- Taschenbuch: 176 Seiten
- Verlag: Harper Perennial; Auflage: Translated By Linda Asher, First Edition (11. April 1997)
- Sprache: Englisch
- ISBN-10: 0060928417
- ISBN-13: 978-0060928414
- Größe und/oder Gewicht: 13,5 x 1 x 20,3 cm
- Durchschnittliche Kundenbewertung: 13 Kundenrezensionen
- Amazon Bestseller-Rang: Nr. 659.719 in Fremdsprachige Bücher (Siehe Top 100 in Fremdsprachige Bücher)
Andere Verkäufer auf Amazon
+ kostenlose Lieferung
Slowness: A Novel (Englisch) Taschenbuch – 11. April 1997
|Neu ab||Gebraucht ab|
Kunden, die diesen Artikel gekauft haben, kauften auch
Kunden, die diesen Artikel angesehen haben, haben auch angesehen
Es wird kein Kindle Gerät benötigt. Laden Sie eine der kostenlosen Kindle Apps herunter und beginnen Sie, Kindle-Bücher auf Ihrem Smartphone, Tablet und Computer zu lesen.
Geben Sie Ihre Mobiltelefonnummer ein, um die kostenfreie App zu beziehen.
Wenn Sie dieses Produkt verkaufen, möchten Sie über Seller Support Updates vorschlagen?
"Irresistible. . . ."Slowness is an ode to sensuous leisure, to the enjoyment of pleasure rather than just the search for it."-- Cathleen Schine, "Mirabella""Audacity, wit, and sheer brilliance."-- "New York Times Book Review""Paradoxically, "Slowness. . . .is the fastest paced of Kundera's novels as well as the most accessible."-- "Boston Globe"
Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende
Milan Kundera is the author of the novels The Joke, Farewell Waltz, Life Is Elsewhere, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and Immortality, and the short-story collection Laughable Loves—all originally written in Czech. His most recent novels Slowness, Identity, and Ignorance, as well as his nonfiction works The Art of the Novel, Testaments Betrayed, The Curtain, and Encounter, were originally written in French.
Derzeit tritt ein Problem beim Filtern der Rezensionen auf. Bitte versuchen Sie es später noch einmal.
In the following years I read the later books, enjoyed some of them, but there was a definite impression that the author is running out of things to say, the placid French life does not provide him with the necessary stimulation. But still they were worth reading.
Now I feel that Slowness is going to make me discontinue reading Kundera. The degradation is too evident here.
In his earlier books the author was taking something not very meaningful, some banality, an item of everyday life - and supplied an insightful commentary, "looked closer". Now he comments banality with banality. Take that blubbering about the speeding motorcyclists, thinking only about the next moment. What is that? Is it a self-parody or just filling the page?
And these embarassingly uninteresting comments on "the ninth portal". There is a lot of trashy, accidental thoughts flickering through our heads, but lacking something better Kundera take a hold of that one,cites Appolinaire, compares an anus to the "portal" in vicinity in terms of privateness and accessability, claims - very, very mistakingly - that even the pornography leaves it alone. Do we have to pay for these "insights"?
Any honest writer would be embarassed to publish such schlock.
Milan Kundera creates an impression that he exists in a timeless empirea, sitting on a cloud beside Mozart, Bodelaire, Voltaire, etc,etc. He is an intellectual, who crosses the borders of countries and cultures, travels in time. But Slowness makes a big gaping hole in his cloud.
His main trick these days is to pose as the erudite representative of the lost values - thoghtfulness, authentity,etc, to provide the public with an escape from the daily rush.
What is the idea of Slowness? To compare the two love affairs divided by two centuries? To tell us it was all different in the French aristocratic circles in XVIII century? More artful, more beautiful, more meaningful? And all we have these days is just a travesty?
The logic behind that is faulty. Kundera compares life to art. Vincent's fling with the secretary to the Mannerist story of amorous conquest. But I am sure that Vincent's not very meaningful encounter will be embellished in his diary beyond recognition, and the real happenings behind the aristocratic novella are less elaborate. The real life clumsiness transforms into art.
The novel's the satirical transgressions are lame. The Dance described in so many pages with such unmerited enthusiasm is just another obvious pseudo-insight.
I feel I am ready to put together "How to write a Milan Kundera's book" kit.
1) Take an intellectual who is not an expert in getting the girls. Supply him with the friend who is an expert in that art. Set them on a quest for a good lay. Sex is a natural attention magnet.
2) Watch their progress. There must be some embarassing situations, "laughable loves" that will make the guys endearing to the reader, make them care.
3) Comment! They stumble - you comment. They sneeze - you comment.-" There is a thousand ways people sneeze. Some sneeze loudly, they use their nose as a Jericho pipe, announcing the world their existense, their dominating presence. Some sneezes are a little embarassed sounds, the reminders of our imperfection - you are in the middle of a grounbreaking lecture, hundreds of eyes are focused on you - the brilliant scholar - but then you feel the spasm and something repellingly liquid is speeding to erupt from your twin portals, the catastrophy is imminent... blah - blah - blah, blah - blah - blah...". Does it sound Kunderian? I think so.
4) There are names like Mozart, Voltaire, Bodelaire, Stendahl. Put them in your book! Cite them, tell the anecdotes. The readers will appreciate that sanctification, they'll feel in touch with something meaningful - The Art, The Culture. No problem if some of the anecdotes are not relevant to the sory - the readers will think they just unable to see the connection. More credit to you.
5) You have to remind them you are Czhech, and though you live among the Western Europeans there is an exotic tradition behind you. Put in the book an Eastern European dissident - and the public will draw the parallel. More credit for your suffering.
I am not going to read Milan Kundera any more. Why bother? The components are all here, they are very evident. Do we really need them in a new, slightly different combination?
It is as if Kundera decided to write the appendix to 'Immortality.' But this time around the structure isn't so surprising. The originality is, the second time around, presented as farce.
Möchten Sie weitere Rezensionen zu diesem Artikel anzeigen?
Die neuesten Kundenrezensionen