment proved such an amazing success that rich people started to visit the clinic in order to re-live their favorite decade. From there, everything started to snowball, the return to past became popular everywhere until present and past became inseparable All culminated with a general election where all European countries got to vote in which decade of the past to return to.
The novel is smart and philosophical. Unfortunately, maybe too much so. I felt there was something missing, the connection that kept the plot together. It sometimes read like a collection of short stories. Because of this, the characters did not feel developed, there was no tension or feelings involved. I felt like a spectator who admired the skill of the author but never managed to feel involved. I say this despite having quite a few cultural aspects in common with Bulgarians and caught myself nodding at those similarities. I guess the novel wants to be a cautionary tale against the unreliability of the way we remember the past. It succeeded up to a point but I wanted a bit more soul.
The review discusses some of the plot but I do not consider them spoilers as the book focuses more on ideas. A comment said I should have put a spoiler alert so here it is.
Time Shelter is the 1st novel by Georgi Gospodinov that I’ve read although I’ve wanted to get to him for years. The idea of the novel is remarkably smart. The narrator, named as the author, opens up a clinic of the past together with the enigmatic Gaustine. The objective of the clinic is to transport Alzheimer patients to the periods they felt safe and to make them remember their past. The narrator’s job was to gather mementos and stories from the past in order to decorate the rooms of the clinic and make the past come to life into the present.
The experiment proved such an amazing success that rich people started to visit the clinic in order to re-live their favorite decade. From there, everything started to snowball, the return to past became popular everywhere until present and past became inseparable All culminated with a general election where all European countries got to vote in which decade of the past to return to.
The novel is smart and philosophical. Unfortunately, maybe too much so. I felt there was something missing, the connection that kept the plot together. It sometimes read like a collection of short stories. Because of this, the characters did not feel developed, there was no tension or feelings involved. I felt like a spectator who admired the skill of the author but never managed to feel involved. I say this despite having quite a few cultural aspects in common with Bulgarians and caught myself nodding at those similarities. I guess the novel wants to be a cautionary tale against the unreliability of the way we remember the past. It succeeded up to a point but I wanted a bit more soul.
May 24, 2023
*Winner of the 2023 International Booker Prize*
4.5⭐️
In Georgi Gospodinov's Time Shelter( translated by Angela Rodel), our narrator (a Bulgarian novelist) takes us through his association with Augustine-Garibaldi (“And so early theology and late revolutionism were brought together.”) or Gaustine as we get to know him. Gaustine is a geriatric psychiatrist who uses his knowledge to treat those suffering from Dementia or Alzheimer’s by creating a safe space for them – a space and time defined by their state of mind, a time they associate with happiness. His “clinic of the past” features rooms that are meticulously designed, each representative of a decade in history. Our narrator assists him in acquiring objects and memorabilia that are to be used in setting up the said facilities- from wall calendars and posters to typewriters and radios to cigarettes and chocolates – no holds barred in recreating a figment of the past that corresponds to the patients' memories- a “protected past”.
“The time is coming when more and more people will want to hide in the cave of the past, to turn back. And not for happy reasons, by the way. We need to be ready with the bomb shelter of the past. Call it the time shelter, if you will.”
As the clinic in Zurich expands and new decades are introduced into the framework, Gaustine correctly assumes an approaching era when people, in an attempt to escape their present lives, would voluntarily choose to go back to a time and place when they felt more content or safe. This starts with Gaustine allowing family members and friends to accompany the patients to make them feel at home and provide them with insight into details of their lives – an example we see with a patient who was once surveilled by the Socialist State being visited by the very same government agent who was assigned to follow him decades ago and report his actions- to fill in the gaps in his memories. (“If we are not in someone else’s memory, do we even exist at all?”) Gradually the desire to postpone the future spreads and the lines between past and present start to blur and recycled pasts/secondhand futures become the call of the day with European nations opting to “vote for the past” and revert to a glorious phase in their history, recycling the past into the future rather than advancing into a future that does not hold much promise - but not without consequences. (“The world had become a chaotic open-air clinic of the past, as if the walls had fallen away.”)
The author discusses the past and present politics of the Eastern European nations and the EU through significant historical landmarks which are explored in the process of creating a time map for the countries of the union- the shared past, the distinct present and the point of reset when the timelines would eventually merge, if at all. As the situation worsens,with nations descending into chaos and anarchy, Gaustine disappears and the narrator’s own memories seem to start collapsing into one another.(“While writing a novel about those who have lost their memories, he himself begins to lose his memory . . . He rushes to finish it before he forgets what he was writing.”) The reader (and the narrator) is compelled to question whether Gaustine is a real person who actually exists or a figment of the narrator’s imagination.
“Gaustine, whom I first invented,and then met him in flesh and blood. Or perhaps it was the opposite, I don’t remember.”
Complex, reflective and at times terrifying and hard-hitting, Georgi Gospodinov's Time Shelter is an immersive read. The novel is divided into five segments and revolves around the themes of losing, escaping, controlling and halting time and the consequences of choosing to live in the past rather than looking ahead and moving forward. Initially, the tone is that of dry humor and nostalgia but gradually the setting and the tone transform into dystopian and critical. The pace of the novel is slow yet absorbing. The book does require a bit of patience. I did have to look up quite a bit on the Eastern European history referenced in the narrative, but it was well worth the effort.
“Does the past disintegrate, or does it remain practically unchanged like plastic bags, slowly and deeply poisoning everything around itself? Shouldn’t there be factories for recycling the past somewhere? Can you make anything else out of past besides past?”
Thanks to NetGalley and W.W.Norton & Company for the digital review copy in exchange for an honest and unbiased review.
4.5⭐️
In Georgi Gospodinov's Time Shelter( translated by Angela Rodel), our narrator (a Bulgarian novelist) takes us through his association with Augustine-Garibaldi (“And so early theology and late revolutionism were brought together.”) or Gaustine as we get to know him. Gaustine is a geriatric psychiatrist who uses his knowledge to treat those suffering from Dementia or Alzheimer’s by creating a safe space for them – a space and time defined by their state of mind, a time they associate with happiness. His “clinic of the past” features rooms that are meticulously designed, each representative of a decade in history. Our narrator assists him in acquiring objects and memorabilia that are to be used in setting up the said facilities- from wall calendars and posters to typewriters and radios to cigarettes and chocolates – no holds barred in recreating a figment of the past that corresponds to the patients' memories- a “protected past”.
“The time is coming when more and more people will want to hide in the cave of the past, to turn back. And not for happy reasons, by the way. We need to be ready with the bomb shelter of the past. Call it the time shelter, if you will.”
As the clinic in Zurich expands and new decades are introduced into the framework, Gaustine correctly assumes an approaching era when people, in an attempt to escape their present lives, would voluntarily choose to go back to a time and place when they felt more content or safe. This starts with Gaustine allowing family members and friends to accompany the patients to make them feel at home and provide them with insight into details of their lives – an example we see with a patient who was once surveilled by the Socialist State being visited by the very same government agent who was assigned to follow him decades ago and report his actions- to fill in the gaps in his memories. (“If we are not in someone else’s memory, do we even exist at all?”) Gradually the desire to postpone the future spreads and the lines between past and present start to blur and recycled pasts/secondhand futures become the call of the day with European nations opting to “vote for the past” and revert to a glorious phase in their history, recycling the past into the future rather than advancing into a future that does not hold much promise - but not without consequences. (“The world had become a chaotic open-air clinic of the past, as if the walls had fallen away.”)
The author discusses the past and present politics of the Eastern European nations and the EU through significant historical landmarks which are explored in the process of creating a time map for the countries of the union- the shared past, the distinct present and the point of reset when the timelines would eventually merge, if at all. As the situation worsens,with nations descending into chaos and anarchy, Gaustine disappears and the narrator’s own memories seem to start collapsing into one another.(“While writing a novel about those who have lost their memories, he himself begins to lose his memory . . . He rushes to finish it before he forgets what he was writing.”) The reader (and the narrator) is compelled to question whether Gaustine is a real person who actually exists or a figment of the narrator’s imagination.
“Gaustine, whom I first invented,and then met him in flesh and blood. Or perhaps it was the opposite, I don’t remember.”
Complex, reflective and at times terrifying and hard-hitting, Georgi Gospodinov's Time Shelter is an immersive read. The novel is divided into five segments and revolves around the themes of losing, escaping, controlling and halting time and the consequences of choosing to live in the past rather than looking ahead and moving forward. Initially, the tone is that of dry humor and nostalgia but gradually the setting and the tone transform into dystopian and critical. The pace of the novel is slow yet absorbing. The book does require a bit of patience. I did have to look up quite a bit on the Eastern European history referenced in the narrative, but it was well worth the effort.
“Does the past disintegrate, or does it remain practically unchanged like plastic bags, slowly and deeply poisoning everything around itself? Shouldn’t there be factories for recycling the past somewhere? Can you make anything else out of past besides past?”
Thanks to NetGalley and W.W.Norton & Company for the digital review copy in exchange for an honest and unbiased review.
May 24, 2023
Now Winner of the International Booker Prize 2023
German: Zeitzuflucht
Gospodinovs new novel explores a Europe that gives in to the wish to live in the past - can we find shelter from the overwhelming demands of the present by retreating into a different time frame? Our narrator (in interviews, the author refers to him as "me", but of course we as alert readers won't fall for that) meets an enigmatic flaneur named Gaustín. This personified chimera functions, as Gospodinov has explained, as the invisible doppelgaenger we all have, and Gaustín can be everything we are not, because he is not limited by time: He is the result of the decisions we have not made. Now Gaustín first establishes a clinic for Alzheimer patients that is made up of rooms built as different decades of the 20th century. More and more clinics like this one pop up, and healthy people want to retreat into the time shelter of these clinis to flee the present and a future they have lost faith in, until the whole continent starts to take votes to decide in which decade from the past the country wants to live in in the future.
Of course, the whole thing is an allegory of us as individuals idealizing the past, and every country in Europe sees a different time frame as their golden decade due to historic circumstances: The continent falls into time capsules. But the past cannot really be re-enacted, because the future can't be turned into a version of the past - which brings us to the political dimension of new fascist politicians promising to make country X great again. Right after the start of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Gospodinov wrote in a newspaper article: "In my latest novel, I dealt extensively with the ghosts of the past and with 1939 (...). It ends with a meticulously recreated scene from the beginning of World War II. The troops are massed at the border and wait. Suddenly, in the reenactment, a real shot is fired . . .” and then: “Shall we stand forever on the eve of 1939? Even the hour of the attack last Thursday was the same as September 1, 1939. When does everyday life turn back to history? And why, when everything has already happened?”
Putin tries to avoid the future by re-building the past, and it can't work. But we all have to be careful to not close our eyes before future threats, even though the world looks terrifying at the moment. It sounds simple, but it is a big task. Gospodinov's highly ambitious and enteratining novel makes fun of us all (including himself), and we deserve it.
(Fun fact: In the novel, Germany votes to go back to the 90's, starting with late 1989 (when the wall came down). On German tv, there is currently a successful nostalgic series about the summer of 1990, so the first summer after the wall came down. I would lie if I didn't admit that while the story is trashy, the escapism of it - costume design, music, vibe - is great. "Time Shelter" is laughing right in my face, and I appreciate that.)
German: Zeitzuflucht
Gospodinovs new novel explores a Europe that gives in to the wish to live in the past - can we find shelter from the overwhelming demands of the present by retreating into a different time frame? Our narrator (in interviews, the author refers to him as "me", but of course we as alert readers won't fall for that) meets an enigmatic flaneur named Gaustín. This personified chimera functions, as Gospodinov has explained, as the invisible doppelgaenger we all have, and Gaustín can be everything we are not, because he is not limited by time: He is the result of the decisions we have not made. Now Gaustín first establishes a clinic for Alzheimer patients that is made up of rooms built as different decades of the 20th century. More and more clinics like this one pop up, and healthy people want to retreat into the time shelter of these clinis to flee the present and a future they have lost faith in, until the whole continent starts to take votes to decide in which decade from the past the country wants to live in in the future.
Of course, the whole thing is an allegory of us as individuals idealizing the past, and every country in Europe sees a different time frame as their golden decade due to historic circumstances: The continent falls into time capsules. But the past cannot really be re-enacted, because the future can't be turned into a version of the past - which brings us to the political dimension of new fascist politicians promising to make country X great again. Right after the start of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Gospodinov wrote in a newspaper article: "In my latest novel, I dealt extensively with the ghosts of the past and with 1939 (...). It ends with a meticulously recreated scene from the beginning of World War II. The troops are massed at the border and wait. Suddenly, in the reenactment, a real shot is fired . . .” and then: “Shall we stand forever on the eve of 1939? Even the hour of the attack last Thursday was the same as September 1, 1939. When does everyday life turn back to history? And why, when everything has already happened?”
Putin tries to avoid the future by re-building the past, and it can't work. But we all have to be careful to not close our eyes before future threats, even though the world looks terrifying at the moment. It sounds simple, but it is a big task. Gospodinov's highly ambitious and enteratining novel makes fun of us all (including himself), and we deserve it.
(Fun fact: In the novel, Germany votes to go back to the 90's, starting with late 1989 (when the wall came down). On German tv, there is currently a successful nostalgic series about the summer of 1990, so the first summer after the wall came down. I would lie if I didn't admit that while the story is trashy, the escapism of it - costume design, music, vibe - is great. "Time Shelter" is laughing right in my face, and I appreciate that.)
Read
September 19, 2023Half-way through this book, I scribbled down a margin note:
I read on however, since this book was a book-group choice, but by the time I got to the end, any concrete thoughts about it had slipped away from me even further. I could no longer visualize the narrator—and doubted if I'd ever seen him clearly at all. The scenes and chronologies he'd presented me with during the course of the book had all merged together. I couldn't distinguish one from another, neither their form not their purpose. I knew it was allegory of course, as the title makes clear, but the overall meaning had escaped me completely. The book made me doubt myself as a reader for the first time in my life.
My bookgroup met yesterday to discuss the book so I opened it again in order to find some of the great insights I'd mentioned in my margin note. While flicking through it, I realised I hadn't actually reached the end at all. In my desire to escape the book, I'd missed the epilogue.
So I read the epilogue and I'm going to share part of it it here—it could easily serve as a prologue so don't worry about spoilers:
Well! That is very close to how I'd experienced this book—everything floating in primordial chaos. It seems I may have read it in the spirit it was intended after all. My faith in myself is restored—at least a little.
…………………………………………………………
Only four of the nine book-group members had finished the book. Only one of those was unequivocal in her praise. But we had a good discussion nonetheless—about history, about politics, and about time and nostalgia .
…………………………………………………………
The very last line of the book is: Tomorrow is September 1
I read that line yesterday.
Some great insights into history and time but the fiction they are embedded is frustrating me to an extent I can't remember experiencing in a long time. I feel like I'm missing something important.
I read on however, since this book was a book-group choice, but by the time I got to the end, any concrete thoughts about it had slipped away from me even further. I could no longer visualize the narrator—and doubted if I'd ever seen him clearly at all. The scenes and chronologies he'd presented me with during the course of the book had all merged together. I couldn't distinguish one from another, neither their form not their purpose. I knew it was allegory of course, as the title makes clear, but the overall meaning had escaped me completely. The book made me doubt myself as a reader for the first time in my life.
My bookgroup met yesterday to discuss the book so I opened it again in order to find some of the great insights I'd mentioned in my margin note. While flicking through it, I realised I hadn't actually reached the end at all. In my desire to escape the book, I'd missed the epilogue.
So I read the epilogue and I'm going to share part of it it here—it could easily serve as a prologue so don't worry about spoilers:
Novels and stories offer deceptive consolation about order and form. Someone is supposedly holding all the threads of the action, knowing the order and the outcome, which scene comes after which. A truly brave book, a brave and inconsolable book, would be one in which all stories, the happened and the unhappened, float around us in the primordial chaos, shouting and whispering, begging and sniggering, meeting and passing one another by in the darkness...
Well! That is very close to how I'd experienced this book—everything floating in primordial chaos. It seems I may have read it in the spirit it was intended after all. My faith in myself is restored—at least a little.
…………………………………………………………
Only four of the nine book-group members had finished the book. Only one of those was unequivocal in her praise. But we had a good discussion nonetheless—about history, about politics, and about time and nostalgia .
…………………………………………………………
The very last line of the book is: Tomorrow is September 1
I read that line yesterday.
June 12, 2024
La memoria, la identidad, el pasado perdido, la inestabilidad del presente, el futuro incierto y alarmante, la impertenencia, un adecuadísimo vocablo inventado por el autor, el riesgo del olvido, la manipulación del pasado… temas todos que, en la edad en la que me encuentro y en el presente en el que vivo, me tocan muy de cerca y que aquí son tratados con mucha imaginación y acierto, con una irónica dulzura que hacen de la lectura una auténtica delicia y una urgente llamada de alarma.
La novela se divide en cinco partes, las dos primeras, mis favoritas, se centran en la memoria individual, las dos siguientes, interesantes, necesarias y oportunas, pero menos de mi gusto, en la colectiva, la quinta y última parte es un epílogo en el que ambas perspectivas se entremezclan.
La trama tiene como punto de partida una original idea de Gaustín, psiquiatra gerontólogo, un misterioso personaje que queda en la indeterminación de un “amigo invisible, más visible y real que yo mismo. El Gaustín de mi juventud. El Gaustín de mi sueño de ser otro, de estar en otro lugar, de habitar otro tiempo, otras estancias”: la recreación de entornos pasados que puedan estimular la memoria de personas enfermas de alzheimer.
“No hay nada casual a día de hoy en esta avalancha de personas que han perdido la memoria… Están aquí para decirnos algo. Y, créeme, algún día, más pronto que tarde, muchos empezarán por sí solos a descender al pasado, a «perder la memoria por propia voluntad. Se avecinan tiempos en los que cada vez más personas desearán cobijarse en la cueva del pasado, volver atrás. Y no por buenas razones, precisamente. Debemos tener preparados los refugios antiaéreos del pasado. Llámalos «cronorrefugios», si lo prefieres, o «refugios históricos»”A medida que los años empiezan a ser muchos el presente se convierte, como apropiadamente dice el autor, en un país extra��o y el pasado en la patria de la que nos expulsaron y a la que la repatriación es ya imposible. En ocasiones ese pasado nos alcanza y nos conmueve a través de la luz de un atardecer, de un olor, de una palabra ya desusada, del nombre de un trineo que tuvimos de niño, del sabor de una magdalena, dejándonos más tristemente exiliados en este cada vez más incomprensible presente, preludio de un futuro aún más extraño e inhóspito. Será por eso que a los viejos les gusta contar historias del pasado, una forma de volver a un sitio en el que, malo o bueno, son jóvenes y no hay incertidumbre, pero también en la necesidad de inocular esas experiencias en los recuerdos de otros que los mantengan vivos un poquito más, que se conviertan en pruebas vivientes de que ellos han existido.
“Hay un monstruo que nos acecha a cada uno de nosotros. La muerte, dirán ustedes. Sí, sí, la muerte es su hermana. Pero la vejez es el monstruo”No puedo estar más de acuerdo. El infierno es la vejez, la incapacidad-Atila que va conquistando cada vez más terreno en el que no vuelve a crecer la hierba, el tachado continuo e imparable de posibilidades, la desacompasada marcha de mente y cuerpo, la desaparición de lugares y personas que se llevan consigo tu pasado (“se fue la última persona que me recordaba como un niño”).
“Vuelve pellejos tus pechos, torna las nalgas macilentas, te arquea la espalda y te llena de canas el cabello que ya empieza a ralear mientras hace brotar pelos de las orejas y te esparce lunares por el cuerpo, manchas en manos y cara, te hace balbucear sandeces o enmudecer, al fin chocho y senil, después de vaciarte los bolsillos de palabras. Hijo de puta. Llámalo tiempo, vida, vejez, da lo mismo, son todos de la misma banda. Idéntica escoria.”Y entre esas incapacidades terribles hay que destacar el deterioro cognitivo, la demencia senil y el alzheimer.
“Primero olvidas palabras sueltas, luego rostros, habitaciones, extravías el cuarto de baño en tu propia casa. Olvidas lo que has aprendido en la vida; de todos modos, no era mucho, muy pronto se desvanecerá con el resto. Luego, en la fase sombría, como la llamaba Gaustín, llegará el olvido de todo lo acumulado antes de que existieras, aquello que tu cuerpo sabía por naturaleza, sin ni siquiera sospecharlo... la mente olvidará hablar, la boca olvidará cómo masticar, la garganta olvidará cómo tragar”La narración continúa con la popularización de esos espacios estimulantes y placenteros entre la población sana; colectivos enteros, países enteros quieren volver a un pasado idealizado; se hicieron referéndums para elegir ese momento de felicidad colectiva que sustituyera la inseguridad del presente y, sobre todo, les proporcionara la seguridad de un futuro mejor.
“Cuanto más olvida una sociedad, tanto más alguien fabrica, vende y rellena con sucedáneos de memoria los nichos desocupados”Gospodínov recrea en su Bulgaria natal esa situación de proceso electoral (algo que a los no búlgaros nos pilla un poco lejos, aunque la vida comunista que reivindica uno de los grupos en liza se parece bastante a la vivida en España hace 50 o 60 años) y recorre buena parte de Europa donde los resultados de los distintos referéndums parecen constatar que la inocua nostalgia individual se hace muy peligrosa cuando es colectiva, que la corta memoria de muchos y el escaso esfuerzo de todos en mantener vivo el trágico recuerdo de nuestra negra historia en las nuevas generaciones coloca a estas en situación de repetir los mismos errores que sus padres y abuelos, que fuerzas con mucho poder e inteligencia para modelar voluntades están interesadas en que ciertos hechos se olviden, se minimicen o se tergiversen sin que al resto parezca preocuparles.
“Olvidar exige esfuerzo y trabajo. exige estar recordándote todo el tiempo que tienes que olvidar algo. Seguramente esa y no otra es la labor esencial de toda ideología.”El autor cita a Thomas Mann que, en los albores de la Primera Guerra Mundial, decía:
“¿Qué era lo que flotaba en el ambiente? Agresividad. Irritabilidad generalizada. Una desazón sin nombre. Una tendencia colectiva a los comentarios venenosos, a los arrebatos de ira, a la violencia casi física. Cada día estallaban grandes discusiones, gritos sin objeto ni medida entre individuos o entre grupos enteros…”¿Les suena? Pues eso.
“… mientras el fuego de la memoria siga ardiendo, uno tendrá la sartén por el mango; en cuanto empiece a apagarse, los aullidos irán en aumento y el cerco de las bestias se irá cerrando entorno. La manada del pasado”
July 5, 2024
IL MISTERO DELLE VOCI BULGARE
Più volte citato nel testo.
Tempo [crono (Κρόνος, parola di etimologia incerta, fatta derivare senza sufficienti basi da χρόνος "tempo" o da κόρος "sazietà", per la tarda identificazione con Satur-nus, o da κραίνω "creo")].
Tempo. Passato. Memoria.
Tempo e passato sono pressoché sinonimi perché il tempo può solo che passare e pertanto diventare passato.
La memoria è la nostra capacità di rallentare il percorso del tempo, di trattenere il passato. Azione che dovrebbe conservare il presente del passato. Resuscitare il passato.
Hartmann Schedel nelle Cronache di Norimberga disegna la distruzione di Sodoma e Gomorra con la moglie di Lot che si volta a guardarla e viene trasformata in una statua di sale (citata nel testo).
Il tempo ha una data di scadenza? Quanto passato può sopportare un uomo? La fine del mondo è la fine del tempo?
Il passato è una terra straniera. Eppure, a rigor di logica, è il futuro che dovrebbe essere una terra straniera: non lo si conosce.
Il passato è una terra straniera per coloro i quali non hanno problemi di memoria. Coloro che invece hanno limiti di memoria – malati di Alzheimer e dintorni – per loro il passato è il tempo presente. Eppure, meno memoria e più passato.
Voltarsi indietro è punito: Orfeo perde Euridice, la moglie di Lot viene trasformata in una statua di sale. È forse per questo che il popolo degli Aymara – vive sulle Ande – crede tuttora che il futuro sia dietro di te: arriva alle spalle, in modo sorprendente e inaspettato, mentre il passato sta sempre davanti ai tuoi occhi, è già accaduto. Quando parlano del passato gli Aymara indicano con la mano davanti a sé.
Gospodinov s’inventa un alter ego e lo chiama Gaustìn, un po’ vero e un po’ immaginario.
Gaustìn ha l’idea di organizzare in Svizzera una “clinica del tempo”, con spazi arredati come nelle diverse epoche storiche - ma soprattutto si tratta dei decenni del Novecento – per curare i malati di memoria, di demenza senile. Si tratta dunque di cronorifugi. Stanze del tempo.
È lo spunto che dà il via alla riflessione più generale di Gospodinov, che racconta micro storie di pazienti – per me i momenti più belli – e man mano si trasforma quasi in metafisica, in romanzo autobiografico, ma anche politico, e in saggio narrativo.
Gospodinov riflette viaggia divaga esplora il tempo, il passato, la memoria. In un magnifico romanzo-mondo che per me è romanzo-vita ma anche metaromanzo. Attraversa le stanze del tempo. Rispolvera i Beatles: da Let It Be, che qui assume perfino maggior senso, a Oh, Yesterday Came Suddenly. Mi fa rileggere l’Odissea in modo nuovo…
Tutto prima o poi si trasforma in libri.
Il volume è arricchito da un omino piccolo e nero che attraversa la copertina e si aggira tra le pagine lasciando impronte ancora più piccole. È una silhouette solitaria e provocatoria disegnata da Nedko Solakov, bulgaro anche lui come Georgi Gospodinov. Un omino a cui fanno da contrappunto i disegni dello stesso Gospodinov: scarabocchi di lampadine, mappe geografiche, volti di persone inesistenti, ritratti di neuroni, scaffali di libri.
Voglio riportare l’epigrafe perché ne vale la pena: In questo romanzo tutti i veri personaggi sono inventati, solo quelli inventati sono veri.
Rinnovati ringraziamenti alla mia “consigliori” letteraria
Per saperne di più su Il Mistero Delle Voci Bulgare, ovvero Le Mystère de les Voix Bulgares:
https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Myst...
Più volte citato nel testo.
Tempo [crono (Κρόνος, parola di etimologia incerta, fatta derivare senza sufficienti basi da χρόνος "tempo" o da κόρος "sazietà", per la tarda identificazione con Satur-nus, o da κραίνω "creo")].
Tempo. Passato. Memoria.
Tempo e passato sono pressoché sinonimi perché il tempo può solo che passare e pertanto diventare passato.
La memoria è la nostra capacità di rallentare il percorso del tempo, di trattenere il passato. Azione che dovrebbe conservare il presente del passato. Resuscitare il passato.
Hartmann Schedel nelle Cronache di Norimberga disegna la distruzione di Sodoma e Gomorra con la moglie di Lot che si volta a guardarla e viene trasformata in una statua di sale (citata nel testo).
Il tempo ha una data di scadenza? Quanto passato può sopportare un uomo? La fine del mondo è la fine del tempo?
Il passato è una terra straniera. Eppure, a rigor di logica, è il futuro che dovrebbe essere una terra straniera: non lo si conosce.
Il passato è una terra straniera per coloro i quali non hanno problemi di memoria. Coloro che invece hanno limiti di memoria – malati di Alzheimer e dintorni – per loro il passato è il tempo presente. Eppure, meno memoria e più passato.
Voltarsi indietro è punito: Orfeo perde Euridice, la moglie di Lot viene trasformata in una statua di sale. È forse per questo che il popolo degli Aymara – vive sulle Ande – crede tuttora che il futuro sia dietro di te: arriva alle spalle, in modo sorprendente e inaspettato, mentre il passato sta sempre davanti ai tuoi occhi, è già accaduto. Quando parlano del passato gli Aymara indicano con la mano davanti a sé.
Gospodinov s’inventa un alter ego e lo chiama Gaustìn, un po’ vero e un po’ immaginario.
Gaustìn ha l’idea di organizzare in Svizzera una “clinica del tempo”, con spazi arredati come nelle diverse epoche storiche - ma soprattutto si tratta dei decenni del Novecento – per curare i malati di memoria, di demenza senile. Si tratta dunque di cronorifugi. Stanze del tempo.
È lo spunto che dà il via alla riflessione più generale di Gospodinov, che racconta micro storie di pazienti – per me i momenti più belli – e man mano si trasforma quasi in metafisica, in romanzo autobiografico, ma anche politico, e in saggio narrativo.
Gospodinov riflette viaggia divaga esplora il tempo, il passato, la memoria. In un magnifico romanzo-mondo che per me è romanzo-vita ma anche metaromanzo. Attraversa le stanze del tempo. Rispolvera i Beatles: da Let It Be, che qui assume perfino maggior senso, a Oh, Yesterday Came Suddenly. Mi fa rileggere l’Odissea in modo nuovo…
Tutto prima o poi si trasforma in libri.
Il volume è arricchito da un omino piccolo e nero che attraversa la copertina e si aggira tra le pagine lasciando impronte ancora più piccole. È una silhouette solitaria e provocatoria disegnata da Nedko Solakov, bulgaro anche lui come Georgi Gospodinov. Un omino a cui fanno da contrappunto i disegni dello stesso Gospodinov: scarabocchi di lampadine, mappe geografiche, volti di persone inesistenti, ritratti di neuroni, scaffali di libri.
Voglio riportare l’epigrafe perché ne vale la pena: In questo romanzo tutti i veri personaggi sono inventati, solo quelli inventati sono veri.
Rinnovati ringraziamenti alla mia “consigliori” letteraria
Per saperne di più su Il Mistero Delle Voci Bulgare, ovvero Le Mystère de les Voix Bulgares:
https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Myst...
April 29, 2024
Досега не се бях срещала с Георги Господинов извън поезията му. Реших да се срещна именно с „Времеубежище“ след попадането му в дългия списък за Международния Букър, защото сметнах, че е важно да съм я чела, независимо дали ще ми хареса, или не.
Преживяното с тази книга ще е безобразно трудно за описване. Не знам как и от къде да започна. Може би трябва да започна така...
На 14 май миналата година си отиде моята баба. Жената, която даде смисъл не само на голяма част от детството ми, но и на живота ми след това. Човекът, който четеше като звяр, готвеше по-вкусно от най-престижните готвачи и веднъж даже изтъргува няколко стари килима за... дини.
Баба е имала пъстър живот, изпълнен с шарени случки и събития, някои хубави, а други тежки и трудни. Многократно ми е разказвала какви ли не истории от детството и младините си, които са ми били толкова интересни, че редовно си казвах как трябва да хвана да ги запиша, преди тя да е започнала да ги забравя.
Има едно чудовище, което очаква всеки. Смъртта, ще кажете. Да, да, да, да. Смъртта му е сестра. Но старостта е чудовището. Това е истинска и обречена битка. Без блясък, без фойерверки.
За съжаление баба ги забрави. В началото от ума ѝ изчезнаха дребни неща. По-късно по-значими. Тръгнаха си имена, хора, лица. Накрая си тръгнахме и ние. А на финала и тя самата.
Паметта, която ни напуска, ни оставя да си поиграем за последно във вечните поля на детството.
Защо пиша това ли? Защото така го усещам. Защото голяма част от думите на Георги Господинов намериха дупката, която остана в сърцето ми миналата година, и я разчовъркаха силно и дълбоко. И защото искам да ви напомня да кажете на близките си, че ги обичате. Да прекарате време с тях. Докато още имате време заедно.
Не е ли странно? Винаги умират другите, а ние самите – никога.
Не съм литературен критик, но съм емоционален. И като такъв давам най-високата оценка на тази книга. Защото в себе си побра половината ми свят. Защото ме караше да рева като малко дете (което правя и сега, докато пиша тези думи). И защото искам да вляза в стаята на 90-те, в която ме чака баба.
Преживяното с тази книга ще е безобразно трудно за описване. Не знам как и от къде да започна. Може би трябва да започна така...
На 14 май миналата година си отиде моята баба. Жената, която даде смисъл не само на голяма част от детството ми, но и на живота ми след това. Човекът, който четеше като звяр, готвеше по-вкусно от най-престижните готвачи и веднъж даже изтъргува няколко стари килима за... дини.
Баба е имала пъстър живот, изпълнен с шарени случки и събития, някои хубави, а други тежки и трудни. Многократно ми е разказвала какви ли не истории от детството и младините си, които са ми били толкова интересни, че редовно си казвах как трябва да хвана да ги запиша, преди тя да е започнала да ги забравя.
Има едно чудовище, което очаква всеки. Смъртта, ще кажете. Да, да, да, да. Смъртта му е сестра. Но старостта е чудовището. Това е истинска и обречена битка. Без блясък, без фойерверки.
За съжаление баба ги забрави. В началото от ума ѝ изчезнаха дребни неща. По-късно по-значими. Тръгнаха си имена, хора, лица. Накрая си тръгнахме и ние. А на финала и тя самата.
Паметта, която ни напуска, ни оставя да си поиграем за последно във вечните поля на детството.
Защо пиша това ли? Защото така го усещам. Защото голяма част от думите на Георги Господинов намериха дупката, която остана в сърцето ми миналата година, и я разчовъркаха силно и дълбоко. И защото искам да ви напомня да кажете на близките си, че ги обичате. Да прекарате време с тях. Докато още имате време заедно.
Не е ли странно? Винаги умират другите, а ние самите – никога.
Не съм литературен критик, но съм емоционален. И като такъв давам най-високата оценка на тази книга. Защото в себе си побра половината ми свят. Защото ме караше да рева като малко дете (което правя и сега, докато пиша тези думи). И защото искам да вляза в стаята на 90-те, в която ме чака баба.
April 29, 2020
„Времеубежище“ е роман, съставен от стаи за минало. Те са фасетъчни, като очите на вечноприсъстващата муха. Не се смесват, въпреки че нерядко ги свързват общи стени, или са разположени в об��а клиника, друг път са разхвърляни из Континента (чак до Ню Йорк – „едно място, което твърдеше, че няма минало, въпреки че междувременно го беше натрупало“). Всяка от тези стаи събира нещо различно: истории от всекидневното, неслучили се моменти, опропастени животи, любими вещи, десетилетия, лица, миризми и следобеди. Светът е разглобен и пренареден, ахроматичен, асинхронен и нехронологичен. И в същото време утешителен и приласкаващ. Защото "миналото не е само това, което ти се е случило, понякога е това, което само си съчиняваш".
Успокояващото в този свят – светът на романа - е, че го познаваме отпреди. Не като смисъл, разбира се, а като направа, като тъкан, изпредена от литературни мистификации, разходки из световната литература, Гаустин, Борхесовото упоение от библиотеките, онова познато благоговение пред карти, класификации и чекмеджета на съзнанието (деликатно намигване към Токарчук, ��якаш, със списъците и каталогизирането, с летищата и надзъртането на реалния разказвач във фикционалната история).
Всичките тези миниатюрни трошици са изронени по пътеката на паметта и ни създават чувството за уют, не, няма да се загубим, колкото и навътре в литературно-мистификационните дебри да ни отведе този път Господинов – по-навътре от всякога. И тъкмо когато сме се поуспокоили и блаженстваме, отдадени на „времето вътре в нас“… БАМ! Оказва се, че сладостното, бавността е единственият начин да преживеем това, което ни чака на превала на романа. З��овещ шамар, уродлива гротеска, граничеща с дистопичното, безрадостен поглед върху човешкото – с всичките му слабости и грешки, - подплатен с познаване отвътре на процесите в съвременния свят. Така тази най-концентрирано лирична и литературно безупречна, емоционално балансирана книга, се оказва наред с това и най-злободневната, непростимата. Непростимо е това, което сме допуснали да ни се случи – като човешки същества.
Обобщенията и гръмките слова ще си спестя. Мълчи ми се след преживяното.
Успокояващото в този свят – светът на романа - е, че го познаваме отпреди. Не като смисъл, разбира се, а като направа, като тъкан, изпредена от литературни мистификации, разходки из световната литература, Гаустин, Борхесовото упоение от библиотеките, онова познато благоговение пред карти, класификации и чекмеджета на съзнанието (деликатно намигване към Токарчук, ��якаш, със списъците и каталогизирането, с летищата и надзъртането на реалния разказвач във фикционалната история).
Всичките тези миниатюрни трошици са изронени по пътеката на паметта и ни създават чувството за уют, не, няма да се загубим, колкото и навътре в литературно-мистификационните дебри да ни отведе този път Господинов – по-навътре от всякога. И тъкмо когато сме се поуспокоили и блаженстваме, отдадени на „времето вътре в нас“… БАМ! Оказва се, че сладостното, бавността е единственият начин да преживеем това, което ни чака на превала на романа. З��овещ шамар, уродлива гротеска, граничеща с дистопичното, безрадостен поглед върху човешкото – с всичките му слабости и грешки, - подплатен с познаване отвътре на процесите в съвременния свят. Така тази най-концентрирано лирична и литературно безупречна, емоционално балансирана книга, се оказва наред с това и най-злободневната, непростимата. Непростимо е това, което сме допуснали да ни се случи – като човешки същества.
Обобщенията и гръмките слова ще си спестя. Мълчи ми се след преживяното.
September 29, 2022
Un giovane scrittore bulgaro, alla vigilia della caduta della cortina di ferro conosce uno strano personaggio (Gaustìn) che vive nel passato. Trent'anni dopo lo ritrova neuropsichiatra in Svizzera con una brillante idea: fa della sua disfunzione una terapia efficace contro l'Alzheimer, poi forse un business e chissà poi cos'altro....
Una meravigliosa riflessione sullo stato distorto del nostro concetto di passato.
Il bombardamento mediatico ed iconografico del 900 fa sì che il secolo breve non venga mai archiviato, ma permane in un continuo passato in cui ricordiamo e vorremmo rivivere soprattutto le esperienze che non abbiamo vissuto.
Dite la verità: anche voi come me ricordate perfettamente le immagini di Woodstock, i corpi seminudi dei ragazzi che assaporavano la libertà assoluta. Viste centinaia di volte in tv prima e su youtube poi. Anche se siete nati dopo.
Non vi ricorderete invece di come eravate vestiti al saggio di conservatorio di vostro cugino o cosa si è mangiato al matrimonio di vostra zia, dove invece c'eravate eccome. il passato non è solo quello che ti è capitato- A volte è quello che ti sei solo inventato pag. 53
Questa protesi consolatoria e gratificante di passato nel quale ci si vorrebbe incistare spiana la strada a tutti i revisionismi nostalgici ed ai conati nazionalistico - sovranisti.
Il problema era il seguente: come risparmiare un po' di tempo in avanti, quando hai di fronte un deficit secco di futuro. La risposta più ovvia era - bisogna tornare un po' indietro. Se c'è qualcosa di sicuro, è il passato. Cinquanta anni trascorsi sono più sicuri di cinquanta anni a venire.........Dato che l'Europa del futuro è ormai impossibile, scegliamo l'Europa del passato. E' semplice, quando non hai un futuro, voti per il passato. pag. 130 .
Ed è esattamente quello che sta accadendo: neghiamo il futuro ai nostri figli, sottopagandoli e condannandoli alla precarietà, perché siamo avvinghiati a quanto ci fa comodo ricordare/mantenere del passato.
Un po' saggio ed un po' racconto, pieno di richiami, citazioni, immagini, ma sempre con misura e soprattutto grande ironia, è sicuramente la mia lettura dell'anno assieme a Cartarescu (il fatto che quest'ultimo sia rumeno e Gospodinov bulgaro, induce a riconsiderare certe supremazie nel mercato letterario.....), delle quali ringrazio l'editore Voland che ha immediatamente tradotto in italiano questa perla (per inciso è l'unica edizione esistente a parte quella in bulgaro, case editrici indipendenti santesubito).
Aggiornamento a sei mesi dalla lettura ed alla luce dei recenti sviluppi in Russia/Ucraina, va riconosciuto a questo libro anche eccezionali virtù profetiche...
Aggiornamento post 25 settembre in guisa di sondaggio. Siete contenti del decennio in cui gli italiani hanno deciso di cronorifugiarsi ?
Una meravigliosa riflessione sullo stato distorto del nostro concetto di passato.
Il bombardamento mediatico ed iconografico del 900 fa sì che il secolo breve non venga mai archiviato, ma permane in un continuo passato in cui ricordiamo e vorremmo rivivere soprattutto le esperienze che non abbiamo vissuto.
Dite la verità: anche voi come me ricordate perfettamente le immagini di Woodstock, i corpi seminudi dei ragazzi che assaporavano la libertà assoluta. Viste centinaia di volte in tv prima e su youtube poi. Anche se siete nati dopo.
Non vi ricorderete invece di come eravate vestiti al saggio di conservatorio di vostro cugino o cosa si è mangiato al matrimonio di vostra zia, dove invece c'eravate eccome. il passato non è solo quello che ti è capitato- A volte è quello che ti sei solo inventato pag. 53
Questa protesi consolatoria e gratificante di passato nel quale ci si vorrebbe incistare spiana la strada a tutti i revisionismi nostalgici ed ai conati nazionalistico - sovranisti.
Il problema era il seguente: come risparmiare un po' di tempo in avanti, quando hai di fronte un deficit secco di futuro. La risposta più ovvia era - bisogna tornare un po' indietro. Se c'è qualcosa di sicuro, è il passato. Cinquanta anni trascorsi sono più sicuri di cinquanta anni a venire.........Dato che l'Europa del futuro è ormai impossibile, scegliamo l'Europa del passato. E' semplice, quando non hai un futuro, voti per il passato. pag. 130 .
Ed è esattamente quello che sta accadendo: neghiamo il futuro ai nostri figli, sottopagandoli e condannandoli alla precarietà, perché siamo avvinghiati a quanto ci fa comodo ricordare/mantenere del passato.
Un po' saggio ed un po' racconto, pieno di richiami, citazioni, immagini, ma sempre con misura e soprattutto grande ironia, è sicuramente la mia lettura dell'anno assieme a Cartarescu (il fatto che quest'ultimo sia rumeno e Gospodinov bulgaro, induce a riconsiderare certe supremazie nel mercato letterario.....), delle quali ringrazio l'editore Voland che ha immediatamente tradotto in italiano questa perla (per inciso è l'unica edizione esistente a parte quella in bulgaro, case editrici indipendenti santesubito).
Aggiornamento a sei mesi dalla lettura ed alla luce dei recenti sviluppi in Russia/Ucraina, va riconosciuto a questo libro anche eccezionali virtù profetiche...
Aggiornamento post 25 settembre in guisa di sondaggio. Siete contenti del decennio in cui gli italiani hanno deciso di cronorifugiarsi ?
November 11, 2021
Генерализации за българина, мухлясали стереотипи за Амстердам, Париж, Барселона, "в България всичко идва с 10 години закъснение", "следобеда на миналото, следобеда на годината", следобедни клишета на килограм, много з л е.
И черешката на скуката, не припадайте, референдум за минало.
Поне да беше проблемът в разказвача, щеше да е много литературно и добре, че ме дразни. Ама то беше като блог от 2005 г.
И черешката на скуката, не припадайте, референдум за минало.
Поне да беше проблемът в разказвача, щеше да е много литературно и добре, че ме дразни. Ама то беше като блог от 2005 г.
Currently reading
May 24, 2023Winner of the international Booker Prize 2023! Halfway through and rather loving it.
December 27, 2022
Time Shelter is so remarkably clever that its cleverness became a distraction to me. I never felt there was a human connection to be found in the happenings on the pages--it was just a story. However witty the flourishes the effect as a whole was a little airless and self-referential. I wanted it to matter more. Just now my thoughts zinged in the direction of Saramago, an author whose books are also often dependent on incredibly clever intellectual absurdities like 'what if everyone went blind?' or 'what if everyone stopped dying?' or 'what if the Iberian Peninsula broke off the European continent?--and yet somehow these absurdities lead the author to such profound meditations on humanity. This novel amazed me just as much as those. But I wanted also to be moved.
May 23, 2023
Winner of the 2023 International Booker Prize
Shortlisted for the EBRD Literature Prize 2023
This sudden groundswell of people who have lost their memories today is no coincidence . . . They are here to tell us something. And believe me, one day, very soon, the majority of people will start returning to the past of their own accord, they'll start "losing" their memories willingly. The time is coming when more and more people will want to hide in the cave of the past, to turn back. And not for happy reasons, by the way. We need to be ready with the bomb shelter of the past. Call it the time shelter, if you will.
Time Shelter is Angela Rodel’s translation of Georgi Gospodinov’s Bulgarian original.
The key premise of the novel has Gaustine a, somewhat mysterious, acquaintance of the narrator opening a dementia clinic in Zurich (*) where he replicates decades of the past, time shelters for those disorientated by the present.
(* a nod to Switzerland’s odd timelessness due to its neutrality, and the presence of Dignitas, but in literary terms also to Mann’s Der Zauberberg, a key reference text)
As Gaustine himself admits the premise isn’t totally original in artistic terms, only the effort dedicated to its realisation:
What I've come up with isn't a show, Gaustine would always say, in any case it isn't The Truman Show, nor is it Good Bye Lenin!, nor Back to the Future. (Somewhere his critics had tried to slap these labels on him.) It's not recorded on video, it isn't broadcast, in fact there's no show at all. I'm not interested in maintaining some-body's illusion that socialism continues to exist, nor is there any time machine. There is no time machine except the human being.
But in literary terms the novel is very different to those precedents. As with Physics of Sorrow from the same author and translator, this is far from a linear narrative. My review of that book (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...) concluded;
Here the discussion of the time shelters is non-linear, metaphysical (with various musings on the nature of memory and time) and literary. Other key references, beside Mann, include Auden’s poem September 1, 1939
(https://poets.org/poem/september-1-1939) and Woolf’s famous words from Mr Bennett and Mrs Brown:
Another key text is Ernest Renan’s idea that a nation is a group of people who have agreed to jointly remember and forget the same things, and that a nation is a “daily referendum” on this topic - “L’existence d’une nation est (pardonnez-moi cette métaphore) un plébiscite de tous les jours”. [Although oddly, unless I missed it, the book itself doesn’t mention the daily referendum line]
The novel develops this into a, Brexit inspired, series of referendums in the EU where the citizens of each country decide to which decade from the 20th century they would like the country to return.
This is where the narrator has most fun, as it takes us through the deliberations and choices in each country (everyone else is horrified when the Swiss dabble with the 1940s as it was a rather lucrative time). But oddly this was for me also the novel at its weakest, as rather conventional and closer to Good Bye Lenin! territory.
And in meta-fictional terms, Gaustine is a character who has recurred in the author’s work - indeed the opening section of the novel reproduces a short-story, Gaustine from the collection And Other Stories (http://www.percontra.net/archive/6gos...) and the narrator comments at the novel’s end. I can’t remember anymore whether I thought up Gaustine or he thought me up.. The author was asked about the character in an interview:
(From https://www.musicandliterature.org/fe...)
Overall, a far from perfect novel, and on balance I prefer Physics of Sorrow, but a fascinating one and one where the author does something rather different with his concept.
Shortlisted for the EBRD Literature Prize 2023
This sudden groundswell of people who have lost their memories today is no coincidence . . . They are here to tell us something. And believe me, one day, very soon, the majority of people will start returning to the past of their own accord, they'll start "losing" their memories willingly. The time is coming when more and more people will want to hide in the cave of the past, to turn back. And not for happy reasons, by the way. We need to be ready with the bomb shelter of the past. Call it the time shelter, if you will.
Time Shelter is Angela Rodel’s translation of Georgi Gospodinov’s Bulgarian original.
The key premise of the novel has Gaustine a, somewhat mysterious, acquaintance of the narrator opening a dementia clinic in Zurich (*) where he replicates decades of the past, time shelters for those disorientated by the present.
(* a nod to Switzerland’s odd timelessness due to its neutrality, and the presence of Dignitas, but in literary terms also to Mann’s Der Zauberberg, a key reference text)
As Gaustine himself admits the premise isn’t totally original in artistic terms, only the effort dedicated to its realisation:
What I've come up with isn't a show, Gaustine would always say, in any case it isn't The Truman Show, nor is it Good Bye Lenin!, nor Back to the Future. (Somewhere his critics had tried to slap these labels on him.) It's not recorded on video, it isn't broadcast, in fact there's no show at all. I'm not interested in maintaining some-body's illusion that socialism continues to exist, nor is there any time machine. There is no time machine except the human being.
But in literary terms the novel is very different to those precedents. As with Physics of Sorrow from the same author and translator, this is far from a linear narrative. My review of that book (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...) concluded;
At it's best, the novel reminded me of Kundera at his most playful, with it’s philosophical but humorous musings on many topics, complete with sub-headings.
However, if the novel is flawed, it is by comparison to Kundera, or indeed Gospodinov's own model, the Minotaur's labyrinth. Kundera's novels were famously intricately constructed, nary a word out of place, and so to was the labyrinth containing the Minotaur, the work of the master Daedalus. In contrast, at times it feels as if, in the Physics of Sorrow, Gospodinov has simply included anything of relevance (and sometimes irrelevance) that occurs to him, and the novel also wavers between autobiographical fictions and literary philosophy (and typically strongest when the latter).
Here the discussion of the time shelters is non-linear, metaphysical (with various musings on the nature of memory and time) and literary. Other key references, beside Mann, include Auden’s poem September 1, 1939
(https://poets.org/poem/september-1-1939) and Woolf’s famous words from Mr Bennett and Mrs Brown:
And now I will hazard a second assertion, which is more disputable perhaps, to the effect that on or about December 1910 human character changed.
Another key text is Ernest Renan’s idea that a nation is a group of people who have agreed to jointly remember and forget the same things, and that a nation is a “daily referendum” on this topic - “L’existence d’une nation est (pardonnez-moi cette métaphore) un plébiscite de tous les jours”. [Although oddly, unless I missed it, the book itself doesn’t mention the daily referendum line]
The novel develops this into a, Brexit inspired, series of referendums in the EU where the citizens of each country decide to which decade from the 20th century they would like the country to return.
This is where the narrator has most fun, as it takes us through the deliberations and choices in each country (everyone else is horrified when the Swiss dabble with the 1940s as it was a rather lucrative time). But oddly this was for me also the novel at its weakest, as rather conventional and closer to Good Bye Lenin! territory.
And in meta-fictional terms, Gaustine is a character who has recurred in the author’s work - indeed the opening section of the novel reproduces a short-story, Gaustine from the collection And Other Stories (http://www.percontra.net/archive/6gos...) and the narrator comments at the novel’s end. I can’t remember anymore whether I thought up Gaustine or he thought me up.. The author was asked about the character in an interview:
Q: Something, or rather someone, else who has been consistently appearing throughout your books is Gaustine, both as a character and an alter ego. Could you tell me more about him and the process of inventing him?
A: He appeared first in my poetry—most of the recurrent features in my work do. I wanted to begin a poem with an epigraph that I did not want to sign myself, so I had to make up a character and came up with Gaustine, a troubadour from the thirteenth century. The epigraph was three lines, something like: “The troubadour was created by the woman, I can say it again, she invented the inventor.” After the book was published, I remember running into my ancient Greek literature professor—the best in his field—in front of the National Library and he told me, almost guiltily, “All afternoon I’ve been searching for this Gaustine in the library archives and there are no sources whatsoever about him.” Which was a very nice compliment. So Gaustine just went ahead and found his way, appearing in different forms.
(From https://www.musicandliterature.org/fe...)
Overall, a far from perfect novel, and on balance I prefer Physics of Sorrow, but a fascinating one and one where the author does something rather different with his concept.
June 7, 2022
Трябва много, ама страшно много да не си чел, да не си гледал филми, да не си ходил в други страни, да не си гледал картини, да не си чувал коментари, да не си запомнил велики фрази, за да ти хареса това четиво. Другият вариант е да си замесен с българското книгоиздаване и щеш не щеш да напишеш, че ти харесва.
Първо, не ми е ясно какво точно е това? Не е роман, понеже няма сюжет, не са разкази защото няма разказ, не знам какво е, наистина и не знам защо го има.
За пореден път "взаимствани" фрази, мисли, идеи и какво ли не, от кого ли не. При този автор винаги е така, ама тука е рогът на изобилието! То е Томас Ман, Уди Алън, Труман Капоти, Бийтълс (бляк!). Само началото на редица от велики умове и артисти, което творчество е паднало жертва на това издание, под една или друга форма. Ще рече някой, ми впечатлил се, вдъхновил се. Това трябва да бъде забранено със закон, който за съжаление никога няма да има. И второ, да речем, айде впечатлил се човекът, написал, ама не си на 21, а гониш 60! Напомня ми на началото на 2000, когато млади тогава автори се впечатляваха и повлияваха я от Керуак, я от Буковски. Пишеха в Егоист, а някои и по-лошо - книги. Но тогава беше някак готино и имаше романтична нотка.
На всичкото отдолу са толкова много, че си викаш - край, този човек какво ще пише в следващия роман? - тука са изхабени всички яки неща, които великите умове са написали и направили. Няма оригинални мисли, освен няколко направо нелепи изречения, от които ми става тъжно. Игра на думи, залагалки. Кой пише така в 22-а година, бе?
Иначе генералната идея за миналото п��рво е третирана от много големи умове, а тука където са взаимствани, да не кажа друго, изречения е като писано от ученик в есе за 12 клас. Толкова много патерици, ужас.
Говоренето за държавите също е много слабо. Швейцария като държавата, в която има асистирано самоубийство (Ерик Уайнър го беше написал мега яко преди години!), ама с намек как са убивали евреите, отделно има нотки на Втората война, отделно соц, отделно ах, ти мое детство, защо тъй ревеш, има и Ботев, футбол с Аякс, Ню Йорк, Амстердам, абе ужас. С някакви намазани думи - да е уж дълбоко и емоционално, ама е толкова кухо и плоско, и скучно, че чак ти се реве. А! И Одисей и Итака и кучето му и Пенелопе и те са набутани на тука! И със сигурност до края има още бая норд.
Егати къртовският труд - да ровиш по на хората книгите и статиите и къде ли не да си напишеш текста!
Друг проблем е, че е ужасно, ужасно сухо, скучно. Никаква нотка на хумор, да не говорим за самоирония, която има у доста от авторите, които са паднали жертва на това времево убежище. Нещо като храна за космонавти, стерилно и сериозно и важно. Майкоуууу...
Ама, господине, тука има хора, дето са чели туй-онуй и като цяло не са празна кофа, в която да изсипеш всичкото това. Няма място, разбери!
Ако я нямаше аудио, щях да я спра на страница номер 4, но слушах докато чистих, стигнах до средата, която е същата като началото. Тоест, и до края ще си е така, но няма да слушам повече.
Не върви да наречеш тази книга слаба, защото има идеи и мисли на толкова много други хора, но няма как и да е яка, понеже не е.
И другото, което ме вбесява е как тук-таме споменава от кого е взето изречението, след което на 5 места поне си минават изречения с фразни на други автори, без да е споменато от къде е и това прави изречението хубаво. Много мазно и подло. Като заглавието на Капоти - Други гласове, други стаи -, едни от най-любимите ми разкази изобщо! Изпитвам ревност и чувство на ограбеност към неподражаемата чувствителност и финес на Капоти.
Добре че не е чел по нови велики умове и дано не ги прочете, че ще има Времеубежище две.
Искам като един фейсбук кретен да напиша статус: Моля, който харесва Времеубежище и Путин, да ме разприятели.
Мерси.
*И аз обаче не споменавам никъде името на автора, както Путин не споменава по име Навални. Ми взаимствам, кво?!:))
Първо, не ми е ясно какво точно е това? Не е роман, понеже няма сюжет, не са разкази защото няма разказ, не знам какво е, наистина и не знам защо го има.
За пореден път "взаимствани" фрази, мисли, идеи и какво ли не, от кого ли не. При този автор винаги е така, ама тука е рогът на изобилието! То е Томас Ман, Уди Алън, Труман Капоти, Бийтълс (бляк!). Само началото на редица от велики умове и артисти, което творчество е паднало жертва на това издание, под една или друга форма. Ще рече някой, ми впечатлил се, вдъхновил се. Това трябва да бъде забранено със закон, който за съжаление никога няма да има. И второ, да речем, айде впечатлил се човекът, написал, ама не си на 21, а гониш 60! Напомня ми на началото на 2000, когато млади тогава автори се впечатляваха и повлияваха я от Керуак, я от Буковски. Пишеха в Егоист, а някои и по-лошо - книги. Но тогава беше някак готино и имаше романтична нотка.
На всичкото отдолу са толкова много, че си викаш - край, този човек какво ще пише в следващия роман? - тука са изхабени всички яки неща, които великите умове са написали и направили. Няма оригинални мисли, освен няколко направо нелепи изречения, от които ми става тъжно. Игра на думи, залагалки. Кой пише така в 22-а година, бе?
Иначе генералната идея за миналото п��рво е третирана от много големи умове, а тука където са взаимствани, да не кажа друго, изречения е като писано от ученик в есе за 12 клас. Толкова много патерици, ужас.
Говоренето за държавите също е много слабо. Швейцария като държавата, в която има асистирано самоубийство (Ерик Уайнър го беше написал мега яко преди години!), ама с намек как са убивали евреите, отделно има нотки на Втората война, отделно соц, отделно ах, ти мое детство, защо тъй ревеш, има и Ботев, футбол с Аякс, Ню Йорк, Амстердам, абе ужас. С някакви намазани думи - да е уж дълбоко и емоционално, ама е толкова кухо и плоско, и скучно, че чак ти се реве. А! И Одисей и Итака и кучето му и Пенелопе и те са набутани на тука! И със сигурност до края има още бая норд.
Егати къртовският труд - да ровиш по на хората книгите и статиите и къде ли не да си напишеш текста!
Друг проблем е, че е ужасно, ужасно сухо, скучно. Никаква нотка на хумор, да не говорим за самоирония, която има у доста от авторите, които са паднали жертва на това времево убежище. Нещо като храна за космонавти, стерилно и сериозно и важно. Майкоуууу...
Ама, господине, тука има хора, дето са чели туй-онуй и като цяло не са празна кофа, в която да изсипеш всичкото това. Няма място, разбери!
Ако я нямаше аудио, щях да я спра на страница номер 4, но слушах докато чистих, стигнах до средата, която е същата като началото. Тоест, и до края ще си е така, но няма да слушам повече.
Не върви да наречеш тази книга слаба, защото има идеи и мисли на толкова много други хора, но няма как и да е яка, понеже не е.
И другото, което ме вбесява е как тук-таме споменава от кого е взето изречението, след което на 5 места поне си минават изречения с фразни на други автори, без да е споменато от къде е и това прави изречението хубаво. Много мазно и подло. Като заглавието на Капоти - Други гласове, други стаи -, едни от най-любимите ми разкази изобщо! Изпитвам ревност и чувство на ограбеност към неподражаемата чувствителност и финес на Капоти.
Добре че не е чел по нови велики умове и дано не ги прочете, че ще има Времеубежище две.
Искам като един фейсбук кретен да напиша статус: Моля, който харесва Времеубежище и Путин, да ме разприятели.
Мерси.
*И аз обаче не споменавам никъде името на автора, както Путин не споменава по име Навални. Ми взаимствам, кво?!:))
April 29, 2024
The past is looming ahead.
However absurd this sounds it is the idea at the core of the novel which was the winner of the 2023 International Booker prize. When the future seems either too ominous or too inscrutable, the present too incoherent, we turn to the past, real or fabricated, as the only narrative with a discernible form and timeline.
In its passing, time relentlessly deteriorates bodies, memories, individual conscience and collective ideologies; wouldn’t it be a relief to inhabit a corner of our memory (or imagination) that’s furnished with all the props and elements of an era that has already been lived and holds no surprises?
If all this sounds vague it’s because Georgi Gospodinov’s metafiction is vague too. His ‘story’ is more a meditation on the concepts of forgetting and remembering, on time and how it is prolonged or shortened to accommodate our experiences or phantasies. It follows the tradition of Kundera’s novels, where the plot served as a pretext for his philosophical musings.
I can only say for this book that while its fragmentary style and relative lack of plot and characters couldn’t hold my attention for long while reading it, its ideas have stayed with me days after finishing it. I suspect they will nag me for even longer but that’s not necessarily bad. On the contrary, they give me material to keep me busy in the future. For a lover of the past and the comfort its exploration provides, Gospodinov’s mental acrobatics were a reminder of the perils of nostalgia and how its allure can be disorienting too.
A little more than a month away from the elections for the European Parliament in June 2024, in a European Union whose unified future is increasingly threatened by the rise of nationalistic parties in almost all its countries, that part of the plot that describes a European referendum where each country decides in which decade it wants to return, sounds like a warning against the glorification of the past.
I found this to be an equally unsettling and satisfying read that leaves it up to the reader to find the answers to the questions it poses. Near the end, when all seems hopeless, the author is gracious enough to offer the “cool cave” of a library as a refuge filled with the security of fiction's time. His very own Time Shelter.
However absurd this sounds it is the idea at the core of the novel which was the winner of the 2023 International Booker prize. When the future seems either too ominous or too inscrutable, the present too incoherent, we turn to the past, real or fabricated, as the only narrative with a discernible form and timeline.
In its passing, time relentlessly deteriorates bodies, memories, individual conscience and collective ideologies; wouldn’t it be a relief to inhabit a corner of our memory (or imagination) that’s furnished with all the props and elements of an era that has already been lived and holds no surprises?
If all this sounds vague it’s because Georgi Gospodinov’s metafiction is vague too. His ‘story’ is more a meditation on the concepts of forgetting and remembering, on time and how it is prolonged or shortened to accommodate our experiences or phantasies. It follows the tradition of Kundera’s novels, where the plot served as a pretext for his philosophical musings.
I can only say for this book that while its fragmentary style and relative lack of plot and characters couldn’t hold my attention for long while reading it, its ideas have stayed with me days after finishing it. I suspect they will nag me for even longer but that’s not necessarily bad. On the contrary, they give me material to keep me busy in the future. For a lover of the past and the comfort its exploration provides, Gospodinov’s mental acrobatics were a reminder of the perils of nostalgia and how its allure can be disorienting too.
A little more than a month away from the elections for the European Parliament in June 2024, in a European Union whose unified future is increasingly threatened by the rise of nationalistic parties in almost all its countries, that part of the plot that describes a European referendum where each country decides in which decade it wants to return, sounds like a warning against the glorification of the past.
I found this to be an equally unsettling and satisfying read that leaves it up to the reader to find the answers to the questions it poses. Near the end, when all seems hopeless, the author is gracious enough to offer the “cool cave” of a library as a refuge filled with the security of fiction's time. His very own Time Shelter.
August 1, 2022
Update:It has been a while and I've decided not to write an extended review about this one. We've had a very productive discussion in the comments where I think I've expanded why I did not think particularly highly about the execution of the idea of this book. I enjoyed the first part. I found the 2nd part fascinating, but a bit chaotic. And after that, It went downhill for me. I did not enjoy the process of reading and did not believe in the thought experiment in the middle of that book projected on the national level. Also I was not particularly impressed how intertextuality is executed in this novel.
Initial reaction:
Maybe I’ve had sky-high expectations, impossible to meet after those great blurbs and positive feedback from good friends I trust. But that was a “meh” for me. It was moving about old age and a few lyrical fragments were memorable. But for the rest, there are so many books doing much better what he intended to do in terms of weaponising the past. And constant name dropping plus a simularcrum of “Borges and I" story “who writes whom and all of that” were a bit tiresome. It is better to read the real Borges’s story - more ideas, more multilayered and nuanced in less than 10 pages.
Initial reaction:
Maybe I’ve had sky-high expectations, impossible to meet after those great blurbs and positive feedback from good friends I trust. But that was a “meh” for me. It was moving about old age and a few lyrical fragments were memorable. But for the rest, there are so many books doing much better what he intended to do in terms of weaponising the past. And constant name dropping plus a simularcrum of “Borges and I" story “who writes whom and all of that” were a bit tiresome. It is better to read the real Borges’s story - more ideas, more multilayered and nuanced in less than 10 pages.
May 24, 2023
Now Winner of International Booker Prize 2023 - Congratulations.
Shortlisted for International Booker Prize 2023
Even though it's not a 100% original idea (Goodbye Lenin, Midnight in Paris), Time Shelter squeezes every philosophical aspect of time travel. That's both good and bad.
It starts with a genuine time travel concept that turns into a clinic of the past, created to help Alzheimer's patients live in the "remembered" time, an idea so appealing that ordinary people also want to live in the ideal "time."
Gospodinov always has something "spiritual" to say, but there is no action. You feel trapped in a loop of stories, philosophical reflections on time or national histories. The ending hardly matters. The journey is what's important.
For me, it was an interesting journey. It's hard not to see the merits when almost every page is written like this:
"In all ancient epics, there is one strong enemy you battle ... in modern-day novels these monsters have disappeared, the heroes are gone, too. Where there are no monsters, there are no heroes, either. Monsters still do exist, however. There is one monster that stalks every one of us. Death, you'll say, yes, of course, death is his brother, but old age is the monster."
But I believe that beyond its merits in discussing in a new way Alzheimer's disease and showing the traps of nostalgia, the message would have been more powerful if it wasn't told to you, but discovered by the reader in a more conventional story.
Shortlisted for International Booker Prize 2023
Even though it's not a 100% original idea (Goodbye Lenin, Midnight in Paris), Time Shelter squeezes every philosophical aspect of time travel. That's both good and bad.
It starts with a genuine time travel concept that turns into a clinic of the past, created to help Alzheimer's patients live in the "remembered" time, an idea so appealing that ordinary people also want to live in the ideal "time."
Gospodinov always has something "spiritual" to say, but there is no action. You feel trapped in a loop of stories, philosophical reflections on time or national histories. The ending hardly matters. The journey is what's important.
For me, it was an interesting journey. It's hard not to see the merits when almost every page is written like this:
"In all ancient epics, there is one strong enemy you battle ... in modern-day novels these monsters have disappeared, the heroes are gone, too. Where there are no monsters, there are no heroes, either. Monsters still do exist, however. There is one monster that stalks every one of us. Death, you'll say, yes, of course, death is his brother, but old age is the monster."
But I believe that beyond its merits in discussing in a new way Alzheimer's disease and showing the traps of nostalgia, the message would have been more powerful if it wasn't told to you, but discovered by the reader in a more conventional story.
October 18, 2024
A very meta book on a writer following his own invented character, who appears to be able to travel through time. Questions are asked about the dangers nostalgia poses, both on a personal and national level
There is no time machine except for the human being
This International Booker Prize winner was a different read than I expected, meditative, dealing with memory, perception of time and identity on various levels, at times down rights philosophical. Initially the premise of a writer following a refugee through time, from Vienna 1910 to Zurich, showing clear hints of The Magic Mountain, suggests more a mystery novel. We have little clinics of the past, where already the dangers of nostalgia are commented upon. But soon the dialogue between the writer, who acts as main character, and his creation Gaustine fades more to the background. We turn to Bulgaria, where we encounter schemes to exchange raki for a LCD television, while political forces strive to capitalise on the wave of nostalgia that serves as a more benign exponent to an onset of mass dementia.
While I enjoyed the earlier sections, I struggled with the whole European referendum concept that takes precedence during the second half of the book, while we get little closure on the verity of the doctor who runs the original time shelters.
Time Shelter is definitely a smart commentary on the nationalistic waves we are experiencing in politics at the moment, the inertia of Europe compared to the more dynamic US and Asian economies, and historical commentary as well, tying neatly to the building of the nation state at the end of the 19th century.
Not surprisingly a second First World War seems to be looming after the movements for the past get their way. We are apparently doomed to repeat our mistakes, and history rhymes.
Quotes:
For all of those who live in the present of their past
The present is a foreign country while the past is their homeland
Past eras are volatile, they evaporate like an open bottle of perfume
There is no time machine except for the human being
A forgetful god, a god with Alzheimer’s would free us from all obligations. No memory, no crime.
Life is more than a single loss
Obsession turns us all into monsters
No one died off course, at least not in the beginning
It is simple, when you have no future, you vote for the past
Sooner or later all utopias turn into historical novels
There is no time machine except for the human being
This International Booker Prize winner was a different read than I expected, meditative, dealing with memory, perception of time and identity on various levels, at times down rights philosophical. Initially the premise of a writer following a refugee through time, from Vienna 1910 to Zurich, showing clear hints of The Magic Mountain, suggests more a mystery novel. We have little clinics of the past, where already the dangers of nostalgia are commented upon. But soon the dialogue between the writer, who acts as main character, and his creation Gaustine fades more to the background. We turn to Bulgaria, where we encounter schemes to exchange raki for a LCD television, while political forces strive to capitalise on the wave of nostalgia that serves as a more benign exponent to an onset of mass dementia.
While I enjoyed the earlier sections, I struggled with the whole European referendum concept that takes precedence during the second half of the book, while we get little closure on the verity of the doctor who runs the original time shelters.
Time Shelter is definitely a smart commentary on the nationalistic waves we are experiencing in politics at the moment, the inertia of Europe compared to the more dynamic US and Asian economies, and historical commentary as well, tying neatly to the building of the nation state at the end of the 19th century.
Not surprisingly a second First World War seems to be looming after the movements for the past get their way. We are apparently doomed to repeat our mistakes, and history rhymes.
Quotes:
For all of those who live in the present of their past
The present is a foreign country while the past is their homeland
Past eras are volatile, they evaporate like an open bottle of perfume
There is no time machine except for the human being
A forgetful god, a god with Alzheimer’s would free us from all obligations. No memory, no crime.
Life is more than a single loss
Obsession turns us all into monsters
No one died off course, at least not in the beginning
It is simple, when you have no future, you vote for the past
Sooner or later all utopias turn into historical novels
March 27, 2024
3,5/5
April 21, 2023
“Time feeds on us. We are food for time.”
Reading Time Shelter is like spending a series of afternoons – sun-soaked, languid, in dappled shade – in the company of an astute mind, pondering the Big Questions: time, memory, history, aging, death.
The concept: Two characters (one real, one possibly imagined) establish a “clinic of the past” for Alzheimers and dementia patients. The clinic recreates specific decades of the past on different floors (such as the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s) by emulating the furniture, the songs, the slang, the news, the general mood of the era. The idea is to create temporal “safe spaces” to help patients with memory loss synchronize their internal and external time:
“For us, the past is the past, and even when we step back into it, we know that the exit to the present is open, we can come back with ease. For those who have lost their memories, this door has slammed shut once and for all. For them, the present is a foreign country, while the past is their homeland.”
To support his work at the clinic, the narrator becomes a “trapper” of the past. He travels the world, gathering scents and afternoons, archiving them:
“Over the years, I’ve realized that the past tends to hide above all in two places – in afternoons (in the way the light falls) and in scents. That’s where I laid my traps.”
Why do scents trigger our earliest memories? Why don’t we have name for scents, in the same way we have names for colours? And why is the recollection of scents the last to leave the “empty den of memory”? These are some of the questions the narrator explores along the way.
Over time, the “clinic of the past” project becomes so successful that it is forced to open to a wider set of clients – citizens who do not feel “at home” in the present day. Entire neighbourhoods and towns join the experiment. Eventually, countries hold “referendums on the past” as part of a large-scale historical reenactment project:
“It’s simple. When you have no future, you vote for the past.”
Parts of the novel read as a critique of modern politics which weaponizes nostalgia in an effort to sell a specific agenda. It highlights, in particular, the unfairness of having aging populations dictate the futures of those not yet born:
“The aging chose the years of their youth, yet the young, who were not even born then, would have to live in those years. There was a certain injustice in that – choosing the time the next generation would live in. As happens in all elections, actually.”
This is not a book big on character or plot or place. It is a novel of ideas, in conversation with the greats – Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, Walter Benjamin’s Illuminations, Jorge Luis Borges’ Borges and I, to name just a few.
To me, reading this book was a unique form of therapy. An invitation to reflect on my own past, to remember the forgotten objects and “unhappened” events of my childhood. A summons, too, to enter the clockwork of time, to defuse it, to slow it down. A subtle sense, even, that we live in a simulation, and that we can notice the “cracks through which the light of the past streams in”, if only we pay attention. Although the novel wasn’t perfect – it can feel at times unruly, meandering, chaotic – I personally loved spending time in the shelter of its pages.
Mood: Metaphysical
Rating: 9/10
Awards: Shortlisted for the Booker International Prize 2023, and the EBRD Literature Prize 2023
Also on Instagram.
Soundtrack to the novel
• Doors’ Alabama Song
• Eagles’ Hotel California
• One Bulgarian Rose
• Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time
• The Beatles' Strawberry Fields Forever
Reading Time Shelter is like spending a series of afternoons – sun-soaked, languid, in dappled shade – in the company of an astute mind, pondering the Big Questions: time, memory, history, aging, death.
The concept: Two characters (one real, one possibly imagined) establish a “clinic of the past” for Alzheimers and dementia patients. The clinic recreates specific decades of the past on different floors (such as the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s) by emulating the furniture, the songs, the slang, the news, the general mood of the era. The idea is to create temporal “safe spaces” to help patients with memory loss synchronize their internal and external time:
“For us, the past is the past, and even when we step back into it, we know that the exit to the present is open, we can come back with ease. For those who have lost their memories, this door has slammed shut once and for all. For them, the present is a foreign country, while the past is their homeland.”
To support his work at the clinic, the narrator becomes a “trapper” of the past. He travels the world, gathering scents and afternoons, archiving them:
“Over the years, I’ve realized that the past tends to hide above all in two places – in afternoons (in the way the light falls) and in scents. That’s where I laid my traps.”
Why do scents trigger our earliest memories? Why don’t we have name for scents, in the same way we have names for colours? And why is the recollection of scents the last to leave the “empty den of memory”? These are some of the questions the narrator explores along the way.
Over time, the “clinic of the past” project becomes so successful that it is forced to open to a wider set of clients – citizens who do not feel “at home” in the present day. Entire neighbourhoods and towns join the experiment. Eventually, countries hold “referendums on the past” as part of a large-scale historical reenactment project:
“It’s simple. When you have no future, you vote for the past.”
Parts of the novel read as a critique of modern politics which weaponizes nostalgia in an effort to sell a specific agenda. It highlights, in particular, the unfairness of having aging populations dictate the futures of those not yet born:
“The aging chose the years of their youth, yet the young, who were not even born then, would have to live in those years. There was a certain injustice in that – choosing the time the next generation would live in. As happens in all elections, actually.”
This is not a book big on character or plot or place. It is a novel of ideas, in conversation with the greats – Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, Walter Benjamin’s Illuminations, Jorge Luis Borges’ Borges and I, to name just a few.
To me, reading this book was a unique form of therapy. An invitation to reflect on my own past, to remember the forgotten objects and “unhappened” events of my childhood. A summons, too, to enter the clockwork of time, to defuse it, to slow it down. A subtle sense, even, that we live in a simulation, and that we can notice the “cracks through which the light of the past streams in”, if only we pay attention. Although the novel wasn’t perfect – it can feel at times unruly, meandering, chaotic – I personally loved spending time in the shelter of its pages.
Mood: Metaphysical
Rating: 9/10
Awards: Shortlisted for the Booker International Prize 2023, and the EBRD Literature Prize 2023
Also on Instagram.
Soundtrack to the novel
• Doors’ Alabama Song
• Eagles’ Hotel California
• One Bulgarian Rose
• Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time
• The Beatles' Strawberry Fields Forever
May 23, 2023
The well-deserved winner of the 2023 International Booker Prize
Also the winner of The Strega European Prize
Review added (6/23/2022):
Gospodinov writes fragmentary novels, and like his The Physics of Sorrow, this novel blends storytelling with essayistic narrative in a series of vignettes grouped in five thematic parts, and concluding in a brilliant meditative short coda. An unforgettable episodic character from his previous novel, Gaustine, now reemerges as one of the two main characters (the second one is the narrator, presumably Gospodinov himself). Gaustine comes up with the idea to open a “geriatric” clinic in which the older patients with dementia would be allowed to live in their past. Though eccentric, G. the narrator decides to go with it. Gaustine is clearly Gospodinov’s lifelong literary companion and, toward the end of the book, there is a telling quote about the fluidity between the writer and his characters:
Moreover, he seems to say, a person’s trouble with remembering (and forgetting) can bring people closer to each other, opening the door to empathy and kindness even between the former adversaries as in an unforgettable episode when “Mr. N.”, a Bulgarian “patient” who emigrated after political imprisonment, is visited by “Mr. A.”, the former secret agent who had spied on him (now clearly with regrets!). The pursuer and his victim, finally together.
While it may lead to some closure between individuals, it’s an altogether different situation when the whole nation decides to revert to the past. Then the phantoms are unleashed with the extreme political ideologies of the past giving convenient “shelter” as we witness today in many parts of the world. In his brilliant dissection (with a stroke of magic realism) of his own country, Bulgaria, Gospodinov combines political astuteness with his trademark humor, but of course it’s not unique only to Bulgaria and one can easily recognize most Eastern European countries in this “case study”.
He then goes on, probing further the national memories, by imagining what would nations on the other side of the Iron Curtain choose but now as their happiest decade from their past. He evidently had fun writing this part, which is contagious for a reader as well, as if giving a lighthearted relief. And yet, nothing is light when even the “happiest” nations choose to remember and forget… In the end, the banal always wins out….
On the whole, this is an exceptionally imaginative work that probes many sides of the time, the past and the present, remembrances and forgetting, both willful and unwilful. That there is a stark contrast when a person, as in the old age with dementia, knows only the distant past, and when the whole nation is imprisoned by the past. It is also a quiet but powerful indictment of political intolerance as well as folly in the political landscape of our recent times.
Also the winner of The Strega European Prize
Review added (6/23/2022):
Gospodinov writes fragmentary novels, and like his The Physics of Sorrow, this novel blends storytelling with essayistic narrative in a series of vignettes grouped in five thematic parts, and concluding in a brilliant meditative short coda. An unforgettable episodic character from his previous novel, Gaustine, now reemerges as one of the two main characters (the second one is the narrator, presumably Gospodinov himself). Gaustine comes up with the idea to open a “geriatric” clinic in which the older patients with dementia would be allowed to live in their past. Though eccentric, G. the narrator decides to go with it. Gaustine is clearly Gospodinov’s lifelong literary companion and, toward the end of the book, there is a telling quote about the fluidity between the writer and his characters:
I don’t remember anymore whether I thought up Gaustine or he thought me up. Was there really such a clinic of the past, or was it just an idea, a note in a notebook, a scrap of newspaper I randomly came across? And whether this whole business about the coming of the past has already happened or whether it will start from tomorrow…So the first part takes place in this kind of Gaustine’s clinic in Switzerland (there is a subtle hint to Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain). As one of my parents died with dementia, I was hesitant whether to continue reading but decided to take a chance and I have no regrets. There must be a kind soul in Gospodinov the person, besides a remarkable talent in G. the writer, because he handled it ever so gently and the stories of those who stayed in Gaustine’s “the world’s first clinic for the past” felt like a deja vu in waiting. While sad and painful, there is such a humanity in the way that he handles the issues of dementia and Alzheimer’s disease that it brings a renewed appreciation of the world inhabiting the mind of the loved ones when their distant past perseveres in the fog of recent memories. The kind of individual stories that G. shares are poignant, but he also infuses them with politics and a dash of humor (all in good taste).
Moreover, he seems to say, a person’s trouble with remembering (and forgetting) can bring people closer to each other, opening the door to empathy and kindness even between the former adversaries as in an unforgettable episode when “Mr. N.”, a Bulgarian “patient” who emigrated after political imprisonment, is visited by “Mr. A.”, the former secret agent who had spied on him (now clearly with regrets!). The pursuer and his victim, finally together.
While it may lead to some closure between individuals, it’s an altogether different situation when the whole nation decides to revert to the past. Then the phantoms are unleashed with the extreme political ideologies of the past giving convenient “shelter” as we witness today in many parts of the world. In his brilliant dissection (with a stroke of magic realism) of his own country, Bulgaria, Gospodinov combines political astuteness with his trademark humor, but of course it’s not unique only to Bulgaria and one can easily recognize most Eastern European countries in this “case study”.
He then goes on, probing further the national memories, by imagining what would nations on the other side of the Iron Curtain choose but now as their happiest decade from their past. He evidently had fun writing this part, which is contagious for a reader as well, as if giving a lighthearted relief. And yet, nothing is light when even the “happiest” nations choose to remember and forget… In the end, the banal always wins out….
On the whole, this is an exceptionally imaginative work that probes many sides of the time, the past and the present, remembrances and forgetting, both willful and unwilful. That there is a stark contrast when a person, as in the old age with dementia, knows only the distant past, and when the whole nation is imprisoned by the past. It is also a quiet but powerful indictment of political intolerance as well as folly in the political landscape of our recent times.
October 25, 2023
Based on the rave reviews and the International Booker Prize I naturally expected a lot, and that is always a bit dangerous. Once again it ended in mild disappointment. But beware, what Gospodinov is presenting here is not nothing. I especially liked the humorous play with different aspects of time and temporality. And Gospodinov ingeniously combines social criticism with absurdist satire; think of the hilarious referenda in which each European country can choose its favorite time period to return to. The author shows a very good knowledge of the history of each country, and especially an empathy for the 'soul' of each nation (that soul is an ambiguous concept that he consciously plays with).
Gospodinov rightly zooms in on the deep-rooted phenomenon of melancholy in human actions and relationships with the world. He does this much more broadly than, for example, Krasznahorkai in his The Melancholy of Resistance, who only had populism in mind. Gospodinov also discusses populism (in the part on the hilarious election campaign in his home country Bulgaria, for example), but as part of a satire on the hypocrisy of both extreme nationalism and extreme communism, ending up as ‘brothers in arms’. Gospodinov cleverly illustrates that the longing for a certain past mainly stems from the desire for certainty in uncertain times, and thus the past rightly is killed a hiding place or a shelter, as the title of this novel indicates.
For me, the best thing about this novel was the game that Gospodinov plays with temporality, the relating to time. Here he joins the postmodernist movement that states that the past primarily is a construction of the present, and thus only is created in the future. More about that aspect in my History account on Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...)
In conclusion: absolutely a meritorious novel (though not the masterpiece I had expected), which, more than anything else, shows how the past is a source of support for both the individual and the community, a false source of support perhaps, or better, most probably a false source of support, but a reality to reckon with.
Gospodinov rightly zooms in on the deep-rooted phenomenon of melancholy in human actions and relationships with the world. He does this much more broadly than, for example, Krasznahorkai in his The Melancholy of Resistance, who only had populism in mind. Gospodinov also discusses populism (in the part on the hilarious election campaign in his home country Bulgaria, for example), but as part of a satire on the hypocrisy of both extreme nationalism and extreme communism, ending up as ‘brothers in arms’. Gospodinov cleverly illustrates that the longing for a certain past mainly stems from the desire for certainty in uncertain times, and thus the past rightly is killed a hiding place or a shelter, as the title of this novel indicates.
For me, the best thing about this novel was the game that Gospodinov plays with temporality, the relating to time. Here he joins the postmodernist movement that states that the past primarily is a construction of the present, and thus only is created in the future. More about that aspect in my History account on Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...)
In conclusion: absolutely a meritorious novel (though not the masterpiece I had expected), which, more than anything else, shows how the past is a source of support for both the individual and the community, a false source of support perhaps, or better, most probably a false source of support, but a reality to reckon with.
Read
May 27, 2020Не знам какво да напиша за тази книга.
Дори не мога да заявя категорично дали ми хареса или не.
Оценката със звезди тук е нерелевантна.
Дори не мога да заявя категорично дали ми хареса или не.
Оценката със звезди тук е нерелевантна.
April 24, 2023
A chi fa i conti tutti i giorni con il dolce amaro della nostalgia: questo libro è per noi
September 4, 2024
„В крайна сметка и писането идва, когато човек е усетил, че паметта не стига.“
Неизбежно ли е обществата да влизат в примамливите затвори на идеологиите? Как е възможно народите да преодолеят масовата тъга и забравата, угнетяващи обществения им живот, към които залитат от отчаяние или пък са подтикнати от ловки манипулатори на представите за отминали времена? Към такива важни теми за размисъл насочва читателите Георги Господинов, елегантно описвайки меланхоличната история, как една любопитна идея за помощ към хора с проблеми с паметта постепенно се пренася на национално ниво, за да бъде използвана за зловещи политически цели... Писателят остро критикува злоупотребата с миналото, която придобива все по-страховити размери в наши дни... обаче „Времеубежище“ същевременно е изключително приятно и очарователно четиво!
„И колко минало всъщност може да понесе човек?“
„Хората не си даваха сметка, че сама по себе си нацията е ревливо историческо пеленаче, което се прави на библейски старец.“
„Европа вече не беше центърът на света и беше достатъчно интелигентна да го разбере.“
„Хващам се, че този град вече е повече литература за мен, знам го единствено през книги и само като такъв все още ме тегли.“
„Да се забравят. И да се забрави, че са забравени… Забравата изисква работа. Непрекъснато да си напомняш, че трябва да забравиш нещо. Сигурно това работи всяка идеология.“
„Да, никоя страна не искаше да се откаже от нещастието си, добре отлежало вино в мазето на миналото, което е винаги подръка, щом потрябва. Неприкосновеният запас на нещастието... “
Неизбежно ли е обществата да влизат в примамливите затвори на идеологиите? Как е възможно народите да преодолеят масовата тъга и забравата, угнетяващи обществения им живот, към които залитат от отчаяние или пък са подтикнати от ловки манипулатори на представите за отминали времена? Към такива важни теми за размисъл насочва читателите Георги Господинов, елегантно описвайки меланхоличната история, как една любопитна идея за помощ към хора с проблеми с паметта постепенно се пренася на национално ниво, за да бъде използвана за зловещи политически цели... Писателят остро критикува злоупотребата с миналото, която придобива все по-страховити размери в наши дни... обаче „Времеубежище“ същевременно е изключително приятно и очарователно четиво!
„И колко минало всъщност може да понесе човек?“
„Хората не си даваха сметка, че сама по себе си нацията е ревливо историческо пеленаче, което се прави на библейски старец.“
„Европа вече не беше центърът на света и беше достатъчно интелигентна да го разбере.“
„Хващам се, че този град вече е повече литература за мен, знам го единствено през книги и само като такъв все още ме тегли.“
„Да се забравят. И да се забрави, че са забравени… Забравата изисква работа. Непрекъснато да си напомняш, че трябва да забравиш нещо. Сигурно това работи всяка идеология.“
„Да, никоя страна не искаше да се откаже от нещастието си, добре отлежало вино в мазето на миналото, което е винаги подръка, щом потрябва. Неприкосновеният запас на нещастието... “
May 3, 2020
Новият роман на Георги Господинов поставя пред читателя характерното за писателя фасетъчно писане, което обаче, в сравнение с предишните му романи, вече емблематичните Физика на тъгата и Естествен роман, стои някак по-овладяно. Структурата на романа е разпределена в няколко части, напомнящи донякъде на стаите във времеубежището, което авторовият глас и Гаустин, познатото на читателите алтер его на писателя, създават. Това e нещо като санаториум за (да ги наречем) времеболните – за хора, които категорично губят или са загубили настоящността си, било поради деменция, която ги капсулира в предишно десетиление (най-вече – десетилетие на младостта им), било поради неспособността си да принадлежат на настоящето си време. Може би последното е най-силния акцент на романа – докато Физика на тъгата изкарваше на яве болката от невъзможността на неслучилото се, невъзможността на човешкото вездесъщие, то Времеубежище се фокусира върху следващата екзистенциална болка – невъзможността на човек да бъде изнънвременен, или по-точно, невъзможността му да принадлежи напълно на което и да е време.
Целият отзив може да се прочете тук .
Целият отзив може да се прочете тук .
May 20, 2020
Не мога да си представя по-подходящо време за излизане (и четене) на този роман.
По време на неочаквания край на света, когато бъдещето е неизвестно, а настоящето - болезнено, остава само да се обърнем към миналото, което, както винаги, е по-хубаво в спомените.
Четенето на "Времеубежище" е като разговор със стар приятел, с когото имате общи спомени, но все по-рядко се чувате и все по-малко има какво да си кажете. Всичко вече сте си казали (и премълчали), времето ви е минало, било е не чак толкова отдавна, но е в друг живот, който няма как да се върне.
Ако разказването ни помага да оцелеем, то "Времеубежище" е една история без край, лабиринт от стаи, из които се лутаме и не можем да излезем. Бяхме ли вече тук? Или някой друг ни разказа какви плакати е имало на вратата на детската му стая. Този спомен за миризмата на портокали само по Коледа наш ли е или го прочетохме някъде?
Как се живее в свят, в който имаш само минало и дори не си сигурен, че и то е твое?
Може би единствено мимолетните срещи с другите лутащи се ни дават шанс да си спомним откъде сме тръгнали. И да се позагубим заедно в някакво още безформено, но не толкова враждебно бъдеще.
По време на неочаквания край на света, когато бъдещето е неизвестно, а настоящето - болезнено, остава само да се обърнем към миналото, което, както винаги, е по-хубаво в спомените.
Четенето на "Времеубежище" е като разговор със стар приятел, с когото имате общи спомени, но все по-рядко се чувате и все по-малко има какво да си кажете. Всичко вече сте си казали (и премълчали), времето ви е минало, било е не чак толкова отдавна, но е в друг живот, който няма как да се върне.
Ако разказването ни помага да оцелеем, то "Времеубежище" е една история без край, лабиринт от стаи, из които се лутаме и не можем да излезем. Бяхме ли вече тук? Или някой друг ни разказа какви плакати е имало на вратата на детската му стая. Този спомен за миризмата на портокали само по Коледа наш ли е или го прочетохме някъде?
Как се живее в свят, в който имаш само минало и дори не си сигурен, че и то е твое?
Може би единствено мимолетните срещи с другите лутащи се ни дават шанс да си спомним откъде сме тръгнали. И да се позагубим заедно в някакво още безформено, но не толкова враждебно бъдеще.
July 19, 2024
The 2023 Booker International Prize winner, Time Shelter, is an extraordinary book that touches mainly on our relations with history and our own past. Combining this with people with dementia and Alzheimer who live in the present but with a past memory, Gospodinov writes an interesting story of a man called Gaustine who, with the assistance of the unnamed narrator, opens up a clinic to treat people with such a diagnosis. Together, they create an atmosphere where dementia and Alzheimer patients can live in the time they remember. In other words, they are allowed to live in a time shelter. But would this be a solution to the problem or would it be the beginning of another set of problems? One has to read Time Shelter to find that out.
My interest in the book was roused by its unusual concept. I was curious to know the kind of story the author wants to say through this unusual clinic to treat dementia and Alzheimer. But I was surprised to find that the story had no direct dealing with Alzheimer or dementia. The idea of a clinic for those who have lost their present memory and live in the past is only a pretext for the author to delve into a deeper discussion about our relationship with our past, and how it, although we live in the present, dictates and dominates all our life moves, how we constantly seek a time shelter by reliving and yearning to go back to a time which is already passed. The author takes the reader through a meaningful conversation generating much food for thought.
The theme the author is developing here is can you step into a bygone story once again? In other words, can you, while being in the present, live in a re-enacted past? According to Gaustine, "the saying that you cannot step into the same story is not true". So, he re-enacts the past in his clinic hoping they would ease the patients' lives. This becomes more difficult than expected. Also, the concept catches the public like wildfire, and soon even the healthy wish to live in the past escaping from the present moment. Villages of past are built, and nations decide which decade they want to live in. The past gradually becomes present and the result is chaos and disorder. This shows us that one cannot step into the same story again. Times change. People change. And we cannot go backward and hide in time shelter; we must move forward. If there's any message the story gives, that is that live life to the fullest not in a time shelter but in the present moment before our memories and bodies fail.
The story was undoubtedly built on a great premise. But reading it was not an easy task. In trying to create the past, the story is abundant with political history concerning Bulgaria, including the history of its communist dictatorship and the atrocities committed. For a reader who has no inkling of Bulgarian history, the story could be overwhelming, as it did for me. Too many political and historical details impeded the connectivity and coherence of the story, and there were times that I felt lost. But overall, it was a well thought out and well-researched book that deserves attention.
More of my reviews can be found at http://piyangiejay.com/
My interest in the book was roused by its unusual concept. I was curious to know the kind of story the author wants to say through this unusual clinic to treat dementia and Alzheimer. But I was surprised to find that the story had no direct dealing with Alzheimer or dementia. The idea of a clinic for those who have lost their present memory and live in the past is only a pretext for the author to delve into a deeper discussion about our relationship with our past, and how it, although we live in the present, dictates and dominates all our life moves, how we constantly seek a time shelter by reliving and yearning to go back to a time which is already passed. The author takes the reader through a meaningful conversation generating much food for thought.
The theme the author is developing here is can you step into a bygone story once again? In other words, can you, while being in the present, live in a re-enacted past? According to Gaustine, "the saying that you cannot step into the same story is not true". So, he re-enacts the past in his clinic hoping they would ease the patients' lives. This becomes more difficult than expected. Also, the concept catches the public like wildfire, and soon even the healthy wish to live in the past escaping from the present moment. Villages of past are built, and nations decide which decade they want to live in. The past gradually becomes present and the result is chaos and disorder. This shows us that one cannot step into the same story again. Times change. People change. And we cannot go backward and hide in time shelter; we must move forward. If there's any message the story gives, that is that live life to the fullest not in a time shelter but in the present moment before our memories and bodies fail.
The story was undoubtedly built on a great premise. But reading it was not an easy task. In trying to create the past, the story is abundant with political history concerning Bulgaria, including the history of its communist dictatorship and the atrocities committed. For a reader who has no inkling of Bulgarian history, the story could be overwhelming, as it did for me. Too many political and historical details impeded the connectivity and coherence of the story, and there were times that I felt lost. But overall, it was a well thought out and well-researched book that deserves attention.
More of my reviews can be found at http://piyangiejay.com/
June 19, 2023
“Времеубежище” ме изненада приятно, макар че надали ще е от най-отчетливо отпечаталите се в паметта ми книги.
Осезаемостта, която много ми допадна в разказите на Господинов, я има и тук, макар и не така концентрирана на някои места… и свръхконцентрирана на други. [Измамният] уют на детските спомени. Капаните на паметта, каращи хора и цели нации да си измислят спомени, докато забравят важни преживявания и уроци. Истинското значение на близките и не дотам близките около нас. Страхът от бъдеще и от промяна, водещ до закостеняване и креслив национализъм. Смъртта като вечния изравнител и единствена сигурност. Една цяла Европа, тромаво олюляваща се на прага на важни бъдещи промени, неподготвена, плаха. И позволяваща да изпълзят в обществения живот призраците на фалшивата памет за уютно измислено, но несъществували минало. Тук екстремистите са крайно десните популисти, които са винаги срещу нещо, но никога нямат ясна идея за строеж, а само за рушене и консервация във формалин. Сирените на носталгията мамят към рифовете.
Много ми харесаха първата и третата част, където българският читател се разхожда на родна почва. Най-различни податки - исторически, лични, психологически, литературни по-малко, се събират в общ сноп. Без да са твърде “провинциални” - смешно преекспонирани в ст��л “българи юнаци” и “булгар, булгар”; или пък поръсени с обезличаващ комплекс за малоценност. Призракът на менте-патриотизма е и много осезаем, и много актуален. Не толкова актуална ми се стори носталгията по соца - тя касае все по-малко хора. Но другото чудовище на национализма е доста силно, и то действително черпи сили и от носталгиците по непомнения, фалшифициран соц.
Идеята за референдум за минало ми допадна, но конкретиката не ме увлече като разказ. Особено из част от европейските страни направо се замотах. Омотах се и в последната част на романа(?), която е доста поетична, поетика на гаснещата памет. И тъй като не съм особено поетичен читател, бързичко я попрескочих.
Друго странно усещане предизвика точно осезаемостта - писането на моменти е толкова лично, че се чувствах неудобно, все едно надничам в много интимно кътче. С две думи - това е наистина много лична книга.
3,5⭐️
***
⏰ “Кога всекидневието става история?”
⌛️ “Има ли миналото срок на годност?”
🕰️ “Миналото е и локална работа.”
⏲️ “Миналото не е само това, което ти се е случило. Понякога е онова, което само си съчинявал.”
⏳ “И колко минало всъщност може да понесе човек?”
🕛 “А фабула няма. И в това е дълбоката некинематографичност на живота.”
⏱️ “Липсвах си аз от времето с тях.”
⌚️ “част от хоратя вярват, че връщането на близкото минало автоматично ще върне възрастта им тогава.”
🕕 “Колкото повече едно общество забравя, толкова повече някой произвежда, продава и запълва с ерзац-памет освободените ниши.”
🕡 “Някакъв нов консерватизъм, нов сантимент, втълпена носталгия, се предаваше от поколение на поколение.”
Осезаемостта, която много ми допадна в разказите на Господинов, я има и тук, макар и не така концентрирана на някои места… и свръхконцентрирана на други. [Измамният] уют на детските спомени. Капаните на паметта, каращи хора и цели нации да си измислят спомени, докато забравят важни преживявания и уроци. Истинското значение на близките и не дотам близките около нас. Страхът от бъдеще и от промяна, водещ до закостеняване и креслив национализъм. Смъртта като вечния изравнител и единствена сигурност. Една цяла Европа, тромаво олюляваща се на прага на важни бъдещи промени, неподготвена, плаха. И позволяваща да изпълзят в обществения живот призраците на фалшивата памет за уютно измислено, но несъществували минало. Тук екстремистите са крайно десните популисти, които са винаги срещу нещо, но никога нямат ясна идея за строеж, а само за рушене и консервация във формалин. Сирените на носталгията мамят към рифовете.
Много ми харесаха първата и третата част, където българският читател се разхожда на родна почва. Най-различни податки - исторически, лични, психологически, литературни по-малко, се събират в общ сноп. Без да са твърде “провинциални” - смешно преекспонирани в ст��л “българи юнаци” и “булгар, булгар”; или пък поръсени с обезличаващ комплекс за малоценност. Призракът на менте-патриотизма е и много осезаем, и много актуален. Не толкова актуална ми се стори носталгията по соца - тя касае все по-малко хора. Но другото чудовище на национализма е доста силно, и то действително черпи сили и от носталгиците по непомнения, фалшифициран соц.
Идеята за референдум за минало ми допадна, но конкретиката не ме увлече като разказ. Особено из част от европейските страни направо се замотах. Омотах се и в последната част на романа(?), която е доста поетична, поетика на гаснещата памет. И тъй като не съм особено поетичен читател, бързичко я попрескочих.
Друго странно усещане предизвика точно осезаемостта - писането на моменти е толкова лично, че се чувствах неудобно, все едно надничам в много интимно кътче. С две думи - това е наистина много лична книга.
3,5⭐️
***
⏰ “Кога всекидневието става история?”
⌛️ “Има ли миналото срок на годност?”
🕰️ “Миналото е и локална работа.”
⏲️ “Миналото не е само това, което ти се е случило. Понякога е онова, което само си съчинявал.”
⏳ “И колко минало всъщност може да понесе човек?”
🕛 “А фабула няма. И в това е дълбоката некинематографичност на живота.”
⏱️ “Липсвах си аз от времето с тях.”
⌚️ “част от хоратя вярват, че връщането на близкото минало автоматично ще върне възрастта им тогава.”
🕕 “Колкото повече едно общество забравя, толкова повече някой произвежда, продава и запълва с ерзац-памет освободените ниши.”
🕡 “Някакъв нов консерватизъм, нов сантимент, втълпена носталгия, се предаваше от поколение на поколение.”
May 24, 2023
Имам чувството, че последните 10 години Георги Господинов пренаписва една и съща книга, с едни и същи мотиви.
Твърде много клишета, които ме натоварват. В началото започна добре, но от средата натам скуката превзе всичко.
Не харесвам този тип безсюжетно писане, не ми допадат и източноевропейските автори като Кундера и Токарчук, с които сравняват и Господинов.
Затова и безкрайното клиширано разнищтване на миналото ми омръзна бързо. Темата е интересна и провокативна, изпълнението е замряло в собствените неосъществени копнежи на автора да бъде роден от другата страна на Завесата.
Не намирам логика и в препратките към други автори и произведения, освен може би да селектират читателската аудитория, както впрочем, самата книгата волно или неволно внушава. Имам чувството, че ако не си дете на интелектуалец репресиран от партията и емигрирал, я в Европа, я в САЩ, не си достоен да разбереш това тайнство на безкрайни монолози за евентуално бъдеще и не случило се настояще.
Има един пасаж с обява за размяна на телевизор срещу ракия...ами клиширано е, тази заигравка с българското, пренебрежението, уж сатирата. За такава висока летва като заявка би трябвало да бъде по-добре.
Книгата сякаш е писана като чеклист за Букър. Иначе самият Букър е страхотен маркетинг и фанатизираните фенове, които не допускат друго мнение, няма защо да се сърдят. :) Книгата покрива напълно западните представи за България, тъжното й соц минало и още по-тъжното соц поколение. Интересно е да видим как по-младите поколения ще реагират на него след време и това ще е истинско мерило за неговите качества като най-тиражирания ни съвременен автор.
Смятам, че Георги Господинов е талантлив писател, лично аз харесвам най-много разказите му, "Времеубежище" обаче е с прекалено интелектуална претенция и клишета за моя вкус. :))
Твърде много клишета, които ме натоварват. В началото започна добре, но от средата натам скуката превзе всичко.
Не харесвам този тип безсюжетно писане, не ми допадат и източноевропейските автори като Кундера и Токарчук, с които сравняват и Господинов.
Затова и безкрайното клиширано разнищтване на миналото ми омръзна бързо. Темата е интересна и провокативна, изпълнението е замряло в собствените неосъществени копнежи на автора да бъде роден от другата страна на Завесата.
Не намирам логика и в препратките към други автори и произведения, освен може би да селектират читателската аудитория, както впрочем, самата книгата волно или неволно внушава. Имам чувството, че ако не си дете на интелектуалец репресиран от партията и емигрирал, я в Европа, я в САЩ, не си достоен да разбереш това тайнство на безкрайни монолози за евентуално бъдеще и не случило се настояще.
Има един пасаж с обява за размяна на телевизор срещу ракия...ами клиширано е, тази заигравка с българското, пренебрежението, уж сатирата. За такава висока летва като заявка би трябвало да бъде по-добре.
Книгата сякаш е писана като чеклист за Букър. Иначе самият Букър е страхотен маркетинг и фанатизираните фенове, които не допускат друго мнение, няма защо да се сърдят. :) Книгата покрива напълно западните представи за България, тъжното й соц минало и още по-тъжното соц поколение. Интересно е да видим как по-младите поколения ще реагират на него след време и това ще е истинско мерило за неговите качества като най-тиражирания ни съвременен автор.
Смятам, че Георги Господинов е талантлив писател, лично аз харесвам най-много разказите му, "Времеубежище" обаче е с прекалено интелектуална претенция и клишета за моя вкус. :))
Displaying 1 - 30 of 3,000 reviews