What do you think?
Rate this book
El pájaro pintado
Originally published in 1965, The Painted Bird established Jerzy Kosinski as a major literary figure. Called by the Los Angeles Times "one of the most imposing novels of the decade," it was eventuallly translated into more than thirty languages. A harrowing story that follows the wanderings of a boy abandoned by his parents during World War II, The Painted Bird is a dark masterpiece that examines the proximity of terror and savagery to innocence and love. It is the first, and the most famous, novel by one of the most important and original writers of this century.
284 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1965
1477 people are currently reading
43348 people want to read
About the author
Jerzy Kosiński
62 books610 followersKosiński was born Josef Lewinkopf to Jewish parents in Łódź, Poland. As a child during World War II, he lived in central Poland under a false identity his father gave him to use, Jerzy Kosiński. A Roman Catholic priest issued him a forged baptismal certificate. The Kosiński family survived the Holocaust thanks to local villagers, who offered assistance to Jewish Poles often at great personal risk (the penalty for assisting Jews in Nazi-occupied Poland was death). Kosiński's father received help not only from Polish town leaders and churchmen, but also from individuals such as Marianna Pasiowa, a member of the Polish underground network helping Jews to evade capture. The family lived openly in Dąbrowa Rzeczycka near Stalowa Wola, and attended church in nearby Wola Rzeczycka, obtaining support from villagers in Kępa Rzeczycka. They were sheltered temporarily by a Catholic family in Rzeczyca Okrągła. The young Jerzy even served as an altar boy in a local church.
After World War II, Kosiński remained with his parents in Poland, moved to Jelenia Góra, and earned degrees in history and political science at the University of Łódź. He worked as an assistant in Institute of History and Sociology at the Polish Academy of Sciences. In 1957, he emigrated to the United States, creating a fake foundation which supposedly sponsored him; he later claimed that the letters from eminent Polish communist authorities guaranteeing his loyal return, which were needed for anyone leaving the communist country at that time, had all been forged by him.
After taking odd jobs to get by, such as driving a truck, Kosiński graduated from Columbia University, and in 1965 he became an American citizen. He received grants from Guggenheim Fellowship in 1967, Ford Foundation in 1968, and the American Academy in 1970, which allowed him to write a political non-fiction book, opening new doors of opportunity. In the States he became a lecturer at Yale, Princeton, Davenport University, and Wesleyan.
In 1962 Kosiński married Mary Hayward Weir who was 10 years his senior. They were divorced in 1966. Weir died in 1968 from brain cancer. Kosiński was left nothing in her will. He later fictionalized this marriage in his novel Blind Date speaking of Weir under pseudonym Mary-Jane Kirkland. Kosiński went on to marry Katherina "Kiki" von Fraunhofer, a marketing consultant and descendant of Bavarian aristocracy. They met in 1968.
Kosiński suffered from multiple illnesses towards the end of his life, and was under attack from journalists who alleged he was a plagiarist. By the time he reached his late 50s, Kosiński was suffering from an irregular heartbeat as well as severe physical and nervous exhaustion. Kosiński committed suicide on May 3, 1991, by taking a fatal dose of barbiturates. His parting suicide note read: "I am going to put myself to sleep now for a bit longer than usual. Call it Eternity".
After World War II, Kosiński remained with his parents in Poland, moved to Jelenia Góra, and earned degrees in history and political science at the University of Łódź. He worked as an assistant in Institute of History and Sociology at the Polish Academy of Sciences. In 1957, he emigrated to the United States, creating a fake foundation which supposedly sponsored him; he later claimed that the letters from eminent Polish communist authorities guaranteeing his loyal return, which were needed for anyone leaving the communist country at that time, had all been forged by him.
After taking odd jobs to get by, such as driving a truck, Kosiński graduated from Columbia University, and in 1965 he became an American citizen. He received grants from Guggenheim Fellowship in 1967, Ford Foundation in 1968, and the American Academy in 1970, which allowed him to write a political non-fiction book, opening new doors of opportunity. In the States he became a lecturer at Yale, Princeton, Davenport University, and Wesleyan.
In 1962 Kosiński married Mary Hayward Weir who was 10 years his senior. They were divorced in 1966. Weir died in 1968 from brain cancer. Kosiński was left nothing in her will. He later fictionalized this marriage in his novel Blind Date speaking of Weir under pseudonym Mary-Jane Kirkland. Kosiński went on to marry Katherina "Kiki" von Fraunhofer, a marketing consultant and descendant of Bavarian aristocracy. They met in 1968.
Kosiński suffered from multiple illnesses towards the end of his life, and was under attack from journalists who alleged he was a plagiarist. By the time he reached his late 50s, Kosiński was suffering from an irregular heartbeat as well as severe physical and nervous exhaustion. Kosiński committed suicide on May 3, 1991, by taking a fatal dose of barbiturates. His parting suicide note read: "I am going to put myself to sleep now for a bit longer than usual. Call it Eternity".
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,356 reviews
June 20, 2010
Reading this one is like opening an oven door and the WHITE HOT BLAST OF HATRED from every page sears your flesh, scars your brain, and when you finish it you cram it shut with relief and throw it quickly into a box marked “Charity” although giving this to anyone would not be any kind of charitable act unless they need something to keep the fire going. What kind of a shitstorm do we have here?
For some reason I thought this was the story of a kid caught up in the Holocaust, i.e. a ghetto and concentration camp story. But it isn’t. It’s the story of 7 year old kid (not named) who is sent to the remote Polish countryside by his parents in an attempt to keep him safe. Fat chance of that. The parents appear to have been a little over-optimistic. The kid avoids the Germans, mostly, but he can’t avoid the Poles. For the next five years he hops from one ghastly peasant village to another, being taken in by a series of grotesque caricatures - psychopaths, sadists, rapists the lot of them. Every Polish peasant immediately takes him for a Gypsy and from then on thinks it’s okay – almost compulsory - to inflict the maximum torment their tiny Polish peasant brains can imagine. Did I say Polish peasant? Yes, very specifically : this book is a hymn of hate to the Polish peasant. There’s only a handful of Germans in the whole 285 pages and one of those is quite kindly . What this novel is saying in a SCREECHINGLY LOUD voice is that you couldn’t have found a better place for your Holocaust than Poland – everyone truly madly deeply hated the Jews – and the Gypsies. They really did. They sat around and gleefully told each other that at last the Jews were getting their comeuppance.
Historical note : of the 5.8 to 6 million Jews murdered in the Holocaust, 75% came from either Poland or Russia. 90% of all Polish Jews were murdered. ALL of the six extermination camps (as opposed to concentration camps) were in Poland.
Cinematic note : Claude Lanzmann says the same thing as Jerzy in his epic documentary “Shoah”.
Back to the book. There’s a big problem with it. Actually, there are about ten big problems, but the biggest is credibility. Is all this stuff to be believed? I mean, come on, Jerzy! This phantasmagoria of bestiality, rape, murder, torture, more rape, incest, beating, this unceasing onslaught directed against this small boy? Here’s a few quotes :
Without saying a word Garbos used to beat me unexpectedly (p154)
I did as I was told but he continued the beatings. (p155)
As soon as the priest had left, Garbos took me inside, stripped me and flogged me with a willow switch (p156)
Garbos would practice at first casually and then more eagerly new ways of flogging me with a willow cane (p159)
…he beat me and kicked me until he was out of breath (p160)
I went round in a daze and was beaten for neglecting my work (p160)
He thought I was mocking him on purpose and I got an even worse beating (p161)
He started to beat me more often (p165)
he was beating me harder than usual (p166)
Okay, this chapter has more beats per minute than most, but there’s at least one gross outrage inflicted on this kid once every five pages or so, either by adults or by every other kid he encounters. You get the idea that this must have been one aggravating revolting brat of a kid. No one even smiles at him until page 213. You get so you aren’t taking this stuff as seriously as you really know you should be. You catch yourself wincing and saying “Ewwww, that was a good one!” like when Linda Blair's head goes round in The Exorcist.
Credibility : I kind of think that fiction should tell the truth, but I also know it’s made up. Hmmm. Serious fiction should tell the truth about humans, because unserious fiction just peddles the lies, myths and distortions we’re all too familiar with. So if you’re writing about Holocaust racism, as Kosinski is, you should make your story credible. I don’t want to be saying hey, ten pages without a rape-murder, I bet there’s one coming up soon – oh, here it is. In this way The painted Bird resembles something like Justine by de Sade – no plot, no characters, just lots of gruesome vignettes strung together. The reader is stultified.
Such a sensational novel brought Kosinski a lot of attention, and when you take a look at this guy, he turns out to be very interesting. He was like one of those 19th century “adventurers”, guys with dubious backgrounds who suddenly explode through the social firmament, charming and wowing the glitterati, then being revealed as frauds and charlatans. By subterfuge JK got himself out of communist Poland and within five minutes he’d created this best-seller in his second language. I say "created" because there’s some doubt about whether he actually wrote it. JK let it be understood that TPB might be autobiographical, and most of its first readers and reviewers accepted it as such – right now Amazon quotes the Merriam-Webster Encyclopaedia of Literature : “The ordeals of the central character parallel Kosinski's own experiences during World War II.” But this was exposed in 1996 as a big fat lie when a biographer discovered that Jewish Jerzy and his family lived in Poland together throughout the war protected by all their Polish friends. No brutality, no ghettos for JK. So the best guess might be that JK took most of the stuff in his novel from unidentified Polish-language accounts of survival during the war, then paid translators to help him render the material into English. This isn’t a bad thing, but it isn’t the last word in scrupulousness either. Critics have noted that all of JK’s novels are in different styles because he always worked with different translators and editors. (or, it has been whispered, different ghost-writers.)
Back in Poland the communists banned it, which is nicely ironic as the adult who rescues the boy, finally, and becomes a father to him, briefly, is a communist and teaches the kid all about the workers’ struggle. But you can see their point – this is an anti-Polish novel – no, an anti-Polish-peasant novel – no, an anti-Polish-peasant-during-WW2 novel – well, definitely one of those.
In the end, this novel is a failure. But it's a brave, reckless, dangerous, blazing failure.
Cinematic PS : I was watching Reds the other week and was mightily impressed by the actor playing Zinoviev. He had a hell of a face, hell of a haircut and a delivery that made his few scenes the most memorable of the 3 hour movie. And yes, that actor was Jerzy Kosinski. What a geezer!
For some reason I thought this was the story of a kid caught up in the Holocaust, i.e. a ghetto and concentration camp story. But it isn’t. It’s the story of 7 year old kid (not named) who is sent to the remote Polish countryside by his parents in an attempt to keep him safe. Fat chance of that. The parents appear to have been a little over-optimistic. The kid avoids the Germans, mostly, but he can’t avoid the Poles. For the next five years he hops from one ghastly peasant village to another, being taken in by a series of grotesque caricatures - psychopaths, sadists, rapists the lot of them. Every Polish peasant immediately takes him for a Gypsy and from then on thinks it’s okay – almost compulsory - to inflict the maximum torment their tiny Polish peasant brains can imagine. Did I say Polish peasant? Yes, very specifically : this book is a hymn of hate to the Polish peasant. There’s only a handful of Germans in the whole 285 pages and one of those is quite kindly . What this novel is saying in a SCREECHINGLY LOUD voice is that you couldn’t have found a better place for your Holocaust than Poland – everyone truly madly deeply hated the Jews – and the Gypsies. They really did. They sat around and gleefully told each other that at last the Jews were getting their comeuppance.
Historical note : of the 5.8 to 6 million Jews murdered in the Holocaust, 75% came from either Poland or Russia. 90% of all Polish Jews were murdered. ALL of the six extermination camps (as opposed to concentration camps) were in Poland.
Cinematic note : Claude Lanzmann says the same thing as Jerzy in his epic documentary “Shoah”.
Back to the book. There’s a big problem with it. Actually, there are about ten big problems, but the biggest is credibility. Is all this stuff to be believed? I mean, come on, Jerzy! This phantasmagoria of bestiality, rape, murder, torture, more rape, incest, beating, this unceasing onslaught directed against this small boy? Here’s a few quotes :
Without saying a word Garbos used to beat me unexpectedly (p154)
I did as I was told but he continued the beatings. (p155)
As soon as the priest had left, Garbos took me inside, stripped me and flogged me with a willow switch (p156)
Garbos would practice at first casually and then more eagerly new ways of flogging me with a willow cane (p159)
…he beat me and kicked me until he was out of breath (p160)
I went round in a daze and was beaten for neglecting my work (p160)
He thought I was mocking him on purpose and I got an even worse beating (p161)
He started to beat me more often (p165)
he was beating me harder than usual (p166)
Okay, this chapter has more beats per minute than most, but there’s at least one gross outrage inflicted on this kid once every five pages or so, either by adults or by every other kid he encounters. You get the idea that this must have been one aggravating revolting brat of a kid. No one even smiles at him until page 213. You get so you aren’t taking this stuff as seriously as you really know you should be. You catch yourself wincing and saying “Ewwww, that was a good one!” like when Linda Blair's head goes round in The Exorcist.
Credibility : I kind of think that fiction should tell the truth, but I also know it’s made up. Hmmm. Serious fiction should tell the truth about humans, because unserious fiction just peddles the lies, myths and distortions we’re all too familiar with. So if you’re writing about Holocaust racism, as Kosinski is, you should make your story credible. I don’t want to be saying hey, ten pages without a rape-murder, I bet there’s one coming up soon – oh, here it is. In this way The painted Bird resembles something like Justine by de Sade – no plot, no characters, just lots of gruesome vignettes strung together. The reader is stultified.
Such a sensational novel brought Kosinski a lot of attention, and when you take a look at this guy, he turns out to be very interesting. He was like one of those 19th century “adventurers”, guys with dubious backgrounds who suddenly explode through the social firmament, charming and wowing the glitterati, then being revealed as frauds and charlatans. By subterfuge JK got himself out of communist Poland and within five minutes he’d created this best-seller in his second language. I say "created" because there’s some doubt about whether he actually wrote it. JK let it be understood that TPB might be autobiographical, and most of its first readers and reviewers accepted it as such – right now Amazon quotes the Merriam-Webster Encyclopaedia of Literature : “The ordeals of the central character parallel Kosinski's own experiences during World War II.” But this was exposed in 1996 as a big fat lie when a biographer discovered that Jewish Jerzy and his family lived in Poland together throughout the war protected by all their Polish friends. No brutality, no ghettos for JK. So the best guess might be that JK took most of the stuff in his novel from unidentified Polish-language accounts of survival during the war, then paid translators to help him render the material into English. This isn’t a bad thing, but it isn’t the last word in scrupulousness either. Critics have noted that all of JK’s novels are in different styles because he always worked with different translators and editors. (or, it has been whispered, different ghost-writers.)
Back in Poland the communists banned it, which is nicely ironic as the adult who rescues the boy, finally, and becomes a father to him, briefly, is a communist and teaches the kid all about the workers’ struggle. But you can see their point – this is an anti-Polish novel – no, an anti-Polish-peasant novel – no, an anti-Polish-peasant-during-WW2 novel – well, definitely one of those.
In the end, this novel is a failure. But it's a brave, reckless, dangerous, blazing failure.
Cinematic PS : I was watching Reds the other week and was mightily impressed by the actor playing Zinoviev. He had a hell of a face, hell of a haircut and a delivery that made his few scenes the most memorable of the 3 hour movie. And yes, that actor was Jerzy Kosinski. What a geezer!
October 18, 2024
“Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war” William Shakespeare – Julius Caesar
The Painted Bird is pitilessly graphic and graphically merciless…
It’s easy to lose one’s way while walking the trails of war…
A waiflike boy is a stranger in a strange land… He is a pigeon amongst hawks…
If a little bird has a different feather no other birds will flock with it.
The Painted Bird is pitilessly graphic and graphically merciless…
It’s easy to lose one’s way while walking the trails of war…
One day, when the pigeon was trying as usual to consort with the hens and chicks, a small black shape broke away from the clouds. The hens ran screaming toward the barn and the chicken coop. The black ball fell like a stone on the flock. Only the pigeon had no place to hide. Before he even had time to spread his wings, a powerful bird with a sharp hooked beak pinned him to the ground and struck at him. The pigeon’s feathers were speckled with blood. Marta came running out of the hut, brandishing a stick, but the hawk flew off smoothly, carrying in its beak the limp body of the pigeon.
A waiflike boy is a stranger in a strange land… He is a pigeon amongst hawks…
If a little bird has a different feather no other birds will flock with it.
December 4, 2012
Warning: I talk about a really gross and disturbing scene from the book in this review, please do not read if you're going to be upset and/or offended by talk of graphic sexual violence.
This book is one of my dad's favourite books of all time, I don't know how many years he's been telling me to read it now and we've always had similar opinions on books before. But The Painted Bird did not live up to my expectations and the whole idea of it just left a very bad taste in my mouth.
Pretty much anyone who's ever had some level of history education will have heard of some of the atrocities committed during the Holocaust, no matter how many times you read about human beings burning the children of other human beings and watching people slowly starve to death because of their race, religion or other factors, it is still just as shocking and horrifying. One of the areas sometimes neglected in these accounts of wartime cruelty is the suffering of non-German Jews and it may come as a shock to some to learn that more than 70% of those Jews murdered during Hitler's reign were actually from Poland and Russia. Also, all six extermination camps - as opposed to concentration camps - were located in Poland. [ * ]
So when Jerzy Kosinski came stumbling out of communist Poland with a story about a young boy who was sent to the Polish countryside by his parents to hopefully protect him from the horrors going on in that area of Europe during this time, a young boy who moved from remote village to remote village, finding and enduring the worst kind of horrors imaginable along the way, most of Kosinski's readers wrongly assumed that this book was autobiographical. Rather than correcting his audience, Mr Kosinski rode the wave of popularity and did nothing to change these misconceptions. I suppose if someone wanted to give me a million for something I hadn't done I'd probably take the money and run too, so I don't really care that the author wasn't more vocal with the truth of this book. But... what I do think is that the knowledge that this novel is complete fiction - even if this stuff did happen somewhere - turns a potentially moving tale into a gratuitous torturefest.
Just to compare this with S. - another fictional book about atrocities committed during war - I'm not saying that people cannot write successful fictional stories set during the holocaust or that it needs to be a memoir to be effective. But, where S. is a deeply moving tale that focuses on the internal effect had by the abuse which the captors inflicted upon their victims, The Painted Bird tells of a series of gruesome acts that vary from extreme beatings, to brutal rape scenes, to a man gouging out another man's eye with a spoon... and you have to ask yourself what he achieved other than making you feel physically ill at times. Pointless, mindless, disgusting scenes of violence that seem to me to be nothing but shock tactics.
After a while of reading all these disturbing scenes, you start to feel like you're in a Saw movie, like the author is trying to create scenarios that are each more repulsive than the last just to play with the characters a bit more, make their lives a bit worse. Like raping a woman with a glass bottle and then kicking her abdomen until the glass shatters and she bleeds to death. And I do not mind reading gross scenes of violence as long as I feel it contributes something and isn't just there to keep me wide-eyed long enough that I forget the book isn't very well written and there's been no character development. I find it somewhat insulting to all those people who genuinely suffered during the holocaust that Kosinski would use it in a such an awful, emotionally-manipulative way.
I feel like if I'd really wanted to experience violence, torture and rape without being moved in any way, then I could have just watched Game of Thrones. At least that has hot men for me to look at.
This book is one of my dad's favourite books of all time, I don't know how many years he's been telling me to read it now and we've always had similar opinions on books before. But The Painted Bird did not live up to my expectations and the whole idea of it just left a very bad taste in my mouth.
Pretty much anyone who's ever had some level of history education will have heard of some of the atrocities committed during the Holocaust, no matter how many times you read about human beings burning the children of other human beings and watching people slowly starve to death because of their race, religion or other factors, it is still just as shocking and horrifying. One of the areas sometimes neglected in these accounts of wartime cruelty is the suffering of non-German Jews and it may come as a shock to some to learn that more than 70% of those Jews murdered during Hitler's reign were actually from Poland and Russia. Also, all six extermination camps - as opposed to concentration camps - were located in Poland. [ * ]
So when Jerzy Kosinski came stumbling out of communist Poland with a story about a young boy who was sent to the Polish countryside by his parents to hopefully protect him from the horrors going on in that area of Europe during this time, a young boy who moved from remote village to remote village, finding and enduring the worst kind of horrors imaginable along the way, most of Kosinski's readers wrongly assumed that this book was autobiographical. Rather than correcting his audience, Mr Kosinski rode the wave of popularity and did nothing to change these misconceptions. I suppose if someone wanted to give me a million for something I hadn't done I'd probably take the money and run too, so I don't really care that the author wasn't more vocal with the truth of this book. But... what I do think is that the knowledge that this novel is complete fiction - even if this stuff did happen somewhere - turns a potentially moving tale into a gratuitous torturefest.
Just to compare this with S. - another fictional book about atrocities committed during war - I'm not saying that people cannot write successful fictional stories set during the holocaust or that it needs to be a memoir to be effective. But, where S. is a deeply moving tale that focuses on the internal effect had by the abuse which the captors inflicted upon their victims, The Painted Bird tells of a series of gruesome acts that vary from extreme beatings, to brutal rape scenes, to a man gouging out another man's eye with a spoon... and you have to ask yourself what he achieved other than making you feel physically ill at times. Pointless, mindless, disgusting scenes of violence that seem to me to be nothing but shock tactics.
After a while of reading all these disturbing scenes, you start to feel like you're in a Saw movie, like the author is trying to create scenarios that are each more repulsive than the last just to play with the characters a bit more, make their lives a bit worse. Like raping a woman with a glass bottle and then kicking her abdomen until the glass shatters and she bleeds to death. And I do not mind reading gross scenes of violence as long as I feel it contributes something and isn't just there to keep me wide-eyed long enough that I forget the book isn't very well written and there's been no character development. I find it somewhat insulting to all those people who genuinely suffered during the holocaust that Kosinski would use it in a such an awful, emotionally-manipulative way.
I feel like if I'd really wanted to experience violence, torture and rape without being moved in any way, then I could have just watched Game of Thrones. At least that has hot men for me to look at.
September 5, 2017
The cover of the Mass Market Paperback edition from the 1970s of The Painted Bird features a small section of Hieronymus Bosch hell-landscape -- dressed in sickly green and wearing a white hood, a creature with a man's body and head of a long-beaked bird walks on crutches carrying a large wicker basket on its back, and in the basket a small black devil with spiky fingers touches the shoulder of a wary young boy as he whispers into the boy's ear. This is an apt cover for Jerzy Kosinski's fictionalized autobiographical novel set in Poland during the reign of Nazi terror in World War 11.
I first read this harrowing tale thirty-five years ago. I have read many dark, disturbing novels filled with brutality of every stripe, including such works as Malamud's The Fixer, Dostoyevsky's The House of the Dead, and Solzhenitsyn's Gulag Archipelago, but, in my view, perhaps because the narrator is a ten year old boy, no novel has its main character live through a more painful hell than in The Painted Bird.
Several months after reading this novel, the author himself made a visit to a large bookstore in Philadelphia for a book-signing, so I had an opportunity to actually meet him - a small man with a thin, high pitched voice and sharp, chiseled fine features, a man who struck me as being both sensitive and friendly. He appreciated my words of thanks and told me, when asked, that he was heading to New Orleans and expected to have some exciting times.
Anyway, that was then. Several days ago I saw my local library had a copy of The Painted Bird audio book and immediately checked it out. I started also rereading the printed book as I listened to the audio. The reader, Fred Berman, did his homework - his accent and inflection and manner of speaking is spot-on Jerzy Kosinski.
If you are unfamiliar, this story is of an orphan boy with black eyes and sharp nose, labeled gypsy-Jew, forced to wander from village to village, subjected physically to beatings, rape, tortures, as well as murder attempts, while subjected psychologically to being treated as a messenger of the devil and an evil spirit who casts spells with a glance from his black eyes.
The boy is so traumatized from unrelenting abuse, he completely losses his capacity to speak for many months. The abuse reaches such a pitch, at one point he reflects on the nature of evil: "I tried to visualize the manner in which the evil spirits operated. The minds and souls of people were as open to these forces as a plowed field, and it was on this field that the Evil Ones incessantly scattered their malignant seed. If their seed sprouted to life, if they felt welcomed, they offered all the help which might be needed, on the condition that it would be used for selfish purposes and only to the detriment of others. From the moment of signing a pact with the Devil, the more harm, misery, injury, and bitterness a man could inflict on those around him, the more help he could expect." Quite the musings from a ten year old! Just goes to show how extreme was his direct experience of the forces of evil.
If you are up for an unforgettable experience of terror expressed in the clear, vivid literary language of a fine writer, then you are ready for The Painted Bird.
“There's a place beyond words where experience first occurs to which I always want to return. I suspect that whenever I articulate my thoughts or translate my impulses into words, I am betraying the real thoughts and impulses which remain hidden.”
― Jerzy Kosinski, The Painted Bird
June 16, 2019
Recently, I said to a teacher of mine (as almost a point of pride) that I admire books that are void of sentimentality. He responded with, "Have you read Jerzy Kosinski?"
No, I hadn't. So I immediately sourced a copy of The Painted Bird thinking, sweet, giddy-up! I've read plenty of ruthless books. I'm no wilting daisy, no stranger to pages penned by an extra sharp quill.
But this book... this book is hardcore.
Based at least in part on the childhood experiences of the author, this 1965 novel follows the life of a 6 year old Polish boy who is sent away by his parents at the onset of WWII. He's meant to stay with a witchy peasant woman in a far away village, but that doesn't last for long. The boy is forced to survive in an unfriendly, rural area where he is despised by everyone who sees him because of the darkness of his hair and eyes. They don't know whether to hate him because he's a gypsy, or a Jew. Either way though, he is in trouble.
Written in episodes, each chapter is a story of a new set of circumstances, a new horror show, a new twisted fairy tale, unlike anything you've read before. The child witnesses and endures the worst the world has to offer at the hands of the Polish peasantry. Often I had to put it aside to let my brain rest from the relentless pummelling it was taking, let the evil images have a chance to fade, before picking it up again.
This book gives voice to the horrors of war, to be sure, and in particular the Nazi brand of horrors. But what struck me most about this scathing novel is its merciless illustration of the death of innocence. The main character starts off like any child, with the naive hope that he will be reunited with his parents and be returned to a safe, comfortable life. But with each episode, another hope is extinguished, another ideal is destroyed. This boy slowly loses faith in both God and people as he realises "every one of us stands alone". And how, given his experiences, can he come to any other conclusion?
The title is taken from the chapter that features Lekh, a peasant who captures birds, and has the cruel habit of painting them in bright colours before setting them free. Then he watches as the flock, who can no longer recognise the bird as one of their own, viciously attacks and kills it. The boy is undoubtedly the painted bird, who cannot be seen as belonging anywhere he goes. He's left to a mixture of his own instincts and the random, careless luck of the world, in order to survive.
I don't know that I would "recommend" this book to anyone, due to its extreme nature. I know that it has been criticised for exaggerating or exploiting the terrors of the Holocaust, as well as painting the Polish peasants as sadistic, ignorant filth. But personally, I have no problem believing that such horrendous things happened, and even worse, that the innocent hearts of children were hardened into existential lumps. I think it is of utmost importance that this controversial story be read by those who dare - to show us how close we all are to walking alone, and remind us to clutch tightly to each other and our humanity, above all else.
Now, who's getting sentimental here??
No, I hadn't. So I immediately sourced a copy of The Painted Bird thinking, sweet, giddy-up! I've read plenty of ruthless books. I'm no wilting daisy, no stranger to pages penned by an extra sharp quill.
But this book... this book is hardcore.
Based at least in part on the childhood experiences of the author, this 1965 novel follows the life of a 6 year old Polish boy who is sent away by his parents at the onset of WWII. He's meant to stay with a witchy peasant woman in a far away village, but that doesn't last for long. The boy is forced to survive in an unfriendly, rural area where he is despised by everyone who sees him because of the darkness of his hair and eyes. They don't know whether to hate him because he's a gypsy, or a Jew. Either way though, he is in trouble.
Written in episodes, each chapter is a story of a new set of circumstances, a new horror show, a new twisted fairy tale, unlike anything you've read before. The child witnesses and endures the worst the world has to offer at the hands of the Polish peasantry. Often I had to put it aside to let my brain rest from the relentless pummelling it was taking, let the evil images have a chance to fade, before picking it up again.
This book gives voice to the horrors of war, to be sure, and in particular the Nazi brand of horrors. But what struck me most about this scathing novel is its merciless illustration of the death of innocence. The main character starts off like any child, with the naive hope that he will be reunited with his parents and be returned to a safe, comfortable life. But with each episode, another hope is extinguished, another ideal is destroyed. This boy slowly loses faith in both God and people as he realises "every one of us stands alone". And how, given his experiences, can he come to any other conclusion?
The title is taken from the chapter that features Lekh, a peasant who captures birds, and has the cruel habit of painting them in bright colours before setting them free. Then he watches as the flock, who can no longer recognise the bird as one of their own, viciously attacks and kills it. The boy is undoubtedly the painted bird, who cannot be seen as belonging anywhere he goes. He's left to a mixture of his own instincts and the random, careless luck of the world, in order to survive.
I don't know that I would "recommend" this book to anyone, due to its extreme nature. I know that it has been criticised for exaggerating or exploiting the terrors of the Holocaust, as well as painting the Polish peasants as sadistic, ignorant filth. But personally, I have no problem believing that such horrendous things happened, and even worse, that the innocent hearts of children were hardened into existential lumps. I think it is of utmost importance that this controversial story be read by those who dare - to show us how close we all are to walking alone, and remind us to clutch tightly to each other and our humanity, above all else.
Now, who's getting sentimental here??
September 5, 2019
The Real Spoils of War
In his Being There, Kosinski meditated on the consequences of being socialised entirely through television. The Painted Bird considers how a child might be socialised (if that doesn’t stretch the meaning of the word beyond its limits) to the chaos of war and the morally-deprived society in which it takes place. It’s not pretty.
Postscript
This article appeared in my 'feed' several days after I finished reading Kosinski. It is a re-interpretation of the Book of Job that is remarkably congruent with the thrust of Kosinski's narrative.
http://www.abc.net.au/religion/articl...
In his Being There, Kosinski meditated on the consequences of being socialised entirely through television. The Painted Bird considers how a child might be socialised (if that doesn’t stretch the meaning of the word beyond its limits) to the chaos of war and the morally-deprived society in which it takes place. It’s not pretty.
Postscript
This article appeared in my 'feed' several days after I finished reading Kosinski. It is a re-interpretation of the Book of Job that is remarkably congruent with the thrust of Kosinski's narrative.
http://www.abc.net.au/religion/articl...
April 12, 2019
I read in the introduction that Kosinski was attacked on several occasions by Polish nationals after publishing this novel. This because it's a merciless mockery and indictment of Polish Catholics and in particular the peasantry. In the 19th century literature tended to romanticise rural communities. A stance that rarely quite rings true nowadays. This novel perhaps exaggerates to the other extreme. However, one of the most memorable images in The Shoah documentary is the Polish farmer showing how he warned the Jews heading for Treblinka of their imminent fate. He makes a throat slitting gesture and then shows all his teeth in a wide grin. In that moment you realise he wasn't warning those Jews at all; he was mocking them. It's a sad fact that the populations of Germany's enemies often implemented Nazi policy much more comprehensively and enthusiastically than Nazi allies. Italy for example has a much better record than Poland (or France for that matter) for its behaviour towards Jews. By all accounts there was little racism in Italy. There are several cases of the Carabinieri destroying a population census in a district rather than handing it over to the Nazis. Italians hid Jews; there are virtually no cases of them betraying them for cash. I read recently that the Gestapo received tens of thousands of letters from French civilians denouncing Jews. Poland has perhaps the worst record of all. If you were a Jew in Poland, you had an enemy on the other side of virtually every wall.
I don't know any details of Kosinski's wartime experiences. Clearly they left him embittered and hating the country of his birth. However, he was a Polish Jew and survived so must have had help from Christian Poles. A subtext of this novel is the importance of formal education. The Polish peasantry are characterised as uncouth ignoramuses, medieval in their religious beliefs and philosophy. Witchcraft is still the prevailing belief system.
But this is a novel, not a memoir, and should be evaluated as such. As a novel it has flaws, a couple of them fatal in my view. The Painted Bird is a very episodic novel. In fact, it's sometimes like the same short story written over and over again. This is certainly one flaw. There's also a sense that Kosinski gets carried away with his fascination for sadistic brutality. At times it reads like Holocaust porn, horror piled upon horror with a sense he's rather enjoying himself and inviting us to share his voyeuristic fascination. Less is more is a concept that completely escapes him. He piles on the atrocities, especially those of a sexual nature and it begins to make for very uncomfortable reading. Not because one is shocked; rather that one is embarrassed on the author's behalf by his obsessive fascination for depravity. This is particularly evident in a chapter when Ukrainian mercenaries terrorise a village. The acts these men subject the villagers to become almost comical in their escalating depravity. It's like the Marquis de Sade meets Monty Python. In fact you sense the novel's popularity was fed by all the perverted sex in its pages rather than as any kind of moving dramatization of the Holocaust. It's a shame because he writes very well and at times offers subtle and memorable insights into the dark side of human nature. Also, as an act of catharsis I dare say it provided benefits for him and you certainly can't begrudge him that. But it probably would have been a better novel had he waited until he was less avid to shock his readers. The Holocaust is shocking; we don't need anyone to exaggerate how shocking it was, even if with a mischievous ironical twinkle in the eye.
I don't know any details of Kosinski's wartime experiences. Clearly they left him embittered and hating the country of his birth. However, he was a Polish Jew and survived so must have had help from Christian Poles. A subtext of this novel is the importance of formal education. The Polish peasantry are characterised as uncouth ignoramuses, medieval in their religious beliefs and philosophy. Witchcraft is still the prevailing belief system.
But this is a novel, not a memoir, and should be evaluated as such. As a novel it has flaws, a couple of them fatal in my view. The Painted Bird is a very episodic novel. In fact, it's sometimes like the same short story written over and over again. This is certainly one flaw. There's also a sense that Kosinski gets carried away with his fascination for sadistic brutality. At times it reads like Holocaust porn, horror piled upon horror with a sense he's rather enjoying himself and inviting us to share his voyeuristic fascination. Less is more is a concept that completely escapes him. He piles on the atrocities, especially those of a sexual nature and it begins to make for very uncomfortable reading. Not because one is shocked; rather that one is embarrassed on the author's behalf by his obsessive fascination for depravity. This is particularly evident in a chapter when Ukrainian mercenaries terrorise a village. The acts these men subject the villagers to become almost comical in their escalating depravity. It's like the Marquis de Sade meets Monty Python. In fact you sense the novel's popularity was fed by all the perverted sex in its pages rather than as any kind of moving dramatization of the Holocaust. It's a shame because he writes very well and at times offers subtle and memorable insights into the dark side of human nature. Also, as an act of catharsis I dare say it provided benefits for him and you certainly can't begrudge him that. But it probably would have been a better novel had he waited until he was less avid to shock his readers. The Holocaust is shocking; we don't need anyone to exaggerate how shocking it was, even if with a mischievous ironical twinkle in the eye.
November 3, 2021
One of the most troubling and damn right harrowing novels I've read in a long time. I'm not going to go into specifics - apart from saying that it all starts with the torture of a squirrel - but the level of cruetly and abuse was just off the scale in some parts, and all seen through the bulging eyes of a young boy - a wanderer - alone and fearful in central and Eastern Europe, searching for the kindness of strangers, but finding nothing other than a living hell on earth. Knowing there is a film - which I haven't yet seen - prior to reading the novel, I can now say having read it that I would be absolutely stunned if two or three of the most graphic and disgusting scenes made it into the film, but, seeing as there were walk-outs and fainting when it played at the Venice film festival, then I guess I wouldn't be all that surprised. It's only when a German soldier and a Soviet Red Army officer came into the narrative that it felt like taking place during WW2, as up to a point the bleak countryside - the dark forests, desolate fields, muddy rain-washed tracks, frozen lakes, dense fog, villages, peasants and impoverished farmers - reminded me of the grim apocalyptic vision of Hungarian film-maker Béla Tarr and writer László Krasznahorkai more than anything else. How much was real and how much was invented here didn't really bother me (falsifying claims of it being an autobiographical work), and while compared to a lot of other WW2 novels I've read it doesn't go anywhere near deep enough, Kosinski still delivered a gripping and vivid read that delved into the horrors - the unforgettable sadistic brutality and suffering - that we humans can inflict on one another, and highlights that it wasn't only the death camps that witnessed such terrible atrocities. If there was any compassion shown in here at all, then it made up for only about 0.5% of it. Not for the faint of heart. 3.7/5
January 23, 2020
رواية بتفاصيل مزعجة وقاتمة للكاتب البولندي جيرزي كوزينسكي
تعرض فترة في حياة صبي يرسله أهل�� للريف في إحدى بلاد أوروبا الشرقية
في بداية الحرب العالمية الثانية أملا في الحفاظ على حياته وحمايته فترة الاحتلال الألماني
ولكنه بأي حال لا يسلم من المخاطر والأذى, ينتقل من قرية لأخرى
ويتعرض لكافة أشكال السادية والعنف في قرى الريف المليئة بالخرافات والتخلف والجهل والهمجية
من بشر حياتهم قائمة على الشراسة والعنصرية مع ازدياد التوحش فترة الحرب وظروفها اللا انسانية
وبعد رحلة طويلة من المعاناة وبانتهاء الحرب يجتمع الصبي بأهله مرة أخرى
اختلفت الآراء حول ما إذا كانت الرواية من سيرة الكاتب في صباه فترة الحرب العالمية الثانية
لكن الأرجح انها رواية مُتخيلة تحكي الحقيقة عن قسوة البشر والواقع على مر التاريخ
تعرض فترة في حياة صبي يرسله أهل�� للريف في إحدى بلاد أوروبا الشرقية
في بداية الحرب العالمية الثانية أملا في الحفاظ على حياته وحمايته فترة الاحتلال الألماني
ولكنه بأي حال لا يسلم من المخاطر والأذى, ينتقل من قرية لأخرى
ويتعرض لكافة أشكال السادية والعنف في قرى الريف المليئة بالخرافات والتخلف والجهل والهمجية
من بشر حياتهم قائمة على الشراسة والعنصرية مع ازدياد التوحش فترة الحرب وظروفها اللا انسانية
وبعد رحلة طويلة من المعاناة وبانتهاء الحرب يجتمع الصبي بأهله مرة أخرى
اختلفت الآراء حول ما إذا كانت الرواية من سيرة الكاتب في صباه فترة الحرب العالمية الثانية
لكن الأرجح انها رواية مُتخيلة تحكي الحقيقة عن قسوة البشر والواقع على مر التاريخ
November 13, 2019
The story we find told by Kosinski, is nothing more than the reality of the evil experienced by hundreds of children and people during the Second World War. Violence and extreme brutality, but unfortunately they happened and lived in that period. The wickedness recounted in this story I never met in any other book read so far, where in a historical epoch the destiny of your life was dictated by belonging and physiognomy...
The extreme cruelty of the ancient popular beliefs in the rural world described here, is not something invented, but meandering and coexisting with the Christian faith.
What scandalizes here is the impossibility and total absence of a good and healthy tenderness, denied to all the hearts of history...
And here, however, I block and reject the idea that the author wants to give as written above.
I firmly believe that everywhere in the world there is always a pure man of heart, of a 'soul that loves you regardless....
I refuse to believe that man’s heart is always born fearful and kneeling to the world of evil and hatred.
La storia che troviamo narrata da Kosinski non è altro che la realtà del male vissuta da centinaia di bambini e persone durante la seconda guerra mondiale. Violenza e brutalità estreme ma pur sempre purtroppo accadute e vissute in quel periodo. La malvagità raccontata in questa storia mai l' ho incontrata in nessun altro libro letto sino ad ora, dove in un epoca storica il destino della tua vita era dettato dall' appartenenza e fisionomia...
la crudeltà estrema delle antiche credenze popolari nel mondo rurale qui descritta, non è qualche cosa di inventato, ma serpeggiava e conviveva insieme al fede cristiana.
Ciò che scandalizza qui è l' impossibilità e la totale assenza di un bene e tenetezza sana, negato a tutti i cuori della storia....
e io qui però mi blocco e rifiuto l'idea che vuol dare l'autore, in ogni dove del mondo c' è sempre un uomo puro di cuore, di un 'anima che ti ama a prescindere....
mi rifiuto di credere che il cuore dell' uomo nasca sempre timorato e inginocchiato al mondo del male e dell'odio.
The extreme cruelty of the ancient popular beliefs in the rural world described here, is not something invented, but meandering and coexisting with the Christian faith.
What scandalizes here is the impossibility and total absence of a good and healthy tenderness, denied to all the hearts of history...
And here, however, I block and reject the idea that the author wants to give as written above.
I firmly believe that everywhere in the world there is always a pure man of heart, of a 'soul that loves you regardless....
I refuse to believe that man’s heart is always born fearful and kneeling to the world of evil and hatred.
La storia che troviamo narrata da Kosinski non è altro che la realtà del male vissuta da centinaia di bambini e persone durante la seconda guerra mondiale. Violenza e brutalità estreme ma pur sempre purtroppo accadute e vissute in quel periodo. La malvagità raccontata in questa storia mai l' ho incontrata in nessun altro libro letto sino ad ora, dove in un epoca storica il destino della tua vita era dettato dall' appartenenza e fisionomia...
la crudeltà estrema delle antiche credenze popolari nel mondo rurale qui descritta, non è qualche cosa di inventato, ma serpeggiava e conviveva insieme al fede cristiana.
Ciò che scandalizza qui è l' impossibilità e la totale assenza di un bene e tenetezza sana, negato a tutti i cuori della storia....
e io qui però mi blocco e rifiuto l'idea che vuol dare l'autore, in ogni dove del mondo c' è sempre un uomo puro di cuore, di un 'anima che ti ama a prescindere....
mi rifiuto di credere che il cuore dell' uomo nasca sempre timorato e inginocchiato al mondo del male e dell'odio.
November 30, 2019
"Bu kitap beni neden bu kadar rahatsız etti?" sorusunun cevabı : https://youtu.be/danHMzhKVrY
Kan rengine boyanmak!
Şubat 2014. İkinci Dünya Savaşı'nın 70 yıl sonrası.
Polonya'nın Oświęcim şehrindeki Auschwitz Birkenau toplama kampında dolaşıyorum. Soğuktan nefesim donuyor. Aynı doğduğum yeri hayatımın en başında belirleyemediğim gibi Auschwitz Birkenau'da da nefesimin soğuktan donup donmamasını belirleyemiyordum. Esirlerin kaldığı koğuşların içerisinde geziniyordum fakat bu koğuşların benim bugüne kadar yattığım yataklarla aralarında büyük farklılıklar vardı. Nedense ranzaların arasındaki mesafe bir insanın ancak girebileceği boyuttaydı, yataklar tahtadandı ve tabii ki de her yer soğuktu. Aldığım nefes soğuktu evet ama en azından oksijen karbondioksit dengesi arasında bir şekilde yaşam savaşımı zehirli gazları solumadan verebiliyordum.
Peki, ızdirari kaderine göre kendisinin engelleyemeyeceği bir şekilde kanatları boyanan ve aslında diğerleriyle aynı türden olmasına rağmen diğer kuşların arasına boyalı olarak salınan bir kuşun sırf ırksal farklılıktan dolayı saldırıya uğraması neden bugünkü hayatıma kadar sözkonusu olmamıştı? Bülbülü Öldürmek'teki küçük kız Scout'ın bile farkına vardığı gerçek olan "Bana kalırsa tek bir tür insan var. İnsanların hepsi insan." cümlelerinin farkına bir tek acımasız devlet liderleri mi varamamıştı?
Peki, Jerzy Kosinski'nin 1976 yılında yazdığı yazısında belirttiği gibi bir gün Manhattan'daki dairesinde otururken kapısına gelen ve Kosinski'yi kötü bir şekilde cezalandırmak isteyen adamlara Boyalı Kuş kitabını kuzenim yazmış demesi de neyin nesiydi?
Bakın. Bizim kalkmaktan erindiğimiz yataklarımız salt tahtadan veya demirden değil. Yataklarımızda 10 kişi yanyana uyumuyoruz. Yeni bir güne uyandığımız odalarımız soğuk değil. Türk ve Müslüman olmaktan ötürü çalışabilir durumdaki insanlarımız en kötü koşullarda Polonya'nın insanın ruhunu donduran havasında çalıştırılmıyor, çoğusu baba parası yiyip Instagram'da hikayeler paylaşıyor. Çalışamayacak durumda olanlarımız da gaz odalarına alınıp nefeslerine gaz verilmiyor. Canımız bir şey çektiğinde istediğimiz zaman etrafımızda çıkıp bir şeyler alabileceğimiz bakkallarımız, marketlerimiz var, elektrikli ve dikenli tellerimiz yok. Çoğu zaman istediğimiz şeyi yiyip içebiliyoruz. Çocuklarımız da bir şekilde okullarına devam edip sistemi eleştiriyor, birilerinin kararıyla gaz odalarında öldürülüp öldürülmeyeceği tartışmalarında hiç adları geçmiyor.
Pekala. Bizim boyalı kuş olmamamızın nedeni ne? Neden biz masum insanları da bir yerlerde toplayıp sebepsizce öldürmüyorlar? Kaderimize suç bulduğumuz bu ülkede yaklaşık 75 yıl öncesindeki o insanlar kaderleri hakkında en azından düşünmeye fırsat bulabiliyorlar mıydı?
Sorular var her zaman cevaplanması gereken. Fakat o toplama kamplarındaki karların üstüne yürüyüşümü şu kitabın verdiği hissiyatı da yanıma alarak tekrarladım. Milyon tane çıplak ayakla beraber yürüdüm bu sefer. Seçmemeyi seçmeyi istedim ama beni de sağa veya sola yolladılar işte. Hayır da diyemedim. Seçme ve seçilme hakkım diye bir şey yoktu çünkü. Yaşama hakkım başından beri yok gibi görünüyordu zaten.
Kızgınım, rahatsızım, iğreniyorum, sinirliyim. Hepsi de bu kitabın yüzünden. Gerçekler her zaman insanın yüzüne vurulduğunda daha gerçektir derler ya, Boyalı Kuş da aynı günlük hayatta anlık olarak hissettiğimiz öfke, iğrenme ve sinirlenme gibi gerçek. Öfkelenmelisin çünkü bu olayların hepsi gerçekti. İğrenmelisin çünkü kendi hayatınla karşılaştırdığında iğrenebilecek kadar kötü gerçekler var.
Ne bundan 75 yıl önce doğduk, ne de siyah ya da Yahudi olarak doğduk. Ama öyle de doğmuş olsak ne fark ederdi ki? İnsanların hepsi zaten insan değil miydi sadece? Irk, renk, cinsiyet, dil, din, siyasi görüş, etnik köken gibi sınıflandırmaların aslında sınıflandırma olamayacağından pek çok kez bahsetmedik mi televizyonlarda, gazetelerde, arkadaşlarımızın arasında?
En iyisi ne yapalım biliyor musunuz? Biz de Kosinski'yle beraber bir kuş olalım ve atlayalım boya kazanına. Sonra da ne olursa olsun.
Kan rengine boyanmak!
Şubat 2014. İkinci Dünya Savaşı'nın 70 yıl sonrası.
Polonya'nın Oświęcim şehrindeki Auschwitz Birkenau toplama kampında dolaşıyorum. Soğuktan nefesim donuyor. Aynı doğduğum yeri hayatımın en başında belirleyemediğim gibi Auschwitz Birkenau'da da nefesimin soğuktan donup donmamasını belirleyemiyordum. Esirlerin kaldığı koğuşların içerisinde geziniyordum fakat bu koğuşların benim bugüne kadar yattığım yataklarla aralarında büyük farklılıklar vardı. Nedense ranzaların arasındaki mesafe bir insanın ancak girebileceği boyuttaydı, yataklar tahtadandı ve tabii ki de her yer soğuktu. Aldığım nefes soğuktu evet ama en azından oksijen karbondioksit dengesi arasında bir şekilde yaşam savaşımı zehirli gazları solumadan verebiliyordum.
Peki, ızdirari kaderine göre kendisinin engelleyemeyeceği bir şekilde kanatları boyanan ve aslında diğerleriyle aynı türden olmasına rağmen diğer kuşların arasına boyalı olarak salınan bir kuşun sırf ırksal farklılıktan dolayı saldırıya uğraması neden bugünkü hayatıma kadar sözkonusu olmamıştı? Bülbülü Öldürmek'teki küçük kız Scout'ın bile farkına vardığı gerçek olan "Bana kalırsa tek bir tür insan var. İnsanların hepsi insan." cümlelerinin farkına bir tek acımasız devlet liderleri mi varamamıştı?
Peki, Jerzy Kosinski'nin 1976 yılında yazdığı yazısında belirttiği gibi bir gün Manhattan'daki dairesinde otururken kapısına gelen ve Kosinski'yi kötü bir şekilde cezalandırmak isteyen adamlara Boyalı Kuş kitabını kuzenim yazmış demesi de neyin nesiydi?
Bakın. Bizim kalkmaktan erindiğimiz yataklarımız salt tahtadan veya demirden değil. Yataklarımızda 10 kişi yanyana uyumuyoruz. Yeni bir güne uyandığımız odalarımız soğuk değil. Türk ve Müslüman olmaktan ötürü çalışabilir durumdaki insanlarımız en kötü koşullarda Polonya'nın insanın ruhunu donduran havasında çalıştırılmıyor, çoğusu baba parası yiyip Instagram'da hikayeler paylaşıyor. Çalışamayacak durumda olanlarımız da gaz odalarına alınıp nefeslerine gaz verilmiyor. Canımız bir şey çektiğinde istediğimiz zaman etrafımızda çıkıp bir şeyler alabileceğimiz bakkallarımız, marketlerimiz var, elektrikli ve dikenli tellerimiz yok. Çoğu zaman istediğimiz şeyi yiyip içebiliyoruz. Çocuklarımız da bir şekilde okullarına devam edip sistemi eleştiriyor, birilerinin kararıyla gaz odalarında öldürülüp öldürülmeyeceği tartışmalarında hiç adları geçmiyor.
Pekala. Bizim boyalı kuş olmamamızın nedeni ne? Neden biz masum insanları da bir yerlerde toplayıp sebepsizce öldürmüyorlar? Kaderimize suç bulduğumuz bu ülkede yaklaşık 75 yıl öncesindeki o insanlar kaderleri hakkında en azından düşünmeye fırsat bulabiliyorlar mıydı?
Sorular var her zaman cevaplanması gereken. Fakat o toplama kamplarındaki karların üstüne yürüyüşümü şu kitabın verdiği hissiyatı da yanıma alarak tekrarladım. Milyon tane çıplak ayakla beraber yürüdüm bu sefer. Seçmemeyi seçmeyi istedim ama beni de sağa veya sola yolladılar işte. Hayır da diyemedim. Seçme ve seçilme hakkım diye bir şey yoktu çünkü. Yaşama hakkım başından beri yok gibi görünüyordu zaten.
Kızgınım, rahatsızım, iğreniyorum, sinirliyim. Hepsi de bu kitabın yüzünden. Gerçekler her zaman insanın yüzüne vurulduğunda daha gerçektir derler ya, Boyalı Kuş da aynı günlük hayatta anlık olarak hissettiğimiz öfke, iğrenme ve sinirlenme gibi gerçek. Öfkelenmelisin çünkü bu olayların hepsi gerçekti. İğrenmelisin çünkü kendi hayatınla karşılaştırdığında iğrenebilecek kadar kötü gerçekler var.
Ne bundan 75 yıl önce doğduk, ne de siyah ya da Yahudi olarak doğduk. Ama öyle de doğmuş olsak ne fark ederdi ki? İnsanların hepsi zaten insan değil miydi sadece? Irk, renk, cinsiyet, dil, din, siyasi görüş, etnik köken gibi sınıflandırmaların aslında sınıflandırma olamayacağından pek çok kez bahsetmedik mi televizyonlarda, gazetelerde, arkadaşlarımızın arasında?
En iyisi ne yapalım biliyor musunuz? Biz de Kosinski'yle beraber bir kuş olalım ve atlayalım boya kazanına. Sonra da ne olursa olsun.
November 11, 2013
After reading some of the reviews on here, I'm hoping that this will bring some sanity to the steaming heaps of hyperbole. Comparisons to the Saw films, torture porn, and complaints that the violence was simply all too gratuitous are the backbone of reviews that completely miss the point and should be dismissed out of hand.
"The purpose of a picaresque narrative is to present to the reader a picture of society and societal involvement that one would otherwise rather ignore, not all truths being pleasant ones." - Jerzy Kosinski's The Painted Bird and the Picaresque Tradition, Joseph V. Ricapito, in Neohelicon (1977)
I strongly recommend reading the book from the very beginning; Start by reading Jerzy Kosinski's foreword. He discusses its reception, some of his motives for writing it, and the background to the story. He explains that this is fiction, he also explains, as he does in the pages of the novel, the phenomenon/tradition of a painted bird. This is the key motif to the story. Missing the significance here is missing the point entirely. As I mentioned above, most reviewers of this novel read it without even understanding it. He also says it was not an autobiographical account, so again, I don't see why reviewers on here have to bring up the controversy surrounding 'facts' in his fictional novel.
That being said, Kosinski also mentions that, amidst the overwhelming criticism from his native Poland, where it was banned, some of the book's supporters were critical of his 'watered down' depiction of events, given that many occurrences that took place in Europe during the war were much more dramatic and cruel than those described in The Painted Bird. I tend to believe this; art imitates life, not the other way around.
The novel follows a young city boy who is sent out to the countryside to stay away from the war. Unfortunately his parents didn't realize that the countryside is rife with primitive, illiterate peasants. Or maybe they did, but figured they are a better alternative to the invading Nazis. The trouble with this little boy is that he's got a darker complexion than the fair skinned, blond haired natives of the villages. Wherever he goes, he is immediately branded as the worst thing to be; a gypsy, or Jew (or both). In either case, the superstitious villagers despise and fear him (for his supposed evil powers). And then bad things happen to him.
At one time in that part of the world, probably for entertainment, people would sometimes capture a bird and paint vivid colours over its feathers. They would then release the bird who flew straight back to its own. The flock, confused by the stranger's appearance, would begin to attack the painted bird and eventually kill it, not recognizing it as one of their own. The painted bird, in turn, would likely not understand why its feathery friends were trying to kill it.
The allegory Kosinski makes is very simple in my eyes.
The boy, a living, breathing human being, is not recognized as one of their own by confused and uneducated peasants. Each beating and humiliating act that he endures is a violent peck against his outward appearance. Simple.
The novel is called The Painted Bird. Does anyone really believe it's just a quirky title related to the tradition of painting a bird's feathers?
Then there were some things that just somehow made it difficult to take seriously. It often reads like a grocery list of superstitions and neo-pagan beliefs. Recipes for simple ailments that involve ground bones, horse teeth, and various secretions. I found the description of these potions more disgusting than the violence for the most part. The superstitions were everywhere though:
- The belief that gypsies have the power to kill by looking in one's eyes.
- The need to spit three time in any gypsies' direction to counter the 'death-look'.
- Hiding/covering one's teeth when smiling in case a gypsy might count them (and take that amount of years off your life).
- The myriad of demons and spirits who roam the forests and the fields.
- The rope of a suicidee that's meant to bring good luck.
These, and many many more, became fact by the end of book. They certainly became fact for our anti-hero who himself came to believe the very same things.
Kosinsky also describes some situations that read as if straight out of Borat. The Polish peasant is made to look stupider and more ignorant than any other being on the planet. From this point of view, I'm not surprised it was banned in commie Poland.
Finally, I'm going to add a personal note. I grew up in a place where corporal punishment was still doled out at school. I had strangers who were very mean to me as kid, when I was the same age as Kosinsky's 'painted bird'. I had my hair and ears pulled undeservedly by adults. I went to school with kids who'd clearly been badly beaten at home. I had the back of my hands smacked by the teacher's ruler. I was slapped by a doctor once for crying. In my eyes, adults were large creatures to be feared. They loved to scare and hurt kids. They were mean, cruel people. And this was in the 80s, in a city, and I didn't look different from anybody else.
Yes it’s unbelievable that one child could suffer so much to our coddled Western minds, but to think that a child at the mercy of a bunch of uneducated, backwater type, Eastern European rednecks, during the blood orgy that was the Second World War, would not have to endure much much worse is naive. I too believe that given the setting and circumstances, Kosinski offers a watered-down narrative.
I can't give this five stars because I think Kosinski could've gone further with the material and subject matter at hand. Both from the perspective of the narrative and from a literary point of view. It was, at times, too two-dimensional, and I breezed right through it. Although that's the point of the picaresque novel it's hard not to ask for more. I enjoyed it for the historical context very much, and for an accurate reflection of our human condition.
Maybe I just wish he'd shown it as a painting instead of a caricature.
"The purpose of a picaresque narrative is to present to the reader a picture of society and societal involvement that one would otherwise rather ignore, not all truths being pleasant ones." - Jerzy Kosinski's The Painted Bird and the Picaresque Tradition, Joseph V. Ricapito, in Neohelicon (1977)
I strongly recommend reading the book from the very beginning; Start by reading Jerzy Kosinski's foreword. He discusses its reception, some of his motives for writing it, and the background to the story. He explains that this is fiction, he also explains, as he does in the pages of the novel, the phenomenon/tradition of a painted bird. This is the key motif to the story. Missing the significance here is missing the point entirely. As I mentioned above, most reviewers of this novel read it without even understanding it. He also says it was not an autobiographical account, so again, I don't see why reviewers on here have to bring up the controversy surrounding 'facts' in his fictional novel.
That being said, Kosinski also mentions that, amidst the overwhelming criticism from his native Poland, where it was banned, some of the book's supporters were critical of his 'watered down' depiction of events, given that many occurrences that took place in Europe during the war were much more dramatic and cruel than those described in The Painted Bird. I tend to believe this; art imitates life, not the other way around.
The novel follows a young city boy who is sent out to the countryside to stay away from the war. Unfortunately his parents didn't realize that the countryside is rife with primitive, illiterate peasants. Or maybe they did, but figured they are a better alternative to the invading Nazis. The trouble with this little boy is that he's got a darker complexion than the fair skinned, blond haired natives of the villages. Wherever he goes, he is immediately branded as the worst thing to be; a gypsy, or Jew (or both). In either case, the superstitious villagers despise and fear him (for his supposed evil powers). And then bad things happen to him.
At one time in that part of the world, probably for entertainment, people would sometimes capture a bird and paint vivid colours over its feathers. They would then release the bird who flew straight back to its own. The flock, confused by the stranger's appearance, would begin to attack the painted bird and eventually kill it, not recognizing it as one of their own. The painted bird, in turn, would likely not understand why its feathery friends were trying to kill it.
The allegory Kosinski makes is very simple in my eyes.
The boy, a living, breathing human being, is not recognized as one of their own by confused and uneducated peasants. Each beating and humiliating act that he endures is a violent peck against his outward appearance. Simple.
The novel is called The Painted Bird. Does anyone really believe it's just a quirky title related to the tradition of painting a bird's feathers?
Then there were some things that just somehow made it difficult to take seriously. It often reads like a grocery list of superstitions and neo-pagan beliefs. Recipes for simple ailments that involve ground bones, horse teeth, and various secretions. I found the description of these potions more disgusting than the violence for the most part. The superstitions were everywhere though:
- The belief that gypsies have the power to kill by looking in one's eyes.
- The need to spit three time in any gypsies' direction to counter the 'death-look'.
- Hiding/covering one's teeth when smiling in case a gypsy might count them (and take that amount of years off your life).
- The myriad of demons and spirits who roam the forests and the fields.
- The rope of a suicidee that's meant to bring good luck.
These, and many many more, became fact by the end of book. They certainly became fact for our anti-hero who himself came to believe the very same things.
Kosinsky also describes some situations that read as if straight out of Borat. The Polish peasant is made to look stupider and more ignorant than any other being on the planet. From this point of view, I'm not surprised it was banned in commie Poland.
Finally, I'm going to add a personal note. I grew up in a place where corporal punishment was still doled out at school. I had strangers who were very mean to me as kid, when I was the same age as Kosinsky's 'painted bird'. I had my hair and ears pulled undeservedly by adults. I went to school with kids who'd clearly been badly beaten at home. I had the back of my hands smacked by the teacher's ruler. I was slapped by a doctor once for crying. In my eyes, adults were large creatures to be feared. They loved to scare and hurt kids. They were mean, cruel people. And this was in the 80s, in a city, and I didn't look different from anybody else.
Yes it’s unbelievable that one child could suffer so much to our coddled Western minds, but to think that a child at the mercy of a bunch of uneducated, backwater type, Eastern European rednecks, during the blood orgy that was the Second World War, would not have to endure much much worse is naive. I too believe that given the setting and circumstances, Kosinski offers a watered-down narrative.
I can't give this five stars because I think Kosinski could've gone further with the material and subject matter at hand. Both from the perspective of the narrative and from a literary point of view. It was, at times, too two-dimensional, and I breezed right through it. Although that's the point of the picaresque novel it's hard not to ask for more. I enjoyed it for the historical context very much, and for an accurate reflection of our human condition.
Maybe I just wish he'd shown it as a painting instead of a caricature.
May 16, 2020
Human depravity in the extreme - this book in a nutshell.
Before you pick up this book, think twice. The author originally said it was autobiographical. It is now classified as fiction. IF it were autobiographical it would be easier to swallow; you'd think that is just plain what happened. The book is incredibly difficult to read. It is surreal in tone, filled with graphic sexuality and violence. What is delivered is man at his worst told in such a way as to make the reader cringe. To what purpose? Published in 1965, was there then a need to exalt in the horrors of the war?
The author was also accused of plagiarism. If you want more information, search at Wiki by the title of the book and the author's name.
I listened to the audiobook narrated by Fred Berman. The narration was fine. There is an author's afterword read by Michael Aronov.
Before you pick up this book, think twice. The author originally said it was autobiographical. It is now classified as fiction. IF it were autobiographical it would be easier to swallow; you'd think that is just plain what happened. The book is incredibly difficult to read. It is surreal in tone, filled with graphic sexuality and violence. What is delivered is man at his worst told in such a way as to make the reader cringe. To what purpose? Published in 1965, was there then a need to exalt in the horrors of the war?
The author was also accused of plagiarism. If you want more information, search at Wiki by the title of the book and the author's name.
I listened to the audiobook narrated by Fred Berman. The narration was fine. There is an author's afterword read by Michael Aronov.
April 16, 2019
اگر حقیقت داشت که زنها و بچهها جزیی از دارایی اشتراکی خواهند بود، پس هر کودکی پدر و مادرهای زیاد و تعداد بیشماری خواهر و برادر خواهد داشت. چنین چیزی بیش از آن حد بود که انسان بدان چشم بدوزد: تعلق داشتن به همه! قرار بود هرکجا که میروم پدرهای فراوان با دستهای قوی و اطمینانبخش سرم را نوازش کنند و مادرهای بیشماری مرا در آغوش بکشند و برادران بزرگ بیشمار از من در مقابل دندان سگها دفاع کنند
پرواز را بخاطر بسپار داستان تیرهروزیهای قربنانیان همیشهی جهالت و تعصب و جنگ است: کودکان. راوی داستان کودک شش، هفت سالهای است که در خلال جنگ جهانی دوم و برنامهی پاکسازی نژادی نازیها، بخاطر نژاد و رنگ پوست آوارهی روستاها میشود. از روستایی به روستایی دیگر، از خانهای به خانهای دیگر، از خانوادهای به خانوادهای دیگر، از مرد شیطان به مرد خدا و از دامان کلیسا به آغوش کمونیسم. کودک بینام داستان گرسنگیها، آزارها و تحقیرها شکنجههای بسیار را تحمل میکند تا سرانجام توسط سربازان ارتش سرخ رهایی مییابد. کودکی و معصومیت راوی مرحله به مرحله لگدمال میشود تا در انتهای داستان با کودک/سربازی روبرو میشویم که ستارهای بر سینه و نشانی بر بازو دارد. در خلال این روایت است که نویسنده با مهارت تمام، خرافات و جهلی که مردم به آن دچارند را طوری به تصویر میکشد که مو بر اندام خواننده راست شده و تمام وجودش مالامال انزجاری بیپایان میشود. جنگ و تبعات مستقیم آن فقط بخش اندکی از پایان داستان را بخود اختصاص داده و بیشتر حجم داستان به بیان حال و هوای اروپای جهل زده و تبعات تثلیث فاشیسم-خرافات-کلیسا میگذرد
نویسنده در به تصویر کشیدن جهل و انحطاط اخلاقی جامعه و ارتباط آن با دیکتاتوری، که هر دو بنیان یکدیگر را تقویت میکنند بسیار موفق عمل کرده و این در کنار بیان مفاهیم والای انسانی بزرگترین نقطه قوت کتاب است. من فصل 11 و 12 کتاب را یکی از کلیدیترین و برجسته ترین بخشهای این داستان میدانم، جایگاه کودک در تقابل میان کلیسا و شیطان. کودک در فصل 11 برای در امان ماندن از شکنجهها و آزارهای جسمی به کلیسا و خواندن دعاهای رحمت رو میآورد
ناگهان الگوی حاکم بر دنیا با بداهتی زیبا در برابرم آشکا شد. فهمیدم که چرا بعضی قوی هستند و بعضی ضعیف، بعضی آزادند و بعضی در بند، بعضی ثروتمندند و بعضی فقیر. به آسانی میتوان گفت دستهی اول لزوم دعا خواندن و لزوم جمعآوری حداکثری روزهای مغفرت را درک کرده بودند. در جایی آن بالابالاها، همهی دعاهایی که از زمین میرسید با دقت طبقهبندی میشد. طوری که هرکسی توشهدان مخصوص خودش را داست که روزهای رحمت الهی خود را در آن انبار میکرد. حالا آنچه را که لازم بود داشتم و از دانستن اینکه روزهای تنبیه و حقارت بزودی سپری خواهد شد، بر خود میبالیدم. تا آن زمان ساس کوچکی بودم که هرکسی میتوانست لهش کند ولی از آن پس ساس حقیر تبدیل به گاوی میشد که کسی نمیتوانست به آن نزدیک شود
اما پاسخ این دعاها درد و کتک خوردن بیشتر است. کلیسایی که خود واعظ خوشابحالهاست و روزی خانهی ضعیفان خوانده میشد، امروز خود عامل شکنجه و درد است. کودک از کلیسا فرار میکند و در آغاز فصل 12 به نزد خانوادهای میرود که تمام دهکده آنان را به سبب روابط جنسی با یکدیگر شیطانی میدانند. نصیب کودک در اینجا هم چیزی جز شکنجه و درد نیست، ولی تصور میکنم مقصود نویسنده از قرار دادن این دو فصل در توالی یکدیگر، خواسته دو روی یک سکه را به نمایش بگذارد
در جایی بالای ابرها، خداوند همه چیز را هدایت میکرد. حالا میفهمیدم که به چه دلیل او به زحمت میتواند وقت خود را صرف ساس کوچک سیاهی مانند من بکند. او ارتشهای بزرگ، مردان، حیوانات و ماشینهای بیشماری داشت که تحت فرماندهی او میجنگیدند. باید تصمیم میگرفت که چه کسی برنده است و چه کسی بازنده، چه کسی باید زنده بماند و چه کسی باید بمیرد. ولی اگر در حقیقت این خداوند بود که تصمیم میگرفت که چه اتفاقی باید بیفتد پس چرا دهاتیها نگران دین و ایمان و کلیسا و کشیشهایشان بودند؟ اگر شوروی قصد داشت کلیساها را منهدم کند و کشیشها را بکشد، خداوند نمیتوانست چنین تهدیدی را بر امت خود نادیده بگیرد. ولی آلمانها نیز که کلیساها را ویران میکردند و مردم را میکشتند در پایان فاتح نخواهند بود. از دیدگاه خداوند عاقلانهتر این خواهد بود که همه در جنگ شکست بخورند، چرا که همه مرتکب قتل میشدند
اما مطالب فوق و اقبال عمومی به این کتاب در زمان انتشار، نباید باعث نادیده گرفته شدن نقاط ضعف داستان شود. نخست آنکه ورود کاراکترهای فرعی در ابتدای هر فصل و خروج آنها در انتها که مکررا اتفاق میافتد و تبدیل به شیوه روتین پیشبرد داستان و ضعف شدید شخصیتپردازی میشود. اتفاقات عجیب و غریب هر فصل که در نهایت به حادثهای شوم (عموما مرگ) برای میزبان و فرار کودک منجر میشود ضعف دیگر داستان است. داستان در فصلهای پایانی بعلت توضیحات بیش از اندازه کاراکتر میتکا دربارهی استالین و کمونیسم کمی خسته کننده میشود. نکتهی دیگر، عدم همخوانی شیوهی روایت با سن راویست که از حال و هوای کودکانه و ذهن و ادبیات کودک فاصلهی زیادی دارد که البته این موضوع با این توجیه راوی در بزرگسالی به گذشته و بازخوانی خاطراتش پرداخته قابل اغماض است، اما از تحلیلهای ذرهبینی راوی بخصوص در انتهای داستان دیگر نمیتوان چشمپوشی کرد
در ابتدا گفتم وجود انسان با خواندن داستان مملو از انزجار میشود، اما انزجار از چه؟ هیتلر؟ نازیها؟ جنگ؟ نباید آدرس اشتباه داد. هیتلر تنها یکنفر بود، اما نقش دیگران چه بود؟ میلیونها سربازی که او را همراهی میکردند چه؟ صدها شکنجهگری که بعدها در دادگاه و در توجیه جرم خود "تبعیت از دستور مافوق" را بیان کردند چطور؟ پزشکانی که دست به آزمایشهای باورنکردنی و مهوع بر روی انسانها - مرد، زن و کودک - انجام دادند چطور؟ غیرنظامیانی که با انسانهای دیگر چون حیوان رفتار کردند چطور؟ بیش از شصت سال از زمان فروپاشی نازیسم و بمباران اتمی هیروشیما و کشتار و تجاوز ارتش سرخ گذشته است، سبعیت انسانی را اما پایانی نیست و حالا خوشباورترین انسانها هم منشا شر را درجایی دیگر جستجو میکنند: در درون نهاد آدمی، جایی که هریک جلادی خواب و بیدار را پنهان کردهایم
پینوشت:
July 31, 2020
هذا نصٌ قاسٍ.. يشبه التنقل بين حلقات الجحيم في كوميديا دانتي. طفل يتنقل من قرية إلى أخرى ومن منزل إلى آخر، وحيثما يحط تلاحقه الكراهية (بسبب دكنة بشرته وسواد عينيه)، ويتعرض للضرب والتعذيب والتجويع والاستغلال. النص مسطح تقريبًا وينتشر بشكل أفقي، ويعرض تنويعات متراوحة على فكرة الاضطهاد.
في أدب الحرب عادةً نكتشف أمرين؛ ألا حدّ لقدرة الإنسان على الانحطاط، وألا حدّ أيضًا لقدرته على التسامي. في هذا العمل، وبخلاف أعمال كثيرة قرأتها في أدب الحرب، وجدت الانحطاط وحده.
أجمل ما في العمل الوصف؛ وصف الطبيعة قبل أي شيء. أما الألم، رغم فداحته، فقد كان يمر بأقل عدد من الكلمات. يتعمد الكاتب ألا يملأ النص بالدراما ربما، أو أنه أراد أن يختق قارئه بها. طوال الصفحات تشعر بأنك تشير إلى الفيل في الغرفة دون أن يخرج صوتك من حنجرتك، ويتظاهر الراوي بأنه لا يراه. ما من فيل ولا حتى غرفة. أو ربما.. لا توجد دائمًا منفعة من تسمية الأشياء بمسمياتها؟
علاقتي بالعمل مرتبكة. بين الإعجاب بالفنيات وكراهية المحتوى، ولستُ بالقارئة رهيفة القلب، ومع ذلك كان نصًا لا يحتمل..
أحببت شجاعة الدار على الاختيار وقد وجدت الترجمة في غاية الأناقة.
في أدب الحرب عادةً نكتشف أمرين؛ ألا حدّ لقدرة الإنسان على الانحطاط، وألا حدّ أيضًا لقدرته على التسامي. في هذا العمل، وبخلاف أعمال كثيرة قرأتها في أدب الحرب، وجدت الانحطاط وحده.
أجمل ما في العمل الوصف؛ وصف الطبيعة قبل أي شيء. أما الألم، رغم فداحته، فقد كان يمر بأقل عدد من الكلمات. يتعمد الكاتب ألا يملأ النص بالدراما ربما، أو أنه أراد أن يختق قارئه بها. طوال الصفحات تشعر بأنك تشير إلى الفيل في الغرفة دون أن يخرج صوتك من حنجرتك، ويتظاهر الراوي بأنه لا يراه. ما من فيل ولا حتى غرفة. أو ربما.. لا توجد دائمًا منفعة من تسمية الأشياء بمسمياتها؟
علاقتي بالعمل مرتبكة. بين الإعجاب بالفنيات وكراهية المحتوى، ولستُ بالقارئة رهيفة القلب، ومع ذلك كان نصًا لا يحتمل..
أحببت شجاعة الدار على الاختيار وقد وجدت الترجمة في غاية الأناقة.
November 4, 2024
Let's go over some adjectives for Kosinski's The Painted Bird:
Brutal, devastating, depressing, sad, haunting, horrific, horrible, savage, ruthless, barbaric, heartless, inhumane, grim, bleak, disheartening, joyless, miserable, dark, distressing, dejected, gloomy, joyless, distressing, dreadful, abominable, frightful, disgusting, atrocious, foul, horrendous, shocking, revolting, offensive.
This book is, to say the least, f##ked up. Kosinski once said it was autobiographical, which I'm not sure if that makes it more f##ked up or not. Either he truly lived all of these horrors, and the little boy in the story was him, or he was sitting in a coffee shop one day and said to himself, "Hey, you know what would make a great premise for a book...?" I'm not sure which scenario is more f##ked up.
To give this novel five stars would be to say I highly enjoyed it and would recommend it to my fellow readers. But to say you enjoyed The Painted Bird, well, what does that say about you? Your f##ked up, that's what! But to give it one star would be a travesty of the highest caliber, and what kind of person would commit such a travesty? A f##ked up person, that's who! So where does that leave me?
The Painted Bird will make you uncomfortable. It'll make you question humanity. It'll push your (if you're anything like me, fragile) mind to its breaking point. Maybe that's the point. I don't ever want to read it again, but I'm glad I read it once
Brutal, devastating, depressing, sad, haunting, horrific, horrible, savage, ruthless, barbaric, heartless, inhumane, grim, bleak, disheartening, joyless, miserable, dark, distressing, dejected, gloomy, joyless, distressing, dreadful, abominable, frightful, disgusting, atrocious, foul, horrendous, shocking, revolting, offensive.
This book is, to say the least, f##ked up. Kosinski once said it was autobiographical, which I'm not sure if that makes it more f##ked up or not. Either he truly lived all of these horrors, and the little boy in the story was him, or he was sitting in a coffee shop one day and said to himself, "Hey, you know what would make a great premise for a book...?" I'm not sure which scenario is more f##ked up.
To give this novel five stars would be to say I highly enjoyed it and would recommend it to my fellow readers. But to say you enjoyed The Painted Bird, well, what does that say about you? Your f##ked up, that's what! But to give it one star would be a travesty of the highest caliber, and what kind of person would commit such a travesty? A f##ked up person, that's who! So where does that leave me?
The Painted Bird will make you uncomfortable. It'll make you question humanity. It'll push your (if you're anything like me, fragile) mind to its breaking point. Maybe that's the point. I don't ever want to read it again, but I'm glad I read it once
June 13, 2018
10/10
Kosiński, kitabın sonundaki yazısında şöyle diyor:
Belki de Boyalı Kuş'un içindeki vahşet sahnelerinin abartılmadığının en iyi kanıtı ve bu dehşet zamanının savaş yılları Doğu Avrupa'sını yansıttığını en iyi anlatan olay, eski okulumdan bazı arkadaşlarımın Boyalı Kuş'un kaçak bazı kopyalarını okuduktan sonra romanın kendilerinin ve akrabalarının yaşadıklarının yanında pastoral bir öykü gibi kalacağını söylemeleriydi.
Kosiński'nin hem 2. Dünya Savaşı sırasında hem de kitap yayınlandıktan sonra yaşadıkları romanın kendisi kadar dehşet verici.
Yani bu kitabın her zerresi, her satırı acı ve dehşet dolu.
Ben susayım, okumaktan başka çareniz kalmasın.
Kosiński, kitabın sonundaki yazısında şöyle diyor:
Belki de Boyalı Kuş'un içindeki vahşet sahnelerinin abartılmadığının en iyi kanıtı ve bu dehşet zamanının savaş yılları Doğu Avrupa'sını yansıttığını en iyi anlatan olay, eski okulumdan bazı arkadaşlarımın Boyalı Kuş'un kaçak bazı kopyalarını okuduktan sonra romanın kendilerinin ve akrabalarının yaşadıklarının yanında pastoral bir öykü gibi kalacağını söylemeleriydi.
Kosiński'nin hem 2. Dünya Savaşı sırasında hem de kitap yayınlandıktan sonra yaşadıkları romanın kendisi kadar dehşet verici.
Yani bu kitabın her zerresi, her satırı acı ve dehşet dolu.
Ben susayım, okumaktan başka çareniz kalmasın.
August 11, 2019
Mestre da descrição, J. Kosinski revela-nos uma história macabra através duma escrita mágica . Leva-nos por caminhos de dor e abandono, fere-nos com actos de repugnante sadismo tão sensoriais que tornam a leitura extremamente penosa.
No entanto, há passagens de grande beleza. Por serem descritas pela voz pura e inocente de uma criança provocam-nos um sorriso pela ingenuidade pueril.
Só os mais fortes e astutos resistem, mas o preço a pagar é elevado. A cada novo embate, esta criança cresce da pior maneira e perde um pouco da sua humanidade, tornando-se um ser cada vez mais semelhante aos seus carrascos; desapegado e preocupado apenas com a sua própria sobrevivência.
Quem lê este livro não consegue ficar indiferente e não o esquece nunca mais.
Não consigo dar-lhe as 5* que merece, talvez um dia volte aqui e altere a classificação ...
Para já, a ferida ainda está fresca...
December 3, 2025
Dick Cavett: "Is there any novel you consider too violent? John Updike: "Yes, THE PAINTED BIRD".
I read this in one sitting one evening, most appropriate, since this novel is the stuff of nightmares; a dance macabre after dinner. Perhaps the most gruesome novel to emerge from the Second World War, THE PAINTED BIRD is like Bosch set to type and hell is located in Nazi-occupied Poland. The Devil who inhabits this dolorous world is not some master manipulator a la' Christianity or a force who lives outside of time, the vulgar view promulgated by William Goldman in LORD OF THE FLIES. He does not make history, he is history. Kosinki's small boy narrator flees the Nazis after 1939, has a horrific run-in with the Polish peasantry living underground in the countryside, and in 1945 finds false refuge with the Red Army liberating Poland. THE PAINTED BIRD is not a political novel. The horrors the boy experiences are not peculiar to any one faction. He was thrown into a world that was and is absurd from the moment of birth. THE PAINTED BIRD belongs on the same shelf with EUROPA, EUROPA and Roman Polanski's memoirs of his childhood.
I read this in one sitting one evening, most appropriate, since this novel is the stuff of nightmares; a dance macabre after dinner. Perhaps the most gruesome novel to emerge from the Second World War, THE PAINTED BIRD is like Bosch set to type and hell is located in Nazi-occupied Poland. The Devil who inhabits this dolorous world is not some master manipulator a la' Christianity or a force who lives outside of time, the vulgar view promulgated by William Goldman in LORD OF THE FLIES. He does not make history, he is history. Kosinki's small boy narrator flees the Nazis after 1939, has a horrific run-in with the Polish peasantry living underground in the countryside, and in 1945 finds false refuge with the Red Army liberating Poland. THE PAINTED BIRD is not a political novel. The horrors the boy experiences are not peculiar to any one faction. He was thrown into a world that was and is absurd from the moment of birth. THE PAINTED BIRD belongs on the same shelf with EUROPA, EUROPA and Roman Polanski's memoirs of his childhood.
November 20, 2024
Putting the controversy about how much of this book was autobiographical to one side (because I honestly couldn't care less) I absolutely loved this book. It is, hands down, the most harrowing, traumatising book about World War II I've ever read.
I wouldn't say I enjoyed it, exactly, but I'm definitely glad I read it. The author writes in a style that is entirely in keeping with the child protagonist without ever writing in a childish manner. The subject matter is dealt with in a respectful manner but never shies away from the horror and brutality of the events.
I'm not a great fan of 'trigger warnings' because I'm a grumpy old bastard who thinks people should just grow a spine and get on with it (kidding, folks) but there is a lot of violence in this one, including a great deal of rape, which is dealt with in an unflinching manner that some people may find very disturbing. I found a lot of it disturbing and virtually nothing bothers me in fiction.
I wouldn't say I enjoyed it, exactly, but I'm definitely glad I read it. The author writes in a style that is entirely in keeping with the child protagonist without ever writing in a childish manner. The subject matter is dealt with in a respectful manner but never shies away from the horror and brutality of the events.
I'm not a great fan of 'trigger warnings' because I'm a grumpy old bastard who thinks people should just grow a spine and get on with it (kidding, folks) but there is a lot of violence in this one, including a great deal of rape, which is dealt with in an unflinching manner that some people may find very disturbing. I found a lot of it disturbing and virtually nothing bothers me in fiction.
November 22, 2016
Ένα αρκετά περίεργο και σκληρό βιβλίο είναι το “To Βαμμένο Πουλί»… Ο συγγραφέας περιγράφει το αιματοβαμμένο οδοιπορικό ενός μικρού Τσιγγάνου/Εβραίου στα χωριά της Πολωνίας κατά την διάρκεια του ΒΠΠ.
Το παράδοξο με αυτό το βιβλίο είναι ότι περιγράφει την σκληρότητα και την απανθρωπιά, μέσα από τα μάτια ένος μικρού αγοριού, όχι του πολέμου, αλλά των ανθρώπων που τον βιώνουν ως τραγικοί κομπάρσοι…
Ο μικρός ήρωας γυρνάει από χωριό σε χωρίο και διαπιστώνει πως το να είναι κανείς διαφορετικός σε χρώμα ή εθνικότητα είναι κάτι σαν κατάρα… Θα συναντήσει διάφορους χαρακτήρες που θα επιβεβαιώσουν αυτές του τις σκέψεις… Μάγισσες, φυσιοδίφες, παιδόφιλους, αιμομίκτες, κτηνοβάτες, βιαστές και πολεμοχαρείς σαδιστές.
Ο Κοζίνσκι σοκάρει με τις περιγραφές του και προσπαθεί να θυμίσει πως ο άνθρωπος κάτω από τις κατάλληλες συνθήκες μετατρέπεται σε αγρίμι. Βέβαια σε αρκετά σημεία είναι υπερβολικός και ξεφεύγει. Αυτός είναι νομίζω και ο κύριος λόγος που το βιβλίο αυτό ήταν, είναι και θα είναι αρκετά αμφιλεγόμενο…
Ο συγγραφέας παρουσιάζει τους κάτοικους της Πολωνίας σκληρούς, ανώμαλους, γεμάτους δεισιδαιμονίες έτσι ώστε όταν φτάσει ο Κόκκινος Στρατός να του είναι πιο εύκολο να τον αγιοποιήσει/ηρωοποιήσει καθώς και να πλέξει (ελαφρώς) το εγκώμιο του «Πατερούλη» Στάλιν… Οι στρατιώτες της ΕΣΣΔ παρουσιάζονται ως καλόκαρδοι, θαρραλέοι και προπαντός μεγαλόψυχοι, σε σημείο που ο μικρός θα μπορούσε για αυτούς τους ανθρώπους να απαρνηθεί και τους γονείς του…
Εν τέλει το βιβλίο μου άρεσε γιατί η γραφή του Κοζίνσκι είναι απλή και κατανοητή, γιατί η άγρια πλευρά του ανθρώπου έχει ιδιαίτερο ενδιαφέρον όταν την περιγράφει ένα παιδί αλλά δεν μπορώ παραβλέψω τις πάρα πολλές υπερβολές και την "φιλορωσική" κατάληξη της ιστορίας…
Οπότε 3/5 από μένα…
Το παράδοξο με αυτό το βιβλίο είναι ότι περιγράφει την σκληρότητα και την απανθρωπιά, μέσα από τα μάτια ένος μικρού αγοριού, όχι του πολέμου, αλλά των ανθρώπων που τον βιώνουν ως τραγικοί κομπάρσοι…
Ο μικρός ήρωας γυρνάει από χωριό σε χωρίο και διαπιστώνει πως το να είναι κανείς διαφορετικός σε χρώμα ή εθνικότητα είναι κάτι σαν κατάρα… Θα συναντήσει διάφορους χαρακτήρες που θα επιβεβαιώσουν αυτές του τις σκέψεις… Μάγισσες, φυσιοδίφες, παιδόφιλους, αιμομίκτες, κτηνοβάτες, βιαστές και πολεμοχαρείς σαδιστές.
Ο Κοζίνσκι σοκάρει με τις περιγραφές του και προσπαθεί να θυμίσει πως ο άνθρωπος κάτω από τις κατάλληλες συνθήκες μετατρέπεται σε αγρίμι. Βέβαια σε αρκετά σημεία είναι υπερβολικός και ξεφεύγει. Αυτός είναι νομίζω και ο κύριος λόγος που το βιβλίο αυτό ήταν, είναι και θα είναι αρκετά αμφιλεγόμενο…
Ο συγγραφέας παρουσιάζει τους κάτοικους της Πολωνίας σκληρούς, ανώμαλους, γεμάτους δεισιδαιμονίες έτσι ώστε όταν φτάσει ο Κόκκινος Στρατός να του είναι πιο εύκολο να τον αγιοποιήσει/ηρωοποιήσει καθώς και να πλέξει (ελαφρώς) το εγκώμιο του «Πατερούλη» Στάλιν… Οι στρατιώτες της ΕΣΣΔ παρουσιάζονται ως καλόκαρδοι, θαρραλέοι και προπαντός μεγαλόψυχοι, σε σημείο που ο μικρός θα μπορούσε για αυτούς τους ανθρώπους να απαρνηθεί και τους γονείς του…
Εν τέλει το βιβλίο μου άρεσε γιατί η γραφή του Κοζίνσκι είναι απλή και κατανοητή, γιατί η άγρια πλευρά του ανθρώπου έχει ιδιαίτερο ενδιαφέρον όταν την περιγράφει ένα παιδί αλλά δεν μπορώ παραβλέψω τις πάρα πολλές υπερβολές και την "φιλορωσική" κατάληξη της ιστορίας…
Οπότε 3/5 από μένα…
December 20, 2024
boyalı kuş'u 4 yıl önce okuyup rahatsız olmuştum. o zamanlar karşımda sadece karanlık bir hikâye vardı: bitmek bilmeyen şiddet, anlamsız acılar ve insanın insanı nasıl bir canavara dönüştürebileceğini anlatan, soğuk ve rahatsız edici bir hikâye. o kadar rahatsız ediciydi ki, puan verirken yalnızca 'acımasız' taraflarını görüp 2 yıldız vermiştim. yeniden bir şans vermek istedim ve bambaşka bir okuma deneyimi yaşadım.
ilk okuduğumda rahatsızlık veren detaylar şimdi bana bir ayna tuttu. çocuğun masumiyetinin yavaş yavaş yitip gitmesi aslında hepimizin içindeki bir kaybı temsil ediyormuş gibi geldi bu kez. o çocuk, savaşın ortasında hayatta kalmaya çalışırken biz de o çocuğun tanıklık ettikleri karşısında ne yapacağımızı bilemeyen birer izleyiciye dönüşüyoruz ve çaresizlik, hem onun hem bizim hikâyemizin ortak noktasıydı sanki. kitaptaki boyalı kuş metaforu bu kez çok daha güçlü geldi bana. o boyalı kuşun boyanmış tüyleri, aslında bizim yüklerimiz, korkularımız ve travmalarımız gibiydi. tüylerimizle sürüye karışmaya çalışsak da renklerimiz bizi ele veriyor ve sonunda yalnızlığa mahkûm kalıyoruz. ancak bu yalnızlık, belki de kosinski’nin bize dediği gibi insan olmanın kaçınılmaz bir parçası.
ilk okuduğumda rahatsızlık veren detaylar şimdi bana bir ayna tuttu. çocuğun masumiyetinin yavaş yavaş yitip gitmesi aslında hepimizin içindeki bir kaybı temsil ediyormuş gibi geldi bu kez. o çocuk, savaşın ortasında hayatta kalmaya çalışırken biz de o çocuğun tanıklık ettikleri karşısında ne yapacağımızı bilemeyen birer izleyiciye dönüşüyoruz ve çaresizlik, hem onun hem bizim hikâyemizin ortak noktasıydı sanki. kitaptaki boyalı kuş metaforu bu kez çok daha güçlü geldi bana. o boyalı kuşun boyanmış tüyleri, aslında bizim yüklerimiz, korkularımız ve travmalarımız gibiydi. tüylerimizle sürüye karışmaya çalışsak da renklerimiz bizi ele veriyor ve sonunda yalnızlığa mahkûm kalıyoruz. ancak bu yalnızlık, belki de kosinski’nin bize dediği gibi insan olmanın kaçınılmaz bir parçası.
May 12, 2013
Let fools argue about Kosiński's biography and "authenticity" of experience. His supreme ability to tell a child's horrific coming-of-age story in rural Nazi-controlled Poland, where the peasants are just as gruesomely sadistic, with adult credibility and moral authority without overreaching or sentimentality, is a dark and bittersweet triumph of humanity and then also of literature.
IMHO, the book was not written as an invective against Polish peasants or Nazis alone, any more than it is solely an indictment of human nature in wartime. Kosiński's scalpel cut too deep to the marrow to stop at Mitka-style revenge. His truth lies deeper than in paranoia and suspicion of man; it exposes the harrowing duality of man's nature, sharpened to extremes in wartime - by turns cruel and tender, superstitious and rational, vengeful and forgiving, brutal and sophisticated.
The Painted Bird is the strongest, most harrowing novel I've ever read and it will stay with me for life, both as a Jew, human being and as a writer. It is an incredibly difficult and important book, and the fact of the controversy surrounding it and the author only heightens its effect.
IMHO, the book was not written as an invective against Polish peasants or Nazis alone, any more than it is solely an indictment of human nature in wartime. Kosiński's scalpel cut too deep to the marrow to stop at Mitka-style revenge. His truth lies deeper than in paranoia and suspicion of man; it exposes the harrowing duality of man's nature, sharpened to extremes in wartime - by turns cruel and tender, superstitious and rational, vengeful and forgiving, brutal and sophisticated.
The Painted Bird is the strongest, most harrowing novel I've ever read and it will stay with me for life, both as a Jew, human being and as a writer. It is an incredibly difficult and important book, and the fact of the controversy surrounding it and the author only heightens its effect.
December 8, 2020
هذه رواية متوحشة، مرعبة، صادمة، وتنفث في وجهك أقسى المشاهد التي لا يمكن أن تخطر لك على بال. في كل جزء منها بل وفي كل صفحة تتساءل فيما إذا كان الكاتب يصف بشراً في هذه الرواية أم وحوشاً خرجت فجأة من الأساطير القديمة.
إنها رواية تعري البشرية من الإنسانية وأخلاقها التي تدعيها؛ هذه الرواية تجسد الوجه البشع والمقيت للإنسان الذي يقتل حباً في القتل، ويؤذي متعةً بالإيذاء.
هذه رواية ليس فيها نور خارج النفق، كلما قطعت شوطاً فيها، سدت صخور ثقيلة آخر النفق وهكذا. ما أن تنتهي من قراءتها ستكون كل حواسك مخدرة، وعيونك جاحظة، ولا ترغب بشيء أكثر من التقيؤ على هذا المخلوق البشع الذي يسمى إنساناً!
إنها رواية تعري البشرية من الإنسانية وأخلاقها التي تدعيها؛ هذه الرواية تجسد الوجه البشع والمقيت للإنسان الذي يقتل حباً في القتل، ويؤذي متعةً بالإيذاء.
هذه رواية ليس فيها نور خارج النفق، كلما قطعت شوطاً فيها، سدت صخور ثقيلة آخر النفق وهكذا. ما أن تنتهي من قراءتها ستكون كل حواسك مخدرة، وعيونك جاحظة، ولا ترغب بشيء أكثر من التقيؤ على هذا المخلوق البشع الذي يسمى إنساناً!
May 30, 2015
The officer surveyed me sharply. I felt like a squashed caterpillar oozing in the dust, a creature that could not harm anyone yet aroused loathing and disgust. In the presence of such a resplendent being, armed in all the symbols of might and majesty, I was genuinely ashamed of my appearance. I had nothing against his killing me.
Much as Nietzsche detonated a shaped charge and blew away all hope of a totalizing meta-narrative, it was books like The Painted Bird which left me ashamed, almost permanently. I don't harbor much hope of a recovery. Kosiński left us a catalog of horror. Hope and Justice appear cheaply broacaded within. I still think about the phone ringing at the end of the novel.
Much as Nietzsche detonated a shaped charge and blew away all hope of a totalizing meta-narrative, it was books like The Painted Bird which left me ashamed, almost permanently. I don't harbor much hope of a recovery. Kosiński left us a catalog of horror. Hope and Justice appear cheaply broacaded within. I still think about the phone ringing at the end of the novel.
December 27, 2022
The undiminished, unending nightmarish brutality of this novel might become an exercise in repetition and gratuity, were it not for undiminished horror contained in its subjects, taken both narrowly (the holocaust) and more broadly (the bottomless capacity of humans to inflict atrocities upon other humans). Early phantasmagoric and folkloric aspects and presentation as a series of episodic 'fables' creates an expectation of the hope/fear rhythms of a fairytale, but the first side of that equation, instead, is rigorously denied, along with any chance of reading pleasure. That said, it's an impressive novel, particularly in how the horror extends into the post-war peace -- for this child protagonist, there will be no return to pre-war wholeness or stability.
I was reading some other reviews of this one, particularly Paul Bryant's where he outlines the book's failure, to be credible despite its impressive force. I'm not sure how the book was received when it appeared (besides by Kosinki's accounts of being attacked for it by people who took it very very literally) but I don't even think realism is the intent here. This is inconceivably the true experience of any one character. Instead, Kosiniski seems to be drawing from the undeniable factual devastation and cruelty of the period to construct a horrific symbolic widescreen tableaux of people acting horribly towards eachother (this obviously extends well beyond the acts specifically directed at the protagonist throughout), in Poland or elsewhere. In this aim, it seems to capture something all too disquietingly real.
I was reading some other reviews of this one, particularly Paul Bryant's where he outlines the book's failure, to be credible despite its impressive force. I'm not sure how the book was received when it appeared (besides by Kosinki's accounts of being attacked for it by people who took it very very literally) but I don't even think realism is the intent here. This is inconceivably the true experience of any one character. Instead, Kosiniski seems to be drawing from the undeniable factual devastation and cruelty of the period to construct a horrific symbolic widescreen tableaux of people acting horribly towards eachother (this obviously extends well beyond the acts specifically directed at the protagonist throughout), in Poland or elsewhere. In this aim, it seems to capture something all too disquietingly real.
December 14, 2018
From God’s point of view it seemed to make more sense if everyone lost the war, since everyone was committing murder.
July 7, 2007
I read an earlier edition than this. I’ve read many, many holocaust era books and I’d already read quite a few when I read this one. And this says a lot, but this one might be the most horrifying one of them all. This was one of the most disturbing books I’ve ever read and yet I loved the book. I read it thinking it was non-fiction; years after I read it, I read that it was fiction, but that doesn’t diminish at all the impact I feel from reading it. It’s truly amazing what people can do to each other and also what people will go through in order to survive. Do recommend it but only for those with their own courage to plough through such a horrific tale.
December 14, 2009
This review is serving as a spiritual tug of war. The Battle of the Conscious. I really don’t know what to think. I hesitate between 2 and 3 stars and Yeah, I know… I’m a heartless bitch. The guilt tells me to rate it higher because of all the persecution and just plain ol’ Horrors that this kid dealt with. As if I’ve lost some humanity if I don’t appreciate this more. But… another part of me is just not feeling it.
It sort of feels like rubbernecking.
Like, it starts off right away with exploding pet squirrels and just gets more and more unbelievable as you go. I’m not saying that this stuff couldn’t have happened (well, maybe I am, but not to ONE person...)and I am well aware that as a French Canadian child born in 1970’s New England I would have NO BASIS on which to judge the monstrosities that this un-named child endured. But, it’s not really real, you know? No? Okay, then I’m colder than I thought.
I can’t get past the fact that this kid really isn’t ever given a break… We go through about 200 pages of beatings and rapes and mutilations and near deaths and you (me) start to roll your eyes and think that Charlie Brown could take some life lessons from this little gypsy boy.
I felt guilty! I shouldn’t be exasperated by this! I should be appalled! I should be weeping and thanking unknown deities that my lame childhood was all about having to walk to McDonalds and clean the pool. But, what did I do? I started skimming. Blah-Blah-beating-Blah-Blah-hanging from a hook to avoid certain death from vicious dog-blah blah-skinning a live rabbit-blah blah-thrown in a dung heap---Blah Blah---you get the picture.
The only thread of compassion that I hold onto is that I didn’t feel this way when I read Anne Frank The Diary of a Young Girl or Night. I’m not a monster. (Right?)
Maybe it was the writing style, the dispassionate, removed, telling of these events. Then interspersed with these flowing images of painted birds and sexual awakenings (rape or not.) It was difficult to juxtapose between these styles and stay in the moment. My breath would catch at a particularly moving passage like:
I had seen the end of terror that shakes one until it squeezes the stomach empty of vomit, like a punctured poppy pod blown open by the wind.
Then move a few paragraphs to:
I began to practice walking. My legs did not obey me and I tired easily. One night I heard noises outside. I peered through a slot between the boards.
You lose the rhythm, the fantasy, and hit the mundane again. My addled brain couldn’t handle it.
I read that Kosinski may have gone all James Frey with this and ‘embellished’ the tale but from what I’ve read, he never really said it wasn’t fiction, right? I mean, others fought to find meaning and truth behind the tale. Then there’s the controversy surrounding plagiarism and then all those health issues he had… Poor guy, no wonder he committed suicide. (See? Compassion!)
So, I’m glad that I read this. I have Being There and I’ve been wanting to read that for awhile… not realizing it was the same author. Only now, I’m not so excited.
And that’s sad.
It sort of feels like rubbernecking.
Like, it starts off right away with exploding pet squirrels and just gets more and more unbelievable as you go. I’m not saying that this stuff couldn’t have happened (well, maybe I am, but not to ONE person...)and I am well aware that as a French Canadian child born in 1970’s New England I would have NO BASIS on which to judge the monstrosities that this un-named child endured. But, it’s not really real, you know? No? Okay, then I’m colder than I thought.
I can’t get past the fact that this kid really isn’t ever given a break… We go through about 200 pages of beatings and rapes and mutilations and near deaths and you (me) start to roll your eyes and think that Charlie Brown could take some life lessons from this little gypsy boy.
I felt guilty! I shouldn’t be exasperated by this! I should be appalled! I should be weeping and thanking unknown deities that my lame childhood was all about having to walk to McDonalds and clean the pool. But, what did I do? I started skimming. Blah-Blah-beating-Blah-Blah-hanging from a hook to avoid certain death from vicious dog-blah blah-skinning a live rabbit-blah blah-thrown in a dung heap---Blah Blah---you get the picture.
The only thread of compassion that I hold onto is that I didn’t feel this way when I read Anne Frank The Diary of a Young Girl or Night. I’m not a monster. (Right?)
Maybe it was the writing style, the dispassionate, removed, telling of these events. Then interspersed with these flowing images of painted birds and sexual awakenings (rape or not.) It was difficult to juxtapose between these styles and stay in the moment. My breath would catch at a particularly moving passage like:
I had seen the end of terror that shakes one until it squeezes the stomach empty of vomit, like a punctured poppy pod blown open by the wind.
Then move a few paragraphs to:
I began to practice walking. My legs did not obey me and I tired easily. One night I heard noises outside. I peered through a slot between the boards.
You lose the rhythm, the fantasy, and hit the mundane again. My addled brain couldn’t handle it.
I read that Kosinski may have gone all James Frey with this and ‘embellished’ the tale but from what I’ve read, he never really said it wasn’t fiction, right? I mean, others fought to find meaning and truth behind the tale. Then there’s the controversy surrounding plagiarism and then all those health issues he had… Poor guy, no wonder he committed suicide. (See? Compassion!)
So, I’m glad that I read this. I have Being There and I’ve been wanting to read that for awhile… not realizing it was the same author. Only now, I’m not so excited.
And that’s sad.
October 25, 2017
Ler, para mim, é como viver uma vida paralela sendo os livros as pessoas que caminham ao meu lado nessa vida.
E, tal como as pessoas, há livros que passam por mim e nem levemente me tocam, outros ficam comigo para sempre. Por norma, ficam aqueles que me proporcionaram um convívio mais prazeiroso, mas há outros, que de tão especiais e únicos, também ficam, apesar de me terem destroçado o coração.
“O Pássaro Pintado” é um livro único, pungente, cuja leitura me torturou mas que nunca esquecerei. Um livro que fala do ser humano e das suas perversidades. Um livro que fala de inocência e de sobrevivência.
Relata a história de um menino de seis anos cujos pais, para o salvarem da guerra, o enviam para uma aldeia polaca, onde ele terá de sobreviver num meio onde impera o preconceito, a superstição e a igorância e onde viverá situações de verdadeiro horror. “Os alemães intrigam-me. Valerá a pena dominar um mundo tão miserável e cruel?"
Este é o melhor livro que já li sobre a segunda guerra mundial e recomendo a todos, com a ressalva de que é um livro muito doloroso e violento.
E, tal como as pessoas, há livros que passam por mim e nem levemente me tocam, outros ficam comigo para sempre. Por norma, ficam aqueles que me proporcionaram um convívio mais prazeiroso, mas há outros, que de tão especiais e únicos, também ficam, apesar de me terem destroçado o coração.
“O Pássaro Pintado” é um livro único, pungente, cuja leitura me torturou mas que nunca esquecerei. Um livro que fala do ser humano e das suas perversidades. Um livro que fala de inocência e de sobrevivência.
Relata a história de um menino de seis anos cujos pais, para o salvarem da guerra, o enviam para uma aldeia polaca, onde ele terá de sobreviver num meio onde impera o preconceito, a superstição e a igorância e onde viverá situações de verdadeiro horror. “Os alemães intrigam-me. Valerá a pena dominar um mundo tão miserável e cruel?"
Este é o melhor livro que já li sobre a segunda guerra mundial e recomendo a todos, com a ressalva de que é um livro muito doloroso e violento.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,356 reviews