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The Pathseeker
"There's no such thing as chance...only injustice."
From the winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature for “writing that upholds the fragile experience of the individual against the barbaric arbitrariness of history..."
The acclaimed Hungarian Holocaust survivor Imre Kertész continues his investigation of the malignant methodologies of totalitarianism in a major work of fiction.
In a mysterious middle–European country, a man identified only as “the commissioner” undertakes what seems to be a banal trip to a nondescript town with his wife—a brief detour on the way to a holiday at the seaside—that turns into something ominous. Something terrible has happened in the town, something that no one wants to discuss. With his wife watching on fearfully, he commences a perverse investigation, rudely interrogating the locals, inspecting a local landmark with a frightening intensity, traveling to an outlying factory where he confronts the proprietors ... and slowly revealing a past he's been trying to suppress.
In a limpid translation by Tim Wilkinson, this haunting tale lays bare an emotional and psychological landscape ravaged by totalitarianism in one of Kertsz's most devastating examinations of the responsibilities of and for the Holocaust.
From the winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature for “writing that upholds the fragile experience of the individual against the barbaric arbitrariness of history..."
The acclaimed Hungarian Holocaust survivor Imre Kertész continues his investigation of the malignant methodologies of totalitarianism in a major work of fiction.
In a mysterious middle–European country, a man identified only as “the commissioner” undertakes what seems to be a banal trip to a nondescript town with his wife—a brief detour on the way to a holiday at the seaside—that turns into something ominous. Something terrible has happened in the town, something that no one wants to discuss. With his wife watching on fearfully, he commences a perverse investigation, rudely interrogating the locals, inspecting a local landmark with a frightening intensity, traveling to an outlying factory where he confronts the proprietors ... and slowly revealing a past he's been trying to suppress.
In a limpid translation by Tim Wilkinson, this haunting tale lays bare an emotional and psychological landscape ravaged by totalitarianism in one of Kertsz's most devastating examinations of the responsibilities of and for the Holocaust.
136 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1977
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359 people want to read
About the author
Imre Kertész
81 books385 followersBorn in Budapest in 1929, during World War II Imre Kertész was imprisoned at Auschwitz in 1944 and later at Buchenwald. After the war and repatriation, Kertész soon ended his brief career as a journalist and turned to translation, specializing in German language works. He later emigrated to Berlin. Kertész was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 2002 for "writing that upholds the fragile experience of the individual against the barbaric arbitrariness of history".
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Displaying 1 - 26 of 26 reviews
September 27, 2025
بدون شک این کتاب یکی از سخت‌ترین تجربه‌های ترجمه‌ام بود؛ نه فقط به‌خاطر زبان فلسفی و استعاری خودش، بلکه بیشتر به‌خاطر ترجمه‌ی انگلیسی که روان و سلیس نبود و مجبور بودم مدام آن را با متن مجاری تطبیق بدهم. همین اجبار به هم‌زمان خواندن دو متن، نوعی فرسودگی ایجاد کرد—ترجمه نه به‌عنوان یک کار خلاق، بلکه مثل مبارزه‌ای طاقت‌فرسا برای بازسازی لایه‌های پنهان.
متن کِرتس عمداً روی مرز بین داستان و تفسیر فلسفی حرکت می‌کند: اشیاء و مناظر نه فقط «چیزهایی در جهان» بلکه نمادهای بیگانگی، خشونت و سکوت‌اند. نگاه کمیسر روی آن‌ها می‌لغزد، به درونشان نفوذ نمی‌کند و آن‌ها هیچ اعتباری به وجود او نمی‌دهند؛ استعاره‌ای روشن از جهان پس از اردوگاه‌های کار اجباری آلمان نازی و مواجهه با شرّ بی‌چهره‌ی قرن بیستم.
ترجمه‌ی انگلیسی در رساندن این فضای پرابهام موفق است، اما سبک خشک و گاه ناموزونش، خود به مانعی بدل می‌شود. جملات بیش از حد پیچیده و انتخاب‌های واژگان گاهی رنگی اغراق‌آمیز یا متفاوت از متن مجاری دارند—مثلاً جایی که «پیرزن» به «هرزه‌ی پیر» ترجمه شده، بار معنایی را به‌کلی تغییر داده است. برای مترجمی که بخواهد به متن اصلی نزدیک بماند، این ناهمخوانی‌ها تبدیل به میدان مین می‌شوند.
با این همه، تجربه‌ی کار روی این متن یک درس بزرگ بود: اینکه ترجمه‌ی خوب لزوماً فقط «دانستن زبان» نیست، بلکه نوعی کندوکاو فلسفی است. باید آماده باشی بین سه لایه حرکت کنی: معنای مستقیم، بار استعاری، و سکوت‌های آگاهانه‌ی متن. کِرتس هرگز پاسخ صریح نمی‌دهد؛ همان‌طور که اشیاء به کمیسر پاسخی نمی‌دهند.
به همین دلیل هم در نهایت چهار ستاره می‌دهم: نه به‌خاطر ضعف اثر، بلکه به‌خاطر فاصله‌ای که میان متن مجاری و نسخه‌ی انگلیسی افتاده و کار را برای هر خواننده‌ی غیرمجاری سخت‌تر و برای مترجم تقریباً فرسایشی کرده است. اما درست همین دشواری است که ارزشمند است: متنی که تو را به مرز توانایی‌ات می‌برد و وادارت می‌کند معنای «ترجمه کردن» را از نو بفهمی.
متن کِرتس عمداً روی مرز بین داستان و تفسیر فلسفی حرکت می‌کند: اشیاء و مناظر نه فقط «چیزهایی در جهان» بلکه نمادهای بیگانگی، خشونت و سکوت‌اند. نگاه کمیسر روی آن‌ها می‌لغزد، به درونشان نفوذ نمی‌کند و آن‌ها هیچ اعتباری به وجود او نمی‌دهند؛ استعاره‌ای روشن از جهان پس از اردوگاه‌های کار اجباری آلمان نازی و مواجهه با شرّ بی‌چهره‌ی قرن بیستم.
ترجمه‌ی انگلیسی در رساندن این فضای پرابهام موفق است، اما سبک خشک و گاه ناموزونش، خود به مانعی بدل می‌شود. جملات بیش از حد پیچیده و انتخاب‌های واژگان گاهی رنگی اغراق‌آمیز یا متفاوت از متن مجاری دارند—مثلاً جایی که «پیرزن» به «هرزه‌ی پیر» ترجمه شده، بار معنایی را به‌کلی تغییر داده است. برای مترجمی که بخواهد به متن اصلی نزدیک بماند، این ناهمخوانی‌ها تبدیل به میدان مین می‌شوند.
با این همه، تجربه‌ی کار روی این متن یک درس بزرگ بود: اینکه ترجمه‌ی خوب لزوماً فقط «دانستن زبان» نیست، بلکه نوعی کندوکاو فلسفی است. باید آماده باشی بین سه لایه حرکت کنی: معنای مستقیم، بار استعاری، و سکوت‌های آگاهانه‌ی متن. کِرتس هرگز پاسخ صریح نمی‌دهد؛ همان‌طور که اشیاء به کمیسر پاسخی نمی‌دهند.
به همین دلیل هم در نهایت چهار ستاره می‌دهم: نه به‌خاطر ضعف اثر، بلکه به‌خاطر فاصله‌ای که میان متن مجاری و نسخه‌ی انگلیسی افتاده و کار را برای هر خواننده‌ی غیرمجاری سخت‌تر و برای مترجم تقریباً فرسایشی کرده است. اما درست همین دشواری است که ارزشمند است: متنی که تو را به مرز توانایی‌ات می‌برد و وادارت می‌کند معنای «ترجمه کردن» را از نو بفهمی.
Read
March 1, 2017Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly features a protagonist named Bob Arctor who wears a 'scramble suit' that disguises him as nothing more than a 'vague blur.' But Arctor at least has a name, which is more than can be said for the Commissioner, the ostensible central character of The Pathseeker.
The Commissioner is not only a vague blur himself but lives in a world composed of vague blurs. Or maybe that's not quite right, maybe the world he inhabits is actually far too brightly lit and well defined and that's what causes him to blur and melt and fail and fail some more.
The Pathseeker is an alluring cipher of a novella. It begins in unsettling suspense as The Commissioner conducts a friendly interrogation of an unnamed man. We get the impression that the Commissioner is executing an investigation of sort, potentially into crimes or transgressions committed in the past.
Just as the Commissioner treatment of the unnamed man shades into a kind of psychological torture (the unnamed man calls the Commissioner 'inhuman' through gritted teeth), the story takes a left turn out of the realm of suspense and into a sort of paranoid, misanthropic travelogue.
The Commissioner's investigation is never clearly defined. He goes on two fact-finding missions to distinct, remote locations that require him to rely on bus and train connections to reach. Both missions become circuitous and almost entirely aimless, or at least asymptotic.
The Commissioner can never quite find what he's looking for, for what he's looking for is a reflection of himself in the objects he interrogates. Yes, he interrogates objects with his gaze. It's very sunny. Too bright, the light and heat are suffocating in fact. Turn them off.
Another title for this book might be The Tourist. The Commissioner wanders in fashion similar to tourists, or not a tourist exactly, but rather a wanderer. Late in the book, he's identified as a foreigner in the land that provides the location for the story. His thoughts are constantly filled with disdain for tourists and locals alike. He becomes very confused, and is constantly getting lost. The sights he seeks out never end up looking quite like they're supposed to.
A woman in a veil appears to him. Later she kills herself in a newspaper. He begins to a calculate the expenses required by the sea voyage he will undertake next.
The Commissioner is not only a vague blur himself but lives in a world composed of vague blurs. Or maybe that's not quite right, maybe the world he inhabits is actually far too brightly lit and well defined and that's what causes him to blur and melt and fail and fail some more.
The Pathseeker is an alluring cipher of a novella. It begins in unsettling suspense as The Commissioner conducts a friendly interrogation of an unnamed man. We get the impression that the Commissioner is executing an investigation of sort, potentially into crimes or transgressions committed in the past.
Just as the Commissioner treatment of the unnamed man shades into a kind of psychological torture (the unnamed man calls the Commissioner 'inhuman' through gritted teeth), the story takes a left turn out of the realm of suspense and into a sort of paranoid, misanthropic travelogue.
The Commissioner's investigation is never clearly defined. He goes on two fact-finding missions to distinct, remote locations that require him to rely on bus and train connections to reach. Both missions become circuitous and almost entirely aimless, or at least asymptotic.
The Commissioner can never quite find what he's looking for, for what he's looking for is a reflection of himself in the objects he interrogates. Yes, he interrogates objects with his gaze. It's very sunny. Too bright, the light and heat are suffocating in fact. Turn them off.
Another title for this book might be The Tourist. The Commissioner wanders in fashion similar to tourists, or not a tourist exactly, but rather a wanderer. Late in the book, he's identified as a foreigner in the land that provides the location for the story. His thoughts are constantly filled with disdain for tourists and locals alike. He becomes very confused, and is constantly getting lost. The sights he seeks out never end up looking quite like they're supposed to.
A woman in a veil appears to him. Later she kills herself in a newspaper. He begins to a calculate the expenses required by the sea voyage he will undertake next.
Read
August 21, 2024The first book I've finished in a long time. The past two years have been relatively fictionless for me. I looked at my transcript out of curiosity, and I've written ca. 75.000 words in that time. This novella was a brief, if heavy, easing-back-into-it. It's a "memory book." You know the type- Austerlitz, In Search of Lost Time, The Unconsoled. I learned in Tim Wilkinson's afterword that Kertész had a difficult time getting published in the 70s. I'll reproduce a quote from Kertész here: "I am bringing up 'this subject,' so I am told, too late, it is no longer of topical interest. 'This subject' should have been dealt with much earlier, at least ten years ago, etc. Yet these days I have again had to realize that the Auschwitz myth is the only thing that truly interests me. In contemplating a new novel, I can only think about Auschwitz again. Whatever I think about, I always think about Auschwitz. Even if I may seem to be talking about something quite different, I am still talking about Auschwitz." This little book is attempting to do just that- to "deal with" this subject- and finds that it simply can't be dealt with.
February 2, 2023
This book has its ups and downs. At points it had me and at points it lost me. But in the end it tied together quite nicely. Our nameless main character traveling to this region inquiring about unnamed places for unknown reasons. Assumingly this is reflective of Kertesz’s time in Nqzi Concentration camps. This would be the World through a holocaust survivors eyes years, or decades even,after the fact. I think the point is he’s not sure what he’s looking for, but wants to be validated. Not externally, but internally. Visiting these places where camps must’ve stood once, but being met with museums and tourists and factories, a completely changed landscape. Like what he lived wasn’t real, it was a dream, or for show. He searches the whole region, time was limited, searching for something, a SIGN of the horror that must’ve occurred there at some time in the past. He eventually finds that in the veiled woman. I believe the scene in the town square reflects how he saw the world after the war, moving on, hustle and bustle, everyone minding their own, not thinking. But the veiled woman who, at first glance, is beautiful, but a deeper look shows pain, a deep, ugly pain. The book ends with our nameless character reading in the paper about her suicide. She was the pain, she was the remembrance, she was what he was looking for, the validation something horrible had happened and affected more than just himself.
To double back I also found it fascinating to see from a survivors perspective all of the tourism and commercialization of the terrors they lived. To some it may be an amazing remembrance that is of utmost importance. But I can see it also being weird. Like a genuinely weird feeling to go back to a place that caused you life altering terror, and seeing a museum with tourists snapping pictures and never being able to fully understand. You don’t despise them, or even mind them really, but it has to be an odd, bittersweet feeling.
I’ve done no justice in this unedited ramble about this book, but I truly find it amazing and can understand why a man like Kertesz won the Nobel prize. I definitely plan to read his more prominent work soon.
To double back I also found it fascinating to see from a survivors perspective all of the tourism and commercialization of the terrors they lived. To some it may be an amazing remembrance that is of utmost importance. But I can see it also being weird. Like a genuinely weird feeling to go back to a place that caused you life altering terror, and seeing a museum with tourists snapping pictures and never being able to fully understand. You don’t despise them, or even mind them really, but it has to be an odd, bittersweet feeling.
I’ve done no justice in this unedited ramble about this book, but I truly find it amazing and can understand why a man like Kertesz won the Nobel prize. I definitely plan to read his more prominent work soon.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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August 19, 2012I was preparing for a study abroad program for teachers. This book was a required read for the trip. I read it, and was confused. But, then I went to Buchenwald where our scholar told us about the author. It is an account of a survivors return to Buchenwald where he found a museum and lots of nothingness! The camp is only a shell of it's prior existence. As a survivor seeks to find peace, he returns to the place of his pain and finds only a semblance of the past he remembers. This is a great book to use on the classroom.
February 12, 2010
It was a troubling and disconcerting novella. But powerful nonetheless. The idea that a crime can be so egregious that it erases the names of people and places and the world goes on seems to reference the author's experience in Auschwitz and it is a hauntingly disconnected tale.
August 29, 2009
Think Auschwitz...
I suppose on some level a meditation on what writing looks like after Auschwitz.
I suppose on some level a meditation on what writing looks like after Auschwitz.
September 7, 2024
Trippier than ASoIaF dream sequence.
May 3, 2011
If the intent was to make you understand what it felt like to be persecuted by nameless people for nameless crimes - this is a great read. The prose is good but rarely takes flight in this brief read. If you like wandering around in the dark without something warm and moist to eventually bump into - you're going to love this.
October 22, 2022
Three short stories, the Pathseeker - the titel of the book- is the first story of the book.
The Pathskeeper
Is about a man, stays nameless. He makes a journey to unnamed place from his past.
Regardless of how bitter my memories, I need not avoid the confrontation with my past p23. Imre himself was prisoner in Buchenwald during the WOII.
Trying to understand the past
The urge to go back to this place as wanting to re-experience the tormenting dreams; hoping ever to understand them p65.
A witness
Here I’m trying to make right the injustice suffered. By means of giving testimony as a witness for everything what I saw P71.
The second story the English flag
About (self)knowledge, books and reading.
Who would dare to claim, because of the little bit of incoherent knowledge he thinks he possesses about his life, he actually knows his life, that he has a real insight into this process which is completely opaque to him in its course and outcome?
We understand very little about life, indeed. Although we manage to disguise that nicely by the libraries that we fill with books p 119 en p 120
Death is – if we prepare ourselves for it a lifetime, realizing that it is the only really important task we have to fulfill in life, if we gradually learn our death, as it were, and teach it as an ultimately reassuring , albeit not a wholly satisfactory solution – a serious matter.
About his first experience with the opera and Wagner’s Die Walküre p 134 and Thomas Mann’s book Walsungenblut (has Wagner’s opera as theme) p137
in essence I felt like Tristan and Isolde, after drinking the magic poison; the poison penetrated deep into me and continued to circulate in me.
The third story the police report
The best way to understand how horrible life is when government officials (customs officers in the story) exercise power on the individual. It’s the amount of money a Hungarian is entitled to carry with him when going abroad. The misunderstanding and the consequences for the traveler. Borrowed Dante’s phrase from Divine Comedy, at the gate of Hell: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here p171
In essence the story is a pastiche document about the inability and helplessness of the individual in the totalitarian society. He felt like a prisoner but he also understood the mechanism of his life.
The Pathskeeper
Is about a man, stays nameless. He makes a journey to unnamed place from his past.
Regardless of how bitter my memories, I need not avoid the confrontation with my past p23. Imre himself was prisoner in Buchenwald during the WOII.
Trying to understand the past
The urge to go back to this place as wanting to re-experience the tormenting dreams; hoping ever to understand them p65.
A witness
Here I’m trying to make right the injustice suffered. By means of giving testimony as a witness for everything what I saw P71.
The second story the English flag
About (self)knowledge, books and reading.
Who would dare to claim, because of the little bit of incoherent knowledge he thinks he possesses about his life, he actually knows his life, that he has a real insight into this process which is completely opaque to him in its course and outcome?
We understand very little about life, indeed. Although we manage to disguise that nicely by the libraries that we fill with books p 119 en p 120
Death is – if we prepare ourselves for it a lifetime, realizing that it is the only really important task we have to fulfill in life, if we gradually learn our death, as it were, and teach it as an ultimately reassuring , albeit not a wholly satisfactory solution – a serious matter.
About his first experience with the opera and Wagner’s Die Walküre p 134 and Thomas Mann’s book Walsungenblut (has Wagner’s opera as theme) p137
in essence I felt like Tristan and Isolde, after drinking the magic poison; the poison penetrated deep into me and continued to circulate in me.
The third story the police report
The best way to understand how horrible life is when government officials (customs officers in the story) exercise power on the individual. It’s the amount of money a Hungarian is entitled to carry with him when going abroad. The misunderstanding and the consequences for the traveler. Borrowed Dante’s phrase from Divine Comedy, at the gate of Hell: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here p171
In essence the story is a pastiche document about the inability and helplessness of the individual in the totalitarian society. He felt like a prisoner but he also understood the mechanism of his life.
December 1, 2017
I was really disappointed with the book of Kertesz since he is awarded with the Noble prize but I do realize that it is impossible to enjoy all the authors, even distinguished ones. "The Pathseeker" is a short form, Kertesz describes totalitarianism and alludes to what happened during the WWII - the biggest tragedy of our times - Holocaust. I think the topic is extremely important and that is why, so difficult, so overcomplicating the story and the language did not really help in understanding the book. I do not know if it is the fault of the translation or the language of Kertesz but I didn't enjoy it at all. I was struggling with finishing such a short read, which meant that I didn't appreciate what I was reading. Nevertheless, I would like to try diferent books written by this author, which may appeal to me more.
December 24, 2021
Une ambiance glauque: le principal protagoniste est désigné par son état - l'envoyé- dans un lieu inconnu du lecteur, lieu d'enfer? Car d'une chaleur suffocante.
Que cherche cet "envoyé" exactement? Par qui est-il envoyé? Pour enquêter sur quoi?
Trop d'inconnues ne rend pas la lecture paisible!
Que cherche cet "envoyé" exactement? Par qui est-il envoyé? Pour enquêter sur quoi?
Trop d'inconnues ne rend pas la lecture paisible!
April 6, 2023
5 stars for intellectual history/significance...3 stars for the actual read.
May 26, 2023
A sophisticated novella written by an author (Hungarian Jew) who had himself spent time as a prisoner at Auschwitz. My visit to Dachau enhanced my interpretation of the work.
October 9, 2020
VISITING
A single minute of unclouded freedom from care
He swept his eyes over the scene
Your own laws are the only ones applicable to you
It had been impossible for a person not become aware of certain things — albeit involuntarily
Anyone who said any different was lying
That wasn’t the right word for it, yet this wasn’t the place for being modest, so was it all right for him to speak instead about duty — the agonizing duty of knowledge
One had certain thoughts — one can't help it
And although those thoughts don’t stem from yourself
His eyes burning with a strange light, his voice switching to a whisper
The possibility, you catch my drift? Nothing else, the mere possibility
And that what happens just once, to just one person, has now transcended the frontiers of the possible, is now a law of reality
Our constant anguish feed if we did not all feel we had a small part in universal evil
He flashed a wryly meditative grin
Time is dangerous enemy
A minute of silence arose — almost an awkward silence, one might say
A straight question deserves a straight answer
You're getting trapped in strange contradictions
A sense of duty in the wider sense is a trap
Her eyes — at other times a familiar mirror — were filled with anxious questioning
TURNING POINT
FIRST TRACES
DIALOGUE IN THE SQUARE
Was that really what it was, the town? They came to houses, clusters of houses, later on regular streets
Everything was perfect, like an optical illusion
Everything was revealed, and nevertheless everything resisted
Everything was there ought to be there
Everything was nevertheless false, different from how it ought to be
All of a sudden, the town had begun to speak
Details to be hidden in the guise of the timelessness that had been conjured up for them and of this fleeting present
No doubt about it — that was the color
In that brightness of light — this color too was timeless
This too made tangible only by a mundane moment
A totally different moment that nevertheless could only have been hit upon in the merciless grip of this deceptive present
For which momentarily no congruence of the map, no reconciliation of the grand total on the inventory of items, could provide requisite proof
Its decorations, streets, buildings, and ornaments were submerged in time
The mask of eternity had fallen away from them, and on display was its momentariness
DISORIENTATION
THE GATE
Expectations builds on monotony, the risk was of going to pieces
I made a mistake. I don’t know which way we should go
We'll ask someone
Stealing the magic of simple things in this absurd suggestion with her smile
Tourists were like ants, diligently carrying off the significance of things, crumb by crumb
Her figure was already made smaller by the distance and the immeasurable perspective of the emptiness down below
That was precisely the question that was supposed to be heard, and melting away just as feebly in the space
Yet multiplied in the same way from the echo as if — yes — that question was not even his
She has simply shouted it out, thereby, as it were, breathing life into the mute souls of each and every question
ASTONISHMENT
INSPECTION
HOSTELRY
He himself would lay down the law on his desk
He alone would answer for his mistakes and his results
His voice was echoing over the scene
His words were capable of breaking through floodgates
Nothing at all that was supposed to be here was here
This place was not what it was either, just his own stubborn obsession
He himself was not who he was
His mission was an error
Space, time the ground beneath his feet — nothing was true
Only this irresistible impulse, constantly assailing every sensory organ
THE PALM COURT
THE VEILED WOMAN
He had to protect his secret, the responsibility — this consuming emptiness
There's no such thing as chance. Only injustice
RUSH HOUR
Cheating and lies set in blank verse
His knowledge was futile, his truth was indivisible
ANNOYANCES
CONFRONTATIONS
UNMASKING
RECKONING
Had he wanted definite evidence of his questionable existence?
This fact was now staring with such stark clarity, like this spacious landscape and endless highway in the hard sunlight
This was what he wanted — to make a splash with his presence, advertise his superiority
Celebrate the triumph of his existence in front of these mute and powerless things
AT THE STATION
He caught himself immersed in a rough computation of expenditures on the sea voyage that would be starting the next day
A single minute of unclouded freedom from care
He swept his eyes over the scene
Your own laws are the only ones applicable to you
It had been impossible for a person not become aware of certain things — albeit involuntarily
Anyone who said any different was lying
That wasn’t the right word for it, yet this wasn’t the place for being modest, so was it all right for him to speak instead about duty — the agonizing duty of knowledge
One had certain thoughts — one can't help it
And although those thoughts don’t stem from yourself
His eyes burning with a strange light, his voice switching to a whisper
The possibility, you catch my drift? Nothing else, the mere possibility
And that what happens just once, to just one person, has now transcended the frontiers of the possible, is now a law of reality
Our constant anguish feed if we did not all feel we had a small part in universal evil
He flashed a wryly meditative grin
Time is dangerous enemy
A minute of silence arose — almost an awkward silence, one might say
A straight question deserves a straight answer
You're getting trapped in strange contradictions
A sense of duty in the wider sense is a trap
Her eyes — at other times a familiar mirror — were filled with anxious questioning
TURNING POINT
FIRST TRACES
DIALOGUE IN THE SQUARE
Was that really what it was, the town? They came to houses, clusters of houses, later on regular streets
Everything was perfect, like an optical illusion
Everything was revealed, and nevertheless everything resisted
Everything was there ought to be there
Everything was nevertheless false, different from how it ought to be
All of a sudden, the town had begun to speak
Details to be hidden in the guise of the timelessness that had been conjured up for them and of this fleeting present
No doubt about it — that was the color
In that brightness of light — this color too was timeless
This too made tangible only by a mundane moment
A totally different moment that nevertheless could only have been hit upon in the merciless grip of this deceptive present
For which momentarily no congruence of the map, no reconciliation of the grand total on the inventory of items, could provide requisite proof
Its decorations, streets, buildings, and ornaments were submerged in time
The mask of eternity had fallen away from them, and on display was its momentariness
DISORIENTATION
THE GATE
Expectations builds on monotony, the risk was of going to pieces
I made a mistake. I don’t know which way we should go
We'll ask someone
Stealing the magic of simple things in this absurd suggestion with her smile
Tourists were like ants, diligently carrying off the significance of things, crumb by crumb
Her figure was already made smaller by the distance and the immeasurable perspective of the emptiness down below
That was precisely the question that was supposed to be heard, and melting away just as feebly in the space
Yet multiplied in the same way from the echo as if — yes — that question was not even his
She has simply shouted it out, thereby, as it were, breathing life into the mute souls of each and every question
ASTONISHMENT
INSPECTION
HOSTELRY
He himself would lay down the law on his desk
He alone would answer for his mistakes and his results
His voice was echoing over the scene
His words were capable of breaking through floodgates
Nothing at all that was supposed to be here was here
This place was not what it was either, just his own stubborn obsession
He himself was not who he was
His mission was an error
Space, time the ground beneath his feet — nothing was true
Only this irresistible impulse, constantly assailing every sensory organ
THE PALM COURT
THE VEILED WOMAN
He had to protect his secret, the responsibility — this consuming emptiness
There's no such thing as chance. Only injustice
RUSH HOUR
Cheating and lies set in blank verse
His knowledge was futile, his truth was indivisible
ANNOYANCES
CONFRONTATIONS
UNMASKING
RECKONING
Had he wanted definite evidence of his questionable existence?
This fact was now staring with such stark clarity, like this spacious landscape and endless highway in the hard sunlight
This was what he wanted — to make a splash with his presence, advertise his superiority
Celebrate the triumph of his existence in front of these mute and powerless things
AT THE STATION
He caught himself immersed in a rough computation of expenditures on the sea voyage that would be starting the next day
January 13, 2016
This book definitely requires a deep knowledge of the place and time it was written to make any sense. And unfortunately, I just do not think it works well otherwise.
the story is fairly intriguing. A detective is investigating an event that happened in a random Eastern European town. The townspeople are suitably mysterious and the entire story reads like a gaslight mystery. This was all written and developed very well. However, unless you know the geography, cultural mores, and behaviors of people in the area, chances are there will be no payoff. Oh you didn't know that person was being suspicious? But they made this minor facial gesture used only in that part of the world that implies they were lying. You had no idea this was a holocaust novel? but they mentioned a clearing near a forest within a 30 minute train ride and short walk from a hotel with a pachyderm-like logo. How could that have been any clearer?
Overall, this read like the first few chapters of a mystery novel. that then ended and told you nothing. If not for the afterward, I would have had no clue what happened.
the story is fairly intriguing. A detective is investigating an event that happened in a random Eastern European town. The townspeople are suitably mysterious and the entire story reads like a gaslight mystery. This was all written and developed very well. However, unless you know the geography, cultural mores, and behaviors of people in the area, chances are there will be no payoff. Oh you didn't know that person was being suspicious? But they made this minor facial gesture used only in that part of the world that implies they were lying. You had no idea this was a holocaust novel? but they mentioned a clearing near a forest within a 30 minute train ride and short walk from a hotel with a pachyderm-like logo. How could that have been any clearer?
Overall, this read like the first few chapters of a mystery novel. that then ended and told you nothing. If not for the afterward, I would have had no clue what happened.
June 6, 2015
This is a very strange little book, filled with anonymous people. Only one character has a name. The narrator appears to be investigating something, we are never told what; clearly something in the past... The whole scenario is extremely sinister, peopled with brutal people. Some of the narrators hallucinations for want of a better word partake of this brutality; scenes of normal life suddenly become filled with conflict and abuse.
One suspects without knowing something of Kertesz history this would be a meaningless exercise. But we know there is no such thing as chance... only injustice.
One suspects without knowing something of Kertesz history this would be a meaningless exercise. But we know there is no such thing as chance... only injustice.
February 19, 2008
The new Contemporary Art of the Novella series launches with this stunning work from Nobel Prizewinner Imre Kertsz, author of Kaddish for an Unborn Child and Fatelessness. In a major work never before translated, the acclaimed Auschwitz survivor continues his blistering investigation of the methodologies of totalitarianism.
October 9, 2012
Very pallid, even timid evocation of the way that scenes of horror from the past are forgotten. (A concentration camp is turned into a harmless cultural center.) But it's pale, and there is no drama in moments of discovery or search -- passages that Kertesz apparently thinks are very suspenseful.
July 26, 2011
Dérangeant, intriguant et passionnant !
August 24, 2011
I'm pretty sure I didn't get this book; It's like an elaborate puzzle that I'm supposed to care about, but doesn't seem to add anything.
September 8, 2016
Does anything retain meaning when you return to it or does it only exist as long as it never changes?
January 30, 2013
A book that deserves a second reading, because you can't fully understand it after reading it once.
February 1, 2017
Masterful .... I had to read it a second time to fully grasp its subtlety.
October 31, 2022
While I was reading, I did not like the book. I was determined to make it to the end. After finishing, there is no joy of success. Would read another book from author.
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November 5, 2018The mad-detective narrative works so well because he's obviously mad and obviously right.
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