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Tu rostro mañana #2
Baile y sueño
Los dos primeros volúmenes de la trilogía considerada como obra decisiva en la trayectoria de Javier Marías. Jacques Deza —protagonista también de Todas las almas— viaja a Inglaterra, para poner distancia con su esposa, e inicia así una extraña etapa de su vida: es reclutado como agente de un servicio secreto he redero del MI6 que, con el final de la Guerra Fría, pareciera servir a poderes inclasificables. La capacidad especial de Deza como «intérprete de vidas» y su agudeza para ver en el rostro presente el rostro futuro —y por tanto saber quién traicionará o quien será leal— lo llevan a una fascinante reflexión sobre el hombre y su tiempo; sobre el pasado, el presente y el futuro; sobre la traición, la cobardía y sobre lo que se dice y se calla.
360 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2004
66 people are currently reading
2471 people want to read
About the author
Javier Marías
140 books2,448 followersJavier Marías was a Spanish novelist, translator, and columnist. His work has been translated into 42 languages. Born in Madrid, his father was the philosopher Julián Marías, who was briefly imprisoned and then banned from teaching for opposing Franco. Parts of his childhood were spent in the United States, where his father taught at various institutions, including Yale University and Wellesley College. His mother died when Javier was 26 years old. He was educated at the Colegio Estudio in Madrid.
Marías began writing in earnest at an early age. "The Life and Death of Marcelino Iturriaga", one of the short stories in While the Women are Sleeping (2010), was written when he was just 14. He wrote his first novel, "Los dominios del lobo" (The Dominions of the Wolf), at age 17, after running away to Paris.
Marías operated a small publishing house under the name of Reino de Redonda. He also wrote a weekly column in El País. An English version of his column "La Zona Fantasma" is published in the monthly magazine The Believer.
In 1997 Marías won the Nelly Sachs Prize.
Marías began writing in earnest at an early age. "The Life and Death of Marcelino Iturriaga", one of the short stories in While the Women are Sleeping (2010), was written when he was just 14. He wrote his first novel, "Los dominios del lobo" (The Dominions of the Wolf), at age 17, after running away to Paris.
Marías operated a small publishing house under the name of Reino de Redonda. He also wrote a weekly column in El País. An English version of his column "La Zona Fantasma" is published in the monthly magazine The Believer.
In 1997 Marías won the Nelly Sachs Prize.
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November 25, 2021
Elegancia y reflexión se enlazan magníficamente una vez más en esta segunda entrega de «Tu rostro mañana» para contarnos una historia mínima en un mar de especulaciones y dicotomías. Al igual que «Fiebre y lanza» lo hacía en torno a una cena en casa de Peter Wheeler, «Baile y sueño» gira alrededor de una única escena, un acto lleno de violencia que sucede en el baño de minusválidos de una discoteca de moda londinense, acompañada de otra escena aún más cruel y gratuita, esta ocurrida durante la guerra civil española. No le hace falta más para volver a atraparnos en la corriente de pensamiento de su narrador que se mantiene igual de atractiva en esta segunda novela de la trilogía.
Un tipo de discurso en el que la conjunción disyuntiva “o” juega un papel protagonista, bien como reguladora de enumeraciones, bien como aglutinadora de posibilidades, bien como introductora de matizaciones, de tal manera que cada hecho, acto o pensamiento, no solo los efectivamente realizados, sino también los posibles o descartados o impedidos y no dados y hasta los imposibles, es el punto donde confluyen un infinito número de factores y circunstancias pasadas y presentes, vividas o solo soñadas o solo latentes, que son analizados pormenorizadamente. Una serie inagotable de ideas y conexiones que el narrador va encontrando en su camino discursivo hacia el corazón de la idea, una corriente de pensamiento que acompañamos encantados en la extraña idea de que va surgiendo a la par que nuestra lectura y que nos seduce con ese aire de confidencia tan característico del autor.
“En seguida todo se alarga o se enreda o todo tiende a adherirse, es como si cada acción llevara su prolongación consigo y cada frase dejara en el aire un hilo de pegamento colgando, que nunca puede cortarse sin que se pringue algo más al hacerlo.”Todo se alarga en Javier Marías, continuamente, y a veces de modo desconcertante para el lector que embobado se deja enredar gustoso entre las larguísimas frases en las que con su elegante estilo el autor elucubra desde un punto de partida A impensable para cualquiera que supiera de antemano que era Z la meta y a donde efectivamente se llega y que inmediatamente da paso a un nuevo punto A que inicia nuevamente la partida.
Un tipo de discurso en el que la conjunción disyuntiva “o” juega un papel protagonista, bien como reguladora de enumeraciones, bien como aglutinadora de posibilidades, bien como introductora de matizaciones, de tal manera que cada hecho, acto o pensamiento, no solo los efectivamente realizados, sino también los posibles o descartados o impedidos y no dados y hasta los imposibles, es el punto donde confluyen un infinito número de factores y circunstancias pasadas y presentes, vividas o solo soñadas o solo latentes, que son analizados pormenorizadamente. Una serie inagotable de ideas y conexiones que el narrador va encontrando en su camino discursivo hacia el corazón de la idea, una corriente de pensamiento que acompañamos encantados en la extraña idea de que va surgiendo a la par que nuestra lectura y que nos seduce con ese aire de confidencia tan característico del autor.
“Todo es ridículo y subjetivo y parcial hasta extremos insoportables, porque todo encierra su contrario, se depende excesivamente del momento y el lugar y la virulencia y la dosis, según cuáles sean éstas hay enfermedad o hay vacuna, o hay muerte o embellecimiento, al igual que todo amor lleva en su seno su hartazgo y su saciedad todo deseo y su empacho todo anhelo, y así las mismas personas en las mismas posición y sitio se aman y no se aguantan en diferentes periodos, hoy, mañana; y lo que en ellas era afianzada costumbre se vuelve paulatinamente o de pronto -tanto da, eso es lo de menos- inaceptable e improcedente, y el tacto o roce tan descontado entre ambas se convierte en osadía u ofensa, lo que gustaba y hacía gracia del otro se detesta y estomaga ahora y se maldice y revienta, y las palabras ayer ansiadas envenenarían hoy el aire y provocarían náuseas y no quieren más oírse bajo ningún concepto, y las dichas un millar de veces se intenta que ya no cuenten (borrar, suprimir, cancelar, y haber callado ya antes, a eso es a lo que aspira el mundo, lo sepa o no, esté o no al tanto).”Sigue siendo este un libro de contrarios que se enfrentan y/o se complementan, sin fijarse qué es lo adecuado, qué es lo que prevalece. Desde los propios títulos, Marías nos enfrenta a una serie de sugestivas dicotomías, empezando con el inicial contar/callar: no contar aunque no esté en nuestra naturaleza el callar; calla y sálvate, calla y no precisarás de la inútil tarea de borrar, aunque a veces sea lo contrario lo que nos salva, Las mil y una noches, entretener el oído ajeno y así evitar que se nos marche; contar para que no se difumine lo que pasó, para no descreer que de verdad existiera, si bien después quisiéramos borrarlo, conseguir que no dejase huella, porque las cosas jamás logran estarse quietas, aunque no se cuenten ni tan siquiera pasen. Olvido/recuerdo, nieve sobre los hombros/cerco de la gota de sangre. Ficción/realidad. El miedo como parálisis, el miedo como espuela.
“Se vive bajo amenaza, y entonces se sufre parálisis y es el miedo el que se aprovecha. Si uno lo consiente, en cambio (es decir, si uno se adapta, si se acostumbra a que esté ahí presente), posee una fuerza incomparable con ninguna otra y puede aprovecharse de él, puede usarlo.”O como la otra gran dicotomía de la novela, ver o no ver el rostro mañana.
“¿Cómo puedo no conocer hoy tu rostro mañana, el que ya está o se fragua bajo la cara que enseñas o bajo la careta que llevas, y que me mostrarás tan sólo cuando no lo espere?”Un conocimiento que nos puede salvar y que podemos, no obstante, no querer. Mejor no teñir nuestra mirada de suspicacia o, lo que es mucho peor, evitar la posibilidad de una terrible equivocación.
September 27, 2022
Javier María’s Your Face Tomorrow, Volume 2 is good but it doesn’t match the brilliance of Volume 1. Volume 1 might be a masterpiece. Our narrator Jaime Dezas, a Spanish expat who lives in London, does intelligence work, probably for the state but who really knows? We start with him talking (or thinking) about how terrible it is to be obligated to others. He starts with the example of a hypothetical beggar. Better not to give the beggar anything, he says, since once you do you’re tied to that person and his fate forever.
Coming right off the bat as it does, this statement strikes one as sententious. But then we must remember back to Volume 1 that Jamie Dezas is suffering. His wife, Luisa, prior to the start of that volume, kindly asked Dezas to clear out of the Madrid house so that he wouldn't cramp her style as she road tested other men. Dezas obliges by moving to London. He goes too far, but that's because he's in such pain....
We have been raised, especially in the US, to believe in this old chestnut of rugged individualism. Think Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. From a distance all blades of grass seem the same, but on closer inspection we discover that each is entirely individuated, singular. Well, you can throw that mindset out the window with the intelligence unit for which Jaime Dezas works. They believe the world is reducible to types. It is a view that bases itself flagrantly on surfaces and does not bother to plumb the depths of people. Dezas sees the "whole group as devoted to fictions." He is alone in this view.
I took about six weeks off between Volumes 1 and 2 to read other things. Please don’t do that. It’s best to read all three volumes straight through. Your Face Tomorrow provides the kind of dense reading experience that I’ve only experienced with Faulkner, though Marías's prose is without the intense rhythmic drive of that southern US writer. María’s writerly gifts, if we can call them that, for he overuses them so much that they become mannerisms, are for digression and delay. He will go on and on delaying getting to the point, digressing digressing digressing ad infinitum or so it seems.
The entire book essentially consists of one night at a London disco where something untoward happens. Jaime and his boss, Bertrand Tupra, in his alias as Mr. Reresby, are hosting an Italian mafioso type and his wife. Dezas is asked to dance by the bored wife and they go onto the dance floor where he is accosted by an idiot countryman, one De la Garza, who is crude and libidinous though high ranking at the Spanish embassy. There is this interval on the dance floor when Tupra calls Jaime back to the table to translate something. What Jaime does next makes no sense but the action of the novel depends on it. Despite knowing the idiocy of this Spaniard he puts the mafioso’s wife in the man’s hands. Go figure? Isn’t he asking for trouble? He is. Is it purposeful? Good question. See Volume 3.
The pace at which the story moves here is reminiscent of late Henry James. This is not a compliment. Please, the reader exclaims (mentally) from time to time, do move this plot along. Most of the story plays out in the handicapped stall of the disco’s men’s room. A scene whose digressions goes on and on to mind-numbing length. I wondered if Marías here wasn’t gleefully dragging everything out to such positively excruciating lengths. I have this image of him sitting before the keyboard giggling and rubbing his hands together. So fed up did I become with the digressions that I began to skip them in order to get to the next plot point. This is something I never do. I am a disciplined reader, but it was either skip the weary digression or throw the book against the wall. I had no desire to skip the digressions in Volume 1. In Volume 1 the digressions were always interesting. They held you. Not so here.
In this second volume the reader is, as Martin Amis once said, stretched like a guitar string and made to twang. Yet one foolishly reads on. And nothing really happens! Everything that is threatened to happen is averted. The story is less important than the mental states of our very articulate narrator. He sees a lot. He sees it from all perspectives. His mind is a whirring circular saw tearing through great meaty chucks of -- perception. He builds up and deconstructs.
My final comment is about Marías's humorlessness. He could use some humor to lighten his prose. But he seems incapable of it. It might be that he sees humor in any form as working against the deep gravitas he seeks to project. This is one way he achieves his distinctive voice. For one thing I will say about him, he doesn't sound like anyone else I've ever read. Moreover, Marías has a downright Proustian gift for parenthesis.
In case you were wondering, I will try to read Volume 3. Let us hope it’s not as problematic as Volume 2.
Coming right off the bat as it does, this statement strikes one as sententious. But then we must remember back to Volume 1 that Jamie Dezas is suffering. His wife, Luisa, prior to the start of that volume, kindly asked Dezas to clear out of the Madrid house so that he wouldn't cramp her style as she road tested other men. Dezas obliges by moving to London. He goes too far, but that's because he's in such pain....
We have been raised, especially in the US, to believe in this old chestnut of rugged individualism. Think Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. From a distance all blades of grass seem the same, but on closer inspection we discover that each is entirely individuated, singular. Well, you can throw that mindset out the window with the intelligence unit for which Jaime Dezas works. They believe the world is reducible to types. It is a view that bases itself flagrantly on surfaces and does not bother to plumb the depths of people. Dezas sees the "whole group as devoted to fictions." He is alone in this view.
I took about six weeks off between Volumes 1 and 2 to read other things. Please don’t do that. It’s best to read all three volumes straight through. Your Face Tomorrow provides the kind of dense reading experience that I’ve only experienced with Faulkner, though Marías's prose is without the intense rhythmic drive of that southern US writer. María’s writerly gifts, if we can call them that, for he overuses them so much that they become mannerisms, are for digression and delay. He will go on and on delaying getting to the point, digressing digressing digressing ad infinitum or so it seems.
The entire book essentially consists of one night at a London disco where something untoward happens. Jaime and his boss, Bertrand Tupra, in his alias as Mr. Reresby, are hosting an Italian mafioso type and his wife. Dezas is asked to dance by the bored wife and they go onto the dance floor where he is accosted by an idiot countryman, one De la Garza, who is crude and libidinous though high ranking at the Spanish embassy. There is this interval on the dance floor when Tupra calls Jaime back to the table to translate something. What Jaime does next makes no sense but the action of the novel depends on it. Despite knowing the idiocy of this Spaniard he puts the mafioso’s wife in the man’s hands. Go figure? Isn’t he asking for trouble? He is. Is it purposeful? Good question. See Volume 3.
The pace at which the story moves here is reminiscent of late Henry James. This is not a compliment. Please, the reader exclaims (mentally) from time to time, do move this plot along. Most of the story plays out in the handicapped stall of the disco’s men’s room. A scene whose digressions goes on and on to mind-numbing length. I wondered if Marías here wasn’t gleefully dragging everything out to such positively excruciating lengths. I have this image of him sitting before the keyboard giggling and rubbing his hands together. So fed up did I become with the digressions that I began to skip them in order to get to the next plot point. This is something I never do. I am a disciplined reader, but it was either skip the weary digression or throw the book against the wall. I had no desire to skip the digressions in Volume 1. In Volume 1 the digressions were always interesting. They held you. Not so here.
In this second volume the reader is, as Martin Amis once said, stretched like a guitar string and made to twang. Yet one foolishly reads on. And nothing really happens! Everything that is threatened to happen is averted. The story is less important than the mental states of our very articulate narrator. He sees a lot. He sees it from all perspectives. His mind is a whirring circular saw tearing through great meaty chucks of -- perception. He builds up and deconstructs.
My final comment is about Marías's humorlessness. He could use some humor to lighten his prose. But he seems incapable of it. It might be that he sees humor in any form as working against the deep gravitas he seeks to project. This is one way he achieves his distinctive voice. For one thing I will say about him, he doesn't sound like anyone else I've ever read. Moreover, Marías has a downright Proustian gift for parenthesis.
In case you were wondering, I will try to read Volume 3. Let us hope it’s not as problematic as Volume 2.
June 9, 2021
Serinin ilk kitabındaki oradan oraya sürüklenip olayları takip ederken yine bambaşka yerlerden çıkmamızın aksine bu kitap daha konsantre bir şekilde bir dans gecesi, İspanya İç Savaşı, Tupra'nın detayları ve korku üzerine yoğunlaşıyor. Benim ilk kitapta "Wheeler'ı dinlerken ben mi kaçırdım acaba" diye takıldığım kan lekesi varlığını ve gizemini bu kitapta da korumaya devam ediyor. Üçüncü cilt gümbür gümbür geliyor gibi bir his var içimde. Okurun aklıyla oynayan, muazzam bir seri, çok beğendim.
"Korku, Jack. Sana bir keresinde söylemiştim, korku dünyanın en büyük kuvvetidir, yeter ki insan ona uyum sağlasın, onun içine yerleşsin, onunla barışık yaşasın. O zaman korkudan yararlanabilir, onu kullanabilir, rüyasında bile göremeyeceği kahramanlıklar yapabilir, cesurca savaşabilir, direnebilir, hatta kendisinden daha güçlü birini yenebilir. Sizlere söylemiştim, çocukları yanlarında cepheye gönderilese, anneler en iyi savaşçılar olur."
"Korku, Jack. Sana bir keresinde söylemiştim, korku dünyanın en büyük kuvvetidir, yeter ki insan ona uyum sağlasın, onun içine yerleşsin, onunla barışık yaşasın. O zaman korkudan yararlanabilir, onu kullanabilir, rüyasında bile göremeyeceği kahramanlıklar yapabilir, cesurca savaşabilir, direnebilir, hatta kendisinden daha güçlü birini yenebilir. Sizlere söylemiştim, çocukları yanlarında cepheye gönderilese, anneler en iyi savaşçılar olur."
March 14, 2020
I was blown away by the first part of the trilogy "Your face tomorrow", and I noticed that at first I was slightly less enthusiastic about this second part. But that's only because part 1 had raised my expectations to the highest level. In the beginning it was difficult to get used again to that particular style of Marias: the hypnotic lengthy sentences, with continuing story twists and almost continuous observations and philosophical and existential musings of Jacques Deza, a Spaniard in London, sent in exile by his wife Louisa in Madrid, but almost continuously craving for her and his children.
In Part 1, we saw that Deza was recruited by an obscure British secret service because of his ability to observe people and see through them. This whole 2nd part Deza continues to struggle with the question of what this secret service is and what the purpose of his mission is. He focusses especially on his immediate boss, Bertram Tupra, a man with a very mysterious, but also very bold and eery image. After a long while this results in an extremely violent scene in a toilet for the disabled, in a discobar (yes, I'm not inventing this). The way this is described, obviously through the eyes of a frightened Deza, is really captivating. Also the part in which Deza's father retrieves horrific memories of the Spanish civil war is particularly intense.
Thus, this 2nd part of the trilogy seems to zoom in on brutal violence and what it does to a human being, especially to Deza himself who obsessively makes self-analysis. Again and again Marias stresses the confusion and uncertainty of Deza, who dozens of times wonders whether he indeed saw what he saw, or heard what he heard, and regularly confesses his impotence to tell the right things, and wonders whether past and present can be separated as strictly as we think it can.
These musings made the reading quite difficult, and to my taste they have been stretched a bit too long, compared with part 1. But anyway, this is and remains superior literature. I can not wait to embark on part three!
In Part 1, we saw that Deza was recruited by an obscure British secret service because of his ability to observe people and see through them. This whole 2nd part Deza continues to struggle with the question of what this secret service is and what the purpose of his mission is. He focusses especially on his immediate boss, Bertram Tupra, a man with a very mysterious, but also very bold and eery image. After a long while this results in an extremely violent scene in a toilet for the disabled, in a discobar (yes, I'm not inventing this). The way this is described, obviously through the eyes of a frightened Deza, is really captivating. Also the part in which Deza's father retrieves horrific memories of the Spanish civil war is particularly intense.
Thus, this 2nd part of the trilogy seems to zoom in on brutal violence and what it does to a human being, especially to Deza himself who obsessively makes self-analysis. Again and again Marias stresses the confusion and uncertainty of Deza, who dozens of times wonders whether he indeed saw what he saw, or heard what he heard, and regularly confesses his impotence to tell the right things, and wonders whether past and present can be separated as strictly as we think it can.
These musings made the reading quite difficult, and to my taste they have been stretched a bit too long, compared with part 1. But anyway, this is and remains superior literature. I can not wait to embark on part three!
January 1, 2023
CRITIQUE:
Confounding and Impressive
As was the first volume of this novel, the second (and middle) volume is both a confounding and an impressive achievement.
Many times, while reading words on just about any page, I found myself reacting to the author's concoction like this - (1).
Marías' sentence craft continues to be superlative (one paragraph occupies seven pages), but after almost 740 pages (between the two volumes), the strategy behind his writing style has become more apparent.
Plot is skeletal, almost non-existent, because it's largely irrelevant to his mission. (2) Indeed, the novel (so far) seems to be an eloquently argued rebuttal of John Barth's declaration that "life is a narrative process."
This volume appears to be more interested in how the mind works, how it processes data input, than what humans say or do.
"The Wide-Awake Eyes of My Mind"
The Spanish narrator, Jacques Deza, has been invited to join the UK intelligence community (as a translator), because he shares a "special gift" with them. It is his ability to meticulously observe and record details of people, places and events around him. Another character explains:
Deza describes his insight as the "wide-awake eyes of my mind."
The Gift of Perception
Perception (in an almost philosophical sense) is at the heart of this skill or gift of meticulous observation. Deza grasps and ingests what is around him. It is then mixed with the aggregate of previous perceptions, thoughts, reactions and responses in his consciousness.
This is not a stream of consciousness. It is too considered, composed and crafted to be a mere attempt to record spontaneous, subconscious or irrational thoughts. It's detailed and thorough, rather than digressive. It's formatted, highly structured, almost logical or rational, if still not especially narrative. The novel is a document of how consciousness itself works.
Source
The Impetuous Dance
The sub-title of this volume is "Dance and Dream". Both nouns are metaphors for Marías' thematic concerns.
What little plot there is focusses on a Spanish attaché in London:
De La Garza tries to seduce Flavia Manoia, the wife of an Italian dignitary the intelligence organisation is entertaining. The attempted seduction occurs on the dance floor of a restaurant/ nightclub, (3) and Deza's boss, Tupra (masquerading under the name of Reresby), takes offence on behalf of her husband, instructing Deza to accompany De La Garza to the disabled toilet, where he will soon join them.
I won't reveal what happens in the toilet, but it starts with the use of a sword to instill fear. Deza looks on, while questioning the appropriateness of his boss' actions (which remind him of Falangist violence that his father suffered or witnessed in the Civil War).
The Narcissistic Dream
Deza's father has told him about former Falangists who whitewashed their memories of their violent war-time experiences:
This dream-like behavioural adjustment is not confined to Falangists. Deza believes it's common to all humans:
Implicit Complicity in Violence
Deza is complicit in the violence he witnesses Reresby carry out, even though he takes no active part in it himself. Times (and people's behaviour) have changed little since the Civil War:
The Supernatural Observer
Deza's observation of Reresby's conduct is analogous to God watching over his believers (i.e., Deza's own behaviour is being monitored and scrutinised by someone or something supernatural):
Interestingly, Deza suggests that this belief is both narcissistic and a normal function of consciousness:
Dreams of Future Love
Deza also suggests that we can misguide ourselves about the future, just as we reconstruct the past:
I'm eager to read the next volume (another 546 pages), but not straight away. I might have to postpone that pleasure (now read and reviewed). As yet, I can't tell whether I will see your face tomorrow, or even to whom the eponymous face might belong. (4) Perhaps, like Jacques Deza, I will need (or have) someone to watch over me? Or us?
FOOTNOTES:
(1) "I can't take my eyes off [this brew]."
(2) "The plan, it wasn't much of a plan."
(3) "For the girl I have in that merry green land, I love far better than thee."
(4) "I could feel at the time there was no way of knowing."
SOUNDTRACK:
Confounding and Impressive
As was the first volume of this novel, the second (and middle) volume is both a confounding and an impressive achievement.
Many times, while reading words on just about any page, I found myself reacting to the author's concoction like this - (1).
Marías' sentence craft continues to be superlative (one paragraph occupies seven pages), but after almost 740 pages (between the two volumes), the strategy behind his writing style has become more apparent.
Plot is skeletal, almost non-existent, because it's largely irrelevant to his mission. (2) Indeed, the novel (so far) seems to be an eloquently argued rebuttal of John Barth's declaration that "life is a narrative process."
This volume appears to be more interested in how the mind works, how it processes data input, than what humans say or do.
"The Wide-Awake Eyes of My Mind"
The Spanish narrator, Jacques Deza, has been invited to join the UK intelligence community (as a translator), because he shares a "special gift" with them. It is his ability to meticulously observe and record details of people, places and events around him. Another character explains:
"Toby told me that he always admired the special gift you had for capturing the distinctive and even essential characteristics of friends and acquaintances, characteristics which they themselves had often not noticed or known about..."
"Things happen and he makes a mental note, not for any particular reason, usually without even feeling greatly concerned most of the time, still less implicated..."
"It's a very rare gift indeed nowadays, and becoming rarer, the gift of being able to see straight through people, clearly and without qualms, with neither good intentions nor bad, without effort...
"I can see it, I can see your face tomorrow."
Deza describes his insight as the "wide-awake eyes of my mind."
The Gift of Perception
Perception (in an almost philosophical sense) is at the heart of this skill or gift of meticulous observation. Deza grasps and ingests what is around him. It is then mixed with the aggregate of previous perceptions, thoughts, reactions and responses in his consciousness.
This is not a stream of consciousness. It is too considered, composed and crafted to be a mere attempt to record spontaneous, subconscious or irrational thoughts. It's detailed and thorough, rather than digressive. It's formatted, highly structured, almost logical or rational, if still not especially narrative. The novel is a document of how consciousness itself works.
Source
The Impetuous Dance
The sub-title of this volume is "Dance and Dream". Both nouns are metaphors for Marías' thematic concerns.
What little plot there is focusses on a Spanish attaché in London:
"It seemed to me probable that De La Garza would be into everything: he was so eager, so arrogant and impetuous, as well as highly excitable."
De La Garza tries to seduce Flavia Manoia, the wife of an Italian dignitary the intelligence organisation is entertaining. The attempted seduction occurs on the dance floor of a restaurant/ nightclub, (3) and Deza's boss, Tupra (masquerading under the name of Reresby), takes offence on behalf of her husband, instructing Deza to accompany De La Garza to the disabled toilet, where he will soon join them.
I won't reveal what happens in the toilet, but it starts with the use of a sword to instill fear. Deza looks on, while questioning the appropriateness of his boss' actions (which remind him of Falangist violence that his father suffered or witnessed in the Civil War).
The Narcissistic Dream
Deza's father has told him about former Falangists who whitewashed their memories of their violent war-time experiences:
"Most of us are past masters at the art of dressing up our own biographies, or of toning them down, and it's astonishing how easy it is to exile thoughts and bury memories, and to see our sordid or criminal past as a mere dream from whose intense reality we escape as the day progresses, that is, as our life progresses."
This dream-like behavioural adjustment is not confined to Falangists. Deza believes it's common to all humans:
"Dreams do not depend on the intentions of the dreamer, and the dreamer can never be blamed for the contents of his dreams."
Implicit Complicity in Violence
Deza is complicit in the violence he witnesses Reresby carry out, even though he takes no active part in it himself. Times (and people's behaviour) have changed little since the Civil War:
"Why all that conflict and struggle, why did they fight instead of just looking and staying still, why were they unable to meet or to go on seeing each other, and why so much sleep, so many dreams, and why that scratch, my pain, my word, your fever, the dance, all those doubts, all that torment?"
The Supernatural Observer
Deza's observation of Reresby's conduct is analogous to God watching over his believers (i.e., Deza's own behaviour is being monitored and scrutinised by someone or something supernatural):
"...[we believed that] we were seen and even spied upon at every moment of our few, miserable days, with super-human perspicacity and attention and with every tiresome detail and vacuous thought supernaturally noted and stored away..."
Interestingly, Deza suggests that this belief is both narcissistic and a normal function of consciousness:
"There are many individuals who experience their life as if it were the material for some detailed report...they inhabit that life pending its hypothetical or future plot. They don't give it much thought, it's just a way of experiencing things, companionable, let's say, as if there were always spectators of or permanent witnesses to their activities, even their most futile steps and during the dullest of times. Perhaps this narcissistic daydream prevalent among so many of our contemporaries, and sometimes known as 'consciousness', is nothing more than a substitute for the old idea or vague perception of the omnipresence of God, who was always watching and saw every second of each of our lives..."
Dreams of Future Love
Deza also suggests that we can misguide ourselves about the future, just as we reconstruct the past:
"Just as all love carries within itself its own staleness and every desire its own satiety and every longing its own ennui, so the same people in the same position and place love each other and cannot stand each other at different moments in time, today, tomorrow..."
I'm eager to read the next volume (another 546 pages), but not straight away. I might have to postpone that pleasure (now read and reviewed). As yet, I can't tell whether I will see your face tomorrow, or even to whom the eponymous face might belong. (4) Perhaps, like Jacques Deza, I will need (or have) someone to watch over me? Or us?
FOOTNOTES:
(1) "I can't take my eyes off [this brew]."
(2) "The plan, it wasn't much of a plan."
(3) "For the girl I have in that merry green land, I love far better than thee."
(4) "I could feel at the time there was no way of knowing."
SOUNDTRACK:
May 3, 2025
¿Hasta qué punto puedes vivir sin vivir realmente?
A ver, piénsalo. No me refiero a estar físicamente en este mundo, sino a otra cosa: ¿cuánto de lo que llamas tu vida es realmente tuya y cuánto es una suma de historias ajenas que has escuchado, imaginado o usurpado sin darte cuenta? ¿Dónde termina lo que has vivido y dónde empieza lo que simplemente te han contado?
Quizás ya intuyas el peso de esa pregunta. En Baile y sueño, Javier Marías nos vuelve a sumergir en los dilemas de Jaime Deza, atrapado entre su propio ser y las vidas de los demás. Es el mismo Deza que, al principio de la novela, se dice:
Porque si en Fiebre y lanza, la primera parte de la trilogía Tu rostro mañana, Marías nos dejaba con un Jaime (o Jacobo, Jack, Jacques, o Santiago) Deza que, por fin, parecía entender su extraño ‘don’ —esa capacidad para ver lo que los demás todavía no han hecho, para anticipar traiciones, desgracias y miserias humanas—, Baile y sueño nos lleva un paso más allá. Lo que parecía ser una revelación se convierte en una condena, ya que Deza deja de ser un observador distante y se ve atrapado en el poder de su propia habilidad. En lugar de entenderlo como un talento, empieza a cuestionarse si lo que le ocurre es más bien una carga, algo que no puede controlar y que pone en peligro no solo su existencia, sino su propia identidad. La serie no solo continúa, sino que nos lleva a un territorio mucho más sombrío, donde las fronteras entre su ser y las vidas que observa se diluyen hasta casi desaparecer.
La historia se adentra en un escenario de manipulación y peligro a partir de una cena de negocios, a la que Jack acude con su jefe, Tupra, y la fiesta posterior, donde lo que parece ser un simple baile se convierte en algo mucho más turbio. A partir de ahí, Marías nos empuja a un descenso controlado pero implacable hacia las cloacas del poder, la violencia y la moralidad líquida. Ahora ya no es solo cuestión de prever el futuro: la pregunta es si Deza sigue siendo dueño de su vida o si ha terminado convertido en un mero espectador de las vidas ajenas que ha estado analizando. Y lo peor: si puede seguir llamándose ‘él’ o si se ha diluido en las voces que lo rodean.
Si en Fiebre y lanza Marías nos dejaba con la sensación de estar descubriendo un nuevo mundo, en Baile y sueño nos damos cuenta de que ese mundo no tiene salida. La primera parte nos hacía sentir como cómplices de un hallazgo; esta segunda parte nos convierte en prisioneros del conocimiento. Porque ahora Deza ya sabe quién es, ya sabe lo que puede hacer, pero… ¿de qué sirve prever el futuro si no puedes hacer nada para cambiarlo?
Y es que lo fascinante de Marías no es solo lo que sus personajes hacen, sino lo que piensan antes, durante y después de hacerlo. Jaime Deza no es solo un observador de los demás; es un espía dentro de sí mismo. Examina cada impulso, cada duda, cada gesto, con una obsesión que roza lo enfermizo. Y Marías nos mete en su mente con tanta destreza que, cuando nos damos cuenta, estamos pensando como él, dudando como él, atrapados en su misma maraña de incertidumbres.
Aquí Marías sube la apuesta. La novela se vuelve más oscura, más inquietante. Lo que antes era asombro, ahora es peso. Lo que antes era revelación, ahora es condena. La novela se mueve constantemente en estos territorios donde lo vivido y lo contado se entrelazan, y donde lo que uno cree saber sobre sí mismo o sobre los demás está plagado de dudas, manipulaciones y distorsiones. La violencia, el miedo y el paso del tiempo, resbaladizo como la nieve, se convierten ahora en los temas centrales.
Y en el núcleo de todo esto hay una escena. No diré cuál, pero si la has leído, lo sabes: el momento en que el lenguaje se vuelve un arma, en que el control de una situación depende de quién impone el silencio y quién tolera la amenaza. Es incómoda, tensa, asfixiante. Un momento donde el tiempo parece congelarse y cada palabra cae como una gota en un vaso que está a punto de desbordarse. Y lo peor: cuando finalmente la violencia irrumpe, no sorprende. Ya estaba ahí desde antes, latente, esperando su momento. Marías es un maestro en eso, en hacer que una escena dure lo que no debería durar, en meterte dentro de una mente que analiza, duda, recuerda, y te obliga a quedarte ahí hasta que sientes que te falta el aire.
La violencia en Marías no es un estallido repentino, no es un golpe seco. Es algo que se insinúa, que se desliza poco a poco en la narración hasta que te das cuenta de que está ahí y ya no puedes ignorarla. Y lo peor de todo: la violencia más perturbadora no es la que se ejerce, sino la que se tolera. Lo que nos asusta no es lo que sucede, sino lo que dejamos que suceda.
Leer a Marías es aceptar que el tiempo no fluye de manera normal. No hay prisas, no hay cortes abruptos, no hay nada que se diga sin antes haberse pensado diez, veinte veces. Sus frases son como círculos concéntricos, como una espiral en la que te metes sin darte cuenta y, cuando intentas salir, ya es demasiado tarde: estás atrapado. Hay quien dice que su prosa es lenta. Yo prefiero pensar que es inevitable.
Pero lo más brillante de Baile y sueño no está en la trama, sino en lo que subyace: la gran obsesión de Marías. Porque esta no es solo una novela de espionaje, ni de traiciones, ni de memoria. Es una novela sobre contar. Sobre cómo el relato cambia la realidad. Sobre cómo vivir es, en el fondo, narrar. Y sobre cómo recordar es, inevitablemente, traicionar.
Si nunca has leído a Marías, su estilo puede parecer un desafío. ¿Por qué tantas digresiones? ¿Por qué una simple anécdota se convierte en una reflexión de cinco páginas? Pero cuando entras en su ritmo, lo entiendes: no hay otra forma de contar esta historia. No se puede diseccionar la memoria con frases cortas y directas. La memoria no es así. Nuestros pensamientos nunca avanzan en línea recta. Van de un lado al otro, se detienen, dudan, se desvían, se distraen, acampan para pasar la noche, y llegan a su destino, o regresan al punto de partida… o se extravían en el proceso. No se puede hablar del pasado sin deambular un poco, sin perderse en los recovecos del pensamiento. Es hipnosis pura, y cuando despiertas, ya no eres el mismo lector que empezó el libro.
Si ya leíste Fiebre y lanza, no tienes escapatoria: vas a leer esta segunda parte. Tienes que leerla. Y si no lo has hecho, prepárate. Porque Marías no se lee, Marías te absorbe. Y si te descuidas, al terminar la novela te das cuenta de que incluso tus propios pensamientos han empezado a sonar como su prosa.
Reseña de Fiebre y lanza (Trilogía Tu rostro mañana I)
Reseña de Baile y sueño (Trilogía Tu rostro mañana II)
Reseña de Veneno y sombra y adiós (Trilogía Tu rostro mañana III)
A ver, piénsalo. No me refiero a estar físicamente en este mundo, sino a otra cosa: ¿cuánto de lo que llamas tu vida es realmente tuya y cuánto es una suma de historias ajenas que has escuchado, imaginado o usurpado sin darte cuenta? ¿Dónde termina lo que has vivido y dónde empieza lo que simplemente te han contado?
Quizás ya intuyas el peso de esa pregunta. En Baile y sueño, Javier Marías nos vuelve a sumergir en los dilemas de Jaime Deza, atrapado entre su propio ser y las vidas de los demás. Es el mismo Deza que, al principio de la novela, se dice:
«Ojalá nunca nadie nos pidiera nada, ni casi nos preguntara, ningún consejo ni favor ni préstamo, ni el de la atención siquiera, ojalá no nos pidieran los otros que los escucháramos, sus problemas míseros y sus penosos conflictos tan idénticos a los nuestros, sus incomprensibles dudas y sus meras historias tantas veces intercambiables y ya siempre escritas (no es muy amplia la gama de lo que puede intentar contarse), o lo que antiguamente se llamaban cuitas, quién no las tiene o si no se las busca, 'la infelicidad se inventa', cito a menudo para mis adentros, y es una cita cierta cuando son desdichas que no vienen de fuera y que no son desdichas inevitables objetivamente, no una catástrofe, no un accidente, una muerte, una ruina, un despido, una plaga, una hambruna, o la persecución sañuda de quien no ha hecho nada, de ellas está llena la Historia y también la nuestra, quiero decir estos tiempos inacabados nuestros (y hasta hay despidos y ruinas y muertes que sí son buscados o merecidos o que sí se inventan). Ojalá nadie se nos acercara a decirnos 'Por favor', u 'Oye', son las palabras primeras que preceden a las peticiones, a casi todas ellas: 'Oye, ¿tú sabes?', 'Oye, ¿tú podrías decirme?', 'Oye, ¿tú tienes?', 'Oye, es que quiero pedirte: una recomendación, un dato, un parecer, una mano, dinero, una intercesión, o consuelo, una gracia, que me guardes este secreto o que cambies por mí y seas otro, o que por mí traiciones y mientas o calles y así me salves'.»Menudo principio de novela, ¿verdad? Es una declaración que encierra el sentido de la obra: la constante intersección entre lo que uno quiere y lo que otros esperan de uno. La distorsión entre la identidad personal y las vidas que los demás demandan
Porque si en Fiebre y lanza, la primera parte de la trilogía Tu rostro mañana, Marías nos dejaba con un Jaime (o Jacobo, Jack, Jacques, o Santiago) Deza que, por fin, parecía entender su extraño ‘don’ —esa capacidad para ver lo que los demás todavía no han hecho, para anticipar traiciones, desgracias y miserias humanas—, Baile y sueño nos lleva un paso más allá. Lo que parecía ser una revelación se convierte en una condena, ya que Deza deja de ser un observador distante y se ve atrapado en el poder de su propia habilidad. En lugar de entenderlo como un talento, empieza a cuestionarse si lo que le ocurre es más bien una carga, algo que no puede controlar y que pone en peligro no solo su existencia, sino su propia identidad. La serie no solo continúa, sino que nos lleva a un territorio mucho más sombrío, donde las fronteras entre su ser y las vidas que observa se diluyen hasta casi desaparecer.
La historia se adentra en un escenario de manipulación y peligro a partir de una cena de negocios, a la que Jack acude con su jefe, Tupra, y la fiesta posterior, donde lo que parece ser un simple baile se convierte en algo mucho más turbio. A partir de ahí, Marías nos empuja a un descenso controlado pero implacable hacia las cloacas del poder, la violencia y la moralidad líquida. Ahora ya no es solo cuestión de prever el futuro: la pregunta es si Deza sigue siendo dueño de su vida o si ha terminado convertido en un mero espectador de las vidas ajenas que ha estado analizando. Y lo peor: si puede seguir llamándose ‘él’ o si se ha diluido en las voces que lo rodean.
Si en Fiebre y lanza Marías nos dejaba con la sensación de estar descubriendo un nuevo mundo, en Baile y sueño nos damos cuenta de que ese mundo no tiene salida. La primera parte nos hacía sentir como cómplices de un hallazgo; esta segunda parte nos convierte en prisioneros del conocimiento. Porque ahora Deza ya sabe quién es, ya sabe lo que puede hacer, pero… ¿de qué sirve prever el futuro si no puedes hacer nada para cambiarlo?
Y es que lo fascinante de Marías no es solo lo que sus personajes hacen, sino lo que piensan antes, durante y después de hacerlo. Jaime Deza no es solo un observador de los demás; es un espía dentro de sí mismo. Examina cada impulso, cada duda, cada gesto, con una obsesión que roza lo enfermizo. Y Marías nos mete en su mente con tanta destreza que, cuando nos damos cuenta, estamos pensando como él, dudando como él, atrapados en su misma maraña de incertidumbres.
Aquí Marías sube la apuesta. La novela se vuelve más oscura, más inquietante. Lo que antes era asombro, ahora es peso. Lo que antes era revelación, ahora es condena. La novela se mueve constantemente en estos territorios donde lo vivido y lo contado se entrelazan, y donde lo que uno cree saber sobre sí mismo o sobre los demás está plagado de dudas, manipulaciones y distorsiones. La violencia, el miedo y el paso del tiempo, resbaladizo como la nieve, se convierten ahora en los temas centrales.
Y en el núcleo de todo esto hay una escena. No diré cuál, pero si la has leído, lo sabes: el momento en que el lenguaje se vuelve un arma, en que el control de una situación depende de quién impone el silencio y quién tolera la amenaza. Es incómoda, tensa, asfixiante. Un momento donde el tiempo parece congelarse y cada palabra cae como una gota en un vaso que está a punto de desbordarse. Y lo peor: cuando finalmente la violencia irrumpe, no sorprende. Ya estaba ahí desde antes, latente, esperando su momento. Marías es un maestro en eso, en hacer que una escena dure lo que no debería durar, en meterte dentro de una mente que analiza, duda, recuerda, y te obliga a quedarte ahí hasta que sientes que te falta el aire.
La violencia en Marías no es un estallido repentino, no es un golpe seco. Es algo que se insinúa, que se desliza poco a poco en la narración hasta que te das cuenta de que está ahí y ya no puedes ignorarla. Y lo peor de todo: la violencia más perturbadora no es la que se ejerce, sino la que se tolera. Lo que nos asusta no es lo que sucede, sino lo que dejamos que suceda.
Leer a Marías es aceptar que el tiempo no fluye de manera normal. No hay prisas, no hay cortes abruptos, no hay nada que se diga sin antes haberse pensado diez, veinte veces. Sus frases son como círculos concéntricos, como una espiral en la que te metes sin darte cuenta y, cuando intentas salir, ya es demasiado tarde: estás atrapado. Hay quien dice que su prosa es lenta. Yo prefiero pensar que es inevitable.
Pero lo más brillante de Baile y sueño no está en la trama, sino en lo que subyace: la gran obsesión de Marías. Porque esta no es solo una novela de espionaje, ni de traiciones, ni de memoria. Es una novela sobre contar. Sobre cómo el relato cambia la realidad. Sobre cómo vivir es, en el fondo, narrar. Y sobre cómo recordar es, inevitablemente, traicionar.
Si nunca has leído a Marías, su estilo puede parecer un desafío. ¿Por qué tantas digresiones? ¿Por qué una simple anécdota se convierte en una reflexión de cinco páginas? Pero cuando entras en su ritmo, lo entiendes: no hay otra forma de contar esta historia. No se puede diseccionar la memoria con frases cortas y directas. La memoria no es así. Nuestros pensamientos nunca avanzan en línea recta. Van de un lado al otro, se detienen, dudan, se desvían, se distraen, acampan para pasar la noche, y llegan a su destino, o regresan al punto de partida… o se extravían en el proceso. No se puede hablar del pasado sin deambular un poco, sin perderse en los recovecos del pensamiento. Es hipnosis pura, y cuando despiertas, ya no eres el mismo lector que empezó el libro.
Si ya leíste Fiebre y lanza, no tienes escapatoria: vas a leer esta segunda parte. Tienes que leerla. Y si no lo has hecho, prepárate. Porque Marías no se lee, Marías te absorbe. Y si te descuidas, al terminar la novela te das cuenta de que incluso tus propios pensamientos han empezado a sonar como su prosa.
Reseña de Fiebre y lanza (Trilogía Tu rostro mañana I)
Reseña de Baile y sueño (Trilogía Tu rostro mañana II)
Reseña de Veneno y sombra y adiós (Trilogía Tu rostro mañana III)
March 17, 2013
This is a challenging book to read because the author overextends his thoughts about some details in his scenes and it is very easy for your mind to wander and think of something else while staring at the pages. His overextended thoughts are mimicked by his overextended sentences. I find this book hard to put down too because it is difficult to find the right page to stop. I have a bookmark but when you insert it on a page, since there is oftentimes no paragraph and very few periods, I just could not find a spot where I should resume reading when I pick up the book again. So, I ended up reading the whole page from the first word and it made my reading unnecessarily slow.
So, why am I rating this with 4 stars? The phenomenal use of digressions and his exquisite dark prose. I've not seen anything like it. He's an original in this department. It is as if Javier Marias pours his mind to your skull be giving vivid details about the setting which in this book is just inside a certain bar with our hero Jacques Deza is drinking with his boss, Bertrand "Reresby" Tupra when the latter pulls out his sword and begins threatening the people in the bar before finally zeroing in on the obnoxious De La Garza. Deza says to Tupra: "You can't just go around beating people up, killing them. Especially not if you're going to involve me." But Tupra answers: "But why, according to you, can't one do that?"
This question is found in the blurbs ot the back outside cover of the book. So citing this here is not a spoiler because most of us read the back cover of the book when we pick it up from the shelves inside a bookstore, right? This question sums up what the transition that Javier wants to show for our hero Deza. In Book 1, Fever and Spear, Javier introduced us to Deza who is being used by British agent to observe the suspected people involved in espionage during the Spanish War and WWII. Here in Book 2, Dance and Dream, Deza becomes involved in a "killing" and so this morning I started reading Book 3 Poison, Shadow and Farewell and it seemed to me that Deza, in that book, will be the one to do the crime by himself. So, I guess that this transition makes this book a dark suspense thriller (if there is such a sub-genre). Dark because it is like descending into a pit that is dark and the deeper you go, the darker the hole becomes. Something like descent to hell.
According to an interview, Javier Marias says that he does not intend this novel Your Face Tomorrow to be released in three books. J. R. R. Tolkien with his LOTR too, right? So, for me, it does not make sense to rate each book individually. It is like rating, say in a scale of 1 to 5 with 5 being the highest, a part of the house when you are describing or recommending a house to your friend. You cannot say that the kitchen is a 4, the living room is a 3 and the bedroom is a 5 especially if your friend is looking for is a whole house where he wants his family to live in. Book 2 may not be as mind-boggling as Book 1 but it did not dampen my motivation to immediately pick up Book 3 right away this morning. It was good enough to show how Deza transcends from being a simple man who can read people to that of I think, again based on the blurb, a criminal.
But like here in Book 2, Marias will not go direct to that as just that. He will tell us the story about the weapon, where the weapon comes from, what Deza thinks when he sees the weapon, will he remember his estranged wife Luisa?, what will the blood on the floor make him remember of his past life, what will Tupra say? what will his old boss Peter Wheeler say? was there an event in the past similar to this, what does the customer in the nearby table eat right at that moment, etc. etc. Those digressions will be there for sure.
And I will be enjoying them.
So, why am I rating this with 4 stars? The phenomenal use of digressions and his exquisite dark prose. I've not seen anything like it. He's an original in this department. It is as if Javier Marias pours his mind to your skull be giving vivid details about the setting which in this book is just inside a certain bar with our hero Jacques Deza is drinking with his boss, Bertrand "Reresby" Tupra when the latter pulls out his sword and begins threatening the people in the bar before finally zeroing in on the obnoxious De La Garza. Deza says to Tupra: "You can't just go around beating people up, killing them. Especially not if you're going to involve me." But Tupra answers: "But why, according to you, can't one do that?"
This question is found in the blurbs ot the back outside cover of the book. So citing this here is not a spoiler because most of us read the back cover of the book when we pick it up from the shelves inside a bookstore, right? This question sums up what the transition that Javier wants to show for our hero Deza. In Book 1, Fever and Spear, Javier introduced us to Deza who is being used by British agent to observe the suspected people involved in espionage during the Spanish War and WWII. Here in Book 2, Dance and Dream, Deza becomes involved in a "killing" and so this morning I started reading Book 3 Poison, Shadow and Farewell and it seemed to me that Deza, in that book, will be the one to do the crime by himself. So, I guess that this transition makes this book a dark suspense thriller (if there is such a sub-genre). Dark because it is like descending into a pit that is dark and the deeper you go, the darker the hole becomes. Something like descent to hell.
According to an interview, Javier Marias says that he does not intend this novel Your Face Tomorrow to be released in three books. J. R. R. Tolkien with his LOTR too, right? So, for me, it does not make sense to rate each book individually. It is like rating, say in a scale of 1 to 5 with 5 being the highest, a part of the house when you are describing or recommending a house to your friend. You cannot say that the kitchen is a 4, the living room is a 3 and the bedroom is a 5 especially if your friend is looking for is a whole house where he wants his family to live in. Book 2 may not be as mind-boggling as Book 1 but it did not dampen my motivation to immediately pick up Book 3 right away this morning. It was good enough to show how Deza transcends from being a simple man who can read people to that of I think, again based on the blurb, a criminal.
But like here in Book 2, Marias will not go direct to that as just that. He will tell us the story about the weapon, where the weapon comes from, what Deza thinks when he sees the weapon, will he remember his estranged wife Luisa?, what will the blood on the floor make him remember of his past life, what will Tupra say? what will his old boss Peter Wheeler say? was there an event in the past similar to this, what does the customer in the nearby table eat right at that moment, etc. etc. Those digressions will be there for sure.
And I will be enjoying them.
August 30, 2020
I was immensely captivated by the first volume of Your Face Tomorrow. This second part, even if it included some exciting moments, kept me much less in suspense. Of course, I found several pleasant elements there to see, specific to the pen of Javier Marias, such as these ambivalent and mysterious personages, these permanent feelings of intrigue, even (and especially) when there are no exciting actions.
In this second part, Dance and Dream, we find Jaime Deza in England. An exciting element: his attachment with his ex-wife Luisa, who remained in Spain, is further explored. We sometimes feel a bit of resentment in their telephone conversations, but at least she agrees to speak and even give advice. It's because she knows Deza so well. But always this tension, you never know when she is going to launch a murderous remark, not the point of sarcasm.
He is still concerning Jaime Deza and who is intriguing: his involvement in the measures of the mysterious Bertram Tupra, this individual who is supposed to work for some obscure group under the British secret service. At least, I hope so, if not Deza steeped in bad stories. Anyway, we are no longer content to translate interrogations, to give his impressions, no! He sent out into the field, without really knowing what he is doing or why.
His mission not crowned with success, the woman whom he had to distract (while Tupra himself took care of the husband) accepted by the enigmatic cultural attached from La Garza, also met in the previous volume. Coincidence? Is this man as distracted and self-absorbed as we think? Or is it just a facade to hide subversive activities? What mysteries! Deza has to find this woman, even for that, he has to tour all the clubs and hotels in London!
As I wrote above, Dance and Dream appealed to me a little less than the previous volume. It's that I like to be intrigued, mystified, but there comes the point where I also want to have answers. If only in part! And here I am swimming in an opaque fog. Also, given the great erudition of Javier Marias, the reader finds himself bombarded with information, some having more or less tenuous links with the plot. How to get to unravel this story if more than half of the clues are useless, if not to maintain the mystery? I feared dropping out at one point. I will finish this series anyway; there is only a third volume left.
In this second part, Dance and Dream, we find Jaime Deza in England. An exciting element: his attachment with his ex-wife Luisa, who remained in Spain, is further explored. We sometimes feel a bit of resentment in their telephone conversations, but at least she agrees to speak and even give advice. It's because she knows Deza so well. But always this tension, you never know when she is going to launch a murderous remark, not the point of sarcasm.
He is still concerning Jaime Deza and who is intriguing: his involvement in the measures of the mysterious Bertram Tupra, this individual who is supposed to work for some obscure group under the British secret service. At least, I hope so, if not Deza steeped in bad stories. Anyway, we are no longer content to translate interrogations, to give his impressions, no! He sent out into the field, without really knowing what he is doing or why.
His mission not crowned with success, the woman whom he had to distract (while Tupra himself took care of the husband) accepted by the enigmatic cultural attached from La Garza, also met in the previous volume. Coincidence? Is this man as distracted and self-absorbed as we think? Or is it just a facade to hide subversive activities? What mysteries! Deza has to find this woman, even for that, he has to tour all the clubs and hotels in London!
As I wrote above, Dance and Dream appealed to me a little less than the previous volume. It's that I like to be intrigued, mystified, but there comes the point where I also want to have answers. If only in part! And here I am swimming in an opaque fog. Also, given the great erudition of Javier Marias, the reader finds himself bombarded with information, some having more or less tenuous links with the plot. How to get to unravel this story if more than half of the clues are useless, if not to maintain the mystery? I feared dropping out at one point. I will finish this series anyway; there is only a third volume left.
March 23, 2023
yaklaşık iki yıldır ha bugün ha yarın diye ertelediğim yarınki yüzün'ün ikinci cildi dans ve rüya'yı çileli bir yolculuğun ardından bitirmiş bulunuyorum, arz ederim.
daha önce illa ki söylemişimdir, serileri çok sürükleyici değilse peş peşe okuyamıyorum. hele ki böyle yoğun anlatımı olan bir seriyi peş peşe okumak hiç bana göre değil. ama maalesef ara istemediğim kadar açıldı bu sefer. neyse ki marias'ın derdi sizin önceki kitapta ne olduğunu hatırlamanızla zerre ilgili değil. ilk kitabın aksine bu kitap bir gecede geçiyor, tabi ki yine geçmişten hatırlanan şeyler var ama dönüp dolaşıp o geceye geliyoruz ve gece yarısına bile gelmeden sonlanıyor kitap. tabi bu bir gecede geçme mevzu, bu kitapta bir ağır çekim havası estirmiş: görüntü daha detaylı incelenebilecek şekilde oynuyor önümüzde (marias için deşilecek nice mimik, nice kelime; ne güzel) ve o ağır çekim videolardaki kalınlaşmış ses gibi bir etki bırakıyor üstünüzde.
normalde marias'ın anlatımını şuna çok benzetiyorum: iki kişi el ele tutuşup dönmeye başlarsınız, hızlanırsınız, hızlanırsınız... artık öyle bir noktaya gelirsiniz ki bırakırsanız düşeceksinizdir-ama yavaşlayamazsınız da. marias'ı her okumaya başladığımda böyle yapışıyorum satırlarına işte. çok yoğun ve kötü anlamda olmayan bir yoruculuktan bahsediyorum; normalde bunların sizi kitabı sürekli elinizden bırakmaya itmesi lazım. ama her marias okuyuşum kafamı toparlayıp, dikkat dağıtacak şeylerden kurtulduğumda 5-6 oturumda bitiyor aslında. inanılmaz bir şey. tarifsiz bir haz veriyor. öte yandan bu kitapta bu "yapışkanlık" o kadar yoğundu ki harry potter'daki ruh emici sahnelerindeki gibi ruhumun çekildiği oldu-ve inanmazsınız, yine bunu "iyi" bir anlamda söylüyorum.
ilk kitabı yorumlarken söylediğim gibi: bu kitaptaki mesleği yapmayı çok isterdim. üstelik serinin bu aşamasındaki malum meseleye rağmen.
ruhunun çok derinden bağlandığı bir yazarla insan her zaman denk gelmiyor. kitabın son sayfasını kapatırken en sevdiğim kitaplardan birini ilk kez okuduğum gün olduğunu biliyordum. böyle şeyler maalesef bu duygusal topitopu çok duygulandırıyor. iyi ki yaşamışsın marias. hiçbir akrabalığımızın olmadığından emin olsam da dna'larımızın hayli benzeştiğini düşünüyorum. iyi ki yazmışsın. insanın kendi kendine düşündüğü şeyleri başkalarının da düşündüğünü görmesi, okuması kadar güzel duygu nadirdir.
daha önce illa ki söylemişimdir, serileri çok sürükleyici değilse peş peşe okuyamıyorum. hele ki böyle yoğun anlatımı olan bir seriyi peş peşe okumak hiç bana göre değil. ama maalesef ara istemediğim kadar açıldı bu sefer. neyse ki marias'ın derdi sizin önceki kitapta ne olduğunu hatırlamanızla zerre ilgili değil. ilk kitabın aksine bu kitap bir gecede geçiyor, tabi ki yine geçmişten hatırlanan şeyler var ama dönüp dolaşıp o geceye geliyoruz ve gece yarısına bile gelmeden sonlanıyor kitap. tabi bu bir gecede geçme mevzu, bu kitapta bir ağır çekim havası estirmiş: görüntü daha detaylı incelenebilecek şekilde oynuyor önümüzde (marias için deşilecek nice mimik, nice kelime; ne güzel) ve o ağır çekim videolardaki kalınlaşmış ses gibi bir etki bırakıyor üstünüzde.
normalde marias'ın anlatımını şuna çok benzetiyorum: iki kişi el ele tutuşup dönmeye başlarsınız, hızlanırsınız, hızlanırsınız... artık öyle bir noktaya gelirsiniz ki bırakırsanız düşeceksinizdir-ama yavaşlayamazsınız da. marias'ı her okumaya başladığımda böyle yapışıyorum satırlarına işte. çok yoğun ve kötü anlamda olmayan bir yoruculuktan bahsediyorum; normalde bunların sizi kitabı sürekli elinizden bırakmaya itmesi lazım. ama her marias okuyuşum kafamı toparlayıp, dikkat dağıtacak şeylerden kurtulduğumda 5-6 oturumda bitiyor aslında. inanılmaz bir şey. tarifsiz bir haz veriyor. öte yandan bu kitapta bu "yapışkanlık" o kadar yoğundu ki harry potter'daki ruh emici sahnelerindeki gibi ruhumun çekildiği oldu-ve inanmazsınız, yine bunu "iyi" bir anlamda söylüyorum.
ilk kitabı yorumlarken söylediğim gibi: bu kitaptaki mesleği yapmayı çok isterdim. üstelik serinin bu aşamasındaki malum meseleye rağmen.
ruhunun çok derinden bağlandığı bir yazarla insan her zaman denk gelmiyor. kitabın son sayfasını kapatırken en sevdiğim kitaplardan birini ilk kez okuduğum gün olduğunu biliyordum. böyle şeyler maalesef bu duygusal topitopu çok duygulandırıyor. iyi ki yaşamışsın marias. hiçbir akrabalığımızın olmadığından emin olsam da dna'larımızın hayli benzeştiğini düşünüyorum. iyi ki yazmışsın. insanın kendi kendine düşündüğü şeyleri başkalarının da düşündüğünü görmesi, okuması kadar güzel duygu nadirdir.
September 4, 2021
“Aprendi a temer, portanto, não só o que se concebe, a ideia, como o que a antecede ou lhe é prévio.”
As pessoas pedem e pedem o que lhes vem à cabeça, tudo, o razoável e o disparatado, o justo e o mais abusivo e o imaginário - a lua, sempre se disse, e muitos prometeram-na em toda a parte porque continua a ser imaginária; pedem os próximos e os desconhecidos, os que estão em apuros e os que mais os causam, os carenciados e os desafogados, que nisso não se distinguem: nunca ninguém parece acumular o suficiente, nunca ninguém se contenta nem pára.”
“«O medo é a maior força que existe se a pessoa conseguir acomodar-se, instalar-se, conviver com este de bom humor e não perder as energias a lutar por afugentá-lo. Nessa luta nunca se ganha de todo; nos momentos de aparente vitória já se está a antecipar o seu regresso, vive-se sob ameaça, e então sofre-se uma paralisia e o medo aproveita-se. Se a pessoa consente, em contrapartida (quer dizer, se a pessoa se adapta, se habitua a que este esteja presente), possui uma força incomparável a qualquer outra e pode aproveitar-se deste, pode usá-lo. As suas possibilidades são infinitas, maiores que as do ódio, da ambição, da incondicionalidade, do amor, da ânsia de vingança; são desconhecidas. Uma pessoa com o medo assente, activo mas incorpado na sua vida normal, um medo diário, é capaz de proezas na verdade sobre-humanas. Sabem-no as mães com filhos pequenos, a maioria. E sabe-o quem quer que tenha estado numa guerra».”
“(…) para essas pessoas a terra está sempre em dívida para com elas e nunca se detêm a pensar que o sentimento se escolhe ou que nele se consente, isso no mínimo, e que quase nunca é imposto, ou o destino não se intromete; que cada um é tão responsável por si como o é pelos seus enamoramentos, contra a crença geral que declara e repete a velha falácia através dos séculos incansavelmente: “É mais forte do que eu, não está na minha mão evitá-lo”; e que exclamar “É porque gosto muito de ti” como explicação dos actos, como álibi ou desculpa, devia ser respondido sem falta com a frase que poucos se atrevem a pronunciar embora seja a justa quando o gostar não é correspondido e talvez também quando o é, “E que tenho eu com isso, isso é só contigo”. E que além disso às vezes – sim, isso é verdade – até a infelicidade se inventa.”
“Não se pode pedir a alguém que traduza tudo sem o pôr em questão nem o julgar nem o repudiar, qualquer loucura, qualquer imprecação ou calúnia, qualquer obscenidade ou selvajaria. Embora não seja o próprio que fale ou diga, embora seja um mero transmissor ou reprodutor de palavras e frases alheias, a verdade é que as faz bastante suas ao convertê-las em compreensíveis e repeti-las, em muito maior medida do que em princípio seria imaginável. Ouve-as, percebe-as, às vezes tem opinião sobre as mesmas; encontra-lhes um equivalente imediato, dá-lhes nova forma e profere-as. É como se as subscrevesse.”
“(…) podemos passar a vida ao lado de alguém e vê-lo morrer nos nossos braços, e na hora da sua morte ignorar ainda do que é capaz e do que não, e não conhecer sequer ao certo os seus verdadeiros anseios, nem saber se os concretizou com razoável satisfação ou se suspirou durante a vida inteira, e esta última alternativa é a mais frequente a não ser que a pessoa não os tenha, o que raramente acontece, há sempre um modesto que se infiltra. (Sim, a pessoa pode estar convencida, mas não saber de ciência certa.)”
“A maioria de nós é mestre na arte de adornar as biografias ou de suavizá-las, e na verdade espanta como é fácil desterrar pensamentos e sepultar recordações, e ver o passado sórdido ou criminoso como um mero sonho de cuja intensa realidade nos safamos à medida que o dia avança, quer dizer, à medida que a nossa vida prossegue.”
“Oxalá nunca ninguém nos pedisse nada, nem sequer nos perguntasse, nenhum conselho nem favor nem empréstimo, nem sequer o da atenção, oxalá os outros não nos pedissem que os ouvíssemos, os seus problemas míseros e os seus penosos conflitos tão idênticos aos nossos, as suas incompreensíveis dúvidas e as suas singelas histórias tantas vezes alteradas e já sempre escritas.”
As pessoas pedem e pedem o que lhes vem à cabeça, tudo, o razoável e o disparatado, o justo e o mais abusivo e o imaginário - a lua, sempre se disse, e muitos prometeram-na em toda a parte porque continua a ser imaginária; pedem os próximos e os desconhecidos, os que estão em apuros e os que mais os causam, os carenciados e os desafogados, que nisso não se distinguem: nunca ninguém parece acumular o suficiente, nunca ninguém se contenta nem pára.”
“«O medo é a maior força que existe se a pessoa conseguir acomodar-se, instalar-se, conviver com este de bom humor e não perder as energias a lutar por afugentá-lo. Nessa luta nunca se ganha de todo; nos momentos de aparente vitória já se está a antecipar o seu regresso, vive-se sob ameaça, e então sofre-se uma paralisia e o medo aproveita-se. Se a pessoa consente, em contrapartida (quer dizer, se a pessoa se adapta, se habitua a que este esteja presente), possui uma força incomparável a qualquer outra e pode aproveitar-se deste, pode usá-lo. As suas possibilidades são infinitas, maiores que as do ódio, da ambição, da incondicionalidade, do amor, da ânsia de vingança; são desconhecidas. Uma pessoa com o medo assente, activo mas incorpado na sua vida normal, um medo diário, é capaz de proezas na verdade sobre-humanas. Sabem-no as mães com filhos pequenos, a maioria. E sabe-o quem quer que tenha estado numa guerra».”
“(…) para essas pessoas a terra está sempre em dívida para com elas e nunca se detêm a pensar que o sentimento se escolhe ou que nele se consente, isso no mínimo, e que quase nunca é imposto, ou o destino não se intromete; que cada um é tão responsável por si como o é pelos seus enamoramentos, contra a crença geral que declara e repete a velha falácia através dos séculos incansavelmente: “É mais forte do que eu, não está na minha mão evitá-lo”; e que exclamar “É porque gosto muito de ti” como explicação dos actos, como álibi ou desculpa, devia ser respondido sem falta com a frase que poucos se atrevem a pronunciar embora seja a justa quando o gostar não é correspondido e talvez também quando o é, “E que tenho eu com isso, isso é só contigo”. E que além disso às vezes – sim, isso é verdade – até a infelicidade se inventa.”
“Não se pode pedir a alguém que traduza tudo sem o pôr em questão nem o julgar nem o repudiar, qualquer loucura, qualquer imprecação ou calúnia, qualquer obscenidade ou selvajaria. Embora não seja o próprio que fale ou diga, embora seja um mero transmissor ou reprodutor de palavras e frases alheias, a verdade é que as faz bastante suas ao convertê-las em compreensíveis e repeti-las, em muito maior medida do que em princípio seria imaginável. Ouve-as, percebe-as, às vezes tem opinião sobre as mesmas; encontra-lhes um equivalente imediato, dá-lhes nova forma e profere-as. É como se as subscrevesse.”
“(…) podemos passar a vida ao lado de alguém e vê-lo morrer nos nossos braços, e na hora da sua morte ignorar ainda do que é capaz e do que não, e não conhecer sequer ao certo os seus verdadeiros anseios, nem saber se os concretizou com razoável satisfação ou se suspirou durante a vida inteira, e esta última alternativa é a mais frequente a não ser que a pessoa não os tenha, o que raramente acontece, há sempre um modesto que se infiltra. (Sim, a pessoa pode estar convencida, mas não saber de ciência certa.)”
“A maioria de nós é mestre na arte de adornar as biografias ou de suavizá-las, e na verdade espanta como é fácil desterrar pensamentos e sepultar recordações, e ver o passado sórdido ou criminoso como um mero sonho de cuja intensa realidade nos safamos à medida que o dia avança, quer dizer, à medida que a nossa vida prossegue.”
“Oxalá nunca ninguém nos pedisse nada, nem sequer nos perguntasse, nenhum conselho nem favor nem empréstimo, nem sequer o da atenção, oxalá os outros não nos pedissem que os ouvíssemos, os seus problemas míseros e os seus penosos conflitos tão idênticos aos nossos, as suas incompreensíveis dúvidas e as suas singelas histórias tantas vezes alteradas e já sempre escritas.”
April 19, 2021
Marias favori yazarlarımdan biri haline geldi. okuduğum her romanı birbirinden kaliteli ve edebiydi. Bazı özellikleri var ve bunlardan hiç şaşmıyor. En ince detayları bulup etrafında sayfalarca dolanabiliyor mesela. Konusuna göre zaman zaman konunun bu denli uzatılması sıkıcı bir hal alsa da okuru kendine hayran bıraktırıyor. Olaylar arası kurduğu bağlantılar, bir konudan başka birine atladığını sandığımızda konu bütünlüğünü şaşırtıcı derecede elinde tutuyor olması, konular arsındaki ustaca manevralar.. Her okuyuşumda kendisini övmekten alamıyorum kendimi. Övme faslını bir kenara bırakıp biraz romandan bahsedeyim..
Bu bir devam kitabı ve bana göre ilk kitaptan daha ilgi çekici. İlk kitabı sağlam bir zemin olarak düşünürsek üstüne inşa edilen binanın güzelliği ikinci kitapta ortaya çıkmaya başlıyor diyebiliriz sanırım. İlk romanda İspanyol kahramanımız Deza babasının da arkadaşı olan yaşlı akademisyen Wheeler ve az bulunan gözlem yeteneği sayesinde kendisine İngiliz istihbaratında iş buluyordu. Bu romandaysa istihbarat şefi Tupra'nın belli bir sebep doğrultusunda birine uyguladığı şiddet üzerinden kahramanımız Deza babasının anılarına yolculuk ediyor ve faşist diktatör Franco zamanında insanlara uygulanan şiddetle bu olay arasında bağlantılar kuruyor. Şiddet neden uygulanır, herkes uygun şartlar oluştuğunda buna başvurmaya meyyal midir, ben buna ne kadar yatkınım gibi ahlaki sorular sorup bu soruların etrafında geziniyor. Kahramanımızın babasının bahsettiği iki olay çok insanı dehşete düşürüp hayattan soğutuyor adeta. Spoiler yemek istemeyenler burada okumayı bırakabilir. Olayların birinde gayet normal görünümlü, içimizden bir kadın trende arkadaşına anlatırken babası kulak misafiri oluyor. Kadın karşıda bir evi gösteriyor ve ev sahiplerini nasıl katlettiklerini, bebeklerini duvara vurarak beynini nasıl parçaladıklarını anlatıyor. Diğer bir olayda da gelecekte ünlü olacak faşist bir yazar arkadaşlarıyla birlikte bir mahkumu boğa güreşinde kullanılan bıçaklarla arenadaymış gibi avlayarak öldürmelerini böbürlenerek anlatıyor. Babası siyasi meseleler yüzünden sabıkalı olduğundan sesini çıkartamıyor bunlara. İşin ilginç tarafı anlatılan bu olayların dünyanın en normal, sıradan olaylarıymış gibi kayıtsızlık hatta hafif böbürlenme içinde anlatılıyor olması.. İnsan ister istemez yaşadığı ortamla bağ kuruyor ve günümüzün muktedirlerinin dünyanın en normal şeyiymiş gibi yaşadıkları lüksü sergilemeleri ya da güçten başı dönenlerin kendilerinden olmayanları ezip ellerindeki tüm imkanları kullanarak karşı tarafa nefes alma imkanı dahi tanımamaları geliyor.
Sonuç olarak Marias zor konulara değiniyor ve ustalıkla altından kalkmayı beceriyor. Serinin son kitabına devam..
Bu bir devam kitabı ve bana göre ilk kitaptan daha ilgi çekici. İlk kitabı sağlam bir zemin olarak düşünürsek üstüne inşa edilen binanın güzelliği ikinci kitapta ortaya çıkmaya başlıyor diyebiliriz sanırım. İlk romanda İspanyol kahramanımız Deza babasının da arkadaşı olan yaşlı akademisyen Wheeler ve az bulunan gözlem yeteneği sayesinde kendisine İngiliz istihbaratında iş buluyordu. Bu romandaysa istihbarat şefi Tupra'nın belli bir sebep doğrultusunda birine uyguladığı şiddet üzerinden kahramanımız Deza babasının anılarına yolculuk ediyor ve faşist diktatör Franco zamanında insanlara uygulanan şiddetle bu olay arasında bağlantılar kuruyor. Şiddet neden uygulanır, herkes uygun şartlar oluştuğunda buna başvurmaya meyyal midir, ben buna ne kadar yatkınım gibi ahlaki sorular sorup bu soruların etrafında geziniyor. Kahramanımızın babasının bahsettiği iki olay çok insanı dehşete düşürüp hayattan soğutuyor adeta. Spoiler yemek istemeyenler burada okumayı bırakabilir. Olayların birinde gayet normal görünümlü, içimizden bir kadın trende arkadaşına anlatırken babası kulak misafiri oluyor. Kadın karşıda bir evi gösteriyor ve ev sahiplerini nasıl katlettiklerini, bebeklerini duvara vurarak beynini nasıl parçaladıklarını anlatıyor. Diğer bir olayda da gelecekte ünlü olacak faşist bir yazar arkadaşlarıyla birlikte bir mahkumu boğa güreşinde kullanılan bıçaklarla arenadaymış gibi avlayarak öldürmelerini böbürlenerek anlatıyor. Babası siyasi meseleler yüzünden sabıkalı olduğundan sesini çıkartamıyor bunlara. İşin ilginç tarafı anlatılan bu olayların dünyanın en normal, sıradan olaylarıymış gibi kayıtsızlık hatta hafif böbürlenme içinde anlatılıyor olması.. İnsan ister istemez yaşadığı ortamla bağ kuruyor ve günümüzün muktedirlerinin dünyanın en normal şeyiymiş gibi yaşadıkları lüksü sergilemeleri ya da güçten başı dönenlerin kendilerinden olmayanları ezip ellerindeki tüm imkanları kullanarak karşı tarafa nefes alma imkanı dahi tanımamaları geliyor.
Sonuç olarak Marias zor konulara değiniyor ve ustalıkla altından kalkmayı beceriyor. Serinin son kitabına devam..
July 29, 2013
"Why not," Tupra responds? So ends the middle volume in this bizarre tale where espionage plays background to a world of memory and time. The setting is contemporary yet the Spanish Civil War assaults the nose. There is an acrid memory and flexible loyalties to ponder. The protagonist is separated from his spouse but her attentions are sought at every turn. Deza, the protagonist, exists in an eternal dislocation: from his domestic life, his country, language and even his memories, especially those of his father.
Habits are the object of attention here, no surprise given the vigilant surveillance employed by the characters. As others have noted, this is hardly an independent novel, not a typical trilogy. rather, this is a single novel published in three volumes. I created my own obstacle around the midpoint. My wife and I viewed The Story of Film http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2044056/?... a 15 hour voyage, which illuminates the appeal of the flickering screen -- editing, lighting and an adjustment of time and space. This viewing certainly informed my reading and completion of this volume. I'm afraid I don't have a ready answer for Tupra; we shall see.
Habits are the object of attention here, no surprise given the vigilant surveillance employed by the characters. As others have noted, this is hardly an independent novel, not a typical trilogy. rather, this is a single novel published in three volumes. I created my own obstacle around the midpoint. My wife and I viewed The Story of Film http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2044056/?... a 15 hour voyage, which illuminates the appeal of the flickering screen -- editing, lighting and an adjustment of time and space. This viewing certainly informed my reading and completion of this volume. I'm afraid I don't have a ready answer for Tupra; we shall see.
November 8, 2018
Yarınki Yüzün üçlemesinin ikinci kitabı Dans ve Rüya bence ilkinin gerisinde. Bunun en büyük sebebi de aslında Marias’ın “alameti farikası” olan, konudan sapmaları bu kitapta biraz abartması, biraz da tekrara düşmesi. Okuyucuyla adeta dalga geçer gibi, olay örgüsünü kanırtarak ilerletiyor. Tabii bu sapmalar her zaman sıkıcı değil. Botokstan, günümüzde şiddetin kitle iletişim araçlarında sıradanlaştırılmasına kadar değişik bir yelpazeyi içerebiliyor. Gizli Serviste “insan sarrafı” olarak çalışan ana karakter Deza’nın patronu Tupra’nın, bir gece kulübünde “müşterileri”yle beraberken işlerini bozan zevzek bir tanıdıklarına metodik bir şekilde uyguladığı şiddetin anlatıldığı, gerilimin yavaş yavaş yükseldiği bölümler epey etkileyici. Bu şiddet gecesinin ana kahramanımıza, babasının şahit oluğu İspanya iç savaşındaki ve sonrasındaki dehşet verici tecrübeleri hatırlatması da kitabın çarpıcı bölümlerinden. İnsanoğlunun dünyadaki en acımasız, vahşi canlı türü olduğunu bir kez daha anlıyorsunuz.
September 12, 2025
4,5
Cine n-a încercat senzualitatea inteligenţei este pe drumul pierzaniei.
"Hai, mergi mai departe, grăbeşte-te, pune-ţi mintea la contribuţie. Cel mai interesant şi dificil lucru e să mergi mai departe: să gândeşti mai departe şi să priveşti mai departe când ai senzaţia că nu mai ai la ce să te gândeşti şi la ce să priveşti, că să mergi mai departe ar însemna să-ţi pierzi timpul de pomană. Esenţialul e mereu aici, în timpul pierdut, unde ai zice că nu poate fi nimic. Aşa că spune-mi, ce mai vezi, gândeşte-te, dă-i înainte, nu te opri, hai, continuă…”.
"Nu ştiu de ce acum există tendinţa de a-i închide pe copii într-o incintă de fericire ca-ntr-o băşică de săpun, e un spaţiu de anesteziere prostească şi falsă tihnă, de a nu-i pune în contact nici măcar cu aspectul neliniştitor al vieţii şi de a-i împiedica să cunoască frica, ba chiar să fie conştienţi de existenţa lor, sunt lăsaţi să umble în neştire, să creadă că trebuie să lase în grija altora să le spună ce să citească sau să citească versiuni cenzurate, măsluite sau edulcorate ale poveştilor clasice de Grimm, Perrault şi Andersen, lipsite de elemente înfricoşătoare şi crude, de tot ce e ameninţător şi sinistru, ba chiar de neplăceri şi înşelăciuni. O neghiobie fără pereche, după părerea mea! Părinţi nătângi. Educatori iresponsabili. Eu aş considera asta un delict, prin lipsă de ocrotire şi omisiune de ajutor. Deoarece copiilor le prinde bine să perceapă sentimentul de teamă sau de frică încercat de alţi oameni, astfel pot să-l conceapă cu seninătate, de pe platforma siguranţei lor de fond; le prinde bine să-l cunoască indirect, prin intermediul altora, mai ales prin intermediul personajelor de ficţiune, ca o molipsire de scurtă durată şi de altfel numai cu împrumut, deloc închipuită. A-ţi imagina ceva înseamnă a începe să-i ţii piept şi acest lucru se aplică şi la ceea ce s-a întâmplat în trecut: poţi înfrunta mai uşor nenorocirile atunci când, după ce ai avut parte de ele, reuşeşti să ţi le imaginezi.Asta nu înseamnă că ar socoti că totul poate sau trebuie spus, câtuşi de puţin. Însă nu putem admite nici să falsificăm prea mult lumea şi să lansăm în ea idioţi şi naivi care n-au fost niciodată contrariaţi şi care au fost feriţi de orice zbucium sufletesc. "
Cine n-a încercat senzualitatea inteligenţei este pe drumul pierzaniei.
"Hai, mergi mai departe, grăbeşte-te, pune-ţi mintea la contribuţie. Cel mai interesant şi dificil lucru e să mergi mai departe: să gândeşti mai departe şi să priveşti mai departe când ai senzaţia că nu mai ai la ce să te gândeşti şi la ce să priveşti, că să mergi mai departe ar însemna să-ţi pierzi timpul de pomană. Esenţialul e mereu aici, în timpul pierdut, unde ai zice că nu poate fi nimic. Aşa că spune-mi, ce mai vezi, gândeşte-te, dă-i înainte, nu te opri, hai, continuă…”.
"Nu ştiu de ce acum există tendinţa de a-i închide pe copii într-o incintă de fericire ca-ntr-o băşică de săpun, e un spaţiu de anesteziere prostească şi falsă tihnă, de a nu-i pune în contact nici măcar cu aspectul neliniştitor al vieţii şi de a-i împiedica să cunoască frica, ba chiar să fie conştienţi de existenţa lor, sunt lăsaţi să umble în neştire, să creadă că trebuie să lase în grija altora să le spună ce să citească sau să citească versiuni cenzurate, măsluite sau edulcorate ale poveştilor clasice de Grimm, Perrault şi Andersen, lipsite de elemente înfricoşătoare şi crude, de tot ce e ameninţător şi sinistru, ba chiar de neplăceri şi înşelăciuni. O neghiobie fără pereche, după părerea mea! Părinţi nătângi. Educatori iresponsabili. Eu aş considera asta un delict, prin lipsă de ocrotire şi omisiune de ajutor. Deoarece copiilor le prinde bine să perceapă sentimentul de teamă sau de frică încercat de alţi oameni, astfel pot să-l conceapă cu seninătate, de pe platforma siguranţei lor de fond; le prinde bine să-l cunoască indirect, prin intermediul altora, mai ales prin intermediul personajelor de ficţiune, ca o molipsire de scurtă durată şi de altfel numai cu împrumut, deloc închipuită. A-ţi imagina ceva înseamnă a începe să-i ţii piept şi acest lucru se aplică şi la ceea ce s-a întâmplat în trecut: poţi înfrunta mai uşor nenorocirile atunci când, după ce ai avut parte de ele, reuşeşti să ţi le imaginezi.Asta nu înseamnă că ar socoti că totul poate sau trebuie spus, câtuşi de puţin. Însă nu putem admite nici să falsificăm prea mult lumea şi să lansăm în ea idioţi şi naivi care n-au fost niciodată contrariaţi şi care au fost feriţi de orice zbucium sufletesc. "
August 19, 2012
At the simplest level, Volume One was about a conversation between an old man and our protagonist, Jacques Deza. But of course, nothing in Marias' hands (or mind) is ever that simple. There are, let it be said, tangents. The Spanish Civil War, espionage, Deza's ex-wife, a mysterious, single drop of blood.
Volume Two, at the simplest level, is about a night in a club, or more specifically, Deza's trip to the restroom. Deza is not going there to pee. Nor is his boss, the leader of an unnamed group who work in an unnamed building for anonymous clients. Deza and his colleagues have a gift for scrutiny. They observe people, and understand them, their tendencies and scruples, and predict behavior. Their job is:
making frivolous bets and forecasts, looking and listening and interpreting and noticing, and taking notes and observing and selecting, inveigling, making connections, dressing things up, translating, telling stories and coming up with ideas and persuading others of those ideas, responding to and satisfying the insatiable, exhausting demand:'What else, what else do you see, what else did you see?' although sometimes there is no 'else' and you have to force your visions or perhaps forge them out of your own inventive powers and memory, which is to say with that infallible mixture which can either condemn or save people and which forces us to announce our prejudices or pre-judgements, or perhaps they are merely our pre-verdicts.
But, back to the head. Deza does not find what he has been sent for; instead he is made to witness a peculiar act of violence, the rank exertion of brutal power. Once again there are tangents: the Spanish Civil War, a father's tale of justice, Deza's ex-wife, and, this time, a not so mysterious drop of blood. There is time for Deza to hum or sing The Streets of Laredo in a few languages and to call his ex-wife for a disquisition on Botox and whether it is proper etiquette to forego panties during menstruation.
We are discussing fear and forgiveness, memory and forecast. It's a journey. I write this review unsure of where we are. Volume Three looms. Perhaps another drop of blood will explain it all or another disquisition will open up the secrets of my own heart. When I waken in the night, battered by these questions, I might reach for Your Face Tomorrow. Or something like it. I know where it is, where I laid it. It's just down the hall. But the hallway lengthens like an artful movie. And there are doors on both sides.
Volume Two, at the simplest level, is about a night in a club, or more specifically, Deza's trip to the restroom. Deza is not going there to pee. Nor is his boss, the leader of an unnamed group who work in an unnamed building for anonymous clients. Deza and his colleagues have a gift for scrutiny. They observe people, and understand them, their tendencies and scruples, and predict behavior. Their job is:
making frivolous bets and forecasts, looking and listening and interpreting and noticing, and taking notes and observing and selecting, inveigling, making connections, dressing things up, translating, telling stories and coming up with ideas and persuading others of those ideas, responding to and satisfying the insatiable, exhausting demand:'What else, what else do you see, what else did you see?' although sometimes there is no 'else' and you have to force your visions or perhaps forge them out of your own inventive powers and memory, which is to say with that infallible mixture which can either condemn or save people and which forces us to announce our prejudices or pre-judgements, or perhaps they are merely our pre-verdicts.
But, back to the head. Deza does not find what he has been sent for; instead he is made to witness a peculiar act of violence, the rank exertion of brutal power. Once again there are tangents: the Spanish Civil War, a father's tale of justice, Deza's ex-wife, and, this time, a not so mysterious drop of blood. There is time for Deza to hum or sing The Streets of Laredo in a few languages and to call his ex-wife for a disquisition on Botox and whether it is proper etiquette to forego panties during menstruation.
We are discussing fear and forgiveness, memory and forecast. It's a journey. I write this review unsure of where we are. Volume Three looms. Perhaps another drop of blood will explain it all or another disquisition will open up the secrets of my own heart. When I waken in the night, battered by these questions, I might reach for Your Face Tomorrow. Or something like it. I know where it is, where I laid it. It's just down the hall. But the hallway lengthens like an artful movie. And there are doors on both sides.
June 16, 2021
Bu kadar iyi bir köprü beklemiyordum. Genelde ikinci kitaplar üçlemelerin en zayıf halkaları oluyor. Ancak Dans ve Rüya, özellikle Rüya kısmı şahane yazılmış. Anlatıcının babasıyla olan İspanya İç Savaşı'yla ilgili konuşması beni çok etkiledi. Babası insanların giderek aptallaştığını ve şiddeti basit bir problem olarak algıladıklarını söylüyor. Oysa gerçekten şiddeti görenler, onun sınırsızlığına şahit olanlar unutmak isteseler de unutamıyorlar. Bu bana Christopher Lee'nin Yüzüklerin Efendisi'ni çekerken Peter Jackson'la olan konuşmasını hatırlattı. Jackson, Lee'den Saruman karakteri hançerlenince bağırmasını ister. Lee ise der ki" sen hançerlenen birinin neye benzediğini biliyor musun? Ben biliyorum, o bağıramaz çünkü nefesi vücudundan çekilir". Çünkü Lee, İkinci Dünya Savaşı'na katılmıştır. Bugün dijital ortamlarda hem kurgusal hem de gerçek şiddeti görüyor, duyuyoruz (Müge Anlı izlemek yeter de artar bile) ve unutuyoruz. Halbuki şiddetin gerçek şahitleri olsak, tıpkı Yarınki Yüzün'deki karakterler gibi onun sınırsızlığını ve derinliğini gerçekten kavrayabilirdik.
Read
June 14, 2020birinci kitabın kötü bir kopyası olmuş o kadar üzüldüm ki okurken. birinci kitapta göze çarpan overwritten mevzusu bu kitapta tamamen yoldan çıkmış, kitap baştan sona overwritten, hiç yazılmasa neden yazılmamış diyeceğim bir şey bulamadım. aşırı yazmayla birlikte çok fazla tekrar var bir de. birinci kitaptan tekrar edecek bence hiçbir şey yok, ikinci kitabın birinci kitabı devam ettirmesi yeterli olur gayet. üçleme yerine ikileme ya da fazla yazılmış yerleri çıkararak görece uzun tek bir kitap olsa çok daha iyi olabilirdi, çünkü 1. kitap gerçekten çok iyiydi. üzerine 3. kitabı hemen okuyacağım en büyük sebebi bu kitaba haksızlık edip etmediğimi görmek olacak.
October 20, 2024
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2024...
“Le constaba que todo podía ser deformado, torcido, anulado, borrado. Y tenía conciencia de que al final de cualquier vida más o menos larga, por monótona que hubiera sido, y anodina, y gris, sin vuelcos, siempre habría demasiados recuerdos y demasiadas contradicciones, demasiadas renuncias y omisiones y cambios, mucha marcha atrás, mucho arriar banderas, y también demasiadas deslealtades, o quizá eran todas trapos blancos, rendiciones. […] La vida no es contable, y resulta extraordinario tanto empeño en relatarla...A veces pienso que más valdría abandonar la costumbre y dejar que las cosas solo pasen. Y luego ya se estén quietas.”
Si ya era difícil contar de que iba el primer volumen de esta trilogía, ya me parece casi imposible abordar este segundo, Baile y sueño, porque prácticamente toda la novela transcurre en un club nocturno de Londres. Aparentemente sucede muy poco, casi toda la novela transcurre en un único escenario y aquí más que nunca, se recuerda mucho, se reflexiona y se sobre-piensa más que en ninguna otra de las novelas que he leído de JM. En Fiebre y lanza habíamos dejado a Deza oteando tras la ventana de su apartamento después de haber sido seguido por una misteriosa mujer bajo la lluvia. Al comienzo de la novela, se desvela la identidad de la misteriosa mujer, al ser invitada a su apartamento. Los comienzos en las novelas de JM siempre me han parecido arrolladores, y aunque la novela anterior se interrumpía abruptamente bajo esa lluvia dejando el misterio de la mujer en el aire, una vez desvelado ese misterio al comienzo, a la larga nos parecerá casi irrelevante, pero lo genial de JM es cómo consigue envolver ciertas escenas: pasos, lluvia, una mujer con un perrito que lo sigue, una vez en su apartamento, él sigue mirando por la ventana, espiando, y poco después, ella entra en el apartamento. Puede parecer fácil a priori, pero las páginas que se toma Marías en desarrollar esta escena es lo que nos harán disfrutar del placer de la anticipación y del atractivo que suponen los procesos de su monólogo interior. Marías le saca un enorme partido a las ventanas, a lo que se va dilucidando en la mente del narrador a medida que observa a través de ellas, como voyeur, y a lo largo de esta novela hay varias escenas en torno a una ventana (la del baile del vecino es maravillosa). El encuadre de la ventana y lo que se desarrolla fuera activa todo un monólogo interior en el que el narrador vaticina, inventa y construye un relato totalmente imaginado. Antes de que la misteriosa mujer haya entrado en su apartamento había construido toda una historia imaginada en torno a ella, una vez dentro, ya esa magia desaparece: el misterio se ha desvelado, el placer de la anticipación se ha evaporado...
"Oye, es que quiero pedirte: una recomendación, un dato, un parecer, una mano, dinero, una intercesión, o consuelo, una gracia, que me guardes este secreto o que cambies por mi y seas otro, o que por mi traiciones y mientas o calles y así me salves. La gente pide y pide lo que se le ocurre, todo, lo razonable y lo disparatado, lo justo y lo más abusivo y lo imaginario, piden los próximos y los desconocidos…"
La entrada de la mujer en su apartamento activa en el narrador una reflexión en torno a la naturaleza de las peticiones y cómo nos afectará el hecho de que la mayoría de la gente que se nos acerque sea siempre con algún tipo de petición, de solicitud, de interés. Ella, la desconocida, quiere pedirle un favor y mientras hablan, conversan, la mente de Deza parece ir por libre estableciendo una especie de linea argumental paralela: por un lado la conversación y por otro, la conversación que establece él consigo mismo en torno a la naturaleza de las peticiones, todo esto sazonado con otros pensamientos, otras reflexiones en las que interviene esporádicamente Luisa, a la que acaba comparando con todas las mujeres: "Yo habría reconocido las piernas de Luisa entre dieciséis, veintiuna, aunque ahora haga mucho que no las veo y parezcan difuminarse a ratos y aún empiecen a confundirse con otras presentes que serán pasajeras y sí olvidadas." A partir de aquí pasaremos al club nocturno, en el que Deza ya reclutado por Tupra, tendrá que ayudarle a entretener a un cliente italiano y a su esposa durante la velada. El papel de Deza es bastante ambiguo, porque realmente debería ser una especie de soporte para Tupra a la hora de comunicarse con el cliente y al mismo tiempo, entretener a la esposa del italiano. Casi toda la novela transcurre en esa velada que se ve interrumpida por una serie de contratiempos que le harán reflexionar sobre la verdadera naturaleza de su trabajo: se ha convertido en una especie de espía, trabaja para los servicios secretos en una aparente tarea de analista y traductor, pero lo que se le va revelando en el transcurso de la noche le hará cuestionarse muchas cosas, sobre todo en lo referente a su jefe, Betram Tupra, un tipo enigmático y capaz de cualquier cosa.
“-Pero no desdeñes nunca las ideas imaginativas, Jack, a ellas se llega solo después de mucho pensamiento, de mucha reflexión y mucho estudio, y de notable atrevimiento. No están al alcance de cualquiera. Solo de los que vemos y aun así seguimos mirando.”
El talento rarísimo de ver a la gente a través de ella misma y directamente, sin mediaciones, ni escrúpulos, sin esforzarse apenas, es una habilidad que tiene Deza que le servirá no solo para detectar los rostros más allá de la apariencia de la gente, sino además, le servirán para conocerse a sí mismo. Toda la novela es un continuo escrutinio de sí mismo, de sus circunstancias, de su ubicación en el mundo. Afincado en Londres, recién separado de una mujer de la que no puede terminar de desconectar, Deza, al que llamarán Jacques, Jack, Jacobo, Jaime, Yago… (unos nombres que contribuyen a esta desubicación, sus múltiples identidades), tendrá que andar con pies de plomo a la hora de relacionarse con personajes como Tupra, que se le irán revelando con una cierta ambigüedad despiadada. La estructura global en la que JM envuelve esta novela es fascinante porque aunque podría parecer una velada cualquiera en un club nocturno, la alargará hasta el infinito salpicándola de pequeños incidentes y de reflexiones, interrupciones y conversaciones. En medio de una escena, de un baile, Deza nos sorprende yendo adelante y atrás en el tiempo, sacando a relucir a Luisa, su ex mujer o directamente, cuestionándose su propia ubicación en el mundo.
"Oh sí, uno no es nunca lo que es -no del todo, no exactamente- cuando está solo y vive en el extranjero y habla sin cesar una lengua que no es la propia o la del principio. Por mucho que se prolongue el tiempo de ausencia, y su término no se vislumbre, porque no fue fijado desde el comienzo o se ha diluido y no está ya previsto, y además no hay razones para pensar que algún día pueda haber o divisarse ese término y el consiguiente regreso, y así la palabra ausencia pierde sentido y arraigo y fuerza cada hora que pasa y que se pasa lejos - y entonces también la pierde está misma palabra, lejos- , ese tiempo de nuestra ausencia se nos va acumulando como un extraño paréntesis que en el fondo no cuenta ni nos alberga más que como conmutables fantasmas sin huella…"
"Puesto que de ti no hay rastro, no tuviste lugar, no has ocurrido. No cruzaste el mundo ni pisaste la tierra, no exististe. Ya no te veo, luego nunca te he visto. Puesto que ya no eres, nunca ha sido.
Solo estaba in another country, expulsado del tiempo de ella y es ya muy otro que el mío..."
"Lo que era seguro es que ella volvería a mi mente durante unos días, tras aquella charla, y no de vez en cuando sino todo el rato". No nos olvidemos que Baile y sueño es la segunda de una trilogía, con lo cual, está firmemente enlazada a Fiebre y lanza en la que Deza ya abordaba esta pérdida de identidad suya, solo que aquí ya lo conocemos un poco mejor y al mismo tiempo, él se va abriendo algo más e iremos reconociendo también a Luisa, a la que considera su faro en el mundo (todas las esposas en las ficciones de Marías se llaman Luisa). Jacques Deza se encuentra en otro país hablando una lengua que no es la suya pero a la que conoce muy bien y sin embargo no termina de encontrar esa raíz que lo sostenía y a la que metafóricamente todavía intenta agarrarse simbolizada en la figura de Luisa, su ex mujer: "La complací, obedecí, le hice caso: salí y anduve, me alejé y seguí andando, hasta aquí llegué y aún no regreso. Ni siquiera sé si ya he parado en mi marcha. Quizá no vuelva, quizá nunca vuelva." Y es este análisis continuo que hace Deza de sí mismo, lo que me sigue fascinando en Javier Marías. El retrato que hace de Luisa, no deja de ser el reflejo de la desesperación de un hombre que sabe que está perdiendo su identidad y que sabe por otra parte, que la respuesta a lo que busca tampoco está en Luisa y sin embargo, en esa vida que lleva ahora en Londres, Luisa simbolizará ese faro, del que se encuentra cada vez más alejado “(la vi con los ojos de la mente, allí en Londres, o bien con los de la memoria, a través de mi ventana)"
"No, nadie está obligado a ocuparse del amor que otro le tiene ni aun menos de su abatimiento o despecho, y sin embargo reclamamos atención, comprensión, piedad y aun impunidad por algo que solo incumbe al que lo experimenta.
[...]
Así que yo no puedo quejarme, y aun menos debo: cuando Luisa me quiso a su lado me beneficié de una gracia que se me renovaba a diario, lo mismo que yo le renovaba a ella otra de valor parecido; y si una mañana nome fue más confirmada, no era cuestión de echarlo en cara ni de verlo como hostilidad voluntaria o malquerencia, nada de eso estaba en el ánimo, era espíritu de rendición más bien, y una gran pesadumbre."
[...]
“Sí, solemos saber cuándo algo se tuerce o se rompe o cansa. Pero esperamos siempre que se enderece o se suelde o nos recupere, por sí solo a veces, como por arte de magia, y que ese saber no se confirme; o si notamos que la es aun más simple, que algo de nosotros se fastidia o desagrada o repugna, nos hacemos voluntariosos propósitos para enmendarnos. Son teóricos incrédulos, sin embargo, esos propósitos. En realidad sabemos que no seremos capaces, o que ya nada depende de lo que hagamos, ni de que nos abstengamos."
Lo que en el primer volumen se dejaba a la imaginación y sin respuesta, en Baile y sueño, se va revelando poco a poco aunque no del todo. La mente de Deza que no tiene ni un minuto de reposo, sigue debatiendo sobre el pasado y sobre la deslealtad, así que vuelve al episodio del pasado en el que su padre fue traicionado de alguna manera y en el que se relatan un par de episodios muy traumáticos que le serán revelados por él: “Ten en cuenta que en el conjunto de una vida lo cronológico va perdiendo importancia, no se distingue tanto lo que vino antes de lo que vino luego, ni los actos de sus consecuencias, ni las decisiones de lo que desencadenan.”
“A mi me tocó lo de aquí, lo de Madrid, continuó mi padre, y aun oí más de lo que vi, mucho más. No sé que es peor, si escuchar el relato presenciar el hecho. Quiza lo segundo resulta más insoportable y espanta más en el instante, pero también es más fácil borrarlo o enturbiarlo y engañarse luego al respecto, convencerse de que no se vio lo que sí llegó a verse. Pensar que uno anticipa con la vista lo que temió que ocurriera y que al final no sucedió. El relato es en cambio cosa cerrada e inconfundible, si es escrito, puede volverse a él y comprobarse, y si es oral, pueden volver a contárselo a uno, y aunque así no sea: las palabras son más inequívocas que los actos, al menos las que uno oye, respecto a los que veo.”
La proporción entre el hecho y la reflexión, o el relato y la realidad, aquí en este segundo volumen de la trilogía ha conseguido equilibrarse de alguna forma. Hay una especie de suspense, de misterio soterrado que no se referirá tanto a la linea argumental en torno a la misión con Tupra, sino que estará más relacionado con el estado mental de Deza. Marías consigue no solo enganchar al lector con esta misión en la que se ve envuelto con un jefe fascinante y despiadado al mismo tiempo, sino y lo más importante, el enganche, viene también porque necesitamos saber hasta qué punto Deza seguirá perdido, desubicado, casi desanclado del mundo: “Nadie tenía mis llaves, y allí nunca me esperaba nadie. Marías se toma todo el tiempo del mundo para narrarnos la velada en el club nocturno, con algunos momentos desternillantes en torno a un baño de discapacitados que casi se podría asemejar a una escena en una película de Tarantino, o al surrealismo en torno a los secretos del botox, o incluso al fascinante misterio en torno a una gota de sangre “y en esos diez segundos también me dio tiempo a ver lo más turbador de todo, una gota de sangre caída en el suelo del gabinete", ya aparecida en Fiebre y lanza, y que aquí Deza, sigue alargando y extrapolando esta gota de sangre a una conversación telefónica con Luisa absolutamente deliciosa.
“Soy como nieve sobre los hombros, resbaladiza y mansa, y la nieve siempre para. Nada más. O bueno, sí: Déjalo convertirse en nada, y que lo que fue no haya sido. Seré eso, lo que fue que ya no ha sido. Es decir, seré tiempo, lo que jamás se ha visto, y lo que nunca puede ver nadie.”
Incluso siendo este segundo volumen de la trilogía mucho más lento y pausado que el primero, la escritura es tan maravillosa que podría haberse seguido alargando otras trescientas páginas más en ese club nocturno, que no me hubiera importado. El estilo narrativo de Marías envolvente, elegante en el que reflexiona sobre temas en los que fácilmente podemos sentirnos identificados, es lo que le da a sus historias ese toque tan único porque lo tiñe tanto de mordacidad, como de ironía y descreimiento y al mismo tiempo de un profundo lirismo. Mezcla momentos escalofriantes de nuestro pasado histórico con párrafos larguísimos que no sabemos dónde nos conducirán y que sin embargo, hacia el final de ellos veremos la luz. Al final de este Baile y sueño dejé a Deza en un coche conducido por Tupra en una escena turbadora e inquietante porque ya sabemos que Tupra puede ser peligroso e imprevisible. Una maravilla como Marías consigue conectar ese yo íntimo de su personaje con una linea argumental más amplía llena de misterio. Uno de los grandes JM.
“Mi vida normal: no acababa de hacerme a la idea de que ya no lo era, había sido expulsado de ella o mi tumba estaba allí bien hundida, cavada hasta lo más hondo, aun conservaba la sensación engañosa de que aquel otro país era un paréntesis, de que aquella segunda estancia inglesa era vida no vivida del todo, esa que no cuenta mucho y de la que apenas si se responde, o solo al celebrarse el gran baile cada vez más inverosímil, del tiempo que ya no es tiempo o está helado y sin transcurso."
♫♫♫ La vida en la frontera - RAdio Futura ♫♫♫
September 2, 2024
Yine edebiyatın doruklarında gezdiğimiz bir Marias kitabı. Serinin ikinci kitabı ve açıkçası akıcı olmama ihtimalini en çok yakıştırabileceğim kitap iken beni epey şaşırttı. Merak ve okuma keyfini her sayfada yüksek temposunu korudu. İspanya iç savaşı, korku, gizem, yaşam üzerine yazılan müthiş cümleleriyle not almaktan kendimi alamadığım bir okuma deneyimi oldu. 3. Kitap için biraz demlenme ve özlem iyi gelecek.
February 19, 2017
While the *Your Face Tomorrow* saga continues in a fairly riveting way--which is enjoyable, but my motivation for reading Marias is never based on plot (how could it be?)--some of the most wonderfully idiosyncratic aspects of Marias's writing spiral out of control in "Dance and Dream".
Most notably, his digressions, which I normally adore, truly get out of hand, to the point that many of his asides, instead of being insightful near-non-sequiturs, seem to exist simply for the sake of being digressions. Additionally, his rehashing and recycling of ideas and material--yet, another aspect that I normally love about Marias and a literary technique that I think he usually employs adeptly--reaches an extreme point of near redundancy and/or irrelevance; he vamps on ideas that have already been fleshed out, and he continually references people, places, and things from his other works (not just "Fever and Spear") that truly bear no real consequence for "Dance and Dream", thus, placing the burdening expectation on the reader, in an almost clique-y fashion, of having needed to have read his other works in order to understand the fairly irrelevant reference(s).
When *Against the Day* was published, I recall some pundit claiming that it was almost as though Pynchon were parodying himself, or that someone had consciously, and almost successfully, tried to write a novel in the style of Pynchon. Well, I feel that this idea is more applicable here, as the extremes to which Marias takes some of his hallmark literary traits result in the work, at times, seeming almost farcical.
That said, it is still an enjoyable book as a whole and a more than acceptable second installment in the *Your Face Tomorrow* series. As Marias is one of my very favorite authors, it's easy to harp on the imperfections, but the work in its entirety--excluding the critiques above--is still very accomplished. And, of course, I am eagerly awaiting the third (and final?) volume.
Most notably, his digressions, which I normally adore, truly get out of hand, to the point that many of his asides, instead of being insightful near-non-sequiturs, seem to exist simply for the sake of being digressions. Additionally, his rehashing and recycling of ideas and material--yet, another aspect that I normally love about Marias and a literary technique that I think he usually employs adeptly--reaches an extreme point of near redundancy and/or irrelevance; he vamps on ideas that have already been fleshed out, and he continually references people, places, and things from his other works (not just "Fever and Spear") that truly bear no real consequence for "Dance and Dream", thus, placing the burdening expectation on the reader, in an almost clique-y fashion, of having needed to have read his other works in order to understand the fairly irrelevant reference(s).
When *Against the Day* was published, I recall some pundit claiming that it was almost as though Pynchon were parodying himself, or that someone had consciously, and almost successfully, tried to write a novel in the style of Pynchon. Well, I feel that this idea is more applicable here, as the extremes to which Marias takes some of his hallmark literary traits result in the work, at times, seeming almost farcical.
That said, it is still an enjoyable book as a whole and a more than acceptable second installment in the *Your Face Tomorrow* series. As Marias is one of my very favorite authors, it's easy to harp on the imperfections, but the work in its entirety--excluding the critiques above--is still very accomplished. And, of course, I am eagerly awaiting the third (and final?) volume.
August 25, 2020
Jaime Deza insanların yüzlerine bakıp geride saklananları görmeye devam ediyor.
Aklında pek çok soru ve anlam veremediği noktalar olsa da. Ondan istenen insan analizleri ve Deza bunu yapıyor.
Dans edercesine yakın ama rüya görürcesine ıssız o.
.
İlk kitabın ardından ikinci kitaba büyük bir iştahla başladım. Javier Marías yine dolu dolu yazıyor hatta öyle ki bazen kendi yazdıklarına kendisi de doyamıyor gibi hissettiriyor.
Bilhassa bireyin karanlık yanlarını gösteriyor bize. En beklenmedik anda şiddete meyletmemizi, özlemlerimizi, ölümlü aramızdaki bağı.. Uzun uzun anlatıyor..
.
Kitaptan koptuğum noktalar oldu ancak kitabın ikinci kısmı olan Rüya su gibi aktı. Son sayfalarda ise kendimi dinliyor gibiydim, yalnızlığı- eve her döndüğünde bir boşlukla karşılaşmayı ve bekleyenin olmamasını.
Üçüncü kitaptan tek dileğim ise bazı şeylerin açığa kavuşması, ‘işte şimdi oldu’ diyebilmek. Yanlış anlaşılmasın, bir sonu olmak zorunda da değil. Ama bir karakterle sayfalar dolusu konuştuğunuzda onun hayatı için dileklerde bulunmaya başlıyorsunuz.
Biraz gülümsemesini, evindeki ışığın onu beklemesini..
.
Roza Hakmen’in çevirisinden bahsetmeye gerek var mı? Yine- yeniden harikaydı..
May 1, 2024
2,5 ⭐
Javier Marías'ın ustalık eseri kabul edilen Yarınki Yüzün serisinin ikinci cildi Dans ve Rüya kitabını okurken o kadar bunaldım ki bitirdikten sonra yorum yazmak istemedim bir süre. Birinci ciltten sonra devam eden hikayenin en can alıcı kısmı ana karakter Jacques Deza'nın pek hoşlanmadığı birinin şiddete maruz kalmasına göz yumması, hatta destek olması diyebiliriz. Kitap boyunca da bu durumla hesaplaşmaya çalıştı zaten. Bunun dışında aklımda kalanlar; botoks ve meme estetiği hakkında konuşulanlar, alaylar, Deza'nın babasının İspanya İç Savaşı döneminde yaşanan akıl almaz şiddete dair söyledikleri oldu. Yazar kadınlara karşı çok acımasız. Ayrıca kadın karakterleri derinlikli bir şekilde ele alamıyor. Erkek yazarlardan bu konuda pek bir beklentim olmasa da durumu not etmeden geçemedim.
Bu cehennem sıcaklarında 500 sayfalık Marías kitabı çekemem deyip üçüncü cildi bir kenara atmıştım fakat hikaye öyle bir yerde bitti ki özellikle kitabın sonunda Deza'nın patronu Tupra İstanbul fethinden bahsedeceğiz filan deyince aklıma takıldı hikaye. Dayanamayıp üçüncü cilde başladım.
İkinci cildi şimdilik serinin zorla uzatılmış kısmı olarak kabul ediyorum. Ne var ki seriyi bitiren arkadaşlarım üçüncü kitapta her şeyin toparlanacağını ve hikayenin sonunda yazara hayran kalacağımı söylüyor. Hep beraber göreceğiz umarım sonucu.
Javier Marías'ın ustalık eseri kabul edilen Yarınki Yüzün serisinin ikinci cildi Dans ve Rüya kitabını okurken o kadar bunaldım ki bitirdikten sonra yorum yazmak istemedim bir süre. Birinci ciltten sonra devam eden hikayenin en can alıcı kısmı ana karakter Jacques Deza'nın pek hoşlanmadığı birinin şiddete maruz kalmasına göz yumması, hatta destek olması diyebiliriz. Kitap boyunca da bu durumla hesaplaşmaya çalıştı zaten. Bunun dışında aklımda kalanlar; botoks ve meme estetiği hakkında konuşulanlar, alaylar, Deza'nın babasının İspanya İç Savaşı döneminde yaşanan akıl almaz şiddete dair söyledikleri oldu. Yazar kadınlara karşı çok acımasız. Ayrıca kadın karakterleri derinlikli bir şekilde ele alamıyor. Erkek yazarlardan bu konuda pek bir beklentim olmasa da durumu not etmeden geçemedim.
Bu cehennem sıcaklarında 500 sayfalık Marías kitabı çekemem deyip üçüncü cildi bir kenara atmıştım fakat hikaye öyle bir yerde bitti ki özellikle kitabın sonunda Deza'nın patronu Tupra İstanbul fethinden bahsedeceğiz filan deyince aklıma takıldı hikaye. Dayanamayıp üçüncü cilde başladım.
İkinci cildi şimdilik serinin zorla uzatılmış kısmı olarak kabul ediyorum. Ne var ki seriyi bitiren arkadaşlarım üçüncü kitapta her şeyin toparlanacağını ve hikayenin sonunda yazara hayran kalacağımı söylüyor. Hep beraber göreceğiz umarım sonucu.
July 19, 2019
Um livro que não chega a ser livro, porque Javíer Marías tem o dom raro de falar de nós e não dos outros. Porque são destas palavras que se fazem os escritores, porque são tão conhecedores de si próprios que chegam a conhecer os outros. Mais uma magnífica história feita de amor, apátridas, sonhos que se confundem com a realidade, saudades e tempos de instabilidade, numa trama de espionagem e noites que nunca chegam a ser dia.
--
"Tenho de me habituar à ideia de que não me compete e além disso não sou nada naquela casa, naqueles lençóis que já não existem porque foram rasgados para fazer tiras ou panos antes que ficassem velhos e puídos, naquela almofada. Sou apenas uma sombra, um vestígio, ou nem sequer isso. Um sussurro afásico, um cheiro dissipado e febre baixada, um arranhão sem crosta, que se soltou há tempo. Sou como a terra debaixo da erva ou ainda mais além, como a invisível terra por baixo da terra já aluída, um morto por quem não houve luto porque não deixou atrás o seu cadáver, um fantasma cuja carne se vai afugentando e só um nome para os que vierem depois, que não saberão se é inventado. Serei a auréola de uma mancha que resiste a desaparecer em vão porque se raspa e se esfrega na madeira com zelo, e se limpa esta a fundo; ou como o rasto de sangue que se elimina com muito esforço mas por fim desparece e se perde, e assim nunca houve rasto nem o sangue foi vertido. Sou como a neve por cima dos ombros, escorregadia e mansa, e a neve pára sempre. Serei isso, o que foi que já não existiu. Quer dizer, serei tempo, o que nunca se viu e o que ninguém pode ver."
--
"Tenho de me habituar à ideia de que não me compete e além disso não sou nada naquela casa, naqueles lençóis que já não existem porque foram rasgados para fazer tiras ou panos antes que ficassem velhos e puídos, naquela almofada. Sou apenas uma sombra, um vestígio, ou nem sequer isso. Um sussurro afásico, um cheiro dissipado e febre baixada, um arranhão sem crosta, que se soltou há tempo. Sou como a terra debaixo da erva ou ainda mais além, como a invisível terra por baixo da terra já aluída, um morto por quem não houve luto porque não deixou atrás o seu cadáver, um fantasma cuja carne se vai afugentando e só um nome para os que vierem depois, que não saberão se é inventado. Serei a auréola de uma mancha que resiste a desaparecer em vão porque se raspa e se esfrega na madeira com zelo, e se limpa esta a fundo; ou como o rasto de sangue que se elimina com muito esforço mas por fim desparece e se perde, e assim nunca houve rasto nem o sangue foi vertido. Sou como a neve por cima dos ombros, escorregadia e mansa, e a neve pára sempre. Serei isso, o que foi que já não existiu. Quer dizer, serei tempo, o que nunca se viu e o que ninguém pode ver."
July 8, 2019
In brief, the overarching story revolves around Jacques Deza, a Spanish man who has just moved to England following the recent split from his ex-wife, Luisa, and their two young children. (Those of you who are familiar with Marias’ earlier novel, All Souls, will recognise Deza from there.) Back in the UK, Deza reconnects with various former colleagues from a previous stint at Oxford University, through which he is introduced to the shadowy surveillance expert, Bertram Tupra – a man who appears to be linked to, or possibly employed by, MI6.
Tupra believes Jacques has a particular gift or sense of intuition – more specifically, an ability to assess a person’s inherent character and predict how they are going to behave in the future. In short, by looking at a person’s demeanour today, Deza can ‘foresee’ their face tomorrow.
To read the rest of my review of the trilogy, please click here:
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2019...
Tupra believes Jacques has a particular gift or sense of intuition – more specifically, an ability to assess a person’s inherent character and predict how they are going to behave in the future. In short, by looking at a person’s demeanour today, Deza can ‘foresee’ their face tomorrow.
To read the rest of my review of the trilogy, please click here:
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2019...
November 25, 2015
dance and dream (baile y sueno), the second volume of javier marías's incomparable your face tomorrow (tu rostro mañana), continues the story of jacques deza — finding him ever more deeply entrenched within the enigmatic world of spycraft and intelligence. revisiting and elaborating upon the themes, images, and incidents of the first volume (as well as those of decades past), marías, with considerable patience and measured storytelling, affords a circuitous and deeper (yet not altogether revealing) glimpse into deza and his milieu. fear and foreboding permeate the second volume, but in the deft hands of the madrid-born novelist, we know that the best is yet to come.
*translated from the spanish by margaret jull costa
let us hope that no one ever asks us for anything, or even enquires, no advice or favour or loan, not even the loan of our attention, let us hope that others do not ask us to listen to them, to their wretched problems and their painful predicaments so like our own, to their incomprehensible doubts and their paltry stories which are so often interchangeable and have all been written before (the range of stories that can be told is not that wide), or to what used to be called their travails, who doesn't have them or, if he doesn't, brings them upon himself, 'unhappiness is an invention,' i often repeat to myself, and these words hold true for misfortunes that come from inside not outside and always assuming they are not misfortunes which are, objectively speaking, unavoidable, a catastrophe, an accident, a death, a defeat, a dismissal, a plague, a famine, or the vicious persecution of some blameless person, history is full of them, as is our own, by which i mean these unfinished times of ours (there are even dismissals and defeats and deaths that are self-inflicted or deserved or, indeed, invented).
*translated from the spanish by margaret jull costa
December 3, 2016
I find it much harder to write reviews for books that impress me. It doesn't help that I wedged in two other big books in the middle of reading this (one because of a library due date and the other for a group discussion whose deadline I missed). Part one of this three-part novel piqued my interest, but this second book floored me. The entire volume revolves around one night in a disco and yet Marías takes the reader through history, literature, and all manner of digressions and philosophical tangents along the way. He has this expansive digressive writing style whereby a central idea or question unfolds becoming ever wider, less certain as myriad possibilities present themselves. It's like the reader is caught up in the same uncertainty as the narrator, and being pulled into an ever darker set of circumstances whose monstrosity is loosely outlined but not yet within reach.
May 12, 2023
Volume two of Marias' epic Your Face Tomorrow starts off just where volume one left off. Although, to say 'where' that might be is difficult in this cerebral masterpiece which is so recursive in its structure and elliptical in its story that any attempt to locate the plot would be futile and entirely miss the point.
Jaime Deza is still in London and still struggling with his exile from his wife and children in Madrid. He is still working at the 'building with no name' that is either a division of MI6 or a client of theirs. There is still not much ostensible story going on, but there's a hell of a lot going on in the hypnotic layers of memory and personal reflection.
The central action in volume two centres on a seedy and genuinely discomfiting scene in a London nightclub. Tupra, Deza's inscrutable boss, seems to be recruiting a Vatican civil servant as an agent. Meanwhile, Deza keeps the latter's wife occupied with small talk and dancing. The rather disreputable De la Garza, who appeared in volume one, happens to be there and tries in the most beastly manner to get in on whatever action he is imagining in his twisted pervert's mind. Things go rather awry from that point on and Deza ends up being shocked by Tupra's capacity for violence.
Volume two seems to be about the human aptitude for doling out violence and the shame of standing by and doing nothing as it's doled out. A lot of the action in the nightclub thematically relates in this way with Deza's father's memories of the Spanish Civil War, which always loom over the former's apprehension of the world. The novel seems to ask how precisely we can be expected to move on and pretend everything is fine after violence stops but there is no genuine attempt at justice.
The prose is beautiful at points and mesmerising throughout. Marias' writing always reminds me of László Krasznahorkai's best work in its insistence in probing further into the human condition and the means of expressing that condition. The long sentences that weave for line upon line circle around an idea elegantly but never quite grab hold of it, rather lingering for a while before accepting there can be no satisfactory answer to the question, and then it moves on, usually to some other memory that is related in ways that are variously obscure or apparent.
The first half of the volume, Dance, is somewhat weaker than the second, Dream. Here Marias seems to attempt a comic style - and Cervantes is mentioned a lot in this novel, which I don't think is unconnected - but I was left rather unconvinced at his capacity for comedy - this is a significant difference from Krasznahorkai who is a master of all comic forms from slapstick to observational to tragicomedy. Marias' jokes are often poorly articulated and often weak and oppressive. Mostly they are about how ridiculous the Vatican civil servant's wife's fake breasts are, the quality of the makeup that masks her age with, or how idiotic and pathetic de la Garza is. This is thankfully dropped in part two, Dream, where the focus is on the experience of horror and how - or rather, if - we can recover from it. Even still, I do rather feel myself holding back on my assessment of volume two because of this first part.
That said, Deza is a perfect tragic literary character. He opens volume one extolling the virtue of staying silent, or never saying anything that might have consequences. Volume two opens with him saying that he never wants to have anything asked of him, he never wants to be invited into anyone else's actions. Please, he seems to plead, do not ask me to have any consequence in this world at all, because our actions can be taken and twisted and mobilised into the instrument or justification of violence against another. Yet his job unfortunately demands both of these things and at all times. It demands almost nothing else of him.
In sum, this is a remarkable volume despite the shortcomings of its first section. It feels rather less even than volume one, but there is no doubt of Marias' genius as a writer. I have yet to read volume three, but if it lives up to the first two, then we can safely say that Your Face Tomorrow is one of the great novels of the early 21st century, and one of the great novels about remembering and forgetting. It is also a brilliant exploration of the ambivalence of the peace that follows war - whether the Spanish Civil War or the Cold War or the War on Terror, all so poorly and inappropriately named - and a remarkable and devastating novel about the human capacity for doing harm to each other.
Jaime Deza is still in London and still struggling with his exile from his wife and children in Madrid. He is still working at the 'building with no name' that is either a division of MI6 or a client of theirs. There is still not much ostensible story going on, but there's a hell of a lot going on in the hypnotic layers of memory and personal reflection.
The central action in volume two centres on a seedy and genuinely discomfiting scene in a London nightclub. Tupra, Deza's inscrutable boss, seems to be recruiting a Vatican civil servant as an agent. Meanwhile, Deza keeps the latter's wife occupied with small talk and dancing. The rather disreputable De la Garza, who appeared in volume one, happens to be there and tries in the most beastly manner to get in on whatever action he is imagining in his twisted pervert's mind. Things go rather awry from that point on and Deza ends up being shocked by Tupra's capacity for violence.
Volume two seems to be about the human aptitude for doling out violence and the shame of standing by and doing nothing as it's doled out. A lot of the action in the nightclub thematically relates in this way with Deza's father's memories of the Spanish Civil War, which always loom over the former's apprehension of the world. The novel seems to ask how precisely we can be expected to move on and pretend everything is fine after violence stops but there is no genuine attempt at justice.
The prose is beautiful at points and mesmerising throughout. Marias' writing always reminds me of László Krasznahorkai's best work in its insistence in probing further into the human condition and the means of expressing that condition. The long sentences that weave for line upon line circle around an idea elegantly but never quite grab hold of it, rather lingering for a while before accepting there can be no satisfactory answer to the question, and then it moves on, usually to some other memory that is related in ways that are variously obscure or apparent.
The first half of the volume, Dance, is somewhat weaker than the second, Dream. Here Marias seems to attempt a comic style - and Cervantes is mentioned a lot in this novel, which I don't think is unconnected - but I was left rather unconvinced at his capacity for comedy - this is a significant difference from Krasznahorkai who is a master of all comic forms from slapstick to observational to tragicomedy. Marias' jokes are often poorly articulated and often weak and oppressive. Mostly they are about how ridiculous the Vatican civil servant's wife's fake breasts are, the quality of the makeup that masks her age with, or how idiotic and pathetic de la Garza is. This is thankfully dropped in part two, Dream, where the focus is on the experience of horror and how - or rather, if - we can recover from it. Even still, I do rather feel myself holding back on my assessment of volume two because of this first part.
That said, Deza is a perfect tragic literary character. He opens volume one extolling the virtue of staying silent, or never saying anything that might have consequences. Volume two opens with him saying that he never wants to have anything asked of him, he never wants to be invited into anyone else's actions. Please, he seems to plead, do not ask me to have any consequence in this world at all, because our actions can be taken and twisted and mobilised into the instrument or justification of violence against another. Yet his job unfortunately demands both of these things and at all times. It demands almost nothing else of him.
In sum, this is a remarkable volume despite the shortcomings of its first section. It feels rather less even than volume one, but there is no doubt of Marias' genius as a writer. I have yet to read volume three, but if it lives up to the first two, then we can safely say that Your Face Tomorrow is one of the great novels of the early 21st century, and one of the great novels about remembering and forgetting. It is also a brilliant exploration of the ambivalence of the peace that follows war - whether the Spanish Civil War or the Cold War or the War on Terror, all so poorly and inappropriately named - and a remarkable and devastating novel about the human capacity for doing harm to each other.
August 21, 2023
Lower engagement in the story on my side in comparison with the first part, particularly due to high volume of digressions and not a big progression of the plot. Nonetheless, the writing stays masterful and some of the peripheral explorations of the human psyche and morale are very fascinating. I particularly liked the second part of this book, 'Dream', that opens up quite some interesting possible directions for the last volume.
January 28, 2015
(segue)
Nella seconda parte del romanzo non sorprendono più la ridondante e fascinosa prosa di Marías, la malia di alcune scene, l'incisività e l'eleganza del pensiero, non sorprendono più non perché siano a un tratto divenute scontate, no, lasciano ancora in stato semi-ipnotico e davanti alla bellezza mai ci si annoia, tuttavia dopo le quasi quattrocento pagine della prima parte e le oltre trecento della seconda già sappiamo di che pasta è fatto Marías e si avverte un filo di stanchezza.
Ma è stanca l'opera o ero stanco io?
(continua)
Nella seconda parte del romanzo non sorprendono più la ridondante e fascinosa prosa di Marías, la malia di alcune scene, l'incisività e l'eleganza del pensiero, non sorprendono più non perché siano a un tratto divenute scontate, no, lasciano ancora in stato semi-ipnotico e davanti alla bellezza mai ci si annoia, tuttavia dopo le quasi quattrocento pagine della prima parte e le oltre trecento della seconda già sappiamo di che pasta è fatto Marías e si avverte un filo di stanchezza.
Ma è stanca l'opera o ero stanco io?
(continua)
September 2, 2020
Savaş ne kadar acı, ne kadar kötü, ne kadar anlamsız!! Dehşetle okudum İspanya İç Savaşı’nda yaşananları! “Korku” bu ciltte çok güzel anlatılmış. Bir de yine günümüze ait çok güzel tespitler var: “Müthiş bir düşüş dönemi, sizin anlayabilmeniz mümkün değil. Entellektüellikten değil, idraktan söz ediyorum sadece.”
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