; movieschocolatebooks: September 2015

Pages

Friday, September 25

Eleganta ariciului de Muriel Barbery sau curajul parantezelor By NICO



Cum este ariciul? ‘’… pe dinafara e plin de tepi, o adevarata fortareata, dar am senzatia ca pe dinauntru este la fel de rafinata ca si aricii, care sunt niste fapturi in chip inselator indolente, cumplit de singuratice si teribil de elegante.’’





V-ati gandit vreodata la asa ceva, la o asa schimbare de perceptiva si reprezentare a ariciului? Eu nu, pana acum...pana la citirea acestei mici comori. Cartea nu este pentru toata lumea, nu este o carte pe care sa o citesti pentru ca vrei actiune sau aventura. Este o carte pe care sa o citesti daca esti adeptul pasilor mici, plini de insemnatate, daca esti genul boem si modest, genul care intr-o oarecare zi de primavara, observi si te opresti sa admiri un boboc de floare ce este pe cale sa infloreasca, daca apreciezi o conversatie exprimata corect, daca esti plin de frumos si frumuseti, fara a simti nevoia sa arati tuturor ceea ce ai in posesie…daca esti genul ce se lasa descoperit…si pentru fiecare descoperire, rasplata unui zambet este o umplere de bucurie.

Eleganta ariciului este o carte delicata si eleganta, plina de cuvinte, virgule, gramatica, muzica, arta, idei, concepte,priviri, simboluri si mai presus de toate, de trecut si idei preconcepute. Este o carte de suflet… care te ridica si te face sa te desfasori si sa nu te mai simti singurul iubitor de cuvinte corecte, de virgule scrise correct, de dialoguri marcate de politele...de ceea ce azi, toti numesc ,,old school,,. Cartea te duce in lumea bogatilor si diferentelor de clasa... Cine ar fi crezut ca acestea inca exista? Cine ar fi crezut ca in secolul nostru, diferenta de clasa sociala poate fi atat de pregnanta, evidentiata si sustinuta de anumite persoane?! Acele persoane care isi insusesc cuvantul ’valoare’’si ii schimba conotatiile si incarcatura valorica, transforma valorile in non-valori, ducand la extrem, disecand si decorticand insemnatatea acestui cuvant. Este greu sa iesi din cercul non-valorilor si sa fii corect gramatical, sa te exprimi frumos si placut auzului si vazului, sa fii agreabil prin folosirea cuvintelor, sa exprimi ce stii- nu ceea ce ai auzit sau rasauzit din gura prietenei prietenului prietenei nu stiu cui, sa ai idei proprii si originale sustinute de experienta proprie, sa nu te iei dupa altcineva si sa copiezi doar pentru ca acea persoana pe care o ai in minte a fost apreciata pentru ceva anume si tu copiezi acel ceva, chiar daca nu ti se potriveste ca personalitate... Este greu sa ramai tu intr-o avalansa de apreciatori de non-valori si oameni superficiali ce se multumesc cu ,,acum,,. Este greu sa gasesti linistea sufleteasca intr-o galagie bruianta si intr-o lume in care cei care se exprima o fac doar de dragul de a se auzi, de a atrage atentia, de a soca, de a fi primul, de a fi un ‚’si eu’’ sau ‚’un eu am patit mai mult’’ sau’’ fara mine nu exista lucrul despre care vorbeati’’etc.

Dar mai exista astfel de oameni care se ascund de galagie, de evident, de spectacolul si iuresul sclipiciului... Iar acesti oameni sunt comori, sunt aricii, sunt cei care te fac sa te opresti si sa spui ‚’nu sunt singur’’si te fac sa zambesti cand ii vezi, sa simti ca nu esti un ratacit printre galagiosi. Acesti oameni sunt liniste, culoare si idei. Sunt hrana pentru suflet. Cartea are cateva personaje ce se lasa descoperite in timp, personaje care se ascund si se protejeaza de ceilalti, se considera paria si excentrici izolati...dar asta pana se descopera unii pe ceilalti, pana descopera ce exista dincolo de tepii ariciului...ei descopera ‚’un intotdeauna in niciodata’’...descopera parantezele pline de frumos din lumea nonvalorilor... e ca atunci cand ai puterea sa pui pauza in timpul unei petreceri simandicoase si lipsite de haz, iar in timpul acelei pauze, cand toti stau nemiscati in timp si spatiu, tu te poti misca in voie, iti poti scoate pantofii care te strangeau, poti merge desculta prin camera si poti manca folosind mana, nu furculita si cutitul. Aceste sentiment il da cartea... este hrana pentru ceea ce, din politete, suntem nevoiti sa ascundem pentru curajul de a ramane neschimbati in timp ce ceilalti iti cer sa te schimbi pentru a fi la fel.

Wednesday, September 16

Written on the body by Jeanette Winterson- an anatomy of lost love

Both question and answer come right away at the beginning of this novel -What is the measure of love? We come to appreciate both love and the one we love when it is gone. And the best way to exorcise these demons is to write about it -in detailed, microscopic thoroughness about the story, the outcome, the turmoil and the redemption. Actually the book leaves an open ending so you could pick a side or choose a battle: give the love story a second chance or help the two protagonists come to terms with themselves and move on.







As she once confessed, Jeanette Winterson is in love with language above all. The story, the plot, the narrative are merely a pretext to play with words and ignite a striking imagery of the feelings, emotions, thoughts and gestures. I believe she is more infatuated with words and their mechanics rather than a person, with the way words shine upon the loved one and spins around the story to become an immortal one. This woman is drunk on love as it paints itself in and out of the words. Her character falls in love with a married woman, Louise, breaks the heart of another, then leaves the red-haired spouse because she has cancer and Elgin, her husband, seems to hold the right key and answers to curing her. So far, this sounds terribly romantic but we often end up doing the wrong things in the name of love. Louise is left heart-broken once the main character flees the grounds and exiles herself into a place of coldness. In the middle of nowhere, she bleeds love through her pores and turns her heart inside out in search for answers and a solution to put Louise out of her mind. The agonizing process is beautifully worded, brushing an aching painting of love lost and the way we torture ourselves in the name of love. It turns Louise and the love affair into a unique thing, a passion that makes the narrator recollect past affairs only to point at the greatness of this one and to aggrandize both suffering and romance.



The most interesting and devastating part of the book is when she dismantles Louise into body parts and organs, singing them all and stating her love for each little inch of this woman. It is passionate, sexual, frenetic, almost making your mouth water at the richness of the depiction. It keeps the reader wondering whether such detail is specific to women writers or whether men have the patience to observe such intricate pattern in love and the person next to them. It brings into my mind Orhan Pamuk's novel The Museum of innocence where the writer mourns lost love and spends the rest of his life gathering proofs of his unique love and chasing the woman he loved, yet never managed to keep, all over the world. Still Pamuk does not analyze and split hairs in four, rather has a more evocative, nostalgic approach to his suffering. Men seem to be more inclined to quantify the meaning of love in parts and bits, measuring it against very palpable proofs, whereas women dwelve on the things left hanging, the unspoken, the uttered questions, the impossible answers, the touches, the geography of the loved body and the smell of familiar territory.



This book is also about jealousy and cruelty, rejection and despise. Love is easily turned into a multitude of other feelings, embracing the shades of other stances. In every great or minor affair, feelings reach a peak then slowly descend into a linear status quo or degenerate into other negative emotions. Elgin goes from comfort love to an acute sense of possession and then to malice; whether his new relationship is meant to bring him acceptance of the previous and a new start remains a mystery. On the other hand, our narrator climbs the peaks of insanity and despair only to come back a wounded, broken being. Louise returns and time takes a halt. The story that was, closes its circle and we are left to choose a new beginning or a lesson learnt at the expense of some broken hearts. It is up to us to decide. As in love, choice stands written in our bodies. Anatomically speaking, we are bound to live past the skin!