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شعب أغابيا الخالد
Le nouveau juge d'Agapia entre en fonction aujourd'hui. Agapia, petit bourg perdu dans les neiges du versant oriental des Carpates où s'impose le palais de justice.
- GenresNovels
260 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1964
2 people are currently reading
105 people want to read
About the author
Constantin Virgil Gheorghiu
66 books401 followersConstantin Virgil Gheorghiu (September 15, 1916 in Războieni, Romania – June 22, 1992 in Paris, France) was a Romanian writer, best known for his 1949 novel, The 25th Hour.
Virgil Gheorghiu was born in Valea Albă, a village in Războieni Commune, Neamţ County, in Romania. His father was an Orthodox priest in Petricani. A top student, he attended high school in Chişinău from 1928 to June 1936, after which he studied philosophy and theology at the University of Bucharest and at the Heidelberg University.
He traveled and stayed in Saudi Arabia to learn the Arabic language and the Arab culture, before writing the biography of prophet Mohammed. The book was translated from Romanian to French and to Persian in Iran and in Urdu in Pakistan. Unfortunately, this book was never translated into English. Its Hindi translation is being printed in India and expected to be available by Jan. 2020, with the Hindi title saying "A prophet you do not know".
Between 1942 and 1943, during the regime of General Ion Antonescu, he served in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Romania as an embassy secretary. He went into exile when Soviet troops entered Romania in 1944. Arrested at the end of World War II by American troops, he eventually settled in France in 1948. A year later, he published the novel Ora 25 (in French: La vingt-cinquième heure; in English: The Twenty-Fifth Hour), written during his captivity.
Gheorghiu was ordained a priest of the Romanian Orthodox Church in Paris on May 23, 1963. In 1966, Patriarch Justinian awarded him the cross of the Romanian Patriarchate for his liturgical and literary activities.
Virgil Gheorghiu was born in Valea Albă, a village in Războieni Commune, Neamţ County, in Romania. His father was an Orthodox priest in Petricani. A top student, he attended high school in Chişinău from 1928 to June 1936, after which he studied philosophy and theology at the University of Bucharest and at the Heidelberg University.
He traveled and stayed in Saudi Arabia to learn the Arabic language and the Arab culture, before writing the biography of prophet Mohammed. The book was translated from Romanian to French and to Persian in Iran and in Urdu in Pakistan. Unfortunately, this book was never translated into English. Its Hindi translation is being printed in India and expected to be available by Jan. 2020, with the Hindi title saying "A prophet you do not know".
Between 1942 and 1943, during the regime of General Ion Antonescu, he served in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Romania as an embassy secretary. He went into exile when Soviet troops entered Romania in 1944. Arrested at the end of World War II by American troops, he eventually settled in France in 1948. A year later, he published the novel Ora 25 (in French: La vingt-cinquième heure; in English: The Twenty-Fifth Hour), written during his captivity.
Gheorghiu was ordained a priest of the Romanian Orthodox Church in Paris on May 23, 1963. In 1966, Patriarch Justinian awarded him the cross of the Romanian Patriarchate for his liturgical and literary activities.
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November 24, 2025
Gheorghiu drags the reader to a town so clean, so virtuous, so unblemished by vice that it practically begs for corruption. The place is called Agapia, perched high in the Carpathians, a kind of snow globe of moral complacency where nothing ever happens, and everyone congratulates themselves for it. It is the kind of town where the biggest scandal of the century is an unshoveled sidewalk.
Into this glacial utopia arrives Cosma Damian, a young judge whose greatest crime so far has been excessive politeness. He is twenty-five, which in Agapia might as well be twelve. He has no family, no vices, and no clue. Raised in an orphanage and trained in institutions that worship obedience as a sacrament, he now finds himself appointed to a jurisdiction that has never required justice.
His office is brand-new, his house is immaculate, and his housekeeper, Madam Eudoxia, runs the place like a cross between a nun and a drill sergeant. She corrects him for making his own bed, for polishing his own shoes, for showing any signs of independence. It is clear from the start that the only thing Agapia will judge is anyone who disturbs its peace.
Cosma, poor soul, tries to behave like a proper magistrate. He is told by the town's police chief, Filaret, a garrulous man with the charm of a shopkeeper and the worldview of a monk, that Agapia is a paradise. There are no crimes here, Filaret boasts, no thefts, no murders, no moral blemishes. If Eden had a zoning board, it would be Agapia.
And then, naturally, on the very first night of the new judge's tenure, paradise takes a bullet.
A young soldier named Anton Tuniade, the pride of a prominent local family, returns home unexpectedly and is shot outside his mother's chateau, a ridiculous imported alpine villa that can be seen for miles around. The shot cracks through the virgin air, and suddenly Agapia's spotless record needs dry cleaning.
The judge is awakened from his first night of blissful slumber by Filaret, who is now less cherubic and more frantic. Together they rush into the storm with Ismail the Lipovian, the coachman, a man of elephantine build and soprano voice, the kind of paradox that small towns produce when boredom and piety breed unchecked.
Ismail, devout to the point of eccentricity, is a skoptzy, one of those religious fanatics who practice holiness by subtraction of sinful organs. He drives his sleigh through the night muttering prayers for travelers lost in the snow, certain that the road to heaven is paved with amputations of the soul. His sect believes that purity begins where humanity ends, that immortality is achieved through deletion.
The murder investigation, if it can be called that, proceeds as a farce of provincial logic. Every witness offers metaphors instead of facts. Every fact turns poetic under interrogation. The judge, trained in legal reasoning, finds himself drowning in mysticism and frost. The townspeople talk about snow as if it were an accomplice, a divine eraser that dislikes blood and prefers everything white. The chateau's mistress, Madam Patricia Tuniade, mourns her son with operatic intensity, while the coachman recounts the event with the solemnity of a sermon.
We learn that the Tuniade family, self-proclaimed aristocrats of dubious origin, had acquired their home in the most fitting way possible: by gambling. One of their ancestors won the chateau at cards, an apt symbol for a lineage that treats life as a game rigged in its favor. They are relics of the old Phanariot elite, those "decorative parasites" who once ruled by pretense and etiquette. Gheorghiu delights in skewering them. He portrays their decadence as hereditary, their virtue as inherited like gout.
Cosma tries to maintain the appearance of authority, but it is like conducting an orchestra of snowflakes. The police chief alternates between philosophical outrage and civic despair. Agapia, which prided itself on purity, now has its first corpse, and the stain is intolerable. Filaret insists that the murderer must be a stranger, since no local would commit so rude a breach of Agapia's spotless record. This is the logic of a bureaucrat who believes that evil must always carry an outsider's passport.
As the story deepens, the judge begins to see that the town's innocence is not moral but ethnographic. The Moldavians of Agapia are gentle, patient, and fatalistic, convinced that everything has been decided somewhere higher up, in heaven or in Bucharest. They do not revolt; they improvise. They survive history by ignoring it. Their faith is a form of anesthesia.
The skoptzys are their caricature, their mirror, their grotesque fulfillment. They have taken Moldavian resignation and refined it into theology. The Moldavian endures; the skoptzy abolishes. Both seek purity in paralysis. Both treat life as an unfortunate distraction from eternity.
The mountains and the snow have embalmed their passions, their doubts, their guilt. They are the living dead of respectability, the so-called immortals of the title. Their virtue consists of never doing anything at all, good or bad. The immortals are Moldavians perfected by abstinence and fossilized by faith.
Yet through this frostbitten parable runs the beautiful tapestry of Gheorghiu's encyclopedic curiosity: Lipovians from the Delta, Russian Old Believers exiled for the wrong sign of the cross, Armenians who bless their bread with wine, Greek traders who still toast the Byzantine night, and Moldavians who treat fatalism like folklore. Monks trade relics that nobody believes in, peasants bury their dead standing upright so they can greet the resurrection, and a Lipovian elder still waits for the angel with the key to the abyss. The book is an ethnographic museum of vanishing faiths and cracked certainties stitched together in candlelight.
The investigation gradually becomes a philosophical expedition into human petrifaction. Cosma finds that law, reason, and religion are all helpless in a place where the past never decomposes and the present never occurs. The murder, which at first appeared an accident, begins to look like a cosmic necessity. A town that boasts of being stainless must eventually meet its own blood.
Gheorghiu, sly and sardonic, treats the whole affair as a moral allegory disguised as a mystery. The Immortals of the Mountain exposes the disease of purity, the paralysis of self-satisfaction, the sanctity that grows mold in the absence of sin.
Agapia pretends to be provincial and harmless, but hides a theological landmine under every snowdrift. It is an extraordinary, uneven, and slightly deranged book that doesn't behave the way you expect it to. Gheorghiu wrote an extremely strange hybrid of detective novel, political allegory, and spiritual satire. It is not perfect, but it is never dull and always readable.
The snow is not merely weather; it is a character, a censor, a symbol of historical amnesia. It falls endlessly, wiping away evidence, tracks, guilt, and memory.
The title is perfect. The "immortals" are the final evolution of Moldavian fatalism and skoptzy fanaticism. They are what happens when endurance becomes creed and holiness becomes abstention. Gheorghiu’s immortals have achieved eternity by cutting out everything that makes life perishable. Their virtue is embalmed, their souls are refrigerated, and their reward is perpetual stasis.
This brave author wrote this work in the shadow of oppression, dictatorship and ideological petrifaction, but it still speaks to any society that mistakes silence for peace. The bureaucrat who wants a quiet file, the citizen who wants a quiet conscience, the judge who wants a quiet life, they all participate in the same moral frost. The modern world has no shortage of Agapias. They exist in every ministry, every monastery, every digital chapel of self-regard where perfection is confused with absence and anonymous agreement.
I read the wonderful 1969 Milton Stansbury English translation, published in Chicago by Henry Regnery Company.
You should too.
Full five frosty stars 🌟 🌟 🌟🌟🌟
Into this glacial utopia arrives Cosma Damian, a young judge whose greatest crime so far has been excessive politeness. He is twenty-five, which in Agapia might as well be twelve. He has no family, no vices, and no clue. Raised in an orphanage and trained in institutions that worship obedience as a sacrament, he now finds himself appointed to a jurisdiction that has never required justice.
His office is brand-new, his house is immaculate, and his housekeeper, Madam Eudoxia, runs the place like a cross between a nun and a drill sergeant. She corrects him for making his own bed, for polishing his own shoes, for showing any signs of independence. It is clear from the start that the only thing Agapia will judge is anyone who disturbs its peace.
Cosma, poor soul, tries to behave like a proper magistrate. He is told by the town's police chief, Filaret, a garrulous man with the charm of a shopkeeper and the worldview of a monk, that Agapia is a paradise. There are no crimes here, Filaret boasts, no thefts, no murders, no moral blemishes. If Eden had a zoning board, it would be Agapia.
And then, naturally, on the very first night of the new judge's tenure, paradise takes a bullet.
A young soldier named Anton Tuniade, the pride of a prominent local family, returns home unexpectedly and is shot outside his mother's chateau, a ridiculous imported alpine villa that can be seen for miles around. The shot cracks through the virgin air, and suddenly Agapia's spotless record needs dry cleaning.
The judge is awakened from his first night of blissful slumber by Filaret, who is now less cherubic and more frantic. Together they rush into the storm with Ismail the Lipovian, the coachman, a man of elephantine build and soprano voice, the kind of paradox that small towns produce when boredom and piety breed unchecked.
Ismail, devout to the point of eccentricity, is a skoptzy, one of those religious fanatics who practice holiness by subtraction of sinful organs. He drives his sleigh through the night muttering prayers for travelers lost in the snow, certain that the road to heaven is paved with amputations of the soul. His sect believes that purity begins where humanity ends, that immortality is achieved through deletion.
The murder investigation, if it can be called that, proceeds as a farce of provincial logic. Every witness offers metaphors instead of facts. Every fact turns poetic under interrogation. The judge, trained in legal reasoning, finds himself drowning in mysticism and frost. The townspeople talk about snow as if it were an accomplice, a divine eraser that dislikes blood and prefers everything white. The chateau's mistress, Madam Patricia Tuniade, mourns her son with operatic intensity, while the coachman recounts the event with the solemnity of a sermon.
We learn that the Tuniade family, self-proclaimed aristocrats of dubious origin, had acquired their home in the most fitting way possible: by gambling. One of their ancestors won the chateau at cards, an apt symbol for a lineage that treats life as a game rigged in its favor. They are relics of the old Phanariot elite, those "decorative parasites" who once ruled by pretense and etiquette. Gheorghiu delights in skewering them. He portrays their decadence as hereditary, their virtue as inherited like gout.
Cosma tries to maintain the appearance of authority, but it is like conducting an orchestra of snowflakes. The police chief alternates between philosophical outrage and civic despair. Agapia, which prided itself on purity, now has its first corpse, and the stain is intolerable. Filaret insists that the murderer must be a stranger, since no local would commit so rude a breach of Agapia's spotless record. This is the logic of a bureaucrat who believes that evil must always carry an outsider's passport.
As the story deepens, the judge begins to see that the town's innocence is not moral but ethnographic. The Moldavians of Agapia are gentle, patient, and fatalistic, convinced that everything has been decided somewhere higher up, in heaven or in Bucharest. They do not revolt; they improvise. They survive history by ignoring it. Their faith is a form of anesthesia.
The skoptzys are their caricature, their mirror, their grotesque fulfillment. They have taken Moldavian resignation and refined it into theology. The Moldavian endures; the skoptzy abolishes. Both seek purity in paralysis. Both treat life as an unfortunate distraction from eternity.
The mountains and the snow have embalmed their passions, their doubts, their guilt. They are the living dead of respectability, the so-called immortals of the title. Their virtue consists of never doing anything at all, good or bad. The immortals are Moldavians perfected by abstinence and fossilized by faith.
Yet through this frostbitten parable runs the beautiful tapestry of Gheorghiu's encyclopedic curiosity: Lipovians from the Delta, Russian Old Believers exiled for the wrong sign of the cross, Armenians who bless their bread with wine, Greek traders who still toast the Byzantine night, and Moldavians who treat fatalism like folklore. Monks trade relics that nobody believes in, peasants bury their dead standing upright so they can greet the resurrection, and a Lipovian elder still waits for the angel with the key to the abyss. The book is an ethnographic museum of vanishing faiths and cracked certainties stitched together in candlelight.
The investigation gradually becomes a philosophical expedition into human petrifaction. Cosma finds that law, reason, and religion are all helpless in a place where the past never decomposes and the present never occurs. The murder, which at first appeared an accident, begins to look like a cosmic necessity. A town that boasts of being stainless must eventually meet its own blood.
Gheorghiu, sly and sardonic, treats the whole affair as a moral allegory disguised as a mystery. The Immortals of the Mountain exposes the disease of purity, the paralysis of self-satisfaction, the sanctity that grows mold in the absence of sin.
Agapia pretends to be provincial and harmless, but hides a theological landmine under every snowdrift. It is an extraordinary, uneven, and slightly deranged book that doesn't behave the way you expect it to. Gheorghiu wrote an extremely strange hybrid of detective novel, political allegory, and spiritual satire. It is not perfect, but it is never dull and always readable.
The snow is not merely weather; it is a character, a censor, a symbol of historical amnesia. It falls endlessly, wiping away evidence, tracks, guilt, and memory.
The title is perfect. The "immortals" are the final evolution of Moldavian fatalism and skoptzy fanaticism. They are what happens when endurance becomes creed and holiness becomes abstention. Gheorghiu’s immortals have achieved eternity by cutting out everything that makes life perishable. Their virtue is embalmed, their souls are refrigerated, and their reward is perpetual stasis.
This brave author wrote this work in the shadow of oppression, dictatorship and ideological petrifaction, but it still speaks to any society that mistakes silence for peace. The bureaucrat who wants a quiet file, the citizen who wants a quiet conscience, the judge who wants a quiet life, they all participate in the same moral frost. The modern world has no shortage of Agapias. They exist in every ministry, every monastery, every digital chapel of self-regard where perfection is confused with absence and anonymous agreement.
I read the wonderful 1969 Milton Stansbury English translation, published in Chicago by Henry Regnery Company.
You should too.
Full five frosty stars 🌟 🌟 🌟🌟🌟
June 28, 2025
يحدث أن الكتّاب بشر، وقد يكتبون روايات متواضعة بقدر ما يكتبون روايات مزلزلة كـ"الساعة الخامسة والعشرون"، ولا كمال إلا لله.
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في 260 صفحة، وبمدة أحداث تناهز اليومين فقط، يكتب جورجيو عن حال الإنسان سيدًا ومسودًا في وسط أوروبا عبر قصة بوليسية امتلأت بالخواطر الحساسة والأحزان الموثقة عن حال قومٍ بأكملهم ورزوحهم تحت أهوال العيش في كنفٍ الظلم، دون أن يضيف ذلك إلى القصة شيئًا في الواقع، إذ يمكن للقارئ تحسسها مقحمة أو كون السرد مجيّرًا لصالح روي تلك الأفكار على لسان الشخصيات، لدرجة أن فصلًا كاملًا يمكن محوه لكونه متعلقًا بإحدى الشخصيات التي تأكد الجميع من براءتها، ولكن جرى تخصيص ذلك الفصل بأكمله عنه لكي تمرر خاطرة هنا وهناك.
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الترجمة رائعة طبعًا كما هو حال د. محمد آيت حنا بعباراته المصقولة ومعانيه المنقولة بعناية، لكن الكلام عن النص نفسه كبنية سردية.
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في 260 صفحة، وبمدة أحداث تناهز اليومين فقط، يكتب جورجيو عن حال الإنسان سيدًا ومسودًا في وسط أوروبا عبر قصة بوليسية امتلأت بالخواطر الحساسة والأحزان الموثقة عن حال قومٍ بأكملهم ورزوحهم تحت أهوال العيش في كنفٍ الظلم، دون أن يضيف ذلك إلى القصة شيئًا في الواقع، إذ يمكن للقارئ تحسسها مقحمة أو كون السرد مجيّرًا لصالح روي تلك الأفكار على لسان الشخصيات، لدرجة أن فصلًا كاملًا يمكن محوه لكونه متعلقًا بإحدى الشخصيات التي تأكد الجميع من براءتها، ولكن جرى تخصيص ذلك الفصل بأكمله عنه لكي تمرر خاطرة هنا وهناك.
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الترجمة رائعة طبعًا كما هو حال د. محمد آيت حنا بعباراته المصقولة ومعانيه المنقولة بعناية، لكن الكلام عن النص نفسه كبنية سردية.
September 23, 2024
ماذا يحدث عندما تُدفع بلدة هادئة فجأة إلى قلب جريمة مروعة؟ أغابيا، التي تقع في جبال الكاربات، كانت دائمًا بعيدة عن الفوضى، حيث يعيش سكانها في هدوء يشبه الحياة في عالم آخر. لكن وصول قاضٍ شاب، وهو يتوقع منصبًا روتينيًا هادئًا، يقلب هذه الصورة رأسًا على عقب حين يجد نفسه منخرطًا في لغز غامض يتحدى سكينة البلدة الظاهرة، البلدة التي يسكنها فقراء تخلوا عن حقهم في الحياة الأرضية مؤمنين بأن تضحياتهم ستُكافأ في السماء..
تتجاوز هذه الرواية إطار قصص الجريمة التقليدية، إذ تغوص في أعماق النفس البشرية وتستكشف التناقضات بين النقاء والفساد، وبين البراءة والقوة.
ومع خلفية تاريخ رومانيا وتوتراتها الاجتماعية التي تتصاعد بهدوء، ينسج قسطنطين جورجيو ببراعة رواية تبدو فيها الحقيقة بعيدة المنال، والثلج نفسه يصبح شريكًا صامتًا في إخفاء أسرار البلدة الغامضة!
تتجاوز هذه الرواية إطار قصص الجريمة التقليدية، إذ تغوص في أعماق النفس البشرية وتستكشف التناقضات بين النقاء والفساد، وبين البراءة والقوة.
ومع خلفية تاريخ رومانيا وتوتراتها الاجتماعية التي تتصاعد بهدوء، ينسج قسطنطين جورجيو ببراعة رواية تبدو فيها الحقيقة بعيدة المنال، والثلج نفسه يصبح شريكًا صامتًا في إخفاء أسرار البلدة الغامضة!
August 22, 2015
Pročitao sam BESMRTNIKE AGAPIJE Virgila Georgijua, roman rumunskog sveštenika i disidenta objavljen u Francuskoj 1964. godine. Reč je o dosta trapavom ukrštanju pravoslavne mistike i krimića. Rezultat je “metafizički krimić” u kome Georgiju dosta nametljivo plasira hrišćansku simboliku a koristi krimić kao formalni kostur. Nažalost, ni ta metafizika na koju se oslanja, ni žanrovska potka ne uspevaju da prikriju piščevu namere da plasira određene teze, i da drži predavanje čitaocu koje vrlo često iskoračuje iz svake ravni narativa, i idejne i formalne.
Iskreno, zbunjuje me da je Georgiju pisac čije se knjige kod nas plasiraju među izdavačima crkvene literature jer osim činenice da je on sveštenik i da se roman dotiče hrišćanstva, u njemu nekih istinskih kanonskih pouka praktično i nema, sve je vrlo anegdotski, i ta hrišćanska dimenzija je meni na kraju delovala više kao obeležje nepodnošljive pretenzije.
Kriminalistički aspekt priče je očekivano naivan ali paradoksalno opet bolji od one “nadogradnje” na kojoj insistira Georgiju, uprkos svojoj neverovatnoj proizvoljnosti i rudimentarnosti.
Iskreno, zbunjuje me da je Georgiju pisac čije se knjige kod nas plasiraju među izdavačima crkvene literature jer osim činenice da je on sveštenik i da se roman dotiče hrišćanstva, u njemu nekih istinskih kanonskih pouka praktično i nema, sve je vrlo anegdotski, i ta hrišćanska dimenzija je meni na kraju delovala više kao obeležje nepodnošljive pretenzije.
Kriminalistički aspekt priče je očekivano naivan ali paradoksalno opet bolji od one “nadogradnje” na kojoj insistira Georgiju, uprkos svojoj neverovatnoj proizvoljnosti i rudimentarnosti.
January 1, 2018
Published in English as The Immortals of the Mountain.
February 24, 2025
تقييم الكتاب ⭐️⭐️⭐️
عنوان الكتاب: "شعب أغابيا الخالد" - الكاتب: قسطنطين فرجيل جورجيو ترجمة: محمد آيت حنا
عدد الصفحات: 260 صفحة
دار النشر: دار كلمات للنشر والتوزيع
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رأيي:
"رواية تتحدث عن انتقال قاضي يدعى كوسما داميان الى منطقة تدعى أغابيا، القاضي تعتبر هذه اول مهمة له ومنطقة أغابيا لم تشهد جريمة من قبل !! فهي منطقة آمنه وشعبها مسيحي. التقى القاضي بمفتش المنطقة الذي اوضح له طبيعة المنطقة واهلها. ولم تمر 24 ساعة من تولي القاضي مهمته حتى تفاجأ الجميع بجريمة قتل وبعدها توالت الاحداث والمواقف فهل سيتمكنون من كشف القاتل أم لا هذا ما ستكتشفهم بعد قراءة الرواية.
الرواية تم سردها باسلوب جميل ومشوق الى ان الوصف والسرد طويل جداً (في بعض الاحيان كان مقبولاً وذلك لتوضيح الاحداث .. لكنه من الممكن ان نقول وصف ممل 😅) .. بعض المواقف استغربتها وهي ان القاضي هو من يحقق في القضية (في الاصل القاضي يحكم بما جاء من ادله ويتبع ويصدر قراره بن��ء على القانون لكن هنا لم ارى ان القاضي قام بدوره) .. وهناك الكثير من الاحداث المستفزة ولكن مع ذلك هناك الكثير من التشويق والمشاعر والاحاسيس الحزينة والمؤلمة .. "
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ملاحظة: "الترجمة ممتازة 🤩. "
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عنوان الكتاب: "شعب أغابيا الخالد" - الكاتب: قسطنطين فرجيل جورجيو ترجمة: محمد آيت حنا
عدد الصفحات: 260 صفحة
دار النشر: دار كلمات للنشر والتوزيع
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رأيي:
"رواية تتحدث عن انتقال قاضي يدعى كوسما داميان الى منطقة تدعى أغابيا، القاضي تعتبر هذه اول مهمة له ومنطقة أغابيا لم تشهد جريمة من قبل !! فهي منطقة آمنه وشعبها مسيحي. التقى القاضي بمفتش المنطقة الذي اوضح له طبيعة المنطقة واهلها. ولم تمر 24 ساعة من تولي القاضي مهمته حتى تفاجأ الجميع بجريمة قتل وبعدها توالت الاحداث والمواقف فهل سيتمكنون من كشف القاتل أم لا هذا ما ستكتشفهم بعد قراءة الرواية.
الرواية تم سردها باسلوب جميل ومشوق الى ان الوصف والسرد طويل جداً (في بعض الاحيان كان مقبولاً وذلك لتوضيح الاحداث .. لكنه من الممكن ان نقول وصف ممل 😅) .. بعض المواقف استغربتها وهي ان القاضي هو من يحقق في القضية (في الاصل القاضي يحكم بما جاء من ادله ويتبع ويصدر قراره بن��ء على القانون لكن هنا لم ارى ان القاضي قام بدوره) .. وهناك الكثير من الاحداث المستفزة ولكن مع ذلك هناك الكثير من التشويق والمشاعر والاحاسيس الحزينة والمؤلمة .. "
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ملاحظة: "الترجمة ممتازة 🤩. "
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October 11, 2024
الرواية ١٠/١٠ لو فيه مجال اعطها اكثر من ٥ نجوم راح اعطيها
الوصف و ان كان طويل احيانا، لكنه مهم وضح لي مشاعر و افكار الشخصيات بوضوح.
القصة تتكلم عن قاضي بدأ عمله فيه قرية ما فيها جرائم نهائيا، لدرجة ان الشرطي يقول انه موجود كشكل فقط و ما فيه الا مشاكل بسيطة ما ترقى لانها تكون "جريمة".
القاضي كان سعيد بالموضوع، فهو مو مضطر انه يحكم على الناس و يعاقبهم، وبنفس الوقت له مكانة و بيت و خدم.
في اول ليلة للقاضي قومه المفتش و بلغه ان فيه جريمة قتل، لابن العائلة النبيلة الحاكمة او المسيطرة على القرية.
و مع الوقت يبدأ يقص الشرطي/المفتش قصص عن القرية و كيف ان شعبها ما يهتمون بالامور الدينيوية و هم اقرب للسماء من الارض، و بنفس الوقت يحكي عن الظلم اللي عانوه من الاسرة النبيلة و كيف انهم طغاه.
وتمشي القصة و القاضي كل مره يكتشف معلومة و ان الموضوع معقد اكثر مما كانوا يعتقدون.
اكثر تشابتر اثر فيني هو :"نزول الشرطة الى المنزل الذي لا فأس فيه."
الوصف و ان كان طويل احيانا، لكنه مهم وضح لي مشاعر و افكار الشخصيات بوضوح.
القصة تتكلم عن قاضي بدأ عمله فيه قرية ما فيها جرائم نهائيا، لدرجة ان الشرطي يقول انه موجود كشكل فقط و ما فيه الا مشاكل بسيطة ما ترقى لانها تكون "جريمة".
القاضي كان سعيد بالموضوع، فهو مو مضطر انه يحكم على الناس و يعاقبهم، وبنفس الوقت له مكانة و بيت و خدم.
في اول ليلة للقاضي قومه المفتش و بلغه ان فيه جريمة قتل، لابن العائلة النبيلة الحاكمة او المسيطرة على القرية.
و مع الوقت يبدأ يقص الشرطي/المفتش قصص عن القرية و كيف ان شعبها ما يهتمون بالامور الدينيوية و هم اقرب للسماء من الارض، و بنفس الوقت يحكي عن الظلم اللي عانوه من الاسرة النبيلة و كيف انهم طغاه.
وتمشي القصة و القاضي كل مره يكتشف معلومة و ان الموضوع معقد اكثر مما كانوا يعتقدون.
اكثر تشابتر اثر فيني هو :"نزول الشرطة الى المنزل الذي لا فأس فيه."
October 17, 2024
أغابيا بلدة صغيرة تقع على سفوح الجبال ، بلدة تعرف بالبياض لكثرت ما يتساقط عليها الثلج، حتى أن البلدة لشدة قربها من السماء لم تسجل بها أي جريمة قتل، ف سكان هذه البلدة يعيشون و كأنهم من أهل السماء فيترفعون عن كل ماهو دنيوي ..
و لكن يحدث أن تقع جريمة قتل فجأه عندما يتولى قاضي شاب منصب القاضي لأول مره في هذه البلدة ، فهل يستطيع حل هذه الجريمه؟ و هل فعلاً تقع جريمه بيد أحد سكان هذه البلدة الطاهره؟
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الرواية جذبتني في البدايه و كانت مشوقه فعلاً، حتى أني وضعت بعض التوقعات لهوية القاتل و أسبابه و فعلاً كانت أحد توقعاتي صحيحه ، و لكن بعد أن تجاوزت نصف الرواية بدأت أشعر بالملل لكثرت التكرار للتفاصييل الواضحه و تفاصيل كثير تم ذكرها بأسطر كثيره و كان من الممكن أن تختصر بسطر واحد أو سطرين ،
الرواية كانت تحاول جاهده إثبات الأحداث و المواقف و ردات الفعل حتى يصدق القارئ و لكن عبثًا لأن التكرار أصبح ملل ، بالمجمل رواية فكرتها جميلة و لكن حبكتها واضحه وضوح الشمس
و لكن يحدث أن تقع جريمة قتل فجأه عندما يتولى قاضي شاب منصب القاضي لأول مره في هذه البلدة ، فهل يستطيع حل هذه الجريمه؟ و هل فعلاً تقع جريمه بيد أحد سكان هذه البلدة الطاهره؟
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الرواية جذبتني في البدايه و كانت مشوقه فعلاً، حتى أني وضعت بعض التوقعات لهوية القاتل و أسبابه و فعلاً كانت أحد توقعاتي صحيحه ، و لكن بعد أن تجاوزت نصف الرواية بدأت أشعر بالملل لكثرت التكرار للتفاصييل الواضحه و تفاصيل كثير تم ذكرها بأسطر كثيره و كان من الممكن أن تختصر بسطر واحد أو سطرين ،
الرواية كانت تحاول جاهده إثبات الأحداث و المواقف و ردات الفعل حتى يصدق القارئ و لكن عبثًا لأن التكرار أصبح ملل ، بالمجمل رواية فكرتها جميلة و لكن حبكتها واضحه وضوح الشمس
February 24, 2025
Zapada care cade e ca o liturghie. Zapada nu produce nimic. Menirea ei e aa fie alba, fara memorie pamanteasca si sa se-ndure de toti si de toate. Ca Dumnezeu.
Moartea nu e decât o schimbare de domiciliu
Noi nu omoram tiranii. Traim in compartmente separate: ei pe pamant si-n istorie, noi traim in cer si-n vesnicie.
Moartea nu e decât o schimbare de domiciliu
Noi nu omoram tiranii. Traim in compartmente separate: ei pe pamant si-n istorie, noi traim in cer si-n vesnicie.
November 23, 2024
تحذير: ستشعر بالملل !
April 18, 2025
رواية رائعة وقصيرة تتحدث عن جريمة قتل.
سرد مشوق وتفاصيل الحياة في أغابيا ملفتة
دقة الوصف للشخصيات وللطبيعة مذهلة.
سرد مشوق وتفاصيل الحياة في أغابيا ملفتة
دقة الوصف للشخصيات وللطبيعة مذهلة.
July 11, 2025
انها سيرة الجوع ، والخوف ، والفقر ، والاضطهاد ، والخذلان ضد الاستبداد والنفوذ والجشع
انها
قصة الثلج الذي لا ذاكرة له ضد الدم بطل الثارات
انها
قصة الثلج الذي لا ذاكرة له ضد الدم بطل الثارات
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