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The distinguished Hungarian author Frigyes Karinthy was sitting in a Budapest café, wondering whether to write a long-planned monograph on modern man or a new play, when he was disturbed by the roaring—so loud as to drown out all other noises—of a passing train. Soon it was gone, only to be succeeded by another. And another. Strange, Karinthy thought, it had been years since Budapest had streetcars. Only then did he realize he was suffering from an auditory hallucination of extraordinary intensity.
What in fact Karinthy was suffering from was a brain tumor, not cancerous but hardly benign, though it was only much later—after spells of giddiness, fainting fits, friends remarking that his handwriting had altered, and books going blank before his eyes—that he consulted a doctor and embarked on a series of examinations that would lead to brain surgery. Karinthy’s description of his descent into illness and his observations of his symptoms, thoughts, and feelings, as well as of his friends’ and doctors’ varied responses to his predicament, are exact and engrossing and entirely free of self-pity. A Journey Round My Skull is not only an extraordinary piece of medical testimony, but a powerful work of literature—one that dances brilliantly on the edge of extinction.
What in fact Karinthy was suffering from was a brain tumor, not cancerous but hardly benign, though it was only much later—after spells of giddiness, fainting fits, friends remarking that his handwriting had altered, and books going blank before his eyes—that he consulted a doctor and embarked on a series of examinations that would lead to brain surgery. Karinthy’s description of his descent into illness and his observations of his symptoms, thoughts, and feelings, as well as of his friends’ and doctors’ varied responses to his predicament, are exact and engrossing and entirely free of self-pity. A Journey Round My Skull is not only an extraordinary piece of medical testimony, but a powerful work of literature—one that dances brilliantly on the edge of extinction.
242 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1936
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4069 people want to read
About the author
Frigyes Karinthy
130 books84 followersFrigyes Karinthy (25 June 1887 in Budapest – 29 August 1938 in Siófok) was a Hungarian author, playwright, poet, journalist, and translator. He was the first proponent of the six degrees of separation concept, in his 1929 short story, Chains (Láncszemek). Karinthy remains one of the most popular Hungarian writers. He was the father of poet Gábor Karinthy and writer Ferenc Karinthy.
Among the English translations of Karinthy's works are two novellas that continue the adventures of Swift's character Gulliver. Voyage to Faremido is an early examination of artificial intelligence, while Capillaria is a polished and darkly humorous satire on the 'battle of the sexes'.
Among the English translations of Karinthy's works are two novellas that continue the adventures of Swift's character Gulliver. Voyage to Faremido is an early examination of artificial intelligence, while Capillaria is a polished and darkly humorous satire on the 'battle of the sexes'.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 129 reviews
July 24, 2023
The world of illness… The world of somatic diseases and psychic disorders… If one comes inside this world one becomes its prisoner…
The author suspects that something is wrong with him: verbal hallucinations, nausea, terrible headaches and other alarming symptoms… The long worrisome process of diagnosing begins… Anxiety and fears… In the end a brain tumour was diagnosed – a cyst full of fluid was growing on the right side of the cerebellum… A deadly danger…
However the story is told in the style of gallows humour…
He who manages to escape from the world of illness feels to be the happiest man.
This was the exact opposite of Kaulbach’s picture which had so frightened me as a child. There everything was weird, unpredictable, turbulent and menacing. Here every one who was not asleep was engaged in some monotonous, unbroken occupation. Their movements were as regular and predictable as the whir of a machine. In consequence, even those who shouted or barked like dogs were in no way alarming. You felt that they were merely doing their duty and acting a part for your benefit, like workers when the manager makes a tour of inspection. As soon as you closed the door behind you they would relax again.
The author suspects that something is wrong with him: verbal hallucinations, nausea, terrible headaches and other alarming symptoms… The long worrisome process of diagnosing begins… Anxiety and fears… In the end a brain tumour was diagnosed – a cyst full of fluid was growing on the right side of the cerebellum… A deadly danger…
However the story is told in the style of gallows humour…
‘Have you heard what’s wrong with Frici Karinthy?’
‘Yes, I did hear something, but it isn’t…?’
‘What d’you mean, it isn’t…? He’s as good as done for.’
‘Then don’t let’s talk about it! It’s dreadful, the things you hear…’ But, as he walked on, his step became lighter and more elastic. He whistled a snatch or two and wagged his head. ‘So that’ll be another one gone!’
He who manages to escape from the world of illness feels to be the happiest man.
June 12, 2020
Who did the photo editing for this particular New York Review Book? My God, it's dreadful, and by far the most off-putting aspect of the book. The book itself is a fascinating autobiographical account by a well-known member of Hungary's pre-WW II literati who discovers that he has a brain tumor. The text itself is an interesting blend of travel writing, medical memoir, cultural observation, and philosophical inquiry. Karinthy is interested in the effect of his tumor on everything, not just himself. There's an interesting passage on the reporting of his surgery in the Budapest newspapers, he is in Stockholm by this time, and the effect it has on a number of his friends and coworkers. He was a popular figure at the time in Hungary (1934), particularly known for his comic parodies of fellow writers.
Because so many physicians were in his circle, he was actually prevented from getting a prompt diagnosis. Karinthy self-diagnosed rather early on. His medical friends, including his physician wife, when he told them of his conclusions were always 'Oh, come off it!' Today we have MRIs and CT scans. Diagnosis is fairly easy. For Karinthy in his day there were no such technologies. The diagnosis was made by inference alone and it took a long time. The neurologist Oliver Sacks provides the introduction here. For him, a clinician who writes highly readable popular books about the brain and its functioning, Karinthy's penchant for "long digressions, philosophical and literary" and "a certain amount of fanciful contrivance and extravagance" are faults. My view is otherwise. I see these flights as providing fascinating insight into the mental and emotional condition of the writer/patient. I admire Sacks' own books and have read them avidly, but Karinthy's is a more literary alternative to his staunchly clinical and amply footnoted narratives.
Especially enjoyable are the glimpses of cafe society before WW II in Budapest, Hungary: the walks Karinthy takes through its streets and parks. Karinthy survived his surgery and lived another two years before dying of a stroke in 1936. He did not live to see the Anschluss, the German entry into Austria. He was never to know how the Nazi threat would unfold and all but destroy the continent. Naturally, he was seriously preoccupied. Yet I found his obliviousness to the growing threat of fascism fascinating and it has made me wonder if it wasn't perhaps indicative of a broader public mindset. There is no criticism of the Nazis, just a sense of eerie foreboding when Karinthy finds himself passing through Germany on his way to Stockholm for the surgery (performed by the pioneering Dr. Olivecrona). Highly recommended though not for the squeamish or faint of heart.
Because so many physicians were in his circle, he was actually prevented from getting a prompt diagnosis. Karinthy self-diagnosed rather early on. His medical friends, including his physician wife, when he told them of his conclusions were always 'Oh, come off it!' Today we have MRIs and CT scans. Diagnosis is fairly easy. For Karinthy in his day there were no such technologies. The diagnosis was made by inference alone and it took a long time. The neurologist Oliver Sacks provides the introduction here. For him, a clinician who writes highly readable popular books about the brain and its functioning, Karinthy's penchant for "long digressions, philosophical and literary" and "a certain amount of fanciful contrivance and extravagance" are faults. My view is otherwise. I see these flights as providing fascinating insight into the mental and emotional condition of the writer/patient. I admire Sacks' own books and have read them avidly, but Karinthy's is a more literary alternative to his staunchly clinical and amply footnoted narratives.
Especially enjoyable are the glimpses of cafe society before WW II in Budapest, Hungary: the walks Karinthy takes through its streets and parks. Karinthy survived his surgery and lived another two years before dying of a stroke in 1936. He did not live to see the Anschluss, the German entry into Austria. He was never to know how the Nazi threat would unfold and all but destroy the continent. Naturally, he was seriously preoccupied. Yet I found his obliviousness to the growing threat of fascism fascinating and it has made me wonder if it wasn't perhaps indicative of a broader public mindset. There is no criticism of the Nazis, just a sense of eerie foreboding when Karinthy finds himself passing through Germany on his way to Stockholm for the surgery (performed by the pioneering Dr. Olivecrona). Highly recommended though not for the squeamish or faint of heart.
October 14, 2024
This partly medical account of an author with a brain tumor got me paranoid and testing if I can touch the tip of my nose or if my eyesight produces halos when I press on my eyes and all kinds of other silly things. I liked this journey which changes as the surgery and therapy progresses and want more books like this!
October 17, 2020
Frigyes Karinthy was a popular Hungarian comic writer. He was sitting in a café one afternoon when he heard what sounded like a train. But there was no train. It was instead the first clue that something was wrong, and what was wrong was that Karinthy had a brain tumor.
This is Karinthy's memoir of that time, from self-diagnosis, to more professional examinations, to the ultimate surgery which saved his life.
It is fascinating, of course, for the science of it, but also for the introspection and the writer's gift.
Since I got over the happy, unconscious assumption of youth that life as a whole has some meaning independent of the days that compose it, I have not looked for more. There are only separate days of twenty-four hours--and twenty-four hours ought to be bearable somehow. Obviously, too, the last day of all. We have only to divide it up like the rest, when its turn comes.
He was awake for the surgery itself, describing what he felt, and what he assumed. Awake, that is, until he began hallucinating, which can try a reader. And he did not edit out his low regard for women in general, which he blurted out often during his recovery.
Women. That's what I found most interesting. This wasn't an exposé or confessional. Yet the author could not help revealing clues.
At the time he was married to a doctor, though they may have been living apart. Their relationship, in any event, seemed frosty. My wife went to the hotel opposite, while I stayed behind to shave.
But then, traveling through Germany on the way to Sweden and the surgery, he remembers his 'first wife': the passionate actress with the velvet eyes.
Still, he contemplates his own death and imagines various scenes in the newspaper offices where he once worked, including this:
In the waiting-room of the newspaper an unknown woman in black was observed to be crying. She spoke to no one, and the others glanced at her in surprise. When they asked her whom she wanted to see she did not answer. . . .
The author does not dwell on any of the women, nor does he explain. But maybe he doesn't have to.
This is Karinthy's memoir of that time, from self-diagnosis, to more professional examinations, to the ultimate surgery which saved his life.
It is fascinating, of course, for the science of it, but also for the introspection and the writer's gift.
Since I got over the happy, unconscious assumption of youth that life as a whole has some meaning independent of the days that compose it, I have not looked for more. There are only separate days of twenty-four hours--and twenty-four hours ought to be bearable somehow. Obviously, too, the last day of all. We have only to divide it up like the rest, when its turn comes.
He was awake for the surgery itself, describing what he felt, and what he assumed. Awake, that is, until he began hallucinating, which can try a reader. And he did not edit out his low regard for women in general, which he blurted out often during his recovery.
Women. That's what I found most interesting. This wasn't an exposé or confessional. Yet the author could not help revealing clues.
At the time he was married to a doctor, though they may have been living apart. Their relationship, in any event, seemed frosty. My wife went to the hotel opposite, while I stayed behind to shave.
But then, traveling through Germany on the way to Sweden and the surgery, he remembers his 'first wife': the passionate actress with the velvet eyes.
Still, he contemplates his own death and imagines various scenes in the newspaper offices where he once worked, including this:
In the waiting-room of the newspaper an unknown woman in black was observed to be crying. She spoke to no one, and the others glanced at her in surprise. When they asked her whom she wanted to see she did not answer. . . .
The author does not dwell on any of the women, nor does he explain. But maybe he doesn't have to.
February 2, 2021
"El cuerpo humano posee un alma aparte, independiente del yo, y esa alma aparte se ha vuelto contra mí y está sublevandome todo el cuerpo."
Fue un viaje espectacular al rededor del cráneo de este autor. Me gustó muchísimo.
La narración es extraordinaria y te adentra bien a lo que vivió Karinthy. En primera persona cuenta su experiencia al extirparle un tumor cerebral, que era la causa de muchos síntomas que va presentando desde el inicio.
Lo disfruté un montón. La escritura de Karinthy es fluida, con cierto sarcasmo y muy real. Sos un médico más presintiendo todo lo que el vive, pero también vemos lo que pasa dentro de su cabeza, antes y después de la operación. Eso me encantó, porque fue contado por su propia experiencia.
Increíble fue que se tardará tanto tiempo en poder diagnosticar lo que tenía, cuando él con sus conocimientos ya sabía lo que era.
Los síntomas que va presentando son increíbles y se encuentran en la mayoría de estos casos. Otros no conocía. Me encantó que se dirigiera a los lectores cuando estaba por contar lo que recordaba haber oído o alucinado, está muy bien construido todo cronológicamente y él te avisa cuando contará algo de lo que duda si paso o no.
Me pareció muy curioso sus conclusiones, sus conocimientos, todo lo que el cuenta que piensa que tenía o que era la causa de sus malestares.
Espectacular. No me aburrió en ningún momento y necesito leer más de estos temas.
Y el final me encantó.
Super recomendado.
Fue un viaje espectacular al rededor del cráneo de este autor. Me gustó muchísimo.
La narración es extraordinaria y te adentra bien a lo que vivió Karinthy. En primera persona cuenta su experiencia al extirparle un tumor cerebral, que era la causa de muchos síntomas que va presentando desde el inicio.
Lo disfruté un montón. La escritura de Karinthy es fluida, con cierto sarcasmo y muy real. Sos un médico más presintiendo todo lo que el vive, pero también vemos lo que pasa dentro de su cabeza, antes y después de la operación. Eso me encantó, porque fue contado por su propia experiencia.
Increíble fue que se tardará tanto tiempo en poder diagnosticar lo que tenía, cuando él con sus conocimientos ya sabía lo que era.
Los síntomas que va presentando son increíbles y se encuentran en la mayoría de estos casos. Otros no conocía. Me encantó que se dirigiera a los lectores cuando estaba por contar lo que recordaba haber oído o alucinado, está muy bien construido todo cronológicamente y él te avisa cuando contará algo de lo que duda si paso o no.
Me pareció muy curioso sus conclusiones, sus conocimientos, todo lo que el cuenta que piensa que tenía o que era la causa de sus malestares.
Espectacular. No me aburrió en ningún momento y necesito leer más de estos temas.
Y el final me encantó.
Super recomendado.
May 29, 2019
çok iyi kurgu, kafamın üzerinde bir şeyler dönüp durdu... Kaçırmayın bu kitabı
June 15, 2010
I'll first list some interesting things I've learned about Karinthy:
--He was the first to posit the idea that any two people on earth are joined by six degrees of separation, an idea that seems almost ludicrous before the computer age.
--The cafe in which he performed most of his writing, including Journey, is called the Central Cafe, and still functions as it always has. I'm making a point to visit it on our trip to Budapest.
--In Journey, Karinthy makes a seemingly off-hand allusion to his first wife reading about the Spanish influenza epidemic in the newspaper. This quick glimpse is all the more poignant on learning that his beloved wife died of said influenza.
--After all this poor man suffered in removing a brain tumor, what a tragedy to discover he died of unrelated stroke just two years later at the age of, what, 49?
And now, the Journey...
Karinthy is pitch-perfect in describing some rather arbitrary perceptions from such a unique perspective. He can so easily observe himself from the outside, explaining his exact thought process of discovering the new tics of a brain invaded by tumor. He does go on a bit about some dreams that are, at times, insightful, and at other times, perhaps a bit out of focus, but what's so impressive is his ability to recall reality alongside of dream at such a time when his brain could hardly feel all that reliable. He likes to tangent off topic, and he certainly maintains an ego which I perceive even his wife found trying. By far the most powerful section is of the surgery itself; be prepared for the high whining sound of a drill on one's skull while maintaining full consciousness, the crack of bone that shakes one's whole skeleton. And perhaps the most sentimental and poetic section arrives just at the end, as Karinthy puts his experience into perspective as the life of an artist, the life of a Hungarian patriot, the life of a European headed into a furious war that could not yet be named, shipwrecked but alive.
--He was the first to posit the idea that any two people on earth are joined by six degrees of separation, an idea that seems almost ludicrous before the computer age.
--The cafe in which he performed most of his writing, including Journey, is called the Central Cafe, and still functions as it always has. I'm making a point to visit it on our trip to Budapest.
--In Journey, Karinthy makes a seemingly off-hand allusion to his first wife reading about the Spanish influenza epidemic in the newspaper. This quick glimpse is all the more poignant on learning that his beloved wife died of said influenza.
--After all this poor man suffered in removing a brain tumor, what a tragedy to discover he died of unrelated stroke just two years later at the age of, what, 49?
And now, the Journey...
Karinthy is pitch-perfect in describing some rather arbitrary perceptions from such a unique perspective. He can so easily observe himself from the outside, explaining his exact thought process of discovering the new tics of a brain invaded by tumor. He does go on a bit about some dreams that are, at times, insightful, and at other times, perhaps a bit out of focus, but what's so impressive is his ability to recall reality alongside of dream at such a time when his brain could hardly feel all that reliable. He likes to tangent off topic, and he certainly maintains an ego which I perceive even his wife found trying. By far the most powerful section is of the surgery itself; be prepared for the high whining sound of a drill on one's skull while maintaining full consciousness, the crack of bone that shakes one's whole skeleton. And perhaps the most sentimental and poetic section arrives just at the end, as Karinthy puts his experience into perspective as the life of an artist, the life of a Hungarian patriot, the life of a European headed into a furious war that could not yet be named, shipwrecked but alive.
February 27, 2022
Wowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Es que está increíble!
Por el humor, por la manera en cómo describe su enfermedad, sus síntomas, su diagnóstico, la relación con su esposísima, todo. Me lo devoré sin detenerme.
Todo un personaje este tipo.
En esos días en los que un queridísimo amigo sufre de un tumor cerebral, la lectura de este libro fue escalofriante y refrescante a la vez.
Imperdible.
Es que está increíble!
Por el humor, por la manera en cómo describe su enfermedad, sus síntomas, su diagnóstico, la relación con su esposísima, todo. Me lo devoré sin detenerme.
Todo un personaje este tipo.
En esos días en los que un queridísimo amigo sufre de un tumor cerebral, la lectura de este libro fue escalofriante y refrescante a la vez.
Imperdible.
February 21, 2022
I read this on a whim, and I'm glad I did. Nothing groundbreaking, and quite short, it nevertheless gave a pretty clear picture of the state of oncology back in the 1930's, and also reflects something of Hungarian society back then.
The author, a well-known and respected writer, began hallucinating and showing other signs of mental deterioration. Ultimately an egg-sized tumor was identified behind his cerebellum. Unfortunately either the state of the science or the state of medical care back then did not allow him to elaborate -- it's unclear what sort of tumor it actually was. Regardless, through a wealthy patron he was able to get it excised by the most famed surgeon in the land, and made an impressive recovery.
While the account of a well-off patient from nearly 100 years ago was pretty interesting, it was very superficial. What I found more interesting is that, at that point in Europe's history, grim things were going on all over the place, but apparently in Hungary they still had little sign of this, and poets, artists and writers were still national heroes.
Worth a look if you're interested in the history of medicine, though this will only provide one dab of paint in the collage.
The author, a well-known and respected writer, began hallucinating and showing other signs of mental deterioration. Ultimately an egg-sized tumor was identified behind his cerebellum. Unfortunately either the state of the science or the state of medical care back then did not allow him to elaborate -- it's unclear what sort of tumor it actually was. Regardless, through a wealthy patron he was able to get it excised by the most famed surgeon in the land, and made an impressive recovery.
While the account of a well-off patient from nearly 100 years ago was pretty interesting, it was very superficial. What I found more interesting is that, at that point in Europe's history, grim things were going on all over the place, but apparently in Hungary they still had little sign of this, and poets, artists and writers were still national heroes.
Worth a look if you're interested in the history of medicine, though this will only provide one dab of paint in the collage.
June 18, 2009
A fascinating book by a Hungarian author describing the onset of a brain tumor in Budapest in the 1930s, and how his case came to be properly diagnosed after visiting many physicians there and in Vienna. Finally, when the diagnosis of a tumor in the cerebellum is made, he is sent to Dr. Olivecrona in Stockholm, Sweden, to actually perform the surgery. He recovered completely -- a real raity in those days -- only to die two years later of a stroke while stooping down to tie his shoelaces.
Karinthy was noted as a writer of satires and dramas and was able to describe every step of what happened to him with great wit and analytical ability. Highly recommended.
Karinthy was noted as a writer of satires and dramas and was able to describe every step of what happened to him with great wit and analytical ability. Highly recommended.
May 27, 2018
This book is more like a friend to me than a book. I have cried and laughed. It has taught me much and served as an arm around my neck, as my own shipwrecked head searches around for a new beginning.
February 12, 2022
What it is about these Hungarian writers. Something in their water, or beer, perhaps?
Anyway, if Karinthy has taught me anything then it's that of going to see a doctor as soon as possible if I feel something, if only remote, isn't quite right inside my head.
A stunning work that is brilliantly written. Not sure about this cover though.
Anyway, if Karinthy has taught me anything then it's that of going to see a doctor as soon as possible if I feel something, if only remote, isn't quite right inside my head.
A stunning work that is brilliantly written. Not sure about this cover though.
November 6, 2012
People interested in medicine and the history of medicine will enjoy this memoir by a middle-aged man who had a benign brain tumor removed in 1936. Karinthy, a Hungarian writer and journalist, was a bit of a celebrity in his native country and it was thanks to his social connections that he was able to be operated on by one of the best brain surgeons in the world. But the operation and Karinthy's recovery are only a small part of the book; he also covers in detail the months leading up to the operation, beginning when he first experienced symptoms. What followed were visits to many different doctors who misdiagnosed him and pooh-poohed his concerns. (Sound familiar?) Karinthy actually diagnosed himself long before his doctors did.
The tumor skewed Karinthy's perception and he often hallucinated noises, images and even entire events. The way he writes about these periods, the reader is often unsure as to what is real and what is not. It makes for a somewhat jarring experience, but also helps the reader see just what he was going through.
Certainly this isn't for the average reader, but those who like works by people like Oliver Sacks (who wrote the intro to this memoir) will enjoy A Journey Round My Skull.
The tumor skewed Karinthy's perception and he often hallucinated noises, images and even entire events. The way he writes about these periods, the reader is often unsure as to what is real and what is not. It makes for a somewhat jarring experience, but also helps the reader see just what he was going through.
Certainly this isn't for the average reader, but those who like works by people like Oliver Sacks (who wrote the intro to this memoir) will enjoy A Journey Round My Skull.
April 23, 2020
Nem volt egyszerű "olvasmány", ha olvasom, nem biztos, hogy be is fejezem, hangoskönyvben könnyebb volt, így is sokáig tartott. Mácsai Pál meg egy zseni, nagyon sokat adott a felolvasása a történethez. Azért tetszett még ez a mű, mert az akkori orvostudomány egy részébe is bepillantást enged. Karinthyval együtt ámultam, hogy milyen pontosan meghatározták a daganat helyét, pedig akkor még nem volt CT és MR. Az is jó volt, hogy teljesen őszintén leírta, miket érzett, mit élt át a műtét alatt, nem lehetett egyszerű.
October 20, 2024
El libro que llevó al buen Oliver Sacks no sólo a convertirse en doc sino que también a escribir sobre ello.
Súper, súper bueno, sobre todo al principio y al final, luego al medio me agarró menos pero creo que es porque el autor mismo estaba pasando por este mega tumor cerebral y tratando de transmitir su manera actual de ver el mundo con esos anteojos "tumorales" y a veces me perdí un poco. La operación a cabeza abierta y sin anestesia, eso sí, es realmente impactante.
Sarcástico, alegre y lleno de humor negro, me hizo reír muchas veces y muchas otras sentirme identificada pese a nuestros tiempos tan disímiles, aunque también hay varios comentarios racistas/machistas/clasistas que no sé si eran parte de su sus ironías o si eran en serio. Considerando la época, es posible que hubiera bastante de lo segundo pero igual al final el pobre fue víctima de sus tiempos: su mujer fue asesinada apenas una década después en un campo de concentración, aunque él no estaba ya ahí para presenciarlo.
Súper, súper interesante. Muchas gracias, don Frigyes. Por la prosa y también por escribir de algo tan difícil de manera tan humana. El drama suyo es todavía el drama de muchos.
Unas pocas citas que destaqué:
1.
Por encima de todos los mitos y leyendas, dedico este libro a la ciencia auténtica y noble, que jamás ha sido tan intolerante con la superstición como la superstición ha sido con ella..
2.
Camino lentamente, como un anciano, hacia la salida, pero es evidente que soy incapaz de ir en la dirección que me propongo. Me hace cierta gracia al principio ver que ando en círculos, como un cobayo en su laberinto. Siempre es interesante experimentar la dualidad entre cuerpo y alma. Heme aquí, perfectamente segudo de mí mismo; pienso con lógica, proceso con naturalidad mis sensaciones, pero mi cuerpo no me obedece; o, mejor dicho, obedece pero no a mí sino que a algo a a alguien que se ha colado en mi interior. El cuerpo humano posee un alma aparte, independiente del yo, y esa alma aparte se ha vuelto contra mí y está sublevándome todo el cuerpo.
3.
No me examina, no me interroga. No debiera sorprenderme, pues sé que su visita es una pura formalidad. Los médicos que están evaluando mi caso le comunican directamente los resultados, él sabe de mí todo cuanto necesito saber.
Sin embargo, me extraña que no hablemos una palabra de mi mal. Me resulta un poco humillante que no tenga ninguna curiosidad por saber qué idea tengo yo del asunto. ¿Me considera un vulgar profano cuya opinión le es totalmente indiferente? ¿O ha oído que soy una especie de poeta y se protege contra mi desbordante imaginación?
Súper, súper bueno, sobre todo al principio y al final, luego al medio me agarró menos pero creo que es porque el autor mismo estaba pasando por este mega tumor cerebral y tratando de transmitir su manera actual de ver el mundo con esos anteojos "tumorales" y a veces me perdí un poco. La operación a cabeza abierta y sin anestesia, eso sí, es realmente impactante.
Sarcástico, alegre y lleno de humor negro, me hizo reír muchas veces y muchas otras sentirme identificada pese a nuestros tiempos tan disímiles, aunque también hay varios comentarios racistas/machistas/clasistas que no sé si eran parte de su sus ironías o si eran en serio. Considerando la época, es posible que hubiera bastante de lo segundo pero igual al final el pobre fue víctima de sus tiempos: su mujer fue asesinada apenas una década después en un campo de concentración, aunque él no estaba ya ahí para presenciarlo.
Súper, súper interesante. Muchas gracias, don Frigyes. Por la prosa y también por escribir de algo tan difícil de manera tan humana. El drama suyo es todavía el drama de muchos.
Unas pocas citas que destaqué:
1.
Por encima de todos los mitos y leyendas, dedico este libro a la ciencia auténtica y noble, que jamás ha sido tan intolerante con la superstición como la superstición ha sido con ella..
2.
Camino lentamente, como un anciano, hacia la salida, pero es evidente que soy incapaz de ir en la dirección que me propongo. Me hace cierta gracia al principio ver que ando en círculos, como un cobayo en su laberinto. Siempre es interesante experimentar la dualidad entre cuerpo y alma. Heme aquí, perfectamente segudo de mí mismo; pienso con lógica, proceso con naturalidad mis sensaciones, pero mi cuerpo no me obedece; o, mejor dicho, obedece pero no a mí sino que a algo a a alguien que se ha colado en mi interior. El cuerpo humano posee un alma aparte, independiente del yo, y esa alma aparte se ha vuelto contra mí y está sublevándome todo el cuerpo.
3.
No me examina, no me interroga. No debiera sorprenderme, pues sé que su visita es una pura formalidad. Los médicos que están evaluando mi caso le comunican directamente los resultados, él sabe de mí todo cuanto necesito saber.
Sin embargo, me extraña que no hablemos una palabra de mi mal. Me resulta un poco humillante que no tenga ninguna curiosidad por saber qué idea tengo yo del asunto. ¿Me considera un vulgar profano cuya opinión le es totalmente indiferente? ¿O ha oído que soy una especie de poeta y se protege contra mi desbordante imaginación?
March 19, 2016
I can't remember what drew me to this book because, ordinarily, I wouldn't have bought it, so it must have been a referral from looking up another book. Having finished it at all is a testament to it's being a great book despite the odd title. I believe I chose it because the spiel sounded interesting: "he was disturbed by the roaring—so loud as to drown out all other noises—of a passing train. Soon it was gone, only to be succeeded by another. And another. Strange, Karinthy thought, it had been years since Budapest had streetcars. Only then did he realize he was suffering from an auditory hallucination of extraordinary intensity." I suffer from an auditory ailment known commonly as tinnitus or a ringing in the ears, and I have suffered from it as long as I can remember; in fact, I recall being a little kid and standing in a silent forest and wondering "Is this what silence is? This loud ringing?" So, I bought the book based solely on that comment! Curiously enough for me, it is a non-fiction book, which is a type of book I rarely read, if at all; 90% of the time, I read fiction because I can escape through it.
While it took me a bit to get into the book....I read the first third of the book then put it down because I was unsure of it, read something else but became bored by what I was reading and picked it back up because i was drawn to it. I kept thinking "where is he going with describing his condition, what exactly is happening?" As it turned out, the spot where I left the book was the spot where the book was really getting going. Still though, being drawn into Karinthy's world is difficult to describe because he goes off on tangents of conversations with his friends...and friends who aren't actually in the room with him. So, not only auditory hallucinations but visual as well.
The long and the short of his story is that Karinthy was suffering from a brain tumor and his world had been turned topsy turvy in all aspects...spells of giddiness, fainting fits, friends remarking that his handwriting had altered, and books going blank before his eyes. He eventually was diagnosed and the road to brain surgery, which took him from his home in Budapest, Hungary to Stockholm, Sweden, is the basis for the remainder of the book. Reading about his journey into what can never be described as madness, spells of giddiness, fainting fits, friends remarking that his handwriting had altered, and books going blank before his eyes describes everything that he can about the days leading up to, and after, his brain operation. In fact, the account of the day before and immediate moments after the operation are quite compelling: the fact that he was able to remember what happened within hours after it make for interesting reading on its own!
I'd love to say that I recommend this book to everyone but frankly, I can't see everyone loving it like I did. Part of the reason I was drawn to it is the fact that my own Father died of inoperable brain cancer and I was interested to see what he may have witnessed (however, in my Father's case, he lost his concept of words almost immediately, whereas Karinthy never lost his concept of words). More than that, though, I was drawn to envelop myself in Karinthy's explanations of his symptoms, thoughts, and feelings, as well as of his friends’ and doctors’ varied responses to his predicament. A Journey Round My Skull is not only an extraordinary piece of medical testimony, but a powerful work of literature—one that dances brilliantly "on the edge of extinction".
While it took me a bit to get into the book....I read the first third of the book then put it down because I was unsure of it, read something else but became bored by what I was reading and picked it back up because i was drawn to it. I kept thinking "where is he going with describing his condition, what exactly is happening?" As it turned out, the spot where I left the book was the spot where the book was really getting going. Still though, being drawn into Karinthy's world is difficult to describe because he goes off on tangents of conversations with his friends...and friends who aren't actually in the room with him. So, not only auditory hallucinations but visual as well.
The long and the short of his story is that Karinthy was suffering from a brain tumor and his world had been turned topsy turvy in all aspects...spells of giddiness, fainting fits, friends remarking that his handwriting had altered, and books going blank before his eyes. He eventually was diagnosed and the road to brain surgery, which took him from his home in Budapest, Hungary to Stockholm, Sweden, is the basis for the remainder of the book. Reading about his journey into what can never be described as madness, spells of giddiness, fainting fits, friends remarking that his handwriting had altered, and books going blank before his eyes describes everything that he can about the days leading up to, and after, his brain operation. In fact, the account of the day before and immediate moments after the operation are quite compelling: the fact that he was able to remember what happened within hours after it make for interesting reading on its own!
I'd love to say that I recommend this book to everyone but frankly, I can't see everyone loving it like I did. Part of the reason I was drawn to it is the fact that my own Father died of inoperable brain cancer and I was interested to see what he may have witnessed (however, in my Father's case, he lost his concept of words almost immediately, whereas Karinthy never lost his concept of words). More than that, though, I was drawn to envelop myself in Karinthy's explanations of his symptoms, thoughts, and feelings, as well as of his friends’ and doctors’ varied responses to his predicament. A Journey Round My Skull is not only an extraordinary piece of medical testimony, but a powerful work of literature—one that dances brilliantly "on the edge of extinction".
December 30, 2018
Hoy 29/12/2018 finalicé "Viaje alrededor de mi cráneo" de Frigyes Karinthy. Obra que me pareció genial desde sus primeras páginas y que no tiene desperdicio. Aun tratándose de un tema tan áspero, como la historia de la operación de un tumor cerebral, Karinthy mantiene una prosa sostenida, entretenida, llena de ocurrencias y erudición sabiamente dosificada. Recomendable hasta la médula. Pocas veces se puede acceder a una obra magistral de forma tan fácil y amena.
March 18, 2024
„Moje ciało, ten żałosny stosik szmat, jako materia przyjdzie do siebie, ale co będzie ze mną, władcą pozbawionym swojego imperium? To straszne. Gorsze od inkwizycyjnej ławy tortur. Ta myśl przeszywa mnie, kiedy drżąc, powoli zaczynam przypomnieć. Tak, tak, nie ma wątpliwości, tym razem uniknąłem udaru, ale stałem się uboższy o jedną iluzję - już nie chcę nagłej śmierci. Okropne doświadczenie. Czy to możliwe, że po prostu brakuje mi wiary? I stąd uczucie niepewności, ten straszny lęk, że potrafię się czegoś uchwycić tylko tutaj, tylko na tym brzegu, ale kiedy zaczyna się osuwać, nie jestem w stanie przerzucić się na drugi brzeg liny z hakiem - niczego tam nie widzę.”
Węgierska twórczość jest bliska memu czytelniczemu sercu, a Karinthy po raz kolejny utwierdza mnie w przekonaniu, że tamtejsi pisarze należą do niesamowicie wnikliwych. Humorysta, krytyk, prozaik, któremu najlepiej wychodziło pisanie krótkich form do gazet, marzył o napisaniu wielkiej powieści i encyklopedii, ale ponieważ nie udało mu się to, to autobiograficzna „Podróż wokół mojej czaszki” uważana jest za jedno z jego najważniejszych dzieł.
Jest to niespotykane studium śledzenia rozlewających się symptomów guza mózgu po organizmie autora. Zaczyna się to, gdy nagle słyszy pociągi przesiadując w kawiarni, obok której nie ma w pobliżu dworca. Te omamy słuchowe stają się punktem wyjściowym jednego z najbardziej fascynujących opisów życia z chorobą. Karinthy staje się od tej chwili amatorem medycznych diagnoz. Jak na humorystę przystało, posługuje się językiem lekkim aż rzeczowym. Wlewa do swojego granicznego przeżycia krople groteski, by uspokoić czytelnika, ale myślę, że i też siebie. Autor, na własną prośbę, poprosił o brak narkozy podczas trepanacji czaski i usuwania guza mózgu, co później barwnie opisuje. Uczynienie z siebie obiektu wnikliwej obserwacji w literackiej formie jest zabiegiem, który na długo pozostanie w mojej pamięci.
tłum. A. Górecka
Węgierska twórczość jest bliska memu czytelniczemu sercu, a Karinthy po raz kolejny utwierdza mnie w przekonaniu, że tamtejsi pisarze należą do niesamowicie wnikliwych. Humorysta, krytyk, prozaik, któremu najlepiej wychodziło pisanie krótkich form do gazet, marzył o napisaniu wielkiej powieści i encyklopedii, ale ponieważ nie udało mu się to, to autobiograficzna „Podróż wokół mojej czaszki” uważana jest za jedno z jego najważniejszych dzieł.
Jest to niespotykane studium śledzenia rozlewających się symptomów guza mózgu po organizmie autora. Zaczyna się to, gdy nagle słyszy pociągi przesiadując w kawiarni, obok której nie ma w pobliżu dworca. Te omamy słuchowe stają się punktem wyjściowym jednego z najbardziej fascynujących opisów życia z chorobą. Karinthy staje się od tej chwili amatorem medycznych diagnoz. Jak na humorystę przystało, posługuje się językiem lekkim aż rzeczowym. Wlewa do swojego granicznego przeżycia krople groteski, by uspokoić czytelnika, ale myślę, że i też siebie. Autor, na własną prośbę, poprosił o brak narkozy podczas trepanacji czaski i usuwania guza mózgu, co później barwnie opisuje. Uczynienie z siebie obiektu wnikliwej obserwacji w literackiej formie jest zabiegiem, który na długo pozostanie w mojej pamięci.
tłum. A. Górecka
December 29, 2020
Alexa, recommend me some mađarski crni humor so that I can ask myself kako bre autor piše o svom tumoru na mozgu kao da je beba
April 17, 2008
In recognition of its thoroughness and accuracy, book store franchises shelve this memoir in the medical section, though it reads like literature. Frigyes Karinthy was a well known and much respected writer and humorist in Budapest in the 1930s when he began to suffer from intensifying auditory hallucinations. These disturbances initiate his progression through the medical establishments of Budapest, Vienna and Stockholm. In parallel, his symptoms accumulate, prompt various misdiagnoses (such as nicotine poisoning), assorted treatments of dubious value (topical applications of a mercury compound) and the gradual realization, on the part of all people concerned, that he has a tumor growing on his brain that will first blind and then kill him within the year if it is not removed.
Because of his prominence as a writer, rumor of his ill health travels widely and fast, which gives Karinthy the opportunity to be both self-reflective and socially observant. People from all walks of Hungarian life absorb the news of his affliction in different ways and Karinthy is careful to note how their behavior changes and how it makes him feel—not in a morose or self-pitying fashion; but matter-of-factly and with wit. There is space for his fear and suffering in the book; but the following excepts typify how he chooses to present it:
“It got on my nerves, too, that I kept walking with my feet turned in and that, as my sight was bad, I could not see to correct my step and was constantly going into the gutter or knocking against the wall. And that I kept lurking shamefacedly in a corner or hiding for hours in a cold lavatory.”
“When I put my questions I used medical terms, culled from my reading. I did not ask her what the cowering, terrified Being that lurked somewhere behind my tumor was so plaintively asking me below the threshold of consciousness.”
Since Karinthy writes this account for serialized publication after his recovery, each of the chapters has a brisk, cohesive thrust and each of them benefits from the equilibrium and joy of someone on the far side of misfortune. Karinthy is also playful and experimental in the composition of his chapters, engaging with dreams and hallucinations and toying with time and simultaneous occurrences. The book never slows and is a fascinating time capsule, wonderfully stuffed by a winning and clever man.
Because of his prominence as a writer, rumor of his ill health travels widely and fast, which gives Karinthy the opportunity to be both self-reflective and socially observant. People from all walks of Hungarian life absorb the news of his affliction in different ways and Karinthy is careful to note how their behavior changes and how it makes him feel—not in a morose or self-pitying fashion; but matter-of-factly and with wit. There is space for his fear and suffering in the book; but the following excepts typify how he chooses to present it:
“It got on my nerves, too, that I kept walking with my feet turned in and that, as my sight was bad, I could not see to correct my step and was constantly going into the gutter or knocking against the wall. And that I kept lurking shamefacedly in a corner or hiding for hours in a cold lavatory.”
“When I put my questions I used medical terms, culled from my reading. I did not ask her what the cowering, terrified Being that lurked somewhere behind my tumor was so plaintively asking me below the threshold of consciousness.”
Since Karinthy writes this account for serialized publication after his recovery, each of the chapters has a brisk, cohesive thrust and each of them benefits from the equilibrium and joy of someone on the far side of misfortune. Karinthy is also playful and experimental in the composition of his chapters, engaging with dreams and hallucinations and toying with time and simultaneous occurrences. The book never slows and is a fascinating time capsule, wonderfully stuffed by a winning and clever man.
December 9, 2014
4 or 5 stars? I am not sure yet.
This was a very powerful read. True to its title, it was a journey inside a skull and mind. Having lost a relative from brain cancer, I found this quite difficult to read at some points. Apart from that it was really interesting. The writing style was excellent.
In the end I felt that I truly knew this person. I love it when a book has this effect on me. It makes a connection, a real bond.
This was a very powerful read. True to its title, it was a journey inside a skull and mind. Having lost a relative from brain cancer, I found this quite difficult to read at some points. Apart from that it was really interesting. The writing style was excellent.
In the end I felt that I truly knew this person. I love it when a book has this effect on me. It makes a connection, a real bond.
March 17, 2024
Książka autobiograficzna opowiadająca o zmaganiach węgierskiego autora z guzem mózgu. Karinthy opisuje w niej przebieg swojej choroby od pierwszych jej objawów i odkrywania w sobie jej symptomów po operację mózgu, której się poddał. A zaczęło się od pewnego popołudnia, które narrator spędza w kawiarni i słyszy pociąg, który rusza ociężale i jedzie torami dudniąc przeokrutnie. Zaraz ruszyl kolejny. Problem polega na tym, że w tym miejscu pociągi nie jeżdżą, nie ma tu torów, co najwyżej tramwajowe.
„Tak upływają mi dni, od czasu do czasu chodzę do lekarza, a pociągi w mojej głowie nadal odjeżdżają, punktualnie o siódmej wieczorem”.
Autor robi sobie autoobserwację, stawia się w pozycji pacjenta i z tej perspektywy opisuje swoją historię. Robi to bez ckliwości czy ubarwiania przeżyć, ale mimo tego, że nastawiałam się na same smutki ze względu na temat to dziwo okazało się, że tekst jest też bardzo zabawny, co było dla zmnie zaskoczeniem, ale z tych pozytywnych. Oprócz tego niezwykle podobała mi się dynamika narracji i sposób pisania autora, niezwykle zresztą przystępny zważając na to, że książka powstała w latach 30-tych.
„(…) chodzi za mną skomląca nuda. Nie odstępuje mnie: jakiś niewidzialny żebrak toczy za moimi plecami katarynkę, której skrzypienie słyszę tylko wtedy, gdy idę – kiedy się zatrzymuję i odwracam, cichnie. Już mi to obrzydło, mam dość, choroba jest nudna i śmierć jest nudna, nie straszna, nie dramatyczna, wzniosła czy przygnębiająca, tylko nudna jak tchórzliwy, podstępny pies włóczęga, który wlecze się moim śladem”.
Bardzo polecam i chyba się z literatura węgierską bardzo polubimy.
„Tak upływają mi dni, od czasu do czasu chodzę do lekarza, a pociągi w mojej głowie nadal odjeżdżają, punktualnie o siódmej wieczorem”.
Autor robi sobie autoobserwację, stawia się w pozycji pacjenta i z tej perspektywy opisuje swoją historię. Robi to bez ckliwości czy ubarwiania przeżyć, ale mimo tego, że nastawiałam się na same smutki ze względu na temat to dziwo okazało się, że tekst jest też bardzo zabawny, co było dla zmnie zaskoczeniem, ale z tych pozytywnych. Oprócz tego niezwykle podobała mi się dynamika narracji i sposób pisania autora, niezwykle zresztą przystępny zważając na to, że książka powstała w latach 30-tych.
„(…) chodzi za mną skomląca nuda. Nie odstępuje mnie: jakiś niewidzialny żebrak toczy za moimi plecami katarynkę, której skrzypienie słyszę tylko wtedy, gdy idę – kiedy się zatrzymuję i odwracam, cichnie. Już mi to obrzydło, mam dość, choroba jest nudna i śmierć jest nudna, nie straszna, nie dramatyczna, wzniosła czy przygnębiająca, tylko nudna jak tchórzliwy, podstępny pies włóczęga, który wlecze się moim śladem”.
Bardzo polecam i chyba się z literatura węgierską bardzo polubimy.
June 1, 2024
wowowow podobało siee
October 20, 2024
Tener un tumor cerebral en la década de los 30’s, era considerado casi una sentencia de muerte. Aunque estés en Hungría y tengas al alcance del tren la posibilidad de ser operado con las técnicas de punta de la época. Mas a Frigyes le ocurre que puede transitar a través de esta enfermedad por medio de las letras, periodista y escritor, nos cuenta la travesía qué significa el diagnóstico, la operación y su posterior recuperación. Es un clásico de la literatura húngara, porque con una pluma prolífica narra con ironía todo el malestar que puede surgir a través de una enfermedad que lo hace enfrentarse con lo que hasta ese momento es su vida. Es un relato muy ágil, que entretiene y nos debela que cualquier situación puede ser enfrentada con humor y con un estilo propio de quienes dedican sus vidas a las letras. Una lectura que avanza por los recónditos recuerdos de alguien que se ve enfrentado a un posible desenlace fatal, pero con una maestría para adentrarnos en una historia en donde el tumor o enfermedad pasa por completo a un segundo plano.
(...) “Las cosas existen porque les damos nombre; con eso las reconocemos como posibles. Y todo cuando nos parece posible se realiza:la realidad es una creación de la imaginación humana.” “En un principio me dije a mí mismo que era una mera ilusión, siempre me ocurre lo mismo cuando visito una metrópoli extranjera: lo encuentro todo maravillosamente distinto, mágico, casi inverosímil, por la sola razón de no haber nacido allí.” “Me aburre la enfermedad; me aburre la muerte; no tiene nada de terrible ni conmovedor ni de sublime o aterrador: no es más que aburrimiento, un aburrimiento que me sigue a cada paso como un infecto perro cobarde y gruñidor.” “Duermo un rato; a las cuatro espero a un joven escritor que quiere saber de mi boca si tiene talento. Le diré que, en efecto, tiene talento, y que precisamente por eso debe dejar de escribir, ya que los tiempos no están para literatura.” (…)
Aquí lo encuentras.
(...) “Las cosas existen porque les damos nombre; con eso las reconocemos como posibles. Y todo cuando nos parece posible se realiza:la realidad es una creación de la imaginación humana.” “En un principio me dije a mí mismo que era una mera ilusión, siempre me ocurre lo mismo cuando visito una metrópoli extranjera: lo encuentro todo maravillosamente distinto, mágico, casi inverosímil, por la sola razón de no haber nacido allí.” “Me aburre la enfermedad; me aburre la muerte; no tiene nada de terrible ni conmovedor ni de sublime o aterrador: no es más que aburrimiento, un aburrimiento que me sigue a cada paso como un infecto perro cobarde y gruñidor.” “Duermo un rato; a las cuatro espero a un joven escritor que quiere saber de mi boca si tiene talento. Le diré que, en efecto, tiene talento, y que precisamente por eso debe dejar de escribir, ya que los tiempos no están para literatura.” (…)
Aquí lo encuentras.
August 3, 2023
Well this was annoying!
The premise for this was great, a man tells us first hand of his symptoms of a burgeoning brain tumour and the experience of the long journey it takes for a diagnosis to be made (this was pre-"health care" as we know it).
In reality, Karinthy is an egotistical narcissist! All he cares about is who knows, who will come and see me, should I let the press know, I must get this down! He's all about his image and getting one up on others.
What should have been an interesting, riveting account turns out to be a one man show "All about Meeeeeee".
No.
The premise for this was great, a man tells us first hand of his symptoms of a burgeoning brain tumour and the experience of the long journey it takes for a diagnosis to be made (this was pre-"health care" as we know it).
In reality, Karinthy is an egotistical narcissist! All he cares about is who knows, who will come and see me, should I let the press know, I must get this down! He's all about his image and getting one up on others.
What should have been an interesting, riveting account turns out to be a one man show "All about Meeeeeee".
No.
March 11, 2018
Hungría en 1936. Un mundo perdido. La Europa Central cosmopolita, confiada, mundana, que se deja llevar -inconscientemente- al desastre. En ese mundo, un escritor famoso y popular, descubre que tiene un tumor cerebral. Y, como escritor que es, lo narra. En un estilo de otro tiempo, en una fórmula literaria olvidada, FK cuenta su propio viaje, a sus recuerdos, al terror, al paseo al costado de la muerte. Y esos temas jamás pasarán de moda.
August 13, 2017
So... This one goes back to the bookshelf for a while. I hope to re-read it, or actually, read it in a bit.
It's not bad. It's quite interesting actually.
But this time it just didn't strike the right cord with me, so I abandoned it after 60-odd pages.
It's not bad. It's quite interesting actually.
But this time it just didn't strike the right cord with me, so I abandoned it after 60-odd pages.
January 16, 2024
4,75. Het is half drie en ik ben doodop maar waw. De inleiding van Oliver Sacks is al misselijkmakend (bewuste woordkeuze) indrukwekkend. Als je één Hongaarse autobiografie (slash psychologisch-filosofisch-medisch verslag) leest, laat het deze zijn (eentje waarvoor voeling met het land en het volk en de cultuur en geschiedenis eigenlijk niet nodig is, for once).
“Art is a complementary source of truth, for it enlists the help of the imagination to carry mankind beyond a mere observation of facts. Real achievement is possible only when both work in association.” (Quote die volgens mij eigenlijk heel weinig te maken heeft met het centrale thema, maar bon.)
“Art is a complementary source of truth, for it enlists the help of the imagination to carry mankind beyond a mere observation of facts. Real achievement is possible only when both work in association.” (Quote die volgens mij eigenlijk heel weinig te maken heeft met het centrale thema, maar bon.)
April 2, 2024
Frigyes Karinthy beschrijft in de autobiografische interbellumroman "Reis om mijn schedel" hoe een hersentumor traagjes zijn leven binnensluipt: van hallucinaties, slechtziendheid, flauwvallen, ... tot de uiteindelijke operatie die hij bijna volledig bij bewustzijn meemaakt en het erop volgende herstel. Verschrikkelijk boeiend geschreven, interessante materie en de nodige diepgang. Alleen spijtig dat het niveau een beetje zakt bij de beschrijving van de revalidatie want voor de rest is dit een meesterwerk. 4.75/5!
"Kennelijk is muziek goed voor getrepaneerde hoofden."
"Al in de vorige eeuw heeft zich in de diagnostiek en in de therapie een kunsttaal ontwikkeld waarvan de etiquette in de buurt komt van de taal van de diplomatie."
"Ik kan meneer de professor als hij er belang in stelt een zeldzaam, prachtig uitgegroeid gezwel aanbieden... Echt een collector's item. Ik kan een speciaal prijsje voor u maken."
"Kennelijk is muziek goed voor getrepaneerde hoofden."
"Al in de vorige eeuw heeft zich in de diagnostiek en in de therapie een kunsttaal ontwikkeld waarvan de etiquette in de buurt komt van de taal van de diplomatie."
"Ik kan meneer de professor als hij er belang in stelt een zeldzaam, prachtig uitgegroeid gezwel aanbieden... Echt een collector's item. Ik kan een speciaal prijsje voor u maken."
August 3, 2025
Elképesztő könyv. A nyelvezet picit archaikus, amúgy szinte kortársnak hat. Ha magyar irodalmat tanítanék, ez lenne az "autofikció" tétel.
Ami különösen megérintett, amellett hogy Karinthy játszik a szerzőiség és elbeszélő szerepek kettősségével, az hogy mennyi mindenki serepel a szövegben: mindenki! És mindenki ismer mindenkit, mint egy mesében de ráadásul igaziból! Ami egészen megdöbbentett, az Addisz-Abeba fejezet, ami engem leginkább az Ulyssesre emlékeztetett. De az egész sztori és megvalósítás 10/10, teljesen kimaxolta a meg-nem-halás irodalmi potenciálját, egy nagyon erős túlélő-szöveggel.
Ami különösen megérintett, amellett hogy Karinthy játszik a szerzőiség és elbeszélő szerepek kettősségével, az hogy mennyi mindenki serepel a szövegben: mindenki! És mindenki ismer mindenkit, mint egy mesében de ráadásul igaziból! Ami egészen megdöbbentett, az Addisz-Abeba fejezet, ami engem leginkább az Ulyssesre emlékeztetett. De az egész sztori és megvalósítás 10/10, teljesen kimaxolta a meg-nem-halás irodalmi potenciálját, egy nagyon erős túlélő-szöveggel.
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