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Diptych #1
La figlia di Agamennone
Albania, Primo maggio: per strada la musica festiva, il rumore sordo delle masse, cartelli, mazzi di fiori, ritratti di membri del Partito che sovrastano le teste e le mani dei partecipanti. Ma l’anonimo protagonista rimane sordo al trambusto: in lui un’inesorabile tristezza, un senso di perdita, di vuoto, di apatia. Scortato dalle occhiate torve di chi lo circonda, sotto la fissità di quei volti si unisce al passo svelto della folla verso il luogo dei festeggiamenti. Raggiungerà il suo posto fendendo la cortina di sospetto di quelli che, come lui, hanno beneficiato di un invito in cambio di chissà quale servigio, e assisterà alla cerimonia in tribuna, quando avrebbe preferito di gran lunga un incontro d’amore, lo sguardo perso nel liscio biancore di Suzana...
Suzana: un’Ifigenia antica o una messinscena? Ma perché proprio lei? È davvero indispensabile il suo sacrificio? Guardandola di spalle, seduta accanto alla Guida e al suo successore, ancora fresca la memoria delle campagne d’epurazione, la ragione appare chiara: stroncare qualsiasi barlume di vita, svigorire, per rendere l’umanità più facilmente controllabile.
Scritto a Tirana fra il 1984 e il 1986 e portato clandestinamente in Francia, La figlia di Agamennone è un romanzo nel quale Kadaré denuncia i ciechi ingranaggi del regime totalitario, l’ottusità e il servilismo della sua classe dirigente.
Suzana: un’Ifigenia antica o una messinscena? Ma perché proprio lei? È davvero indispensabile il suo sacrificio? Guardandola di spalle, seduta accanto alla Guida e al suo successore, ancora fresca la memoria delle campagne d’epurazione, la ragione appare chiara: stroncare qualsiasi barlume di vita, svigorire, per rendere l’umanità più facilmente controllabile.
Scritto a Tirana fra il 1984 e il 1986 e portato clandestinamente in Francia, La figlia di Agamennone è un romanzo nel quale Kadaré denuncia i ciechi ingranaggi del regime totalitario, l’ottusità e il servilismo della sua classe dirigente.
112 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2003
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840 people want to read
About the author
Ismail Kadare
271 books1,730 followersIsmail Kadare (also spelled Kadaré) was an Albanian novelist and poet. He has been a leading literary figure in Albania since the 1960s. He focused on short stories until the publication of his first novel, The General of the Dead Army. In 1996 he became a lifetime member of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences of France. In 1992, he was awarded the Prix mondial Cino Del Duca; in 2005, he won the inaugural Man Booker International Prize, in 2009 the Prince of Asturias Award of Arts, and in 2015 the Jerusalem Prize. He has divided his time between Albania and France since 1990. Kadare has been mentioned as a possible recipient for the Nobel Prize in Literature several times. His works have been published in about 30 languages.
Ismail Kadare was born in 1936 in Gjirokastër, in the south of Albania. His education included studies at the University of Tirana and then the Gorky Institute for World Literature in Moscow, a training school for writers and critics.
In 1960 Kadare returned to Albania after the country broke ties with the Soviet Union, and he became a journalist and published his first poems.
His first novel, The General of the Dead Army, sprang from a short story, and its success established his name in Albania and enabled Kadare to become a full-time writer.
Kadare's novels draw on Balkan history and legends. They are obliquely ironic as a result of trying to withstand political scrutiny. Among his best known books are Chronicle in Stone (1977), Broken April (1978), and The Concert (1988), considered the best novel of the year 1991 by the French literary magazine Lire.
In 1990, Kadare claimed political asylum in France, issuing statements in favour of democratisation. During the ordeal, he stated that "dictatorship and authentic literature are incompatible. The writer is the natural enemy of dictatorship."
Ismail Kadare was born in 1936 in Gjirokastër, in the south of Albania. His education included studies at the University of Tirana and then the Gorky Institute for World Literature in Moscow, a training school for writers and critics.
In 1960 Kadare returned to Albania after the country broke ties with the Soviet Union, and he became a journalist and published his first poems.
His first novel, The General of the Dead Army, sprang from a short story, and its success established his name in Albania and enabled Kadare to become a full-time writer.
Kadare's novels draw on Balkan history and legends. They are obliquely ironic as a result of trying to withstand political scrutiny. Among his best known books are Chronicle in Stone (1977), Broken April (1978), and The Concert (1988), considered the best novel of the year 1991 by the French literary magazine Lire.
In 1990, Kadare claimed political asylum in France, issuing statements in favour of democratisation. During the ordeal, he stated that "dictatorship and authentic literature are incompatible. The writer is the natural enemy of dictatorship."
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July 15, 2009Agamemnon’s Daughter is a novella that, together with “The Blinding Order” and “The Great Wall” constitutes the most recent translation into English of Kadare’s books. Agamemnon’s daughter, Suzana, also a protagonist in The Successor, is here the narrator’s lover, though she only appears indirectly through the latter’s reminiscing. The novel’s title is not gratuitous, however: “Agamemnon’s Daughter” is a metonymy for the idea of sacrifice, viewed as a pact of blood that lays the foundation of all dictatorships. The “campaigns of purification” or “great purges,” as they were called during Communism—names that call to mind religious rituals accomplished periodically in order to appease the angry gods—were campaigns of terror in which anyone (or rather, anyone except the Leader of the Communist Party, significantly called “Himself” in The Successor) could be accused of being an enemy of the State or of the people, forced to do his self-criticism, then punished. The punishment ranged from having one’s membership in the Party revoked, to a downgrading of one’s career, to being moved to the countryside and constrained to embrace the joys of farming, to being sent to the chrome ore mines and shoved into a deep, nameless pit by some unknown hand in the dark. Often, the punishment began with its lightest form, the revocation of the card, and ended in the mine pit.
As a reflection on sacrifice, Agamemnon’s Daughter links stories of sacrifice from different times and places—the ancient Greeks, the Russians under Stalin, the Albanians under Hoxha—and ties them into an eternal, universal story. It wasn’t for a noble cause that Iphigenia was sacrificed, in the same way it wasn’t for a noble reason that Stalin’s son, Yakov, was sacrificed. The latter had been, apparently, sent to war by Stalin in a gesture implying that all Russians were equal; in fact, says Kadare, Stalin’s gesture had a much more sinister and cynical motivation: the sacrifice of his own son gave him free hand in demanding anyone’s life from then on. The Successor’s daughter, Suzana, is sacrificed by being forbidden to see her lover because their relationship could compromise her father’s political career. Reflecting on all this as a spectator at the May 1st Parade—one of the biggest Communist holidays—the narrator compares the father to a successor of that grand master of all sacrificers, “Comrade Agamemnon MacAtreus,” member of the Politburo.
Even more than The Successor, Agamemnon’s Daughter describes with clinical lucidity the mechanism of power in a society resembling a concentration camp. The Communist concept of “self-criticism” was, in Kadare’s words, a truly “diabolical mechanism,” because once you’ve debased yourself, it was easy to sully everything around you. The complete lack of logic or coherence of the system, its schizophrenia, are exemplified by several accounts, including the narrator’s own experience, which, fortunately, has a happy ending. In all these accounts the precise accusation against the accused is never mentioned out loud by the officials, as if pronouncing the words themselves carried some great danger.
As in all of Kadare’s stories, here too there is a folktale whose meaning functions as an allegory for the contemporary story. It is the ancient tale of Bald Man, who one night fell into a hole, and kept falling until he reached the netherworld. After his fall, Bald Man strove to find the way and the means to clamber back to the upper world, and found an eagle that took him back on one condition: if Bald Man would feed him raw meat all the way up (Incidentally, Albania is called “the land of the eagles.”). When Bald Man finished off the piece of meat he had brought, he cut into his own flesh and fed the eagle with it, and by the time the eagle came out into the upper world, Bald Man was a mere human skeleton carried on the bird’s back. This tale is told in fragments interspersed in-between the story of a man who, in order to stop his fall from grace with the Communist regime, feeds the latter not only his own flesh but also that of others, people he denounces and tramples on as he finds his way back up.
Written in 1984, “The Blinding Order” is an allegory set, like The Palace of Dreams, in the Ottoman Empire, but its political allusions to Communist Albania are transparent even for the uninformed reader. In their desire to preserve society from the evil eye, nineteenth-century Turkish authorities pass an edict enforcing the blinding of those suspected of exercising the eye’s maleficent power. But how are the carriers of misophtalmia (or “eye trouble”) going to be identified? Although many of them are said to have blue eyes, eye color alone is not enough for their proper identification, and the lack of any specific characteristics of these potential enemies, the fact that anyone could be one of them, contribute to the sense of terror among the population. In its magnanimity, the State doesn’t sentence to death the carriers of the evil eye, but prevents them from perpetrating their deeds by depriving them of their eyes. In addition, those who turn themselves in before being identified by others as carriers of the evil eye receive a monetary compensation from the State after their disoculation. Everyone is encouraged to practice denunciation, and any resistance is punished. After a campaign of terror in which we can easily recognize the Communist purges or “campaigns of purification,” the authorities decide to hold a Banquet of Forgiveness or of Reconciliation, where all the blind people are invited. There, as the blind are playing the Balkan lyres and lahutas, and a huge cacophony is rising to the skies, the authorities bestow forgiveness upon their victims, and the terror of the past is conveniently forgotten for the greater good of the State.
As a reflection on sacrifice, Agamemnon’s Daughter links stories of sacrifice from different times and places—the ancient Greeks, the Russians under Stalin, the Albanians under Hoxha—and ties them into an eternal, universal story. It wasn’t for a noble cause that Iphigenia was sacrificed, in the same way it wasn’t for a noble reason that Stalin’s son, Yakov, was sacrificed. The latter had been, apparently, sent to war by Stalin in a gesture implying that all Russians were equal; in fact, says Kadare, Stalin’s gesture had a much more sinister and cynical motivation: the sacrifice of his own son gave him free hand in demanding anyone’s life from then on. The Successor’s daughter, Suzana, is sacrificed by being forbidden to see her lover because their relationship could compromise her father’s political career. Reflecting on all this as a spectator at the May 1st Parade—one of the biggest Communist holidays—the narrator compares the father to a successor of that grand master of all sacrificers, “Comrade Agamemnon MacAtreus,” member of the Politburo.
Even more than The Successor, Agamemnon’s Daughter describes with clinical lucidity the mechanism of power in a society resembling a concentration camp. The Communist concept of “self-criticism” was, in Kadare’s words, a truly “diabolical mechanism,” because once you’ve debased yourself, it was easy to sully everything around you. The complete lack of logic or coherence of the system, its schizophrenia, are exemplified by several accounts, including the narrator’s own experience, which, fortunately, has a happy ending. In all these accounts the precise accusation against the accused is never mentioned out loud by the officials, as if pronouncing the words themselves carried some great danger.
As in all of Kadare’s stories, here too there is a folktale whose meaning functions as an allegory for the contemporary story. It is the ancient tale of Bald Man, who one night fell into a hole, and kept falling until he reached the netherworld. After his fall, Bald Man strove to find the way and the means to clamber back to the upper world, and found an eagle that took him back on one condition: if Bald Man would feed him raw meat all the way up (Incidentally, Albania is called “the land of the eagles.”). When Bald Man finished off the piece of meat he had brought, he cut into his own flesh and fed the eagle with it, and by the time the eagle came out into the upper world, Bald Man was a mere human skeleton carried on the bird’s back. This tale is told in fragments interspersed in-between the story of a man who, in order to stop his fall from grace with the Communist regime, feeds the latter not only his own flesh but also that of others, people he denounces and tramples on as he finds his way back up.
Written in 1984, “The Blinding Order” is an allegory set, like The Palace of Dreams, in the Ottoman Empire, but its political allusions to Communist Albania are transparent even for the uninformed reader. In their desire to preserve society from the evil eye, nineteenth-century Turkish authorities pass an edict enforcing the blinding of those suspected of exercising the eye’s maleficent power. But how are the carriers of misophtalmia (or “eye trouble”) going to be identified? Although many of them are said to have blue eyes, eye color alone is not enough for their proper identification, and the lack of any specific characteristics of these potential enemies, the fact that anyone could be one of them, contribute to the sense of terror among the population. In its magnanimity, the State doesn’t sentence to death the carriers of the evil eye, but prevents them from perpetrating their deeds by depriving them of their eyes. In addition, those who turn themselves in before being identified by others as carriers of the evil eye receive a monetary compensation from the State after their disoculation. Everyone is encouraged to practice denunciation, and any resistance is punished. After a campaign of terror in which we can easily recognize the Communist purges or “campaigns of purification,” the authorities decide to hold a Banquet of Forgiveness or of Reconciliation, where all the blind people are invited. There, as the blind are playing the Balkan lyres and lahutas, and a huge cacophony is rising to the skies, the authorities bestow forgiveness upon their victims, and the terror of the past is conveniently forgotten for the greater good of the State.
December 4, 2022
فک کنم دقیقا یک سال پیش خوندمش و دوسش نداشتم.
ولی اولین بار بود که رمانی خوندم که تلفیق اساطیری داشت. در کل به هر کسی پیشنهاد نمیکنم.
ولی اولین بار بود که رمانی خوندم که تلفیق اساطیری داشت. در کل به هر کسی پیشنهاد نمیکنم.
September 24, 2022
من متاسفانه اصلا نثر اسماعیل کاداره رو (یا شاید هم نثر مترجم رو) نمیتونستم بفهمم و اصلا هیچ ارتباطی برقرار نکردم و هیچ چیزی از داستان هم نفهمیدم. به عنوان یه داستان کوتاه ۲ستاره میدم چون یه احتمالی هم میدم که نفهمیدن کتاب به خاطر این بود که تو وضعیت بدی داشتم میخوندمش.
March 30, 2021
Kadare is very hit and miss for me. Broken April and The File on H were terrific reads, their sinister, alien tone maintained throughout and the result utterly transporting. Agamemnon's Daughter fell more into the miss category, in my view. And here's why.
As befits a novella, the scope of this book is fairly narrow. The narrator - a thinly-disguised Kadare? - attends the Tirana May Day parade in Stalinist Albania. On his way to the parade, the narrator ruminates on the tyranny imposed under the rule of the "Supreme Guide" (Hoxha the Dodger). In particular, he wallows in misery because his girl has dropped him for party political reasons. This aspect feels rather adolescent. The parade itself is a non-event. Perhaps that's the point but it didn't make for great reading.
Kadare wrote this manuscript and smuggled it out of the country at considerable personal risk. While his actions might be viewed as heroic, that still doesn't mean the book coheres. Within five years, the regime would be gone and the writer could have given public readings from it in Tirana's central square, had he so wished. The sections in which Party persecutions are recounted are powerful and enlightening. And as he is wont to do, Kadare weaves in Albanian folklore, an aspect of the book that is fascinating. In this case, it's a gruesome tale about a bald man who has to feed parts of his body to a giant eagle in return for being rescued from a bottomless abyss.
It was in the nature of the scenario that the tale was somewhat boring at times. But what I found truly tedious were the descriptions of our narrator-hero as lothario. Unnamed narrator? Call me, Ismail... Hmm, really? These sections got in the way of an otherwise promising narrative. Even the fact that it was translated by the inestimable David Bellos didn't fully rescue the book for me. It feels slight in comparison to some of Kadare's other works. Hopefully, the next work of his that I read will fall into the hit category.
As befits a novella, the scope of this book is fairly narrow. The narrator - a thinly-disguised Kadare? - attends the Tirana May Day parade in Stalinist Albania. On his way to the parade, the narrator ruminates on the tyranny imposed under the rule of the "Supreme Guide" (Hoxha the Dodger). In particular, he wallows in misery because his girl has dropped him for party political reasons. This aspect feels rather adolescent. The parade itself is a non-event. Perhaps that's the point but it didn't make for great reading.
Kadare wrote this manuscript and smuggled it out of the country at considerable personal risk. While his actions might be viewed as heroic, that still doesn't mean the book coheres. Within five years, the regime would be gone and the writer could have given public readings from it in Tirana's central square, had he so wished. The sections in which Party persecutions are recounted are powerful and enlightening. And as he is wont to do, Kadare weaves in Albanian folklore, an aspect of the book that is fascinating. In this case, it's a gruesome tale about a bald man who has to feed parts of his body to a giant eagle in return for being rescued from a bottomless abyss.
It was in the nature of the scenario that the tale was somewhat boring at times. But what I found truly tedious were the descriptions of our narrator-hero as lothario. Unnamed narrator? Call me, Ismail... Hmm, really? These sections got in the way of an otherwise promising narrative. Even the fact that it was translated by the inestimable David Bellos didn't fully rescue the book for me. It feels slight in comparison to some of Kadare's other works. Hopefully, the next work of his that I read will fall into the hit category.
July 5, 2023
“To launch the ancient Trojan Wars/ They offered up Iphigenia./ For the sake of our great cause/ I’ll carry my darling to the pyre.”
The unifying theme is the urge to power. Whatever the other motives may be for our actions, Kadare sees that we seek power, even when our actions seem otherwise. And we are not just victims of evil, but collaborators.
“We’d taken a path not really knowing where it would lead, not knowing how long it was, and while still on our way, realizing we had taken the wrong road but that it was too late to turn back, every one of us, so as to not be swallowed up by the dark, had started slicing off pieces of our own flesh.”
The three stories differ in setting time and characters, but are all told from the point of view of a close observer, though not the decision makers. Set in Albania in the early 1980s; parallels to George Orwell's 1984.
“Yakov [Stalin’s son] … had not been sacrificed so as to suffer the same fate as any other Russian soldier, as the dictator had claimed, but to give Stalin the right to demand the life of everyone else.”
Kadare’s critique of Enver Hoxha’s absolutist regime in Albania from 1944 to 1985 can be leveled at many western democracies. Whichever side eventually wins the struggle for power, the impact on the people will be the same—indistinguishable from Albania’s Hoxhaism, China’s cultural revolution, or Russia’s Stalinism.
“Let us revolutionize everything … How many years of such a drought would it take to reduce life to a stony waste? And why? Only because when life is withered and stunted, it is also easier to control.”
The unifying theme is the urge to power. Whatever the other motives may be for our actions, Kadare sees that we seek power, even when our actions seem otherwise. And we are not just victims of evil, but collaborators.
“We’d taken a path not really knowing where it would lead, not knowing how long it was, and while still on our way, realizing we had taken the wrong road but that it was too late to turn back, every one of us, so as to not be swallowed up by the dark, had started slicing off pieces of our own flesh.”
The three stories differ in setting time and characters, but are all told from the point of view of a close observer, though not the decision makers. Set in Albania in the early 1980s; parallels to George Orwell's 1984.
“Yakov [Stalin’s son] … had not been sacrificed so as to suffer the same fate as any other Russian soldier, as the dictator had claimed, but to give Stalin the right to demand the life of everyone else.”
Kadare’s critique of Enver Hoxha’s absolutist regime in Albania from 1944 to 1985 can be leveled at many western democracies. Whichever side eventually wins the struggle for power, the impact on the people will be the same—indistinguishable from Albania’s Hoxhaism, China’s cultural revolution, or Russia’s Stalinism.
“Let us revolutionize everything … How many years of such a drought would it take to reduce life to a stony waste? And why? Only because when life is withered and stunted, it is also easier to control.”
August 6, 2021
"An old feeling, which people had perhaps forgotten about in recent years, suddenly began to creep back into the atmosphere. The feeling was fear. But this time it was no ordinary fear, like being afraid of sickness, robbery, ghosts or death. No, what had returned was an ice-cold, impersonal, and baffling emotion called fear of the state. Bearing as it were a great emptiness in its heart, the fear of the state found its way into every recess of the mind. In the course of a few hours, days at most, hundreds of thousands of people would be caught up in its cogs and wheels."
Agamemnon's Daughter is a collection of two novellas and one short story. The first - eponymous - novella tells the story - via interior monologue - of one afternoon from the perspective of a mid-level functionary in an authoritarian regime, who is (to his bemusement) invited to occupy one the most privileged set of seats in a State function. As the narrator tries to make sense of this (seeming) privilege, going over his own past life and actions, including the many betrayals and abnegations, we see how the human mind disintegrates under the pressures of a totalitarian society.
The second novella deals with a similar theme - in response to news of certain people casting an "evil eye" upon the State, the Sultan passes an order requiring all such possessors of an "evil eye" to be caught and blinded. The order is implemented by an extensive bureaucracy, and accompanied by denunciations, show-trials, the embracing of punishment, and so on. Much of the story is told from the perspective of a young woman, whose fiance works at the Commission for investigating, detecting - and then sentencing - people with the evil eye.
The final short story takes place along the Great Wall of China, alternating between the perspectives of an Inspector on the Wall, and a soldier of Timur's "barbarian" army, as they try and understand why the Wall is being rebuilt.
Ismail Kadare is one of my favourite novelists, but I'm torn about this collection. The two novellas are dark, brutal, and *very* on the nose. The Kadare novels I love the most - Broken April, The File on H, The Palace of Dreams, The Three-Arched Bridge, The Siege - are also uncompromising in their analysis and critique of authoritarian power, but the approach there is more subtle, more indirect, and often through myth/allegory/alternative history. Those novels are more eerie than they are brutal, and in my opinion, they are more effective. The two novellas here read more in the tradition of Milan Kundera's The Joke, but without the wry, savage humour that makes The Joke such a memorable novel. These ones have their moments too, but for the most part, they feel stifling; perhaps that was the objective, but I just didn't find myself as moved as I should have been, given the subject matter. In fact, the final story - set around the Great Wall - felt much more Kadare (close to The Siege), and I think it will stay longer in my mind.
For long-time Kadare readers, there are also some delightful easter eggs in this collection - frequent references to the Kuprili clan, which you will remember from The Palace of Dreams; and reference to the legend of blood sacrifice to build a bridge, which is the basis for The Three-Arched Bridge.
Agamemnon's Daughter is a collection of two novellas and one short story. The first - eponymous - novella tells the story - via interior monologue - of one afternoon from the perspective of a mid-level functionary in an authoritarian regime, who is (to his bemusement) invited to occupy one the most privileged set of seats in a State function. As the narrator tries to make sense of this (seeming) privilege, going over his own past life and actions, including the many betrayals and abnegations, we see how the human mind disintegrates under the pressures of a totalitarian society.
The second novella deals with a similar theme - in response to news of certain people casting an "evil eye" upon the State, the Sultan passes an order requiring all such possessors of an "evil eye" to be caught and blinded. The order is implemented by an extensive bureaucracy, and accompanied by denunciations, show-trials, the embracing of punishment, and so on. Much of the story is told from the perspective of a young woman, whose fiance works at the Commission for investigating, detecting - and then sentencing - people with the evil eye.
The final short story takes place along the Great Wall of China, alternating between the perspectives of an Inspector on the Wall, and a soldier of Timur's "barbarian" army, as they try and understand why the Wall is being rebuilt.
Ismail Kadare is one of my favourite novelists, but I'm torn about this collection. The two novellas are dark, brutal, and *very* on the nose. The Kadare novels I love the most - Broken April, The File on H, The Palace of Dreams, The Three-Arched Bridge, The Siege - are also uncompromising in their analysis and critique of authoritarian power, but the approach there is more subtle, more indirect, and often through myth/allegory/alternative history. Those novels are more eerie than they are brutal, and in my opinion, they are more effective. The two novellas here read more in the tradition of Milan Kundera's The Joke, but without the wry, savage humour that makes The Joke such a memorable novel. These ones have their moments too, but for the most part, they feel stifling; perhaps that was the objective, but I just didn't find myself as moved as I should have been, given the subject matter. In fact, the final story - set around the Great Wall - felt much more Kadare (close to The Siege), and I think it will stay longer in my mind.
For long-time Kadare readers, there are also some delightful easter eggs in this collection - frequent references to the Kuprili clan, which you will remember from The Palace of Dreams; and reference to the legend of blood sacrifice to build a bridge, which is the basis for The Three-Arched Bridge.
August 1, 2016
Een collega van me brak spontaan in een lofzang uit over Ismail Kadare toen hij zag welk boek ik aan het lezen was, wat een goede stimulans is om nog een aantal boeken van Kadare te lezen.
De man kan schrijven, dat is zeker, en in dit boek schept hij perfect de sfeer die heerste tijdens de dictatuur van Enver Hoxha in Albanië. Toegegeven, ik wist niets van die dictatuur (en deze onwetendheid in het buitenland wordt ook bijna-komische wijze beschreven in het boek) waardoor dit voor mij volledig onbekend terrein was.
De novelle 'De dochter van Agamemnon' vertelt over een relatie die opgeofferd wordt voor de carrière van "de Opvolger" van de dictator, maar weet vooral te raken door die enkele flarden waarin het hoofdpersonage vertelt over zijn (wrede en compleet irrationele) ervaringen met het regime.
De roman 'De Opvolger' speelt zich een tijd later af en bouwt hier helemaal op verder. Vanuit verschillende standpunten wordt de (zelf?)moord van "de opvolger" verteld.
Constant is de paranoia aanwezig. En terecht, want alles lijkt strafbaar en alles kan een fout zijn. Het is een boek als dit dat duidelijk maakt hoe onmenselijk het leven is in zo een omgeving. En hoeveel geluk we nu hebben. Kadare raakt diep, zonder dat het boek ooit zwaar wordt. Knap.
De man kan schrijven, dat is zeker, en in dit boek schept hij perfect de sfeer die heerste tijdens de dictatuur van Enver Hoxha in Albanië. Toegegeven, ik wist niets van die dictatuur (en deze onwetendheid in het buitenland wordt ook bijna-komische wijze beschreven in het boek) waardoor dit voor mij volledig onbekend terrein was.
De novelle 'De dochter van Agamemnon' vertelt over een relatie die opgeofferd wordt voor de carrière van "de Opvolger" van de dictator, maar weet vooral te raken door die enkele flarden waarin het hoofdpersonage vertelt over zijn (wrede en compleet irrationele) ervaringen met het regime.
De roman 'De Opvolger' speelt zich een tijd later af en bouwt hier helemaal op verder. Vanuit verschillende standpunten wordt de (zelf?)moord van "de opvolger" verteld.
Constant is de paranoia aanwezig. En terecht, want alles lijkt strafbaar en alles kan een fout zijn. Het is een boek als dit dat duidelijk maakt hoe onmenselijk het leven is in zo een omgeving. En hoeveel geluk we nu hebben. Kadare raakt diep, zonder dat het boek ooit zwaar wordt. Knap.
October 6, 2025
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Ismael Kadare was a literary intellectual and the most famous Albanian author to date. He passed away in 2024. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature no less than 15 times and won numerous other prestigious literary awards.
This small collection consisted of three stories, the first 120ish pages in length, the 2nd 70 some and the third 40. The collection title, Agamemnon’s Daughter, is the first selection, followed by The Blinding Order and The Great Wall.
The author grew up under a Communist regime. Per Wikipedia, he was a universal voice against totalitarianism. The first tale definitely illustrated this. A young man is telling the story in first person, he has received an unexpected invitation to a May Day Parade, and given a ticket to a good seat, usually reserved for the most prestigious guests. The unnamed narrator had recently been dumped by Suzana, the daughter of the current party leader, allegedly because her relationship with him wasn’t good for her father’s political reputation. Agamemnon’s Daughter was Iphigenia, who was sacrificed by her father in one of the more well-known Greek tragedies. As was Stalin’s son, whom he sent to war. The story is an entire interior monologue by the narrator suggesting that Suzana’s father was equal in his tyranny as these characters from history. All in all, the story was fairly dense and hard for me to get into.
The middle story I liked the best. It seemed dystopian in nature. This one is a parable about the use of terror by authoritarian regimes. It is announced to the people that the sultan is going to issue a decree regarding people who cast an “evil eye”. After several weeks of dread/anticipation an edict is declared.
“Carriers of the evil eye would no longer be sentenced to death, as they were in the past; they would only be prevented from perpetrating any more of their wicked deeds. That aim would be achieved by depriving them of the tool of their crimes — that is to say, of their evil eyes.”
There are five methods that might be used. And, naturally, there is a girl in the story who is engaged to a guy who gets chosen to become an enforcer. That’s all I’m going to tell you!
This is the second book I’ve read written by this author, the first being Chronicles in Stone, which I read in 2015.
Excerpt From
Agamemnon's Daughter
Ismail Kadare, Tedi Papavrami, David Bellos & Jusuf Vrioni
https://books.apple.com/book/id144186...
This material may be protected by copyright.
Goodreads 2025 Challenge - Book #92 of 125
Ismael Kadare was a literary intellectual and the most famous Albanian author to date. He passed away in 2024. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature no less than 15 times and won numerous other prestigious literary awards.
This small collection consisted of three stories, the first 120ish pages in length, the 2nd 70 some and the third 40. The collection title, Agamemnon’s Daughter, is the first selection, followed by The Blinding Order and The Great Wall.
The author grew up under a Communist regime. Per Wikipedia, he was a universal voice against totalitarianism. The first tale definitely illustrated this. A young man is telling the story in first person, he has received an unexpected invitation to a May Day Parade, and given a ticket to a good seat, usually reserved for the most prestigious guests. The unnamed narrator had recently been dumped by Suzana, the daughter of the current party leader, allegedly because her relationship with him wasn’t good for her father’s political reputation. Agamemnon’s Daughter was Iphigenia, who was sacrificed by her father in one of the more well-known Greek tragedies. As was Stalin’s son, whom he sent to war. The story is an entire interior monologue by the narrator suggesting that Suzana’s father was equal in his tyranny as these characters from history. All in all, the story was fairly dense and hard for me to get into.
The middle story I liked the best. It seemed dystopian in nature. This one is a parable about the use of terror by authoritarian regimes. It is announced to the people that the sultan is going to issue a decree regarding people who cast an “evil eye”. After several weeks of dread/anticipation an edict is declared.
“Carriers of the evil eye would no longer be sentenced to death, as they were in the past; they would only be prevented from perpetrating any more of their wicked deeds. That aim would be achieved by depriving them of the tool of their crimes — that is to say, of their evil eyes.”
There are five methods that might be used. And, naturally, there is a girl in the story who is engaged to a guy who gets chosen to become an enforcer. That’s all I’m going to tell you!
This is the second book I’ve read written by this author, the first being Chronicles in Stone, which I read in 2015.
Excerpt From
Agamemnon's Daughter
Ismail Kadare, Tedi Papavrami, David Bellos & Jusuf Vrioni
https://books.apple.com/book/id144186...
This material may be protected by copyright.
Goodreads 2025 Challenge - Book #92 of 125
November 14, 2025
W tej krótkiej nowelce Kadare transponuje antyczny mit o Ifigenii, nieprzypadkowo nadając jej tytuł córka Agamemnona.
To metonimia idei poświęcenia, postrzeganego jako pakt krwi, który staje się fundamentem dyktatur. Kadare opisuje reżim komunistyczny bardzo oszczędnie, jednocześnie dosadnie, z chirurgiczną precyzją w iście kafkowskim stylu.
Szczegolny nacisk kładzie na tzw. „kampanie oczyszczenia” lub „wielkie czystki” - nazwy przywodzące na myśl religijne rytuały odprawiane okresowo w celu ułagodzenia rozgniewanych bogów – były to kampaniami terroru, w których każdy mógł zostać oskarżony o bycie wrogiem państwa lub ludu, zmuszony do samokrytyki, a następnie ukarany.
Najważniejsza zdaje się być jednak sama refleksja nad poświęceniem, „Córka Agamemnona” łączy historie poświęcenia z różnych czasów i miejsc – starożytnych Greków, Rosjan za Stalina, Albańczyków za Hoxhy – i spaja je w wieczną, uniwersalną opowieść. Ifigenię poświęcono nie ze względu na szlachetną sprawę, tak jak nie ze względu na szlachetną sprawę poświęcono syna Stalina, Jakowa. Ten ostatni został najwyraźniej wysłany na wojnę przez Stalina w geście sugerującym, że wszyscy Rosjanie są równi; w rzeczywistości, jak twierdzi Kadare, gest Stalina miał o wiele bardziej złowrogą i cyniczną motywację: poświęcenie własnego syna dało mu wolną rękę w żądaniu odtąd czyjegokolwiek życia.
To metonimia idei poświęcenia, postrzeganego jako pakt krwi, który staje się fundamentem dyktatur. Kadare opisuje reżim komunistyczny bardzo oszczędnie, jednocześnie dosadnie, z chirurgiczną precyzją w iście kafkowskim stylu.
Szczegolny nacisk kładzie na tzw. „kampanie oczyszczenia” lub „wielkie czystki” - nazwy przywodzące na myśl religijne rytuały odprawiane okresowo w celu ułagodzenia rozgniewanych bogów – były to kampaniami terroru, w których każdy mógł zostać oskarżony o bycie wrogiem państwa lub ludu, zmuszony do samokrytyki, a następnie ukarany.
Najważniejsza zdaje się być jednak sama refleksja nad poświęceniem, „Córka Agamemnona” łączy historie poświęcenia z różnych czasów i miejsc – starożytnych Greków, Rosjan za Stalina, Albańczyków za Hoxhy – i spaja je w wieczną, uniwersalną opowieść. Ifigenię poświęcono nie ze względu na szlachetną sprawę, tak jak nie ze względu na szlachetną sprawę poświęcono syna Stalina, Jakowa. Ten ostatni został najwyraźniej wysłany na wojnę przez Stalina w geście sugerującym, że wszyscy Rosjanie są równi; w rzeczywistości, jak twierdzi Kadare, gest Stalina miał o wiele bardziej złowrogą i cyniczną motywację: poświęcenie własnego syna dało mu wolną rękę w żądaniu odtąd czyjegokolwiek życia.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 8, 2025
In Agamemnon’s Daughter ,Kadare tries to show how a political system can force people to sacrifice their feelings and lives.
Suzana’s story is a modern echo of the ancient myth of Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia. Just like Iphigenia was sent to the altar for the sake of her father’s ambition and the Greek army’s success, Suzana is forced to sacrifice her own happiness and personal freedom for her father’s political ambitions. Her love, desires, and personal choices are ignored. The system — represented by her father’s career and the totalitarian environment — treats her as a tool, a pawn in a larger game. Kadare draws a sharp parallel: both stories show how innocent lives are offered up for someone else’s power, how human emotions and freedoms are expendable when authority demands obedience.
The Blinding Order is a sharp and disturbing story. Kadare builds a terrifying world where a “blinding order” is issued — a law that literally punishes people by taking their sight, based on suspicion, rumor, or superstition. On paper, the idea is brilliant: the story exposes the cruelty of authoritarian power and how fear can control a whole society
What bothered me most was the erotic tone in some parts. It didn’t feel artistic or meaningful — just sudden and crude, and honestly unnecessary. Instead of adding depth, it made the story feel awkward and pulled me out of the mood completely.
In the end, the ideas are interesting, but the execution is dull. the style didn’t work for me — too slow , and sometimes too vulgar for no real reason. It’s a book with potential, but not an enjoyable read.
Suzana’s story is a modern echo of the ancient myth of Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia. Just like Iphigenia was sent to the altar for the sake of her father’s ambition and the Greek army’s success, Suzana is forced to sacrifice her own happiness and personal freedom for her father’s political ambitions. Her love, desires, and personal choices are ignored. The system — represented by her father’s career and the totalitarian environment — treats her as a tool, a pawn in a larger game. Kadare draws a sharp parallel: both stories show how innocent lives are offered up for someone else’s power, how human emotions and freedoms are expendable when authority demands obedience.
The Blinding Order is a sharp and disturbing story. Kadare builds a terrifying world where a “blinding order” is issued — a law that literally punishes people by taking their sight, based on suspicion, rumor, or superstition. On paper, the idea is brilliant: the story exposes the cruelty of authoritarian power and how fear can control a whole society
What bothered me most was the erotic tone in some parts. It didn’t feel artistic or meaningful — just sudden and crude, and honestly unnecessary. Instead of adding depth, it made the story feel awkward and pulled me out of the mood completely.
In the end, the ideas are interesting, but the execution is dull. the style didn’t work for me — too slow , and sometimes too vulgar for no real reason. It’s a book with potential, but not an enjoyable read.
April 26, 2013
One of the best novelists I have discovered in recent years is Ismail Kadare. I find his work extraordinary. Kafkaesque, Voltairean, wonderful, disturbing, bizarre and just incredibly well-written. This book contains a long novella, a shorter novella and a short story. All three pieces are absolutely amazing. I was especially impressed with the middle piece, 'The Blinding Order', which is certainly one of the best novellas I have ever read. It's harrowing and awful but also sublime and revelatory. Kadare is a genius.
July 2, 2023
The narrator in the first story has been invited to sit in the grandstand at the next Mayday parade. It is a great honor. He sets out for the event late because he’s waiting for his girlfriend Susana. She has broken things off with him, but he hopes... Eventually he sets out. He runs into a friend named Leka B .
The paranoia, the anxiety, the careful inspection of the faces of people who look directly at you.
He reminisces about a recent local political party inquiry in which he had been interrogated, and then oddly exonerated.
He makes his way through various checkpoints on his way to the grandstand and still his thoughts run to the suspicions of strangers who he passes.
He runs into the obsequious party climber GZ. At one point, GZ‘s career was in question when a cousin of his was arrested. But eventually GZ was exonerated. It was not known who he betrayed to maintain his own status.
He runs into his uncle with him. They have fought about everything ideological all his life.
He sees the Successor’s advisor and wants to blame him for Susana‘s breaking things off with him. He recalls the story of Calchas, who may or may not have suggested to Agamemnon that he sacrificed his daughter, Iphigenia.
He then sees Susana across the way. Then he recalls a purge that occurred within the broadcasting service he works for.
The next story is called “The Blinding Order.“ It takes place in the Ottoman Empire. The time is unclear. It revolves around the ancient superstition that some people have an evil eye. This becomes a worry, after several high profile, suspicious accidents involving falls, and illness take place. The government creates a commission to blind people who have the evil eye. They come up with five methods, some more painful than others. Then they set up local offices. The condition is called Misophthalmia. The treatment disoculation.
Then we meet Marie’s family. She is about to marry into a branch of the Quprili family.
People have become quite paranoid. They examine the eyes of everybody in detail. They have philosophical conversations about which of the methods for blinding is the most humane. And they get to the matter of how do you detect that someone has the evil eye, and do not simply envy or resent a person that they have accused. And, of course, it makes every person in the country suspect their neighbor.
There were volunteers for the procedure. One said, “I am grateful to the qorrfirman, for having freed me from the awful pangs of conscience. I felt at the thought that my eyes might be a cause of further misfortune.”
The order goes into effect, and then the media begins to find and report on events that support the bill. They must drum up support for the policy.
At dinner, Marie’s fiancé announces that he has been chosen to be a qorrfirman. The family questions him about the selection process and other matters.
Then come the naysayers. Their voice builds. Then the offices are shut down.
Some months later, the blinded start showing up in coffee shops and public squares. Their recovery from the procedure took a long time.
This is a short and very powerful story about superstition, panic, fear, and government overreach, and the ultimate visible evidence once calm is restored. I am reminded of The Atlantic Monthly’s call for a pandemic forgiveness last October.
The last story is about the changing reasons to repair the Great Wall of China.
The paranoia, the anxiety, the careful inspection of the faces of people who look directly at you.
He reminisces about a recent local political party inquiry in which he had been interrogated, and then oddly exonerated.
He makes his way through various checkpoints on his way to the grandstand and still his thoughts run to the suspicions of strangers who he passes.
He runs into the obsequious party climber GZ. At one point, GZ‘s career was in question when a cousin of his was arrested. But eventually GZ was exonerated. It was not known who he betrayed to maintain his own status.
He runs into his uncle with him. They have fought about everything ideological all his life.
He sees the Successor’s advisor and wants to blame him for Susana‘s breaking things off with him. He recalls the story of Calchas, who may or may not have suggested to Agamemnon that he sacrificed his daughter, Iphigenia.
He then sees Susana across the way. Then he recalls a purge that occurred within the broadcasting service he works for.
The next story is called “The Blinding Order.“ It takes place in the Ottoman Empire. The time is unclear. It revolves around the ancient superstition that some people have an evil eye. This becomes a worry, after several high profile, suspicious accidents involving falls, and illness take place. The government creates a commission to blind people who have the evil eye. They come up with five methods, some more painful than others. Then they set up local offices. The condition is called Misophthalmia. The treatment disoculation.
Then we meet Marie’s family. She is about to marry into a branch of the Quprili family.
People have become quite paranoid. They examine the eyes of everybody in detail. They have philosophical conversations about which of the methods for blinding is the most humane. And they get to the matter of how do you detect that someone has the evil eye, and do not simply envy or resent a person that they have accused. And, of course, it makes every person in the country suspect their neighbor.
There were volunteers for the procedure. One said, “I am grateful to the qorrfirman, for having freed me from the awful pangs of conscience. I felt at the thought that my eyes might be a cause of further misfortune.”
The order goes into effect, and then the media begins to find and report on events that support the bill. They must drum up support for the policy.
At dinner, Marie’s fiancé announces that he has been chosen to be a qorrfirman. The family questions him about the selection process and other matters.
Then come the naysayers. Their voice builds. Then the offices are shut down.
Some months later, the blinded start showing up in coffee shops and public squares. Their recovery from the procedure took a long time.
This is a short and very powerful story about superstition, panic, fear, and government overreach, and the ultimate visible evidence once calm is restored. I am reminded of The Atlantic Monthly’s call for a pandemic forgiveness last October.
The last story is about the changing reasons to repair the Great Wall of China.
March 5, 2022
Kadare blended love and politics in this book passionately, Think about an empty jar, it's open for you... you can put anything in there, in this context karade took one spoon of love and one spoon of politics and then he shook the jar heavily and when he's doing this, he choose a narrator, who was living a miserable life and to find some peace he tried to compare his story with Greek mythology. He was losing his girlfriend for the sake of politics, and this political game is still relevant, so the reader can easily connect to the story despite of it's boundary. But, the question remains, as a reader how did i process the whole story.. i will say, i'm confused, i didn't actually like the narrative.. i think the story isn't compact like the way i expected it to be. But, I liked some individual chapter, i liked the monologue and the conversation of the narrator with himself. But the ending is absolutely beautiful as expected.. that means this story didn't manage to create something new for me.
August 5, 2024
Two novellas and a story, really. I'm not as invested in Kadare when he's in his totalitarian allegory mode, but I do really enjoy the second novella here, The Blinding Order. Kadare's prose curates an atmosphere: omnipresent dread, subconscious betrayal, erotic discomfiture, unresolvable powerlessness. The titular novella is too short and anticlimactic, though the psychological consideration of life as a political object in an authoritarian regime proves rich and specific yet timeless and beyond place. The Blinding Order is the gold standard here. Kadare's interweaving of the contemporary and the arcane always strikes me in its precision. He writes prosaic fables. "The Great Wall" is a nonevent. The recognition of warring groups having very dissimilar logics for perpetual warfare amuses, but Kadare doesn't bring as much insight as he normally does.
January 29, 2023
Apenas li A Filha de Agamémnon.
August 10, 2023
Albania suffered a dictatorship in line with Stalinism. The story in the intro of how Kadare managed to smuggle his manuscripts out of Albania is wild. Exfiltration was extremely perilous, so he limited his risks by bringing only a few pages on each trip. To get the remainder of the material out of the country, the Claude Durand went to Tirana. Over two separate trips, he managed to bring all the remaining sheets back to Paris.The manuscripts were deposited in a safe at the Banque de la Cité in Paris. With the bank’s approval, Kadare entrusted him with the key to the safe and gave him authority to publish if Kadare was killed. This spy-like scenario seems so remote now, but ideas and books are still feared and forbidden today.
Agamemnon’s daughter brings the idea of sacrifice as a sealant of obedience. I just read and analyzed Agamemnon and I don’t agree w Kadare’s view but I can appreciate the use of the story as an allegory. His main focus is the corrupting effect of dictatorship over its subjects: the paranoia, the meanness, the cowardice. The protagonist voice could be the protagonist of 1984, huge Orwellian vibes.
“The Blinding order” is so strikingly similar to Saramago’s Blindness, in its straight face irony and logical unfurling that I was sure Kadare had been inspired by Saramago. But alas!!! Kadare’s story is 11 years older!!
Agamemnon’s daughter brings the idea of sacrifice as a sealant of obedience. I just read and analyzed Agamemnon and I don’t agree w Kadare’s view but I can appreciate the use of the story as an allegory. His main focus is the corrupting effect of dictatorship over its subjects: the paranoia, the meanness, the cowardice. The protagonist voice could be the protagonist of 1984, huge Orwellian vibes.
“The Blinding order” is so strikingly similar to Saramago’s Blindness, in its straight face irony and logical unfurling that I was sure Kadare had been inspired by Saramago. But alas!!! Kadare’s story is 11 years older!!
September 30, 2022
Straightforward, trenchant and excellent!
I enjoyed so much reading this book!
I clearly saw what happened back then in the times of communism and why people where so afraid to even let perceive what their opinion on the most ordinary things was.
Kadare unravelled everything with such power and mastery, with every page showing more and more gravity!
No wonder why he smuggled the manuscript out of Albania. In writing such direct accusations against the state and its mechanisms, he risked his life.
I enjoyed so much reading this book!
I clearly saw what happened back then in the times of communism and why people where so afraid to even let perceive what their opinion on the most ordinary things was.
Kadare unravelled everything with such power and mastery, with every page showing more and more gravity!
No wonder why he smuggled the manuscript out of Albania. In writing such direct accusations against the state and its mechanisms, he risked his life.
August 30, 2022
Two novellas and a short story by the amazing Ismail Kadare. The first novella, titled Agamemnon's Daughter, takes place during the time Albania was still in its harsh dictatorship. A young man who has been secretly critical of the government unexpectedly received an invitation to sit in the stands reserved for the elite to watch a parade glorifying the Albanian regime. He had no intention of going except his girlfriend had just broken up with him because her father had demanded it. The father was a high ranking officer in the government and the young man was hoping to see the daughter in the stands. In the young mans mind the fathers demand was comparable to Agamemnon's sacrifice of his daughter for the sake of Greece's war on Troy. The second novella, titled The Blinding Order, was spectacular. In it a decree has been issued that states all those with the evil eye shall be blinded. In order to find all those who possess the evil eye the government has requested any informants who know of such a person to send their names in, thus creating an out of control method to seek revenge on ones enemies. The last short story, titled The Great Wall, was about the Great Wall of China and was a philosophical discussion of its many decays and rebuilding over the years and about the changing perception of it by the Chinese and barbarians.
January 5, 2022
Beautifully written, definitely an author I would go back to for other books. Reminded me of reading Faulkner or Hemingway.
Favorite quote: “The knowledge taught by fear is incomparably superior to the product of all civilizations and academies put together.”
Favorite quote: “The knowledge taught by fear is incomparably superior to the product of all civilizations and academies put together.”
January 13, 2021
A Filha de Agamenon e O Sucessor são duas novelas que tratam mais ou menos dos mesmos eventos: os acontecimentos em torno da morte do sucessor de Enver Hoxha, o bizarro ditador da Albânia comunista.
Ismail Kadaré escreveu a primeira (e melhor) quando ainda vivia no país, em meados dos anos 80, e a história de como o manuscrito original saiu do país é digna de filme de espionagem. A segunda é dos anos 2000, quando o autor já vivia na França.
O mais interessante dos dois textos é como o totalitarismo permeia todos os aspectos da vida dos personagens, do casamento ao trabalho. Até os diálogos domésticos parecem ser monitorados pela Sigurimi, uma espécie de KGB albanesa.
Há em ambas as novelas um clima denso, um ar pesado de respirar, uma paranoia constante e a possibilidade permanente de, sem motivo aparente, ser mandado a uma “fazenda coletiva” ou ao paredão de fuzilamento.
Como sempre, Kadaré intercala as tramas com referências aos mitos e tragédias gregas, o que demonstra não apenas a erudição do autor, mas em especial o quanto permanecem atuais os dilemas humanos das histórias da antiguidade.
Mas, apesar do incontestável talento do autor (como pode esse homem não ter ganho o prêmio Nobel?), é um livro, em especial na segunda parte, que não tem a fluidez de obras como Abril Despedaçado e Crônica na Pedra. E nem dá para colocar na conta da tradução, porque todas saíram da pena da mesma pessoa, Bernardo Joffily, e foram feitas direto do albanês. Bom livro, mas longe dos melhores momentos de Kadaré.
Ismail Kadaré escreveu a primeira (e melhor) quando ainda vivia no país, em meados dos anos 80, e a história de como o manuscrito original saiu do país é digna de filme de espionagem. A segunda é dos anos 2000, quando o autor já vivia na França.
O mais interessante dos dois textos é como o totalitarismo permeia todos os aspectos da vida dos personagens, do casamento ao trabalho. Até os diálogos domésticos parecem ser monitorados pela Sigurimi, uma espécie de KGB albanesa.
Há em ambas as novelas um clima denso, um ar pesado de respirar, uma paranoia constante e a possibilidade permanente de, sem motivo aparente, ser mandado a uma “fazenda coletiva” ou ao paredão de fuzilamento.
Como sempre, Kadaré intercala as tramas com referências aos mitos e tragédias gregas, o que demonstra não apenas a erudição do autor, mas em especial o quanto permanecem atuais os dilemas humanos das histórias da antiguidade.
Mas, apesar do incontestável talento do autor (como pode esse homem não ter ganho o prêmio Nobel?), é um livro, em especial na segunda parte, que não tem a fluidez de obras como Abril Despedaçado e Crônica na Pedra. E nem dá para colocar na conta da tradução, porque todas saíram da pena da mesma pessoa, Bernardo Joffily, e foram feitas direto do albanês. Bom livro, mas longe dos melhores momentos de Kadaré.
December 1, 2023
با ترجمهٔ غبرائی خواندمش. از جیبیهای نشر نیماژ. سختخوان بود. ترجمه را، خصوصاً بعضی جاهایش را، دوست نداشتم. ولی در نهایت توانسته بود مفهوم را منتقل کند. یا شاید فکر کنم که اینطور بود.
چقدر فضای خفهٔ داستانهای شرق اروپای دوران سیاه کمونیسم دلگیر است، و چقدر شبیه، و چقدر آشنا.
چقدر فضای خفهٔ داستانهای شرق اروپای دوران سیاه کمونیسم دلگیر است، و چقدر شبیه، و چقدر آشنا.
January 9, 2018
Ifigenia, la hija de Agamenón, rey de Grecia, según cuenta la tradición debía ser sacrificada por su padre en Aúlide para así calmar a la furiosa diosa Artemis que había parado el viento con una gran encalmada que impedía a las naves de los aqueos zarpar en dirección hacia la campaña de Troya. Agamenón, implacable, encuentra razonable el sacrificio de la hija en pos de sus beneficios políticos y militares. Al final, sin embargo, Ifigenia es sustituida, en el último instante, por una cervatilla en su lugar.
Suzana es la hija del miembro principal del buró, del hombre señalado a suceder al Gran Líder cuando cese en su mando. Y ese futuro de gloria y poder podría verse empañado por el comportamiento de la mujer, que mantiene una relación amorosa inconveniente que podría manchar la reputación del padre en una Albania repleta de odios, intrigas, dobleces, traiciones por el poder, y en donde todo vale para ocupar un puesto tan preciado como el de sucesor. Suzana debe sacrificarse, como Ifigenia, por el bien político del padre, y abandonar la relación poco recomendable.
Kadaré establece un paralelismo entre las intrigas y el juego sucio del Partido con el mito de Ifigenia, iguala los intereses y ambiciones de Agamenón y del sucesor, reflexiona acerca de las cuestiones morales del poder “a cualquier precio”, sobre la inhumanidad de los dirigentes y de los totalitarismos e, incluso, introduce una reflexión sobre el propio mito relacionada con su máxima de “la gran estratagema” (en función de si todo el sacrificio de Ifigenia y la posterior sustitución por el cervatillo no obedecen a las farsas políticas, si sólo son maniobras de distracción del poder para aterrorizar a los súbditos).
En efecto, si un Líder envía al sacrificio a su propia hija, ¿qué penalidades y entregas no exigirá de su pueblo? Con ese momento, ejemplar, el pánico se apodera de todo el sistema, desde los hombres situados más abajo hasta los altos miembros pertenecientes al gobierno. De ese modo, el sucesor envía un mensaje de lo que está dispuesto a empeñar por su ambición de alcanzar el poder, un mensaje dirigido en dos planos (aterroriza al pueblo, y porque sirve para amedrentar, además, a sus futuros camaradas y rivales políticos y le demuestra al Líder su entrega incondicional a la idea y al sistema).
Troya, lo relacionado con la ciudad épica, su asedio y caída, siempre ha sido un tema referencial en la narrativa del escritor albanés, así como sus constantes referencias a la cultura y a los mitos clásicos. En Ifigenia, encuentra, además, muchos de los elementos de las tragedias de su admirado Esquilo, con un drama que se puede superponer a la dictadura de Hoxha.
La perspectiva elegida para narrar los acontecimientos se inserta en un determinado y significativo momento temporal: el amante de Suzana se dirige a las celebraciones del Primero de Mayo, tan cargadas de significado e importancia en los países comunistas, y que en Albania son una gran fiesta política y nacional. Mientras camina en pos de ubicarse en una tribuna de preferencia, desgrana sus pensamientos y reflexiones en primera persona acerca de la pérdida de la mujer, del sacrificio, de la hipocresía de la clase dirigente, de la pavorosa vida cotidiana bajo el comunismo… Todo ello salpicado con su percepción personal del momento, del gentío que, como autómatas, se dirigen a presenciar el desfile y vitorear a sus líderes.
Todos ellos son producto del pánico, de las escuchas, de los chivatazos, de las delaciones, del estado de angustia y depravación moral que rige en Albania. Ante la visión de una familia que acude al acto, el protagonista argumenta un “padre ideal con hijas de la mano bajo el cielo socialista de mayo”, una estampa perfecta que ha costado el sufrimiento de muchos, porque “¿a qué precio te has ganado esa estampa? ¿A quién has enviado al destierro?”, le gustaría preguntarle al padre alegre y orgulloso. Es el sustrato más bajo del sistema amoral, donde rige el monopolio de la sospecha y la degradación humana.
El engranaje de perfidia y crueldades hace que todos crean que poseen un pasado deshonroso, plagado de actos contra el Estado, un pasado que ocultar bajo el temor, y se conducen como cáscaras vacías, alienados, movidos por vacías consignas de aterradores promesas: “Defenderemos los principios del marxismo-leninismo, incluso si nos vemos obligados a comer hierba”. Cualquier sacrificio será escaso; Ifigenia encaja a la perfección en todo ello.
Aprovechando las reflexiones del protagonista, Kadaré va repasado uno a uno los crímenes del régimen y los diferentes resortes que ha utilizado para reprimir las conciencias, desde la autocrítica, las asambleas, las purgas, los procesos, las depuraciones, la censura a los escritores… la historia política de Albania, las decisiones de su Gran Líder Hoxha con todas sus iniquidades.
Kadaré, mediante trucos y engaños, consiguió sacar del país, junto a otras obras, La hija de Agamenón, primer escrito en el que se narra de forma directa y explícita su postura ante el régimen criminal de Hoxha. Antes, había utilizado subterfugios (la llamada noche otomana para ubicar sucesos políticos muy similares a los de la Albania actual, las alusiones más o menos veladas al control de las conciencias en El Palacio de los sueños, al terror político en El firmán de la ceguera…), pero La hija de Agamenón, acabada en 1986, era una narración impensable e imposible para aquellos momentos: y tremendamente comprometedora y peligrosa. Tras ciertas peripecias, fue puesta a salvo en París, en el interior de una caja fuerte, gracias al editor Claude Durand. Después, a la caída del comunismo, aquellos textos vieron la luz, muchos de ellos retocados, pero no así La hija de Agamenón, que apareció editada exactamente igual que fue redactada entre los años 84 y 86.
El empeño de Kadaré en la obra es el de reflejar la caída moral, de los políticos, de las ideas, de los ideales, del Gran Dirigente, pero, además, el vaciamiento y agostamiento de la vida bajo el comunismo: “¿Cuántos años de semejante aridez serían precisos para convertir la vida en un erial?”, se pregunta el protagonista. Y añade: “Y todo eso por la sola razón de que así, marchita, reseca, la vida era más fácilmente dominable”. Al final del texto, Kadaré establece un paralelismo de Troya, de la campaña y de los sucesos que conducen a su final, con la infamia. La historia de Troya, repleta de muertes y artimañas políticas, no es sino la historia de una infamia.
No en vano, ¿qué podía esperarse de un país cuyo modelo era Stalin? Porque Albania era estalinista, mucho más que soviética, y cuando consideró que la URSS de Jruschov traicionaba los ideales de Stalin se alejó de ella. De esa manera, si Stalin había entregado a su propio hijo Jarkov a la muerte, sacrificándolo a manos de los nazis, el ejemplo entre los políticos albaneses debía cundir: tenían que ser como Stalin, cualquier sacrificio era poco, y el pueblo pensaría como en tiempos del sacrificio llevado a cabo en Aúlide: “Si el jefe supremo, Agamenón, había sacrificado a su propia hija, ni la más leve muestra de piedad podía esperarse para nadie”.
Y sí con el sacrifico de Ifigenia arrancaba la campaña de Troya, es decir, la campaña de la infamia, el sacrificio de Suzana rehusando a su relación amorosa para no perjudicar al sucesor sólo podía desembocar en la demoledora conclusión: si nadie espera ya piedad, entonces, “nada se opone ya al agostamiento de la vida”.
Suzana es la hija del miembro principal del buró, del hombre señalado a suceder al Gran Líder cuando cese en su mando. Y ese futuro de gloria y poder podría verse empañado por el comportamiento de la mujer, que mantiene una relación amorosa inconveniente que podría manchar la reputación del padre en una Albania repleta de odios, intrigas, dobleces, traiciones por el poder, y en donde todo vale para ocupar un puesto tan preciado como el de sucesor. Suzana debe sacrificarse, como Ifigenia, por el bien político del padre, y abandonar la relación poco recomendable.
Kadaré establece un paralelismo entre las intrigas y el juego sucio del Partido con el mito de Ifigenia, iguala los intereses y ambiciones de Agamenón y del sucesor, reflexiona acerca de las cuestiones morales del poder “a cualquier precio”, sobre la inhumanidad de los dirigentes y de los totalitarismos e, incluso, introduce una reflexión sobre el propio mito relacionada con su máxima de “la gran estratagema” (en función de si todo el sacrificio de Ifigenia y la posterior sustitución por el cervatillo no obedecen a las farsas políticas, si sólo son maniobras de distracción del poder para aterrorizar a los súbditos).
En efecto, si un Líder envía al sacrificio a su propia hija, ¿qué penalidades y entregas no exigirá de su pueblo? Con ese momento, ejemplar, el pánico se apodera de todo el sistema, desde los hombres situados más abajo hasta los altos miembros pertenecientes al gobierno. De ese modo, el sucesor envía un mensaje de lo que está dispuesto a empeñar por su ambición de alcanzar el poder, un mensaje dirigido en dos planos (aterroriza al pueblo, y porque sirve para amedrentar, además, a sus futuros camaradas y rivales políticos y le demuestra al Líder su entrega incondicional a la idea y al sistema).
Troya, lo relacionado con la ciudad épica, su asedio y caída, siempre ha sido un tema referencial en la narrativa del escritor albanés, así como sus constantes referencias a la cultura y a los mitos clásicos. En Ifigenia, encuentra, además, muchos de los elementos de las tragedias de su admirado Esquilo, con un drama que se puede superponer a la dictadura de Hoxha.
La perspectiva elegida para narrar los acontecimientos se inserta en un determinado y significativo momento temporal: el amante de Suzana se dirige a las celebraciones del Primero de Mayo, tan cargadas de significado e importancia en los países comunistas, y que en Albania son una gran fiesta política y nacional. Mientras camina en pos de ubicarse en una tribuna de preferencia, desgrana sus pensamientos y reflexiones en primera persona acerca de la pérdida de la mujer, del sacrificio, de la hipocresía de la clase dirigente, de la pavorosa vida cotidiana bajo el comunismo… Todo ello salpicado con su percepción personal del momento, del gentío que, como autómatas, se dirigen a presenciar el desfile y vitorear a sus líderes.
Todos ellos son producto del pánico, de las escuchas, de los chivatazos, de las delaciones, del estado de angustia y depravación moral que rige en Albania. Ante la visión de una familia que acude al acto, el protagonista argumenta un “padre ideal con hijas de la mano bajo el cielo socialista de mayo”, una estampa perfecta que ha costado el sufrimiento de muchos, porque “¿a qué precio te has ganado esa estampa? ¿A quién has enviado al destierro?”, le gustaría preguntarle al padre alegre y orgulloso. Es el sustrato más bajo del sistema amoral, donde rige el monopolio de la sospecha y la degradación humana.
El engranaje de perfidia y crueldades hace que todos crean que poseen un pasado deshonroso, plagado de actos contra el Estado, un pasado que ocultar bajo el temor, y se conducen como cáscaras vacías, alienados, movidos por vacías consignas de aterradores promesas: “Defenderemos los principios del marxismo-leninismo, incluso si nos vemos obligados a comer hierba”. Cualquier sacrificio será escaso; Ifigenia encaja a la perfección en todo ello.
Aprovechando las reflexiones del protagonista, Kadaré va repasado uno a uno los crímenes del régimen y los diferentes resortes que ha utilizado para reprimir las conciencias, desde la autocrítica, las asambleas, las purgas, los procesos, las depuraciones, la censura a los escritores… la historia política de Albania, las decisiones de su Gran Líder Hoxha con todas sus iniquidades.
Kadaré, mediante trucos y engaños, consiguió sacar del país, junto a otras obras, La hija de Agamenón, primer escrito en el que se narra de forma directa y explícita su postura ante el régimen criminal de Hoxha. Antes, había utilizado subterfugios (la llamada noche otomana para ubicar sucesos políticos muy similares a los de la Albania actual, las alusiones más o menos veladas al control de las conciencias en El Palacio de los sueños, al terror político en El firmán de la ceguera…), pero La hija de Agamenón, acabada en 1986, era una narración impensable e imposible para aquellos momentos: y tremendamente comprometedora y peligrosa. Tras ciertas peripecias, fue puesta a salvo en París, en el interior de una caja fuerte, gracias al editor Claude Durand. Después, a la caída del comunismo, aquellos textos vieron la luz, muchos de ellos retocados, pero no así La hija de Agamenón, que apareció editada exactamente igual que fue redactada entre los años 84 y 86.
El empeño de Kadaré en la obra es el de reflejar la caída moral, de los políticos, de las ideas, de los ideales, del Gran Dirigente, pero, además, el vaciamiento y agostamiento de la vida bajo el comunismo: “¿Cuántos años de semejante aridez serían precisos para convertir la vida en un erial?”, se pregunta el protagonista. Y añade: “Y todo eso por la sola razón de que así, marchita, reseca, la vida era más fácilmente dominable”. Al final del texto, Kadaré establece un paralelismo de Troya, de la campaña y de los sucesos que conducen a su final, con la infamia. La historia de Troya, repleta de muertes y artimañas políticas, no es sino la historia de una infamia.
No en vano, ¿qué podía esperarse de un país cuyo modelo era Stalin? Porque Albania era estalinista, mucho más que soviética, y cuando consideró que la URSS de Jruschov traicionaba los ideales de Stalin se alejó de ella. De esa manera, si Stalin había entregado a su propio hijo Jarkov a la muerte, sacrificándolo a manos de los nazis, el ejemplo entre los políticos albaneses debía cundir: tenían que ser como Stalin, cualquier sacrificio era poco, y el pueblo pensaría como en tiempos del sacrificio llevado a cabo en Aúlide: “Si el jefe supremo, Agamenón, había sacrificado a su propia hija, ni la más leve muestra de piedad podía esperarse para nadie”.
Y sí con el sacrifico de Ifigenia arrancaba la campaña de Troya, es decir, la campaña de la infamia, el sacrificio de Suzana rehusando a su relación amorosa para no perjudicar al sucesor sólo podía desembocar en la demoledora conclusión: si nadie espera ya piedad, entonces, “nada se opone ya al agostamiento de la vida”.
October 18, 2020
This book consists of the novella, Agamemnon's Daughter and two stories, "The Blinding Order" and "The Great Wall".
Written just before the fall of the Stalinist regime in Albania, the title novella was smuggled out to France and intended to be published after the author's death, and thus is far more direct and outspoken in its criticism of the regime than the more allegorical novels which preceded it. There is really no plot; the entire novel is the stream-of-consciousness of a low-level official who has just learned that his girlfriend Suzana, the daughter of a high official, has been ordered to break up with him to avoid jeopardizing her father's new position as the Successor to The Guide, Enver Hoxha. He has also, much to his and everyone else's surprise, been invited to watch the May Day Parade from the official grandstand. He feels a combination of pride and guilt, afraid that others will think he must have done something terrible to be rewarded by the regime. He compares his girlfriend's being ordered to break up with him to Agamemnon's sacrifice of Iphigeneia. He also recalls various events (purges) in the history of Albania. As we see his thoughts we feel that he is totally paranoid -- and then realize that that is precisely the point of the novella, that Albanian life as the dictatorship becomes more desperate is a kind of institutionalized paranoia.
"The Blinding Order" is an allegory of a similar kind, although less realistic in style, set in the unreal "Ottoman Empire" of The Palace of Dreams. "The Great Wall" is about a rebuilding of the Great Wall of China in the time of Timurlane, and also serves as an allegory of the Albanian regime and the so-called "iron curtain". All three are well-written and reminiscent of Kafka.
Written just before the fall of the Stalinist regime in Albania, the title novella was smuggled out to France and intended to be published after the author's death, and thus is far more direct and outspoken in its criticism of the regime than the more allegorical novels which preceded it. There is really no plot; the entire novel is the stream-of-consciousness of a low-level official who has just learned that his girlfriend Suzana, the daughter of a high official, has been ordered to break up with him to avoid jeopardizing her father's new position as the Successor to The Guide, Enver Hoxha. He has also, much to his and everyone else's surprise, been invited to watch the May Day Parade from the official grandstand. He feels a combination of pride and guilt, afraid that others will think he must have done something terrible to be rewarded by the regime. He compares his girlfriend's being ordered to break up with him to Agamemnon's sacrifice of Iphigeneia. He also recalls various events (purges) in the history of Albania. As we see his thoughts we feel that he is totally paranoid -- and then realize that that is precisely the point of the novella, that Albanian life as the dictatorship becomes more desperate is a kind of institutionalized paranoia.
"The Blinding Order" is an allegory of a similar kind, although less realistic in style, set in the unreal "Ottoman Empire" of The Palace of Dreams. "The Great Wall" is about a rebuilding of the Great Wall of China in the time of Timurlane, and also serves as an allegory of the Albanian regime and the so-called "iron curtain". All three are well-written and reminiscent of Kafka.
May 27, 2024
و این حس آشنایی
July 1, 2024
I can’t believe I finished the book on the day the author died. such a talented writer
July 28, 2024
ریدم به کسی که معرفیش کرد.
June 17, 2025
باید یادداشتی جستاری چیزی میشد نه داستان.
June 28, 2009
Rating: 2.0-2.5 stars
I wanted to enjoy these stories more than I did but they weren't particularly more original or affecting than others I've read; writing about the paranoia and corrosive brutality of dictatorships stretches back at least 2,000 years to Suetonius and Tacitus.
The first story, "Agamemnon's Daughter," is the best in the collection. The title refers to the episode from the Trojan War when Agamemnon sacrifices his favorite daughter, Iphigenia, to the gods so the Achaean fleet can sail. In this reworking of the tale, the narrator (a minor employee of the state's TV station), is the lover of the heir to the regime's leader (the Great Guide). The lover is the only person to get a real name - Suzana. Everyone else, including the narrator, remain unidentified or get initials. She decides to give the narrator up to protect her father's career. As a sop, the narrator is invited to a grandstand seat at a celebratory parade. The story recounts his journey from his apartment to the stands; and, as he walks there, he reviews episodes from his life that reveal the paranoia necessary to survive and he considers parallels between what's happening to him and Iphigenia's tale. As he watches the parade and sees his former lover in the stands, the narrator realizes what Iphigenia's sacrifice meant 3,000 years ago and what his own means today - the state will trample all feelings of humanity, love and feeling, even the desires of the regime's highest members.
Largely, the story worked for me, especially the last few pages when the translator captured the narrator's epiphany in moving language, but there wasn't any emotional connection for me.
I found the same problem in story number two, "The Blinding Order," which recounts the events that follow an Ottoman sultan's command to eradicate the "evil eye." Again, it's a well written/well translated story but not engaging enough. I wrote that sentence last night when I was drafting this review. This morning, reflecting further, I will say that this story did have a more human focus (on Marie, whose fiance is one of the inquisitors/torturers but who is sacrificed by the regime when it comes time to discontinue the edict) but the tone was too impersonal to engage me in her tragedy.
"The Great Wall" takes place during the final years of Timur the Lame's reign of terror, when his armies were poised to cross into China (probably - he died before anything developed but, considering that he had slaughtered his way from the Bosporus to the Indus, it's not unlikely that the Middle Kingdom was his next target). But this story isn't about that at all; it's more about "walls" and what they symbolize both to those within and to those without. To honest, I'm still not sure how to understand everything that happens in the story.
While I wasn't overly impressed with Kadare's writing presented here, I think I'll give him another chance with one of his novels. Perhaps in a longer work, he develops the emotional connection lacking in these stories.
I wanted to enjoy these stories more than I did but they weren't particularly more original or affecting than others I've read; writing about the paranoia and corrosive brutality of dictatorships stretches back at least 2,000 years to Suetonius and Tacitus.
The first story, "Agamemnon's Daughter," is the best in the collection. The title refers to the episode from the Trojan War when Agamemnon sacrifices his favorite daughter, Iphigenia, to the gods so the Achaean fleet can sail. In this reworking of the tale, the narrator (a minor employee of the state's TV station), is the lover of the heir to the regime's leader (the Great Guide). The lover is the only person to get a real name - Suzana. Everyone else, including the narrator, remain unidentified or get initials. She decides to give the narrator up to protect her father's career. As a sop, the narrator is invited to a grandstand seat at a celebratory parade. The story recounts his journey from his apartment to the stands; and, as he walks there, he reviews episodes from his life that reveal the paranoia necessary to survive and he considers parallels between what's happening to him and Iphigenia's tale. As he watches the parade and sees his former lover in the stands, the narrator realizes what Iphigenia's sacrifice meant 3,000 years ago and what his own means today - the state will trample all feelings of humanity, love and feeling, even the desires of the regime's highest members.
Largely, the story worked for me, especially the last few pages when the translator captured the narrator's epiphany in moving language, but there wasn't any emotional connection for me.
I found the same problem in story number two, "The Blinding Order," which recounts the events that follow an Ottoman sultan's command to eradicate the "evil eye." Again, it's a well written/well translated story but not engaging enough. I wrote that sentence last night when I was drafting this review. This morning, reflecting further, I will say that this story did have a more human focus (on Marie, whose fiance is one of the inquisitors/torturers but who is sacrificed by the regime when it comes time to discontinue the edict) but the tone was too impersonal to engage me in her tragedy.
"The Great Wall" takes place during the final years of Timur the Lame's reign of terror, when his armies were poised to cross into China (probably - he died before anything developed but, considering that he had slaughtered his way from the Bosporus to the Indus, it's not unlikely that the Middle Kingdom was his next target). But this story isn't about that at all; it's more about "walls" and what they symbolize both to those within and to those without. To honest, I'm still not sure how to understand everything that happens in the story.
While I wasn't overly impressed with Kadare's writing presented here, I think I'll give him another chance with one of his novels. Perhaps in a longer work, he develops the emotional connection lacking in these stories.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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