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دجين الجنية: فجوة حمراء بين الحكايات المفككة
لا شيء، أعني، ما من برهان قاطع يسمح لأيٍّ كان بتصنيف حكاية سيمون لوكور ضمن مجموعة القصص الخيالية الصرفة.
وعلى العكس، فباستطاعتنا التأكيد على أن عناصر كثيرة ومهمة في نص متقلّب وناقص وشبه متصدع كهذا النص، تتقاطع بتأكيد ملحوظ مع الواقع المعروف لدى الجميع، وهو بالتالي واقع مضطرب. وإذا كانت المقومات الأخرى للحكاية تبتعد عمداً عن الواقع، فإن هذا الابتعاد يتم دائماً بصورة جِدّ مشبوهة، لدرجةٍ لا يسعنا فيها إلاّ رؤية الإرادة الممنهجة للراوي في ذلك، كما لو أن سبباً خفياً كان قد سيطر على التغييرات والإبداعات في نصه.
إن مثل هذا السبب يخفى علينا بالطبع، في الوقت الحاضر على الأقل. ولو اكتشفناه، لأصبحت المسألة بمجملها واضحة في التوّ واللحظة. على كل حال، من الممكن اعتقاد ذلك.
إننا لا نعرف سوى النزر اليسير عن الكاتب نفسه؛ فهويته الحقيقية بالأساس إشكالية. إذ لا أحد يعرف له نسيباً، بعيداً كان أم قريباً.
وبعد اختفائه، اكْتُشِفَ في منزله جواز سفر فرنسي يحمل اسم «بوريس كورشيمن»؛ هو مهندس ألكترون ومولود في كييف. إلاّ أن قسم الشرطة قد أكد أن هذا الجواز مزوّر بشكل مفضوح من جهات أجنبية على الأرجح. ومع ذلك، فالصورة التي وجدت مثبتة على الجواز، مطابقة لأوصاف هذا الشاب وذلك تبعاً لشهادة كل الشهود. أما بالنسبة لاسم العائلة المعلَن، فلا يُظهر تشابهاً، إطلاقاً، لجَرْس الأسماء الأوكرانية.
ففي المدرسة الأميركية الواقعة في شارع باسي، حيث كان يدرّس اللغة الفرنسية الأدبية الحديثة قبل بضعة أشهر، كان قد سُجِّل تحت اسم يُكْتَب بشكل مختلف تماماً وهو: «روبن كورسيموس، الملقّب بسيمون لوكور»؛ في هذه المرة، قد يكون هنغارياً أو فنلندياً أو من الممكن أيضاً أن يكون يونانياً. لكنْ لا يمكن سوى تكذيب تلك الفرضية الأخيرة بناء على شكله الخارجي؛ فهو شاب طويل القامة، ذو شعر أشقر وعينين خضراوين صافيتين. أخيراً، تجدر الإشارة إلى أن زملاءه في المدرسة وتلاميذه أيضاً - (ومعظمهم من الفتيات) - لم يلقبوه إلاّ باسم «يان» وكانوا يكتبونه «جان» عندما يرسلون إليه برسائل قصيرة تتعلق بالعمل؛ ولم يستطع أيّ منهم تحديد سبب ذلك.
والنص الذي يهمنا هنا والمُؤَلَّف من ٩٩ صفحة مطبوعة على آلة كتابة، بمسافة مضاعفة بين الأسطر، كان موضوعاً على منضدة عمله بشكل واضح، في غرفته المتواضعة والمفروشة والمستأجَرة في شارع أمستردام، رقم البناء ٢١ ؛ وقد كان النص بجانب آلة كتابة قديمة، وهي في الحقيقة الآلة التي اسْتُخْدِمَتْ في طباعة النص حسب رأي الخبراء.
ومع ذلك، يعود تاريخ كتابة هذا العمل إلى عدّة أسابيع ماضية، لا بل إلى عدة أشهر دون شك؛ وهنا أيضاً، يمكن أن يكون تجاور الآلة والصفحات نتيجة إخراج مسرحي أو تزوير، تخيلتْه هذه الشخصية الموارِبة بهدف التضليل عند اقتفاء أثرها.
ومن خلال قراءة حكايته هذه، يراودنا انطباع، في بداية الأمر، بأننا أمام كتاب مدرسي مخصص لتعليم اللغة الفرنسية، وما أكثرها من كتب، فهي بالمئات!
ويتميّز بوضوح لا لَبْسَ فيه التطور المنتظم للصعوبات النحوية في لغتنا على مدى الفصول الثمانية التي تتزايد صفحاتها و تتناسب بشكل عام مع الأسابيع الثمانية للفصل الدراسي الجامعي الأمريكي.
فقد تمّ إدخال الأفعال حسب التسلسل التقليدي للتصاريف الأربعة، مع إظهار تضارب واضح أيضاً، في التصريف الثاني، بين الأفعال التي تحوي زائدة وسيطة تدلّ على أفعال الشروع، وبين تلك التي لا تحويها. وقد رُتِبَت الأزمنة والصيغ بشكل كامل أيضاً، بحيث تتابعت بدقة، ابتداءً من الزمن الحاضر، إلى صيغة المنصوب غير الكامل، مروراً بزمن المستقبل غير المؤكد، وصولاً إلى فعل الشرط.
وينطبق القول ذاته على استخدام الأسماء الموصولة التي لا تظهر أشكالها المعقدة إلاّ فيما بعد.
وكالعادة، يُبْقي الكاتب على مجمل الأفعال المتصلة بزائدة تفيد الإشارة إلى الضمير في اللغة ليضعها في نهاية النص.
إلاّ أن المحتوى الروائي لهذه الصفحات يبقى بعيداً كلّ البعد عن ذلك المضمون التافه المتعمَّد الذي نجده عموماً في أعمال أخرى من النمط ذاته؛ فنسبة الاحتمالات في الحوادث غالباً ما تكون ضعيفة جداً هنا، قياساً إلى قوانين الواقعية التقليدية.
ولكن، لا بد أن نرى في هذه الغاية التدريسية المزعومة، مجرّد ذريعة للتنصّل من المسؤولية. هل يختبئ أمر آخر خلف هذه الذريعة؟ ولكن، ما هو؟
إليكم الآن النص الكامل الذي تحدّثنا عنه.
في أعلى الصفحة الأولى، نجد هذا العنوان فقط: الموعد.
وعلى العكس، فباستطاعتنا التأكيد على أن عناصر كثيرة ومهمة في نص متقلّب وناقص وشبه متصدع كهذا النص، تتقاطع بتأكيد ملحوظ مع الواقع المعروف لدى الجميع، وهو بالتالي واقع مضطرب. وإذا كانت المقومات الأخرى للحكاية تبتعد عمداً عن الواقع، فإن هذا الابتعاد يتم دائماً بصورة جِدّ مشبوهة، لدرجةٍ لا يسعنا فيها إلاّ رؤية الإرادة الممنهجة للراوي في ذلك، كما لو أن سبباً خفياً كان قد سيطر على التغييرات والإبداعات في نصه.
إن مثل هذا السبب يخفى علينا بالطبع، في الوقت الحاضر على الأقل. ولو اكتشفناه، لأصبحت المسألة بمجملها واضحة في التوّ واللحظة. على كل حال، من الممكن اعتقاد ذلك.
إننا لا نعرف سوى النزر اليسير عن الكاتب نفسه؛ فهويته الحقيقية بالأساس إشكالية. إذ لا أحد يعرف له نسيباً، بعيداً كان أم قريباً.
وبعد اختفائه، اكْتُشِفَ في منزله جواز سفر فرنسي يحمل اسم «بوريس كورشيمن»؛ هو مهندس ألكترون ومولود في كييف. إلاّ أن قسم الشرطة قد أكد أن هذا الجواز مزوّر بشكل مفضوح من جهات أجنبية على الأرجح. ومع ذلك، فالصورة التي وجدت مثبتة على الجواز، مطابقة لأوصاف هذا الشاب وذلك تبعاً لشهادة كل الشهود. أما بالنسبة لاسم العائلة المعلَن، فلا يُظهر تشابهاً، إطلاقاً، لجَرْس الأسماء الأوكرانية.
ففي المدرسة الأميركية الواقعة في شارع باسي، حيث كان يدرّس اللغة الفرنسية الأدبية الحديثة قبل بضعة أشهر، كان قد سُجِّل تحت اسم يُكْتَب بشكل مختلف تماماً وهو: «روبن كورسيموس، الملقّب بسيمون لوكور»؛ في هذه المرة، قد يكون هنغارياً أو فنلندياً أو من الممكن أيضاً أن يكون يونانياً. لكنْ لا يمكن سوى تكذيب تلك الفرضية الأخيرة بناء على شكله الخارجي؛ فهو شاب طويل القامة، ذو شعر أشقر وعينين خضراوين صافيتين. أخيراً، تجدر الإشارة إلى أن زملاءه في المدرسة وتلاميذه أيضاً - (ومعظمهم من الفتيات) - لم يلقبوه إلاّ باسم «يان» وكانوا يكتبونه «جان» عندما يرسلون إليه برسائل قصيرة تتعلق بالعمل؛ ولم يستطع أيّ منهم تحديد سبب ذلك.
والنص الذي يهمنا هنا والمُؤَلَّف من ٩٩ صفحة مطبوعة على آلة كتابة، بمسافة مضاعفة بين الأسطر، كان موضوعاً على منضدة عمله بشكل واضح، في غرفته المتواضعة والمفروشة والمستأجَرة في شارع أمستردام، رقم البناء ٢١ ؛ وقد كان النص بجانب آلة كتابة قديمة، وهي في الحقيقة الآلة التي اسْتُخْدِمَتْ في طباعة النص حسب رأي الخبراء.
ومع ذلك، يعود تاريخ كتابة هذا العمل إلى عدّة أسابيع ماضية، لا بل إلى عدة أشهر دون شك؛ وهنا أيضاً، يمكن أن يكون تجاور الآلة والصفحات نتيجة إخراج مسرحي أو تزوير، تخيلتْه هذه الشخصية الموارِبة بهدف التضليل عند اقتفاء أثرها.
ومن خلال قراءة حكايته هذه، يراودنا انطباع، في بداية الأمر، بأننا أمام كتاب مدرسي مخصص لتعليم اللغة الفرنسية، وما أكثرها من كتب، فهي بالمئات!
ويتميّز بوضوح لا لَبْسَ فيه التطور المنتظم للصعوبات النحوية في لغتنا على مدى الفصول الثمانية التي تتزايد صفحاتها و تتناسب بشكل عام مع الأسابيع الثمانية للفصل الدراسي الجامعي الأمريكي.
فقد تمّ إدخال الأفعال حسب التسلسل التقليدي للتصاريف الأربعة، مع إظهار تضارب واضح أيضاً، في التصريف الثاني، بين الأفعال التي تحوي زائدة وسيطة تدلّ على أفعال الشروع، وبين تلك التي لا تحويها. وقد رُتِبَت الأزمنة والصيغ بشكل كامل أيضاً، بحيث تتابعت بدقة، ابتداءً من الزمن الحاضر، إلى صيغة المنصوب غير الكامل، مروراً بزمن المستقبل غير المؤكد، وصولاً إلى فعل الشرط.
وينطبق القول ذاته على استخدام الأسماء الموصولة التي لا تظهر أشكالها المعقدة إلاّ فيما بعد.
وكالعادة، يُبْقي الكاتب على مجمل الأفعال المتصلة بزائدة تفيد الإشارة إلى الضمير في اللغة ليضعها في نهاية النص.
إلاّ أن المحتوى الروائي لهذه الصفحات يبقى بعيداً كلّ البعد عن ذلك المضمون التافه المتعمَّد الذي نجده عموماً في أعمال أخرى من النمط ذاته؛ فنسبة الاحتمالات في الحوادث غالباً ما تكون ضعيفة جداً هنا، قياساً إلى قوانين الواقعية التقليدية.
ولكن، لا بد أن نرى في هذه الغاية التدريسية المزعومة، مجرّد ذريعة للتنصّل من المسؤولية. هل يختبئ أمر آخر خلف هذه الذريعة؟ ولكن، ما هو؟
إليكم الآن النص الكامل الذي تحدّثنا عنه.
في أعلى الصفحة الأولى، نجد هذا العنوان فقط: الموعد.
143 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1981
16 people are currently reading
645 people want to read
About the author
Alain Robbe-Grillet
102 books432 followersScreenplays and novels, such as
The Erasers
(1953), of French writer Alain Robbe-Grillet, affiliated with the New Wave movement in cinema, subordinate plot to the treatment of space and time; directors, such as Jean Luc Godard and François Truffaut, led this movement, which in the 1960s abandoned traditional narrative techniques in favor of greater use of symbolism and abstraction and dealt with themes of social alienation, psychopathology, and sexual love.
Alain Robbe-Grillet was a French writer and filmmaker. He was along with Nathalie Sarraute, Michel Butor and Claude Simon one of the figures most associated with the trend of the Nouveau Roman. Robbe-Grillet was elected a member of the Académie française on March 25, 2004, succeeding Maurice Rheims at seat #32.
He was married to Catherine Robbe-Grillet (née Rstakian) .
Alain Robbe-Grillet was born in Brest (Finistère, France) into a family of engineers and scientists. He was trained as an agricultural engineer. In the years 1943-44 Robbe-Grillet participated in service du travail obligatoire in Nuremberg where he worked as a machinist. The initial few months were seen by Robbe-Grillet as something of a holiday, since in between the very rudimentary training he was given to operate the machinery he had free time to go to the theatre and the opera. In 1945, Robbe-Grillet completed his diploma at the National Institute of Agronomy. Later, his work as an agronomist took him to Martinique, French Guinea,Guadeloupe and Morocco.
His first novel The Erasers (Les Gommes) was published in 1953, after which he dedicated himself full-time to his new occupation. His early work was praised by eminent critics such as Roland Barthes and Maurice Blanchot. Around the time of his second novel he became a literary advisor for Les Editions de Minuit and occupied this position from 1955 until 1985. After publishing four novels, in 1961 he worked with Alain Renais, writing the script for Last Year at Marienbad (L'Année Dernière à Marienbad), and subsequently wrote and directed his own films. In 1963, Robbe-Grillet published For a New Novel (Pour un Nouveau Roman), a collection of previous published theoretical writings concerning the novel. From 1966 to 1968 he was a member of the High Committee for the Defense and Expansion of French (Haut comité pour la défense et l´expansion de la langue française). In addition Robbe-Grillet also led the Centre for Sociology of Literature (Centre de sociologie de la littérature) at the university of Bruxelles from 1980 to 1988. From 1971 to 1995 Robbe-Grillet was a professor at New York University, lecturing on his own novels.
In 2004 Robbe-Grillet was elected to the Académie française, but was never actually formally received by the Académie because of disputes regarding the Académie's reception procedures. Robbe-Grillet both refused to prepare and submit a welcome speech in advance, preferring to improvise his speech, as well as refusing to purchase and wear the Académie's famous green tails (habit vert) and sabre, which he considered as out-dated.
He died in Caen after succumbing to heart problems
Style
His writing style has been described as "realist" or "phenomenological" (in the Heideggerian sense) or "a theory of pure surface." Methodical, geometric, and often repetitive descriptions of objects replace the psychology and interiority of the character. Instead, one slowly pieces together the story and the emotional experience of jealousy in the repetition of descriptions, the attention to odd details, and the breaks in repetitions. Ironically, this method resembles the experience of psychoanalysis in which the deeper unconscious meanings are contained in the flow and disruptions of free associations. Timelines and plots are fractured and the resulting novel resembles the literary
Alain Robbe-Grillet was a French writer and filmmaker. He was along with Nathalie Sarraute, Michel Butor and Claude Simon one of the figures most associated with the trend of the Nouveau Roman. Robbe-Grillet was elected a member of the Académie française on March 25, 2004, succeeding Maurice Rheims at seat #32.
He was married to Catherine Robbe-Grillet (née Rstakian) .
Alain Robbe-Grillet was born in Brest (Finistère, France) into a family of engineers and scientists. He was trained as an agricultural engineer. In the years 1943-44 Robbe-Grillet participated in service du travail obligatoire in Nuremberg where he worked as a machinist. The initial few months were seen by Robbe-Grillet as something of a holiday, since in between the very rudimentary training he was given to operate the machinery he had free time to go to the theatre and the opera. In 1945, Robbe-Grillet completed his diploma at the National Institute of Agronomy. Later, his work as an agronomist took him to Martinique, French Guinea,Guadeloupe and Morocco.
His first novel The Erasers (Les Gommes) was published in 1953, after which he dedicated himself full-time to his new occupation. His early work was praised by eminent critics such as Roland Barthes and Maurice Blanchot. Around the time of his second novel he became a literary advisor for Les Editions de Minuit and occupied this position from 1955 until 1985. After publishing four novels, in 1961 he worked with Alain Renais, writing the script for Last Year at Marienbad (L'Année Dernière à Marienbad), and subsequently wrote and directed his own films. In 1963, Robbe-Grillet published For a New Novel (Pour un Nouveau Roman), a collection of previous published theoretical writings concerning the novel. From 1966 to 1968 he was a member of the High Committee for the Defense and Expansion of French (Haut comité pour la défense et l´expansion de la langue française). In addition Robbe-Grillet also led the Centre for Sociology of Literature (Centre de sociologie de la littérature) at the university of Bruxelles from 1980 to 1988. From 1971 to 1995 Robbe-Grillet was a professor at New York University, lecturing on his own novels.
In 2004 Robbe-Grillet was elected to the Académie française, but was never actually formally received by the Académie because of disputes regarding the Académie's reception procedures. Robbe-Grillet both refused to prepare and submit a welcome speech in advance, preferring to improvise his speech, as well as refusing to purchase and wear the Académie's famous green tails (habit vert) and sabre, which he considered as out-dated.
He died in Caen after succumbing to heart problems
Style
His writing style has been described as "realist" or "phenomenological" (in the Heideggerian sense) or "a theory of pure surface." Methodical, geometric, and often repetitive descriptions of objects replace the psychology and interiority of the character. Instead, one slowly pieces together the story and the emotional experience of jealousy in the repetition of descriptions, the attention to odd details, and the breaks in repetitions. Ironically, this method resembles the experience of psychoanalysis in which the deeper unconscious meanings are contained in the flow and disruptions of free associations. Timelines and plots are fractured and the resulting novel resembles the literary
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 58 reviews
August 13, 2008
The other night I discovered Alain Robbe-Grillet in my apartment. He was waiting for me in my library, smoking a cigarette in the dark, which I thought was a little too film noir to be taken seriously. He sat me down and, in his indulgent French accent, explained to me a secret that undermined all literary fiction. I was astonished, to say the least. I looked up at my shelves of books. My beloved books! They might as well have been cheap greeting cards at that point. Receipts from a joyless trip to the mall. At best: hastily-scrawled notes reminding me what not to forget. I looked at Robbe-Grillet as he casually inhaled from his cigarette—a little red ember pulsating in the dark—and I didn't know whether to thank him or punch him in the face. However, before I could do either, almost as if he'd read my mind, he sprang up and thwacked me upside the head with something hard and heavy. I reeled. "What kind of weapon was that?" I drawled out. But he just stood there with his arrogant Frenchman's grin. I felt as if he'd struck me with a whole alphabet of encyclopedias, but in his hand all I saw was a single slender book with a one-syllable title.
Forced to sleep by the blow, I dreamed. I dreamed I was in a house full of mirrors. Every time I fixed my bearings I realized that the objects I was looking at for reference—a couch, a potted plant, a piano—were actually carefully-positioned reflections that were deceptively warped and flipped around in an effort to disorient me. And as I searched further, I realized there was no couch, no potted plant, no piano. There were only reflections. The puzzle was so delightful I fell on the floor and laughed.
When I woke up in my library, Alain Robbe-Grillet had vanished. Daylight oozed through the windows, and I cradled my swollen head. I tried to recall the secret he'd told me. I grasped and pawed for it. It should've been right there on the tip of my tongue, but the tip of my tongue was missing. Whether Robbe-Grillet had surgically removed it while I was unconscious or whether I'd bitten it clean off when he hit me, I don't know, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I can only assume he took it with him back to France.
This book should be a religion among writers.
Forced to sleep by the blow, I dreamed. I dreamed I was in a house full of mirrors. Every time I fixed my bearings I realized that the objects I was looking at for reference—a couch, a potted plant, a piano—were actually carefully-positioned reflections that were deceptively warped and flipped around in an effort to disorient me. And as I searched further, I realized there was no couch, no potted plant, no piano. There were only reflections. The puzzle was so delightful I fell on the floor and laughed.
When I woke up in my library, Alain Robbe-Grillet had vanished. Daylight oozed through the windows, and I cradled my swollen head. I tried to recall the secret he'd told me. I grasped and pawed for it. It should've been right there on the tip of my tongue, but the tip of my tongue was missing. Whether Robbe-Grillet had surgically removed it while I was unconscious or whether I'd bitten it clean off when he hit me, I don't know, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I can only assume he took it with him back to France.
This book should be a religion among writers.
April 17, 2021
In which an almost-lighthearted Robbe-Grillet displays a rarely seen sense of humor while still maintaining his usual circuitous reconfiguring of the mystery genre.
March 20, 2013
Like the roughly contemporaneous (80s) film version of La Belle Captive, this is Robbe-Grillet at his most playful, perhaps frivolous, arguably harmless. I rather love the both of them, though they are certainly outshone by Robbe-Grillet's darker, somewhat more (thrillingly?) uncomfortable writing and directing. His ability to wander knowingly along marginal territory, but only just is one of his principle qualities (merits?). In any event this is unlikely to be a favorite of the more die-hard R-G readers, but it's probably an excellent entry point (as is the film). They still have most of his markings: noir mechanisms, constant narrative reframing and undermining, sudden shifts in perspective, questionable eroticism (though this of his elements is more reined-in here), general dark playfulness in form and content.
In some ways the plot here is a fractal, constantly re-iterating itself on smaller scales until it falls away into a flurry of repetitions. My reading of it was somewhat enhanced by another layer of reiteration: just outside the hilarious meta-commentary of the framing prologue and epilogue, someone had added a couple pages of their own observations, including gems like "the world makes no sense", lending a final delightfully extra-novel frame.
Another note: at one point we have a character who incessantly invents stories around all the essentially mundane places and people he encounters. Louis Aragon?
In some ways the plot here is a fractal, constantly re-iterating itself on smaller scales until it falls away into a flurry of repetitions. My reading of it was somewhat enhanced by another layer of reiteration: just outside the hilarious meta-commentary of the framing prologue and epilogue, someone had added a couple pages of their own observations, including gems like "the world makes no sense", lending a final delightfully extra-novel frame.
Another note: at one point we have a character who incessantly invents stories around all the essentially mundane places and people he encounters. Louis Aragon?
August 28, 2008
[Original review from 8/2008]:
My friend Nathan recommended this book to me and I can see why. It seems to be a complex metaphor for the creative process of writing fiction while simultaneously taking on the surreal, kaleidoscopic effect of a warped detective novel. Fans of David Lynch’s films, especially “Mulholland Drive,” will be sure to appreciate getting lost in the labyrinths of these dark alleys and mysterious rooms and ever-changing identities (including POV). There are overlapping characters with similar names like Djinn, Jean (female), Jean (male), Jan, Jeanne and two kids who may or may not be the same two kids and fake passports and murdered mannequins and dreams and “realities” and questionable chronology. Just when you think you might have a handle on what’s what, you turn the page for a complete mindfuck. But then, when you think Robbe-Grillet has gone too far, you realize he’s just playing with you after all—you’re his latest victim.
Reading this short novel is both fun and necessary for writers and other dabblers with the imagination. You might find yourself, as I did, reading the final page and then turning to the beginning of the book to re-read the first chapter. I’d also recommend reading this Wiki excerpt on genies.
UPDATE: I read this book again five years later (9/2013) since it's one of my faves and quite short (I hardly ever re-read books, but it helps when they are short). My five-star rating still remains, although I had a slightly different experience this time around. I wasn't as "weirded out" and didn't think it was as strange as I remembered it being. I saw a lot more humor and hand of the author. I can imagine Robbe-Grillet being given a set of images (either by himself, or chosen randomly through some sort of deck of topic cards or roll of the dice) and writing different scenarios on the same topics and merging them all together in a collage of sorts that can, in turn, be interpreted in a variety of ways. On the first read, I got more lost in the story, in the world, and enjoyed the bumps and twists of the wild ride. On the second read, I was more of an observer, taking note of how he might have mapped out this tale, of when and where the POV changes happened, of the fun he must have been having while writing it.
My friend Nathan recommended this book to me and I can see why. It seems to be a complex metaphor for the creative process of writing fiction while simultaneously taking on the surreal, kaleidoscopic effect of a warped detective novel. Fans of David Lynch’s films, especially “Mulholland Drive,” will be sure to appreciate getting lost in the labyrinths of these dark alleys and mysterious rooms and ever-changing identities (including POV). There are overlapping characters with similar names like Djinn, Jean (female), Jean (male), Jan, Jeanne and two kids who may or may not be the same two kids and fake passports and murdered mannequins and dreams and “realities” and questionable chronology. Just when you think you might have a handle on what’s what, you turn the page for a complete mindfuck. But then, when you think Robbe-Grillet has gone too far, you realize he’s just playing with you after all—you’re his latest victim.
Reading this short novel is both fun and necessary for writers and other dabblers with the imagination. You might find yourself, as I did, reading the final page and then turning to the beginning of the book to re-read the first chapter. I’d also recommend reading this Wiki excerpt on genies.
UPDATE: I read this book again five years later (9/2013) since it's one of my faves and quite short (I hardly ever re-read books, but it helps when they are short). My five-star rating still remains, although I had a slightly different experience this time around. I wasn't as "weirded out" and didn't think it was as strange as I remembered it being. I saw a lot more humor and hand of the author. I can imagine Robbe-Grillet being given a set of images (either by himself, or chosen randomly through some sort of deck of topic cards or roll of the dice) and writing different scenarios on the same topics and merging them all together in a collage of sorts that can, in turn, be interpreted in a variety of ways. On the first read, I got more lost in the story, in the world, and enjoyed the bumps and twists of the wild ride. On the second read, I was more of an observer, taking note of how he might have mapped out this tale, of when and where the POV changes happened, of the fun he must have been having while writing it.
April 9, 2024
jak makaron ze szpinakiem ale bez fety smietanki czosnku soli i pieprzu
March 12, 2022
رمان نو چه نوشتههای ناتالی ساروت چه مارگریت دوراس چه رب گریه، برای من همیشه دنیایی جذاب و مرموز داشته. مخصوصا بخاطر تاثیری که روی موج نو فرانسه میگذارن. فیلمهای رب گریه رو دیدم... با خوندن نوشته هاش کاملا به سبک و سیاق خودش توی ذهنم تصویرسازی میکنم و لذت میبرم. فضای دیوانه کننده... فضای خاص... مبهم...زمان کش آمده...کشسانی زمان... یک نوع انتظار که در کاراکتر هست... رمزها و نشانهها... آثار این سبک نویسندههارو خواندنی میکنه. دوست داشتم ازین اثر فیلمی ساخته میشد اما هیچ اقتباس خوبی ازش وجود نداشت... به شدت پتانسیل اقتباس رو داره این اثر...
January 8, 2018
زمانی، دور و بر دوازده سالگی، داستان که می خواندم، بگو کاری از هسه یا بل یا کامو، مرا می برد در یک فضای سایه روشن زنده آن سان که جهان بیرونی از یادم برود. جن، نه که بگویم داستانی بی مانند بود، اما پس از سالها برایم فضایی داشت. جهانی پر از سایه روشن و هر گوشه مخروبه ایش رازی... می شد شاید پیش نویس فیلمی از دیوید لینچ باشد...
September 16, 2023
In my opinion, this is one of the best books in the world. Brilliant prose, mastery and perfection in every detail: quasi-sensational plot, dreamlike characters and crazy scenery. Maximum reading pleasure, despite the book's small size.
January 4, 2024
270119: ??? 90s? 000s? 2100s? (years) later later later addition: it is a familiar conceit and existential question to decide what you are living, what you are reading, is actually a dream. what is it like to be characters in a dream, the dreamed rather than dreamer...? probably you can get the idea from a jorge luis borges fiction- here you can play around with this idea for a short novel...
2nd review: i am reading new and rereading old robbe-grillet… i have since read so many books fiction and nonfiction, that i thought i might get something new out of it. i did, though i could remember the scenes, the plot, coming up, and it was no longer a surprise... truly too experimental for many tastes, this short novel reminded me of how much i like short novels. ideas rather than ‘realistic’ characters, surreal, freudian, not-really subtext, self-awareness of text, i do not know if i would enjoy it any longer, or if read too recently i would be less enthused to see it again. the curious, circular, plot of memory and future. the obvious, playful, references to oedipus. engaging read even if not his best...
more:
by-
Jealousy & In the Labyrinth
The Erasers
Last Year at Marienbad
Voyeur
La Maison de rendez-vous
Project for a Revolution in New York
La Belle Captive
Topology of a Phantom City
Recollections of the Golden Triangle
Djinn
Repetition
A Regicide
A Sentimental Novel
francaise-
La Jalousie
Dans le labyrinthe
Les Gommes
L'année dernière à Marienbad
Instantanés
on-
For a New Novel: Essays on Fiction
Generative Literature and Generative Art: New Essays
Alain Robbe-Grillet: The Body of the Text
The Erotic Dream Machine: Interviews with Alain Robbe-Grillet on His Films
Inventing The Real World: The Art of Alain Robbe-Grillet
Alain Robbe-Grillet
2nd review: i am reading new and rereading old robbe-grillet… i have since read so many books fiction and nonfiction, that i thought i might get something new out of it. i did, though i could remember the scenes, the plot, coming up, and it was no longer a surprise... truly too experimental for many tastes, this short novel reminded me of how much i like short novels. ideas rather than ‘realistic’ characters, surreal, freudian, not-really subtext, self-awareness of text, i do not know if i would enjoy it any longer, or if read too recently i would be less enthused to see it again. the curious, circular, plot of memory and future. the obvious, playful, references to oedipus. engaging read even if not his best...
more:
by-
Jealousy & In the Labyrinth
The Erasers
Last Year at Marienbad
Voyeur
La Maison de rendez-vous
Project for a Revolution in New York
La Belle Captive
Topology of a Phantom City
Recollections of the Golden Triangle
Djinn
Repetition
A Regicide
A Sentimental Novel
francaise-
La Jalousie
Dans le labyrinthe
Les Gommes
L'année dernière à Marienbad
Instantanés
on-
For a New Novel: Essays on Fiction
Generative Literature and Generative Art: New Essays
Alain Robbe-Grillet: The Body of the Text
The Erotic Dream Machine: Interviews with Alain Robbe-Grillet on His Films
Inventing The Real World: The Art of Alain Robbe-Grillet
Alain Robbe-Grillet
April 19, 2008
This nifty little book reminds me a bit of The Turn of the Screw because it has the children as spectrals, it's a puzzle text, and the narration hints at being dream and/or delusion. The opening prologue suggests that the remainder is a found text, which is a strategy designed to establish context, but also a veil to cloak the fiction in the guise of the real. The narrator of the main text is continuously questioning his actions in a way that is analogous to how Robbe-Grillet hopes to engage readers. "The total absence of information, I hoped just the same that it was only temporary: perhaps I was first supposed to pass through this initial phase, where I would be put to the test. The treasure hunt thus became, in my romantic mind, like a journey of initiation." (58) That, too, is the journey readers embark upon in this narrative puzzle.
April 9, 2024
2.5
man i dont get it 😓
man i dont get it 😓
April 10, 2024
Unpopular opinion: podobało mi się i wcale mi nie przeszkadza, że tak w sumie to nic nie wiadomo. Pokój z wami ✌️
January 19, 2018
This mysterious, circular novel pulled me in from the very first sentence. I had not intended to read it but could not do anything but justify it to myself, ironically, as our protagonist does everything s/he does to him/herself as well.
The book contains its own literary analysis. Every thought that I had about it I read on the very next page, again, ironically, as (if we can believe what we read) our protagonist finds himself believing that he is choosing to do exactly what he does not consciously remember that he has already done, by someone else's instruction. He doubts his own memory, but he does not doubt it enough. Do we really ever do or think anything entirely of our own volition, with no suggestion from anyone else? Do we remember what actually happened or perhaps just what we were told happened -- other people's memories, in other words? Can it be possible to have free thought or free will at all?
Full of repetitions, particularly of names and likenesses, the book not only acknowledges the fluidity of gender but also conflates past, present, and future. What happened long ago takes place in the first half of the novel, when it also, in Simon's (or Jean's) subsequent memory, hasn't happened yet. In what I would call a causal time loop of magnificent proportions, the events of today are caused by the events of tomorrow, which is also yesterday. How many times has it happened? Or has it perhaps never happened, and this book merely exemplifies the unreliability of memory itself? Any of these interpretations is possible. All of this is simultaneously present in this masterful work.
Eventually all pretense at quantifying the passage of time is abandoned. Perhaps it is the end of time: "in a sort of future world, in the midst of which everything would already have been accomplished" (96). There is nothing else to do, and time has stopped.
Or it is all just a literary analysis, as before: "'Later, I want to study to become a heroine in novels. It is a good job, and it allows one to live in the literary style'" (48). This book is, after all, presented as a story about a novella. It is about the state of being of characters in a novel of someone else's "'overly receptive'" imaginings (100). Their universe is perpetually in the present tense: "'you are, here, nothing but a character out of his afflicted memory'" (98). They do not themselves even know who or what they are. They may suspect, at times, that they are just characters in a play. Or maybe a dream. Their world is shaped by suspiciously convenient coincidence and readers' expectations. One cannot trust what he is told, as it may just be a story, a draft of a story, a ghost of a memory, an alternate interpretation, a lie. Every narrator is unreliable, testing us like Milgram. Everything that they feel seems real, though, because "'imbued by [the author] with new life, barely dulled by time'" (100). Time, indeed, passes differently in a narrative than in real-world experience. And the plot recurs again and again in those pages, always as though for the first time. Characters may die but are never gone. They are children and adults at once. They are gathered, within those pages, all together, in multiple places at once, impossibly, and yet it is so.
This book would pair well in a course with the films Blade Runner and La Jetee and with Virginia Woolf's novel Orlando and even with Orwell's 1984. ...It is as though the entirety of my literary studies up until now has prepared me to appreciate this book.
The book contains its own literary analysis. Every thought that I had about it I read on the very next page, again, ironically, as (if we can believe what we read) our protagonist finds himself believing that he is choosing to do exactly what he does not consciously remember that he has already done, by someone else's instruction. He doubts his own memory, but he does not doubt it enough. Do we really ever do or think anything entirely of our own volition, with no suggestion from anyone else? Do we remember what actually happened or perhaps just what we were told happened -- other people's memories, in other words? Can it be possible to have free thought or free will at all?
Full of repetitions, particularly of names and likenesses, the book not only acknowledges the fluidity of gender but also conflates past, present, and future. What happened long ago takes place in the first half of the novel, when it also, in Simon's (or Jean's) subsequent memory, hasn't happened yet. In what I would call a causal time loop of magnificent proportions, the events of today are caused by the events of tomorrow, which is also yesterday. How many times has it happened? Or has it perhaps never happened, and this book merely exemplifies the unreliability of memory itself? Any of these interpretations is possible. All of this is simultaneously present in this masterful work.
Eventually all pretense at quantifying the passage of time is abandoned. Perhaps it is the end of time: "in a sort of future world, in the midst of which everything would already have been accomplished" (96). There is nothing else to do, and time has stopped.
Or it is all just a literary analysis, as before: "'Later, I want to study to become a heroine in novels. It is a good job, and it allows one to live in the literary style'" (48). This book is, after all, presented as a story about a novella. It is about the state of being of characters in a novel of someone else's "'overly receptive'" imaginings (100). Their universe is perpetually in the present tense: "'you are, here, nothing but a character out of his afflicted memory'" (98). They do not themselves even know who or what they are. They may suspect, at times, that they are just characters in a play. Or maybe a dream. Their world is shaped by suspiciously convenient coincidence and readers' expectations. One cannot trust what he is told, as it may just be a story, a draft of a story, a ghost of a memory, an alternate interpretation, a lie. Every narrator is unreliable, testing us like Milgram. Everything that they feel seems real, though, because "'imbued by [the author] with new life, barely dulled by time'" (100). Time, indeed, passes differently in a narrative than in real-world experience. And the plot recurs again and again in those pages, always as though for the first time. Characters may die but are never gone. They are children and adults at once. They are gathered, within those pages, all together, in multiple places at once, impossibly, and yet it is so.
This book would pair well in a course with the films Blade Runner and La Jetee and with Virginia Woolf's novel Orlando and even with Orwell's 1984. ...It is as though the entirety of my literary studies up until now has prepared me to appreciate this book.
May 28, 2021
I am so confused ... but I feel 5% smarter for getting through it.
July 21, 2022
When confusion is the goal, the means to which we reach that state is important to the generativity of that confusion--the thoughts that come from it which we may not have had otherwise, that feeling of needing to clear away the mind's haze. The truth is, confusion is an easy state to reach, and is often an unintentional consequence of bad writing. A great part of the surrealist tradition sought this state of confusion, where mystery was the mystery, revealing not just the nonsense of life, but the nonsense deeply embedded in sense itself.
Robbe-Grillet has no interest in this. Throughout Djinn I felt no confusion at all, just the banal self-satisfied choices of a writer who confounded style with conventions. It's a hard book to write a real review for, because the book just feels like the lowest common denomenator of popular surrealism, mystery, fantasy and erotic novels. The cooler-than-you feeling of Robbe-Grillet's life's work poses the noble goal of recognizing identity as oppression, but to me it reads like a discount store Bataille who thought he was the Marquis de Sade. Worthless.
Robbe-Grillet has no interest in this. Throughout Djinn I felt no confusion at all, just the banal self-satisfied choices of a writer who confounded style with conventions. It's a hard book to write a real review for, because the book just feels like the lowest common denomenator of popular surrealism, mystery, fantasy and erotic novels. The cooler-than-you feeling of Robbe-Grillet's life's work poses the noble goal of recognizing identity as oppression, but to me it reads like a discount store Bataille who thought he was the Marquis de Sade. Worthless.
April 10, 2024
Kolego, jaśniej proszę.
December 5, 2019
"Une histoire à dormir debout" is a phrase that recurs in this short and amusing book. It means, literally, "a story to make you sleep standing up", but could be translated as "a cock and bull story", which might remind us of Tristram Shandy, quite appropriately. The narrator, Simon LeCoeur, sometimes known as Jan, encounters a woman, Jean, pronounced Djinn, who reminds him of an actress called Jane. She recruits him into a mysterious mission in the course of which he encounters various other people beginning with J. As in Tristram Shandy he never quite finds the centre of events.
The book was written as a set text for advanced students of French. The language gets more complicated as the chapters follow each other. In particular the number of tenses used increases. Conveniently, the French for "tense" is the same as the word for time, "temps" and so there's a link between this technical feature and the temporal confusion of the events. Sounds fun, doesn't it, and there's quite a lengthy section where the concept of a "future memory" is discussed, which sounds a lot like "dejà vu" but that phrase is perversely not used.
It is more fun than it sounds. As with so many nouveaux romans you have to submit to the surface rather than rely on plot, characterisation etc. I think it would have to lose a lot in translation, simply because English doesn't have the same language structure. And I probably missed some of what there : my French isn't quite good enough to get all the references.
I really enjoyed the book but I realise this review will put most people off.
The book was written as a set text for advanced students of French. The language gets more complicated as the chapters follow each other. In particular the number of tenses used increases. Conveniently, the French for "tense" is the same as the word for time, "temps" and so there's a link between this technical feature and the temporal confusion of the events. Sounds fun, doesn't it, and there's quite a lengthy section where the concept of a "future memory" is discussed, which sounds a lot like "dejà vu" but that phrase is perversely not used.
It is more fun than it sounds. As with so many nouveaux romans you have to submit to the surface rather than rely on plot, characterisation etc. I think it would have to lose a lot in translation, simply because English doesn't have the same language structure. And I probably missed some of what there : my French isn't quite good enough to get all the references.
I really enjoyed the book but I realise this review will put most people off.
February 6, 2020
جن. داستانی پیچیده و رمز الود از آلن رب گریه. داستانی که تو زمانه خودش با برهم زدن کلیشه های موجود اثری فارغ از زمان، مکان، و حتی کاراکتر خلق کرده. اگر بخواهیم کتاب رو نسبت به همون زمان بسنجیم کار جالبی بوده کاری که یه سری کلیشه رو برهم زده و اثری نو خلق کرده. معماگونه بودن داستان خواننده رو ترغیب میکنه یک نفس تا انتهای داستان پیش بره اما دقیقا همینجا کمی تو ذوق من خورد چون نتیجه ای که از این رمز آلودی گرفتم چیزی نبود که توقعش رو داشتم. در کل اگر دنبال کتابی فارغ از کلیشه های موجود میگردید شاید خوندن این کتاب براتون جالب باشه.
داستان در مورد مردیه که ملیتش مشخص نیست. این مرد به دنبال کار وارد یه انبار متروکه میشه و تو انبار با زنی عجیب ملاقات میکنه. زن به مرد ماموریت میده به ایستگاه قطار بره. بین راه مرد با دختربچه و پسر بچه ای مرموز روبه رو میشه. در ادامه داستان مرد وارد فضاهایی عجیب میشه که مرز خیال و واقعیت در هم آمیخته شده. و به طور گنگ و مبهم اتفاقای براش تکرار میشه.
من این کتاب رو برای شناخت رمان نو و تو جمع خوب کتابخونیمون خوندم. برای آشنایی با المان های رمان نو این کتاب واقعا عالی بود. با اینکه عاشق داستان های رمز الود هستم این کتاب رو به عنوان یک داستان مستقل هیچ وقت انتخاب نمیکنم اما برای آشنایی با رمان نو قطعا این کتاب بهترین انتخابه
داستان در مورد مردیه که ملیتش مشخص نیست. این مرد به دنبال کار وارد یه انبار متروکه میشه و تو انبار با زنی عجیب ملاقات میکنه. زن به مرد ماموریت میده به ایستگاه قطار بره. بین راه مرد با دختربچه و پسر بچه ای مرموز روبه رو میشه. در ادامه داستان مرد وارد فضاهایی عجیب میشه که مرز خیال و واقعیت در هم آمیخته شده. و به طور گنگ و مبهم اتفاقای براش تکرار میشه.
من این کتاب رو برای شناخت رمان نو و تو جمع خوب کتابخونیمون خوندم. برای آشنایی با المان های رمان نو این کتاب واقعا عالی بود. با اینکه عاشق داستان های رمز الود هستم این کتاب رو به عنوان یک داستان مستقل هیچ وقت انتخاب نمیکنم اما برای آشنایی با رمان نو قطعا این کتاب بهترین انتخابه
August 19, 2020
Pequeno e complexo romance circular escrito em diferentes categorias narrativas, o texto ocupa oito capítulos, com epílogo e prólogo. O autor concebeu este romance para cobrir em cada capítulo seu alguns aspetos da gramática francesa, qualidade essa que se perde com a tradução, e estruturou esses capítulos sob os mesmos cenários ora semelhantes, ora surreais.
March 4, 2012
When i read this book, years ago, it was the best book i have ever read and i read it about five times, within a couple of years, i havent read this book in about 14 years or so, i cant remember what it was about, but i remember it was really dreamlike and i loved it so much
December 3, 2016
I came across this book while researching Djinns and I'm a sucka for translated work.
A warped detective story with a twist of psychological madness, in some time space continuum logic. I found this to be very interesting. I'll be looking into more from Grillet.
A warped detective story with a twist of psychological madness, in some time space continuum logic. I found this to be very interesting. I'll be looking into more from Grillet.
July 11, 2010
I don't know what to say about this book. I wanted to love it, but it was confusing. I think in the end I liked Nate's review of it more than the book itself.
August 28, 2011
Sci-fi et tordu. Du très bon Robbe-Grillet.
April 24, 2017
I'm not a fan of modernist writing but I LOVE this story omg it's incredible and clever and so complex and SO meta
February 7, 2021
An excellent read!
March 4, 2022
Be warned. You don't read this book--it reads you. Go for it.
April 21, 2025
I'm still relatively new to R-G, but this one definitely feels different. The classic elements are there: time is malleable, nothing is as it seems, the writing itself is more the point than the characters on the page, lots of humor, noir tropes, sci-fi tropes, cyclical happenings, repetition, and so on, and so on...
All of these classic R-G elements are there, but they feel different; less serious. This 100% feels like a Robbe-Grillet who is having a lot of fun with the roman nouveau he helped create. This is play, and is all the more enjoyable because of it.
There is no real point in trying to summarize the plot of one of his novels, but a very rudimentary description is that a young private investigator is hired by a coy, androgynous American woman named Djinn. Why? What's the job? Who knows? Not us and not the protagonist.
Even with all of the normal conventions of a mystery being chucked out the window, I still found myself absorbed into figuring out what was happening. Absorbed while knowing full well I was probably not going to get a satisfying resolution of said mystery.
The mystery, the narrative, the characters; these are not why you're reading a Robbe-Grillet novel. We read Robbe-Grillet to watch someone upend our expectations of what a novel should be. To see someone have fun with language and form to subvert expectations and give us a novel different from what we've read before. This is not to say that the mystery, the narrative, or the characters are throw-away or poorly defined. They're well-defined, interesting, and engaging. You're just setting yourself up for disappointment if you go into these expecting Raymond Chandler.
I just finished the book a few minutes ago. It is still reeling within my brain. I was engrossed, I was entertained, and I was inspired to spend more time writing. I know my review is a bit scatterbrained, but know this: I had a lot of fun and I enjoyed this one a lot.
All of these classic R-G elements are there, but they feel different; less serious. This 100% feels like a Robbe-Grillet who is having a lot of fun with the roman nouveau he helped create. This is play, and is all the more enjoyable because of it.
There is no real point in trying to summarize the plot of one of his novels, but a very rudimentary description is that a young private investigator is hired by a coy, androgynous American woman named Djinn. Why? What's the job? Who knows? Not us and not the protagonist.
Even with all of the normal conventions of a mystery being chucked out the window, I still found myself absorbed into figuring out what was happening. Absorbed while knowing full well I was probably not going to get a satisfying resolution of said mystery.
The mystery, the narrative, the characters; these are not why you're reading a Robbe-Grillet novel. We read Robbe-Grillet to watch someone upend our expectations of what a novel should be. To see someone have fun with language and form to subvert expectations and give us a novel different from what we've read before. This is not to say that the mystery, the narrative, or the characters are throw-away or poorly defined. They're well-defined, interesting, and engaging. You're just setting yourself up for disappointment if you go into these expecting Raymond Chandler.
I just finished the book a few minutes ago. It is still reeling within my brain. I was engrossed, I was entertained, and I was inspired to spend more time writing. I know my review is a bit scatterbrained, but know this: I had a lot of fun and I enjoyed this one a lot.
December 11, 2021
I get the feeling Robbe Grillet was more focused on his cinema career than his writing, as this novella seemed to merely toy with the features of the new novel than give any great expression to them. I don't doubt this screenplay-as-novel is a fabulous example of French New Wave film (La belle Captive), considering the highly visual details and the method of framing the narrative. I have also read, and hope!, the novel works much better in the original French than in translation, as the wordplay is much livelier and more humorous. Sadly, I do not read French, and as much as I enjoy Robbe Grillet, I would hardly be learning it to read this (middling in English) piece of fiction. I feel in some way like Robbe Grillet is just having the reader, and his critics, on in some smartass French Intellectual-juvenile way. His prologue and epilogue present and explain - or give away - the joke or trick or game he is playing, and (a rather simple) one at that. An intriguing idea or concept - multiples: viewpoints, timelines, realities, personalities - that isn't developed all that creatively or with any real aplomb or novelty. Robbe Grillet has been here, and done this, already, and better. As frustrating as his earlier works could be, this "mailed in" effort had me longing for some overly detailed geometric scribblings, or maybe repeated notes on the location of a centipede. I don't doubt the latent talent, I just wish it was less latent. A poor starting place for Robbe Grillet, and a dismal example of Nouveau roman literature.
April 12, 2023
Un gioco (o un incubo) fatto di specchi letterari
Riuscito ibrido tra esperimento stilistico letterario (dai toni del Calvino più tardo, per capirsi) e veloce piccolo romanzo di genere oscillante tra noir e mistery.
L'autore gioca con parecchi topoi di letteratura e cinema noir: su tutto un omaggio ad Hitchcock molto evidente nelle ultime pagine: lettura molto interessante per la struttura "in crescendo" che purtroppo si perde in traduzione (ad ogni capitolo si aggiunge un tempo verbale e un più complesso uso di parole e frasi), per la capacità di costruire atmosfere sospese tra giochi onirici ed eventi reali.
Mi è anche piaciuto interpretare il testo come un riflessione raffinata e pensosa della inevitabile menzogna della letteratura e di come ogni testo sia in effetti soggetto alla dicotomia tra finzione letteraria e realtà (o memoria) narrata - sempre che quest'ultima possa mai esistere.
E' abbastanza frequente che crediamo in questo modo a cose completamente false: [...], perchè si formino nella nostra testa oggetti inventati, che hanno per noi tutte le apparenze della realtà.
Riuscito ibrido tra esperimento stilistico letterario (dai toni del Calvino più tardo, per capirsi) e veloce piccolo romanzo di genere oscillante tra noir e mistery.
L'autore gioca con parecchi topoi di letteratura e cinema noir: su tutto un omaggio ad Hitchcock molto evidente nelle ultime pagine: lettura molto interessante per la struttura "in crescendo" che purtroppo si perde in traduzione (ad ogni capitolo si aggiunge un tempo verbale e un più complesso uso di parole e frasi), per la capacità di costruire atmosfere sospese tra giochi onirici ed eventi reali.
Mi è anche piaciuto interpretare il testo come un riflessione raffinata e pensosa della inevitabile menzogna della letteratura e di come ogni testo sia in effetti soggetto alla dicotomia tra finzione letteraria e realtà (o memoria) narrata - sempre che quest'ultima possa mai esistere.
E' abbastanza frequente che crediamo in questo modo a cose completamente false: [...], perchè si formino nella nostra testa oggetti inventati, che hanno per noi tutte le apparenze della realtà.
September 16, 2024
It's OK. It's a good example of a humorous, but still serious novel in Robbe-Grillet's oeuvre. It has all the 'tropes', for lack of a better term, of the other novels of his that I've read. Complicated paradoxes, insane plot twists, and weird temporal and spatial teleportations. I just don't find the writing as strong here, nor the intrigue. The plot twists and divagations are interesting at first, but they quickly become insane, implausible and impossible to follow. Of course, part of that is just part and parcel of the style of this author's works. Still, here it feels almost self-parodic, and not as well constructed. The major twists are crammed in, seemingly, all at the end of the book.
Favorite quote was about time on pg. 92 (that number may be from a different edition, the one that bundled this with La Maison.)
Favorite quote was about time on pg. 92 (that number may be from a different edition, the one that bundled this with La Maison.)
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