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The Man Without Qualities #2
Niteliksiz Adam II
Avusturyalı yazar Robert Musil’in (1880-1942) Niteliksiz Adam başlıklı dev romanı, günümüzde modernizmin roman alanındaki birkaç başyapıtından biri sayılmaktadır.
Kafka, Joyce ve Hermann Broch’la birlikte yirminci yüzyıl romanının kurucuları arasında yer alan Musil, 1921 yılından başlayarak ölünceye kadar Niteliksiz Adam üzerinde hemen her gün çalıştı. Romanın ilk iki kitabı 1930’da, üçüncü kitabı ise 1933’te yayımlandı. Tamamlanmadan kalan dördüncü ve son bölümün yayımlanması ise ancak aradan neredeyse yirmi yıla yakın bir süre geçtikten sonra gerçekleşebildi.
Niteliksiz Adam, gerçek anlamda bir çağ ve geçiş dönemi romanıdır. Yazar tarafından “İmpkralya” diye adlandırılan, gerçekte 19. yüzyılın sonunda ve 20. yüzyılın başında artık çöküş sürecine girmiş olan Avusturya-Macaristan İmparatorluğu’nu simgeleyen bir ülkede Musil, modernizm sürecindeki bir toplumun ve bireyin tüm çalkantılarını sergilemeyi amaçlar.
Bu çalkantılar, romanın başkişisi, yani “niteliksiz adam” olan Ulrich’in kimliği aracılığıyla sergilenir. Ulrich, bir ayağıyla eski’de, öteki ayağıyla yeni’de durmaktadır. Bütün sorun, onun bu geçiş konumunun doğal sonucu olan çelişkilerin üstesinden gelip gelemeyeceği sorusunda odaklanır.
Bu roman üzerine çok önemli bir inceleme kaleme alan Virgil Newmoianu’ya göre Niteliksiz Adam, dikkatli bir okura yalnızca bir geçiş dönemini değil, yakın geleceği de çok çarpıcı biçimde sergileyen başyapıtlardan biridir. SİTE:www.kitapyurdu.com
Kafka, Joyce ve Hermann Broch’la birlikte yirminci yüzyıl romanının kurucuları arasında yer alan Musil, 1921 yılından başlayarak ölünceye kadar Niteliksiz Adam üzerinde hemen her gün çalıştı. Romanın ilk iki kitabı 1930’da, üçüncü kitabı ise 1933’te yayımlandı. Tamamlanmadan kalan dördüncü ve son bölümün yayımlanması ise ancak aradan neredeyse yirmi yıla yakın bir süre geçtikten sonra gerçekleşebildi.
Niteliksiz Adam, gerçek anlamda bir çağ ve geçiş dönemi romanıdır. Yazar tarafından “İmpkralya” diye adlandırılan, gerçekte 19. yüzyılın sonunda ve 20. yüzyılın başında artık çöküş sürecine girmiş olan Avusturya-Macaristan İmparatorluğu’nu simgeleyen bir ülkede Musil, modernizm sürecindeki bir toplumun ve bireyin tüm çalkantılarını sergilemeyi amaçlar.
Bu çalkantılar, romanın başkişisi, yani “niteliksiz adam” olan Ulrich’in kimliği aracılığıyla sergilenir. Ulrich, bir ayağıyla eski’de, öteki ayağıyla yeni’de durmaktadır. Bütün sorun, onun bu geçiş konumunun doğal sonucu olan çelişkilerin üstesinden gelip gelemeyeceği sorusunda odaklanır.
Bu roman üzerine çok önemli bir inceleme kaleme alan Virgil Newmoianu’ya göre Niteliksiz Adam, dikkatli bir okura yalnızca bir geçiş dönemini değil, yakın geleceği de çok çarpıcı biçimde sergileyen başyapıtlardan biridir. SİTE:www.kitapyurdu.com
420 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2013
23 people are currently reading
962 people want to read
About the author
Robert Musil
300 books1,363 followersAustrian writer.
He graduated military boarding school at Eisenstadt (1892-1894) and then Hranice, in that time also known as Mährisch Weißkirchen, (1894-1897). These school experiences are reflected in his first novel, The Confusions of Young Törless.
He served in the army during The First World War. When Austria became a part of the Third Reich in 1938, Musil left for exile in Switzerland, where he died of a stroke on April 15, 1942. Musil collapsed in the middle of his gymnastic exercises and is rumoured to have died with an expression of ironic amusement on his face. He was 61 years old.
He graduated military boarding school at Eisenstadt (1892-1894) and then Hranice, in that time also known as Mährisch Weißkirchen, (1894-1897). These school experiences are reflected in his first novel, The Confusions of Young Törless.
He served in the army during The First World War. When Austria became a part of the Third Reich in 1938, Musil left for exile in Switzerland, where he died of a stroke on April 15, 1942. Musil collapsed in the middle of his gymnastic exercises and is rumoured to have died with an expression of ironic amusement on his face. He was 61 years old.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 31 reviews
March 20, 2023
Hey, hey, hey; harrowing reading, almost fatal at times! A new character is introduced at the beginning of this volume and takes up a lot of space, practically all of the area. She is the sister of a man without qualities. More or less a stranger to him, their reunion marks him deeply. However, this character, far from drawing me, rather bored me, and unfortunately, their discussions and introspections are endlessly a total fixation. I reduced to waiting for small nuggets of brilliant writing, which seemed rarer to me than in the previous volume. I wanted to know the developments of the parallel action and to have news of my favorite characters, Clarisse and General Stumm in particular. These moments occur but seem short and spaced, lost in the thickness of this volume, surpassing the previous one. Another complication: this novel is incomplete, and the more we advance, the more we encounter unfinished sections, sketches, studies, and different versions of the same chapter. Cohesion suffers. It is a pity that the author has not known, after all these years of work, to give a rigid and finished framework to this novel which nevertheless bears the mark of genius. The whole piece was, therefore, for me, both a great discovery and a bitter disappointment.
March 4, 2021
"Ağaç ormanda mücadele eder ve ormanın himayesindeyken kendini öylesine silik hisseder ki bu, hassas insanların günümüzde kitledeki karanlık sıcaklığı, onun tahrik kuvvetini ve bilinçdışı dayanışmasının moleküler seviyede görünmez olaylarını duyuşundan farksızdır; bu olaylar hassas insanlara, aldıkları her nefeste, ne en büyük ne de en küçük varlıkların yalnız olduğunu hatırlatır."
Ulrich'in Paralel Faaliyet'te işleri daha karmaşıklaşıyor, herkes işine ciddiyetle yaklaşırken aslında hiçbir şey yapılamıyor.
⭐
Ulrich'in Paralel Faaliyet'te işleri daha karmaşıklaşıyor, herkes işine ciddiyetle yaklaşırken aslında hiçbir şey yapılamıyor.
⭐
December 16, 2016
Note: Volume II of the newer Pike/Wilkins translation and Volume II of the older Wilkins/Kaiser translation do not cover the same material. This review is for the later.
From the first time I heard it, the title, The Man Without Qualities, struck me as surreptitiously suggestive of some vital meaning that I could only find behind the cover on which it was written. And perhaps it was all of my previous reading experience that then subtly bade me to wean my expectations from this promise. For that experience defensibly says: rare is the book that meets those unjustifiable things called expectations when - based on a mere title - those things are unjustifiably high. And first grade math tells me: 1000+ page books have greater potential disappointment than 500- ones. I owe my present rapture to my Goodreads community for efficiently bleeding dry what reservations might have given unto eternal delay. Thank you.
First, take a quick look around you.
‘You would like to live according to your own ideas,’ he [Ulrich] heard himself say, ‘and you would like to know how that can be done. But an idea is the most paradoxical thing in the world. The flesh combines with ideas like a fetish. It becomes magical when there’s an idea in it. An ordinary box on the ears may, by association with the ideas of honour, punishment, and the like, become a matter of life and death. And yet ideas can never conserve themselves in the state in which they are strongest. They are like those substances that when exposed to the air instantly transform themselves into another, more permanent, but corrupted form of existence. You have been through it often. For you are an idea yourself, one in a particular state. You are touched by a breath of something, and it’s like when the quivering of strings suddenly produces a note. And then there’s something there in front of you like a mirage, and the tangle of your soul takes on shape, becoming an unending cavalcade, and all the beauties of the world seem to stand along its road. Such things are often brought about by one single idea. But after a while it comes to resemble all the other ideas that you have had before, subordinating itself to them and becoming part of your outlook and your character, your principles and your moods. By then it has lost its wings and taken on an unmysterious solidity.’
Now, pick up your jaw and take a brief look around once more. This connection that can be made between words and your own immediate reality, that can change what you see by dilating wide that mind-eye that is so snidely audacious as to believe it does see and understand reality, so that it sees that this seeing and understanding is in no way so fixed into these proportions, this connection, that Musil is a master of, should define what is worth reading. If you read only to escape reality, you might as well escape this review right now. Musil is not for you. (Even though, for you, he most urgently is.)
In my review of Volume One, I heed the compulsion to compare the value of that volume/this book with Ulysses and Leaves of Grass. Perhaps part of me was trying to pick a fight the many champions of Joyce and Whitman. Perhaps I was hoping to be defeated in such a fight - to be learned of what I was missing. Perhaps it was only my feeble protest against the ‘they’ that say I must read those books, by aligning myself with the ‘they’ telling you to read this one (pst, read this one), and then straying a bit further in suggesting you might read this one instead. But however incomplete my understanding of this urge was and is, what I recognize in Musil that I do not in those to whom my whim chose to compare him, is that he writes what is worth writing about. He has something to say about reality, even if it is only the notion, ‘stop what you’re doing until you figure out what is worth doing.’ “Active passivism,” is what Ulrich calls it when cornered by Clarisse, who later demands there should be a Year of Ulrich, just as a little voice in my head is demanding from my reading attention a Year of Musil.
What is worth doing? Figuring out what to do? And what is worth reading? As many pretty books as possible or the few that will change your life by declawing some of the certainty from the world you see? Let me be so presumptuous as to tell you that this is the book you sift through all those thousands of pretty others to find. It is, at least, for me. And now I find myself with the bitter-sweet, betting-man’s certainty that I will never read a better book. My instinct recognizes itself in Musil (and this is perhaps the joy of reading): Question everything yourself. Do not for a second believe that any human born into this world before you or since has or has had it figured out. Don’t be so quick to assume so-and-so, not to mention you yourself, are the exception to those many you do see susceptible to their inner sheep, even if what they are following is not so obviously the herd as it could seem.
Imagine reading something that makes one nearly spout out (following some profane exclamation) such nonsensical things as, ‘he is some raconteuring reincarnation of the Buddha,’ (to whom it perhaps belongs the earliest attributing of the concept ‘question and find out everything for yourself’). Reading Musil makes you realize that a near infinite variety of such and exceedingly nonsensical things are not only widely said but widely accepted and have been throughout all recorded time, and we are, from the moment we are born, swept in the swirling current of this mud river. Imagine reading a narrative set exactly 100 years ago, written nearly that long ago, that combines the ancient wisdom of eastern philosophy with the latest proclamations of literary theory, but busting these from the respective ores of aphorism and hypothesis, so as to present them in that clear shining jewel our western mind finds so very difficult to resist: The novel.
Joyce said, “I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of ensuring one’s immortality.” I say, therein lies both Joyce’s brilliance and ignorance. To recognize that all it takes for generations upon generations to be enamored with something is to beset them with enough puzzle for puzzles sake, enough tangential and sputtering ambiguity, to give them so much structure with so little meaning that any single reader is all but forced to fill in her or his own, thus drawing the conversation (if that is the word) in so many different and contending directions that it will never end, is to have a certain and brilliant understanding of the human condition. To then pull this off is a stunning achievement. But to confuse such an achievement for immortality is a blunder of understanding the human condition that cannot be overemphasized. Joyce may have died knowing his achievement - and what comfort that must have been for him. But it was delusion. Joyce doesn’t know he isn’t really immortal; he doesn’t know how successful his works are today; he doesn’t know that for some, trading one’s sight of reality for the comfort that is the delusion of status is not by any math worth it. Because Joyce is dead. He doesn’t know anything. He didn’t ensure his immortality; he ensured his own delusion by realizing his ability to set his own status in motion in a world that shares the delusion that status is soul. But the light that yet shines is of a star that has already died.
The Collateral Campaign, as it is called in this translation, is beset in a similar delusion. It quite consciously is making a concerted effort, gathering some of the world’s greatest minds, with the idea that from such a formula, an idea can be synthesized that when applied to the world (status) will transcend one and all (immortality). But as Ulrich continually predicts, it doesn’t matter who, how brilliant, how many, from what fields, they are, the effort is doomed to fail. The one mind this campaign could profit from - and ironically has in its company - knows the futility of its own participation. Ulrich's contribution would begin with the immediate dissolution of their misconstrued efforts. For he sees quite definitely that idealism is the imposition of confusion in the name of order upon reality, whereby reality then, by something beyond duty and beyond definition, invariably makes the correction. It shakes off the delicate reins these human hands put upon it, as if to teach us such pursuits are silly unto tragedy. But as ubiquitously and continuously as this lesson is taught, it seems we don’t want to learn that reality itself is the only worthy pursuit, and to impose upon it whatever our pathetic judgement deems to be good, no matter how flawless the execution, is always a self-injurious and self-deluding endeavor. Welcome to humanity!
To Musil this delusion that made Joyce think Homer and Shakespeare were gods and caused him to endeavor to place himself among them is but another quality to be left by the wayside. If I have even the slightest power to serve Musil a positive shift in that posthumous renown that Joyce abuses the term immortality with, I would posit to any who might heed that where Joyce is content, even eager, to place himself like a barnacle on the backs of falsely assumed immortals - and by such tenuous and trivial means as dot-connecting - Musil, by doing nothing more than heeding his own passion, is, among other things, challenging Shakespeare in the game of his own preferred swordplay. Leaving aside the differences in times and style, I will claim that Musil’s Clarisse is a more vivid and poetic depiction of human tragedy than any among the dying young in Shakespeare. For, even if she would physically survive this uncompleted masterpiece, what is at stake in Clarisse is no less than life itself. It is simply that the boogyman here is not so literal, simple and visible as in the Bard’s world. It is more the ever-seeping, slow-working, and all but imperceptible digestive juices of domestication, that by which one is tricked into a world where no one is really living. It is the ubiquitous horror of realizing that one’s life is not just diverging but divergent from the beautiful ideas one came to keep for it on some audacious alter above mere expectation, so that we, like Clarisse, mistake it for eventuality. For it is this subtly enemy - the same who haunts Richard Yate’s brilliant Revolutionary Road - that we much more urgently need to become aware. Because it is he who will evoke our own tragedy. In a quote too disruptively long and beautiful to insert here, Musil’s narrator warns us not to forgo purifying ourselves against reality - which quite germanely equates to shedding our qualities.
You might (you should) ask how I can be so sure that Musil isn’t just as delusional as I claim Joyce to be. The answer is that my certainty should mean little to nothing to you. Because all you or I have to do is listen to Gautama Buddha when he tells us to find out for ourselves. Only then might we know that:
“…my instinct is right and the work worth doing, because of its saturation in the conviction that the sub specie aeternitatis [under the aspect of eternity] vision is the only excuse for remaining alive.”
–Samuel Beckett
From the first time I heard it, the title, The Man Without Qualities, struck me as surreptitiously suggestive of some vital meaning that I could only find behind the cover on which it was written. And perhaps it was all of my previous reading experience that then subtly bade me to wean my expectations from this promise. For that experience defensibly says: rare is the book that meets those unjustifiable things called expectations when - based on a mere title - those things are unjustifiably high. And first grade math tells me: 1000+ page books have greater potential disappointment than 500- ones. I owe my present rapture to my Goodreads community for efficiently bleeding dry what reservations might have given unto eternal delay. Thank you.
First, take a quick look around you.
‘You would like to live according to your own ideas,’ he [Ulrich] heard himself say, ‘and you would like to know how that can be done. But an idea is the most paradoxical thing in the world. The flesh combines with ideas like a fetish. It becomes magical when there’s an idea in it. An ordinary box on the ears may, by association with the ideas of honour, punishment, and the like, become a matter of life and death. And yet ideas can never conserve themselves in the state in which they are strongest. They are like those substances that when exposed to the air instantly transform themselves into another, more permanent, but corrupted form of existence. You have been through it often. For you are an idea yourself, one in a particular state. You are touched by a breath of something, and it’s like when the quivering of strings suddenly produces a note. And then there’s something there in front of you like a mirage, and the tangle of your soul takes on shape, becoming an unending cavalcade, and all the beauties of the world seem to stand along its road. Such things are often brought about by one single idea. But after a while it comes to resemble all the other ideas that you have had before, subordinating itself to them and becoming part of your outlook and your character, your principles and your moods. By then it has lost its wings and taken on an unmysterious solidity.’
Now, pick up your jaw and take a brief look around once more. This connection that can be made between words and your own immediate reality, that can change what you see by dilating wide that mind-eye that is so snidely audacious as to believe it does see and understand reality, so that it sees that this seeing and understanding is in no way so fixed into these proportions, this connection, that Musil is a master of, should define what is worth reading. If you read only to escape reality, you might as well escape this review right now. Musil is not for you. (Even though, for you, he most urgently is.)
In my review of Volume One, I heed the compulsion to compare the value of that volume/this book with Ulysses and Leaves of Grass. Perhaps part of me was trying to pick a fight the many champions of Joyce and Whitman. Perhaps I was hoping to be defeated in such a fight - to be learned of what I was missing. Perhaps it was only my feeble protest against the ‘they’ that say I must read those books, by aligning myself with the ‘they’ telling you to read this one (pst, read this one), and then straying a bit further in suggesting you might read this one instead. But however incomplete my understanding of this urge was and is, what I recognize in Musil that I do not in those to whom my whim chose to compare him, is that he writes what is worth writing about. He has something to say about reality, even if it is only the notion, ‘stop what you’re doing until you figure out what is worth doing.’ “Active passivism,” is what Ulrich calls it when cornered by Clarisse, who later demands there should be a Year of Ulrich, just as a little voice in my head is demanding from my reading attention a Year of Musil.
What is worth doing? Figuring out what to do? And what is worth reading? As many pretty books as possible or the few that will change your life by declawing some of the certainty from the world you see? Let me be so presumptuous as to tell you that this is the book you sift through all those thousands of pretty others to find. It is, at least, for me. And now I find myself with the bitter-sweet, betting-man’s certainty that I will never read a better book. My instinct recognizes itself in Musil (and this is perhaps the joy of reading): Question everything yourself. Do not for a second believe that any human born into this world before you or since has or has had it figured out. Don’t be so quick to assume so-and-so, not to mention you yourself, are the exception to those many you do see susceptible to their inner sheep, even if what they are following is not so obviously the herd as it could seem.
Imagine reading something that makes one nearly spout out (following some profane exclamation) such nonsensical things as, ‘he is some raconteuring reincarnation of the Buddha,’ (to whom it perhaps belongs the earliest attributing of the concept ‘question and find out everything for yourself’). Reading Musil makes you realize that a near infinite variety of such and exceedingly nonsensical things are not only widely said but widely accepted and have been throughout all recorded time, and we are, from the moment we are born, swept in the swirling current of this mud river. Imagine reading a narrative set exactly 100 years ago, written nearly that long ago, that combines the ancient wisdom of eastern philosophy with the latest proclamations of literary theory, but busting these from the respective ores of aphorism and hypothesis, so as to present them in that clear shining jewel our western mind finds so very difficult to resist: The novel.
Joyce said, “I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of ensuring one’s immortality.” I say, therein lies both Joyce’s brilliance and ignorance. To recognize that all it takes for generations upon generations to be enamored with something is to beset them with enough puzzle for puzzles sake, enough tangential and sputtering ambiguity, to give them so much structure with so little meaning that any single reader is all but forced to fill in her or his own, thus drawing the conversation (if that is the word) in so many different and contending directions that it will never end, is to have a certain and brilliant understanding of the human condition. To then pull this off is a stunning achievement. But to confuse such an achievement for immortality is a blunder of understanding the human condition that cannot be overemphasized. Joyce may have died knowing his achievement - and what comfort that must have been for him. But it was delusion. Joyce doesn’t know he isn’t really immortal; he doesn’t know how successful his works are today; he doesn’t know that for some, trading one’s sight of reality for the comfort that is the delusion of status is not by any math worth it. Because Joyce is dead. He doesn’t know anything. He didn’t ensure his immortality; he ensured his own delusion by realizing his ability to set his own status in motion in a world that shares the delusion that status is soul. But the light that yet shines is of a star that has already died.
The Collateral Campaign, as it is called in this translation, is beset in a similar delusion. It quite consciously is making a concerted effort, gathering some of the world’s greatest minds, with the idea that from such a formula, an idea can be synthesized that when applied to the world (status) will transcend one and all (immortality). But as Ulrich continually predicts, it doesn’t matter who, how brilliant, how many, from what fields, they are, the effort is doomed to fail. The one mind this campaign could profit from - and ironically has in its company - knows the futility of its own participation. Ulrich's contribution would begin with the immediate dissolution of their misconstrued efforts. For he sees quite definitely that idealism is the imposition of confusion in the name of order upon reality, whereby reality then, by something beyond duty and beyond definition, invariably makes the correction. It shakes off the delicate reins these human hands put upon it, as if to teach us such pursuits are silly unto tragedy. But as ubiquitously and continuously as this lesson is taught, it seems we don’t want to learn that reality itself is the only worthy pursuit, and to impose upon it whatever our pathetic judgement deems to be good, no matter how flawless the execution, is always a self-injurious and self-deluding endeavor. Welcome to humanity!
To Musil this delusion that made Joyce think Homer and Shakespeare were gods and caused him to endeavor to place himself among them is but another quality to be left by the wayside. If I have even the slightest power to serve Musil a positive shift in that posthumous renown that Joyce abuses the term immortality with, I would posit to any who might heed that where Joyce is content, even eager, to place himself like a barnacle on the backs of falsely assumed immortals - and by such tenuous and trivial means as dot-connecting - Musil, by doing nothing more than heeding his own passion, is, among other things, challenging Shakespeare in the game of his own preferred swordplay. Leaving aside the differences in times and style, I will claim that Musil’s Clarisse is a more vivid and poetic depiction of human tragedy than any among the dying young in Shakespeare. For, even if she would physically survive this uncompleted masterpiece, what is at stake in Clarisse is no less than life itself. It is simply that the boogyman here is not so literal, simple and visible as in the Bard’s world. It is more the ever-seeping, slow-working, and all but imperceptible digestive juices of domestication, that by which one is tricked into a world where no one is really living. It is the ubiquitous horror of realizing that one’s life is not just diverging but divergent from the beautiful ideas one came to keep for it on some audacious alter above mere expectation, so that we, like Clarisse, mistake it for eventuality. For it is this subtly enemy - the same who haunts Richard Yate’s brilliant Revolutionary Road - that we much more urgently need to become aware. Because it is he who will evoke our own tragedy. In a quote too disruptively long and beautiful to insert here, Musil’s narrator warns us not to forgo purifying ourselves against reality - which quite germanely equates to shedding our qualities.
You might (you should) ask how I can be so sure that Musil isn’t just as delusional as I claim Joyce to be. The answer is that my certainty should mean little to nothing to you. Because all you or I have to do is listen to Gautama Buddha when he tells us to find out for ourselves. Only then might we know that:
“…my instinct is right and the work worth doing, because of its saturation in the conviction that the sub specie aeternitatis [under the aspect of eternity] vision is the only excuse for remaining alive.”
–Samuel Beckett
September 9, 2015
Hayattaki her şeyden bahsedebilmek, hepsini böyle bi kurgu içinde biraraya getirmek ve bunu yaparken mikroskobik detayların ince derinliklerini ilmek olarak kullanabilmek... keşke bitirebilseymiş, kitap hakkında hissettiğim tek kötü şey bu; yarım kalıp insanı da havada bırakma hali...
November 29, 2020
Sveikinu save pabaigus šią knygą! Jeigu vieniems skaitytojams Tolstojaus "Karas ir taika" yra metų pasiekimas, tai man tokiu pasiekimu tapo "Žmogus be savybių". Pradėjusi skaityti 2 dalį tikrai tikėjausi, kad Musilį esu daugiau mažiau perpratusi ir šią įveiksiu lengviau. Klydau. Nors pačios temos, lyginant su pirmąja knygos dalimi, man asmeniškai buvo aktualesnės, filosofiniai ir moraliniai išvedžiojimai reikalavo LABAI daug susikaupimo ir jėgų. Po tokių knygų tampi labai reiklus literatūrai - daugelis kūrinių tiesiog atrodo prėski ir prasti, ir tai tikrai yra vienintelis šios knygos trūkumas.
Keli suvokimai, susiformavę beskaitant:
(1) Teoriniai išvedžiojimai apie "rasės kilnumą", skirtumą tarp gero ir blogo žmogaus, santykį tarp moralės ir jausmų buvo įmanomi tik aukštuose, retai sunkiai dirbančių žmonių, sluoksniuose. Didelis tuščiažodžiavimas ir poreikis kitus mokyti kaip gyventi jų gyvenimą būdingas tiems, kieno gyvenimas iš esmės labai nuobodus. Kažkuo juk jį reikia užpildyti. Mūsų laikais pasikeitė tik temos ir nuomonės formavimo mastas, bet ne pats principas.
(2) Prieš 100 metų žmonės aklai tikėjo, kad moteris yra paprastesnė ir kvailesnė už vyrą, todėl negali būti savarankiška (ypač teisine prasme). Kuo vis dar aklai tikime mes?
(3) Netiksliai suformuluota mintis, pagauta minios, neretai sukelia baisias pasekmes. Savybė kvestionuoti ir tikrinti informaciją, ypač mūsų informacijos visuomenės laikais, yra kritiškai svarbi. Žmonių be šių savybių vis dar labai daug.
Ir pabaigai, keli knygos fragmentai:
- Aš tau jau seniai sakau - kažkas tvyro ore.
Tada Ulrichui parūpo, kas gi tame ore tvyro.
- Nagi pasakyk, ko gi tam ministrui reikia?! - pareikalavo jis.
- Jis to ir pats nežino - ramiai pasakė Štumas. - Jo ekscelencija jaučia: dabar metas. Senasis Leinsdorfas taip pat jaučia: dabar metas. Generalinio štabo viršininkas irgi jaučia: dabar metas. Jeigu tai jaučia daugelis, čia gali būti kažkas tikra.
- Tačiau kam metas? - neatlyžo Ulrichas.
- To nebūtina žinoti! - mokė jį generolas. - Tai, kaip sakoma, absoliutūs įspūdžiai.
--
Kiekvieną kartą, kai kokia nors dalinė tiesa imama laikyti vienintele teisinga, tai blogai baigiasi. Bet, kita vertus, vargu ar galima prieiti prie tokios dalinės tiesos jos iš pradžių nepervertinant.
Keli suvokimai, susiformavę beskaitant:
(1) Teoriniai išvedžiojimai apie "rasės kilnumą", skirtumą tarp gero ir blogo žmogaus, santykį tarp moralės ir jausmų buvo įmanomi tik aukštuose, retai sunkiai dirbančių žmonių, sluoksniuose. Didelis tuščiažodžiavimas ir poreikis kitus mokyti kaip gyventi jų gyvenimą būdingas tiems, kieno gyvenimas iš esmės labai nuobodus. Kažkuo juk jį reikia užpildyti. Mūsų laikais pasikeitė tik temos ir nuomonės formavimo mastas, bet ne pats principas.
(2) Prieš 100 metų žmonės aklai tikėjo, kad moteris yra paprastesnė ir kvailesnė už vyrą, todėl negali būti savarankiška (ypač teisine prasme). Kuo vis dar aklai tikime mes?
(3) Netiksliai suformuluota mintis, pagauta minios, neretai sukelia baisias pasekmes. Savybė kvestionuoti ir tikrinti informaciją, ypač mūsų informacijos visuomenės laikais, yra kritiškai svarbi. Žmonių be šių savybių vis dar labai daug.
Ir pabaigai, keli knygos fragmentai:
- Aš tau jau seniai sakau - kažkas tvyro ore.
Tada Ulrichui parūpo, kas gi tame ore tvyro.
- Nagi pasakyk, ko gi tam ministrui reikia?! - pareikalavo jis.
- Jis to ir pats nežino - ramiai pasakė Štumas. - Jo ekscelencija jaučia: dabar metas. Senasis Leinsdorfas taip pat jaučia: dabar metas. Generalinio štabo viršininkas irgi jaučia: dabar metas. Jeigu tai jaučia daugelis, čia gali būti kažkas tikra.
- Tačiau kam metas? - neatlyžo Ulrichas.
- To nebūtina žinoti! - mokė jį generolas. - Tai, kaip sakoma, absoliutūs įspūdžiai.
--
Kiekvieną kartą, kai kokia nors dalinė tiesa imama laikyti vienintele teisinga, tai blogai baigiasi. Bet, kita vertus, vargu ar galima prieiti prie tokios dalinės tiesos jos iš pradžių nepervertinant.
April 21, 2018
продовжую читати це австрійське занудство. читаю винятково заради Логвиненка, бо він був найкращий. поки що найцікавіше в романі - передмова Дмитра Затонського))
Read
July 30, 2018I read the whole sequence on the recommendation of Jeff Bursey. Probably a good 20 years ago now.
January 6, 2025
Literatūra. Filosofija, gilūs tekstai, tematika. Tokioms knygoms reikia susikaupimo. Po tokių knygų jautiesi turtingesnis.
Ir, tarp kitko, ateitis nebeatrodo baisi, nes "viskas jau buvo". Reiškia kažkur bus nueita
Ir, tarp kitko, ateitis nebeatrodo baisi, nes "viskas jau buvo". Reiškia kažkur bus nueita
May 26, 2020
Robert Musil'in "Niteliksiz Adam"ını bitirdim. Yaklaşık bir aya yayılan bir okuma oldu. Musil kitabın üçüncü cildini bitiremeden, neredeyse açlıktan ölmüş. Düzenlenmemiş, fragmanlar halindeki üçüncü cildin Türkçe çevirisi yok. Bu sebeple "Niteliksiz Adam" yarım kalan bir okuma serüveni. Kitabı bitirdikten sonra kitabın birinci cildindeki önsözü bir daha okudum. Musil için edebiyatta önemli olan, söz söylemek. Olayı, kurguyu, karakteri söylenecek söz biçimlendiriyor. Roman "söylem" açısından tıka basa dolu. Antikalarla, sanat eserleriyle, gösterişli tablolarla insanın aklını başından alan bir saraya benziyor kitap. Viyana'daki Schönbrunn Sarayı gibi. Başlarda dolaşmak keyifli ama bu gezinti uzadıkça türlü antika, sanat eseri, tek tek bakmaya doyamayacağınız o kadar nesne bir araya gelince üstüne üstüne geliyor insanın. Niteliksiz Adam'da da böyle bir söylem bombardımanı var. Söy söylemek mi hikaye anlatmak mı? Saroyan ve Musil okumaları arka arkaya gelince, iki yaklaşımın da ne yöne düştüğünü karşılaştırmalı anlayabiliyorsunuz. Musil otuz küsur yılını vermiş "Niteliksiz Adam"a. 🍀 Üç eksen var romanda. Birincisi Habsburg Hanedanlığı'nın yıkılması, ikincisi vahşet çağına yaklaşırken insanın var oluşu ve üçüncüsü de çağın ürettiği felsefi yaklaşımlar. Bu üç ayak üzerinden romandaki her karakter Habsburg Hanedanlığı'nın ve insanın çöküşünden ne kadar sorumluysa o kadar rollerini oynuyorlar. Her karakteri ince ince düşünülmüş, büyük çaba çok büyük bir emek var. Bazen metni anlayabilmek için metnin sesini duymayı bilmek gerekiyor. Böyle olmayınca "hımmm bu kitap bende hayal kırıklığı yarattı, beğenmedim" sığlığında yaklaşımlar oluyor. Belli ki Niteliksiz Adam'ın hakkını verebilmem için kim bilir kaç fırın ekmek yemem gerekecek. Edebiyat güzel şey. İyi okumalar 🍀😊 #robertmusil #niteliksizadam #kazımtaşkentklasikyapıtlardizisi #zorbakitabevikafe #neokudum #neokusam #bookstagram #instagram #dünyaedebiyatı #almancaedebiyat #roman #kitap #kitaplık
November 28, 2024
I read 90% of The Man Without Qualities back in May-June but got interrupted by my trip to China/Japan and only last weekend did I make up my mind to finish the last 200 pages. The Portuguese edition has three volumes: the first two correspond to those published in Musil’s lifetime and the last one compiles unpublished chapters, rewrites, earlier drafts of published chapters, character studies, and Musil’s notes (almost statements of intention).
Even though I’m perfectly aligned with those who say this is one of the great works of literature of the 20th century, it felt uneven to me. My enjoyment of the first volume was never replicated in the other two. The general consensus is that what Musil set out to do was impossible to accomplish, both in practical terms (a human lifespan) and theoretical (the concept itself, ‘a programme of unreality’, is limitless). However, I can’t say that I’m sorry that we’ll never have access to the whole text Musil had envisioned. On the contrary, I think its length hindered its effectiveness.
The first volume is a satirical masterpiece about bureaucratic inertia that takes place in a fictionalised version of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which Musil re-baptises as ‘Kakania’ (a play on the epithet kaiserlich und königlich/Kaka [poo]). The protagonist, Ulrich, takes part in the Parallel Campaign, a committee responsible for the preparation of a grandiose event/action to celebrate the anniversary of Franz Joseph’s reign. This action must be great enough to showcase Austria’s political, cultural, and philosophical supremacy, but for over 1000 pages, all kinds of intellectuals convene without ever agreeing or committing to a concrete plan.
Musil’s wit is at its most alive when he criticises nationalism, intellectual pretentiousness, the decline of culture, the rise of kitsch (a national fascination with a serial killer, football players considered to be geniuses in the newspapers) and moral relativism as exemplified by Ulrich himself (he has no intrinsic qualities but reacts to how others perceive him, and his interests are greatly self-serving).
On the other hand, the second volume’s concern is the incestuous (even if mostly platonic) relationship between Ulrich and his sister Agathe. They perceive each other as soulmates and debate the nature of love at length. I did not care for these rambling considerations one bit. Loving our own reflection is indubitably an enticing prospect, but not one conducive to a great novel of ideas. It puzzles me that, for Musil, the conflict involving the two siblings was at the heart of the novel. The excerpts of the third volume follow this tendency, and for that reason, I considered them mostly unnecessary.
I’m curious to hear other people’s opinions. Am I alone in thinking that this unfinished novel should, in fact, have ended with the first volume? (Personally, I’d also edit the first volume to half its length, but let’s not go crazy.)
Even though I’m perfectly aligned with those who say this is one of the great works of literature of the 20th century, it felt uneven to me. My enjoyment of the first volume was never replicated in the other two. The general consensus is that what Musil set out to do was impossible to accomplish, both in practical terms (a human lifespan) and theoretical (the concept itself, ‘a programme of unreality’, is limitless). However, I can’t say that I’m sorry that we’ll never have access to the whole text Musil had envisioned. On the contrary, I think its length hindered its effectiveness.
The first volume is a satirical masterpiece about bureaucratic inertia that takes place in a fictionalised version of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which Musil re-baptises as ‘Kakania’ (a play on the epithet kaiserlich und königlich/Kaka [poo]). The protagonist, Ulrich, takes part in the Parallel Campaign, a committee responsible for the preparation of a grandiose event/action to celebrate the anniversary of Franz Joseph’s reign. This action must be great enough to showcase Austria’s political, cultural, and philosophical supremacy, but for over 1000 pages, all kinds of intellectuals convene without ever agreeing or committing to a concrete plan.
Musil’s wit is at its most alive when he criticises nationalism, intellectual pretentiousness, the decline of culture, the rise of kitsch (a national fascination with a serial killer, football players considered to be geniuses in the newspapers) and moral relativism as exemplified by Ulrich himself (he has no intrinsic qualities but reacts to how others perceive him, and his interests are greatly self-serving).
On the other hand, the second volume’s concern is the incestuous (even if mostly platonic) relationship between Ulrich and his sister Agathe. They perceive each other as soulmates and debate the nature of love at length. I did not care for these rambling considerations one bit. Loving our own reflection is indubitably an enticing prospect, but not one conducive to a great novel of ideas. It puzzles me that, for Musil, the conflict involving the two siblings was at the heart of the novel. The excerpts of the third volume follow this tendency, and for that reason, I considered them mostly unnecessary.
I’m curious to hear other people’s opinions. Am I alone in thinking that this unfinished novel should, in fact, have ended with the first volume? (Personally, I’d also edit the first volume to half its length, but let’s not go crazy.)
May 30, 2017
სამწუხაროა, თუმცა , შესაძლოა სიმბოლურიც, რომ რომანი დაუმთავრებელია და მაინც დიდი ინტერესით ველოდი ნარატივში პირველი მსოფლიო ომის შემოჭრას. ავტორმა ყველაფერი შეამზადა "დიდი სულიერი მოვლენისათვის", რომელზეც ყველა საუბრობდა და რომლის არსიც ყველასთვის ბუნდოვანი იყო. ეს ბუნდოვანება და სულიერი სიბერწე კი მასობრივმა ხოცვა-ჟლეტამ ჩაანაცვლა. მუზილის ოსტატობა და იმ ამოცანის, თუ როგორ მივიდა ევროპა ომამდე, ჩინებული გადაჭრა სწორედ იმაში მჟღავნდება, რომ მკითხველიც ფურცლიდან ფურცლამდე იმსჭვალება აზრით - რაღაც უნდა შეიცვალოს, ამ ქაოსში რაღაც ხელჩასაჭიდი , ან ფეხმოსაკიდი საყრდენი უნდა გაჩნდეს და იყოს თუნდაც ამორალური, თუნდაც ბარბაროსული, რადგან მორალური და ამორალურიც ამ ეპოქაში მრავალი სახისაა და ბუნდოვანია. "ზარატუსტრაში" უკანასკნელი ადამიანის შესახებ წერს ნიცშე : იგი კითხულობს რა არის სიყვარული? რა არის ცხოვრება? რა არის სიმძიმე ? და თვალებს აფახურებს და მისი მოდგმა შეუმუსრავია, როგორც მიწის რწყილისა. ამ ყველაფერს კი პასუხი უნდა გაეცეს. აქვს ეპოქას მთლიანი, ობიექტური, "ჭეშმარიტი " პასუხი?
"ნუთუ ადამიანს მხოლოდ ინსტიქტები წარმართავს, მხოლოდ იმას აკეთებს, გრძნობს და ფიქრობს კიდეც, რისკენაც მოთხოვნილების არაცნობიერი ნაკადი და სიამოვნების საამო ბრიზი მიაქანებს, როგორც დღეს არის მიჩნეული? იქნებ მაინც უფრო გონება ან ნებელობა წარმართავს, როგორც ასევე დღეს არის მიჩნეული? თუ რაღაც კონკრეტული, მაგალითად სექსუალური, ემოციები მართავს, როგორც დღეს არის მიჩნეული? ან იქნებ სექსუალური საწყისი კი არა, ეკონომიკური პირობების ფსიქოლოგიური ზემოქმედება განსაზღვრავს, როგორც ასევე დღეს არის მიჩნეული? " კანტი, ფროიდი , მარქსი ? და ამ გარემოში , ამ მცირე და ახალ მამათა გასანადგურებლად, ევროპა თავს იფეთქებს. დიდი მამა , რომელიც მკვდარია იარაღით ხელში ბრუნდება, ან უბრალოდ, როგორც ასევე ნიცშე აღნიშნავს, ღმერთი მოკვდა და მისი მაგინებლებიც თან გადაჰყვნენ მას.
ინტელექტუალური, სულიერი და ფიზიკური სუიციდის ჩინებული ტილო.
"ნუთუ ადამიანს მხოლოდ ინსტიქტები წარმართავს, მხოლოდ იმას აკეთებს, გრძნობს და ფიქრობს კიდეც, რისკენაც მოთხოვნილების არაცნობიერი ნაკადი და სიამოვნების საამო ბრიზი მიაქანებს, როგორც დღეს არის მიჩნეული? იქნებ მაინც უფრო გონება ან ნებელობა წარმართავს, როგორც ასევე დღეს არის მიჩნეული? თუ რაღაც კონკრეტული, მაგალითად სექსუალური, ემოციები მართავს, როგორც დღეს არის მიჩნეული? ან იქნებ სექსუალური საწყისი კი არა, ეკონომიკური პირობების ფსიქოლოგიური ზემოქმედება განსაზღვრავს, როგორც ასევე დღეს არის მიჩნეული? " კანტი, ფროიდი , მარქსი ? და ამ გარემოში , ამ მცირე და ახალ მამათა გასანადგურებლად, ევროპა თავს იფეთქებს. დიდი მამა , რომელიც მკვდარია იარაღით ხელში ბრუნდება, ან უბრალოდ, როგორც ასევე ნიცშე აღნიშნავს, ღმერთი მოკვდა და მისი მაგინებლებიც თან გადაჰყვნენ მას.
ინტელექტუალური, სულიერი და ფიზიკური სუიციდის ჩინებული ტილო.
February 22, 2019
Ulrich'in Paralel faaliyetteki rolü ve ilişkilerinin gittikçe karmaşıklaştığına tanıklığımız sürüyor. Bu arada elbette Moonsburger idamı beklerken onun suçu işlerken içinde bulunduğu ruh hali üzerinden hukuk tartışmaları da sürüyor Paralel Faaliyet'in ne olduğuna dair kimsenin pek fikri olmaması gerçeği de :))
prusyalı milyoner Arnheim'in Diotima'ya aşkı, uşağının Diotima'nın hizmetçisiyle aşk ilişkisi, Ulrich'in Diotima'yla ve arkadaşı Walter'ın eşi Clarisse'yle olan karmaşık duygusal ilişkisi ile beraber Gerda'yla flört edişi de devam ediyor bir yandan. Yani son derece karmaşık çok katmanlı ama bir o kadar da yavaş, ilerlemeyen bir havası var kitabın. ikinci cilt bitti sırada üç ve dört var daha.
prusyalı milyoner Arnheim'in Diotima'ya aşkı, uşağının Diotima'nın hizmetçisiyle aşk ilişkisi, Ulrich'in Diotima'yla ve arkadaşı Walter'ın eşi Clarisse'yle olan karmaşık duygusal ilişkisi ile beraber Gerda'yla flört edişi de devam ediyor bir yandan. Yani son derece karmaşık çok katmanlı ama bir o kadar da yavaş, ilerlemeyen bir havası var kitabın. ikinci cilt bitti sırada üç ve dört var daha.
November 3, 2018
Зважаючи на час написання другого тому роману, в цей період Музіль вже встиг пережити пізню юність і кризу середнього віку, а його герой так і застряг у 1913 році. Не дивлячись на те, що сам Музіль в цей час мабуть змінив погляд на багато речей, Ульріх зрештою так і не набув жодних властивостей. Концептуальні відгалудження роману з часом перетворились у глибокі (наскільки це можливо) роздуми і відсіювання найдрібніших моральних переваг або недоліків всього Ульріхового оточення.
March 4, 2022
very deep and philosophical writing that took me ages to finish.
Will start volume 3 to try to get more from the 2 first volumes;
Very difficult to concentrate and follow. Like every hard road, very rewarding to get to the end.
Will start volume 3 to try to get more from the 2 first volumes;
Very difficult to concentrate and follow. Like every hard road, very rewarding to get to the end.
September 25, 2022
Ši dalis man pasirodė labiau apie žmones, jų santykius bei vidines dilemas. Bet kartu ir vėl apie nieką. Man knygą puikiai apibūdina ši citata: "Teisinga" ir "neteisinga" - tai išsisukinėjimai tų, kurie niekada nenori prieiti prie kokio nors sprendimo".
December 30, 2021
Կան գրքեր, որոնք չունեն ներկայացման կարիք։
Կան գրքեր, որոնք ուղղակի պետք է կարդալ և այս պարագայում ընդհանրապես կապ չունի` հավանեցիք այն, թե ոչ։
Կան գրքեր, որոնք ուղղակի պետք է կարդալ և այս պարագայում ընդհանրապես կապ չունի` հավանեցիք այն, թե ոչ։
March 26, 2023
1001 böcker
Sid 42, mening 1:
”Soliman är förälskad”
Sid 42, mening 1:
”Soliman är förälskad”
June 23, 2019
https://letteraria.home.blog/2019/02/...
L’uomo senza qualità è un romanzo di Robert Musil. L’opera è divisa in tre parti; la prima fu pubblicata nel 1930, la seconda nel 1932 mentre la terza uscì postuma, insieme a innumerevoli abbozzi, nel 1943.
La vicenda si svolge a Vienna, nell’allora impero Austro-ungarico, chiamato dall’autore Cacania poiché in esso ogni evento, proclama, editto viene definito kaiserlich und königlich ossia “imperiale e regio” (k. k., in tedesco pronunciato “ka ka”). Centri nevralgici della narrazione sono la figura di Ulrich e l’Azione parallela, ossia il comitato sui generis che viene costituito nella capitale austriaca per l’organizzazione delle celebrazioni di due importanti ricorrenze: i settant’anni dall’ascesa al trono dell’imperatore Francesco Giuseppe e il trentennale del regno dell’imperatore tedesco Guglielmo II. L’Azione, che si definisce parallela proprio per la contemporaneità dei due eventi, viene fondata intorno al 1913, quando ha avvio il tempo drammatico del romanzo, in preparazione di avvenimenti che dovranno essere festeggiati solo cinque anni dopo, nel 1918.
È forse già da queste poche righe che emerge tutta l’inutilità del progetto: un’associazione formatasi un anno prima degli scontri che porteranno alla Grande Guerra che ha il compito di preparare le celebrazioni per due anniversari che cadranno solo nei giorni successivi alla fine delle ostilità. Degli eventi che dovranno accadere, nel romanzo non vi è che una leggera traccia, un velato accenno, e ovviamente i personaggi coinvolti nell’Azione ne sono totalmente all’oscuro. Ma l’Azione parallela non palesa la sua inefficacia solo per questo: i dibattiti, le assemblee, le riunioni stesse dall’associazione sono vacue, incongrue, troppo eterogenee e sempre segnate da un senso di infruttuosità, di spaesamento, di superficialità. I temi toccati sono profondi, ma nessuno ha la capacità per affrontarli.
Il protagonista del romanzo, Ulrich, viene letteralmente costretto ad entrare in questa associazione, prima dalle insistenze del padre e poi da quelle del conte Leinsdorf, promotore del progetto. Ha trentadue anni, è un matematico ma non è ancora riuscito a trovare una sua dimensione esistenziale. Non sa cosa fare della sua vita, non ha relazioni solide: Leona e Bonadea sono due delle amanti di cui veniamo a conoscenza, non sa che lavoro, mestiere, carriera intraprendere. Si definisce, perciò, un uomo senza qualità. Ma è lui stesso ad essere rinchiuso in un mondo privo di virtù: tutti i personaggi che entrano a far parte dell’Azione – Hermine Tuzzi, la bellissima cugina che il protagonista ribattezza col nome di Diotima; Paul Arnheim, il magnate prussiano innamorato della stessa Diotima; Stumm von Bordwehr, generale dell’esercito, anche lui invaghito della cugina di Ulrich – sono incapaci di prendere decisioni e di dare una svolta ai preparativi, alle vicende e persino alle opinioni del comitato di cui fanno parte.
Ad ogni modo, Ulrich è un inetto, ma è l’unico a rendersi conto che nell’epoca in cui vive non si può più essere nulla: i primi anni del Novecento rappresentano, ai suoi occhi, il pieno compimento del nichilismo europeo di cui parla Nietzsche. Il pensatore tedesco è presente in ogni pagina del volume, anche quando non viene direttamente citato. Nemmeno Clarissa, moglie dell’amico Walter, a cui Ulrich ha regalato l’opera omnia del pensatore dell’eterno ritorno, ha compreso il senso ultimo della filosofia nietzschiana, ossia la svalutazione dei sommi valori in cui sono immersi. Clarissa è, infatti, un’allieva del primo Nietzsche e vuole fare della sua vita un’opera d’arte e con ciò dare alla sua esistenza un senso individuale. Per farlo si aggrapperà, nel corso del volume, a diverse figure maschili: dapprima a suo marito Walter, con cui condivide la passione per l’arte, ma che ritiene troppo debole per approdare al genio; sarà poi la volta di Ulrich, ma il sodalizio non arriverà a compiersi per volere dello stesso uomo senza qualità; poi verrà il turno di Meingast, pervertito che l’aveva concupita nella sua adolescenza e che, dopo un viaggio in India, tornerà nelle vesti di mistico, mezzo Schopenhauer e mezzo Hesse; e infine Moosbrugger, lo psicopatico femminicida.
Ulrich è l’antieroe di Musil, così come Zeno era l’antieroe di Svevo, un eroe rovesciato. Un idiota rovesciato, anzi: se, elaborando il personaggio del principe Myskin, Dostoevskij aveva deciso di rappresentare un’anima bella, un Cristo dell’Ottocento, Musil descrive un Cristo che non è più una figura biblica, ma nemmeno la rappresentazione del bello e del buono perché nell’epoca a lui presente bello, buono, male, brutto, eccetera rappresentano solo una decrepita assiologia. Quel che resta è, allora, descrivere.
Musil descrive senza sosta, ma ciò che lo affascina di più, ciò su cui si sofferma maggiormente non è la realtà materiale; sono, piuttosto, le idee del suo tempo. Tutto lo affascina e tutto lo interessa. Le divagazioni del libro coprono pressoché la totalità dello scibile umano: dalla fisica alla chimica, dalla filosofia al pensiero storico-politico, passando per l’economia. Il risultato è una struttura mastodontica, un libro-pachiderma che cerca di muoversi in avanti e lo fa con tremenda difficoltà.
Di fatto, nulla avviene. Ulrich abbandona l’Azione parallela, proprio nel momento in cui sembra muoversi qualcosa, alla morte del padre. Questo evento immette un nuovo tassello nella vita del protagonista: l’incontro con la sorella, la fondazione del “Regno millenario”, cioè dell’unione dei fratelli siamesi, che si tramuterà in un assurdo e inspiegabile – misterioso – rapporto incestuoso tra Ulrich e sua sorella Agathe. Gran parte degli ultimi abbozzi è dedicata proprio a questo rapporto e al senso che, alla luce della relazione instaurata, assume il concetto dell’amore. Ma anche questa strada, come tutte le altre percorse in precedenza, è preclusa poiché non trova una soluzione, una conclusione.
Musil inizia a scrivere il romanzo intorno agli anni Venti, all’indomani della dissoluzione del mondo in cui aveva vissuto fino a poco prima e che aveva visto avvicinarsi allo sfacelo per poi affondarci dentro. La particolarità della sua narrazione consiste dunque nello sviluppare il romanzo come se fosse parte della realtà stessa: non è raro incontrare riferimenti alla storia, citazioni di personaggi famosi o vere e proprie teorie di scienziati e filosofi amalgamate alla narrazione; e, avendo come fondamento la realtà stessa e non una semplice invenzione che abbia lontane similitudini con il mondo reale, l’autore cerca di produrre una costruzione barocca – in questo non molto dissimile dalle creazioni gaddiane – capace di inglobare tutto l’essente. In questo sforzo sta la grandezza del romanzo ma anche la difficoltà della lettura: gli eccessivi rimandi, i troppi rifacimenti, le abbondanti pause prolisse sulle scienze, sulla filosofia, sulla politica e l’economia stancano il lettore. E, tuttavia, si ha sempre l’impressione che, nel voler descrivere l’intero mare dell’esistenza umana si rimanga sempre sulla superficie delle onde che ne rompono l’apparente armonia, l’armonia perversa di un mondo senza qualità.
L’uomo senza qualità è un romanzo di Robert Musil. L’opera è divisa in tre parti; la prima fu pubblicata nel 1930, la seconda nel 1932 mentre la terza uscì postuma, insieme a innumerevoli abbozzi, nel 1943.
La vicenda si svolge a Vienna, nell’allora impero Austro-ungarico, chiamato dall’autore Cacania poiché in esso ogni evento, proclama, editto viene definito kaiserlich und königlich ossia “imperiale e regio” (k. k., in tedesco pronunciato “ka ka”). Centri nevralgici della narrazione sono la figura di Ulrich e l’Azione parallela, ossia il comitato sui generis che viene costituito nella capitale austriaca per l’organizzazione delle celebrazioni di due importanti ricorrenze: i settant’anni dall’ascesa al trono dell’imperatore Francesco Giuseppe e il trentennale del regno dell’imperatore tedesco Guglielmo II. L’Azione, che si definisce parallela proprio per la contemporaneità dei due eventi, viene fondata intorno al 1913, quando ha avvio il tempo drammatico del romanzo, in preparazione di avvenimenti che dovranno essere festeggiati solo cinque anni dopo, nel 1918.
È forse già da queste poche righe che emerge tutta l’inutilità del progetto: un’associazione formatasi un anno prima degli scontri che porteranno alla Grande Guerra che ha il compito di preparare le celebrazioni per due anniversari che cadranno solo nei giorni successivi alla fine delle ostilità. Degli eventi che dovranno accadere, nel romanzo non vi è che una leggera traccia, un velato accenno, e ovviamente i personaggi coinvolti nell’Azione ne sono totalmente all’oscuro. Ma l’Azione parallela non palesa la sua inefficacia solo per questo: i dibattiti, le assemblee, le riunioni stesse dall’associazione sono vacue, incongrue, troppo eterogenee e sempre segnate da un senso di infruttuosità, di spaesamento, di superficialità. I temi toccati sono profondi, ma nessuno ha la capacità per affrontarli.
Il protagonista del romanzo, Ulrich, viene letteralmente costretto ad entrare in questa associazione, prima dalle insistenze del padre e poi da quelle del conte Leinsdorf, promotore del progetto. Ha trentadue anni, è un matematico ma non è ancora riuscito a trovare una sua dimensione esistenziale. Non sa cosa fare della sua vita, non ha relazioni solide: Leona e Bonadea sono due delle amanti di cui veniamo a conoscenza, non sa che lavoro, mestiere, carriera intraprendere. Si definisce, perciò, un uomo senza qualità. Ma è lui stesso ad essere rinchiuso in un mondo privo di virtù: tutti i personaggi che entrano a far parte dell’Azione – Hermine Tuzzi, la bellissima cugina che il protagonista ribattezza col nome di Diotima; Paul Arnheim, il magnate prussiano innamorato della stessa Diotima; Stumm von Bordwehr, generale dell’esercito, anche lui invaghito della cugina di Ulrich – sono incapaci di prendere decisioni e di dare una svolta ai preparativi, alle vicende e persino alle opinioni del comitato di cui fanno parte.
Ad ogni modo, Ulrich è un inetto, ma è l’unico a rendersi conto che nell’epoca in cui vive non si può più essere nulla: i primi anni del Novecento rappresentano, ai suoi occhi, il pieno compimento del nichilismo europeo di cui parla Nietzsche. Il pensatore tedesco è presente in ogni pagina del volume, anche quando non viene direttamente citato. Nemmeno Clarissa, moglie dell’amico Walter, a cui Ulrich ha regalato l’opera omnia del pensatore dell’eterno ritorno, ha compreso il senso ultimo della filosofia nietzschiana, ossia la svalutazione dei sommi valori in cui sono immersi. Clarissa è, infatti, un’allieva del primo Nietzsche e vuole fare della sua vita un’opera d’arte e con ciò dare alla sua esistenza un senso individuale. Per farlo si aggrapperà, nel corso del volume, a diverse figure maschili: dapprima a suo marito Walter, con cui condivide la passione per l’arte, ma che ritiene troppo debole per approdare al genio; sarà poi la volta di Ulrich, ma il sodalizio non arriverà a compiersi per volere dello stesso uomo senza qualità; poi verrà il turno di Meingast, pervertito che l’aveva concupita nella sua adolescenza e che, dopo un viaggio in India, tornerà nelle vesti di mistico, mezzo Schopenhauer e mezzo Hesse; e infine Moosbrugger, lo psicopatico femminicida.
Ulrich è l’antieroe di Musil, così come Zeno era l’antieroe di Svevo, un eroe rovesciato. Un idiota rovesciato, anzi: se, elaborando il personaggio del principe Myskin, Dostoevskij aveva deciso di rappresentare un’anima bella, un Cristo dell’Ottocento, Musil descrive un Cristo che non è più una figura biblica, ma nemmeno la rappresentazione del bello e del buono perché nell’epoca a lui presente bello, buono, male, brutto, eccetera rappresentano solo una decrepita assiologia. Quel che resta è, allora, descrivere.
Musil descrive senza sosta, ma ciò che lo affascina di più, ciò su cui si sofferma maggiormente non è la realtà materiale; sono, piuttosto, le idee del suo tempo. Tutto lo affascina e tutto lo interessa. Le divagazioni del libro coprono pressoché la totalità dello scibile umano: dalla fisica alla chimica, dalla filosofia al pensiero storico-politico, passando per l’economia. Il risultato è una struttura mastodontica, un libro-pachiderma che cerca di muoversi in avanti e lo fa con tremenda difficoltà.
Di fatto, nulla avviene. Ulrich abbandona l’Azione parallela, proprio nel momento in cui sembra muoversi qualcosa, alla morte del padre. Questo evento immette un nuovo tassello nella vita del protagonista: l’incontro con la sorella, la fondazione del “Regno millenario”, cioè dell’unione dei fratelli siamesi, che si tramuterà in un assurdo e inspiegabile – misterioso – rapporto incestuoso tra Ulrich e sua sorella Agathe. Gran parte degli ultimi abbozzi è dedicata proprio a questo rapporto e al senso che, alla luce della relazione instaurata, assume il concetto dell’amore. Ma anche questa strada, come tutte le altre percorse in precedenza, è preclusa poiché non trova una soluzione, una conclusione.
Musil inizia a scrivere il romanzo intorno agli anni Venti, all’indomani della dissoluzione del mondo in cui aveva vissuto fino a poco prima e che aveva visto avvicinarsi allo sfacelo per poi affondarci dentro. La particolarità della sua narrazione consiste dunque nello sviluppare il romanzo come se fosse parte della realtà stessa: non è raro incontrare riferimenti alla storia, citazioni di personaggi famosi o vere e proprie teorie di scienziati e filosofi amalgamate alla narrazione; e, avendo come fondamento la realtà stessa e non una semplice invenzione che abbia lontane similitudini con il mondo reale, l’autore cerca di produrre una costruzione barocca – in questo non molto dissimile dalle creazioni gaddiane – capace di inglobare tutto l’essente. In questo sforzo sta la grandezza del romanzo ma anche la difficoltà della lettura: gli eccessivi rimandi, i troppi rifacimenti, le abbondanti pause prolisse sulle scienze, sulla filosofia, sulla politica e l’economia stancano il lettore. E, tuttavia, si ha sempre l’impressione che, nel voler descrivere l’intero mare dell’esistenza umana si rimanga sempre sulla superficie delle onde che ne rompono l’apparente armonia, l’armonia perversa di un mondo senza qualità.
December 25, 2017
I spent all of March 2017 reading this translation of Musil's masterwork (Eithne Wilkins and Ernst Kaiser, 1954) alongside the latest translation by Sophie Wilkins, 1995. After a staggered start, I overlapped two chapters in one, then two chapters in the other, always re-reading a chapter I'd just finished in the "other" version.
A brilliant novel depicting a time and place via a multitude of characters, upon which floats the strange disaffected character of the Man Without Qualities. While perhaps never intended, the novel's lack of conclusion, it's never arriving, is its perfect conclusion. The earlier translation showed a bit more prudery and seemed more circumspect, while the later translation was looser, more informal. Both suffered at different times with English gaucheries and inelegant sentences when trying to translate the long, long, complex sentences Musil employed.
A brilliant novel depicting a time and place via a multitude of characters, upon which floats the strange disaffected character of the Man Without Qualities. While perhaps never intended, the novel's lack of conclusion, it's never arriving, is its perfect conclusion. The earlier translation showed a bit more prudery and seemed more circumspect, while the later translation was looser, more informal. Both suffered at different times with English gaucheries and inelegant sentences when trying to translate the long, long, complex sentences Musil employed.
June 7, 2023
Безспорно, много висок стил на писане, с интересни философски умозаключения. Труден език, все пак, в смисъл начин на изразяване. Увлекателен е, защото поне за мен не се среща често. Трябва човек да е максимално съсредоточен, когато чете.
Но... сюжетът е твърде разтегнат и във втората част от книгата. Началото бе многообещаващо, но след което на места доста доскучава сюжетната линия. Трудно четяща се книга, едва ли много млади хора ще я прочетат?!? Заслужава си, но човек трябва да има предварителна нагласа към подобен род четиво. Ще я препрочета след време.... задължително! Със сигурност ще преосмисля много неща. Но във всички случаи Мосбругер не мога да го възприема, както и защо авторът му е посветил толкова страници - също недоумявам?!?
Но... сюжетът е твърде разтегнат и във втората част от книгата. Началото бе многообещаващо, но след което на места доста доскучава сюжетната линия. Трудно четяща се книга, едва ли много млади хора ще я прочетат?!? Заслужава си, но човек трябва да има предварителна нагласа към подобен род четиво. Ще я препрочета след време.... задължително! Със сигурност ще преосмисля много неща. Но във всички случаи Мосбругер не мога да го възприема, както и защо авторът му е посветил толкова страници - също недоумявам?!?
August 4, 2021
starts out forcefully with the introduction of Agathe who gives great depth to Ulrich’s character but quickly descends into exhausting the reader’s patience with yet another existential rumination. what had complex nuance and depth for 600 some pages in the wonderful Hebrew translation feels like an overindulgence around page 760 which is where i finally gave up
May 28, 2018
"Hardly anyone still reads nowadays. People make use of the writer only in order to work off their own excess energy on him in a perverse manner, in the form of agreement or disagreement." (pp. 139-40)
[in which Musil anticipates a good 50% of reviews on Goodreads]
[in which Musil anticipates a good 50% of reviews on Goodreads]
April 17, 2017
Vaikea, työläs. Ja ällistyttävän palkitseva lopulta.
February 13, 2019
Класичний модерністський роман: галюциногенний, іронічний, глибокий, несерйозний, тонкий, ненав'язливий.
November 22, 2019
The second part of one of my absolute favorite novels. There is a bit of threat of something happening, but fortunately it doesn't.
March 27, 2020
Puiki knyga, dar puikesnė dalis už pirmą. Visai smagu, kad knyga kaip ir be pabaigos, ir sykiu norėtųsi dar vienos kitos dalies. :)
May 9, 2020
რა ეჩქარებოდა დასრულება...
June 28, 2020
The second part is the ode to morality which is slightly perverted with many doors and one exit. Morality which is felt but not realized.
June 29, 2021
Налаштуйтесь на неквапне читання та опис духу тогочасної Австрії.
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