#ThrowbackThursday. Night

 

Wiesel, Elie (Eliezer Vizl) "Night" (French: La Nuit/Yiddish: Un di Velt Hot Geshvign)  - 1958

Elie Wiesel wrote this novel as a report about his life in the concentration camps Buchenwald and Auschwitz/Oswiecim.

Seldom did we agree more on a book than this time. We thought it was shocking and unbelievable. The enormity, the plans, everything was so calculated. Horryfying to see what people are able to do. We could understand that people wouldn't believe it at the time because it is hard to believe even now.

We discussed this in our international book club in March 2007. We had a great discussion and it is definitely worth reading what all the members had to say (see here).  I also added a long list of other books about this topic there.

 Elie Wiesel received the Nobel Prize for Peace in 1986 as he "has emerged as one of the most important spiritual leaders and guides in an age when violence, repression and racism continue to characterise the world". It couldn't have gone to a more deserving recipient.

Read my original review here.

Fat-Headed Censors

I saw this reblogged post via From Pyrenees to Pennines by Travel Between the Pages, and Brian D. Butler kindly allowed me to reblog.

While I might have worded it a teeny tiny little differently 😉, I totally agree with what the writer says.

This is Nineteen Eighty Four! George Orwell predicted it all. It's rewriting history. We have to remember history in order not to repeat it!!! So, here is my contribution to the lesson.

This wonderful picture is by the highly talented Tom Gauld.

You would have to have been living under a basket to avoid the recent brouhaha over the re-editing of classic books by so-called sensitivity readers and editors. Here in the Colonies we’ve been through this with the books of Dr. Seuss and other popular children’s authors. Now, the UK has gone mad censoring works by Roald dahl and others.

McSweeney’s recently posted a pointed response to this nonsence in an article by Peter Wisniewski aptly titled "FUCK YOU, YOU FAT-HEADED ROALD DAHL-CENSORING FUCKERS."

Dear Fat-Headed Roald Dahl-Censoring Fuckers,

You’re censors. You’re not editors, and you’re not readers. You’re censors. You are exactly what Orwell warned us about.

So fuck you.

Without the author’s consent, you are changing and omitting words that the author wrote. That makes you a censor. An agent of censorship. Only fascists censor books.

What you’re doing is crazy. See? We said it. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.

You will not take words from the human race. You have no fucking right.

When you censor, you condescend. Fat people call themselves fat because they are not ashamed of themselves. But you are ashamed of us. You think being overweight is something to be ashamed of, so you erase this word, and you erase all fat people. Well, fuck you.

You will not take words from the human race. You have no fucking right.

The most telling example of your condescension is when you removed the word "cashier”"from one of Dahl’s books. Apparently, you think the word "cashier”"is offensive. Well, fuckers, hundreds of thousands of actual people are cashiers, and they don’t agree. They don’t think their mere existence is offensive.

You have no right to diminish their occupation or any other.

You have no right to take words from Dahl or any author.

If you were to get away with what you did - and rest assured, you fucknuts will not get away with it - then every book in human history could be subject to the same censorship. Every book ever published has something in it to offend someone. By the precedent you set, even the most carefully calibrated book written today, censored by censors like you, will be censored by someone else tomorrow.

The problem with censorship is that it has no end. Think of it: you censored Dahl’s books in the United States. What if the Germans wanted to censor them to suit their needs? And then the Chinese to suit theirs?

Get it? Once one group of censors gets to do their filthy work, then everyone will have their go.

If literature is to survive, we have two choices. Either:

a) No censorship, period, full stop, because it’s fascist and horrifying, or

b) Endless, unlimited censorship - a world where every craven group like yours has free reign to mangle every book ever written

No one wants your world.

No one supports what you did.

Roald Dahl would loathe you.

All enlightened readers loathe you.

The history of world literature is against you.

You are anti-art.

You are anti-freedom.

Art must be free. Art must be unsafe. Art must be controversial. Art must have dangerous words and ideas in it. Otherwise, it’s not fucking art.

At the moment, the right wing of the US is censoring books. They are fighting to keep non-white and LGBTQ+ narratives from kids. They are pulling books from shelves. They are villainizing teachers and librarians.

You are no better than these right-wing assholes.

Both you and these fascist fuckwads are afraid of books. Afraid of ideas. You condescend to everyone by thinking you should be the judge of what is said and read.

Who the fuck are you to decide this?

You have no fucking right.

If you don’t want censorship from the right, you can’t have it from the left.

Here’s how art is supposed to work: Someone writes a book. They write it with passion, with abandon, with honesty and lyricism and even a bit of recklessness. It is of their time, using the words of their time.

Readers respond to this recklessness, this abandon, this rawness, this timeliness. The only books that ever mattered to anyone are raw, are unbridled, are risky, and timely. Then, if a parent or teacher reads the book to a kid, and there’s a part that’s risky or controversial, discussions can be had. If the book is old, then the words and sentiments of that time can be taken into account.

It’s not hard.

That is how we fucking learn.

All art has context.

All art is born of its time. It reflects its time.

People who come to the art later can handle the context, the different words, the different attitudes. People can fucking handle it because we are complex creatures capable of complex thoughts.

Censors think everyone is stupid.

Fuck you, censors.

Censors think it is their job to dumb down every piece of art till it says nothing to anyone.

Fuck you, censors.

Fascists fear art because it frees minds.

Fuck you, fascists.

Left, right: all censors are the same. Period. End of story. Fuck you, censors.

Fuck you,
All the readers in the world who loathe you.

Brian D. Butler, Travel Between the Pages

Mahfouz, Naguib "Midaq Alley"

Mahfouz, Naguib "Midaq Alley" (Arabic: زقاق المدق/Zuqaq El Midaq) - 1947

This is my fifth book by Nobel Prize winning Egyptian author Naguib Mahfouz. And every one of them seems to be even better than the last one. But that's probably just because it's the most recent one. They are all brilliant. He was just such a fantastic writer. You get to know the people living in Midaq Alley as if you've lived among them for most of your life.

A war rages in Europe and makes its waves into Egypt, as well, though not the way we might think.

The alley lies in the poorer part of Cairo with its inhabitants belonging to the poorer population, the lower end of the middle class probably. They all have their dreams of a better life, getting out of the street even though most of them know that this is where they belong and that they might not be able to live anywhere else.

It's almost like living in a village. If someone coughs at one end of the street, people on the other side have you dead within five minutes. Everyone knows everyone else's business. That has its advantages and disadvantages, of course.

So, this story could have taken place elsewhere, maybe even on your doorstep but the author tells us the lives of his compatriots. If you haven't read anything by this author, try him.

From the back cover:

"Never has Nobel Prize-winner Naguib Mahfouz's talent for rich and luxurious storytelling been more evident than in Midaq Alley, in his portrait of one small street as a microcosm of the world on the threshold of modernity. It centers around the residents of one of the hustling, teeming back alleys of Cairo. From Zaita the cripple-maker to Kirsha the café owner with a taste for young boys and drugs, to Abbas the barber who mistakes greed for love, to Hamida who sells her soul to escape the alley, from waiters and widows to politicians, pimps, and poets, the inhabitants of Midaq Alley vividly evoke the sights, sounds and smells of Cairo, Egypt's largest city as it teeters on the brink of change. Long after one finishes reading, the smell of fresh bread lingers, as does the image of the men gathering at the café for their nightly ritual. The universality and timelessness of this book cannot be denied."

Naguib Mahfouz "who, through works rich in nuance - now clear-sightedly realistic, now evocatively ambiguous - has formed an Arabian narrative art that applies to all mankind" received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1988.

I contribute to this page: Read the Nobels and you can find all my blogs about Nobel Prize winning authors and their books here.

Stein, Gertrude "Paris France"

Stein, Gertrude "Paris France" - 1940

I had expected something else from this book. Childhood memories, there were very few. Observations about France, alright, you might call it that. But somehow I thought some stories about her salon might have been included, so that we could learn more about Gertrude Stein's life in France. Or hear an anecdote about Ernest Hemingway or one of the other frequent visitors, Pablo Picasso, for instance. Or Silvia Beach, Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald, any of her famous friends.

I didn't dislike the book, though. Her style is quite unique, in German we have the expression "she talks without full stop and comma" and that's exactly what she does. For example, here is an excerpt:
"An American who had read as far as this as far as it had been written said to me, but you do not mention the relation of french men to french men, of french men to french women of french women to french women of french women to french children of french men to french children of french children to french children."

One thing did puzzle me, though. The book is supposedly from 1940 but she often mentions things she could only have known after the end of the war, like, how many people were killed from the village she lived in. Or, even when the war ended. How can that be?

I did like her way to describe the French, though. I have always met them as nice, friendly people who love their food and love their history. Well, the food is good but - in my opinion - the food in Belgium is a lot better. And I know what the French will say to that: Quel affront!

I read this as part of the "Read the Year" club.

From the back cover:

"Published in 1940, on the day that Paris fell to the Germans, Paris France blends Stein's childhood memories of Paris with trenchant observations about everything French. It is a witty fricassee of food and fashion, pets and painters, musicians, friends, and artists, served up with a healthy garnish of "Steinien" humor and self-indulgence. For readers who have previously considered Gertrude Stein to be a difficult or even unreadable author, Paris France provides a delightful window on her personal and unique world."

And here is a list of all the other 1940 books.

#ThrowbackThursday. Mary Lawson's first books

 

I have read all of Mary Lawson's books to date and today I will present you the two first ones that I read more than ten years ago.

Lawson, Mary "Crow Lake" - 2002

I've read this book at least three times, the first time when I borrowed it, the second time when we read it in the international book club and then again with my German book club. I really, really loved this novel.

This is the story of a girl who is raised by her two older brothers and it describes the struggle they go through on their way to adulthood. The book combines everything, tragedy, drama, love story, sacrifices, the "togetherness" of a small community. The characters are well written, and so are the episodes.

We discussed this in our international book club in March 2004 and in my German book club in March 2023.

Lawson, Mary "The Other Side of the Bridge" - 2006

I loved this just as much as Crow Lake.

The biggest topic of the book was the sibling rivalry, two brothers growing up on a farm in Canada in the 1930s, the mother favouring the younger son for various reasons. Then there is the generational conflict, the change of time, farm work now and then, modernization, parents' expectations in their children, small town life, prisoners of war, lots of different issues.

We discussed this in our international book club in September 2008.

You can find the subsequent novels by Mary Lawson here.

Read my original reviews here and here. 

Abulhawa, Susan "Against the Loveless World"

Abulhawa, Susan "Against the Loveless World" - 2020

I've read many books about the conflict in Israel/Palestine and the more I read about it, the more upset I get. I grew up with the story that the Palestinians were terrorists who were just out to destroy the Jews. Unfortunately, the story is not that easy.

This was probably one of the toughest books I read on the subject. A Palestinian woman, born outside of her country to refugee parents, who is imprisoned for fighting for her freedom and that of her people. I try to see both sides but that's not easy. Yes, the Jews had to flee Europe. But they did to the Palestinians exactly what had been done to them, chased them out of their houses, out of their country. Shouldn't they know better?

It's even worse for women - well, when is it ever better for women in any situation? Susan Abulhawa is a fantastic author, this is her third book I've been reading and it won't be the last.

Let's just hope that many people read this book who can change something. Although, I very much doubt it.

From the back cover:

"Nahr sits in an Israeli prison. Many in the world outside call her a terrorist; and just as many call her a revolutionary, a hero. But the truth is more complicated …

She was named for the river her mother crossed when she fled Israel's invasion of Palestine, and grew up into a girl who carried in her bone the desperation of being a refugee.

She was a woman who went to Palestine, and found books, friends, politics - and a purpose.

Nahr sits in her cell, and tells her story."

Other books by her that I read:
"Mornings in Jenin" (aka The Scar of David) - 2010
"The Blue Between Sky and Water" - 2015

#ThrowbackThursday. The Plague

 

Camus, Albert "The Plague" (French: La Peste) - 1947

My favourite French book of all times.

North Africa, a French town in Algeria, sometime in the 1940s. The rats come first, then the plague follows.

Albert Camus is my favourite French author, the language he uses is fantastic, so precise yet so poetic.

Read my original review here. 

Albert Camus received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1957 "for his important literary production, which with clear-sighted earnestness illuminates the problems of the human conscience in our times".

I contribute to this page: Read the Nobels and you can find all my blogs about Nobel Prize winning authors and their books here.