Uma Solidão Ruidosa eBook ↠ Uma Solidão ePUB



10 thoughts on “Uma Solidão Ruidosa

  1. Kris Kris says:

    I had been meaning to read Hrabal s classic novella for quite a while, but last night I finally picked it up Instantly, I was transported to the world of Hant in a crumbling Communist Prague Hrabal combines lyrical descriptions of the pleasures and the necessity of reading, with surreal passages revealing Hant s tangible interactions with the figures in his books, in a world where reading and intellectual and creative engagement are no longer valued It is a stunningly written, very orig I had been meaning to read Hrabal s classic novella for quite a while, but last night I finally picked it up Instantly, I was transported to the world of Hant in a crumbling Communist Prague Hrabal combines lyrical descriptions of the pleasures and the necessity of reading, with surreal passages revealing Hant s tangible interactions with the figures in his books, in a world where reading and intellectual and creative engagement are no longer valued It is a stunningly written, very original work in which Hrabal transcends a mere indictment of one regime, by tapping into the universal and transcendent joys of books and art, and the dangers of dehumanization that we face when we lose sight of those integral aspects of human life Hant works by day compacting confiscated books and papers for recycling He toils in a basement with an ancient compacting machine, and only mice and the occasional flies and a gypsy or two for company He does not keep up with the efficient pace that his boss, and his society, demand instead, Hant lets the papers pile up to the ceiling as he searches the deliveries for rare books to rescue or, in some cases, to send off to a ceremonial end in the middle of a bale, opened to a much loved passage, and decorated by art prints that were also designated for destruction Hant literally is surrounded by the ghosts of writers past His small apartment is filled to the rafters with tons of books that he has rescued from pulping, to the point that the shelves he has built over his bed and in his bathroom present the constant risk of burying him The way I look at it, my life fits together beautifully at work I have books and bottles and inkwells and staplers raining down on me through the opening in the cellar ceiling, and at home I have books above me constantly threatening to fall and kill or at least maim me The swords of Damocles that I ve hung from my bathroom and bedroom ceilings force me to make as many trips for beer at home as at work 26 As he works in his isolated basement, Hant is visited by Jesus and Lao Tse Tung, who present him with radically different models for spiritual engagement on earth As he walks through Prague, he is surrounded by the architectural ghosts of the classical world His avocation rescuing and reading books has provided him with a unique education I am a jug filled with water both magic and plain I have only to lean over and a stream of beautiful thoughts flows out of me My education has been so unwitting I can t quite tell which of my thoughts come from me and which from my books, but that s how I ve stayed attuned to myself and the world around me for the past thirty five years Because when I read, I don t really read I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop, or I sip it like a liqueur until the thought dissolves in me like alcohol, infusing brain and heart and coursing on through the veins to the root of each blood vessel 6 His reading also provides Hant with a means to escape the dismal reality of his life And I huddle in the lee of my paper mountain like Adam in the bushes and pick up a book, and my eyes open panic stricken on a world other than my own, because when I start reading I m somewhere completely different, I m in the text, it s amazing, I have to admit I ve been dreaming, dreaming in a land of great beauty, I ve been in the very heart of truth 14 Throughout the novella, Hrabal seamlessly moves back and forth between Hrabal s reveries about philosophy and books, his memories of past relationships, and his observations of the society that is literally rotting under his feet There are long, gorgeously written passages that I am tempted to quote at length, alternating with some very disturbing images of the decay and death surrounding Hant In the end, Hant s basement sanctuary cannot hide him from the forces for progress that surround him Hrabal is known for developing central characters who seem simple, innocent, but who arein touch with the spiritualism of life than the supposedly well adjusted, but bland, people surrounding them Hant comes across as a prophet, but one whom no one notices or hears He sees the dangers of sterile efficiency as the primary goal for a society Through him, Hrabal leaves us with the question of the value of a life stripped of intellectual and spiritual engagement, one with all rough corners smoothed away to a bland predictability and surface gloss The book holds tremendous power and relevance for us, even reading across the span of time and space Note that the images on the review are taken from different film adaptations of the novella See for example and


  2. Garima Garima says:

    Rare books perish in my press, under my hands, yet I am unable to stop their flow I am nothing but a refined butcher Books have taught me the joy of devastation.A trip down the history lane by walking through the ruins which once stood tall in their resplendence and laurels can make one hear the echoes of steadfast voices that match the rhythm of our steps and seek to become the teller of stories of an era gone by, of wars fought, won and lost of love both passionate and eternal In the saRare books perish in my press, under my hands, yet I am unable to stop their flow I am nothing but a refined butcher Books have taught me the joy of devastation.A trip down the history lane by walking through the ruins which once stood tall in their resplendence and laurels can make one hear the echoes of steadfast voices that match the rhythm of our steps and seek to become the teller of stories of an era gone by, of wars fought, won and lost of love both passionate and eternal In the same vein, here s the Love story of Ha a and here s a Love letter to his readers We have a tragedy here and a tragic hero but he is not alone in his anguish and obsession We have happiness here and a hopeless romantic, but he is not alone in his love His solitude is loud but not deafening The shadows of his thoughts are both sad and euphoric He s a part of us and we are a part of himI m the only one on earth who knows that deep in the heart of each bale there s a wide open Faust or Don Carlos, that here, buried beneath a mound of blood soaked cardboard, lies a Hyperion, there, cushioned on piles of cement bags rests a Thus Spake Zarathustra I m the only one on earth who knows which bale has Goethe, which Schiller, which Holderlin, which Nietzsche.Adorned with Hrabal s beautiful prose, the ballad of Ha a belongs to a world which is surrounded by darkness both literal and symbolical wherein all sorts of wars are going on In those wars, the biggest sin is committed towards books and our protagonist is one of the unfortunate perpetrators in suppressing the words of the literary masters The moral contradictions of his life is enough to evoke a sense of empathy and his efforts towards mitigating the effect of irrevocable curses of humanity presents a hope for fair and harmonious existence Lost in my dreams, I somehow cross at the traffic signals, never bumping into street lamps or people, yet moving onward, exuding fumes of beer and grime, yet smiling, because my briefcase is full of books and that very night I expect them to tell me things about myself I don t know.And there s always so much to know I talk very little when I want to talk about books in real life It is better that way but I quietly tag along the written words wherever I go If there s a conversation about love then I think about my lovely Jane Eyre If someone touches upon the subject of marriage then Mrs Dalloway stands beside me with all her regrets and whims Italo Calvino is always there on a starry night and in the moments of melancholy, the narratives created by Javier Mar as and Carson McCullers come alive At the end of the day though, solitude is what I yearn for That s when the real party begins which usually brings me to this one question A question which used to hover in my mind and the answer to which I was searching for some time An answer in the form of some printed testimony An answer laden with certitude, beauty and truth An answer I can use to quiet the inquisitive utterances and to actually make others see and understand in the best way possible The question is Why do you read The answer for me This little gem of a book Read it to find and feel that tear trickling down your cheek that smile coming across your face that pride in recognizing the infinite grandeur of words.This book has taught me the joy of being a bibliophile


  3. Seemita Seemita says:

    Existence Tearing Existence Endearing Existence Suppressed Existence Spirited Existence Delusional Existence Resuscitating Existence Multiple Existence Solitary Existence Existence.Overriding all the comprehensible and perplexing spaces joining the various uneven points of existence in the larger lattice of congruent existence, I have pushed the ship of my life with the ardour of a sincere helmsman, trained to always prioritize steering over stalling But did someone tell me that the se Existence Tearing Existence Endearing Existence Suppressed Existence Spirited Existence Delusional Existence Resuscitating Existence Multiple Existence Solitary Existence Existence.Overriding all the comprehensible and perplexing spaces joining the various uneven points of existence in the larger lattice of congruent existence, I have pushed the ship of my life with the ardour of a sincere helmsman, trained to always prioritize steering over stalling But did someone tell me that the sea islegendary for the turbulence it unleashes than the serenity it gifts Perhaps that should have helped me And Ha a Or maybe notFor thirty five years now I ve been in wastepaper, and it s my love storyHa a is not a man you would meet on the road you would meet him underneath it As you heard him, our dear Ha a has been recycling papers in his hydraulic press in a basement cellar for thirty five years now A failed affair, a dismantled family, no friends and a shrewd boss you would think he was a weightless mass But Ha a treasured his existence And his love story was one I could step up and embrace as my own He was no ordinary, ragged shirt cobbled shoes torn hat haggard in a reclusive, submerged workplace He was a connoisseur connoisseur of books Precious and banned books, in their elegant covers, finely crafted edges and embellished spines oh, they sent him into a tizzy, especially the words wafting from the wombs of papyruses christened by flagbearers of philosophy that he would expertly secure just before feeding them to the gurgling press In the words of Aristotle and Sophocles, Kant and Goethe, Camus and Sartre, he dissolved his solitude to see it crystallize into priceless turquoise of redefining beauty and wisdom, galloping on whose back, he conquered thirty five years of cold shoulders and defiling glances Recreating a literary world within his lackadaisical real world was a symptomatic victory, a roaring flush of medals of sorts that left Ha a insulated to the economic upheavals and social abandonments But if forgiving was the name in distribution, the world would come last for anointment Staying true to its dubious reputation, the outside world belched its ugly phlegm and the putrid liquid eventually quarantined Ha a well, almost view spoiler A new factory, running new age, automatic and faster wastepaper recycler machines gets erected, around the corner, in the shortest time, sending Ha a out of work almost overnight hide spoiler I am certain that Ha a was a literary doppelg nger of Hrabal When Hrabal finished penning this work in 1976, the politically charged environment of the erstwhile Czechoslovakia forbade him from publishing it He went ahead nonetheless and self published it, almost as a testament to his indomitable spirit and an ode to his feisty existence But the next thirteen years were a tedious, exhaustive journey of moving from a suppressed voice of searing potential to an emulated voice of inspiring intellect, almost an agonizing punishment for a wise but recalcitrant writer I suspect he lived those intermediate years, drawing strength from the books he read and the imaginations he permitted sprinkling his reading sessions with humor and surrealism and erecting insurmountable walls of perennial refuge There must have been excruciating periods of muffled freedom when his immediate circular cellar would have deserted him and the restorative heartbeat of his philosophical utopia may not have been audible either view spoiler I imagine this because I am a repeat offender of this literary crime hide spoiler But he continued tending to his cognitive saplings, across seasons, in all those years And I am glad the purifying aroma of the flowers from this patient gardener s garden finally reached us resurrecting an existence that was truly wholesome because it respected the many fractures within


  4. Dolors Dolors says:

    Literature is resistance , the lugubrious voice of the narrator, who speaks from the sewers of our conscience, whispers in ruthless crudity.Literature keeps Hant a alive in the suffocating cellar that he shares with filthy rodents, giant botflies and gypsy prostitutes.For thirty five years, Hant a has worked the jaws of his hydraulic press destroying all kind of books, lithographs and artistic imprints by trade and saving them for passion The physical books disappear, but their essence remains Literature is resistance , the lugubrious voice of the narrator, who speaks from the sewers of our conscience, whispers in ruthless crudity.Literature keeps Hant a alive in the suffocating cellar that he shares with filthy rodents, giant botflies and gypsy prostitutes.For thirty five years, Hant a has worked the jaws of his hydraulic press destroying all kind of books, lithographs and artistic imprints by trade and saving them for passion The physical books disappear, but their essence remains embedded on Hant a s tortured mind.Literature under any totalitarian system defies oppression because it gives access to alternative realities that cannot be silenced by persecution Those living in the underworld, tyrannized by absurd authority recover the condition of their lost humanity through words written by others Their freedom is surrogate, for it derives from the appropriation of thoughts not originally theirs And yet they allow them to persist, to keep on fighting, to embrace abstract fellowship from a permanent exile, to feel alive amidst an inanimate existence.Literature is interxtuality printed on a page A multidimensional universe folded in a two dimensional support That is why Hant a can maintain a dialogue with Lao Tse and Jesus while greenish flies splatter the bloody wrappers discarded by the butcher and summon a Jackson Pollock s painting back to life.Literature allows the marginalized to be born again and again and to endure the leaden guilt, the horrifying weakness, the shameful need for self preservation that prevents them from remembering what the color of happiness looked likeEvery beloved object is the center of a garden of paradise Hant a s idea of paradise is a kite with a blurred text on it soaring the azure skies of a past that has become unbearable fiction And, even though the heavens are not humane, those who hear the quiet ascension of words rising up from the pages they caress with their eyes won t ever feel abandoned.The chirping of voices in their minds will be too loud for them to be lonely and instead, when their spirits surrender to the foreboding of dark times ahead, they won t feel the sharp edge of loneliness piercing their precious memories they will bask in the solitude that grants them painless access to bygone lives and incandescent loves that were extinguished a long time ago The real world might be washed out, but the memories, branded in incandescent ink, will write and rewrite their life stories and make them blow in the winter winds So for now, I am winter


  5. Cecily Cecily says:

    This is a few weeks in the mind and life of Hant a, in mid 1970s Prague, who has been drunkenly compacting wastepaper in a hydraulic press for 35 years, in a dark cellar infested with mice, flies, blood, and sometimes shit.Well, it is that But it absolutely is not that at all Every beloved object is the center of a garden of paradise. This is a beautiful paean to the transformative power of words on paper About finding beauty in the dirtiest, most unlikely places.How devotion can manifest it This is a few weeks in the mind and life of Hant a, in mid 1970s Prague, who has been drunkenly compacting wastepaper in a hydraulic press for 35 years, in a dark cellar infested with mice, flies, blood, and sometimes shit.Well, it is that But it absolutely is not that at all Every beloved object is the center of a garden of paradise. This is a beautiful paean to the transformative power of words on paper About finding beauty in the dirtiest, most unlikely places.How devotion can manifest itself in pleasure at saving and destroying How destruction of what one loves can become a sacramental, sacrificial art.How a person can become one with the focus of their life and passion I have a physical sense of myself as a bale of compacted books, the seat of a tiny pilot light of karma. The opening pages made me deliriously drunk as they piledandways to express a passionate, visceral love of books More delirium from the disconcerting awareness that this booklover destroys farbooks than he saves He describes himself as a refined butcher , relishing the physical sensations of his work I loved the feel of paper in my fingers to experience the palpable charm of wastepaper. Nevertheless, through the subterranean subtext , I read him aspriest than butcher When I read, I don t really read I pop a beautiful sentence in my mouth and sip it like a liqueur until the thought dissolves in me like alcohol, infusing brain and heart. I was hooked from the start, as any booklover should be.Status QuoIn the first half, Hant a doggedly does his work, biding his time until retirement Repetitively ripping books apart, putting them in the drum, pressing the green and red buttons, compressing them into bales even if there are mice inside His boss rails at him He looks forward to visits from gypsy girls He drinks But he s always looking out for special books, mostly for himself, but also for one or two friends His home is heaving with them shelves piled perilously high, even over his bed I hear the books above me plotting their revenge the Sword of Damocles that I ve hung from my bathroom and bedroom ceilings. Hant a reads and loves great literature, especially ancient Greek and Roman philosophers, whose ideas he applies to who and what he sees around him He views his job as a profession requiring a classical education and ideally a degree in divinity, which seems a bit back to front he has acquired such erudition by doing the job, or by not doing it.In every bale, he puts something special, like a priest on the altar a book open at a beautiful passage, or a print of a great painting my ritual, my mass The press squeezes like fingers clasping in a deeper prayer He relishes the secrecy, I am both artist and audience , while hoping someone notices and is uplifted.The circle of life is not limited to people his press destroys books to make clean paper for another press to print new books Progress is The End The dreams I never dreamed came true. One day, he visits a huge new processing plant full of sunlight and sparkling equipment Like a cathedral But not his church The future But not his future The happy young workers in their jolly uniforms have no feeling for what the book might mean, no thought that somebody had to write the book edit design proofread print bind Worse still, many of the books are remaindered, pulped before a single page could be sullied by human eye, brain, or heart Workers tearing open the boxes, taking the virgin books out of them, pulling the covers off, and tossing the naked insides on the belt It s like ripping chickens apart in the slaughterhouse Suddenly, it s easy to see the beauty of Hant a s work, in his filthy cellar.He plucks a precious old book from the conveyor belt It shakes in my hands like a bride s bouquet at the altar. The visit is transformative Hant a wanders the city in a daze, revisiting friends and old haunts The clock told a useless time I had nowhere to go, I was floating in space. The ending was sublime.Image from the 1996 film, which I ve not seen See imdb HERE QuotesI want to copy out the whole first chapter and large chunks of the rest Here s a taste from only 98 pages I am a jug filled with water both magic and plain I have only to lean over and a stream of beautiful thoughts flows out of me When my eye lands on a real book and looks past the printed word, what it sees is disembodied thoughts flying through the air, gliding on air, living off air just as the host is and is not the blood of Christ Thousands of cobalt colored flies their metallic wings and bodies embroidered an immense tableau vivant made up of constantly shifting curves and splashes like the flow of paint in those gigantic Jackson Pollocks Ineffable joy and even greater woe come from literacy I am never lonely I m simply alone, living in my heavily populated solitude My head spinning from too loud a solitude in the cellar For we are like olives only when we are crushed do we yield what is best in us From the Talmud.Related ReadingBefore this, there was Kafka s In The Penal Colony see my review HERE.After this, there was Ray Bradbury s Fahrenheit 451 see my review HERE.And there s a real life garbage man in Bogota who s saved 25,000 books HERE.Hrabal writes Inquisitors burn books in vain If a book has anything to say, it burns with a quiet laugh. When Hant a rescues a book, I walk home like a burning house the light of life pouring out of the fire, fire pouring out of the dying wood, hostile sorrow lingering under the ashes. Here s a link to a 2 minute excerpt of an animated adaptation from 2007 thanks to Diane S HERE.Details on imdb HERE.GR FriendsThis book had been vaguely on my TBR, but it was a delightful day in London with Laysee, including a trip to the renowned Foyles, that meant I bought and read it Thank you, Laysee


  6. Kalliope Kalliope says:

    How to write about a book that deals with compression when I am reading it thanks to dispersed and ephemeral distinctions For if Hrabal has written a magic and allegorical story of the character Hant who dedicates his life to compressing large volumes of discarded books into still voluminous bales of paper, I am reading a story which as if by magic emerges section by section on my screen acquiring in this act an additional allegorical layer.For Hant realizes that compression does away with di How to write about a book that deals with compression when I am reading it thanks to dispersed and ephemeral distinctions For if Hrabal has written a magic and allegorical story of the character Hant who dedicates his life to compressing large volumes of discarded books into still voluminous bales of paper, I am reading a story which as if by magic emerges section by section on my screen acquiring in this act an additional allegorical layer.For Hant realizes that compression does away with differences and when censorship, which is sharp black and white, coalesces matter into colorless grey then thought and text are buried in indifferent bundles He finds his stories on paper, on trees pressed into sheets of dried paste, all stories of constricted feelings These are tales of confined political opinions in a decadent but still powerful totalitarian setting narratives of repressed human liberties that try to breath through flying paper kites And these come to me in a different world I am dealing with them on a screen on which microcapsules, charged positively for the white or negatively for the black, arrange themselves creating the distinct shapes of letters, of words, sentences and thoughts And every time I press the button these particles return to their amorphous sea and reemerge in a new combination Mine is the universe of poles and discrete particles and it is from this stock of specks that the tale of an estranged world and life emerges.And this is the magic of representation The vehicle can conjure up its opposite and offer a bewitching text which can move my heart and imagination and make me feel a solitude which, thanks to its beauty, is however not confining and certainly not too loud


  7. Florencia Florencia says:

    Not until we re totally crushed do we show what we are made of. 96 This is a book whose length can be quite deceiving Nonetheless, this novella has the predictable ability of leading the path towards something rather extraordinary a bibliophile s sanctuary.This was a difficult book to rate At first, it was a solid four star book But I chose to overlook the few passages that did not captivate me entirely and made me feel somewhat lost at times yes, theI think about it, theI writ Not until we re totally crushed do we show what we are made of. 96 This is a book whose length can be quite deceiving Nonetheless, this novella has the predictable ability of leading the path towards something rather extraordinary a bibliophile s sanctuary.This was a difficult book to rate At first, it was a solid four star book But I chose to overlook the few passages that did not captivate me entirely and made me feel somewhat lost at times yes, theI think about it, theI write about it and absorb its content, theI like it I tend to blame myself, anyway Ha a, the narrator, would understand.My education has been so unwitting I can t quite tell which of my thoughts come from me and which from my books, but that s how I ve stayed attuned to myself and the world around me for the past thirty five years 6 For thirty five years, Ha a has been working in a basement, compacting wastepaper and books proscribed by the current regime Other than the company of some fighting mice and some gypsies, he is mostly alone in his sacred cellar A place where he became a refined butcher, where he mastered the art of destruction, where he learnt the joy of devastation However, he cannot destroy everything that arrives to his cellar So he puts some books in his briefcase and takes them to his house, a place already filled with towers of books that may kill him at the slightest sneeze.when I start reading, I m somewhere completely different, I m in the text, it s amazing, I have to admit I ve been dreaming, dreaming in a land of great beauty, I ve been in the very heart of truth Ten times a day, every day, I wonder at having wandered so far, and then, alienated from myself, a stranger to myself, I go home, walking the streets silently and in deep meditation, passing trams and cars and pedestrians in a cloud of books, the books I found that day and am carrying home in my briefcase 11 And that is all I can say about this book filled with symbolism flowing with different rhythms, like the unpredictable behavior of the sea This sequence of thoughts of an old man that chose, all by himself, how his love story was going to end Poignant thoughts that left an indelible imprint in me Evocative lines that echo his past, his benevolent present, the desperate sense of resignation of his future His childhood, his loved ones, his doubts, his humorous remarks that assist you when despair is too much to bear, his visions, his simple way of life, his celebration to the essence of ideas that prevail over time and defy any living soul, his impressions on a world which absurdity goes beyond imagination.No, the heavens are not humane, nor is any man with a head on his shoulders 35 And his loss The tragedy of being violently separated from everything that gave him joy The sum and substance of his existence After having the pleasure of tasting such elusive elixir, one cannot help but to immerse in profound meditations Frozen The contradiction between a motionless body and a restlessly working mind But Ha a knew He always knew Blinded momentarily by the sun of things to come, Ha a, the rescuer of defenseless books, the one with a loud solitude far away from any lonely thought, the one with the pleasure of listening to the everlasting tune of thousands of books, always knew what to do The blissful quietness of having no regrets For we are like olives only when we are crushed do we yield what is best in us 18 Hrabal, Ha a Anyone of us Anyone in love with literature, with ideas in the form of a book.Solitude brings to me these walls made of silence and dreams And it is just us This space is for us The book and me I hear my voice in my mind, repeating every word, processing every idea, savoring every sound For most of Hrabal s lines are music, and I listened to it dazzled, bewildered like a child in front of a magic pipe A melody that ignites imagination and creates an unforgettable sense of belonging The melody of those books to which we hold onto so dearly.The melody I will be always listening to, even when surrounded by, sometimes, too silent a solitude.En una secuencia de pensamientos similar a la de esta obra, termino rememorando libros pasados, escritores que me aliviaron, personajes que me acompa aron L neas que, desde una inicial soledad nada ruidosa, me abrieron al mundo Una soledad que termin poblada con todas las voces de ese mundo Voces que calman Voces que perturban Palabras que no me dejan y que las repito para que nunca me dejen As , saboreando cada t rmino, como si fuera el ltimo Aferr ndome a cada sonido, como si fuera m o Deleit ndome con la similitud del sentimiento sin tener en cuenta el tiempo Tiempo que pasa.Tiempo que ahoga.Tiempo que sana, de vez en cuando.Termino con el libro sobre m Con la mente m s inquieta que nunca, embarcada en una oda a esa literatura trascendental que lleg ac desafiante, segura Deseosa de miradas nuevas Creadora de suspiros que evocan eternidad Mis disculpas a las personas de habla inglesa que a veces se dan una vuelta por este sur olvidado Pero, despu s de leer esta conmovedora novela corta de Hrabal, c mo no culminar esta marea de palabras sin sentido, abrazada a mi idioma Enamorados perpetuos del lenguaje Sus palabras Sus sonidos Sus significados Las historias que construyen Las emociones que transmiten El contenido sobre la forma La escritura sobre la tapa Coleccionistas de libros, de recuerdos, de vidas ajenas Vidas ajenas, para entender la propia Entender, en las cantidades que la existencia misma permite.Todo aquello que provoca sonido y que hace de la soledad, algo menos envolvente.Dec 6, 15 Also on my blog No, it wasn t what I expected, but I loved it anyway


  8. BlackOxford BlackOxford says:

    Socialism RemainderedWas Hrabal the Studs Terkel of Moravia He and Terkel wereor less contemporaries From similarly humble backgrounds, they both got law degrees Both were blacklisted and censored for questionable patriotism Both were famed raconteurs Most importantly, both concerned themselves mainly with working people and their culture The difference of course is that Terkel, in his Working in particular, asks people about how their jobs gave positive meaning to their lives Hraba Socialism RemainderedWas Hrabal the Studs Terkel of Moravia He and Terkel wereor less contemporaries From similarly humble backgrounds, they both got law degrees Both were blacklisted and censored for questionable patriotism Both were famed raconteurs Most importantly, both concerned themselves mainly with working people and their culture The difference of course is that Terkel, in his Working in particular, asks people about how their jobs gave positive meaning to their lives Hrabal inquiresabout how the roles people play are always ambiguously productive and destructive For him, there is something of the symbolic and cosmic rather than the personal in each character Perhaps this is the key to the difference in American and European moral sensibilities.Too Loud a Solitude starts like one of Terkel s case studies, a first person account of a man dedicated for thirty five to the waste paper compaction business Well not quite None of Terkel s subjects ever said anything like If a book has anything to say, it burns with a quiet laugh, because any book worth its salt points up and out of itself This working stiff knows something about iconography and semiotics.And not just about the books Hrabal s characters themselves are like icons pointing beyond their immediate experiences When my eye lands on a real book and looks past the printed word, what it sees is disembodied thoughts flying through the air, gliding on air, living off air, returning to air, because in the end everything is air, just as the host is and is not the blood of Christ No ordinary sanitary engineer then in his poetic vision and singular appreciation of the doctrine of transubstatiation.The books in question, the primary raw material involved in the protagonist s production destruction, are not allowed to become idols that inhibit their own transcendence They possess a dialectical character for Hrabal as they bring both ineffable joy and even greater woe The protagonist, Hant a, reinforces this realism he is gnostic as well as Hegelian The heavens are not humane, he says, and books have shown me the joy of devastation Books are the centre of his existence, but they are nonetheless tainted and therefore not to be worshipped as divine.I manage a small academic library, so I recognise the syndrome Hant a demonstrates He is constantly distracted from his duty to crush the books by the irresistible temptation to read the damn things Not an efficient trait in either a librarian or a book compactor The equivalent of a doctor s emotional involvement with her patient Frequently dangerous Always frowned upon His addiction is controllable to the extent that he does fulfill his duties, if on occasion only barely.But reading of the condemned books is only the entry level drug for Hant a Hard core addiction is bringing the space eating things home They quickly take over your life And taking up all available house space is only the half of it The threat of death by book avalanche is constant As it is, Hant a had already shrunk by a good four inches under the compressive weight of the books in his bedroom The books are not merely a monkey on his back, they constitute the world he inhabits and that inhabits him.Aside from a distinct preference for Schiller and Goethe, Hant a s workaday world is not unlike many of Terkel s subjects He s over qualified for the job of pressing first the green button and then the red button with a nag for a boss and he drinks too much beer at lunch, and for that matter even on the job By no standard can he be considered passionate or even interested in his job except for the unauthorised side benefits The job itself is irrelevant to Hant a s identity, just as is his participation in a socialist state Hant a s fear of technological redundancy is, however, as real as that of one of Terkel s subjects in capitalist America Ever since a gigantic new machine was installed in a neighbouring town, he knows his days in book compacting are numbered In fact he looks forward to retirement But he desperately wants to bring his now surplus compactor home with him since he s not sure he can do without the daily routine of waste paper disposal He s not worried about income in retirement, however, and certainly not the loss of social routine The problem is where to source a reliable flow of good books Not Terkel then.Postscript just to demonstrate that truth is stranger than fiction, this little news piece from Turkey showed up in my feed


  9. Cheryl Cheryl says:

    Each of us had a decent home library of books we d happened to rescue, and each of us read those books in the blissful hope of making a change in his lifeWhat if ideas no longer had permanence What happens when beautiful, psychedelic sentences are replaced with harebrained dialogue What would you do, when there you are, stuck in no man s land, without an electronic device or internet connection, and there are no physical books to keep you stimulated What happens when you can t escape yEach of us had a decent home library of books we d happened to rescue, and each of us read those books in the blissful hope of making a change in his lifeWhat if ideas no longer had permanence What happens when beautiful, psychedelic sentences are replaced with harebrained dialogue What would you do, when there you are, stuck in no man s land, without an electronic device or internet connection, and there are no physical books to keep you stimulated What happens when you can t escape your world to suddenly find yourself in a distant land, surrounded by emotional truth and beauty and cultureWhen I start reading I m somewhere completely different, I m in the text, it s amazing I have to admit I ve been dreaming, dreaming in a land of great beauty, I ve been in the very heart of truthAfter reading this beloved Czech classic, I sat in my home library for hours, just to feel the magic of my books, to embrace the warmth they exude, for books mean so muchthan words on a page Maybe this is why it was difficult to write a review for this book Still, I knew I had to write one if only as a homage to the printed word And yet I feel guilty, as though I owe my narrator, Hanta, an apology for reading this on my Kindle of all the books to read on the electronic device, I chose this oneWhen my eye lands on a real book and looks past the printed word, what it sees is disembodied thoughts flying through air, gliding on air, living off air, returning to air, because in the end everything is air Here, melancholy brews and solitude reigns But it is the kind of solitude you feel from someplace deep and unknown, the unexplainable comfort you have when you pick up a good book and don t want to be distracted by anything that will take you from within the textBecause when I read, I don t really read I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop, or I sip it like a liquer until the thought dissolves in me like alcohol. Hanta is a peculiar narrator a hermit and lover of rare books and intellectual meanderings He is a solitude who is not lonely I m simply alone, living in my heavily populated solitude, a harum scorum of infinity and eternity.It wasn t hard to relate to the idiosyncratic Hanta, this nonconformist who spent thirty five years this he will tell you repeatedly compacting wastepaper And by wastepaper, I do mean Paul Gauguin s Bonjour M GauguinWho cares if his boss despised him, and his peers made fun of him Hanta surely didn t, because he lived beautifully My life fits together beautifully at work I have books and bottles and inkwells and staplers raining down on me through the opening in the cellar ceiling, and at home I have books above me constantly threatening to fall and kill or at least maim me. Bohumil Hrabal was a poet and a member of an underground writing group When troops from the Warsaw Pact invaded Czechoslovakia, he was banned from publishing No wonder why his prose is such beautiful melancholy, and his narrator a man skeptical of the world and protective of the printed word Hrabal writes with political subtleties and symbolism that makes you want to applaud a work which stands for so muchthan Hanta This stream of consciousness narrative is one I don t usually love, and yet it fits this narrative This book isn t for everyone, I don t think, but it is one that you savor for all of its delicious delicacies and thematic undertones that whisper protect the printed word, protect your intellectual freedom. Perhaps Bohumil Hrabal also knew the sound of loud solitudeSuddenly one day I felt beautiful and holy for having had the courage to hold on to my sanity after all I d seen and been through, body and soul, in too loud a solitude


  10. Mariel Mariel says:

    I can be by myself because I m never lonely, I m simply alone, living in my heavily populated solitude, a harum scarum of infinity and eternity, and Infinity and Eternity seem to take a liking to the likes of me Ha t of Too Loud a Solitude would be friends with me if he were on goodreads He would so So what if I haven t read Hegel or Kant So what if I could only quote from Terry Pratchett a wise man in his own write The books are his whole life and he talks about them as if nothing would I can be by myself because I m never lonely, I m simply alone, living in my heavily populated solitude, a harum scarum of infinity and eternity, and Infinity and Eternity seem to take a liking to the likes of me Ha t of Too Loud a Solitude would be friends with me if he were on goodreads He would so So what if I haven t read Hegel or Kant So what if I could only quote from Terry Pratchett a wise man in his own write The books are his whole life and he talks about them as if nothing would stand in his way if there were a two way mirror between himself and the innermost face behind the face of the books They would have forever to get to know each other I envy Ha t the way the words live on his tongue as if they could be uttered in the moment of need to bring light I wonder if I did read any philosophers would they be of any comfort to me too I tell myself stories as if I could step out of reality and into the one I m creating inside If Ha t were on goodreads I would look at the computer screen okay, I ve already admitted that I use an ipod touch screen for 98.9% of my goodreading so there s no point in lying here now and it would be like there was a window to look through between us Books are real Books matter and books are everything if you re one of us It hurts Ha t to compact the scarecrow wanting its brain of ink sentences, and the lion with its if I only had courage you can t judge a book by its cover and the tin man with its heart made of paper glued to binding that holds everything together with an indestructible spine Can they become something else, something better, and have meaning when they are killed Ha t might be one of those drunk book reviewers on goodreads, though He has to have beer to read I wondered if he drank so much to be like me I don t think I would ever need to do that to write a review either I would just throw up in the toilet when I remembered what I admitted to the morning after Ha t s grandfathers and their fathers saw faeries at their elbows bar side, and Ha t Jesus and Lao tze as the ebb and flow in the pool he s face down in The sword of Damascus hangs over his head every night He sleeps beneath tons of books Their weight could be that of your baby reminding you that you have to get up in the morning, or the ghost cat or old person who steals your vital energy through your breath Six feet under and as high as cloud nine Names theirs and do you know what you know or do you know what they know If you were an actor and went to their acting school you wouldn t remember if you ever had natural talent Remember your lines I know that it hurt me when he sacrificed priceless whole libraries to be sent by train for some low money amount that I don t remember because the only European money I ve held are Euros and Hungarian currency Anyway, it s peanuts like Canadian couch coins Hurts His most precious favorites make like a library and book for the hydraulic press Entire print runs bite the callous hands of children before his eyes No one will ever love them and he cannot save them all If he were goodreads friends with me he might not want to save my favorites You know when goodreads separated fromI rescued one of Manny s Brigade Mondain books Ha t Would you No, he ll never sleep tonight, Mariel He ll be up adding back all of those trashy covers to the entire well beloved French series Book lover s guilt It haunts me that I buy so many books that I haven t read I still buyIt looks like you aren t alone when you feel a responsibility for what you have loved Would he take it as far as I do I had a feeling while reading Too Loud a Solitude that it would not be a favorite book of mine, despite Ha t s last vestige of humanity attachments for his favorite words that I could relate to so very much, if his love didn t become a story of its own I would have to think about him beyond them Somewhere in his making connections between the mice and their mice mamas subsisting in his cellar it happened They shared it with him I can use that I can see that If he were me those mice would be from Terry Prachett s Maurice and his Educated Rodents I don t have mice Maybe certain people on goodreads would think my birds were no better than rodents but those people would be wrong Or they might think that my chihuahua resembles a rat in certain lights Wrong Only my swiss cheese rat trap memory Sometime in 2011 I removed some of my favorites because I had some dumb idea it should beselective I regret that because I need all the friends I can get So the educated rodents would love to read Ha t s books maybe Pork N Beans would dig The Metaphysics of Morals My favorite Kalix from Martin Millar s books is illiterate She would eat On Tranquility of Mind Ha t thinks milk is disgusting and I am lactose intolerant like him I even bring up this useless fact in book reviews from time to time I would go with him to watch in disgust the efficient new book destroyers across town It does not kill them to waste the paperIt never ceased to amaze me, until suddenly one day I felt beautiful and holy for having had the courage to hold on to my sanity after all I d seen and been through, body and soul, in too loud a solitude, and slowly I came to the realization that my work was hurtling me headlong into an infinite field of omnipotence I m relieved, although I am a bastard for saying this considering the way that Ha t goes the way of his books, that someone else agonizes over this shit I m half way through William Faulkner s Light in August during the writing of this review and Joe Christmas has done my head in on my books and solace and the place where you can relate to others and be safe from expectations and too loud a solitude I wish I had a philosophy I wish I had words of solace and shit to believe in instead of just telling about make believe people and book to eyes connection It may be too soon to tell Maybe I ll figure it out Okay, I m too damned sensitive I start to worry that the books don t want me either.When I was younger I liked to collect descriptions of people in books I can t tell you how fucking bored it makes me when a writer trots out beautiful which is tragically all the damned time, as if ANY asshole couldn t do that same thing Solitude had a great one for one of Ha t s girlfriends I also loved that he envied her becoming the sort of person that other people would want to write about I would tell you which author I think would write about me but people might laugh at me Anyway, I liked thisManca had gray hair now, but she wrote it in a kind of reformatory cut, a crew cut, like an athlete with a touch of spirituality one of her eyes was lower than the other, which gave her a distinguished look, and if she seemed to squint a little, it was not because she had bad vision but because one of her eyes had simply got stuck while staring beyond the threshold of the infinite into the very center of an equilateral triangle, into the very heart of being, or as a Catholic existentialist once put it, her defective eye symbolized the diamond s eternal blemish Books aren t solitude if you think about people like that because you were sitting alone taking the time If you started to think about people you met to describe them like that it is why I used to collect those Yeah, to take the time Words that are yours and words that are theirs and then they are yours because you took the time I don t know about destruction I wasn t giving up yet I would get damned emotional about it It would eat me alive My eyes would be raccoon eyes I would read another book and hope to feel alive again Books will love you back I would have probably invented some reason to put books into that hydraulic press too What if I had to destroy a Kawabata The hydraulic press wants to read Look, that s his eyes and that s his mouth and he s one of those annoying kids from elementary school that read aloud and took too long when you were already into the story Now he is crying because the story moves him He loves to read He ll probably be awfully popular on goodreads It only took me two hours and twenty one minutes to despise and strike this one from the feed I m not floating, really, I m putting it back I understand feelings of unworthiness when it comes to vocalizing about the things you love Why couldn t there be a hydraulic press to squeeze out one s own drippiness in I d put me into that Really I would I have book lover s guilt of a different kind but I have it and boy did I relate to this book The key is to keep drinking More books


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Uma Solidão Ruidosa ❰PDF / Epub❯ ✅ Uma Solidão Ruidosa Author Bohumil Hrabal – Natus-physiotherapy.co.uk Uma solid o ruidosa foi publicado pelo tcheco Bohumil Hrabal em plena vig ncia da repressiva Uni o das Rep blicas Socialistas Sovi ticas, da qual fazia parte a antiga Tchecoslov quia A hist ria, vazad Uma solid o ruidosa foi publicado pelo tcheco Bohumil Hrabal em plena vig ncia da repressiva Uni o das Rep blicas Socialistas Uma Solidão ePUB í Sovi ticas, da qual fazia parte a antiga Tchecoslov quia A hist ria, vazada em uma esp cie de prosa on rica, p e em cena um estranho personagem narrador, chamado Hant a, um homem de mente simples, mas que se p e a meditar com muito lirismo, melancolia e humor sobre osanos que passou operando uma prensa hidr ulica instalada em um sombrio por o no centro de Praga Em meio a doses maci as de cerveja, Hant a tem que compactar todo tipo de papel descartado, inclusive livros cl ssicos proscritos pelos poderes constitu dos Acontece que alguns desses livros s o salvos da destrui o e devorados pela mente perturbada de Hant a, que, a certa altura, j n o sabe mais dizer que ideias s o suas e quais foram importadas dos livros que ele deveria destruirQuando chega a hora de Hant a ser substitu do por trabalhadores mais jovens que ir o operar uma m quina muito mais poderosa e produtiva, o velho oper rio se v s voltas com um pesadelo recorrente envolvendo uma prensa gigantesca que ir destruir toda a cidade de Praga, com suas tradi es e sua cultura milenar, e a ele mesmo Hrabal um romancista sofisticado, de um humor turbulento e um detalhismo sutil e delicado Julian Barnes.