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City Life
City Donald City Farrar, Straus & 3rd Third Edition, First Printing. Not price-clipped. Published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1970. Octavo. Hardcover. Book is very good with boardwear. Dust jacket is very good with edgewear and light liquid damage to the back cover. Seller 391653 Short Stories
168 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1970
About the author
Donald Barthelme
163 books796 followers
Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts
(1968) apparently collects sometimes surrealistic stories of modern life of American writer Donald Barthelme.
A student at the University of Pennsylvania bore Donald Barthelme. Two years later, in 1933, the family moved to Texas, where father of Barthelme served as a professor of architecture at the University of Houston, where Barthelme later majored in journalism.
In 1951, this still student composed his first articles for the Houston Post. The Army drafted Barthelme, who arrived in Korea on 27 July 1953, the very day, when parties signed the ceasefire, ending the war. He served briefly as the editor of a newspaper of Army before returning to the United States and his job at the Houston Post. Once back, he continued his studies of philosophy at the University of Houston. He continued to take classes until 1957 but never received a degree. He spent much of his free time in “black” jazz clubs of Houston and listened to musical innovators, such as Lionel Hampton and Peck Kelly; this experience influenced him later.
Barthelme, a rebellious son, struggled in his relationship with his demanding father. In later years, they tremendously argued about the kinds of literature that interested Barthelme. His avant-garde father in art and aesthetics in many ways approved not the postmodern and deconstruction schools. The Dead Father and The King , the novels, delineate attitude of Barthelme toward his father as King Arthur and Lancelot, the characters, picture him. From the Roman Catholicism of his especially devout mother, Barthelme independently moved away, but this separation as the distance with his father troubled Barthelme. He ably agreed to strictures of his seemingly much closer mother.
Barthelme went to teach for brief periods at Boston University and at University at Buffalo, and he at the college of the City of New York served as distinguished visiting professor from 1974-1975. He married four times. Helen Barthelme, his second wife, later entitled a biography Donald Barthelme: The Genesis of a Cool Sound , published in 2001. With Birgit Barthelme, his third wife and a Dane, he fathered Anne Barthelme, his first child, a daughter. He married Marion Barthelme near the end and fathered Kate Barthelme, his second daughter. Marion and Donald wed until his death from throat cancer. People respect fiction of Frederick Barthelme and Steven Barthelme, brothers of Donald Barthelme and also teachers at The University of Southern Mississippi.
A student at the University of Pennsylvania bore Donald Barthelme. Two years later, in 1933, the family moved to Texas, where father of Barthelme served as a professor of architecture at the University of Houston, where Barthelme later majored in journalism.
In 1951, this still student composed his first articles for the Houston Post. The Army drafted Barthelme, who arrived in Korea on 27 July 1953, the very day, when parties signed the ceasefire, ending the war. He served briefly as the editor of a newspaper of Army before returning to the United States and his job at the Houston Post. Once back, he continued his studies of philosophy at the University of Houston. He continued to take classes until 1957 but never received a degree. He spent much of his free time in “black” jazz clubs of Houston and listened to musical innovators, such as Lionel Hampton and Peck Kelly; this experience influenced him later.
Barthelme, a rebellious son, struggled in his relationship with his demanding father. In later years, they tremendously argued about the kinds of literature that interested Barthelme. His avant-garde father in art and aesthetics in many ways approved not the postmodern and deconstruction schools. The Dead Father and The King , the novels, delineate attitude of Barthelme toward his father as King Arthur and Lancelot, the characters, picture him. From the Roman Catholicism of his especially devout mother, Barthelme independently moved away, but this separation as the distance with his father troubled Barthelme. He ably agreed to strictures of his seemingly much closer mother.
Barthelme went to teach for brief periods at Boston University and at University at Buffalo, and he at the college of the City of New York served as distinguished visiting professor from 1974-1975. He married four times. Helen Barthelme, his second wife, later entitled a biography Donald Barthelme: The Genesis of a Cool Sound , published in 2001. With Birgit Barthelme, his third wife and a Dane, he fathered Anne Barthelme, his first child, a daughter. He married Marion Barthelme near the end and fathered Kate Barthelme, his second daughter. Marion and Donald wed until his death from throat cancer. People respect fiction of Frederick Barthelme and Steven Barthelme, brothers of Donald Barthelme and also teachers at The University of Southern Mississippi.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 68 reviews
May 4, 2018
City Life is like a broken funhouse mirror: every minuscule shard reflects a fragment of an absurdist utopia…
It is great when everything can be merchandised… And of course an aesthetic value of art is immeasurable…
Everyone eventually finds one’s place in the sun and exists happily ever after…
Sunny existence in the cloudless utopia is so much similar to our everyday life however.
In the larger stores silence (damping materials) is sold in paper sacks like cement… Silence is also available in the form of white noise.
It is great when everything can be merchandised… And of course an aesthetic value of art is immeasurable…
Formed by a number of techniques, the art is then run through heavy steel rollers. Flip-flop switches control its further development. Sheet art is generally dried in smoke and is dark brown in color. Bulk art is air-dried, and changes color in particular historical epochs.
Everyone eventually finds one’s place in the sun and exists happily ever after…
Ramona's child was born on Wednesday. It was a boy.
– But Ramona! Who is responsible? Charles? Jacques? Moonbelly? Vercingetorix?
– It was a virgin birth, unfortunately, Ramona said.
– But what does this imply about the child?
– Nothing, Ramona said. It was just an ordinary virgin birth.
Sunny existence in the cloudless utopia is so much similar to our everyday life however.
November 11, 2013
I was at a party in Manhattan once, it was 1985. This woman I slightly knew turned to me and said “I have something you’ll be interested in, wait one moment.” So I waited. I was cool. I wasn’t freaking out. She brought back a thing about the size of a large Toby jug and thrust it into my hands. It was Donald Barthelme. Yes, the Donald Barthelme. Not a Toby jug caricature, the actual original author of all those arch short stories. Tell you the truth, I was nonplussed, like if she had thrust a sizeable cat into my arms. What was Barthelme going to do? Would he wriggle out of my arms and embarrass me? Would he find my clumsy embrace pleasant, like a day trip to York minster or a chicken korma? Would he transfer his affections to me? I have to admit I was madly calculating if he was rich like Updike, but I figured from the state of his suit and shoes that no, the New Yorker liked him but not that much.
Well, I kind of shuffled around talking to people, like you do at these things, and each time I’d say look, this is Donald Barthelme, and my fellow guests would wrinkle their noses and make silly comments like “it’s clear you were meant for each other” etc. Barthelme himself was fairly drunk and was contented with swivelling his intense glare from my face to that of my interlocutor, depending on who was speaking. That is, he glared at whoever wasn’t speaking at any one time. I guess these writers have all these cool ways of observing people. But he also made a point to staring at all the women's cleavages, which was really quite gross. Some close observation is frankly intrusive and when he started openly guessing - "34D yeah", "32A awww" - it was time to leave.
It turned out that Gina had been trying to get rid of Donald Barthelme for weeks and nobody would take him. I was the only idiot too polite to give him back. So he came home with me. To be honest, by 1985 his great days were over (ha, did you get that?). He coughed out one rather dodgy novel the following year (Paradise) and he was working on another one when I just got sick of looking after him. I’m not proud of what I did. I didn’t know he was terminally ill. It was 1987 so, you know, I’d been funnelling whisky down his gullet and managing his various marriages and divorces for two whole years. I was tired, I wanted my own life back. So one day I just shoved him in the trunk of my car and drove up to Poughkeepsie and left him outside the first library I could find. He didn’t seem that bothered. He was a cool ironist to the last, gotta give him that.
Well, I kind of shuffled around talking to people, like you do at these things, and each time I’d say look, this is Donald Barthelme, and my fellow guests would wrinkle their noses and make silly comments like “it’s clear you were meant for each other” etc. Barthelme himself was fairly drunk and was contented with swivelling his intense glare from my face to that of my interlocutor, depending on who was speaking. That is, he glared at whoever wasn’t speaking at any one time. I guess these writers have all these cool ways of observing people. But he also made a point to staring at all the women's cleavages, which was really quite gross. Some close observation is frankly intrusive and when he started openly guessing - "34D yeah", "32A awww" - it was time to leave.
It turned out that Gina had been trying to get rid of Donald Barthelme for weeks and nobody would take him. I was the only idiot too polite to give him back. So he came home with me. To be honest, by 1985 his great days were over (ha, did you get that?). He coughed out one rather dodgy novel the following year (Paradise) and he was working on another one when I just got sick of looking after him. I’m not proud of what I did. I didn’t know he was terminally ill. It was 1987 so, you know, I’d been funnelling whisky down his gullet and managing his various marriages and divorces for two whole years. I was tired, I wanted my own life back. So one day I just shoved him in the trunk of my car and drove up to Poughkeepsie and left him outside the first library I could find. He didn’t seem that bothered. He was a cool ironist to the last, gotta give him that.
March 2, 2015
Donald Barthelme is one of the most inventive, surrealist, post-modernist writers out there, and that's saying something. Whether you actually enjoy his work or not is another matter entirely. Personally, I found 'City Life' quite touch and go. I wanted to love it, but more often than not I was steered toward the opposite.
First published in 1970, this collection of short stories is very much a product of its time, but I didn't feel that it stood up to the test of time as a result. The works are an extension of 60s culture, a 'Beatnik-ish Book' if you're looking for a label. Barthelme's use of language is to be applauded, but it didn't stop a good deal of it from falling flat on its face. One short story, aptly called 'Sentence', which is comprised of a six-page run-on sentence, is a prime example of just how exhausting this stuff can be at times. Nothing says you can't be super-intelligent and super-annoying (or boring) while you're at it.
There were stories I liked, and stories I didn't care for. At no point did I find myself loving or hating any of them in particular. To be honest, much of this material started to blur together after awhile. Surrealism can go too far, and 'City Life' is a good demonstration of that. A few tales were quite memorable in a broad sense, yet for the life of me I can't recount much about them. That's how erratic and nonsensical the writing was more often than not.
By no means is there a lack of talent in this book. To be clear, Barthelme is the complete opposite of a mediocre writer, but this collection was too lukewarm too often for my taste to be singing its praises.
First published in 1970, this collection of short stories is very much a product of its time, but I didn't feel that it stood up to the test of time as a result. The works are an extension of 60s culture, a 'Beatnik-ish Book' if you're looking for a label. Barthelme's use of language is to be applauded, but it didn't stop a good deal of it from falling flat on its face. One short story, aptly called 'Sentence', which is comprised of a six-page run-on sentence, is a prime example of just how exhausting this stuff can be at times. Nothing says you can't be super-intelligent and super-annoying (or boring) while you're at it.
There were stories I liked, and stories I didn't care for. At no point did I find myself loving or hating any of them in particular. To be honest, much of this material started to blur together after awhile. Surrealism can go too far, and 'City Life' is a good demonstration of that. A few tales were quite memorable in a broad sense, yet for the life of me I can't recount much about them. That's how erratic and nonsensical the writing was more often than not.
By no means is there a lack of talent in this book. To be clear, Barthelme is the complete opposite of a mediocre writer, but this collection was too lukewarm too often for my taste to be singing its praises.
March 25, 2016
Ya sabía que este no era el mejor libro de Barthelme, no obstante, me gustó.
El surrealismo generalmente no lo disfruto, y es por eso que los relatos que más tenían de ese movimiento no me atraparon. Son muy confusos y desordenados. A su vez, sobre su uso de la experimentación, se me hizo absurda ("Burbujas óseas", "Frase").
Por el otro lado, el recurso de la fragmentación sí me gustó, y mucho. "Escenas de mi padre llorando" y "Perro cayendo" muestran un clima de asfixia y desesperación admirable.
Mis cuentos favoritos (ambos brillantes y por los que vale la pena el libro) fueron: "La explicación" y "Kierkegaard es injusto con Schlegel". Con respecto al resto, algunos me resultaron entretenidos y otros ya los estoy olvidando.
P: ¿Tú crees que, alguna vez en el futuro, será posible alcanzar la satisfacción sexual, satisfacción sexual completa, por ejemplo, tomando una píldora?
R: Dudo que sea imposible.
P No te agrada la idea.
R: No. Creo que de ese modo sabremos menos de lo que sabemos ahora.
P: Sabremos menos sobre los demás.
R: Sin duda.
El surrealismo generalmente no lo disfruto, y es por eso que los relatos que más tenían de ese movimiento no me atraparon. Son muy confusos y desordenados. A su vez, sobre su uso de la experimentación, se me hizo absurda ("Burbujas óseas", "Frase").
Por el otro lado, el recurso de la fragmentación sí me gustó, y mucho. "Escenas de mi padre llorando" y "Perro cayendo" muestran un clima de asfixia y desesperación admirable.
Mis cuentos favoritos (ambos brillantes y por los que vale la pena el libro) fueron: "La explicación" y "Kierkegaard es injusto con Schlegel". Con respecto al resto, algunos me resultaron entretenidos y otros ya los estoy olvidando.
P: ¿Tú crees que, alguna vez en el futuro, será posible alcanzar la satisfacción sexual, satisfacción sexual completa, por ejemplo, tomando una píldora?
R: Dudo que sea imposible.
P No te agrada la idea.
R: No. Creo que de ese modo sabremos menos de lo que sabemos ahora.
P: Sabremos menos sobre los demás.
R: Sin duda.
June 8, 2018
Ideally, there exists a nexus where the cultural critique of postmodernism, the mysticism of magical realism, and the automatism of surrealism converge. Barthelme’s writing forms in their center. Though well educated and ripe with wit, Barthelme’s pen can summon a child’s naïveté and imaginary emancipation and make it look easy. Reasons why many find themselves bored with a Tao Lin, for example, whose novella “Eee Eee Eee” I am fond of but find artistically and emotionally nullified by its dedication to deadpan irony, are all avoided by Barthelme. An impressive feat considering his literary “lane” as it were is especially susceptible to (especially ironic) limitations.
Halfway through, the Kierkegaard analysis comes as a potent and pleasant surprise, using metacommentary not as an ironic or snooty exercise but to introspect, self critique and by proxy denote American and human conflicts, contemporary and ancient. Philosophically speaking, the absurdist influence is undeniable but paired with spiritually/morally optimistic mysticism/magic realism and proto-New Sincerity bow ribbons to set stories right, there’s no doubt more is at play here; the impeccable slight of hand “subversion of the subversive.”
Having read it once before with only a vague recollection, a conscience which expounded the view this book was a token Barthelme’s brilliance and my favorite of his works despite being unsure if I could recall more than one or two of its stories. Rapt in his obsessions - artistic, academic, and personal cravings - fetishes for lists, Q&As, extended dialogues, psychoanalysis, automatic writing, and religion, my reread reaffirmed my love for Barthelme. City Life assuages postmodern desperation and sees Barthelme’s mission and vision fully realized.
Halfway through, the Kierkegaard analysis comes as a potent and pleasant surprise, using metacommentary not as an ironic or snooty exercise but to introspect, self critique and by proxy denote American and human conflicts, contemporary and ancient. Philosophically speaking, the absurdist influence is undeniable but paired with spiritually/morally optimistic mysticism/magic realism and proto-New Sincerity bow ribbons to set stories right, there’s no doubt more is at play here; the impeccable slight of hand “subversion of the subversive.”
Having read it once before with only a vague recollection, a conscience which expounded the view this book was a token Barthelme’s brilliance and my favorite of his works despite being unsure if I could recall more than one or two of its stories. Rapt in his obsessions - artistic, academic, and personal cravings - fetishes for lists, Q&As, extended dialogues, psychoanalysis, automatic writing, and religion, my reread reaffirmed my love for Barthelme. City Life assuages postmodern desperation and sees Barthelme’s mission and vision fully realized.
August 1, 2016
Godbless godless Donald Barthelme and his mind bending, form shattering short fiction. This collection from DB's early career shows the brilliance that the author will continue to mine and hone over his amazing writing career. Stories like "Brain Damage" and "Bone Bubbles" make me want to read them over and over like a daily devotional.
April 8, 2016
The new frontier of Postmodern Paraguay requires a fearless explorer to not only sport a safari hat, beard, custom-fit jacket and fashionable scarf but also be well-versed in the latest postmodern writings of Jean-François Lyotard, Jacques Derrida, David Foster Wallace and, of course, Donald Barthelme. Those Spanish speaking natives damn well better be ready.
Nifty collection of short surreal postmodern blasters by the master of the genre. I will focus on my favorite as per below:
Paraguay
This Barthelme snapper is told in fourteen specifically labeled brief chapters. In keeping with the adventurous nature of the story and for the purposes of my review, below are a batch of my own markers as we follow our bold, gusty pathfinder roaming among the uncharted vistas of postmodern, postcolonial New Paraguay.
Stranger in a Strange Land: “At the summit there is a cairn on which each man threw a stone, and here it is customary to give payment to the coolies. I paid each man his agreed-upon wage, and alone, began the descent.” Not on a map, not in South America, our narrator had better be alert as he embarks solo into a country never before glimpsed by such a lover of the fresh and the new. Although we are very much rooted in the world of the postmodern, he still refers to his workers as “coolies” – such a racist, colonial term. Some things die hard, if they ever die at all.
Anima: What is an adventure to an exotic land without the appearance of a beautiful exotic woman? Sure enough, the first person he meets is “a dark girl wrapped in a red shawl.” Along the lines of coolie, right out of those sexist colonial days, he refers to her not as a young lady or a woman but as a “girl.” And, turns out, not only is this woman, Jean Mueller by name, exotic in looks but she is also highly cultured. After leading him back to her large modern house and showing him his room complete with desk, bookcases and fireplace (he is the guest of both Jean Mueller and her husband, Herko Mueller) the narrator tells us she plays a sonata by the composer Bibblemann on the piano. Sidebar: There is no such composer with the name Bibblemann. Probably the narrator misunderstood the name she gave him (Liebermann, maybe?), which is not surprising since this American appears a tad uncultured. This fact foreshadows a role reversal: in many respects, the civilization of the natives is much more culturally sophisticated and technically advanced than the explorer's.
Comedy at Room Temperature: We learn there are adjustments the inhabitants of Paraguay make in response to modest changes in weather and a few other oddities then something quite striking: Herko Mueller, who is, by the way, fond of zipper suits in brilliant colors: yellow, green, violet, is by profession an arbiter of comedy, something like an umpire, where members of the audience are given a set of rules and the rules constitute the comedy. What comes to mind for me is competitive team improv comedy. Anyway, Herko goes on, “Our comedies seek to reach the imagination. When you are looking at something, you cannot imagine it.” So, perhaps there is a good bit of miming peppered in with the improvisation. Or, maybe the men and women of Paraguay are quite advanced philosophically, keenly aware of the nuances of phenomenology and the philosophy of perception. Judging from this scant bit of information, their comedy sounds quite intriguing, certainly more captivating than the usual TV game shows we have north of the border.
Collateral Damage: A government error causing the death of a number of men and women sounds like it could have been from a Chernobyl-like radioactive fallout. The narrator’s and also Herko Mueller’s words to explain the event are unsettling, as if they are using language to cover-up an avoidable tragedy, similar to when the military refers to the death of innocent civilians as “collateral damage.” When you hear someone say, “An error has been made” watch out, someone or some institution doesn’t want to accept responsibility. Although Paraguay strikes me as very postmodern, there is that lingering noisome bureaucracy.
Art of the Comrade: Unsettling also is our explorer’s description of postmodern Paraguay art, with words like “rationalization process”, “quality control”, “central and regional art dumps” smacking of a kind of Marxist or government control. And the art process includes things like translation into symbolic logic (whatever the hell that means!), minimization and being run through heavy rollers. The final result? Two are mentioned: Sheet Art and Bulk Art. And what you may ask will such art look like? For me, at least in terms of the feeling tone of what is described, two artists come to mind: David Judd and Richard Serra.
David Judd Sculpture
Richard Serra Sculpture
Hot Spots: Our bold gallant continues on, reporting on a number of other postmodern Paraguay innovations, things that would remind us of tanning salons, white wall space, softening of language with blocks of silences, health patches, and a form of justice (or injustice) as in “There are crimes but people chosen at random are punished for them. Everyone is liable for everything.” This last point underscores how Barthelme's Paraguay might be a great place to visit briefly, but I wouldn't want to life there. Not to mention not wanting my art run through those heavy rollers.
There are enough creative ideas and themes of futuristic civilizations in this Barthelme eight-page short story to keep dozens of science fiction writers going for several years. I will conclude with what I imagine a New Paraguay apartment building and a New Paraguay garden might look like. Here they are:
Moshe Safdie's Habitat in Montreal
February 9, 2026
It’s cool that this book was hailed by The New York Times Book Review as one of the twelve outstanding books of 1970.
April 28, 2015
The original price of this Bantam paperback edition is printed on the spine about an inch from the top, $1.25.
Some subsequent used bookstore priced it at "$1-.35"; the white rectangular sticker with that superfluous hyphen remains on the front. Later, a thrift store, one that labeled items with a generic pink adhesive square with "Thrift Store" printed at the top, priced it at a handwritten "99". This I picked off in an effort to make it look less bedraggled. I myself paid nothing.
This looks to be the first mass-market paperback edition after Farrar went through two pressings in 1970, plus a Book of the Month Club distribution. The title page tells me that Bantam is "A National General Company." The New York Times Book Review named it one of the dozen best books of that year. Most of the stories previously appeared in the New Yorker, back when people read the New Yorker for its short stories.
Halfway through, there is a folded card insert which explains to me that I could be reading "Styron" and "Mailer" every month with a low low $2.84 eight-issue subscription to Harper's (send no money now). Half of the insert is a postage-paid card to Marion, Ohio, a town that I recall was the destination in the 1960 and 70s of all such mail offers - Wikipedia currently makes no mention of what I once assumed was its principal business.
Some subsequent used bookstore priced it at "$1-.35"; the white rectangular sticker with that superfluous hyphen remains on the front. Later, a thrift store, one that labeled items with a generic pink adhesive square with "Thrift Store" printed at the top, priced it at a handwritten "99". This I picked off in an effort to make it look less bedraggled. I myself paid nothing.
This looks to be the first mass-market paperback edition after Farrar went through two pressings in 1970, plus a Book of the Month Club distribution. The title page tells me that Bantam is "A National General Company." The New York Times Book Review named it one of the dozen best books of that year. Most of the stories previously appeared in the New Yorker, back when people read the New Yorker for its short stories.
Halfway through, there is a folded card insert which explains to me that I could be reading "Styron" and "Mailer" every month with a low low $2.84 eight-issue subscription to Harper's (send no money now). Half of the insert is a postage-paid card to Marion, Ohio, a town that I recall was the destination in the 1960 and 70s of all such mail offers - Wikipedia currently makes no mention of what I once assumed was its principal business.
April 29, 2009
I got this little paperback--looks exactly like the thumbnail--many years ago when I was traveling by train around Europe, it was small and highly portable and great for rattling you out of the tedious parts of travel as it occasionally turns your mind inside out and makes you guffaw at the audacity of the experiments.
After a long shelf hiatus I pulled it out again this week to show it to my writing students as an example of the short story's limitlessness--look! This story is 100 numbered sentences! And this one has pictures of Tolstoy in it. And this one is interrupted by huge black squares! Etc. I think "40 Stories" is a more comprehensive and better selection, but wild and weird "City Life" was my first, and thought it's pretty beat-up and yellowed now and the cover is all messed up, I am going to keep it until it crumbles to dust.
After a long shelf hiatus I pulled it out again this week to show it to my writing students as an example of the short story's limitlessness--look! This story is 100 numbered sentences! And this one has pictures of Tolstoy in it. And this one is interrupted by huge black squares! Etc. I think "40 Stories" is a more comprehensive and better selection, but wild and weird "City Life" was my first, and thought it's pretty beat-up and yellowed now and the cover is all messed up, I am going to keep it until it crumbles to dust.
February 1, 2026
Reading these collections in order rather than picking stories at random does show some trends or epochs in him I hadn’t been able to see. Such as: City Life is probably his horniest collection, and most ambitious. Stuff like The Sentence and Bone Bubbles is as close to pure collage as he gets (saying something!) and then he’s got some extremely 1960s, not yo be missed illustrations. Not my favorite, not enough stories punching at Balloon or Emerald level. But a really great one nontheless
December 23, 2024
Con Atti innaturali ero folgorato Wow questo Barthelme com'è sperimentale quasi onirico e divertentissimo, ne voglio ancora poi Dilettanti l'ho trovato un attimo meno riuscito ma è comunque pazzo e ispirato e ci sono delle chiuse meravigliose ma Biancaneve è più destrutturato, metaforico -Non la mia tazza di tè (manca il rhum)- e comunque Donald sa scrivere solo racconti brevi e Biancaneve non lo è
ora arriva Vita in città ma Donald è stata una cotta estiva 4 limoni in riva al mare, ci siamo un po' palpati il cazzo ma alla fine non abbiamo neanche scopato e ci ho ripensato spesso mentre ero a casa da solo quand'ecco che adesso sono tornato al mare nella stessa triste località marittima e Donald è lì e adesso magari vorrebbe anche scopare ma a me non va più, sono già stufo di lui, oh Donald, eri cosi brillante e sperimentoso (o ero io che ero romantico e voglioso d'amore postmoderno?) com'è che adesso l'80% di quello che dici mi sembra buttato lì a caso? Cosa stai sperimentando esattamente? La mia pazienza? Come riuscire a non fartelo dare da un ragazzo che avevi già in precedenza conquistato? Voglio dire che le pagine migliori di questa raccolta sono completo nonsense che pare roba di Maccio Capatonda se Maccio fosse meno divertente e più nato negli anni '30. Guarda Donny grazie di tutto davvero ma non è più cosa, che tra l'altro a dirla tutta io sono gay solo per Tyler Durden.
ora arriva Vita in città ma Donald è stata una cotta estiva 4 limoni in riva al mare, ci siamo un po' palpati il cazzo ma alla fine non abbiamo neanche scopato e ci ho ripensato spesso mentre ero a casa da solo quand'ecco che adesso sono tornato al mare nella stessa triste località marittima e Donald è lì e adesso magari vorrebbe anche scopare ma a me non va più, sono già stufo di lui, oh Donald, eri cosi brillante e sperimentoso (o ero io che ero romantico e voglioso d'amore postmoderno?) com'è che adesso l'80% di quello che dici mi sembra buttato lì a caso? Cosa stai sperimentando esattamente? La mia pazienza? Come riuscire a non fartelo dare da un ragazzo che avevi già in precedenza conquistato? Voglio dire che le pagine migliori di questa raccolta sono completo nonsense che pare roba di Maccio Capatonda se Maccio fosse meno divertente e più nato negli anni '30. Guarda Donny grazie di tutto davvero ma non è più cosa, che tra l'altro a dirla tutta io sono gay solo per Tyler Durden.
November 6, 2011
Συλλογή μετά-μεταμοντέρνων διηγημάτων, όλα υπέροχα γραμμένα, με διάφορα αφηγηματικά στιλ και με πολλά νοήματα. Καθόλου εύκολο βιβλίο, από τα πιο απαιτητικά που διάβασα φέτος, μαζί με αυτά του Πίντσον, αλλά μπορώ να πω ότι μου άρεσε και χάρη σ'αυτό βρήκα μια λίστα με παρόμοιας δυσκολίας βιβλία, με περίεργα αφηγηματικά στιλ και άλλα που με εξιτάρουν, βρήκα αρκετά απ'αυτά στα ελληνικά και κάποια στιγμή (αύριο!) θα τα ψάξω στα παλαιοβιβλιοπωλεία.
Ξέφυγα. Λοιπόν, η συλλογή αυτή αποτελείται από 14 περίεργα και παράξενα διηγήματα, με πολλά και διάφορα αφηγηματικά στιλ όπως προείπα. Το ένα διήγημα είναι μια περίεργη μικρή ιστορία που χωρίζεται σε 100 προτάσεις, μικρές και μεγάλες, αριθμημένες από το 1 έως το 100! Άλλα διηγήματα είναι με ερωτο-απαντήσεις που μπορεί να φανούν και τελείως άκυρες! Ένα διήγημα είναι δίχως κόμματα και τελείες, ένα άλλο διήγημα είναι μόνο με κόμματα δίχως καμία τελεία. Επίσης, ένα διήγημα με τον Τολστόι και πολλές εικόνες αυτουνού και του "μουσείου Τολστόι", ένα άλλο με εικόνες, ερωτήματα/προτάσεις με κεφαλαία και boldαρισμένα γράμματα και με τελείως σουρεαλιστικές παραγράφους, που φαίνονται άσχετες η μια από την άλλη, και ούτω καθεξής. Δεν μου φαίνεται ότι ήταν ιστορίες με αρχή, μέση και τέλος, απλώς κάποια περίεργα κομμάτια ενός κάποιου παζλ, που δημιουργούσαν σουρεαλιστικές και μεταμοντέρνες εικόνες ποπ κουλτούρας (ή κάτι τέτοιο).
Οι περισσότερες (αν όχι όλες) ιστορίες μου άρεσαν και ας ήταν τελείως "γεια σου". Πάντως μέσα στα διηγήματα διέκρινες μαύρο χιούμορ, ειρωνεία, σάτιρα... Το καλό είναι ότι πρόκειται για μικρά διηγήματα, οπότε καταφεύγεις όποτε θέλεις σε κάποια απ'αυτά (ή και σε όλα) αν δεν "έπιασες" κάτι από την πρώτη ανάγνωση. Έχω άλλο ένα βιβλίο του Μπάρθελμ, το Νεκρός Πατέρας, το οποίο είναι το ίδιο σουρεαλιστικό, μεταμοντέρνο και περίεργο, όμως δεν είναι συλλογή διηγημάτων αλλά μυθιστόρημα. Πράγμα που σημαίνει ότι θα καούν περισσότερα εγκεφαλικά κύτταρα.
Υ.Γ. Ένα διήγημα λέγεται Εγκεφαλική Βλάβη. Τέτοια βλάβη μπορείς να πάθεις αν διαβάσεις το βιβλίο.
Ξέφυγα. Λοιπόν, η συλλογή αυτή αποτελείται από 14 περίεργα και παράξενα διηγήματα, με πολλά και διάφορα αφηγηματικά στιλ όπως προείπα. Το ένα διήγημα είναι μια περίεργη μικρή ιστορία που χωρίζεται σε 100 προτάσεις, μικρές και μεγάλες, αριθμημένες από το 1 έως το 100! Άλλα διηγήματα είναι με ερωτο-απαντήσεις που μπορεί να φανούν και τελείως άκυρες! Ένα διήγημα είναι δίχως κόμματα και τελείες, ένα άλλο διήγημα είναι μόνο με κόμματα δίχως καμία τελεία. Επίσης, ένα διήγημα με τον Τολστόι και πολλές εικόνες αυτουνού και του "μουσείου Τολστόι", ένα άλλο με εικόνες, ερωτήματα/προτάσεις με κεφαλαία και boldαρισμένα γράμματα και με τελείως σουρεαλιστικές παραγράφους, που φαίνονται άσχετες η μια από την άλλη, και ούτω καθεξής. Δεν μου φαίνεται ότι ήταν ιστορίες με αρχή, μέση και τέλος, απλώς κάποια περίεργα κομμάτια ενός κάποιου παζλ, που δημιουργούσαν σουρεαλιστικές και μεταμοντέρνες εικόνες ποπ κουλτούρας (ή κάτι τέτοιο).
Οι περισσότερες (αν όχι όλες) ιστορίες μου άρεσαν και ας ήταν τελείως "γεια σου". Πάντως μέσα στα διηγήματα διέκρινες μαύρο χιούμορ, ειρωνεία, σάτιρα... Το καλό είναι ότι πρόκειται για μικρά διηγήματα, οπότε καταφεύγεις όποτε θέλεις σε κάποια απ'αυτά (ή και σε όλα) αν δεν "έπιασες" κάτι από την πρώτη ανάγνωση. Έχω άλλο ένα βιβλίο του Μπάρθελμ, το Νεκρός Πατέρας, το οποίο είναι το ίδιο σουρεαλιστικό, μεταμοντέρνο και περίεργο, όμως δεν είναι συλλογή διηγημάτων αλλά μυθιστόρημα. Πράγμα που σημαίνει ότι θα καούν περισσότερα εγκεφαλικά κύτταρα.
Υ.Γ. Ένα διήγημα λέγεται Εγκεφαλική Βλάβη. Τέτοια βλάβη μπορείς να πάθεις αν διαβάσεις το βιβλίο.
March 6, 2013
Donald Barthelme se convirtió en uno de mis escritores favoritos con tan solo leer unos cuentos. Esta es la primera obra completa que leo de él —y eso es mucho que decir, pues es bastante complicado conseguir sus libros—.
El estilo de Barthelme es lo que le sigue de magnífico. En sus cuentos se pueden encontrar frases increíbles, escritas con aparente sencillez, pues están compuestas por palabras comunes pero que te llegan a lo más recóndito de tu ser. Era un maestro del lenguaje porque sabía cuál era el término exacto, conciso para producir cualquier sensación que quisiera en el lector. Su fuerte era crear imágenes —que las ves así tal cual— y enganchar al lector desde la primera frase, ejemplo de esto es:
"Sí, un perro cayó sobre mí desde una alta ventana. Creo que desde un tercer piso, o desde un cuarto piso... "
"Perros cayendo"
"1. Yo estaba intentando escalar la montaña de cristal.
2. La montaña de cristal se halla en la esquina de la Calle Treinta y la Octava Avenida..."
"La montaña de cristal"
Los cuentos que más me gustaron, en cuanto a su estructura, a la manera en que están expresados son "Perros cayendo" y "La montaña de cristal". Otro para destacar es "Frase", una historia que no tiene hilo, ni secuencia, ni sentido, pero cuántas cosas se dicen; sale un tema, va narrando y después sale otro tema sin mucha relación con el anterior y así sucesivamente: de ahí sale el cuento. También "City Life" no tiene pierde, su relato más minimalista en donde desmuestra que también sabía contar historias "clásicas". Trata sobre dos amigas universitarias que viven juntas. Está muy bueno. Me hizo recordar un poco a las historias de Adrian Tomine y Daniel Clowes.
En fin, un escritor al que los medios han sido bastante injustos con él. No ha tenido ni el reconocimiento que se merece ni la promoción suficiente como sí la tienen otros escritores.
El estilo de Barthelme es lo que le sigue de magnífico. En sus cuentos se pueden encontrar frases increíbles, escritas con aparente sencillez, pues están compuestas por palabras comunes pero que te llegan a lo más recóndito de tu ser. Era un maestro del lenguaje porque sabía cuál era el término exacto, conciso para producir cualquier sensación que quisiera en el lector. Su fuerte era crear imágenes —que las ves así tal cual— y enganchar al lector desde la primera frase, ejemplo de esto es:
"Sí, un perro cayó sobre mí desde una alta ventana. Creo que desde un tercer piso, o desde un cuarto piso... "
"Perros cayendo"
"1. Yo estaba intentando escalar la montaña de cristal.
2. La montaña de cristal se halla en la esquina de la Calle Treinta y la Octava Avenida..."
"La montaña de cristal"
Los cuentos que más me gustaron, en cuanto a su estructura, a la manera en que están expresados son "Perros cayendo" y "La montaña de cristal". Otro para destacar es "Frase", una historia que no tiene hilo, ni secuencia, ni sentido, pero cuántas cosas se dicen; sale un tema, va narrando y después sale otro tema sin mucha relación con el anterior y así sucesivamente: de ahí sale el cuento. También "City Life" no tiene pierde, su relato más minimalista en donde desmuestra que también sabía contar historias "clásicas". Trata sobre dos amigas universitarias que viven juntas. Está muy bueno. Me hizo recordar un poco a las historias de Adrian Tomine y Daniel Clowes.
En fin, un escritor al que los medios han sido bastante injustos con él. No ha tenido ni el reconocimiento que se merece ni la promoción suficiente como sí la tienen otros escritores.
January 17, 2011
Reading this, Barthelme's third collection, is similar to listening to the Animal Collective. Specifically, their most recent album, "Merriweather Post Pavilion." Why, you ask? Because it is lush, layered, and very strange--stranger than Barthelme's past work, but most definitely the strongest collection of his I've read (and I'm reading them in chronological form). Like "Merriweather," there are moments of deep feeling within prose that comes bursting off the page.
In "Bone Bubbles", he plunges headlong into pure collage, pure experimentation. In "The Explanation" and "Kierkegaard Unfair to Schlege," he plays around with the Q&A format. There are also beautiful woodcut illustrations to accompany some of the stories--the ones for "At the Tolstoy Museum" are laugh out loud funny--and the book itself is nicely designed, important because Barthelme cared about how a story looked on the page.
The title story is a standout, one of my favorite of his so far. Here, Barthelme injects a surprising amount of emotional weight into an odd tale about two young women, Elsa and Ramona, moving into a "complicated city." This city is a place of "muddy roads," and the only way to be comfortable in the city is to accept its impure muck. The story "City Life" also boasts one of the best summations of the creative process, which I'll add to this review once I get the book back in front of me.
In "Bone Bubbles", he plunges headlong into pure collage, pure experimentation. In "The Explanation" and "Kierkegaard Unfair to Schlege," he plays around with the Q&A format. There are also beautiful woodcut illustrations to accompany some of the stories--the ones for "At the Tolstoy Museum" are laugh out loud funny--and the book itself is nicely designed, important because Barthelme cared about how a story looked on the page.
The title story is a standout, one of my favorite of his so far. Here, Barthelme injects a surprising amount of emotional weight into an odd tale about two young women, Elsa and Ramona, moving into a "complicated city." This city is a place of "muddy roads," and the only way to be comfortable in the city is to accept its impure muck. The story "City Life" also boasts one of the best summations of the creative process, which I'll add to this review once I get the book back in front of me.
June 14, 2007
From 'Bone Bubbles': "...double dekko balcony of a government building series of closeups of the food gold thread long thin room pamper recent connection steroid perverse cults which have all but replaced Christianity ten filthiest cases men and women with strong convictions lottery breakdown fat arenas..."
Uh HUH.
There are ways to be formally experimental without hitting readers with the short story equivalent of a coconut creme pie. Barthelme has written much better stories than the ones collected here - read 60 Stories instead.
Uh HUH.
There are ways to be formally experimental without hitting readers with the short story equivalent of a coconut creme pie. Barthelme has written much better stories than the ones collected here - read 60 Stories instead.
October 11, 2011
Many more abstract moments, or poetic, or, honestly, perplexing, but amusing! moments than that collection "Amateurs," which is the other collection I've read. One day I'm going to look back on this and say "yes, Eric, you DID read those two books. You read two other books, novels, by the man as well. Why do you insist on listing? What value does it add to your life, making the association 'read him, funny man' when you see the name Barthelme or catch the cover of one of his books in your periphery?" And I won't have an answer.
August 9, 2023
Comunque vada, comunque Dada pt. 37, ma in questa raccolta di racconti Barthelme comincia a tirar fuori una verve postmoderna/U.S./Futurama molto gustosa. Il racconto del cane che cade è un capolavoro.
July 9, 2022
In Snow White, Donald Barthelme wrote the following: "We like books that have a lot of dreck in them, matter which presents itself as not wholly relevant (or indeed at all relevant) but which, carefully attended to, can supply a kind of “sense” of what is going on." A "sense" of what's going on is about all that can be extracted from this collection for these aren't short stories, but, as one reviewer put it, fictions. I'd go so far as to call them anti-short-stories owing to the fact that many are mere experiments that eschew any sort of attempt at narrative. For instance, "Sentence" is just 10 pages comprised of one run-on sentence and "Bone Bubbles" is 10 pages of clashing words that, like an Ashberry poem, are from some other planet; nothing about the "story" coheres, it is simply word-soup.
Now, I like Barthelme. He's inventive and when his tales do move in one direction they can be fun, original, snappy, and brilliantly strange. The pieces I liked most in this collection ("Views of My Father Weeping," "The Policeman's Ball," "The Glass Mountain," "The Phantom of the Opera's Friend," and the title story) make sense on the whole. I don't, however, think Barthelme is ever attempting to make sense. He's deconstructing the short story. He's playing with the form and the reader. That said, it isn't always fun to read these unruly things hence the three-star rating.
Now, I like Barthelme. He's inventive and when his tales do move in one direction they can be fun, original, snappy, and brilliantly strange. The pieces I liked most in this collection ("Views of My Father Weeping," "The Policeman's Ball," "The Glass Mountain," "The Phantom of the Opera's Friend," and the title story) make sense on the whole. I don't, however, think Barthelme is ever attempting to make sense. He's deconstructing the short story. He's playing with the form and the reader. That said, it isn't always fun to read these unruly things hence the three-star rating.
June 28, 2018
his greatest collection. Tracy Daugherty thinks so and who am I to think otherwise?!
August 24, 2019
به ظن من شاهکار! سیزده داستانکوتاهِ جاندار و پستمدرن. بیاستعاره، بیعناصر رومانتیکی. و به سخره گرفتن حقیقت، زمان، و تمام عناصر روایت کلاسیک.
باز باید بخوانماش.
باز باید بخوانماش.
April 22, 2020
El narrador es la conciencia que querría tener
July 17, 2025
A couple of the stories in this collection are so esoteric as to be impenetrable, however the ones that are on are so good the rating still ticks up to 4/5.
February 25, 2017
Διηγήματα του παραλόγου....
December 18, 2010
I love surrealism! And City Life is fucked up. Brain Damage.
I would never say that this is pure id, because that's not possible unless/until somebody is in a straightjacket and all potential subversion has been contained by some sinister institution. But that's kind of the point, I guess . . . everything here is so impulse-ive, but impulses that are in relation/reaction to shared cultural receptors/suppressors. i.e. context.
I would never say that this is pure id, because that's not possible unless/until somebody is in a straightjacket and all potential subversion has been contained by some sinister institution. But that's kind of the point, I guess . . . everything here is so impulse-ive, but impulses that are in relation/reaction to shared cultural receptors/suppressors. i.e. context.
February 1, 2014
(3.3/5.0) Fun and fascinating, but totally of its time. Some of the things Barthelme does here seem pretty obvious, playful and fun, but not exactly profound.
July 7, 2014
Just incredibly imaginative and humorous, surreal short stories.
August 24, 2025
Minimalismo surreale
Non sono stato convinto da questa raccolta di racconti di Barthelme: il modo in cui il post-modernismo (categoria anche troppo dilatata che pare comprendere tutto il "nuovo" della produzione letteraria del dopoguerra americano) viene declinato mi sembra sterile e (in realtà) ben poco sperimentale ed innovativo.
Questo surrealismo minimalista ha chiare ed evidenti tinte architettoniche (molto interessante, da questo punto di vista, l'elemento biografico di Barthelme, fin da piccolo immerso nelle nuove architetture di Le Corbusier e Mies van der Rohe), ma è un'operazione interessante finché la parodia si mantiene anche sul piano formale come nei primi racconti (come "Paraguay" che ricorda i libri di resoconti di viaggi esotici), mentre mostra la corda quando lo stile diviene piatto e convenzionale.
Personalmente, reputo che le migliori sperimentazioni nella scrittura (di cui il surrealismo è un possibile itinerario) sono quelle svolte sul piano del significante e non del significato - la letteratura migliore e' quella con molteplici sensi ed infinite interpretazioni, non quelle dove sono ridotte al minimo (quando non annullate)
Credo che il concetto base della poetica di Barthelme stia qui:
la frase è un oggetto costruito dall’uomo, non quello che ci serviva, chiaro, ma comunque una costruzione umana, una struttura da amare per la sua debolezza,
la frase è concepita solo come struttura artificiale, debole ed incerta, non come un mezzo espressivo sconfinato per allargare immaginazioni e creare mondi. Una visione limitata e limitante delle possibilità della letteratura.
Ne risulta quindi una scrittura quasi sterile, dove non-sensi e surrealtà non riescono ad indicare nulla di oltre o di più, riducendo quasi questa letteratura ad un gioco fine a se stesso.
Menzione negativa speciale alla inconsistente ed egocentrica introduzione di Latronico, incapace di alcuna analisi approfondita e che si risolve in un risibile e ridicolo tentativo di scimmiottare Barthelme con una paginetta che lo parodizza - quando smetteremo questa pessima abitudine di fare scrivere introduzioni a produttori di libri pop-midcult ignorantelli e torneremo a chiedere a competenti ed esperti di curare le edizioni dei libri?
Non sono stato convinto da questa raccolta di racconti di Barthelme: il modo in cui il post-modernismo (categoria anche troppo dilatata che pare comprendere tutto il "nuovo" della produzione letteraria del dopoguerra americano) viene declinato mi sembra sterile e (in realtà) ben poco sperimentale ed innovativo.
Questo surrealismo minimalista ha chiare ed evidenti tinte architettoniche (molto interessante, da questo punto di vista, l'elemento biografico di Barthelme, fin da piccolo immerso nelle nuove architetture di Le Corbusier e Mies van der Rohe), ma è un'operazione interessante finché la parodia si mantiene anche sul piano formale come nei primi racconti (come "Paraguay" che ricorda i libri di resoconti di viaggi esotici), mentre mostra la corda quando lo stile diviene piatto e convenzionale.
Personalmente, reputo che le migliori sperimentazioni nella scrittura (di cui il surrealismo è un possibile itinerario) sono quelle svolte sul piano del significante e non del significato - la letteratura migliore e' quella con molteplici sensi ed infinite interpretazioni, non quelle dove sono ridotte al minimo (quando non annullate)
Credo che il concetto base della poetica di Barthelme stia qui:
la frase è un oggetto costruito dall’uomo, non quello che ci serviva, chiaro, ma comunque una costruzione umana, una struttura da amare per la sua debolezza,
la frase è concepita solo come struttura artificiale, debole ed incerta, non come un mezzo espressivo sconfinato per allargare immaginazioni e creare mondi. Una visione limitata e limitante delle possibilità della letteratura.
Ne risulta quindi una scrittura quasi sterile, dove non-sensi e surrealtà non riescono ad indicare nulla di oltre o di più, riducendo quasi questa letteratura ad un gioco fine a se stesso.
Menzione negativa speciale alla inconsistente ed egocentrica introduzione di Latronico, incapace di alcuna analisi approfondita e che si risolve in un risibile e ridicolo tentativo di scimmiottare Barthelme con una paginetta che lo parodizza - quando smetteremo questa pessima abitudine di fare scrivere introduzioni a produttori di libri pop-midcult ignorantelli e torneremo a chiedere a competenti ed esperti di curare le edizioni dei libri?
December 5, 2025
Not quite as good as Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts, but still a worthy followup. City Life ups the ante on experimentation, some of which is great (this is when he starts incorporating images into the stories) and some not so much (a mediocre story told in a single sentence, the absolute slog of gibberish collaged phrases that is “Bone Bubbles”). Favorites include “Views of My Father Weeping”, “The Falling Dog”, “The Policeman’s Ball” (I love it when Barthelme writes about the police), and “The Phantom of the Opera’s Friend.” “Brain Damage” is also quite a trip - it doesn’t fully come together as a story for me but some of the individual sections, and especially that ending, are fantastic.
August 3, 2017
'In the larger stores silence is sold in paper bags like cement.'
'At the Tolstoy museum we sat and wept.'
'Defeats are, at times, good for your character, teaching you that it is not by success alone that one surmounts life, but that setbacks too, contribute to the that roughening of the personality that, by providing a textured surface to place against that of life, enables you to leave slight traces, or smudges, on the face of human history.'
'Some people feel you should tell the truth, but those people are impious and wrong, and if you listen to what they say, you will be tragically unhappy all your life.'
'At the Tolstoy museum we sat and wept.'
'Defeats are, at times, good for your character, teaching you that it is not by success alone that one surmounts life, but that setbacks too, contribute to the that roughening of the personality that, by providing a textured surface to place against that of life, enables you to leave slight traces, or smudges, on the face of human history.'
'Some people feel you should tell the truth, but those people are impious and wrong, and if you listen to what they say, you will be tragically unhappy all your life.'
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