What do you think?
Rate this book
Африканеца
В “Африканеца”, кратък автобиографичен разказ, Ж.-М.Г. Льо Клезио възкресява епизоди от детството си, прекарано в Африка и повлияло на целия му житейски и творчески мироглед. След войната, придружен от майка си и от по-големия си брат, той отива при баща си, лекар в Нигерия. Там авторът, оставен да расте на воля сред необятните диви простори на Африка, открива свободата на телата, магическата същност на една страна, където всичко е в излишество – слънцето, бурите, растителността, дъждовете, насекомите.
С тази твърде съкровена книга писателят изразява преклонението си пред двойната среща – с непознатия баща и с африканския континент, от който е запазил за цял живот опиянението от близостта с природата.
С тази твърде съкровена книга писателят изразява преклонението си пред двойната среща – с непознатия баща и с африканския континент, от който е запазил за цял живот опиянението от близостта с природата.
108 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2004
67 people are currently reading
1312 people want to read
About the author
J.M.G. Le Clézio
152 books650 followersJean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, better known as J.M.G. Le Clézio (born 13 April 1940) is a Franco-Mauriciano novelist. The author of over forty works, he was awarded the 1963 Prix Renaudot for his novel Le Procès-Verbal (The Interrogation) and the 2008 Nobel Prize in Literature.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 208 reviews
August 18, 2021
هر انسانی حاصل یک پدر و مادر است. میشود نشناختشان، دوستشان نداشت، میشود به آنها شک کرد. اما آنها اینجایند، با چهرههاشان، حالاتشان، عادات و وسواسشان، توهمهاشان، امیدهاشان، شکل دستها و انگشتانشان، رنگ چشمها و موهاشان، طرز حرف زدنشان، افکارشان، شاید سنشان هنگام مرگ، تمام اینها در درون ما رخ داده است. ص 7 کتاب
March 6, 2018
There are some juicy bits in this really short memoir of the Nobel laureate of his childhood spent in Colonial Africa but nothing memorable. I guess best writers of fiction struggle to write about truth, that is why their memoirs are so unimpressive - first Coetzee and now Clezio.
June 25, 2025
This book is an autobiographical sketch that is more than a sketch and it goes beyond an autobiography in a strict sense. The narration crosses over the starting point of the author's life and focuses on the story of another protagonist - the author's father, The African of the title. Then it is not really a biography of the father either, it is rather an attempt to understand this alien figure, almost an enemy, that was abruptly brought into the author's life at the endpoint of his childhood, at the point when memories are no longer lost but are amplified by life lying ahead.
The book starts with these vivid memories of a new place, arrival to Africa of plenty from Europe close to starvation, reunion of the family separated by the long years of war. The smells, the colors, the brightness and liberty of the open land are described in a lyrical tone of someone, whose life really started there and then and who later understood and cherished the significance of this moment. Yet, there is darkness and fear present at the same time - the father figure - an angry, pessimistic, irrationally restrictive and brutal person.
The story is transformed into an attempt to understand and explain this person, The African, whose ancestry was European, who was born on Mauritius and who hated colonialism with a passion that defined his life choices, that made him into who he was and led him to a breaking point, from which he was not able to recover.
After receiving his medical degree, The African flees the conformist and stifling society of England to set his foot in Africa for the first time. He detests the colonial culture on the coast of Nigeria and departs inland. He becomes the only doctor in a vast territory of Banso in the mountains of Cameroon. There, together with his wife, he spends the happiest years of his life, filled with meaning and challenge, offering help to those who could not have been helped before.
The birth of children in Europe leads to a presumably short separation that is extended indefinitely by the war. The bitterness takes place of happiness and with it comes the realisation that he himself, an open critic and hater of the colonial policies, is one of those who propagate these policies with his work, who serves on the humanitarian frontlines only to reinforce the inevitable arrival of subjugators and profiteers. From this breaking point, from this loss of meaning he cannot recover, what survives is only a shell of a human being.
The book starts with these vivid memories of a new place, arrival to Africa of plenty from Europe close to starvation, reunion of the family separated by the long years of war. The smells, the colors, the brightness and liberty of the open land are described in a lyrical tone of someone, whose life really started there and then and who later understood and cherished the significance of this moment. Yet, there is darkness and fear present at the same time - the father figure - an angry, pessimistic, irrationally restrictive and brutal person.
The story is transformed into an attempt to understand and explain this person, The African, whose ancestry was European, who was born on Mauritius and who hated colonialism with a passion that defined his life choices, that made him into who he was and led him to a breaking point, from which he was not able to recover.
After receiving his medical degree, The African flees the conformist and stifling society of England to set his foot in Africa for the first time. He detests the colonial culture on the coast of Nigeria and departs inland. He becomes the only doctor in a vast territory of Banso in the mountains of Cameroon. There, together with his wife, he spends the happiest years of his life, filled with meaning and challenge, offering help to those who could not have been helped before.
The birth of children in Europe leads to a presumably short separation that is extended indefinitely by the war. The bitterness takes place of happiness and with it comes the realisation that he himself, an open critic and hater of the colonial policies, is one of those who propagate these policies with his work, who serves on the humanitarian frontlines only to reinforce the inevitable arrival of subjugators and profiteers. From this breaking point, from this loss of meaning he cannot recover, what survives is only a shell of a human being.
September 17, 2017
Once in a while I like reading a memoir written on a verge of poetry or just in a language so pretty it is more important than the actual content. Usually the central figure of the memories is one of the parents and I enjoy a portrait where love and fascination blends with all the regret, problems, bitterness and grudges. This is “The African” for me, a complex and yet short and impressionist history of the author’s father, a doctor who bounded his life with Africa in the dramatic time of wars on both continents. There is a mix of happy childhood, disappointment, the lack of understanding than in a way came years after it was really needed for natural reasons… And there is Africa. This book made me want to read more about Africa, touched some chord I didn’t know I even possessed, that made me long for the places in Africa where the author and his family lived in. Years ago I decided that I simply can’t engage emotionally in every part of the world so I decided to treat Africa (and South America) rather unfairly and read only a narrow bunch of authors I’m really interested in. Le Clezio made me reconsider my silly resolution ;)
Anyway, it’s a short and pretty book that won’t take you too long to read but I believe is worth your time.
Anyway, it’s a short and pretty book that won’t take you too long to read but I believe is worth your time.
November 11, 2015
هیجان کشف آفریقا از دید کودکی هشت ساله.واقعی ترین آفریقایی که تا به حال دیده بودم، واقعی تر از آفریقای نمایش داده شده در فیلم ها و مستندها.لوکلزیو حدود پنجاه سال به عقب باز میگردد تا پدر آفریقایی شدهاش را بفهمد و درک کند
ترجمه آنقدر بد بود که در بعضی موارد با چند بار خواندن هم نتوانستم متوجه منظور نویسنده بشوم.افسوس
ترجمه آنقدر بد بود که در بعضی موارد با چند بار خواندن هم نتوانستم متوجه منظور نویسنده بشوم.افسوس
January 15, 2016
Beautifully written memoir that looks at identity, colonialism, and a man's effort to understand the father he never understood as a boy.
August 7, 2021
L'histoire émouvante de l'enfance de l'écrivain français en Afrique et notamment celle de son père, médecin itinérant travaillant au Nigeria et au Cameroun au moment de la Seconde Guerre mondiale.
« Si je veux comprendre ce qui a changé cet homme, cette cassure qu’il y a eu dans sa vie, c’est à la guerre que je pense. Il y a eu un avant, et un après. »
Comme André Gide et son Voyage au Congo, suivi de Retour de Tchad, qui raconte sous forme de journal intime son voyage en Afrique équatoriale française en 1927, le père écrit ses expériences dans cette région reculée du monde, où il soigne jour après jour des dizaines de patients souffrant des maladies typiques. Doté d'un caractère bien trempé, d'une physionomie imposante et d'une discipline sévère, l'homme se transforme peu à peu en ses propres patients, adoptant leurs coutumes, leurs croyances et leurs habitudes et pointant du doigt les colonisateurs et leur manière fâcheuse d'écraser la population locale à tout moment, avec un air de supériorité agaçant.
« Lui qui avait rompu avec Maurice et son passé colonial, et que se moquait des planteurs et de leurs airs de grandeur, lui qui avait fui le conformisme de la société anglaise, pour laquelle un homme ne valait que par sa carte de visite, lui qui avait parcouru les fleuves sauvages de Guyane, qui avait panse, recousu, soigné le chercheurs de diamants et les Indiens sous-alimentés ; cet homme ne pouvait pas ne pas vomir le monde colonial et son injustice outrecuidante, sa domesticité, ses maîtresses d’ébène prostituées de quinze ans introduites par la porte de service, et ses épouses officielles pouffant de chaleur et faisant rejaillir leur rancœur sur leurs serviteurs pour une question de gants, de poussière ou de vaisselle cassée. »
Et bien que le récit soit centré sur des expériences, chacune racontée avec force détails, cela n'empêche pas le lyrisme de Le Clézio d'être présent par moments, nous faisant ressentir profondément les mots qui émanent d'une excellente prose et qui sont la véritable marque de son art narratif. Après tout, nous ne sommes rien de plus que la somme de nos expériences.
« C’est à l’Afrique que je veux revenir sans cesse, à ma mémoire d’enfant. À la source de mes sentiments et de mes déterminations. Le monde change, c’est vrai, et celui qui es debout là-bas au milieu de la plaine d’herbes hautes, dans le souffle chaud qui apporte les odeurs de la savane, le bruit aigu de la forêt, sentant sur ses lèvres l’humidité du ciel et des nuages, celui-là est si loin de moi qu’aucune histoire, aucun voyage no me permettra de le rejoindre. »
Parfois, son écriture ressemble davantage à celle d'un sage s'exprimant sur les fondements de la vie à travers des préceptes immuables, qui sont des vérités absolues. Raconter l'histoire de son père et se souvenir de son passé semble transformer l'homme aussi. Et c'est là, j'ose le penser, que l'on retrouve la magie qui enveloppe l'art narratif de cet immense écrivain.
« C’est en l’écrivant que je le comprends, maintenant. Cette mémoire n’est pas seulement la mienne. Elle est aussi la mémoire du temps qui a précédé ma naissance, lorsque mon père et ma mère marchaient ensemble sur les routes du haut pays, dan les royaumes de l’ouest du Cameroun. »
« Si je veux comprendre ce qui a changé cet homme, cette cassure qu’il y a eu dans sa vie, c’est à la guerre que je pense. Il y a eu un avant, et un après. »
Comme André Gide et son Voyage au Congo, suivi de Retour de Tchad, qui raconte sous forme de journal intime son voyage en Afrique équatoriale française en 1927, le père écrit ses expériences dans cette région reculée du monde, où il soigne jour après jour des dizaines de patients souffrant des maladies typiques. Doté d'un caractère bien trempé, d'une physionomie imposante et d'une discipline sévère, l'homme se transforme peu à peu en ses propres patients, adoptant leurs coutumes, leurs croyances et leurs habitudes et pointant du doigt les colonisateurs et leur manière fâcheuse d'écraser la population locale à tout moment, avec un air de supériorité agaçant.
« Lui qui avait rompu avec Maurice et son passé colonial, et que se moquait des planteurs et de leurs airs de grandeur, lui qui avait fui le conformisme de la société anglaise, pour laquelle un homme ne valait que par sa carte de visite, lui qui avait parcouru les fleuves sauvages de Guyane, qui avait panse, recousu, soigné le chercheurs de diamants et les Indiens sous-alimentés ; cet homme ne pouvait pas ne pas vomir le monde colonial et son injustice outrecuidante, sa domesticité, ses maîtresses d’ébène prostituées de quinze ans introduites par la porte de service, et ses épouses officielles pouffant de chaleur et faisant rejaillir leur rancœur sur leurs serviteurs pour une question de gants, de poussière ou de vaisselle cassée. »
Et bien que le récit soit centré sur des expériences, chacune racontée avec force détails, cela n'empêche pas le lyrisme de Le Clézio d'être présent par moments, nous faisant ressentir profondément les mots qui émanent d'une excellente prose et qui sont la véritable marque de son art narratif. Après tout, nous ne sommes rien de plus que la somme de nos expériences.
« C’est à l’Afrique que je veux revenir sans cesse, à ma mémoire d’enfant. À la source de mes sentiments et de mes déterminations. Le monde change, c’est vrai, et celui qui es debout là-bas au milieu de la plaine d’herbes hautes, dans le souffle chaud qui apporte les odeurs de la savane, le bruit aigu de la forêt, sentant sur ses lèvres l’humidité du ciel et des nuages, celui-là est si loin de moi qu’aucune histoire, aucun voyage no me permettra de le rejoindre. »
Parfois, son écriture ressemble davantage à celle d'un sage s'exprimant sur les fondements de la vie à travers des préceptes immuables, qui sont des vérités absolues. Raconter l'histoire de son père et se souvenir de son passé semble transformer l'homme aussi. Et c'est là, j'ose le penser, que l'on retrouve la magie qui enveloppe l'art narratif de cet immense écrivain.
« C’est en l’écrivant que je le comprends, maintenant. Cette mémoire n’est pas seulement la mienne. Elle est aussi la mémoire du temps qui a précédé ma naissance, lorsque mon père et ma mère marchaient ensemble sur les routes du haut pays, dan les royaumes de l’ouest du Cameroun. »
September 8, 2016
در انتهای کتاب -به رسم همه کتابهایی که نویسنده برای خواننده فارسی زبان ناشناختهتر است و مترجم مقالهای یا مصاحبهای از نویسنده را پیوست میکن- و در مصاحبهای نویسنده میگوید من ارتباطم با جهان را مینویسم. سعی در مکاشفه خودم از طریق این ارتباط با پیرامونم دارم و حرفهایی دیگر با این مضمون. حالا برای منی که سخت در حال کشف خودم و پیرامون خودم هستم، میتوانید تصور کنید که برخورد به این کتاب و شیوه و نگرش نویسنده چقدر برایم جالب و جذاب بود. از اینها که بگذرم نویسنده با وجود اینکه خودش میگوید که اینها کشفیاتی است در مورد خودش ولی جادوی ادبیات را آنقدر خوب میشناسد که با خواندن این کتاب خودم را هم در حال کشف در آفریقای نویسنده دیدم.
خوب است که برای تنوع هم که شده گاهی کتاب خوب بخواند و آن را بگذارد کنار که شاید شبی از شبهای سرد پیش رو، وقتی درون خودش غرق شده دوباره به آن رجوع کند و سطر به سطر آن را دوباره مکاشفه کند.
پینوشت. بعد از خواندن یادداشتهای کاربران فارسی سایت متوجه شدم که به عقیده اکثریت ترجمه کتاب بد است. بایستی نظر خودم را بگویم که مشخصاً ترجمه این کتاب کار دشواری است و به عقیده بنده مترجم تا حدودی از پس کار برآمده بود و نمیتوانم ترجمه را از نقاط ضعف کتاب در نظر بگیرم. (به هر حال این را هم مدنظر داشته باشید که نویسنده خود را وامدار جویس میداند و دارد خاطره مینویسد!)
خوب است که برای تنوع هم که شده گاهی کتاب خوب بخواند و آن را بگذارد کنار که شاید شبی از شبهای سرد پیش رو، وقتی درون خودش غرق شده دوباره به آن رجوع کند و سطر به سطر آن را دوباره مکاشفه کند.
پینوشت. بعد از خواندن یادداشتهای کاربران فارسی سایت متوجه شدم که به عقیده اکثریت ترجمه کتاب بد است. بایستی نظر خودم را بگویم که مشخصاً ترجمه این کتاب کار دشواری است و به عقیده بنده مترجم تا حدودی از پس کار برآمده بود و نمیتوانم ترجمه را از نقاط ضعف کتاب در نظر بگیرم. (به هر حال این را هم مدنظر داشته باشید که نویسنده خود را وامدار جویس میداند و دارد خاطره مینویسد!)
October 19, 2015
This is an exceedingly well-written little memoir in which Le Clezio, then in his 60s and just a few years away from being awarded the Nobel Prize, decided to muse on his relationship with Africa and his father, inextricably and symbiotically linked in the writer's formative years. He recalls his time as a child in Nigeria and how all the human reality of Africa, its nakedness and wounds and smiles, clashed so deeply with the hidden or veiled truths and polite fictions of his French years. As a Francophone writer who nevertheless grew up in a British colony because of his Mauritian-born father's UK passport, Le Clezio had a unique combination of factors that led to his assimilation of the dreams and realities of Africa into his own worldview. He too was an outsider of sorts in Africa, rather than a child behind colonialist battle lines.
As he moves through these impressionistic vignettes, Le Clezio starts to zero in on the figure of his father, bringing himself to consider certain elements of the man that day-to-day life had hitherto kept hidden from him. He aims to understand the motivations of this doctor who found excitement and frustration alike in Africa, who abhorred the colonialist tics but who was also deeply affected by the many-headed outbreaks of violence surrounding the upheavals that led to the wave of newly independent countries in the 1950s and 1960s. The inscrutability of our origins can definitely give way to the shedding of new light on ourselves when we find the time and inclination to ask certain questions of our memories.
Having also spent some early years in Nigeria (albeit further north, in Hausa country), also as part of a non-colonialist posting, I can identify with and vouch for a number of the sensations he races through in the early sections, while also being acutely aware that the slightly older child, as was Le Clezio, is witness to so much more detail than I ever could have been as a 2 and 3 year old. Africa, however, remains indelible to me as well and many of its lessons are forever, including those which, like messages in bottles, are floating on mental tides, waiting for a moment to drift to the forefront of our busy minds. Simply landing in Mali some 30 years on from the time I had lived in Nigeria was enough to bring a slap of recognitions with it (smells, thoughts, dreams, joys, fears, rhythms, gains and losses etc.) so deep that they made my entire frame hum.
High marks as well to the translation by C. Dickson, who captures the flow of Le Clezio's prose beautifully and makes this a torrent of memory and insight and affection that truly reads like a dream. To retain the essential "Frenchness" while conforming to the strictures and rhythms of what the English reader expects is no mean feat and Dickson achieves it with true aplomb. Chapeau.
As he moves through these impressionistic vignettes, Le Clezio starts to zero in on the figure of his father, bringing himself to consider certain elements of the man that day-to-day life had hitherto kept hidden from him. He aims to understand the motivations of this doctor who found excitement and frustration alike in Africa, who abhorred the colonialist tics but who was also deeply affected by the many-headed outbreaks of violence surrounding the upheavals that led to the wave of newly independent countries in the 1950s and 1960s. The inscrutability of our origins can definitely give way to the shedding of new light on ourselves when we find the time and inclination to ask certain questions of our memories.
Having also spent some early years in Nigeria (albeit further north, in Hausa country), also as part of a non-colonialist posting, I can identify with and vouch for a number of the sensations he races through in the early sections, while also being acutely aware that the slightly older child, as was Le Clezio, is witness to so much more detail than I ever could have been as a 2 and 3 year old. Africa, however, remains indelible to me as well and many of its lessons are forever, including those which, like messages in bottles, are floating on mental tides, waiting for a moment to drift to the forefront of our busy minds. Simply landing in Mali some 30 years on from the time I had lived in Nigeria was enough to bring a slap of recognitions with it (smells, thoughts, dreams, joys, fears, rhythms, gains and losses etc.) so deep that they made my entire frame hum.
High marks as well to the translation by C. Dickson, who captures the flow of Le Clezio's prose beautifully and makes this a torrent of memory and insight and affection that truly reads like a dream. To retain the essential "Frenchness" while conforming to the strictures and rhythms of what the English reader expects is no mean feat and Dickson achieves it with true aplomb. Chapeau.
March 23, 2016
I am forever yearning to go back to Africa, to my childhood memory. To the source of my feelings, to that which molded my character. The world changes, it’s true, and the boy who is standing over there on the plain amidst the tall grasses in the hot breath of wind bearing the odors of the savannah, the shrill sound of the forest, the boy feeling the dampness of the sky and the clouds upon his lips, that boy is so far from me that no story, no journey will ever make it possible for me to reach him again.
*
It is all so far away, so close. A simple partition as thin as a mirror separates the world of today and that of yesterday. I’m not speaking of nostalgia. That dereistic affliction has never been a source of pleasure for me. I’m speaking of substance, of sensations, of the most logical part of my life.
*
That treasure is still alive deep within me, it cannot be eradicated. Much more than simple memories, it is made up of basic truths.
*
Today I’m alive, I travel, I have in turn founded a family, I have taken root in other places. Yet at all times, like an ethereal substance floating between the partitions of reality, I am traversed by those days of old in Ogoja. In waves, it floods over me, and leaves me in a daze. Not only that childhood memory, extraordinarily precise with regard to all the sensations, the odors, the tastes, the impression of relief and empty spaces, the sensation of duration. It is in writing it down that I now understand. That memory is not mine alone. It is also the memory of the time that preceded my birth, when my mother and father walked together on the highland trails, in the kingdoms of western Cameroon. The memory of my father’s hopes and fears, his loneliness, his distress in Ogoja. The memory of moments of happiness, when my mother and father are united in love that they believe to be eternal.
*
It is all so far away, so close. A simple partition as thin as a mirror separates the world of today and that of yesterday. I’m not speaking of nostalgia. That dereistic affliction has never been a source of pleasure for me. I’m speaking of substance, of sensations, of the most logical part of my life.
*
That treasure is still alive deep within me, it cannot be eradicated. Much more than simple memories, it is made up of basic truths.
*
Today I’m alive, I travel, I have in turn founded a family, I have taken root in other places. Yet at all times, like an ethereal substance floating between the partitions of reality, I am traversed by those days of old in Ogoja. In waves, it floods over me, and leaves me in a daze. Not only that childhood memory, extraordinarily precise with regard to all the sensations, the odors, the tastes, the impression of relief and empty spaces, the sensation of duration. It is in writing it down that I now understand. That memory is not mine alone. It is also the memory of the time that preceded my birth, when my mother and father walked together on the highland trails, in the kingdoms of western Cameroon. The memory of my father’s hopes and fears, his loneliness, his distress in Ogoja. The memory of moments of happiness, when my mother and father are united in love that they believe to be eternal.
November 27, 2018
هر انساني حاصل يك پدر و مادر است. مي شود نشناختشان، دوستشان نداشت، مي شود به آنها شك كرد. اما آن ها اينجايند، با چهره هاشان، حالاتشان، عادات و وسواسشان، توهم هاشان، اميدهاشان، شكل دست ها و انگشتانشان، رنگ چشم ها و موهاشان، طرز حرف زدنشان، افكارشان، شايد سنشان هنگام مرگ، تمام اين ها در درون ما رخ داده است.
ترجمه بسيار بسيار ضعيف كتاب چند باري از خواندن منصرفم كرد و بي شك اگر ترجمه اي ديگر از كتاب بشود آن را خواهم خواند تا از لذت بخشهاي بسياري كه از ضعف ترجمه بي آن كه بدانم چه شده از آن گذشتم سرشار شوم.
از نشري مثل نيلوفر چنين ترجمه عجيبي بعيد به نظر مي رسيد.
ترجمه بسيار بسيار ضعيف كتاب چند باري از خواندن منصرفم كرد و بي شك اگر ترجمه اي ديگر از كتاب بشود آن را خواهم خواند تا از لذت بخشهاي بسياري كه از ضعف ترجمه بي آن كه بدانم چه شده از آن گذشتم سرشار شوم.
از نشري مثل نيلوفر چنين ترجمه عجيبي بعيد به نظر مي رسيد.
September 28, 2016
Uno de los libros con finales más lacrimógenos que he leído, y lacrimógeno de manera natural. Porque no es como que el autor sea uno de esos sensacionalistas que tienen que aderezar una historia para poder venderla... él simplemente comparte, lo vivido, y eso ya tiene peso suficiente. Es muy fuerte, y muy lindo, y al final todos los círculos cierran.
Yo lo leí con una permanente sensación de asombro. Excepto cuando los niños asesinan hormigueros por diversión. Eso no me gustó nada, y sé que cosas como esas son comunes en todas las culturas (desgraciadamente), pero sigo teniendo la esperanza de que cambie.
En total, cinco estrellas redondas. Aunque no siempre es tan fácil la lectura misma, porque hay hartas palabras distintas y específicas de la zona, pero con el diccionario del Kindle se acelera la cosa. Y además, se aprende.
Mención honrosa a las descripciones de la naturaleza, porque me hicieron soñar, y maravillarme. Hay una parte, por ejemplo, en que se habla de cómo las montañas africanas se ven iluminadas como por una misteriosa luz interna al atardecer... como si brillaran desde adentro.
Aw. Yo he visto esas montañas. También existen en Chile <3
Yo lo leí con una permanente sensación de asombro. Excepto cuando los niños asesinan hormigueros por diversión. Eso no me gustó nada, y sé que cosas como esas son comunes en todas las culturas (desgraciadamente), pero sigo teniendo la esperanza de que cambie.
En total, cinco estrellas redondas. Aunque no siempre es tan fácil la lectura misma, porque hay hartas palabras distintas y específicas de la zona, pero con el diccionario del Kindle se acelera la cosa. Y además, se aprende.
Mención honrosa a las descripciones de la naturaleza, porque me hicieron soñar, y maravillarme. Hay una parte, por ejemplo, en que se habla de cómo las montañas africanas se ven iluminadas como por una misteriosa luz interna al atardecer... como si brillaran desde adentro.
Aw. Yo he visto esas montañas. También existen en Chile <3
September 22, 2019
کتاب حس جالبی داره و زیباست
December 18, 2024
۳.۵/۵
به بچگیم که فکر میکنم، فقط یک سری تصاویر یادم میاد. به غیر از یکی دو تا خاطرهی مشخص با بابا و شاید چند تا تنبیهی که برام گرون تموم شده چیزی یادم نیست.
میدونم حوض خونه آبی بود، میدونم خونهی ما اسمش «پایین» بود و خونهی عمو و زنعمو اسمش «بالا».
تصویر شلنگ آب رو یادمه که تو تابستونها وقتی نور خورشید بهش میخورد باعث میشد من از دیدن «رنگینکمون» ذوق کنم.
صدای خشخش برگها و بوی مزین به خاکشون رو یادمه که هر سال پاییز حیاط رو پر میکرد.
ولی فقط همین. اگر بخوام از بچگیم بنویسم شاید یکی دو صفحه از بازگو کردن همین تصاویر و همین صداها باشه. از احساسات و وقایع چیز پررنگی به خاطر ندارم. از اینکه مامان و بابا چه اخلاقیاتی داشتن یا من حسم بهشون چی بود نمیتونم خیلی حرف بزنم. از همه مهمتر اینکه خودم از خودم هیچ تصویری ندارم. روژان بچگی رو نمیتونم تصور کنم و فکر میکنم همیشه در این کالبد و با همین افکار بودم. که مسلما فکر درستی نیست و فقط حافظه یاری نمیکنه.
نویسندهی این کتاب اما فرق میکنه. اون کتابش رو با تصاویر مشخص و جزئی آفریقای کودکیش شروع میکنه. از تصویر زنها و بدنهایی که جسورانه و آزادانه رفتوآمد میکردن. از پدر مستبد حرف میزنه و از نظم و روتینی که به هر روز زندگیشون شکل میداده.
بازیهاش رو یادشه، بازیگوشیهاش رو به خاطر داره و حتی ریاکشنی که هر آدمی به این رفتارها و حرکتها داشته. به احساسات خود کودکش دسترسی داره و میدونه اگر مامان اون رفتار رو نشون میداده یا بابا اون حرف رو میزده چه حسی داشته. و همهی اینها رو نوشته، با جزئیات، با نثر مثالزدنی و با نوع روایتی که دقیقا مثل به خاطر آوردن کودکی، محوه و پر از تصویر. فکر میکنم حتی اگر مثل من هم دسترسیش به خاطرات و احساسات و حافظهش کم بوده، اما یک روزی تصمیم گرفته پشت میز بشینه، به کاغذ سفید طولانیمدت نگاه کنه و هر اونچه یادش بوده رو بنویسه. تا همونطور که خودش در ابتدا و پایان کتاب میگه، خودش رو بیشتر بشناسه. غبطه میخورم به نویسندههایی که از صفحهی سفید و حافظهی لاجون نترسیدن. پشت میز نشستن و برای من خواننده نوشتهاند.
به بچگیم که فکر میکنم، فقط یک سری تصاویر یادم میاد. به غیر از یکی دو تا خاطرهی مشخص با بابا و شاید چند تا تنبیهی که برام گرون تموم شده چیزی یادم نیست.
میدونم حوض خونه آبی بود، میدونم خونهی ما اسمش «پایین» بود و خونهی عمو و زنعمو اسمش «بالا».
تصویر شلنگ آب رو یادمه که تو تابستونها وقتی نور خورشید بهش میخورد باعث میشد من از دیدن «رنگینکمون» ذوق کنم.
صدای خشخش برگها و بوی مزین به خاکشون رو یادمه که هر سال پاییز حیاط رو پر میکرد.
ولی فقط همین. اگر بخوام از بچگیم بنویسم شاید یکی دو صفحه از بازگو کردن همین تصاویر و همین صداها باشه. از احساسات و وقایع چیز پررنگی به خاطر ندارم. از اینکه مامان و بابا چه اخلاقیاتی داشتن یا من حسم بهشون چی بود نمیتونم خیلی حرف بزنم. از همه مهمتر اینکه خودم از خودم هیچ تصویری ندارم. روژان بچگی رو نمیتونم تصور کنم و فکر میکنم همیشه در این کالبد و با همین افکار بودم. که مسلما فکر درستی نیست و فقط حافظه یاری نمیکنه.
نویسندهی این کتاب اما فرق میکنه. اون کتابش رو با تصاویر مشخص و جزئی آفریقای کودکیش شروع میکنه. از تصویر زنها و بدنهایی که جسورانه و آزادانه رفتوآمد میکردن. از پدر مستبد حرف میزنه و از نظم و روتینی که به هر روز زندگیشون شکل میداده.
بازیهاش رو یادشه، بازیگوشیهاش رو به خاطر داره و حتی ریاکشنی که هر آدمی به این رفتارها و حرکتها داشته. به احساسات خود کودکش دسترسی داره و میدونه اگر مامان اون رفتار رو نشون میداده یا بابا اون حرف رو میزده چه حسی داشته. و همهی اینها رو نوشته، با جزئیات، با نثر مثالزدنی و با نوع روایتی که دقیقا مثل به خاطر آوردن کودکی، محوه و پر از تصویر. فکر میکنم حتی اگر مثل من هم دسترسیش به خاطرات و احساسات و حافظهش کم بوده، اما یک روزی تصمیم گرفته پشت میز بشینه، به کاغذ سفید طولانیمدت نگاه کنه و هر اونچه یادش بوده رو بنویسه. تا همونطور که خودش در ابتدا و پایان کتاب میگه، خودش رو بیشتر بشناسه. غبطه میخورم به نویسندههایی که از صفحهی سفید و حافظهی لاجون نترسیدن. پشت میز نشستن و برای من خواننده نوشتهاند.
January 18, 2025
The author’s gorgeous prose provides moving portraits of the author’s childhood, his remarkable father and parts of West Africa and Guyana.
December 25, 2008
Da gusto leer a este autor y se comprende fácilmente el porqué ha logrado los galardones que jalonan su carrera, y especialmente el último Premio Nóbel.
Breve ensayo en el que se nos describe la vida del padre del autor, un médico que, probablemente marcado por su infancia, se rebela ante lo que parece ser una vida acomodada como médico gris en algún hospital de suburbio en Inglaterra, para dedicar su vida a curar en Africa. "Africa es más cuerpo que cara" dirá en algún momento del ensayo, y eso es precisamente lo que nos explica a lo largo del libro.
Los distintos avatares que sufre, especialmente el estallido de la guerra que corta en dos su familia, hicieron de él un hombre no todo lo feliz, no todo o completo que su existencia merecía.
En las pocas páginas de la que consta el libro nos encontramos con momentos muy intensos, verdaderamente emocionantes, en os que desearíamos poder compartir la aventura con "El Africano".
Le Clezio consigue presentarnos a su familia de manera que la queramos.
Breve ensayo en el que se nos describe la vida del padre del autor, un médico que, probablemente marcado por su infancia, se rebela ante lo que parece ser una vida acomodada como médico gris en algún hospital de suburbio en Inglaterra, para dedicar su vida a curar en Africa. "Africa es más cuerpo que cara" dirá en algún momento del ensayo, y eso es precisamente lo que nos explica a lo largo del libro.
Los distintos avatares que sufre, especialmente el estallido de la guerra que corta en dos su familia, hicieron de él un hombre no todo lo feliz, no todo o completo que su existencia merecía.
En las pocas páginas de la que consta el libro nos encontramos con momentos muy intensos, verdaderamente emocionantes, en os que desearíamos poder compartir la aventura con "El Africano".
Le Clezio consigue presentarnos a su familia de manera que la queramos.
July 21, 2014
le clezio won nobel prize in 2008, i believe. his fiction is detailed meditations on what it mean to be a human while using place to explain.
he has done the same thing writing about his family and his dad specially (and of course himself probably more so) living in what is now nigeria and cameroon.
his da was a pretty harsh dude, but also embittered by seemingly lack of progress in colonies, lack of compassion, lack of truth-telling, lack owing up,
his boy observed very well his father;s bitterness while the boy simultaneously enjoyed being a child in an enchanted and safe land. until it wasn;t that is.
has really super photos, i wish there were more. needs more maps too.
he has done the same thing writing about his family and his dad specially (and of course himself probably more so) living in what is now nigeria and cameroon.
his da was a pretty harsh dude, but also embittered by seemingly lack of progress in colonies, lack of compassion, lack of truth-telling, lack owing up,
his boy observed very well his father;s bitterness while the boy simultaneously enjoyed being a child in an enchanted and safe land. until it wasn;t that is.
has really super photos, i wish there were more. needs more maps too.
January 17, 2015
پیش از هر چیز تاسف می خورم برای ترجمه. واقعا ترجمه کار رو مشکل می کرد و بخش های فراوانی بود که باید بدون فهم می گذشتی ازشان.
اما جدای از این رویه ی آزار دهنده بسیار جذاب و تکان دهنده بود این اثر و گویی روح زندگی جریان داشت در تک تک سطورش، روح آزادی، و روح سرگردانی و تعلق.
حیث واقع گو و زندگی نوشت گونه بودنش می افزود به این افسون و گره می زد خواننده را به داستان عجیب آن پدر و این پسر آفریقایی...
اما جدای از این رویه ی آزار دهنده بسیار جذاب و تکان دهنده بود این اثر و گویی روح زندگی جریان داشت در تک تک سطورش، روح آزادی، و روح سرگردانی و تعلق.
حیث واقع گو و زندگی نوشت گونه بودنش می افزود به این افسون و گره می زد خواننده را به داستان عجیب آن پدر و این پسر آفریقایی...
November 10, 2017
Topla autobiografska priča u kojoj su glavni likovi piščev otac i Afrika, oboje predstavljeni na poetičan način pun ljubavi.
July 18, 2016
Admito a minha eterna e incondicional Paixão por África. Sobretudo a chamada Subsariana, incluo o deserto do Sahaara e parte do Magrebe. A energia e vibrações em constante apelo, invadem-me e permanecem no corpo, sentidos e alma. Faz parte de mim!
Le Clézio traduz magnificamente esta África, numa escrita depurada, real, poética, sentida, lírica, concisa, por vezes chocante, melancólica ___ suporte fotográfico realizado pelo pai e a sua Laika.
L'Africain é uma dupla homenagem ao Pai e a África . Raoul Le Clézio, mauriciano, cirurgião-militar de profissão, homem indomável à vida e ordem europeias, aventureiro, anticolonialista escolhe viver em liberdade por sítios desconhecidos, hostis e duros. Instala-se primeiro na Guyane Française _América do Sul, é posteriormente destacado para África , 1928 e irá juntamente com a mulher.
Aí permanece cerca de 30anos em diferentes locais/países Senegal , Ghana , Guiné, Nigéria Camarões, Congo, ... Por zonas não colonizadas, de acessos dificeis e com parcos meios de actuação, percorre e é o único médico de vastas áreas, Gentes, Tribos , costumes, tradições, alimentação, doenças, paisagens, fauna, flora muito próprias e diferentes entre si ___ a África Real.
É ainda o continente onde o escritor conhece, a partir dos 8 anos o sentido do ser Livre e que jamais abandona.
"Les africains ont le coutume de dire que les humans ne naissent pas du jour oú ils sortent du ventre de leur mére, mais du lieu et de l'instant ou ils sont conçus."
J.M. e o irmão foram concebidos em África, tendo a mãe que regressar à Europa devido à gravidez. Apenas reencontram o pai após a II°GM aos 8anos.
"...aux horizons lointains, au ciel plus vaste, aux étendues à perte de vue."
"Ce n'était pas des idées abstraites ni des choix politiques. C'était lá voix de l'Afrique qui parlait en lui, qui réveillait ses sentiments anciens."
"Ce trésor est toujours vivant au fond de moi, il ne peut pas être extirpé. Beaucoup plus que de simples souvenirs, il est fait de certitudes."
Muitas outras passagens seriam dignas de transcrever_____
Le Clézio traduz magnificamente esta África, numa escrita depurada, real, poética, sentida, lírica, concisa, por vezes chocante, melancólica ___ suporte fotográfico realizado pelo pai e a sua Laika.
L'Africain é uma dupla homenagem ao Pai e a África . Raoul Le Clézio, mauriciano, cirurgião-militar de profissão, homem indomável à vida e ordem europeias, aventureiro, anticolonialista escolhe viver em liberdade por sítios desconhecidos, hostis e duros. Instala-se primeiro na Guyane Française _América do Sul, é posteriormente destacado para África , 1928 e irá juntamente com a mulher.
Aí permanece cerca de 30anos em diferentes locais/países Senegal , Ghana , Guiné, Nigéria Camarões, Congo, ... Por zonas não colonizadas, de acessos dificeis e com parcos meios de actuação, percorre e é o único médico de vastas áreas, Gentes, Tribos , costumes, tradições, alimentação, doenças, paisagens, fauna, flora muito próprias e diferentes entre si ___ a África Real.
É ainda o continente onde o escritor conhece, a partir dos 8 anos o sentido do ser Livre e que jamais abandona.
"Les africains ont le coutume de dire que les humans ne naissent pas du jour oú ils sortent du ventre de leur mére, mais du lieu et de l'instant ou ils sont conçus."
J.M. e o irmão foram concebidos em África, tendo a mãe que regressar à Europa devido à gravidez. Apenas reencontram o pai após a II°GM aos 8anos.
"...aux horizons lointains, au ciel plus vaste, aux étendues à perte de vue."
"Ce n'était pas des idées abstraites ni des choix politiques. C'était lá voix de l'Afrique qui parlait en lui, qui réveillait ses sentiments anciens."
"Ce trésor est toujours vivant au fond de moi, il ne peut pas être extirpé. Beaucoup plus que de simples souvenirs, il est fait de certitudes."
Muitas outras passagens seriam dignas de transcrever_____
November 4, 2014
Essa novela de cunho auto biográfico é uma terna e comovente homenagem do autor a seu pai, um médico inglês que dedica sua vida a um ideal de liberdade e amor a África, sacrificando conforto e aconchego familiar. Vejo esse livro como uma espécie de testemunho, onde o autor demonstra que depois de muitos anos, pode compreender quem foi seu pai, até então um completo e austero estranho. Comovente de forma sutil, sem ser piegas em momento algum.
"E é então que eu pai descobre, depois de todos aqueles anos em que sentira tão próximo dos africanos, que o médico não passa de um agente a mais do poderio colonial, não diferindo do policial, do juiz ou do soldado. Lembro-me de ele me ter dito uma vez, no fim da vida, que, se pudesse refazer sua trajetória, não seria médico, mas sim veterinário, porque os animais eram os únicos a aceitar o sofrimento."
"Os africanos costumam dizer que não é do dia em que saem do ventre materno que as pessoas nascem, mas sim do lugar e do instante em que elas são concebidas."
"Partindo para a África, nós mudamos de mundo. A compensação para a disciplina das manhãs e das noites era a liberdade dos dias."
"Todo ser humano é um resultado de pai e mãe. Pode-se não reconhecê-los, não amá-los, pode-se duvidar deles. Mas eles aí estão: seu rosto, suas atitudes, suas maneiras e manias, suas ilusões e esperanças, a forma de suas mãos e de seus dedos do pé, a cor dos olhos e dos cabelos, seu modo de falar, suas ideias, provavelmente a idade de sua morte, tudo isso passou para nós."
"E é então que eu pai descobre, depois de todos aqueles anos em que sentira tão próximo dos africanos, que o médico não passa de um agente a mais do poderio colonial, não diferindo do policial, do juiz ou do soldado. Lembro-me de ele me ter dito uma vez, no fim da vida, que, se pudesse refazer sua trajetória, não seria médico, mas sim veterinário, porque os animais eram os únicos a aceitar o sofrimento."
"Os africanos costumam dizer que não é do dia em que saem do ventre materno que as pessoas nascem, mas sim do lugar e do instante em que elas são concebidas."
"Partindo para a África, nós mudamos de mundo. A compensação para a disciplina das manhãs e das noites era a liberdade dos dias."
"Todo ser humano é um resultado de pai e mãe. Pode-se não reconhecê-los, não amá-los, pode-se duvidar deles. Mas eles aí estão: seu rosto, suas atitudes, suas maneiras e manias, suas ilusões e esperanças, a forma de suas mãos e de seus dedos do pé, a cor dos olhos e dos cabelos, seu modo de falar, suas ideias, provavelmente a idade de sua morte, tudo isso passou para nós."
March 13, 2020
A very short but beautifully written memoir of Le Clezio's childhood years living in Africa. In his poetic prose he describes his early years of seperation from his father when he and his mother were stuck in Europe during World War II and then their eventual reunification with his father who was a doctor in Africa. He also talks of the lasting effects Africa had on him and his sometime yearnings to return.
March 1, 2017
Una rememoración de la infancia como debe ser, lánguida, extraña, desde la óptica de un adulto educado y excelente escritor. La visión de África que presenta Le Clézio es distinta a la que todos esperamos, equidistante entre el bucolismo exótico y la sanguinaria lucha de tribus. Es certera, sin concesiones, justa. Descubrí una prosa exquisita, me quedo con ganas de seguir leyéndolo.
December 6, 2014
الفكرة عن هذا الأب الذى كره بريطانيا وفرنسا الإستعماريتين وأحب أفريقيا حتى لم يعد له لقباً عند ابنه الا : الإفريقى
اللغة عذبة والتفاصيل مليئة بالشجن .. وان عابها تشتت الأفكار والترجمة غير الموفقة
اللغة عذبة والتفاصيل مليئة بالشجن .. وان عابها تشتت الأفكار والترجمة غير الموفقة
March 10, 2020
Односите татко-син во литературата ми се слабост. Прекрасни мемоари за Африка, детството, отуѓеноста.
January 4, 2013
Un coacervo di ricordi, che danno l’impressione di essere stati scritti di getto, senza ordine logico, dell’infanzia africana dello scrittore: così posso descrivere questo romanzo. Il fine è ricostruire la figura paterna, l’africano, un medico originario delle isole Mauritius che ha lasciato l’Europa per esercitare la professione di specialista in malattie tropicali in Africa, vivendoci fino alla pensione, prima in Camerun, poi in Nigeria. Lì si è fatto raggiungere, dopo la seconda guerra mondiale, dalla moglie francese e dai figli, che non l’avevano mai visto prima, essendo nati in Francia.
Africano è il padre, che ha assunto usanze e costumi africani come una seconda pelle, senza distaccarsene più fino alla morte. Africano si scopre anche il figlio, il quale, grazie ai ricordi di una terra dove tutto è violento ed esuberante, a partire dal sole, le stagioni, le piogge e le guerre tribali che sempre scuotono una terra di conquista per gli europei, grazie a delle fotografie scattate proprio dal padre, tenta di avvicinarsi ad un essere rimasto misterioso, un padre severo e rigido, non compreso nell’infanzia ed in fondo neanche in età adulta.
“Per lungo tempo ho sognato che mia madre fosse nera. Dopo il ritorno dall’Africa mi ero inventato una storia, un passato, per fuggire la realtà in un Paese dove non conoscevo più nessuno, in una città dov’ero diventato uno straniero. In seguito, quando mio padre è andato in pensione ed è venuto a vivere con noi in Francia, ho scoperto che era lui l’africano.” Un sogno che alla fine del cammino nel passato non è più così lontano dal vero, per lui che è stato concepito al ritmo continuo e palpitante dei tamburi africani.
Non avevo ancora letto nulla del premio Nobel Le Clézio. Tornando all’inizio del commento, proprio la confusione e il disordine dei ricordi, oltre ad una certa superficialità nell’esposizione che, a mio parere, avrebbe potuto essere più approfondita non mi hanno soddisfatto in pieno.
Africano è il padre, che ha assunto usanze e costumi africani come una seconda pelle, senza distaccarsene più fino alla morte. Africano si scopre anche il figlio, il quale, grazie ai ricordi di una terra dove tutto è violento ed esuberante, a partire dal sole, le stagioni, le piogge e le guerre tribali che sempre scuotono una terra di conquista per gli europei, grazie a delle fotografie scattate proprio dal padre, tenta di avvicinarsi ad un essere rimasto misterioso, un padre severo e rigido, non compreso nell’infanzia ed in fondo neanche in età adulta.
“Per lungo tempo ho sognato che mia madre fosse nera. Dopo il ritorno dall’Africa mi ero inventato una storia, un passato, per fuggire la realtà in un Paese dove non conoscevo più nessuno, in una città dov’ero diventato uno straniero. In seguito, quando mio padre è andato in pensione ed è venuto a vivere con noi in Francia, ho scoperto che era lui l’africano.” Un sogno che alla fine del cammino nel passato non è più così lontano dal vero, per lui che è stato concepito al ritmo continuo e palpitante dei tamburi africani.
Non avevo ancora letto nulla del premio Nobel Le Clézio. Tornando all’inizio del commento, proprio la confusione e il disordine dei ricordi, oltre ad una certa superficialità nell’esposizione che, a mio parere, avrebbe potuto essere più approfondita non mi hanno soddisfatto in pieno.
October 31, 2016
Cred ca Anca va fi incantata sa citeasca aceasta carticica, despre Africa, africani si copaci. De remarcat si propozitia de la pag. xx "Am plecat in Africa si am schimbat lumea". Do that!
Carticica este uimitoare, constituind o lectura aparent simpla. Am fost uimit de multele planuri pe care se desfasoara aceasta biografie(?): copilaria autorului plecat in Africa sa-si intalneasca tatal care era medic, biografia tatalui, istoria tumultoasa a unor tari africane, sentimentele anti-colonialiste, condamnarea atitudinii occidentului in ceea ce priveste razboaiele, petrolul, problemele medicale si alimentare ale tarilor africane, etc.
Carticica este uimitoare, constituind o lectura aparent simpla. Am fost uimit de multele planuri pe care se desfasoara aceasta biografie(?): copilaria autorului plecat in Africa sa-si intalneasca tatal care era medic, biografia tatalui, istoria tumultoasa a unor tari africane, sentimentele anti-colonialiste, condamnarea atitudinii occidentului in ceea ce priveste razboaiele, petrolul, problemele medicale si alimentare ale tarilor africane, etc.
December 17, 2015
الأفريقي
أول قراءة للنوبلي الفرنسي لوكليزو، وقد صادف – فقد سحبتها من رفوف مكتبتي بلا أي تدقيق – أنها مذكرات عن والده – وهو الذي يشير له بالأفريقي حيث عاش أغلب حياته في أفريقيا وتأثر كثيراً بثقافتها -، وعن طفولته هو في أفريقيا عندما انتقل مع والدته وأخيه ليعيشا هناك لفترة بعد الحرب، حيث جرب العيش حراً طليقاً في السافانا.
أول قراءة للنوبلي الفرنسي لوكليزو، وقد صادف – فقد سحبتها من رفوف مكتبتي بلا أي تدقيق – أنها مذكرات عن والده – وهو الذي يشير له بالأفريقي حيث عاش أغلب حياته في أفريقيا وتأثر كثيراً بثقافتها -، وعن طفولته هو في أفريقيا عندما انتقل مع والدته وأخيه ليعيشا هناك لفترة بعد الحرب، حيث جرب العيش حراً طليقاً في السافانا.
March 6, 2018
A hipnotizante paisagem africana junto a uma narrativa agradável e fluída torna este livro uma passagem para uma dimensão de sensações prazerosas e ricas de uma vivência única.
December 16, 2017
Ми ја задоволи страста....овој Африканецот!!!
Displaying 1 - 30 of 208 reviews