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Asta nu-ți aparține/ Părinții mei: O introducere
În funcție de felul în care citim acest dublu volum de memorii, fie trecem de la relatare concretă la fragmentare, fie privim ițele memoriei țesându-se sub ochii noștri într-o singură poveste. Acest al doilea volum de nonficțiune al scriitorului născut în Sarajevo are două părți între aceleași coperte – Părinții mei: O introducere și Asta nu-ți aparține –, putând fi citite în orice ordine, fiind deopotrivă legate și separate, la fel ca doi părinți sau două țări în război.
Două volume de memorii foarte diferite între aceleași coperte abordând memoria, identitatea, istoria și moralitatea din perspective diferite… [Părinții mei este] un memoir despre moralitate, despre amintire, despre ceea ce dăinuie. Asta nu-ți aparține constă într-o serie de fragmente mature, încântător de poetice… O combinație incisivă de literatură ce vorbește despre funcția literaturii și amintiri ce explorează însemnătatea memoriei. (Kirkus Reviews)
Hemon s-a jucat mereu cu limitele – limitele locurilor, ale sinelui – explorând felul în care granițele atât de poroase și de accidentale contează atât de mult… „Asta nu-ți aparține” este inundat de fatalism, un sentiment copleșitor al moralității și de bănuiala că poveștile ar putea să nu fie niciodată de ajuns. Acest sentiment este amplificat de ceea ce transmite Hemon atât de frumos și atât de concret în „Părinții mei: O introducere”, Hemon, fiul de vârstă mijlocie, încercând să aducă la lumină toate aceste lucruri cu grijă și emoție. (Jennifer Szalai, The New York Times)
Două volume de memorii foarte diferite între aceleași coperte abordând memoria, identitatea, istoria și moralitatea din perspective diferite… [Părinții mei este] un memoir despre moralitate, despre amintire, despre ceea ce dăinuie. Asta nu-ți aparține constă într-o serie de fragmente mature, încântător de poetice… O combinație incisivă de literatură ce vorbește despre funcția literaturii și amintiri ce explorează însemnătatea memoriei. (Kirkus Reviews)
Hemon s-a jucat mereu cu limitele – limitele locurilor, ale sinelui – explorând felul în care granițele atât de poroase și de accidentale contează atât de mult… „Asta nu-ți aparține” este inundat de fatalism, un sentiment copleșitor al moralității și de bănuiala că poveștile ar putea să nu fie niciodată de ajuns. Acest sentiment este amplificat de ceea ce transmite Hemon atât de frumos și atât de concret în „Părinții mei: O introducere”, Hemon, fiul de vârstă mijlocie, încercând să aducă la lumină toate aceste lucruri cu grijă și emoție. (Jennifer Szalai, The New York Times)
336 pages, Paperback
First published June 11, 2019
87 people are currently reading
1388 people want to read
About the author
Aleksandar Hemon
70 books890 followersAleksandar Hemon is a Bosnian American writer known for his short stories and novels that explore issues of exile, identity, and home through characters drawn from Hemon’s own experience as an immigrant.
Hemon was raised in Sarajevo, where his father was an engineer and his mother was an accountant. After graduating from the University of Sarajevo with a degree in literature in 1990, he worked as a journalist with the Sarajevan youth press. In 1992 he participated in a journalist exchange program that took him to Chicago. Hemon intended to stay in the United States only briefly, for the duration of the program, but, when war broke out in his home country, he applied for and was granted status as a political refugee in the United States.
In Chicago Hemon worked a series of jobs, including as a bike messenger and a door-to-door canvasser, while improving his knowledge of English and pursuing a graduate degree at Northwestern University. Three years after arriving in the United States, he wrote his first short story in English, “The Sorge Spy Ring.” Together with several other short stories and the novella “Blind Jozef Pronek & Dead Souls,” it was published in the collection The Question of Bruno in 2000, the same year Hemon became an American citizen. Like much of Hemon’s published work, these stories were largely informed by Hemon’s own immigrant experience in Chicago. Hemon brought back Jozef Pronek, the protagonist from his earlier novella, with Nowhere Man: The Pronek Fantasies (2002), the story of a young man growing up in Sarajevo who later attempts to navigate a new life in Chicago while working minimum-wage jobs. The book, like the rest of Hemon’s work, was notable for the author’s inventive use of the English language. He was awarded a MacArthur Foundation “genius grant” in 2004.
The Lazarus Project (2008) intertwined two stories of eastern European immigrants to Chicago. Vladimir Brik, a Bosnian immigrant writer and the novel’s narrator, becomes obsessed with a murder case from nearly a century earlier in which Lazarus Averbuch, a young Russian Jew, was shot and killed by Chicago’s police chief. Hemon received much critical acclaim for the novel, which was a finalist for a National Book Award. He followed this with Love and Obstacles (2009), a collection of short stories narrated by a young man who leaves Sarajevo for the United States when war breaks out in his home country. The Making of Zombie Wars (2015) chronicles the quotidian difficulties of a workaday writer attempting to finish a screenplay about a zombie invasion.
Hemon also cowrote the screenplay for The Matrix Resurrections (2021), the fourth installment in the popular sci-fi Matrix series. His other works included the memoirs The Book of My Lives (2013) and My Parents: An Introduction/This Does Not Belong to You (2019). The latter book consists of two volumes.
Hemon was raised in Sarajevo, where his father was an engineer and his mother was an accountant. After graduating from the University of Sarajevo with a degree in literature in 1990, he worked as a journalist with the Sarajevan youth press. In 1992 he participated in a journalist exchange program that took him to Chicago. Hemon intended to stay in the United States only briefly, for the duration of the program, but, when war broke out in his home country, he applied for and was granted status as a political refugee in the United States.
In Chicago Hemon worked a series of jobs, including as a bike messenger and a door-to-door canvasser, while improving his knowledge of English and pursuing a graduate degree at Northwestern University. Three years after arriving in the United States, he wrote his first short story in English, “The Sorge Spy Ring.” Together with several other short stories and the novella “Blind Jozef Pronek & Dead Souls,” it was published in the collection The Question of Bruno in 2000, the same year Hemon became an American citizen. Like much of Hemon’s published work, these stories were largely informed by Hemon’s own immigrant experience in Chicago. Hemon brought back Jozef Pronek, the protagonist from his earlier novella, with Nowhere Man: The Pronek Fantasies (2002), the story of a young man growing up in Sarajevo who later attempts to navigate a new life in Chicago while working minimum-wage jobs. The book, like the rest of Hemon’s work, was notable for the author’s inventive use of the English language. He was awarded a MacArthur Foundation “genius grant” in 2004.
The Lazarus Project (2008) intertwined two stories of eastern European immigrants to Chicago. Vladimir Brik, a Bosnian immigrant writer and the novel’s narrator, becomes obsessed with a murder case from nearly a century earlier in which Lazarus Averbuch, a young Russian Jew, was shot and killed by Chicago’s police chief. Hemon received much critical acclaim for the novel, which was a finalist for a National Book Award. He followed this with Love and Obstacles (2009), a collection of short stories narrated by a young man who leaves Sarajevo for the United States when war breaks out in his home country. The Making of Zombie Wars (2015) chronicles the quotidian difficulties of a workaday writer attempting to finish a screenplay about a zombie invasion.
Hemon also cowrote the screenplay for The Matrix Resurrections (2021), the fourth installment in the popular sci-fi Matrix series. His other works included the memoirs The Book of My Lives (2013) and My Parents: An Introduction/This Does Not Belong to You (2019). The latter book consists of two volumes.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 114 reviews
June 6, 2019
'True history is always played out on a personal level.'
Rtc
Rtc
June 4, 2022
Hemon reuseste sa creioneze un tablou viu al parintilor sai, al vietilor lor, al dramei prin care au trecut cu totii.
O face cu umor si duiosie, dar in primul rand cu multa iubire.
Este si despre copilaria si adolescenta autorului, un flash dintr-o perioada cu alte valori si sensuri.
Am rezonat cu durerea lor, a parintilor, aceea de a pierde tot ce au cladit o viata si a lua totul de la zero intr-un spatiu total diferit.
Totodata, am ras de nenumarate ori, pentru ca Hemon stie sa povesteasca tare haios intamplari precum stuparitul tatalui sau, "lupta" sa cu ratonii din Canada si mania de a aduna lucruri si a face economie.
"Cand a emigrat in Canada, mama a pierdut, la propriu si la figurat, tot ceea ce constituia persoana ei : de la proprietate, la ideologie, de la ritualurile colective din spatiul public, la propriul dormitor, de la nimicurile sentimentale pe care le pastrase de la inceputurile casniciei, la cetatenia aleasa, de la mirosurile inconstient familiare, la omniprezenta limbii ei natale, de la apropierea prietenilor si fratilor ei, la sentimentul linistitor ca tori cei din jur aveau acces la aceleasi referinte. A devenit peste noapte un nimeni, spune adesea, un nimic."
O face cu umor si duiosie, dar in primul rand cu multa iubire.
Este si despre copilaria si adolescenta autorului, un flash dintr-o perioada cu alte valori si sensuri.
Am rezonat cu durerea lor, a parintilor, aceea de a pierde tot ce au cladit o viata si a lua totul de la zero intr-un spatiu total diferit.
Totodata, am ras de nenumarate ori, pentru ca Hemon stie sa povesteasca tare haios intamplari precum stuparitul tatalui sau, "lupta" sa cu ratonii din Canada si mania de a aduna lucruri si a face economie.
"Cand a emigrat in Canada, mama a pierdut, la propriu si la figurat, tot ceea ce constituia persoana ei : de la proprietate, la ideologie, de la ritualurile colective din spatiul public, la propriul dormitor, de la nimicurile sentimentale pe care le pastrase de la inceputurile casniciei, la cetatenia aleasa, de la mirosurile inconstient familiare, la omniprezenta limbii ei natale, de la apropierea prietenilor si fratilor ei, la sentimentul linistitor ca tori cei din jur aveau acces la aceleasi referinte. A devenit peste noapte un nimeni, spune adesea, un nimic."
September 17, 2021
Those from the Balkans, especially expats, will find this a brilliant read. So relatable & insightful. I enjoyed Hemon’s writing style and humor.
July 3, 2020
Hemon has penned a beautiful and bittersweet ode to his parents, rife with humour and honest reflection. This story of his parents lives and how they were upended by the war in Bosnia resonated with me for a number of reasons. Namely, living in Bosnia and seeing so many friends and loved ones whose lives have been marked by the war that broke up the former Yugoslavia. Honestly, there isn't a single person in my life in Bosnia that doesn't have a story of the war impacting the axis of their life in inalterable ways. As Hemon writes:
It struck me, and broke my heart, how obvious and brutally simple the evil of war is: war takes away lives and never gives them back. It transforms people, unless they're killers, into something they never want to be. it diminishes them, even when it doesn't kill them.
Hemon's parents were forced to leave their home and move to Canada with nothing to begin a new life at a time when they assumed they would be retiring and enjoying their days in Sarajevo and weekends in the mountains around the city. Hemon focuses each chapter on a specific idea - music, food, marriage, etc. - tying them all back to identity and how his parents tried to hang on to theirs while forging ahead in the unknown. As child of an immigrant who has gone on to emigrate to another country myself, I couldn't help but laugh at times (and feel on the verge of tears in others) at Hemon's descriptions of the way is his parents clung to "old ways" in Canada, no matter how crazy and laborious it all seemed to their children.
And, never do you not feel Hemon's love and reverence for the people that brought him into and up in the world.
It's all so lovely, really.
It struck me, and broke my heart, how obvious and brutally simple the evil of war is: war takes away lives and never gives them back. It transforms people, unless they're killers, into something they never want to be. it diminishes them, even when it doesn't kill them.
Hemon's parents were forced to leave their home and move to Canada with nothing to begin a new life at a time when they assumed they would be retiring and enjoying their days in Sarajevo and weekends in the mountains around the city. Hemon focuses each chapter on a specific idea - music, food, marriage, etc. - tying them all back to identity and how his parents tried to hang on to theirs while forging ahead in the unknown. As child of an immigrant who has gone on to emigrate to another country myself, I couldn't help but laugh at times (and feel on the verge of tears in others) at Hemon's descriptions of the way is his parents clung to "old ways" in Canada, no matter how crazy and laborious it all seemed to their children.
And, never do you not feel Hemon's love and reverence for the people that brought him into and up in the world.
It's all so lovely, really.
August 23, 2018
Pozdrav iz sunčanog Rovinja. Od Hemona sam do sada pročitao par zbirki priča i eseja, nijedan roman još uvek. Utisci su različiti, nekada sam fasciniran, nekada baš i ne toliko. Autorovom životnom pričom sam svakako fasciniran. Pobeći iz ratnog vihora u SAD i onda tamo početi pisati na engleskom, dobiti stipendije i nagrade, objavljivati priče u New Yorkeru, to zvuči kao jedna fantastična biografija za američko tržište. Oh wait...
Ali sviđa mi se Hemon. Planiram da čitam još njegovih dela. Pronalazi zanimljive uglove, eksperimentiše... U ovom "sazvežđu" (što bi rekla Olga Tokarčuk) sećanja, Hemon, zreo autor, u prividno impresionističkom maniru, priseća se svog detinjstva u SFRJ- Sarajevu. U bildungs sazvežđu vinjeta od stranicu-dve pratimo razvojni put od jednog ne tako običnog dečaka ka jednom ne tako običnom mladiću. Što je sve i logično, obzirom da nas na kraju puta očekuje jedan ne tako običan pisac. U nekim od vinjeta autor na prepoznatljiv mazohistički način valja sebe u hrpi govana (literally), posvećuje se mučenju životinja, pošteno govori o mnogim nečasnim stvarima. Sva ta sećanja pomažu Hemonu, sada u potpuno drugačijim okolnostima, da sazna ko je on zaista i zašto je ispao takav kakav je ispao. Ujedno i da kontemplira o samim sećanjima i našem odnosu prema njima. Čega se sve sećamo, a čega ne i zašto sve to i čemu sve to.
Neke epizode su antologijske - one koje govore o prirodi dečačkog nasilja u nekadašnjem Sarajevu (i previše paralela sa mojim detinjstvom u Beogradu 80-tih), naslovna ("Nije ovo tvoje"), a posebno predivno sećanje pred kraj knjige o prelasku bujice "fićom" mladog Hemona i njegovog oca.
Ukratko. Dok ovo čitate, Hemon često može da vas nervira kao ličnost, ali nastavićete da čitate, svejedno. Hemon lepo piše.
Ali sviđa mi se Hemon. Planiram da čitam još njegovih dela. Pronalazi zanimljive uglove, eksperimentiše... U ovom "sazvežđu" (što bi rekla Olga Tokarčuk) sećanja, Hemon, zreo autor, u prividno impresionističkom maniru, priseća se svog detinjstva u SFRJ- Sarajevu. U bildungs sazvežđu vinjeta od stranicu-dve pratimo razvojni put od jednog ne tako običnog dečaka ka jednom ne tako običnom mladiću. Što je sve i logično, obzirom da nas na kraju puta očekuje jedan ne tako običan pisac. U nekim od vinjeta autor na prepoznatljiv mazohistički način valja sebe u hrpi govana (literally), posvećuje se mučenju životinja, pošteno govori o mnogim nečasnim stvarima. Sva ta sećanja pomažu Hemonu, sada u potpuno drugačijim okolnostima, da sazna ko je on zaista i zašto je ispao takav kakav je ispao. Ujedno i da kontemplira o samim sećanjima i našem odnosu prema njima. Čega se sve sećamo, a čega ne i zašto sve to i čemu sve to.
Neke epizode su antologijske - one koje govore o prirodi dečačkog nasilja u nekadašnjem Sarajevu (i previše paralela sa mojim detinjstvom u Beogradu 80-tih), naslovna ("Nije ovo tvoje"), a posebno predivno sećanje pred kraj knjige o prelasku bujice "fićom" mladog Hemona i njegovog oca.
Ukratko. Dok ovo čitate, Hemon često može da vas nervira kao ličnost, ali nastavićete da čitate, svejedno. Hemon lepo piše.
June 13, 2019
Uskoro osvrt.
August 22, 2019
Čitala u rukopisu; nisam bila zadivljena. Dopala mi se još manje pošto sam pronašla istovetne čitave pasuse u „Hemonvudu”, listajući knjige u knjižari za vreme festivala.
October 8, 2025
4/5. Hemonove vinjetne zgodbe in zgodbice segajo v obdobje pred Nowhere Manom, v čas idealiziranega otroštva, pubertete, najstništva in prvih ljubezni. Avtorja lahko prestavite v določen znan osebno-zgodovinski topos, danes v ruševinah, razkajfan in zaraščen, pa vam se bo skozi pripoved zdelo, da vse še stoji na svojem mestu, tudi tiste številne groteskno zaznamovane persone, ki so pravzaprav mini tragični-komični junaki Hemonovega kratkozgodbja.
December 13, 2021
Aleksandar Hemon cements his reputation as one the finest writers worldwide with his compelling two-part memoir: My Parents: An Introduction in tandem with This Does Not Belong to You. He depicts his Ukrainian-descended upbringing in the former Yugoslavian province of Bosnia as a socialist paradise. Life as lived and expressed in music, food, storytelling and dozens of other ways was automatically deep with meaning and pleasure.
Danger and even evil, however, shadow Hemon's recollection of the Sarajevo of his youth. He looks back on his Bosnia much like Candide does his El Dorado. They were utopias where one could not stay, whether because of choice in the case of El Dorado or compulsion due to civil war in the case of Sarajevo. The lost paradise reaches beyond the externality of war. Hemon's penetrating look at Sarajevo suggests it was a paradise with its own internal rot. The bullies, gangs, thugs and perverts in the streets are as reptilian as anything that much larger urban dystopias could throw up. The decay gets inside Hemon himself, as he expresses -- with his tongue probably in cheek -- his admiration for Bosnian thugs. The Bosnian for "catastrophe", katastrofa is a core experience of life, Hemon teaches, and he seems to believe it.
The Yugoslavia of recollection is culturally rich in music, food and life in general. I found myself underlining Hemon's pronouncements about literature: "Storytelling is not only not reporting, but the opposite of it: It is reimagining what happened in a different domain of experiential reality, including the past." It is the very definition of imagination to shape, reshape, mold and do whatever it wants with reality as a kind of thought experiment to yield meaning or as a form of play to produce bliss and enjoyment. Hemon attributes his bountiful understanding of story not to a university education but his parents. His father was an engineer, and his travels -- to Africa, Russia, western Europe and elsewhere -- generated a sense of wonder in his son and his family. Hemon recalls his wonderment and that of his family as his father tells stories about people and experiences abroad. And Hemon credits his mother, too, for his understanding of story, though she rarely ventured outside Sarajevo. She recited poetry, told jokes, bought books and developed a love of the richness of language. Indeed, Hemon's memoir is almost a lesson in Bosnian because he reprints hundreds of words, almost always with English definitions. Multiple times, Hemon underlines what he contends are the limitations of English usually in jest.
It isn't all heaven. Hemon writes about the constant threat of beatings on the street in the section of the memoir about his friends, adventures in Sarajevo with them and girlfriends. He writes about a boy named Zlojutro, a name that translates as "Evilmorning". Hemon says the boy is the closest experience he has had to someone who gets sadistic pleasure from the pain of others. Zlojutro targeted Hemon for physical attack, and it finally happened in the halls of their school, but he wasn't the only tormentor. There were others. Hemon learns from his father to fight back. The boy might get a beating, but he'll earn respect and the cessation of hostility. It happens as his father predicts, but Hemon comes close to bullying himself. Indeed, the author notes at one point that he beat a boy for what appears to be for no reason.
At a reading, I met Hemon, detecting a look of angst in his eyes. For an instant it appeared to be directed at me, a six feet, two inch-tall man in good shape about the same age as Hemon. The fear soon vanished, and Hemon played the role of the affable author, signing two of his books I had read. Yet it is clear where the darkness that pops up in Aleksandar Hemon's stories originated: the streets of Sarajevo. He cannot go back to the city, and he might not want to return, his memories, recollections and cultural depth notwithstanding. The darkness, as well as the feast of culture, started there.
Danger and even evil, however, shadow Hemon's recollection of the Sarajevo of his youth. He looks back on his Bosnia much like Candide does his El Dorado. They were utopias where one could not stay, whether because of choice in the case of El Dorado or compulsion due to civil war in the case of Sarajevo. The lost paradise reaches beyond the externality of war. Hemon's penetrating look at Sarajevo suggests it was a paradise with its own internal rot. The bullies, gangs, thugs and perverts in the streets are as reptilian as anything that much larger urban dystopias could throw up. The decay gets inside Hemon himself, as he expresses -- with his tongue probably in cheek -- his admiration for Bosnian thugs. The Bosnian for "catastrophe", katastrofa is a core experience of life, Hemon teaches, and he seems to believe it.
The Yugoslavia of recollection is culturally rich in music, food and life in general. I found myself underlining Hemon's pronouncements about literature: "Storytelling is not only not reporting, but the opposite of it: It is reimagining what happened in a different domain of experiential reality, including the past." It is the very definition of imagination to shape, reshape, mold and do whatever it wants with reality as a kind of thought experiment to yield meaning or as a form of play to produce bliss and enjoyment. Hemon attributes his bountiful understanding of story not to a university education but his parents. His father was an engineer, and his travels -- to Africa, Russia, western Europe and elsewhere -- generated a sense of wonder in his son and his family. Hemon recalls his wonderment and that of his family as his father tells stories about people and experiences abroad. And Hemon credits his mother, too, for his understanding of story, though she rarely ventured outside Sarajevo. She recited poetry, told jokes, bought books and developed a love of the richness of language. Indeed, Hemon's memoir is almost a lesson in Bosnian because he reprints hundreds of words, almost always with English definitions. Multiple times, Hemon underlines what he contends are the limitations of English usually in jest.
It isn't all heaven. Hemon writes about the constant threat of beatings on the street in the section of the memoir about his friends, adventures in Sarajevo with them and girlfriends. He writes about a boy named Zlojutro, a name that translates as "Evilmorning". Hemon says the boy is the closest experience he has had to someone who gets sadistic pleasure from the pain of others. Zlojutro targeted Hemon for physical attack, and it finally happened in the halls of their school, but he wasn't the only tormentor. There were others. Hemon learns from his father to fight back. The boy might get a beating, but he'll earn respect and the cessation of hostility. It happens as his father predicts, but Hemon comes close to bullying himself. Indeed, the author notes at one point that he beat a boy for what appears to be for no reason.
At a reading, I met Hemon, detecting a look of angst in his eyes. For an instant it appeared to be directed at me, a six feet, two inch-tall man in good shape about the same age as Hemon. The fear soon vanished, and Hemon played the role of the affable author, signing two of his books I had read. Yet it is clear where the darkness that pops up in Aleksandar Hemon's stories originated: the streets of Sarajevo. He cannot go back to the city, and he might not want to return, his memories, recollections and cultural depth notwithstanding. The darkness, as well as the feast of culture, started there.
November 18, 2019
Uniquely designed and bound - the two segments of this book are "upside down" to each other. To read the next, you have to turn the book over and begin at the back, which, after you have made the turn, is now the front.
This unusual presentation serves to bind the sections to each other, but also to emphasize the separate character of each section. Hemon's biography of his parents is lovingly told, each chapter focusing on one part of their shared lives - their individual biographies, their attitudes toward family, food, occupation, music, literature, and the way all these things were influenced by the former nation of Yugoslavia and by the horrible times of war in Bosnia.
In the other section of the book, Hemon has a series of short essays, some of them very short, all of them pondering the meaning of memory. So much of what he writes is classic young boy adventure, not so different from Tom Sawyer. But as with his telling of his parents, the reader knows the tragedy and grief that lurks just around the corner.
Hemon is an emigre from Bosnia himself. Yet he writes so beautifully and skillfully in English . If you haven't read any of his books, it's time to start.
This unusual presentation serves to bind the sections to each other, but also to emphasize the separate character of each section. Hemon's biography of his parents is lovingly told, each chapter focusing on one part of their shared lives - their individual biographies, their attitudes toward family, food, occupation, music, literature, and the way all these things were influenced by the former nation of Yugoslavia and by the horrible times of war in Bosnia.
In the other section of the book, Hemon has a series of short essays, some of them very short, all of them pondering the meaning of memory. So much of what he writes is classic young boy adventure, not so different from Tom Sawyer. But as with his telling of his parents, the reader knows the tragedy and grief that lurks just around the corner.
Hemon is an emigre from Bosnia himself. Yet he writes so beautifully and skillfully in English . If you haven't read any of his books, it's time to start.
July 30, 2019
It was a relief to finally finish this book. I am a big fan of Hemon's writing, his sentence structure and the power of his narrative but this book dragged. It bordered on being self indulgent at times, particularly the section about his parents but also his recollections of his boyhood. Nothing new here really. His parents seemed perfectly ordinary. But why do I need to read about them? What does Hemon give us as readers to make us want to know them. Not much. At some point towards the end of "This Does Not Belong to you" I realized I was reading disjointed snippets of boyhood memories and realized that my efforts to finish the book felt pointless. I'd read these kinds of reveries before in other books with more of a compelling story line. I did learn one fact....that crystallized honey can be warmed up and consumed. That organic honey crystallizes naturally and isn't a sign that its gone bad. So there was that.
March 28, 2022
I can't fully explain my fascination with memoirs of parents written by their children. Maybe it's the thorough look into the side of life that many of us take for granted, the day-to-day, the life between events. Perhaps there's something weirdly engrossing about taking a magnifying glass to get a good look at the psyches and personalities of the people that raised you. There's a seed of doubt that gets planted as well, an uneasy knot, a dense pit lodged in some layer of intestines that makes you realize you probably don't know enough about your own parents to even begin such an endeavour. Figures in a Landscape was my first foray into this niche genre and My Parents: An Introduction is a beautiful if complicated follow-up.
The author's parents have by all accounts (including this one) lived full and tragic lives. Born into a Yugoslavia brimming with hope, they became a part of the first generation to receive proper education and explore opportunities previously unknown. They kept the family traditions strong, weathered the storms that marriage and children bring, and tried to carve out a physical and cultural space in their native Bosnia they could call their own. History had other plans, and the ravages of war sent this couple, now in their 50s, to an unfamiliar Canadian town. Things can never be the same, and in the book's more touching chapters we explore what it means to gradually realize there will be a day you don't get to return home.
Hemon, on top of his skill as a writer, is an obsessive ruminator, and the finest moments of this memoir feel like concentrated gems, decades of introspection pressurized down to pithy paragraphs. The unfortunate flip side of this is when his magnifying glass turns on himself in the second part of this book, This Does Not Belong to You, the rambling boyhood memories of bullying and chasing girls and picking his nose. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say there's something about the more rigid and ossified lifestyles of his parents that bring a focus to his observations that his own more shaken and stirred life choices tend to blur and smudge. Ultimately, this is a fine read for those looking to enter the "mum-oir" (could not think of a similar dad-centred pun) genre if you're willing to overlook the failings of the weaker half of the book.
The author's parents have by all accounts (including this one) lived full and tragic lives. Born into a Yugoslavia brimming with hope, they became a part of the first generation to receive proper education and explore opportunities previously unknown. They kept the family traditions strong, weathered the storms that marriage and children bring, and tried to carve out a physical and cultural space in their native Bosnia they could call their own. History had other plans, and the ravages of war sent this couple, now in their 50s, to an unfamiliar Canadian town. Things can never be the same, and in the book's more touching chapters we explore what it means to gradually realize there will be a day you don't get to return home.
Hemon, on top of his skill as a writer, is an obsessive ruminator, and the finest moments of this memoir feel like concentrated gems, decades of introspection pressurized down to pithy paragraphs. The unfortunate flip side of this is when his magnifying glass turns on himself in the second part of this book, This Does Not Belong to You, the rambling boyhood memories of bullying and chasing girls and picking his nose. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say there's something about the more rigid and ossified lifestyles of his parents that bring a focus to his observations that his own more shaken and stirred life choices tend to blur and smudge. Ultimately, this is a fine read for those looking to enter the "mum-oir" (could not think of a similar dad-centred pun) genre if you're willing to overlook the failings of the weaker half of the book.
November 3, 2022
Matematic 3,5⭐
Părinții mei:O introducere 4⭐,tare frumos scrisă ,i-am regăsit stilul în urma căruia mai oftez la final de capitol printre zâmbetele ultimelor glume.
Asta nu-ți aparține 3⭐, foarte schițate amintirile în aceast memoir, lipsește cam tot ceea ce-l face pe Hemon fain, parcă-i un jurnal personal slab dezvoltat "Și m-am dus la baltă să beau apă caldă...tra la la la."ceva de genul, bineînțeles că exagerez dar asta fac de multe ori și scap nepedepsită 😁
Părinții mei:O introducere 4⭐,tare frumos scrisă ,i-am regăsit stilul în urma căruia mai oftez la final de capitol printre zâmbetele ultimelor glume.
Asta nu-ți aparține 3⭐, foarte schițate amintirile în aceast memoir, lipsește cam tot ceea ce-l face pe Hemon fain, parcă-i un jurnal personal slab dezvoltat "Și m-am dus la baltă să beau apă caldă...tra la la la."ceva de genul, bineînțeles că exagerez dar asta fac de multe ori și scap nepedepsită 😁
March 29, 2025
Iskreno slatko. Ko mala oda balkanskom tipu roditelja. Ultra specifična knjiga i stvarno mislim da je najbolje razumiju ljudi čiji su roditelji barem malo živjeli u Jugoslaviji. Zbog toga mi je slatka - naša mala balkanska tajna čiji ključ imamo samo mi, djeca roditelja Jugoslavena.
October 26, 2019
This biography/autobiography is divided into two halves. The first is the story of Hemon’s parents and their forced flight from Sarajevo to Canada in the 1990s due to the Bosnian War. It’s an affectionate, insightful and loving account of them, and their bravery and resourcefulness in adapting to a new life in a new country is vividly depicted. The second half of the book is a rather rambling memoir of Hemon’s own childhood and youth in Sarajevo, and an exploration of the nature of memory and remembering. I didn’t find this part as engaging, and felt it was too disjointed and impressionistic. Overall, however, the book as a whole is enjoyable and interesting, and I gained from it an added insight into what life was life in Yugoslavia before everything fell to pieces.
August 6, 2019
Beautiful.
Just beautiful. Mr. Hemon has a magic with words and thoughts that brought tears to my eyes on many occasions, be they of melancholy or joy. Highly recommend.
Just beautiful. Mr. Hemon has a magic with words and thoughts that brought tears to my eyes on many occasions, be they of melancholy or joy. Highly recommend.
October 2, 2019
I was expecting so much more from this book but it’s dry and downright boring. Why the author thinks anyone would be interested in his parents ordinary life is beyond me.
July 12, 2024
I want to give this 4.5 stars in reality, but Goodreads hates usability so I guess I can’t. This is honestly one of the most enlightening things I have ever read. I grew up thinking that I was alone in the way I felt about learning from my own parents relationship—I for some reason assumed that everyone belonged to two camps, divorced parents or perfectly in love parents. So, to watch my parents occupy a middle space that never looked like love to me was somewhat hard to comprehend. It wasn’t until reading this that I finally felt like someone else understood how that felt. The introduction portion of the book is filled with insights about parents that I didn’t think I would find. I really enjoyed reading this.
February 7, 2021
Mi-a placut mult Asta nu-ti apartine si ma face sa vreau sa recitesc Wittgenstein.
December 26, 2023
Moje mnenje o knjigi lahko preberete na https://maticpise.com/2023/12/25/tole...
April 29, 2024
- În adolescență mă certăm cu mama care îmi spunea: ''Ce-ți lipsește? Ai tot ce îți trebuie'', iar eu îi răspundeam ''N-am niciun viitor!''.
- Stăteam pe marginea stâncii, cu vârful pinilor și brazilor ridicându-se din hăul verde de la picioarele noastre, și priveam, și priveam, și priveam: câmpul nostru vizual n-avea limita, viață noastră n-avea sfârșit.
- Acasă este spațiul în care e un vid când nu ești acolo; acasă este spațiul pe care îl umple trupul tău. Acum locuim în altă parte, dar încă mai avem acel apartament, unde încă nu e nimeni când nu suntem acolo. Când vin în vizită, stau acolo. Când sunt acolo, nu sunt aici. Aici, acolo, oriunde aș fi, sunt întotdeauna absent de undeva. Acasă este vidul parfumat în care nu mă aflu.
- Obiectele- și oamenii- constituie substanță lumii, de aceea nu pot fi niște compozite. Dacă își putea smulge capul de pe umeri și rostogoli pe scări că pe o minge? Dacă își putea smulge brațele și picioarele și stivui că pe niște lemne de foc? Dacă ceea ce credeam că sunt --eu-- nu era decât un ansamblu de părți, de minți, de eu-uri? Dacă nu există un sine întreg?
- De ce ne revedem amintirile? De ce cuvântul revedem? Când mi-am văzut amintirile prima dată? Unde eram de a trebuit să le văd?... Amintirile sunt undeva în trupul meu și dor. Să te gândești la o amintire înseamnă să-ți amintești? Să recuperezi o amintire înseamnă să te gândești? Uiți că neuronii dispar, la fel și tendoanele. Îți pierzi amintirile pentru că te afli în procesul de a muri. Odată ce mori, dispar toate, inclusiv tendoanele.
- De ce să insiști că memoria înseamnă mister sau poveste, sau istorie? De ce să nu renunți teoretic și practic? Să renunți pur și simplu. Oricare dintre evenimentele prezente ale vieții este unitar și suficient. Atât de mult timp și energie și bani și celule vii se pierd pe rememorarea unui lucru și a altuia și a trecutului. Ca să nu mai spun că cei mai educați dintre noi sunt pe punctuală de a descoperi că știu prea puțin. Poate că e vorba doar de frică: dacă îmi amintesc pur și simplu pentru că mintea mea moare înaintea trupului, atunci amintirea, că și scrisul, amână moartea, este ultimul zid de apărare împotriva avansului ei. Dacă îmi amintesc, știu nu doar că am trăit, ci și că trăiesc. Moartea se întâmplă în momentul în care nu-ți poți aminti clipă care a precedat-o. Despre ce vorbeam? Timpul se scurge în propoziții.
- Acum că am trecut de 50 de ani, acum că sunt în mod evident doar o suma de emoții conștiente, de opinii și de preconcepții puse laolaltă, nimic altceva decât un sine dependent de încrederea în sine, pare că-mi amintesc lucrurile pe care deja mi le-am mai amintit și înainte. Nu mai există amintiri proaspăt descoperite, repertoriul este imediat, etern, dureros de limitat. Mai mult, dacă este adevărat că amintirile se solidifica în povești după prima rememorare, atunci ceea ce-mi amintesc acum sunt poveștile despre amintiri care e posibil să fie amintiri despre povești. Acum că sunt acționarul majoritar al unei bucăți formare dintr-un întreg sistem de viață, din mine însumi și din numeroase părți gândite și țesuturi împreună, am rămas fără amintiri, înecat în povești. Înaintea cuvântului, n-a fost nimic în afară de mine, de care nu-mi amintesc decât că personaj, o unitate care nu se ține laolaltă. Eu, în timp ce scriu asta, sunt doar o certitudine care caută cuvintele cele mai potrivite să-ți atragă atenția. Și cine ești tu? De ce ești palid precum chipul unui cap retezat?
- Stăteam pe marginea stâncii, cu vârful pinilor și brazilor ridicându-se din hăul verde de la picioarele noastre, și priveam, și priveam, și priveam: câmpul nostru vizual n-avea limita, viață noastră n-avea sfârșit.
- Acasă este spațiul în care e un vid când nu ești acolo; acasă este spațiul pe care îl umple trupul tău. Acum locuim în altă parte, dar încă mai avem acel apartament, unde încă nu e nimeni când nu suntem acolo. Când vin în vizită, stau acolo. Când sunt acolo, nu sunt aici. Aici, acolo, oriunde aș fi, sunt întotdeauna absent de undeva. Acasă este vidul parfumat în care nu mă aflu.
- Obiectele- și oamenii- constituie substanță lumii, de aceea nu pot fi niște compozite. Dacă își putea smulge capul de pe umeri și rostogoli pe scări că pe o minge? Dacă își putea smulge brațele și picioarele și stivui că pe niște lemne de foc? Dacă ceea ce credeam că sunt --eu-- nu era decât un ansamblu de părți, de minți, de eu-uri? Dacă nu există un sine întreg?
- De ce ne revedem amintirile? De ce cuvântul revedem? Când mi-am văzut amintirile prima dată? Unde eram de a trebuit să le văd?... Amintirile sunt undeva în trupul meu și dor. Să te gândești la o amintire înseamnă să-ți amintești? Să recuperezi o amintire înseamnă să te gândești? Uiți că neuronii dispar, la fel și tendoanele. Îți pierzi amintirile pentru că te afli în procesul de a muri. Odată ce mori, dispar toate, inclusiv tendoanele.
- De ce să insiști că memoria înseamnă mister sau poveste, sau istorie? De ce să nu renunți teoretic și practic? Să renunți pur și simplu. Oricare dintre evenimentele prezente ale vieții este unitar și suficient. Atât de mult timp și energie și bani și celule vii se pierd pe rememorarea unui lucru și a altuia și a trecutului. Ca să nu mai spun că cei mai educați dintre noi sunt pe punctuală de a descoperi că știu prea puțin. Poate că e vorba doar de frică: dacă îmi amintesc pur și simplu pentru că mintea mea moare înaintea trupului, atunci amintirea, că și scrisul, amână moartea, este ultimul zid de apărare împotriva avansului ei. Dacă îmi amintesc, știu nu doar că am trăit, ci și că trăiesc. Moartea se întâmplă în momentul în care nu-ți poți aminti clipă care a precedat-o. Despre ce vorbeam? Timpul se scurge în propoziții.
- Acum că am trecut de 50 de ani, acum că sunt în mod evident doar o suma de emoții conștiente, de opinii și de preconcepții puse laolaltă, nimic altceva decât un sine dependent de încrederea în sine, pare că-mi amintesc lucrurile pe care deja mi le-am mai amintit și înainte. Nu mai există amintiri proaspăt descoperite, repertoriul este imediat, etern, dureros de limitat. Mai mult, dacă este adevărat că amintirile se solidifica în povești după prima rememorare, atunci ceea ce-mi amintesc acum sunt poveștile despre amintiri care e posibil să fie amintiri despre povești. Acum că sunt acționarul majoritar al unei bucăți formare dintr-un întreg sistem de viață, din mine însumi și din numeroase părți gândite și țesuturi împreună, am rămas fără amintiri, înecat în povești. Înaintea cuvântului, n-a fost nimic în afară de mine, de care nu-mi amintesc decât că personaj, o unitate care nu se ține laolaltă. Eu, în timp ce scriu asta, sunt doar o certitudine care caută cuvintele cele mai potrivite să-ți atragă atenția. Și cine ești tu? De ce ești palid precum chipul unui cap retezat?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 30, 2022
Ingenioasă împărțire (la sugestia editorului) a cărții, una dedicată părinților, cealaltă experiențelor de copil și adolescent. În prima parte am fost puțin sceptic văzând că fiecare capitol e dedicat unei teme anume: biografiile, patria, catastrofa, spațiul, hrana, muzica, literatura, căsnicia, viața și moartea. Întâmplările se înșiră aparent haotic, iar istoria personajelor pare că e mult mai bogată decât ceea ce a rămas scris. Dar, în cele din urmă, povestea familiei te prinde și te cucerește, autorul știe să o examineze, să rețină ceea ce este unic, semnificativ, relevant, sau să te convingă că a ales ceea ce trebuia să rămână, memoria este un editor, zice el. Cartea mi-a amintit de ”Între ei” a lui Richard Ford și de Knausgard (volumul 2 și 3 din Lupta mea). Knausgard pentru partea a doua: ”Asta nu-ți aparține”, dar Hemon e mai profund. ”A povesti nu este a raporta, este opusul: este reimaginarea celor întâmplate pe un alt teritoriu al realității existențiale, inclusiv trecutul.” ”Dacă o viață neexaminată nu merită trăită, atunci viața alor mei a meritat trăită din plin.” Iar Hemon a meritat să scrie despre ei, demonstrând (cum zice Daniel Mendelsohn) că o scriere autobiografică nu trebuie să fie o ficțiune ca să fie o poveste în sine, dacă ea are o formă ce este o narațiune satisfăcătoare.
February 12, 2022
Prefața volumului pretinde că cele două volume pot fi citite în orice ordine, însă mi se pare că o ordine există: "Părinții mei: O introducere", apoi "Asta nu-ți aparține". Eu asa le-am citit, întâmplător, și poveștile s-au desfășurat firesc. Pe de altă parte sunt convins că nu aș fi continuat să citesc cartea dacă aș fi început cu "Asta nu-ți aparține". Probabil jumătatea aceasta a volumului e și motivul pentru care nu pot da 5 stele întregii cărți.
Cred că am înțeles mai multe despre istoria Iugoslaviei din "Părinții mei: O introducere" decât din orice alte cărți istorice. Ce m-a convins, însă, este forma unui ghid calm și atât de lucid pe care îl ia volumul în privința unor teme regăsite și trăite și în România, nu doar Bosnia: politici de gen în generația părinților noștri, etica muncii în comunism, și savuroasa parte referitoare la valoarea socială a hranei.
Hemon are naturalețea de a te lovi cu revelații în propoziții simple, într-o mână de cuvinte dintr-un rând.
Cred că am înțeles mai multe despre istoria Iugoslaviei din "Părinții mei: O introducere" decât din orice alte cărți istorice. Ce m-a convins, însă, este forma unui ghid calm și atât de lucid pe care îl ia volumul în privința unor teme regăsite și trăite și în România, nu doar Bosnia: politici de gen în generația părinților noștri, etica muncii în comunism, și savuroasa parte referitoare la valoarea socială a hranei.
Hemon are naturalețea de a te lovi cu revelații în propoziții simple, într-o mână de cuvinte dintr-un rând.
December 29, 2023
Rated separately I would give “My Parents: An introduction” 5 stars and “This does not belong to you” 3 stars.
December 26, 2025
I thought writing both as one is a great idea, as they are pretty complementary to each other. Reading My Parents first, I laughed and connected with it so much on a personal level, since many og the mannerisms, intricacies and mini life events described by Hemon about his parents I resonated with a lot, since my parents act in many of the same ways.
This Does Not Belong To You was definitely more of the memories of childhood, not always in order, mainly the stuff you remember but always what shapes you, whether by fear, love or otherwise.
This Does Not Belong To You was definitely more of the memories of childhood, not always in order, mainly the stuff you remember but always what shapes you, whether by fear, love or otherwise.
June 5, 2025
Such a wonderful collection of short stories from his childhood in Sarajevo ( Yugoslavia), war & migration to Canada…. Made me so nostalgic… I could have read it in one day…. But I forced myself to read slowly…. To
Enjoy it longer…. Deeply touched…so much similarities…
Enjoy it longer…. Deeply touched…so much similarities…
December 29, 2023
Sublime Hemon.
La óptica que él da sobre una Yugoslavia y un Sarajevo que ya no existen es un deleite. Al igual que lo es su forma de divagar (sin por ello perder la capacidad de dotar de orden, sentido y razón) sobre las generaciones que nos preceden, sobre la madurez del ser humano, sobre la subjetividad de nuestros recuerdos y nuestro crecimiento.
Me quedo con "My Parents" (al que le daría 100 estrellas) frente al más abstracto "This does not belong to you". Pero, sobre todo, me quedo con Aleksandar Hemon, uno de los mejorcísimos descubrimientos literarios que he hecho en este 2023.
La óptica que él da sobre una Yugoslavia y un Sarajevo que ya no existen es un deleite. Al igual que lo es su forma de divagar (sin por ello perder la capacidad de dotar de orden, sentido y razón) sobre las generaciones que nos preceden, sobre la madurez del ser humano, sobre la subjetividad de nuestros recuerdos y nuestro crecimiento.
Me quedo con "My Parents" (al que le daría 100 estrellas) frente al más abstracto "This does not belong to you". Pero, sobre todo, me quedo con Aleksandar Hemon, uno de los mejorcísimos descubrimientos literarios que he hecho en este 2023.
January 9, 2020
I laughed I cried I loved this book.
The author's dazzling writing about memory blew me away.
The title is interesting, specifically because what I’ve learned about memory is we all remember differently. How my sister remembers our childhood is different than how I remember it. Therefore the title: “This Does Not Belong to You" Brilliant!
The author's dazzling writing about memory blew me away.
The title is interesting, specifically because what I’ve learned about memory is we all remember differently. How my sister remembers our childhood is different than how I remember it. Therefore the title: “This Does Not Belong to You" Brilliant!
Read
January 3, 20262.5*
April 26, 2021
Four stars for My parents and three for This Does Not Belong to You
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