“Dependency”, the title of this third part of Ditlevsen's autobiographical Copenhagen trilogy, already sounds ominous, and the book surely delivers th“Dependency”, the title of this third part of Ditlevsen's autobiographical Copenhagen trilogy, already sounds ominous, and the book surely delivers that gloomy prospect. The writer chronicles her young adult life, fluttering from one relationship to another, almost always with bad guys, regularly pregnant, resulting in 2 abortions and 2 births, and last but not least, heavily addicted to drugs and painkillers. The picture that Ditlevsen paints of herself is not very flattering: a woman with a strong egocentric disposition, often manic-depressive behavior, unable to resist temptations, and only happy when she can write. Especially in the latter you notice that this autobiography is a very constructed story, because it is a typically romantic element: the artist that cannot settle in real life. Of course, every autobiography is a construct to some degree, but here the clues are quite striking, and - in my view - usually rather incredible. Ditlevsen certainly does not avoid her own responsibility, but she also stresses the shortcomings of her successive men.
I can see that I am in the minority here, but I was actually very disappointed with this third part. Not so much because of the content, because that is quite intense, but mainly because of the form. Ditlevsen limits herself to a chronicle, a rather dry description of successive events. That means that there are almost no literary frills in this part, especially compared to Childhood. There are also striking inaccuracies, such as the sudden remark that her second husband has died, while he reappears later in the story; and there is a constant change of present and past tense, which is very disturbing and perhaps reflects the unstable state in which Ditlevsen wrote this. Of course, you can only show respect for what this woman has been through, and how she tried to give it a place. But I'm afraid that after the promising first part, this trilogy has not lived up to my expectations....more
"I’ll keep on trying to cross" This certainly not is a book that gives you happy feelings. I mistakenly thought it was a novel, but this is docu-fi"I’ll keep on trying to cross" This certainly not is a book that gives you happy feelings. I mistakenly thought it was a novel, but this is docu-fiction, apparently based on the author's own experiences. Francisco Cantu focuses on the border between the United States and Mexico, and how little people are grounded by it, both the Mexicans desperately trying to enter the US and the border guards who are "in the system". Cantu himself is of Mexican descent, and is mesmerized by that border, to the extent that, even with a university degree, he’s going to work for the Border Patrol, the American border police, for 4 years.
This produces harrowing scenes of ragged refugees in the desert, abused by the drug criminals and often harshly dealt with by the border guards, although they also appear to have their human side. Cantu not only brings the small and big stories of misery, but also introduces brief arguments about the history of the border, about the terror of the narco-mafia in Mexico, and about the inexorable logic of the American migration laws. All very shocking.
Personally, I had an issue with Cantu's own story, his obsession with that border, which often also manifests itself in very intense dreams, and where he brings in Jung, among others, to analyze them. That personal focus didn't quite convince me, it seemed a bit forced.
He concludes with the touching and poignant story of his Mexican friend José, who has lived illegally in the US for 30 years and started a family there, but ends up in a great deal of misery when he returns to Mexico to stand by his dying mother. Cantu registers it all with growing bewilderment and a an inner conflict that tears his soul apart. (rating 2.5 stars)...more
It was a considerable time investment to consume this 800-page doorstopper, but I did it, though not without effort. Tartt in general succeeds in keepIt was a considerable time investment to consume this 800-page doorstopper, but I did it, though not without effort. Tartt in general succeeds in keeping the attention of the reader; only the middle section in Las Vegas made me hesitate a bit. Another plus: Tartt brings together several genres in this novel: a coming-of-age story (around the young Theo Decker), a society novel (both about the drug scene as about the environment of the art and antiques fraud), a love story (Theo's endearing crush for Pippa), a detective (the search for the stolen painting "the Goldfinch"), a thriller (with a fairly violent ending) and ultimately a philosophic essay on ethics and esthetics. As said, Tartt generally knows to properly mingle the various composition elements and keep them in balance. Also, stylistically, Tartt excels with fine-tuned descriptions and action scenes.
As many other readers, I did have a problem with the endless detail with which Tartt has enriched her story: every action scene, every point of view, every description, is painted with an avalanche of details. That makes the reading alternately very rich, but also very tough. To be honest, sometimes I started reading diagonally, and that isn’t a good sign, is it? And this detailed style is a bit at odds with the meta-philosophical underlayer of the story. Because where does the painting The Goldfinch actually stand for? As Tartt (through Theo and others) declares several times: at a distance the 17th century picture gives a beautiful, and very charming image of a little bird hanging on a chain, but up close it consists of no more than a few brush strokes with different colors of paint; in that sense it is a distant predecessor of impressionism. By giving all details of all possible situations, Tartt's writing process thus clashes with that approach, and that is strange.
Finally, I am not so happy with the ending of the story: there are some very improbable turns and twists here, like the violent deneoument in the attempt to retrieve the painting, the sudden solution of the problem through Theo’s criminal friend Boris, and at last a long stream of philosophical reflections on the relativity of good and evil, and the impact of beauty and art on people. I must say, I liked that last part, but when you put the book down, you ask yourself: did I really have to go through 750 pages of intricate details to come to this? In short: mixed feelings about this one, although I must concede it is better than Tartts first one, “The Secret History”. (2.5 stars)....more
12 gedichten, geschreven enkele dagen voor zijn dood, door overdosis. Ik kreeg dit kleine bundeltje van mijn eerste lief, die 't Hooft nog zelf gekend12 gedichten, geschreven enkele dagen voor zijn dood, door overdosis. Ik kreeg dit kleine bundeltje van mijn eerste lief, die 't Hooft nog zelf gekend had. Als ik het nu herlees, valt me vooral de zeer klassieke structuur van zijn dichtwerk op....more
As I feared, this is "less than zero", for me. All the stereotypes of the drugs-addicted, alcohol-addicted, promiscuous generation of American WestcoaAs I feared, this is "less than zero", for me. All the stereotypes of the drugs-addicted, alcohol-addicted, promiscuous generation of American Westcoast youth in the 1980's, you can find them all in here. In this sense you can call it a kind of documentary book. But after 20 pages of stupid dialogues, going nowhere, you get the picture (and it goes on for another 180 pages). Even from a literary point of view it barely equals the level of the chicklit-books my youngest daughter is digesting, at the moment. This is 'tristesse' made into cult. On a side note: for reasons I don't understand myself, I liked his American Psycho!...more
I was warned in advance: this is a chaotic book full of coarse language. And it certainly is: from page one we get a junkie-fload of drug orgies, (gayI was warned in advance: this is a chaotic book full of coarse language. And it certainly is: from page one we get a junkie-fload of drug orgies, (gay) sex and violence. There is hardly any story in it. After 50 pages I gave up. This book for me is at most of documentary value, as a sketch of the marginal drug and gay environment in the United States (and beyond), that apparently existed long before the mythical 60 's....more
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