O Ilarie Voronca, (1903–1946) ήταν Ρουμάνος ποιητής της ευρωπαϊκής πρωτοπορίας, που έζησε στο Παρίσι και έγραψε κυρίως στα γαλλικά. Στην Εξομολόγηση μιας πλαστής ψυχής αποτυπώνει την αγωνία μιας ταυτότητας που διαρκώς αμφισβητείται. Το έργο, με τον αποσπασματικό και εσωτερικό του λόγο, συνδέει την προσωπική εμπειρία με την ιστορική πραγματικότητα, εξερευνώντας την έννοια του «ψεύτικου» ή κατασκευασμένου εαυτού και προαναγγέλλοντας τις μεταπολεμικές ανησυχίες για την ύπαρξη και την ταυτότητα.
Ilarie Voronca was one of the leaders of the Romanian avant-garde, initially a pioneer of Romanian Constructivism (known as Integralism), further on a fine poet in the vein of Surrealism and, especially in his period at Paris, Walt Whitman. Has influenced numerous poets during his life and after - most notably the poets gathered around the circles "Integral" (which he lead) and "unu" and the poets of the 1980s generation.
described as a novel of searching and of love, but i think it also has things to say about capitalism and how we use others. it is quiet depressing beautiful magical, all in 90 pages. the profoundness can be staring right at you or sneaks up on you while you're reading or after you've put it down.
i can't believe more people haven't read this (on gr at least), please do
"Only the children I met in the parks seemed happy. For their souls were neither clogged nor replaced with false ones. but for how long will they be that way?"
"How I would have liked those moments to stretch out. I loved that peaceful life, this house where solitude's mournful breath could not penetrate. Why did I have to struggle with desires and sorrows, constantly mindful of my pain, of the world's pain? A table with relatives and friends gathered around it, a healthy and simple meal resonating like the chimes of a bow with the spirit of a country, what more could I wish for? [...] Here, I joined in and broke with the others the white bread of laughter. But why was I just a passer-by?"
"Moreover, is not the sea a giant piano? [...] The wonderful young woman must give some magnificent concerts down there."
Ilarie Voronca's bright yet sinister novella from 1942 plays with different genres, and finds it's place among similar short stories by Gogol, Zamyatin, Bulgakov, or Nabokov. Through this slender text, Ilarie Voronca (1903-1946), Romanian-Jewish émigré writing in French, shows a flare for enstrangement in the everyday.
Part dark fable, part comic tale, almost sci-fi tragedy but with a twist of romance, it plays with the weird to lambast the heartless and classist government officialdom, and its exploitation of a young generation of soldiers in war.
Our protagonist, a nameless local bureaucrat, has his worn-out soul removed in his local clinic, as if it was a rotten tooth. Another patient advises him he can get a fresh new one implanted, there being a glut in supply with excellent specimens being harvested from young soldiers fallen in the war.
However, will his new heroic soul be a good fit for this white-collar worker? Or will it lead to unexpected metaphysical consequences? And what sort of diabolical figure twists people to believe their own souls are inadequate?
Voronca delivers a light touch to have comic yet cutting critique of gentle and implicit structural violence, hidden in mannerisms and charm, whilst losing grip on reality as if in a dream sequence.
Will you confess, fraud? Are you, too, the owner of a false soul?
υπέροχο, πολύ καλογραμμένο με μια πολύ πρωτότυπη ιδέα που την αναπτύσσει πολύ αριστοτεχνικά ο Ilarie Voronca στην Εξομολόγηση μιας πλαστής ψυχής. Απρόσμενο και υπέροχο το τέλος της νουβέλας. Ο Voronca ξεκίνησε ως ποιητής την συγγραφική του πορεία γιαυτό χρησιμοποιεί με οικονομία τις λέξεις, αυτό που χαρακτηρίζει τη νουβέλα είναι το βάθος της ψυχολογικής του παρατήρησης , στο κέντρο της αφήγησης η περιπέτεια που ζει ο κάθε άνθρωπος που προσπαθεί να κατονοήσει τι σημαίνει να υπάρχεις, τι σημαίνει αυθεντικότητα , τι ρόλο παίζουν οι άλλοι άνθρωποι που βρίσκονται στη ζωή του , τον δραματικό ρόλο του θανάτου
A surrealist novel published in 1942 in the midst of WWII by Romanian avant-garde author, Ilarie Voronca. The original is in French; this is the first english translation in print. The writing is simple, but the novel is quite philosophical. It’s about a man who seeks to escape himself, so he decides to undergo a soul implantation surgery. The soul he is given belonged to a young man who prematurely died on the battlefield.
In times of war when there was a constant threat of peace, the protagonist decides to replace his damaged soul. The surgeon/ soul-remover finds him a new soul that belonged to a dead young soldier.
'I felt ashamed when a young lady said: how could i not love you when you have such a beautiful soul.'
'Only the children I met in the parks seemed happy. For their souls were neither clogged nor replaced with false ones. but for how long will they be that way?'
A quaint book. However, one that to me is a fine piece of jewelry, I have no interest in, a well-cooked dish not to my taste. It has sincerity, an interesting concept, well-written prose, and a simplicity that seems laden with a latent beauty I can vaguely catch the scent of, but one I cannot honestly confess. it seems to me that i will mostly forget it, but a week after writing this, the story left little of an impression on me. It gives me, strongly, the impression that it could be intensely enjoyed and appreciated by someone, someone other than me. A masterpiece-in-waiting
Ho letto la traduzione della Abbot a cura di Marta Piras.
Il racconto è surreale, ma con una delicatezza del contenuto e della forma da rendere la lettura morbida, nonostante il tema impegnativo.
A lettura fresca, non ho un'idea definita, bensì una percezione: l'ho sentito come un elogio al candore, alla semplicità e genuinità, anche nelle sue forme più brutte. Al contempo, mi pare ci sia una punta melanconica di fondo, non disperata, ma sconsolata.
I don't know where to start with this review. Especially that I haven't written one in a while and it certainly did not help that I still haven't recovered from the confusion of reading this novella.
This is not to say that Ilarie Voronca is not a good writer, he is; in fact, if someone were to ask me for a good introduction into the world of surrealism, I would probably recommend this book. I think it is more that my expectations as a reader has changed. Yes, excellent literary prowess has always been in the forefront of what I enjoy, but I and I am no longer at a point where I can enjoy being just as confused exiting a story as I was entering it
So great writing, if you're a fan of Bulgakov's Master and Margarita, yes. If your life is already complicated, no.
Excellent little novella. Perfectly weird. It leans into the premise and tells a speculative story about what makes us human, without ever being didactic. You can read it in under an hour and you definitely should. Further thoughts: https://compostedbooksreview.substack...