Dos años después del desastre de 1990 de México, la población vive ajena a la catástrofe que les rodea a causa del control político. Nadie sabe que se han cumplido todas las predicciones catastrofistas que pesaban sobre el país: una lluvia ácida y negra cae sobre Makesicko City, la urbe más poblada y más contaminada. Esta hábil manipulación política mantiene a las masas infinitas enajenadas en toda suerte de festejos y concursos. Uno de ellos da pie al inicio de la novela: el premio a la pareja cuyo hijo nazca en el primer minuto del 12 de octubre, aniversario del quinto centenario del descubrimiento de América. Ángel y Ángeles deciden concursar, y los nueve meses de gestación de Cristóbal Nonato -consciente y monologante desde antes de su nacimiento- sirven de telón de fondo para un recorrido en el que el arte narrativo no olvida los méritos del sarcasmo cruel, de la ironía tierna ni de un humorismo que nos lleva, finalmente, a reírnos de nosotros mismos.
Es esta la novela que, como un réquiem, cierra un ciclo iniciado con La región más transparente.
Carlos Fuentes Macías was a Mexican writer and one of the best-known novelists and essayists of the 20th century in the Spanish-speaking world. Fuentes influenced contemporary Latin American literature, and his works have been widely translated into English and other languages.
Fuentes was born in Panama City, Panama; his parents were Mexican. Due to his father being a diplomat, during his childhood he lived in Montevideo, Rio de Janeiro, Washington, Santiago, and Buenos Aires. In his adolescence, he returned to Mexico, where he lived until 1965. He was married to film star Rita Macedo from 1959 till 1973, although he was an habitual philanderer and allegedly, his affairs - which he claimed include film actresses such as Jeanne Moreau and Jean Seberg - brought her to despair. The couple ended their relationship amid scandal when Fuentes eloped with a very pregnant and then-unknown journalist named Silvia Lemus. They were eventually married.
Following in the footsteps of his parents, he also became a diplomat in 1965 and served in London, Paris (as ambassador), and other capitals. In 1978 he resigned as ambassador to France in protest over the appointment of Gustavo Diaz Ordaz, former president of Mexico, as ambassador to Spain. He also taught courses at Brown, Princeton, Harvard, Penn, George Mason, Columbia and Cambridge.
--- کارلوس فوئنتس در ۱۱ نوامبر ۱۹۲۸ در پاناماسیتی به دنیا آمد. مادرش برتا ماسیاس ریواس و پدرش رافائل فوئنتس بوئهتیگر است. پدر وی از دیپلماتهای مشهور مکزیک است. وی سفیر مکزیک در هلند، پاناما، پرتغال و ایتالیا بود.
دوران کودکیاش در واشنتگتن دی.سی. و سانتیاگوی شیلی گذشت. فوئنتس در دانشگاه مکزیک و ژنو در رشتهٔ حقوق تحصیل کرد. او به زبانهای انگلیسی و فرانسه تسلط کامل دارد.
آثار * مرگ آرتمیوکروز، ۱۹۶۲ * آئورا، ۱۹۶۲ * زمین ما، ۱۹۷۵ * گرینگوی پیر، ۱۹۸۵ * ملکهٔ عروسکها * آسوده خاصر، ترجمهٔ محمدامین لاهیجی. * مرگ آرتمیو کروز، ترجمهٔ مهدی سحابی. * آئورا، ترجمهٔ عبدالله کوثری. * سرهیدا. * خودم با دیگران (به تازگی با نام از چشم فوئنتس) ترجمهٔ عبدالله کوثری.
--- Carlos Fuentes Macías fue un escritor mexicano y uno de los novelistas y ensayistas más conocidos en el mundo de habla española. Fuentes influyó en la literatura contemporánea de América Latina, y sus obras han sido ampliamente traducidas al inglés y otros idiomas.
Fuentes nació en la ciudad de Panamá, Panamá, sus padres eran mexicanos. Debido a su padre era un diplomático, durante su infancia vivió en Montevideo, Río de Janeiro, Washington, Santiago y Buenos Aires. En su adolescencia regresó a México, donde vivió hasta 1965. Estuvo casado con la estrella de cine Rita Macedo de 1959 hasta 1973, aunque era un mujeriego habitual y, al parecer, sus asuntos - que se ha cobrado incluyen actrices como Jeanne Moreau y Jean Seberg, su llevados a la desesperación. La pareja terminó su relación en medio del escándalo, cuando Fuentes se fugó con un periodista muy embarazada y entonces desconocido de nombre Silvia Lemus. Se casaron finalmente.
Siguiendo los pasos de sus padres, también se convirtió en un diplomático en 1965 y sirvió en Londres, París (como embajador), y otras capitales. En 1978 renunció al cargo de embajador en Francia en protesta por el nombramiento de Gustavo Díaz Ordaz, ex presidente de México, como embajador en España.
Bana bunlarla gelin, lütfen gelin. Evet savaştan çıkmış gibiyim, 760 sayfalık bir kuralsızlık şölenini bitirdim, çokça zorlandım ama şu an duyduğum tatminin tarifi yok. Baştan söyleyeyim: hayır, bu kitabı tavsiye etmiyorum. Yahut şöyle: bu kitabı hakkını vererek okumak lazım, epeyce mesai istiyor ve açıkçası pek kolay değil – haliyle önermek güç. Post-modern romanın da, anti-romanın da ötesinde, yıkan ve yeniden inşa eden, pek çok Fuentes eserindeki gibi bildiğiniz çok şeyi unutarak okumanız gereken türden bir metin. Ben ba-yıl-dım, birinin bunları bırakın yazabilmeyi, zihninden geçirebilmiş olmasını bile aklım almıyor. Kristof’un ana rahminde geçirdiği 9 ayı dinlediğimiz; uzun, upuzun bir rüya (ya da kabus?) sekansı gibi bir kitap. Bazen asap bozucu, sıklıkla çok komik, çok sınırsız, çok özgür, çok acayip.
İçine girebilmek için bazı ön okumalar gerekebilir, Meksika tarihine ve sömürge dönemine aşina olmak için Galeano’nun “Latin Amerika’nın Kesik Damarları”nı okumak bence çok faydalı olur; ayrıca bu ilk Fuentes’iniz olmasın sakın, bir de Juan Rulfo, Cortazar, Borges, Marquez gibi Latin Amerikalı yazarlarla ve Conrad, Kafka, Kundera gibi Avrupa’nın büyük isimleriyle hemhâl olmuş olmak faydalı olur. Ben bu kitaba “varmak” için epey bekledim, iyi ki öyle yapmışım- yıllarca okumayı arzuladığım bu kitaptan bana arzuya dair de çok şey kaldı; şu cümleyi bu kitapta bulmam tesadüf olmasa gerek: “arzu sadece başka bir arzunun taklidiyse bunun nedeni bir şeyi istediğimizde istenmeyi de istememizdir.” Son bir alıntı bırakıp bu faslı kesiyorum ve bininci kere tekrarlıyorum ki Carlos Fuentes 20. yüzyılın en büyük yazarlarından biridir ve ben kendisine basbayağı katışıksız bir aşk duyuyorum, evet.
“Herkes bilsin, annemin kara gözleri sırf kendine daha çok benzemek için değişen bir kumsal. Herkes bilsin, babamın miyop, sarı-yeşil gözleri gelişimden ve varlıktan yoksun bir deniz: Babam sürekli değişiyor, ama hep aynı. (…) Herkes bilsin, kendimi senin üzerinden seviyorum ve ancak sana dokunmakla dünyanın bütün kadınlarına dokunabilirsem seni sevebilirim: Bana bunu vaat edebilir misin? Aşkının beni gitmek istediğim yere, yani cehenneme göndereceğine yemin edebilir misin?”
Este libro juega completamente con el léxico, la literatura y la historia del lugar. Se reconoce que el autor sabe escribir muy bien sus propias ideologías. El relato en sí es triste y muy atormentado. Los personajes son una mezcla de buenos y malos. E, inevitablemente, el autor no se ha privado de usar contextos y figuras políticas, o escritores. La trama gira en torno a la pareja de Angel y Angeles, que en un caótico y grotesco Acapulco, intentan ganar un concurso gubernamental convocado para el 500 aniversario del descubrimiento de América. Su plan, dar a luz a un hijo llamado Christopher a medianoche del 12 de octubre de 1992, se convierte en el pretexto para una feroz crítica a la sociedad mexicana. La corrupción política, el clientelismo y lo absurdo del poder se revelan a través de los ojos de un nonato que, aunque aún no ha visto la luz, ya es testigo de la decadencia moral de su país.
Fuentes pinta un amargo cuadro de la política mexicana, representándola como un teatro de marionetas. Angel se encuentra atrapado entre sus dos tíos: el idealista Benítez y el oportunista Homero, candidato del Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI). A través de sus figuras, el autor expone la hipocresía de los partidos políticos que, más allá de las fachadas ideológicas, persiguen los mismos objetivos de poder. Las figuras públicas, como la santificada Lady Mamadoc y la cantante Concha Toro, son manipuladas para crear iconos nacionalistas, revelando la fragilidad y lo absurdo de la identidad nacional misma.
La novela es un verdadero laberinto lingüístico, en el que Fuentes se entrega a juegos de palabras, un humor afilado y una prosa rica y compleja que recuerda el estilo de James Joyce. El uso del lenguaje no es un fin en sí mismo, sino que se convierte en una herramienta para desvelar el engaño y la manipulación. La prosa pomposa y vacía de personajes como el escritor Matamoros Moreno es una parodia de la retórica política e intelectual, subrayando cómo las palabras pueden usarse para enmascarar la ausencia de ideas.
En su viaje a través de un laberinto burocrático kafkiano, la pareja se enfrenta a la ineptitud del gobierno, que finalmente cancela en silencio el concurso. La historia concluye con el regreso de Angel y Angeles al Océano Pacífico, simbolizando un distanciamiento de Europa y una nueva dirección. El narrador, finalmente nacido, solo tiene un fugaz instante de conciencia antes de desaparecer en la oscuridad, dejando al lector la amarga sensación de que, a pesar de todo, el caos de México persiste, indiferente a cada nuevo nacimiento.
Questo libro gioca completamente col lessico, la letteratura e la storia del luogo. Si riconosce che l'autore sa scrive molto bene le proprie ideologie. Di per sé il racconto è triste ed è molto travagliato. I personaggi sono un misto di buono e cattivo. E immancabilmente l’autore non si è privato di contesti e figure politiche, o scrittori. A seguito di un disastro che colpisce la località di Acapulco due genitori si dirigono al Distretto Federale messicano: il paese di questa coppia è instabile. Gli americani al fine di proteggere gl’interessi nazionali loro mandano i militari a Veracruz per proteggere le installazioni petrolifere. In Messico si sta preparando un'insurrezione. Il nord del paese diventa una terra desolata dove intere pattuglie americane di elicotteri raccolgono e trattengono gli immigrati; in effetti le cose sono messe talmente male che gli epici murales di Diego Rivera nel Palazzo Nazionale saranno venduti alla Chase Manhattan Bank come pagamento parziale del debito, e a seguito appesi al Rockefeller Center per i prossimi cinquanta anni.
Il libro può esser interpretto come uno dei peggiori. Oppure, per i soli temi trattati, uno dei migliori che Carlos Fuentes ha mai scritto. Ha qualcosa d’irreale e fantasioso. In realtà l’autore è bravo con le parole, nonostante che questa volta ha abusato di termini inglesi per i quali poteva farne a meno. Per conto proprio penso che il personaggio adottato sia un’utopia: se non altro, lo scrittore avrebbe potuto trovare un differente alter ego. Invece il dinamismo che ha caratterizzato questa storia è voluta dal piccolo Cristóbal, nato in un ambiente molto desolante, e che si farà carico nel dar voce a un romanzo intero. La narrazione si muove in Messico. Un paese di uomini tristi e bambini felici. In quel paese, quando un bambino viene alla luce, in realtà ha nove mesi di vita già ed è consapevole di tutto. L’insieme della storia comincia sulla spiaggia di Acapulco. Quel giorno Ángel e Ángeles stavano praticando del sesso. Ed è li che concepiranno il figlio Cristóbal. Quindi la storia sarà raccontata dal punto di vista di Cristobal, il nascituro. È questo altro il narratore del libro e non più la figura di Carlos Fuentes.
Fuentes’in yoğun bir Meksika tarihi içeren kitabı Doğmamış Kristof, okuması hayli zorlayıcı, sindirmesi ise daha güç bir metin. Sistematik olarak sömürgeleşme politikalara maruz kalmış bir ülkenin siyasi tarihini edebi ve dil numaralarla anlatmasını beğensem de yer yer ne okuyorum diye de kendime sormadan edemedim. Metinden koptuğum anlar oldu. Ders kitabı okur gibi okudum o yüzden bir noktadan sonra aldığım edebi zevk kayboldu. Ben Fuentes'in öykülerini çok severim. Önerim yazara mutlaka onlarla başlanması: Kaygı Veren Dostluklar, Körlerin Şarkısı gibi.
Tenía meses que no me enfrentaba a la pedantería literaria como me ha sucedido en esta ocasión. Y es que darse a la lectura de Cristóbal Nonato lo expone a uno a una cátedra monstruosa de pedantería literaria, de cosas dichas por el simple placer de decirlas, de frases enormes que no conducen a ningún lado, de aliteraciones a cada página, de juegos y malabares de palabras embutidos un párrafo sí y uno no sin que tengan la menor relación con lo que se narra. Un texto en el que Fuentes se da vuelo metiendo términos en inglés —funcionen narrativamente o no—, copiando modas inglesas —por ejemplo, no hay un solo signo de interrogación de apertura en toda la obra—, haciendo descripciones hiperbólicas y repetitivas de cualquier cosa —de un óvulo, de una rodilla, de un individuo gordo—... En fin. Una obra que, por si fuera poco, lo deja a uno con una pregunta elemental: ¿qué carajos está tratando de contar Carlos Fuentes? La anécdota central —un niño que es concebido para nacer en un México caótico— es tan tenue que el autor se ve obligado a rodearla de sinsentidos, de historias paralelas, de adjetivos y sustantivos vacíos para construir una novela de más de quinientas páginas. Sí, señor. Quinientas páginas de nada. Si yo creía que La voluntad y la fortuna era un exceso, dado que, en mi opinión, al libro se le podría eliminar perfectamente la mitad sin que suceda nada ni se pierda nada tampoco, en este caso estoy ante algo que resulta incalificable. De las más de quinientas páginas que integran Cristóbal Nonato, quizá sobran cuatrocientas. Sobran, llanamente, aun cuando se mantenga en mente el axioma del propio Fuentes, según el cual un autor debe estar comprometido políticamente con los avatares de su tiempo. En este sentido, Fuentes cumple: se compromete políticamente, ejerce la crítica, saca a flote la porquería... pero no termina de entenderse para qué. O por qué del modo en el que lo hace. O por qué con ese lenguaje que no conduce a nada.
Mal. Muy mal. Si ha pensado usted leer esto, no pierda su tiempo. Si quiere leer a Fuentes, tome Gringo viejo o La región más transparente. Incluso mi favorita, La cabeza de la hidra —que la crítica no se cansa de desdeñar; la misma crítica, quizá, que alabaría el Cristóbal Nonato—, pero sáltese esto. No lo vale. Definitivamente.
really good. theres a lot of cool/funny parts, like the mousetrap with a photo of cheese instead of real cheese, acapulco being destroyed by coyotes and a giant wave of shit garbage, insane american fascist preacher guy, the running joke of the statistician who lives in a closet, the misspellings of reagan's name throughout the book, the multiple instances of toothed vaginas, basically it rules.
"...do you know what you are doing when you expel me to the world, Mother? Have you taken account of your responsibility and my own? You expel me to the earth knowing that I am going to violate it, just as you, and my father, and Homero Fagoaga and a pair of blind Indians with wooden hoes and Don Ulises López armed with lawsuits and checkbooks and bonds without bonds: `will the very earth that we violate receive us, will you tell me, you and my father? We kill the earth in order to be able to live, and then we expect the earth to forgive us, absolve us of death even though we kill it? I'm being thrown, Pop and Mom, into a world where there is no possible reconciliation: we cannot be at one with the exploited earth, she gives us fewer punishments (death) than we give to her (violence): now I take revenge on you, world, to take out my portion of violence on you, violence on nature, violence on men, violence on myself: I am going to that destiny, beyond the ephemeral idiocies of smog, debt, the PRI, our national symbols, that's what I'm coming into, taking revenge on myself: to exploit the world from the moment I walk on it and to spend my life trying to expiate the guilt of my first exploitation, which was to suck your milk, which was to spit in a stream, which was to eat a jar of pureed Paschal Lamb sacrificed for me: am I arriving just to share this guilt? Can I do something to redeem it? Can I love a woman, write a book, free a people? Not even that, not even that: I'll do it all, gentle Readers, except allow the good earth to speak for itself, to express itself directly, not through my song or my curse, that I will not permit because I think(that's his father talking you say) that art or politics or science (that comes from his grandparents!)is a sufficient compensation for our crime; that's why I go resigned to debt, oh Readers, to the smog and to Mamadoc, because an instant before leaving my mother's womb I know (and I will forget it!)that neither I nor any other child about to be born, here or anywhere, could stand being born in a perfect world, a just world: it would horrify us, deprive us of all our pretexts, we need, oh Lord, oh Reader, oh Pro-Gen-I-Tors, an unjust world in order to dream about changing it, by ourselves, into a better world: the earth smiles before paying us, mercifully, with death..." pg.527 Christopher Unborn Carlos Fuentes
No se que pensar de este libro, en términos generales no me gustó y creo que es una enorme lamentacion que en medio trata de llevar una historia, pero también entiendo (o eso creo) lo que este libro pretende. Es un libro denso y muy difícil de leer y para ser sincero no lo recomendaría a nadie. Pero incluso de las lecturas que no se disfrutan se aprende algo, al menos a conocer lo que uno no disfruta, lo que pondré a continuación.
Pero antes de decir que es lo que no me gustó del libro, haré mención de lo que sí. La historia se encuentra en múltiples niveles y abarca muchísimos temas y todos están muy intrincados y difíciles de separar pero en términos generales se trata de la historia de Angel y Angeles, quienes en una playa en Acapulco conciben a su hijo Cristóbal y es él quien narra la historia con la capacidad de ver y conocer todo, incluso el hecho de que es el narrador de una historia y que existimos nosotros los lectores, el libro se estructura en nueve capítulos, uno por cada mes de gestación. Los hechos que narra Cristóbal (lo de Nonato, es por que no a nacido) nos describen una especie de distopia medio realista en la que se encuentra hundido el país, la deuda externa es insostenible y se vende el patrimonio cultural para mantenerlo a flote, un terremoto que destruye la ciudad, un cambio de gobierno ineficaz por que es mas de lo mismo, la pobreza desplazada a un lugar que no incomode, y una juventud que por no tener de otra solo busca vivir el momento en un medio ambiente cada vez más deteriorado.
La verdad es que todo suena interesante, y por muchos incluso profético (aquí se menciona que el primer presidente que no es del PRI, es del PAN, cosa que paso y que un terremoto derrumbará al Ángel de la Independencia, cosa que sucederá) y hay un montón de alegorías a la historia, políticos e intelectuales, y se de la existencia de la novela "Vida y opiniones del caballero Tristam Shandy" que me parece que es la inspiración y lo que pretende ser esta novela (digo me parece por que no la e leído pero se más o menos a que va y de que trata). Eso es lo que me gusta, el libro es variado y florido, lleno de intrincados detalles.
Pero, y empecio con lo que me disgusto, la estructura del libro y del lenguaje raya en lo desastroso (o genial y soy demasiado ignorante para disfrutarlo) . Lo mismo me paso cuando leí "Ada o el ardor" de Nabokov o algunos de los textos de Kundera en donde la estructura y el lenguaje están en función de una idea filosófica y no de la historia que se narra. En este caso hay faltas de ortografía que corresponden a transcripciones foneticas divertidas por momento, pero que se vuelven molestas después de un rato por que a mi gusto se abusa de ellas, y una historia que se pierde o se estanca eternamente y al final no llega a nada (como en "Tristam Shandy" por lo que entiendo de esa novela) hay muchos personajes y se revuelven tanto las circunstancias que leer este libro se vuelve extremadamente tedioso y frustrante si uno no está preparado o consciente de ello.
Creo que este libro muerde más de lo que mastica, o tal vez esa es la intención, definitivamente es una lectura desafiante y por momentos frustrante y no es eso por lo que no la recomiendo, si no por la estructura de la historia. No fue para mi, pero seguro que habrá alguien que lo disfrute más.
Absolutely unhinged. A complete whirlwind of events, characters, places, ideas, stories.. I barely understood what was happening and what I understood only scratched the surface. All of this wrapped in a wonderfully playful prose. Great experience, fully recommend!
Mexico is a country of sad men and happy children. So starts this massive tome on Mexico.
In fact it opens with a couple (Ángel and Ángeles) having sex on a beach in Acapulco and conceiving their child (Cristóbal). The entire story is told from the view of Cristobal, the unborn. He points out that when a child is born, it is actually nine months old. So little Cristóbal is aware of everything and so becomes our storyteller.
Disaster strikes Acapulco and the parents head for DF (Mexico City). Mexico in 1992, when the story takes place, is a dismal place. The country is unstable, the Americans send in the military in Veracruz to protect oil installations (protecting their national interests), the north is a wasteland where American helicopter patrols pick up and detain immigrants (this book was published in 1987.... wow, sound familiar?), a social insurrection is brewing, and Makesicko (Mexico) City is drenched with acid rain. In fact things are so bad that the epic murals of Diego Rivera in the National Palace will be sold to the Chase Manhattan Bank as a partial debt payment and hang in the Rockefeller Center for the next fifty years.
In short, a very bleak setting for a child to be born.
The characters are a mixture of good and bad or indifferent. The father Ángel is a cad. He hits on, not one but several women, including a fifteen year old, Penny Cruz. The mother is, well, an angel. She puts up with the father to a point but when things get bad, she heads for her native Oaxaca. There are two uncles, Homero and Fernando. They are polar opposites. A couple of old maid aunts. Dead parents. A collection of the most odd characters (and those are their friends).
Then there are the politicos. The Mexican president, Jesus Mary and Joseph Paredes (I just love that name), Mamadoc his wife, the Secretary of State Federico Robles Chacón, a pro-American Ulises López (father of Penny) and his slutty wife, the fundamentalist Ayatola Matamoros Moreno (a former writer...ah those anarchists) and his Chilean woman Concha Torro, who learns that a massive earthquake destroyed her homeland and what’s left has been taken by Peruvian revolutionaries. Yep. Pretty darn crazy!
So I know what you are saying, how can you believe a story as told from the point of view of an unborn child? Little Cristóbal needs someone to put his words into a novel. Why not use Carlos Fuentes? I hear that Fuentes is good with words. Actually he is great with words.
Need a great opening line? How about “I remember when my father taught me about making ice just as I am facing the firing squad?” Wait a minute. Wasn’t that the first line of “One Hundred Years of Solitude by Fuentes’s good friend, Gabriel Garcia Marquez? Yes. Steal from everyone. Leave nothing untouched.
This book plays completely with language, literature, history and just about everything in between. The play between Spanish and English is amazing. Word play at its best. Everything of the past 500 years has been brought up, played with, turned inside out. The book is poetic in scale. The nine months pregnancy is a journey. Cervantes in mind; Homeric in tone; Joyce in scale. Wow. That is asking a lot for a pregnancy. But what if this pregnancy takes place on the 500th anniversary of the founding of America by Cristóbal Colon (his real name). And a prize will be awarded for that first baby in 1992. That is a lot of drama. A lot to ask for, isn’t it?
So is it good?
Hmmm.. I have read most of Fuentes’ most of his novels and the shear scale of word play, his over the top dynamism and heroic aspects pushed the boundaries of his writing. The epilogue sums this book up as a letter written to Cristóbal by Carlos Fuentes himself. He had just won the Cervantes prize, the biggest award in the Spanish language. So how do you top such an award? By going over the top in one of the most unique stories I have read to date.
Some will hate this, be baffled by it or just give it up. At times I though this is either the worst Fuentes’ book that I have ever read. Or the best.
In 1987 the celebrated Mexican writer, Carlos Fuentes, published a rollicking tour-de-force in Cristobal Nonato, the nine-month long monologue of a child, on Cristobal Palomar. The story goes like this: Christobal's parents enter a contest promising fame, reward, and political power to that child born on October 12, 1992 and bearing a surname conate with Colon (North American, Columbus). For contest entrants, then, the given name Cristobal is a necessity. The lengthy narrative of this fetal Cristopher was translated into English in 1989 as Christopher Unborn, a picaresque satire of Mexican politics and a parodic take on magic realism. In the introductory section, " I Am Created", Christopher tells of his conception on a beach in Acapulco with a zest rivaling Henry Miller at his lustiest or the pyrotechnic finale of Joyce's Finnegan's Wake. Fuentes acknowledges his debt to Joyce by titling one section of this irreverent narrative "Alone at last....at last alone." The book amuses and causes one to marvel at the skill of translators who could render this ribal Spanish prose-poem into English. (One imagines, too, the difficulty of translating the more obscure Joyce into Spanish).
A significant high-priority purchase for all libraries.
Aslında yazar, halkı oyuna getirip, uyutup üzerlerine bir güzel kirli hava üfleyen tüm ideolojilerle çok güzel dalga geçiyor. Ama o kadar çok kelime safsatası var ki... Anlamsız kelimeler çorbasının içinden hikayeyi çıkarmaya çalışıyorsunuz. Ama kaşığınız yarıya kadar bile dolmuyor.
Kitabı sevmeyip yarım bırakmamın bir diğer sebebi de, aşırı iğrençliklerle yapılmış cinsellik benzetmeleri. 50 yaşına gelmiş adamların nedir bu cinsellikle derdini anlatma merakı anlamıyorum. Neden halkların nasıl ezildiğini bir kadının vajinasına dair yapılan benzetmeler üzerinden okumak zorundayım?
Bu benzetmeleri okudukça hayalimde, haktan bahseden ama kadınları kendinden aşağı görmeye farkında olmasa da devam eden şovenist, hatta karısını döven, aldatan, küçük çocuklara bile seks objesi gözüyle bakan bir adam canlanıyor. Elimde değil! "On üç" yaşında bir kıza dair yazılan paragrafa bakacak olursak:
"D.C Buckley fermuarını açtı. Colasa çay yaprakları gibi bacaklarını açıp endişeli bir ceylan gibi baktı ona. D.C Buckley'in organı kızın gövdesinin girişine uzandı, boğayı öldürmek üzere gaddarca, tek bir hareketle ilerledi. Kızın vajinasının beyaz dişleri adamın son derece sert fallusunun üzerine kapandı."
Bu ve bundan daha pis duygular uyandıran nice paragraf. Ben ideolojik bir fikir okumak istiyorum, vajina yahut penis değil.
¡Wow! Fuentes me ganó de nuevo. Una novela impresionante. Sí, es cierto que, con Fuentes, uno siempre se pregunta si el señor quiere contarnos una historia o simplemente hacer alarde de un manejo perfecto del lenguaje, por lo que algunas de sus obras son aburridas, totalmente incomprensibles. Pero aunque acá también haya pasajes muy difíciles de leer, la historia de Cristóbal Nonato te atrapa completamente. Los personajes son increíbles, llenos de significados: los Four Jodiditos, Colasa, Matamoros, el presidente Paredes, Robles Chacón, Penny López... Además es completamente visionario, si tomamos en cuenta que fue publicado en 1987, y ya plantea no sólo un presidente de la oposición (PAN) sino la ruina de Acapulco, el desmembramiento de México, y hasta la naciente supremacía de Asia. Es un lujo leer y releer ciertos pasajes, llenos de prosa poética con una perfección lingüística increíble; los juegos de tiempo y espacio, el tono surreal de todo el relato... Completamente deslumbrante. Sin duda un libro que hay que leer varias veces.
"12 Ekim 1992 saatler tam 00.00 gösterdiğinde doğacak olan erkek çocuğun soyadı ne olursa olsun "Kristof" konacak ve Ulusun Kutlu Evladı ilan edilecektir. Eğitimini devlet üstlenirken 18 yaşında Cumhuriyetin Anahtarı, 20'sindeyse Ulusun Naibi sıfatı bahşedilecektir"
Gazeteler bu başlıkla süslüydü, hal böyleyken Angel karısı Angeles'e "bizim için bir kurtuluş umudu" diye bakmasını sağladı.
Sana hikayeyi Kristof anlatıyor; önce anne baba aile derken yaşadığı şehir ve en nihayetinde Meksika topraklarının nasıl bir yönetimde olduğunu çekinmeksizin dillendiriyor. Onun kadar sen de soluk soluğa kalıyorsun. Partilerin birbirinden nahoş süreçleri, toplumun aç ve lağam kokan kaldırımları ve insanların çaresizlikten dolayı akıl almaz görmezliklerini okuyor, okurkende kimisinin isyan nidaları seni sayfalarca koşturmaya başlıyor.
Maraton koşusu gibi bir süreç yaşatıyor sana Fuentes lakin hayata dair pek çok tüyoyu kulağına küpe yaptığının sağlamasını sunuyor. İlk tanışma için ağır bir süreçti benim adıma ama iyi ki okundu denecek kadar kaliteli bir kalemdi.
Kitapta bize seslenen henüz anne karnındaki Kristof, seninle yolculuk yapmak isteyen bir dünya oykurun var bence, siz ne dersiniz?
Having read several of Fuentes' novels now, the best I can do to describe them is "big and frustrating", like being leashed to some giant dog that keeps changing its mind on which direction it wants to drag you just when you figure you've finally settled on an actual path. His novels are stuffed to the brim with ideas and scenes and characters to the extent that it ceases to become intoxicating and instead starts to veer toward the land of "utterly overwhelming". If you're willing to ride it out there are some good times buried in the pages but if you're in the wrong mood the brilliant stuff is going to get drowned out by literally everything else.
Part of it, admittedly, could be me. Fuentes' novels helped defined a new tradition of Latin-American writing and as such aren't completely bound to the concepts and structures of stories that we're used to north of the border, so to speak . . . here, stories seem to be more obviously part of an ongoing story where the ideas of beginning, middle and end aren't as important as the telling of the story itself. In essence, we're dipping into a small part of a very large and very wide stream. The stories are also deeply, deeply indebted to (in his case) Mexican history and mythology and so often carry on assuming that all of the references are common knowledge to the reader. And even in an age where we can just talk to some listening device to have it look up terms and historical events that we don't fully understand, its still hard to put that all into context and understand why people might see something as a big deal, or how a certain phrasing can speak volumes as to what Fuentes really means.
In other words, do your due diligence or be prepared to do a lot of catch-up work to keep pace with this book, because it has absolutely no desire to wait for you before skipping merrily to the next concept.
The concept here is probably the most understandable aspect of it. Christopher has been conceived almost exactly nine months before the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus discovering that he's not in China and as such is eligible to be the winner of some kind of contest. However, that turns out to be perhaps the least important part of the novel as the chatty unborn child as he guides us through the next nine months of his gestation in what seems to be a near-future (at the time) version of 1992 Mexico where things aren't going so hot. His parents, Angel and Angeles, are struggling to survive in a country that never fully recovered from the 1985 earthquake and seems wracked by political and social turmoil. But they're just a small portion of a cast that manages to encompass a band they sometimes tag along with, politicians and their families, rich people, a woman with dangerous genitals, religious figures with revolutionary motives and who knows what else. If there's one of Fuentes' novels that absolutely necessitates a cast list then this would be it because with all the jumping around and the pages crammed with characters whose relation to each other and the story at large is sometimes murky, any kind of stabilizing anchor would be welcome.
But without any regard to your feelings or your utter confusion, the story plunges ahead hyperactively as Christopher leaps from scene to scene, establishing characters just enough so that when you encounter them again maybe forty pages later you have a vague recollection of having met them before but aren't exactly sure what they're all about. A lot of it (a great portion, in fact) is satirical and so the people and situations are often inherently ridiculous, giving the whole proceedings at times a loopy unreality, as if its all part of an elaborate absurdity stage production or a joke you haven't totally gotten yet. There's no central plot (beyond Christopher waiting to be born) so at times it just seems like a lot of swirling events waiting for a direction to arrive. Fuentes is good enough so it never feels like total chaos but you're never under the impression that you've got this book under control. In fact, the book seems to tease you just enough so that every time the book seems about to coalesce into a formal plot (a late development where Christopher's parents are separated and His dad becomes obsessed with some rich dude's daughter while the guy's wife makes the moves on him) where you finally think you can grasp what's going on it will suddenly shift back to chapters and sections of people you barely know doing things you don't quite understand.
Which is pretty much the story for the whole book. Moments of cohesion (on the reader's part) followed by moments where you don't have any idea what the heck is going on, especially as the pages fill with characters all talking at each other. The best example I can think of is that parts of it feel like a "Love and Rockets" story gone absolutely bonkers, only without artists on the level of the Hernandez Brothers to differentiate all the people and wring some sort of sense out of it. The good news is that this approach won't seem that strange if you've read almost any other Fuentes novel but even compared to behemoths like "Terra Nostra" its just so rapid fire and slippery that the overall effect becomes exhausting even when you have a rare twenty page stretch where the novel starts to settle into something conventional.
Still, as wearying as it can be its never less than interesting and when Fuentes decides to focus more on Christopher's parents, even touching in parts. Christopher's mixed feelings about being born and potentially losing all the knowledge and memories he has now are palpable and the idea of the book existing for the unborn child to convey what he's experiencing to the reader because he's afraid he's going to lose it all via His path through the birth canal is expressed with the right mix of a wink and actual emotion. Fuentes the writer may be conceiving this all in good fun but Christopher is convinced there's a real kind of death of His personality ahead for him and it unnerves him. The last section of the book, as the birth surges on us, comes with a wash of intensity that you wish Fuentes had been able to pull out before that point, with a sense of poetry and rhythm that nearly puts the rest of the book to shame. Maybe he was kind of savagely kidding throughout most of the book, but when he suddenly decides to be serious the results are devastating.
In the end I may not be the person this book is meant for, or conversely, I could be exactly the person this is meant for. Anyone, like me, who has limited understanding of the history of Mexican politics (one thing to understand is that the ruling party, the PRI, was in power uninterrupted from 1929-2000 before the more conservative PAN party captured the presidency) is going to be lost in a lot of places here, and deservedly so. Books don't need to hold your hand to explain everything to you and a novel steeped so much in its time and culture doesn't need to make compromises to meet you halfway. Instead, what it can is leave the door open for you to come in and see what its about, the good and the bad, and give you a reason to learn. Not every book can inspire you to try, but His work spurs me to at least make the attempt. I don't know if I'll ever have a chance to reread Fuentes' books again in my life but the fact that my frustrations only want to make me broaden my own knowledge in preparation for that hypothetical reread one day speaks to how rich His writing His and how much the books trace, not taunt, any gaps in understanding you might possess and give you a reason to figure out a better way in, knowing you'll be welcomed when you are finally ready to come back and try again.
Gerçek bir baş yapıt. Carlos FUENTES, Vladimir NABOKOV’la birlikte anlamakta, takip etmekte çok zorlandığım yazarların en başında geleni. Deneysel roman niteliğindeki bu romanında, engin tarih ve felsefe bilgisi, imgelemi, düş gücü ve tüm bunları harmanlayan eşsiz edebi dehasına tanık oluyorsunuz. Önünde saygıyla eğiliyorum.
Reseña: https://www.fabulantes.com/2021/11/cr... "Cristóbal Nonato es, en cuanto a estilo y el nivel de dificultad, una novela de múltiples aristas, en la que Carlos Fuentes muestra numerosas perspectivas mediante las cuales pretende captar la compleja realidad de su país. Es una narrativa disruptiva, con muchos tropiezos para un lector distraído, porque el lenguaje que usa es rico y variado, con palabras propias de la mexicanidad, pero también con neologismos o formas juguetonas que buscan sincretizar el pasado, presente y futuro, que busca recordar que México es producto de un mestizaje en todos los sentidos y dimensiones".
Dense story with layers of depth. Allegorical about the history and future of Mexico. Fuentes is a great writer who seems to choose every word preceisely for each sentence. I feel like I need to reread this one to get more out of it and truly appreciate it's significance. If you're interested in Mexico's culture and history, I'd recommend this. If you're just looking for a story to get lost in, I'd look elsewhere.
Both astonishing and difficult, Chistopher Unborn is the story of a fetus as he narrates the story of his parents and their activities. The fetus also documents the chaos of life in Mexico in the 1990's and in all honesty chaos anywhere. You can guess where the story ends, can't you?
Yaklaşık on-on beş sene önce okumuş olsam tek sayfasından bir şey anlamadım diyebilirdim ama günümüz şartları benzerlik gösterdiği için kitabı yer yer gülümseyerek bitirmeyi başarabildim. Öte yandan okunması oldukça zor bir roman. Çevirmen ne kadar iyi olursa olsun ülkenin, yaşanılan coğrafyanın dinamiklerini bilmeden kelime oyunlarını anlamak güç. Kendinizi romandaki karmaşaya kaptırsanız bile roman bazı kısımlarda inanılmaz durağanlaşıyor ve sanki sürekli aynı satırda kalmışsınız gibi okunmaz hale geliyor. Benim için Fuentes’in en iyi eseri değildi ama Latin Amerika edebiyatına ilgi duyan ve geniş zamanları olan birinin görüşü daha farklı olabilir
I have marked this book read, although I haven't finished it. I couldn't find the book's rythym, if there is such a thing, and was never pulled into the story or the characters. I wish future readers the best of luck!