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The Blue Sky Trilogy #1
The Blue Sky
In the Altai Mountains of northern Mongolia, the nomadic Tuvan people’s ancient way of life is colliding with the pervasive influence of modernity. For the young shepherd boy Dshurukuwaa, the confrontation comes in stages. First his older siblings leave the family yurt to attend a distant boarding school, followed by the death of his beloved grandmother and with it, the connection to the tribe’s traditions and deep relationship to the land. But the greatest tragedy strikes when his dog — “all that was left to me” — dies after ingesting poison set out by the boy’s father to protect the herd from wolves. His despairing questions to the Heavenly Blue Sky are answered only by the silence of the wind.
The first and only member of the Tuvans to use written language to tell stories, Galsan Tschinag chronicles their traditions in this fascinating, bittersweet novel.
The first and only member of the Tuvans to use written language to tell stories, Galsan Tschinag chronicles their traditions in this fascinating, bittersweet novel.
209 pages, Hardcover
First published August 1, 1997
65 people are currently reading
3028 people want to read
About the author
Galsan Tschinag
64 books73 followersGalsan Tschinag (Чинаагийн Галсан), born Irgit Shynykbai-oglu Dshurukuwaa (*26 December 1944 in Bayan-Ölgii Province, Mongolia) is a Mongolian writer of novels, poems, and essays in the German language, though he hails from a Tuvan background. He is also often described as a Shaman, and is also a teacher and an actor.
Born in the upper Altai Mountains in western Mongolia, the youngest son of a Tuvan shaman, Galsan majored in German studies at the Karl Marx University in Leipzig, East Germany (1962-1968). He did his thesis work under Erwin Strittmatter, and upon graduation began to work as a German teacher at the National University of Mongolia. In 1976 his teaching license was revoked because of his "political untrustworthiness". He continued to work twelve-hour shifts, shuttling between all four of the Mongolian universities. In 1980, at the age of 36, Galsan was diagnosed with a life-threatening heart condition. He later recovered from the condition and credits his "shamanic powers" and plenty of exercise for saving his life.
Today, the author spends most of the year at his home in the Mongolian capital city of Ulan Bator, together with his family of nearly 20. He also spends much time giving readings in the German-speaking world and across Europe, as well as seeking to get closer to his Tuvan roots in the western Mongolian steppes. Though he still writes mainly in German, his books have been translated into many other languages. In addition to his writing, Galsan is an activist for the Tuvan minority and practices shamanistic healing.
Born in the upper Altai Mountains in western Mongolia, the youngest son of a Tuvan shaman, Galsan majored in German studies at the Karl Marx University in Leipzig, East Germany (1962-1968). He did his thesis work under Erwin Strittmatter, and upon graduation began to work as a German teacher at the National University of Mongolia. In 1976 his teaching license was revoked because of his "political untrustworthiness". He continued to work twelve-hour shifts, shuttling between all four of the Mongolian universities. In 1980, at the age of 36, Galsan was diagnosed with a life-threatening heart condition. He later recovered from the condition and credits his "shamanic powers" and plenty of exercise for saving his life.
Today, the author spends most of the year at his home in the Mongolian capital city of Ulan Bator, together with his family of nearly 20. He also spends much time giving readings in the German-speaking world and across Europe, as well as seeking to get closer to his Tuvan roots in the western Mongolian steppes. Though he still writes mainly in German, his books have been translated into many other languages. In addition to his writing, Galsan is an activist for the Tuvan minority and practices shamanistic healing.
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May 15, 2021
An autobiographical novel set in Mongolia in the late 1940s/early 1950s, and told through the eyes of the author as a small child growing up within a family of steppe herdsmen. It’s the first in a trilogy but as far as I can tell, only the first two parts have been translated into English.
Although born in Mongolia, the author is a member of the Tuva ethnic group. Most Tuvans seem to live within the Russian Federation, with only a few thousand on the Mongolian side of the border. He wrote this trilogy in German, which initially surprised me, but I read on his GR author page that in the 1960s he attended university in Leipzig in the former GDR. I suppose if your first language is Tuvan but you have the ability to write in German, then doing so will provide access to a far wider international audience. The name “Galsan Tschinag” is apparently a Mongolian language version of his Tuvan name, Irgit Shynykbai-oglu Dshurukuwaa. In the novel, his older siblings address him as “Dshurukuwaa”, from which I surmise that Tuvan is one of those languages where the family name comes before the given name.
This is a short book but a decent read. There’s no “plot” as such, the author simply relates the major events of his childhood. In that sense it’s an ordinary family tale, except of course that, to a 21st century westerner, life as a 1940s steppe nomad is anything but ordinary. I’m partial to novels that convey a strong sense of place, and you definitely get that here.
Although the novel is evocative it isn’t sentimental. Life is harsh for the author’s family. At the time Mongolia was a Soviet satellite, and as the author grows a little older he starts to see the impact that the country’s communist government is having on his family’s age old way of life. His father’s name was Shynykbai, also part of the author’s own, and the inherited suffix bai indicated a family formerly of wealth and status. Such ancestry was extremely dangerous and if the author’s parents argued with neighbours the insult of “kulak” would be thrown at them. To be identified as such was potentially fatal. I think though, that the author does a good job in conveying the lack of understanding of a small child.
I don’t think the book could be described as great literature, but it’s very readable, and the events of the last third are told in dramatic fashion. I’ll probably read the second book at some point.
There are a lot of Tuvan words used, and most readers will need to refer to the glossary at the end – I certainly did. There’s also an endnote from the author, where he gives an overview of his remarkable life – that’s also worth reading.
Although born in Mongolia, the author is a member of the Tuva ethnic group. Most Tuvans seem to live within the Russian Federation, with only a few thousand on the Mongolian side of the border. He wrote this trilogy in German, which initially surprised me, but I read on his GR author page that in the 1960s he attended university in Leipzig in the former GDR. I suppose if your first language is Tuvan but you have the ability to write in German, then doing so will provide access to a far wider international audience. The name “Galsan Tschinag” is apparently a Mongolian language version of his Tuvan name, Irgit Shynykbai-oglu Dshurukuwaa. In the novel, his older siblings address him as “Dshurukuwaa”, from which I surmise that Tuvan is one of those languages where the family name comes before the given name.
This is a short book but a decent read. There’s no “plot” as such, the author simply relates the major events of his childhood. In that sense it’s an ordinary family tale, except of course that, to a 21st century westerner, life as a 1940s steppe nomad is anything but ordinary. I’m partial to novels that convey a strong sense of place, and you definitely get that here.
Although the novel is evocative it isn’t sentimental. Life is harsh for the author’s family. At the time Mongolia was a Soviet satellite, and as the author grows a little older he starts to see the impact that the country’s communist government is having on his family’s age old way of life. His father’s name was Shynykbai, also part of the author’s own, and the inherited suffix bai indicated a family formerly of wealth and status. Such ancestry was extremely dangerous and if the author’s parents argued with neighbours the insult of “kulak” would be thrown at them. To be identified as such was potentially fatal. I think though, that the author does a good job in conveying the lack of understanding of a small child.
I don’t think the book could be described as great literature, but it’s very readable, and the events of the last third are told in dramatic fashion. I’ll probably read the second book at some point.
There are a lot of Tuvan words used, and most readers will need to refer to the glossary at the end – I certainly did. There’s also an endnote from the author, where he gives an overview of his remarkable life – that’s also worth reading.
October 14, 2019
A fictionalized account of the author's childhood in the transitional period where the Tuvan people started being regulated by Mongolian governments (taxing for wool and forcing children to go to school.) It was interesting to read about the nomadic patterns, community units, sensory communication (using smell in particular!) and living in extreme conditions. There are hints of the author's future as a shaman by the end of the book, and apparently this is the first book of a longer series.
September 2, 2013
Amended in light of additional information(**)
Der Blaue Himmel , written in German(*) by the Tuvan shaman, poet and novelist Galsan Tschinag (known as Irgit Shynykbai-oglu Dshurukuwaa when he is home - b. 1944) is the largely autobiographical story of a young Tuvan boy, Dshurukuwaa, in the early 1950's living in the bosom of his extended family in the ancient manner of his nomadic people, moving across the monstrously wide steppes of Mongolia and southern Siberia and the mountain valleys of the Altai as their herds of sheep, goats, yaks, and horses graze, living almost exclusively on their milk, blood, flesh, bones and hides (for there is little else to be found on the steppe except for grass, marmots, foxes, wolves and the occasional bird or bear), and carrying their dismantled homes (yurts) with them. Their ancestors surely fought for Genghis Khan and inspired horror in the peoples they destroyed; but for ages their only ambition has been to live their lives in the old way, to wed, have children and increase their herds. In this book we learn about this old way of life from the inside. Two other things we learn from this book: (1) human beings are remarkably adaptable and (2) despite cultural differences, human beings are much the same everywhere, for the better and for the worse. Even if one thinks one already knows these things, there is still gain in seeing these play themselves out in the absolutely concrete setting of a culture distant to our own.
In relatively straightforward but evocative language, Tschinag summons the simple but hard life of the Tuvan nomads, the harsh beauty of the steppes and mountains, and the extremely tight family bonds of his people.
The Communist Party controlled Mongolia and had already begun to "improve" the lives of the inhabitants, so the nomads were beginning to change their ways. Dshurukuwaa's older brother and sister were obliged to leave the camp to go to school in the local village, and some of his extended family chose to move there, as well. Dshurukuwaa, too young for school, took over his siblings' chores. His nomadic life continued, but, in quick succession, his beloved grandmother died, a bitter winter killed most of his flock, and his inseparable dog was accidentally poisoned. The book ends with him screaming imprecations at the most powerful being in the Tuvans' religion, the Blue Sky.
Der Blaue Himmel is the first volume of a trilogy, and the story of Dshurukuwaa's youth is continued in Die graue Erde and then Der weiße Berg . After setting up the Tuvan culture and Dshurukuwaa's rejection of Father Sky, the trilogy continues with Dshurukuwaa personally experiencing how the communist authority was trying to stamp out his culture. Stay tuned...
(*) Tschinag studied German at the Karl Marx University in Leipzig (1962-1968) and chose to write his books in German when looking for a Western audience. He also writes books in Mongolian in order to reach out to the Kazakh and Mongolian majority in his own country in defense of the minority Tuva people, known in the West for their remarkable "throat singing":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5Zx5x...
My throat hurts just listening to it.
(**) Tschinag's books appear to be the only sources of insight in a Western language into Tuvan culture and history as presented from a native member of that society. Tschinag is not only a shaman, he is the leader of the Tuva people in Mongolia, whose numbers are said to be around 4,000. However, there are some 200,000 Tuvan speakers in an adjacent portion of the Russian Federation called the Republic of Tuva (renamed the Tyva Republic fairly recently), where they form the majority. I thought I had perceived some parallels between the Tuvan/Mongolian and the Tibetan/Chinese situations, but the existence of a larger group of Tuvan neighbors weakens that parallel. However, the Mongolians did deliberately try to suppress the Tuvan culture in Mongolia (as did the Soviet Union in the region now called the Tyva Republic; however, now the Tuvan language is freely spoken again, and Tibetan Buddhism and Shamanism are beginning to recover in the Tyva Republic). “Galsan Tschinag” is a Mongolian pseudonym the boy was required to adopt in order to attend Mongolian schools, because the Mongolian government forbade the Tuvan speech.
Der Blaue Himmel , written in German(*) by the Tuvan shaman, poet and novelist Galsan Tschinag (known as Irgit Shynykbai-oglu Dshurukuwaa when he is home - b. 1944) is the largely autobiographical story of a young Tuvan boy, Dshurukuwaa, in the early 1950's living in the bosom of his extended family in the ancient manner of his nomadic people, moving across the monstrously wide steppes of Mongolia and southern Siberia and the mountain valleys of the Altai as their herds of sheep, goats, yaks, and horses graze, living almost exclusively on their milk, blood, flesh, bones and hides (for there is little else to be found on the steppe except for grass, marmots, foxes, wolves and the occasional bird or bear), and carrying their dismantled homes (yurts) with them. Their ancestors surely fought for Genghis Khan and inspired horror in the peoples they destroyed; but for ages their only ambition has been to live their lives in the old way, to wed, have children and increase their herds. In this book we learn about this old way of life from the inside. Two other things we learn from this book: (1) human beings are remarkably adaptable and (2) despite cultural differences, human beings are much the same everywhere, for the better and for the worse. Even if one thinks one already knows these things, there is still gain in seeing these play themselves out in the absolutely concrete setting of a culture distant to our own.
In relatively straightforward but evocative language, Tschinag summons the simple but hard life of the Tuvan nomads, the harsh beauty of the steppes and mountains, and the extremely tight family bonds of his people.
The Communist Party controlled Mongolia and had already begun to "improve" the lives of the inhabitants, so the nomads were beginning to change their ways. Dshurukuwaa's older brother and sister were obliged to leave the camp to go to school in the local village, and some of his extended family chose to move there, as well. Dshurukuwaa, too young for school, took over his siblings' chores. His nomadic life continued, but, in quick succession, his beloved grandmother died, a bitter winter killed most of his flock, and his inseparable dog was accidentally poisoned. The book ends with him screaming imprecations at the most powerful being in the Tuvans' religion, the Blue Sky.
Der Blaue Himmel is the first volume of a trilogy, and the story of Dshurukuwaa's youth is continued in Die graue Erde and then Der weiße Berg . After setting up the Tuvan culture and Dshurukuwaa's rejection of Father Sky, the trilogy continues with Dshurukuwaa personally experiencing how the communist authority was trying to stamp out his culture. Stay tuned...
(*) Tschinag studied German at the Karl Marx University in Leipzig (1962-1968) and chose to write his books in German when looking for a Western audience. He also writes books in Mongolian in order to reach out to the Kazakh and Mongolian majority in his own country in defense of the minority Tuva people, known in the West for their remarkable "throat singing":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5Zx5x...
My throat hurts just listening to it.
(**) Tschinag's books appear to be the only sources of insight in a Western language into Tuvan culture and history as presented from a native member of that society. Tschinag is not only a shaman, he is the leader of the Tuva people in Mongolia, whose numbers are said to be around 4,000. However, there are some 200,000 Tuvan speakers in an adjacent portion of the Russian Federation called the Republic of Tuva (renamed the Tyva Republic fairly recently), where they form the majority. I thought I had perceived some parallels between the Tuvan/Mongolian and the Tibetan/Chinese situations, but the existence of a larger group of Tuvan neighbors weakens that parallel. However, the Mongolians did deliberately try to suppress the Tuvan culture in Mongolia (as did the Soviet Union in the region now called the Tyva Republic; however, now the Tuvan language is freely spoken again, and Tibetan Buddhism and Shamanism are beginning to recover in the Tyva Republic). “Galsan Tschinag” is a Mongolian pseudonym the boy was required to adopt in order to attend Mongolian schools, because the Mongolian government forbade the Tuvan speech.
March 5, 2024
What about Mongolia?
La novela Guía de Mongolia , que está en mi lista de pendientes, me ha llevado a prestar atención a este país, siempre visible en los mapas de Asia, aunque silenciosamente enclavado entre esos dos gigantes, Rusia y China. Nada sabía de Mongolia, salvo alguna búsqueda en Wikipedia, que aporta muchos datos, pero no la esencia, el sabor de un país que tanto mejor expresa la literatura. ¿Habría literatura en Mongolia? He encontrado a Galsan Tschinag, que escribe en alemán, aunque ha residido casi toda su vida en su país natal; la cooperación entre países comunistas lo explica: le permitió a este hombre nacido en una cultura de pastores nómades formarse a través de estudios superiores en Filología en Leipzig, la entonces Alemania Oriental, y cuya lengua adoptaría para su literatura.
He podido conseguir y leer ésta, la primera novela de una trilogía, en este caso inspirada en sus experiencias de la infancia, que ilustra sobre la vida de hijo menor de una familia de la etnia tuva, pastores nómades en la estepa de la zona occidental del país.
Se puede ver el gran valor de los vínculos familiares, la distribución de tareas de cuidado de los animales, la incorporación de una nueva abuela que se integra plenamente a la vida familiar, que aporta contención y sabiduría de transmisión oral, y la transición que llega con la modernización soviética, y cuya primera señal es obligatoriedad de la asistencia escolar de los niños.
La transición también se observa en el reemplazo de los darga, antiguos señores de la tierra, por los representantes del Estado, como nuevos recaudadores de los tributos. Y se percibe una nueva situación ambigua con el reemplazo de la antigua admiración y aspiración que generaba el gan, o persona de fortuna, por el repudio que merece en el nuevo orden el kulak.
Tschinag, a partir de su origen, se ha formado como una persona culta, y escribe muy bien. Y utiliza sus nuevas herramientas para hacer hacer de puente entre dos mundos.
Una novela interesante, con momentos arduos y otros más intensos, que permite tener una mejor comprensión de estas formas culturales tan diferentes a las que conocemos. Y de alguna manera me han permitido imaginar un poco mejor la vida de los pueblos pastores nómades mencionados en otras novelas situadas en la región de Asia Central, desde Irán hasta Tayikistán, con las diferencias que pueden existir entre el sincretismo islámico, y el animismo de adoración y reverencia por montañas, ríos, tierra y otros elementos de la naturaleza observados en los tuva de Mongolia.
Muy interesante.
La novela Guía de Mongolia , que está en mi lista de pendientes, me ha llevado a prestar atención a este país, siempre visible en los mapas de Asia, aunque silenciosamente enclavado entre esos dos gigantes, Rusia y China. Nada sabía de Mongolia, salvo alguna búsqueda en Wikipedia, que aporta muchos datos, pero no la esencia, el sabor de un país que tanto mejor expresa la literatura. ¿Habría literatura en Mongolia? He encontrado a Galsan Tschinag, que escribe en alemán, aunque ha residido casi toda su vida en su país natal; la cooperación entre países comunistas lo explica: le permitió a este hombre nacido en una cultura de pastores nómades formarse a través de estudios superiores en Filología en Leipzig, la entonces Alemania Oriental, y cuya lengua adoptaría para su literatura.
He podido conseguir y leer ésta, la primera novela de una trilogía, en este caso inspirada en sus experiencias de la infancia, que ilustra sobre la vida de hijo menor de una familia de la etnia tuva, pastores nómades en la estepa de la zona occidental del país.
Se puede ver el gran valor de los vínculos familiares, la distribución de tareas de cuidado de los animales, la incorporación de una nueva abuela que se integra plenamente a la vida familiar, que aporta contención y sabiduría de transmisión oral, y la transición que llega con la modernización soviética, y cuya primera señal es obligatoriedad de la asistencia escolar de los niños.
La transición también se observa en el reemplazo de los darga, antiguos señores de la tierra, por los representantes del Estado, como nuevos recaudadores de los tributos. Y se percibe una nueva situación ambigua con el reemplazo de la antigua admiración y aspiración que generaba el gan, o persona de fortuna, por el repudio que merece en el nuevo orden el kulak.
Tschinag, a partir de su origen, se ha formado como una persona culta, y escribe muy bien. Y utiliza sus nuevas herramientas para hacer hacer de puente entre dos mundos.
Una novela interesante, con momentos arduos y otros más intensos, que permite tener una mejor comprensión de estas formas culturales tan diferentes a las que conocemos. Y de alguna manera me han permitido imaginar un poco mejor la vida de los pueblos pastores nómades mencionados en otras novelas situadas en la región de Asia Central, desde Irán hasta Tayikistán, con las diferencias que pueden existir entre el sincretismo islámico, y el animismo de adoración y reverencia por montañas, ríos, tierra y otros elementos de la naturaleza observados en los tuva de Mongolia.
Muy interesante.
July 28, 2014
This book gets three stars because:
1. It talks about a way of life that's under threat but avoids the emotional manipulation that I dread in expat authors writing about home.
2. The boy narrator is just a boy and not a precocious mouthpiece for an adult. (Cough… cough… JonathanSafranFoer…)
3. It taught me about a part of the world that I know very little about.
Not a rocked-my-world read. But definitely a made-my-world-bigger read.
1. It talks about a way of life that's under threat but avoids the emotional manipulation that I dread in expat authors writing about home.
2. The boy narrator is just a boy and not a precocious mouthpiece for an adult. (Cough… cough… JonathanSafranFoer…)
3. It taught me about a part of the world that I know very little about.
Not a rocked-my-world read. But definitely a made-my-world-bigger read.
March 27, 2022
Recensione originale: https://sonnenbarke.wordpress.com/202...
Galsan Tschinag è il nome mongolo di Irgit Shynykbai-oglu Dshurukuwaa, scrittore mongolo di etnia tuvana che scrive però in tedesco. Tschinag ha studiato nell'ex DDR ed è poi tornato in Mongolia a insegnare tedesco all'università di Ulan Bator. Immagino che abbia deciso di scrivere in tedesco per avere un maggiore accesso a un pubblico internazionale.
Tuva è una repubblica russa confinante con la Mongolia, ma alcune migliaia di tuvani vivono anche in Mongolia. La loro lingua è il tuvano, una lingua di ceppo turco, e sono noti per il canto tradizionale difonico, il Khoomei.
Questo libro, pubblicato in italiano da AER con la traduzione di Italo Mauro e con il titolo Il cielo azzurro, è la prima parte di una trilogia che compone l'autobiografia romanzata dell'autore. La casa editrice tedesca lo presenta in realtà come "Roman", romanzo, e non avrei saputo che si trattava di un'autobiografia se non fosse stato per il commento di un'amica che ha letto l'edizione inglese, dove c'è una nota dell'autore.
Il libro è narrato da un bambino molto piccolo, non sappiamo quanti anni abbia di preciso ma di sicuro non è ancora in età scolare. Il piccolo parla di una vita dura in mezzo alle montagne dell'Altai, dove i suoi genitori sono pastori nomadi che vivono in una iurta. Il bambino deve aiutare con il gregge fin da piccolo, . Oltre che con i genitori, il fratello e la sorella (entrambi poco più grandi di lui), il piccolo Dshurukuwaa vive con la nonna e con il cane Arsylang, entrambi amatissimi.
Dal libro traspare l'amore fortissimo per la nonna (pur non essendo davvero la nonna biologica) e per Arsylang ed entrambi hanno un capitolo dedicato a loro. Traspare inoltre il paesaggio aspro ma bellissimo dell'Altai, la vita dura dei pastori nomadi e parzialmente anche la vita sotto il comunismo, quando il rappresentante del sumun viene a prendere i fratelli del narratore per mandarli a scuola.
Viene voglia dunque di sapere come siano proseguite le cose per Dshurukuwaa/Galsan e come da qui sia arrivato a diventare scrittore e sciamano. Magari un giorno mi procurerò gli altri due volumi dell'autobiografia e tornerò a farvi sapere le mie impressioni.
Galsan Tschinag è il nome mongolo di Irgit Shynykbai-oglu Dshurukuwaa, scrittore mongolo di etnia tuvana che scrive però in tedesco. Tschinag ha studiato nell'ex DDR ed è poi tornato in Mongolia a insegnare tedesco all'università di Ulan Bator. Immagino che abbia deciso di scrivere in tedesco per avere un maggiore accesso a un pubblico internazionale.
Tuva è una repubblica russa confinante con la Mongolia, ma alcune migliaia di tuvani vivono anche in Mongolia. La loro lingua è il tuvano, una lingua di ceppo turco, e sono noti per il canto tradizionale difonico, il Khoomei.
Questo libro, pubblicato in italiano da AER con la traduzione di Italo Mauro e con il titolo Il cielo azzurro, è la prima parte di una trilogia che compone l'autobiografia romanzata dell'autore. La casa editrice tedesca lo presenta in realtà come "Roman", romanzo, e non avrei saputo che si trattava di un'autobiografia se non fosse stato per il commento di un'amica che ha letto l'edizione inglese, dove c'è una nota dell'autore.
Il libro è narrato da un bambino molto piccolo, non sappiamo quanti anni abbia di preciso ma di sicuro non è ancora in età scolare. Il piccolo parla di una vita dura in mezzo alle montagne dell'Altai, dove i suoi genitori sono pastori nomadi che vivono in una iurta. Il bambino deve aiutare con il gregge fin da piccolo, . Oltre che con i genitori, il fratello e la sorella (entrambi poco più grandi di lui), il piccolo Dshurukuwaa vive con la nonna e con il cane Arsylang, entrambi amatissimi.
Dal libro traspare l'amore fortissimo per la nonna (pur non essendo davvero la nonna biologica) e per Arsylang ed entrambi hanno un capitolo dedicato a loro. Traspare inoltre il paesaggio aspro ma bellissimo dell'Altai, la vita dura dei pastori nomadi e parzialmente anche la vita sotto il comunismo, quando il rappresentante del sumun viene a prendere i fratelli del narratore per mandarli a scuola.
Viene voglia dunque di sapere come siano proseguite le cose per Dshurukuwaa/Galsan e come da qui sia arrivato a diventare scrittore e sciamano. Magari un giorno mi procurerò gli altri due volumi dell'autobiografia e tornerò a farvi sapere le mie impressioni.
May 12, 2019
3.5 stars
This is an interesting, evocatively-written short book about the life of a young shepherd boy belonging to a nomadic people in Mongolia. Set in the 1940s, the book is based on the author’s own life – the boy has his name, and in the author’s note (which puts the book in context) he refers to the character as himself; reading this alongside a memoir with numerous fictionalized elements highlighted the existence of that grey intermediate zone between fiction and nonfiction. The author – who grew up in a yurt, was educated in Europe, then returned to Mongolia and became a tribal leader and shaman – has certainly had a fascinating life, though this book focuses on the narrow world of a child, consisting of his family, the sheep and his dog. The boy faces a number of losses in his young life that leave him questioning the divinity of the sky, which his people worship.
It’s an interesting book, and while there’s no overarching plot, its relatively short length and the variety of its episodes carry it along fine. The translation is fluid and readable, and the glossary, author’s note and translator’s note at the end are all helpful. The book didn’t strike any deep chord with me, but it did expand my mental map a little bit further, which is exactly what my world books challenge is intended to do. The author himself discusses this in the afterword:
“Humankind, which for me in the beginning meant my small tribe of Tuvan people, has grown larger and richer in my heart with the addition of other peoples. Now, the publication of The Blue Sky extends it for me even further by including the peoples of North America. I am mightily pleased, not least for these peoples themselves, whose world, in turn, will now include the mountain steppe of Central Asia, and whose awareness of humankind will embrace the nomadic people from that corner.”
Indeed.
This is an interesting, evocatively-written short book about the life of a young shepherd boy belonging to a nomadic people in Mongolia. Set in the 1940s, the book is based on the author’s own life – the boy has his name, and in the author’s note (which puts the book in context) he refers to the character as himself; reading this alongside a memoir with numerous fictionalized elements highlighted the existence of that grey intermediate zone between fiction and nonfiction. The author – who grew up in a yurt, was educated in Europe, then returned to Mongolia and became a tribal leader and shaman – has certainly had a fascinating life, though this book focuses on the narrow world of a child, consisting of his family, the sheep and his dog. The boy faces a number of losses in his young life that leave him questioning the divinity of the sky, which his people worship.
It’s an interesting book, and while there’s no overarching plot, its relatively short length and the variety of its episodes carry it along fine. The translation is fluid and readable, and the glossary, author’s note and translator’s note at the end are all helpful. The book didn’t strike any deep chord with me, but it did expand my mental map a little bit further, which is exactly what my world books challenge is intended to do. The author himself discusses this in the afterword:
“Humankind, which for me in the beginning meant my small tribe of Tuvan people, has grown larger and richer in my heart with the addition of other peoples. Now, the publication of The Blue Sky extends it for me even further by including the peoples of North America. I am mightily pleased, not least for these peoples themselves, whose world, in turn, will now include the mountain steppe of Central Asia, and whose awareness of humankind will embrace the nomadic people from that corner.”
Indeed.
September 22, 2010
This book is written from the point of view of someone very young (just how young I cannot say, but under eight years old) and it's fairly short, which might lead a person to conclude it's a children's book. But it's not the kind of book children would enjoy. It has no plot to speak of; the narrative simply drifts along. Yet, if you don't mind that sort of thing, there is much here to enjoy. The descriptions are spot-on, and I learned a great deal about the life and culture of the nomadic herders in Mongolia. I knew Mongolia was a very poor country, but I was still slightly shocked over how little the narrator and his family had, when they were considered to be a wealthy family.
It says in the back that this book is part of a trilogy. The next book covers the protagonist's later childhood and the third, his adolescence and entry into adulthood. I think the other two books would be worth a read.
It says in the back that this book is part of a trilogy. The next book covers the protagonist's later childhood and the third, his adolescence and entry into adulthood. I think the other two books would be worth a read.
December 17, 2019
Grandma was human silk. That's what father said, and what he said was always right. Always. And she has been sent to me by the sky. That's what mother had revealed to me. Some of the things she said weren't true of course, but when the sky was involved, we were not allow to lie. Mother has said so herself and even Grandma had listened.
May 10, 2023
Really 3.5, rounded up because this is more of a memoir than a novel and I don't like to underrate people's life experience. Read my full review here:
Galsan Tschinag’s The Blue Sky
August 31, 2017
This is by far THE most lyrically moving book I've read this year. The coming of age story of a young boy growing up in a nomadic tribe in the harsh Mongolian steppe; under the looming shadow of communist Russia. His world is as different as it can get from mine; yet I could so well identify with his sentiments! One of those books that make you feel - Yes! I used to feel like that when I was a child how did the author know? It's sheer genius to remember so vividly what it's like to be growing up.
Even though book has been translated from German, amazing work both by author and translator that so much magic has been retained.
Appropriate equally for any book-loving child of 10+; am passing on to my daughter now.
Even though book has been translated from German, amazing work both by author and translator that so much magic has been retained.
Appropriate equally for any book-loving child of 10+; am passing on to my daughter now.
December 25, 2014
Tschinag is a storyteller who makes small events such that we can imagine wanting to listen to them again and again as we sit around the fire. His memoir covers his very early years (before 8) as a Tuvan nomad in Mongolia. His language is characterized by the naivete and openness of childhood, but we can already see the wisdom that characterizes his adulthood.
June 22, 2023
Taşınma sebebiyle yolum git-gel neredeyse 2 saate uzadığı için sesli kitap dinleyeyim dedim. TRTdinle'nin app'inde tamamen tesadüf eseri bu Tuva asıllı Moğol yazarla tanıştım. Kendi çocukluğunu temel alarak bir çocuğun gözünden göçebe Tuva halkının hikayesini anlatmış Çınag. Birkaç güzel noktasından bahsetmek istyorum. Yazar gerçekten de bir Tuva kabilesinde doğmuş, daha sonra Liepzig Üniversitesi'nde eğitim almış. Moğolistan'a döndükten sonra üniversitede yabancı diller bölümünde öğretim görevlisi olmuş. Şu anda hem aktörlük, hem müzisyenlik, hem öğretmenlik hem de şamanlık yapıyor. Gerçekten yaşanmış bir hayat. Mavi Gökyüzü de bu hayatın anlatıldığı üçlemenin ilk ayağı.
Bir rüya ile başlıyor kitap, sonrasında bu tür haberci rüyaları, Altaylar'a özgü mitleri, masal kahramanlarını, sözlü kültürü bol bol görüyoruz kitap içerisinde. Yazar pek çok yazarın beceremediği bir şeyi kotarmış: Bir çocuğun gözünden ama gerçekten tam da bir çocuğun anlatabileceği perspektiften çocuklar için olmayan bir kitap yazmış. Yer yer Moğolistan'ı ele geçiren SSCB'nin baskılarını da okuyoruz: çocukları okula gönderme, okulda Moğollar'a özgü yılbaşını değil de Hristiyanlar'a özgü Noel Baba'yı empoze etme gibi. Ama bu hem SSCB'nin çok başlarında, hem de çocukluğunu dağlarda geçiren bir çocuk anlattığı için çok üstünkörü olaylar halinde bahsediliyor. Serinin diğer kitaplarında yetişkinliğe adım atacağı için eminim daha politik bir duruş olacaktır.
Kitaptaki karakterler içerisinde çocuğun ailesine sonradan eklemlenen, hiçbir akrabalık bağı olmayan dazlak bir büyükanne var. En ilgi çekici, yazarın da en sevdiği karakter o. Kendi ailesini kaybettikten sonra yaşlı bir kadınken bambaşka bir aile ediniyor kendine. Kitabın en başından itibaren yazar bizi büyükannenin ölümüne hazırlıyor. Ama ancak kitabın ortalarında kadın öleceğini bilerek sonsuz yolculuğuna çıkıyor. Belki bu hazırlık aşamasından, belki de konar-göçerlerin bu serbestlik, bu yaşayanlar öldüğünde vedalaşabilme, bu her şeyin geçici olduğunu o zor şartlarda idrak edebilme becerisinden büyükanne ölünce ferah bir hisle vedalaşıyoruz.
Yazarın çocukluğunun bitmeye yakınsaması da büyükannesinin ölmesiyle başlıyor. Ancak hemen sonra köpeğinin öldüğü gün hissettiği öfke, isyan, kabul edemeyişte daha büyük bir sıçrayış var. İşte o gün çocukluğun gerçek sonu. Kitap da orada bitiyor: gerçek, tekinsiz, beklenmedik bir acı yazarı artık büyütüyor.
Cengiz Aytmatov, Jack London karışımı bir kokteyle biraz da Tuva geleneği ekleyince alın size Mavi Gökyüzü. Belki başka okuyanlar çok beğenmeyecektir ama ben çok sevdim. Hatta basılı halini de sipariş ettim. Çoooooook uzaklardan, ait olduğumuz topraklardan bildiğimiz ama unuttuğumuz eski bir dünyadan sesleniyor Çınag, iyi ki de sesleniyor.
Bir rüya ile başlıyor kitap, sonrasında bu tür haberci rüyaları, Altaylar'a özgü mitleri, masal kahramanlarını, sözlü kültürü bol bol görüyoruz kitap içerisinde. Yazar pek çok yazarın beceremediği bir şeyi kotarmış: Bir çocuğun gözünden ama gerçekten tam da bir çocuğun anlatabileceği perspektiften çocuklar için olmayan bir kitap yazmış. Yer yer Moğolistan'ı ele geçiren SSCB'nin baskılarını da okuyoruz: çocukları okula gönderme, okulda Moğollar'a özgü yılbaşını değil de Hristiyanlar'a özgü Noel Baba'yı empoze etme gibi. Ama bu hem SSCB'nin çok başlarında, hem de çocukluğunu dağlarda geçiren bir çocuk anlattığı için çok üstünkörü olaylar halinde bahsediliyor. Serinin diğer kitaplarında yetişkinliğe adım atacağı için eminim daha politik bir duruş olacaktır.
Kitaptaki karakterler içerisinde çocuğun ailesine sonradan eklemlenen, hiçbir akrabalık bağı olmayan dazlak bir büyükanne var. En ilgi çekici, yazarın da en sevdiği karakter o. Kendi ailesini kaybettikten sonra yaşlı bir kadınken bambaşka bir aile ediniyor kendine. Kitabın en başından itibaren yazar bizi büyükannenin ölümüne hazırlıyor. Ama ancak kitabın ortalarında kadın öleceğini bilerek sonsuz yolculuğuna çıkıyor. Belki bu hazırlık aşamasından, belki de konar-göçerlerin bu serbestlik, bu yaşayanlar öldüğünde vedalaşabilme, bu her şeyin geçici olduğunu o zor şartlarda idrak edebilme becerisinden büyükanne ölünce ferah bir hisle vedalaşıyoruz.
Yazarın çocukluğunun bitmeye yakınsaması da büyükannesinin ölmesiyle başlıyor. Ancak hemen sonra köpeğinin öldüğü gün hissettiği öfke, isyan, kabul edemeyişte daha büyük bir sıçrayış var. İşte o gün çocukluğun gerçek sonu. Kitap da orada bitiyor: gerçek, tekinsiz, beklenmedik bir acı yazarı artık büyütüyor.
Cengiz Aytmatov, Jack London karışımı bir kokteyle biraz da Tuva geleneği ekleyince alın size Mavi Gökyüzü. Belki başka okuyanlar çok beğenmeyecektir ama ben çok sevdim. Hatta basılı halini de sipariş ettim. Çoooooook uzaklardan, ait olduğumuz topraklardan bildiğimiz ama unuttuğumuz eski bir dünyadan sesleniyor Çınag, iyi ki de sesleniyor.
October 24, 2025
Bir üçlemenin ilk kitabı olduğunu bilmeden başladığım, okurken bugüne kadar sadece Cengiz Aytmatov’un kaleminden aldığım lezzetin tadına vardığım nefis bir eser.
Üçlemenin kalan iki kitabını okumak için sabırsızlanıyorum!
Moğol Edebiyatı okuyayım, Tuva kültürüne aşinalığım olsun derseniz harika bir başlangıç eseri olabilir. Bana sorarsanız ölmeden mutlaka okuyun!
Üçlemenin kalan iki kitabını okumak için sabırsızlanıyorum!
Moğol Edebiyatı okuyayım, Tuva kültürüne aşinalığım olsun derseniz harika bir başlangıç eseri olabilir. Bana sorarsanız ölmeden mutlaka okuyun!
May 21, 2016
I started reading this book expecting a light story for children and by the end of it I am impressed beyond measure. The Blue Sky seems slow but is a very powerful and colorful story, nomadic life is so beautifully portrayed here. Galsan Tschinag is a person you want to meet in your lifetime as he is a living treasure, who, as he puts it, went from a hunter-gatherer to a professor. Who else has done that?
August 19, 2025
lamb, glow, era
September 27, 2021
Tried something different and it was a pleasant change. This is an autobiographical account of a boy growing up in a small Mongolian village in early 50's. A far cry from our reality to say the least. Interesting read.
December 10, 2015
Since this is not a plot-driven story, I don't think it matters if I mention some of the things that happen in general terms.
This is a tragedy, and ends with virtually no consolation. It is the first of a trilogy of novel-memoirs, so perhaps in combination there is something in the later books that gives the reader, not to mention the author/protagonist, something hopeful. As it is, the boy loses almost everything he cares about. On the next to the last page (186) he pulls himself together, but the account of this is virtually bereft of hope. But I suspect that, as a memoir-based novel, that was honest to the experience. The reader is not owed false hope or fake consolation.
My interest in this book comes from my interest in Tuva and its culture. I think I first heard about Tuva from the book "Tuva or Bust: Richard Feymann's Last Journey" (1991). If I remember right, it came with a plastic floppy 45rpm record of throat singing in the back. Over the last 20 years or so I have learned a lot about Tuvan throat-singing, mostly from Huun-Huur-Tu's records. And I've even practiced it to try to do it myself. Feymann himself got interested in Tuva from collecting stamps and being struck by the non-rectangular ones issued by Tuva (then, a supposedly independent protectorate of the Soviet Union). It turned out that my father, also a stamp collector, had stamps from Tuva as well. So I was interested in this book because it seemed that it would help me learn about the culture of Tuva that lay behind the music (and the stamps, which are very pastoral). And the book did that. But the nomadic culture it portrays is one that was slipping away in the story (set in the late-40's/early-50's?) and may have all but disappeared now.
The book concludes with a Postscript by the author, and an afterword by the translator. These are essential to the balance of the book, putting it in a larger perspective.
Despite the tragic nature of the story, I plan to read the sequels, one of which has been translated, the other of which has not yet.
This is a tragedy, and ends with virtually no consolation. It is the first of a trilogy of novel-memoirs, so perhaps in combination there is something in the later books that gives the reader, not to mention the author/protagonist, something hopeful. As it is, the boy loses almost everything he cares about. On the next to the last page (186) he pulls himself together, but the account of this is virtually bereft of hope. But I suspect that, as a memoir-based novel, that was honest to the experience. The reader is not owed false hope or fake consolation.
My interest in this book comes from my interest in Tuva and its culture. I think I first heard about Tuva from the book "Tuva or Bust: Richard Feymann's Last Journey" (1991). If I remember right, it came with a plastic floppy 45rpm record of throat singing in the back. Over the last 20 years or so I have learned a lot about Tuvan throat-singing, mostly from Huun-Huur-Tu's records. And I've even practiced it to try to do it myself. Feymann himself got interested in Tuva from collecting stamps and being struck by the non-rectangular ones issued by Tuva (then, a supposedly independent protectorate of the Soviet Union). It turned out that my father, also a stamp collector, had stamps from Tuva as well. So I was interested in this book because it seemed that it would help me learn about the culture of Tuva that lay behind the music (and the stamps, which are very pastoral). And the book did that. But the nomadic culture it portrays is one that was slipping away in the story (set in the late-40's/early-50's?) and may have all but disappeared now.
The book concludes with a Postscript by the author, and an afterword by the translator. These are essential to the balance of the book, putting it in a larger perspective.
Despite the tragic nature of the story, I plan to read the sequels, one of which has been translated, the other of which has not yet.
January 22, 2013
A very different and interesting book about life in a nomadic pastoral community. When I was reading James Church's latest book which included a trip to Mongolia, Church spoke of the blue sky and nothingness of the steppes there. It reminded me of a book by a Mongolian author that I'd considered reading when it came out in 2006. However, Tschinag is not Mongolian but Tuvan. Tuvans are an ethnic minority in Mongolia and reside in the northwest corner in the Altai Mountains. There is also a Russian Tuvan Republic bordering Mongolia. This is the first of a trilogy about his life growing up on the steppes and mountains when the Soviets are starting to take more and more control over traditional ways of life. It's the story of a way of life that is vanishing. It's heart breaking at times and it's startling in its life and death intensity. These are nomadic pastoral people-herders of sheep and goats. They eke out a living and are true survivors living on the fringe. He tells of his brother and sister having to go off to school and the joy of his father bringing them home at semester break with candy- which might as well have been like gold. Even rags brought home by the students were recycled and valued. Much is made of the devotion to their animals and the cultural taboos in a herding society. A bad storm in the winter or spring can destroy them and such a storm happens towards the end of the book. There's a shamanistic aspect to the book as nature is revered, feared, and respected-the blue sky is such a force and the young boy calls on it without success to save his dog.
February 22, 2024
A friend suggested this book to us in a group chat and before we blinked twice, an im promptu book club was formed.
I didn't have access to the Turkish edition, I had to buy the English translation. Katharina Rout did a marvelous job. I was afraid somethings would be missed in translation, but no, it is really good. This, I think, is because the book was originally written in German (Galsan Çınag went to university in Germany). There is a tiny glossary for those, who are not familiar with Tuvan words used in the book. Nevertheless, I found the audiobook in Turkish and listened to it during car rides, because some words and actions made more sense to me when in Turkish.
I lived Çınag's childhood with him. It's all there, told just as it is; hard work, greed, pain and love. Çınag's plain writing style is perfect. Nothing excessive. The character development is excellent. His childhood and his story doesn't need prettifying. The people are one with nature, but we feel the change is upon them.
This is the first of a trilogy. The third one hasn't been translated to English yet. I am debating to wait till I have access to Turkish translations.
I didn't have access to the Turkish edition, I had to buy the English translation. Katharina Rout did a marvelous job. I was afraid somethings would be missed in translation, but no, it is really good. This, I think, is because the book was originally written in German (Galsan Çınag went to university in Germany). There is a tiny glossary for those, who are not familiar with Tuvan words used in the book. Nevertheless, I found the audiobook in Turkish and listened to it during car rides, because some words and actions made more sense to me when in Turkish.
I lived Çınag's childhood with him. It's all there, told just as it is; hard work, greed, pain and love. Çınag's plain writing style is perfect. Nothing excessive. The character development is excellent. His childhood and his story doesn't need prettifying. The people are one with nature, but we feel the change is upon them.
This is the first of a trilogy. The third one hasn't been translated to English yet. I am debating to wait till I have access to Turkish translations.
June 29, 2023
Read around the world: Mongolia
AR 1.5
It was so hard to find a book translated from Mongolian, I feel bad for not enjoying it.
AR 1.5
It was so hard to find a book translated from Mongolian, I feel bad for not enjoying it.
June 23, 2020
Setting plays a big part in literature, especially in a memoir, but rarely have I read a book in which it plays such a great role.
Tschinag's book (the first in a trilogy) is a semi-autobiographical account of his childhood growing up on the Mongolian steppes, specifically with the backdrop of the Tsengel Hairhan mountain in the Altai range, at an altitude of between 3 and 4,000 metres asl. Tschinag is of the Tuvan people, they of the throat-singing, an isolated group of nomads living in one the harshest environments on the planet. It covers the period up until young Dshurukuwaa (Galsan) is 10 years old, in the 1940s.
The events that mean so much to the young boy in this volume concern his family, their animals, and, not hard to guess, the weather. It is a landscape of contradictions, vast and yet confining. Its huge skies and the wolves and horses ruuning free give it identity and savage wilderness. As nomads the seasons and the weather completely run their lives and moods.
Tschinag's prose is raw and yet poetic, and grows on you to be soon immersed in the boy's life.
This first installment is tender, witty, and often sad, and ends with a particularly dramatic and memorable incident for Dshurukuwaa, but we know, from the author's afterword, that his childhood is about to change for the worse, as the Russians occupy his lands.
he says, in a recent interview, now in his mid-seventies, and back in Mongolia,
Tschinag writes in German, and is splendidly translated by Katharina Rout, who spent time with the author in the Altai. This was published in English in 2006, the second volume, The Gray Earth, which I am very much looking forward to, in 2010, and third, The White Mountain, later this year.
Tschinag's book (the first in a trilogy) is a semi-autobiographical account of his childhood growing up on the Mongolian steppes, specifically with the backdrop of the Tsengel Hairhan mountain in the Altai range, at an altitude of between 3 and 4,000 metres asl. Tschinag is of the Tuvan people, they of the throat-singing, an isolated group of nomads living in one the harshest environments on the planet. It covers the period up until young Dshurukuwaa (Galsan) is 10 years old, in the 1940s.
The events that mean so much to the young boy in this volume concern his family, their animals, and, not hard to guess, the weather. It is a landscape of contradictions, vast and yet confining. Its huge skies and the wolves and horses ruuning free give it identity and savage wilderness. As nomads the seasons and the weather completely run their lives and moods.
Tschinag's prose is raw and yet poetic, and grows on you to be soon immersed in the boy's life.
This first installment is tender, witty, and often sad, and ends with a particularly dramatic and memorable incident for Dshurukuwaa, but we know, from the author's afterword, that his childhood is about to change for the worse, as the Russians occupy his lands.
I have been a gatherer, hunter, and herder; a school boy, a university student and a professor; a trade union journalist and a shadow politician.
he says, in a recent interview, now in his mid-seventies, and back in Mongolia,
I am the chieftain of a tribe, a healer, an author, a father, and a grandfather.
Tschinag writes in German, and is splendidly translated by Katharina Rout, who spent time with the author in the Altai. This was published in English in 2006, the second volume, The Gray Earth, which I am very much looking forward to, in 2010, and third, The White Mountain, later this year.
April 13, 2023
3.5 stars
This was my read the world selection for Mongolia.
This is an autobiographical account of the author’s childhood growing up in the Altai Mountain steppes of northern Mongolia. As one of the Tuvan people, his family live in a yurt and tend to the their flocks of sheep.
There is not really any sort of storyline to this book, it is the world of a small boy who sees his siblings go off to attend a boarding school in the 1940s, while he is left behind with his parents, his grandmother and his beloved dog Arsylang. Slowly his world changes and he loses some of the people close to him, which changes his perception of the Heavenly Blue Sky, which he decides to denounce.
This is a beautifully written and translated story, which describes life in the steppes in detail and gives the reader an excellent picture and feel for the life and surroundings of these people.
Whilst providing a very accurate account of the views and life of a small child, it is also somewhat limited when said child only has his parents, his grandmother, his dog and his flock to write about. Thankfully it’s not a very long book (176 pages) as it’s not exactly exciting, but definitely assists in filling some gaps in your knowledge of the world! ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5/5.
This was my read the world selection for Mongolia.
This is an autobiographical account of the author’s childhood growing up in the Altai Mountain steppes of northern Mongolia. As one of the Tuvan people, his family live in a yurt and tend to the their flocks of sheep.
There is not really any sort of storyline to this book, it is the world of a small boy who sees his siblings go off to attend a boarding school in the 1940s, while he is left behind with his parents, his grandmother and his beloved dog Arsylang. Slowly his world changes and he loses some of the people close to him, which changes his perception of the Heavenly Blue Sky, which he decides to denounce.
This is a beautifully written and translated story, which describes life in the steppes in detail and gives the reader an excellent picture and feel for the life and surroundings of these people.
Whilst providing a very accurate account of the views and life of a small child, it is also somewhat limited when said child only has his parents, his grandmother, his dog and his flock to write about. Thankfully it’s not a very long book (176 pages) as it’s not exactly exciting, but definitely assists in filling some gaps in your knowledge of the world! ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5/5.
October 9, 2018
Incredible book from the perspective of a young boy growing up in Mongolia under the Soviets. The story of the Tuvans echoes many indigenous stories from all over the world. But just fascinating to learn about the Tuvan culture and life. The author, Galsan Tschinag, has also been a leader in preserving and saving the culture, history and language of the Tuvan people.
A memoir-style fictionalized version of the author's life growing up in the steppes in the 1950s-60s in the time of Soviet control and modernization. And one of the few books that makes you feel like this really is the perspective of a child, not being too obviously precocious, but also being so perceptive of the adult world, as many children are.
Beautifully written/translated from German, and somewhat spiritual and elevated while also being so evocative of the weather, geography, and life of the nomadic herders, living in the snow in their portable yurts. Absolutely wonderful book, I would recommend it to everyone.
A memoir-style fictionalized version of the author's life growing up in the steppes in the 1950s-60s in the time of Soviet control and modernization. And one of the few books that makes you feel like this really is the perspective of a child, not being too obviously precocious, but also being so perceptive of the adult world, as many children are.
Beautifully written/translated from German, and somewhat spiritual and elevated while also being so evocative of the weather, geography, and life of the nomadic herders, living in the snow in their portable yurts. Absolutely wonderful book, I would recommend it to everyone.
October 4, 2024
No pos que bonito.
Estepas mongolas en la época stalinista. Menciono a Stalin solo como contexto histórico porque realmente no tiene nada que ver en la historia. Realmente es una historia sobre la infancia de un niño nómada tuva. Me encantó leer sobre la forma de vida de esta comunidad, muy distinta a la que vivo. La relación del protagonista con su abuela y su perro ❤️. Muy brevemente vemos también un poco de la pugna entre la "modernidad" y la tradición. Y pues eso. El protagonista puede ser desesperante a veces, pero es una muy bonita novela.
Los sueños hay que contárselos al cielo:
Youtube
Instagram
Estepas mongolas en la época stalinista. Menciono a Stalin solo como contexto histórico porque realmente no tiene nada que ver en la historia. Realmente es una historia sobre la infancia de un niño nómada tuva. Me encantó leer sobre la forma de vida de esta comunidad, muy distinta a la que vivo. La relación del protagonista con su abuela y su perro ❤️. Muy brevemente vemos también un poco de la pugna entre la "modernidad" y la tradición. Y pues eso. El protagonista puede ser desesperante a veces, pero es una muy bonita novela.
Los sueños hay que contárselos al cielo:
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December 11, 2020
This is one of a set of memoirs about growing up in Mongolia when nomadic life was beginning to end and be phased out by Russian dominance. It is important to first read the introduction and the author’s “Words to Accompany My Blue Sky Child”. I find it wonderful to see life from such a very different point of view and yet to also see the similarities between my life and life growing up in nomadic Mongolia. I also learned a tremendous amount about this fascinating culture. I liked the way the Tuvan/Mongolian vocabulary is presented - a nice word list is well done and easy to use. I truely cried at the difficult ending and need to read the second volume soon.
The story reminded me over and over again of “ Indian Boyhood,” by Charles Eastman published in 1902. Both books are very important and wonderful to read. They are not examples of wonderful writing but I have had to say in these cases that does not matter – can’t quite give it a 5 although part of me would like to.
The story reminded me over and over again of “ Indian Boyhood,” by Charles Eastman published in 1902. Both books are very important and wonderful to read. They are not examples of wonderful writing but I have had to say in these cases that does not matter – can’t quite give it a 5 although part of me would like to.
May 24, 2021
Do not read this book if you have a hard time with the death of a beloved pet. How the little boy expresses grief in the face of his parent's uncaring pragmatism is nothing less than a freaking gut punch. His grief brought tears to my eyes and made me run for my cat. This is a boy who has suffered from a number of painful losses as he grows and he can no longer remain Stoic. A sudden stop, a tragic end; but the author said all that needed saying.
January 24, 2021
A gloriously lyrical homage to the traditional way of life of the nomadic Tuvan people of Mongolia. Completely immersive into their daily routines, with the unsettling foreboding that it's a way of life that external forces will erase.
August 16, 2024
Un livre sans réel fil conducteur, très descriptif mais qui peut plaire tant il fait voyager.
November 6, 2025
Un peu ennuyeux mais on s’attache au chien!
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