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Leeches
The place is Serbia, the time is the late 1990s. Our protagonist, a single man, writes a regular op-ed column for a Belgrade newspaper and spends the rest of his time with his best friend, smoking pot and talking about sex, politics, and life in general. One day on the shore of the Danube he spots a man slapping a beautiful woman. Intrigued, he follows the woman into the tangled streets of the city until he loses sight of her. A few days later he receives a mysterious manuscript whose contents seem to mutate each time he opens it. To decipher the manuscript—a collection of fragments on the Kabbalah and the history of the Jews of Zemun and Belgrade—he contacts an old schoolmate, now an eccentric mathematician, and a group of men from the Jewish community.
As the narrator delves deeper into arcane topics, he begins to see signs of anti-Semitism, past and present, throughout the city and he feels impelled to denounce it. But his increasingly passionate columns erupt in a scandal culminating in murder. Following in the footsteps of Foucault’s Pendulum, Leeches is a cerebral adventure into the underground worlds of secret societies and conspiracy theories.
As the narrator delves deeper into arcane topics, he begins to see signs of anti-Semitism, past and present, throughout the city and he feels impelled to denounce it. But his increasingly passionate columns erupt in a scandal culminating in murder. Following in the footsteps of Foucault’s Pendulum, Leeches is a cerebral adventure into the underground worlds of secret societies and conspiracy theories.
320 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2006
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558 people want to read
About the author
David Albahari
113 books133 followersDavid Albahari (Serbian Cyrillic: Давид Албахари, pronounced [dǎv̞id albaxǎːriː] was a Serbian writer. Albahari wrote mainly novels and short stories. He was also a highly accomplished translator from English into Serbian.
Albahari was awarded the prestigious NIN Award for the best novel of 1996 for Mamac (Bait). He was a member of SANU (Serbian Academy Of Sciences And Arts).
Albahari was awarded the prestigious NIN Award for the best novel of 1996 for Mamac (Bait). He was a member of SANU (Serbian Academy Of Sciences And Arts).
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January 25, 2013
As stated previously, I'm always fond of books that depict Belgrade. This one was a chore, but a pleasurable one. It as if an erudite Paul Autser wandered the streets of Serbia instead of NYC. There was a hermetic edge to it, a collision of the eschatological and the absurd, all steeped in found art and prime hashish.
My friend Roger was reading this concurrently. he quipped that Albahari captures how asshat crazy it was, doesn't he? I told I him I found it a Holocaust novel. He stared at me as if I was sullenly drooling. Trust me, I know that look.
My friend Roger was reading this concurrently. he quipped that Albahari captures how asshat crazy it was, doesn't he? I told I him I found it a Holocaust novel. He stared at me as if I was sullenly drooling. Trust me, I know that look.
September 17, 2017
Recensione originale: https://sonnenbarke.wordpress.com/201...
Di David Albahari ho già letto con immenso piacere L'esca e Zink, che ho recensito entrambi qui, e che mi sarebbe piaciuto moltissimo rileggere per riassaporarli dopo aver letto questo libro... cosa che non potrò fare, dato che i due libri sono scomparsi nel marasma del mio trasloco fiorentino di moltissimi anni fa, finiti nel pozzo oscuro insieme a svariate decine di altri miei libri. Inoltre, questi come tutti gli altri libri della casa editrice Zandonai sono ormai fuori catalogo a causa della chiusura della casa editrice trentina, che pubblicava libri meravigliosi e che era senza dubbio la mia preferita nel panorama italiano. Anche questo Sanguisughe sono riuscita a recuperarlo solo grazie ad AbeBooks e a una libreria che ne aveva ancora delle copie in magazzino.
Io credo fermamente che David Albahari, scrittore serbo, anzi kossovaro, trapiantato in Canada da molti anni, non abbia niente da invidiare ad autori postmoderni più famosi. A mio parere Albahari è uno scrittore eccezionale e meriterebbe di essere conosciuto molto di più, da chi ama la cosidetta literary fiction e il postmodernismo (gli altri forse preferirebbero starne alla larga, perché i suoi sono libri di difficile lettura e dunque anche difficili da apprezzare se non si ama questa corrente letteraria).
In questo libro si sente molto l'eco di Saramago per il modo in cui è scritto, ad esempio troviamo in entrambi gli autori l'assenza di segni di demarcazione quali virgolette o simili quando ci si trova di fronte a un discorso diretto. Inoltre lo stile mi sembra simile.
La peculiarità di questo romanzo, come di altri dello stesso autore, è il fatto di essere scritto in un unico paragrafo. Se questa può essere una difficoltà superabile in un libro di un centinaio di pagine, diventa estremamente più difficoltoso in un romanzo di 357 pagine. Tuttavia è importante non farsi scoraggiare, perché siamo di fronte a un libro di una bellezza eccezionale.
Ci sono, secondo me, due approcci opposti alla lettura di questo romanzo: lo si può leggere tutto d'un fiato (anche se è un po' difficile vista la lunghezza) o lo si può assaporare molto lentamente. Il primo approccio è facilitato e anzi incoraggiato dal modo in cui il libro è stato scritto. Infatti, il romanzo in un unico paragrafo non è un mero vezzo tipografico, ma è dovuto alla natura stessa del fluire del racconto. Il narratore è il protagonista, che non ha nome, che racconta in prima persona dei fatti avvenuti sei anni prima, nel 1998, in Serbia, ovvero in un luogo molto lontano da quello in cui egli si trova in questo momento, anche se non sapremo mai quale sia il paese che ha accolto il narratore. Questi racconta la sua storia in un flusso continuo di pensiero, che è anche un flusso logico ininterrotto. Non ci sono stacchi, non ci sono pause. Gli avvenimenti si svolgono nell'arco di alcune settimane, quindi è evidente che vi sono comunque pause, notti passate a dormire, passaggi da un evento all'altro: tutto ciò che è inevitabile nella vita. Tuttavia il protagonista narra in modo continuativo, fluido, come lo scorrere di un fiume. Dicono che sia un flusso di coscienza, ma personalmente non sono del tutto d'accordo, perché quello che il protagonista ci racconta è una vera e propria narrazione, non è soltanto il flusso dei suoi pensieri.
Dicevo, dunque, dei due modi di approcciarsi a questo libro. Il primo, dicevo, quello di berlo d'un fiato, è favorito da questo modo ininterrotto di narrare. Il secondo, quello di assaporare lentamente il romanzo, si rende necessario quando si pensa alla complessità del romanzo stesso. Io, personalmente, ho seguito quest'ultimo metodo. A mio parere questo libro va gustato lentamente come quando si beve un buon vino: non ci si beve la bottiglia tutta intera in poche sorsate per ubriacarsi, ma la si assapora pian piano. Poi, bevendola tutta, ci si può ubriacare ugualmente se non si è esperti consumatori di vini, ma sarà un'ebbrezza raggiunta dopo aver davvero sentito il gusto del vino, e sarà appunto un'ebbrezza piacevole, non una di quelle ubriacature che alla fine ti fanno vomitare. Così è questo libro, o così è stato per me.
Peraltro, questo libro non è un libro, e come potrebbe essere altrimenti dato che ci troviamo di fronte a un romanzo postmoderno. È piuttosto «un sussurrare nel buio dalla mia finestra, un buio così fitto che la luce non può nemmeno filtrarvi». È una cosa che il protagonista sta scrivendo con una biro (all'epoca dei computer!) che prima o poi finirà l'inchiostro, e allora anche il racconto, che non è un racconto, terminerà. «I racconti sono ordinati, in essi i fili sono disposti in modo armonioso, mentre quello che sto componendo io è piuttosto un riflesso della vita, che è sempre caotica, dato che troppe cose avvengono simultaneamente». Chi crederà al racconto narrato dal protagonista? Ovvero, chi crederà che sia un racconto? Forse tutti, tranne colui che lo sta scrivendo. Ciò che abbiamo tra le mani (ma potremo davvero averlo tra le mani?), ci dice l'autore-protagonista, «non è un libro, bensì una confessione che, sul limitare del bosco, io pronuncio al vento, e così le parole, logore come sempre, scompaiono, si uniscono all'azoto e all'ossigeno e a chissà che altro ancora, tanto che nemmeno io, che sto raccontando questa storia, riesco a sentirle». Il fatto che questo libro non sia un libro è un leitmotiv di tutto il romanzo.
Ma di cosa parla, in definitiva, questo libro? Inizia con un uomo che si trova a passeggiare in riva al Danubio mangiando una mela e a un certo punto è testimone di una scena: un ragazzo dà uno schiaffo a una ragazza. L'uomo decide di seguire la ragazza, ma la perde immediatamente, per poi scoprire dei misteriosi simboli tracciati nel percorso da lui seguito: un triangolo inscritto in un cerchio, e al suo interno un altro triangolo rovesciato. Questi simboli saranno sparsi un po' ovunque nel quartiere Zemun di Belgrado. Per cercare di decifrarli, il protagonista si mette alla ricerca di un suo vecchio compagno di scuola, poi diventato professore di matematica. Il tutto ci porta all'interno di un mistero che ruota attorno a un manoscritto denominato "Il pozzo", intriso di materiale cabalistico, e che per giunta è un libro di sabbia, cioè un libro il cui contenuto varia ogni volta che lo si apre. Il manoscritto è infatti realizzato con la tecnica cabalistica dell'animazione della materia inanimata, ovvero la stessa tecnica utilizzata per creare il golem, che però in questo caso non crea un golem ma appunto un libro di sabbia, che si propaga «come un virus» anche all'interno di altri testi, se questi vengono messi a contatto mischiando le frasi dell'uno con le frasi dell'altro. Complicatissimo? Ancora di più di quanto possiate immaginare.
In definitiva, io penso che per apprezzare davvero fino in fondo questo libro sarebbe opportuno sapere qualcosa (o più di qualcosa) di cabala (ecco perché prima parlavo dell'essere conoscitori di vini). Ma del resto, quante persone al giorno d'oggi possono vantare una conoscenza, approfondita o anche superficiale, della cabala? Quanti non ebrei? Ma anche, quanti ebrei?
Di fatto tutto il libro ruota intorno alla cabala, ai triangoli, alla matematica e, di conseguenza, all'ebraismo e al violentissimo antisemitismo che c'era in Serbia in quel periodo storico. Tuttavia, il protagonista non è né ebreo né antisemita (Albahari invece proviene da una famiglia ebrea).
Si tratta, come avrete capito, di un testo complicatissimo: per la forma, per lo stile, per il contenuto, insomma per tutto. Io sono fermamente convinta di non averlo compreso fino in fondo, anzi forse non l'ho capito affatto, ma vi posso dire che è un'esperienza di lettura che toglie il fiato. Inoltre ho trovato la scrittura così bella da essere quasi commovente, come mi era capitato già leggendo gli altri due libri dello stesso autore.
Ora sto cercando di procurarmi gli altri libri dell'autore, anche se non tutti sono stati tradotti in italiano e nemmeno in inglese: alcuni li ho già in casa e spero di poterli leggere presto, gli altri che mi mancano spero davvero di essere in grado di procurarmeli.
«Questo in ogni caso non è un libro di sabbia che si può leggere come l'anima del lettore desidera, ma un testo sul quale l'anima del lettore si deve arrampicare con lo stesso sforzo con cui la mia anima sta scendendo lungo le pagine scritte, avvicinandosi inevitabilmente alla conclusione. Sì, è terribile che i libri abbiano una conclusione mentre la vita continua, in qualche modo questa circostanza svaluta qualsiasi sforzo di scrittura, perché significa che i libri sono sempre una misura per un qualcosa di concluso, per una grandezza finita, ci rammentano che abbiamo davanti a noi solo un limitato numero di giorni, settimane, mesi e anni, dopo i quali nulla ha più nessuna importanza, anche se è altrettanto possibile sostenere il contrario: che proprio la finitezza del libro ci aiuta a liberarci delle illusioni sulla vita eterna, non importa se intesa come possibilità reale o come simbolo religioso».
Di David Albahari ho già letto con immenso piacere L'esca e Zink, che ho recensito entrambi qui, e che mi sarebbe piaciuto moltissimo rileggere per riassaporarli dopo aver letto questo libro... cosa che non potrò fare, dato che i due libri sono scomparsi nel marasma del mio trasloco fiorentino di moltissimi anni fa, finiti nel pozzo oscuro insieme a svariate decine di altri miei libri. Inoltre, questi come tutti gli altri libri della casa editrice Zandonai sono ormai fuori catalogo a causa della chiusura della casa editrice trentina, che pubblicava libri meravigliosi e che era senza dubbio la mia preferita nel panorama italiano. Anche questo Sanguisughe sono riuscita a recuperarlo solo grazie ad AbeBooks e a una libreria che ne aveva ancora delle copie in magazzino.
Io credo fermamente che David Albahari, scrittore serbo, anzi kossovaro, trapiantato in Canada da molti anni, non abbia niente da invidiare ad autori postmoderni più famosi. A mio parere Albahari è uno scrittore eccezionale e meriterebbe di essere conosciuto molto di più, da chi ama la cosidetta literary fiction e il postmodernismo (gli altri forse preferirebbero starne alla larga, perché i suoi sono libri di difficile lettura e dunque anche difficili da apprezzare se non si ama questa corrente letteraria).
In questo libro si sente molto l'eco di Saramago per il modo in cui è scritto, ad esempio troviamo in entrambi gli autori l'assenza di segni di demarcazione quali virgolette o simili quando ci si trova di fronte a un discorso diretto. Inoltre lo stile mi sembra simile.
La peculiarità di questo romanzo, come di altri dello stesso autore, è il fatto di essere scritto in un unico paragrafo. Se questa può essere una difficoltà superabile in un libro di un centinaio di pagine, diventa estremamente più difficoltoso in un romanzo di 357 pagine. Tuttavia è importante non farsi scoraggiare, perché siamo di fronte a un libro di una bellezza eccezionale.
Ci sono, secondo me, due approcci opposti alla lettura di questo romanzo: lo si può leggere tutto d'un fiato (anche se è un po' difficile vista la lunghezza) o lo si può assaporare molto lentamente. Il primo approccio è facilitato e anzi incoraggiato dal modo in cui il libro è stato scritto. Infatti, il romanzo in un unico paragrafo non è un mero vezzo tipografico, ma è dovuto alla natura stessa del fluire del racconto. Il narratore è il protagonista, che non ha nome, che racconta in prima persona dei fatti avvenuti sei anni prima, nel 1998, in Serbia, ovvero in un luogo molto lontano da quello in cui egli si trova in questo momento, anche se non sapremo mai quale sia il paese che ha accolto il narratore. Questi racconta la sua storia in un flusso continuo di pensiero, che è anche un flusso logico ininterrotto. Non ci sono stacchi, non ci sono pause. Gli avvenimenti si svolgono nell'arco di alcune settimane, quindi è evidente che vi sono comunque pause, notti passate a dormire, passaggi da un evento all'altro: tutto ciò che è inevitabile nella vita. Tuttavia il protagonista narra in modo continuativo, fluido, come lo scorrere di un fiume. Dicono che sia un flusso di coscienza, ma personalmente non sono del tutto d'accordo, perché quello che il protagonista ci racconta è una vera e propria narrazione, non è soltanto il flusso dei suoi pensieri.
Dicevo, dunque, dei due modi di approcciarsi a questo libro. Il primo, dicevo, quello di berlo d'un fiato, è favorito da questo modo ininterrotto di narrare. Il secondo, quello di assaporare lentamente il romanzo, si rende necessario quando si pensa alla complessità del romanzo stesso. Io, personalmente, ho seguito quest'ultimo metodo. A mio parere questo libro va gustato lentamente come quando si beve un buon vino: non ci si beve la bottiglia tutta intera in poche sorsate per ubriacarsi, ma la si assapora pian piano. Poi, bevendola tutta, ci si può ubriacare ugualmente se non si è esperti consumatori di vini, ma sarà un'ebbrezza raggiunta dopo aver davvero sentito il gusto del vino, e sarà appunto un'ebbrezza piacevole, non una di quelle ubriacature che alla fine ti fanno vomitare. Così è questo libro, o così è stato per me.
Peraltro, questo libro non è un libro, e come potrebbe essere altrimenti dato che ci troviamo di fronte a un romanzo postmoderno. È piuttosto «un sussurrare nel buio dalla mia finestra, un buio così fitto che la luce non può nemmeno filtrarvi». È una cosa che il protagonista sta scrivendo con una biro (all'epoca dei computer!) che prima o poi finirà l'inchiostro, e allora anche il racconto, che non è un racconto, terminerà. «I racconti sono ordinati, in essi i fili sono disposti in modo armonioso, mentre quello che sto componendo io è piuttosto un riflesso della vita, che è sempre caotica, dato che troppe cose avvengono simultaneamente». Chi crederà al racconto narrato dal protagonista? Ovvero, chi crederà che sia un racconto? Forse tutti, tranne colui che lo sta scrivendo. Ciò che abbiamo tra le mani (ma potremo davvero averlo tra le mani?), ci dice l'autore-protagonista, «non è un libro, bensì una confessione che, sul limitare del bosco, io pronuncio al vento, e così le parole, logore come sempre, scompaiono, si uniscono all'azoto e all'ossigeno e a chissà che altro ancora, tanto che nemmeno io, che sto raccontando questa storia, riesco a sentirle». Il fatto che questo libro non sia un libro è un leitmotiv di tutto il romanzo.
Ma di cosa parla, in definitiva, questo libro? Inizia con un uomo che si trova a passeggiare in riva al Danubio mangiando una mela e a un certo punto è testimone di una scena: un ragazzo dà uno schiaffo a una ragazza. L'uomo decide di seguire la ragazza, ma la perde immediatamente, per poi scoprire dei misteriosi simboli tracciati nel percorso da lui seguito: un triangolo inscritto in un cerchio, e al suo interno un altro triangolo rovesciato. Questi simboli saranno sparsi un po' ovunque nel quartiere Zemun di Belgrado. Per cercare di decifrarli, il protagonista si mette alla ricerca di un suo vecchio compagno di scuola, poi diventato professore di matematica. Il tutto ci porta all'interno di un mistero che ruota attorno a un manoscritto denominato "Il pozzo", intriso di materiale cabalistico, e che per giunta è un libro di sabbia, cioè un libro il cui contenuto varia ogni volta che lo si apre. Il manoscritto è infatti realizzato con la tecnica cabalistica dell'animazione della materia inanimata, ovvero la stessa tecnica utilizzata per creare il golem, che però in questo caso non crea un golem ma appunto un libro di sabbia, che si propaga «come un virus» anche all'interno di altri testi, se questi vengono messi a contatto mischiando le frasi dell'uno con le frasi dell'altro. Complicatissimo? Ancora di più di quanto possiate immaginare.
In definitiva, io penso che per apprezzare davvero fino in fondo questo libro sarebbe opportuno sapere qualcosa (o più di qualcosa) di cabala (ecco perché prima parlavo dell'essere conoscitori di vini). Ma del resto, quante persone al giorno d'oggi possono vantare una conoscenza, approfondita o anche superficiale, della cabala? Quanti non ebrei? Ma anche, quanti ebrei?
Di fatto tutto il libro ruota intorno alla cabala, ai triangoli, alla matematica e, di conseguenza, all'ebraismo e al violentissimo antisemitismo che c'era in Serbia in quel periodo storico. Tuttavia, il protagonista non è né ebreo né antisemita (Albahari invece proviene da una famiglia ebrea).
Si tratta, come avrete capito, di un testo complicatissimo: per la forma, per lo stile, per il contenuto, insomma per tutto. Io sono fermamente convinta di non averlo compreso fino in fondo, anzi forse non l'ho capito affatto, ma vi posso dire che è un'esperienza di lettura che toglie il fiato. Inoltre ho trovato la scrittura così bella da essere quasi commovente, come mi era capitato già leggendo gli altri due libri dello stesso autore.
Ora sto cercando di procurarmi gli altri libri dell'autore, anche se non tutti sono stati tradotti in italiano e nemmeno in inglese: alcuni li ho già in casa e spero di poterli leggere presto, gli altri che mi mancano spero davvero di essere in grado di procurarmeli.
«Questo in ogni caso non è un libro di sabbia che si può leggere come l'anima del lettore desidera, ma un testo sul quale l'anima del lettore si deve arrampicare con lo stesso sforzo con cui la mia anima sta scendendo lungo le pagine scritte, avvicinandosi inevitabilmente alla conclusione. Sì, è terribile che i libri abbiano una conclusione mentre la vita continua, in qualche modo questa circostanza svaluta qualsiasi sforzo di scrittura, perché significa che i libri sono sempre una misura per un qualcosa di concluso, per una grandezza finita, ci rammentano che abbiamo davanti a noi solo un limitato numero di giorni, settimane, mesi e anni, dopo i quali nulla ha più nessuna importanza, anche se è altrettanto possibile sostenere il contrario: che proprio la finitezza del libro ci aiuta a liberarci delle illusioni sulla vita eterna, non importa se intesa come possibilità reale o come simbolo religioso».
September 17, 2017
So, first, much like Gotz and Meyer, this book is one single paragraph. And, while 320 pages doesn't make it sound like a long book, when you're reading a 320 page wall-of-text, it feels much, much longer. And, while I liked Gotz and Meyer and thought it was overall successfully executed, I do feel that the wall-of-text contributed a lot more to the narrative of Leeches than to Gotz and Meyer.
This book is a mystery in the same way that Foucault's Pendulum is a mystery, in that it's a mystery where the narrative makes super crazy leaps in logic and deduction that always end up being true - unlike FP, the leaps here are not being actually made up as a part of the book, but you still have to just kind of go with it and let the book take you where it wants to go. The book also deals quite a bit with Kabbalistic texts, and at times feels a bit new-agey just due to the matter of fact way the stuff can be presented, but it also kind of felt like the movie Pi and the Alan Moore Promethea stuff which is pretty cool.
As to the wall-of-text thing; the reason why this succeeds so well is that the textual lay-out allows Albahari to continuously shift between narration, conversations with other characters about the narration, past events related to the narration, present-day asides related to post-narration events, and back to the narration, all pretty effortlessly. If that sounds confusing it's because it really is, but what it allows Albahari to do is enmesh the reader into the confusion of the narrator - a large part of the book - and also almost completely ruins the reader's ability to grasp how much time is elapsing - which is another part of the book that the narrator himself discusses.
I can see how this book would not be for everyone, the formatting of the text itself makes it difficult to read for long periods, and also makes it difficult to find a stopping place, but for those who approach the text for what it is, they will find an exquisite crafted mystery that will drag the reader right along to the end.
This book is a mystery in the same way that Foucault's Pendulum is a mystery, in that it's a mystery where the narrative makes super crazy leaps in logic and deduction that always end up being true - unlike FP, the leaps here are not being actually made up as a part of the book, but you still have to just kind of go with it and let the book take you where it wants to go. The book also deals quite a bit with Kabbalistic texts, and at times feels a bit new-agey just due to the matter of fact way the stuff can be presented, but it also kind of felt like the movie Pi and the Alan Moore Promethea stuff which is pretty cool.
As to the wall-of-text thing; the reason why this succeeds so well is that the textual lay-out allows Albahari to continuously shift between narration, conversations with other characters about the narration, past events related to the narration, present-day asides related to post-narration events, and back to the narration, all pretty effortlessly. If that sounds confusing it's because it really is, but what it allows Albahari to do is enmesh the reader into the confusion of the narrator - a large part of the book - and also almost completely ruins the reader's ability to grasp how much time is elapsing - which is another part of the book that the narrator himself discusses.
I can see how this book would not be for everyone, the formatting of the text itself makes it difficult to read for long periods, and also makes it difficult to find a stopping place, but for those who approach the text for what it is, they will find an exquisite crafted mystery that will drag the reader right along to the end.
January 24, 2021
I haven't so utterly misinterpreted a cover and blurb for quite some time. I picked 'Leeches' from the unread shelf as I was finding The Ministry for the Future too powerful a reminder that climate change is marching on towards catastrophe while my worries are focused on the pandemic. It was described on the cover as having 'a genuine sense of danger and genuinely twisty plot' and 'a thrilling maelstrom of conspiracies'. From this I inferred it was a crime thriller, having apparently overlooked the much more accurate cover quote, 'has the paranoid, hallucinatory feel of a mind slowly breaking down'. This novel is told in the first person as a stream of consciousness, without one single paragraph break. Although the plot is twisty, it's also paced slowly and the narrative constantly digresses into the protagonist's existential crises. Plot also isn't really the point, as the book mostly read to me as a fable about political repression in 1990s Serbia. The violent anti-semisitism and political upheaval are literal, yet the narrative depicts people responding to it with magical thinking and fixation upon obscure signs. While all this is intriguing, perceptive, and strikingly relevant to 2021, it isn't exactly relaxing or easy to read. Here is a typical example of the style, which also forms a sort of thesis statement for the whole book:
If I may reiterate, there are no paragraph breaks whatsoever. I lamented this, and the general tone of existential crisis, to a friend. She astutely commented that if I wanted that I could just listen to my own brain freaking out instead. Also, when I tried to read 'Leeches' one evening while sleep-deprived, I dozed off and became entirely discombobulated. I dreamed of going to a friend's house, starting to read a similar novel from their shelves, then falling asleep on their sofa. Then I woke from the dream, or possibly within the dream, and dreamed of trying to explain the first dream. Baffled, I tweeted 'Am I awake right now?' All this explains why it took me a week to read. Albahari makes insightful points about the psychological toll of repressive political regimes, but his protagonist's mind is an exhausting place. Reading this novel at a different time, I would have considered the immersive atmosphere a strength. At the moment, however, I prefer fiction that analogises these topics from some distance, like Ismail Kadare's The Pyramid and The Palace of Dreams.
Now I realise that I was actually evading talk of reality and that everything that happened to me during those spring months six years ago - plunging into the shadowy world of mystical phenomena - was a form of self-deception, a form of solace or, more precisely, escapism from our reality at the time. The encounters with the unbridled nationalists were so surreal that I didn't feel them to be a part of reality. I was wrong, of course, because they, the violent young men, were just as real as the blows they dealt me, and just as real today, perhaps not quite so numerous, but certainly louder and more bold. Furthermore they are still where they were then, in a place they feel to be theirs alone, while I am somewhere else, it doesn't matter where, and words are all I have left, and this attempt at fashioning from them something that will have at least a semblance of permanence.
If I may reiterate, there are no paragraph breaks whatsoever. I lamented this, and the general tone of existential crisis, to a friend. She astutely commented that if I wanted that I could just listen to my own brain freaking out instead. Also, when I tried to read 'Leeches' one evening while sleep-deprived, I dozed off and became entirely discombobulated. I dreamed of going to a friend's house, starting to read a similar novel from their shelves, then falling asleep on their sofa. Then I woke from the dream, or possibly within the dream, and dreamed of trying to explain the first dream. Baffled, I tweeted 'Am I awake right now?' All this explains why it took me a week to read. Albahari makes insightful points about the psychological toll of repressive political regimes, but his protagonist's mind is an exhausting place. Reading this novel at a different time, I would have considered the immersive atmosphere a strength. At the moment, however, I prefer fiction that analogises these topics from some distance, like Ismail Kadare's The Pyramid and The Palace of Dreams.
June 2, 2018
Nedavno sam negdje pročitao da je ovo najbolji Albaharijev roman, pa sam odlučio da se poslije dosta godina vratim ovom piscu. Zaista, knjiga ima nešto čega se baš i ne sjećam iz prethodnih susreta s njim – zanimljiva je i na površini, na nivou bazične priče. Albaharijevi romani i pripovjetke koje sam ranije čitao obično su imali neku skrivenu dinamiku, uzbudljivost koja je do čitaoca stizala indirektno, tek kad bi se ozbiljno udubio u ideje, prevazišao hladnoću jezika, monotoniju pripovijednja i predvidivost radnje.
Pijavice, međutim, otvaraju se kao neka Osterova, ili bar Murakamijeva knjiga. Kroz niz neobičnih, samo naizgled slučajnih, a međusobno povezanih događaja, pisac uvodi čitaoca u priču o Kabali i pokušajima da se jevrejska zajednica drevnom magijom zaštiti od posljedica života u Srbiji sredinom devedesetih – a koji je u piščevoj fikciji još malo gori nego što je u stvarnosti bio. Ubrzo, čitalac će naići na rečenice u kojima Albahari objašnjava da magija podrazumijeva neograničeno vjerovanje u moć riječi i shvatiće da pisac ispituje moć jezika, što je standardno postmodernističko pitanje kojim se Albahari bavi u svakoj knjizi. Ipak, ovdje je taj nivo značenja mnogo prirodnije uklopljen u ovozemaljsku priču, pa mislim da knjiga može biti zanimljiva i onima kojima su knjige ovog pisca obično dosadne.
Pijavice, međutim, otvaraju se kao neka Osterova, ili bar Murakamijeva knjiga. Kroz niz neobičnih, samo naizgled slučajnih, a međusobno povezanih događaja, pisac uvodi čitaoca u priču o Kabali i pokušajima da se jevrejska zajednica drevnom magijom zaštiti od posljedica života u Srbiji sredinom devedesetih – a koji je u piščevoj fikciji još malo gori nego što je u stvarnosti bio. Ubrzo, čitalac će naići na rečenice u kojima Albahari objašnjava da magija podrazumijeva neograničeno vjerovanje u moć riječi i shvatiće da pisac ispituje moć jezika, što je standardno postmodernističko pitanje kojim se Albahari bavi u svakoj knjizi. Ipak, ovdje je taj nivo značenja mnogo prirodnije uklopljen u ovozemaljsku priču, pa mislim da knjiga može biti zanimljiva i onima kojima su knjige ovog pisca obično dosadne.
March 14, 2025
A masterpiece, an excellent an exceptional
July 2, 2015
This is truly a style-over-substance novel. There is little about its content that interested me, and yet the novel held my interest all the way through.
The principal stylistic tactic Albahari employs is momentum. The novel has the momentum of Dante’s terza rima. It is one 300-page paragraph. Although there are many, many sentences (some of them long, but run-on rather than complex), there is no pause. There are asides, where the first-person narrator steps back from the story he is telling at six years’ remove, but since he feels (and doubts) that everything is connected, things just keep on coming.
I say “things” rather than “events,” because in the first half of the novel, what appear to be events are often not events at all. Things happen, but there is little in the way of plot, and the few real things that happen (aside from conversations) are sudden and surprising. They occur against a background of conversation and wanderings, without a real purpose. And it's not clear what's what.
Some reviews describe the style as stream-of-consciousness. It is not. It might appear that way, but it is something more fresh and interesting and complex. In fact, much of the novel consists of conversations, not s-o-c at all. Albahari created an as-told-to character, who does far more than listen, in order to get away from simple s-o-c. There’s also an increasing jump back and forth between the present of the story that’s being told and the present in which the story is being written down. The stream is stylistic more than it is a way of getting into the narrator’s mind. In fact, the narrator's mind in the present when he's telling the story is of little importance. The breathlessness is his way of telling the story.
The second half of the novel becomes increasingly more plot-oriented. Things actually happen, or seem to. Kaballahesque manuscripts, ideas, and events become more central. Although I have no interest in the Kaballah, Albahari was able to keep my attention. The momentum slows a bit, but the intelligence of the writing is maintained. However, I certainly did not enjoy the second half of the novel as much. The first half is perfect.
But this is a common problem with this sort of novel. This reader may be happy if it’s not going somewhere, but the author wants it to. The same goes for suspense. The novel’s suspense is mostly (but increasingly less) playful. I didn’t find it necessary at all. But it's expected.
But this is not a mystery or a Foucault’s Pendulum, as the Goodreads description implies. And it is not about a conspiracy as much as about the idea of conspiracy, not a paranoid novel as much as a novel about paranoia. And anger, hatred, prejudice, victimization. There’s a lot in this novel.
But it’s the ride that makes it. For those who love a thrilling literary ride, this is something special.
The principal stylistic tactic Albahari employs is momentum. The novel has the momentum of Dante’s terza rima. It is one 300-page paragraph. Although there are many, many sentences (some of them long, but run-on rather than complex), there is no pause. There are asides, where the first-person narrator steps back from the story he is telling at six years’ remove, but since he feels (and doubts) that everything is connected, things just keep on coming.
I say “things” rather than “events,” because in the first half of the novel, what appear to be events are often not events at all. Things happen, but there is little in the way of plot, and the few real things that happen (aside from conversations) are sudden and surprising. They occur against a background of conversation and wanderings, without a real purpose. And it's not clear what's what.
Some reviews describe the style as stream-of-consciousness. It is not. It might appear that way, but it is something more fresh and interesting and complex. In fact, much of the novel consists of conversations, not s-o-c at all. Albahari created an as-told-to character, who does far more than listen, in order to get away from simple s-o-c. There’s also an increasing jump back and forth between the present of the story that’s being told and the present in which the story is being written down. The stream is stylistic more than it is a way of getting into the narrator’s mind. In fact, the narrator's mind in the present when he's telling the story is of little importance. The breathlessness is his way of telling the story.
The second half of the novel becomes increasingly more plot-oriented. Things actually happen, or seem to. Kaballahesque manuscripts, ideas, and events become more central. Although I have no interest in the Kaballah, Albahari was able to keep my attention. The momentum slows a bit, but the intelligence of the writing is maintained. However, I certainly did not enjoy the second half of the novel as much. The first half is perfect.
But this is a common problem with this sort of novel. This reader may be happy if it’s not going somewhere, but the author wants it to. The same goes for suspense. The novel’s suspense is mostly (but increasingly less) playful. I didn’t find it necessary at all. But it's expected.
But this is not a mystery or a Foucault’s Pendulum, as the Goodreads description implies. And it is not about a conspiracy as much as about the idea of conspiracy, not a paranoid novel as much as a novel about paranoia. And anger, hatred, prejudice, victimization. There’s a lot in this novel.
But it’s the ride that makes it. For those who love a thrilling literary ride, this is something special.
August 3, 2011
Not for the faint of heart or brain, this book is one long stream-of-consciousness paragraph requiring significant effort on the part of the reader. However, that effort is rewarded by the pleasure derived from and mixed in with, the confusion that reading this entails. The plot revolves around the war in Serbia and ethnic relations there. Themes include reality and dream, friendship and love, dislocation and loss. I make it sound like much more of a downer than it actually is - the narrator is full of life and the love of life, despite the difficulties he and his country face.
September 18, 2011
309 pages of turgid prose, without a single paragraph, or one 309 page paragraph, whichever you prefer.
anyway, i can't believe i read the whole book...what torture!
anyway, i can't believe i read the whole book...what torture!
February 4, 2016
Not nearly neurotic enough. Did't even need to be one 300 page paragraph
June 16, 2019
Не се харесахме с тази книга. Тромаво ми върви и я заразвам баш на средата.
Главният герой разказва свой спомен от преди години, когато ненадейно става свидетел на един шамар и оттам нататък живота му излиза извън релсите на ежедневното съзвучие.
Мистериозни случки започват да се препъват в битието му и той се опитва да разгадае алгоритъма на схемата, в която неволно се е забъркал.
Не ми беше в услуга и авторовото решение да не отделя текста с параграфи и да не обособява пряката реч (като "Слепота" на Сарамаго). Така например, в разговор с трима души се обърквах кой казва какво, кой кое изобщо и така нататък. Разбирам, че подобен подход кара читателя да се чувства тясно в повествованието, все едно се намира в мрачен спомен, каквато е и идеята, но на мен ми беше досадно да чета така последователно без глътка въздух.
Главният герой разказва свой спомен от преди години, когато ненадейно става свидетел на един шамар и оттам нататък живота му излиза извън релсите на ежедневното съзвучие.
Мистериозни случки започват да се препъват в битието му и той се опитва да разгадае алгоритъма на схемата, в която неволно се е забъркал.
Не ми беше в услуга и авторовото решение да не отделя текста с параграфи и да не обособява пряката реч (като "Слепота" на Сарамаго). Така например, в разговор с трима души се обърквах кой казва какво, кой кое изобщо и така нататък. Разбирам, че подобен подход кара читателя да се чувства тясно в повествованието, все едно се намира в мрачен спомен, каквато е и идеята, но на мен ми беше досадно да чета така последователно без глътка въздух.
July 23, 2014
Leeches is the first David Albahari novel I read - I tried Gotz and Meyer a while ago but it did not hook me so I marked it for later. The novel has a very striking beginning that takes you in and from there it proceeds in a continual "whole book as one paragraph" manner. At times there is a feeling of being overwhelmed by the words as they seem to come as in a deluge, so you need to put the book down and reflect on you read.
The book's main conceit is in the grand tradition of conspiracy theories, though of the literate Eco kind not the junky Va Dinci (!) ones, but its Eastern European setting and the author's superb literary skills - and of course the translator skills as the novel reads very naturally and smoothly - kept me interested despite my "meh" feelings towards this genre.
While a relatively slim 300 pages length, Leeches packs quite a lot of stuff and it reads like a book twice its size. There is action and drama and quite a lot of tense moments while the ending is very good. If there was one small niggle, I would have loved the book to be present tense rather than be narrated from six years later as a little suspense (eg the final outcome for the narrator) is lost.
Overall a dense but very rewarding read.
The book's main conceit is in the grand tradition of conspiracy theories, though of the literate Eco kind not the junky Va Dinci (!) ones, but its Eastern European setting and the author's superb literary skills - and of course the translator skills as the novel reads very naturally and smoothly - kept me interested despite my "meh" feelings towards this genre.
While a relatively slim 300 pages length, Leeches packs quite a lot of stuff and it reads like a book twice its size. There is action and drama and quite a lot of tense moments while the ending is very good. If there was one small niggle, I would have loved the book to be present tense rather than be narrated from six years later as a little suspense (eg the final outcome for the narrator) is lost.
Overall a dense but very rewarding read.
April 22, 2016
Hard to get into with the stream of consciousness thing, but it's an engrossing, surprising, vaguely post-modern mess of a story that's well worth it. This is coming from someone with no knowledge of the central themes of Serbia and the Kabbalah, too - being more familiar with those would probably have made me enjoy the book even more than I do already, though it helps that the protagonist is also unfamiliar with the latter.
The stream-of-consciousness sometimes misses its mark at the start, reading more like an ordinary text that's just had the line breaks removed. I can't tell whether the fault would be with the original text or the translation... And now I think of it, it could be a deliberate stylisation, though not one that I was able to appreciate at the time. In retrospect, it's fitting to the way we learn the narrator is telling the story; whether or not it was accidental, it's perhaps more appropriate than detrimental that the text takes about as long to get into the swing of things as it did for me to get into the flow of reading it.
The stream-of-consciousness sometimes misses its mark at the start, reading more like an ordinary text that's just had the line breaks removed. I can't tell whether the fault would be with the original text or the translation... And now I think of it, it could be a deliberate stylisation, though not one that I was able to appreciate at the time. In retrospect, it's fitting to the way we learn the narrator is telling the story; whether or not it was accidental, it's perhaps more appropriate than detrimental that the text takes about as long to get into the swing of things as it did for me to get into the flow of reading it.
August 9, 2013
I found the story really interesting but this is a hard read. I don't know if it's translation or just stream of consciousness that made it hard to get into. With no paragraphs and no chapters it's hard to organize the information that comes at random. The style also led to confusion such as the fact that there aren't quotes to let me know who is talking and some passages overuse pronouns so I'm not sure what guy is doing what. Interestingly with all the background information that probably could have been left out there were some things that I wish was elaborated more upon.
July 12, 2015
Конспирациите, кабалистичните значения, тайните общ��ства не са ми сред любимите сюжети, а като прибавим към това еврейството и омразата/ любовта към това същото, комбинацията ми дойде в повече.
Засега си оставам при "Гьоц и Майер", където наистина е блестящ.
Засега си оставам при "Гьоц и Майер", където наистина е блестящ.
December 5, 2017
getting a bang out of Kabbalah
Words come and words go, but tiny fragments of them stay around forever. Piles of discarded words reflect light like diamonds and we can plunge in to see what we might retrieve, what gems we might capture. David Albahari (and his fantastic translator) construct a word palace which doesn't exist, but then, after you read it, it does. Or it doesn't, that's not important. Serbia in the late 1990s was a dark place, full of awakened and polished hatreds, with all the words that go with them. Anti-Semitism reared its ugly head once again, along with anti-Roma, anti-Albanian, anti-Croat sentiment and the game of all so-called patriots in this world---blame somebody else for your own shortcomings. The Jews construct an elaborate plot to fend off impending attacks by the rabid right, roping in the (non-Jewish) author who is a free-lance journalist. How they do it, and what kind of plot it is, and whether it is successful is what you are going to learn if you read this book.
I warn surfers that it's not an easy read. Albahari has a "thing" against quotation marks and paragraphs. The whole 309 page text is one paragraph. William Faulkner eat your heart out ! There is not a single quotation mark either. The story is not clear. The author confesses that he has no idea what he is getting into, or why. You, the reader, often feel the same way. You run across numerous aphorisms and slightly nutty semi-philosophical remarks fueled by excess ganja; the details of Belgrade life may interest you as you go. The Kabbalah plays a major role in the story, so if you have zero idea what that is, I recommend you skip this novel entirely. I felt that Albahari owes something to Stanislaw Lem, Milorad Pavic, and to Orhan Pamuk (especially "The Black Book"). If you are looking for a Pythonesque "something completely different" you have definitely come to the right place. I think the writer is going to be better known in future and I would be willing to read something else by him, especially if he learned to love punctuation. Albahari definitely uses brilliant language, has many original ideas, and is no writer of soap operas. Try it, you might like it. Or maybe not. "Leeches" may refer to the blood-sucking propensities of fascist thugs, but otherwise, they don't play more than a crawl-on role here. "Marko Takes a Powder"---could be an equally vague title.
P.S. The title of my review may be understood if you read the book.
Words come and words go, but tiny fragments of them stay around forever. Piles of discarded words reflect light like diamonds and we can plunge in to see what we might retrieve, what gems we might capture. David Albahari (and his fantastic translator) construct a word palace which doesn't exist, but then, after you read it, it does. Or it doesn't, that's not important. Serbia in the late 1990s was a dark place, full of awakened and polished hatreds, with all the words that go with them. Anti-Semitism reared its ugly head once again, along with anti-Roma, anti-Albanian, anti-Croat sentiment and the game of all so-called patriots in this world---blame somebody else for your own shortcomings. The Jews construct an elaborate plot to fend off impending attacks by the rabid right, roping in the (non-Jewish) author who is a free-lance journalist. How they do it, and what kind of plot it is, and whether it is successful is what you are going to learn if you read this book.
I warn surfers that it's not an easy read. Albahari has a "thing" against quotation marks and paragraphs. The whole 309 page text is one paragraph. William Faulkner eat your heart out ! There is not a single quotation mark either. The story is not clear. The author confesses that he has no idea what he is getting into, or why. You, the reader, often feel the same way. You run across numerous aphorisms and slightly nutty semi-philosophical remarks fueled by excess ganja; the details of Belgrade life may interest you as you go. The Kabbalah plays a major role in the story, so if you have zero idea what that is, I recommend you skip this novel entirely. I felt that Albahari owes something to Stanislaw Lem, Milorad Pavic, and to Orhan Pamuk (especially "The Black Book"). If you are looking for a Pythonesque "something completely different" you have definitely come to the right place. I think the writer is going to be better known in future and I would be willing to read something else by him, especially if he learned to love punctuation. Albahari definitely uses brilliant language, has many original ideas, and is no writer of soap operas. Try it, you might like it. Or maybe not. "Leeches" may refer to the blood-sucking propensities of fascist thugs, but otherwise, they don't play more than a crawl-on role here. "Marko Takes a Powder"---could be an equally vague title.
P.S. The title of my review may be understood if you read the book.
May 27, 2018
Terribly, awfully sad in a completely unexpected way. Maybe it was the dust cover, but I thought I was getting a fantastical, mystical fight against evil. Instead, I got something less, and also more. My only quibble - the urgency and inevitability evoked by the paragraph- and section-less text makes for an exhausting read. But maybe that's part of the point.
October 25, 2022
Пост-модернизъм. Сърбия в началото на 21 в. Нескончаемите мисли на един писател, който пуши трева и това е доста добре отразено. Загатнато е какво представлява кабала. Чете се доста трудно и бавно, но завършва интересно.
January 5, 2025
Ce BANGER !!! Un peu long et éprouvant mais quand tu captes le rythme c'est trop bien et tellement fouillé.... La fin OMG !!!! En plus ça parle de la guerre de Yougoslavie par pitié enfin.......
Si le défenseur de l'homme passe par là, qu'il se reconnaisse et aille lire le dit livre au plus vite
Si le défenseur de l'homme passe par là, qu'il se reconnaisse et aille lire le dit livre au plus vite
September 15, 2022
My first book by Albahari. I like his style and the rambling narration. The conspiracy plot gets a little tedious, though.
June 12, 2011
Is anything truly meaningless?
In David Albahair's newest novel, Leeches, his protagonist battles with the concept of what is trivial and what is significant in his life. A common enough problem for anyone, but for someone having gone through the political and ethnic war in the Baltics, it's more complex. The novel begins with him witnessing a random act of violence: a woman is slapped by a man. The shock of it sears him, yet it seems tame compared to the violence perpetrated throughout the region during the conflict. Now obsessed, he tries to find out who the woman is and why the incident took place.
As he takes on his search, he finds himself looking for clues everywhere. Suddenly everything has a broader meaning, and he feels enlightened to recognize signs that others ignore. Graffiti, scraps of paper on the ground, the angle of a door opening; all appear to him as related to his search. His closest friend Marko tries to get him back to reality, cautiously but clearly pointing out the flaws in his thinking. Is he suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder or is he simply paranoid? Or could it be as they say, that even a paranoid person is right sometimes?
The novel proceeds rapidly with him consulting a mathematical expert, Dragan Misovic ("you must get over your fear of math"), and Kabbalah mystics in order to piece together what he can accept as a reality. The Belgrade setting is perfect for the labyrinth of the story, as he seeks answers through old and new portions of the city, amid ruins and new construction.
In one portion of the novel, I came across what is possibly the best explanation for why people become racist, and why ethnic hatred is so prevalent. It's a lengthy excerpt but worth the insight:
"Hatred of other ethnic groups is in effect hatred of oneself...It is not the other we fear, we fear ourselves, we fear the changes the presence of others may impose. When I say that I dislike Jews, or Roma, or Croats-the list is endless-I am expressing the fear that under their influence, or under the influence of what they genuinely or symbolically represent, I will be forced to give up some of the convictions that matter to me. Their uprooting of my convictions, no matter how irrational, represents uprooting of my personality. And so...if I am not to change, they must be branded, isolated, expelled, and, if necessary, utterly destroyed."
Given that the main character is Serbian in such a significant time frame (1998), it's surprising he doesn't discuss political issues more. Or does he? Maybe it's paranoia on my part, but one character's name 'Dragan Misovic' sounds an awful lot like Milosevic. Could he be saying that he is, in fact, Slobodan Milosevic, acting like a paranoid and irrational dragon? If that may be, it would given an imagined perspective on what the war criminal may have been thinking? Albahari creates two incredibly complicated characters no matter what, who can be wildly irrational and impeccably knowledgeable at the same time.
At times, the book seemed to sink into repetitiveness, especially in the early portions when he's seeking insight from the disingenuous Kabbalah teachers. At other points, the heavy-duty mathematical theories made my eyes cross. Yet about midway, the novel is propelled forward and feels much more lean. What I took from the book was that someone who is completely lost, whether idealogically or emotionally, will cling to whatever may comfort them or give them a sense of purpose, even if it may be destructive, shallow, or illogical.
Special thanks to Houghton Mifflin Harcourt for the Review Copy.
In David Albahair's newest novel, Leeches, his protagonist battles with the concept of what is trivial and what is significant in his life. A common enough problem for anyone, but for someone having gone through the political and ethnic war in the Baltics, it's more complex. The novel begins with him witnessing a random act of violence: a woman is slapped by a man. The shock of it sears him, yet it seems tame compared to the violence perpetrated throughout the region during the conflict. Now obsessed, he tries to find out who the woman is and why the incident took place.
As he takes on his search, he finds himself looking for clues everywhere. Suddenly everything has a broader meaning, and he feels enlightened to recognize signs that others ignore. Graffiti, scraps of paper on the ground, the angle of a door opening; all appear to him as related to his search. His closest friend Marko tries to get him back to reality, cautiously but clearly pointing out the flaws in his thinking. Is he suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder or is he simply paranoid? Or could it be as they say, that even a paranoid person is right sometimes?
The novel proceeds rapidly with him consulting a mathematical expert, Dragan Misovic ("you must get over your fear of math"), and Kabbalah mystics in order to piece together what he can accept as a reality. The Belgrade setting is perfect for the labyrinth of the story, as he seeks answers through old and new portions of the city, amid ruins and new construction.
In one portion of the novel, I came across what is possibly the best explanation for why people become racist, and why ethnic hatred is so prevalent. It's a lengthy excerpt but worth the insight:
"Hatred of other ethnic groups is in effect hatred of oneself...It is not the other we fear, we fear ourselves, we fear the changes the presence of others may impose. When I say that I dislike Jews, or Roma, or Croats-the list is endless-I am expressing the fear that under their influence, or under the influence of what they genuinely or symbolically represent, I will be forced to give up some of the convictions that matter to me. Their uprooting of my convictions, no matter how irrational, represents uprooting of my personality. And so...if I am not to change, they must be branded, isolated, expelled, and, if necessary, utterly destroyed."
Given that the main character is Serbian in such a significant time frame (1998), it's surprising he doesn't discuss political issues more. Or does he? Maybe it's paranoia on my part, but one character's name 'Dragan Misovic' sounds an awful lot like Milosevic. Could he be saying that he is, in fact, Slobodan Milosevic, acting like a paranoid and irrational dragon? If that may be, it would given an imagined perspective on what the war criminal may have been thinking? Albahari creates two incredibly complicated characters no matter what, who can be wildly irrational and impeccably knowledgeable at the same time.
At times, the book seemed to sink into repetitiveness, especially in the early portions when he's seeking insight from the disingenuous Kabbalah teachers. At other points, the heavy-duty mathematical theories made my eyes cross. Yet about midway, the novel is propelled forward and feels much more lean. What I took from the book was that someone who is completely lost, whether idealogically or emotionally, will cling to whatever may comfort them or give them a sense of purpose, even if it may be destructive, shallow, or illogical.
Special thanks to Houghton Mifflin Harcourt for the Review Copy.
September 14, 2017
The book never really decides what it wants to be exactly. For a long time, it was able to maintain a duplicity between Jewish conspiracy and marijuana-induced paranoia that I was hoping was going to be maintained all the way through with some samplings of humour and farce. Unfortunately, the writer goes down the serious route and throws as much Kabbalist imagery as possible. The lack of paragraphs I was willing to forgive when the narrator was unknowing and could buy into it as representative of all the "connected unknowns" but again, the writer did not see this through properly and how the narrator came across answers rather easily towards the end was incredibly frustrating considering how much time and effort he had previously made just to take a few steps forward. The characterisation is a strong point and certain characters live long in the memory after reading, Marko and Dragan Misovic for example, are particularly well-written and counteract the blank canvas nameless narrator, who does not reveal too much about himself. The only notable female character, Margareta is not written strongly, and provides little more than a lustful distraction for the protagonist. The theme of anti-semitism takes over the book quite overwhelmingly and the writer does not seem to offer anything particularly new or insightful about the topic and the once exciting promise of mathematics being a cornerstone of the story never really developed unfortunately.
August 25, 2012
Unfortunately I couldn't finish this book.
I have heard some reviews comparing it to Umberto Eco, but while I really enjoy Eco's work I found Leeches very dense and a bit of a slog to read.
It has no paragraphs and no chapters - which I understand is to create the impression of a stream of consciousness/mind descending into paranoia but it does make the process of reading it quite frustrating.
I also think my enjoyment was hampered by not having enough knowledge of the subject matter (history of Judaism, history of Serbia.) These are two things I would love to learn more of, but the book is written for a national audience (it's translated into English) so there is a considerable amount of assumed knowledge.
I have heard some reviews comparing it to Umberto Eco, but while I really enjoy Eco's work I found Leeches very dense and a bit of a slog to read.
It has no paragraphs and no chapters - which I understand is to create the impression of a stream of consciousness/mind descending into paranoia but it does make the process of reading it quite frustrating.
I also think my enjoyment was hampered by not having enough knowledge of the subject matter (history of Judaism, history of Serbia.) These are two things I would love to learn more of, but the book is written for a national audience (it's translated into English) so there is a considerable amount of assumed knowledge.
September 1, 2016
It's hard to know how to rate this novel, which is short on plot and long on arcane information and interesting or amusing digressions. Perhaps it's a writer's book, as the narrator muses on the organic nature of the written word and worries about discarded words cluttering the floor so that he has to step high to get over them. ... There is a very funny description of a pornographic movie, which the narrator turns on because such movies "turn into a medley of attractive geometric patterns, which help me think calmly about other things. About a pocket full of infinity, for instance." It's a book to read slowly and not, as I too often do, hurry through to find out what happens next.
August 30, 2015
I only got about 50 pages in, but I did not enjoy the narration or the unrealistic plot line. It starts with the main character as witness to a woman being slapped on a riverbank and after following her, he starts seeing a symbol everywhere and becomes obsessed with it, as if it holds some grand message about the universe. The whole thing felt like some sort of "witch hunt" and if it wasn't enough that the main character is unlikable (at least to me), his best friend (one of the only other recurrent characters at this point) is also unappealing. Perhaps it gets better as it goes on, but I doubt that I will change my stance on this. I'm going to resell this book and start a new one.
June 9, 2014
Stylistically amazing, (though the central third of the book occasionally felt a bit repetitious). Tension is maintained throughout, and the conclusion is satisfying. Leeches successfully ties together many levels: political, psychological, geographical, philosophical... the doubt and skepticism of the narrator help render the implausible more acceptable.
And I love the line: "People go barefoot, after all, because they like to and not because they mean to carve the shards of a secret message into someone's consciousness."
And I love the line: "People go barefoot, after all, because they like to and not because they mean to carve the shards of a secret message into someone's consciousness."
October 29, 2013
Very absorbing book, though I thought he was going to do more with all the Kabbalism and numerology and so on, but in the end it devolved into a kind of very-pat "just say no to anti-Semitism" message. But it should be worth my checking out more of Albahari's stuff. I almost considered not mentioning that the entire book has not a single quotation mark or paragraph break, since that might deter many potential readers. But you get used to it.
June 30, 2011
3.3 out of 5. Bit of a frustrating book with a lot of the plot elements coming into focus in the last 50 pages or so. Still, the opening is a bit Pynchonesque (although with more of the paranoia and less of the fun), and Albahari can definitely write a sentence. I can understand why German critics loved it, but personally I prefer Gotz & Meyer and some of his earlier books.
April 8, 2012
I can understand why people were disappointed with this book, but I loved it. It kept me enthralled from start to finish, a finish that offers less answers than some might hope for but, to these eyes, fits with the tone of the story. A strange, compelling book that will stay with me.
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