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Windows on the World
11 de septiembre de 2001, 8.46 a.m. en Nueva York. El Boeing que transporta el vuelo 11 de American Airlines se estrella contra la torre Norte del World Trade Center. Minutos antes, Carthew Yorston, un agente inmobiliario cuarentón, divorciado y padre de dos niños, David y Jarry, ha llegado con ellos a tomar el desayuno en el Windows on the World, un exclusivo restaurante ubicado en el piso 107. Otra perspectiva aérea: Frédéric Beigbeder se sienta a tomar café en Le Ciel de Paris, un local situado en el piso 56 de la torre Montparnasse, el edificio más alto de la ciudad.
Desde este correlato parisino, Beigbeder establece un juego de idas y vueltas entre la realidad y la ficción, entre París y Nueva York, entre el mal y su (imposible) interpretación. Estructurado en breves capítulos titulados por minuto, cuenta en paralelo la peripecia de Yorston y sus hijos durante la catastrófica hora y cuarenta y cinco minutos que transcurre entre el impacto del avión y el desplome de la torre Norte, y una transfiguración autobiográfica de la experiencia de Beigbeder como escritor y como hombre anclado en este convulso, caótico y globalizado mundo de hoy. El mundo del siglo XXI, cuya repentina y brutal acta de nacimiento fue sin duda sellada en Nueva York el 11 de septiembre de 2001: «El infierno dura una hora y cuarenta y cinco minutos, este libro también.»
Frédéric Beigbeder, autor de la polémica, divertida, clarividente y muy exitosa 13'99 euros, se situó, con Windows on the World, en los primeros lugares de la lista de ventas en apenas quince días tras su aparición en Francia, convirtiéndose en el gran acontecimiento de la rentrée literaria.
Desde este correlato parisino, Beigbeder establece un juego de idas y vueltas entre la realidad y la ficción, entre París y Nueva York, entre el mal y su (imposible) interpretación. Estructurado en breves capítulos titulados por minuto, cuenta en paralelo la peripecia de Yorston y sus hijos durante la catastrófica hora y cuarenta y cinco minutos que transcurre entre el impacto del avión y el desplome de la torre Norte, y una transfiguración autobiográfica de la experiencia de Beigbeder como escritor y como hombre anclado en este convulso, caótico y globalizado mundo de hoy. El mundo del siglo XXI, cuya repentina y brutal acta de nacimiento fue sin duda sellada en Nueva York el 11 de septiembre de 2001: «El infierno dura una hora y cuarenta y cinco minutos, este libro también.»
Frédéric Beigbeder, autor de la polémica, divertida, clarividente y muy exitosa 13'99 euros, se situó, con Windows on the World, en los primeros lugares de la lista de ventas en apenas quince días tras su aparición en Francia, convirtiéndose en el gran acontecimiento de la rentrée literaria.
320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2005
82 people are currently reading
1761 people want to read
About the author
Frédéric Beigbeder
64 books1,726 followersBeigbeder was born into a privileged family in Neuilly-sur-Seine, France. His mother, Christine de Chasteigner, is a translator of mawkish novels ( Barbara Cartland et al.); his father, Jean-Michel Beigbeder, is a headhunter. He studied at the Lycée Montaigne and Louis-le-Grand, and later at the Institut D'Etudes Politiques de Paris. Upon graduation at the at the age of 24, began work as an advertising executive, author, broadcaster, publisher, and dilettante.
In 1994, Beigbeder founded the "Prix de Flore", which takes its name from the famous and plush Café de Flore in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The prize is awarded annually to a promising young French author. Vincent Ravalec, Jacques A. Bertrand, Michel Houellebecq are among those who have won the prize. In 2004, the tenth anniversary of the prize, it was awarded to the only American to ever receive it, Bruce Benderson. Two of Beigbeder's novels, 99 Francs (Jan Kounen, 2007) and L'amour dure trois ans (Beigbeder, 2011), have been adapted for the cinema.
In 2002, he presented the TV talk show "Hypershow" on French channel Canal+, co-presented with Jonathan Lambert, Sabine Crossen and Henda. That year he also advised French Communist Party candidate Robert Hue in the presidential election.
He worked for a few years as a publisher for Flammarion. He left Flammarion in 2006.
In May 2007 he spent time in the United States to shoot a film about the reclusive American author, J.D. Salinger.
In 1994, Beigbeder founded the "Prix de Flore", which takes its name from the famous and plush Café de Flore in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The prize is awarded annually to a promising young French author. Vincent Ravalec, Jacques A. Bertrand, Michel Houellebecq are among those who have won the prize. In 2004, the tenth anniversary of the prize, it was awarded to the only American to ever receive it, Bruce Benderson. Two of Beigbeder's novels, 99 Francs (Jan Kounen, 2007) and L'amour dure trois ans (Beigbeder, 2011), have been adapted for the cinema.
In 2002, he presented the TV talk show "Hypershow" on French channel Canal+, co-presented with Jonathan Lambert, Sabine Crossen and Henda. That year he also advised French Communist Party candidate Robert Hue in the presidential election.
He worked for a few years as a publisher for Flammarion. He left Flammarion in 2006.
In May 2007 he spent time in the United States to shoot a film about the reclusive American author, J.D. Salinger.
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August 9, 2018
We know that none of the 1,344 people trapped on the nineteen floors above survived. Obviously, this piece of information removes any element of suspense from this book. So much the better: this isn’t a thriller; it is simply an attempt—doomed, perhaps—to describe the indescribable.
One of my reading resolutions for 2018 is to complete all of the past winners of the two premier prizes for literature in English translation - the Best Translated Book Award from the US and the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize / Man Booker International in the UK. I've completed the BTBA, and this wass one of a handful left to read from the IFFP/MBI.
Windows on the World, translated by the wonderful Frank Wynne (@terribleman) won the 2005 IFFP, beating off competition from inter alia, two excellent books I have read - Orhan Pamuk's Snow, perhaps his finest work, and the lower profile but very strong Budapest by Chico Buarque.
Windows on the World tells the story of a family trapped in the eponymous restaurant on top of the North Tower (the first struck, but last to fall) of the World Trade Centre on 11th September 2001.
The story - of divorced Texan realtor Carthew Yorsten and his sons (aged 7 and 9) - is told in chapters each representing a minute from 8.30am, through the strike at 8.46am, through to the towers collapse at 10.28am.
Carthew's account opens (with a later acknowledged nod to American Beauty): In two hours I’ll be dead; in a way, I am dead already, although it is mostly told in the moment rather than through later reflection.
As they look through the windows (later spotting the oddly low flying plane approaching) Carsten tells his children about the tightrope walk between the towers in 1974 by Frenchman Philippe Petit:
“What’s a Frenchman?” the kids ask.
I explain that France is a small European country that helped America to free itself from the yoke of English oppression between 1776 and 1783 and that, to show our appreciation, our soldiers liberated them from the Nazis in 1944. (I’m simplifying, obviously, for educational purposes.)
And the narration alternates with chapters by the author of this work - also called Frédéric Beigbeder - reflecting on the events of that day and also describing his process of writing the novel, a form of auto-fiction. A lot of this appears to be purely personal - I’m wandering the streets of a threatened city looking for my navel he admits at one point - but it does all link nicely back to his interpretation of the events of that day. Indeed he muses that perhaps he has invented a new form auto-satire, since his own parallel story is unsentimental, at times blackly humorous, but also self-depreciating. For example on the restaurant he writes:
Windows on the World. My first impression is that the name is slightly pretentious. A little self-indulgent, especially for a skyscraper which houses stockbrokers, banks and financial markets. It’s possible to see the words as one more proof of American condescension: “This building overlooks the nerve center of world capitalism and cordially suggests you go fuck yourselves.”
In fact, it was a pun on the name of the World Trade Center. Windows on the “World.” As usual, with my traditional French sullenness I see arrogance where there was nothing but a lucid irony.
Other possible names for the World Trade Center restaurant:
Windows on the Planes
Windows on the Crash
Windows on the Smoke
Broken Windows.
Sorry for that bout of black humor: a momentary defense against the atrocity.
The relationship between France and the US - culturally and politically - is key to Beigbeder's thoughts. His section of the novel is set in February 2003, when French Fries were even renamed Freedom Fries:
The largest antiwar demonstration for fifty years; it is February 15, 2003. Yesterday, the U.S. took on France in the U.N. Security Council.
Since war has been declared between France and the United States, you have to be careful when choosing sides if you don’t want to wind up being fleeced later.
Beigbeder comes down firmly on the side of American culture (but not politics), proclaiming (rather implausibly in my personal view) even the superiority of its literature, but strongly against its sense of chauvinism. He quotes a relevant Walt Whitman poem then comments:
The title of Whitman’s poem is “Salut au Monde!”. In the nineteenth century, American poets spoke French. I am writing this book because I’m sick of bigoted anti-Americanism.
Many people believe that European artists have a superiority complex when it comes to their American counterparts, but they’re mistaken: they have an inferiority complex. Anti-Americanism is in large part jealousy and unrequited love. Deep down, the rest of the world admires American art and resents the United States for not returning the favor.
What bothers us is not American imperialism, but American chauvinism, its cultural isolation, its complete lack of any curiosity about foreign work (except in New York and San Francisco).
As for the cultural exception to American cultural hegemony that is France, contrary to what a recently dismissed CEO had to say, it is not dead: it consists in churning out exceptionally tedious movies, exceptionally slapdash books and, all in all, works of art which are exceptionally pedantic and self-satisfied. It goes without saying that I include my own work in this sorry assessment.
He is also excellent on the differing reactions of he and his colleagues in France as the events unfolded, depending on their personalities:
Narcissistic: “Fuck—I was just up there a month ago!”
Statistical: “My God, how many people are trapped in there? The death toll must be 20,000!”
Paranoid: “Jesus, well, since I look like an Arab, I’m bound to get stopped by the cops every five minutes for the next couple of weeks.”
Anxious: “We’ve got to call our friends over there, make sure they’re all right.”
Laconic: “Well, this is no joke.”
Marketing: “This is going to be great for the ratings, we should buy space on LCI.”
Bellicose: “Fuck! This is it, it’s the Third World War.”
Security conscious: “They need to put cops on all the planes and bulletproof doors on the cockpits.”
Nostradamus: “You see? I told you this would happen, I even wrote it.”
Media savvy: “Shit, I have to get over to Europe 1 and give my reaction.”
Knee-jerk anti-American: “This is what happens when you try and control the world.”
His own reaction, even on later reflection in the novel, leans towards that of 'Security conscious', arguing that if all nightclubs (which both his character and his authorial alter-ego frequent with alarming frequency) can have security guards, then why don't planes.
The actual account of Carsten and his sons is in some senses the weakest part of the novel from a pure drama perspective. As the author proclaims up front, we know how it ends and, in reality, despite their best efforts there was little for those trapped to do but wait and die:
I’d like to tell you a bunch of crazy action-packed anecdotes full of twists and surprises, but the truth is: nothing happened.
But the real strength of this section, which builds on what we do know from transcripts of phone calls made by those trapped, is to make real the brutality of what those trapped suffered.
Beigbeder argues, reasonably convincingly, that much of this has been self-censored:
Five minutes after the first plane crashed into our tower, the tragedy was already a hostage to fortune in a media war. And patriotism? Of course. Knee-jerk patriotism made the American press swagger about, censor our suffering, edit out shots of the jumpers, the photographs of those burn victims, the body parts.
But already it was war; in time of war, you hush up the damage done by the enemy. It’s important to put up a good show, it’s part of the propaganda.
But even he draws the line at some points:
I have cut out the awful descriptions. I have not done so out of propriety, nor out of respect for the victims because I believe that describing their slow agonies, their ordeal, is also a mark of respect. I cut them because, in my opinion, it is more appalling still to allow you to imagine what became of them.
His approach - brutal honesty over sentimentality - is best illustrated when the Beigbeder author character does, for once, take a heroic view of those who choose to jump:
They are human because they decide to choose how they will die rather than allow themselves to be burned. One last manifestation of dignity: they will have chosen their end rather than waiting resignedly. Never has the expression “freefall” made more sense.
But he immediately has his fictional character who actually witnessed events retort:
Bullshit, my dear Beigbeder. If somewhere between thirty-seven and fifty people threw themselves from the top of the North Tower, it was simply because everything else was impossible, suffocation, pain, the instinct to survive, because jumping couldn’t be worse than staying in this suffocating furnace.
and for one person who does take that route, hoping that a tablecloth might act as a makeshift parachute:
I would have liked to be able to say that he made it, but people would simply criticize me for the same reason they criticized Spielberg when he had water gush through the nozzles in the gas chambers. Jeffrey didn’t land gracefully on his toes. Within seconds his derisory piece of fabric became a torch. Jeffrey literally exploded on the plaza, killing a firefighter and the woman he was rescuing. Jeffrey’s wife got the news of his death from his boyfriend. She found out he was bisexual and that he was dead in the same instant. If I’d hoped to tell charming stories, I picked the wrong subject.
This case of character talking to author, is isolated, but he does allow his author to meet Carthew Yorsten's former girlfriend in a bar in New York 2003. The playboy character (and unusual name) of Carthew Yorsten is a rather odd feature of the novel, in that quite a lot of the narration is taken up in the rather seamy life of this one particular fictional character, but it felt as if Yorsten was n some senses a American version of Beigbeder, and a late (and real-world) revelation neatly justifies this interpretation and explains the choice of name.
The novel perhaps doesn't read quite so well, or quite so controversially, as when first released, due to the passage of time. In particular Beigbeder's proclamation that there is a communist utopia; that utopia died in 1989;there is a capitalist utopia; that utopia died in 2001 seems rather hyperbolic read in 2018 - if the history of the death of capitalism is to be written September 2008 is likely to figure rather more prominently than September 2001 (albeit one could make a link that one was the consequence of the re-inflation of the economy following the other).
Although Beigbeder's stronger argument is that 9/11 ended the trust in technology that dated from the 1970s - he has his character take one of the last flights on Concorde (and one link he fails to mention is that the first passenger flight of Concorde post the July 2000 crash of Air France Flight 4590 landed on 11 September 2001). And the 1970s utopia, as he calls it, was one in which both author and main character spent their lives - for one his life ended on 9/11 and for the other that particular world ended.
Even Beigbeder's conclusion neatly encapsulates the blend of hyperbole and sarcastic self-depreciation that characterises the work:
I truly don’t know why I wrote this book. Perhaps because I couldn’t see the point of speaking of anything else. What else is there to write? The only interesting subjects are those which are taboo. We must write what is forbidden. French literature is a long history of disobedience. Nowadays, books must go where television does not. Show the invisible, speak the unspeakable. It may be impossible, but that is its raison d’être. Literature is a “mission impossible.”
In saying that, I realize that I’m not being honest. I am also obliged to concede that in leaning on the first great hyperterrorist attack, my prose takes on a power which it would not otherwise.
Overall, so much more than an imaginative recount of the events of that day (indeed if it were only that it would be much less of a success - the actual transcripts of the calls from the Towers themselves published e.g. by The New York Times stand as an equally if not more effective account of the day). While I would have given the award to Snow, still a worthy winner of the IFFP.
One of my reading resolutions for 2018 is to complete all of the past winners of the two premier prizes for literature in English translation - the Best Translated Book Award from the US and the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize / Man Booker International in the UK. I've completed the BTBA, and this wass one of a handful left to read from the IFFP/MBI.
Windows on the World, translated by the wonderful Frank Wynne (@terribleman) won the 2005 IFFP, beating off competition from inter alia, two excellent books I have read - Orhan Pamuk's Snow, perhaps his finest work, and the lower profile but very strong Budapest by Chico Buarque.
Windows on the World tells the story of a family trapped in the eponymous restaurant on top of the North Tower (the first struck, but last to fall) of the World Trade Centre on 11th September 2001.
The story - of divorced Texan realtor Carthew Yorsten and his sons (aged 7 and 9) - is told in chapters each representing a minute from 8.30am, through the strike at 8.46am, through to the towers collapse at 10.28am.
Carthew's account opens (with a later acknowledged nod to American Beauty): In two hours I’ll be dead; in a way, I am dead already, although it is mostly told in the moment rather than through later reflection.
As they look through the windows (later spotting the oddly low flying plane approaching) Carsten tells his children about the tightrope walk between the towers in 1974 by Frenchman Philippe Petit:
“What’s a Frenchman?” the kids ask.
I explain that France is a small European country that helped America to free itself from the yoke of English oppression between 1776 and 1783 and that, to show our appreciation, our soldiers liberated them from the Nazis in 1944. (I’m simplifying, obviously, for educational purposes.)
And the narration alternates with chapters by the author of this work - also called Frédéric Beigbeder - reflecting on the events of that day and also describing his process of writing the novel, a form of auto-fiction. A lot of this appears to be purely personal - I’m wandering the streets of a threatened city looking for my navel he admits at one point - but it does all link nicely back to his interpretation of the events of that day. Indeed he muses that perhaps he has invented a new form auto-satire, since his own parallel story is unsentimental, at times blackly humorous, but also self-depreciating. For example on the restaurant he writes:
Windows on the World. My first impression is that the name is slightly pretentious. A little self-indulgent, especially for a skyscraper which houses stockbrokers, banks and financial markets. It’s possible to see the words as one more proof of American condescension: “This building overlooks the nerve center of world capitalism and cordially suggests you go fuck yourselves.”
In fact, it was a pun on the name of the World Trade Center. Windows on the “World.” As usual, with my traditional French sullenness I see arrogance where there was nothing but a lucid irony.
Other possible names for the World Trade Center restaurant:
Windows on the Planes
Windows on the Crash
Windows on the Smoke
Broken Windows.
Sorry for that bout of black humor: a momentary defense against the atrocity.
The relationship between France and the US - culturally and politically - is key to Beigbeder's thoughts. His section of the novel is set in February 2003, when French Fries were even renamed Freedom Fries:
The largest antiwar demonstration for fifty years; it is February 15, 2003. Yesterday, the U.S. took on France in the U.N. Security Council.
Since war has been declared between France and the United States, you have to be careful when choosing sides if you don’t want to wind up being fleeced later.
Beigbeder comes down firmly on the side of American culture (but not politics), proclaiming (rather implausibly in my personal view) even the superiority of its literature, but strongly against its sense of chauvinism. He quotes a relevant Walt Whitman poem then comments:
The title of Whitman’s poem is “Salut au Monde!”. In the nineteenth century, American poets spoke French. I am writing this book because I’m sick of bigoted anti-Americanism.
Many people believe that European artists have a superiority complex when it comes to their American counterparts, but they’re mistaken: they have an inferiority complex. Anti-Americanism is in large part jealousy and unrequited love. Deep down, the rest of the world admires American art and resents the United States for not returning the favor.
What bothers us is not American imperialism, but American chauvinism, its cultural isolation, its complete lack of any curiosity about foreign work (except in New York and San Francisco).
As for the cultural exception to American cultural hegemony that is France, contrary to what a recently dismissed CEO had to say, it is not dead: it consists in churning out exceptionally tedious movies, exceptionally slapdash books and, all in all, works of art which are exceptionally pedantic and self-satisfied. It goes without saying that I include my own work in this sorry assessment.
He is also excellent on the differing reactions of he and his colleagues in France as the events unfolded, depending on their personalities:
Narcissistic: “Fuck—I was just up there a month ago!”
Statistical: “My God, how many people are trapped in there? The death toll must be 20,000!”
Paranoid: “Jesus, well, since I look like an Arab, I’m bound to get stopped by the cops every five minutes for the next couple of weeks.”
Anxious: “We’ve got to call our friends over there, make sure they’re all right.”
Laconic: “Well, this is no joke.”
Marketing: “This is going to be great for the ratings, we should buy space on LCI.”
Bellicose: “Fuck! This is it, it’s the Third World War.”
Security conscious: “They need to put cops on all the planes and bulletproof doors on the cockpits.”
Nostradamus: “You see? I told you this would happen, I even wrote it.”
Media savvy: “Shit, I have to get over to Europe 1 and give my reaction.”
Knee-jerk anti-American: “This is what happens when you try and control the world.”
His own reaction, even on later reflection in the novel, leans towards that of 'Security conscious', arguing that if all nightclubs (which both his character and his authorial alter-ego frequent with alarming frequency) can have security guards, then why don't planes.
The actual account of Carsten and his sons is in some senses the weakest part of the novel from a pure drama perspective. As the author proclaims up front, we know how it ends and, in reality, despite their best efforts there was little for those trapped to do but wait and die:
I’d like to tell you a bunch of crazy action-packed anecdotes full of twists and surprises, but the truth is: nothing happened.
But the real strength of this section, which builds on what we do know from transcripts of phone calls made by those trapped, is to make real the brutality of what those trapped suffered.
Beigbeder argues, reasonably convincingly, that much of this has been self-censored:
Five minutes after the first plane crashed into our tower, the tragedy was already a hostage to fortune in a media war. And patriotism? Of course. Knee-jerk patriotism made the American press swagger about, censor our suffering, edit out shots of the jumpers, the photographs of those burn victims, the body parts.
But already it was war; in time of war, you hush up the damage done by the enemy. It’s important to put up a good show, it’s part of the propaganda.
But even he draws the line at some points:
I have cut out the awful descriptions. I have not done so out of propriety, nor out of respect for the victims because I believe that describing their slow agonies, their ordeal, is also a mark of respect. I cut them because, in my opinion, it is more appalling still to allow you to imagine what became of them.
His approach - brutal honesty over sentimentality - is best illustrated when the Beigbeder author character does, for once, take a heroic view of those who choose to jump:
They are human because they decide to choose how they will die rather than allow themselves to be burned. One last manifestation of dignity: they will have chosen their end rather than waiting resignedly. Never has the expression “freefall” made more sense.
But he immediately has his fictional character who actually witnessed events retort:
Bullshit, my dear Beigbeder. If somewhere between thirty-seven and fifty people threw themselves from the top of the North Tower, it was simply because everything else was impossible, suffocation, pain, the instinct to survive, because jumping couldn’t be worse than staying in this suffocating furnace.
and for one person who does take that route, hoping that a tablecloth might act as a makeshift parachute:
I would have liked to be able to say that he made it, but people would simply criticize me for the same reason they criticized Spielberg when he had water gush through the nozzles in the gas chambers. Jeffrey didn’t land gracefully on his toes. Within seconds his derisory piece of fabric became a torch. Jeffrey literally exploded on the plaza, killing a firefighter and the woman he was rescuing. Jeffrey’s wife got the news of his death from his boyfriend. She found out he was bisexual and that he was dead in the same instant. If I’d hoped to tell charming stories, I picked the wrong subject.
This case of character talking to author, is isolated, but he does allow his author to meet Carthew Yorsten's former girlfriend in a bar in New York 2003. The playboy character (and unusual name) of Carthew Yorsten is a rather odd feature of the novel, in that quite a lot of the narration is taken up in the rather seamy life of this one particular fictional character, but it felt as if Yorsten was n some senses a American version of Beigbeder, and a late (and real-world) revelation neatly justifies this interpretation and explains the choice of name.
The novel perhaps doesn't read quite so well, or quite so controversially, as when first released, due to the passage of time. In particular Beigbeder's proclamation that there is a communist utopia; that utopia died in 1989;there is a capitalist utopia; that utopia died in 2001 seems rather hyperbolic read in 2018 - if the history of the death of capitalism is to be written September 2008 is likely to figure rather more prominently than September 2001 (albeit one could make a link that one was the consequence of the re-inflation of the economy following the other).
Although Beigbeder's stronger argument is that 9/11 ended the trust in technology that dated from the 1970s - he has his character take one of the last flights on Concorde (and one link he fails to mention is that the first passenger flight of Concorde post the July 2000 crash of Air France Flight 4590 landed on 11 September 2001). And the 1970s utopia, as he calls it, was one in which both author and main character spent their lives - for one his life ended on 9/11 and for the other that particular world ended.
Even Beigbeder's conclusion neatly encapsulates the blend of hyperbole and sarcastic self-depreciation that characterises the work:
I truly don’t know why I wrote this book. Perhaps because I couldn’t see the point of speaking of anything else. What else is there to write? The only interesting subjects are those which are taboo. We must write what is forbidden. French literature is a long history of disobedience. Nowadays, books must go where television does not. Show the invisible, speak the unspeakable. It may be impossible, but that is its raison d’être. Literature is a “mission impossible.”
In saying that, I realize that I’m not being honest. I am also obliged to concede that in leaning on the first great hyperterrorist attack, my prose takes on a power which it would not otherwise.
Overall, so much more than an imaginative recount of the events of that day (indeed if it were only that it would be much less of a success - the actual transcripts of the calls from the Towers themselves published e.g. by The New York Times stand as an equally if not more effective account of the day). While I would have given the award to Snow, still a worthy winner of the IFFP.
April 2, 2009
I couldn't decide on what star rating to give this. This is, at once, the most horribly self-indulgent book I've ever read, and one of the most insightful looks into today that I've ever seen.
The author is an asshole, who blends himself with the fictional character constantly. But I've been reading a ton of French philosophy and perspectives on America recently. He's drawing a lot of it from that.
This book is an attempt at the hyperreal novel. Where fiction becomes more real than reality. What can you say about that? I don't like the main character, or, honestly, any of the characters. But the philosophy, the philosophy is real. Beigbeder understands generation and thought and the reality of horror. He deconstructs symbolism when the world is making nothing but symbols. He sees the meaning in meaning nothing.
So I feel that it is worth reading. I would recommend it to anyone, especially those well read in French accounts of America -- Toqueville, Baudrillard, etc. It's a quick read, anyway. But how do I feel about it? I'm not sure. I think that I need to think about it.
In short: swallow his egotism. It is worth it by the time you reach 10:28.
The author is an asshole, who blends himself with the fictional character constantly. But I've been reading a ton of French philosophy and perspectives on America recently. He's drawing a lot of it from that.
This book is an attempt at the hyperreal novel. Where fiction becomes more real than reality. What can you say about that? I don't like the main character, or, honestly, any of the characters. But the philosophy, the philosophy is real. Beigbeder understands generation and thought and the reality of horror. He deconstructs symbolism when the world is making nothing but symbols. He sees the meaning in meaning nothing.
So I feel that it is worth reading. I would recommend it to anyone, especially those well read in French accounts of America -- Toqueville, Baudrillard, etc. It's a quick read, anyway. But how do I feel about it? I'm not sure. I think that I need to think about it.
In short: swallow his egotism. It is worth it by the time you reach 10:28.
October 13, 2015
„Някои секунди траят повече от останалите.“
Виждала съм книгата и преди, но не съм я вземала, тъй като с две прочетени книги на Фредерик Бегбеде си казах, че може би са ми достатъчни. Сега реших да я прочета, защото пак я забелязах в библиотеката точно на 11 септември.
От 2001 г. насам не съм г��едала филми, не съм чела книги за 9/11 (изключвам „Нека големият свят се върти“, защото според мен тя е много повече). Не знам ако бях запозната с повече възпоменателни произведения дали щеше да ме впечатли 'Windows on the World'. Но през годините избрах да гледам само „действителни“ източници – снимки и видео от мястото (все пренебрегваме другите два самолета и повече за двете кули си спомняме…). Сега заради книгата дори си наложих да погледна в интернет възможно най-стряскащите. Така, както мнозина четат/гледат трилъри, ужаси, хоръри; взех си дозата накуп сега и в романа (Бегбеде не пропуска да напомни – това, което сме гледали на филми и в книги, става реалност на 11.09. „Множество свидетелства доказват, че болшинството са оцелели чак до рухването на сградата в 10.28 ч., 102 минути страдания, - колкото е средната продължително на един холивудски филм.“ ).
„Слава Богу, салфетките попречиха на синовете ми да видят човешките факли от 106-ия етаж: два горящи трупа пред вратите на асансьорите, червено-кафява кожа, изцъклени очи без клепачи, изпепелени коси, изгорели, дрипави лица, залепнали за стопения балатум. По помръдванията на корема се виждаше, че са живи. Остатъкът беше безжизнен като статуя. Не казах нито дума на децата и те нищо не забелязаха, макар навярно да усетиха миризмата на барбекю.“
Наред с кошмара на пострадалите хора еднакво силно за мен през годините и сега в книгата е това (с явно отношение на Бегбеде към корпоративния свят):
„Димът е гъст като напоена със смазка амбалажна хартия. Въпреки това през просветите съзирам гледки отвън. Най-смайващи са листовете А4, които летят в лазура: архиви, фотокопия, неотложни преписки, фирмени бланки, препоръчани писма, конфиденциални папки, портфолио, четирицветни разпечатки, самозалепващи се пликове, крафт-пликове с подсигурено затваряне, етикети, купчини с телбоднати договори, плексигласови папки, многоцветни бележчици, фактури с четири екземпляра под индигото, таблици и отчети в графики, разпилени хартии, полетели бумаги, всичката относителност на нашите тревоги.“
Общо взето книгата за мен беше повод да не пропусна „домашното“ отбелязване на 9/11, да си припомня как всички по света сме съпричастни, но все пак повечето не знаем нищо – и сме далече, и нямаме пострадали близки. Казват, че светът се е променил след атентатите. В известен смисъл несъмнено е така, но по-общо, на фона на очакванията ми за кардинална промяна, по-скоро виждам същата лудница и безпомощност заради човешката ненаситност и тесногледство.
Това, заради което книгата не е нещо изключително за мен:
1) Без да познавам автора добре, мисля, че си е намерил една ниша в големия литературен свят, която на мен ми е сравнително чужда. Ако не греша, усетила съм това печелившо съчетание „хем съм циничен, хем осъзнавам нещата и не съм от „тях“. И тук има вкарване на обезоръжаващо саморазкриване, с което главният герой/авторът може да ни стане симпатичен, каквито и да ги е вършил (не можах само едно да „простя“ на Картю пред очаквания край - съжалява, че не е направил много неща от рода на „Щях да зарежа началника си много по-рано… Щях да си купя повече коли… Щях да убия хора, за да изпитам усещането, …“ Зная, че авторът е крайно предизвикателен в книгите си, опитвам се да приема, че така или иначе всички сме способни на всичко и затова не е спестил това за убиването.)
2) Не почувствах 'Windows on the World' като голямо постижение по основния ми критерий (може би неверен, измислен си от мен). „Почти всеки може ли да напише това?“
- мисля, че е сравнително лесно с наличните данни и материали за атентатите да се сътвори (fiction) историята. В случая всеки читател би се трогнал от описаното във вътрешността на Северната кула (и особено като става въпрос за деца – btw, сега се запитах имало ли е жертви-деца в самите кули);
- почти всеки с ясни позиции по политически и глобални проблеми (но и с колебания в личния си живот) може да напише „личната“ част (не знам как да я нарека – документалистика, есеистика…), в която авторът е самият себе си в голяма степен.
Точно в тази част не ми бяха нужни познатите разсъждения (иронично и с претенции за добро познаване) на американския начин на живот. Може би през 2003 г. тези констатации са били по-непопулярни, но сега е толкова познато всичко за комерсиалната/експанзионистична Америка.
Това са мисли на героя, но предполагам и на автора (колкото и да обича Ню Йорк като мен).
„Америка имаше само един враг: Русия. Беше удобно да си имаш един голя, ясно определен враг, което даваше право на избор на целия останал свят. Как ви харесват супермаркетите: пълни или празни? Предпочитате правото да критикувате или задължението да си траете? Лишена от своето отрицание, днес Америка се е превърнала в ненавистния Господар. Превърнала се е собствения си враг.“
„Принуден съм да призная, че всички агенти по недвижими имоти са мошеници: продават ви нещо, което никога не ще притежавате. Нима не разбирате, че на тази земя никой нищо не притежава? Всички сме наематели! Аз продавах въздух, продавах квадратни метри, за чието изплащане после трябва да бачкате цял живот. Средната задлъжнялост на американците възлиза на 110 % от годишния им доход…“
Сякаш и това ми е познато вече от други книги на автора.
„Плейбой Интернешънъл е ерген, защото избягва всякакво обвързване. Всяка седмица е с различна националност. Живее и умира сам. Няма приятели, а само светски и професионални връзки. Говори франглийски. Когато излиза, тое, за да тури мацки. Отначало, докато е богат и красив, съблазнява повърхностни жени. По-сетне, когато не е дотам богат, нито красив, си плаща на проститутки, за да го съпровождат, или онанира, докато гледа порнофилми. Не търси любовта, а удоволствието. Не обича никого, камо ли себе си, защото не иска да страда и да се излага.“…
А ето така Картю би трябвало да ни стане симпатичен.
„Обвинявам консуматорското общество, че ме е направило такъв, какъвто съм“ ненаситен. Обвинявам родителите си, че са ме направили такъв, какъвто съм: разпилян.
Непрестанно обвинявам другите, за да не обвинявам себе си.“
Досадно обаче ми беше обяснението какво е „Спасителят в ръжта“ (ясно, че е нужно, за да се направи връзката с „The Catcher in the Windows“, а и споменаването на Селинджър винаги ме радва, но все пак така пряко-обяснително ми беше странно.)
(Тук за първи път забелязах, че (след добрия превод от френски) може би редакторът е имал отговорността да погледне по-добре типично английските неща, за да не остане Фийб или Йосемит; или пък пиер (pier вероятно), пудра (прахче вероятно); чисто „технически“ грешки: 11 септември 2005 г. (точно за 2001 г. става въпрос), „Отърсил от бедите, коЯто“ и още подобни…)
Все пак към края се зарадвах да открия нещо, което ме доближава до Бегбеде. Може да звучи възмутително за умерените или крайните родолюбци, да е поредната утопия, да не съм го обмислила задълбочено от всичките му страни (не съм живяла на друго място), но е нещо, което усещам „без обосновка“ като спонтанно мое.
„Мечтая за надмогването на нациите. Не искам да имам родина. Джон Ленън проповядваше “Imagine there’s no countries.“ Може би затова Ню Йорк го погуби?“
Виждала съм книгата и преди, но не съм я вземала, тъй като с две прочетени книги на Фредерик Бегбеде си казах, че може би са ми достатъчни. Сега реших да я прочета, защото пак я забелязах в библиотеката точно на 11 септември.
От 2001 г. насам не съм г��едала филми, не съм чела книги за 9/11 (изключвам „Нека големият свят се върти“, защото според мен тя е много повече). Не знам ако бях запозната с повече възпоменателни произведения дали щеше да ме впечатли 'Windows on the World'. Но през годините избрах да гледам само „действителни“ източници – снимки и видео от мястото (все пренебрегваме другите два самолета и повече за двете кули си спомняме…). Сега заради книгата дори си наложих да погледна в интернет възможно най-стряскащите. Така, както мнозина четат/гледат трилъри, ужаси, хоръри; взех си дозата накуп сега и в романа (Бегбеде не пропуска да напомни – това, което сме гледали на филми и в книги, става реалност на 11.09. „Множество свидетелства доказват, че болшинството са оцелели чак до рухването на сградата в 10.28 ч., 102 минути страдания, - колкото е средната продължително на един холивудски филм.“ ).
„Слава Богу, салфетките попречиха на синовете ми да видят човешките факли от 106-ия етаж: два горящи трупа пред вратите на асансьорите, червено-кафява кожа, изцъклени очи без клепачи, изпепелени коси, изгорели, дрипави лица, залепнали за стопения балатум. По помръдванията на корема се виждаше, че са живи. Остатъкът беше безжизнен като статуя. Не казах нито дума на децата и те нищо не забелязаха, макар навярно да усетиха миризмата на барбекю.“
Наред с кошмара на пострадалите хора еднакво силно за мен през годините и сега в книгата е това (с явно отношение на Бегбеде към корпоративния свят):
„Димът е гъст като напоена със смазка амбалажна хартия. Въпреки това през просветите съзирам гледки отвън. Най-смайващи са листовете А4, които летят в лазура: архиви, фотокопия, неотложни преписки, фирмени бланки, препоръчани писма, конфиденциални папки, портфолио, четирицветни разпечатки, самозалепващи се пликове, крафт-пликове с подсигурено затваряне, етикети, купчини с телбоднати договори, плексигласови папки, многоцветни бележчици, фактури с четири екземпляра под индигото, таблици и отчети в графики, разпилени хартии, полетели бумаги, всичката относителност на нашите тревоги.“
Общо взето книгата за мен беше повод да не пропусна „домашното“ отбелязване на 9/11, да си припомня как всички по света сме съпричастни, но все пак повечето не знаем нищо – и сме далече, и нямаме пострадали близки. Казват, че светът се е променил след атентатите. В известен смисъл несъмнено е така, но по-общо, на фона на очакванията ми за кардинална промяна, по-скоро виждам същата лудница и безпомощност заради човешката ненаситност и тесногледство.
Това, заради което книгата не е нещо изключително за мен:
1) Без да познавам автора добре, мисля, че си е намерил една ниша в големия литературен свят, която на мен ми е сравнително чужда. Ако не греша, усетила съм това печелившо съчетание „хем съм циничен, хем осъзнавам нещата и не съм от „тях“. И тук има вкарване на обезоръжаващо саморазкриване, с което главният герой/авторът може да ни стане симпатичен, каквито и да ги е вършил (не можах само едно да „простя“ на Картю пред очаквания край - съжалява, че не е направил много неща от рода на „Щях да зарежа началника си много по-рано… Щях да си купя повече коли… Щях да убия хора, за да изпитам усещането, …“ Зная, че авторът е крайно предизвикателен в книгите си, опитвам се да приема, че така или иначе всички сме способни на всичко и затова не е спестил това за убиването.)
2) Не почувствах 'Windows on the World' като голямо постижение по основния ми критерий (може би неверен, измислен си от мен). „Почти всеки може ли да напише това?“
- мисля, че е сравнително лесно с наличните данни и материали за атентатите да се сътвори (fiction) историята. В случая всеки читател би се трогнал от описаното във вътрешността на Северната кула (и особено като става въпрос за деца – btw, сега се запитах имало ли е жертви-деца в самите кули);
- почти всеки с ясни позиции по политически и глобални проблеми (но и с колебания в личния си живот) може да напише „личната“ част (не знам как да я нарека – документалистика, есеистика…), в която авторът е самият себе си в голяма степен.
Точно в тази част не ми бяха нужни познатите разсъждения (иронично и с претенции за добро познаване) на американския начин на живот. Може би през 2003 г. тези констатации са били по-непопулярни, но сега е толкова познато всичко за комерсиалната/експанзионистична Америка.
Това са мисли на героя, но предполагам и на автора (колкото и да обича Ню Йорк като мен).
„Америка имаше само един враг: Русия. Беше удобно да си имаш един голя, ясно определен враг, което даваше право на избор на целия останал свят. Как ви харесват супермаркетите: пълни или празни? Предпочитате правото да критикувате или задължението да си траете? Лишена от своето отрицание, днес Америка се е превърнала в ненавистния Господар. Превърнала се е собствения си враг.“
„Принуден съм да призная, че всички агенти по недвижими имоти са мошеници: продават ви нещо, което никога не ще притежавате. Нима не разбирате, че на тази земя никой нищо не притежава? Всички сме наематели! Аз продавах въздух, продавах квадратни метри, за чието изплащане после трябва да бачкате цял живот. Средната задлъжнялост на американците възлиза на 110 % от годишния им доход…“
Сякаш и това ми е познато вече от други книги на автора.
„Плейбой Интернешънъл е ерген, защото избягва всякакво обвързване. Всяка седмица е с различна националност. Живее и умира сам. Няма приятели, а само светски и професионални връзки. Говори франглийски. Когато излиза, тое, за да тури мацки. Отначало, докато е богат и красив, съблазнява повърхностни жени. По-сетне, когато не е дотам богат, нито красив, си плаща на проститутки, за да го съпровождат, или онанира, докато гледа порнофилми. Не търси любовта, а удоволствието. Не обича никого, камо ли себе си, защото не иска да страда и да се излага.“…
А ето така Картю би трябвало да ни стане симпатичен.
„Обвинявам консуматорското общество, че ме е направило такъв, какъвто съм“ ненаситен. Обвинявам родителите си, че са ме направили такъв, какъвто съм: разпилян.
Непрестанно обвинявам другите, за да не обвинявам себе си.“
Досадно обаче ми беше обяснението какво е „Спасителят в ръжта“ (ясно, че е нужно, за да се направи връзката с „The Catcher in the Windows“, а и споменаването на Селинджър винаги ме радва, но все пак така пряко-обяснително ми беше странно.)
(Тук за първи път забелязах, че (след добрия превод от френски) може би редакторът е имал отговорността да погледне по-добре типично английските неща, за да не остане Фийб или Йосемит; или пък пиер (pier вероятно), пудра (прахче вероятно); чисто „технически“ грешки: 11 септември 2005 г. (точно за 2001 г. става въпрос), „Отърсил от бедите, коЯто“ и още подобни…)
Все пак към края се зарадвах да открия нещо, което ме доближава до Бегбеде. Може да звучи възмутително за умерените или крайните родолюбци, да е поредната утопия, да не съм го обмислила задълбочено от всичките му страни (не съм живяла на друго място), но е нещо, което усещам „без обосновка“ като спонтанно мое.
„Мечтая за надмогването на нациите. Не искам да имам родина. Джон Ленън проповядваше “Imagine there’s no countries.“ Може би затова Ню Йорк го погуби?“
July 10, 2011
This book introduced me to several issues I had never thought of regarding the WTC attack on 9/11. First off, I did not know that the people who were stuck in the floors above the level where the plane entered were stuck there for 2 hours before the tours collapsed. I also did not know there were no attempts to rescue them (thru helicopter, for example). So, this book deals with the sinister story of what might have happened to these people. And of course, this being Beigbeder, he also deals with some personal issues typical of him, such as his inability to love, his feeling of guilt (about being a mediocre writer, a failure in life, and not a good parent), and his interest in somewhat dirty and taboo erotic scenes (that seems to be a French thing going in in literature in the past 10 years).
Out of all these, I appreciate most the author raising the issue of the WTC attack in general. Most Europeans have so much disdain for the US after the Bush years, that we sometimes forget the atrocity of this event. Especially a French author could have taken a much different approach. Instead, he reminds us that the people who were affected that day, could have been anyone, anywhere in the world. It could have been the Montparnasse Tower in Paris, or the Fernsehturm in Berlin.
He starts the book by saying, "You know the end. Everyone dies", and concludes it with: "I do not know why I decided to write this book. Maybe because I saw no interest in writing about anything else. What else to write about? The only interesting subjects are the ones that are taboo. We have to write what is forbidden[...].".
So perhaps, what else to read about as a reader? If the only real, interesting issue of the last 10 years is perhaps this horrific event and day.
Out of all these, I appreciate most the author raising the issue of the WTC attack in general. Most Europeans have so much disdain for the US after the Bush years, that we sometimes forget the atrocity of this event. Especially a French author could have taken a much different approach. Instead, he reminds us that the people who were affected that day, could have been anyone, anywhere in the world. It could have been the Montparnasse Tower in Paris, or the Fernsehturm in Berlin.
He starts the book by saying, "You know the end. Everyone dies", and concludes it with: "I do not know why I decided to write this book. Maybe because I saw no interest in writing about anything else. What else to write about? The only interesting subjects are the ones that are taboo. We have to write what is forbidden[...].".
So perhaps, what else to read about as a reader? If the only real, interesting issue of the last 10 years is perhaps this horrific event and day.
September 19, 2015
One of the disadvantages of preoccupying yourself seriously with writing is that the techniques start to shine through the art of the text, and you are constantly taken out of the fictional world the writer is trying to embed you in. I once heard a typographer complain that he could never watch period dramas because they always got the fonts wrong. I guess it's a little like that.
Reading Murakami recently, arguably my favourite author once upon a time, I had a feeling of being cheated. I felt, ridiculously, that the stories were bad because they seemed written, seemed made-up. They felt like a writer sitting down wanting to write a story, not sitting down because he had a story that needed to be written down – if that distinction makes any sense.
Frédéric Beigbeder's Windows on the World reads like that. That is, half of it. The half that is fictional, or that claims to be fictional. The other half, which is real-fictional, or fictionalised reality, or just reality(?), seems more true. Beigbeder pretty much trods all over the idea of suspension of disbelief. He goes to great lengths to point out, repeatedly, that it is impossible to know how these people felt, in the restaurant hovering purgatorially above the crashed plane. Moreover, the purportedly fictional main character starts to seem more and more like an American double of Beigbeder. Of course, as becomes clearer later in the book, this is all very much by design, an exercise in what if I was born here + what if I was in that restaurant on that fateful day.
Somewhere at the beginning, Beigbeder quotes New York mayor Rudy Giuliani the day after the attacks, claiming that “this is our Titanic.” I found the quote so unlikely that I had to look it up, and indeed couldn't find a thing. But perhaps that in itself is even more meaningful, for Beigbeder himself to make the connection, because this is how he, in one paragraph consciously, sets up the book – as a story of which you know the ending, which takes out the suspense, and leaves you to focus on the characters and their behaviour.
Again, I don't know if this is a conscious effort on the writer's part, all part and parcel to his clever blueprint of a book, but while he whines on about being sick of being a spoilt brat, being “traumatised by not being traumatised” (oomph), etc, while he preaches on the subject of narcissism, the pieces featuring (a fictional?) Beigbeder more and more start to outgrow the fictional pieces in the tower. But more than that, they outgrow the structure of the book, undo it as it were. Every chapter is supposed to transpire in one minute, but the rants in the later chapters become much longer than that. The author deems himself more important than the book, and proves this by mutilating it, by stretching its structural limitations.
Windows on the World is, ultimately, a book not about 9/11, or any of its residual themes like fundamentalism, capitalism, Occidentalism, etc. It is not a book about French vs. American culture, although it sometimes purports to be. Nor is it about the hubris of New York. It is, quite simply, about the triumph of the solipsistic and narcissistic worldview, which applies itself to everything, up to a fault. Even something as big and as undeniably meaningful as 9/11 becomes just an event that happened to progress (the fictional?) Beigbeder's life. It is almost as if Beigbeder sets out here to prove Mallarmé's notion that the whole world exists to end up in a book. He amends it, makes it personal: the whole world, and perhaps especially its disastrous, sensational sides, exists to be written down by you – you brilliant writer, you.
Reading Murakami recently, arguably my favourite author once upon a time, I had a feeling of being cheated. I felt, ridiculously, that the stories were bad because they seemed written, seemed made-up. They felt like a writer sitting down wanting to write a story, not sitting down because he had a story that needed to be written down – if that distinction makes any sense.
Frédéric Beigbeder's Windows on the World reads like that. That is, half of it. The half that is fictional, or that claims to be fictional. The other half, which is real-fictional, or fictionalised reality, or just reality(?), seems more true. Beigbeder pretty much trods all over the idea of suspension of disbelief. He goes to great lengths to point out, repeatedly, that it is impossible to know how these people felt, in the restaurant hovering purgatorially above the crashed plane. Moreover, the purportedly fictional main character starts to seem more and more like an American double of Beigbeder. Of course, as becomes clearer later in the book, this is all very much by design, an exercise in what if I was born here + what if I was in that restaurant on that fateful day.
Somewhere at the beginning, Beigbeder quotes New York mayor Rudy Giuliani the day after the attacks, claiming that “this is our Titanic.” I found the quote so unlikely that I had to look it up, and indeed couldn't find a thing. But perhaps that in itself is even more meaningful, for Beigbeder himself to make the connection, because this is how he, in one paragraph consciously, sets up the book – as a story of which you know the ending, which takes out the suspense, and leaves you to focus on the characters and their behaviour.
Again, I don't know if this is a conscious effort on the writer's part, all part and parcel to his clever blueprint of a book, but while he whines on about being sick of being a spoilt brat, being “traumatised by not being traumatised” (oomph), etc, while he preaches on the subject of narcissism, the pieces featuring (a fictional?) Beigbeder more and more start to outgrow the fictional pieces in the tower. But more than that, they outgrow the structure of the book, undo it as it were. Every chapter is supposed to transpire in one minute, but the rants in the later chapters become much longer than that. The author deems himself more important than the book, and proves this by mutilating it, by stretching its structural limitations.
Windows on the World is, ultimately, a book not about 9/11, or any of its residual themes like fundamentalism, capitalism, Occidentalism, etc. It is not a book about French vs. American culture, although it sometimes purports to be. Nor is it about the hubris of New York. It is, quite simply, about the triumph of the solipsistic and narcissistic worldview, which applies itself to everything, up to a fault. Even something as big and as undeniably meaningful as 9/11 becomes just an event that happened to progress (the fictional?) Beigbeder's life. It is almost as if Beigbeder sets out here to prove Mallarmé's notion that the whole world exists to end up in a book. He amends it, makes it personal: the whole world, and perhaps especially its disastrous, sensational sides, exists to be written down by you – you brilliant writer, you.
January 13, 2018
UNA VENTANA ABIERTA AL PAVOR
Desde que sucedieron los ataques a las Torres Gemelas, un puño de angustia se me ha quedado atravesado en la garganta. Siempre he necesitado saber más, tratar de comprender algunos aspectos del horror para que, con ese conocimiento, pudiera hacérseme, quizás, algo más asequible. Sin embargo, nada de lo que leía o veía, podía desanudarme ese dolor. Nada… hasta que me topé con esta novela del autor francés Frédéric Beigbeder, al que ya conocía por la divertida, algo polémica y todo un éxito editorial, 13,99 euros. Sin embargo, otro tono muy distinto es el de Windows on the World.
El 11 de septiembre de 2001, a las 8.46 de la mañana, el primer avión se estrella contra la torre Norte del World Trade Center y se desencadena el infierno. Unos momentos antes, Carthew Yorston y sus dos niños, estaban tomando un desayuno en el Windows on the World, un famoso restaurante ubicado en la planta 107. Desde este instante, arranca una carrera por la supervivencia que viene marcada por una batalla contra el reloj y que se refleja en la novela con una estructura dramática muy original: cada capítulo dura un minuto (la narración ha comenzado un poco antes, a las 8.30 en punto, y termina a las fatídicas 10.29 horas). La historia de Yorston y sus hijos es la historia de la hora y cuarenta y cinco minutos que transcurrieron entre el impacto del avión y el colapso de la torre Norte. Pero, por supuesto, la novela es mucho más que esa narración tremenda, dura, con un final estremecedor.
La novela de Beigbeder, con insertos de la vida del propio escritor en donde reflexiona sobre lo ocurrido mientras se documenta para la redacción de la obra —y que termina enfermo de horror y violencia— es, además, un compendio del mal, el reflejo de esa lucha eterna que enfrenta a la luz con la oscuridad, al genocidio con los inocentes. La peripecia del padre y sus dos niños, su relación con otras personas que buscan sobrevivir al espanto, los camareros, unos clientes y otros trabajadores de la torre, son los gritos contenidos de Beigbeder en su empeño por que no se los olvide jamás; para que debajo de las toneladas de escombros, de hierros calcinados y vidrios derretidos, podamos colocar las caras y los nombres de quienes fueron sepultados por la locura asesina del siglo XXI.
Recuerdo que, mientras estaba en una biblioteca pública corrigiendo las pruebas de imprenta de la que entonces sería mi tercera novela, el rumor de lo sucedido ese dia de 2001 empezó a brotar entre los estudiantes que preparaban sus exámenes. Quizás, lo que más contribuyó a atenazar ese pavor y esa desesperanza en mi garganta, fueron las inmensas sonrisas y los gestos de felicidad de una juventud alimentada de odio y fracaso, que celebraba un ataque en pleno corazón de los Estados Unidos como un triunfo personal y miserable. Es esta obra, Windows on the World, una forma de que recuperemos el resuello, aunque no seamos capaces de volver a la calma a tenor de los acontecimientos actuales. Pero lo que sí espero —lo deseo de corazón— es que si alguno de aquellos muchachos de la ira y la inhumanidad, ahora ya no tan muchachos, llegan a leerla algún día, puedan borrar las sonrisas de sus rostros y entender la verdadera magnitud de la tragedia.
Eso busca Beigbeder en su novela. Y eso se merecen las 2801 víctimas que convirtieron sus vidas en un martirio.
Desde que sucedieron los ataques a las Torres Gemelas, un puño de angustia se me ha quedado atravesado en la garganta. Siempre he necesitado saber más, tratar de comprender algunos aspectos del horror para que, con ese conocimiento, pudiera hacérseme, quizás, algo más asequible. Sin embargo, nada de lo que leía o veía, podía desanudarme ese dolor. Nada… hasta que me topé con esta novela del autor francés Frédéric Beigbeder, al que ya conocía por la divertida, algo polémica y todo un éxito editorial, 13,99 euros. Sin embargo, otro tono muy distinto es el de Windows on the World.
El 11 de septiembre de 2001, a las 8.46 de la mañana, el primer avión se estrella contra la torre Norte del World Trade Center y se desencadena el infierno. Unos momentos antes, Carthew Yorston y sus dos niños, estaban tomando un desayuno en el Windows on the World, un famoso restaurante ubicado en la planta 107. Desde este instante, arranca una carrera por la supervivencia que viene marcada por una batalla contra el reloj y que se refleja en la novela con una estructura dramática muy original: cada capítulo dura un minuto (la narración ha comenzado un poco antes, a las 8.30 en punto, y termina a las fatídicas 10.29 horas). La historia de Yorston y sus hijos es la historia de la hora y cuarenta y cinco minutos que transcurrieron entre el impacto del avión y el colapso de la torre Norte. Pero, por supuesto, la novela es mucho más que esa narración tremenda, dura, con un final estremecedor.
La novela de Beigbeder, con insertos de la vida del propio escritor en donde reflexiona sobre lo ocurrido mientras se documenta para la redacción de la obra —y que termina enfermo de horror y violencia— es, además, un compendio del mal, el reflejo de esa lucha eterna que enfrenta a la luz con la oscuridad, al genocidio con los inocentes. La peripecia del padre y sus dos niños, su relación con otras personas que buscan sobrevivir al espanto, los camareros, unos clientes y otros trabajadores de la torre, son los gritos contenidos de Beigbeder en su empeño por que no se los olvide jamás; para que debajo de las toneladas de escombros, de hierros calcinados y vidrios derretidos, podamos colocar las caras y los nombres de quienes fueron sepultados por la locura asesina del siglo XXI.
Recuerdo que, mientras estaba en una biblioteca pública corrigiendo las pruebas de imprenta de la que entonces sería mi tercera novela, el rumor de lo sucedido ese dia de 2001 empezó a brotar entre los estudiantes que preparaban sus exámenes. Quizás, lo que más contribuyó a atenazar ese pavor y esa desesperanza en mi garganta, fueron las inmensas sonrisas y los gestos de felicidad de una juventud alimentada de odio y fracaso, que celebraba un ataque en pleno corazón de los Estados Unidos como un triunfo personal y miserable. Es esta obra, Windows on the World, una forma de que recuperemos el resuello, aunque no seamos capaces de volver a la calma a tenor de los acontecimientos actuales. Pero lo que sí espero —lo deseo de corazón— es que si alguno de aquellos muchachos de la ira y la inhumanidad, ahora ya no tan muchachos, llegan a leerla algún día, puedan borrar las sonrisas de sus rostros y entender la verdadera magnitud de la tragedia.
Eso busca Beigbeder en su novela. Y eso se merecen las 2801 víctimas que convirtieron sus vidas en un martirio.
June 12, 2020
“Even if I go deep, deep into the horror, my book will always remain 1,350 feet below the truth.”
Most people know where they were when those planes hit. I was in bed in a hostel somewhere in Harlem being woken up by lots of noisy helicopters. I had been to the top of the towers two nights before so much of the description in here has a chilling resonance.
“September 11 has had two diametrically opposed consequences: kindness at home, cruelty abroad.”
I’m not sure how many fictional accounts I’ve read of 9/11 but Beigbeder is easily the best one I’ve come across so far, he teases it out nicely and possibly the most harrowing element to this is the juxtaposition between the banal and every day with the unfathomable horror of what happened that day.
He takes the story one minute at a time a device which works perfectly to reflect the horror and intensity of what it must have felt like. He also really captures the zeitgeist with wit and precision and you can certainly see the influence of Easton Ellis (who is mentioned at least twice in here). Beigbeder tries to do something a little different, a little post-modern and he pulls it off really well. Credit must also go to Frank Wynne’s excellent translation which allows this to read really well.
Some factual inaccuracies that seemed to pass everyone involved with this book by, include Bhopal happened in 1984, not 1979, the Nirvana lyric is on a plain not a “plane” and Texas isn’t the largest state in the union that would be Alaska and there were one or two more, but this shouldn’t detract from what is otherwise a hugely enjoyable piece of work.
Most people know where they were when those planes hit. I was in bed in a hostel somewhere in Harlem being woken up by lots of noisy helicopters. I had been to the top of the towers two nights before so much of the description in here has a chilling resonance.
“September 11 has had two diametrically opposed consequences: kindness at home, cruelty abroad.”
I’m not sure how many fictional accounts I’ve read of 9/11 but Beigbeder is easily the best one I’ve come across so far, he teases it out nicely and possibly the most harrowing element to this is the juxtaposition between the banal and every day with the unfathomable horror of what happened that day.
He takes the story one minute at a time a device which works perfectly to reflect the horror and intensity of what it must have felt like. He also really captures the zeitgeist with wit and precision and you can certainly see the influence of Easton Ellis (who is mentioned at least twice in here). Beigbeder tries to do something a little different, a little post-modern and he pulls it off really well. Credit must also go to Frank Wynne’s excellent translation which allows this to read really well.
Some factual inaccuracies that seemed to pass everyone involved with this book by, include Bhopal happened in 1984, not 1979, the Nirvana lyric is on a plain not a “plane” and Texas isn’t the largest state in the union that would be Alaska and there were one or two more, but this shouldn’t detract from what is otherwise a hugely enjoyable piece of work.
September 30, 2021
Todavía resuena en mi cabeza el impacto del segundo avión en la torre sur del WTC. Lo veía años después de la tragedia en algunos videos disponibles en YouTube. Una y otra vez trataba de comprender la magnitud de la desgracia y lo que se sentiría haber estado ahí arriba en el momento exacto del ataque terrorista más sangriento de la historia.
Tuvieron que pasar 20 años para que llegara este magnífico libro a mis manos y me revelara , como solo lo puede hacer la buena literatura, la profunda desolación y desesperanza que vivieron aquellos que quedaron atrapados entre las llamas y los hierros retorcidos . Beigbeder relata los últimos minutos en la vida de Carthew Yorston y sus dos hijos, clientes del famoso restaurante Windows on the world; alternando cada capítulo con su propia experiencia mientras investiga sobre el atentado y escribe el libro. Este salto entre las dos narraciones permite al escritor francés atajar con punzante ironía cada aspecto que rodea el Once de Septiembre. Hasta se permite un poco de humor negro que por momentos provoca una carcajada de la que el lector puede sentirse culpable al terminar el libro. Por momentos estremecedor, por momentos hilarante, pero al final el relato muestra la incómoda realidad de los tiempos en que nos ha tocado vivir. El mundo ya no fue el mismo desde el 9/11.
Tuvieron que pasar 20 años para que llegara este magnífico libro a mis manos y me revelara , como solo lo puede hacer la buena literatura, la profunda desolación y desesperanza que vivieron aquellos que quedaron atrapados entre las llamas y los hierros retorcidos . Beigbeder relata los últimos minutos en la vida de Carthew Yorston y sus dos hijos, clientes del famoso restaurante Windows on the world; alternando cada capítulo con su propia experiencia mientras investiga sobre el atentado y escribe el libro. Este salto entre las dos narraciones permite al escritor francés atajar con punzante ironía cada aspecto que rodea el Once de Septiembre. Hasta se permite un poco de humor negro que por momentos provoca una carcajada de la que el lector puede sentirse culpable al terminar el libro. Por momentos estremecedor, por momentos hilarante, pero al final el relato muestra la incómoda realidad de los tiempos en que nos ha tocado vivir. El mundo ya no fue el mismo desde el 9/11.
August 1, 2015
A bit annoying in the beggining because of all the Anti-american talk, but after you pass that part, I found something incredible. A realistic technique of writing brought me tears. They call it fiction novel, but it's full of reality. They could've been saved and no one reacted. They were left to die in horrible torture and this most certainly is not fiction anymore. Everything is amazingly illustrated in words. If you want the book to have a bigger impact, i also suggest watching some documentaries that can easily be found on youtube. I recommend it to those not so light-hearted.. 13 almost 14 years have pasted since the incident and though it did not happened in my country I still shiver with grief and sorrow in the memory of all those who died, of those who survived the horror and of all those who had someone in the WTC that didn't make it.
May 29, 2023
"Windows on the World" de Frédéric Beigbeder es una novela que te sumerge en la angustia y el horror de los ataques del 11 de septiembre de 2001 en el World Trade Center. La narrativa es intensa y conmovedora, te hace sentir como si estuvieras ahí mismo, presenciando los eventos de esa fatídica mañana. La prosa detallada y emotiva de Beigbeder logra transmitir con gran habilidad las emociones y pensamientos de los personajes, lo que te hace sentir una conexión muy fuerte con ellos y la situación en la que se encuentran.
En "Windows on the World" lo que impacta es la forma en que el autor describe los eventos del 11 de septiembre con una gran precisión y detalle, lo que te hace sentir como si estuvieras allí mismo en medio del caos y la destrucción. La novela es una reflexión conmovedora sobre la vida, la muerte y la naturaleza humana en situaciones extremas, y te hace cuestionar tu propia existencia y el sentido de la vida.
Es una lectura intensa y conmovedora que te hará reflexionar y apreciar la vida de una manera más profunda.
En "Windows on the World" lo que impacta es la forma en que el autor describe los eventos del 11 de septiembre con una gran precisión y detalle, lo que te hace sentir como si estuvieras allí mismo en medio del caos y la destrucción. La novela es una reflexión conmovedora sobre la vida, la muerte y la naturaleza humana en situaciones extremas, y te hace cuestionar tu propia existencia y el sentido de la vida.
Es una lectura intensa y conmovedora que te hará reflexionar y apreciar la vida de una manera más profunda.
June 2, 2020
Pocos son los libros que te atrapan desde la primera hasta la última página. Lo hubiera leído en menos días pero el trabajo luego lo impide.
Este libro, es una grandiosa combinación entre la historia del protagonista Carthew Yorsten, un hombre divorciado que lleva a sus hijos pequeños a desayunar al afamado restaurante 'Windows on the world' que se encuentra la Torre Norte del WTC, el 11 de septiembre; y la otra parte corre a cargo del autor, Fréderic Begbeder, que nos brinda una ácida perspectiva sobre los hechos, su crítica sobre EUA que contrasta con su natal Francia.
El libro está magistralmente narrado en breves capítulos comenzando desde las 8:30 de la mañana, cuando Carthew llega al edificio con sus hijos, para después ser testigos y víctimas del inverosímil accidente, el impacto de dos aviones comerciales, hasta las 10:28, hora en que la Torre Norte (donde se encontraban), colapsa. A lo largo de estas horas, además de buscar cómo escapar o ser rescatados, el protagonista se cuestiona mucho sobre cómo ha vivido, si ha sido lo suficiente, o lo correcto: "Si hubiera sabido que iba a palmarla aqui, habría vivido de otra manera: Habría comprado más coches, qué desperdicio todo ese dinero que no voy a gastar nunca, habría intentado que me clonaran. Me habría rapado la cabeza, a ver qué tal. Tndría que haber matado gente, a ver qué tal. Tendría que haber corrido más riesgos ya que, a fin de cuentas, lo he perdido todo. O simplemente tendría que haber intentado ser mejor persona"
Carthew se encuentra pasmado, y para calmar a sus hijos les inventa que todo es parte de una atracción nueva llamada Tower Inferno, y que pronto todo va a pasar, hasta que el tiempo avanza y tiene que aceptar, que esto es una pesadilla y vivirla al lado de sus dos pequeños.
Por otra parte, tenemos la experiencia del autor quien alterna con la historia principal, contando su experiencia al escribir este libro, que lo llevó a viajar a NY tiempo después del accidente para atar cabos y, en cierta forma, inspirar esta obra. Frédéric, quien en ocasiones se muestra bastante duro con su perspectiva sobre Estados Unidos y el accidente, nos da su punto de vista sobre la vulnerabilidad de esta nación : "La gran preocupación de EU, es que son los amos del mundo y a la vez ya no son dueños de nada...", "...Nunca, en la historia de la humanidad, un lugar tan poderoso ha sido tan fácil de borrar del apa, Nueva York, como San Francisco, son megalópolis con und estino apocalíptico, pero a nadie se le ocurre abandonarlas. El carácter del neoyorquino se ha forjado en esta contradicción: la conciencia de la amenaza no impide el frenesí de la vida, al contrario, es lo que lo alimenta"
¡LIBRAZO!
Este libro, es una grandiosa combinación entre la historia del protagonista Carthew Yorsten, un hombre divorciado que lleva a sus hijos pequeños a desayunar al afamado restaurante 'Windows on the world' que se encuentra la Torre Norte del WTC, el 11 de septiembre; y la otra parte corre a cargo del autor, Fréderic Begbeder, que nos brinda una ácida perspectiva sobre los hechos, su crítica sobre EUA que contrasta con su natal Francia.
El libro está magistralmente narrado en breves capítulos comenzando desde las 8:30 de la mañana, cuando Carthew llega al edificio con sus hijos, para después ser testigos y víctimas del inverosímil accidente, el impacto de dos aviones comerciales, hasta las 10:28, hora en que la Torre Norte (donde se encontraban), colapsa. A lo largo de estas horas, además de buscar cómo escapar o ser rescatados, el protagonista se cuestiona mucho sobre cómo ha vivido, si ha sido lo suficiente, o lo correcto: "Si hubiera sabido que iba a palmarla aqui, habría vivido de otra manera: Habría comprado más coches, qué desperdicio todo ese dinero que no voy a gastar nunca, habría intentado que me clonaran. Me habría rapado la cabeza, a ver qué tal. Tndría que haber matado gente, a ver qué tal. Tendría que haber corrido más riesgos ya que, a fin de cuentas, lo he perdido todo. O simplemente tendría que haber intentado ser mejor persona"
Carthew se encuentra pasmado, y para calmar a sus hijos les inventa que todo es parte de una atracción nueva llamada Tower Inferno, y que pronto todo va a pasar, hasta que el tiempo avanza y tiene que aceptar, que esto es una pesadilla y vivirla al lado de sus dos pequeños.
Por otra parte, tenemos la experiencia del autor quien alterna con la historia principal, contando su experiencia al escribir este libro, que lo llevó a viajar a NY tiempo después del accidente para atar cabos y, en cierta forma, inspirar esta obra. Frédéric, quien en ocasiones se muestra bastante duro con su perspectiva sobre Estados Unidos y el accidente, nos da su punto de vista sobre la vulnerabilidad de esta nación : "La gran preocupación de EU, es que son los amos del mundo y a la vez ya no son dueños de nada...", "...Nunca, en la historia de la humanidad, un lugar tan poderoso ha sido tan fácil de borrar del apa, Nueva York, como San Francisco, son megalópolis con und estino apocalíptico, pero a nadie se le ocurre abandonarlas. El carácter del neoyorquino se ha forjado en esta contradicción: la conciencia de la amenaza no impide el frenesí de la vida, al contrario, es lo que lo alimenta"
¡LIBRAZO!
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January 13, 2014Evenimentele din 11 septembrie nu i-au lăsat indiferenţi nici pe scriitorii din afara spaţiului american, aşa că apariţia cărţii Windows on the World a lui Frédéric Beigbeder (cunoscut la noi mai degrabă pentru volumul Dragostea durează trei ani), în 2003, nu a fost surprinzătoare. Alegînd un titlu ce face referire la celebrul restaurant aflat la etajul 107 din Turnul de Nord al World Trade Center, Beigbeder plasează centrul acţiunii în chiar mijlocul dezastrului: în locul din care nimeni nu a mai avut vreo şansă de salvare.
Perspectiva franceză asupra atacurilor din New York dezvăluie un autor care, deşi la distanţă de spaţiul cel mai afectat de noua formă a conflictului mondial din secolul al XXI-lea, simte că nu se poate sta departe de acest subiect şi că literatura trebuie să reflecte chiar atunci tragismul zilei de 11 septembrie. Nivelul ficţional – în care Beigbeder imaginează ultimele clipe ale celor cîţiva oameni care luau micul dejun în restaurantul din Turnul de Nord, focusul fiind pe un american de vîrsta a doua, Carthew Yorston, şi pe cei doi copii ai acestuia, Jerry şi David – este alternat de un nivel al reflecţiilor autorului cu privire la o sumă de probleme – rolul Americii, raportul ei cu celelalte state, familie, libertate etc. (cronică: http://bookaholic.ro/11-septembrie-o-...)
Perspectiva franceză asupra atacurilor din New York dezvăluie un autor care, deşi la distanţă de spaţiul cel mai afectat de noua formă a conflictului mondial din secolul al XXI-lea, simte că nu se poate sta departe de acest subiect şi că literatura trebuie să reflecte chiar atunci tragismul zilei de 11 septembrie. Nivelul ficţional – în care Beigbeder imaginează ultimele clipe ale celor cîţiva oameni care luau micul dejun în restaurantul din Turnul de Nord, focusul fiind pe un american de vîrsta a doua, Carthew Yorston, şi pe cei doi copii ai acestuia, Jerry şi David – este alternat de un nivel al reflecţiilor autorului cu privire la o sumă de probleme – rolul Americii, raportul ei cu celelalte state, familie, libertate etc. (cronică: http://bookaholic.ro/11-septembrie-o-...)
January 2, 2020
Bouleversant, perturbant, chirurgical. Accrochez-vous bien à votre cœur lorsque vous débutez le roman de Frédéric Beigdeber sur la dernière heure et demie des personnes prisonnières dans le restaurant « Windows on the World » de la Tour Nord du World Trade Center le 11 septembre 2001.
Frédéric Beigbeder l’écrit lui-même, ce roman est une tentative peut-être vouée à l’échec de décrire l’indescriptible.
La structure du roman, une alternance entre un chapitre dans la tour et un chapitre racontant le cheminement de l’auteur, sa vie est bienvenu et nécessaire. Plus les minutes passent, plus on accueille le chapitre de l’auteur pour relâcher la pression.
Réussi et poignant. Est-ce que je le relirai? Non. Les images, le bruit, les émotions que l’auteur a mis sur papier de ces gens prisonniers sans aucune issue me hantera pour longtemps. Les réflexions de l’auteur sur la situation politique, le pourquoi, le comment sont lucides, intéressantes. Même ses lamentations personnelles, l’auteur a un énorme égo et l’admet, sont des tampons entre les chapitres de fiction réalité du roman.
Frédéric Beigbeder l’écrit lui-même, ce roman est une tentative peut-être vouée à l’échec de décrire l’indescriptible.
La structure du roman, une alternance entre un chapitre dans la tour et un chapitre racontant le cheminement de l’auteur, sa vie est bienvenu et nécessaire. Plus les minutes passent, plus on accueille le chapitre de l’auteur pour relâcher la pression.
Réussi et poignant. Est-ce que je le relirai? Non. Les images, le bruit, les émotions que l’auteur a mis sur papier de ces gens prisonniers sans aucune issue me hantera pour longtemps. Les réflexions de l’auteur sur la situation politique, le pourquoi, le comment sont lucides, intéressantes. Même ses lamentations personnelles, l’auteur a un énorme égo et l’admet, sont des tampons entre les chapitres de fiction réalité du roman.
September 20, 2024
Cambio de tercio brutal en la narrativa de Beigbeder, dejando de lado la crónica acida e irónica de su mundo. Esta es una novela asfixiante a la par de genial de las últimas horas de dos pequeños hermanos en el restaurante que estaba ubicado en lo alto de una de las torres del World Trade Center el 11-S.
April 27, 2025
"Si Dios existe realmente, me pregunto qué coño estaba haciendo ese día"
Un libro que me ha conmovido de todas las maneras posibles y que ha superado todas mis expectativas. Exactamente MI tipo de libro, he conectado 100% con él, escrito para mí.
Windows on the world es la historia del 11-S contada de una manera transgresora, original y profundamente humana. Me ha encantado cómo compagina la historia "ficticia" de las personas atrapadas dentro de la torre con las reflexiones del propio autor. Cada capítulo es un minuto desde que chocaron los aviones (8:45) hasta que se derrumbaron las torres (10:30), y en prácticamente TODOS he marcado frases o citas enteras.
"También se sabe que ninguna de las 1344 personas que ocupaban los pisos superiores al impacto consiguió sobrevivir. Es evidente que semejante información despoja de cualquier suspense a este libro. Mejor así: esto no es un thriller; sólo una tentativa —quizá condenada al fracaso— de describir lo indescriptible: El derrumbamiento de un castillo de tarjetas de crédito."
El estilo de Beigbeder es maravilloso, muy directo, crudo e incisivo, pero con tacto cuando lo requiere. Me ha parecido fascinante todas las temáticas que aborda sobre el 11-S, profundizando muchísimo en lo que ocurrió y en todas las consecuencias.
También critica mucho cuestiones como el capitalismo o Estados Unidos, pero siempre desde la verdad y también desde la autocrítica, es un libro muy sincero y el autor es muy transparente. Se dirige directamente al lector rompiendo la ilusión de la ficción, algo que creo que ayuda mucho en este estilo literario.
Las comparativas y simbolismos que establece con las torres me han parecido brillantes, y la crítica social que realiza está muy bien ejecutada. Creo que representa perfectamente la sociedad de principios de los 2000 y en general a Occidente, pero sabiendo que él también forma parte de ello (lo crítica desde dentro).
Es un libro lleno de humanidad, especialmente en la historia de Carthew. Los personajes son maravillosos, no sólo están bien construidos, es que puedes verles el alma, son transparentes, sinceros y revelan todas y cada una de sus facetas (porque están a punto de morir).
”Un edificio se derrumba y vemos infinitas veces el derrumbamiento. Pero no se les ocurra mostrar lo que había dentro: nuestros cuerpos.”
Leer Windows on the world ha sido como viajar al 11 de septiembre de 2001 en pleno Nueva York. Captura a la perfección el caos, el horror, el sentimiento colectivo de tragedia... La narración, la organización de la historia y el estilo de escritura favorecen la ambientación y te hacen sentir que estás delante de aquellos dos edificios que cambiaron el curso de la historia. Me ha roto el corazón en mil pedazos y puedes conectar con la magnitud de la tragedia que se vivió aquel día.
Una lectura que se queda conmigo para siempre, 5 estrellas bien puestas sin dudar.
"Tenía razón cuando les decía a mis hijos que estábamos en un parque de atracciones imaginario: ahora hay visitas guiadas al Ground Zero. Nos hemos convertido en un sitio turístico; ¿qué os parece, hijos? Ahora vienen a vernos a nosotros.
Todavía oigo la risa de Jerry apretando mi mano y la de su hermano mientras caíamos por el cielo. Gracias por esa última risa, oh my Lord, gracias por la risa de Jerry. Durante un breve instante, realmente creí que estábamos volando"
Un libro que me ha conmovido de todas las maneras posibles y que ha superado todas mis expectativas. Exactamente MI tipo de libro, he conectado 100% con él, escrito para mí.
Windows on the world es la historia del 11-S contada de una manera transgresora, original y profundamente humana. Me ha encantado cómo compagina la historia "ficticia" de las personas atrapadas dentro de la torre con las reflexiones del propio autor. Cada capítulo es un minuto desde que chocaron los aviones (8:45) hasta que se derrumbaron las torres (10:30), y en prácticamente TODOS he marcado frases o citas enteras.
"También se sabe que ninguna de las 1344 personas que ocupaban los pisos superiores al impacto consiguió sobrevivir. Es evidente que semejante información despoja de cualquier suspense a este libro. Mejor así: esto no es un thriller; sólo una tentativa —quizá condenada al fracaso— de describir lo indescriptible: El derrumbamiento de un castillo de tarjetas de crédito."
El estilo de Beigbeder es maravilloso, muy directo, crudo e incisivo, pero con tacto cuando lo requiere. Me ha parecido fascinante todas las temáticas que aborda sobre el 11-S, profundizando muchísimo en lo que ocurrió y en todas las consecuencias.
También critica mucho cuestiones como el capitalismo o Estados Unidos, pero siempre desde la verdad y también desde la autocrítica, es un libro muy sincero y el autor es muy transparente. Se dirige directamente al lector rompiendo la ilusión de la ficción, algo que creo que ayuda mucho en este estilo literario.
Las comparativas y simbolismos que establece con las torres me han parecido brillantes, y la crítica social que realiza está muy bien ejecutada. Creo que representa perfectamente la sociedad de principios de los 2000 y en general a Occidente, pero sabiendo que él también forma parte de ello (lo crítica desde dentro).
Es un libro lleno de humanidad, especialmente en la historia de Carthew. Los personajes son maravillosos, no sólo están bien construidos, es que puedes verles el alma, son transparentes, sinceros y revelan todas y cada una de sus facetas (porque están a punto de morir).
”Un edificio se derrumba y vemos infinitas veces el derrumbamiento. Pero no se les ocurra mostrar lo que había dentro: nuestros cuerpos.”
Leer Windows on the world ha sido como viajar al 11 de septiembre de 2001 en pleno Nueva York. Captura a la perfección el caos, el horror, el sentimiento colectivo de tragedia... La narración, la organización de la historia y el estilo de escritura favorecen la ambientación y te hacen sentir que estás delante de aquellos dos edificios que cambiaron el curso de la historia. Me ha roto el corazón en mil pedazos y puedes conectar con la magnitud de la tragedia que se vivió aquel día.
Una lectura que se queda conmigo para siempre, 5 estrellas bien puestas sin dudar.
"Tenía razón cuando les decía a mis hijos que estábamos en un parque de atracciones imaginario: ahora hay visitas guiadas al Ground Zero. Nos hemos convertido en un sitio turístico; ¿qué os parece, hijos? Ahora vienen a vernos a nosotros.
Todavía oigo la risa de Jerry apretando mi mano y la de su hermano mientras caíamos por el cielo. Gracias por esa última risa, oh my Lord, gracias por la risa de Jerry. Durante un breve instante, realmente creí que estábamos volando"
March 18, 2008
J’ai rarement lu un livre aussi affligeant. Le matraquage médiatique de ces derniers temps concernant le 11 septembre m’a fait penser que j’avais ce livre dans ma PAL. Je me suis dit que c’était là l’occasion de le lire. N’ayant pas d’opinion particulière sur l’auteur j’y suis allée gaiement, sans a priori, sans espoir particulier, mais avec beaucoup de curiosité.
L’idée, c’est d’alterner les chapitres racontés par un père de famille divorcé qui amène ses deux fils au restaurant Windows on the world du WTC, et les chapitres autobiographico-nombrilistes.
Les passages se déroulant dans le WTC sont hilarants de bêtise. Dialogues en franglais, une moitié de phrase en français et une expression bien typique en anglais et on recommence pour la moitié des dialogues (”papa, t’es pas obligé de nous faire croire que tout est truqué, let’s face it : this time it’s for real“), personnages niais et sans intérêts, psychologie absente…la joie !
Les passages autobiographiques quand à eux, ont encore moins d’intérêt. Tout ce que raconte Beigbeder sur sa petite vie est d’un ennui mortel. Il étale joyeusement sa culture musicale et littéraire. La lecture en est insupportable, on essaie de comprendre la raison d’être de ses épanchements, le lien éventuel avec la tragédie qu’il a choisi d’évoquer de loin, de manière superficielle et creuse. La réflexion est quasiment absente, ça frise le degré zéro de l’inutile, du vide. Il ne pose pas de question, il meuble des pages blanches de bavardages stériles, se raconte, comme si sa petite personne avait un quelconque intérêt comparé à l’attentat dont c’est pourtant le sujet principal. On ne peut même pas apprécier le style : il n’y en a pas. Et pour couronner le tout, on a droit à une scène porno peu avant la fin, un couple de gens d’affaires complètement caricatural s’adonne au rut dans un instinct de survie à mourir de rire. Dialogue tout aussi porno et dégueulasse que la scène est inutile et surtout loin d’être crédible. En guise de vision personnelle prétendument intellectuelle, on se retrouve avec un long blabla très mal écrit, sans fond ni forme, pédant et prétentieux. Pourtant l’auteur ne semble pas manquer de lucidité quand il dit « J’en ai marre d’écrire des romans sans issues. Marre des errances post-existentialistes stériles… » Alors pourquoi avoir écrit cette daube ?
L’idée, c’est d’alterner les chapitres racontés par un père de famille divorcé qui amène ses deux fils au restaurant Windows on the world du WTC, et les chapitres autobiographico-nombrilistes.
Les passages se déroulant dans le WTC sont hilarants de bêtise. Dialogues en franglais, une moitié de phrase en français et une expression bien typique en anglais et on recommence pour la moitié des dialogues (”papa, t’es pas obligé de nous faire croire que tout est truqué, let’s face it : this time it’s for real“), personnages niais et sans intérêts, psychologie absente…la joie !
Les passages autobiographiques quand à eux, ont encore moins d’intérêt. Tout ce que raconte Beigbeder sur sa petite vie est d’un ennui mortel. Il étale joyeusement sa culture musicale et littéraire. La lecture en est insupportable, on essaie de comprendre la raison d’être de ses épanchements, le lien éventuel avec la tragédie qu’il a choisi d’évoquer de loin, de manière superficielle et creuse. La réflexion est quasiment absente, ça frise le degré zéro de l’inutile, du vide. Il ne pose pas de question, il meuble des pages blanches de bavardages stériles, se raconte, comme si sa petite personne avait un quelconque intérêt comparé à l’attentat dont c’est pourtant le sujet principal. On ne peut même pas apprécier le style : il n’y en a pas. Et pour couronner le tout, on a droit à une scène porno peu avant la fin, un couple de gens d’affaires complètement caricatural s’adonne au rut dans un instinct de survie à mourir de rire. Dialogue tout aussi porno et dégueulasse que la scène est inutile et surtout loin d’être crédible. En guise de vision personnelle prétendument intellectuelle, on se retrouve avec un long blabla très mal écrit, sans fond ni forme, pédant et prétentieux. Pourtant l’auteur ne semble pas manquer de lucidité quand il dit « J’en ai marre d’écrire des romans sans issues. Marre des errances post-existentialistes stériles… » Alors pourquoi avoir écrit cette daube ?
November 4, 2019
Tercer libro de Beigbeder y me sigue gustando. No me importa que a veces parece que divaga, hasta cuando lo hace es entetenido. Más de 300 páginas que pasan suavemente y supongo que por eso se le acusa de superficial. Pero hay algo más detrás de toda la pose nihilista y cínica que es su sello. Más en una historia como esta, tan fuerte y escrita a los dos años del atentado. Es difícil arriesgarse a tocar un tema como este sin caer en el sentimentalismo (imposible en su caso) o en la insolencia (esa es su especialidad), pero en este caso, casi se controla y se "autocensura" en algunas partes. Me causaron gracia algunas alusiones a Perú, en más de una oportunidad hace mención al "País de Jauja" (p. 82), a Javier Pérez de Cuéllar e incluso a Alejandro Toledo (p. 262).
Fiel a su estilo de capítulos cortos, de ironía burlona, de frases como slogans (por algo fue publicista) y de lo efectivo que es para cerrar una parte o una página. Aprovecha el 11/9 para discurrir sobre las relaciones entre EEUU y Francia, sus semejanzas y diferencias: como dos torres gemelas que compiten por ver cual es mejor o cual cae primero. Por eso, los capítulos se alternan entre dos historias paralelas, entre Nueva York y París, entre el World Trade Center y la Torre Montparnasse, entre la ficción y la realidad, entre un final triste y uno ¿feliz? Cada parte es una forma diferente de asomarse a las ventanas del mundo. Como lo son los libros.
Fiel a su estilo de capítulos cortos, de ironía burlona, de frases como slogans (por algo fue publicista) y de lo efectivo que es para cerrar una parte o una página. Aprovecha el 11/9 para discurrir sobre las relaciones entre EEUU y Francia, sus semejanzas y diferencias: como dos torres gemelas que compiten por ver cual es mejor o cual cae primero. Por eso, los capítulos se alternan entre dos historias paralelas, entre Nueva York y París, entre el World Trade Center y la Torre Montparnasse, entre la ficción y la realidad, entre un final triste y uno ¿feliz? Cada parte es una forma diferente de asomarse a las ventanas del mundo. Como lo son los libros.
September 27, 2020
*2.5 STARS*
This is 1/2 a fictional account of people trapped in the 'Windows on the World' restaurant in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001 and 1/2 a strange, unnecessary autobiography of the writer?
The 9/11 'imaginings' are harrowing and the author does a fantastic (if that's the right word to use?) job of putting you right there. It allowed us to 'understand' the horrors that the people inside faced when the media could only show us what happened from the outside.
The chapters alternate between this and the author's own babbling, which to be quire honest were so self-obsessed and boring that I ended up missing his chapters out completely. He liked to point out how famous he was, a lot, and by a lot, I mean EVERY page. There didn't really seem to be any reason why his life story was needed (including his sexual adventures...) in a story about people suffering and dying in the 9/11 attacks.
This is 1/2 a fictional account of people trapped in the 'Windows on the World' restaurant in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001 and 1/2 a strange, unnecessary autobiography of the writer?
The 9/11 'imaginings' are harrowing and the author does a fantastic (if that's the right word to use?) job of putting you right there. It allowed us to 'understand' the horrors that the people inside faced when the media could only show us what happened from the outside.
The chapters alternate between this and the author's own babbling, which to be quire honest were so self-obsessed and boring that I ended up missing his chapters out completely. He liked to point out how famous he was, a lot, and by a lot, I mean EVERY page. There didn't really seem to be any reason why his life story was needed (including his sexual adventures...) in a story about people suffering and dying in the 9/11 attacks.
October 13, 2015
След като прочетох книгата, отворих YouTube и изгледах няколко клипчета с репортажи на живо от сблъсъците на самолетите и рухването на кулите-близнаци. Вцепених се до такава степен, че мозъкът ми спря. Толкова е нереално, че изглежда като фантастичен филм или високобюджетен екшън. И да напишеш книга… за това? Та аз не намирам думи да започна ревюто си…
И тогава хванах отново книгата и прелистих отново. Давам думата на самия Бегбеде:
Когато си неспособен да отговориш на въпроса „защо“, трябва да опиташ поне да намериш отговор на „как“.
Цялото ревю: https://bibliotekata.wordpress.com/20...
И тогава хванах отново книгата и прелистих отново. Давам думата на самия Бегбеде:
Когато си неспособен да отговориш на въпроса „защо“, трябва да опиташ поне да намериш отговор на „как“.
Цялото ревю: https://bibliotekata.wordpress.com/20...
August 10, 2016
Windows on the World
Windows on the Plane.
Windows on the Crash.
Windows on the Smoke.
BROKEN WINDOWS
Windows on the Plane.
Windows on the Crash.
Windows on the Smoke.
BROKEN WINDOWS
November 27, 2020
I adored this book. It had me in tears. It was heartbreaking and conflicting in the best way possible. It's a hard book to read because of the subject matter but it is written in the most incredible way that keeps you reading despite this. If you are looking for a book that will challenge you then this is that.
September 25, 2021
,,გინდათ გითხრათ, რაზე ფიქრობს ადმიანი, როცა ,,ბოინგი" პირდაპირ მისკენ მიექანება? რა ტრაკში ვარ!"
გინდათ გაიხედოთ მსოფლიოს ფანჯრებიდან, რომლებიც ოცნებებივით დაიმსხვრა?
გინდათ გაიგოთ, რატომ შეჰყურებდნენ მსოფლიო სავაჭრო ცენტრს, ნიუ იორკელები ისე, როგორც მექას მუსლიმები?
მიუხედავად იმისა რომ ფინალი უკვე ყველამ ვიცით (ბოლოს ყველა კვდება), მაინც ღირს წაკითხვა, სპოილერი ამ წიგნის მთავარი კოზირია.
და ბოლოს, "windows of the worlds are covered with rain"
"God bless America, for god's sake"
გინდათ გაიხედოთ მსოფლიოს ფანჯრებიდან, რომლებიც ოცნებებივით დაიმსხვრა?
გინდათ გაიგოთ, რატომ შეჰყურებდნენ მსოფლიო სავაჭრო ცენტრს, ნიუ იორკელები ისე, როგორც მექას მუსლიმები?
მიუხედავად იმისა რომ ფინალი უკვე ყველამ ვიცით (ბოლოს ყველა კვდება), მაინც ღირს წაკითხვა, სპოილერი ამ წიგნის მთავარი კოზირია.
და ბოლოს, "windows of the worlds are covered with rain"
"God bless America, for god's sake"
October 31, 2023
Beetje vaag maar opzich wel fun
September 6, 2024
''ჩვენ ტყუილუბრალოდ დავიხოცეთ...
და მაინც, არ დაგვივიწყოთ, ძალიან გთხოვთ. ჩვენ სამი დამწვარი ფენიქსი ვართ, რომელიც ერთ დღეს საკუთარი ფერფლიდან აღდგება...'' :(
და მაინც, არ დაგვივიწყოთ, ძალიან გთხოვთ. ჩვენ სამი დამწვარი ფენიქსი ვართ, რომელიც ერთ დღეს საკუთარი ფერფლიდან აღდგება...'' :(
June 3, 2019
"I do not know why I decided to write this book. Maybe because I saw no interest in writing about anything else. What else to write about? The only interesting subjects are the ones that are taboo. We have to write what is forbidden.''
Brutal, easy, hyperreal, and officially one of the best things I've read so far.
I could go on about how great this novel is but, first of all, it's 9/11 and second, I guess that much can be deduced by the opening line: ''You know how it ends: everybody dies.''
If you've ever spent a second wondering what the people who happened to be inside the World Trade Center on the morning of 9/11 witnessed and experienced before they died, this book has you covered. But there's more. The event (spanning from 08:31 to 10:27) unravels in the book like a film with many (MANY) short intervals during which Beigbeder takes up the role of the entertainer. If ads can be considered entertaining, that is. Is this annoying? Yes, yes it is. Would the book be the same without it? I guess not. You see, it appears that Beigbeder is pouring someone's (not pointing any fingers) personal, cynical thoughts (are those alcohol sprinkles?) on existential angst, love, politics, and guilt on pages meant to host a tragedy.
Now that I think about it, they're the only kind of pages capable of lifting the weight of such ideas.
Brutal, easy, hyperreal, and officially one of the best things I've read so far.
I could go on about how great this novel is but, first of all, it's 9/11 and second, I guess that much can be deduced by the opening line: ''You know how it ends: everybody dies.''
If you've ever spent a second wondering what the people who happened to be inside the World Trade Center on the morning of 9/11 witnessed and experienced before they died, this book has you covered. But there's more. The event (spanning from 08:31 to 10:27) unravels in the book like a film with many (MANY) short intervals during which Beigbeder takes up the role of the entertainer. If ads can be considered entertaining, that is. Is this annoying? Yes, yes it is. Would the book be the same without it? I guess not. You see, it appears that Beigbeder is pouring someone's (not pointing any fingers) personal, cynical thoughts (are those alcohol sprinkles?) on existential angst, love, politics, and guilt on pages meant to host a tragedy.
Now that I think about it, they're the only kind of pages capable of lifting the weight of such ideas.
March 18, 2019
En realidad, este no es un libro sobre el 11S, es una excusa para radiografiar el siglo XXI, un testimonio del tránsito de una era a otra y del humano contemporáneo. En la contraportada de mi edición aparece la recomendación de un señor que alaba esta obra como la mejor de su autor. No es cierto. Beigbeder escribe, como sempre, provocativo, con ínfulas, autobiográfico y grandilocuente. Pero en el camino se le ha quedado dar aunque fuera un poco de dimensión a los personajes, que son una excusa para blandir párrafos de verborrea casi siempre innecesaria. Es por eso que cualquier amago de emotividad se torna siempre sensiblería barata. Si quiso dar un tono trágico al final, no lo consiguió. Sin embargo, él se reconoce en todo esto. Se compromete con la autoparodia y la ironía y la superficialdiad, la ruptura constante de la cuarta pared. Es el tono de nuestra época. Es por eso que, pese a ser mediocre, creo que merece la pena leer este libro. (Consejo: leer antes 13'99 -que por cierto, es mejor- para entender algunas referencias, aunque tampoco es indispensable).
July 27, 2014
It came back to me recently that I had read this book at some point in the last -- hmmm, I'm going to say 5-6 years; and it appears I never added or reviewed it here. I just read a bunch of others' reviews, and am reminded how the book slips back and forth between a modern-day examination of America by a Frenchman, and a fictionalized story of a father and his two sons who are visiting New York and having breakfast at the Windows on the World restaurant at the top of the North Tower when the attack happened on Sept. 11th.
What I remember most is the fictionalized aspect of the book; it was truly engrossing, suspenseful, and, of course, ultimately heart-breaking. Anyone who is reading fiction about 9-11 should definitely add this to their reading list.
What I remember most is the fictionalized aspect of the book; it was truly engrossing, suspenseful, and, of course, ultimately heart-breaking. Anyone who is reading fiction about 9-11 should definitely add this to their reading list.
September 7, 2014
„Vrem să fim celebri pentru că vrem să fim iubiți. Vrem să fim iubiți pentru că suntem răniți. Vrem să avem un rost. Să folosim la ceva. Să spunem ceva. Să lăsăm o urmă. Să nu mai murim.”
„Crezusem că a face copii este cel mai bun mijloc de a învinge moartea. Nu e câtuși de puțin adevărat. Poți să mori împreună cu ei, și asta e ca și cum nici unul dintre voi n-ați fi existat vreodată.”
„Agentul imobiliar e un om care îi obligă pe alți oameni să muncească pentru a rambursa ceva în care rămân locatari, căci un proprietar nu-i decât un locatar prizonier al locuinței sale, un debitor care nu se poate muta.”
„Crezusem că a face copii este cel mai bun mijloc de a învinge moartea. Nu e câtuși de puțin adevărat. Poți să mori împreună cu ei, și asta e ca și cum nici unul dintre voi n-ați fi existat vreodată.”
„Agentul imobiliar e un om care îi obligă pe alți oameni să muncească pentru a rambursa ceva în care rămân locatari, căci un proprietar nu-i decât un locatar prizonier al locuinței sale, un debitor care nu se poate muta.”
April 10, 2015
Definitely a YES!
I remember reading Beigbeder when I was a teen & when new dandyism was the actual trend in Paris… I was cut between hating his view on life -cynical, alcoholic, boho- and it's incredible quality on writing.
But now, ten years later, it's a revelation : what kind of delicious character is that Beigbeder! He makes me think of Rousseau in the Confessions "total narcissism hidden on a sort of self indulgence, unbearable but so attractive!"
I don't know if it was that book (the only one I skipped of my teenage age) but I loved it.
Story never dull, very good testimony of the 11/11/01, richly documented. It's a very good book.
I remember reading Beigbeder when I was a teen & when new dandyism was the actual trend in Paris… I was cut between hating his view on life -cynical, alcoholic, boho- and it's incredible quality on writing.
But now, ten years later, it's a revelation : what kind of delicious character is that Beigbeder! He makes me think of Rousseau in the Confessions "total narcissism hidden on a sort of self indulgence, unbearable but so attractive!"
I don't know if it was that book (the only one I skipped of my teenage age) but I loved it.
Story never dull, very good testimony of the 11/11/01, richly documented. It's a very good book.
June 24, 2024
En commençant ce livre, je ne m'attendais certainement pas à un roman ayant pour thème les états d'âme de Frédéric Beigbeder. Alors je vais lui poser une question: pourquoi est ce que ça devrait m'intéresser ? Pourquoi est ce que 360 pages prétentieuses d'un bourgeois obsédé par lui même essayant de donner sens à un attentat devraient m'intéresser ? J'ai continué l'effort jusqu'à la dernière page sans avoir réponse à ma question.
C'est OK, pourquoi pas. J'ai quand même trouvé cette lecture intéressante, malgré la suffisance de l'auteur.
C'est OK, pourquoi pas. J'ai quand même trouvé cette lecture intéressante, malgré la suffisance de l'auteur.
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