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Îngerul de gips
„Am citit toate cartile lui Nicolae Breban, de la Francisca la Confesiuni violente. Despre unele (In absenta stapinilor, Ingerul de gips, Bunavestire) am si scris. La Ingerul... – cu mare entuziasm. Cred si acum ca este cea mai buna – si mai durabila – carte a scriitorului. Breban e prozatorul cu cea mai patenta constitutie duala din literele romanesti de dupa razboi.“
(George Pruteanu)
(George Pruteanu)
- GenresRomanian Literature
560 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1973
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
August 11, 2020
As he had done in his other books, the novelist gave this novel “The Gypsum Angel” a motto from Nietzsche, which sounds something like this: "How much truth does it dare, how much truth does a spirit bear? This has become for me more and more the true norm of value. The error - the belief in an ideal - is not the obtuseness, the error is in the cowardice". I confess, mea culpa, I hastily read the last book published by the philosopher before the fatal darkening of his mind, Ecce homo. In Nietzsche, the notion of truth has nothing to do with the truths of science or morality, but with the truth about oneself of the individual. Alone, in the struggle with almost everyone and with history, of course, and trying to find himself, to get out of the iron circle of tyrannical conventions or futile necessities to which the majority worships, or those who decide, at one time or another , social existence. "How much truth a spirit endures, how much truth a spirit dares" towards itself, with its own destiny, how radical a consciousness is capable of freeing itself, even if it will go to war with many, starting with those dear, close to him, those who love him or believe in him. To lose all this, might the philosopher say, the most precious things - love, respect and social position! - but to regain much more than respect for you, to simply regain existence, the whole existence, real, concrete, unmechanized or brutalized by false and tyrannical norms, conventions and one moral or another.
The true norm of value, says Nietzsche, is not the society's appreciation of an action or a product or history, but your own capacity to radicalize, to rebirth, to fight not so much with others but with yourself, of what it remained from 'that you or myself', after the gross experiences and the roll-out of the troubled daily history and of the sacrosanct public opinion! The focus is on the struggle with yourself, with the own self - once again the biblical metaphor of Jacob's wrestling with the angel - a metaphor that each historical time understands differently. "How much truth a spirit endures," that is, says the philosopher, we do not usually have the courage to go to the end in an action, or, more explicitly, we do not have the courage, the fearlessness of our own qualities or ideas. It seems that we contain our truth and salvation, or "own salvation," beyond and outside the promises of religions, but we are always hindered, diverted, or deceived by our own moral cowardice.
The Error is not obtuseness - blindness, stupidity! - one must not look for failures, repeated and serious errors, inefficiency in the deficiencies of the intellect, of the mind or of the formation ". No, the error - the serious and repeated defect - the blindness is in cowardice. That special and tyrannical instinct, generically called cowardice, which defends us, but also falsifies us after a while. And when this falsification or prostitution, even in subtle, non-obvious forms, lasts over time and becomes character, it, this unapparent and tenacious cowardice, becomes the essential source of failure - the most serious, the existential, of destiny, the one we endure so hard that we deny it and slander it with all our might and with the united force of all our qualities.
According to Nietzsche's extremely radical statement, only a few, but very few will have the boldness to go to the end of the resources, the potencies of their own spirit; very few will be able to bear their own originality, ideation, genius. The struggle is one that goes beyond the social, that is the area and the dominant theater of our modernity. Nietzsche shifts his attention to the being, concentrates all human energy towards the reserves and real capacities of the being, thus valuing it.
The hero of the novel, Dr. Ovidiu Minda, is, or better said, is trying to be such a "superman". He seems, in the first 200-300 pages of the novel, tempted by a banal and vulgar affair with a woman, an “inferior” being, Mia Fabian. In fact, she is a frank woman, without complexes, who, coupled with a lover with whom she gets along very well, is quite amazed that this distinguished doctor is trying to court her. Even without hesitation: in the novel there is a scene of an attempted rape that does not fit in any way with the distant and serious character of the university doctor. In fact, Minda himself does it with a kind of coercion, of disgust, and after the act, which is an embarrassing failure and for which he will be brutally reprimanded by Mia's friend, "he wipes his mouth like a brute that finished a hard job unpleasant ". It is, in fact, the first step towards decay, the collapse, the detraction of the doctor, but if the book is read carefully, without prejudices (as the author certainly wants), it is the first step towards freedom. Then follows the scene in which the doctor finally manages to seduce her, to erotically attract Mia Fabian, who breaks up with her boyfriend and invites him at her apartment, waits for him for an evening for/in two, and Minda runs towards her, in fact moving away, running away from her more and more, more decidedly, sinking into occasional pubs, drinking for long, mixed beverages, and huddling strangers until late in the morning, when the woman eventually finds him and harpoons him.
Strange as it may seem, we are dealing with a dramatic re-entry into existence of Dr. Minda, a kind of adaptation through de-adaptation. The hero does not decay, does not alienate himself suffering, as it seems, the strange attraction of the vulgar, but, more and more obvious in the second part of the novel, the hero struggles with himself, dares and tries to endure his own necessary, urgently needed need of its truth, of its freedom, the individual one. The "hero" falls from step to step, with clenched teeth and fighting atrociously with the opinion and the perplexed disappointment or astonishment of those around him, but also with his own inertia, adaptations, comfort and usual needs. Surprisingly, this clear decadence of the character is not reflected in any way on the surface of the social mirror. His career has nothing to suffer, up on the dominant waters of public and professional affairs, the doctor and the teacher roles have not suffered any scratches! The collapse is found in his reflexes, taboos and infinitesimal reactions.
Dr. Minda, the man, the character, is a ladder that descends to the depths. But Minda's ladder is one of salvation. In its form, in reflexes, sometimes and even in its trajectory, up to a certain point it can be close, even assimilated to various neuroses: aggravated depression, obsessive neurosis, middle life crisis, stress, maybe even hybris! Even appearances deceive ... Dr. Minda, with a special instinct, is agitated by a kind of strange dissatisfaction with the present, although this present, socially and psychologically, is an exemplary one, of success, of asserting one's own qualities, a result of tenacious and highly skilled work…Well, those around him seem to say to him, good, reasonable and sympathetic people, even admirers of him: "What do you want more?! What can we want more from this life, from this society?!". Wondering if the questions are well put…I leave the space open 😊
The true norm of value, says Nietzsche, is not the society's appreciation of an action or a product or history, but your own capacity to radicalize, to rebirth, to fight not so much with others but with yourself, of what it remained from 'that you or myself', after the gross experiences and the roll-out of the troubled daily history and of the sacrosanct public opinion! The focus is on the struggle with yourself, with the own self - once again the biblical metaphor of Jacob's wrestling with the angel - a metaphor that each historical time understands differently. "How much truth a spirit endures," that is, says the philosopher, we do not usually have the courage to go to the end in an action, or, more explicitly, we do not have the courage, the fearlessness of our own qualities or ideas. It seems that we contain our truth and salvation, or "own salvation," beyond and outside the promises of religions, but we are always hindered, diverted, or deceived by our own moral cowardice.
The Error is not obtuseness - blindness, stupidity! - one must not look for failures, repeated and serious errors, inefficiency in the deficiencies of the intellect, of the mind or of the formation ". No, the error - the serious and repeated defect - the blindness is in cowardice. That special and tyrannical instinct, generically called cowardice, which defends us, but also falsifies us after a while. And when this falsification or prostitution, even in subtle, non-obvious forms, lasts over time and becomes character, it, this unapparent and tenacious cowardice, becomes the essential source of failure - the most serious, the existential, of destiny, the one we endure so hard that we deny it and slander it with all our might and with the united force of all our qualities.
According to Nietzsche's extremely radical statement, only a few, but very few will have the boldness to go to the end of the resources, the potencies of their own spirit; very few will be able to bear their own originality, ideation, genius. The struggle is one that goes beyond the social, that is the area and the dominant theater of our modernity. Nietzsche shifts his attention to the being, concentrates all human energy towards the reserves and real capacities of the being, thus valuing it.
The hero of the novel, Dr. Ovidiu Minda, is, or better said, is trying to be such a "superman". He seems, in the first 200-300 pages of the novel, tempted by a banal and vulgar affair with a woman, an “inferior” being, Mia Fabian. In fact, she is a frank woman, without complexes, who, coupled with a lover with whom she gets along very well, is quite amazed that this distinguished doctor is trying to court her. Even without hesitation: in the novel there is a scene of an attempted rape that does not fit in any way with the distant and serious character of the university doctor. In fact, Minda himself does it with a kind of coercion, of disgust, and after the act, which is an embarrassing failure and for which he will be brutally reprimanded by Mia's friend, "he wipes his mouth like a brute that finished a hard job unpleasant ". It is, in fact, the first step towards decay, the collapse, the detraction of the doctor, but if the book is read carefully, without prejudices (as the author certainly wants), it is the first step towards freedom. Then follows the scene in which the doctor finally manages to seduce her, to erotically attract Mia Fabian, who breaks up with her boyfriend and invites him at her apartment, waits for him for an evening for/in two, and Minda runs towards her, in fact moving away, running away from her more and more, more decidedly, sinking into occasional pubs, drinking for long, mixed beverages, and huddling strangers until late in the morning, when the woman eventually finds him and harpoons him.
Strange as it may seem, we are dealing with a dramatic re-entry into existence of Dr. Minda, a kind of adaptation through de-adaptation. The hero does not decay, does not alienate himself suffering, as it seems, the strange attraction of the vulgar, but, more and more obvious in the second part of the novel, the hero struggles with himself, dares and tries to endure his own necessary, urgently needed need of its truth, of its freedom, the individual one. The "hero" falls from step to step, with clenched teeth and fighting atrociously with the opinion and the perplexed disappointment or astonishment of those around him, but also with his own inertia, adaptations, comfort and usual needs. Surprisingly, this clear decadence of the character is not reflected in any way on the surface of the social mirror. His career has nothing to suffer, up on the dominant waters of public and professional affairs, the doctor and the teacher roles have not suffered any scratches! The collapse is found in his reflexes, taboos and infinitesimal reactions.
Dr. Minda, the man, the character, is a ladder that descends to the depths. But Minda's ladder is one of salvation. In its form, in reflexes, sometimes and even in its trajectory, up to a certain point it can be close, even assimilated to various neuroses: aggravated depression, obsessive neurosis, middle life crisis, stress, maybe even hybris! Even appearances deceive ... Dr. Minda, with a special instinct, is agitated by a kind of strange dissatisfaction with the present, although this present, socially and psychologically, is an exemplary one, of success, of asserting one's own qualities, a result of tenacious and highly skilled work…Well, those around him seem to say to him, good, reasonable and sympathetic people, even admirers of him: "What do you want more?! What can we want more from this life, from this society?!". Wondering if the questions are well put…I leave the space open 😊
January 22, 2014
To me, this is the author's best work therefore I give it 5 out of 5. I believe Breban is an underrated writer that should get more recognition. This book impressed me by the finesse of the dialogues and by the strong portray of the main character. Although this man somehow wastes his entire life out of irrational reasons, I ended up feeling compassionate. This is one of the proofs that one could have written awesome novels during the communist era, even passing the censorship. Writers of the 60's and 70's should not be denied so easily as "making a pact with the regime" just because they lived in that times.
February 20, 2017
Povestea este a unui medic la a doua tinerete, cu o cariera de succes si partenera de viata ideala. Dar care, in mod inexplicabil, este atras la un moment dat de o femeie care in mod normal ar fi total in afara sferei sale de interes si cu care, in acelasi timp, nu poate sa se socializeze in cercurile sale obisnuite de prieteni si colegi. Criza existentiala a individului revoltat in fata atator conveniente de urmat? Subliniata, poate, de suficienta de sine, ajuns in stadiul in care nu mai are nevoie sa urmeze regulile prestabilite ale retetei de succes?
Dialogul a fost foarte greu de urmarit: fraze interminabile, cu afisarea pretentioasa a unei multitudini de cunostinte culturale, ca la un bazar de cine-a-citit-mai-mult. Mai este si problema "spatiului de emisie" nerealist de mare pe care personajul principal il are in unele din conversatii.
Ca incadrare socio-politica, aceleasi insinuari la adresa abuzurilor de pe vremea "comunismului de aur" care, desi devin obositoare dupa atatia ani de atunci, sunt de inteles in contextul unui roman scris la acea vreme.
Dialogul a fost foarte greu de urmarit: fraze interminabile, cu afisarea pretentioasa a unei multitudini de cunostinte culturale, ca la un bazar de cine-a-citit-mai-mult. Mai este si problema "spatiului de emisie" nerealist de mare pe care personajul principal il are in unele din conversatii.
Ca incadrare socio-politica, aceleasi insinuari la adresa abuzurilor de pe vremea "comunismului de aur" care, desi devin obositoare dupa atatia ani de atunci, sunt de inteles in contextul unui roman scris la acea vreme.
February 8, 2023
Ovidiu Minda, somitate medicala, logodit cu o doctorita frumoasa, conferentiar universitar la mai putin de 40 de ani si cu o viata planificata perfect. Dupa ore acorda consultatii la cabinet, iar timpul liber il aloca studiului si lecturii, pana cand o cunoaste pe Mia Fabian.
O "femeiusca nostima" pe care initial o considera vulgara si total opusa personalitatii sale. Paradoxal, se lasa fascinat de aceasta si dezvolta o pasiune bolnava ce il duce pe panta decaderii morale si sociale.
Minda renunta treptat la principiile si idealurile lui: isi neglijeaza logodnica si sfarseste prin a o pierde, este batut de amantul Miei dupa ce incercase sa o violeze, refuza postul de director general in Ministerul Sanatatii, etc.
Un roman aparent plicticos, cu o dinamica aproape inexistenta, dar ce ofera un subiect interesant. Indiferent de studii si pozitie sociala: femeia te ridica, femeia te doboara... 🙃
O "femeiusca nostima" pe care initial o considera vulgara si total opusa personalitatii sale. Paradoxal, se lasa fascinat de aceasta si dezvolta o pasiune bolnava ce il duce pe panta decaderii morale si sociale.
Minda renunta treptat la principiile si idealurile lui: isi neglijeaza logodnica si sfarseste prin a o pierde, este batut de amantul Miei dupa ce incercase sa o violeze, refuza postul de director general in Ministerul Sanatatii, etc.
Un roman aparent plicticos, cu o dinamica aproape inexistenta, dar ce ofera un subiect interesant. Indiferent de studii si pozitie sociala: femeia te ridica, femeia te doboara... 🙃
December 9, 2016
Excelent!
November 10, 2022
„…Cât adevăr suportă, cât adevăr îndrăzneşte un spirit? Aceasta a devenit pentru mine tot mai mult adevărata normă a valorii. Eroarea/credinţei într-un ideal/nu este obtuzitatea, eroarea este laşitatea…”
1 sept 1969 7 iunie 1972
— Mai e cineva? întrebă doctorul Minda, şi sora urâtă, roşcată, cu mâinile lungi, deschise uşa cabinetului. Intră o femeie; în spatele ei, figura lui Ceea.
— Ai venit? făcu Minda şi voi să se ridice. Dar celălalt strigă din uşă:
— Aştept, termină-ţi treaba… am un ziar la mine! şi surâse, şi Minda îi făcu un semn amical cu mâna.
Pacienta (ultima din acea zi) se aşeză pe scaunul din faţa biroului său şi îi dictă cele câteva date convenţionale pe care Minda le trecu în registru. Apoi o privi: era o femeie în jur de treizeci, cu ceva neplăcut în toată fiinţa ei, dar curând, în timpul consultaţiei, această primă impresie se şterse din mintea lui. O făcu încet să vorbească, apelând la întrebări scurte, monosilabice, simple şi eficiente automatisme, şi ea îi răspundea cu oarecare voioşie deplasată. O dată sau de două ori i se păru că o mai văzuse undeva, că o cunoştea chiar, dar în timp ce se ridică să o vadă, uită acest lucru, o uită chiar şi pe ea, concentrându-se asupra diagnosticului. Se reaşeză apoi, scriindu-i reţeta,în timp ce
ea se reîmbrăca, păstrând aceeaşi voioşie deplasată şi, poate, cu oarecare încetineală voită. Sora trecuse deja alături şi Minda o auzi cum se schimbă, lucru care îi displăcea, deoarece orele de
serviciu nu se sfârşiseră încă. Cazul femeii era simplu şi ea ar fi putut să se adreseze şi unui generalist, dar Minda, în timp ce îi dădu cele câteva recomandări, păstră aceeaşi faţă impenetrabilă şi gesticulaţia lentă, ca şi cum ar fi stat în faţa unui caz serios, din simplă obişnuinţă sau cult al propriei profesiuni. Acum, stând în picioare în faţa ei, o privi mai atent: mijlocie de stat, figura
rotundă, ochii mici, vii, sprâncenele desenate gros, buzele groase, rujate cu vulgaritate, dinţii frumoşi, perlaţi, părul des, fruntea mică, încăpăţânată, lipsită de spiritualitate, talia uşor îngroşată
etc. Din nou i se păru ceva cunoscut în fiinţa din faţa sa; probabil o fostă pacientă.
1 sept 1969 7 iunie 1972
— Mai e cineva? întrebă doctorul Minda, şi sora urâtă, roşcată, cu mâinile lungi, deschise uşa cabinetului. Intră o femeie; în spatele ei, figura lui Ceea.
— Ai venit? făcu Minda şi voi să se ridice. Dar celălalt strigă din uşă:
— Aştept, termină-ţi treaba… am un ziar la mine! şi surâse, şi Minda îi făcu un semn amical cu mâna.
Pacienta (ultima din acea zi) se aşeză pe scaunul din faţa biroului său şi îi dictă cele câteva date convenţionale pe care Minda le trecu în registru. Apoi o privi: era o femeie în jur de treizeci, cu ceva neplăcut în toată fiinţa ei, dar curând, în timpul consultaţiei, această primă impresie se şterse din mintea lui. O făcu încet să vorbească, apelând la întrebări scurte, monosilabice, simple şi eficiente automatisme, şi ea îi răspundea cu oarecare voioşie deplasată. O dată sau de două ori i se păru că o mai văzuse undeva, că o cunoştea chiar, dar în timp ce se ridică să o vadă, uită acest lucru, o uită chiar şi pe ea, concentrându-se asupra diagnosticului. Se reaşeză apoi, scriindu-i reţeta,în timp ce
ea se reîmbrăca, păstrând aceeaşi voioşie deplasată şi, poate, cu oarecare încetineală voită. Sora trecuse deja alături şi Minda o auzi cum se schimbă, lucru care îi displăcea, deoarece orele de
serviciu nu se sfârşiseră încă. Cazul femeii era simplu şi ea ar fi putut să se adreseze şi unui generalist, dar Minda, în timp ce îi dădu cele câteva recomandări, păstră aceeaşi faţă impenetrabilă şi gesticulaţia lentă, ca şi cum ar fi stat în faţa unui caz serios, din simplă obişnuinţă sau cult al propriei profesiuni. Acum, stând în picioare în faţa ei, o privi mai atent: mijlocie de stat, figura
rotundă, ochii mici, vii, sprâncenele desenate gros, buzele groase, rujate cu vulgaritate, dinţii frumoşi, perlaţi, părul des, fruntea mică, încăpăţânată, lipsită de spiritualitate, talia uşor îngroşată
etc. Din nou i se păru ceva cunoscut în fiinţa din faţa sa; probabil o fostă pacientă.
December 16, 2022
2022-12-16:
Strange book. I'm not sure the guy writer knows doctors, beyond name dropping in some unofficial context. I doubt the guy knows people that work with the general public. Rather he seems to know his pseudo-intellectual local personalities, and he is convinced a good writer can fart any context /because/.
At the same time I have started reading /Little Heroes/ by Norman Spinrad. It's the first time I read this novel in its original form. I was shocked to notice that I did not care about the character, yet I kept reading the descriptions.
Breban is at the other extreme. I want to find a point in his descriptions. And I find none. Worse. I find no point. Sure, I get it, Breban wants to exhibit his skill. And the story becomes secondary: look at me, look what I can do. Is it relevant to have the crappy description of the woman? I can't picture her. And I doubt that I would ever need his help to picture her. Why would I care about her? Is she relevant later on? In that case do put the description at that point, or even later.
The effort to write is made obvious by the failures. A semi-smile? What's that? It looks like a writer who lacks the vocabulary to write grimace.
The whole first chapter is a mess. Is it about the doctor? Is it about the one patient highlighted there? Is it about the other guy? Is it about the relationship between two? Which two?
I feel compelled to turn the pages to some other part of the story. And I also feel the weasel writer probably has hidden in all these barfed words some elements that would make the later parts of the work opaque.
Strange book. I'm not sure the guy writer knows doctors, beyond name dropping in some unofficial context. I doubt the guy knows people that work with the general public. Rather he seems to know his pseudo-intellectual local personalities, and he is convinced a good writer can fart any context /because/.
At the same time I have started reading /Little Heroes/ by Norman Spinrad. It's the first time I read this novel in its original form. I was shocked to notice that I did not care about the character, yet I kept reading the descriptions.
Breban is at the other extreme. I want to find a point in his descriptions. And I find none. Worse. I find no point. Sure, I get it, Breban wants to exhibit his skill. And the story becomes secondary: look at me, look what I can do. Is it relevant to have the crappy description of the woman? I can't picture her. And I doubt that I would ever need his help to picture her. Why would I care about her? Is she relevant later on? In that case do put the description at that point, or even later.
The effort to write is made obvious by the failures. A semi-smile? What's that? It looks like a writer who lacks the vocabulary to write grimace.
The whole first chapter is a mess. Is it about the doctor? Is it about the one patient highlighted there? Is it about the other guy? Is it about the relationship between two? Which two?
I feel compelled to turn the pages to some other part of the story. And I also feel the weasel writer probably has hidden in all these barfed words some elements that would make the later parts of the work opaque.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews