Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Fragmente din "The God of Small Things", Arundhati Roy

Din primul paragraf, scris scurt, expeditiv, concis, Arundhati Roy m-a impins in India, in Kerala din sudul aproape indecent de luxuriant si sufocant, cu aer greu si condimentat. Eram acolo, imi aparusera bobite de sudoare pe frunte si deasupra buzei de sus si-mi pulsau tamplele de la presiunea atmosferica. Pfuaaaa, ce carte teribila incepe asa, m-am gandit. Asa ca am citit-o incet, cu portia, m-am intors frecvent in urma sa recitesc si m-am tot minunat de forta unei scriituri simple, limpezi si taioase insa care cade cu greutate in mintea cititorului si lasa urme.

-sursa foto-

"The God of Small Things" e de daruit cu grija. Cuiva care are ceva intuneric inauntru si nu fuge de el ci il foloseste. E o carte apasatoare, densa si foarte complicat tesuta. E ceva teribil in felul in care sunt prezentate tragediile si durerile personajelor: Arundhati Roy iti spune iute si taios ce si cum insa nu se joaca cu sufletul tau, nu te manipuleaza spre o descarcare emotionala. Te lasa chiar pe buza descarcarii, arcuit, incordat. Nu-ti da satisfactia unui soi de climax asa ca totul ramane inauntru, sub piele, ca o vanataie. Te trezesti, la zile dupa ce ai terminat-o, ca e niste amaraciune noua in tine si se evapora inceeeet... inceeet.

Si de citit e tot cu grija. Eu acum scriu despre ea mai mult pentru ca m-a invinetit si nu mi s-a mai intamplat, scriu de uimire si pentru pastrarea memoriei. Nu scriu pentru ca o recomand. O mana are degete in plus fata de numarul celor carora le-as spune "citeste-o".

Pe nesimtite:
Estha had always been a quiet child, so no one could pinpoint with any degree of accuracy exactly when (the year, if not the month or day) he had stopped talking. Stopped talking altogether, that is. The fact is that there wasn't an 'exactly when'. It had been a gradual winding down and closing shop. A barely noticeable quietening. As though he had simply run out of conversation and had nothing left to say.

When he had his accident with the stone chip,  Mammachi organized and paid for his glass eye. He hadn't worked off his debt yet and though he knew he wasn't expected to, that he wouldn't ever be able to -  he felt that his eye was not his own. His gratitude widened his smile and bent his back.

Gauri negre in Univers:
With the certitude of a true believer, Vellya Paapen has assured the twins there was no such thing in the world as a black cat. He said that there were only black cat-shaped holes in the Universe.

In her mind, she kept an organized, careful account of Things She'd Done For People and Things People hadn't Done For Her.

Reteta sa fii iubit mai putin:
'D'you know what happens when you hurt people?' Ammu said. 'When you hurt people, they begin to love you less and less. That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.'

Ce se intampla in momentele importante, pline de emotii si simtiri:
And the air was full of Thoughts and Things to Say. But at times like these, only the Small Things are ever said. The Big Things lurk unsaid inside.

Despre dezolare, umilire:
She said that she felt like a road sign with birds shitting  on her.

Unii oameni, cand nu mai sunt:
He left behind a hole in the Universe trough which darkness poured like liquid tar. Through which their mother followed without even turning to wave goodbye.

Daca e doar in vis, se pune?
'You were having an afternoon-mare,' her daughter informed her.
'It wasn't a mare,' Ammu said. 'It was a dream.'
'Estha thought you were dying.'
'You looked so sad,' Estha said.
'I was happy,' Ammu said, and realized that she had been.
'If you're happy in a dream, Ammu, does that count?' Estha asked.
'Does what count?'
'The happiness -  does it count?'
She knew exactly what he meant, her son with his spoiled puff. Because the truth is, that only what counts counts. The simple, unswerving wisdom of children. If you eat fish in a dream, does it count? Does it mean you've eaten fish?

The Great Stories:
It didn't matter that the story had begun, because kathakali discovered long ago that the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don't deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don't surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover's skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don't know. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won't. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn't. And yet you want to know again.
That is their mystery and their magic.

A confundat-o cu dragostea:
In the year she knew him, before they were married, she discovered a little magic in herself, and for a while felt like a genie released form her lamp. She was perhaps too young to realize that what she assumed was her love for Chacko was actually a tentative, timorous acceptance of herself.

What came for them? Not death. Just the end of living.

Incalcarea Legilor Iubirii:
Only that once again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.


Ioana_du said...

Wow....... Impresionant :)

Dănu said...

Da, pe putin. Ce-or manca astia in India cand sunt mici de ajung sa scrie asa, nu stiu insa caut sa aflu.

Magarul de Aur said...

It ain't all about food, girl!

Dănu said...

Eu cred ca e, partial, de la mancare. De-aia si bag condimente ;)