What do you think?
Rate this book
The Devil's Workshop
'The devil had his workshop in Belarus. That's where the deepest graves are. But no one knows about it.'
A young man grows up in a town with a sinister history. The concentration camp may have been liberated years ago, but its walls still cast their long shadows and some of the inhabitants are quite determined to not to allow anyone to forget. When the camp is marked for demolition, one of the survivors begins a campaign to preserve it, quickly attracting donations from wealthy benefactors, a cult-like following of young travellers, and a steady stream of tourists buying souvenir t-shirts. But before long, the authorities impose a brutal crack-down, leaving only an 'official' memorial and three young collaborators whose commitment to the act of remembering will drive them ever closer to the evils they hoped to escape.
Bold, brilliant and blackly comic, The Devil's Workshop paints a deeply troubling portrait of a country dealing with its ghosts and asks: at what point do we consign the past to history?
A young man grows up in a town with a sinister history. The concentration camp may have been liberated years ago, but its walls still cast their long shadows and some of the inhabitants are quite determined to not to allow anyone to forget. When the camp is marked for demolition, one of the survivors begins a campaign to preserve it, quickly attracting donations from wealthy benefactors, a cult-like following of young travellers, and a steady stream of tourists buying souvenir t-shirts. But before long, the authorities impose a brutal crack-down, leaving only an 'official' memorial and three young collaborators whose commitment to the act of remembering will drive them ever closer to the evils they hoped to escape.
Bold, brilliant and blackly comic, The Devil's Workshop paints a deeply troubling portrait of a country dealing with its ghosts and asks: at what point do we consign the past to history?
166 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2009
20 people are currently reading
970 people want to read
About the author
Jáchym Topol
47 books105 followersJáchym Topol was born in Prague, Czechoslovakia, to Josef Topol, Czech playwright, poet, and translator of Shakespeare, and Jiřina Topolová, daughter of the famous Czech Catholic writer Karel Schulz.
Topol's writing began with lyrics for the rock band Psí vojáci, led by his younger brother, Filip, in the late '70s and early '80s. In 1982, he cofounded the samizdat magazine Violit, and in 1985 Revolver Revue, a samizdat review that specialized in modern Czech writing.
Because of his father's dissident activities, Topol was not allowed to go to university. After graduating from gymnasium he worked as a stoker, stocker, construction worker, and coal deliveryman. Several times he was imprisoned for short periods, both for his samizdat publishing activities and for his smuggling across the Polish border in cooperation with members of Polish Solidarity. He was also a signatory of the Charter 77 human rights declaration.
During the 1989 Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia, Topol wrote for the independent newsletter Informační servis, which later became the investigative weekly Respekt. As of October 2009, he was on the staff of the daily Lidové noviny.
He currently lives in Prague with his wife, Barbara, and their two daughters, Josefína and Marie.
Topol's writing began with lyrics for the rock band Psí vojáci, led by his younger brother, Filip, in the late '70s and early '80s. In 1982, he cofounded the samizdat magazine Violit, and in 1985 Revolver Revue, a samizdat review that specialized in modern Czech writing.
Because of his father's dissident activities, Topol was not allowed to go to university. After graduating from gymnasium he worked as a stoker, stocker, construction worker, and coal deliveryman. Several times he was imprisoned for short periods, both for his samizdat publishing activities and for his smuggling across the Polish border in cooperation with members of Polish Solidarity. He was also a signatory of the Charter 77 human rights declaration.
During the 1989 Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia, Topol wrote for the independent newsletter Informační servis, which later became the investigative weekly Respekt. As of October 2009, he was on the staff of the daily Lidové noviny.
He currently lives in Prague with his wife, Barbara, and their two daughters, Josefína and Marie.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 86 reviews
October 26, 2014
[4.5] A sick little satire about the touristification of former concentration camps, with a surprisingly British sense of black comedy loitering under the looming totalitarianism of Central European history (Czech Republic, Belarus). The first "project", in Terezín, often had a tone similar to lampoon of "edgy" new media startups. (Theresienstadt: If Franz Kafka hadn't died, they would have killed him here is the sort of souvenir t-shirt slogan you can see Nathan Barley coming up with.) And a Continental version of the patronising Gap Yah Sloane/hippy - with an interest in Eastern Europe not India - is much in evidence among volunteers who turn up for a campaign to save the site from demolition. The tone gets a little darker as some of the cast go east to Belarus (where I learn that Khatyn is not Katyn - a different place and was a different and bloodier massacre). One GR reviewer said it required a strong stomach, though - as someone who wouldn't consider watching the likes of The Human Centipede and gets the impression most other adults these days aren't bothered by such stuff - I'd say it was just typical of dark satire. Again it brought to mind Brooker / Orwell / Self minus the swallowed thesaurus.
It's dubious to judge a translation without understanding the original, but this one came across well: it sounded entirely natural yet free of the litfic cliches that some translators turn to. (And which some of us want to escape by reading foreign books.) The only disappointment was that a few names seem to have been changed to our spellings (Artur and Alexei would hardly be difficult to understand).
The ending is a bit of a cop-out; otherwise The Devil's Workshop made some good points via a very readable satire / adventure that was far from dreary or worthy. Many like to think [near-]genocidal discrimination is a thing of the past in Europe but the treatment of Roma people by the Czechs and their neighbours pops up briefly, and of course, obscure Belarus is very much an old-style dictatorship.
I also found the author's treatment of the narrator admirable: often in Eng-lang fiction, narrators who have a dark side are generally presented in the same old way as the covers slowly come off the wrongdoing and creepiness and a person, it seems, must be either morally damned or redeemed in the eyes of the readership. Jáchym Topol eschews that kind of well-worn black and white presentation. Having read recently that The Good Soldier Svejk is essentially the Czech national book, and that - according to a deliberately flippant source - many Czechs think of themselves as similar to Svejk, or of him as part of the national character, I wondered how this narrator's combination of apparent intellectual simplicity and expedient wiliness might compare. (A perennial frustration to reading lit from countries you don't know much about - cluelessness re. non-lookupable references.)
Whilst, in fairness, I did avoid Second World War related fiction for a long time and so my overview is rather outdated and patchy, The Devil's Workshop seems like an excellent antidote, in its present day setting, its black humour and its brevity, to the typical earnest historical novel about the 1940s.
It's dubious to judge a translation without understanding the original, but this one came across well: it sounded entirely natural yet free of the litfic cliches that some translators turn to. (And which some of us want to escape by reading foreign books.) The only disappointment was that a few names seem to have been changed to our spellings (Artur and Alexei would hardly be difficult to understand).
The ending is a bit of a cop-out; otherwise The Devil's Workshop made some good points via a very readable satire / adventure that was far from dreary or worthy. Many like to think [near-]genocidal discrimination is a thing of the past in Europe but the treatment of Roma people by the Czechs and their neighbours pops up briefly, and of course, obscure Belarus is very much an old-style dictatorship.
I also found the author's treatment of the narrator admirable: often in Eng-lang fiction, narrators who have a dark side are generally presented in the same old way as the covers slowly come off the wrongdoing and creepiness and a person, it seems, must be either morally damned or redeemed in the eyes of the readership. Jáchym Topol eschews that kind of well-worn black and white presentation. Having read recently that The Good Soldier Svejk is essentially the Czech national book, and that - according to a deliberately flippant source - many Czechs think of themselves as similar to Svejk, or of him as part of the national character, I wondered how this narrator's combination of apparent intellectual simplicity and expedient wiliness might compare. (A perennial frustration to reading lit from countries you don't know much about - cluelessness re. non-lookupable references.)
Whilst, in fairness, I did avoid Second World War related fiction for a long time and so my overview is rather outdated and patchy, The Devil's Workshop seems like an excellent antidote, in its present day setting, its black humour and its brevity, to the typical earnest historical novel about the 1940s.
October 30, 2025
Не зрозуміла що, власне, хотів сказати автор. Але в цілому це треш, хоч і добряче написаний. Як b-movie. Десь з другої половини книги щось сильно пішло не так.
Було цікаво дізнатись як можна писати на сакральні теми, але, здається, це не найкращий взірець.
Було цікаво дізнатись як можна писати на сакральні теми, але, здається, це не найкращий взірець.
November 22, 2024
Seda raamatut ma näen vist lähiajal oma isiklikus öökinos. Jälle on LR avaldanud raamatu, mis lööb lugeja tükkideks ja paiskab kuhugi, kust mugavustsoon enam isegi ei paista. Vaata ise, kuidas tagasi saad! Aitäh!
November 23, 2017
It takes a bold writer to approach two examples of man's inhumanity to man with dark humour, but the author of this short book achieves this allowing the reader to feel uncomfortable as he confronts the greatest horrors of the twentieth century.
The book splits the story between Terezin in the Czech republic, a town which was the site of Nazi massacres and a Belarus town where the Russian army burned the inhabitants in their farm buildings. The unnamed narrator, born in a Nazi camp, as an adult ends up in prison after being accused of murdering his father. In prison he helps inmates to their execution before returning to Terezin as it faces bulldozing by the civic authorities. With his uncle he creates a campaign to save the town and the humour here is black as it satirises the disneyfication of the holocaust. He then moves to Belarus where he confronts a museum of the Russian genocide worthy of a hammer horror.
This was a short book but the ideas and images will remain long in my memory as it tackles an important idea, does the passing of time allow society to commercialize horror thus undermining it's significance and the necessity of keeping the story alive to future generations as a lesson never to forget.
The book splits the story between Terezin in the Czech republic, a town which was the site of Nazi massacres and a Belarus town where the Russian army burned the inhabitants in their farm buildings. The unnamed narrator, born in a Nazi camp, as an adult ends up in prison after being accused of murdering his father. In prison he helps inmates to their execution before returning to Terezin as it faces bulldozing by the civic authorities. With his uncle he creates a campaign to save the town and the humour here is black as it satirises the disneyfication of the holocaust. He then moves to Belarus where he confronts a museum of the Russian genocide worthy of a hammer horror.
This was a short book but the ideas and images will remain long in my memory as it tackles an important idea, does the passing of time allow society to commercialize horror thus undermining it's significance and the necessity of keeping the story alive to future generations as a lesson never to forget.
April 13, 2017
štve mě, že jsem si s touto knížkou dávala tak na čas. normálně bych ji totiž přečetla jedním dechem. jenže jsem si na ni ten čas udělat neuměla. což byla chyba, protože bych si z ní odnesla daleko víc, ale mé hodnocení to nijak neovlivní.
Bělorusko. kolik toho o něm vlastně víme. pokud si vzpomeneme alespoň na hlavní město, jsme machři.
proč jsme nikdy o Bělorusku neslyšeli, když tam byla zabita celá čtvrtina předválečné populace? což je nějakých 2 200 000 obyvatel. nedá vám to. rozjedete net a hledáte, jak je možné, že vám tato informace unikla. nechápete. ale města jako Osvětim, Terezín, Mauthausen či Dachau známe víc než dobře.
otázka toho, zda se má vymazat ze světa otřesná minulost a nebo zachovat jako varování pro další generace. autor na tuto otázku odpověď nenalézá. jak by taky mohl. ale nutí člověka, se nad touto otázkou minimálně zamyslet.
je to šílené, když si vezmete, že na místa strachu a utrpení, kde denně bylo zabíjeno tísíce lidí, se lidé vracejí. vracejí se. chodí po půdě ještě nasáklé krví. ''kochají se''. berou to jako takovou atrakci. pojedeme na výlet. hah.
a pak si říkáte, jestli se svět neposral. ano, ano. mělo by se to připomínat, no jistě. ale myslím si, že již tolik toho bylo z těchto míst natočeno a že tyto místa nám nemají, co dát. protože jejich úkolem nebylo dávat, ale brát. brát a zbavovat se. ničit. týrat. ponižovat.
taková místa by tu zkrátka neměla již nikdy být.
Bělorusko. kolik toho o něm vlastně víme. pokud si vzpomeneme alespoň na hlavní město, jsme machři.
proč jsme nikdy o Bělorusku neslyšeli, když tam byla zabita celá čtvrtina předválečné populace? což je nějakých 2 200 000 obyvatel. nedá vám to. rozjedete net a hledáte, jak je možné, že vám tato informace unikla. nechápete. ale města jako Osvětim, Terezín, Mauthausen či Dachau známe víc než dobře.
otázka toho, zda se má vymazat ze světa otřesná minulost a nebo zachovat jako varování pro další generace. autor na tuto otázku odpověď nenalézá. jak by taky mohl. ale nutí člověka, se nad touto otázkou minimálně zamyslet.
je to šílené, když si vezmete, že na místa strachu a utrpení, kde denně bylo zabíjeno tísíce lidí, se lidé vracejí. vracejí se. chodí po půdě ještě nasáklé krví. ''kochají se''. berou to jako takovou atrakci. pojedeme na výlet. hah.
a pak si říkáte, jestli se svět neposral. ano, ano. mělo by se to připomínat, no jistě. ale myslím si, že již tolik toho bylo z těchto míst natočeno a že tyto místa nám nemají, co dát. protože jejich úkolem nebylo dávat, ale brát. brát a zbavovat se. ničit. týrat. ponižovat.
taková místa by tu zkrátka neměla již nikdy být.
March 14, 2023
Чехи, концтарбори, па'мять і білоруси.
Якби читала це до повномасшабної війни, то могла б бодай співчувати, а так, вибачте, у нас тут свій геноцид в режимі реального часу.
Незрозуміло також, чому чи не єдиний українець, який з'являється в тексті, - вбивця і кат? Що цим хотіів сказать автор, перепршую за трюїзм, але незрозуміло.
Якби читала це до повномасшабної війни, то могла б бодай співчувати, а так, вибачте, у нас тут свій геноцид в режимі реального часу.
Незрозуміло також, чому чи не єдиний українець, який з'являється в тексті, - вбивця і кат? Що цим хотіів сказать автор, перепршую за трюїзм, але незрозуміло.
October 4, 2015
Recently, a screencap from a Swedish high schooler's Facebook made the rounds on social media. It pictured her and her friends on a school trip to Auschwitz, dancing under the ARBEIT MACHT FREI sign, captioned with "Refuse to be PC, lol!"
In The Devil's Workshop, a young Swedish woman comes to Theresienstadt looking for her family history, winds up staying and masterminding the campaign to turn what's left of the city into a tourist attraction, complete with slogans like "If Franz Kafka had survived, they would have killed him here". Unlike the moronic brats in the example above, it's done for the best of reasons; to make sure this is remembered. She's horrified at the cavalier attitude towards atrocities in the so-called "East" (to which everyone, all the way to Vladivostok, responds "What do you mean, East? This is Central Europe!"). Concentration camps turned into pig farms, goats grazing in the ruins of Theresienstadt, etc. In the West, we've learned to compartmentalize, to turn monuments into safe Never Again-Lands. In the parts of the world where millions died at their neighbours' hands, it all got hushed up by the next tyrant.
The fact that it's Theresienstadt - constructed by the Nazis as the "nice" face of concentration camps - is not coincidental. The fact that I, as a Swede, have spent much of the review talking about a minor character in the book probably isn't either. Our hero, of course, is the guy who grew up in what's left of the city, with a mother traumatized by literally being fished out of a pile of corpses and a father who represented the new oppressors. How do you make a memorial to something that's ongoing? Well, he's not sure, but there's always demand for it, especially with the likes of Lukashenko and Putin working for political points... Conscripting the dead to fight ideological battles for you has rarely not worked. Once we've picked the martyrs, we can point them at any villain we want. At the same time, we need to remember, don't we? How can we promise "never again" if we don't know what happened - how can we promise it if we define it as ONE event, safely stored away behind glass? If we only honour the dead, how do we rate the living?
The Devil's Workshop works partly exactly because it's a quick, picaresque romp, with a bleak sense of humour not miles away from Vonnegut or Hrabal. Our nameless hero is swept up in a story older and bigger than himself, one where nobody really has any say, but everyone tries to wrest control of the narrative to make it play along. Memory is a tricky beast, but so is The Devil's Workshop. That it works fine as a short, sharp companion piece to the equally excellent Museum of Abandoned Secrets doesn't hurt either.
As I write this, Europe is once again scuttling back towards the slogans and easy answers of the 30s, in many cases spearheaded by the very countries who grew up on rhetoric about the Soviet friends smashing fascism. Wasn't it a Czech who said "When you smash monuments, keep the pedestals - they'll come in handy"?
In The Devil's Workshop, a young Swedish woman comes to Theresienstadt looking for her family history, winds up staying and masterminding the campaign to turn what's left of the city into a tourist attraction, complete with slogans like "If Franz Kafka had survived, they would have killed him here". Unlike the moronic brats in the example above, it's done for the best of reasons; to make sure this is remembered. She's horrified at the cavalier attitude towards atrocities in the so-called "East" (to which everyone, all the way to Vladivostok, responds "What do you mean, East? This is Central Europe!"). Concentration camps turned into pig farms, goats grazing in the ruins of Theresienstadt, etc. In the West, we've learned to compartmentalize, to turn monuments into safe Never Again-Lands. In the parts of the world where millions died at their neighbours' hands, it all got hushed up by the next tyrant.
The fact that it's Theresienstadt - constructed by the Nazis as the "nice" face of concentration camps - is not coincidental. The fact that I, as a Swede, have spent much of the review talking about a minor character in the book probably isn't either. Our hero, of course, is the guy who grew up in what's left of the city, with a mother traumatized by literally being fished out of a pile of corpses and a father who represented the new oppressors. How do you make a memorial to something that's ongoing? Well, he's not sure, but there's always demand for it, especially with the likes of Lukashenko and Putin working for political points... Conscripting the dead to fight ideological battles for you has rarely not worked. Once we've picked the martyrs, we can point them at any villain we want. At the same time, we need to remember, don't we? How can we promise "never again" if we don't know what happened - how can we promise it if we define it as ONE event, safely stored away behind glass? If we only honour the dead, how do we rate the living?
The Devil's Workshop works partly exactly because it's a quick, picaresque romp, with a bleak sense of humour not miles away from Vonnegut or Hrabal. Our nameless hero is swept up in a story older and bigger than himself, one where nobody really has any say, but everyone tries to wrest control of the narrative to make it play along. Memory is a tricky beast, but so is The Devil's Workshop. That it works fine as a short, sharp companion piece to the equally excellent Museum of Abandoned Secrets doesn't hurt either.
As I write this, Europe is once again scuttling back towards the slogans and easy answers of the 30s, in many cases spearheaded by the very countries who grew up on rhetoric about the Soviet friends smashing fascism. Wasn't it a Czech who said "When you smash monuments, keep the pedestals - they'll come in handy"?
October 12, 2017
A partir de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, se introdujo la propuesta de conservación de lugares del horror, como el campo de concentración de Auschwitz, que a su vez se convirtieron en sitios sagrados meta-religiosos, lugar de peregrinaje e indirectamente de una forma bizarra de turismo e ingreso de recursos.
La novela de Topol desarrolla una sátira cáustica de este fenómeno paradójico de nuestro tiempo, llevándolo a extremos absurdos y sórdidos.
La acción se sitúa en la primera parte en Terezin, cerca de Praga, para trasladarse en la segunda parte a las cercanías de Minsk, Belarús, el país del frío.
La novela organiza muy bien a los personajes, y con un correcto e irónico lenguaje juega hasta el límite en su narración satírica. Podría haber sido más efectiva integrando mejor las dos partes.
La novela de Topol desarrolla una sátira cáustica de este fenómeno paradójico de nuestro tiempo, llevándolo a extremos absurdos y sórdidos.
La acción se sitúa en la primera parte en Terezin, cerca de Praga, para trasladarse en la segunda parte a las cercanías de Minsk, Belarús, el país del frío.
La novela organiza muy bien a los personajes, y con un correcto e irónico lenguaje juega hasta el límite en su narración satírica. Podría haber sido más efectiva integrando mejor las dos partes.
October 21, 2015
O genocidě v Bělorusku toho vim asi stejně jako o českým zeměpise. Topolova osvěta na mě proto působila stejně osvěžujícím dojmem jako Paliho informace, že Vítkovice a Ostrava jsou více méně jedna a ta samá věc.
Příběh vypráví pasáček koz z Terezína, který se specializuje na zvelebování pohřebišť. K tomuto povoláni se samozřejmě nedostal přes jobs.cz, ale oklikou. Jelikož vyrůstal někdy po válce v Terezíně, tak neměl playstation 4 a musel si tak hrát venku. Z toho důvodu se motal po zrušeným koncentráku, kterej ještě nesloužil jako pamětní místo, ale jako opuštěnej koncentrák. V místě kde umírali lidi, si tak hráli kluci na schovávanou.
Postupem času přišly chytrý hlavy na to, že se na lidským utrpení dá dost vydělat a začali tábor zvelebovat a propagovat, aby ho dostali na turisitickou mapu Evropy. Toto se jim dařilo velmi dobře a pasáček koz se jim staral o IT.
Spojení se zdá podivuhodné, ale není, protože v mladí seděl v base za nějaký kundoviny. V tu dobu byl v Československu ještě trest smrti a někdo musel odsouzené vodit na křeslo. Tato činnost byla dříve velmi neoblíbená a pasáček koz, byl jeden z malá, který to zvládal, aniž by se u toho zeblil nebo zesral. Když pak byl trest smrti zrušen, pasáčka se každej bál z pověrčivosti a on tak neměl co dělat a kamarádil se dál s bachařem, který se staral o vedení statistiky mrtvých. Ten taky neměl co dělat a tak učil pasáčka zacházet s počítačem.
Proto teda IT. Podobně se mimochodem k IT dostal i můj kamarád Libor. Vypravěčovo hlavní úkol je zadávání kontaktů do tabulek, o ostatní záležitosti se starají ostatní. Mezi ostatní se řadí dobrodružná mládež, která pochází z celý Evropy a snaží se jít po stopách svých babiček a dědečků. Pomalu tak vzniká komunita, který se podaří z Terezína udělat, to co je z něj teď.
Mezi dobrovolníkama je i Alex a Maruška, ze kterých se vyklubou pěkný svině. Unesou totiž vypravěče do Běloruska, kde se ho snaží naverbovat na podobnej projekt a využit tak jeho kontaktů, který sebou nosí na flešce, aby dostali víc turistů do Běloruska a vydělali tak na šílenostech, který se děly v Chatyni.
Zajímavý na tom celým je, že celej svět zná Osvětim, Terezín, Dachau a Cristiana Ronalda, ale historii Běloruska, kde během druhy světový vymlatili skoro polovinu obyvatelstva, jsem se ve škole neučil. Vyvražďování se účastnili nejen Němci, ale i Rusové. Divím se, že v Laskavych bohyních o tom nebyla ani zmínka.
9/10
Příběh vypráví pasáček koz z Terezína, který se specializuje na zvelebování pohřebišť. K tomuto povoláni se samozřejmě nedostal přes jobs.cz, ale oklikou. Jelikož vyrůstal někdy po válce v Terezíně, tak neměl playstation 4 a musel si tak hrát venku. Z toho důvodu se motal po zrušeným koncentráku, kterej ještě nesloužil jako pamětní místo, ale jako opuštěnej koncentrák. V místě kde umírali lidi, si tak hráli kluci na schovávanou.
Postupem času přišly chytrý hlavy na to, že se na lidským utrpení dá dost vydělat a začali tábor zvelebovat a propagovat, aby ho dostali na turisitickou mapu Evropy. Toto se jim dařilo velmi dobře a pasáček koz se jim staral o IT.
Spojení se zdá podivuhodné, ale není, protože v mladí seděl v base za nějaký kundoviny. V tu dobu byl v Československu ještě trest smrti a někdo musel odsouzené vodit na křeslo. Tato činnost byla dříve velmi neoblíbená a pasáček koz, byl jeden z malá, který to zvládal, aniž by se u toho zeblil nebo zesral. Když pak byl trest smrti zrušen, pasáčka se každej bál z pověrčivosti a on tak neměl co dělat a kamarádil se dál s bachařem, který se staral o vedení statistiky mrtvých. Ten taky neměl co dělat a tak učil pasáčka zacházet s počítačem.
Proto teda IT. Podobně se mimochodem k IT dostal i můj kamarád Libor. Vypravěčovo hlavní úkol je zadávání kontaktů do tabulek, o ostatní záležitosti se starají ostatní. Mezi ostatní se řadí dobrodružná mládež, která pochází z celý Evropy a snaží se jít po stopách svých babiček a dědečků. Pomalu tak vzniká komunita, který se podaří z Terezína udělat, to co je z něj teď.
Mezi dobrovolníkama je i Alex a Maruška, ze kterých se vyklubou pěkný svině. Unesou totiž vypravěče do Běloruska, kde se ho snaží naverbovat na podobnej projekt a využit tak jeho kontaktů, který sebou nosí na flešce, aby dostali víc turistů do Běloruska a vydělali tak na šílenostech, který se děly v Chatyni.
Zajímavý na tom celým je, že celej svět zná Osvětim, Terezín, Dachau a Cristiana Ronalda, ale historii Běloruska, kde během druhy světový vymlatili skoro polovinu obyvatelstva, jsem se ve škole neučil. Vyvražďování se účastnili nejen Němci, ale i Rusové. Divím se, že v Laskavych bohyních o tom nebyla ani zmínka.
9/10
October 22, 2013
This was an interesting read to say the least. I think I'm going to write an essay on it so I'll probably come back and write a full review later. It's pretty disturbing and horrific near the end, so I wouldn't recommend it for the fainthearted among you, but it definitely brought up some interesting issues, particularly in its satirization of dark tourism and how we, as a community, remember the Holocaust. I'm particularly interested in the role of satire itself in memory and what it is able, and perhaps freer to do, than perhaps other genres, so yeah I'll definitely be coming back to this one.
April 18, 2015
This novel by Czech writer Jáchym Topol is a dark satire which asks troubling questions on what we should remember and what we should forget.
The unnamed narrator grows up in Terezín, a town which houses a Medieval fortress and a former Nazi prison. His father is a military bandsman, his mother a survivor of the prison, as are most of the people of the town. The narrator grows up, in a mockery of a pastoral idyll, herding goats on the fortifications, scrabbling in underground tunnels for Nazi memorabilia and failing to live up to his father’s ambitions before he is forced to leave.
Years later he returns to Terezín. The army has left and the authorities no longer want to maintain the town. His “uncle”, Lebo, born in the Nazi prison, is determined that nothing should be lost. They begin a protest movement which draws international attention – and lucrative opportunities as they sell souvenir T-shirts and accommodate visitors and obtain funding from philanthropists worldwide. Then political upheaval means the narrator has to leave for Belarus where the book takes a darker turn.
The narrator has a sly naivety. He recounts events as he experiences them, stripped of context. This can make it difficult at times to follow events. There is an afterword by the translator which fills in some of the gaps but I think he was right to put it at the end. It means that like the narrator, the reader experiences conflict and instability as most people do when they are at the heart of them –seeing details, specifics, without a coherent narrative, which is only imposed later, and somehow make whatever occurred seem inevitable.
The narrator has no sense of history, only of a home. He accepts the world as he finds it and makes the best of the opportunities he sees. In contrast, Terezín attracts what he calls the “bunk seekers”. They are distinct from the casual sightseers who take photos and walk the heritage trail. They are western descendants of Holocaust survivors who believe they have a personal interest in the town’s story. They look for meaning in the prison camp, something to give them an identity.
The book’s humour lies in the way it overturns assumptions. Sara, a bunk seeker from Sweden, berates the narrator. She, not he, is the one that truly suffers the legacy of Terezín. His complexes only arise because of what he’s lived through. Hers are a product of her unique personality.
The simple language of the book contrasts with the complexity of the ideas as the story turns in on itself. How is the past commodified, and for whose benefit? If you don’t know your history, does it still shape you? Does it even make sense to call it "yours"?
This book is dark, unsettling and raises lots of questions. It also resolutely refuses to provide any answers.
-
This review first appeared on TNBBC's book blog http://thenextbestbookblog.blogspot.c...
The unnamed narrator grows up in Terezín, a town which houses a Medieval fortress and a former Nazi prison. His father is a military bandsman, his mother a survivor of the prison, as are most of the people of the town. The narrator grows up, in a mockery of a pastoral idyll, herding goats on the fortifications, scrabbling in underground tunnels for Nazi memorabilia and failing to live up to his father’s ambitions before he is forced to leave.
Years later he returns to Terezín. The army has left and the authorities no longer want to maintain the town. His “uncle”, Lebo, born in the Nazi prison, is determined that nothing should be lost. They begin a protest movement which draws international attention – and lucrative opportunities as they sell souvenir T-shirts and accommodate visitors and obtain funding from philanthropists worldwide. Then political upheaval means the narrator has to leave for Belarus where the book takes a darker turn.
The narrator has a sly naivety. He recounts events as he experiences them, stripped of context. This can make it difficult at times to follow events. There is an afterword by the translator which fills in some of the gaps but I think he was right to put it at the end. It means that like the narrator, the reader experiences conflict and instability as most people do when they are at the heart of them –seeing details, specifics, without a coherent narrative, which is only imposed later, and somehow make whatever occurred seem inevitable.
The narrator has no sense of history, only of a home. He accepts the world as he finds it and makes the best of the opportunities he sees. In contrast, Terezín attracts what he calls the “bunk seekers”. They are distinct from the casual sightseers who take photos and walk the heritage trail. They are western descendants of Holocaust survivors who believe they have a personal interest in the town’s story. They look for meaning in the prison camp, something to give them an identity.
The book’s humour lies in the way it overturns assumptions. Sara, a bunk seeker from Sweden, berates the narrator. She, not he, is the one that truly suffers the legacy of Terezín. His complexes only arise because of what he’s lived through. Hers are a product of her unique personality.
The simple language of the book contrasts with the complexity of the ideas as the story turns in on itself. How is the past commodified, and for whose benefit? If you don’t know your history, does it still shape you? Does it even make sense to call it "yours"?
This book is dark, unsettling and raises lots of questions. It also resolutely refuses to provide any answers.
-
This review first appeared on TNBBC's book blog http://thenextbestbookblog.blogspot.c...
May 28, 2023
L'idea di base sarebbe molto interessante, ma lo stile mi è risultato illeggibile.
Tutto in prima persona, si capisce quello che succede solo a sprazzi.
Lo chiamano erede di Hrabal, avrei dovuto prevederlo che andava a finire così visto che anche per Hrabal avevo avuto le stesse difficoltà.
Tutto in prima persona, si capisce quello che succede solo a sprazzi.
Lo chiamano erede di Hrabal, avrei dovuto prevederlo che andava a finire così visto che anche per Hrabal avevo avuto le stesse difficoltà.
August 18, 2020
Belarus (then Byelorussia) suffered the worst devastation of any country during the war in terms of a percentage of its population. Over a quarter of its population, 2,290,000 people, died during the conflict. The population was 9.5 million in 1941, and 5.2 million in 1945. 66% of all Jews in the country, over a million, were amongst those dead.
Jáchym Topol's The Devil’s Workshop, is a darkly comic way of relating the horrors of the past to the present in the country. Topol is Czech, and his unnamed narrator has been partly responsible for a project that turned the crumbling town of Terezín, the site of a ghetto and concentration camp during the Second World War, into a tourist attraction; its guided tours, and merchandise including Kafka Tshirts and 'ghetto pizzas'. Madonna was amongst those who funded its regeneration.
In the second half of the novel, the narrator finds himself in Belarus unexpectedly commissioned to repeat his success of marketing Terezín with another memorial site, Khatyn. On 22 March 1943 a battalion formed of Ukrainian collaborators and a Waffen-SS special battalion, murdered the entire population of the town, 149 people, including 75 children.
This is the mid-2000s, the country is ravaged by Lukashenko's dictatorship. It receives around 5,000 overseas tourists a year only.
Topol took over 20 years to write this short novel. There is a clear frustration amongst his characters directed at the ignorance of the West towards Eastern Europe; as if the country had been forgotten. It serves as a reminder as to how historical memory of atrocity and its meaning are formed at a time when we are becoming another generation removed.
Lubashenko's mentions sit uneasily, especially with him in power eleven years on, and how this is only now headlines for the world's press.
He includes a piece from Slavomir Adamovich, legendary poet and social activist, who was detained subsequent to its publication for in effect 3 years (he now lives in Norway)..(a snippet)..
Jáchym Topol's The Devil’s Workshop, is a darkly comic way of relating the horrors of the past to the present in the country. Topol is Czech, and his unnamed narrator has been partly responsible for a project that turned the crumbling town of Terezín, the site of a ghetto and concentration camp during the Second World War, into a tourist attraction; its guided tours, and merchandise including Kafka Tshirts and 'ghetto pizzas'. Madonna was amongst those who funded its regeneration.
In the second half of the novel, the narrator finds himself in Belarus unexpectedly commissioned to repeat his success of marketing Terezín with another memorial site, Khatyn. On 22 March 1943 a battalion formed of Ukrainian collaborators and a Waffen-SS special battalion, murdered the entire population of the town, 149 people, including 75 children.
It’s going to be the most famous memorial site in the world. The devil had his workshop here in Belarus. The deepest graves are in Belarus. But nobody knows about them..
This is the mid-2000s, the country is ravaged by Lukashenko's dictatorship. It receives around 5,000 overseas tourists a year only.
“Guess who had the most casualties during the war? We did! Guess who had the most people murdered under communism? We did. And guess who still has people disappearing, eh? We do! That’s the division of labour in the globalized world of today, damnit! Thailand: sex. Italy: paintings and seaside. Holland: clogs and cheese. Right? And Belarus? Horror trip, right?.
Topol took over 20 years to write this short novel. There is a clear frustration amongst his characters directed at the ignorance of the West towards Eastern Europe; as if the country had been forgotten. It serves as a reminder as to how historical memory of atrocity and its meaning are formed at a time when we are becoming another generation removed.
Lubashenko's mentions sit uneasily, especially with him in power eleven years on, and how this is only now headlines for the world's press.
He includes a piece from Slavomir Adamovich, legendary poet and social activist, who was detained subsequent to its publication for in effect 3 years (he now lives in Norway)..(a snippet)..
Kill the President!
Axe him, shoot him
Chop off his accursed head
Murder the son of a bitch!
August 26, 2025
Tšehhi ja Valgevene, lääs ja ida, samad sõjapärandi taagad. Inimjulmuse piiritus. Mahavaikimised ajaloo koletislikust perioodist. Šokeeriv ja silmiavav tähelepanujuhtimine valgevenelaste vastasest mahavaikitud hävitustööst, saatanliku põrgu töötoast.
January 28, 2022
Zajímavá povídka z prostředí Terezína a následně i Ukrajiny. Jsou zde zmíněny některé historické události, na něž je naroubován zajímavý fikční děj. Čtení knihy mě bavilo.
May 18, 2019
You know how a really dark, bitter hallucinogenic satire can reveal something deep and moving? Well, sometimes it can also just be dark and bitter and hallucinogenic.
June 21, 2015
Spicuiri din recenzia finala care se gaseste pe blogul meu
..........................................
Ce face Topol? Judecă cu ajutorul unui inteligent sarcasm și cu un aspru umor mercantilismul de care contemporaneitatea dă dovadă. Sub stindardul „Nimic nu trebuie uitat!” omul contemporan se pare că a reușit să dezvolte un nou tip de turism: turismul terorii sau al morții. La Auschwitz, fostul lagăr de exterminare este transformat într-un superb muzeu care are parte de toate elementele necesare ca să-ți facă părul măciucă și să te îngrozească, fără a uita să ofere turiștilor șansa de a se caza la hoteluri cât se poate de confortabile. Lângă Munchen un alt muzeu: Dachau. La Budapesta este un muzeu al terorii: un stabiliment închinat crimelor comuniștilor în care, am o bănuială, stângiști extremiști se duc pentru a se închina în tăcere zeului Stalin și apostolilor săi. Biletele sunt destul de scumpe, la oricare muzeu te-ai duce, iar toți banii se duc undeva, la cineva, la oricine altcineva decât la rudele celor care se regăsesc cu numele pe tablele comemorative. Cine face bani din această industrie a morții? Cine a inventat-o? De ce nu este gratuită intrarea la astfel de muzee? De ce nu se aplică sistemul donațiilor dacă tot ce se dorește este ca memoria publicului să nu facă uitată perioada în care oameni au murit cu milioanele datorită unor demenți care s-au crezut/au devenit adevărați Cavaleri ai Apocalipsei?
Topol nu dă cu toporul, ci taie cu delicatețe direct în carne vie. Transformând Terezin-ul într-un fel de Woodstock cehesc, ceea ce nu ar fi absolut deloc de neînțeles având în vedere că în spațiul respectiv totuși se dorește o celebrare a supraviețuitorilor care trăiesc pentru a nu-și face uitați părinții uciși, Topol nu ezită să aducă în scenă și mercantilismul atât de necesar pentru o mișcare/organizație non-profit/monument comemorativ prin intermediul unor tricouri pe care tinerii promovează moartea și morții care au dansat un ultim umil și macabru dans în vechea cetate. De ce a deranjat ce se întâmpla la Terezin autoritățile? Pentru că tinerii făceau prea mulți bani? Pentru că erau prea zgomotoși? Pentru că nu se făceau auziți? Pentru că erau boemi? Sau pentru că dorința și cheful lor de viață se află în totală și directă contradicție cu ceea ce un memorial al terorii și morții ar trebui să însemne?
.......................................
..........................................
Ce face Topol? Judecă cu ajutorul unui inteligent sarcasm și cu un aspru umor mercantilismul de care contemporaneitatea dă dovadă. Sub stindardul „Nimic nu trebuie uitat!” omul contemporan se pare că a reușit să dezvolte un nou tip de turism: turismul terorii sau al morții. La Auschwitz, fostul lagăr de exterminare este transformat într-un superb muzeu care are parte de toate elementele necesare ca să-ți facă părul măciucă și să te îngrozească, fără a uita să ofere turiștilor șansa de a se caza la hoteluri cât se poate de confortabile. Lângă Munchen un alt muzeu: Dachau. La Budapesta este un muzeu al terorii: un stabiliment închinat crimelor comuniștilor în care, am o bănuială, stângiști extremiști se duc pentru a se închina în tăcere zeului Stalin și apostolilor săi. Biletele sunt destul de scumpe, la oricare muzeu te-ai duce, iar toți banii se duc undeva, la cineva, la oricine altcineva decât la rudele celor care se regăsesc cu numele pe tablele comemorative. Cine face bani din această industrie a morții? Cine a inventat-o? De ce nu este gratuită intrarea la astfel de muzee? De ce nu se aplică sistemul donațiilor dacă tot ce se dorește este ca memoria publicului să nu facă uitată perioada în care oameni au murit cu milioanele datorită unor demenți care s-au crezut/au devenit adevărați Cavaleri ai Apocalipsei?
Topol nu dă cu toporul, ci taie cu delicatețe direct în carne vie. Transformând Terezin-ul într-un fel de Woodstock cehesc, ceea ce nu ar fi absolut deloc de neînțeles având în vedere că în spațiul respectiv totuși se dorește o celebrare a supraviețuitorilor care trăiesc pentru a nu-și face uitați părinții uciși, Topol nu ezită să aducă în scenă și mercantilismul atât de necesar pentru o mișcare/organizație non-profit/monument comemorativ prin intermediul unor tricouri pe care tinerii promovează moartea și morții care au dansat un ultim umil și macabru dans în vechea cetate. De ce a deranjat ce se întâmpla la Terezin autoritățile? Pentru că tinerii făceau prea mulți bani? Pentru că erau prea zgomotoși? Pentru că nu se făceau auziți? Pentru că erau boemi? Sau pentru că dorința și cheful lor de viață se află în totală și directă contradicție cu ceea ce un memorial al terorii și morții ar trebui să însemne?
.......................................
January 24, 2021
2.5/5
Prva polovica romana (koja se odvija u fiktivnoj verziji češkog grada-utvrde Terezinu) je dosta spora i predvidiva, druga polovica (u Bjelorusiji) je brža, morbidnija, luđa, Topol vas taman narajca i onda paf - gotovo.
Osim sjajno izvedenog satiričnog prikaza turizma koji se vrti oko gadosti čovječanstva kao što su holokaust i genocidi i jedno dva poglavlja koja su ovaj roman mogli usmjeriti u sjajan horor roman, osjećam da mi ništa drugo neće ostati u dobrom sjećanju.
Sve u svemu, dobri kratki košmar od kojeg će mi ostati samo par nevjerojatnih slika.
Prva polovica romana (koja se odvija u fiktivnoj verziji češkog grada-utvrde Terezinu) je dosta spora i predvidiva, druga polovica (u Bjelorusiji) je brža, morbidnija, luđa, Topol vas taman narajca i onda paf - gotovo.
Osim sjajno izvedenog satiričnog prikaza turizma koji se vrti oko gadosti čovječanstva kao što su holokaust i genocidi i jedno dva poglavlja koja su ovaj roman mogli usmjeriti u sjajan horor roman, osjećam da mi ništa drugo neće ostati u dobrom sjećanju.
Sve u svemu, dobri kratki košmar od kojeg će mi ostati samo par nevjerojatnih slika.
March 31, 2019
"Hladnom zemljom" (izdavač "Treći Trg", prevod Tihana Hamović)
Da li oni koji zagovaraju zaborav žele uspostavljanje novih odnosa, ili samo žele da se zataška uloga nekog naroda, neke klase, neke ličnosti ili porodice u strahotama koje su minule? I da li oni koji zagovaraju neprekidno izlaganje užasa istorije očima sadašnjosti nastoje da „hrane pamćenje sveta“ da žrtve ne bi bile uzaludne, i da nas istorija zaista nečemu nauči, ili je njihov cilj održavanje neprijateljstava, stalno podsticanje nacionalne mržnje radi lakše manipulacije masom, kao i skretanja pažnje na „spoljne neprijatelje“ da bi se neadekvatni političko-ekonomski odnosi održavali na snazi? Nije li, na taj način, i jednima i drugima, glavni motiv kojim se rukovode zloupotrebljavajući sećanje i zaborav, zapravo novac?
Takva pitanja postavlja roman češkog pisca Jahima Topola: Hladnom zemljom, koji je objavio Treći Trg u prevodu Tihane Hamović. Već u epigramu nalazimo stih: „Gle imam tuđe ožiljke, odakle mi?“ Dorote Maslovske, i on nam nedvosmisleno odgovara na pitanje o mogućem potpunom zaboravu i početku iznova. Svuda oko nas, a možda i u genetskom materijalu koji su nam preneli prethodni naraštaji porobljenih ili porobljivača, upisano je sećanje na zlo, svest o tome šta ljudi čine jedni drugima. Oprosti mi, Bože, i ja sam čovek. I ja sam ubica. Šta me razlikuje od onog koji je pucao? On je imao pušku, imao je naređenje, imao je viziju da brani neku ideju ili poredak, ili da se za novi bori. Pre svega, pripadao je onima koji su sa istim ciljem i oružjem krenuli ka nekom cilju. Sada je možda već nemoguće pronaći grad kojim nisu prolazile vojske, različite vojske, međusobno suprotstavljene, stotine hiljada vojnika, sa muzikom, paradama, konjima, tenkovima, ranjenicima, zarobljenicima. Možda je dovoljno zagrebati zemlju u blizini bilo kojeg grada, pa će se ispod nekog sloja zemlje, negde bliže površini, a negde dublje, pojaviti kosti. Masovne grobnice u kojima zajedno počivaju siromašni i bogati, pripadnici različitih nacija, deca i odrasli, dojučerašnji prijatelji i saborci, i dojučerašnji krvni neprijatelji. Ironijom sudbine pomešani.
Radnja romana započinje u Terezinu, gradu koji jedna mala grupa žitelja pokušava da sačuva, ne samo kao spomenik, već kao mesto u kome je još moguć život. Pretvaranjem u Spomenik, sećanje i istorija se predaju u ruke „naučnicima“ i vlastodršcima. Još postoje očevici, žitelji, koji žele da sačuvaju grad, ali i došljaci, „tragači za ležajevima“ u kojima su umrli ili mučeni njihovi rođaci. Tragači dolaze u Terezin da i sami budu izlečeni od „tuđih ožiljaka“. Onda kad to mesto postaje svetski poznato, kad počinje da donosi novac, skreće pažnju i privlači sve veći broj ljudi, stvari se menjaju... Neosporno je da pored onih koji manipulišu istorijom, njenom istinom, dokazima, objektima koji je potvrđuju, postoje i oni koji bez unapred zadatog cilja žele da sačuvaju nešto smisleno od rušenja i prekrajanja, makar zato što je to deo njihove lične istorije i života. Možda se takvim pristupom više može uticati na univerzalnu svetsku istorijsku scenu nego što verujemo.
No, borba protiv kvara i smrti, u novijoj istoriji kao nikad pre, izgleda kao izgubljena bitka. Dok nam prvi deo romana daje nadu u mogućnost isceljenja tuđih ožiljaka, u jednom svetu koji pristaje da pamti, ali i da upozorava bez traženja odmazde („Da je Kafka preživeo svoju smrt, ubili bi ga ovde.“),; drugi deo romana prikazuje nam situaciju u Belorusiji: demonstracije, totalitarizam, policijsku diktaturu, preki sud i masovne grobnice u kojima se, sloj po sloj, otkriva i nekadašnja i novija istorija Istoka. Zastrašuje činjenica da ne čitamo o prošlosti, čitamo o događajima koji su se desili pre deset, ili manje od deset godina. Znamo na osnovu događaja koji su tu, na našem poluostrvu, da se grobnice i istorijska pitanja neprestano ponovo pronalaze i otvaraju, i da se pitanje o tome ko je u tim grobnicama, ko je ubica a ko žrtva, još uvek nije rešilo. Autor nas upoznaje sa podacima koji ne figuriraju svakodnevno u svesti današnjeg čoveka (osim ako ne pripada nekoj od najčešće pogođenih nacija, a verovatno čak ni tad), podacima o razlici u broju poginulih u Drugom svetskom ratu u različitim zemljama, broju spaljenih sela, gradovima koji su porušeni pa ponovo građeni. Postajemo svesniji činjenice da nije svejedno koji deo sveta zovemo svojim domom: biti rođen na Istoku je usud koji sve svoje stanovnike pretvara u tragače za ležajevima.
Opširnije u tekstu https://casopiskult.com/kult/carte-di...
Da li oni koji zagovaraju zaborav žele uspostavljanje novih odnosa, ili samo žele da se zataška uloga nekog naroda, neke klase, neke ličnosti ili porodice u strahotama koje su minule? I da li oni koji zagovaraju neprekidno izlaganje užasa istorije očima sadašnjosti nastoje da „hrane pamćenje sveta“ da žrtve ne bi bile uzaludne, i da nas istorija zaista nečemu nauči, ili je njihov cilj održavanje neprijateljstava, stalno podsticanje nacionalne mržnje radi lakše manipulacije masom, kao i skretanja pažnje na „spoljne neprijatelje“ da bi se neadekvatni političko-ekonomski odnosi održavali na snazi? Nije li, na taj način, i jednima i drugima, glavni motiv kojim se rukovode zloupotrebljavajući sećanje i zaborav, zapravo novac?
Takva pitanja postavlja roman češkog pisca Jahima Topola: Hladnom zemljom, koji je objavio Treći Trg u prevodu Tihane Hamović. Već u epigramu nalazimo stih: „Gle imam tuđe ožiljke, odakle mi?“ Dorote Maslovske, i on nam nedvosmisleno odgovara na pitanje o mogućem potpunom zaboravu i početku iznova. Svuda oko nas, a možda i u genetskom materijalu koji su nam preneli prethodni naraštaji porobljenih ili porobljivača, upisano je sećanje na zlo, svest o tome šta ljudi čine jedni drugima. Oprosti mi, Bože, i ja sam čovek. I ja sam ubica. Šta me razlikuje od onog koji je pucao? On je imao pušku, imao je naređenje, imao je viziju da brani neku ideju ili poredak, ili da se za novi bori. Pre svega, pripadao je onima koji su sa istim ciljem i oružjem krenuli ka nekom cilju. Sada je možda već nemoguće pronaći grad kojim nisu prolazile vojske, različite vojske, međusobno suprotstavljene, stotine hiljada vojnika, sa muzikom, paradama, konjima, tenkovima, ranjenicima, zarobljenicima. Možda je dovoljno zagrebati zemlju u blizini bilo kojeg grada, pa će se ispod nekog sloja zemlje, negde bliže površini, a negde dublje, pojaviti kosti. Masovne grobnice u kojima zajedno počivaju siromašni i bogati, pripadnici različitih nacija, deca i odrasli, dojučerašnji prijatelji i saborci, i dojučerašnji krvni neprijatelji. Ironijom sudbine pomešani.
Radnja romana započinje u Terezinu, gradu koji jedna mala grupa žitelja pokušava da sačuva, ne samo kao spomenik, već kao mesto u kome je još moguć život. Pretvaranjem u Spomenik, sećanje i istorija se predaju u ruke „naučnicima“ i vlastodršcima. Još postoje očevici, žitelji, koji žele da sačuvaju grad, ali i došljaci, „tragači za ležajevima“ u kojima su umrli ili mučeni njihovi rođaci. Tragači dolaze u Terezin da i sami budu izlečeni od „tuđih ožiljaka“. Onda kad to mesto postaje svetski poznato, kad počinje da donosi novac, skreće pažnju i privlači sve veći broj ljudi, stvari se menjaju... Neosporno je da pored onih koji manipulišu istorijom, njenom istinom, dokazima, objektima koji je potvrđuju, postoje i oni koji bez unapred zadatog cilja žele da sačuvaju nešto smisleno od rušenja i prekrajanja, makar zato što je to deo njihove lične istorije i života. Možda se takvim pristupom više može uticati na univerzalnu svetsku istorijsku scenu nego što verujemo.
No, borba protiv kvara i smrti, u novijoj istoriji kao nikad pre, izgleda kao izgubljena bitka. Dok nam prvi deo romana daje nadu u mogućnost isceljenja tuđih ožiljaka, u jednom svetu koji pristaje da pamti, ali i da upozorava bez traženja odmazde („Da je Kafka preživeo svoju smrt, ubili bi ga ovde.“),; drugi deo romana prikazuje nam situaciju u Belorusiji: demonstracije, totalitarizam, policijsku diktaturu, preki sud i masovne grobnice u kojima se, sloj po sloj, otkriva i nekadašnja i novija istorija Istoka. Zastrašuje činjenica da ne čitamo o prošlosti, čitamo o događajima koji su se desili pre deset, ili manje od deset godina. Znamo na osnovu događaja koji su tu, na našem poluostrvu, da se grobnice i istorijska pitanja neprestano ponovo pronalaze i otvaraju, i da se pitanje o tome ko je u tim grobnicama, ko je ubica a ko žrtva, još uvek nije rešilo. Autor nas upoznaje sa podacima koji ne figuriraju svakodnevno u svesti današnjeg čoveka (osim ako ne pripada nekoj od najčešće pogođenih nacija, a verovatno čak ni tad), podacima o razlici u broju poginulih u Drugom svetskom ratu u različitim zemljama, broju spaljenih sela, gradovima koji su porušeni pa ponovo građeni. Postajemo svesniji činjenice da nije svejedno koji deo sveta zovemo svojim domom: biti rođen na Istoku je usud koji sve svoje stanovnike pretvara u tragače za ležajevima.
Opširnije u tekstu https://casopiskult.com/kult/carte-di...
December 3, 2024
The main questions of this book is really important: should we bury or worship the past? Even the general gist of the novel about theme-parking the horrors of the past is a great and even bold idea. I don't have much against the black humour of it all either (although it is kind of bland most of the time). But overall the book feels like somebody locked themselves into a hotel room with a typewriter on a Friday and emerged on Monday after a weekend of heavy drinking with a pile of pages. And don't get me started about the overuse of the ellipsis or the contrived ending of the book!
The love story aspect, which the author seems to highlight, feels like fantasies of a fourteen-year-old and the almost non-stop action is on the level of a first treatment for a derivative Bond flick (although this might be explained through the simple-minded protagonist). Overall, there is an idea for a book hidden in here somewhere, and the idea is indeed great, but the execution is severely lacking.
Because it is a short and quick read you should still maybe pick it up, though.
The love story aspect, which the author seems to highlight, feels like fantasies of a fourteen-year-old and the almost non-stop action is on the level of a first treatment for a derivative Bond flick (although this might be explained through the simple-minded protagonist). Overall, there is an idea for a book hidden in here somewhere, and the idea is indeed great, but the execution is severely lacking.
Because it is a short and quick read you should still maybe pick it up, though.
January 10, 2023
The book was a gift and I didn't know anything about it when I picked it up. In case you wanna read it definitely check TWs as it speaks as about Devil's workshops aka death camps in Belarus and the Czech Republic. And obviously it's very political.
Gosh I loved this book. Literary book about Belarus (by non-Belarusian autor btw) with great villain who has a point even if his methods are cruel to say the least? Give me two. 😍
Definitely gonna reread this one.
Gosh I loved this book. Literary book about Belarus (by non-Belarusian autor btw) with great villain who has a point even if his methods are cruel to say the least? Give me two. 😍
Definitely gonna reread this one.
February 16, 2022
Wow. Black, barbed and horrific. A novel that confronts you with just how much darkness there is in human history to know
July 20, 2018
not that pleasing of a writing style but interesting story
July 7, 2013
Couldn't decide whether to give it a 4 or 5. The hesitation stems from the book not being deliciously wonderful or entrancing. It was bracing, and perhaps some of the praises of its power of language and literary know-how were dimmed just-a-little-bit in translation. Also, I misplaced the book about half-way through, so my reading was interrupted. But I give it a 5 because it quickly leaves one pondering important, indefinable questions whose dust need be kicked up and whirled around from time-to-time. Foolishness and failures of articulation overwhelm, but nonetheless I copy the words I wrote to the friend who gave this to me:
Finished it late the other night, and can't stop thinking about it. I picked it up because it was described as acerbic and darkly comic (alas, I only ever want to be amused) but, in retrospect, Rourke's operative words were "startling...and deeply, deeply moving." It's left me in an introspective, musing space as my thoughts ping-pong around different aspects of memory, the relationship between memory-history-charisma-identity(-ies)-entertainment.
I hadn't known about the massacres of the Belarussians. I'm not surprised. I keep thinking of my sister's ex-husband, a Ukrainian (now American) telling me several times that millions (6? 9?, I forget) of Ukrainians were murdered in WWII. It's really hard to comprehend the scope of what went on then. We read in the newspapers of a train wreck or an airline crash, even a mass murder at a school or planes toppling the World Trade Center Towers, and the numbers of people lost in such tragedies are so relatively insignificant. I'm not even sure why I just said that.
Anyhow, on the inside cover, the question is asked "at what point do we consign the past to history." I don't think we do or should. I'm not sure whether we can or can't. I think as humans we have to wrestle eternally and constantly with what I'll call the problems of "God," humanity, righteousness, and the "evil inclination." And the way history, religion, and even spirituality are filtered through charismatic personalities (be they politicians, Popes, preachers, priests, rabbis or some others) and the human need to follow and be herded. And to obsess, process, relinquish, deny, ignore, enjoy, wonder, and celebrate.
This is all so convoluted. Which takes me back to my reluctance to try and "crystallize" my thoughts on the book. I can't or shouldn't, but I do thank you from the bottom of m'heart for sending me this book.
Incoherently yours,
Sheri
xox
Finished it late the other night, and can't stop thinking about it. I picked it up because it was described as acerbic and darkly comic (alas, I only ever want to be amused) but, in retrospect, Rourke's operative words were "startling...and deeply, deeply moving." It's left me in an introspective, musing space as my thoughts ping-pong around different aspects of memory, the relationship between memory-history-charisma-identity(-ies)-entertainment.
I hadn't known about the massacres of the Belarussians. I'm not surprised. I keep thinking of my sister's ex-husband, a Ukrainian (now American) telling me several times that millions (6? 9?, I forget) of Ukrainians were murdered in WWII. It's really hard to comprehend the scope of what went on then. We read in the newspapers of a train wreck or an airline crash, even a mass murder at a school or planes toppling the World Trade Center Towers, and the numbers of people lost in such tragedies are so relatively insignificant. I'm not even sure why I just said that.
Anyhow, on the inside cover, the question is asked "at what point do we consign the past to history." I don't think we do or should. I'm not sure whether we can or can't. I think as humans we have to wrestle eternally and constantly with what I'll call the problems of "God," humanity, righteousness, and the "evil inclination." And the way history, religion, and even spirituality are filtered through charismatic personalities (be they politicians, Popes, preachers, priests, rabbis or some others) and the human need to follow and be herded. And to obsess, process, relinquish, deny, ignore, enjoy, wonder, and celebrate.
This is all so convoluted. Which takes me back to my reluctance to try and "crystallize" my thoughts on the book. I can't or shouldn't, but I do thank you from the bottom of m'heart for sending me this book.
Incoherently yours,
Sheri
xox
October 13, 2013
This excellent novella is divided into two parts. The first part, which takes place in postwar Terézin, where the Germans had created a “model” Jewish ghetto, is fantastic. The narrator's voice, and the world of this nearly abandoned and jeopardized town, which Topol so imaginatively creates, are incredible. Everything works.
The second half, which takes place in and near Minsk, Belarus, didn’t work nearly as well for me (it will be others' favorite part). It has the frantic form of the second half of a contemporary spy thriller, but it’s not pop fiction. It’s still Topolesque, which means intriguing in unusual ways. And it has the same voice as the first part.
Those who have enjoyed this team’s City Sister Silver (which my house published) will find some of the same elements in a pared-down form. It’s a much easier read. The translation is so good, it won the British PEN Award for Translation this year.
Reviews, interviews, and lots of other information about the novella and the places and events portrayed in it can be found at the translator, Alex Zucker’s, website.
The second half, which takes place in and near Minsk, Belarus, didn’t work nearly as well for me (it will be others' favorite part). It has the frantic form of the second half of a contemporary spy thriller, but it’s not pop fiction. It’s still Topolesque, which means intriguing in unusual ways. And it has the same voice as the first part.
Those who have enjoyed this team’s City Sister Silver (which my house published) will find some of the same elements in a pared-down form. It’s a much easier read. The translation is so good, it won the British PEN Award for Translation this year.
Reviews, interviews, and lots of other information about the novella and the places and events portrayed in it can be found at the translator, Alex Zucker’s, website.
June 10, 2013
My review of this (with mentions of a couple of Topol's other works) is available at The Quarterly Conversation: http://quarterlyconversation.com/the-...
January 8, 2020
معسكرات شيطان رواية من التشيك تتناول رواسب ضحايا النازية و الشيوعية في التشيك و بيلاروسيا في سياق ادبي جميل من الكاتب ياخيم توبول
ذكريات ضحايا الحرب عندنا تنتقل للأحفاد و الابناء تكون صعبة
رواية تستحق ثلاث نجوم
ذكريات ضحايا الحرب عندنا تنتقل للأحفاد و الابناء تكون صعبة
رواية تستحق ثلاث نجوم
March 10, 2013
A topic that isn't to be taken lightly, ruined by confusing style, boring characters and meandering plot. The only upside - it's just 120 pages.
March 22, 2014
The writing is so simple and I really did enjoy the book.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 86 reviews