The Three-Arched Bridge

by Ismail Kadare, John Hodgson (Translator)

A bridge under construction in 14th Century Albania is secretly sabotaged by ferry men who are afraid of being made redundant. Officially they blame a prophecy that no bridge will stand over the river without human sacrifice to the water spirits. So the builders immure a villager and the bridge gets built. A Balkan parable by the author of The Pyramid.

Genres: Historical Fiction, Fiction, Albanian Literature, Historical, Novels, Literature, 20th Century

192 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1978

About the author

Ismail Kadare (also spelled Kadaré) was an Albanian novelist and poet. He has been a leading literary figure in Albania since the 1960s. He focused on short stories until the publication of his first novel, The General of the Dead Army. In 1996 he became a lifetime member of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences of France. In 1992, he was awarded the Prix mondial Cino Del Duca; in 2005, he won the inaugural Man Booker International Prize, in 2009 the Prince of Asturias Award of Arts, and in 2015 the Jerusalem Prize. He has divided his time between Albania and France since 1990. Kadare has been mentioned as a possible recipient for the Nobel Prize in Literature several times. His works have been published in about 30 languages.

Ismail Kadare was born in 1936 in Gjirokastër, in the south of Albania. His education included studies at the University of Tirana and then the Gorky Institute for World Literature in Moscow, a training school for writers and critics.

In 1960 Kadare returned to Albania after the country broke ties with the Soviet Union, and he became a journalist and published his first poems.

His first novel, The General of the Dead Army, sprang from a short story, and its success established his name in Albania and enabled Kadare to become a full-time writer.

Kadare's novels draw on Balkan history and legends. They are obliquely ironic as a result of trying to withstand political scrutiny. Among his best known books are Chronicle in Stone (1977), Broken April (1978), and The Concert (1988), considered the best novel of the year 1991 by the French literary magazine Lire.

In 1990, Kadare claimed political asylum in France, issuing statements in favour of democratisation. During the ordeal, he stated that "dictatorship and authentic literature are incompatible. The writer is the natural enemy of dictatorship."

Reviews

[Valeriu Gherghel · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ismail Kadare pretinde că reproduce o cronică despre zidirea unui pod, în 1377, și, în același timp, exprimă sentimentul de cetate asediată, trăit, șase secole mai tîrziu, în comunism, de locuitorii Albaniei. Poți socoti acest roman o scriere subversivă? Mai degrabă, nu.

Romanul este, în realitate, rescrierea unei legende răspîndite peste tot în Balcani. În Podul cu trei arce, niște rapsozi rătăcitori evocă zidirea cetății Rozafah. Fără o jertfă, cetatea nu a putut fi ridicată. Există însă și legenda elenă a podului de peste Arta. Într-un citat, Ismail Kadare trimite la ea. Fata zidită la temelie blestemă:

„Așa cum tremur eu prinsă în piatră,
asa să tremure și acest pod”.

Construcția podului peste Ujana cea Rea începe în primăvara anului 1377. Ea e precedată de semne dubioase. Un ins se prăbușește la pămînt. A avut, probabil, o criză de epilepsie. Prin epileptici se manifestă negreșit Dumnezeu. Altul, un pseudo-inspirat, spune că aici va trebui ridicat un pod. A ridica un pod înseamnă a face o breșă în zidul natural care înconjoară ținutul. Oamenii sînt nedumeriți.

Întîmplările se succed de parcă ar fi scrise de pronie. Stăpînul locului, contele Stres Gjika, e vizitat de niște străini îndoielnici, care vorbesc un limbaj pestriț (grec, latin, nemțesc, cu puține cuvinte albaneze). Promit că vor ridica, în numai doi ani, un edificiu magnific, un pod cu trei arce. Din păcate, constructorii întîmpină dificultăți. E nevoie, așadar, de un sacrificiu. Cronicarul Gjon, fiul lui Gjorg Ukcama, călugăr catolic, notează:

„Pînă la mănăstire nu m-am gîndit decît la viitoarea jertfă. Aveam capul tulbure. Va veni el, oare, singur la pod, ca nora cea tînără, sau va cădea în cursă? Oare cine va fi? Ce motive va avea să moară sau să fie ucis?”

Pînă la urmă, va fi „jertfit” cel mai banal dintre locuitori, un anume Murrash Zenebisha. Cînd podul e gata, doar fața lui hidoasă, acoperită de var i se mai poate vedea: „Ochii lui deschişi, îngheţaţi sub pojghiţa de var, mă urmăreau de pe orice perete pe unde treceam. Zidurile mă obsedau şi făceam tot ce era omeneşte posibil să nu le privesc, însă îmi era cu neputinţă”. Chipul hidos îi șoptește: „O, călugăraș, noi doi semănăm foarte bine”. Cronica se încheie cu o presimțire sinistră:

„Iar această cronică, la fel ca şi podul, poate că cere o jertfă, iar aici cel sacrificat nu pot fi decît eu însumi, eu, călugărul Gjon, fiul lui Gjorg Ukcama, care am săvîrşit asta ştiind că pre limba noastră încă nimic nu s-a scris despre podul de peste Ujana cea Rea şi despre urgia care se apropie şi potopeşte lumea noastră preaiubită”.

Putem vedea în romanul lui Kadare (și) o parodie ironică a vechii legende.

P. S. Pentru a înțelege mai bine legenda jertfei fondatoare, trimit la lucrarea lui Mircea Eliade Comentarii la legenda Meșterului Manole.. Am recitit-o pentru a scrie despre romanul lui Kadare. Romanul lui ar trebui pus în legătură cu povestirea „Laptele morții” de Marguerite Yourcenar, publicată în Povestiri orientale și, desigur, cu E un pod pe Drina de Ivo Andrić. (14.04.23, vineri)

[Ian · Rating 5 out of 5]

I downloaded this book almost 4 years ago after seeing the review of a GR Friend. Books often have to wait a while before I can get to them though. I’m now kicking myself for leaving this one so long.

This short novel transports us to 14th century Albania, and is in the form of an account written by a Catholic monk, Gjon. It takes us to a world of folk-belief and tradition, that is confronted with change in several ways. One is in the building of a stone bridge over their local river, the Ujana e Keqe – “Wicked Waters” – which has always before been crossed on a raft operated by a ferryman. Up to now any bridges that the locals knew of had been built of wood. A stone bridge is something very new to them.

The bridge is emblematic of other, bigger, changes. One is the approaching conquest of Albania by the Ottoman Empire. The locals have always dealt with Greeks, both as neighbours and as the rulers of the great empire centred on Byzantium. Now though, they have Turkish rather than Greek soldiers on their border, bringing a sense of threat.

“The hunger of the great Ottoman state could be felt in the wind.”

At one point Gjon has a conversation with the foreman of the men building the bridge. The foreman speaks of the bridge as a sign that the great changes happening in Europe are reaching even this remote corner. He speaks of banks, of the Venetian ducat as an international currency, of trade fairs and merchant caravans, and especially of roads and bridges of stone.

In contrast the local villagers speak of water nymphs and the spirits of the river, which cannot tolerate this insult of a bridge placed over them. Gradually, an old legend is re-awakened.

There are a few patterns of prose that the author repeats. When travellers appear, they are referred to as coming from “who knows where,” a sign perhaps of the villagers’ isolation and lack of knowledge of the wider world. He seems to have a thing about describing eyes - sunken eyes, swollen eyes, empty eyes, “dead” eyes (in a living person). I wondered whether I was missing some meaning here.

Kadare’s creation of the 14th century village is very vivid. I read the book in more or less a single day. An excellent read.

[Orhan Pelinkovic · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was a captivating read narrated in an ominous tone by our fictional chronicler, a 14th-century Albanian Catholic monk, Gjon, in which the focal characters are a stone bridge and a totemic river and their fatal encounter.

In this allegorical novel, Ismail Kadare (1936-) tells a story loosely based on and inspired by an ancient Illyrian legend of a castle construction. But instead, Kadare constructs a three-arched bridge over the unbridled Wicked Waters river. However, the construction encounters what seems to be an impassible hurdle and the townspeople's opinion was that only a human sacrifice offered to the river can overcome it.

The bridge can be seen as a metaphor for the link between Asia and Europe during the Ottoman invasion and conquer of the Balkans. The "chaining" of the river was the beginning of what was to become a permanent influence, and to some extent a disappearance, of the local traditions, cultures, and beliefs of the natives.

This short novel has some incredibly creative dialogues and reflections in which we also witness how the resurrection of old superstitions and myths can be effectively utilized to justify even the ultimate sacrifice. Thanks to my GR friend Bob for a wonderful recommendation.

[Araz Goran · Rating 4 out of 5]

كاداريه يكتب بشكل جميل للغاية، هو من الكُتاب الرائعين الذين استشعر بقيمة الأدب والرواية حين أقرأ لهم ، يكتب الحكايات القديمة بإسلوب شيق ونكهة تاريخية يطغى عليها السكون والغرابة وتتخللها الأساطير وعادات الشعوب القديمة وعالمها الذي يصعب أن يكتب عنه كاتب من دون العبور إلى ذلك العالم بشكل مباشر ومتعمق ..
لا يتمادى كاداريه في إستعمال الخيال بقدر ما يحاول ان يجسد ذلك العالم البعيد، تلك العادات، أولئك الناس غريبي الأطوار، المحركات والدوافع التي كانت تسيطر على الناس حينها ..


إسماعيل كاداريه كونه ألبانياً فإنه يتحدث هنا عن تاريخ بلاده ، يعود بنا إلى القرن الثاني عشر للميلاد ، حيث تقع أحداث حول بناء جسر على نهر (أويان اللعين) .. أحداث غريبة يرويها كاداريه إزاء بناء الجسر، أناس ساخطون على بناء الجسر وأساطير تتحدث عن حرمة بناءه وتضحيات وخوف ومدينة غريبة الأطوار وخطر داهم يهدد المدينة برمتها، وحتى ينتهي بناء الجسر فإن الحكاية تبقى مستمرة والسرد ممتع ومهيب بقلم كاداريه ..


أحببت الرواية وأخافتني أجواءها وسحرها وعالمها الضبابي الغارق في جو الأسطورة والمدن القديمة الضائعة ..

[Mohammad · Rating 4 out of 5]

کاداره به عنوان سوژه‌ی دیرینه‌ی رژیم سرکوبگر انور خوجه، در رمان پل مثل اکثر آثارش به سراغ تمثیل رفته؛ تمثیلی کافکاگونه. ماجرا در قرن چهاردهم و در مرز بین آلبانی و عثمانی می‌گذرد و کاداره وقایع مربوط به ساخت یک پل سه‌طاقه باستانی را به تصویر کشیده تا نمایانگر تاریخ عریض و طویل دشمنی فرهنگی بین ملت‌های بالکان باشد. به ویژه روش سلطه‌ای که صاحبان قدرت از طریق تصاحب و تفسیر افسانه‌ها و تصنیف‌های کهن جهت مشروعیت‌بخشی به تصمیماتشان یا اسلحه‌ای برای زخم زدن به یکدیگر یا بهانه‌ی لشکرکشی استفاده می‌کرده‌اند. یا شاید برعکس؛ خود این افسانه‌ها هستند که آنها را به دام انداخته، ذهنشان را آشفته کرده و در نهایت آنها را به بازی‌های خونین پرتاب می‌کنند. در آلبانی و ظاهراً اکثر کشورهای بالکان ادبیات مکتوب خیلی دیر وارد عرصه شده و تا سالها ادبیات شفاهی وجه غالب بوده. نویسنده گریزی هم به نقش ادبیات شفاهی در کشورش زده. که چگونه سنت شفاهی با تمام نقاط ضعف یا قوتش از نسلی به نسل دیگر و از فردی به فرد دیگر دستخوش دگرگونی می‌شود

[Bob Newman · Rating 5 out of 5]

When legend catches you in its snare

The monk Gjon Ukcama, narrator of this rain-swept tale of the 14th century Balkans, says at one point, "...like all the affairs of this world, this story was both simpler and more involved than it appeared." This sentence could sum up the book. It is a magnificent work on so many levels. In one way, you can read it as a simple tale of how a bridge was built; beginning with medieval machinations, certain unforeseen setbacks, a sacrifice, and ultimate success. A second approach to the novel is to look at it as a little-known historical period brought to life through a legend-like tale---the decline of Byzantium, the subsequent rise of many small principalities in the Balkans together with the ever-rising crescendo of Ottoman power from the East, the new commercial combines directed from the Italian states and other countries further west. A third way of looking at THE THREE-ARCHED BRIDGE is to think of it as an allegory of Albanian history, showing Albania as one of those many small countries to which history "happens" without their having any say-so. In a fourth way, this is a tale about change in any period of human history. Can there be major changes without someone paying a steep price ? A person here, a social class there, an entire way of life over there....Kadare's story moves with dark inevitability. Finally, you can read this novel as being about life and death: people struggle to bridge the gap, but the two worlds--of the living and of the dead---remain separate. This legend of an old Albanian bridge tells us this. We can't penetrate further into the mystery though so many have tried.

A Christian monk, writing in the 14th century, might have seen the Turks as a threat, though animosity between Rome and Byzantium was worse than between Islam and Christianity. That is not to say that everyone at the time did see the situation like that. Many Christian peasants of southeastern Europe preferred to live under the less-rapacious, better-organized Ottomans. Many even gladly converted to Islam. So, although the Turks are portrayed as menacing in this novel, even as symbolic of death and disaster, I would like to point out that Albanian history was re-written in the 19th and 20th centuries to suit those who opposed the decayed Turkish rule four centuries after the initial conquests. We are still dealing in legends, in other words. Kadare does not vary from nationalist history, which has to be seen for the legend it is. Other than that minor criticism, this is without doubt a five-star book. My only question is---when is Kadare going to get a Nobel Prize ?

[Jane · Rating 4 out of 5]

In 1377 a monk, Gjon [John] Ukcama, begins his chronicle of the events of that time in his corner of Albania. What follows is a mesmerizing, frightening tale. It can be read on several levels; the straightforward narrative of a bridge being built over a raging river, the Ujana e Keqe ["Wild waters"], its construction undermined by sabotage and bitter rivalry between two entities: Boats & Rafts and Roads & Bridges. Byzantium is crumbling; the Ottoman Empire encroaches on Albania; Gjon writes on the last page of his chronicle, "times are black; soon night may fall..."

"I, the monk Gjon, sonne of Gjorg Ukcama, who hath finished this knowynge that ther is no thynge wrytene in owre tonge about the Brigge of the Ujana e Keqe and the euil whyche is upon us, and for the love of owre worlde."

Or the novella can be read on an allegorical level. Kadare lived during the brutal dictatorship of Enver Hoxha, so most of what he wrote is purposely veiled in hidden meaning. This tale could be the bloody history of his people, possibly present-day [well, when Kadare wrote it in 1976-78] events. The author used the conflict of the 14th century as a metaphor. The man walled up in the bridge, a sacrifice to propitiate the bridge, seemed like a symbol that Albania would not progress without violence and shedding of blood. The short chapters ranging from one to five pp. brought to my mind old Hollywood movies where tearing off calendar pages would indicate passage of time. I have read other Kadare and he can be difficult to understand, but this parable seemed unambiguous. It reminds me of the surreal, grotesque stories of Kafka in how this story and those of Kafka's can have layered meanings. The atmosphere of desolation and foreboding is conveyed marvelously throughout.

[Cătălina Steriu · Rating 4 out of 5]

A short but powerful novel about how the construction of a bridge in the medieval Albania is shaped by myths and superstitions. At a bigger level, I would say it is also about the clash between two worlds: water and land, but also the old state of things and a new one, represented by the Ottoman threat.

[Dobre Cosmin · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.7★

[Caroline · Rating 5 out of 5]

Only red blood in common.

A babble of languages. Their music ‘this stupor, this hashish dissolved in the air in the form of song'. Their dervishes with ragged clothes that look like hair, and with hair that looks like rags. The differences between Europe and Ottoman Asia, suddenly at Albania’s borders.

But more differences between ‘us' and ‘them' come before that--among people of the Balkans themselves. Obscured competition for the profits of commerce come to this small principality from outside, places where no one has been. Someone we never see maneuvers to buld a bridge and take the business of someone else we never see--the magnate of water transport. The peasants fear effects on the water spirits. A mogul of water, a mogul of earth. Ferry or bridge? Reason or naiads? Science or religion?

This book is more than a parable, but it has the feeling of a very complex parable that invites contemplation of any number of ancient and current contentions. On the surface it is about the advance of the Ottoman Empire into Europe. The Orthodox priest who tells the story foresees his culture being obliterated under this juggernaut, except for what might be salvaged later if it gets hidden in crevices of the mountains. It is about the basis of the endless wars of the Balkans. (In one of Kadare’s linguistic digressions he tells of the Turks' recent nomination of the peninsula as 'the Balkans', to do with mountains.)

But, it could as easily be about the Cold War, the confrontation across the iron curtain, as it was written in 1976-78. It could be about today’s religious wars. About ecological disputes among those who believe the water and the earth are more than elements to be shifted and exploited. About the sacrifices of human beings that occur during the upheaval of modernization, to placate the Gods, whether they be real or legendary.

As I finished the book I realized the priest had never mentioned crossing the bridge himself. He only watches.

It’s a classic so I hardly need to recommend it, but I do.

[Anna Leah · Rating 3 out of 5]

Aceasta este o dezminţire a unei legende balcanice, asemănătoare cu legenda "Meşterul Manole" potrivit căreia "la temelia oricărei înfăptuiri, a unei opere măreţe trebuie sacrificat ceva."
Legenda e povestită de un călugăr albanez.
Într-o primăvară pe malul râului Ujana cea Rea, la debarcaderul plutaşului, un necunoscut are o criză de epilepsie. Un călător, martor al întâmplării spune că e un semn divin şi că în locul acela trebuie construit un pod. Contele Gjica, stăpânul locului, contra unei sume de bani permite construirea podului, dar zidarii nu avansează în lucru. Aceştea găsesc de câteva ori picioarele podului surpate, iar oamenii cred că e răzbunarea crăieselor apei. De fapt, era răzbunarea celor care administrau plutele şi nu doreau să-şi piardă câştigurile. După cum deduce naratorul, ei fac înţelegere cu un localnic care dărâmă podul, dar într-o noapte este prins, omorât şi zidit într-unul din picioarele podului. Astfel podul cu trei arce se întemeiază pe o crimă.
Călugărul care scrie această cronică percepe în crimele comise la zidirea podului nişte semne ale unei tragedii care ar ameninţa Balcanii şi anume invazia Imperiului Otoman.
Din punct de vedere simbolistic, podul reprezintă trecerea de la cer la pământ, de la viaţă la moarte.
Şi în acest roman, naratorul se pare ar sugera că podul simbolizează viaţa liniştită pe care o duc albanezii pe pământul lor şi de cealaltă parte, ameninţarea şi pericolul unei invazii a Imperiului Otoman, aflat în vecinătate. Adică zidirea lui aduce progresul, civilizația, dar și războiul, moartea.

[Sorin Hadârcă · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ismail Kadare poate fi genial dacă vrea, nu și în "Podul cu trei arce". Romanul de față face parte din seria de exerciții mitologice, prin care autorul ia câte o legendă veche și o întoarce pe față și pe dos găsindu-i noi dedesupturi. Un fel de a coase dosar penal Meșterului Manole.

[Hon Lady Selene [on a hiatus] · Rating 5 out of 5]

"No one crossed the bridge. Nobody wanted to walk over the dead. It was at the end of Tuesday afternoon when they saw that a wolf had padded softly over the bridge, as in a fairy tale."

Mindbending read as the plotline is a great retelling of the immurement legend of Rozafa Castle (see here), attested as early as 1505 in the work Da obsidione Scodreni, by the Albanian humanist and historian Marin Barleti - a myth present in many Eastern-European countries (but even as far and early as in the Inca culture) however I was always under the impression that this was a purely Romanian legend of the building of the Argeș Monastery (see here as this story is also, morbidly enough, part of early school curriculum.

"These people had revived legend, like an old weapon, discovered accidentally, to wound each other. It was nevertheless early to say whether they had really enlisted it in their service. Perhaps it was legend itself that had caught them in a snare, had clouded their minds, and had thrust them into the bloody game."

Here we have a dreamlike parable of a bridge construction on the historical Via Egnatia (see here) on Albanian territory in the 14th century, shortly before the occupation by the Ottoman Empire that started at Vlorë when the Byzantium empire handed over its base to the Turks - a move that was taken as a sign of a new world order settling in.

We are guided by Gjon, an Albanian monk who witnesses the construction of the bridge as well as the confusion that it brings, unavoidable tragedies, the needless violence but distractions come in the shape of Turks travelling from the Ottoman Empire . I found Kadare here at his strongest as he truly sets the stage for the absolute confusion that must have been in the minds of the Albanians as they helplessly witness a slow trickle of barefoot strangers crossing their lands, talking in strange languages, wearing strange clothes and singing strange songs.

"The language of the East is drawing nearer."

The country was already in a state of confusion: there was an increase in Dutch, Italian and Jewish immigrants and merchants, heavy caravan traffic, old roads were being repaired, new banks were open, the almost universal currency was the Venetian ducat, but the country was in fact dealing in 27 different kinds of coins.

"The hunger of the great Ottoman state could be felt in the wind. We were already used to the savage hunger of the Slavs, naked and with bare teeth like wolves, this hunger always seemed more dangerous than anything else. But in contrast, the Ottoman pressure involved a kind of temptation. It struck me as no accident that they had chosen the moon as their symbol. Under its light, the world could be carressed and lulled to sleep more easily."

Ishmael Kadare has created an excellent microcosmos of Albanian identity in under 200 pages - and there is something unique about this fair land - the Albanian language is Indo-European and 6000 years old, among the oldest of the European languages, as Albanians themselves are descended from the ancient Kingdom of Ilyria, a strangely mysterious region in the Balkan Peninsula that worshipped the god Silvanus (see here), I've thus switched between Serbian and English in reading this.

"Wars between languages are no less fateful than wars between men. When someone borrows your words for gods, it is like borrowing a part of your soul."

Kadare also touches upon Besa - an Albanian concept of great importance in customary law that is similar to 'word of honour' or 'the unbreakable vow', with origins in a pagan folk belief of an oath taken by Sun, Moon, Sky, Earth, Fire, Stone, Mountain, Water and Snake - considered sacred objects by the Paleo-Balkans, with roots in the pagan Illyrian religion.

"This was exactly the right place to explain to him that these words, 'to break the besa', are, in the Slavic versions of the ballads, vjeru pogazio, which means 'to violate faith' or 'to outrage religion'."

Albania remained under Ottoman occupation since its conquest in the late 15th century to 1912 when the Albanian Revolt of 1912 weakened the Ottoman state and sparked the First Balkan War, with Albania declaring its Independence in November 1912, quite poetically, in Vlorë.

[Ivona · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Alexiada” Anei Comnena mi-a starnit curiozitatea fata de Albania. M-am mai mai intalnit apoi cu cateva referinte despre Albania si albanezi in minunata carte a lui Charles King, “Marea Neagra. O istorie” si apoi in jurnalul de calatorie al excentricului Sacheverell Sitwell, “Calatorie in Romania”. Mi-am dorit sa aflu ceva mai mult despre aceasta tara – despre care cunoasteam, in mare parte, doar locul pe care il ocupa pe harta – si mai ales despre legaturile vechi care leaga Romania si Albania.

Pentru mine a fost prima intalnire cu literatura albaneza. Cele 185 de pagini cu aer de poveste le-am parcurs usor intr-o sambata. Insa pe cat de usor se intorc paginile pe atat de profunde sunt trairile care raman dupa ce inchizi cartea. “Podul cu trei arce” al lui Kadare e in primul rand un roman de atmosfera si nu in ultimul rand o complexa parabola politica.
Daca Ken Follett, in “Stalpii pamantului” are nevoie de peste 1000 de pagini pentru a ne transpune pe platoul unui santier medieval, Kadare are nevoie de mult mai putin spatiu. Desigur, nu exista termen de comparatie intre cele doua romane si cei doi autori; scriitura si modul de tratare si simtire a unor subiecte sunt diferite si, totusi, exact aceste diferente m-au dus cu gandul la Follett in timp ce se punea piatra peste piatra pentru a pune capastru Ujanei cea Rea. Atat raul “Ujana cea Rea” cat si podul de piatra cu cele trei arce ale sale sunt personaje principale in romanul lui Kadare. Dar sunt ele stapane pe destinul lor sau destinul lor e scris de ceea ce le inconjoara?

“E o pace sinistra, mai cumplita decat orisice razboi”
ne spune calugarul catolic Gjon, cel care se grabeste a istorisi aceasta poveste pana ce nu ii va fi imposibil sa o faca. Suntem in 1377 pe domeniile contelui Stres Gjika(hmm, sa fie acesta vreun stramos de legenda al familiei domnitoare Ghica, ale carei origini erau albaneze?), nu departe de Dyrrachium(acum Durres), pe vechiul drum roman Via Egnatia, caruia acum i se spunea Drumul Balcanilor care strabatea Albania, Macedonia, Grecia si se oprea in vechea capitala a Bizantului, Constantinopol. In acest colt de lume ingust in care “albanezul era asociat cu vulturul(dobar), sarbul cu lupul, croatul cu cucuveaua, ungurul cu linxul iar romanul cu pisica” cine ar mai avea loc?

Simtim tensiunea apasatoare de la inceput. Un anumit mod de viata urmeaza sa apuna. Dar ce va veni dupa, de unde va veni, cum va veni? Multi ani s-a trait in armonie cu Ujana cea Rea si tulbure. Angajamentele au fost respectate, platile facute. Si totusi acum se vrea a se pune stavila Ujanei, o constructie de piatra urmeaza sa o infranga, iar legaturile cu ea, cu Ujana, vor fi altele de acum incolo. “Barci si plute” cea mai mare si puternica banca din Durres isi respectase intelegerile cu seniorul Gjika dar si cu Ujana si, din cate se pare “era corecta pana la ultimul banut”. Dar ce putere poate avea o banca in fata unui semn divin? Iar semnul a fost trimis si ajunsese la urechile tuturor, un om cu boala sfanta(epilepsie) l-a adus, un om cu “boala pamantului” caci asa i se spune. Un pod, spusese. Nu mult a trecut pana cand, niste nou-veniti, care vorbeau o limba ciudata, se ofereau sa ridice, in doi ani, un pod de piatra peste Ujana cea Rea. Dar cine erau ei, cine le era stapanul?
“Stapanul lor nu e nici duce, nici baron, nici print, ci un om bgat, care cumparase in ultima vreme vechea exploatare de bitum, parasita inca de pe vremea romanilor si, deasemenea, cea mai mare parte a drumului, la fel de vechi, pe care avea de gand sa-l repare. Nu are un titlu nobiliar, spusesera ei, in schimb are bani”
Acum 150-200 de ani, pe acest drum vechi de cand lumea, “tropaisera copitele tuturor cruciadelor crestine” in drumul lor spre Ierusalim. Acum, pe el, din partea opusa, incepeau sa apara cand si cand, dar tot mai des dervisi. Pe drumul acesta au aparut si cei care se ofereau sa ridice podul. Turcii sunt tot mai des intalniti de-a lungul si de-a latul Balcanilor.
Nu a trecut mult si au ajuns si echipele de constructori, s-au ridicat baracile pentru ei, iar spectacolul oferit, in special de arhitectul sef de santier, era unul nemaivazut. Doar nebunul satului se gasea in elementul lui, batranii satului, in schimb, nu preveasteau nimic bun, sigur Ujana se va razbuna iar razbunarea va fi crunta. Va urma deci o lupta crancena intre “stapanii apelor” si “stapanii pamantului”, intre apa si piatra, o lupta intre vechile legende si superstitii ale Balcanilor, iar intr-un final “stapanii pamantului” cu ajutorul legendei vor aduce moartea.

“Asa cum tremur eu prinsa in piatra,
asa sa tremure si acest pod.” – Balada zidirii podului
Kadare reinterpreteaza legenda zidirii cetatii Rozafa din apropierea orasului Shkodra, aceeasi balada a zidirii pe care o regasim si la noi in “Leganda Mesterului Manole” si aduce un plus de suspans in atmosfera si asa apasatoarea a romanului. Sa fie sacrificiu consimtit, sa fie crima si razbunare, sa fie dorinta de nemurire, sa fie doar o simpla intelegere pe considerente financiare? Un lucru e cert, podul a ramas in picioare iar faima lui l-a transformat in subiect de pelerinaj, ocazie numai buna pentru a afla gandurile care framantau mintile acelor vremuri.

Vestile care ajungeau nu aduceau insa mai multa liniste. Imperiul Otoman ajunsese deja la granita, iar printii albanezi sunt macinati de vesnice invidii, multi dintre ei lasandu-se cu usurinta amagiti de putere si bani. Gjon isi aduce aminte de prima oara cand a vazut osteni turci.

O bijuterie acest roman al lui Kadare. O mica poveste care cuprinde nu doar o parte din istoria Albaniei ci istoria lumii la un loc. O poveste in care vesnic exista doua fete si o gramada de nuante. Mult mai mult decat un roman despre ciocinrea civilizatiilor, despre drumurile care aduc atat deschidere si cunoastere cat si conflicte. O poveste despre aceleasi intrebari pe care ni le punem neincetat de-a lungul istoriei – cand ne-am lasat cuceriti si cand ne-am lasat cumparati?

O poveste depre progres cu tente ecologiste, o poveste despre costurile progresului si incapacitatea de a i te opune, o poveste despre harti, granite, geopolitica, despre ceea ce credeai imposibil a se intampla vreodata, o poveste despre simboluri, marire si decadere, despre semnificatia timpului si modul in care il percepem, despre ceea ce, intr-un final, ne face sa fim la fel.

Povestea, nu intamplator se termina in 1976-1978, la Tirana. Kadare se vede in fata regimului comunist, la fel ca si calugarul Gjon in fata urgiei otomane. Ambii se grabesc sa isi spuna povestea. Gjon nu va pasi peste pod. Kadare se afla in fata unei interdictii de a mai publica.

Mai multe ganduri despre aceasta carte, aici Podul cu trei arce, o bucatica din istoria zbuciumata a Balcanilor

[Xhensila Dautllari · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ura me tri harqe ishte një surprizë mjaft e këndshme, duke qenë se më pëlqeu goxha më shumë nga ç’e prisja. Ndërthurja e realitetit me mitiken, hyjnores me politiken, besës së vjetër me mashtrimin e ri, ironisë së pastër me paditurinë e kohës, gjen vend dhe rrjedh natyrshëm në rrëfim. Vetë rrëfimi është ndërtuar mjeshtërisht, herë të trondit e herë të magjeps, por është e sigurt që të ngulitet në kujtesë për një kohë të gjatë.

[فهد الفهد · Rating 5 out of 5]

الجسر

كاداريه من جديد، اقترب متهيباً، فالذروة التي وصلتها مع (الحصار)، أعقبها هبوط مع (قصة مدينة الحجر)، فما الذي يخبئه لي كاداريه في جسره؟

صفحتين فقط، كل ما كان كاداريه يحتاجه ليشد أذني قبل انتباهي، وكأن الألباني العجوز الذي أمتعني في (الحصار) و(دورنتين) و(الوحش) غاضب من تشكيكي بقدراته، في هذه الرواية تتردد كالعادة موضوعة كاداريه الأثيرة الأسطورة عندما تمتزج بالواقع، لتصنع عالماً خاصاً.

تدور أحداث الرواية في ألبانيا القرون الوسطى، على ضفة نهر الأويان يصرع رجل غريب، فيتحدث الناس عن أن هذه إشارة سماوية لبناء جسر على النهر، وبالفعل يظهر رجال غرباء ويتكفلون أمام الكونت (سترس دي جيكا) سيد البلد بتنفيذ الإشارة السماوية وبناء الجسر، هذا التطور في الأحداث يضر من سماهم المؤلف المائيين وهم أصحاب العبارات التي تنقل الناس بين ضفتي النهر، فعملهم الآن سيتوقف لو حقق الأرضيون أحلامهم وبنوا الجسر، ويبدأ الصراع مع بداية بناء الجسر، تظهر علامات تخريب ومحاولات لإعاقة إنجاز الجسر، كل هذا في ظل صراع دولي يخيم على البلقان مع محاولات العثمانيين الاستيلاء على قاعدة بحرية مهمة تدعى (أوريكوم) تكون منفذاً لهم يسيطرون من خلاله على جميع البلقان، هنا تتجلى عبقرية كاداريه عندما يستعيد أسطورة ألبانية تتناول قصة ثلاثة أخوة كانوا يبنون حصناً، وكيف أن جدران هذا الحصن كانت تنهار ليلاً، فلذا قرروا تقديم أضحية للجدران حتى تتماسك عملاً بنصيحة حكيم مشهور، فقاموا بحبس إحدى زوجاتهم، وهكذا سكنت الجدران ولم تنهر، هذه الأسطورة تتم مساءلتها واستعادتها ببراعة لإكمال بناء الجسر الذي يتهدم في كل ليلة، هل كان الرجل المصروع مدفوع من العثمانيين حتى يتم بناء الجسر الذي يمكنهم من خلاله نقل قواتهم بشكل سريع، فيسيطرون على قاعدة (أوريكوم)؟ الرجل الذي تم حبسه في الجسر كما في الأسطورة، هل هو ضحية أسطورة؟ أم أنه كان جاسوساً للمائيين، نال عقابه على يد الأرضيين، وتم الاستعانة بالأسطورة لإخفاء الجريمة؟ كل هذه أسئلة تثار ببراعة.

لا أظن أن هناك من يضارع كاداريه في توظيف الأساطير، أسطورة حصان طروادة في (الوحش)، وأسطورة البسٌا في (من أعاد دورنتين؟)، والآن أسطورة الحبس في جدار في (الجسر)، عظمة لا يدانيها أحد.

[Calzean · Rating 3 out of 5]

An short book based around various legends of interning a body into a structure (in this case a bridge) as a type of sacrifice. But the story is more about the various Albanian clans whose petty in-fighting are carried out instead of focusing themselves on the real threat of the burgeoning Ottoman Empire. The bridge is a metaphor for the Turkish invaders - it is strongly built, replaces the old and will last for centuries.

[Muhammed Hebala · Rating 1 out of 5]

لم تعجبني الرواية
و برغم صغر حجمها إلا أنني أحسست بالملل الشديد
و برغم استغلاله لاسطورة من المفترض أن تكون شيقة إلا أنه لم يحسن استخدامها
لم تعجبني

[Benny]

Mijn buurtbib heeft heel wat boeken staan van Ismaël Kadare. Een beetje opzoekwerk leert dat deze auteur zowat de bekendste schrijver van Albanië is en zelfs een tijdlang als Nobelprijskandidaat beschouwd werd. Mij is de man echter onbekend. Waarom niet meegritsen, dacht ik.

De brug met de drie bogen is een vrij korte historische roman die zich afspeelt in de 14de eeuw in een klein dorpje in de Balkan. Daar komt een brug, maar niet iedereen is daar even blij mee. Bovendien doen akelige legendes de ronde over de kracht van de rivier en hoe je mensenoffers moet brengen om ervoor te zorgen dat het bouwwerk niet instort. Bovendien staan in de verte de Ottomanen te wachten op een kans om hun rijk en invloed uit te breiden.

Vlot leesbaar, interessant gegeven. Helemaal weggespoeld ben ik niet, maar deze kennismaking smaakt wel naar meer.

[Mérita Selimi · Rating 5 out of 5]

My rating may not be totally objective (I was about to give it four stars actually) but this novel's core is a legend my father told me when I was a little girl (the legend of Rozafa) so I guess it really resonates in me, on a personal level.

Anyway, in this novel Kadare analyses the relationship between legends and reality. He tends to demonstrate how legends can be (have been?) used for treacherous purposes (conceal a crime for example...).

But as a master of allegories and metaphors, Kadare develops the whole story in order to describe a larger reality where the catastrophic events happening to the bridge only prefigure a more terrible curse : the invasion of Albania by the Ottoman empire.

[Kuszma · Rating 3 out of 5]

Kadare könyve amolyan prózásított albán ballada vérbosszúval, babonával, misztikummal és egy rakás gyanús idegennel, akikről elég gyakran derül ki, hogy törökök, de legalábbis török zsoldban állnak, vagy legalábbis ezt feltételezhetjük róluk. A konfliktus ezúttal egy híd körül bonyolódik, amit rejtélyes vállalkozók próbálnak felhúzni – dacolva a helyiek rosszallásával, akik úgy reagálnak az egészre, mintha nem is az Ujun folyó fölé, hanem konkrétan a szájukba épülne az a híd. És mivel racionálisan nehéz indokolniuk, miért olyan rossz, hogy az ember át tud menni a folyón anélkül, hogy vizes lenne a lába, vagy hogy a révész után kelljen rohangálni, ezért holmi vizitündérekre hivatkoznak, meg a folyó szellemére. Aztán ott van a közeli kompvállalkozás (akik meglehetősen XX. századira sikerültek), ők se nézik jó szemmel az ügymenetet, de hát az mondjuk világos, nekik mi fáj benne. Mindenféle gondok adódnak tehát, amik végül egy echte Kőműves Kelemen-sztoriba torkollanak bele, és mindezt súlyosbítandó: az oszmánok már a spájzban vannak. (Megjegyzem, a balkáni prózára amúgy jellemző, hogy a törökökre osztja ki a rosszfiú szerepét, hol többé, hol kevésbé sematizálva őket. Aminek nyilván megvannak a történelmi okai.) Szóval minden adott, hogy egy fullasztó atmoszférájú történelmi regényt kapjunk, de szerintem nem kapunk. Elégedetlenségem okai a következők:

1.) A borító olyan ronda, hogy szúnyogot lehet vele irtani. Mondjuk az Ulipus eme sorozata esetében ez talán alapkövetelmény lehetett.
2.) Nem szoktam fordítási problémára hivatkozni, de ez már túlmegy a rezisztenciámon. Bár nem olvastam eredetiben Kadarét, de más Kadarét magyarul igen, és nem gondolom, hogy ilyen semmilyen hangulatú textusokat írt volna. Halványan olyan érzésem volt, mintha egy középiskolások számára lefinomított szövegvilágban barangolnék.
3.) Ritkán találkoztam ennyire személytelen E/1-es elbeszélővel, mint ebben a könyvben. Állítólag pap, de ilyen erővel akár pék, könyvelő vagy humánerőforrás-menedzser is lehetne, annyira kevéssé van kidolgozva. Az E/1-es elbeszélők amúgy is a kortárs próza Achilles-sarkai, sokan fordulnak hozzájuk, és sokkal kevesebben értik meg, micsoda munkát kell beléjük fektetni a velük való azonosulástól kezdve addig, amíg személyiségüket összehangoljuk a nekik szánt társadalmi-történelmi közeggel – ebből itt kevés valósult meg. (Vagy a fordítónak nem sikerült elhitetnie, hogy Kadarénak sikerült.)

Szóval csalódás volt, különösen annak fényében, micsoda potenciál rejlik magában a puszta történetben. De legalább gyorsan el lehetett olvasni.

[Rashed Aleisa · Rating 5 out of 5]

ماذا يمكن للمرئ أن يتحدث عن كل هذا الجمال؟
إذن فالأفضل ألا يتحدث، وكفى.

[Gurldoggie · Rating 5 out of 5]

The story is set in 1377, and our narrator is an Albanian monk, who watches as the Turkish armies gather over the Balkan Peninsula. With a few deft strokes Kidare conveys the great extent of political and economic shifts occurring in Europe in the late Middle Ages: the collapse of Byzantium, the spread of an international currency and the formation of large financial conglomerates, some of them complicit with the emerging Turkish imperial expansion.

A picture is created of a community in the grip of forces it cannot control and can barely comprehend. A medieval community tries to make sense of rapid historical change, against a bleak landscape of fogs, freezing rains, a great river and a stone bridge. This is a profoundly atmospheric book.

[Betsy · Rating 5 out of 5]

We should all know about this Albanian writer...

[Christopher · Rating 4 out of 5]

A motif of Balkan folklore is that a particular architectural masterpiece from centuries ago involved human sacrifice: someone was immured in its walls to ensure the structure would stand. By the mid twentieth century, bridges had become a popular literary topic in the region, too. In Ura me tri harqe (“The Three-Arched Bridge”) written in 1976–1978, Ismail Kadare takes up these two things in one of his more successful novels, itself a three-act structure that covers a good bit of ground in spite of its short length.

The book opens somewhere in central Albania in 1387, as the first-person narration of a Dominican monk named Gjon who describes how a bridge has come to be commissioned over a river served only by a ferry. Besides the need for a bridge, the focus in this act is on a strange rivalry between a consortium overseeing river ferries and another building bridges, and the Balkan geopolitics of the time. In spite of the late medieval setting, Kadare writes in a deliberately slightly-anachronistic style which readily leads an informed reader to draw parallels between the action and the Hoxha dictatorship under which he had to work. For example, there are clear allusions here to the Soviet–Albanian split and Hoxha’s subsequent reliance on Maoist China for any development.

The second act deals with the human-sacrifice topic taken from folklore, now recast as both a conspiracy story and a tale of economic plight. The closing act of the book, with the bridge now finished, is the monk Gjon’s elegaic description of how Albania was falling to Turks in just a few short years. This poignant close reflects Kadare’s famous position that the Ottoman era was a catastrophe for Albania, isolating it from the Christian Europe to which it truly belonged.

Kadare’s novels are not strong on individual characters, not because he couldn’t write them (his early novel Qyteti pa reklama suggests he could) but because the Hoxha dictatorship apparently prevented him from such realism. No one will believe that the narrator is an actual monk and not Kadare himself, and the handful of other named characters are mostly mere symbols. That is less of a weakness in this particular novel than it sounds, however, because Ura me tri harqe is written in a quasi-legendary style where one might expect those facets of historical figures to have become lost to modern readers.

By the last pages Kadare is clearly uncertain about how to finish his book, which does reduce this reviewer’s overall rating. (Though with the thought of endless centuries of Ottoman rule ahead, who can blame him for not feeling the necessary closure within him?) Still, I can imagine reading this one of Kadare’s novels again sometime, perhaps better equipped to pick up on those features of the first act where it most seems a roman à clef, as in this description of one of the bridge architect’s two assistants that is far too oddly detailed to not be referring to someone specific and recognizable:

Ndihmësi tjetër, ndryshe nga i pari, ishte i dobët dhe gjithçka e kishte të hollë e majuce, kokën, mjekrën, llërët e duarve. Më vonë, kur ata të gjithë zhyteshin shpesh në llucën e lumit, thoshin se kryemjeshtri bisedonte me të duke i kthyer shpinën, në mënyrë që të mos ia shikonte kërcinjtë e neveritshëm të këmbëve.

[Vesa · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nothing beats historical fiction as a genre, and no one beats Ismail Kadare in writing Albanian historical fiction. At the core of this novel is, yet again, a legend which is altered to fit the interests of people. The narrator is, of course, a literate, well-respected monk, who happens to be based on a real person, Gjon Buzuku.

In 1555 Buzuku wrote the first documented book in Albanian (not the first document); in Kadare’s novel, however, he is writing the chronicle of the three-arched bridge, so that the readers get an accurate account of how it was built. Written between 1976 and 1978, this account that our narrator was writing on paper, because the story would be in danger if it weren’t written down, mirrors the unpleasant years for writers and journalists in Albania during the communist regime. Accepting the fact that he might become a sacrifice for the chronicle’s survival, Gjon writes and shares the bitter story of the three-arched bridge. And I loved every bit of it.

[Laetitia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Aaah, do I love me some Kadare like this! Very atmospheric, quite gloomy, with some specks of subtle humour - exactly what one would expect from Kadare. The medieval setting with the looming changes overshadowing the story and the town it is set in was interesting, and Gjon the monk made for an engaging narrator (his voice seeming quite fresh and light for a medieval monk, alternating with some darker tones). The book contains some little gems of sentences that demonstrate Kadare's talent, my favorite being the ones about the river, in which he ascribes an almost human presence to it. Building such a clear world and atmosphere in so few pages shows why Kadare is considered a great writer, and confirmed my sympathy for his work.

[Batool · Rating 3 out of 5]

قرأت الرواية قبيل رحلتي إلى ألبانيا لأن من خططي أزور بيت إسماعيل.
أحب في أدب كادريه إنه يربط الثقافة الألبانية ويعرف عنها، بدون ما يبدو مبتذل وكأنه فقط يكتب للغريب فهو يكتب للفرد الألباني أيضًا.
في الرواية السابقة التي قرأتها لاسماعيل حكى فيها عن أسطورة دورنتين وعودتها، الآن يحكي عن الجسر وبناءه
"فليرتعش أيضًا هدا الجدار
مثلما أرتعش أنا داخل هذا الحجر."
لطيفة لكن ضعت قليلًا في تأريخها ووضعها على خط زمني

[Roxy Roman · Rating 3 out of 5]

Faină, interesantă, dar nu cred ca am înțeles prea bine sfârșitul, parcă nu a avut finalitate. Oricum, nu regret că am citit-o, pentru că am aflat câteva lucruri pe care nu le știam despre cultura albaneză și faptul că au și ei mitul meșterului Manole

[Tara · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sometimes the best stories are those that are told simply, without flash or Hollywood-style suspense. The Three-Arched Bridge is that kind of story. It’s told in the form of a chronicle, narrated by a medieval Christian monk named Gjon.

On one level the novel is about the competition between, what are essentially, two companies. Boats & Rafts transport the people across the river. Roads & Bridges arrives to build a bridge to take the people over it. The two opposing sides attempt to influence their potential customers with propaganda and espionage – utilizing legend and local superstition. It sounds dry and boring, yet is anything but. After the bridge is repeatedly sabotaged, Roads & Bridges employs bards to re-work an old ballad and twist it to their purposes: about an oath made by three brothers and of the bride of the youngest who is walled up alive within the foundations of a castle. She is a sacrifice to prevent its walls from crumbling.

But like much of Kadare’s work, this is a story that functions on multiple levels. The monk, Gjon, is a more complex character than he originally seems. He comes across as deliberately naive, unwilling to grasp the implications of the information to which he is privy. For example, it is he who discusses the old ballad with a representative of Roads & Bridges during a series of seemingly casual walks along the banks of river. Not until it is too late does he understand the reason behind the man’s curiosity, or discover the macabre purpose to which a folk story will be twisted.

Interspersed within the tale is news of the last gasps of the Byzantine Empire – the defensive line of Christian Europe against the Islamic Turks. What is so brilliant is that Kadare makes this the secondary storyline, always in the background of Gjon’s narrative. Gjon’s attention, and ours, remain focused on events which take place closer to home. It’s an example of man’s tunnel vision; how history often happens without our truly understanding the significance of events as they occur. Because, in the end, what we know as history is only a series of incidents that have been put into perspective.

Ismail Kadare divided The Three-Arched Bridge into short chapters – most are 5 pages or less. These bursts of information convey a sense of real time passing. The breaks in the narrative are the storyteller editing out what he feels is irrelevant to his tale. But, of course, everything is relevant. The reader realizes this early on and, in my mind, that realization makes for a better book. It’s fun to know more than the narrator; to understand that the bridge is a mere footnote in a bigger story. One that cannot be escaped or avoided, regardless of whether we want to pay attention to it or not.