Mees, kes teadis ussisõnu

by Andrus Kivirähk, Sirje Ratso (Editor)

Viimane mees, kes mõistab ussisõnu, mõtiskleb oma elu üle. Vanast ja vägevast metsarahvast on saanud abitud küla-elanikud; ajapikku on muistsete aegade teadmised ja oskused unustusse vajunud, asemele on tulnud uued ahvatlevad asjad.

Ussisõnade oskamine ei tähenda teoses ainult metsarahva looduse mõistmist, vaid ka võimu ja valitsemist selle asukate üle. Need tarkused võtab Leemet lapsepõlves üle oma onu Vootelelt. Kogu Leemeti elu käib aga heitlus maailma mõistliku tajumise üle – ühel pool end poolearuliseks loitsinud hiiekummardajad, teisel pool silmakirjalikud kristluse kummardajad, kes on ka ise kõik endised metsaasukad, koos raudmeeste ja munkadega. Väheseid huvitab, mis ümbruses tegelikult toimub. Tasapisi metsaasundus siiski hääbub ning selle tarkust, juuri ja Põhja Konna jääb hoidma ainult Leemet – viimane mees, kes teadis ussisõnu.

Genres: Fantasy, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Magical Realism, Historical, Mythology, Book Club

384 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2007

About the author

Andrus Kivirähk is an Estonian journalist, playwright and novelist. His writing style can be called self-mocking and sarcastic with dark humour. His best known work "Rehepapp ehk November", a.k.a. "Rehepapp", has been translated to Finnish and Norwegian. "Mees, kes teadis ussisõnu", a bestseller in Estonia, so popular that a board-game was based on it, has been translated to English as "The Man Who Spoke Snakish". These books, as well as his other historical-themed works such as "Ivan Orava mälestused" and "Kalevipoeg" resonated strongly with contemporary Estonian society.

Kivirähk is also the author of the children's book "Leiutajateküla Lotte" and its sequels, and wrote the screenplay for the cartoon based on it.

Andrus Kivirähk works as a journalist, and is married with 3 children.

Reviews

[Marius · Rating 5 out of 5]

Vienas keisčiausių, nuostabiausių ir įdomiausių romanų, kokį su skaitęs per pastaruosius keletą metų. Iš atminties tikrai neišdils. Ypač tinka mėgstantiems kandų, nebanalų magišką realizmą, makabrišką humorą, išvirkščiai išverstą istoriją, paradoksus ir nežabotą fantaziją.
Romanas pasakoja apie paskutinius estų pagonis, gyvenančius miške, vis dar mokančius gyvačių kalbą, kuria gali valdyti žvėris, laikančius savo tvarteliuose melžiamus vilkus ir žiemą einančius miegoti žiemos miego. Estų miškas šiame romane pilnas stebuklų: pirmykščiai uodeguoti estai-primatai augina ožkos dydžio utėles, meškos uogomis ir gėlių puokštėmis vilioja pagones merginas, moterys per pilnatį lipa į medžių viršūnes ir plakasi mėnesienos šviesoje vantomis...
Visa tai būtų, žinoma, tik paviršutiniška egzotika, jei ne pagrindinis romano veikėjas ir svarbiausias romano konfliktas. Kivirahko tekstas - tai savotiškas pikareskinio ir Bildungsroman mišinys. Jaunuolis vardu Leemetas - paskutinysis, gerai mokantis gyvačių kalbą. Miško gyventojų estų sparčiai mažėja - jie masiškai krikštijasi ir kraustosi gyventi į kaimus, kur, pasak miško gyventojų, vergauja riteriams ir vienuoliams, valgo visokį šūdą - t.y. duoną (kai miške tiek žvėrių, kuriuos gali pasigauti gyvačių kalbos žodžiais) ir turi dirbti nuo ryto iki vakaro (kam?)
Pasak Leemeto, išsikraustę į kaimą estai sukvailėja - pamiršta visus įgūdžius, gyvačių kalbą, ima tikėti dvasiomis, prietarais ir Jėzumi. O didžiausia jų svajone tampa tarnystė kokiam vokiečių riteriui arba galimybė nusipjauti kiaušus ir giedoti plonu balseliu vienuolyno chore.
Kivirahkas gana paradoksaliai ir sarkastiškai vaizduoja senosios kultūros nykimą ir mūsų dabatinės civilizacijos ir kultūros įsigalėjimą. Akivaizdu, kad tiek vienoje, tiek kitoje jis įžvelgia daug trūkumų. O labiausiai kliūva pagonybei (tiksliau, tai jos versijai, kurią mes įsivaizduojame ir kuri neopagonybės drabužėliais išliko iki šių dienų) - žynys, kuris atnašauja kažkokioms miško dvasioms ir promotei Žemei pavaizduotas labai nemalonia būtybe. Kvaila ir kraugeriška. Su šiuo tikėjimu senieji estai, atseit, neturi nieko bendra - jie pragmatiški ir su gamta sugyvena abipusės naudos principu.
Romanas kupinas keisčiausių personažų - pvz., Leemeto senelis su nuodingomis, kaip gyatės iltimis (tokias, atseit, kadaisę turėję visi senieji estai), kuriam kryžiuočiai nukirto kojas, bet jis išyveno ir iš nugalabytų riterių kaulų pasidirbo sparnus.
Leemetas patiria daug nuotykių - spėja pagyventi kaime, spėja vesti ir prarasti žmoną, spėja su seneliu nusiaubti visą krikščionišką kraštą. Tačiau pabaiga aiški: senasis pasaulis, deja, turi pasitraukti ir užleisti vietą naujam - krikščioniškam, nemokančiam gyvačių kalbos.. Ir ne todėl, kad pastarasis geresnis. Anaiptol. Tiesiog taip surėdytas pasaulis.
Anglakalbiam skaitytojui šis romanas gal ir sunkokas, bet lietuvis jame jaučiasi kaip žuvis vandeny - mums puikiai pažįstama tiek istorinė situacija, tiek sentimentai "seniesiems baltams" (šiuo atveju finougrams), tiek nuvalkiotos alegorijos ir dvasinės banalybės, kurios Kivirahko romane gražiai atnaujinamos, paradoksaliai išverčiamos išvirkščios.
Truputį pavydu, kad tokio romano neparašė išdidžiai "paskutiniais pagonimis" besivadinančios lietuvių tautos atstovas. Gal ir dėl to, kad mes per rimtai į šiuos reikalus žiūrime. Gal pritrūko fantazijos. Bet išversti šią knygą yra tiesiog būtina.

[Lori · Rating 3 out of 5]

A fairytale for adults that collapses Estonian history from the time when more than one species of hominid lived in the forest to the rule by the Livonian Brothers of the Sword into the lifespan of one boy. Not much is said about the religious wars that brought Christianity to the area.

The other hominids have tails so can rule out Neanderthals. Whatever they are, they would have poor old Jondalar desperately searching for a penis enlargement treatment.

I probably don't know enough about Estonian lore and tradition to fully appreciate this story. But something about those children riding in fish's beard makes me suspect that Tolkien did.

[Antonomasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is one of only two paper books I bought in 2015*. I'd been looking forward to it for months - it sounded almost perfect. East European folkloric fantasy. Not just East European, Baltic, which interests me even more because that's partly Nordic as well. And Estonian ... Diego Marani's The Last of the Vostyachs illustrated pretty well why some of us boring old Indo-Europeans find the idea of Finno-Ugric languages and their localities fascinating. And the book's about pagans trying to survive the Livonian Crusades? Baltic native paganism is so tantalisingly close by in history compared to that of most of Europe, and obscure compared to Norse. I've always wanted to know more about it, but there's still very little material in English. What I'd really love would be translation of the Baltic equivalent of Ronald Hutton if they are lucky enough to have one. But a whole novel about it...yes please.
Quite a lot of expectations to put upon one adult fairytale.

I wanted a book that was all about creating the atmosphere of its time, with detail that felt right even if it occasionally took artistic licence. I wanted the Baltic Pagan The Wake or Laurus or even Miruna. But whilst this doesn't shy away from the unpleasantness of life in the past, it's an obvious allegory, with a lot of modern ideas attributed to our narrator Leemet, who, for all that I'm sympathetic to him, would have to be described as an archetypal noble savage. Categories are the easiest way to explain what the book is up to:

- Leemeht & his relatives: Good Pagans. Preservers of old ways which actually work and make sense. Especially Snakish, which allows communication with animals. Often horrified by cruelty to animals, e.g. by people who kill them slowly rather than quickly. (Snakish is concomitant with the anthropological idea that all magic was originally hunting magic. These people are 'in tune with nature' as Westerners like to conceptualise tribal communities, but that doesn't mean there isn't some dominion over the animals that the modern vegetarian or vegan might be uncomfortable, albeit this takes place in what appears to be a harmonious way.) Have a fair bit in common with New Age idealisations of Native Americans, except these old Estonians are calmly sure that there are no gods or sprites, never suffer from superstitious apophenia, and are aware of evolution. Estonia is one of the least-religious European countries - no surprise that a modern representation of their origins is irreligious too. Some of the forest dwellers don't react well to the arable farmers' foods; this might be accurate but also sounds like principles of Palaeo Diet (which I only know about vaguely). Oh, and analysis or no, I like them... if I didn't have a streak of that idealisation myself, I would never have read this.
- Ülgas & others: Bad Pagans, who typify what Christians say about pagans. Ülgas is yr typical bloodthirsty sacrifice-obsessed cartoon bad druid. The belief this lot have in sprites, fairies, forest spirits etc is considered to be a debased modern form of paganism by Leemeht's family; the bad pagans are frequently anxious about desecration and try to foment same in others to get them to participate in rituals.
- Primates: a couple who are the last survivors of another hominid species, hairy almost all over, with tail-stumps, who live in a cave in a patch of forest containing living-fossil plants. Because there's always something older, something that came before. They know an older form of Snakish which can be used with some invertebrates, not just mammals like Leemet's Snakish, and their cave contains paintings done by hundreds of generations of ancestors, including images of extinct animals. [I'd have liked it if Kivirähk had ever alluded to an Ice Age; wondered at times if he'd forgotten it happened.] They retreat further into their evolutionary past as the forest population grows smaller but remain Leemet's allies.
- Villagers: gullible people who are sheep-like about Christianity and revere foreign knights and customs almost as much as Jesus, and beat themselves up for being unworthy. Have forgotten almost everything about their former lives in the forest as if they'd been zapped by the Men in Black the moment they built a house in the clearing. But still believe in forest sprites and feel a need to propitiate them although they consider them allied to the devil. (With my fragments of information - having heard that Estonian Christianity was less Christian than that of many European countries, and that the devil is more of a figure of fun than fear, I am not sure what to make of this. Is that description of a laid-back Christianity actually more about the nineteenth than the thirteenth century? And was that when people started using traditional, pagan personal names again and weren't forced to use Biblical ones?)
Leemet draws parallels between what the villagers say about God, and Ülgas' form of paganism, and the way both religions manipulate people. Like modern archaeological studies of hunter gatherers and early farmers, he understands that the villagers are shorter because of poorer diet, also mentioning that their shoulders are broader from ploughing, and that it would be disadvantageous during harvesting to be tall. Villagers have to work much harder, and for worse food than the forest people, and lack Leemet's sense and insight about this. Village boys' strength is frequently praised by their peers, c.f. the tradition of strongman and strength sports in Estonia.
- Magdaleena: hipster analogue who thinks some of the old culture is cool, but only when it fits her pre-existing ideas, and who through her enthusiasm for what she considers important from the new culture, and her endeavours to be a well-connected trend-setter, ends up even more gullible than the villagers. Although she's the most eligible girl in the village, both she and her brown-nosing father consider her being used for sex by a knight to be almost like becoming the mother of Jesus.
- Taaniel, a young monk: The book is essentially about a small culture being threatened by a more numerous, geographically widespread one, and about the process of culture-death. It's obvious why Estonia might feel this way about English now. But especially via one young monk who talked about his religion as something young people were into and which their parents didn't understand, the Christianity in the book can also be read as an allegory of contemporary Islam in countries where younger people are more likely to be fundamentalist than their parents.

A significant oversight in a bloody, muddy historical novel like this one was that no family had more than two children, there was no mention of younger brothers or sisters who'd died, and none of the girls feared dying in childbirth.

The writing is pretty plain, like most fairytales.
Although adult fairytales written in English have become associated with a baroque, sensuously evocative style, probably inspired by Angela Carter. (I'm not really into the fairytale rewrite subgenre these days, but I mean styles like Catherynne M. Valente's. Not a big fan personally but she certainly has a distinctive voice.) Plenty of English-language readers seem to be fine with the writing/translation, but during the first half of The Man Who Spoke Snakish I was quite often frustrated, thinking how amazing it would be if only this same story were told in a style like Carter's, or like Andrzej Stasiuk's [translated] primal descriptions of rural Poland. Much as I found with Sjón, the most apt comparison in the 'for fans of...' bit in the blurb, the writing here was decent, but not everything I'd hoped. And as in Sjón, there are some fairly brutal details.
This book was a bestseller in Estonia - a modern classic if something so recent can be one. I gather that many Estonians were impressed with Kivirähk's style, as well as connecting deeply with the story; I wondered if it was perhaps not possible to show the distinctiveness of the style in English due to some quirk of difference between the languages and what different populations of readers are used to. But then there was the odd beautiful paragraph which hinted that much more could have been possible, like this, on hibernation**...
I swam in sleep; its waves rolled over me. I could even feel sleep; it was soft as moss and crumbled between your fingers like sand. Sleep was all around me; it filled every groove and hole. It was at once both warm and refreshing, enfolding me like a caressing and cooling gust of wind. I had never slept so well as that winter in the adders' cave, and never since then have I felt such pleasure in sleep.
I've read one other book partly translated by Christopher Moseley, The Misadventures of the New Satan, which was also relatively plain, but it was engrossing, not a style I specifically noticed, and did have similarities to someone else's translation of the same author, which should be a good indication of competence. There's only one word I have a specific quibble about: 'the Frog of the North' (the name of a gigantic snake/serpent/dragon - as far as I can tell, it's not a frog). Frogs are not exactly fearsome in English, and reflecting this, the original folktale Kivirähk drew on was translated as 'the Dragon of the North'. 'Serpent', meanwhile, would have fitted the novel's snake theme whilst having similar gravitas.

In that first half, it was inescapable that The Man Who Spoke Snakish explained its meanings and messages overtly and repetitively. Again, something traditional fairytales do, but I prefer literature which does slightly less spoonfeeding. I was still fond of the book, and hoped that it would do well regardless of my own disappointment - much like loyalty to a sports team that's not playing as skilfully as it could. I could have understood why some readers would have given up by the half way mark, as the book seemed to have said all it needed to and to be going round in circles. But it's worth hanging on. Especially as this is a pretty fast read. (One sitting, in a cover quote from a French critic, is overoptimistic for most readers, but one whole day, if not doing much else, would be possible for plenty more.)

Just when it seemed there was nothing more to say, the story exploded into a great big berserk adventure, full of action and blood and tragedy. It was already an event-driven story, easy to see how it could have been made into a board game as it was in Estonia, but this was a whole different order of things. I thought of films like Valhalla Rising, or a more clearly delineated Marketa Lazarová. But more of a pure action feel. Exhilaration, then everything laid waste like a Greek tragedy, over and over. Adrenaline highs that may mute disgust at brutality. Another English-language GR review mentioned Game of Thrones (which I can't be bothered with because there's so damn much of it) but that probably gives a good feel for the sort of stuff that happens in the second half. (Although there's no sexual assault in the book, a couple of the most notoriously gory, might- be-apocryphal-but-we-can't-be-sure things from early medieval chronicles blood eagle, and that Old Prussian thing with disembowelling and trees do crop up, albeit described in less detail than plenty of serial killings in crime fiction; and those who know some history will at least not have the shock of the new.)
After all that rollercoaster, the the ending was exactly poignant enough.

Like many English-language readers, I'd love to know which bit of the story are entirely Kivirähk's invention, and which are based on Estonian folktales (pretty inaccessible in English, though this, re. Leemet's mother's name, is one I've found, and another character's name, Hiie, seems to mean 'grove'.) Among the familiar fantasy tropes in the novel, and the bits that seem like something I might have read long ago in Angela Carter's unbowdlerised world fairytale collections, there are truly strange and novel elements of fantasy that are as fresh as the blurbs for The Vorrh said that book was. The sheer scale of tragedy and loss, combined with a defiant, take no prisoners attitude makes all too much sense as emblematic of a people who spent most of the last millenium under foreign occupation. I'm not sure I learnt much here about historical Baltic paganism in concrete factual terms, though I might have got an approximate idea of the ways that the pre-Christian past is used and popularly understood in the region now, and that's interesting in itself. It was in early-twentieth-century Estonian realist classic Andres & Pearu that I found a sense of place and history on more solid ground - and the narrator of the more recent Radio (haven't finished it yet) IMO sounds like an excellent tourguide to the country, although some might consider him a bore.

*The other was Richard Powers' Galatea 2.2.
** Another bit I liked about their hibernation, albeit not so prettily written: In fact we were also used to snoozing through the winter. Usually in early autumn a giant amount of meat was collected, and with the forest covered in snow we stayed at home, slumbering, stirring ourselves to eat only once a day. That is what all the wiser creatures of the forest do - snakes, humans, and bears, as well as some smaller animals. In winter there was no sense in wandering around and wading through the snow; it was much smarter to conserve your strength and use the dark days for proper rest. The wolves were released into the forest to forage for their own food, and they enjoyed their winter freedom to the full, killing goats and deer, as well as the village people who in their alien way didn't sleep through the winter. Since they didn't understand Snakish, they were easy prey for our wolves. [Had doubts about whether 'goats' was translated correctly. Goats are found further south in Europe and did not, so far as I can find, range anything like that far north around this time.]
Also, thanks to another site, the story of an Australian Aboriginal man who was something of a real-life counterpart to Leemet: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pemulwuy

[Kerry · Rating 5 out of 5]

What is missing for non-Estonian readers of this book is knowledge about references to Estonian cultural phenomena. While this book can be taken at face value, knowing that it has deeper roots makes it even more intriguing. However, Googling will only take a person so far, and so this book raises a lot of questions, my favorite being, "What will become of you if you don't learn to talk German and serve Jesus?"

While reading this book, I continuously wanted to know what I was missing. Where does Estonian mythology end and the author's imagination begin? Is there some deeper commentary that I can only guess at? And, finally, how do you pronounce "Hiie"?

This book is bizarre and frequently funny. It is also, due to its imagery, unforgettable. Who can forget a pet louse the size of a goat, and a little girl showing the creature the drawing of itself in a cave? The mother who roasts goats and deer and piles meat in front of her children to eat? The lovesick bear who ogles the village girls? Women beating themselves with oak branches in the treetops under the full moon? The idea of milking a wolf?

The book's biggest drawback is the sometimes rough translation. In some ways, the awkwardness completely fits in with the overall peculiar nature of this book. However, some passages seems to be too literally translated. There also seems to be the to use the wrong shade of meaning or less appropriate synonyms for a particular word. For example, the subtle differences between "scream" and "yell" are lost, and I suspect in at least one place "greasy" was used instead of a more accurate synonym for "fat." In other passages, redundancies are not edited out. Therefore, I did wonder if "Frog of the North" was a deliberate choice of words or if "dragon" or other word would have fit better--after all, the Frog is not a frog, but a flying snake.

It should be noted that this is not a kids' book. What begins as a mild fairy tale gets darker and more violent as Leemet battles with himself and the world over the loss of Snakish and the ways of the people of the forest. However, this reasonable character keeps the reader grounded in this wackadoodle world: he points out the idiocy of working to eat flavorless mush and the fantastical beliefs of the villagers that he connects to those of the forest people, who must behave outlandishly to appease imaginary sprites.

[Emilio Gonzalez · Rating 4 out of 5]

Con mucha fantasía, mucho humor y narrada al estilo de un cuento de hadas, lo que esta novela muestra principalmente es la bisagra de un pueblo del medioevo que comienza a dividirse entre una sociedad que se mueve hacia la modernización dejando en el olvido sus costumbres, y otra totalmente arraigada a sus raíces que ve con malos ojos cualquier desvío de sus orígenes ancestrales . Así, las diferencias se acentúan cada vez más entre quienes viven en el bosque y la aldea, sea porque estos visten con pieles de animales mientras que aquellos usan telares para la confección de sus prendas, o porque estos hacen sacrificios para rendir culto a la Diosa naturaleza mientras que aquellos comienzan a creer en un Dios pagano de origen extranjero.

El protagonista es Leemet, un muchacho sobre el que pesa la responsabilidad de ser no solo el último hombre de su familia, sino también el último hombre que aún vive en el bosque, porque ya casi todas las familias se han mudado a la gran aldea para vivir en la modernidad. Pero sobre todo Leemet es la última persona que sabe hablar el serpéntico, el idioma ancestral de su pueblo que le permite hablar con las serpientes y con todo tipo de animales. Pero Leemet empieza a sentir el peso de vivir en un mundo que esta desapareciendo y no cree en la mirada sesgada ni de unos ni de otros; por el contrario, empieza a ver la irracionalidad del fanatismo religioso de ambas sociedades.

Es un novela muy ágil, con muchas situaciones disparatadas, mucho humor, y también mucha acción, sobre todo en las ultimas cien paginas, donde el ritmo se vuelve super vertiginoso.

[Dovydas Pancerovas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fainas romanas. Estijos pajūryje, miške, gyvena paskutiniai estų pagoniai, nedidelė bendruomenė, vis mažėjanti ir mažėjanti, mat žmonės kraustosi gyventi į kaimą, besiplečianti šalia svetimšalių geležiuočių pilies. Pagrindinis personažas Leemetas yra paskutinis miško berniukas, mokantis gyvačių užkalbėjimus – šnypštalus, kurie leidžia susikalbėti su miško žvėrimis ir gyvatėmis.

Nors, tiesą sakant, šitas mano trumputis siužeto aprašymas skamba perdėm liūdnai :)

Iš tikrųjų romanas yra egzotiškas, spalvingas, lengvas, ir netgi personažų mirtys neprislegia. Turbūt šitas lengvumas yra viena iš priežasčių, kodėl Andrus Kivirähk romanas man savo dvasia priminė mūsiškąjį „Pietinia kronikas“. O ir Lėmetas iš Miško kažkuo panašus į Rimantą iš Pietinia.

Pradžioje romanas ir nešė į berniuko brendimo istoriją. Visgi romanas pasakoja apie žmogų, gyvenantį ir bręstantį lūžio laikotarpiu. Leemetas stebi, kaip miškas tuštėja, pamiškės kaimas plečiasi, o pagoniškas miško fėjas pakeičia krikščioniškosios fėjos. Jis laikosi atokiau ir nuo vienų, ir nuo kitų, todėl suvokią esąs paskutinis – paskutinis vyras miške, paskutinis mokėjęs gyvačių užkalbėjimus, paskutinis pagonis krikščioniškame kaime. Jis netiki nei Šventosios Giraitės žyniu Julgu, nei kaimo seniūnu Johanesu, kuris didžiuojasi buvęs išprievartautas vienuolių, nes bet koks prisilietimas prie svetimšalių ir tarsi aukštesnės kultūros priėmimas.

Dėl šitos priežasties – abejingumo viskam – Leemetas labiau priminė ne berniuką, bet autoriaus Andrus Kivirähk bendraamžį, penkiasdešimtmetį, su nusivylimo paskatintu abejingumu stebintį vienos kultūros demonizaciją ir kitos sudievinimą.

Gal tai viena iš priežasčių, kodėl niekaip nepavyko pilnai panirti į romano pasaulį, kad ir kaip stengiausi? Nors istorija pasakojama sklandžiai, kalba vaizdinga, personažai ir jų santykiai įdomūs, bet labai įdomu nebuvo.

Galėtum sakyti, esą „Žmogus, mokėjęs gyvačių kalbą“ yra viena iš tų madingų knygų, kuriose „nieko nevyksta“, nes autorius tiesiog pasakoja apie žmogaus gyvenimą. Tačiau tokiu atveju romano dekoracijos atrodo per ryškios – autoriaus sukurtas pasaulis yra magiškas, egzotišks, pilnas neįtikėtinų padarų ir tradicijų, todėl nori nenori lauki įvykių. Ir, atrodo, tų įvykių yra – vis kas nors netikėtai žūsta, – bet kažkaip nejaudina.

Beje, autoriaus išmonė šiame romane bene pagrindinė stiprybė. Nors tai vienas iš tų romanų, kur gali atsekti autoriaus minties eigą, kodėl tikrovėje egzistuojančiam padarui (ar daiktui) suteikė netikroviškų savybių, tačiau jo sukurtas miškas ir kaimas iš tikrųjų palieka įspūdį.

Kaip ten bebūtų, romanas vertas dėmesio.

Kadangi knygą ne skaičiau, bet klausiau Audiotekoje, tai buvau maloniai nustebintas romaną įgarsinusio aktoriaus Jokūbo Bareikio darbu. Mano skoniui, tai vienas iš retų atveju, kai skaitovas romanui suteikė naujų atspalvių ir savito žavesio.

(Permąsčiau, kad visgi 4*).

[Andris · Rating 5 out of 5]

Šī ir no tām grāmatām, kas patika tik ļoti, ka sakarīgi nevaru neko uzrakstīt.
Smieklīga un traģiska vienlaikus, mitoloģiska teiksma par tautas/kultūras nāvi. Gan par sendienām, gan par mūsdienām.
Savā ziņā stipri atgādināja Tolstojas Kisju, tik drūmākos toņos.
Esmu ļoti, ļoti sajūsmināts. Kur es biju agrāk? Grāmata plauktā nostāvēja vismaz gadus sešus.
Un tulkojums arī lielisks, cepuri nost Zanes Balodes priekšā.

[Kavita · Rating 3 out of 5]

There are books which you start reading not knowing what to expect. The first pages promise to take you on a delightful journey and you get geared up for the rest of it happily. You are having fun but in the middle of it, the story slips away from you. You are no longer enjoying it but you hope against hope that the old charm would return. But it never does. This was such a book.

I really wanted to love this book. The author showed such creativity in building a beautiful, if ruthless, world. This is the world in which humans rule the forest, and are friends with snakes while all other animals are beholden to them - basically they could enslave any animal just by hissing a few words of Snakish at them. In this world cuddly growly bears love women and women love them in return. There is a crazy old sage and a fanatic couple who would do anything to appease the tree spirits. There are primates who don't want to move out of their caves. Then there are the villagers who have discovered agriculture and Christianity. The stage is set!

Leemet is a young boy who lives in the forest with his mother and sister, Salme. He learns Snakish from his uncle and makes friends with a king-adder, Ints, who later becomes his best friend. Along with them roams Pärtel. The story meanders around, following the different inhabitants of the forest along their lives. The forest dwellers dislike the villagers, who have forgotten their noble roots. The villagers appear to believe that those living in the forest are spawns of Satan - a strong reference to the invasion of Christianity brought by German invaders to Estonia in the 1200s.

This part is enchanting and charming. But from the moment Leemet sets out to help Hiie, the book goes downhill. There is random violence which serves no purpose at all. The last third of the book doesn't even have a story any longer. I was bored but kept hoping things would pick up again. It just got worse and worse. The end was expected.

What was not expected was sexism. For an author with such creativity as Kivirähk appears to be, he was unable to make any of the female characters count. Unless you are talking about female snakes ... He could have risen above patriarchal notions and made the world more female-oriented. As such, the women in this book do absolutely nothing and only serve to feed, nag, or have sex as their main functions. Except when they are playing damsel in distress. Really? That went out a couple of centuries ago. Kivirähk's late to the party. Leemet's mother was the most annoying. She cried in every single scene and I just wanted to slap her every time.

It was disappointing that even in this lovely, fantastical, made-up world, the author had to bring in his prejudices, making males head of families and women subjugated to them. It also didn't escape me that despite Leemet's grandfather being a learned man, he did not bother teaching his daughter Snakish beyond a few everyday words but his son was imparted the whole deal. And Vootele again chose Leemet and not Salme to teach Snakish. Also, men make war and their women must wait for them like good little wives and mothers. "Women have to wait when a man’s on a crusade." "Now I truly understood Grandfather’s words: in a time of war, a woman must wait." Women don't appear to matter for the author. I was pretty annoyed with this whole concept and would really like to read this book re-written by a female author.

What did amuse me greatly was the foolishness of the peasants who had turned to Christianity. The book made satirical fun of following religion blindly, especially when outsiders tell you what to believe. The book does discuss interesting and important themes of social progress, colonisation, and how smart it is to blindly embrace everything modernity brings and discarding everything that is old. The villagers' progress appears to be a farce, but the primates fare no better, receding back into a past that no longer exists. Leemet's quest to save his way of life too proves redundant and unnecessary. The good things have been destroyed already, both by encroaching modernity and by the people who want to hold back progress at any cost.

A thought-provoking and charming book in many ways, but fails to understand that women live in this world too and need to be included.

[Uroš Đurković · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nemušti jezik me je opčinjavao još od malih nogu. A i kako ne bi – to je savršena supermoć: možeš zaista razumeti sav živi svet. Odjednom svi zvuci postaju smisleni i to smisleni na način ljudske komunikacije. Moguće su zaista privilegovane pozicije: ogovaranje paradajza sa bubamarama, ili ćaskanje sa svrakama, ali i upravljanje zmijama, što je jedan moj rođak radio. Da, porodično predanje ide ovako: negde na severu Crne Gore, u kršu, neko je znao da manipuliše zmijama. One bi tako mogle da ga okruže ili prate na neki drugi način. Da bi se doprlo do njih, ispuštali su se, naravno, nekakvi siktavi zvuci, a znanje ove veštine prenosilo se sa kolena na koleno i to uvek po muškoj liniji. Taj moj rođak odlučio je, nažalost, da bude poslednji koji će vladati zmijskim jezikom.

Međutim, bez obzira na to šta je tu zaista bilo po sredi, potreba za ovakvom vrstom sećanja postoji, kao i za njenom autentizacijom. I to nije samo zbog toga što je sama ideja uzbudljiva kao fantastički konstrukt, već i što omogućava premošćavanje, koje je, začudo, i duboko subverzivno i tradicionalno. Za onog koji zna nemušti jezik svet je toliko drukčiji da teško da neko ko nije njegov govornik može da razume šta taj svet predstavlja. Stoga svako njegovo poimanje mora biti antropocentrično, jer drugih, dovoljno preciznih mogućnosti i nema. Znanje nemuštog jezika, dakle, i destabilizuje svet za onoga koji jezik poznaje, ali i brani ostale od te destabilizacije, jer samo odabranici mogu da ga znaju. Pa bili oni Hari Poter, dr Dulitl ili čoban iz bajke „Nemušti jezik”.

U ovom romanu, znanje zmijskog jezika povezano je sa nestajućim svetom, kao i sa stalno prisutnom dihotomijom između prirode i kulture. Različiti ekosistemi iziskuju različita znanja, a potreba za učenjem, kao i, uostalom, potreba za zaboravljanjem, proizilazi i iz promene sredine. Zmijski jezik bio je internet života u šumi, dok je prelazak u seosku sredinu zahtevao druge veštine. I sasvim drukčiji međuljudski saobraćaj. A kao da proces „kultivizacije” nije dovoljan, u romanu je pokrenuta i priča hristijanizacije, što je dodatno zanimljivo imajući u vidu da je Estonija jedna od evropskih zemalja sa najvećim brojem ateista, ali i najvećim brojem ljudi bliskih paganizmu. (U susednoj Letoniji njihov predsednik se i deklarisao kao pagan.) Plus – sve vreme mi je bila na umu praistorijska balto-slovenska zajednica i to koliko su slovenski i baltički folklor iznenađujuće slični – od drveta života kod Litvanaca, do, evo, zmijskog jezika u Estoniji. (Inače, Miodrag Pavlović je napisao u predgovoru za Antologiju, da su litvanske i srpske narodne pesme najstarije u Evropi. Ne znam odakle mu taj podatak.)

Elem, istaknuli su to mnogi, ali i ja ću: ovo je roman raskošne imaginacije! Da čovek konačno pobegne od neposredne svakodnevice i sveopšte teoretizacije i utone u svet zaista na svaki način nesvakidašnjih prizora. Često i krvavih, još češće bizarnih, ali maštovnih u najboljem smislu te reči. Od Žabe Severa, preko muže vukova, ašikovanja sa vukovima, do preduzimljivih vaši i različitih upotrebi lobanja, slike ne prestaju da golicavo iznenađuju.

A ko se time bavi ovde može pronaći i svašta interesantno vezano za tragizam i obrede prelaza, a posebno imam u glavi jednu scenu vezanu za svadbu (i neko neobično podudaranje sa „U registraturi”, ali moguće je da je to pre do mog varljivog pamćenja, nego do prave sličnosti):

Takođe, koga interesuje, može pogledati izuzetno zanimljiv film – Novembar (režija Reiner Sarnet) – rađen baš po jednom Kivirehkovom (valjda se tako čita Kivirähk?) delu. Mislim da tu može da se najbolje vidi neobična i zavodljiva mešavina o kojoj sam govorio. A i Estonija je sama za sebe jedno magično mesto, ne baš kao Island, ali svakako planeta za sebe, gde neka magična bića i dalje, tumaraju po šumama i močvarama. (Jednom sam i prolazio kroz Estoniju – sećam se kako je pun autobus sa blagim uznemirenjem gledao na semafor u sred nedođije, kao i na borove šume u magli. Dovoljno je istaći da je baš u Estoniji sniman „Stalker”.)

Hvala Tijani na divnoj preporuci!

[Elyse Walters · Rating 5 out of 5]

Andrés Kivirahk, an Estonian writer, wrote an enchanting jewel of a story!
The only thing that might have made it better.... Would to have included illustrations. "The Man Who Spoke Snakish", definitely has an adult fairy tale feeling to it. ... (Dark/light/Funny/Sad......eternal love of nature and purpose).

Leemet, the main protagonist, is a simple boy... Who was born in the village...but can't remember it. His mother moved he and his older sister back to the forest after his dad died.
Lots of drama around the fathers death....(I won't give the details away), but Lemet's mother wanted nothing to do with the modern living of the village....( the place where the majority of forest people have conjugated to). Leemet was less than a year old when he moved to the forest.
Uncle Vootele...( brother of Leemet's mother), was still living in the forest.. When their family returned. He took them in...helped build them a hut, gave them wolves so that they had a supply of fresh milk anytime they wanted.
Vootele also taught Leemet's the Snakish language.

The adders and bears were brothers to the forest people. They were respectful friends.
We watch Leemet grow. We meet his friends. We follow where his curiosity leads him...
Including when he goes back to investigate life in the village. We watch Leemet become more confident with forest living. In time...( after painful tongue practice), he masters the Snakish Language and sounds too. We can see though, that a part of Leemet is interested in the mysterious world of the village life. He wants to taste bread for example..which is only eaten in 'modern- village- life' . The reader will be curious also... between The value of village and forest living for a young child to grow up- grow old... ( keep reading, I'm not giving any clues away).... lol,
However, Leemet's mother continues to do the best job she can to re-focus Leemet back to where the live...'THEY are FOREST PEOPLE' .... So she might entice him with delicious owl's egg's ..,(knowing they were his favorite). As Leemet.. We watch him trust his own thinking.

Leemet wants to find out all he can about the mystical, giant frog of the north.. and sets out on a journey.

You'll meet the mysterious character Meeme...and Leemet's close friend Paetel.

Here is a fun conversation ( a taster)... Between Leemet and Meeme: ... (This conversation is when Leemet is still very young and impressionable)

Leemet: "But there's a key?" I asked
"So they say", answered Meeme, in his former drunken tone again.
"But there's no sense in looking for it. The key will come into the right person's hand's when the time is right."
"How do you know that?" I asked
"That's what my blind grandmother told me," replied Meeme, starting to laugh and cough again. "She also said that you can walk along a rainbow to the moon, and that if you can eat a handful of earth, you can change into a cuckoo. My blind half-wit of a grandmother told me all sorts of things. Go and figure out whether they're true or not. Anyway, I haven't eaten soil,
because I don't want to become a cuckoo."

As humans... We grow.. Things decay..,and if we are lucky... We grow quite content and peacefully....
It's not much different for the Forrest Snakish speaking people either....

I highly recommend this 'hissing' heartwarming un-ordinary book!

Thank you Grove Atlantic -Netgalley- and Andrus Kivirahk for the opportunity to read this story!

[P.E. · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Man Who Spoke Snakish = Mees, kes teadis ussisõnu

I root for this paganish fantastical story and for the afterword! :)

This is a page-turner and a welcome call for measure against the alluring and fallacious story-telling from nationalists intending to push their political agenda in Estonia and all over the world.

Matching Soundtrack :
The Moldau - Bedrich Smetana

----------

Pour l'histoire à tonalité païenne et fantastique ! et pour la postface !

Une histoire qui se dévide toute seule et un appel à la prudence face aux sirènes et aux chimères des récits nationalistes !

Fond musical :
La Moldau - Bedrich Smetana

[Ints · Rating 5 out of 5]

Parasti jau es grāmatas latviešu mēlē lasu diezgan reti. Iemesls ir visai triviāls, viņas ir diezgan padārgas, un iepirkšanai nepieciešams doties uz grāmatu veikalu. Tomēr Lasītājas piezīmēs izlasītās pārdomas par šo grāmatu mani uzrunāja. Mani vienmēr ir fascinējusi cilvēku fantāzija par mītisko Zelta Laikmetu, kad zvēri vēl prata runāt, cilvēki bija dabas daļa, un zāle bija tik zaļa, kā nekad vairs. Skaidra lieta, ka ko tādu un tepat netālu sarakstītu es ne par ko negribētu laist garām. Nācās gan iet uz grāmatu veikalu, kas ir tik vecmodīgi, jo uz Kindles diez vai to spētu iegādāties. Grāmatu veikalā ar iegādi nemaz tik viegli negāja, nespēju grāmatu atrast. Prasīju pārdevējas palīdzību, viņa datubāzē noskaidroja, ka grāmata ir, un devās meklējumos. Meklēšana viņai nevedās, līdz es aizrādīju, ka šī visticamāk atrodas kaut kur pie daiļliteratūras nevis pie ezotēriskas. Tā nu tiku pie grāmatas.

Grāmata ir par igauņiem, par īstajiem igauņiem. Tie vēl dzīvo mežā un nezina bēdu, jo viņiem ir čūskvārdi, kas ļauj pasaukt stirnu nokaušanai, patērzēt ar kādu gudrāku lāci un vest gudras sarunas ar odzēm. Jā, tieši odzes bija tās, kas uz jaunievedumiem kāros cilvēkus iemācīja runāt šajā mēlē. Tomēr laiki mainās, bruņneši jaunu zemju vilināti ir sākuši izspiest īstos igauņus no saviem mežiem. Patiesībā, jau paši igauņi labprāt dodas dzīvot ciemos, jo tur redz var art, sēt un pļaut. Vakariņās īsta maize ar miežu putru nevis kāds stirnas cepetis. Un kur nu vēl maltuve vai maizes lāpsta. Ja tam visam pieliek klāt bruņnešu gudrību, viņi tak redzējuši visu pasauli, un tādi cilvēki nevar kļūdīties savā gudrībā un Jēzu, tad skaidrs, ka mežs ir diezgan vecmodīga padarīšana, kurā neviens nedzied korāļus un pat netiek kastrēts balss uzlabošanai.

Mežā ir palikušas tikai dažas ģimenes, Lēmets aug vienā no tām. Vēl ir viņa tēvocis Votele, trakais zintnieks Ilgass, pļēgurs Mēme un īsto senču paražu piekopēja Tambeta ģimene. Lēmets, kā jau īstam igaunim pienākas, blandās pa mežu, ēd pūčolas, dzer vilka pienu, draudzējas ar odzēm, laiku pa laikam nosit kādu bruņinieku un sapņo ieraudzīt slaveno Ziemeļu Rupuci, slepeno ieroci, kuru var izsaukt tūkstoš vīriem reizē izrunājot čūskvārdus. Rupucis vairs nesatrieks ienaidniekus, jo viri ir palikuši labi ja pārdesmit. Autors tad mums pastāsta par Lēmeta dzīvi no sākuma līdz galam.

Stāsts ir ironisks un diezgan savdabīgi mums pastāsta par to pašu veco labo kultūru sadursmi. Kad cilvēki no meža ļaudīm kļūst par zemniekiem, kad vienas idejas kļūst pārākas par vecajām, jo tās ir modīgas, kad grābeklis skaitās reāls gadžets un zaķu asiņu liešana uz svētliepām oldskūls. Par to, kā ir cilvēki, kas šīs pārmaiņas pieņem, tādi kuriem ir vienalga un viņi paliek pēdējie dzīvesveida pārstāvji, tādi, kas ir pret un tādi, kuri dzīvo savā izdomātā pagātnes pasaulē.

Grāmata ir labi uzrakstīta un vienu brīdi pat šķita, ka viss beigsies puslīdz laimīgi, bet diemžēl bez asiņu jūras neiztika. Beigas izskatījās nedaudz sasteigtas, autors vismaz apžēlojās un mēs uzzinājām, kā katrs no personāžiem ņēma galu. Skaidra lieta, ka tajos laikos cilvēki runāja tiešā valodā un dirsa par pēcpusi tad netika saukta, tādēļ cilvēkiem, kuriem šādi vārdi šķiet nepieņemami, labāk, lai grāmatu nelasa. Pats grāmatai lieku 9 no 10 ballēm.

[Tijana]

Živ je magijski realizam, umro nije!
Čovek koji je govorio zmijski jezik jeste prvi estonski roman koji sam u životu pročitala i šta reći osim da sad imam utisak kako sam mnogo propustila. I da ću nastaviti da propuštam jer su prevodi s estonskog... ne česti :(
A šteta je jer me sad kopka kakvi su drugi Kivirahkovi romani i na šta liče i ima li još sličnih estonskih pisaca. Čovek... je, naime, klasični magijski realizam markesovskog tipa - odabrani istorijski segment estonskog srednjeg veka, propušten kroz filter folklornih i drugih fantastičnih motiva, ovde i u dosta nezgodnom alegorijskom kalupu (o smeni dobrog starog i lošeg novog doba) koji je ipak ublažen autoironijskim podzapletom (o tome kako je pre dobrog starog postojalo još bolje starije pradoba kad su ljudi živeli u pećinama i koristili kamene sekire a zapravo je sve krenulo nizbrdo kad su sišli s drveća). Ali je zaista izuzetno maštovit, do granice perverzije, i obogaćen beskrajno crnim humorom, tako da se može pregurati čak i neverovatna količina nasilja koju Kivirahk izručuje pred čitaoca. Naročito do prekretnice romana (koja je pravilno postavljena na pola teksta) knjiga deluje kao beskrajni niz grotesknih i veselih minijatura iz izokrenutog sveta bajki, od Nemuštog jezika do Konjića grbonjića. Posle toga krene pošteno najavljenim silaznim i mnogo mračnijim tokom. I sad želim da prepričam najbolje dosetke i šašave slike i koncepte iz knjige ili naprosto sumanute trenutke kakvi se kod Kivirahka presipaju, ali time bih pokvarila uživanje potencijalnim čitaocima (kao što već jesam onima koji nisu mogli da pobegnu od mene dok sam čitala) pa ću se suzdržati.

[cypt · Rating 3 out of 5]

Pagaliau pribaigiau Slytheriną*!

* Caro bajeris

Keistas, vietom fainas, vietom creepy. Toks estiškas wannabe Tolkienas. Veiksmas vyksta tik plintant krikščionybei - žmonės dar gyvena miške ir vartoja gyvačių užkalbėjimus - kaip žinom iš Poterio, nieko naujo, tik kad ne tik evil wizardai šitą kalbą vartoja, o visi žmonės ir gyvatės. Jie praktiškai pasaulio valdovai - tiems užkalbėjimams paklūsta visi žvėrys.

Ir tada, kaip pas Marlene Haushofer, a man comes up. Šalia miško, kaime, apsigyvena kaimiečiai ir pradeda plėstis, pamažu žmonės ima kraustytis iš miško ir dirbt žemę. Degradacija. Pagrindinis personažas-pasakotojas, toks a la miško valdovas, prisimokęs belekiek užkalbėjimų, vis bando atsilaikyt, bet kad miške nėra mergų, visos pabėgo į kaimą. Ką daryt? Konfliktas.

Bendrai - knyga man labai patiko tiek, kiek joje magijos - nežinomų kalbų, komunikacijos su gyvūnais, keistuolių personažų (pvz skraidantis galvažudys senelis). Bet visas atseit epiškas konfliktas tarp: miesto ir kaimo, gamtos ir kultūros, bendrabūvio ir valdymo, seno ir naujo, ... galiausiai išvirsta į labai buitinius mūšius, pilnus kraujankių, žudynių, kol galiausiai visi visus žudo ir išžudo. O tuos, kurių nenužudo, paskui greit nužudo.

Nu ir dar gale yra drakonas. Sakiau, kad knyga primena Tolkieną? Tai ne entų folklorą ar dingusių tautų istorijas, o geriausiu atveju Hobitą. Gyveni urve, bendrauji su drakonu, žinai dalykus. Ačiū, ate, my preciousss.

[Kurkulis (Lililasa) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bezgala skumja grāmata par vērtībām. Man patīk būt romantiķei un ticēt Kivirehka un igauņu Ziemeļu rupucim, ticēt mītiskām pasakām, kur galu galā viss ir cilvēku rokās un mēlēs.

Vairāk par manām sajūtām: https://lililasa.wordpress.com/2021/0...

Lasot grāmatu, atcerējos “Turaidas rozes” izpildīto “Nelaid, māte, bērnus mežā”, šķiet, vārdu autors Viktors Kalniņš ir paspējis vēl pirms Kivirehka sadzirdēt čūskvārdus:
Nelaid, māte, bērnus mežā, Mežā odzes slīd, Klausi, meitiņ, klausi, dēliņ, Odzēm acis spīd. Nelaid, māte, bērnus mežā, Mežā odzes šņāc, [..] Izaugs meitas tā kā odzes – Acīm spīdošām, Tādas acis agrāk bija Laimes raganām. Izaugs dēli tā kā odzes – Sīksti dvēselē.

[Vilis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tiešām brīnišķīga traģikomēdija par to, kā pēdējās pasakas kļuva par pasakām.

[Adomas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heh. Ir kaip nutiko, kad šitoks gėris man į letenas pateko tik dabar?

Kol kas geriausia šiemet perskaityta knyga. Skaitai, žvengi, prunkščioji – nors jei forma dažnai ir komiška, iš tiesų viskas apie visai nelengvus, skaudžius ir rimtus dalykus: apie neišvengtinus pokyčius, kurie nuo tavęs nepriklauso. Ai, ir didelis bonusas – atsiprašau už spoilerį – jokio happyendo. Tiesiog kaip gyvenime. Osom!

Ko dar pasigedau – kad beveik visose skaitytose apžvalgose nurodomi patys įvairiausi žanrai (kažkur mačiau net ir fantastiką), bet taip retai minimas magiškasis realizmas. Nors mano vertinimu, jei dar tiksliau, čia yra istoriškas magiškasis etno realizmas.

Autoriaus fantazija (arba vartojami preparatai) – superinė. Antropologinių gijų pavertimas menine išraiška (jau vien ko beždžionžmogiai ko verti) – superinis. Mitologiniai momentai – superiniai. Ateistinis gruntas, važiavimas ant konservatyvzimo – superiniai. Ir net erotika, kiek jos ten tėra, puiki – nepersistengta, paliekama pakankamai vietos fantazijai, nors šiaip ir visiškai tiesiai rašoma.

Beje, jau įpusėjęs knygą, supratau – turbūt nė pusės tiek nekaifuočiau nuo šitos knygos, jei vaikystėje-paauglystėje nebūčiau skaitęs estų pasakų. Buvo tokia sovietyne išleista knygutė – nedidukė, raudonais viršeliais ir stipriai atstumiančiu pavadinimu - „Gražuolė nuotaka“. Tai tiems, kas dar neskaitę – labai rekomenduoju prieš imantis „Žmogaus“, susirasti ir suvartoti „Gražuolę“. Ne tai, kad papildomas sluoksnis prisidės, bet bus smagiai atpažįstamų elementų – gyvačių karalius su laižomu akmeniu, vėjų mazgai, galų gale pats Lėmetas (Lelių Miartas?) ir t.t.

Dar, kas labai krenta į akis ir kaip labai gerai savo apžvalgoje parašė Gediminas Kulikauskas – praktiškai visi pakabinti šautuvai iššauna. Už ką didžiulė pagarba autoriui kaip pasakojimo konstruktoriui. Tiesiog pavydas ima, kaip, pasirodo, įmanoma visus galus surinkt ir suraišiot.

Vertinimas: šešios utėlės iš penkių galimų (ta šeštoji – ta didžioji, žinoma). Juk sakiau, kol kas geriausia šiemet perskaityta knyga.

[Maraia · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is one of the most unique (read: bizarre) books I've ever read. There's no plot to speak of, although the last third is quite action packed. I was never bored, despite the lack of direction in the story, and I always wanted to keep reading. But did I enjoy it? I'm not sure. I am glad I read it, though.

[Fantastiškų KŽL · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sakysiu, kad keturi su minusu (dėl ištęstumo vietomis), nes trys tai niekaip. Nuotykis toksai ganėtinai crazy.

https://knyguziurkes.com/2020/12/06/z...

[Jurgita · Rating 5 out of 5]

Kokio gerumo knyga! Keista, persunkta mistikos, pagoniškų ritualų ir ankstyvosios krikščionybės kliedesių. Tai pasakojimas apie viduramžių Estiją, apie laikus, kai greta gyveno bei sugyveno žmonės ir žvėrys, kai dar buvo gyvi tie, kurie mokėjo gyvačių kalbą, kai dar buvo gyvi tie, kurie atsiminė pasakojimus apie Šiaurės slibiną.
O kur dar puikus vertimas, turtingas žodynas labai vietoje naudojama ironija...
Tai viena puikiausių pastaruoju metu mano skaitytų knygų.

[Kayıp Rıhtım]

Eston yazar Andrus Kivirahk’ın İthaki Yayınları tarafından dilimize kazandırılan Çataldili Konuşan Son İnsan eseri hakkında kaleme aldığımız inceleme sizlerle.

Benim “yılan” kelimesine tikim var… Ama başkarakterinin yılanla dost olduğu, kapağında insan yüzüne dolanmış bir yılan görselinin bulunduğu kitap, kitaplığımın enlerinde yer alıyor.

Sütü sağılan, at gibi üstüne binilen kurtlar, insan kızlara aşık olan ve onları kendine çekmeyi başaran ayılar, yüzmeyi çok seven kuzu büyüklüğünde dev bir bit, başkarakterimizin yakın arkadaşı olan oldukça havalı bir engerek yılanı, nesillerinin son örneği olan iki primat ve çataldili konuşan son insan: Leemet…

Uygar Bayar

İncelemenin tamamı: https://kayiprihtim.com/inceleme/cata...

[Pieter De vroe · Rating 5 out of 5]

Geweldig van genoten. Ik kreeg dit boek aangereikt als tip van de enige echte Marnix Peeters.... Man, wat een boek. Uit Estland of all places maar zo universeel. Het verveelt geen seconde, het is met werkelijk niets te vergelijken. Of je zou het moeten gaan zoeken bij de meest gruwelijke sprookjes van Grimm maar daarvoor is het eigenlijk te modern en de actie te groot. Het leest ook zo makkelijk en swingend. Korte hoofdstukken. Grote pluim voor de vertaling. Heb natuurlijk geen idee hoe die zinnen lopen in het origineel maar het is echt een belevenis. Stop waar je mee bezig bent en lees 'De man die de taal van de slangen sprak' ! Bedank me later maar....

[Katie · Rating 2 out of 5]

The Man Who Spoke Snakish is the story of Leemet, a boy in medieval Estonia who is confronted with colonization and a changing world. Leemet grows up in the forest, where he learns to speak Snakish, a language that enables him to talk to animals in the forest. His family has no need for hunting, as they are able to beckon deer to them for slaughter using Snakish. This lifestyle has been fading away for generations, as the forest dwellers stop learning Snakish and instead move to the village where they eat bread (which is almost a forbidden fruit among forest dwellers), grow their own food, and convert to Christianity. There are a lot of fantastical elements woven in: a giant frog who could ward off colonizers, bears that seduce women, and louse that has been bred to the size of a goat by the "Primates," two forest dwellers who live in the trees, refuse to wear clothing, and have remnants of a tail.

I loved the first half of this book. It explores a lot of themes of what it means to be human, how to adapt to a changing culture while remaining true to yourself, and the role of religion and spirituality in society. About halfway though, I thought the book started to fall apart. There were strange plot twists, I found Leemet increasingly unlikable, and there was a lot of violence. At the time I was reading this, I was also telling stories with my four year old nephew, and somehow the book felt at times like it was being told in part by a four year old. The story would be going along, exploring some interesting themes, and then all the sudden it is the four year old's turn and the story veers way off course. At first, you laugh, adapt to the new direction the story is taking, and move on. The thought-out adult version continues, then the four year old jumps in again...it becomes harder and harder to get used to the senseless plot twists and sudden lack of meaning. Not that I don't appreciate the insertion of some of the imagination and creativity of youth, or understand that these elements create their own type of meaning...the story just somehow started to feel incredibly ridiculous towards the end.

Apparently this book is really popular in Estonia, and I've read several reviews stating that this is a clunky translation and a lot has been lost. So maybe that is part of my problem with the book.

I really did appreciate the themes explored at the beginning of the book. Leemet struggles because he knows he will be the last man living in the forest and speaking Snakish. When he looks at the lifestyle of the village he is frequently disgusted. Why should he spend all day working in the fields to grow food and raise domestic animals, when there is plenty of food for taking in the forest? Why is a spinning wheel necessary when you can use animal furs for clothing? At the same time he realizes that if he doesn't adopt this lifestyle, he will likely live and die alone in the forest. The book kind of stops exploring this theme, but I found it interesting. When confronted with societal change one finds distasteful, is it best to live a lifestyle you truly believe in alone in the forest, or to adapt to change, start eating bread, and move to the village?

[Joy D · Rating 3 out of 5]

Protagonist Leemet is one of the last people that can command animals through the language of snakes. He lives in the forest in the time of monks, knights, and “iron men.” It is an adventure story of talking bears, adders, primates, and lice! Definitely not your run-of-the-mill tale. The plot revolves around the people of the forest fleeing to the village, where they become “civilized” and no longer cherish their past customs. Only a very few forest dwellers remain. The story is a combination of fable and allegory based on Estonian folklore.

This is one of the most unusual coming-of-age novels I have read. Somehow the author inspires sympathy in the reader for some pretty bloodthirsty people. It is unevenly paced, with violent action scenes intermingled with slow-moving episodes. It is a classic tale of the battle between progress and tradition. It gets fairly gruesome toward the end.

I am always interested in expanding my knowledge of world literature, and this book definitely checks the box for Estonia. It was translated from Estonian to English by Christopher Moseley. I liked it but it could have used more explanation of Leemet’s motivations for employing such brutal violence.

[Agnė Pačekajė · Rating 5 out of 5]

Senokai neskaičiau nieko TOKIO - gaivališko, nurauto, keisto ir įspūdingo. Ir nors estų autoriaus etno romanas apie paskutinius pagonis teoriškai ne fantastinis, vyksta įprastoj erdvėj - miške ar pajūry, visa kita yra fantazijos vaisius. Ir tai fantazijai ploju atsistojus! Karvės dydžio utelės, kalbančios gyvatės, senelis su iltim ir barzdotos jūros pabaisos, melžiami vilkai, meilužiai meškinai, kaimynas, tręštantis kaip koks ąžuolas…. Parašyta superlengvai, dialogams ir juodam humorui 10 balų! O istorija ir tema - klasikinė: apie vienos eros pabaigą ir kitos pradžią, iš to išplaukiančius kraštutinumus. Gal tik žiaurumo joje daugokai, bet šiaip knyga absoliučiai šių metų favoritė.

[Mandy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I really didn’t expect to enjoy this book so much. I chose to read it simply because it’s Estonian and it’s not often I get a chance to read an Estonian book. But much to my surprise I found myself totally caught up in it and was very impressed indeed. Fantasy is not my favoured genre but on this occasion the author has managed to make his often surreal plot and characters seem completely real – and engaging. A bestseller in Kivirahki’s native Estonia where he is a highly regarded author and journalist, it’s even been made into a board game – there’s a short YouTube clip you can watch, which unfortunately is in Estonian but nevertheless makes the game look appealing. The novel is the coming-of-age story of Leemit who lives with his hunter-gatherer family in the forest where he learns the ancient language of Snakish, which enables its speakers to communicate with the animals. But at the edge of the forest a village grows up, and Leemit and the other forest dwellers are increasingly torn between their age-old traditions and the lure of the modern world. Firmly rooted in Estonia itself, and emblematic of a small nation trying to survive the impact of outsiders on its way of life, the novel is also of universal appeal, with its clash of the old and the new. The conflict plays out in an increasingly bloodthirsty way, and events become more and more surreal and tragic. On one level it’s a morality tale and an adventure story, on the other it’s a meditation on tradition and change, loss, love and language, religion and fanaticism. Lots to think about here as well as much to enjoy and it’s a book that will long stay with me.

[Diana Norkė · Rating 4 out of 5]

Keista ir įdomi pasaka suaugusiems, verčianti tiek žavėtis, tiek bjaurėtis aprašytais dalykais. Intriguoja ne tik savo neįprasta bei siurrealistine atmosfera, bet ir giliais, kartais slegiančiais motyvais, kurie verčia skaitytoją susimąstyti apie žmogaus prigimtį, garbinimą ir tikėjimą aukštesnėmis jėgomis. Ji atskleidžia tiek grožį, tiek tamsumą, kviesdama žvelgti giliau už paviršiaus ir patirti įvairias emocijas – nuo žavesio iki atstūmimo, nuo lengvo juoko iki gilaus susimąstymo. Įverinau ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️, nes parašyta mano galva puikiai, daug fantazijos, nenuspėjamo siužeto, pritrūko vienos, nes esu skaičiusi ir skaniau perteiktų panašių knygų.

[Oskar · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nooremad lugejad ehk enam ei mäleta, aga kunagi selle aastatuhande alguses oli eestlaste üheks lemmikuks puhkuste sihtpunktiks Egiptimaal Punase mere kaldal asuv Sharm el-Sheikhi linnake. Sinna lennati aastaringselt parvedena pesitsema, nagu suitsupääsukesed ja toonekured. Sealsete hotellide ja spaade töötajad puutusid eestlastega igapäevaselt kokku ning neil kujunes arvamus meist, kui väga religioosest rahvast.

Nimelt kandis iga eestlane alati endaga kaasas püha helesinist raamatut ning ei loobunud sellest isegi basseini ääres kokteili limpsides. Egiptlaste arvates pidi eestlaste jumal ikka üks hea jumal olema, kuna oma püha raamatut lugedes oli alatasa kuulda summutatud turtsatusi ja lõbusat naeru. Äkki hakkasid üle araabia maade puhuma kevadtuuled, mis eestlastel ei lasknud enam sinna pesitsema lennata ja nõnda me muutusime egiptlaste helesiniseks unistuseks. Oleks egiptlased teadnud, et eestlaste näol on tegemist maailma vähem religioosema rahvaga ning nende "püha raamat" on tegelikult igasugust usku naeruvääristav tekst, oleks suhtumine kardinaalselt muutunud (üks uuring näitab, et oleme religiooni asjus egiptlaste täielikud vastandid).

Eelpool mainitud eestlaste "püha raamat" oli muidugi Andrus Kivirähki romaan "Mees, kes teadis ussisõnu". Tegemist on tekstiga, mis sisaldab vägagi erinevaid tahke ja laia probleemide ringi. Enamik loevad seda romaani, kui Kivirähki järjekordset lõbusat ja tögavat muinasjuttu, kus vaimukus ja surm käivad käsikäes. Muidugi võib "Ussisõnu" võtta, kui Kivirähki usutunnistust, kus autor sõnastab lõplikult oma suhtumise haldjatesse, jeesustesse ja teistesse väljamõeldud olevustesse. Kirjanduskriitikud on põhiliselt teksti lahti mõtestanud, kui laiemat allegooriat meie keele, kultuuri ja rahva hääbumise loost või mõistukõnet meie minevikust ja tulevikust. Olen kuulnud ka arvamusi, et tegemist on eesti esimese zoofiilse romaaniga, mille peaks rahvusvahelised loomaõiguslased terava uurimise alla võtma.

Kõik ülal toodud lugemismudelid on õiged ning tekstile annab tähenduse ikkagi ainult lugeja. Minu jaoks on romaani "Mees, kes teadis ussisõnu" näol tegemist eesti kirjanduse ühe kõige kurvema ja depressiivsema tekstiga viimasest kümnendist. See muidugi ei tähenda, et ma romaani lugedes mitmed korrad naerukrampide käes ei kannataks. Romaani läbiv "viimase mohikaanlase" motiiv painas mind kogu lugemise vältel. Peategelasele Leemetile tuletatakse kogu loo vältel meelde tema "erakordust" ning paljude "Viimaste ..." tiitlite omamist. Alguses soovib muidugi Leemet olukorda muuta ning astub mitu iseenda tõekspidamistega vastuollu minevat sammu (külla kolimine, Magdaleena pojale ussisõnade õpetamine, madudega suhtlemise lõpetamine), et ennast ühestki tiitlist päästa. Lõpuks saabub mõistmine ja leppimine, et oma saatuse eest ei saa põgeneda ning Leemet on vana ja hääbuva maailma viimane esindaja, keda mujal omaks ei võeta ja kellel omasid enam pole.

Olla maailmas viimane inimene, kes mõistab ja oskab rääkida ussisõnu ehk eesti keelt on üks kõige kohutavamaid saatusi, mida ma ette oskan kujutada. Mäletan juba oma kooliajast juttusid "Teie räägite veel eesti keelt, aga teie lapselapsed enam kindlasti mitte!". Tollal ma vist isegi mingil määral uskusin neid jutte, aga enam mitte. Muidugi omab anglo-ameerika keele ja kultuuri surve tohutut jõudu ning see muudab meie keelt vaikselt, kuid märgatava iga aastaga. Kuid teiste keelte mõju on eesti keelele olnud pidav ja aastasadu pikk, kuid see ei ole oma loomult negatiivne. Kõige enesehävituslikum asi, mis me võiksime oma keele ja kultuuriga teha on öelda, et see "õige eesti keel" on nüüd lõplikult valmis ja lukku pandud. Vot siis tulevad alles vetevood ja uputavad meid momentaalselt. Selle vältimiseks on kõige lihtsam jätta igasugused vaimsed ja füüsilised traataiad piiridele ehitamata ning selle asemel hoopis reisile minna ja mõni "püha raamat" kaasa võtta.

Teisi minu arvustusi saate lugeda blogist aadressil:
http://kirjanduslikpaevaraamat.blogsp...

[Asta · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tiesiog puiki.
Apie išeinantį senąjį pasaulį (pagonys, viduramžiais gyvenantys Estijos miškuose), irimą, buvimą "paskutiniais, kurie...", apie tai, kaip lengvai pamirštama praeitis, protėvių papročiai, žavimasi naujovėmis vien dėl to, kad tai nauja, "iš užsienio".

Žavėjo tas pasaulis - ne irstantis, bet buvęs kiek anksčiau, su Šiaurės Slibinu, prijaukintais vilkais, įdomiais pokalbiais su gyvatėmis.

Citata ne iš knygos - tiesiog daina, kuri tiktų jos garso takeliui (Sipavičiaus "Miškų dukra"):

"Tu girių paslaptis pažįsti
Ir medžių kalbą supranti..."

[Igor Neox · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wow this was beautifully sad, I guess I expected a bit more cheerful fairy tale… The twists were more abundant than in a thriller 🤯