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أطفئت الأنوار في بلاد العجائب
"إن إحدى السمات المفيدة للمذنبين أن خوفهم ينمو من دون الحاجة إلى تغذية من الخارج. لاحظت ذلك للمرة الأولى خلال الفترة الفاصلة بين طلاق أبوي ووفاة والدتي–كان إحساساً ثقيلاً بالذنب لم يتمكن حتى والدي من تحمله إلا بصعوبة."
418 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2010
99 people are currently reading
1821 people want to read
About the author
D.B.C. Pierre
39 books382 followersDBC Pierre is an Australian-born writer currently residing in Ireland. Born Peter Warren Finlay, the "DBC" stands for "Dirty But Clean". "Pierre" was a nickname bestowed on him by childhood friends after a cartoon character of that name.
Pierre was awarded the Booker Prize for fiction on 14 October 2003 for his novel Vernon God Little.
He is the third Australian to be so honoured, although he has told the British press that he prefers to consider himself a Mexican.
Pierre was awarded the Booker Prize for fiction on 14 October 2003 for his novel Vernon God Little.
He is the third Australian to be so honoured, although he has told the British press that he prefers to consider himself a Mexican.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 193 reviews
November 20, 2014
This was BRILLIANT. I'd be happy to be proved wrong, but I am prepared to say now that it's my book of 2010 - I can't imagine that I'm going to come across anything as unique, inspiring and downright excellent in the next few months.
The story begins with Gabriel Brockwell - dreamer, quasi-misanthrope, unfulfilled artist, paradoxically both a pursuer of ultimate decadence and an anti-capitalist - deciding to kill himself... but not quite immediately. The next 300 pages tell the fantastical tale of Gabriel's self-imposed final days, taking in three capital cities, an incredible cast of oddball characters, an excessive, orgiastic banquet beneath an abandoned airport, and the most bizarre and grotesque menu you've ever seen.
The narrative is wonderful, constantly experimenting with language and packed with unexpected words, succinct yet vivid descriptions, and too many remarkable truisms about human relationships, behaviour/hopes/fears/dreams, and the power of market forces than I could possibly list. The prose is experimental and colourful, yet there are perfectly formed quotes and soundbites on every page. Gabriel's voice is sublime - self-obsessed, negative and hypocritical, but funny, cynical, intelligent and brilliantly debauched as well as sweetly naive and naively charming. He's a literary Withnail, an elegantly wasted raconteur - I fell in love with the character and his flights of fancy, philosophical musings and never-ending brushes with good and bad luck.
DBC Pierre won the Booker Prize in 2003 with Vernon God Little, which is certainly very good, and shares in common with this book a strong first-person narrative voice and playful, intricate, inventive prose; but in my opinion, Lights Out in Wonderland is better. I loved the characters, loved the narrative, loved the story. This is an extraordinary novel. READ IT.
The story begins with Gabriel Brockwell - dreamer, quasi-misanthrope, unfulfilled artist, paradoxically both a pursuer of ultimate decadence and an anti-capitalist - deciding to kill himself... but not quite immediately. The next 300 pages tell the fantastical tale of Gabriel's self-imposed final days, taking in three capital cities, an incredible cast of oddball characters, an excessive, orgiastic banquet beneath an abandoned airport, and the most bizarre and grotesque menu you've ever seen.
The narrative is wonderful, constantly experimenting with language and packed with unexpected words, succinct yet vivid descriptions, and too many remarkable truisms about human relationships, behaviour/hopes/fears/dreams, and the power of market forces than I could possibly list. The prose is experimental and colourful, yet there are perfectly formed quotes and soundbites on every page. Gabriel's voice is sublime - self-obsessed, negative and hypocritical, but funny, cynical, intelligent and brilliantly debauched as well as sweetly naive and naively charming. He's a literary Withnail, an elegantly wasted raconteur - I fell in love with the character and his flights of fancy, philosophical musings and never-ending brushes with good and bad luck.
DBC Pierre won the Booker Prize in 2003 with Vernon God Little, which is certainly very good, and shares in common with this book a strong first-person narrative voice and playful, intricate, inventive prose; but in my opinion, Lights Out in Wonderland is better. I loved the characters, loved the narrative, loved the story. This is an extraordinary novel. READ IT.
September 6, 2011
(This book was graciously sent to me for free by W.W. Norton & Co. via Goodreads.com. I think they're going to wish they'd sent it to someone else.)
I hated Catcher in the Rye. I know it's supposed to be some kind of iconic book about about teenage angst or something, but to me Holden Caulfield was just sort of a whiny twit who created most of his problems himself. Boohooo! My parents don't understand me and my lack of effort is resulting in poor school performance and OMG SOMETIMES ADULTS LIE ABOUT THINGS! I tell you this because Lights Out in Wonderland is like all the worst things about Catcher in the Rye combined with a book Chuck Palahniuk might write after a serious head injury.
Gabriel Brockwell is twenty-five. He comes from an upper-class British family, and at the beginning of the book, finds himself in rehab. Deeply unsatisfied with his life, he decides that the best solution is to kill himself. However, before he does that, he feels that he should have at least one brilliant party first. From there, he travels around the globe, inadvertently fucking things up for almost everyone he meets. In between, he whines about how his daddy wasn't nice to him and his job was unfulfilling, and how people liked his friends more than they like him (unsurprising, really.) He has no direction in life! Things have not turned out the way he hoped/expected! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
The writing was not terrible -- there were some interesting descriptions along the way. However, it was often repetitive, but not in an interesting, witty, Palahniuk-type way, but in a repetitive way. Not to mention the mind-numbing, self-indulgent, and wholly unnecessary footnotes. YOU ARE NOT DAVID FOSTER WALLACE.
I'm sure there are a lot of people who might enjoy this book. I am just not one of them.
I hated Catcher in the Rye. I know it's supposed to be some kind of iconic book about about teenage angst or something, but to me Holden Caulfield was just sort of a whiny twit who created most of his problems himself. Boohooo! My parents don't understand me and my lack of effort is resulting in poor school performance and OMG SOMETIMES ADULTS LIE ABOUT THINGS! I tell you this because Lights Out in Wonderland is like all the worst things about Catcher in the Rye combined with a book Chuck Palahniuk might write after a serious head injury.
Gabriel Brockwell is twenty-five. He comes from an upper-class British family, and at the beginning of the book, finds himself in rehab. Deeply unsatisfied with his life, he decides that the best solution is to kill himself. However, before he does that, he feels that he should have at least one brilliant party first. From there, he travels around the globe, inadvertently fucking things up for almost everyone he meets. In between, he whines about how his daddy wasn't nice to him and his job was unfulfilling, and how people liked his friends more than they like him (unsurprising, really.) He has no direction in life! Things have not turned out the way he hoped/expected! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
The writing was not terrible -- there were some interesting descriptions along the way. However, it was often repetitive, but not in an interesting, witty, Palahniuk-type way, but in a repetitive way. Not to mention the mind-numbing, self-indulgent, and wholly unnecessary footnotes. YOU ARE NOT DAVID FOSTER WALLACE.
I'm sure there are a lot of people who might enjoy this book. I am just not one of them.
July 27, 2024
Really enjoyed this one. Like a weird cross between Catcher in the Rye, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and On the Road, if you can imagine that. Obnoxious protagonist but funny and with real character growth.
Read
October 13, 2023صعب للغاية أن أكملها... جرعة صعبة جداً من العدمية والتعب اليأس والنكد مترامي الصفحات والأفكار
كان يمكنني أن أقاوم رغبتي فى إنهائها.. إلا أن هذا يتنافي مع عهد قطعته على نفسى من قبل، ألا اسمح بكتاب لا يناسبني أن يستنزف وقت كتاب أخرى يستحق،
وهكذا كان القرار ،،،
February 9, 2011
Whoosh.
There's a lot going on here. DBC Pierre really goes beyond what he did well in Vernon God Little and takes it to the next level: The little footnotes, the recipes, the little system of neologisms he's created, they all add up to make for a notetaking-worthy read.
Sure, there are some parts where it starts to slow down (the entirety of Tokyo; the beginning of Berlin), but it quickly picks up speed and heads to a completely ludicrous, yet satisfying wrap-up.
And yes, there are some heavy-handed moments of political agenda at work. It's really difficult to bypass this, but I personally didn't feel that it was too distracting to get through the novel. Perhaps it's because I'm a sympathizer, I don't know.
All in all, worth the plane trip to the land of Britain to import.
There's a lot going on here. DBC Pierre really goes beyond what he did well in Vernon God Little and takes it to the next level: The little footnotes, the recipes, the little system of neologisms he's created, they all add up to make for a notetaking-worthy read.
Sure, there are some parts where it starts to slow down (the entirety of Tokyo; the beginning of Berlin), but it quickly picks up speed and heads to a completely ludicrous, yet satisfying wrap-up.
And yes, there are some heavy-handed moments of political agenda at work. It's really difficult to bypass this, but I personally didn't feel that it was too distracting to get through the novel. Perhaps it's because I'm a sympathizer, I don't know.
All in all, worth the plane trip to the land of Britain to import.
December 6, 2010
Lights Out in Wonderland begins with these lines:
There isn’t a name for my situation. Firstly because I decided to kill myself. And then because of this idea:
I don’t have to do it immediately.
Whoosh, through a little door. It’s a limbo.
I need never answer the phone again or pay a bill. My credit score no longer matters. Fears and compulsions don’t matter. Socks don’t matter. Because I’ll be dead. And who am I to die? A microwave chef. A writer of pamphlets. A product of our time. A failed student. A faulty man. A bad poet. An activist in two minds. A drinker of chocolate milk, and when there’s no chocolate, of strawberry and sometimes banana.
In times geared to the survival of the fittest, not the fittest.
Ah well. I’ve always avoided mirrors but here, naked in a room with a sink and a mirror, I steal a glance. Whoosh, the weasel is gone. Suddenly I’m a sphinx with choir-boy eyes, as luminous and rude as a decadent old portrait in oils.... By way of rejoicing I pee in the sink.
This is a tale of nihilistic abandon, a thoroughly debauched and bombastically narrated journey through the entrails of Western capitalism. The narrator initially intends for his final evening before suicide to take the form of some minor pub crawl; instead, it turns into a lengthy slog through depravity that becomes so repulsive that the novel is a burden to read. But somehow, just when the entire story seems fixed to implode, it metamorphoses into something beautiful. The finale leaves the reader (or, at least, me) feeling oddly unencumbered and hopeful.
There isn’t a name for my situation. Firstly because I decided to kill myself. And then because of this idea:
I don’t have to do it immediately.
Whoosh, through a little door. It’s a limbo.
I need never answer the phone again or pay a bill. My credit score no longer matters. Fears and compulsions don’t matter. Socks don’t matter. Because I’ll be dead. And who am I to die? A microwave chef. A writer of pamphlets. A product of our time. A failed student. A faulty man. A bad poet. An activist in two minds. A drinker of chocolate milk, and when there’s no chocolate, of strawberry and sometimes banana.
In times geared to the survival of the fittest, not the fittest.
Ah well. I’ve always avoided mirrors but here, naked in a room with a sink and a mirror, I steal a glance. Whoosh, the weasel is gone. Suddenly I’m a sphinx with choir-boy eyes, as luminous and rude as a decadent old portrait in oils.... By way of rejoicing I pee in the sink.
This is a tale of nihilistic abandon, a thoroughly debauched and bombastically narrated journey through the entrails of Western capitalism. The narrator initially intends for his final evening before suicide to take the form of some minor pub crawl; instead, it turns into a lengthy slog through depravity that becomes so repulsive that the novel is a burden to read. But somehow, just when the entire story seems fixed to implode, it metamorphoses into something beautiful. The finale leaves the reader (or, at least, me) feeling oddly unencumbered and hopeful.
October 12, 2012
I fell in love with this book.
I bought it a year ago, at the Parisian Shakespeare & Company bookstore and I have no idea why it took me so long to get it started.
Never in my life have I come across such a relatable character and so many plot twists. I'm sitting here all stunned, in all honesty: I don't know what to say. I'll just leave you with a few quotes:
"There isn't a name for my situation. Firstly because I decided to kill myself. And then because of this idea: I don't have to do it immediately."
"Smaller lives than yours may come and go, and the seasons within them may flourish and wither. But this night like a moonlit churchyard- this is my night."
"Because look at it, my friend: all that has ever been called love of life, is a love of things that won't happen. A love of dreams."
"How I wish I could hug her. What I wouldn't give to hug her now, that smiling, woolly person. And how important are the hugs we never had. Because some things do matter. Some things matter very much. While others don't matter at all."
I bought it a year ago, at the Parisian Shakespeare & Company bookstore and I have no idea why it took me so long to get it started.
Never in my life have I come across such a relatable character and so many plot twists. I'm sitting here all stunned, in all honesty: I don't know what to say. I'll just leave you with a few quotes:
"There isn't a name for my situation. Firstly because I decided to kill myself. And then because of this idea: I don't have to do it immediately."
"Smaller lives than yours may come and go, and the seasons within them may flourish and wither. But this night like a moonlit churchyard- this is my night."
"Because look at it, my friend: all that has ever been called love of life, is a love of things that won't happen. A love of dreams."
"How I wish I could hug her. What I wouldn't give to hug her now, that smiling, woolly person. And how important are the hugs we never had. Because some things do matter. Some things matter very much. While others don't matter at all."
August 8, 2014
No. No. No. This was an excruciating read. Where to begin? DBC Pierre's protagonist, like Holden Cauflield, is winey, pathetic, and unremarkable. This is the first book I've read where I rooted for the main character's suicide plan. And lousy with unnecessary footnotes! You have to earn footnotes! I stopped reading them early on. I did not want to give the author the satisfaction. Furthermore, Pierre's writing, like his characters, are wrung through the surreal, hallucinogenic washboard one too many times, that we stop caring. There is no ground or foundation for their humanity to stand upon. A 500 page dream sequence gets old.
Perhaps Pierre wanted the reader to experience a sense of relief at the last page, just as his main man may have felt. This was more than relief however. This was excitement that I never, ever have to read another word from this author.
Perhaps Pierre wanted the reader to experience a sense of relief at the last page, just as his main man may have felt. This was more than relief however. This was excitement that I never, ever have to read another word from this author.
March 26, 2021
أفكار مهمة و بعض الشرارت اللغوية الجميلة لكن ضاع كل شيء وسط فوضوية التركيب
شخصيا للا أنصح بقراءته إلا لمن لديه فضول تجربة كل ما هو مختلف
شخصيا للا أنصح بقراءته إلا لمن لديه فضول تجربة كل ما هو مختلف
May 6, 2020
Pierre uses this manic allegorical novel to look at the excesses of capitalism and one of its leading acts of decadence… fine dining! Twenty something Gabriel's ideologies take a big hit when his anti-capitalism activism actually starts making money; this is the final straw for him and he sets out to end his life after one last binge... which takes him to Tokyo and then Berlin. Maybe to literary for me, or maybe I need to re-read it... nothing like as good as Vernon God Little. 5 out of 12.
November 17, 2024
I am very happy to have finally finished this book. I loved Vernon God Little, which I read a long time ago. I had been looking forward therefore to reading this book, but I hated it. I did not like the characters, the premise or the storyline. The only redeeming factor was the quality of the writing. The numerous footnotes were incredibly irritating. 4/10.
July 26, 2012
Really, I had a love/hate relationship with this book; and finished it merely to prove it would not win. Surely most of us have fought that battle with a book or two; sometimes to give up and other times to carry on.
There were moments that I thought a paragraph, or 2-3 pages flowed nicely.
Sometimes the writing felt so disjointed I had to put the book down and come back for it to make sense. Though I actually rather liked the style of using foot notes for separate rants - and that was an aspect of the writing, and my own oral ranting and personal thought patterns that kept me reading.
I wrote down a few quotes to keep, not many.
Other times I thought to myself, how can this character possibly be 25? He's acting 15, or 20, and I really just want to smack him upside the head, frankly.
Not only that - what really bothered me, more than the immaturity or maturity of the character (articles which can be excused, because it is after all, a character), but the blatant xenophobia and ridiculous cultural stereotypes. Really? A sex scene involving an Octopus bite in Tokyo? How unoriginal and banal. Doing drugs in a former Nazi compound, and then starting to listen to Rammstein? Really? Listening to Rammstein and making middle school Nazi jokes - I'm so impressed.
Sure, attempting to stick it to Capitalism, playing with the notion of living inside a suicidal arc and general themes of learning to grow up and get on with it appeal; but frankly could have been done in a shorter storyline with a lot less drivel and clear lack of global understanding or travel experience.
I picked this up as somewhat of a beach read, get through Immigration queues read, and I was slightly embarrassed to pass it along to another traveler, and said as much when I did. It has it's moments and a few quotes - but beyond trying to save sanity when stuck in an 8 hour queue of some sort I wouldn't read it again. Perhaps I'd say otherwise were I 18, or 22 - but at 26 I just can't be bothered with some of the nonsense this character spews. I rather agree with the female character in the book that pretty much wants to smack him upside the head the majority of the time - and to avoid spoilers I won't say more than she's far more patient with him than I ever would be.
There were moments that I thought a paragraph, or 2-3 pages flowed nicely.
Sometimes the writing felt so disjointed I had to put the book down and come back for it to make sense. Though I actually rather liked the style of using foot notes for separate rants - and that was an aspect of the writing, and my own oral ranting and personal thought patterns that kept me reading.
I wrote down a few quotes to keep, not many.
Other times I thought to myself, how can this character possibly be 25? He's acting 15, or 20, and I really just want to smack him upside the head, frankly.
Not only that - what really bothered me, more than the immaturity or maturity of the character (articles which can be excused, because it is after all, a character), but the blatant xenophobia and ridiculous cultural stereotypes. Really? A sex scene involving an Octopus bite in Tokyo? How unoriginal and banal. Doing drugs in a former Nazi compound, and then starting to listen to Rammstein? Really? Listening to Rammstein and making middle school Nazi jokes - I'm so impressed.
Sure, attempting to stick it to Capitalism, playing with the notion of living inside a suicidal arc and general themes of learning to grow up and get on with it appeal; but frankly could have been done in a shorter storyline with a lot less drivel and clear lack of global understanding or travel experience.
I picked this up as somewhat of a beach read, get through Immigration queues read, and I was slightly embarrassed to pass it along to another traveler, and said as much when I did. It has it's moments and a few quotes - but beyond trying to save sanity when stuck in an 8 hour queue of some sort I wouldn't read it again. Perhaps I'd say otherwise were I 18, or 22 - but at 26 I just can't be bothered with some of the nonsense this character spews. I rather agree with the female character in the book that pretty much wants to smack him upside the head the majority of the time - and to avoid spoilers I won't say more than she's far more patient with him than I ever would be.
March 17, 2016
This is a novel about decadence which has reached global proportions.
Gabriel Brockwell is a 25 year old anti-globalisation activist whose daddy never loved him. He is a hedonist, partial to cocaine and booze in whatever forms they come and we meet Gabriel as he wakes up in rehab (which his father has organised and paid for) and we learn of his desire to kill himself after one last, big blowout.
We follow his flight from rehab, and from England, to Tokyo where his childhood comrade – Nelson Smuts – works as an epicurean with desires to reach the top echelon of elite, high-octane catering which exists in the underworld side of the industry.
Smuts introduces Gabriel to ‘Marius’ a wine from a vine so precious it grows with the assistance of virgins’ pheromones and transports the imbiber with visions of its Cote d’Azur slope. In Tokyo Gabriel enters a night of gangsters, poisonous fish and gangsters poisoned by fish which lands Smuts in jail.
To save his friend he must somehow pull off the impossible and find a mythical nightclub suitable for the party to end all parties hosted by a sinister party organiser and international playboy, Didier Laxalt, who alone has the power to free Smuts.
Gabriel’s voice throughout is what carries us through this novel. He has learnt that he is not worth very much to anyone, least of all himself, and his perception of our consumer-driven world – where ‘Consuming went from being a privilege, to a right, to a duty’ - is penetrating and direct.
The story is often ridiculous, delightful and yet disgusting, and always interesting. Gabriel is a great character, an anti-hero of sorts, who causes chaos yet manages to party on throughout.
It's not a book I would recommend to everyone - if you don't like strong language then you should steer clear - but it is one hell of a ride and a novel which I will be thinking about for a long time to come.
Gabriel Brockwell is a 25 year old anti-globalisation activist whose daddy never loved him. He is a hedonist, partial to cocaine and booze in whatever forms they come and we meet Gabriel as he wakes up in rehab (which his father has organised and paid for) and we learn of his desire to kill himself after one last, big blowout.
We follow his flight from rehab, and from England, to Tokyo where his childhood comrade – Nelson Smuts – works as an epicurean with desires to reach the top echelon of elite, high-octane catering which exists in the underworld side of the industry.
Smuts introduces Gabriel to ‘Marius’ a wine from a vine so precious it grows with the assistance of virgins’ pheromones and transports the imbiber with visions of its Cote d’Azur slope. In Tokyo Gabriel enters a night of gangsters, poisonous fish and gangsters poisoned by fish which lands Smuts in jail.
To save his friend he must somehow pull off the impossible and find a mythical nightclub suitable for the party to end all parties hosted by a sinister party organiser and international playboy, Didier Laxalt, who alone has the power to free Smuts.
Gabriel’s voice throughout is what carries us through this novel. He has learnt that he is not worth very much to anyone, least of all himself, and his perception of our consumer-driven world – where ‘Consuming went from being a privilege, to a right, to a duty’ - is penetrating and direct.
The story is often ridiculous, delightful and yet disgusting, and always interesting. Gabriel is a great character, an anti-hero of sorts, who causes chaos yet manages to party on throughout.
It's not a book I would recommend to everyone - if you don't like strong language then you should steer clear - but it is one hell of a ride and a novel which I will be thinking about for a long time to come.
August 24, 2011
Boy, was this book an adventure. I really felt like I was right there with Gabriel on his whole journey from London, to Tokyo, to Berlin. The author made me feel like only I was "in-the-know" and privy to all the psychotic ramblings he had to share. The fact that this book starts off in a mental institution pretty much sets the tone for the whole book. Yeah, Gabriel's effed up, but he doesn't care. He's going to kill him self, ha ha. No worries.
Gabriel isn't really a likable guy though. He's mostly a prick and likes to say "bourgeois" more than Ayn Rand. The footnotes are numerous and, for the most part, irrelevant (I just finished House of Leaves so I sure know about irrelevant footnotes. *cringe*)
If only I could get my hands on some panda paw or koala leg, I could try out some of his recipes for my own Bacchanalian feast.
Gabriel isn't really a likable guy though. He's mostly a prick and likes to say "bourgeois" more than Ayn Rand. The footnotes are numerous and, for the most part, irrelevant (I just finished House of Leaves so I sure know about irrelevant footnotes. *cringe*)
If only I could get my hands on some panda paw or koala leg, I could try out some of his recipes for my own Bacchanalian feast.
March 29, 2017
2nd time reading this. I gave it 4 stars originally but on 2nd read through it truly deserves 5. Just brilliant. Loved every moment. Unique, vibrant, inspiring and surprisingly joyous.
Also, some amazing descriptions of Berlin
Also, some amazing descriptions of Berlin
September 10, 2016
Just as outrageously decadent and too much as how it portrays capitalism and modern day consumerism. It´s a bit too much for me, but I can appreciate his stylish approach of the subject.
Read
June 24, 2016Abandoned this, not a great book.
January 14, 2013
Reading this book was an ordeal, and I’m glad it’s over, but I think it was worth it to undertake. DBC Pierre’s first book, Vernon God Little, was a masterpiece. I loved it, and I still do. It was a tiny bit slow to start, and it was a bit of an ordeal too, but the plot was captivating, it had a variety of intriguing characters and some little side plots to keep you interested. I also loved and heavily identifies with the main character.
In LOW… I didn’t. I legitimately hated…I can’t even remember his name, was it Gabriel or Frederick? I just checked, it is Gabriel Brockwell. I’ve no idea why Gerd Sprecht calls him Frederick. I guess I don’t care. That comes to play a lot in this book. I. JUST. DIDN’T. CARE. Gabriel is utterly pathetic and unlikeable. TWICE, in this novel he is asked of any likeable qualities he has, or even may have had at some point in his life and can come up with not a single freaking thing. In his whole life and personal definition. What kind of man is this?
Well, we do get to know him a bit by the end. I suppose the reason why it takes so long to see anything in him is because it takes so long for him to see anything in himself. The whole point of his “limbo” is that he has no self definition to float towards so he meanders meaninglessly and nowhere in particular.
This book is about him growing up in a way, finding that way to define himself, and without meaning to, he starts in the very first sentence. Albeit, he starts this growing up process with a decision to kill himself, which is not very mature at all, but the important part(though we don’t know its important yet) is merely that it is a decision. Gabriel ceases to be a bit of flotsam floating where he may, and he strikes out. He’s not grown up yet though because his only goal before death is to basically get really wasted, which is a stupid and childish last wish. He is so arrogant and stuck-up, thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t even know who he is. I hated him so much I resolved to stop reading this book several times. What kept me going was DBC.
His writing is so surprising. It is full of unexpected twists, full of completely INSANE figurative language. I can’t understand why anyone would choose to write the way he does, and so I must conclude that he does it merely because that is the way he thinks it out onto the page. He is doubtless a seriously messed up dude. Or at least was idk maybe he’s changed like Gabriel. I thought several times throughout the book that maybe he IS Gabriel. It could be semi-autobiographical. Though please please please let none of the banquet scene be true. I was so disturbed by that sequence it actually made me want to cry, and if I had been PMSing while reading it I’m sure I would have been sobbing on the floor.
So now that I have ranted for - oops, a full page - how I hate the book and yet love the author, I’ll actually get into this analysis.
Just want to get some observations out of the way. I found it too easy how well Gottfried comes to know Gabriel. I was distressed by the books lack of characters, and I wished that we could have had a slow growth of Gottfried, but then I suppose that would have shattered DBC’s construction of drawn-out depression and failures followed by a spurt of epiphany and growth. I believed the analysis in Anna, mostly. The other thing I didn’t like was SOOOO many conversations between random people. I could not understand it. I felt DBC was trying to let us absorb the culture of East Berlin, but I DIDN'T CARE and it may have been/ definitely was the worst waste of space in this book. Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not. And this book was not a conversational history of Berlin pubs. Or at least it shouldn’t have been.
I want to start with the title. Wonderland is where he dreams of going all throughout the book. The last place he wishes to be. The place of his send-off from his limbo to the underworld. When he gets to wonderland and truly sees what is there he proclaims “Our elegant place has become a level of hell.” And it could not be more true. If DBC painted with oil instead of words his banquet would resemble the famous triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights where the delights of some become the horrors of many others.
Lewis Carroll uses wonderland (in a widely embraced interpretation) as a metaphor for the place where one grows up. That’s what happens to little Alice. That’s what happens to Gabriel. He really didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but it got into him none-the-less.
When he writes “our elegant place has become a level of hell” he doesn’t only reveal his dissallusion to wonderland, but also his true feelings to his new friends and this old relic of a bye-gone age. He loves it how it was.
UNBEARABLE PRETENSION gives way to a clarity that lets him see the world around him for what it really is. His. For the taking if he wants it. “only one thing underlies death. And that is an absence of love. An absence which I have in abundance.” When Gerd and Gottfried pull him out of the lake (though truthfully it’s not clear if Gerd is even there or if either of them actually do anything to physically get him out of the water)it doesn’t matter that they physically pull him out (if they do) but rather that they are there, that someone noticed he was gone and went to the trouble of thinking about looking for him. He is loved. And that is all it took to save him, to change him, and to make him change his own fate, to “activate his reserve powers”.
“Nobody is stuck with anything as it is. We all must stand up and take control.” “Kill the spiral.” It’s very similar to the VGL quote, something like “ In a world where everyone was phsycho I was too much of a damned coward to be the god of my own life.”
There are a lot of parallels between these two books. A pathetic young man grows up. Learns that he has power in his own life, and uses that power to make his life better, and also to make the lives better of those who were good to him. Both books have crass and unexpected poetry to them. Both books get better as they go on. Both characters are quite distant until pretty far into the book, and both are similar to each other in several ways (Though Vernon still has all of the goodness of a quality and Gabriel has all of the bad).
Both books get quite abstract towards the end, to a very disturbing degree, in that it is a caricature of the grotesqueness of human possibility, and the stark realism of most of the book tricks the mind into seeing the absurdism as another possible reality too. God help us if either ever come true.
Both books have a saving grace. This is, that in a story where a character experiences constant failure, pain, and becomes more and more of a disappointment to the reader and himself… there somehow emerges a happy ending. In VGL it so surprised me that I cried real tears of happiness and gasped like a child at a show. In LOW it was a release. I could let out everything that I didn’t even know I was holding in. I just kept sighing. Relieved that it was OVER, and that the terrors had ceased, but also I had a feeling that the terrors had also ceased for these characters, characters I had begrudgingly learned to care for. They all did what was right. Not only for themselves, but also for the world. In the end I was proud of Gabriel. Proud of this pathetic sweaty bastard who had fouled up so bad, so many would have given up. But he had a secret strength, one that had just never been fueled before. They gave him love, and he gave everything he had. Chance, drive, ingenuity, and all he could. I was proud of this pathetic mass of useless flesh I had spent 330 pages growing a steady displeasure for because he became good in a way that he didn’t have to. He changed himself for the better, and I guess if he can do it, it makes me feel like maybe someday so could I. And that’s why this terrible horrible no good book is actually worth reading, because if the scum of this very earth can learn to love and to serve others, and himself all in one short night of madness, then I know I can too. And this horror and brilliance gives me hope for myself, and for this whole retched world.
In LOW… I didn’t. I legitimately hated…I can’t even remember his name, was it Gabriel or Frederick? I just checked, it is Gabriel Brockwell. I’ve no idea why Gerd Sprecht calls him Frederick. I guess I don’t care. That comes to play a lot in this book. I. JUST. DIDN’T. CARE. Gabriel is utterly pathetic and unlikeable. TWICE, in this novel he is asked of any likeable qualities he has, or even may have had at some point in his life and can come up with not a single freaking thing. In his whole life and personal definition. What kind of man is this?
Well, we do get to know him a bit by the end. I suppose the reason why it takes so long to see anything in him is because it takes so long for him to see anything in himself. The whole point of his “limbo” is that he has no self definition to float towards so he meanders meaninglessly and nowhere in particular.
This book is about him growing up in a way, finding that way to define himself, and without meaning to, he starts in the very first sentence. Albeit, he starts this growing up process with a decision to kill himself, which is not very mature at all, but the important part(though we don’t know its important yet) is merely that it is a decision. Gabriel ceases to be a bit of flotsam floating where he may, and he strikes out. He’s not grown up yet though because his only goal before death is to basically get really wasted, which is a stupid and childish last wish. He is so arrogant and stuck-up, thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t even know who he is. I hated him so much I resolved to stop reading this book several times. What kept me going was DBC.
His writing is so surprising. It is full of unexpected twists, full of completely INSANE figurative language. I can’t understand why anyone would choose to write the way he does, and so I must conclude that he does it merely because that is the way he thinks it out onto the page. He is doubtless a seriously messed up dude. Or at least was idk maybe he’s changed like Gabriel. I thought several times throughout the book that maybe he IS Gabriel. It could be semi-autobiographical. Though please please please let none of the banquet scene be true. I was so disturbed by that sequence it actually made me want to cry, and if I had been PMSing while reading it I’m sure I would have been sobbing on the floor.
So now that I have ranted for - oops, a full page - how I hate the book and yet love the author, I’ll actually get into this analysis.
Just want to get some observations out of the way. I found it too easy how well Gottfried comes to know Gabriel. I was distressed by the books lack of characters, and I wished that we could have had a slow growth of Gottfried, but then I suppose that would have shattered DBC’s construction of drawn-out depression and failures followed by a spurt of epiphany and growth. I believed the analysis in Anna, mostly. The other thing I didn’t like was SOOOO many conversations between random people. I could not understand it. I felt DBC was trying to let us absorb the culture of East Berlin, but I DIDN'T CARE and it may have been/ definitely was the worst waste of space in this book. Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not. And this book was not a conversational history of Berlin pubs. Or at least it shouldn’t have been.
I want to start with the title. Wonderland is where he dreams of going all throughout the book. The last place he wishes to be. The place of his send-off from his limbo to the underworld. When he gets to wonderland and truly sees what is there he proclaims “Our elegant place has become a level of hell.” And it could not be more true. If DBC painted with oil instead of words his banquet would resemble the famous triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights where the delights of some become the horrors of many others.
Lewis Carroll uses wonderland (in a widely embraced interpretation) as a metaphor for the place where one grows up. That’s what happens to little Alice. That’s what happens to Gabriel. He really didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but it got into him none-the-less.
When he writes “our elegant place has become a level of hell” he doesn’t only reveal his dissallusion to wonderland, but also his true feelings to his new friends and this old relic of a bye-gone age. He loves it how it was.
UNBEARABLE PRETENSION gives way to a clarity that lets him see the world around him for what it really is. His. For the taking if he wants it. “only one thing underlies death. And that is an absence of love. An absence which I have in abundance.” When Gerd and Gottfried pull him out of the lake (though truthfully it’s not clear if Gerd is even there or if either of them actually do anything to physically get him out of the water)it doesn’t matter that they physically pull him out (if they do) but rather that they are there, that someone noticed he was gone and went to the trouble of thinking about looking for him. He is loved. And that is all it took to save him, to change him, and to make him change his own fate, to “activate his reserve powers”.
“Nobody is stuck with anything as it is. We all must stand up and take control.” “Kill the spiral.” It’s very similar to the VGL quote, something like “ In a world where everyone was phsycho I was too much of a damned coward to be the god of my own life.”
There are a lot of parallels between these two books. A pathetic young man grows up. Learns that he has power in his own life, and uses that power to make his life better, and also to make the lives better of those who were good to him. Both books have crass and unexpected poetry to them. Both books get better as they go on. Both characters are quite distant until pretty far into the book, and both are similar to each other in several ways (Though Vernon still has all of the goodness of a quality and Gabriel has all of the bad).
Both books get quite abstract towards the end, to a very disturbing degree, in that it is a caricature of the grotesqueness of human possibility, and the stark realism of most of the book tricks the mind into seeing the absurdism as another possible reality too. God help us if either ever come true.
Both books have a saving grace. This is, that in a story where a character experiences constant failure, pain, and becomes more and more of a disappointment to the reader and himself… there somehow emerges a happy ending. In VGL it so surprised me that I cried real tears of happiness and gasped like a child at a show. In LOW it was a release. I could let out everything that I didn’t even know I was holding in. I just kept sighing. Relieved that it was OVER, and that the terrors had ceased, but also I had a feeling that the terrors had also ceased for these characters, characters I had begrudgingly learned to care for. They all did what was right. Not only for themselves, but also for the world. In the end I was proud of Gabriel. Proud of this pathetic sweaty bastard who had fouled up so bad, so many would have given up. But he had a secret strength, one that had just never been fueled before. They gave him love, and he gave everything he had. Chance, drive, ingenuity, and all he could. I was proud of this pathetic mass of useless flesh I had spent 330 pages growing a steady displeasure for because he became good in a way that he didn’t have to. He changed himself for the better, and I guess if he can do it, it makes me feel like maybe someday so could I. And that’s why this terrible horrible no good book is actually worth reading, because if the scum of this very earth can learn to love and to serve others, and himself all in one short night of madness, then I know I can too. And this horror and brilliance gives me hope for myself, and for this whole retched world.
February 25, 2025
This is my favourite book.
It's usually very hard to pick a favorite book , but there's a simple reason why.
Every time I read this book I come away with something new. I think of Gabriel differently , I think of the points he makes differently. When I was young I didn't get him , then I did get him and I liked him , then I did get him and I didn't like him. Last time I read it, Gabriel grated on me. He seemed so full of self importance despite all his humble babbling. but who knows how I'll feel next.
Sometimes he makes perfect sense. sometimes he is making perfect sense to distract from the fact that he has made mistakes and that he's failed to take accountability of. Sometimes it doesn't matter how self involved the point is because it's actually that good a point.
When he gets told off near the end, sometimes he deserves it and sometimes he does not. Sometimes shmuts is a psychopath weirdo and sometimes he's the Adonis Gabriel wishes he was and sometimes he's exactly who Gabriel already IS, though he himself cannot see it.
This book is more like a friend to me. One I meet with over coffee and squint at, thinking " are they different or is it just my eyes?" between us I don't know who is growing older.
A masterful work that's worth visiting and revisiting.
It's usually very hard to pick a favorite book , but there's a simple reason why.
Every time I read this book I come away with something new. I think of Gabriel differently , I think of the points he makes differently. When I was young I didn't get him , then I did get him and I liked him , then I did get him and I didn't like him. Last time I read it, Gabriel grated on me. He seemed so full of self importance despite all his humble babbling. but who knows how I'll feel next.
Sometimes he makes perfect sense. sometimes he is making perfect sense to distract from the fact that he has made mistakes and that he's failed to take accountability of. Sometimes it doesn't matter how self involved the point is because it's actually that good a point.
When he gets told off near the end, sometimes he deserves it and sometimes he does not. Sometimes shmuts is a psychopath weirdo and sometimes he's the Adonis Gabriel wishes he was and sometimes he's exactly who Gabriel already IS, though he himself cannot see it.
This book is more like a friend to me. One I meet with over coffee and squint at, thinking " are they different or is it just my eyes?" between us I don't know who is growing older.
A masterful work that's worth visiting and revisiting.
April 16, 2024
The fascination of a death row inmate’s last meal spread out over a week or so - debauchery and weirdness dialled to eleven. A funny, depressing, life affirming read.
June 26, 2018
3,5 (asi hlavně kvůli těm receptům)
October 16, 2025
Took me ages to finish because I’m a sack of shit, but loved this. Copious drug use, cynical musings and engrossing, experimental prose (if not a little self-indulgent). Ticks a few boxes for me.
September 10, 2016
This book was recommended to me in the highest terms by a friend as she was reading it. "Sex and drugs in Tokyo, London, and Berlin" she said. Shortly afterwards I stumbled over it in the library and picked it up immediately. I will admit that based on the title and my friend's description I expected a different experience; one more in touch with the Wonderland reference made on the cover. What I found was something altogether different, but not in a disappointing way.
The protagonist of this book will either suck you in or put you off right off the bat. The protagonist is very conflicted and hypocritical, with a downright mesmerizing voice. While cynical, his capacity for insight is staggering and each chapter contains very striking observations that will really make you think. I was able to connect with him very easily, and I think that whether or not you can connect with him will be the deciding factor in whether or not you will enjoy this book.
The writing style of this book is impeccable. The author experiments with all kinds of ambrosial words and the book is full of beautiful descriptive sentences and excellently quotable dialogue. I really can't stress enough how much I enjoyed the way the author wrote, and I will definitely seek out his other works for this purpose.
One of the selling points of this book is in the fact that it takes place in 3 major cities, London, Tokyo, and Berlin, though the vast majority of the book takes place in Berlin. While Berlin is an excellent location for this story and the author does a great job in making you feel like you are there, I would have liked to see more of the other cities; the time spent in London is minuscule and all of the action in Tokyo takes place in a single locale.
As for the plot, while it drags a little in the 3rd quarter, the overall structure of the book is different and outstanding. This is a book more about concept than about plot. It explores the consumer culture, the nature of excess, and has a strong anti-capitalist air. There is a profound layer of debauchery used in equal parts to seduce and repulse the reader. It makes no effort to be politically correct and has no qualms with removing you from your comfort zone in order to get across its message, and doesn't always explain its reasons to you for doing so.
While the book has a dismal tone most of the way through (after all the book begins with the assertion that the protagonist is planning to kill himself), it ends with a bright note of optimism that shines through the grit of the rest of the narrative; I thought it was an excellent ending to an imperfect but great book.
I am very excited to see what this author does next and would definitely recommend him to other readers, though his style is not for everyone, particularly the faint of heart.
The protagonist of this book will either suck you in or put you off right off the bat. The protagonist is very conflicted and hypocritical, with a downright mesmerizing voice. While cynical, his capacity for insight is staggering and each chapter contains very striking observations that will really make you think. I was able to connect with him very easily, and I think that whether or not you can connect with him will be the deciding factor in whether or not you will enjoy this book.
The writing style of this book is impeccable. The author experiments with all kinds of ambrosial words and the book is full of beautiful descriptive sentences and excellently quotable dialogue. I really can't stress enough how much I enjoyed the way the author wrote, and I will definitely seek out his other works for this purpose.
One of the selling points of this book is in the fact that it takes place in 3 major cities, London, Tokyo, and Berlin, though the vast majority of the book takes place in Berlin. While Berlin is an excellent location for this story and the author does a great job in making you feel like you are there, I would have liked to see more of the other cities; the time spent in London is minuscule and all of the action in Tokyo takes place in a single locale.
As for the plot, while it drags a little in the 3rd quarter, the overall structure of the book is different and outstanding. This is a book more about concept than about plot. It explores the consumer culture, the nature of excess, and has a strong anti-capitalist air. There is a profound layer of debauchery used in equal parts to seduce and repulse the reader. It makes no effort to be politically correct and has no qualms with removing you from your comfort zone in order to get across its message, and doesn't always explain its reasons to you for doing so.
While the book has a dismal tone most of the way through (after all the book begins with the assertion that the protagonist is planning to kill himself), it ends with a bright note of optimism that shines through the grit of the rest of the narrative; I thought it was an excellent ending to an imperfect but great book.
I am very excited to see what this author does next and would definitely recommend him to other readers, though his style is not for everyone, particularly the faint of heart.
September 12, 2018
As I was thinking about this book while I was opening this web page I decided that I would give it three stars with a note that I would ideally give it 3.5; but I see that I already rated it with 4 so I will leave that original rating there. This defines the issue I have with this book. There are some sections of really great prose and, overall, it is very well written but there were some aspects that really didn't work for me.
In the early sections I found the narration overly wordy and preachy and, at times, difficult to follow. I realise that that was the narrator's voice rather than the author's but it tended to grate anyway. I found the footnotes on every second page or so annoying too. It felt like Pierre couldn't let some bits of writing go even though there clearly wasn't a place for them in the main narrative, but they rarely added much to it, apart from making the narrator more annoying. These did diminish as the novel continued but their occasional appearances didn't become any more endearing.
Generally, there was a preachy feel to the novel with most of the main characters launching into an overblown diatribe at some point or other.
I also found the closing sequence frustrating. The big event, which was the 'Wonderland' dinner was a disappointment, relying mainly on the shock factor of the menu and the debauchery of the guests, leaving the location, which had been an integral part of the build up, as a mere sideshow in the proceedings. The master-plan was a bit of damp squib, relying on everyone panicking over the slightest noise and I would have liked a bit more to have been made of the big bang at the end. It got so surreal at that point that it was difficult to follow.
The final character resolutions felt too contrived too.
Many criticisms, so why the 3-4? Well, as I said before, it is very well written. There are some really strong sections and some of the rants by the characters are interesting. The concept is an interesting one that takes us on a journey we couldn't predict. Some of the best scenes were the ones with Gabriel bouncing from the edge of destitution to the fringes of decadence in Berlin.
There's much to ponder in this book and quite possibly one that would rate higher on a second reading as I would not be surprised to notice some clever narrative techniques hidden away in the text. Give it a go but expect to be annoyed and impressed in almost equal measures.
In the early sections I found the narration overly wordy and preachy and, at times, difficult to follow. I realise that that was the narrator's voice rather than the author's but it tended to grate anyway. I found the footnotes on every second page or so annoying too. It felt like Pierre couldn't let some bits of writing go even though there clearly wasn't a place for them in the main narrative, but they rarely added much to it, apart from making the narrator more annoying. These did diminish as the novel continued but their occasional appearances didn't become any more endearing.
Generally, there was a preachy feel to the novel with most of the main characters launching into an overblown diatribe at some point or other.
I also found the closing sequence frustrating. The big event, which was the 'Wonderland' dinner was a disappointment, relying mainly on the shock factor of the menu and the debauchery of the guests, leaving the location, which had been an integral part of the build up, as a mere sideshow in the proceedings. The master-plan was a bit of damp squib, relying on everyone panicking over the slightest noise and I would have liked a bit more to have been made of the big bang at the end. It got so surreal at that point that it was difficult to follow.
The final character resolutions felt too contrived too.
Many criticisms, so why the 3-4? Well, as I said before, it is very well written. There are some really strong sections and some of the rants by the characters are interesting. The concept is an interesting one that takes us on a journey we couldn't predict. Some of the best scenes were the ones with Gabriel bouncing from the edge of destitution to the fringes of decadence in Berlin.
There's much to ponder in this book and quite possibly one that would rate higher on a second reading as I would not be surprised to notice some clever narrative techniques hidden away in the text. Give it a go but expect to be annoyed and impressed in almost equal measures.
November 4, 2010
A 'Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas' for the age of the World Financial Crisis. This book is slowly restoring my faith in DBC Pierre. I was wary, having been burnt by his second book after loving his first, and reading a bad review of this latest. Yet when Lisa said "I hated this book but I think you'll like it," I read the first sentence, and then the second and third, and saw immediately in the narrator a like mind. As a self-confessed black sheep of society, as well as of my family, like-minds are few and far between, so I have borrowed the book and burrowed into it, much to my delight. Some may find it misanthropically immature and aloof, but people have accused me of such qualities in the past so perhaps that's the attraction...
Now that I've finished it I must admit that a less generous fellow than myself might, quite fairly, say that much of the third act does get bogged down in the kind in stodgy plotting reminiscent of one of those romantic-comedy-heist films where the audient is meant to be distracted by the hollow moralizing and miraculously high level of fortuitous coincidence and loose-end knot-tying by staring at Clooney, Catherine Zeta-Jones or Sinatra, or in this case remembering the poetry that pulled one into the novel in the first place. Not that I would say such a thing myself, being the forgiving fellow that I am (although it did lead me to dance between three or four stars this morning.)
That section aside the book did find it's legs for me at the very end. Overall the fluid style of it's earlier sections make it a more than worthwhile read. I was very glad I'd stayed till the last page when I did get there.
Now that I've finished it I must admit that a less generous fellow than myself might, quite fairly, say that much of the third act does get bogged down in the kind in stodgy plotting reminiscent of one of those romantic-comedy-heist films where the audient is meant to be distracted by the hollow moralizing and miraculously high level of fortuitous coincidence and loose-end knot-tying by staring at Clooney, Catherine Zeta-Jones or Sinatra, or in this case remembering the poetry that pulled one into the novel in the first place. Not that I would say such a thing myself, being the forgiving fellow that I am (although it did lead me to dance between three or four stars this morning.)
That section aside the book did find it's legs for me at the very end. Overall the fluid style of it's earlier sections make it a more than worthwhile read. I was very glad I'd stayed till the last page when I did get there.
June 22, 2022
📚"СВІТЛО ЗГАСЛО В КРАЇНІ ДИВ"
📚 ДіБіСі П'ЄР
📚 Переклад з англійської - Галина Шиян
📚 Львів, Ліга Прес, 2012
"Якщо ваша етична модель руйнує вас - змініть модель."
Світло не те що згасло в країні див, - воно брутально вирубилося різким одночасним клацанням усіх наявних прожекторів, що лиховісним ехом повідлунювало від холодних стін пустого величезного приміщення, яке ми вважали реальністю, самотужки доповнюючи її строкатими елементами-декораціями, аж поки повністю не подорослішали.
Хто б міг подумати, що книжка з такою депресивною назвою і з лясе у виді зашморгу, яка містить історію, що відразу починається рішенням померти, буде сповнена насправді такої жаги до життя?
Маючи досвід майже передінфарктного стану від читання "Вернона Господа Літтла", ледь потім переживши "Сніданок з Борджіа", згадуючи який серце до тепер провалюється кудись у безодню - я таки вполювала третій виданий українською роман ДіБіСі П'єра, який шукала місяцями і моя часом недоречна впертість на цей раз увінчалась успіхом. Тож поки я, тривожно читаючи, час від часу вішала в петлі свій мізинець (бо в цей суїцидальний міні-інструмент більше нічого не влазило), а вимикаючи світло в кімнаті шарахалася вночі салатового сяйва обкладинки на тумбочці, періодично забуваючи про вміст флуоресцентних елементів у її фарбі, - жити цим світом роману виявилося таким самим нестерпно дискомфортним, як і попередніми двома, бо такий уже зухвалий цей автор. Підважує всередині щось живе і нахабно питає, чи болить. Як лікар на огляді. А так щось відчуваєш?.. А тепер?
"Божественність досягається через відчуття - чи то ми утримуємося від відчуттів, чи потураємо їм, життя існує відносно того, наскільки глибоко ми відчуваємо."
То ж на перший погляд цей роман про 26-річного наркозалежного британця Ґебріела Броквелла, який втікає з реабілітаційного центру, щоб влаштувати ефектне самогубство, але вплутується у низку випадкових подій, які постійно відтерміновують бажане. Певна комічність такого розкладу подій урівноважена, як і у "Верноні...", трагічним світовідчуттям героя, але тут це - екзистенційні роздуми на тлі лячного зображення капіталізму, щедро приправлені декадентським соусом. Соус, до речі, досить гострий. Чого варте тільки переосмислення IKEA, як пастки для орди одиниць прибутку, з полеглими у "віваріумі людських слабин" і заторами поранених біля кас, куди ти пробиваєшся з порожніми руками, мов єретик чи уражена клітина в імунній системі натовпу.
Проникливість розуміння суспільно-політичних процесів Ґебріелем, приправлена чорним гумором, підсилює фаталізм. Стоячи серед виру життя закінченим лузером, не маючи можливості розкритися власним внутрішнім силам, усвідомлюючи в цьому відсутність сенсу життя, як і у дисгармонії існування в оточенні посередності, головний герой порушує етичні правила, закони, плани інших людей та іншу нецікаву фігню, рухаючись до омріяного самогубства.
Взагалі весь текст поволі збирається до гурманної феєрії - кулінарного шаленства на межі божевілля, а останні розділи коротшають і ніби похапцем перериваються вишуканими рецептами запаморочливих страв. Фінальна подія стає центром тяжіння усіх дрібніших подій, затягуючи у своє пекельне ядро надмірної розкоші, та перетворюючись врешті решт у ганебне свинство багатіїв, що стає промовисто символічним. Вона відбувається всередині гігантського приміщення єдиної у своєму роді архітектурної пам'ятки нацистської Німеччини - аеропорту Темпельгоф, який пустує перед закриттям, живучи одним жалюгідним кіоском всередині.
"Простір раптово виявляється моделлю мого підсвідомого. Темного, гнилого, поораного тунелями. З однією крихітною блискіткою посередині."
І дивно, що оця крихітна блискітка світла іноді здатна освітити усю темряву. Бо насправді вся ця історія - про дорослішання через саморуйнацію і символічне вбивство дитини в собі. Якщо ми сприймаємо світ, як країну див, інфантильно чекаючи тільки уваги до своєї персони, визнання і комфорту, то через певний час із жахом помічаємо, що казка розвалюється, а сенс будь-яких бажань поступово зменшується і врешті колапсує, затьмарений очевидними невдачами. Цей непростий шлях, яким у тексті волочаться дитячі травми, на фоні Лондона, Японії і Берліну - трьох абсолютно різних світів, завершується огидною кульмінацією, яка сталася через те, що -
"Цінності розпадались, обіцянки відходили: уже стався весь секс, вичерпався фальшивий сміх, прокрутились усі викрутаси, викривились усі істини. Вантажівки перетворились на логістику, бомбардування - на свободу, картопля фрі - на "Геппі міл", контракти - на хитрощі, і навіть слово "хуй" стало надто вживаним, аби ним насолоджуватись."
Здається, таке болісно чутливе сприйняття світу не може привести ні до чого хорошого. Але...
Роман містить витончену симетрію. Починаючись словами -"Моя ситуація не має назви. Найперше тому, що я вирішив себе вбити. А потім - через усвідомлення: я не мушу робити цього негайно", - він закінчується ними ж, але з одним протилежним нюансом:
"Моя ситуація не має назви. Найперше тому, що я вирішив жити. А потім - через усвідомлення: я не мушу робити цього негайно."
А поки ви ненавидите мене за спойлер, вдумайтесь, що такий підхід - повна протилежність усім поширеним мотивуючим закликам до "жити тут і тепер", "життя відбувається просто зараз", та подібної піднесеної маячні. Адже насправді цей псевдопозитивний підхід доволі напружує, бо ж жити - як чомусь виявляється - доволі часто неприємно, тому не завжди можливо вичавити із себе радість, як останні краплі зубної пасти з тюбика. Натомість усвідомлення героя, що необов'язково робити із життя (як і зі смерті) щось нагальне - підштовхує нас до внутрішнього спокою з несподіваного боку, даючи собі час на все.
Такими ж несподіваними рішеннями в'ється і сам сюжет, як анаконда, всередині якої міститься основна страва (проковтнуте людське дитя, яке насправді виявляється ілюзією). Але і це не подається головною стравою дійства. Бо найважливішим посилом у романі до читача-гурмана є твердження, що "Діапазон ефективної потужності насолоди захований у попередньому моменті."
То ж найкраще лишається з нами тільки тоді, якщо ми покидаємо і відпускаємо його на кульмінації, а точніше - за секунду до...
P. S . Щодо самого видання - одна з найкращих продуманих концепцій, які я бачила. Нестямна естетика у всьому. Роман раджу, якщо ви не боїтеся сміливо гратися із своїми цінностями. Тільки спершу переконайтесь, чи вони точно ваші.
📚 ДіБіСі П'ЄР
📚 Переклад з англійської - Галина Шиян
📚 Львів, Ліга Прес, 2012
"Якщо ваша етична модель руйнує вас - змініть модель."
Світло не те що згасло в країні див, - воно брутально вирубилося різким одночасним клацанням усіх наявних прожекторів, що лиховісним ехом повідлунювало від холодних стін пустого величезного приміщення, яке ми вважали реальністю, самотужки доповнюючи її строкатими елементами-декораціями, аж поки повністю не подорослішали.
Хто б міг подумати, що книжка з такою депресивною назвою і з лясе у виді зашморгу, яка містить історію, що відразу починається рішенням померти, буде сповнена насправді такої жаги до життя?
Маючи досвід майже передінфарктного стану від читання "Вернона Господа Літтла", ледь потім переживши "Сніданок з Борджіа", згадуючи який серце до тепер провалюється кудись у безодню - я таки вполювала третій виданий українською роман ДіБіСі П'єра, який шукала місяцями і моя часом недоречна впертість на цей раз увінчалась успіхом. Тож поки я, тривожно читаючи, час від часу вішала в петлі свій мізинець (бо в цей суїцидальний міні-інструмент більше нічого не влазило), а вимикаючи світло в кімнаті шарахалася вночі салатового сяйва обкладинки на тумбочці, періодично забуваючи про вміст флуоресцентних елементів у її фарбі, - жити цим світом роману виявилося таким самим нестерпно дискомфортним, як і попередніми двома, бо такий уже зухвалий цей автор. Підважує всередині щось живе і нахабно питає, чи болить. Як лікар на огляді. А так щось відчуваєш?.. А тепер?
"Божественність досягається через відчуття - чи то ми утримуємося від відчуттів, чи потураємо їм, життя існує відносно того, наскільки глибоко ми відчуваємо."
То ж на перший погляд цей роман про 26-річного наркозалежного британця Ґебріела Броквелла, який втікає з реабілітаційного центру, щоб влаштувати ефектне самогубство, але вплутується у низку випадкових подій, які постійно відтерміновують бажане. Певна комічність такого розкладу подій урівноважена, як і у "Верноні...", трагічним світовідчуттям героя, але тут це - екзистенційні роздуми на тлі лячного зображення капіталізму, щедро приправлені декадентським соусом. Соус, до речі, досить гострий. Чого варте тільки переосмислення IKEA, як пастки для орди одиниць прибутку, з полеглими у "віваріумі людських слабин" і заторами поранених біля кас, куди ти пробиваєшся з порожніми руками, мов єретик чи уражена клітина в імунній системі натовпу.
Проникливість розуміння суспільно-політичних процесів Ґебріелем, приправлена чорним гумором, підсилює фаталізм. Стоячи серед виру життя закінченим лузером, не маючи можливості розкритися власним внутрішнім силам, усвідомлюючи в цьому відсутність сенсу життя, як і у дисгармонії існування в оточенні посередності, головний герой порушує етичні правила, закони, плани інших людей та іншу нецікаву фігню, рухаючись до омріяного самогубства.
Взагалі весь текст поволі збирається до гурманної феєрії - кулінарного шаленства на межі божевілля, а останні розділи коротшають і ніби похапцем перериваються вишуканими рецептами запаморочливих страв. Фінальна подія стає центром тяжіння усіх дрібніших подій, затягуючи у своє пекельне ядро надмірної розкоші, та перетворюючись врешті решт у ганебне свинство багатіїв, що стає промовисто символічним. Вона відбувається всередині гігантського приміщення єдиної у своєму роді архітектурної пам'ятки нацистської Німеччини - аеропорту Темпельгоф, який пустує перед закриттям, живучи одним жалюгідним кіоском всередині.
"Простір раптово виявляється моделлю мого підсвідомого. Темного, гнилого, поораного тунелями. З однією крихітною блискіткою посередині."
І дивно, що оця крихітна блискітка світла іноді здатна освітити усю темряву. Бо насправді вся ця історія - про дорослішання через саморуйнацію і символічне вбивство дитини в собі. Якщо ми сприймаємо світ, як країну див, інфантильно чекаючи тільки уваги до своєї персони, визнання і комфорту, то через певний час із жахом помічаємо, що казка розвалюється, а сенс будь-яких бажань поступово зменшується і врешті колапсує, затьмарений очевидними невдачами. Цей непростий шлях, яким у тексті волочаться дитячі травми, на фоні Лондона, Японії і Берліну - трьох абсолютно різних світів, завершується огидною кульмінацією, яка сталася через те, що -
"Цінності розпадались, обіцянки відходили: уже стався весь секс, вичерпався фальшивий сміх, прокрутились усі викрутаси, викривились усі істини. Вантажівки перетворились на логістику, бомбардування - на свободу, картопля фрі - на "Геппі міл", контракти - на хитрощі, і навіть слово "хуй" стало надто вживаним, аби ним насолоджуватись."
Здається, таке болісно чутливе сприйняття світу не може привести ні до чого хорошого. Але...
Роман містить витончену симетрію. Починаючись словами -"Моя ситуація не має назви. Найперше тому, що я вирішив себе вбити. А потім - через усвідомлення: я не мушу робити цього негайно", - він закінчується ними ж, але з одним протилежним нюансом:
"Моя ситуація не має назви. Найперше тому, що я вирішив жити. А потім - через усвідомлення: я не мушу робити цього негайно."
А поки ви ненавидите мене за спойлер, вдумайтесь, що такий підхід - повна протилежність усім поширеним мотивуючим закликам до "жити тут і тепер", "життя відбувається просто зараз", та подібної піднесеної маячні. Адже насправді цей псевдопозитивний підхід доволі напружує, бо ж жити - як чомусь виявляється - доволі часто неприємно, тому не завжди можливо вичавити із себе радість, як останні краплі зубної пасти з тюбика. Натомість усвідомлення героя, що необов'язково робити із життя (як і зі смерті) щось нагальне - підштовхує нас до внутрішнього спокою з несподіваного боку, даючи собі час на все.
Такими ж несподіваними рішеннями в'ється і сам сюжет, як анаконда, всередині якої міститься основна страва (проковтнуте людське дитя, яке насправді виявляється ілюзією). Але і це не подається головною стравою дійства. Бо найважливішим посилом у романі до читача-гурмана є твердження, що "Діапазон ефективної потужності насолоди захований у попередньому моменті."
То ж найкраще лишається з нами тільки тоді, якщо ми покидаємо і відпускаємо його на кульмінації, а точніше - за секунду до...
P. S . Щодо самого видання - одна з найкращих продуманих концепцій, які я бачила. Нестямна естетика у всьому. Роман раджу, якщо ви не боїтеся сміливо гратися із своїми цінностями. Тільки спершу переконайтесь, чи вони точно ваші.
October 30, 2010
Enter Ikea stores at your own risk.
December 16, 2018
I purchased Lights out in Wonderland on the basis of how much I enjoyed DBC Pierre's first book Vernon God Little which was recommended to me by a friend. While this novel doesn't quite scale the satirical and darkly humorous heights of his Man Booker prize winning debut, it nevertheless provides an excellent platform for Pierre to target the excesses of our modern post-capitalist civilisation.
His protagonist Gabriel Brockwell, a conflicted 20 something anti-capitalist demonstrator/philosopher/slacker, has reached rock bottom. He is completely disillusioned by a society which puts money above all else, to the point where even his own anti-capitlaist allies and friends betray him simply so they can embrace consumerism in all it's forms. Brockwell narrates the novel in first person and analyses and philosophises just about all human behaviour he observes. However this rarely becomes tiresome as Pierre brilliantly conveys these observations in various thoughtful, insightful and occasionally timeless passages at the bottom of the pages. The result of Gabriel's human analysis is to some extent if you can't beat 'em join 'em, and he decides to embark on the ultimate debauch with his childhood friend; a quest to enjoy all the finest things in life for one more night before ending his life. This journey takes him to places as far afield as a Tokyo restaurant and a disused airport in Berlin - the setting of his intended final blowout. It is in the descriptions of these locales and the people within them that the power of Pierre's imagery really comes to the fore. The man has an exceptional way with words. Some of the passages in this book manage to be both beautiful, frightening and haunting all at the same time and should be read slow and savoured, much like a fine wine, which is appropriate given Gabriel's intentions. At times Pierre comes across like a more potent form of Hunter S Thompson, complete with added overdoses of satire and wit.
I believe Pierre's greatest skill as a novelist is his ability to truly immerse himself within his protagonist - to infuse their words with healthy doses of humour, wit and satire but never at the expense of plausibility given their age and circumstance. In Vernon God Little, he somehow managed to convincingly channel the mindset of a confused, inquisitive, crude and alienated teenager from a remote Texas town, who had been accused of a horrific crime that he did not commit. In Lights Out, he accomplishes a similar feat in a completely different character. There are many parallels between the novels in the sense that both the central characters embark on coming-of-age journey's (albeit for entirely different motivations) that explore human nature and motive. My only problem with this novel is that it's difficult to believe that Gabriel truly intends to end his life once the party is over, he's simply having too much fun.
This book is like a guilty pleasure. As I read it I began to feel it was the literary equivalent of a seven course meal in a three Michelin star restaurant, consumed with copious amounts of vintage champagne and caviar, then concluded with cheese, vintage port and finally a fat Cuban cigar. Some may find the writing style overly indulgent and feel that Pierre has a tendency to ramble on, however his commentary on the excesses of our civilisation is razor sharp. I watched an interview with him regarding his inspiration for this novel and he simply felt that western civilisation has become stuck in a rut, or a perpetual 'limbo' as Gabriel would put it. As people we are becoming defined by our consumption. We are no longer progressing, we are standing still and history would suggest that all great civilisations eventually collapse or implode, often as a result of their own excesses. Lights out in Wonderland is a celebration of that excess, and regardless of what you make of its satirical commentary, its delicious paragraphs make it a joy to read.
His protagonist Gabriel Brockwell, a conflicted 20 something anti-capitalist demonstrator/philosopher/slacker, has reached rock bottom. He is completely disillusioned by a society which puts money above all else, to the point where even his own anti-capitlaist allies and friends betray him simply so they can embrace consumerism in all it's forms. Brockwell narrates the novel in first person and analyses and philosophises just about all human behaviour he observes. However this rarely becomes tiresome as Pierre brilliantly conveys these observations in various thoughtful, insightful and occasionally timeless passages at the bottom of the pages. The result of Gabriel's human analysis is to some extent if you can't beat 'em join 'em, and he decides to embark on the ultimate debauch with his childhood friend; a quest to enjoy all the finest things in life for one more night before ending his life. This journey takes him to places as far afield as a Tokyo restaurant and a disused airport in Berlin - the setting of his intended final blowout. It is in the descriptions of these locales and the people within them that the power of Pierre's imagery really comes to the fore. The man has an exceptional way with words. Some of the passages in this book manage to be both beautiful, frightening and haunting all at the same time and should be read slow and savoured, much like a fine wine, which is appropriate given Gabriel's intentions. At times Pierre comes across like a more potent form of Hunter S Thompson, complete with added overdoses of satire and wit.
I believe Pierre's greatest skill as a novelist is his ability to truly immerse himself within his protagonist - to infuse their words with healthy doses of humour, wit and satire but never at the expense of plausibility given their age and circumstance. In Vernon God Little, he somehow managed to convincingly channel the mindset of a confused, inquisitive, crude and alienated teenager from a remote Texas town, who had been accused of a horrific crime that he did not commit. In Lights Out, he accomplishes a similar feat in a completely different character. There are many parallels between the novels in the sense that both the central characters embark on coming-of-age journey's (albeit for entirely different motivations) that explore human nature and motive. My only problem with this novel is that it's difficult to believe that Gabriel truly intends to end his life once the party is over, he's simply having too much fun.
This book is like a guilty pleasure. As I read it I began to feel it was the literary equivalent of a seven course meal in a three Michelin star restaurant, consumed with copious amounts of vintage champagne and caviar, then concluded with cheese, vintage port and finally a fat Cuban cigar. Some may find the writing style overly indulgent and feel that Pierre has a tendency to ramble on, however his commentary on the excesses of our civilisation is razor sharp. I watched an interview with him regarding his inspiration for this novel and he simply felt that western civilisation has become stuck in a rut, or a perpetual 'limbo' as Gabriel would put it. As people we are becoming defined by our consumption. We are no longer progressing, we are standing still and history would suggest that all great civilisations eventually collapse or implode, often as a result of their own excesses. Lights out in Wonderland is a celebration of that excess, and regardless of what you make of its satirical commentary, its delicious paragraphs make it a joy to read.
June 29, 2020
Pretty ok. Pros: The premise itself--guy decides to kill himself but not right away--is a thematic strength to get us started on a decadent journey. It add some tension and verisimilitude in the arrogant and nutty way he acts. Too often in novels, main characters just do nutty things without any excuse, and, at the least, being in a state of mind freed from consequences, trying to savor every moment as final, gives an excuse to going to decadent and brave extremes.
In this same vein, another strength is that though the protag might feel as though he's freed from consequences, he is faced with them all the time--it keeps some tension throughout the narrative to have his best friend in jail due to his own actions.
Cons: Drugs, drugs, drugs. Now, I lack some experience in this regard, but it seems implausible to me that this dude can drink and do so much coke for hours/days without being really, noticeably worse for wear. The scenes of him throwing up in a trash can, nose bleeding, happen days after his initial bender and it seems to me that he would have to look/feel horrible after his first breakfast of wine and coke.
Also, annoying, mansplainy footnotes that assume superior knowledge of capitalism, human nature, food, drugs.... I get that it's supposed to be (?) ironic since they are coming from a character who clearly does not have it all figured out (or are these supposed to have been written after the notes themselves which are mentioned in the narrative as being the book? If so, the perspective of the narrator in writing them doesn't reflect the supposed change he undergoes by the end), but that doesn't mean I want to listen to a guy with his head up his ass.
The ending was jumpy--I thought the lack of transitions in the first half of the novel was a reflection of the narrator's own drunken/drugged disorientation, but perhaps that's just the style of the author. I appreciated the shorter chapters to draw to a close, but it felt like it left some things poorly resolved, like the Smuts situation (why wouldn't they get mad at ending everything early and wouldn't they trace it back to him and refuse to provide evidence as a result? Did I miss something?), and what happened to the tortoise in the end. I suppose I kept expecting a black mass sort of resolution where things would devolve from mere consumption to actual murder and that the narrator would be the main course...I mean, I'm glad it was just a the tortoise (did she smuggle him on the plane somehow?), but still.
The recipes were an ok device--they reinforced the food porn theme and conveyed a certain feeling of being there that descriptions of the finished product could not. At the same time, the recipes, featuring cooking humming birds and tigers were in some ways incomprehensible since of course I've never eaten or cooked a tiger. I'm not sure this alienation is entirely a detriment, but it's not entirely a strength either.
All in all, this was a fun book to pair with some decadent short stories, and definitely commented on the theme in self-awareness, but weirdly didn't turn out to actually be a decadent novel, not really. Perhaps that's a good thing.
In this same vein, another strength is that though the protag might feel as though he's freed from consequences, he is faced with them all the time--it keeps some tension throughout the narrative to have his best friend in jail due to his own actions.
Cons: Drugs, drugs, drugs. Now, I lack some experience in this regard, but it seems implausible to me that this dude can drink and do so much coke for hours/days without being really, noticeably worse for wear. The scenes of him throwing up in a trash can, nose bleeding, happen days after his initial bender and it seems to me that he would have to look/feel horrible after his first breakfast of wine and coke.
Also, annoying, mansplainy footnotes that assume superior knowledge of capitalism, human nature, food, drugs.... I get that it's supposed to be (?) ironic since they are coming from a character who clearly does not have it all figured out (or are these supposed to have been written after the notes themselves which are mentioned in the narrative as being the book? If so, the perspective of the narrator in writing them doesn't reflect the supposed change he undergoes by the end), but that doesn't mean I want to listen to a guy with his head up his ass.
The ending was jumpy--I thought the lack of transitions in the first half of the novel was a reflection of the narrator's own drunken/drugged disorientation, but perhaps that's just the style of the author. I appreciated the shorter chapters to draw to a close, but it felt like it left some things poorly resolved, like the Smuts situation (why wouldn't they get mad at ending everything early and wouldn't they trace it back to him and refuse to provide evidence as a result? Did I miss something?), and what happened to the tortoise in the end. I suppose I kept expecting a black mass sort of resolution where things would devolve from mere consumption to actual murder and that the narrator would be the main course...I mean, I'm glad it was just a the tortoise (did she smuggle him on the plane somehow?), but still.
The recipes were an ok device--they reinforced the food porn theme and conveyed a certain feeling of being there that descriptions of the finished product could not. At the same time, the recipes, featuring cooking humming birds and tigers were in some ways incomprehensible since of course I've never eaten or cooked a tiger. I'm not sure this alienation is entirely a detriment, but it's not entirely a strength either.
All in all, this was a fun book to pair with some decadent short stories, and definitely commented on the theme in self-awareness, but weirdly didn't turn out to actually be a decadent novel, not really. Perhaps that's a good thing.
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