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A Girl in Exile: Requiem for Linda B.
"A chilling, humane and strangely beautiful work." -The Independent
A Girl in Exile, first published in Albanian in 2009, is set among the bureaucratic machinery of Albania's 1945-1991 dictatorship. While waiting to hear whether his newest play will be approved for production, playwright Rudian Stefa is called in for questioning by the Party Committee. A girl-Linda B.-has been found dead, with a signed copy of his latest book in her possession. He soon learns that Linda's family, considered suspect, was exiled to a small town far from the capital, and that she committed suicide. Under the influence of a paranoid regime, Rudian finds himself swept along on a surreal quest to discover what really happened to Linda B. Through layers of intrigue, her story gradually unfolds: how she loved Rudian from a distance, and the risks she was prepared to take so that she could get close to him. He becomes captivated by her story, and disturbed at how he might be culpable for her fate.
A Girl in Exile is a stunning, deeply affecting portrait of life and love under surveillance, infused with myth, wry humor, and the absurdity of a paranoid regime.
A Girl in Exile, first published in Albanian in 2009, is set among the bureaucratic machinery of Albania's 1945-1991 dictatorship. While waiting to hear whether his newest play will be approved for production, playwright Rudian Stefa is called in for questioning by the Party Committee. A girl-Linda B.-has been found dead, with a signed copy of his latest book in her possession. He soon learns that Linda's family, considered suspect, was exiled to a small town far from the capital, and that she committed suicide. Under the influence of a paranoid regime, Rudian finds himself swept along on a surreal quest to discover what really happened to Linda B. Through layers of intrigue, her story gradually unfolds: how she loved Rudian from a distance, and the risks she was prepared to take so that she could get close to him. He becomes captivated by her story, and disturbed at how he might be culpable for her fate.
A Girl in Exile is a stunning, deeply affecting portrait of life and love under surveillance, infused with myth, wry humor, and the absurdity of a paranoid regime.
185 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2009
66 people are currently reading
2322 people want to read
About the author
Ismail Kadare
271 books1,731 followersIsmail Kadare (also spelled Kadaré) was an Albanian novelist and poet. He has been a leading literary figure in Albania since the 1960s. He focused on short stories until the publication of his first novel, The General of the Dead Army. In 1996 he became a lifetime member of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences of France. In 1992, he was awarded the Prix mondial Cino Del Duca; in 2005, he won the inaugural Man Booker International Prize, in 2009 the Prince of Asturias Award of Arts, and in 2015 the Jerusalem Prize. He has divided his time between Albania and France since 1990. Kadare has been mentioned as a possible recipient for the Nobel Prize in Literature several times. His works have been published in about 30 languages.
Ismail Kadare was born in 1936 in Gjirokastër, in the south of Albania. His education included studies at the University of Tirana and then the Gorky Institute for World Literature in Moscow, a training school for writers and critics.
In 1960 Kadare returned to Albania after the country broke ties with the Soviet Union, and he became a journalist and published his first poems.
His first novel, The General of the Dead Army, sprang from a short story, and its success established his name in Albania and enabled Kadare to become a full-time writer.
Kadare's novels draw on Balkan history and legends. They are obliquely ironic as a result of trying to withstand political scrutiny. Among his best known books are Chronicle in Stone (1977), Broken April (1978), and The Concert (1988), considered the best novel of the year 1991 by the French literary magazine Lire.
In 1990, Kadare claimed political asylum in France, issuing statements in favour of democratisation. During the ordeal, he stated that "dictatorship and authentic literature are incompatible. The writer is the natural enemy of dictatorship."
Ismail Kadare was born in 1936 in Gjirokastër, in the south of Albania. His education included studies at the University of Tirana and then the Gorky Institute for World Literature in Moscow, a training school for writers and critics.
In 1960 Kadare returned to Albania after the country broke ties with the Soviet Union, and he became a journalist and published his first poems.
His first novel, The General of the Dead Army, sprang from a short story, and its success established his name in Albania and enabled Kadare to become a full-time writer.
Kadare's novels draw on Balkan history and legends. They are obliquely ironic as a result of trying to withstand political scrutiny. Among his best known books are Chronicle in Stone (1977), Broken April (1978), and The Concert (1988), considered the best novel of the year 1991 by the French literary magazine Lire.
In 1990, Kadare claimed political asylum in France, issuing statements in favour of democratisation. During the ordeal, he stated that "dictatorship and authentic literature are incompatible. The writer is the natural enemy of dictatorship."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 148 reviews
July 14, 2018
”’May I see the book again?’ he asked the investigator.
He opened it with his left hand, because his right hand was shaking. He stared at his own handwriting. The inscription had been written on the first night of his most recent play, in the foyer immediately afterward: For Linda B., a souvenir from the author. June 12th.”
Most authors sign a lot of copies of their books over their lifetime. Rudian Stefa is no exception. The Party Committee has called him in to see if he remembers this girl, this Linda B. Stefa is used to being investigated. His most recent play is up before the Artistic Board over some problems with a ghost in act 2. He has learned to write very carefully to slide what would be considered subversive ideas through the various layers of bureaucratic oversight.
So he thinks he is before The Party for one thing and finds out that he is there for another reason, a very strange reason. He shouldn’t remember the girl, but he does remember the girl, not Linda B., but the girl who brought the book to be signed for Linda B.
Migena.
”The name Migena and the word enigma fluttered through his mind, attempting to come together. They were anagrams. Migena, enigma. To make sure, he wrote the words on the menu, next to the words for expresso coffee. Yes, they really were anagrams. Yes: shuffle the letters of Migena and you got enigma.”
She is gorgeous, and she is interested in him. When he is with her, the pressures of his life seem to explode out of him. When she is away, a bitter anxiety sets in like a dreary, windy, winter’s day. He doesn’t trust her. He can’t ascertain how she sees her role in his life. ”The clumsy thought passed through her mind that her breasts were just as sweet whether she was an informer or not.”
Ismail Kadare talks about the internments imposed on people by the State. ”One of those laws was extremely strange, and many people believed it must be unique to Albania. This law concerned political prisoners and internees who died before completing their sentences. Their bodies, even though vacated by their souls, had to continue serving their sentences in the grave, wherever they happened to be, until the end. Only after the expiry of the term of their sentence did their families have the right to exhume them from the cemeteries designated by the state, and take them wherever they wished.”
That reminds me of situations from Medieval Europe when corpses of enemies of a King were dug up, drawn and quartered, and then hung.
THEY ARE DEAD ALREADY!!!
A sentenced person in Albania has to keep serving his/her sentence even after they are dead? We have several examples in history where a far left communist government becomes so paranoid and so hard hearted as to forget that their own people are living, breathing, adult, human beings, not cattle who need to be herded, or immature children who need to be told how to live every aspect of their life, or that a prison sentence needs to be fulfilled by the corpse of the “perpetrator.” There is an insanity that seems to come with far left or far right political theory. Communism goes so far left and Fascism goes so far right that they start to be indistinguishable from each other. The scale that has them going in opposite directions curves, and they meet up again at the House of Horrors.
This is not one of my favorite Ismail Kadare’s, but that could be because he is just way too smart for me. Maybe I didn’t see a couple of clues, or maybe I just need to be Albanian to decipher the words that are not written but implied. ”The mercilessly crossed-out lines loomed black, and the survivors huddled awkwardly, as if cowering in shame amid the carnage.” In such a short book, Kadare does take on some big subjects: censorship, love/lust, tyranny, and a topic that should be on everyone’s mind, the whys of suicide.
Kadare will take you down a Franz Kafka, hypnagogic hallucination inspired, crooked alley of ghostly delusions if you can read the Albanian street signs.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at: https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
He opened it with his left hand, because his right hand was shaking. He stared at his own handwriting. The inscription had been written on the first night of his most recent play, in the foyer immediately afterward: For Linda B., a souvenir from the author. June 12th.”
Most authors sign a lot of copies of their books over their lifetime. Rudian Stefa is no exception. The Party Committee has called him in to see if he remembers this girl, this Linda B. Stefa is used to being investigated. His most recent play is up before the Artistic Board over some problems with a ghost in act 2. He has learned to write very carefully to slide what would be considered subversive ideas through the various layers of bureaucratic oversight.
So he thinks he is before The Party for one thing and finds out that he is there for another reason, a very strange reason. He shouldn’t remember the girl, but he does remember the girl, not Linda B., but the girl who brought the book to be signed for Linda B.
Migena.
”The name Migena and the word enigma fluttered through his mind, attempting to come together. They were anagrams. Migena, enigma. To make sure, he wrote the words on the menu, next to the words for expresso coffee. Yes, they really were anagrams. Yes: shuffle the letters of Migena and you got enigma.”
She is gorgeous, and she is interested in him. When he is with her, the pressures of his life seem to explode out of him. When she is away, a bitter anxiety sets in like a dreary, windy, winter’s day. He doesn’t trust her. He can’t ascertain how she sees her role in his life. ”The clumsy thought passed through her mind that her breasts were just as sweet whether she was an informer or not.”
Ismail Kadare talks about the internments imposed on people by the State. ”One of those laws was extremely strange, and many people believed it must be unique to Albania. This law concerned political prisoners and internees who died before completing their sentences. Their bodies, even though vacated by their souls, had to continue serving their sentences in the grave, wherever they happened to be, until the end. Only after the expiry of the term of their sentence did their families have the right to exhume them from the cemeteries designated by the state, and take them wherever they wished.”
That reminds me of situations from Medieval Europe when corpses of enemies of a King were dug up, drawn and quartered, and then hung.
THEY ARE DEAD ALREADY!!!
A sentenced person in Albania has to keep serving his/her sentence even after they are dead? We have several examples in history where a far left communist government becomes so paranoid and so hard hearted as to forget that their own people are living, breathing, adult, human beings, not cattle who need to be herded, or immature children who need to be told how to live every aspect of their life, or that a prison sentence needs to be fulfilled by the corpse of the “perpetrator.” There is an insanity that seems to come with far left or far right political theory. Communism goes so far left and Fascism goes so far right that they start to be indistinguishable from each other. The scale that has them going in opposite directions curves, and they meet up again at the House of Horrors.
This is not one of my favorite Ismail Kadare’s, but that could be because he is just way too smart for me. Maybe I didn’t see a couple of clues, or maybe I just need to be Albanian to decipher the words that are not written but implied. ”The mercilessly crossed-out lines loomed black, and the survivors huddled awkwardly, as if cowering in shame amid the carnage.” In such a short book, Kadare does take on some big subjects: censorship, love/lust, tyranny, and a topic that should be on everyone’s mind, the whys of suicide.
Kadare will take you down a Franz Kafka, hypnagogic hallucination inspired, crooked alley of ghostly delusions if you can read the Albanian street signs.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at: https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
September 8, 2022
از لحاظ شرح وضعیت زندگی توی آلبانی (کمونیستی) و مشکلات اون،خوب بود ولی یه مقدار حوصله سر بر بود.
June 16, 2018
sunk in the totalitarian swamp
Rudian Stefa, a playwright, has a girlfriend. He doesn't treat her very well, but still, he dotes on her. Once, before they became lovers, the girl, Migena, asked him to autograph a copy of one of his books. She said it was for a friend. He thinks it's an extremely minor matter, maybe it was just for herself. One day he's called into the Party Committee in Tirana (Albania's capital) to explain why he signed the book and under what circumstances. The "friend" has committed suicide. Since it's Albania during the rule of Enver Hoxha, such a summons is scary. But why have they called him? He begins to enquire and we start to learn the inside story. The friend is a girl in internal exile--that is, she and her family are forbidden to leave their town and must check in with the police every day. Any deviance from these rules would mean either execution or prison. She has fallen in love with Rudian Stefa from afar, knowing that she can never travel to Tirana to meet him. Things become more and more convoluted, the sickness of totalitarian society is slowly unraveled. Poetry, plays, and Greek legends all start to have meaning in this tale of dismal Albanian disaster. In the Albania of the 1980s, could you trust anyone? Could you be sure your lover would not turn you in? Even playing the saxophone too extravagantly leads to a jail sentence. The ending is simply brilliant. The evil of such a paranoid dictatorship is revealed better than in a hundred polemics on "the Communist threat" or "the Fascist peril". Hannah Arendt's "banality of evil" finds perfect expression here. Vague reports, uncertain conclusions, the fog covering reality and separating it only thinly from legend. Once again, Kadare has written an amazingly good book. If it wasn't for their politically correct prejudices and occupation with various high jinks, the Nobel Committee would have awarded him the Nobel years ago.
Rudian Stefa, a playwright, has a girlfriend. He doesn't treat her very well, but still, he dotes on her. Once, before they became lovers, the girl, Migena, asked him to autograph a copy of one of his books. She said it was for a friend. He thinks it's an extremely minor matter, maybe it was just for herself. One day he's called into the Party Committee in Tirana (Albania's capital) to explain why he signed the book and under what circumstances. The "friend" has committed suicide. Since it's Albania during the rule of Enver Hoxha, such a summons is scary. But why have they called him? He begins to enquire and we start to learn the inside story. The friend is a girl in internal exile--that is, she and her family are forbidden to leave their town and must check in with the police every day. Any deviance from these rules would mean either execution or prison. She has fallen in love with Rudian Stefa from afar, knowing that she can never travel to Tirana to meet him. Things become more and more convoluted, the sickness of totalitarian society is slowly unraveled. Poetry, plays, and Greek legends all start to have meaning in this tale of dismal Albanian disaster. In the Albania of the 1980s, could you trust anyone? Could you be sure your lover would not turn you in? Even playing the saxophone too extravagantly leads to a jail sentence. The ending is simply brilliant. The evil of such a paranoid dictatorship is revealed better than in a hundred polemics on "the Communist threat" or "the Fascist peril". Hannah Arendt's "banality of evil" finds perfect expression here. Vague reports, uncertain conclusions, the fog covering reality and separating it only thinly from legend. Once again, Kadare has written an amazingly good book. If it wasn't for their politically correct prejudices and occupation with various high jinks, the Nobel Committee would have awarded him the Nobel years ago.
February 17, 2018
Linda B. is the girl brought up during the communist regime in Albania. She and her whole family are interned into a village, and therefore banned to enter the city of Tirana. After graduating from high school in Tirana, Linda B. must return to the village where her family is and never set foot in the city. For a young girl whose lived and loved in the city and has so many dreams ahead this is simply murder. Kadare is a master at portraying this feeling of isolation and the loss of hope that so many people suffered in communist Albania. What is special about Kadare's writing is his subliminal language, there's always a sort of duality to the story. Like many artists and writers this style of writing was developed and used under the dictatorship of Enver Hoxha. Writers and artists were on a very close watch and for their safety of not being declared an enemy of the party, they had to find ways to create and yet stay under the radar.
Being Albanian from Kosovo, for me this brings back memories of my parents talking about the 50 years of the communist isolation of Albania. Linda B. is ready to trade her life for eternal freedom, and so reading E penguara, is inevitably, a powerful remainder that freedom has no price.
Being Albanian from Kosovo, for me this brings back memories of my parents talking about the 50 years of the communist isolation of Albania. Linda B. is ready to trade her life for eternal freedom, and so reading E penguara, is inevitably, a powerful remainder that freedom has no price.
May 22, 2019
A complex but short story which I may have missed many of the nuances. There's debate on restrictions of the Albanian government under a socialist system, the rights of women, reference to the classics and the ongoing nervousness of waiting to be arrested by a paranoid regime.
The main character is a playwright in Albania. He is self possessed, his current girlfriend is 20 years younger and still at school. He is questioned by the unnamed interrogator about his relationship with a Linda K who has committed suicide while being under the sentence of exile to a remote Albanian town.
Not my favourite Kadare book.
The main character is a playwright in Albania. He is self possessed, his current girlfriend is 20 years younger and still at school. He is questioned by the unnamed interrogator about his relationship with a Linda K who has committed suicide while being under the sentence of exile to a remote Albanian town.
Not my favourite Kadare book.
September 27, 2016
Another astonishing novel by an author of outstanding talent. Where, one might ask, is Kadare's Nobel Prize?
I have sought out and read Kadare ever since he won the inaugural Man Booker International prize in 2005, thereby coming to the attention of readers in North America. At first, it was easy to find titles in major bookstores, but this no longer the case. The more recent works, including this one, have not appeared in Canada; instead, I pick them up while on trips to Europe.
A Girl in Exile: Requiem for Linda B. is a multilayered, complex story of love and loss. But this no conventional love story. Informing the whole of the story is the mythical tale of Orpheus who goes into Hades to lead Eurydice back into the world of the living, only to lose her forever when he disobeys the command not to look back.
Written originally in Albanian, the novel has been translated beautifully by John Hodgson, who also translated The Fall of the Stone City and The Accident.
I have sought out and read Kadare ever since he won the inaugural Man Booker International prize in 2005, thereby coming to the attention of readers in North America. At first, it was easy to find titles in major bookstores, but this no longer the case. The more recent works, including this one, have not appeared in Canada; instead, I pick them up while on trips to Europe.
A Girl in Exile: Requiem for Linda B. is a multilayered, complex story of love and loss. But this no conventional love story. Informing the whole of the story is the mythical tale of Orpheus who goes into Hades to lead Eurydice back into the world of the living, only to lose her forever when he disobeys the command not to look back.
Written originally in Albanian, the novel has been translated beautifully by John Hodgson, who also translated The Fall of the Stone City and The Accident.
April 22, 2010
The time the story was placed,was just a little bit depressing,and from time to time,I didn`t have the nerve to keep reading.So many nonsenses,but that still in those days "had" to make sense...But I really loved the ending,its cruelty was adorable,and so kind...(still with the nonsenses...)
January 22, 2016
Αυτό ήταν το δεύτερο βιβλίο του Ισμαήλ Κανταρέ που διάβασα (το πρώτο ήταν το εξαίσιο "Ποιος έφερε την Ντορουντίν", που είναι παραλλαγή του "Νεκρού Αδερφού"). Δυστυχώς, δεν μπόρεσα να απολαύσω καθόλου το βιβλίο - που διαισθάνομαι πως θα μου άρεσε υπό άλλες συνθήκες - λόγω της μετάφρασης. Το κείμενο μοιάζει να μην έχει την παραμικρή συνέπεια, να μην ξέρει αν θέλει να είναι σύγχρονο ή να μυρίζει παλιό, αλλού η αφηγηματική φωνή είναι μοντέρνα, αλλού μοιάζει λες και γράφτηκε το βιβλίο του 1800. Πολλά εισήλθε (πολλά, όμως), εξήλθε, μετάγω, μεταβαίνω και λοιπά και λοιπά, τα οποία κάνουν ένα μυθιστόρημα του 2010 να μυρίζει ναφθαλίνη. Εξεζητημένες λέξεις, που φανερά καμία θέση δεν έχουν εκεί που βρίσκονται, πετάνε διαρκώς εκτός κλίματος τον άμοιρο τον αναγνώστη. Δεν ξέρω, γενικά λυπήθηκα πάρα πολύ γιατί πραγματικά ήθελα να μου αρέσει αυτό το βιβλίο και, διαβάζοντάς το, ένιωθα διαρκώς πως θα μπορούσε να μου αρέσει.
November 5, 2018
It took me a while to read this book but I truly loved it. This book is so much different from what I expected. And it was so interesting to read as I don't know that much about Albania. I think this is the type of the book that you would like to reread. The last pages were amazing!
March 29, 2024
دختر موقعیتی برتر داشت. همه مقابل او گناهکار بودند: این کشور، زمانهای که در آن میزیستند و همهٔ افراد از جمله خودِ مرد.
آنها این طبقه را تا ابد سرنگون کرده بودند، مردمانش را با تمام جواهرات، خاطرات و ماجراهای عاشقانهشان به میان پرتگاه انداخته بودند. این مردم به مومیاییهای خاکگرفته تقلیل یافته بودند یا حتی بدتر، تفالههایی پوسته پوسته؛ با این حال، اکنون، وقتی انتظارش نمیرفت، دختری از این طبقه، از ژرفا، از اعماق، جرقهای شعلهور برافروخته بود.
آنها این طبقه را تا ابد سرنگون کرده بودند، مردمانش را با تمام جواهرات، خاطرات و ماجراهای عاشقانهشان به میان پرتگاه انداخته بودند. این مردم به مومیاییهای خاکگرفته تقلیل یافته بودند یا حتی بدتر، تفالههایی پوسته پوسته؛ با این حال، اکنون، وقتی انتظارش نمیرفت، دختری از این طبقه، از ژرفا، از اعماق، جرقهای شعلهور برافروخته بود.
July 10, 2025
Dreadful. Tedious. Insufferable. I wanted to like this. Unfortunately, this is just another story about an insufferable, self-centred, angry dude who's supposedly so intelligent and profound that all women love him. The plot is overall dreadful; it could have easily been a short story without the “insightful” rambling of the narrator. The female characters are portrayed poorly, heavily oversexualized, and mainly characterised by being obsessed with the narrator.
October 30, 2022
Ismail Kadare has such a vast resource of material to write about from his homeland, Alabania. The country has been under several extremely harsh and repressive regimes over its history. In this book he talks of the harsh Communist dictatorship and its repressive policies. It is told from the perspective of a playwright who has been called in for interrogation because he had signed a book at a book signing. He was under suspicion because the book had been signed for a girl whose family was under internment and exiled to a small village and banned from entering Tirana, the main city in Albania. The story then unwinds from there, slowly revealing the events that led up to this occasion and explaining the paranoia the government had and the indifference it had for its people. Another exceptional book by Kadare.
August 27, 2018
Read whilst cycling in Albania’s mountains.
Enjoyed it a lot.
Enjoyed it a lot.
January 27, 2021
I will be having words with the friend who recommended this one.
February 2, 2022
I know I missed a lot of the nuance in this book but I really enjoyed it, I got the sense of how paranoid living through that time would make you.
April 11, 2018
I read this without knowing what to expect and it took me a very long time to have any understanding of what the book was doing -- in large part because I began it knowing absolutely nothing about Albania, so I could not at first even figure out if it was about a historical reality or Ruritania-turned-dystopia. The more I understood, the more I appreciated it, and I finished it with enjoyment; I think it is a book that will be excellent upon rereading when I can see how it all fits together from the beginning and understand the sorrow in it without so much time puzzling over the pieces.
July 24, 2018
I am not a big fan of Kadare - and I am not referring to his literature- but this book is simply brilliant. Read it at once, and I am afraid it has become my favorite Albanian book so far. If you want to have a taste of the brutality and cruelty of the Albanian Communism, depicted in both real and surreal shades, then you should pick this book up.
July 22, 2025
Albania
I picked up this book because I thought it would be about a woman.
Instead it’s about a male Domestic Abuser, Cheater, and woman-hater and woman-dehumanizer.
I picked up this book because I thought it would be about a woman.
Instead it’s about a male Domestic Abuser, Cheater, and woman-hater and woman-dehumanizer.
November 20, 2024
Kafkaesk portret van het zenuwslopende leven in een dictatuur, vermengd met een onmogelijk liefdesverhaal. Het begin was mij iets te veel een donker moeras, maar het einde toont opnieuw het onmiskenbare talent van Kadare.
December 10, 2020
Brilliant! Phenomenal! Stunningly real!
Such a realistic description of Albania and Albanians' dark days under Enver Hoxha's Communist Regime!!
Kadarè's realistic description of life in Albania’s Capital and his portrayal of the characters in this book gave me goose bumps and brought back memories of the city and the time I lived and grew up under that despotic regime. I was very young but even so, I witnessed the injustice, the cruelty and the abuse and denial of people’s human rights by Hoxha's bureaucratic machinery. I saw first-hand how that miserable life, poor living conditions, hard work and, above all, the constant fear caused anxiety and mental breakdown in people. There was constant fear of doing or saying the wrong thing, fear of speaking up, of being thrown in jail for the rest of your life for listening to BBC news, or The Voice of America, for singing an Italian or Greek song, or even in another language, for not wearing the school uniform right, for wearing the wrong clothes or having your hair longer than what the norms allowed...Your life could end just like that! Thousands of people were interned or put in jail every year, and lots of young women, like this Girl in Exile, were among those interned and forgotten in the far and remote corners of the country, tortured, killed or put in prison for life. Lots of talented people in literature, art, music, and other fields of life lost their jobs, their freedom, and even their lives for trying to speak up or do the right thing. In Chapter 11 in this book, Kadarè hints to that:
"There was a rumor tha a few days ago, the Leader (i.e., Enver Hoxha) had issued another warning about the perils of foreign influences, citing the example of the girls drinking brandy in the caffès of the capital city."
And the book is filled with such hints and clues that reveal how dreadful life was for people under Enver Hoxha's cruel dictatorship. Being under constant surveillance by a paranoid regime, people suffered mental illnesses, like depression, that often pushed people to the point of taking their own lives. Before taking her own life, Linda B., the Girl in Exile, opens up to her friend about how meaningless, she feels, her life is:
"Do you understand? I've never lived a single day in freedom... Can you imagine what that's like? Not one day! With no hopes for anyone... because I never knew where to look for hope...
The Girl in Exile is a symbol of the Albanian people, especially young people, discriminated and punished for not following the rules and laws established by Hoxha's totalitarian regime. As Kadarè writes on the first page of the book, he dedicates this story to “the Albanian young women who were born, grew up, and spent their youth in internal exile.”
But, I think, you have to be Albanian and know Albanian to truly understand Kadarè. His writing style is so special, so complex and refined that only if you know the nuances of this rich language, culture, and history of the country, you can truly understand what he is trying to say.
Kadarè is the Voice of Albanians in the world. To them, he is bigger than the Greek Gods. That’s why I feel sad to see that many readers who know absolutely nothing about Albania or Kadarè, misjudge him, simplify and don't appreciate Kadarè’s literary work enough. But I understand why and I don’t blame them. I blame the translators, instead, who have done a not-good-enough work in translating properly Kadarè’s works. Even those who are considered to be (very) talented, the best, those knowledgeable of the language, even those who lived several years in Albania, can't exactly convert in Greek, Serbian, Czech, Polish, French, Arabic, or in English what Kadarè really means and tries to say. A lot is lost in translation. Unfortunately!
Regardless, I encourage fellow Goodreads readers to read this story and any other books by Ismail Kadarè and consider it a starting point to find out more about Albania, its rich culture and its little-known history, especially those fifty dark years under Enver Hoxha’s Communist/Socialist regime.
To me, this book is a small token that carries an important piece of my country’s history and I have no one to thank but Kadarè for bringing it to me. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
PS: I had read it first in Albanian and now in English only for comparison.
Note: Those of you who don't know much about Kadarè's talent or refuse to acknowledge it, please read and learn:
https://restlessbooks.org/bookstore/e...
Such a realistic description of Albania and Albanians' dark days under Enver Hoxha's Communist Regime!!
Kadarè's realistic description of life in Albania’s Capital and his portrayal of the characters in this book gave me goose bumps and brought back memories of the city and the time I lived and grew up under that despotic regime. I was very young but even so, I witnessed the injustice, the cruelty and the abuse and denial of people’s human rights by Hoxha's bureaucratic machinery. I saw first-hand how that miserable life, poor living conditions, hard work and, above all, the constant fear caused anxiety and mental breakdown in people. There was constant fear of doing or saying the wrong thing, fear of speaking up, of being thrown in jail for the rest of your life for listening to BBC news, or The Voice of America, for singing an Italian or Greek song, or even in another language, for not wearing the school uniform right, for wearing the wrong clothes or having your hair longer than what the norms allowed...Your life could end just like that! Thousands of people were interned or put in jail every year, and lots of young women, like this Girl in Exile, were among those interned and forgotten in the far and remote corners of the country, tortured, killed or put in prison for life. Lots of talented people in literature, art, music, and other fields of life lost their jobs, their freedom, and even their lives for trying to speak up or do the right thing. In Chapter 11 in this book, Kadarè hints to that:
"There was a rumor tha a few days ago, the Leader (i.e., Enver Hoxha) had issued another warning about the perils of foreign influences, citing the example of the girls drinking brandy in the caffès of the capital city."
And the book is filled with such hints and clues that reveal how dreadful life was for people under Enver Hoxha's cruel dictatorship. Being under constant surveillance by a paranoid regime, people suffered mental illnesses, like depression, that often pushed people to the point of taking their own lives. Before taking her own life, Linda B., the Girl in Exile, opens up to her friend about how meaningless, she feels, her life is:
"Do you understand? I've never lived a single day in freedom... Can you imagine what that's like? Not one day! With no hopes for anyone... because I never knew where to look for hope...
The Girl in Exile is a symbol of the Albanian people, especially young people, discriminated and punished for not following the rules and laws established by Hoxha's totalitarian regime. As Kadarè writes on the first page of the book, he dedicates this story to “the Albanian young women who were born, grew up, and spent their youth in internal exile.”
But, I think, you have to be Albanian and know Albanian to truly understand Kadarè. His writing style is so special, so complex and refined that only if you know the nuances of this rich language, culture, and history of the country, you can truly understand what he is trying to say.
Kadarè is the Voice of Albanians in the world. To them, he is bigger than the Greek Gods. That’s why I feel sad to see that many readers who know absolutely nothing about Albania or Kadarè, misjudge him, simplify and don't appreciate Kadarè’s literary work enough. But I understand why and I don’t blame them. I blame the translators, instead, who have done a not-good-enough work in translating properly Kadarè’s works. Even those who are considered to be (very) talented, the best, those knowledgeable of the language, even those who lived several years in Albania, can't exactly convert in Greek, Serbian, Czech, Polish, French, Arabic, or in English what Kadarè really means and tries to say. A lot is lost in translation. Unfortunately!
Regardless, I encourage fellow Goodreads readers to read this story and any other books by Ismail Kadarè and consider it a starting point to find out more about Albania, its rich culture and its little-known history, especially those fifty dark years under Enver Hoxha’s Communist/Socialist regime.
To me, this book is a small token that carries an important piece of my country’s history and I have no one to thank but Kadarè for bringing it to me. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
PS: I had read it first in Albanian and now in English only for comparison.
Note: Those of you who don't know much about Kadarè's talent or refuse to acknowledge it, please read and learn:
https://restlessbooks.org/bookstore/e...
Read
February 22, 2016I have a couple of noughties Kadare paperbacks, unread, which both have pointedly austere and literary covers. This one, with its title and falling female silhouette, seems aimed more at the new audience for moderately literary thrillers with unreliable point-of-view characters and names including the word 'Girl'. Who will likely be disappointed as the Orpheus references take hold and everything goes more magic-realist - but I was ensnared, having spent much of the earlier stretch wondering if a lot had been lost in translation. The sections on literary life under the socialist-realist jackboot don't hold a candle to Bulgakov, but the bizarre emotional entanglements have odd glimmering vignettes where they bear comparison to de Beauvoir.
(Review copy, my more professional review of which will be appearing in some of what remains of the British regional press in a month or so)
(Review copy, my more professional review of which will be appearing in some of what remains of the British regional press in a month or so)
May 12, 2018
Probably the most modern, stylish and sexiest book ever written about dictatorship.
That may sound odd, but it's true. There is even some Murakami dreamy coolness to it. Haruki Murakami wrote the most stylish book about religious cult 1Q84, so anything is possible, right?
Despite self-centered, egotistic, womanizing and shallow main character I have zero empathy for, I really enjoyed the book, and how author is experimenting with new style of writing this late in his career. It's a story about the girl who's dead from the start to the end (?) of the book, after all.
And, Kadare ALWAYS does the ending right. The perfect mic drop, yet again. Go Kadare.
That may sound odd, but it's true. There is even some Murakami dreamy coolness to it. Haruki Murakami wrote the most stylish book about religious cult 1Q84, so anything is possible, right?
Despite self-centered, egotistic, womanizing and shallow main character I have zero empathy for, I really enjoyed the book, and how author is experimenting with new style of writing this late in his career. It's a story about the girl who's dead from the start to the end (?) of the book, after all.
And, Kadare ALWAYS does the ending right. The perfect mic drop, yet again. Go Kadare.
December 22, 2018
This book could be seen as a sort of ménage à trois tale but with a Kadare trademark twist and complications and where one of the ménage is not alive. This book is set in the dying days of the Hoxha regime and examines the place and role of the writer in centralised state, privileges granted and sins forgiven. Running through the work is the relationship between the writer and a member of the "class enemy". Reality, the past, present and future become entangled with mythology as the writer struggles with secret police, his relationships, his own fragile mental state and trying to write his next play as his last is held up by the board of censors.
Personally I was not as convinced by this novel as previous Kadare works I have read but in places it really did grab me.
Personally I was not as convinced by this novel as previous Kadare works I have read but in places it really did grab me.
December 1, 2024
I gave it two stars just because the premise is very good, a parasocial relationship of an interned teenage girl with a man whose life she wants to live and the descent into madness of the latter, but otherwise the book is kind of a mess. The two girls had so much potential to be written as great characters but instead they are almost always sexualized, all the most important conversations were had while the main character was holding their boobs for some reason?
It critiqued the regime of the time so I get why it was praised but something much greater could have been written by what the author was trying to portray
It critiqued the regime of the time so I get why it was praised but something much greater could have been written by what the author was trying to portray
November 16, 2021
if you like this review, i now have website: www.michaelkamakana.com
220219: short, sweet, romantic. under dictorial regime a girl trapped in internal exile falls in love. subject, narrator often, is playwright already in trouble with censors. maybe familiar tropes. maybe read or seen before. but the heartbreaking effect for me is how faceless cruel oppression not only distorts romance/love possibilities but also rewrites how it can be even thought or recalled. playwright must finally face orpheus' choice. just read. just hurting...
220219: short, sweet, romantic. under dictorial regime a girl trapped in internal exile falls in love. subject, narrator often, is playwright already in trouble with censors. maybe familiar tropes. maybe read or seen before. but the heartbreaking effect for me is how faceless cruel oppression not only distorts romance/love possibilities but also rewrites how it can be even thought or recalled. playwright must finally face orpheus' choice. just read. just hurting...
February 21, 2020
I started this book on a quite busy period for me, so I found it difficult to keep up with the storyline. However, it was a very interesting read, as I learnt a few things about the political situation in Albania in those days. This is my second reading of Kadare.
December 15, 2018
He felt a sense of urgency, even panic
Now he could no longer pretend to be more composed than he was, or reassure himself with the thought that his conscience was clear
Final scene of their quarrel replayed itself in his mind with excruciating clarity
He would have taken her for an overexcited girl who herself didn’t know what she wanted
Every time she wept he hoped to find out what her tears concealed, if anything
He understood the reason why: he hoped that, whatever trouble it caused him, it might bring its own consolation
So what? Where was the crime? At one time, affairs of this kind were punishable
Who were supposed to set a moral example, but nobody paid any attention to them anymore
Only when the girl herself made a complaint
He hadn’t been asked about it yet but he had his answer ready
I’ve nothing to hide. It was, or rather is, a love relationship – what you would call intimate
It wasn’t easy to explain
But I know this better than anyone
For no reason at all, he had revealed a secret. Idiot, he thought
He decided then and there that he would no longer tell the truth
Nobody deserved it
He would become invulnerable and would not communicate with anybody. Let them knock on his door
He thought back to his own questions
It’s not just a question of the book, the second secretary said. The girl often mentioned your name in her diary
Don’t pretend life’s still the same, he told himself
You’re not sure you feel totally safe in your own skin
Tirana had never looked so forlorn
Let happen what may, he thought
One might ask a naive lover worried about a broken promise
A great weariness, like some mist from far away, seemed to have settled between them
It was a long time since he had fallen in love, although he wondered if this were not love but something else that had donned love’s familiar mask to deceive him
She was avoiding him and soon she would become almost a stranger to him, the perfect stranger who would never be forgotten
His mind was hazy, but he was aware what lay behind this mist: Migena
Nobody in the world would find out what he might do to this girl. Protect her, or the contrary: hand her in
In this desert, he had found the only person who knew something about his infinite grief
The unmistakable click of her steps finally came
Her words were mysterious
They would understand each other better in this mist
The word ‘souvenir’ implies that something has happened that should be remembered
This story was about you! You must see that . . . About you! It was the only way she could get . . . involved with you
You still don’t know the most important thing
This story’s not easy for me to explain
Dusk was falling and muffled sounds came from the street
This is how you love cities that you have no hope of visiting
She knew Tirana better than its inhabitants. From documentaries, the television news and hearsay, she knew the squares, cinemas, cafés
Sometimes she would ask impossible questions
It was not hard to see that her vision of Tirana needed a human being in it. You filled that gap
He was surrounded by a void, and in this void, before his very eyes, something was happening with which he could not interfere
Don’t go
Always anticipating the worst, and then complaining when things didn’t turn out as expected
Things he said aloud were interlaced and confused with things he had only thought, or half-said
We evade the truth, the dangerous part. We’re scared
Their story had all the ingredients of a romance, but with one difference
The events were always hidden behind a veil drawn by an unknown power, and seemed to come from the realm of destiny
It was this that upset the everyday equilibrium, logic and the order of things
It was the last opportunity for words left unsaid, perhaps their moment of farewell
All words were meaningless
I knew more than anyone that there could be no consolation. It was obvious how she would end up
That evening was the last chance. I had mentally rehearsed the difficult explanation, involving you, so many times. I thought of the pain I would cause
Don’t talk to me like that. It’s your own fault
I’m being honest. I’m not saying I’m happy about it, but believe me, I almost knew it would happen
Because – let me confess to something I thought I’d take with me to the grave. Let me admit it
Secretly, I wanted it to happen, I won’t hide it
But it’s hard for me to fully explain. It was the only chance for something, a part of me, to make the leap
I wanted to tell her that I had vaguely felt the same
I might have misinterpreted the understanding she had shown for me
I’ve never lived a single day in freedom, Linda said
Can you imagine what that’s like? Not one day. With no hopes of anybody . . . because I never knew where to look for hope
A door into the unknown had suddenly been opened
Frozen, uncomprehending, soulless spaces
A girl who sent her body a long distance to perform the rites of love, without which she would find no peace
Usually it was the opposite, the soul rushing to overcome obstacles, while the body remained a physical hostage to a place
But here something unprecedented was happening. Her body was striving to acquire the characteristics of a soul
Perhaps it’s our imagination
Decadence
We parted, without coming to any understanding. I didn’t know if I would see her again
These were secret, inexpressible connections, like all the enigmas of art
So there it is, he thought, finding himself back at his desk and staring at the blank pages in panic
If death comes looking out for me He won’t discover where I’ll be
Don’t be surprised, don’t stand and stare If I’m not here nor anywhere
Don’t explain and never weep. This is a different death, another sleep
To ask for more would be a sin
They would find out everything else but they would never find the answer to this enigma, which would remain a secret
He replied that he had no right to be suspicious, still less to reject her
In fact it was she who was rejecting him
He thought that she cried 'No' in a resounding voice
That would be more than cruel. It would be unthinkable
The girl suddenly looked distant
It was so difficult to come to you, she said calmly. Impossible, really
You don’t understand, he almost shouted. It wasn’t a question of suspicion or not
It wasn’t up to him to decide. It was her decision alone. In this case, she was in a superior position
In front of her, everybody was guilty: this country, the times they lived in, everyone, including himself
I don’t want anyone’s pity, the girl said. Or recompense
He thought it would take years to say all the things he had in mind. He was preparing to tell just the gist of it
That this cold, lifeless union was a violation of the order of nature
But to his own astonishment, instead of uttering these words – in fact in contradiction of them – he lowered his head as a sign of acceptance
She stared at him, as if meeting the very centre of his own gaze. Then she asked, Are you scared of me?
No, he said. Not of anything. I only have one fear, of losing you
And at that point he woke up
The staff remembered his old habit of sitting alone in the empty theatre on evenings when there was no performance
He could imagine the cherry-coloured curtain as the dress of an outraged woman, but offended by whom or what he could not tell
He had not written many plays, but before setting them down on paper he had conceived them here as he sat in the empty auditorium, looking towards the stage
We contrive our own great losses, he thought
Don’t! He cried inside
It was a famous ‘don’t’, heard billions of times in human history
Don’t turn your head, or you’ll lose her
He closed his eyes so as not to see what happened
He signed books according to the familiar ritual, rather wearily, cool with everyone, whether strangers or acquaintances
A sweet voice said for the second time, Can you inscribe it with my name?
Of course, he replied. Before he raised his head the unknown girl said her name: ‘Linda B’
Don’t. There was only this exclamation inside him, nothing else
The impulse to raise his head was immediately supplanted by its opposite: a heavy chain weighing it down
Don’t, he said to himself again, but still without a clear reason
Don’t look at her
Don’t, if you don’t want to lose her
The order against making that old mistake was still in force. He obeyed
As if blind, he raised the book with one hand while keeping his head lowered
He waited for her to reach for the book
The girl took it in her hand and just for a moment their cold fingers touched in that dark void
Now he could no longer pretend to be more composed than he was, or reassure himself with the thought that his conscience was clear
Final scene of their quarrel replayed itself in his mind with excruciating clarity
He would have taken her for an overexcited girl who herself didn’t know what she wanted
Every time she wept he hoped to find out what her tears concealed, if anything
He understood the reason why: he hoped that, whatever trouble it caused him, it might bring its own consolation
So what? Where was the crime? At one time, affairs of this kind were punishable
Who were supposed to set a moral example, but nobody paid any attention to them anymore
Only when the girl herself made a complaint
He hadn’t been asked about it yet but he had his answer ready
I’ve nothing to hide. It was, or rather is, a love relationship – what you would call intimate
It wasn’t easy to explain
But I know this better than anyone
For no reason at all, he had revealed a secret. Idiot, he thought
He decided then and there that he would no longer tell the truth
Nobody deserved it
He would become invulnerable and would not communicate with anybody. Let them knock on his door
He thought back to his own questions
It’s not just a question of the book, the second secretary said. The girl often mentioned your name in her diary
Don’t pretend life’s still the same, he told himself
You’re not sure you feel totally safe in your own skin
Tirana had never looked so forlorn
Let happen what may, he thought
One might ask a naive lover worried about a broken promise
A great weariness, like some mist from far away, seemed to have settled between them
It was a long time since he had fallen in love, although he wondered if this were not love but something else that had donned love’s familiar mask to deceive him
She was avoiding him and soon she would become almost a stranger to him, the perfect stranger who would never be forgotten
His mind was hazy, but he was aware what lay behind this mist: Migena
Nobody in the world would find out what he might do to this girl. Protect her, or the contrary: hand her in
In this desert, he had found the only person who knew something about his infinite grief
The unmistakable click of her steps finally came
Her words were mysterious
They would understand each other better in this mist
The word ‘souvenir’ implies that something has happened that should be remembered
This story was about you! You must see that . . . About you! It was the only way she could get . . . involved with you
You still don’t know the most important thing
This story’s not easy for me to explain
Dusk was falling and muffled sounds came from the street
This is how you love cities that you have no hope of visiting
She knew Tirana better than its inhabitants. From documentaries, the television news and hearsay, she knew the squares, cinemas, cafés
Sometimes she would ask impossible questions
It was not hard to see that her vision of Tirana needed a human being in it. You filled that gap
He was surrounded by a void, and in this void, before his very eyes, something was happening with which he could not interfere
Don’t go
Always anticipating the worst, and then complaining when things didn’t turn out as expected
Things he said aloud were interlaced and confused with things he had only thought, or half-said
We evade the truth, the dangerous part. We’re scared
Their story had all the ingredients of a romance, but with one difference
The events were always hidden behind a veil drawn by an unknown power, and seemed to come from the realm of destiny
It was this that upset the everyday equilibrium, logic and the order of things
It was the last opportunity for words left unsaid, perhaps their moment of farewell
All words were meaningless
I knew more than anyone that there could be no consolation. It was obvious how she would end up
That evening was the last chance. I had mentally rehearsed the difficult explanation, involving you, so many times. I thought of the pain I would cause
Don’t talk to me like that. It’s your own fault
I’m being honest. I’m not saying I’m happy about it, but believe me, I almost knew it would happen
Because – let me confess to something I thought I’d take with me to the grave. Let me admit it
Secretly, I wanted it to happen, I won’t hide it
But it’s hard for me to fully explain. It was the only chance for something, a part of me, to make the leap
I wanted to tell her that I had vaguely felt the same
I might have misinterpreted the understanding she had shown for me
I’ve never lived a single day in freedom, Linda said
Can you imagine what that’s like? Not one day. With no hopes of anybody . . . because I never knew where to look for hope
A door into the unknown had suddenly been opened
Frozen, uncomprehending, soulless spaces
A girl who sent her body a long distance to perform the rites of love, without which she would find no peace
Usually it was the opposite, the soul rushing to overcome obstacles, while the body remained a physical hostage to a place
But here something unprecedented was happening. Her body was striving to acquire the characteristics of a soul
Perhaps it’s our imagination
Decadence
We parted, without coming to any understanding. I didn’t know if I would see her again
These were secret, inexpressible connections, like all the enigmas of art
So there it is, he thought, finding himself back at his desk and staring at the blank pages in panic
If death comes looking out for me He won’t discover where I’ll be
Don’t be surprised, don’t stand and stare If I’m not here nor anywhere
Don’t explain and never weep. This is a different death, another sleep
To ask for more would be a sin
They would find out everything else but they would never find the answer to this enigma, which would remain a secret
He replied that he had no right to be suspicious, still less to reject her
In fact it was she who was rejecting him
He thought that she cried 'No' in a resounding voice
That would be more than cruel. It would be unthinkable
The girl suddenly looked distant
It was so difficult to come to you, she said calmly. Impossible, really
You don’t understand, he almost shouted. It wasn’t a question of suspicion or not
It wasn’t up to him to decide. It was her decision alone. In this case, she was in a superior position
In front of her, everybody was guilty: this country, the times they lived in, everyone, including himself
I don’t want anyone’s pity, the girl said. Or recompense
He thought it would take years to say all the things he had in mind. He was preparing to tell just the gist of it
That this cold, lifeless union was a violation of the order of nature
But to his own astonishment, instead of uttering these words – in fact in contradiction of them – he lowered his head as a sign of acceptance
She stared at him, as if meeting the very centre of his own gaze. Then she asked, Are you scared of me?
No, he said. Not of anything. I only have one fear, of losing you
And at that point he woke up
The staff remembered his old habit of sitting alone in the empty theatre on evenings when there was no performance
He could imagine the cherry-coloured curtain as the dress of an outraged woman, but offended by whom or what he could not tell
He had not written many plays, but before setting them down on paper he had conceived them here as he sat in the empty auditorium, looking towards the stage
We contrive our own great losses, he thought
Don’t! He cried inside
It was a famous ‘don’t’, heard billions of times in human history
Don’t turn your head, or you’ll lose her
He closed his eyes so as not to see what happened
He signed books according to the familiar ritual, rather wearily, cool with everyone, whether strangers or acquaintances
A sweet voice said for the second time, Can you inscribe it with my name?
Of course, he replied. Before he raised his head the unknown girl said her name: ‘Linda B’
Don’t. There was only this exclamation inside him, nothing else
The impulse to raise his head was immediately supplanted by its opposite: a heavy chain weighing it down
Don’t, he said to himself again, but still without a clear reason
Don’t look at her
Don’t, if you don’t want to lose her
The order against making that old mistake was still in force. He obeyed
As if blind, he raised the book with one hand while keeping his head lowered
He waited for her to reach for the book
The girl took it in her hand and just for a moment their cold fingers touched in that dark void
October 26, 2021
The first book by the author that I read and I can definitely say that this was an interesting first contact. At first, however, I can not say that it won my appreciation, it seemed to me like a cold intellectual condemnation of the communist regimes, with symbolism that could only be understood by those initiated in high literature. Then, without much change in the way of writing, I began to realize that there is much more, something more complete and clear, a reference to the paranoia of the regime that is not limited to the political level but also shows how this oppression affected all people, especially the young people who saw no way out, even in the miracle of love, with the mythological symbolisms making this reference more intense and more targeted. An excellent political book that does not lack the necessary sensitivity.
Το πρώτο βιβλίο του συγγραφέα που διαβάζω και σίγουρα μπορώ να πω ότι αυτή ήταν μία ενδιαφέρουσα πρώτη επαφή. Στην αρχή, όμως, δεν μπορώ να πω ότι κέρδιζε πολύ την εκτίμησή μου, μου φαίνονταν ως μία ψυχρή διανοουμενίστικη καταδίκη των κομμουνιστικών καθεστώτων, με συμβολισμούς που μπορούσαν να γίνουν αντιληπτοί μόνο από μυημένους στην υψηλή λογοτεχνία. Στη συνέχεια, χωρίς να αλλάζει ιδιαίτερα ο τρόπος γραφής, ξεκίνησα να αντιλαμβάνομαι ότι υπάρχουν πολλά περισσότερα, κάτι περισσότερο ολοκληρωμένο και ξεκάθαρο, μία αναφορά στην παράνοια του καθεστώτος που δεν περιορίζεται σε πολιτικό επίπεδο αλλά δείχνει και τον τρόπο που αυτή η καταπίεση επηρέαζε όλους τους ανθρώπους, ειδικά τους νέους που δεν έβλεπαν καμία διέξοδο, ακόμα και στο θαύμα του έρωτα, με τους μυθολογικούς συμβολισμούς να κάνουν αυτήν την αναφορά πιο έντονη και πιο στοχευμένη. Ένα εξαιρετικό πολιτικό βιβλίο από το οποίο δεν λείπει η απαραίτητη ευαισθησία.
Το πρώτο βιβλίο του συγγραφέα που διαβάζω και σίγουρα μπορώ να πω ότι αυτή ήταν μία ενδιαφέρουσα πρώτη επαφή. Στην αρχή, όμως, δεν μπορώ να πω ότι κέρδιζε πολύ την εκτίμησή μου, μου φαίνονταν ως μία ψυχρή διανοουμενίστικη καταδίκη των κομμουνιστικών καθεστώτων, με συμβολισμούς που μπορούσαν να γίνουν αντιληπτοί μόνο από μυημένους στην υψηλή λογοτεχνία. Στη συνέχεια, χωρίς να αλλάζει ιδιαίτερα ο τρόπος γραφής, ξεκίνησα να αντιλαμβάνομαι ότι υπάρχουν πολλά περισσότερα, κάτι περισσότερο ολοκληρωμένο και ξεκάθαρο, μία αναφορά στην παράνοια του καθεστώτος που δεν περιορίζεται σε πολιτικό επίπεδο αλλά δείχνει και τον τρόπο που αυτή η καταπίεση επηρέαζε όλους τους ανθρώπους, ειδικά τους νέους που δεν έβλεπαν καμία διέξοδο, ακόμα και στο θαύμα του έρωτα, με τους μυθολογικούς συμβολισμούς να κάνουν αυτήν την αναφορά πιο έντονη και πιο στοχευμένη. Ένα εξαιρετικό πολιτικό βιβλίο από το οποίο δεν λείπει η απαραίτητη ευαισθησία.
April 15, 2018
Sometimes, when I am at the library, I go through the new book section to see if anything stands out to me or appears remotely interesting. I am very familiar with the phrase never judge a book by it's cover, but that is the first thing I see and it draws me in. From the darkened image of the girl falling, to the font of the title "A Girl in Exile" to the color of the background, or the author's name (Ismail Kadare) in red, it called out to me. I read the inside jacket and decided that it had piqued my interest and I would give it a go.
It was 177 pages of a man's descent into madness that ended with him wanting to marry a dead girls spirit (spoiler alert)... No interesting content. No surprises. Nothing engaging.
I know the translation from Albanian to English brings with it its own issues, but there was so much reading and rereading to figure out who was talking, what they were talking about, and why I gave a flying fart about it.
I will still continue seeing out foreign authors as I want to expand my knowledge, but this was rough. I should have stopped reading before I started. I cannot recommend this. At all. To anyone.
Happy Reading (Anything else)!
It was 177 pages of a man's descent into madness that ended with him wanting to marry a dead girls spirit (spoiler alert)... No interesting content. No surprises. Nothing engaging.
I know the translation from Albanian to English brings with it its own issues, but there was so much reading and rereading to figure out who was talking, what they were talking about, and why I gave a flying fart about it.
I will still continue seeing out foreign authors as I want to expand my knowledge, but this was rough. I should have stopped reading before I started. I cannot recommend this. At all. To anyone.
Happy Reading (Anything else)!
December 21, 2018
Challenging and interesting. Self-obsessed Rudian Stefan, a well-known novelist and playwright, is summoned for questioning by the Party Committee. He thinks it's about his newest play, which features a ghost, that changes the nature of ghosts in literature for the first time in a 1000 years, but the summoning has to do with a girl he doesn't know whose body was found with his newest book, in which he'd inscribed a souvenir from the author. He'd been asked for a copy of his book by the girl he's sleeping with, Migena, whom he fears could be an informant. There are details of the investigation, dream sequences, musings, revelations, interspersed with meditations on the myth of Orpheus, etc. It's a short book, and the prose is direct and sometimes startling, and one feels completely turned around all through it.
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