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Només nit
L’Arthur Maxley és un jove tens i descuidat. Un dia rep una carta del seu pare, amb qui fa anys que no té cap mena de relació. La por i l’aversió d’Arthur cap al seu pare és molt forta,
però alhora sent una necessitat compulsiva i irresistible de veure’l. Així que accepta trobar-se amb ell. Després d’un sopar anodí, l’Arthur es veu abocat a una nit intensa plena d’alcohol
juntament amb una dona jove ben bonica. Però a mesura que les hores passen els records d’un trauma de la infància l’envaeixen i el desorienten, i la nit aboca Arthur cap a l’abisme
del desastre.
però alhora sent una necessitat compulsiva i irresistible de veure’l. Així que accepta trobar-se amb ell. Després d’un sopar anodí, l’Arthur es veu abocat a una nit intensa plena d’alcohol
juntament amb una dona jove ben bonica. Però a mesura que les hores passen els records d’un trauma de la infància l’envaeixen i el desorienten, i la nit aboca Arthur cap a l’abisme
del desastre.
141 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1948
136 people are currently reading
4948 people want to read
About the author
John Williams
10 books2,519 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name.
John Edward Williams, Ph.D. (University of Missouri, 1954; M.A., University of Denver, 1950; B.A., U. of D., 1949), enlisted in the USAAF early in 1942, spending two and a half years as a sergeant in India and Burma. His first novel, Nothing But the Night, was published in 1948, and his first volume of poems, The Broken Landscape, appeared the following year.
In the fall of 1955, Williams took over the directorship of the creative writing program at the University of Denver, where he taught for more than 30 years.
After retiring from the University of Denver in 1986, Williams moved with his wife, Nancy, to Fayetteville, Arkansas, where he resided until he died of respiratory failure on March 3, 1994. A fifth novel, The Sleep of Reason, was left unfinished at the time of his death.
John Edward Williams, Ph.D. (University of Missouri, 1954; M.A., University of Denver, 1950; B.A., U. of D., 1949), enlisted in the USAAF early in 1942, spending two and a half years as a sergeant in India and Burma. His first novel, Nothing But the Night, was published in 1948, and his first volume of poems, The Broken Landscape, appeared the following year.
In the fall of 1955, Williams took over the directorship of the creative writing program at the University of Denver, where he taught for more than 30 years.
After retiring from the University of Denver in 1986, Williams moved with his wife, Nancy, to Fayetteville, Arkansas, where he resided until he died of respiratory failure on March 3, 1994. A fifth novel, The Sleep of Reason, was left unfinished at the time of his death.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 592 reviews
January 18, 2022
Night, not Day
“In all the endless road you tread / There’s nothing but the night.” - AE Housman
A young John Williams penned lush language to describe a single day in the life of another young man. He minutely observes everything, however trivial: two sentences to describe an envelope, and starting(!) to sit down. But it is profound and bewitching. The multi-sensory sights, sounds, textures, tastes, and smells of a dramatic day are poetic, sensuous, and sublime. (The sexual references are the least sensual.)
“Father, he thought. It is a word.”
Arthur is traumatised by an incident involving his father. A memory he strives to suppress. A man he tries to avoid. In contrast, his memories of his mother are fond, intimate, and intense.
Watery Dreams
Dreams are paradoxical: you have strange powers, but also no power. Such is the opening. Such is Arthur’s life:
“The tool of a dark prankster, a grim little joker who creates worlds within world, lives within life, brains within brain.”
Arthur feels he is the victim of external forces, exacerbated by his drifting in and out of consciousness - sleep, daydreams, and drunken haze:
“With mind and memory he could go back in time… into a dream which was more actual than the unreality of his present existence.”
It’s dripping with watery metaphors.
“His pain flooded like a drowning wave.”
He goes with the flow one minute:
“A bit of flotsam tossed and carried along between narrow banks.”
But resists it another:
“Time rushed about him and he was dull and silent, an immovable rock in a rushing stream.”
Remembering to Forget
The delicate heart of the story is an unspecified, but terrible, incident that Arthur tries to forget, as he was advised to do. Awake or dreaming, he tiptoes around the edge of memories of the event itself, like picking a scab, but not daring to pull it off and expose the wound. It is “obscured by the habitual force of conscious will”.
There is no escape:
“Remembrance… followed him as a ravenous animal follows its wounded prey”
There is another sort of repression: clumsy and pejorative hints about the probable homosexuality of at least one character, but that is never fully explored.
Power and Powerlessness
Cartoon: “Don’t kid yourself. Free will is an illusion”, one Bizarro puppet tells another.
The dreaminess and conscious forgetting compound Arthur’s sense of being controlled: by events, by his father, and of course, his memories.
He projects that back to his whole life, and onto others:
“People… oozed onto the dance floor… like so many dumb puppets manipulated by unseen hands.”
There’s even a mesmerising showgirl called Volita, who dances more like a puppet possessed, than of her own volition.
Such a view can absolve one of guilt for anything and everything, but the price is to accept and entrench one’s powerlessness. Who wants to be a victim or a toy? Isn’t it better to face the truth and be free - to feel, even if it’s painful?
Falling Apart
“The thing which had been nameless could now be spoken… He remembered.”
Confronting our demons is meant to be good. But when the unexpected brutality that caused Arthur’s likely PTSD is finally revealed (emotional as much as physical), the exquisite writing slips away. The delicately decorative words are suddenly mixed with clichés and awkward metaphors:
• “Drawn forward by a sanguine magnet of terror.”
• “His arms were a resilient vice.”
• “There was a swollen river in him”, so the dam wouldn’t hold.
Maybe Williams lost the momentum to polish the final rough stones, and that is why he later disowned it.
Maybe it was a deliberate reflection of the arc of Arthur’s life.
Other Quotes
• “Morning rays of sunlight poked inquisitive fingers through the half-opened shutters… and touched his face softly, warmly, impersonally.”
• “Last night’s cheap perfume, so strong that the sickening odor of morning food and the kitchen smell could not obscure it.”
• “The drapes had been drawn aside to disclose the vapid stare of the windows. They leered down at him.”
• “The stern implacability of the [college] buildings… a holocaust of faces which had no names.”
• “The rain as it descended in light, wet thongs, inexorably graying and immobilizing the city which huddled patiently beneath its gentle lash.”
• “There’s nothing worse than being alone when you aren’t strong enough to face your own thoughts… You’ve got to make yourself believe you’re not alone, even if you are.”
• “He breathed deeply, shuddering of the corrupt air.” (Yes, “of”.)
• “He who is alone in a desert is always aware of his own significance… But one who is solitary in the midst of a teeming swarm loses awareness of himself as an individual.”
• “He… waited for the evening to reveal itself to him, sentence by sentence, like an unread book.”
• “Remembering with sudden certainty the loveliness of unimportant, unostentatious little things. The green velvet feel of damp grass beneath his feet; the soughing of the wind through the maple trees; a night-bird’s lonely call.”
• “Moonlight slithered through the open lattices” and later it “sifted”.
• “A sickly cloud of almost tangible sordidity.” (In a nightclub.)
• “Her warm moist breath crept daintily on his skin”
Williams’ Oeuvre
Three Novels
John Williams (not the composer of Star Wars, Jaws, Close Encounters, Superman, ET, Jurassic Park, Schindler's List, Harry Potter, and others) published three novels between 1960 and 1972 (the era of the Cold War, of the Cuba crisis, the Vietnam War, the Black Panther movement). The last of them, Augustus (review HERE), winning the National Book Award.
But his works gradually gathered dust on forgotten shelves until Stoner (nothing to do with dope - see my review HERE) was reissued in 2003 by Vintage and then by New York Review Books Classics in 2006. Its popularity slowly swelled, bringing Augustus and Butcher’s Crossing (review HERE) in its wake. Momentum built on GoodReads, too.
• Stoner currently (10 July 2018) has 66,679 ratings, averaging 4.29*, with 8,138 reviews.
• Butcher’s Crossing has 8,997 ratings, averaging 4.11*, with 940 reviews.
• Augustus has 6,259 ratings, averaging 4.19*, with 677 reviews.
The Fourth Novel - First and Last
But this, his first novel from 1948, was left behind. He wrote it when he was only 22, while he was in Burma during the war, recovering from plane crash. It has only 519 ratings, averaging a mere 3.11*, with 66 reviews. But maybe that will change, now it's been reissued (February 2019) by New York Review Books Classics.
Having loved the other three, and knowing Williams had disowned this youthful (aged 26) work, I was wary of reading it. But I succumbed, and am glad I did, even though it could not and did not reach the brilliance of its successors.
Four Novels, Compared
All four are more about character than plot, and start with a young man breaking away from his roots, trying to find himself, and forge his life.
But whereas Stoner and Augusts chart a lifetime, and involve complicated relationships with wives and daughters, Butcher’s Crossing is a few months, and this a mere 24 hours.
Butcher's Crossing has something of the detail of tiny sensation that are so noticeable here.
The relationships between men are generally complex, and often problematic; women are significant, but have softer power.
Augustus is startlingly different in form, being epistolary and historical.
All have a degree of bleakness, but the better known trio have plenty of hope and beauty for balance.
See this interview with Nancy Gardner Williams: HERE.
Other Influences?
The novel-of-a-single-day, with incredible attention to detail, reminded me of Nicholson Baker’s 1988 novel, The Mezzanine (see my review, HERE). And for a few chapters, the telephone assumed huge significance. Not in a sexual way, but it again brought Baker to mind, for Vox (see my review HERE). I doubt there’s a connection, but if so, Williams was first.
The strongest theme, of suppressing what one doesn’t want to know or remember, has many parallels with Ford Madox Ford’s 1915 novel, The Good Soldier (see my review, HERE). However, the protagonists of the two books are trying to ignore very different things.
Kafka is also relevant. Like Arthur, he sometimes felt parasitic and controlled, and he had a very fraught relationship with his father, albeit for different reasons. Kafka wrote his grievances in Letter to His Father, whereas Arthur receives a life-changing letter from his father.
Read This Because…
This is a good book, but not a great one. If I hadn't known the author and adored his later works, I think it would have been only 3*. Its importance lies in seeing the early work of a superb writer. I strongly suggest you read those greats first. Then you can more easily spot the gems in the shingle. And they are many.
In a similar way, Arnold Bennett's first novel(la), A Man from the North, is really only worth reading for seeing the seeds of the author he would become. See my review, HERE.
“In all the endless road you tread / There’s nothing but the night.” - AE Housman
A young John Williams penned lush language to describe a single day in the life of another young man. He minutely observes everything, however trivial: two sentences to describe an envelope, and starting(!) to sit down. But it is profound and bewitching. The multi-sensory sights, sounds, textures, tastes, and smells of a dramatic day are poetic, sensuous, and sublime. (The sexual references are the least sensual.)
“Father, he thought. It is a word.”
Arthur is traumatised by an incident involving his father. A memory he strives to suppress. A man he tries to avoid. In contrast, his memories of his mother are fond, intimate, and intense.
Watery Dreams
Dreams are paradoxical: you have strange powers, but also no power. Such is the opening. Such is Arthur’s life:
“The tool of a dark prankster, a grim little joker who creates worlds within world, lives within life, brains within brain.”
Arthur feels he is the victim of external forces, exacerbated by his drifting in and out of consciousness - sleep, daydreams, and drunken haze:
“With mind and memory he could go back in time… into a dream which was more actual than the unreality of his present existence.”
It’s dripping with watery metaphors.
“His pain flooded like a drowning wave.”
He goes with the flow one minute:
“A bit of flotsam tossed and carried along between narrow banks.”
But resists it another:
“Time rushed about him and he was dull and silent, an immovable rock in a rushing stream.”
Remembering to Forget
The delicate heart of the story is an unspecified, but terrible, incident that Arthur tries to forget, as he was advised to do. Awake or dreaming, he tiptoes around the edge of memories of the event itself, like picking a scab, but not daring to pull it off and expose the wound. It is “obscured by the habitual force of conscious will”.
There is no escape:
“Remembrance… followed him as a ravenous animal follows its wounded prey”
There is another sort of repression: clumsy and pejorative hints about the probable homosexuality of at least one character, but that is never fully explored.
Power and Powerlessness
Cartoon: “Don’t kid yourself. Free will is an illusion”, one Bizarro puppet tells another.
The dreaminess and conscious forgetting compound Arthur’s sense of being controlled: by events, by his father, and of course, his memories.
He projects that back to his whole life, and onto others:
“People… oozed onto the dance floor… like so many dumb puppets manipulated by unseen hands.”
There’s even a mesmerising showgirl called Volita, who dances more like a puppet possessed, than of her own volition.
Such a view can absolve one of guilt for anything and everything, but the price is to accept and entrench one’s powerlessness. Who wants to be a victim or a toy? Isn’t it better to face the truth and be free - to feel, even if it’s painful?
Falling Apart
“The thing which had been nameless could now be spoken… He remembered.”
Confronting our demons is meant to be good. But when the unexpected brutality that caused Arthur’s likely PTSD is finally revealed (emotional as much as physical), the exquisite writing slips away. The delicately decorative words are suddenly mixed with clichés and awkward metaphors:
• “Drawn forward by a sanguine magnet of terror.”
• “His arms were a resilient vice.”
• “There was a swollen river in him”, so the dam wouldn’t hold.
Maybe Williams lost the momentum to polish the final rough stones, and that is why he later disowned it.
Maybe it was a deliberate reflection of the arc of Arthur’s life.
Other Quotes
• “Morning rays of sunlight poked inquisitive fingers through the half-opened shutters… and touched his face softly, warmly, impersonally.”
• “Last night’s cheap perfume, so strong that the sickening odor of morning food and the kitchen smell could not obscure it.”
• “The drapes had been drawn aside to disclose the vapid stare of the windows. They leered down at him.”
• “The stern implacability of the [college] buildings… a holocaust of faces which had no names.”
• “The rain as it descended in light, wet thongs, inexorably graying and immobilizing the city which huddled patiently beneath its gentle lash.”
• “There’s nothing worse than being alone when you aren’t strong enough to face your own thoughts… You’ve got to make yourself believe you’re not alone, even if you are.”
• “He breathed deeply, shuddering of the corrupt air.” (Yes, “of”.)
• “He who is alone in a desert is always aware of his own significance… But one who is solitary in the midst of a teeming swarm loses awareness of himself as an individual.”
• “He… waited for the evening to reveal itself to him, sentence by sentence, like an unread book.”
• “Remembering with sudden certainty the loveliness of unimportant, unostentatious little things. The green velvet feel of damp grass beneath his feet; the soughing of the wind through the maple trees; a night-bird’s lonely call.”
• “Moonlight slithered through the open lattices” and later it “sifted”.
• “A sickly cloud of almost tangible sordidity.” (In a nightclub.)
• “Her warm moist breath crept daintily on his skin”
Williams’ Oeuvre
Three Novels
John Williams (not the composer of Star Wars, Jaws, Close Encounters, Superman, ET, Jurassic Park, Schindler's List, Harry Potter, and others) published three novels between 1960 and 1972 (the era of the Cold War, of the Cuba crisis, the Vietnam War, the Black Panther movement). The last of them, Augustus (review HERE), winning the National Book Award.
But his works gradually gathered dust on forgotten shelves until Stoner (nothing to do with dope - see my review HERE) was reissued in 2003 by Vintage and then by New York Review Books Classics in 2006. Its popularity slowly swelled, bringing Augustus and Butcher’s Crossing (review HERE) in its wake. Momentum built on GoodReads, too.
• Stoner currently (10 July 2018) has 66,679 ratings, averaging 4.29*, with 8,138 reviews.
• Butcher’s Crossing has 8,997 ratings, averaging 4.11*, with 940 reviews.
• Augustus has 6,259 ratings, averaging 4.19*, with 677 reviews.
The Fourth Novel - First and Last
But this, his first novel from 1948, was left behind. He wrote it when he was only 22, while he was in Burma during the war, recovering from plane crash. It has only 519 ratings, averaging a mere 3.11*, with 66 reviews. But maybe that will change, now it's been reissued (February 2019) by New York Review Books Classics.
Having loved the other three, and knowing Williams had disowned this youthful (aged 26) work, I was wary of reading it. But I succumbed, and am glad I did, even though it could not and did not reach the brilliance of its successors.
Four Novels, Compared
All four are more about character than plot, and start with a young man breaking away from his roots, trying to find himself, and forge his life.
But whereas Stoner and Augusts chart a lifetime, and involve complicated relationships with wives and daughters, Butcher’s Crossing is a few months, and this a mere 24 hours.
Butcher's Crossing has something of the detail of tiny sensation that are so noticeable here.
The relationships between men are generally complex, and often problematic; women are significant, but have softer power.
Augustus is startlingly different in form, being epistolary and historical.
All have a degree of bleakness, but the better known trio have plenty of hope and beauty for balance.
See this interview with Nancy Gardner Williams: HERE.
Other Influences?
The novel-of-a-single-day, with incredible attention to detail, reminded me of Nicholson Baker’s 1988 novel, The Mezzanine (see my review, HERE). And for a few chapters, the telephone assumed huge significance. Not in a sexual way, but it again brought Baker to mind, for Vox (see my review HERE). I doubt there’s a connection, but if so, Williams was first.
The strongest theme, of suppressing what one doesn’t want to know or remember, has many parallels with Ford Madox Ford’s 1915 novel, The Good Soldier (see my review, HERE). However, the protagonists of the two books are trying to ignore very different things.
Kafka is also relevant. Like Arthur, he sometimes felt parasitic and controlled, and he had a very fraught relationship with his father, albeit for different reasons. Kafka wrote his grievances in Letter to His Father, whereas Arthur receives a life-changing letter from his father.
Read This Because…
This is a good book, but not a great one. If I hadn't known the author and adored his later works, I think it would have been only 3*. Its importance lies in seeing the early work of a superb writer. I strongly suggest you read those greats first. Then you can more easily spot the gems in the shingle. And they are many.
In a similar way, Arnold Bennett's first novel(la), A Man from the North, is really only worth reading for seeing the seeds of the author he would become. See my review, HERE.
February 2, 2018
nulla, appunto: solo una noiosissima notte. la pubblicazione degli esordi letterari dovrebbe essere regolata dal codice civile, articolo per i danni morali, paragrafo non aprite quel cassetto.
sto valutando di chiederli a fazi (i danni), perché è stato davvero un colpo basso espormi ai tentennanti vagiti narrativi e stilistici del papà di stoner. la storia qui è inesistente e la famosa scrittura pulita di JW è solo desertificazione, lessicale e sintattica (a conferma che aprire i cassetti degli inediti può essere perfino peggio che fidarsi di una recensione di d'orrico). in ogni caso la fase dibattimentale si è interrotta ieri sera a pagina 45. un terzo del libro ed ero ancora - come da titolo - nel mezzo del nulla più nulla. quindi sai che c'è, buonanotte.
sto valutando di chiederli a fazi (i danni), perché è stato davvero un colpo basso espormi ai tentennanti vagiti narrativi e stilistici del papà di stoner. la storia qui è inesistente e la famosa scrittura pulita di JW è solo desertificazione, lessicale e sintattica (a conferma che aprire i cassetti degli inediti può essere perfino peggio che fidarsi di una recensione di d'orrico). in ogni caso la fase dibattimentale si è interrotta ieri sera a pagina 45. un terzo del libro ed ero ancora - come da titolo - nel mezzo del nulla più nulla. quindi sai che c'è, buonanotte.
October 14, 2018
A young man is traumatised by what he saw his parents do one night when he was ickle. Oh you, it wasn’t THAT, they weren’t “hugging” in a special way! But what was it? The mystery slowly unravels in Nothing but the Night...
Eh - not as good as Stoner. John Williams’ first book is a quick read and not just because it’s a novella but because Williams was a good writer right out the gate and his prose is very smooth and accessible. The quality of the writing, the pacing and some of the scenes, particularly the key scene where we see what happened between his mum and dad, were ok.
But there’s barely anything here to hold the attention - a traumatised dude does not get up to much beyond going stir crazy in his apartment! He meets a leech of a friend who begs for money, he has an awkward lunch with his dad and then goes on a disastrous drunken night out - it just wasn’t enough for me.
In this New York Review of Books edition, there’s an interview included at the back with Williams’ widow, Nancy, who reveals that he wrote this short book at just 22 years old while serving in the Air Force during WW2 (this was the only way he could go to university - to have the government pay his way in exchange for service in the war); an impressive fact alone. He had been shot down on a mission over Burma and he was one of the three survivors from the crash - the other five men died.
He wrote the book out of boredom as there was nothing else to do in the area he was convalescing. But I wonder if the trauma the main character experiences in several rambling scenes, many hallucinated, was Williams subconsciously working through the trauma he experienced during the war - dealing with being surrounded by so much death?
The interview is informative in many regards, not least as I found out Williams became an alcoholic in his final years, his wife intimating that the memories of the war were harder for him to deal with towards the end. In that sense, perhaps this book is an accurate and illuminating portrayal of what it’s like to live with trauma? I’m lucky enough not to know but, even if it is, it didn’t make for compelling reading. I found those sequences - the ones where he imagines himself floating - overly literary, like what a young writer might think they’re supposed to write to be taken seriously, dull, and pretentious more than anything.
Ultimately Nothing but the Night was too slight for my taste. Nowt much happens, it doesn’t really have anything to say, barring a couple scenes it’s mostly forgettable, and if it weren’t written by the author of Stoner, Butcher’s Crossing and Augustus, I doubt we’d be seeing a reprinting. Fans only then, and for new readers interested in this author, I’d rec Stoner over this one.
Eh - not as good as Stoner. John Williams’ first book is a quick read and not just because it’s a novella but because Williams was a good writer right out the gate and his prose is very smooth and accessible. The quality of the writing, the pacing and some of the scenes, particularly the key scene where we see what happened between his mum and dad, were ok.
But there’s barely anything here to hold the attention - a traumatised dude does not get up to much beyond going stir crazy in his apartment! He meets a leech of a friend who begs for money, he has an awkward lunch with his dad and then goes on a disastrous drunken night out - it just wasn’t enough for me.
In this New York Review of Books edition, there’s an interview included at the back with Williams’ widow, Nancy, who reveals that he wrote this short book at just 22 years old while serving in the Air Force during WW2 (this was the only way he could go to university - to have the government pay his way in exchange for service in the war); an impressive fact alone. He had been shot down on a mission over Burma and he was one of the three survivors from the crash - the other five men died.
He wrote the book out of boredom as there was nothing else to do in the area he was convalescing. But I wonder if the trauma the main character experiences in several rambling scenes, many hallucinated, was Williams subconsciously working through the trauma he experienced during the war - dealing with being surrounded by so much death?
The interview is informative in many regards, not least as I found out Williams became an alcoholic in his final years, his wife intimating that the memories of the war were harder for him to deal with towards the end. In that sense, perhaps this book is an accurate and illuminating portrayal of what it’s like to live with trauma? I’m lucky enough not to know but, even if it is, it didn’t make for compelling reading. I found those sequences - the ones where he imagines himself floating - overly literary, like what a young writer might think they’re supposed to write to be taken seriously, dull, and pretentious more than anything.
Ultimately Nothing but the Night was too slight for my taste. Nowt much happens, it doesn’t really have anything to say, barring a couple scenes it’s mostly forgettable, and if it weren’t written by the author of Stoner, Butcher’s Crossing and Augustus, I doubt we’d be seeing a reprinting. Fans only then, and for new readers interested in this author, I’d rec Stoner over this one.
September 1, 2015
Oh never fear, man, nought’s to dread,
.
Look not left nor right: .
In all the endless road you tread .
There’s nothing but the night. .
A. E. Housman
As I was suffering from withdrawal symptoms after reading three excellent books in succession by John Williams and knowing that there was only a novella of his remaining for me to read, I jumped into the pages of this book with a very open mind.
This was Williams’ first novel published when he was twenty-six. Yes, it is raw in style and there were shades of “The Ginger Man”, by J.P. Donleavy to be found there but in spite of this it is mesmerizing and it is evident that the author thoroughly enjoyed himself writing it.
I feel, however, that none of his following three books can be compared to this infant. I guess Williams was still finding his voice.
This is an intriguing, dramatic and metaphysical but somewhat depressing story. Nevertheless, there is a fascinating chiaroscuro effect that shines throughout the somewhat clipped prose and brilliance is to be found within.
This is a day in the life of Arthur Maxley, who as a child suffered a very traumatic experience and the only way he can handle it is to put it to the back of his mind where it resides like an archived file. Unfortunately, this hidden memory does from time to time escape with rather dire consequences.
Arthur to the present day continues to be so traumatized that I wouldn’t call him your average easy going individual. He screams very easily and becomes distraught when shouting Mother, Mother, Mother. Everything is thought about in minute detail but then he’s an individual who spends a lot of time on his own. It’s odd but I felt that I was observing the internal mind of this individual and not the persona that he presents to the world. Everything he did in life was either darkness or light. His father Hollis has been abroad and naturally wishes to see his son. This meeting in a restaurant in itself proves to be a painful experience for the pair of them and, with the tension visibly mounting, it soon becomes apparent how the mother/wife fits into the scenario.
It is the mother who fascinated me. The descriptions of her are shown in minute detail. As a child Arthur loved her dearly, in fact he appeared to treat her more as if she were a kind of possession.
Then Arthur by chance meets lovely Claire Hegsic at Luisant’s, a nightclub. Regrettably at the time she was very drunk. There is also a dancer there called Volita, who danced to mad excesses:
Then, with a shrieking clash of music, it was over. And with that final discordant beat, Volita spanned the width of the floor in one tremendous, exultant leap and landed with panther-like grace and ease only a few feet in front of his table.
Upon her face there was an expression of deep, exultantly fierce, almost mad ecstasy. And he was instantly unaware of his surroundings. His eyes were compelled and frozen by that face before him which grew and grew in his vision, swelled to an unbelievable proportion, menacing and insatiable.
And then he remembered.
That part was remarkable.
Then Arthur had a vision. This section of the book becomes a mixture of romance and burlesque and then finally there is an event that is tantamount to a Greek tragedy. The ending astounded me in fact.
Williams may have disowned his first published novella. Nevertheless, it was still the book that set him on the right track for his further three albeit latterly successful novels. Consequently, I think it is worthwhile reading how this book saw the light of day.
In 1942 he was shipped to India, where he served as a radio dispatcher on missions that flew over the Himalayas to supply troops deep in the jungles of Burma — "flying the hump," as it was called. After it was over, Williams rarely mentioned the two and a half years he spent in the China-Burma-India theatre, other than to note that he used much of his tedious downtime to write and rewrite his first novel, “Nothing but the Night”, a murky psychological study of a troubled young dandy that he would later emphatically renounce.
In 1945 Williams returned to civilian life. He spent some time with his family, who had moved to California, then drifted to Key West, where he helped launch a radio station. He continued to tinker with his novel, sending drafts off to New York editors, who called it an overblown, overwritten short story. Discouraged but stubborn, Williams sent the manuscript to Alan Swallow.
It was a life-changing move. A Wyoming native, Swallow had founded a small press in Denver dedicated to bringing out serious new writers that mainstream publishers neglected. He was also in the process of launching a creative-writing doctorate program at the University of Denver that would be only the second of its kind in the country.
Swallow found “Nothing but the Night” "rather dreary" and "somewhat overdone" — but not so terrible for a first novel. He told Williams he'd publish it under his own imprint, even though he would certainly lose money on the deal. "You may well be a writer who needs to throw away two or three novels before the thing starts clicking," he wrote to the jubilant author.
The book was published in 1948 and disappeared quickly.
Nevertheless, I am actually rather taken with this book. I don’t know why either.
Look not left nor right: .
In all the endless road you tread .
There’s nothing but the night. .
A. E. Housman
As I was suffering from withdrawal symptoms after reading three excellent books in succession by John Williams and knowing that there was only a novella of his remaining for me to read, I jumped into the pages of this book with a very open mind.
This was Williams’ first novel published when he was twenty-six. Yes, it is raw in style and there were shades of “The Ginger Man”, by J.P. Donleavy to be found there but in spite of this it is mesmerizing and it is evident that the author thoroughly enjoyed himself writing it.
I feel, however, that none of his following three books can be compared to this infant. I guess Williams was still finding his voice.
This is an intriguing, dramatic and metaphysical but somewhat depressing story. Nevertheless, there is a fascinating chiaroscuro effect that shines throughout the somewhat clipped prose and brilliance is to be found within.
This is a day in the life of Arthur Maxley, who as a child suffered a very traumatic experience and the only way he can handle it is to put it to the back of his mind where it resides like an archived file. Unfortunately, this hidden memory does from time to time escape with rather dire consequences.
Arthur to the present day continues to be so traumatized that I wouldn’t call him your average easy going individual. He screams very easily and becomes distraught when shouting Mother, Mother, Mother. Everything is thought about in minute detail but then he’s an individual who spends a lot of time on his own. It’s odd but I felt that I was observing the internal mind of this individual and not the persona that he presents to the world. Everything he did in life was either darkness or light. His father Hollis has been abroad and naturally wishes to see his son. This meeting in a restaurant in itself proves to be a painful experience for the pair of them and, with the tension visibly mounting, it soon becomes apparent how the mother/wife fits into the scenario.
It is the mother who fascinated me. The descriptions of her are shown in minute detail. As a child Arthur loved her dearly, in fact he appeared to treat her more as if she were a kind of possession.
Then Arthur by chance meets lovely Claire Hegsic at Luisant’s, a nightclub. Regrettably at the time she was very drunk. There is also a dancer there called Volita, who danced to mad excesses:
Then, with a shrieking clash of music, it was over. And with that final discordant beat, Volita spanned the width of the floor in one tremendous, exultant leap and landed with panther-like grace and ease only a few feet in front of his table.
Upon her face there was an expression of deep, exultantly fierce, almost mad ecstasy. And he was instantly unaware of his surroundings. His eyes were compelled and frozen by that face before him which grew and grew in his vision, swelled to an unbelievable proportion, menacing and insatiable.
And then he remembered.
That part was remarkable.
Then Arthur had a vision. This section of the book becomes a mixture of romance and burlesque and then finally there is an event that is tantamount to a Greek tragedy. The ending astounded me in fact.
Williams may have disowned his first published novella. Nevertheless, it was still the book that set him on the right track for his further three albeit latterly successful novels. Consequently, I think it is worthwhile reading how this book saw the light of day.
In 1942 he was shipped to India, where he served as a radio dispatcher on missions that flew over the Himalayas to supply troops deep in the jungles of Burma — "flying the hump," as it was called. After it was over, Williams rarely mentioned the two and a half years he spent in the China-Burma-India theatre, other than to note that he used much of his tedious downtime to write and rewrite his first novel, “Nothing but the Night”, a murky psychological study of a troubled young dandy that he would later emphatically renounce.
In 1945 Williams returned to civilian life. He spent some time with his family, who had moved to California, then drifted to Key West, where he helped launch a radio station. He continued to tinker with his novel, sending drafts off to New York editors, who called it an overblown, overwritten short story. Discouraged but stubborn, Williams sent the manuscript to Alan Swallow.
It was a life-changing move. A Wyoming native, Swallow had founded a small press in Denver dedicated to bringing out serious new writers that mainstream publishers neglected. He was also in the process of launching a creative-writing doctorate program at the University of Denver that would be only the second of its kind in the country.
Swallow found “Nothing but the Night” "rather dreary" and "somewhat overdone" — but not so terrible for a first novel. He told Williams he'd publish it under his own imprint, even though he would certainly lose money on the deal. "You may well be a writer who needs to throw away two or three novels before the thing starts clicking," he wrote to the jubilant author.
The book was published in 1948 and disappeared quickly.
Nevertheless, I am actually rather taken with this book. I don’t know why either.
February 21, 2019
This cover, man, I don't know.
This is the author's debut novel, which he wrote after dropping out of college. The novel starts with a disturbing but memorable dream sequence. The main character, Arthur, is a college dropout and seems to be suffering from PTSD, but from unknown circumstances. He struggles to connect with others, and then his father comes to town.
Stoner by John Williams remains one of my favorite novels, and is not in danger of being replaced by this one. This reads more like psychological drama/horror (with some violence towards women) and/or commentary on loneliness.
This edition (NYRB Classics) has an interview with the author's wife, and that might have been my favorite thing.
I received a copy of this from the publisher through Edelweiss. It came out 12 February 2019.
This is the author's debut novel, which he wrote after dropping out of college. The novel starts with a disturbing but memorable dream sequence. The main character, Arthur, is a college dropout and seems to be suffering from PTSD, but from unknown circumstances. He struggles to connect with others, and then his father comes to town.
Stoner by John Williams remains one of my favorite novels, and is not in danger of being replaced by this one. This reads more like psychological drama/horror (with some violence towards women) and/or commentary on loneliness.
This edition (NYRB Classics) has an interview with the author's wife, and that might have been my favorite thing.
I received a copy of this from the publisher through Edelweiss. It came out 12 February 2019.
Read
July 6, 2018I’ve read John Williams’s novel Stoner three or four times; I’ve studied it and consider it a perfect novel. This novella, 123 pages, first published in 1948 and written by twenty-two-year-old Williams when he was enlisted in the Army Air Force, portends the talent of Stoner and Williams’s other books, so it is worth reading. But it is young, overly earnest, self-conscious, and sometimes even melodramatic—as are many young writers’ first novels; this is not a criticism, just a fact of immaturity. It feels a little like an actor’s sense memory exercise where you break things down to their essential beats and live every one of them—in this case, at aha amplitude.
I can’t find the reference, but I think I recall reading that Williams wanted to bury this novel, and I understand why. He had grown, matured, turned into an artist, and this is the work of his child self. I revere Williams and am interested in his genesis as a writer. So that’s a good enough reason to have read it.
I can’t find the reference, but I think I recall reading that Williams wanted to bury this novel, and I understand why. He had grown, matured, turned into an artist, and this is the work of his child self. I revere Williams and am interested in his genesis as a writer. So that’s a good enough reason to have read it.
July 11, 2019
I wanted to read this because I enjoyed all of John Williams' three later novels (Stoner, Butcher's Crossing and Augustus. This odd, unsettling novella was his first, and is probably the least essential of the four.
The book is a day in the life of Arthur Maxley, an indolent and purposeless young man who lives off his mother's inheritance. He hears that his father is in town having returned from a long business trip to South America, and wants to see him for the first time. It gradually emerges that Arthur is deeply traumatised by having witnessed the suicide of his mother when he was still a child, and this colours his perception of almost everything he does.
It is a short book, so easy enough to read in a single sitting, but Arthur makes it very difficult for the reader to sympathise with him, and the ending is unpleasantly violent and melodramatic.
The book is a day in the life of Arthur Maxley, an indolent and purposeless young man who lives off his mother's inheritance. He hears that his father is in town having returned from a long business trip to South America, and wants to see him for the first time. It gradually emerges that Arthur is deeply traumatised by having witnessed the suicide of his mother when he was still a child, and this colours his perception of almost everything he does.
It is a short book, so easy enough to read in a single sitting, but Arthur makes it very difficult for the reader to sympathise with him, and the ending is unpleasantly violent and melodramatic.
January 19, 2022
«No había cambiado nada: era lo mismo. Y aun así... algo faltaba, algo que no estaba del todo presente y que no podía nombrar. No era tangible, esa ausencia. Era más bien una atmósfera que el lugar había tenido alguna vez y que ahora ya no estaba».
John Williams, este desconocido pero fascinante escritor ya me había deslumbrado con su maravillosa novela (de culto) “Stoner”, que retrata la simple pero atrapante vida de un profesor de literatura y nuevamente me atrapa en la que fuera su primera novela, "Solo la noche".
Lo que más descolla en Williams es su narrativa tan simple y profunda a la vez. Es un autor que no escribe ni una línea floja o mala. Su prosa fluye con aplomo y reafirmando en cada frase lo que la historia nos va contando. Escribía con erudición, con fineza y sensibilidad e invita al lector a consustanciarse con esta magnífica sensación de sentirse a gusto durante el proceso de lectura que uno atraviesa.
La anodina y chata vida del joven Arthur Maxley, está suspendida en la incertidumbre y el desasosiego y pasa por ella sin sobresalto alguno. Vive solo en Boston, alejado de su padre, un importante hombre de negocios, pero cambiará su realidad cuando Hollis Maxley luego de seis meses se contacta para volver a verlo.
Todo lo aparentemente tranquilo en la vida de este joven taciturno cambia de buenas a primeras y ese desequilibrio emocional lo afectará claramente. Arthur es un joven que esconde un turbulento suceso familiar que involucra a su madre fallecida y a su padre Hollis.
Se nota claramente al inicio de la novela que está acomplejado y enmarañado en una extraña actitud displicente que tapa lo que verdaderamente ocurre en su mente: está perdido y desorientado.
Pareciera como que sus días están en suspenso y no posee dirección fija y el hecho del retorno de su padre lo acompleja aún más.
La novela trasciende estas circunstancias y la prosa de Williams genera la atmósfera nebulosa que rodea a Arthur. El autor sin necesidad de llegar a introspecciones psicológicas dostoievskianas nos instala en la mente de Arthur y nos comparte sus sensaciones, percepciones y reflexiones.
"Solo la noche" es una novela corta pero profunda y con aire melancólico y de entorno brumoso. Llega como un sueño y nos deja también con una leve ensoñación que nos permite reflexionar acerca de cómo la mente humana debe a veces adecuarse a sucesos inesperados y de cómo las reacciones afectan a nuestro destino.
Es sumamente placentero leer a John Williams. Espero poder leer sus novelas restantes como "Augustus", aún no editada en Argentina.
Este excelente autor, junto con Stephen Dixon, H. C. Lewis o J. G. Ballard sigue siendo uno de mis mejores descubrimientos literarios en estos últimos años.
John Williams, este desconocido pero fascinante escritor ya me había deslumbrado con su maravillosa novela (de culto) “Stoner”, que retrata la simple pero atrapante vida de un profesor de literatura y nuevamente me atrapa en la que fuera su primera novela, "Solo la noche".
Lo que más descolla en Williams es su narrativa tan simple y profunda a la vez. Es un autor que no escribe ni una línea floja o mala. Su prosa fluye con aplomo y reafirmando en cada frase lo que la historia nos va contando. Escribía con erudición, con fineza y sensibilidad e invita al lector a consustanciarse con esta magnífica sensación de sentirse a gusto durante el proceso de lectura que uno atraviesa.
La anodina y chata vida del joven Arthur Maxley, está suspendida en la incertidumbre y el desasosiego y pasa por ella sin sobresalto alguno. Vive solo en Boston, alejado de su padre, un importante hombre de negocios, pero cambiará su realidad cuando Hollis Maxley luego de seis meses se contacta para volver a verlo.
Todo lo aparentemente tranquilo en la vida de este joven taciturno cambia de buenas a primeras y ese desequilibrio emocional lo afectará claramente. Arthur es un joven que esconde un turbulento suceso familiar que involucra a su madre fallecida y a su padre Hollis.
Se nota claramente al inicio de la novela que está acomplejado y enmarañado en una extraña actitud displicente que tapa lo que verdaderamente ocurre en su mente: está perdido y desorientado.
Pareciera como que sus días están en suspenso y no posee dirección fija y el hecho del retorno de su padre lo acompleja aún más.
La novela trasciende estas circunstancias y la prosa de Williams genera la atmósfera nebulosa que rodea a Arthur. El autor sin necesidad de llegar a introspecciones psicológicas dostoievskianas nos instala en la mente de Arthur y nos comparte sus sensaciones, percepciones y reflexiones.
"Solo la noche" es una novela corta pero profunda y con aire melancólico y de entorno brumoso. Llega como un sueño y nos deja también con una leve ensoñación que nos permite reflexionar acerca de cómo la mente humana debe a veces adecuarse a sucesos inesperados y de cómo las reacciones afectan a nuestro destino.
Es sumamente placentero leer a John Williams. Espero poder leer sus novelas restantes como "Augustus", aún no editada en Argentina.
Este excelente autor, junto con Stephen Dixon, H. C. Lewis o J. G. Ballard sigue siendo uno de mis mejores descubrimientos literarios en estos últimos años.
January 26, 2025
Passivo, letargico, apatico: questo è Arthur, il protagonista di “Nulla, solo la notte”. Un giovane che vive grazie ai soldi del padre, senza far nulla, in uno stato di totale inerzia. Il suo più grande desiderio è quello di dimenticare, di cancellare i ricordi di una giornata terribile, avvenuta parecchi anni prima e che ha segnato per sempre la fine della sua infanzia.
“Nulla, solo la notte” è il romanzo d’esordio di John Williams. Essendo un romanzo d’esordio, non avevo altissime aspettative e, invece, ne sono rimasta letteralmente affascinata. Al di là della prosa magnifica, pacata e fortemente lirica, questo breve romanzo ha una costruzione magistrale.
Il primo capitolo, che contiene la descrizione di un sogno, ha un duplice significato: ci mostra come Arthur sia interamente ripiegato su sé stesso, sulla sua vita interiore, al punto da estraniarsi anche durante delle feste, e ci descrive il suo stato di blocco, di sospensione tra sogno e realtà, a seguito del trauma passato.
Tutto il resto del romanzo è fortemente simbolico e si basa sulla continua alternanza tra luce (simbolo della realtà, del conscio) e buio (simbolo del sogno, dell’inconscio). Arthur, infatti, vorrebbe vivere nella luce, nella realtà, imponendosi delle regole, come leggere o fare passeggiate nel parco, ma finisce inevitabilmente per ricadere nel buio, nell’inconscio, dove può temporaneamente dimenticare il passato - da cui il titolo “nulla, solo la notte”.
Probabilmente sono una voce fuori dal coro, ma per me questo è un bellissimo romanzo, persino migliore di “Stoner”.
Read
February 19, 2021of lethargy and lassitude
This was one of those multitude of novels wherein the first-person protagonist has no seeming purpose, is awash in ennui. And it wears off on the reader. The young, male protagonist - (the protagonists in these kinds of novels are always young and male, like their creators) - has already had lunch and drinks with his gay friend, which did not go well, and then drinks and dinner with his estranged father, which did not fare any better, when he somnambulistically walks into a kind of nightclub. He is directed to a table where he sits down and - (wait for it) - a delicious lassitude crept over him. . . . a welcome lethargy. I found those odd choices for adjectives. But then it hit me that the author could not choose a noun without assigning an adjective. There was a strange omnipotence . . . a precarious balance . . . the hysterical movement . . . the erratic tortuosity . . . a lazy quizzicality . . . a delusive hypersensitivity . . . and, of course . . . a soporific hum. Embarrassment could be inexplicable . . . pleasant . . . or of a different sort. Spasms are either gasping or effortless.
He imagines seeing his father and there was upon his face . . . an expression of blank, impersonal horror and dawning comprehension and a transcending pity. Would take a helluva actor to play that part, is all I'm saying.
I figured there had to be romance, and I was not disappointed, adjectivally. He sees Clare in the doorway to the nightclub and she was his pedestaled damozel. She had a small, well-knit body in a loosely flesh-clinging gown. She had delicate, perfectly formed breasts. By comparison, Volita, another woman in the club, had deep breasts.
But back to Clare, who had her own lassitude and a lethargic sensuousness. It's hard to imagine a more perfect match. Now we only have to wait things out before we get to the dark insanity of copulation. Which gave us this frenzy of poetry: The moonbeams gilded the soft flesh of her shoulders and arms and breasts; she was a living statue, a motionless poem of light and flesh, of shadowing breast and ivory thigh.
I've read somewhere that John Williams, who would go on to write Butcher's Crossing, Stoner, and Augustus, essentially dismissed this, his debut effort. Which I totally understand.
This was one of those multitude of novels wherein the first-person protagonist has no seeming purpose, is awash in ennui. And it wears off on the reader. The young, male protagonist - (the protagonists in these kinds of novels are always young and male, like their creators) - has already had lunch and drinks with his gay friend, which did not go well, and then drinks and dinner with his estranged father, which did not fare any better, when he somnambulistically walks into a kind of nightclub. He is directed to a table where he sits down and - (wait for it) - a delicious lassitude crept over him. . . . a welcome lethargy. I found those odd choices for adjectives. But then it hit me that the author could not choose a noun without assigning an adjective. There was a strange omnipotence . . . a precarious balance . . . the hysterical movement . . . the erratic tortuosity . . . a lazy quizzicality . . . a delusive hypersensitivity . . . and, of course . . . a soporific hum. Embarrassment could be inexplicable . . . pleasant . . . or of a different sort. Spasms are either gasping or effortless.
He imagines seeing his father and there was upon his face . . . an expression of blank, impersonal horror and dawning comprehension and a transcending pity. Would take a helluva actor to play that part, is all I'm saying.
I figured there had to be romance, and I was not disappointed, adjectivally. He sees Clare in the doorway to the nightclub and she was his pedestaled damozel. She had a small, well-knit body in a loosely flesh-clinging gown. She had delicate, perfectly formed breasts. By comparison, Volita, another woman in the club, had deep breasts.
But back to Clare, who had her own lassitude and a lethargic sensuousness. It's hard to imagine a more perfect match. Now we only have to wait things out before we get to the dark insanity of copulation. Which gave us this frenzy of poetry: The moonbeams gilded the soft flesh of her shoulders and arms and breasts; she was a living statue, a motionless poem of light and flesh, of shadowing breast and ivory thigh.
I've read somewhere that John Williams, who would go on to write Butcher's Crossing, Stoner, and Augustus, essentially dismissed this, his debut effort. Which I totally understand.
March 9, 2025
Πρωτόλειο και σχετικά αφελές (σίγουρα "λίγο" και ποσοστικά και ποιοτικά συγκρινόμενο με μεταγενέστερα έργα του) το "Μόνο η νύχτα" είναι η σύντομη και μάλλον αδιάφορη (τουλάχιστον σήμερα) ιστορία ενός αδρανούς νέου, επιχορηγούμενου από το αποξενωμένο πατέρα του, που παλεύει με τους εσωτερικούς του δαίμονες (απόρροια ενός γεγονότος του παρελθόντος στο οποίο συμμετείχαν οι γονείς του και, όχι, δεν τους έπιασε να παίζουν το τέρας με τις δύο ράχες).
Διαβάζουμε τα όνειρά του, αλλά μας αφήνουν ασυγκίνητους. Διαβάζουμε την άνευρη περιπλάνησή του μέσα στη νύχτα και μας αφήνει ασυγκίνητους. Πράγματα που αργότερα στο λόγο του Williams θα υπονοούνται και θα αφήνονται στη διακριτική ευχέρεια του αναγνώστη να τα καταλάβει και να τα αξιολογήσει, εδώ δίνονται μασημένα, στο πιάτο.
Θα συναντήσει διαδοχικά έναν (πιθανότατα) ομοφυλόφιλο γνωστό του, τον πατέρα του και μια μεθυσμένη κοπέλα που θα γνωρίσει διασκεδάζοντας και μαζί με την τελευταία για πρώτη φορά θα αισθανθεί ότι διασκεδάζει. Ωστόσο, για κάποιο λόγο όταν θα την ακολουθήσει μέχρι το σπίτι της (μετά από δική της πρόσκληση) θα κραυγάσει δυνατά και θα τη χτυπήσει... (κάθοδος στην τρέλα; απελευθέρωση του εγώ; ) Θα αρπάξει κι αυτός μια καλή από έναν κύριο που έτυχε να βρίσκεται εκεί και να ακούσει την κραυγή της απελευθέρωσής του από ... κάτι και με ματωμένο πρόσωπο και χωρίς γυαλιά θα συνεχίζει την περιπλάνησή του.
Ίσως υπάρχει υπερβολικη αυτοαναφορικότητα στο έργο (το έγραψε τραυματίας σε στρατιωτικό νοσοκομείο), εξωτερικευμένη χωρίς τη μεταγενέστερη ικανότητα του Williams. Ίσως απλώς... βαριόταν αφόρητα και βίωνε τραύμα και αυτό περνάει άκομψα μέσα στο ίδιο το έργο. Δεν είναι ότι ο λόγος του είναι άσχημος, τουναντίον, είναι εμφανής ικανότητά του που αργότερα παρέδωσε στο κοινό αριστουργήματα, αλλά, λείπει αυτό το κάτι που θα μετατρέψει μια αξιοπρεπή έως καλή πρόζα σε αξιόλογο βιβλίο.
Μεταξύ μας, αν είχε "άγνωστο" συγγραφέα αυτό το βιβλίο, δε θα είχε δει ποτέ το φως της έκδοσης και αυτή τη σιτγμή δεν θα ασχολούμασταν μαζί του. Όπως ΑΚΡΙΒΩΣ έγινε πριν από 60 περίπου χρόνια, όταν πρωτοεκδόθηκε. Μπορεί να εκληφθεί ως άσκηση ύφους από έναν πρωτοεμφανιζόμενο συγγραφέα, αλλά δεν είναι κάτι για το οποίο θα πρέπει να χάσετε τον ύπνο σας. Υπάρχουν πολύ πιο ενδιαφέροντα βιβλία εκεί έξω και σας περιμένουν.
Υ.Γ. ειδικά για την έκδοση του Gutenberg: δεν ξέρω αν μας έχουν κακομάθει ή όντως αυτό το βιβλίο το χρειαζόταν απεγνωσμένα, αλλά μου έλειψε ένα επίμετρο στο οποίο να δικαιολογούνται κάποια αδικαιολόγητα, ή να δίνονται κάποια επιπλέον στοιχεία για το έργο, σώζωντας λίγο την παρτίδα στο τέλος.
Διαβάζουμε τα όνειρά του, αλλά μας αφήνουν ασυγκίνητους. Διαβάζουμε την άνευρη περιπλάνησή του μέσα στη νύχτα και μας αφήνει ασυγκίνητους. Πράγματα που αργότερα στο λόγο του Williams θα υπονοούνται και θα αφήνονται στη διακριτική ευχέρεια του αναγνώστη να τα καταλάβει και να τα αξιολογήσει, εδώ δίνονται μασημένα, στο πιάτο.
Θα συναντήσει διαδοχικά έναν (πιθανότατα) ομοφυλόφιλο γνωστό του, τον πατέρα του και μια μεθυσμένη κοπέλα που θα γνωρίσει διασκεδάζοντας και μαζί με την τελευταία για πρώτη φορά θα αισθανθεί ότι διασκεδάζει. Ωστόσο, για κάποιο λόγο όταν θα την ακολουθήσει μέχρι το σπίτι της (μετά από δική της πρόσκληση) θα κραυγάσει δυνατά και θα τη χτυπήσει... (κάθοδος στην τρέλα; απελευθέρωση του εγώ; ) Θα αρπάξει κι αυτός μια καλή από έναν κύριο που έτυχε να βρίσκεται εκεί και να ακούσει την κραυγή της απελευθέρωσής του από ... κάτι και με ματωμένο πρόσωπο και χωρίς γυαλιά θα συνεχίζει την περιπλάνησή του.
Ίσως υπάρχει υπερβολικη αυτοαναφορικότητα στο έργο (το έγραψε τραυματίας σε στρατιωτικό νοσοκομείο), εξωτερικευμένη χωρίς τη μεταγενέστερη ικανότητα του Williams. Ίσως απλώς... βαριόταν αφόρητα και βίωνε τραύμα και αυτό περνάει άκομψα μέσα στο ίδιο το έργο. Δεν είναι ότι ο λόγος του είναι άσχημος, τουναντίον, είναι εμφανής ικανότητά του που αργότερα παρέδωσε στο κοινό αριστουργήματα, αλλά, λείπει αυτό το κάτι που θα μετατρέψει μια αξιοπρεπή έως καλή πρόζα σε αξιόλογο βιβλίο.
Μεταξύ μας, αν είχε "άγνωστο" συγγραφέα αυτό το βιβλίο, δε θα είχε δει ποτέ το φως της έκδοσης και αυτή τη σιτγμή δεν θα ασχολούμασταν μαζί του. Όπως ΑΚΡΙΒΩΣ έγινε πριν από 60 περίπου χρόνια, όταν πρωτοεκδόθηκε. Μπορεί να εκληφθεί ως άσκηση ύφους από έναν πρωτοεμφανιζόμενο συγγραφέα, αλλά δεν είναι κάτι για το οποίο θα πρέπει να χάσετε τον ύπνο σας. Υπάρχουν πολύ πιο ενδιαφέροντα βιβλία εκεί έξω και σας περιμένουν.
Υ.Γ. ειδικά για την έκδοση του Gutenberg: δεν ξέρω αν μας έχουν κακομάθει ή όντως αυτό το βιβλίο το χρειαζόταν απεγνωσμένα, αλλά μου έλειψε ένα επίμετρο στο οποίο να δικαιολογούνται κάποια αδικαιολόγητα, ή να δίνονται κάποια επιπλέον στοιχεία για το έργο, σώζωντας λίγο την παρτίδα στο τέλος.
October 28, 2019
Nothing But The Night:
This novella is some of John Williams early work, a 123-page short story filled with subtle character and lost dimensions. The writing style and sentence structure is captivating and makes the reader want to carry on and not stop. The story is a fluster of mental thoughts, emotions and trials dragged into a night filled with drunken behaviour and a simmer of connective love between two. A memory deep within, flash backs of pain and agony which has him feeling motionless. Overall a short, quick and decent read for those who like classic captivating literature, this book will be thoroughly enjoyed.
This novella is some of John Williams early work, a 123-page short story filled with subtle character and lost dimensions. The writing style and sentence structure is captivating and makes the reader want to carry on and not stop. The story is a fluster of mental thoughts, emotions and trials dragged into a night filled with drunken behaviour and a simmer of connective love between two. A memory deep within, flash backs of pain and agony which has him feeling motionless. Overall a short, quick and decent read for those who like classic captivating literature, this book will be thoroughly enjoyed.
February 23, 2024
Πριν ξεκινήσω τον σχολιασμό του κειμένου, θα ήθελα να αναφερθώ συνοπτικά στην, κατά τη γνώμη μου, ποιοτική ανεπάρκεια της συγκεκριμένης έκδοσης. Με όσα θα καταγράψω δεν έχω σκοπό να κατακρίνω συνολικά την δουλειά των εκδόσεων Gutenberg, καθώς αξιολογώ, όπως είναι λογικό, κάθε έκδοση ξεχωριστά. Επίσης, σημειώνω πως, παρά τις τεχνικές αδυναμίες που θα αναφέρω , καθώς και του κατά καιρούς κακού γραψίματος του Γουίλιαμς, το πρώτο μέρος του βιβλίου μού άρεσε αρκετά. Κάνω όμως ξεκάθαρη διάκριση μεταξύ προσωπικής αρέσκειας και αντικειμενικά χαμηλής ποιότητας.
Πέραν της απουσίας ενός διευκρινιστικού επίμετρου (που κατά τη γνώμη μου ήταν απαραίτητο και εξηγώ παρακάτω το γιατί) διαβάζουμε στο οπισθόφυλλο τις εξής ανακρίβειες: "Ένα ψυχολογικό έργο που ο Τζον Γουίλιαμς έγραψε κατά τον Β' Παγκόσμιο πόλεμο όταν νοσηλεύτηκε ως τραυματίας" Η συγκεκριμένη πληροφορία είναι ανακριβής και έχει αντληθεί πολύ πρόχειρα από blogs τα οποία δεν παραπέμπουν σε κάποια πηγη εξακριβωσης για αυτή τη δήλωση.
Στη βιογραφία που συνέγραψε ο Shields, αναφέρεται πως ο Γουίλιαμς έγραψε το μυθιστόρημα σε διάφορες χρονολογικές φάσεις(συνολικά υπήρξαν περίπου έξι ντραφτς) και, παρόλο που εικάζεται πως δούλεψε μέρος του κατά τη θητεία του, η ρομαντική εικόνα του τραυματισμένου Γουίλιαμς, ως άλλου Χέμινγουεϊ, να ξεκινά και να τελειώνει το βιβλίο κατά τη διάρκεια της νοσηλείας του, όπως αφήνεται να εννοηθεί από αυτή τη δήλωση, δεν ευσταθεί.
Σχετικά με τη συνέντευξη της τέταρτης (!) γυναίκας του Γουίλιαμς, δεδομένου οτι η ιδια γνώρισε τον Γουίλιαμς πολλες δεκαετιες μετα τη συγγραφη του Μονο η νύχτα, δεν νομίζω οτι μπορει να σταθει ως αξιόπιστη μαρτυρία, οταν μάλιστα απλώς επιβεβαιώνει μια υπόθεση του δημοσιογράφου. Ο Shields παρότι γνωριζει το περιεχόμενο της συνέντευξης θεωρει πιο αξιόπιστη πηγη την τοτινή αλληλογραφία του Γουίλιαμς με την πρώτη του γυναίκα και με όσα μέλη της οικογενειας του ζούσαν τότε.
Μαλιστα ο βιογράφος αμφισβητεί ακόμα και τον ιδιο τον τραυματισμό του Γουίλιαμς αφού, όπως εύλογα σημειώνει, το όνομά του δεν βρισκόταν ανάμεσα στην επίσημη καταγραφή της αεροπορίας για την πτώση του αεροπλανου στο οποίο υποτίθεται πως ήταν επιβάτης και, αν όντως είχε νοσηλευτεί για "σπασμένα πλευρά" λόγω της πτώσης, θα είχε λάβει και το αντιστοιχο μετάλλιο ανδρείας, κάτι που δεν έγινε. Νοσηλεύτηκε πάντως σίγουρα λόγω ελονοσίας. Δεδομένου βεβαια οτι μια τετοια κατασταση επιφερει υψηλό πυρετό και διαρροιες, δεν νομίζω πως είχε το κουράγιο να γράψει κάτι την περίοδο της νοσηλείας του.
Άλλωστε το ίδιο το έργο δεν αφορά με κανέναν τρόπο εμπειρίες πολέμου και φαίνεται να τοποθετείται σε εναν εντελως διαφορετικο χωροχρονο, ούτε είναι ένα κείμενο που έχει γραφτεί βιαστικά, αλλα εχει δουλευτεί (ειδικα οι πρώτες περιγραφές) Αντιθέτως, το πέμπτο, ανολοκλήρωτο μυθιστόρημα του Γουίλιαμς, The sleep of reason, καταπιανοταν συνειδητά με την εμπειρία του πολέμου.
Το δεύτερο ανακριβές στοιχείο που συναντάμε στις λίγες γραμμές του οπισθόφυλλου είναι το εξής: "επανεκτιμήθηκε εξήντα χρόνια μετά και προστέθηκε στη λίστα των μεγάλων άλλων έργων του" Από ποιον ακριβώς επανεκτιμήθηκε το συγκεκριμένο πρωτόλειο; Δεν υπάρχει καμία σοβαρή κριτική ανάλυση ακαδημαϊκού χαρακτήρα (εκτός από αυτή του Asquith που καταπιάνεται κυρίως με τα μεγάλα έργα του Γουίλιαμς) που να αναδεικνύει κάποιο πρότερο λογοτεχνικό θησαυρό που ξαφνικά ανακαλύφθηκε εξήντα χρόνια μετά. Το βιβλίο υπέστη επανεκδόσεις λόγω της ύστερης εμπορικής επιτυχίας του Στόουνερ και δεν υπήρξε ποτέ καμία κριτική επαναξιολόγηση που να το καθιστά ξαφνικά αριστούργημα. Οι ίδιες αδυναμίες που είχαν διαπιστωθεί κατά την έκδοσή του, διαπιστώνονται και τώρα.
Kαι έρχομαι στην αναγκαιότητα ενός επίμετρου: Τι ακριβώς επανεκτιμήθηκε 60 χρόνια μετά, κατά τις εκδόσεις Gutenberg; Η ομοφοβία του κειμένου ή ο μισογυνισμός του; Είναι δυνατόν να εκδίδουν ένα τέτοιο κείμενο, να το πλασάρουν ως χαμένο αριστούργημα και να μην κάνουν έστω έναν σχολιασμό για την ομοφοβία που εντοπίζεται στην αφήγηση για τον χαρακτήρα του Stafford;
Καταλήγω λοιπόν, στο ότι για να είναι μια έκδοση ποιοτική, δεν αρκεί να κοτσάρουμε στο κείμενο το ανούσιο πλέον πολυτονικό, στο οποίο οι Gutenberg και κάποιοι άλλοι γραφικοί εκδοτικοί επιμένουν, αλλά να συνοδεύεται και από μια κριτική προσέγγιση που θα βοηθήσει τους αναγνώστες να αποσαφηνίσουν τις συνδηλώσεις του κειμένου.
Στα του περιεχομένου τώρα: ως πνεύμα αντιλογίας, από τη μία συμφωνώ με όσους επεσήμαναν τις αδυναμίες του κειμένου, δικαιολογώντας την κρίση τους επειδή είναι το πρωτόλειο μυθιστόρημα του Γουίλιαμς, από την άλλη, όμως, συλλογίζομαι τι είναι αυτό που κάνει τους αναγνώστες να αρέσκονται στον μισογύνη και μισανάπηρο Στόουνερ αλλά όχι στον ομοφοβικό Άρθουρ. Μάλλον ότι ο Άρθουρ εντάσσεται εμφανώς στην κατηγορία του αντιήρωα ενώ οι αδυναμίες στον χαρακτήρα του Στόουνερ καλύπτονται από την αγιοποίηση που αποτολμά ο συγγραφέας, χωρίς να έχει συναίσθηση των αρνητικών του ήρωά του.
Ο Στόουνερ σε αντιδιαστολή με τον Άρθουρ δεν είχε κανένα διαρκές τραύμα, δεν βασανιζόταν από τίποτε άλλο πέρα από τον κομφορμισμό της ζωής, στον οποίο βεβαίως εντάχθηκε. Ο Άρθουρ σε αντίθεση με τον Στόουνερ είναι παρίας. Οι ομοιότητες μεταξύ των δύο βιβλίων είναι πολύ λίγες. Το Μόνο η νύχτα είναι ένα μυθιστόρημα σαφώς μοντερνιστικό, που αφορά μόλις λίγες ώρες από τη ζωή του Άρθουρ και αξιώνει να εκτυλιχθεί ως ένα ψυχολογικό νουάρ, όπου απλά σημεία της καθημερινότητας καταλήγουν να γίνονται τρομακτικά (για παράδειγμα, το πώς το πρωινό του Άρθουρ μετατρέπεται από τηγανητά αυγά σε ένα μάτι επίκρισης μεταμοντέρνου πίνακα).
Ο Γουίλιαμς είναι επηρεασμένος από ψυχαναλυτικές θεωρήσεις που ήταν αρκετά της μόδας τότε, καθώς και από την ατομικιστική τάση των μυθιστορημάτων πριν τον β' παγκόσμιο πόλεμο. Όλο το βιβλίο λοιπόν, όπως άλλωστε είχε διαπιστωθεί και απο τον, επίσης συγγραφέα, σύζυγο της αδερφής του Γουίλιαμς, Marsh Willard, αφορά, κυρίως, μια αιμομικτική αλληγορία, η οποία βεβαίως καταλήγει στη φαντασίωση της πατροκτονίας και στην τιμωρία που επέρχεται στον γιο.
Όπως θα διαπιστωνε ωστόσο και ο Φρόυντ, το οιδιπόδειο σχήμα παρουσιάζεται κεκαλυμμένα. Η φαντασίωση της φόνευσης του πατέρα μετατίθεται από το υποσυνείδητο του γιου στη μητέρα, η οποία καταλήγει να πληρώσει και τις αιμομικτικές τάσεις του γιου της. Ο ίδιος, βιώνει την τιμωρία από τον μεγαλόσωμο άνδρα στο τέλος, που φυσικά, συμβολίζει την πατρική φιγούρα.
Το βιβλίο, όπως αναφέρω και παραπάνω, γράφτηκε σε διαφορετικές χρονολογικές φάσεις, κάτι που γίνεται αρκετά φανερό. Αν μπορούμε να το χωρίσουμε σε δύο μέρη (παρότι ποσοτικά ανισοβαρή μεταξύ τους) θα αφορούν α) τις συναντήσεις του Άρθρουρ, αφήγηση που είναι αρκετά πιο στιβαρή και β) την αποκάλυψη του τραύματος όπου ο Γουίλιαμς χάνει τον έλεγχο και γίνεται μελοδραματικός.
Σε γενικες γραμμες: ενα σχετικώς καλοστεκούμενο πρωτόλειο που αξιωνει έναν βαθμό πρωτοτυπίας, αλλα με αμετρητες αδυναμίες που ριχνουν το συνολο του κειμενου.
Ήταν άραγε απαραίτητη η έκδοση του συγκεκριμένου βιβλίου στα ελληνικά όταν υπάρχουν ένα σωρό αμετάφραστα διαμάντια; Μάλλον όχι.
Πέραν της απουσίας ενός διευκρινιστικού επίμετρου (που κατά τη γνώμη μου ήταν απαραίτητο και εξηγώ παρακάτω το γιατί) διαβάζουμε στο οπισθόφυλλο τις εξής ανακρίβειες: "Ένα ψυχολογικό έργο που ο Τζον Γουίλιαμς έγραψε κατά τον Β' Παγκόσμιο πόλεμο όταν νοσηλεύτηκε ως τραυματίας" Η συγκεκριμένη πληροφορία είναι ανακριβής και έχει αντληθεί πολύ πρόχειρα από blogs τα οποία δεν παραπέμπουν σε κάποια πηγη εξακριβωσης για αυτή τη δήλωση.
Στη βιογραφία που συνέγραψε ο Shields, αναφέρεται πως ο Γουίλιαμς έγραψε το μυθιστόρημα σε διάφορες χρονολογικές φάσεις(συνολικά υπήρξαν περίπου έξι ντραφτς) και, παρόλο που εικάζεται πως δούλεψε μέρος του κατά τη θητεία του, η ρομαντική εικόνα του τραυματισμένου Γουίλιαμς, ως άλλου Χέμινγουεϊ, να ξεκινά και να τελειώνει το βιβλίο κατά τη διάρκεια της νοσηλείας του, όπως αφήνεται να εννοηθεί από αυτή τη δήλωση, δεν ευσταθεί.
Σχετικά με τη συνέντευξη της τέταρτης (!) γυναίκας του Γουίλιαμς, δεδομένου οτι η ιδια γνώρισε τον Γουίλιαμς πολλες δεκαετιες μετα τη συγγραφη του Μονο η νύχτα, δεν νομίζω οτι μπορει να σταθει ως αξιόπιστη μαρτυρία, οταν μάλιστα απλώς επιβεβαιώνει μια υπόθεση του δημοσιογράφου. Ο Shields παρότι γνωριζει το περιεχόμενο της συνέντευξης θεωρει πιο αξιόπιστη πηγη την τοτινή αλληλογραφία του Γουίλιαμς με την πρώτη του γυναίκα και με όσα μέλη της οικογενειας του ζούσαν τότε.
Μαλιστα ο βιογράφος αμφισβητεί ακόμα και τον ιδιο τον τραυματισμό του Γουίλιαμς αφού, όπως εύλογα σημειώνει, το όνομά του δεν βρισκόταν ανάμεσα στην επίσημη καταγραφή της αεροπορίας για την πτώση του αεροπλανου στο οποίο υποτίθεται πως ήταν επιβάτης και, αν όντως είχε νοσηλευτεί για "σπασμένα πλευρά" λόγω της πτώσης, θα είχε λάβει και το αντιστοιχο μετάλλιο ανδρείας, κάτι που δεν έγινε. Νοσηλεύτηκε πάντως σίγουρα λόγω ελονοσίας. Δεδομένου βεβαια οτι μια τετοια κατασταση επιφερει υψηλό πυρετό και διαρροιες, δεν νομίζω πως είχε το κουράγιο να γράψει κάτι την περίοδο της νοσηλείας του.
Άλλωστε το ίδιο το έργο δεν αφορά με κανέναν τρόπο εμπειρίες πολέμου και φαίνεται να τοποθετείται σε εναν εντελως διαφορετικο χωροχρονο, ούτε είναι ένα κείμενο που έχει γραφτεί βιαστικά, αλλα εχει δουλευτεί (ειδικα οι πρώτες περιγραφές) Αντιθέτως, το πέμπτο, ανολοκλήρωτο μυθιστόρημα του Γουίλιαμς, The sleep of reason, καταπιανοταν συνειδητά με την εμπειρία του πολέμου.
Το δεύτερο ανακριβές στοιχείο που συναντάμε στις λίγες γραμμές του οπισθόφυλλου είναι το εξής: "επανεκτιμήθηκε εξήντα χρόνια μετά και προστέθηκε στη λίστα των μεγάλων άλλων έργων του" Από ποιον ακριβώς επανεκτιμήθηκε το συγκεκριμένο πρωτόλειο; Δεν υπάρχει καμία σοβαρή κριτική ανάλυση ακαδημαϊκού χαρακτήρα (εκτός από αυτή του Asquith που καταπιάνεται κυρίως με τα μεγάλα έργα του Γουίλιαμς) που να αναδεικνύει κάποιο πρότερο λογοτεχνικό θησαυρό που ξαφνικά ανακαλύφθηκε εξήντα χρόνια μετά. Το βιβλίο υπέστη επανεκδόσεις λόγω της ύστερης εμπορικής επιτυχίας του Στόουνερ και δεν υπήρξε ποτέ καμία κριτική επαναξιολόγηση που να το καθιστά ξαφνικά αριστούργημα. Οι ίδιες αδυναμίες που είχαν διαπιστωθεί κατά την έκδοσή του, διαπιστώνονται και τώρα.
Kαι έρχομαι στην αναγκαιότητα ενός επίμετρου: Τι ακριβώς επανεκτιμήθηκε 60 χρόνια μετά, κατά τις εκδόσεις Gutenberg; Η ομοφοβία του κειμένου ή ο μισογυνισμός του; Είναι δυνατόν να εκδίδουν ένα τέτοιο κείμενο, να το πλασάρουν ως χαμένο αριστούργημα και να μην κάνουν έστω έναν σχολιασμό για την ομοφοβία που εντοπίζεται στην αφήγηση για τον χαρακτήρα του Stafford;
Καταλήγω λοιπόν, στο ότι για να είναι μια έκδοση ποιοτική, δεν αρκεί να κοτσάρουμε στο κείμενο το ανούσιο πλέον πολυτονικό, στο οποίο οι Gutenberg και κάποιοι άλλοι γραφικοί εκδοτικοί επιμένουν, αλλά να συνοδεύεται και από μια κριτική προσέγγιση που θα βοηθήσει τους αναγνώστες να αποσαφηνίσουν τις συνδηλώσεις του κειμένου.
Στα του περιεχομένου τώρα: ως πνεύμα αντιλογίας, από τη μία συμφωνώ με όσους επεσήμαναν τις αδυναμίες του κειμένου, δικαιολογώντας την κρίση τους επειδή είναι το πρωτόλειο μυθιστόρημα του Γουίλιαμς, από την άλλη, όμως, συλλογίζομαι τι είναι αυτό που κάνει τους αναγνώστες να αρέσκονται στον μισογύνη και μισανάπηρο Στόουνερ αλλά όχι στον ομοφοβικό Άρθουρ. Μάλλον ότι ο Άρθουρ εντάσσεται εμφανώς στην κατηγορία του αντιήρωα ενώ οι αδυναμίες στον χαρακτήρα του Στόουνερ καλύπτονται από την αγιοποίηση που αποτολμά ο συγγραφέας, χωρίς να έχει συναίσθηση των αρνητικών του ήρωά του.
Ο Στόουνερ σε αντιδιαστολή με τον Άρθουρ δεν είχε κανένα διαρκές τραύμα, δεν βασανιζόταν από τίποτε άλλο πέρα από τον κομφορμισμό της ζωής, στον οποίο βεβαίως εντάχθηκε. Ο Άρθουρ σε αντίθεση με τον Στόουνερ είναι παρίας. Οι ομοιότητες μεταξύ των δύο βιβλίων είναι πολύ λίγες. Το Μόνο η νύχτα είναι ένα μυθιστόρημα σαφώς μοντερνιστικό, που αφορά μόλις λίγες ώρες από τη ζωή του Άρθουρ και αξιώνει να εκτυλιχθεί ως ένα ψυχολογικό νουάρ, όπου απλά σημεία της καθημερινότητας καταλήγουν να γίνονται τρομακτικά (για παράδειγμα, το πώς το πρωινό του Άρθουρ μετατρέπεται από τηγανητά αυγά σε ένα μάτι επίκρισης μεταμοντέρνου πίνακα).
Ο Γουίλιαμς είναι επηρεασμένος από ψυχαναλυτικές θεωρήσεις που ήταν αρκετά της μόδας τότε, καθώς και από την ατομικιστική τάση των μυθιστορημάτων πριν τον β' παγκόσμιο πόλεμο. Όλο το βιβλίο λοιπόν, όπως άλλωστε είχε διαπιστωθεί και απο τον, επίσης συγγραφέα, σύζυγο της αδερφής του Γουίλιαμς, Marsh Willard, αφορά, κυρίως, μια αιμομικτική αλληγορία, η οποία βεβαίως καταλήγει στη φαντασίωση της πατροκτονίας και στην τιμωρία που επέρχεται στον γιο.
Όπως θα διαπιστωνε ωστόσο και ο Φρόυντ, το οιδιπόδειο σχήμα παρουσιάζεται κεκαλυμμένα. Η φαντασίωση της φόνευσης του πατέρα μετατίθεται από το υποσυνείδητο του γιου στη μητέρα, η οποία καταλήγει να πληρώσει και τις αιμομικτικές τάσεις του γιου της. Ο ίδιος, βιώνει την τιμωρία από τον μεγαλόσωμο άνδρα στο τέλος, που φυσικά, συμβολίζει την πατρική φιγούρα.
Το βιβλίο, όπως αναφέρω και παραπάνω, γράφτηκε σε διαφορετικές χρονολογικές φάσεις, κάτι που γίνεται αρκετά φανερό. Αν μπορούμε να το χωρίσουμε σε δύο μέρη (παρότι ποσοτικά ανισοβαρή μεταξύ τους) θα αφορούν α) τις συναντήσεις του Άρθρουρ, αφήγηση που είναι αρκετά πιο στιβαρή και β) την αποκάλυψη του τραύματος όπου ο Γουίλιαμς χάνει τον έλεγχο και γίνεται μελοδραματικός.
Σε γενικες γραμμες: ενα σχετικώς καλοστεκούμενο πρωτόλειο που αξιωνει έναν βαθμό πρωτοτυπίας, αλλα με αμετρητες αδυναμίες που ριχνουν το συνολο του κειμενου.
Ήταν άραγε απαραίτητη η έκδοση του συγκεκριμένου βιβλίου στα ελληνικά όταν υπάρχουν ένα σωρό αμετάφραστα διαμάντια; Μάλλον όχι.
July 19, 2023
Dogshit. And I say that as a fan of John Williams' Stoner and Butcher's Crossing. It's only a hundred or so pages but still I started zoning out after the part where the gay guy tries hitting him up for money, a part that was at least a little memorable, and I really just skimmed the back half of the book, if that. Apparently he wrote this in a tent in Burma while waiting to be discharged after his plane was shot down in WW2, so I guess that's cool. And also to be fair he himself personally disowned it in later years. That trivia comes from the interview with his widow at the back of the book, which is more interesting than the novel itself.
July 13, 2024
Neașteptat de vie și pulsatila, John Williams e un existentialist american neștiut, cu ecouri din Străinul lui Camus, dar și manifestând nihilismul crud a lui Dostoievski, pe alocuri.
Surprinzător!
Surprinzător!
June 15, 2020
"How alone we are, he thought. How always alone."
As this is Williams's first book, and one that he personally didn't care for later in life, I can see why it's sort of under the radar. Many have loved and raved about 'Stoner' (I was one of them), so it's interesting to see such mixed reviews on this one here at Goodreads.
The mixed reviews, in my opinion, are perhaps because the main character's trauma is caused by a specific family event in his youth. Unless, you've had such an event or one that has traumatized you at an early age, this may not appeal to or even matter to you. Not only does this book speak to me, but the writing is purely Williams. I haven't read 'Stoner' or 'Butcher's Crossing' in some time, but without looking, you can tell which writers are telling you a story at that given point in your life.
At times, 'Nothing But The Night' is a bit dreamy, while others it is suspenseful. NYRB tags it as a psychological noir, but frankly I only see that in short bursts.
The opening chapter is a must, the middle bit is a work up to an explosive scene 3/4's in and the book ends unexpectedly, but after a think or two is rewarding.
This will never come up in the same discussion as 'Stoner', but it will always be memorable.
As this is Williams's first book, and one that he personally didn't care for later in life, I can see why it's sort of under the radar. Many have loved and raved about 'Stoner' (I was one of them), so it's interesting to see such mixed reviews on this one here at Goodreads.
The mixed reviews, in my opinion, are perhaps because the main character's trauma is caused by a specific family event in his youth. Unless, you've had such an event or one that has traumatized you at an early age, this may not appeal to or even matter to you. Not only does this book speak to me, but the writing is purely Williams. I haven't read 'Stoner' or 'Butcher's Crossing' in some time, but without looking, you can tell which writers are telling you a story at that given point in your life.
At times, 'Nothing But The Night' is a bit dreamy, while others it is suspenseful. NYRB tags it as a psychological noir, but frankly I only see that in short bursts.
The opening chapter is a must, the middle bit is a work up to an explosive scene 3/4's in and the book ends unexpectedly, but after a think or two is rewarding.
This will never come up in the same discussion as 'Stoner', but it will always be memorable.
April 3, 2020
Cuando caí rendido ante Stoner,me pregunté al igual que muchos porqué diablos no lo había conocido antes. Donde estaba este señor Williams? Y la segunda pregunta fue: Donde hay más Williams en español para seguir leyendo?
La respuesta llegó rápido con esta edición de los amigos de Fiordo. Lo compré, lo guardé, lo miraba de costado, esperando que llegara su turno. Y un día lo leí y me quedé con mal sabor.
Las primeras páginas me aburrieron, cero empatía con el personaje principal. Decepeción en puerta. Sí detecté algo de la prosa de Stoner. De acuerdo, esta es su primera obra, es obvio que no voy a encontrar lo mismo.
Es una novela corta que al final me despertó compasión, de acuerdo, logre sentir algo, pero hay un par de situaciones narradas que no le encontré sentido y no me engancharon.
Que se le va a hacer. Así es la lectura.
La respuesta llegó rápido con esta edición de los amigos de Fiordo. Lo compré, lo guardé, lo miraba de costado, esperando que llegara su turno. Y un día lo leí y me quedé con mal sabor.
Las primeras páginas me aburrieron, cero empatía con el personaje principal. Decepeción en puerta. Sí detecté algo de la prosa de Stoner. De acuerdo, esta es su primera obra, es obvio que no voy a encontrar lo mismo.
Es una novela corta que al final me despertó compasión, de acuerdo, logre sentir algo, pero hay un par de situaciones narradas que no le encontré sentido y no me engancharon.
Que se le va a hacer. Así es la lectura.
November 12, 2023
ho letto la nuova edizione mondadori uscita il 7 novembre 2023
ps il punteggio complessivo di 3,22 grida vendetta fino agli estremi confini del sistema solare
ps il punteggio complessivo di 3,22 grida vendetta fino agli estremi confini del sistema solare
December 6, 2022
This was John Williams' first novel written when he was 22 years old. It takes place over one day as a young man is haunted by a memory from his past and comes face to face with people and places that trigger his memory and cause him to descend into madness. Unfortunately, I didn't enjoy this much. For such a short book it dragged quite a bit. It could've been a much more powerful and effective short story, perhaps. In ways it reminded me of some of the stories I read from Stefan Zweig earlier this year, but more melodramatic and less affecting. The writing is tedious at times, overly describing every action he takes, every thing he sees, without adding any depth to the character. And the resolution is a bit cliche and uninteresting. It's clear Williams grew immensely as a writer between this and Stoner (the only other novel I've read from him and absolutely loved). It was interesting to read his earlier work but ultimately unsatisfying.
March 30, 2014
Indubbiamente scritto -ma non è motivo di stupore - in maniera egregia. Tuttavia ad una prima parte splendida, che introduce un personaggio "letargico" e senile, segue una seconda parte non altrettanto efficace. Per quanto sia piacevole l'eco di Proust e l'idea di fondo del romanzo (tutto incardinato sull'idea-simbolo della notte), non mi ha convinta del tutto. In ogni caso, lo consiglio, soprattutto a chi ama lo scrittore. Un esordio degnissimo di nota, da considerarsi una fase embrionale.
"Tutto il resto era un incubo. Quella invece era la realtà, non era un sogno. Quello era il mondo reale - lì, era al sicuro, nel tempo perduto".
"Tutto il resto era un incubo. Quella invece era la realtà, non era un sogno. Quello era il mondo reale - lì, era al sicuro, nel tempo perduto".
September 23, 2025
Romanul urmărește o singură zi din viața lui Arthur Maxley, un tânăr izolat, chinuit de amintiri și de o traumă din copilărie. Dimineața îl găsim în camera lui, într-o stare de neliniște, apoi rătăcește prin oraș, participă la conversații lipsite de sens și își petrece timpul ca și cum ar fi suspendat între realitate și vis. Ziua culminează cu o cină alături de tatăl său, unde tensiunile și resentimentele ascunse dintre ei izbucnesc, readucând în prim-plan fantomele trecutului.
Este exact genul de roman care mă atrage: scris ca într-un vis, fascinant și în același timp tulburător. Citești conștient fiecare frază, dar ai impresia că nimic nu are sens și totuși totul pare încărcat de sensuri ascunse. La final rămâi cu întrebarea: despre ce a fost de fapt vorba? Și răspunsul rămâne undeva între liniile tulburi, ca o noapte care nu se sfârșește.
Este exact genul de roman care mă atrage: scris ca într-un vis, fascinant și în același timp tulburător. Citești conștient fiecare frază, dar ai impresia că nimic nu are sens și totuși totul pare încărcat de sensuri ascunse. La final rămâi cu întrebarea: despre ce a fost de fapt vorba? Și răspunsul rămâne undeva între liniile tulburi, ca o noapte care nu se sfârșește.
October 20, 2021
Nulla, solo la notte racconta la storia di Arthur Maxley , fatta di drink, libri e soprattutto ricordi, come quello dell'inverno a Boston e la magnifica solennità del campus universitario che ha lasciato per rifugiarsi in un hotel. “Quello, tra tutti, era stato un buon anno; il college, la necessaria distrazione dovuta all’adattamento a nuove abitudini, nuovi volti, nuove cose da imparare. ”
Ma quando riceve una lettera dal padre, si capisce che i ricordi che lo infastidiscono sono legati a lui e a un antico trauma
Arthur non vede il padre da tre anni, la lettera ricevuta ha la freddezza e il distacco di una comunicazione commerciale
Avrebbe potuto chiamarlo, invece di scrivergli.
È la prima cosa che pensa Arthur
Affrontare suo padre diventa insieme dovere e desiderio.
“Visualizzò suo padre come l’aveva visto l’ultima volta, quasi tre anni prima.
“Un bel completo grigio e una fronte pallida e vasta: solo questo riuscì a vedere, nel ricordo.”
Nulla, solo la notte sfiora la magia verbale di Stoner: quelle parole, fragili e pericolose, che conosciamo già, ma se scritte da John Williams (la cui grandezza lo rende incapace di scrivere una brutta frase), assumono una patina di bellezza e tristezza, commuovono, spingono alla compassione.
Ma a questo romanzo manca ciò che sarebbe arrivato dopo nella scrittura di Williams, la potenza della semplicità capace di raccontare la vita.
Ma quando riceve una lettera dal padre, si capisce che i ricordi che lo infastidiscono sono legati a lui e a un antico trauma
Arthur non vede il padre da tre anni, la lettera ricevuta ha la freddezza e il distacco di una comunicazione commerciale
Avrebbe potuto chiamarlo, invece di scrivergli.
È la prima cosa che pensa Arthur
Affrontare suo padre diventa insieme dovere e desiderio.
“Visualizzò suo padre come l’aveva visto l’ultima volta, quasi tre anni prima.
“Un bel completo grigio e una fronte pallida e vasta: solo questo riuscì a vedere, nel ricordo.”
Nulla, solo la notte sfiora la magia verbale di Stoner: quelle parole, fragili e pericolose, che conosciamo già, ma se scritte da John Williams (la cui grandezza lo rende incapace di scrivere una brutta frase), assumono una patina di bellezza e tristezza, commuovono, spingono alla compassione.
Ma a questo romanzo manca ciò che sarebbe arrivato dopo nella scrittura di Williams, la potenza della semplicità capace di raccontare la vita.
August 25, 2019
This story was about the haunting of memories. The protagonist was a cat on a hot tin roof. This reader was riveted.
I really liked how the story unwound, with no clue where it was heading. The author wrote a very potent tale. Every scene was alive and felt dangerous. Oftentimes, it felt dark and unstable and suspenseful. The authors descriptions of haunting memories, loneliness, and aging were amazing, dark and punchy.
Overall this little novella is worth a read. It was the authors first novel (1940s) and it shows his mastery of language. From the start the author will pull you in. At first otherworldly and then not and then otherworldly again. And then a little bit of both.
As the author described a gathering and that of a bedeviled alien with a sickly parlor and blood red lips, it was magnetic. The writer really drew me in quickly. I was only on page four and I was all in.
As I read on, I couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of work that must have gone into this novella. Each corner was carefully crafted.
Each chapter seemed to flow between angst to entering into life and disappointed withdrawal.
It was interesting how the story moved. It was all in the protagonist’s head at the start. Even with interaction from others, there was always a wall, but built of what I wondered as I read.
The description of the protagonist taking a drink at his bathroom sink was riveting, it got to the meat of why he drank, even if we weren’t sure of the surface reasons we got that the protagonist needed it to cope. It was as if the drinking was to dilute the flood of memories, either of one thing or many, or just in case, because when memories flood one can never tell what will be caught up in the torrent.
There was a great description of the protagonist trying to avoid looking at the “oaken demon” chest of drawers. It touched on how futile it is to push something away when what we really need to do is let it go.
Some of the phrasing throughout the novel was just wonderful. I felt like I was in a dream or completely entranced at times as I read certain passages, such as when the protagonist thought of his mother when a boy. It was stunning and beautiful but I could feel the weight of something shocking or tragic around the protagonists neck as he imagined her, even though what he described was sweet.
When he wrote of loneliness and how it’s never more so in a crowd - when faces look at you blankly not recognizing you and voices are heard but none are talking to you - it was very elegant and poignant the way he wrote that scene as the protagonist walked the busy city streets.
In the end, this story about a protagonist on edge haunted by memories will haunt me for a while.
I really liked how the story unwound, with no clue where it was heading. The author wrote a very potent tale. Every scene was alive and felt dangerous. Oftentimes, it felt dark and unstable and suspenseful. The authors descriptions of haunting memories, loneliness, and aging were amazing, dark and punchy.
Overall this little novella is worth a read. It was the authors first novel (1940s) and it shows his mastery of language. From the start the author will pull you in. At first otherworldly and then not and then otherworldly again. And then a little bit of both.
As the author described a gathering and that of a bedeviled alien with a sickly parlor and blood red lips, it was magnetic. The writer really drew me in quickly. I was only on page four and I was all in.
As I read on, I couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of work that must have gone into this novella. Each corner was carefully crafted.
Each chapter seemed to flow between angst to entering into life and disappointed withdrawal.
It was interesting how the story moved. It was all in the protagonist’s head at the start. Even with interaction from others, there was always a wall, but built of what I wondered as I read.
The description of the protagonist taking a drink at his bathroom sink was riveting, it got to the meat of why he drank, even if we weren’t sure of the surface reasons we got that the protagonist needed it to cope. It was as if the drinking was to dilute the flood of memories, either of one thing or many, or just in case, because when memories flood one can never tell what will be caught up in the torrent.
There was a great description of the protagonist trying to avoid looking at the “oaken demon” chest of drawers. It touched on how futile it is to push something away when what we really need to do is let it go.
Some of the phrasing throughout the novel was just wonderful. I felt like I was in a dream or completely entranced at times as I read certain passages, such as when the protagonist thought of his mother when a boy. It was stunning and beautiful but I could feel the weight of something shocking or tragic around the protagonists neck as he imagined her, even though what he described was sweet.
When he wrote of loneliness and how it’s never more so in a crowd - when faces look at you blankly not recognizing you and voices are heard but none are talking to you - it was very elegant and poignant the way he wrote that scene as the protagonist walked the busy city streets.
In the end, this story about a protagonist on edge haunted by memories will haunt me for a while.
September 6, 2023
5/5 ✨
{ η πιο άγουρη ώριμη νουβέλα, το πιο ρετουσαρισμένο αρετουσάριστο έργο, το πιο νηφάλιο πιωμένο βιβλίο, που σηματοδοτεί την εκκίνηση της λογοτεχνικής δράσης ενός σπουδαίου συγγραφέα }
• μερικά παιδιά μετρούν προβατάκια στον ύπνο τους και αριθμούς στον ξύπνιο τους, αλλά ο Άρθουρ από πολύ μικρή ηλικία φαίνεται να μετρά μόνο απώλειες και μικρούς καθημερινούς θανάτους. Η μητέρα του είναι σωματικά απούσα, ο πατέρας του συναισθηματικά, ενώ ο εαυτός του παραμένει μετέωρος, σε έναν ενδιάμεσο χώρο μεταξύ απωθημένων αβάσταχτων αναμνήσεων και ενός βίου κυλιόμενου και τετριμμένου. Όλ@ τον άφησαν, πλέον ακόμη και το ποτό αρχίζει να εκλείπει.
Όταν όμως όλ@ σε αφήνουν, τότε είναι που πασχίζεις να ανασυνταχθείς και να βρεις τις απαντήσεις στις άπειρες ερωτήσεις που καιρό τώρα τριβελίζουν και σκαλίζουν το μυαλό σου. Και ο Άρθουρ προσπαθεί. Τουλάχιστον ενίοτε.
Βγαίνει έξω για βόλτα στο πάρκο - άλλο που καταλήγει με μια ομελέτα στο οπτικό πεδίο του και με ένα μπουκάλι κρασί στο στοματικό - διατηρεί μία υποτυπώδη επικοινωνία με τον πατέρα του, γνωρίζει μεθυσμένες κοπέλες και νεαρές, σαγηνευτικές χορεύτριες, ανέχεται έναν φίλο, καθώς κι εκείνος τον ανέχεται και υπομένει τα αδιάκριτα και αδηφάγα βλέμματα των περαστικών της μεγαλούπολης που έξαφνα ανακουφίζονται βλέποντας πως κάποιος είναι τόσο μόνος, που ούτε καν μπορεί να προσποιηθεί πως δεν είναι.
Μόνος, χαμένος και εγκλωβισμένος σε έναν σίφουνα διαστρεβλωμένων και απωθημένων αναμνήσεων, αιχμάλωτος των πρόωρων παιδικών τραυμάτων και μιας ζωής ασήμαντης, που έχει προ πολλού ατονήσει, ο Άρθουρ αναντίρρητα είναι ένας τραγικός ήρωας, εθελούσια υποταγμένος στους προσωπικούς του δαίμονες και στους τυφώνες της ασυναγώνιστης θλίψης και της βαθιάς οδύνης.
Διαβαίνοντας τον δρόμο της μιζέριας και της οδυνηρής ελαφρότητας της άχρωμης ζωής του, εντοπίζει κάποιες εκλάμψεις φωτός και μερικές διαβάσεις αφιλτράριστης - αν και αποσπασματικής - αλήθειας.
Είναι αλήθεια πως η ζωή του φέρθηκε άσχημα, μα είναι επίσης αλήθεια πως εκείνη είναι πια διατεθειμένη να του φερθεί καλύτερα αν ο ίδιος συμφωνήσει.
Στην πραγματική ζωή όταν καταναγκαστικά οικειοποιείσαι τόσο βαθιά τον θάνατο και όσους μικρούς θανάτους ακολουθούν, δεν είναι εύκολο να αποτραβηχτείς από την ματαιότητα και να κουρνιάσεις σε μια γωνιά στοχοπροσήλωσης, επαναδιατύπωσης του εγώ και παροδικής ευτυχίας. Ούτε στην λογοτεχνία είναι.
{ η πιο άγουρη ώριμη νουβέλα, το πιο ρετουσαρισμένο αρετουσάριστο έργο, το πιο νηφάλιο πιωμένο βιβλίο, που σηματοδοτεί την εκκίνηση της λογοτεχνικής δράσης ενός σπουδαίου συγγραφέα }
• μερικά παιδιά μετρούν προβατάκια στον ύπνο τους και αριθμούς στον ξύπνιο τους, αλλά ο Άρθουρ από πολύ μικρή ηλικία φαίνεται να μετρά μόνο απώλειες και μικρούς καθημερινούς θανάτους. Η μητέρα του είναι σωματικά απούσα, ο πατέρας του συναισθηματικά, ενώ ο εαυτός του παραμένει μετέωρος, σε έναν ενδιάμεσο χώρο μεταξύ απωθημένων αβάσταχτων αναμνήσεων και ενός βίου κυλιόμενου και τετριμμένου. Όλ@ τον άφησαν, πλέον ακόμη και το ποτό αρχίζει να εκλείπει.
Όταν όμως όλ@ σε αφήνουν, τότε είναι που πασχίζεις να ανασυνταχθείς και να βρεις τις απαντήσεις στις άπειρες ερωτήσεις που καιρό τώρα τριβελίζουν και σκαλίζουν το μυαλό σου. Και ο Άρθουρ προσπαθεί. Τουλάχιστον ενίοτε.
Βγαίνει έξω για βόλτα στο πάρκο - άλλο που καταλήγει με μια ομελέτα στο οπτικό πεδίο του και με ένα μπουκάλι κρασί στο στοματικό - διατηρεί μία υποτυπώδη επικοινωνία με τον πατέρα του, γνωρίζει μεθυσμένες κοπέλες και νεαρές, σαγηνευτικές χορεύτριες, ανέχεται έναν φίλο, καθώς κι εκείνος τον ανέχεται και υπομένει τα αδιάκριτα και αδηφάγα βλέμματα των περαστικών της μεγαλούπολης που έξαφνα ανακουφίζονται βλέποντας πως κάποιος είναι τόσο μόνος, που ούτε καν μπορεί να προσποιηθεί πως δεν είναι.
Μόνος, χαμένος και εγκλωβισμένος σε έναν σίφουνα διαστρεβλωμένων και απωθημένων αναμνήσεων, αιχμάλωτος των πρόωρων παιδικών τραυμάτων και μιας ζωής ασήμαντης, που έχει προ πολλού ατονήσει, ο Άρθουρ αναντίρρητα είναι ένας τραγικός ήρωας, εθελούσια υποταγμένος στους προσωπικούς του δαίμονες και στους τυφώνες της ασυναγώνιστης θλίψης και της βαθιάς οδύνης.
Διαβαίνοντας τον δρόμο της μιζέριας και της οδυνηρής ελαφρότητας της άχρωμης ζωής του, εντοπίζει κάποιες εκλάμψεις φωτός και μερικές διαβάσεις αφιλτράριστης - αν και αποσπασματικής - αλήθειας.
Είναι αλήθεια πως η ζωή του φέρθηκε άσχημα, μα είναι επίσης αλήθεια πως εκείνη είναι πια διατεθειμένη να του φερθεί καλύτερα αν ο ίδιος συμφωνήσει.
Στην πραγματική ζωή όταν καταναγκαστικά οικειοποιείσαι τόσο βαθιά τον θάνατο και όσους μικρούς θανάτους ακολουθούν, δεν είναι εύκολο να αποτραβηχτείς από την ματαιότητα και να κουρνιάσεις σε μια γωνιά στοχοπροσήλωσης, επαναδιατύπωσης του εγώ και παροδικής ευτυχίας. Ούτε στην λογοτεχνία είναι.
September 4, 2023
Στο πρώτο του μικρό σε μέγεθος, αλλά μεγάλης λογοτεχνικής αξίας μυθιστόρημα ο Williams δείχνει τη συγγραφική αλλά και ψυχογραφική του δεινότητα τοποθετώντας στο επίκεντρο της ιστορίας του την απώλεια και τις συνέπειες αυτής.
Με μία σχεδόν κλειστοφοβική αίσθηση αναλύει την ψυχοσύνθεση του πρωταγωνιστή του, Άρθουρ, ο οποίος βρίσκεται σε μια εμμονική αναζήτηση ταυτότητας και στοχοπροσήλωσης μέσω της αυτοπαρατήρησης και της συναναστροφής του με τους άλλους.
Κινούμενος σαν φάντασμα την ημέρα και καταλήγοντας μουδιασμένος από το ποτό τη νύχτα που ξυπνούν τα φαντάσματα του παρελθόντος προσπαθεί να βάλει σε μια τάξη την εσωτερική του αταξία αποφεύγοντας, ωστόσο, να κοιτάξει κατάματα αυτό που τον τραυμάτισε στην παιδική του ηλικία.
Η σχέση με τον πατέρα του βρίσκεται καθ' όλη τη διάρκεια σε πρώτο πλάνο οδηγώντας αργά αλλά σταθερά στην αντίληψη ότι η απώλεια μπορεί να βιώνεται με διαφορετικό τρόπο αλλά η βαθιά μοναξιά που τη συνοδεύει μένει ίδια.
Με μία σχεδόν κλειστοφοβική αίσθηση αναλύει την ψυχοσύνθεση του πρωταγωνιστή του, Άρθουρ, ο οποίος βρίσκεται σε μια εμμονική αναζήτηση ταυτότητας και στοχοπροσήλωσης μέσω της αυτοπαρατήρησης και της συναναστροφής του με τους άλλους.
Κινούμενος σαν φάντασμα την ημέρα και καταλήγοντας μουδιασμένος από το ποτό τη νύχτα που ξυπνούν τα φαντάσματα του παρελθόντος προσπαθεί να βάλει σε μια τάξη την εσωτερική του αταξία αποφεύγοντας, ωστόσο, να κοιτάξει κατάματα αυτό που τον τραυμάτισε στην παιδική του ηλικία.
Η σχέση με τον πατέρα του βρίσκεται καθ' όλη τη διάρκεια σε πρώτο πλάνο οδηγώντας αργά αλλά σταθερά στην αντίληψη ότι η απώλεια μπορεί να βιώνεται με διαφορετικό τρόπο αλλά η βαθιά μοναξιά που τη συνοδεύει μένει ίδια.
August 1, 2020
Es una novela muy extraña, sobre sensaciones, sentimientos y recuerdos de un hombre joven al que ha marcado a fuego un hecho de su infancia. No está narrado en primera persona, no es la visión del protagonista, sin embargo, es un relato muy íntimo, muy detallado del sentir y de las percepciones de él. Es muy corta, pero no es de fácil lectura, no por su lenguaje o estilo, sino por la estructura "desde adentro". Habla sobre los trastornos mentales, sobre como los hechos de la vida pueden modificarnos y maniatarnos y pueden impedirnos que nos realicemos, que nos desarrollemos como personas.
No es para todos. Si se has leído Stoner y esperas algo similar, seguramente no saldrás complacido, pero vale mucho la pena y la narrativa ya era de primera, casi veinte años antes de aquella.
No es para todos. Si se has leído Stoner y esperas algo similar, seguramente no saldrás complacido, pero vale mucho la pena y la narrativa ya era de primera, casi veinte años antes de aquella.
July 8, 2023
prvijenac johna williamsa, poznatijeg po svojim kasnijim djelima "stoneru" i "augustusu". ovo djelo napisao je dok se za vrijeme II. svjetskog rata oporavljao od zrakoplovne nesreće u kojoj je oboren njegov avion u kojoj su trojica preživjela, a petorica umrli. s obzirom da nije mogao biti poslan kući, sjedio je u šatoru u džunglama kalkute i odlučio pisati nešto.
i bez da sam ovo rekla, vrlo je očito da je "ništa osim noći" rad neiskusnog autora, početnika, koji nije izbrusio svoj literarni stil pa se često gubi unutar nepotrebnog ili pretjeruje u korištenju riječi, ali koji ima žarku želju ostaviti iza sebe nešto vrijedno i upečatljivo. osobno ne volim autore koji se trude preko svojih mogućnosti jer rezultat često bude kontraefektan: od njegovog napora da izvuče najbolje iz sebe, i čitatelju padaju grašci znoja sa čela.
priča prati arthura maxleya u njegovim misaonim vrludanjima; imam dojam da je zamišljen kao grandiozni antijunak, ali ostavlja dojam nerazvijenog, smušenog i razmaženog derišta koji ne zna što hoće ni otkuda bi krenuo po to što ne zna što ni zašto želi. to kratko putovanje presijecano je likovima njegovog oca, "tetkice" stafforda i lijepe neznanke claire koju upoznaje u baru: polulikovi u poludijalozima s poluradnjama.
ipak, s obzirom da je roman kratak i da ga se pročita za dan-dva, preporučujem ga williamsovim fanovima, kao uvid u njegov malen, ali razvikan opus (osim spomenute tri, napisao je još jedino "krvnikov prijelaz").
i bez da sam ovo rekla, vrlo je očito da je "ništa osim noći" rad neiskusnog autora, početnika, koji nije izbrusio svoj literarni stil pa se često gubi unutar nepotrebnog ili pretjeruje u korištenju riječi, ali koji ima žarku želju ostaviti iza sebe nešto vrijedno i upečatljivo. osobno ne volim autore koji se trude preko svojih mogućnosti jer rezultat često bude kontraefektan: od njegovog napora da izvuče najbolje iz sebe, i čitatelju padaju grašci znoja sa čela.
priča prati arthura maxleya u njegovim misaonim vrludanjima; imam dojam da je zamišljen kao grandiozni antijunak, ali ostavlja dojam nerazvijenog, smušenog i razmaženog derišta koji ne zna što hoće ni otkuda bi krenuo po to što ne zna što ni zašto želi. to kratko putovanje presijecano je likovima njegovog oca, "tetkice" stafforda i lijepe neznanke claire koju upoznaje u baru: polulikovi u poludijalozima s poluradnjama.
ipak, s obzirom da je roman kratak i da ga se pročita za dan-dva, preporučujem ga williamsovim fanovima, kao uvid u njegov malen, ali razvikan opus (osim spomenute tri, napisao je još jedino "krvnikov prijelaz").
October 30, 2017
Was zähmt dich nach einem gewaltvollen Trauma? Was lässt die Dunkelheit in dir letztlich wieder hervorbrechen?
In „Nichts als die Nacht“ erzählt John Williams novellenhaft von zwölf Stunden eines gescheiterten Lebens. Lethargie, Müdigkeit, soziale Ängste umgeben den 24-jährigen Arthur Maxley. In einer einzigen Nacht bestimmen drei Menschen den Fortgang des Ganzen und lassen ihn alles Elend spüren. Man merkt diesem ersten Werk John Williams eine unfassbare Angst vor dem Leben an. Das schaurige, unheilvolle Leben wird in der Nacht durch alle Metaphern, die nur möglichst wenig Licht in eine verschattete Seele lassen, getrieben. Was für eine erzählerische Kraft, was für eine Energie! Ich war von Beginn an sehr angetan von diesem Stück Kurzprosa und es hat mich definitiv von einer Sache überzeugt: John Williams ist mittlerweile einer meiner liebsten Autoren. Das Gefühl stellte sich bereits 2015 zur Lektüre von „Stoner“ ein und setzte sich bei „Butcher’s Crossing“ und „Augustus“ fort. Wie viel Einsamkeit er eine einzige Person spüren lassen kann und wie expressiv man eine Nacht beschreiben kann. Sehr überzeugend insgesamt – empfehle ich vor allem, wenn man davor bereits etwas von Williams las.
In „Nichts als die Nacht“ erzählt John Williams novellenhaft von zwölf Stunden eines gescheiterten Lebens. Lethargie, Müdigkeit, soziale Ängste umgeben den 24-jährigen Arthur Maxley. In einer einzigen Nacht bestimmen drei Menschen den Fortgang des Ganzen und lassen ihn alles Elend spüren. Man merkt diesem ersten Werk John Williams eine unfassbare Angst vor dem Leben an. Das schaurige, unheilvolle Leben wird in der Nacht durch alle Metaphern, die nur möglichst wenig Licht in eine verschattete Seele lassen, getrieben. Was für eine erzählerische Kraft, was für eine Energie! Ich war von Beginn an sehr angetan von diesem Stück Kurzprosa und es hat mich definitiv von einer Sache überzeugt: John Williams ist mittlerweile einer meiner liebsten Autoren. Das Gefühl stellte sich bereits 2015 zur Lektüre von „Stoner“ ein und setzte sich bei „Butcher’s Crossing“ und „Augustus“ fort. Wie viel Einsamkeit er eine einzige Person spüren lassen kann und wie expressiv man eine Nacht beschreiben kann. Sehr überzeugend insgesamt – empfehle ich vor allem, wenn man davor bereits etwas von Williams las.
March 9, 2020
38th book of 2020.
Stoner is one of my favourite books ever written (Review Here) so I am taking it upon myself to read his small body of work. This is Williams' first novel.
There are the definite seeds in his writing here, glimpses to what his abilities would become later on, in the writing of Stoner. Lines like: He settled back in his chair and drank slowly and waited for the evening to reveal itself to him, sentence by sentence, like an unread book. This book follows Arthur Maxley, in a single day. He gets a letter from his estranged father and then meets a girl that evening, what progresses is the slow revealing of Arthur's childhood trauma. It's quite a violent book, which surprised me. It's short, and only comprised of several long scenes in actuality. However, an enjoyable, easy read, with the promise of a great writer bubbling beneath the surface. Next for Williams is Butcher's Crossing.
Stoner is one of my favourite books ever written (Review Here) so I am taking it upon myself to read his small body of work. This is Williams' first novel.
There are the definite seeds in his writing here, glimpses to what his abilities would become later on, in the writing of Stoner. Lines like: He settled back in his chair and drank slowly and waited for the evening to reveal itself to him, sentence by sentence, like an unread book. This book follows Arthur Maxley, in a single day. He gets a letter from his estranged father and then meets a girl that evening, what progresses is the slow revealing of Arthur's childhood trauma. It's quite a violent book, which surprised me. It's short, and only comprised of several long scenes in actuality. However, an enjoyable, easy read, with the promise of a great writer bubbling beneath the surface. Next for Williams is Butcher's Crossing.
October 16, 2023
Με τον Ουίλλιαμς δεν ξέρω τι συμβαίνει. Έχω την αίσθηση πως με τα ψυχογραφήματά του δεν μπορώ να δεθώ. Ενώ είμαι λάτρης των ψυχογραφημάτων με τη γραφή του συγκεκριμένου αδυνατώ να συμβαδίσω 100%. Πάντα νιώθω πως υπάρχει μια απόσταση μεταξύ αναγνώστη και συγγραφέα σα να μη θέλει ο δεύτερος ο αναγνώστης να γνωρίσει τους ήρωές του και το περιβάλλον τους.
Εδώ ο πρωταγωνιστής διακατέχεται από σκέψεις κ εικόνες σκοτεινές, άσχημες. Διάχυτες είναι η καταθλιπτική ατμόσφαιρα, η αποξένωση και η μελαγχολία. Γενικότερα είναι αντιληπτή μια προβληματική και αλλόκοτη συμπεριφορά. Βέβαια στο τέλος ως αναγνώστρια έμεινα με τις απορίες μου κ ένιωσα όπως με τον Στόουνερ. Δε με άγγιξε κ δε μου έδωσε κάτι. Αντιθέτως μετά την ολοκλήρωσή του ήμουν μετέωρη. Οφείλω όμως να τονίσω πως η γραφή του στις πρώτες 4-5 σελίδες με εντυπωσίασε λόγω συνθετότητας.
Εδώ ο πρωταγωνιστής διακατέχεται από σκέψεις κ εικόνες σκοτεινές, άσχημες. Διάχυτες είναι η καταθλιπτική ατμόσφαιρα, η αποξένωση και η μελαγχολία. Γενικότερα είναι αντιληπτή μια προβληματική και αλλόκοτη συμπεριφορά. Βέβαια στο τέλος ως αναγνώστρια έμεινα με τις απορίες μου κ ένιωσα όπως με τον Στόουνερ. Δε με άγγιξε κ δε μου έδωσε κάτι. Αντιθέτως μετά την ολοκλήρωσή του ήμουν μετέωρη. Οφείλω όμως να τονίσω πως η γραφή του στις πρώτες 4-5 σελίδες με εντυπωσίασε λόγω συνθετότητας.
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