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Autonauts of the Cosmoroute: A Timeless Voyage from Paris to Marseilles
Autonauts of the Cosmoroute is a love story, a travelogue, a collection of stories and snapshots, both visual and verbal, irreverent and brilliant. In May of ‘82, Julio Cortázar, literary explorer of the highest order, set out with Carol Dunlop aboard their VW camper van (a.k.a. Fafner) to explore the uncharted territory of the Paris-Marseilles freeway. It was a route they’d driven before, usually in about ten hours. This time, they loaded up with supplies—food, water, wine, typewriters, cameras—and prepared for an arduous voyage of thirty-three days without leaving the autoroute, at a rate of two rest stops per day. Along the way they would uncover the hidden side of the freeway and take the notion of literature from a serious game to a logical, surreal extreme.
354 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
About the author
Julio Cortázar
657 books5,859 followersJulio Cortázar, born Julio Florencio Cortázar Descotte, was an Argentine author of novels and short stories. He influenced an entire generation of Latin American writers from Mexico to Argentina, and most of his best-known work was written in France, where he established himself in 1951.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 163 reviews
August 29, 2013
This is another book that makes me want to go back through and knock down all my five-star ratings, so it can be in a class all its own. Honestly and truly one of the most astonishingly beautiful things I've ever read.
Autonauts of the Cosmoroute is a memoir of sorts. Cortázar (the most devastatingly brilliant author of modern times, if you didn't know) and his wife Carol decide to spend thirty-odd days living on the highway connecting Paris to Marseille (for a local reference, it seems rather like the New Jersey Turnpike), in their red Volkswagen van named Fafner, going to two rest areas each day. They set up camp (as it were) at each one, finding the best picnic table at which to write, eat, talk, and lounge in the sun, taking time to explore the wilds of each locale. It's written as a travelog, with a list of how many shops, bathrooms, trees, waste bins, etc., etc., etc. can be found in each, and they include things like the temperature, which direction Fafner faces, and what they eat each day.
If this sounds a little childish and silly, that's exactly the point. Cortázar is a literary icon, an undeniable genius, but here we see him only as a man, a boyish man at that, impish and gleeful and silly, and his wonderful wife the same. It is just these two people, relishing the strangeness of the world in which they've decided to live, and the sheer joy of one another's company. It is absolutely stunning to witness the immense sense of wonder that they bring to even the most mundane endeavors, how much joy and love suffuses each of their days. This book encompases so much more than insipid handles like memoir or essay; it is a love story to each other, to friends, to every day, to the amazement that is the world. I realize I may have hazed into corniness here, but this book is like nothing else. It's like spending a month in a van with two of the most fascinating, happy, brilliant people you'll never be lucky enough to meet.
If I could, I would send a copy of this book to everyone I have ever loved, and everyone who needs to be reminded of how thrilling the world can be.
I beg you, read this book.
Autonauts of the Cosmoroute is a memoir of sorts. Cortázar (the most devastatingly brilliant author of modern times, if you didn't know) and his wife Carol decide to spend thirty-odd days living on the highway connecting Paris to Marseille (for a local reference, it seems rather like the New Jersey Turnpike), in their red Volkswagen van named Fafner, going to two rest areas each day. They set up camp (as it were) at each one, finding the best picnic table at which to write, eat, talk, and lounge in the sun, taking time to explore the wilds of each locale. It's written as a travelog, with a list of how many shops, bathrooms, trees, waste bins, etc., etc., etc. can be found in each, and they include things like the temperature, which direction Fafner faces, and what they eat each day.
If this sounds a little childish and silly, that's exactly the point. Cortázar is a literary icon, an undeniable genius, but here we see him only as a man, a boyish man at that, impish and gleeful and silly, and his wonderful wife the same. It is just these two people, relishing the strangeness of the world in which they've decided to live, and the sheer joy of one another's company. It is absolutely stunning to witness the immense sense of wonder that they bring to even the most mundane endeavors, how much joy and love suffuses each of their days. This book encompases so much more than insipid handles like memoir or essay; it is a love story to each other, to friends, to every day, to the amazement that is the world. I realize I may have hazed into corniness here, but this book is like nothing else. It's like spending a month in a van with two of the most fascinating, happy, brilliant people you'll never be lucky enough to meet.
If I could, I would send a copy of this book to everyone I have ever loved, and everyone who needs to be reminded of how thrilling the world can be.
I beg you, read this book.
January 6, 2010
When I was about 14, or between that age and 17, I used to carry around a green pocket folder filled with railway maps of the United States. Also included in my green folder were essays, lists, and advice by wannabe-Beat-poet types (God help them) on the subject of train-hopping. This was my obsession. I had every intent to head out to the train yard in central Austin one day with a knapsack full of the essentials -- a warm jacket, a sewing kit, some beef jerky, a couple of dollars -- and swing myself aboard a moving train. There were only the details -- when, where, how, how not to get my fool self killed by the railyard bull -- to hammer out.
On the front of this folder, in scribbled Marks-A-Lot, was a giant anarchy symbol. The circle around the "A" was slightly oblong, and there were hash marks where I had scribbled outside the lines, but it got the job done.
Now what, one might ask, had anarchy to do with train-hopping?
(And more importantly, perhaps, why would I scribble a 10-inch anarchy symbol on the outside of a folder that I didn't want anyone to find --? since it's discovery, presumably, would have derailed my plans, excuse the pun.)
To the first question at least I can answer only that perhaps both train-hopping and anarchy (whatever that is) held in my mind (at that age) similar connotations of the antisocial, the rebellious, and a sort of creative freedom that I found lacking in my suburban, white high school. The writings the folder held further indicate the truth of this assertion, since these were precisely the motivations to which the Beat Generation bore witness: rebellion, deviancy, creative expression originated in the illicit. Indeed, I can not help but think of the motivations of the Beats as a sort of cultural adolescence of America. The post-WWII morality stimulated this kickback to hedonism, and the congealing of the middle class and suburban ideal to an infatuation with wandering, and with the sexuality of aimlessness.
But God forbid that I should call Cortázar a beatnik. I could call him contemporaneous, and some of the same themes are there, but ultimately Cortázar is infinitely more in control of himself, more self-assured, and more purposeful than Burroughs or Ginsberg or Kerouac, for whom I hold no great brief. Or indeed any brief at all.
No, I bring this all up not to talk about the Beats, but to point out that it is precisely at this age -- 14 to 17, the prime years of lust deluded -- that I would have given this book five stars.
Reading it today -- reading the great reviews of it here on Goodreads before getting to the book itself -- oh, how I wanted to love it. I felt certain I would be inspired by the romance of wanderlust yet again. (And "wanderlust," here, apt. The lust of the wanderer, the sexuality of aimlessness.)
But I wasn't. I even tried for several months after finishing this book to convince myself that I was. But I wasn't. That part of me is dying.
Something has happened between adolescence and today -- my imposture with the world, my varied and variously dissatisfying relations with women -- to render Cortázar's fancies fallow. I am not trying to be a cynic. I am young around here, and there's nothing the elder more eagerly ridicule in the younger than cynicism. It's just that Cortázar's and Dunlop's mock-heroic voyage down the French autoroute from Paris to Marseille strikes me as skeletal. It holds back the flesh from the reader and results disingenuous, if intentionally fanciful.
If there's any one thing to which I can attribute this sensation of incompleteness (besides, perhaps, the excruciatingly obvious -- that only a 15 year-old could believe that a relationship could attain significance by riding a camper van up and down the highway), it's the absence of sex as motivation in the telling. This is not to say that sex does not appear. There are some touching and vivid images of tangled-in-the-sheets in the camper van in pouring-pattering-rain which are, if not sui generis, then perhaps some of the best of their kind.
But sex in adulthood strikes me as a much more devious agent. It's not just a sequence of images within the backdrop of a story. It permeates people's conceptions of what a story even is. There are the men who believe sex is romance, and the men who believe sex is sex and there is no romance. And there are the women who believe romance is romance and sex a simple function of it. And there are the women who call you at 4 am and believe only in sex but their real desires only as obvious as that they will never be attained as long as they call you at 4 am. And there are the women who believe only in sex, and the men there, too. And the men that believe they believe only in sex and those that believe they do not believe. And there are the men who tell themselves stories about love and the women who listen to those self-recitations on a bed pillow and both sides believing without believing and then a lifetime of silence. And there are the men who tell themselves stories about love into the blank pages of a sexless journal and then feel the emptier for it having been writ and continue to write until it's all been emptied and they can't possibly know anything else. And there are the women who never knew anything at all. And the women who seem to know everything, and the men who tell themselves there are women who seem to know everything. And the men who tell themselves they know everything.
And there is Cortázar, who writes so many pages of happy images, of frivolity as a method itself, of a voyage down the autoroute. Here and there, there is sex.
When the truth is so fraught, his omissions left me somewhat untrusting. I felt unsettled.
On the front of this folder, in scribbled Marks-A-Lot, was a giant anarchy symbol. The circle around the "A" was slightly oblong, and there were hash marks where I had scribbled outside the lines, but it got the job done.
Now what, one might ask, had anarchy to do with train-hopping?
(And more importantly, perhaps, why would I scribble a 10-inch anarchy symbol on the outside of a folder that I didn't want anyone to find --? since it's discovery, presumably, would have derailed my plans, excuse the pun.)
To the first question at least I can answer only that perhaps both train-hopping and anarchy (whatever that is) held in my mind (at that age) similar connotations of the antisocial, the rebellious, and a sort of creative freedom that I found lacking in my suburban, white high school. The writings the folder held further indicate the truth of this assertion, since these were precisely the motivations to which the Beat Generation bore witness: rebellion, deviancy, creative expression originated in the illicit. Indeed, I can not help but think of the motivations of the Beats as a sort of cultural adolescence of America. The post-WWII morality stimulated this kickback to hedonism, and the congealing of the middle class and suburban ideal to an infatuation with wandering, and with the sexuality of aimlessness.
But God forbid that I should call Cortázar a beatnik. I could call him contemporaneous, and some of the same themes are there, but ultimately Cortázar is infinitely more in control of himself, more self-assured, and more purposeful than Burroughs or Ginsberg or Kerouac, for whom I hold no great brief. Or indeed any brief at all.
No, I bring this all up not to talk about the Beats, but to point out that it is precisely at this age -- 14 to 17, the prime years of lust deluded -- that I would have given this book five stars.
Reading it today -- reading the great reviews of it here on Goodreads before getting to the book itself -- oh, how I wanted to love it. I felt certain I would be inspired by the romance of wanderlust yet again. (And "wanderlust," here, apt. The lust of the wanderer, the sexuality of aimlessness.)
But I wasn't. I even tried for several months after finishing this book to convince myself that I was. But I wasn't. That part of me is dying.
Something has happened between adolescence and today -- my imposture with the world, my varied and variously dissatisfying relations with women -- to render Cortázar's fancies fallow. I am not trying to be a cynic. I am young around here, and there's nothing the elder more eagerly ridicule in the younger than cynicism. It's just that Cortázar's and Dunlop's mock-heroic voyage down the French autoroute from Paris to Marseille strikes me as skeletal. It holds back the flesh from the reader and results disingenuous, if intentionally fanciful.
If there's any one thing to which I can attribute this sensation of incompleteness (besides, perhaps, the excruciatingly obvious -- that only a 15 year-old could believe that a relationship could attain significance by riding a camper van up and down the highway), it's the absence of sex as motivation in the telling. This is not to say that sex does not appear. There are some touching and vivid images of tangled-in-the-sheets in the camper van in pouring-pattering-rain which are, if not sui generis, then perhaps some of the best of their kind.
But sex in adulthood strikes me as a much more devious agent. It's not just a sequence of images within the backdrop of a story. It permeates people's conceptions of what a story even is. There are the men who believe sex is romance, and the men who believe sex is sex and there is no romance. And there are the women who believe romance is romance and sex a simple function of it. And there are the women who call you at 4 am and believe only in sex but their real desires only as obvious as that they will never be attained as long as they call you at 4 am. And there are the women who believe only in sex, and the men there, too. And the men that believe they believe only in sex and those that believe they do not believe. And there are the men who tell themselves stories about love and the women who listen to those self-recitations on a bed pillow and both sides believing without believing and then a lifetime of silence. And there are the men who tell themselves stories about love into the blank pages of a sexless journal and then feel the emptier for it having been writ and continue to write until it's all been emptied and they can't possibly know anything else. And there are the women who never knew anything at all. And the women who seem to know everything, and the men who tell themselves there are women who seem to know everything. And the men who tell themselves they know everything.
And there is Cortázar, who writes so many pages of happy images, of frivolity as a method itself, of a voyage down the autoroute. Here and there, there is sex.
When the truth is so fraught, his omissions left me somewhat untrusting. I felt unsettled.
February 9, 2014
What a wonderful book. Part essay, part travelogue with a smattering of fiction, it's an indescribable blend of humor, sadness, quirk and love. Author Julio Cortázar cooked up a plan with his second wife Carol Dunlop to drive from Paris to Marseilles in their VW bus nicknamed Fafner, the dragon. The catch is, they stopped at every single rest-stop along the way at the count of two per day, sleeping over night at the second one. This book chronicles their thoughts and notes throughout the journey. It really is a wonderful book, demonstrating how despite such odd circumstances Cortázar and Dunlop found great joy escaping the world, being not utterly isolated but separated from their responsibilities and obligations. Instead, they focused on each other, on reading, writing and observing.
Their writing covers great terrain--despite the modest terrain they are actually covering in the VW--from the philosophical to the poetic, to the mundane and pseudo-scientific. Light-hearted humor arises when they treat the journey "scientifically" with a daily "travel log" in which they indicate times of departure, weather, what they ate, where the bus was parked (facing N.W.N, for example), and so on. There was also humor in a certain ironic/exaggerated paranoia they exhibit as if their journey is threatened at times by the political powers-that-be because Cortázar was not only a writer but a political activist. As, for example, a rest area was "closed" to sabotage their journey.
Love, and the joy of their togetherness, was a major theme expressed throughout the story. Physical and emotional love. Their affection is so gentle and so poetic, reading it is near meditative in quality.
In the end, they summarize the journey, as unintentionally a Zen expedition. They set off not knowing what they would find and what they found was the beauty of existence even in the most absurd of situations. Touring rest areas.
The only aspect of the story that didn't sit well with me was the personification of Fafner, the VW bus. Admittedly, in my own past, I did briefly personify the car I had in college, a '72 Dodge Dart that my friend Dave Fagan dubbed the Death Sled. I accused said vehicle of attempting to kill me on several occasions. Its attacks included but were not limited to: a steering system that pulled to the left, windshield wipers that gave out in the middle of a torrential downpour whilst driving from Cleveland to Columbus, Ohio, and scalding burns on the thighs occasioned by the vinyl bench seat, which could achieve temperatures that could smelt iron if left exposed to direct sunlight. But despite my own experience with personifying vehicles in my youth, I was left somewhat uncomfortable with affection expressed for a motor vehicle as charmingly and innocently as it was expressed. And with no disrespect intended to the legacy of this book or Cortázar, reading their descriptions caused me to reflect on the death penalty. You see, in the U.S., the death penalty is still legal despite the immorality of the state killing a prisoner. But a corporation can't seem to die no matter the heinous crimes it commits. No matter whom it kills or what laws it breaks. A few individuals on rare occasions can be put in jail for fraud they commit within a corporation, but the corporation goes on. It rebrands. And over time, people forget. A generation later, a brand that was once conservative can become hip. A brand that once poisoned an ocean, can be forgiven. Volkswagen was, as you can learn from a quick trip to Wikipedia, founded by the Nazi Party. And Volkswagen's formative years were spent making all sorts of vehicles for the war effort. Hitler himself took a person interest in the success of Volkswagen. Rather ironic how the VW bus and the VW beetle became symbols of the hippie movement in the sixties, isn't it? Not only ironic, but it demonstrates how brands and Capitalism can swallow up idealism and sell it back to you. Levis is one of the current brands that is trying to advertise in the spirit of the Occupy movement. As if, somehow, wearing Levis makes you more free, more independent minded and more creative. Brands want us to personify their products in order to develop an emotional relationship with them and choose to purchase them again. Generating emotion in advertising is a core trick to drive sales. A trick that often has nothing whatsoever to do with the product itself. Think of Coke. Or Pepsi. And Cortazar being an ardent Socialist, I couldn't help but wonder why he allowed himself to be seduced by this product. So...I couldn't help but not find emotional affection for a VW bus as less charming than it was intended to be.
At any rate, this is wholly my own reaction to this aspect of the book and despite the digression it sent me off in my own mind, I can none-the-less whole-heartedly recommend this book.
Their writing covers great terrain--despite the modest terrain they are actually covering in the VW--from the philosophical to the poetic, to the mundane and pseudo-scientific. Light-hearted humor arises when they treat the journey "scientifically" with a daily "travel log" in which they indicate times of departure, weather, what they ate, where the bus was parked (facing N.W.N, for example), and so on. There was also humor in a certain ironic/exaggerated paranoia they exhibit as if their journey is threatened at times by the political powers-that-be because Cortázar was not only a writer but a political activist. As, for example, a rest area was "closed" to sabotage their journey.
Love, and the joy of their togetherness, was a major theme expressed throughout the story. Physical and emotional love. Their affection is so gentle and so poetic, reading it is near meditative in quality.
In the end, they summarize the journey, as unintentionally a Zen expedition. They set off not knowing what they would find and what they found was the beauty of existence even in the most absurd of situations. Touring rest areas.
The only aspect of the story that didn't sit well with me was the personification of Fafner, the VW bus. Admittedly, in my own past, I did briefly personify the car I had in college, a '72 Dodge Dart that my friend Dave Fagan dubbed the Death Sled. I accused said vehicle of attempting to kill me on several occasions. Its attacks included but were not limited to: a steering system that pulled to the left, windshield wipers that gave out in the middle of a torrential downpour whilst driving from Cleveland to Columbus, Ohio, and scalding burns on the thighs occasioned by the vinyl bench seat, which could achieve temperatures that could smelt iron if left exposed to direct sunlight. But despite my own experience with personifying vehicles in my youth, I was left somewhat uncomfortable with affection expressed for a motor vehicle as charmingly and innocently as it was expressed. And with no disrespect intended to the legacy of this book or Cortázar, reading their descriptions caused me to reflect on the death penalty. You see, in the U.S., the death penalty is still legal despite the immorality of the state killing a prisoner. But a corporation can't seem to die no matter the heinous crimes it commits. No matter whom it kills or what laws it breaks. A few individuals on rare occasions can be put in jail for fraud they commit within a corporation, but the corporation goes on. It rebrands. And over time, people forget. A generation later, a brand that was once conservative can become hip. A brand that once poisoned an ocean, can be forgiven. Volkswagen was, as you can learn from a quick trip to Wikipedia, founded by the Nazi Party. And Volkswagen's formative years were spent making all sorts of vehicles for the war effort. Hitler himself took a person interest in the success of Volkswagen. Rather ironic how the VW bus and the VW beetle became symbols of the hippie movement in the sixties, isn't it? Not only ironic, but it demonstrates how brands and Capitalism can swallow up idealism and sell it back to you. Levis is one of the current brands that is trying to advertise in the spirit of the Occupy movement. As if, somehow, wearing Levis makes you more free, more independent minded and more creative. Brands want us to personify their products in order to develop an emotional relationship with them and choose to purchase them again. Generating emotion in advertising is a core trick to drive sales. A trick that often has nothing whatsoever to do with the product itself. Think of Coke. Or Pepsi. And Cortazar being an ardent Socialist, I couldn't help but wonder why he allowed himself to be seduced by this product. So...I couldn't help but not find emotional affection for a VW bus as less charming than it was intended to be.
At any rate, this is wholly my own reaction to this aspect of the book and despite the digression it sent me off in my own mind, I can none-the-less whole-heartedly recommend this book.
September 11, 2019
Sebbene scritto da un romanziere famoso, questo libro non è un romanzo ma una cronaca. La cronaca del viaggio di Julio e della giovane moglie Carol a zonzo per le stazioni di servizio dell'autostrada Parigi-Marsiglia, alla ricerca degli affascinanti angoli di panorama che sfuggono ai viaggiatori normali, che nella loro nevrotica foga di arrivare dimenticano di dare valore al viaggio in sè.
Il recupero della dimensione del viaggio e della sua componente romanzesca e favolosa, che diventa occasione di un ritorno ad un modo fanciullesco di vedere le cose, è il tema di tutto il libro. Duramente impegnati nelle lotte politiche ed idelogiche dei primi anni ottanta (dalla guerra delle Malvinas alle dure repressioni dei regimi centroamericani), Julio Cortazar e la moglie Carol Dunlop (di trent'anni più giovane, ma così grande è lo spirito del romanziere che la differenza non si vede) con il sorgere delle malattie che uccideranno entrambi in pochi anni scoprono la necessità di ritrovare se stessi un'ultima volta uscendo dalla strozzatura delle vite e dei grandi impegni che si sono costruiti: decidono che il solo modo possibile è un viaggio che abbia qualcosa di magico e di giocoso, che trovi in se stesso un valore che solo tornando bambini si possa riconoscere.
Queste le regole del gioco: truffando la polizia stradale il lupo (Julio) e l'orsetta (Carol) permarranno con l'aiuto logistico degli amici per un intero mese nell'autostrada, fermandosi in tutte le aree di servizio almeno mezza giornata e quindi pernottando in almeno la metà di esse. Laddove possibile in motel, molto più spesso nel loro sgangherato furgoncino wolkswagen, che la magia fa diventare un simpaticissimo drago rosso da usare come cavalcatura e come compagno, che affronterà con grande coraggio i pericoli e le avversità dell'avventura.
Il lettore si troverà rinfrescate tutte le fantasticherie dell'infanzia, perchè i meccanismi del gioco e del sogno sono vissuti con gioia da Julio ma anche proposti con grande maestria letteraria. Dalla personificazione degli oggetti più amati ( il furgoncino diventa fafner il drago rosso, le sdraio diventano gli Orrori fioriti) al simpatico egocentrismo dei bambini (ogni aereo che passa è una spia da cui nascondersi!)
Quanto ho amato il bislacco drago Fafner! Anche io da bambino ho cavalcato un drago, ma era grigio. Certo agli ingenui occhi dei grandi appariva come lo sgangherato furgone del cappellano della parrocchia, che avevamo soprannominato Beccia: anche il piccolo drago grigio lo avevamo chiamato cosi. Certo il piccolo vecchio Beccia non aveva il ruggito del fratello rosso fafner, ma riportarlo alla memoria è stata una emozione speciale.
La ricca documentazione fotografica che affianca ogni capitolo ci mostra come ogni stazione di servizio sia in realtà un'isola che nasconde un tesoro, che sfugge agli altri automobilisti assatanati dall'idea dell'arrivo. ed anche i disegnini Naif che le rappresentano sono molto piacevoli.
Una menzione particolare al racconto noir-erotico che Cortazar dedica a Chandler e soprattutto al motel di bassa lega in cui per le regole del gioco si trova a dover pernottare in provenza. Per poche pagine l'atmosfera cambia radicalmente, grondante di lugubre sensualità. Il vecchio lupo getta la maschera da cucciolo affascinato, ci mostra le nere fauci del romanziere d'alto livello, strizzarci l'occhio e tornare a giocare alla settimana.
Questo libro non sarà mai un pilastro della letteratura. Ma chi ama leggere per il piacere di sofnare un tesoro in più, troverà queste pagine cosi sfolgoranti di voglia di vivere da sembrar di vedere in esse il lupo e l'orsetta che, mentre in groppa a fafner camminano verso la morte, ci strizzano l'occhio sorridendo e ci dicono che in fondo non abbiamo nulla da temere.
Il recupero della dimensione del viaggio e della sua componente romanzesca e favolosa, che diventa occasione di un ritorno ad un modo fanciullesco di vedere le cose, è il tema di tutto il libro. Duramente impegnati nelle lotte politiche ed idelogiche dei primi anni ottanta (dalla guerra delle Malvinas alle dure repressioni dei regimi centroamericani), Julio Cortazar e la moglie Carol Dunlop (di trent'anni più giovane, ma così grande è lo spirito del romanziere che la differenza non si vede) con il sorgere delle malattie che uccideranno entrambi in pochi anni scoprono la necessità di ritrovare se stessi un'ultima volta uscendo dalla strozzatura delle vite e dei grandi impegni che si sono costruiti: decidono che il solo modo possibile è un viaggio che abbia qualcosa di magico e di giocoso, che trovi in se stesso un valore che solo tornando bambini si possa riconoscere.
Queste le regole del gioco: truffando la polizia stradale il lupo (Julio) e l'orsetta (Carol) permarranno con l'aiuto logistico degli amici per un intero mese nell'autostrada, fermandosi in tutte le aree di servizio almeno mezza giornata e quindi pernottando in almeno la metà di esse. Laddove possibile in motel, molto più spesso nel loro sgangherato furgoncino wolkswagen, che la magia fa diventare un simpaticissimo drago rosso da usare come cavalcatura e come compagno, che affronterà con grande coraggio i pericoli e le avversità dell'avventura.
Il lettore si troverà rinfrescate tutte le fantasticherie dell'infanzia, perchè i meccanismi del gioco e del sogno sono vissuti con gioia da Julio ma anche proposti con grande maestria letteraria. Dalla personificazione degli oggetti più amati ( il furgoncino diventa fafner il drago rosso, le sdraio diventano gli Orrori fioriti) al simpatico egocentrismo dei bambini (ogni aereo che passa è una spia da cui nascondersi!)
Quanto ho amato il bislacco drago Fafner! Anche io da bambino ho cavalcato un drago, ma era grigio. Certo agli ingenui occhi dei grandi appariva come lo sgangherato furgone del cappellano della parrocchia, che avevamo soprannominato Beccia: anche il piccolo drago grigio lo avevamo chiamato cosi. Certo il piccolo vecchio Beccia non aveva il ruggito del fratello rosso fafner, ma riportarlo alla memoria è stata una emozione speciale.
La ricca documentazione fotografica che affianca ogni capitolo ci mostra come ogni stazione di servizio sia in realtà un'isola che nasconde un tesoro, che sfugge agli altri automobilisti assatanati dall'idea dell'arrivo. ed anche i disegnini Naif che le rappresentano sono molto piacevoli.
Una menzione particolare al racconto noir-erotico che Cortazar dedica a Chandler e soprattutto al motel di bassa lega in cui per le regole del gioco si trova a dover pernottare in provenza. Per poche pagine l'atmosfera cambia radicalmente, grondante di lugubre sensualità. Il vecchio lupo getta la maschera da cucciolo affascinato, ci mostra le nere fauci del romanziere d'alto livello, strizzarci l'occhio e tornare a giocare alla settimana.
Questo libro non sarà mai un pilastro della letteratura. Ma chi ama leggere per il piacere di sofnare un tesoro in più, troverà queste pagine cosi sfolgoranti di voglia di vivere da sembrar di vedere in esse il lupo e l'orsetta che, mentre in groppa a fafner camminano verso la morte, ci strizzano l'occhio sorridendo e ci dicono che in fondo non abbiamo nulla da temere.
December 24, 2010
La Osita and el Lobo, armed with the caps of mushrooms and cuneiforms forming nightvisions by sidetracked autobahns, carrying only the sin of excess imagination, travel en route of stopped time, which is a form of brussel sprouts, as by re-routing scientific observations about skylarks at rest while gliding in rest areas, they also find a way of being explorers like ancient ships do, clear to the back of the fog, or simply, with Fafner, their VW, sounding out the silences between trucks, like the hollow in the mouth of the waves that break against it, while headlights illuminate the interior soundtrack of a jellyfish, and by morn the "progress" which is a mourning of movement, of "passing", where the freeway becomes a habit that stings of peculiarity, each dream in its acuity bringing itself into deeper relief, like the lines in a face showing only memories, though we live in the 21st century, though we can still write a yellow book of celebration, though we can be anachronistic to the core, where a longing lurks within all its joy.
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All corny prosifying aside, and without recapping the content of the book (read the other GR reviews for that, they're good), I just want to say that there is a kind of subtext to this whole book of joy... that even though I believe their joy is genuine, I also feel like there is something forced about it. Not that they are lying, but that there is something they are fighting against, both in the world and within themselves perhaps, and that for this they must use all their imaginations. Something about this book, though deceptively casual and without consequence and completely joyful, is also kind of heavy with the weight of the real world.
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All corny prosifying aside, and without recapping the content of the book (read the other GR reviews for that, they're good), I just want to say that there is a kind of subtext to this whole book of joy... that even though I believe their joy is genuine, I also feel like there is something forced about it. Not that they are lying, but that there is something they are fighting against, both in the world and within themselves perhaps, and that for this they must use all their imaginations. Something about this book, though deceptively casual and without consequence and completely joyful, is also kind of heavy with the weight of the real world.
May 6, 2010
It's a radical idea, really, that a freeway, a kind of road whose very existence is about getting from one place to another as fast as possible, might in fact prove worthy as a destination in and of itself.
In this lovely, charming and wonderful book, the authors decide to to make the 800 km of autoroute between Paris and Marseilles their home for one month. Their goal is to explore every rest stop along its path at the rate of two per day, camping out in their VW van and the occasional hotel, while recording their observations of those things that the rest of us miss when whizzing by at 100km an hour.
The resulting memoir/fantasy/anthropological study/love letter is a pure delight to read. The book begins with a playful, impish tone that sustains our intrepid explores throughout their journey, not only as they delight in the simple pleasures of finding the perfect picnic spot but also as they battle the forces that seek to derail them from their journey, be they torn fences that tempt them to leave the autoroute or sinister looking garbage cans that appear to be watching their every move.
I found it impossible to read this book without being yanked out of my own busy life and back into a place of discovery and wonder for the simplest of things around us. It will probably come as no surprise that the scientific conclusion the authors' draw from their mad journey is that there is no place as wonderful as where ever you are right now, but it is well worth taking this trip with them to see how they got there.
In this lovely, charming and wonderful book, the authors decide to to make the 800 km of autoroute between Paris and Marseilles their home for one month. Their goal is to explore every rest stop along its path at the rate of two per day, camping out in their VW van and the occasional hotel, while recording their observations of those things that the rest of us miss when whizzing by at 100km an hour.
The resulting memoir/fantasy/anthropological study/love letter is a pure delight to read. The book begins with a playful, impish tone that sustains our intrepid explores throughout their journey, not only as they delight in the simple pleasures of finding the perfect picnic spot but also as they battle the forces that seek to derail them from their journey, be they torn fences that tempt them to leave the autoroute or sinister looking garbage cans that appear to be watching their every move.
I found it impossible to read this book without being yanked out of my own busy life and back into a place of discovery and wonder for the simplest of things around us. It will probably come as no surprise that the scientific conclusion the authors' draw from their mad journey is that there is no place as wonderful as where ever you are right now, but it is well worth taking this trip with them to see how they got there.
March 15, 2008
More than a travelogue, this 'example of how the imagination can truly take power if we forget about routines' is a delightful invitation to encounter the world with renewed curiosity; to engage fully the imagination, the spirit and the body in celebrating the boon of living rapturously. A drawn out ode between el Lobo (Cortázar, the wolf) and la Osita (Dunlop, little bear), the collage of roadside minutiae offers a rare glimpse at the tender affection and deep respect two people hold for one another and the magical possibilities they see the world is rife with -- whimsical fantasies available to any brave soul who gives themself the time and space to wonder and explore. I don't believe I'll approach any future expedition (be it a jaunt to BoCoCa on the F train or a boating escapade among the majestic fjords of Iceland) without considering the joy these two brought to theirs.
I’ll gladly lend my copy to a trustworthy friend, because to let this book sit on a shelf would disgrace the resplendent life that lives within it.
I’ll gladly lend my copy to a trustworthy friend, because to let this book sit on a shelf would disgrace the resplendent life that lives within it.
May 7, 2019
Approfittando che nel gruppo Libri dal mondo l'Argentina sia stata scelta per la lettura di gruppo di aprile, mi sono finalmente decisa di leggere Gli autonauti della cosmostrada che Curarsi con i libri consiglia a chi è allergico all'autostrada. Non mi piace molto guidare, e non mi piace guidare in autostrada, ma forse per la prima volta Curarsi con i libri mi ha "guarita" perché non guarderò mai più l'autostrada con gli stessi occhi. Di solito l'autostrada si fa di corsa, ci si ferma solo per un caffè o per andare in bagno, e poi di nuovo di corsa in auto per arrivare il prima possible a destinazione. Insomma, l'autostrada mette ansia perché induce ad andare veloci, non bisogna perdere tempo, ma solo correre correre e correre. Cortazar e la moglie, con questo viaggio, ci fanno vedere l'autostrada da un'altra prospettiva, molto più serena e tranquilla.
Questo libro è un diario di viaggio scritto a due mani con la moglie Carol Dunlop. Il viaggio che Cortazar e consorte intraprendono è Parigi-Marsiglia in autostrada con un furgoncino Volkswagen. Sembra un comunissimo viaggio, ma loro decidono di prendersela comoda senza farsi contagiare dalla velocità con la quale di solito si affronta un'autostrada. Ciò non significa che andavano a passo di lumaca, ma che trascorrevano le giornate nelle aree di sosta, come se fossero in vacanza. Guidavano pochissimi chilometri per fermarsi in ogni area di sosta (con massimo due soste al giorno) trascorrendoci tutta la giornata o solo pochi minuti, ma mai più di due autogrill al giorno. Dalle descrizioni queste aree non sono come i nostri autogrill (almeno quelli che conosco io), ma ci sono parchi o boschetti con zone picnic e qualche volta anche un parco giochi o un motel. Ci sono anche aree di sosta con soltanto il benzinaio e i servizi igienici, ma la maggior parte ha una zona verde e tavoli per il picnic. Dalle descrizioni e dalle foto vien quasi voglia di fare lo stesso viaggio soltanto per visitare queste aree di sosta! Cortazar e la moglie si cercavano un posto tranquillo all'ombra, il più lontano possibile dal brusio della strada e si accampavano per trascorrerci anche la notte dormendo nel furgoncino o, com'è capitato un paio di volte, in motel.
Il racconto del viaggio in sé è abbastanza noioso perché non è che possa succedere chissà che. Descrivono l'area di sosta, parlano di come trascorrono il tempo (scrivendo o leggendo), di ciò che mangiano, i loro pensieri osservando le altre persone, di come si erano organizzati per questo viaggio, dei loro amici, etc. Per ogni giorno c'è un resoconto di Cortazar e uno della moglie. Quelli della moglie mi sono piaciuti meno perché fa troppi voli pindarici per i miei gusti; spesso usa uno stile tipo flusso di coscienza che non riesco a digerire. Il libro contiene molte foto dei posti in cui si fermano e di Cortazar e consorte. Hanno aggiunto anche dei piccoli disegni di tutte le aree di sosta. Il loro viaggio, che normalmente si fa in una decina di ore, è durato circa 30 giorni.
Quello che mi è piaciuto maggiormente sono le parti in cui traspare tutto l'amore di Cortazar per la moglie. Ne fa certe descrizioni che mi facevano commuovere. Ciò che mi ha anche commosso è che dopo pochi mesi la moglie è morta. Era malata già da prima della partenza perché parlano spesso di demoni che la tormentano, ma la sua morte è stata comunque prematura. Due anni dopo è morto anche Cortazar.
Ho cercato quindi di leggere questo libro per quello che è: un diario di viaggio (l'ultimo viaggio) di due persone che si amavano profondamente e che forse sentivano che non avrebbero più avuto molto tempo da trascorrere insieme.
Questo libro è un diario di viaggio scritto a due mani con la moglie Carol Dunlop. Il viaggio che Cortazar e consorte intraprendono è Parigi-Marsiglia in autostrada con un furgoncino Volkswagen. Sembra un comunissimo viaggio, ma loro decidono di prendersela comoda senza farsi contagiare dalla velocità con la quale di solito si affronta un'autostrada. Ciò non significa che andavano a passo di lumaca, ma che trascorrevano le giornate nelle aree di sosta, come se fossero in vacanza. Guidavano pochissimi chilometri per fermarsi in ogni area di sosta (con massimo due soste al giorno) trascorrendoci tutta la giornata o solo pochi minuti, ma mai più di due autogrill al giorno. Dalle descrizioni queste aree non sono come i nostri autogrill (almeno quelli che conosco io), ma ci sono parchi o boschetti con zone picnic e qualche volta anche un parco giochi o un motel. Ci sono anche aree di sosta con soltanto il benzinaio e i servizi igienici, ma la maggior parte ha una zona verde e tavoli per il picnic. Dalle descrizioni e dalle foto vien quasi voglia di fare lo stesso viaggio soltanto per visitare queste aree di sosta! Cortazar e la moglie si cercavano un posto tranquillo all'ombra, il più lontano possibile dal brusio della strada e si accampavano per trascorrerci anche la notte dormendo nel furgoncino o, com'è capitato un paio di volte, in motel.
Il racconto del viaggio in sé è abbastanza noioso perché non è che possa succedere chissà che. Descrivono l'area di sosta, parlano di come trascorrono il tempo (scrivendo o leggendo), di ciò che mangiano, i loro pensieri osservando le altre persone, di come si erano organizzati per questo viaggio, dei loro amici, etc. Per ogni giorno c'è un resoconto di Cortazar e uno della moglie. Quelli della moglie mi sono piaciuti meno perché fa troppi voli pindarici per i miei gusti; spesso usa uno stile tipo flusso di coscienza che non riesco a digerire. Il libro contiene molte foto dei posti in cui si fermano e di Cortazar e consorte. Hanno aggiunto anche dei piccoli disegni di tutte le aree di sosta. Il loro viaggio, che normalmente si fa in una decina di ore, è durato circa 30 giorni.
Quello che mi è piaciuto maggiormente sono le parti in cui traspare tutto l'amore di Cortazar per la moglie. Ne fa certe descrizioni che mi facevano commuovere. Ciò che mi ha anche commosso è che dopo pochi mesi la moglie è morta. Era malata già da prima della partenza perché parlano spesso di demoni che la tormentano, ma la sua morte è stata comunque prematura. Due anni dopo è morto anche Cortazar.
Ho cercato quindi di leggere questo libro per quello che è: un diario di viaggio (l'ultimo viaggio) di due persone che si amavano profondamente e che forse sentivano che non avrebbero più avuto molto tempo da trascorrere insieme.
September 2, 2013
This delightful account of a modern day Don Quioxite and his Dulcinea counts on the 'patient,gentle reader' to rise to the challenge of discovery. With route and itinery clearly defined,and strict rules establishing protocol,this absurd adventure nevertheless transcends any attempt at categorization. The authors come the closest when they confess (P175) "It's true that this trip is an unending fiesta of life" and the sense of celebration is strong throughout.
One thing that surprised and delighted me was the seamless mingling of the authors words,so that unless there is some strong indication otherwise,for most of the book it is very hard if not irrelevent to keep track of just who is writing/speaking.
"But our waves form only a vast undulation that breathes to the rhythm of our madness.Light and dark passion will push us towards the end,always towards the end and further.There where I hold you as if our skin would dissolve at the contact...make of us a single invisible being." p285
Seeing as I have by now read a lot of Cortazar,and barely heard of Carol Dunlop,I was gratified at this chance at last to get to know them.I am not confident though that everyone is as thrilled as I am about this: note that the book is listed right here as authored only by JC!
But this,amongst parallel themes,is the real reason this account strikes such a sympathetic chord. Underneath the bravado and the jokes,the careful details recorded and savored,this is a love story of two people passionate about each other and the life they have conjured from their sharing.Despite vast differences in age and upbringing,the fact that they found each other is inspiring. It was really sad to read the last page,written by JC alone some months later,documenting the passing of his beloved partner.
"I've rushed into the black abyss so often that I know how to walk in the dark," it says on p285
The genius of JC and CD together weave a pattern that makes room for the light.
"We won't leave the autoroute in Marseille,my love,or anywhere else. There's no turning back,only a spiral." p285
One thing that surprised and delighted me was the seamless mingling of the authors words,so that unless there is some strong indication otherwise,for most of the book it is very hard if not irrelevent to keep track of just who is writing/speaking.
"But our waves form only a vast undulation that breathes to the rhythm of our madness.Light and dark passion will push us towards the end,always towards the end and further.There where I hold you as if our skin would dissolve at the contact...make of us a single invisible being." p285
Seeing as I have by now read a lot of Cortazar,and barely heard of Carol Dunlop,I was gratified at this chance at last to get to know them.I am not confident though that everyone is as thrilled as I am about this: note that the book is listed right here as authored only by JC!
But this,amongst parallel themes,is the real reason this account strikes such a sympathetic chord. Underneath the bravado and the jokes,the careful details recorded and savored,this is a love story of two people passionate about each other and the life they have conjured from their sharing.Despite vast differences in age and upbringing,the fact that they found each other is inspiring. It was really sad to read the last page,written by JC alone some months later,documenting the passing of his beloved partner.
"I've rushed into the black abyss so often that I know how to walk in the dark," it says on p285
The genius of JC and CD together weave a pattern that makes room for the light.
"We won't leave the autoroute in Marseille,my love,or anywhere else. There's no turning back,only a spiral." p285
October 22, 2017
I finally finished this last night reading it aloud, like I have slowly over the course of the last few years to my wife –we were trying to really savor it – and she woke up startled to see me in tears (she usually falls asleep as I read it). This was the most romantic book I've ever read. It's also an ethics for living, one that I am reminded of every single time my wife and I travel someplace. An ethics of living life "with great seriousness, like a squirrel, I mean without looking for something beyond and above living, I mean living must be your whole occupation". But at the same time, the ability to use your imagination, and to invent games and puzzles and windmills from the mundane material of life, from trucks and rest stops and little patches of roadside forest. We're always trying to do our best Carol and Julio when we go someplace, cemetery scavenger hunts, building peeping, wringing history out of every street signs, going a hundred miles out of our way to visit the future birthplace of Captain Kirk. Read this book slowly, or keep it in the back pocket of the driver's seat when you go on road trips as a form of spiritual and aesthetic inspiration and guidance.
March 17, 2021
«Cosmonauti dell'autostrada, come i viaggiatori interplanetari che osservano da lontano il rapido invecchiamento di chi è ancora sottomesso alle leggi del tempo terrestre, cosa scopriremo entrando in un ritmo da cammelli dopo tanti viaggi in aereo, metropolitana, treno?»
Cortazar e Dunlop sono i nostri intraprendenti cosmonauti, ovvero degli esploratori, che dopo tanto pensare alla loro missione decidono di organizzare Fafner (o meglio il drago, un furgoncino volkswagen rosso fuoco) di provviste e partire per un viaggio folle: un mese sull’autostrada che collega Parigi a Marsiglia, fermandosi in due aree di sosta al giorno. Perché questa follia? Perché è necessario andare in controtendenza, ovvero vivere l’autostrada, emblema della velocità moderna, dello scorrere interminabile del tempo oltre che delle macchine, in maniera opposta: con lentezza, assaporando ogni metro quadrato di strada percorsa, perlustrando ogni area di sosta alla scoperta della vita che vi scorre.
Il Lupo e l’Orsetta (Cortazar e Dunlop) arrivano alla fine a dimostrare che il viaggio nell'era moderna è ancora possibile, se ci si spinge oltre la monotonia apparente della realtà e si accede «all'altro lato» delle cose, ridando significato pieno ai luoghi e al tempo. Questo perché la realtà è indissolubile dalla fantasia: per Cortazar questi due ambiti coesistono e spesso si sovrappongono, mentre la società tende a dividerli considerando uno scandalo l'irruzione del fantastico nel reale. Anche in questo diario a 4 mani, infatti, assistiamo all’irrompere nel racconto di elementi insoliti, come Calac e Polanco, personaggi di Componibile 62, oppure i demoni, personificazione della negatività e della malattia. La realtà non è quella che ci appare di fronte tutti i giorni, stabile e non modificabile, ma è in continuo divenire, fatta di significati nascosti, come nascosto è il paese che scoprono il Lupo e l’Orsetta: Parkinglandia, terra di libertà.
Non ha importanza, ovviamente, la meta finale, perché il senso del viaggio è nel movimento stesso, è l’assaporare il giorno che nasce e tramonta, l’amare ogni albero disponibile in grado di offrire un po’ d'ombra e riposo, imparare a convivere con le formiche, con gli Orrori Fioriti e con Fafner: il senso di qualsiasi viaggio si colloca al di là di qualsiasi limite, anche della morte, che coglie l’Orsetta poco dopo la fine di questo viaggio.
«Queste ultime parole in cui il dolore non è, non sarà mai più forte della vita che mi hai insegnato a vivere come forse siamo riusciti a dimostrare in quest'avventura che si conclude qui ma continua, continua nel nostro drago, continua per sempre nella nostra autostrada»
Cortazar e Dunlop sono i nostri intraprendenti cosmonauti, ovvero degli esploratori, che dopo tanto pensare alla loro missione decidono di organizzare Fafner (o meglio il drago, un furgoncino volkswagen rosso fuoco) di provviste e partire per un viaggio folle: un mese sull’autostrada che collega Parigi a Marsiglia, fermandosi in due aree di sosta al giorno. Perché questa follia? Perché è necessario andare in controtendenza, ovvero vivere l’autostrada, emblema della velocità moderna, dello scorrere interminabile del tempo oltre che delle macchine, in maniera opposta: con lentezza, assaporando ogni metro quadrato di strada percorsa, perlustrando ogni area di sosta alla scoperta della vita che vi scorre.
Il Lupo e l’Orsetta (Cortazar e Dunlop) arrivano alla fine a dimostrare che il viaggio nell'era moderna è ancora possibile, se ci si spinge oltre la monotonia apparente della realtà e si accede «all'altro lato» delle cose, ridando significato pieno ai luoghi e al tempo. Questo perché la realtà è indissolubile dalla fantasia: per Cortazar questi due ambiti coesistono e spesso si sovrappongono, mentre la società tende a dividerli considerando uno scandalo l'irruzione del fantastico nel reale. Anche in questo diario a 4 mani, infatti, assistiamo all’irrompere nel racconto di elementi insoliti, come Calac e Polanco, personaggi di Componibile 62, oppure i demoni, personificazione della negatività e della malattia. La realtà non è quella che ci appare di fronte tutti i giorni, stabile e non modificabile, ma è in continuo divenire, fatta di significati nascosti, come nascosto è il paese che scoprono il Lupo e l’Orsetta: Parkinglandia, terra di libertà.
Non ha importanza, ovviamente, la meta finale, perché il senso del viaggio è nel movimento stesso, è l’assaporare il giorno che nasce e tramonta, l’amare ogni albero disponibile in grado di offrire un po’ d'ombra e riposo, imparare a convivere con le formiche, con gli Orrori Fioriti e con Fafner: il senso di qualsiasi viaggio si colloca al di là di qualsiasi limite, anche della morte, che coglie l’Orsetta poco dopo la fine di questo viaggio.
«Queste ultime parole in cui il dolore non è, non sarà mai più forte della vita che mi hai insegnato a vivere come forse siamo riusciti a dimostrare in quest'avventura che si conclude qui ma continua, continua nel nostro drago, continua per sempre nella nostra autostrada»
April 10, 2016
Dit boek was ooit helemaal vergeten, net als de andere boeken van de geweldige Julio, maar door de enthousiaste verhalen van Charlotte Mutsaers bij DasMag en DWDD werd het enkele jaren geleden heruitgegeven en herontdekt. Zelf las ik het jaren daarvoor al met veel plezier, en omdat ik toch al in een fanatieke en gelukkige Cortazar- herlees- periode zit wou ik ook dit boek nu wel weer herbeleven. Gelukkig maar.
Het gaat hier om een opmerkelijke originele autobiografische reisroman, over de ludieke ontdekkingsreis van Julio Cortazar en zijn jonge echtgenote Carol Dunlop langs de Franse tolweg van Parijs naar Marseille. Hun doel: alle 65 parkeerplaatsen aandoen, twee per dag, en zo dan heel langzaam - "in diligence tempo" - en met veel aandacht een reis voltrekken die je normaal zo snel mogelijk en met plankgas afraffelt. Daarbij voelen Cortazar en Dunlop zich net ontdekkingsreizigers, want door dit afwijkende tempo en de aandacht die zij aan elke parkeerplaats schenken wordt de hele snelweg een soort terra incognita, een even onbekend gebied als ooit Amerika was voor Columbus en zoals het verre Oosten was voor Marco Polo. Alleen al doordat je uren blijft op een parkeerplaats, en er in de helft van de gevallen zelfs slaapt, veranderen alle parkeerplaatsen van een anoniem en elke aandacht onwaardig doorgangsoord in een rijk geschakeerd wonder. Zeker als ze bekeken worden met fantasievolle ogen als die van Cortazar en Dunlop. De reis wordt daarmee een poëtische zoektocht, die de zo overbekende snelweg herschept: "De parallelle snelweg die wij zoeken bestaat misschien in de verbeelding van wie ervan dromen; maar als hij bestaat (het is te vroeg om categorische uitspraken te doen [...] ), brengt hij niet alleen een andere fysieke ruimte met zich mee maar ook een andere tijd". Of, zoals elders wordt gezegd: "Reizen moesten zijn als gedichten".
Cortazar en Dunlop kijken dus als dichters, als ontdekkingsreizigers naar een onbekende wereld. Of, anders gezegd: ze kijken met zodanig kinderlijk onbevangen blik naar de wereld dat zelfs een stuk asfalt of een parkeerplaats verandert in een magisch sprookje. Hun eigen Volkswagenbusje noemen zij bijvoorbeeld Fafner, een mythische draak. Elkaar noemen zij Wolf en Beertje. Met even aanstekelijke als innemende oorspronkelijkheid beschrijven ze wat ze zien, zo aanstekelijk dat zelfs ik bijna geloof dat een ordinaire parkeerplaats ook heel mooi kan zijn. Dat wordt nog versterkt door diverse foto's met heel onverwachte en humoristische bijschriften, of diverse tekeningen die bijna ontroerend kinderlijk zijn van sfeer. En ook door diverse humoristische boutades over de zo vastgeroeste volwassenen die altijd maar binnen de lijntjes lopen, en dus niet weten wat voor moois je ziet als je eens een keer buiten de lijntjes speelt. En ook de liefdesverklaringen tussen Beertje en Wolf zijn vol van tegendraadse, humorvolle en poëtische schoonheid. Zo zegt Beertje (Dunlop) het volgende tegen de in dromen levende Wolf (Cortazar): "Door veel te zwemmen in de grote zwarte wateren leer je drijven in het donker. Boei in de ergste duisternis. Uitgezonderd de vernederendste ouderdommen, de sanitaire nachtmerries; en de rest is niet voor nu en er is geen eenzaamheid meer mogelijk. Heb je niet begrepen wat een geschenk van het leven het was dat je een paar jaar geleden niet bent doodgegaan? Cut. Vertrek. En het onbekende, dat zich nog vele jaren uitstrekt, als je het met jouw kinderogen wilt verkennen".
Hoe prachtig: het onbekende dat zich uitstrekt omdat het met kinderogen wordt verkend.... Zoals ook de snelweg en zijn parkeerplaatsen een onbekende ruimte worden, met andere tijdsrekeningen, omdat ze met kinderogen worden verkend. En je voelt intens mee met de vreugde en het geluk dat dit alles bij Cortazar en Dunlop oproept. Tegelijk echter is er ook de loerende dood: in het citaat hierboven (en ook eerder al in het boek) is gezinspeeld op de zwakke gezondheid van Cortazar. Ook weet je als lezer al snel dat Dunlop een ernstige, zelfs fatale ziekte heeft. Dat geeft aan het boek een duistere en verdrietige ondertoon. Maar het mooie is dat die ondertoon niet overheerst: ook in het aanzien van ziekte en dood zoeken Cortazar en Dunlop het plezier, de vreugde, het geluk. Zij lopen niet het gebaande pad van rouw en zelfbeklag: nee, ze reizen over de parallelle snelweg, geleid door hun fantasierijke kinderogen. Ludiek tot het einde, vreugdevol tot de laatste snik.
Met brede grijns en tranen in de ogen sloeg ik het boek dicht. Verdorie, wat houd ik toch van Julio!
Het gaat hier om een opmerkelijke originele autobiografische reisroman, over de ludieke ontdekkingsreis van Julio Cortazar en zijn jonge echtgenote Carol Dunlop langs de Franse tolweg van Parijs naar Marseille. Hun doel: alle 65 parkeerplaatsen aandoen, twee per dag, en zo dan heel langzaam - "in diligence tempo" - en met veel aandacht een reis voltrekken die je normaal zo snel mogelijk en met plankgas afraffelt. Daarbij voelen Cortazar en Dunlop zich net ontdekkingsreizigers, want door dit afwijkende tempo en de aandacht die zij aan elke parkeerplaats schenken wordt de hele snelweg een soort terra incognita, een even onbekend gebied als ooit Amerika was voor Columbus en zoals het verre Oosten was voor Marco Polo. Alleen al doordat je uren blijft op een parkeerplaats, en er in de helft van de gevallen zelfs slaapt, veranderen alle parkeerplaatsen van een anoniem en elke aandacht onwaardig doorgangsoord in een rijk geschakeerd wonder. Zeker als ze bekeken worden met fantasievolle ogen als die van Cortazar en Dunlop. De reis wordt daarmee een poëtische zoektocht, die de zo overbekende snelweg herschept: "De parallelle snelweg die wij zoeken bestaat misschien in de verbeelding van wie ervan dromen; maar als hij bestaat (het is te vroeg om categorische uitspraken te doen [...] ), brengt hij niet alleen een andere fysieke ruimte met zich mee maar ook een andere tijd". Of, zoals elders wordt gezegd: "Reizen moesten zijn als gedichten".
Cortazar en Dunlop kijken dus als dichters, als ontdekkingsreizigers naar een onbekende wereld. Of, anders gezegd: ze kijken met zodanig kinderlijk onbevangen blik naar de wereld dat zelfs een stuk asfalt of een parkeerplaats verandert in een magisch sprookje. Hun eigen Volkswagenbusje noemen zij bijvoorbeeld Fafner, een mythische draak. Elkaar noemen zij Wolf en Beertje. Met even aanstekelijke als innemende oorspronkelijkheid beschrijven ze wat ze zien, zo aanstekelijk dat zelfs ik bijna geloof dat een ordinaire parkeerplaats ook heel mooi kan zijn. Dat wordt nog versterkt door diverse foto's met heel onverwachte en humoristische bijschriften, of diverse tekeningen die bijna ontroerend kinderlijk zijn van sfeer. En ook door diverse humoristische boutades over de zo vastgeroeste volwassenen die altijd maar binnen de lijntjes lopen, en dus niet weten wat voor moois je ziet als je eens een keer buiten de lijntjes speelt. En ook de liefdesverklaringen tussen Beertje en Wolf zijn vol van tegendraadse, humorvolle en poëtische schoonheid. Zo zegt Beertje (Dunlop) het volgende tegen de in dromen levende Wolf (Cortazar): "Door veel te zwemmen in de grote zwarte wateren leer je drijven in het donker. Boei in de ergste duisternis. Uitgezonderd de vernederendste ouderdommen, de sanitaire nachtmerries; en de rest is niet voor nu en er is geen eenzaamheid meer mogelijk. Heb je niet begrepen wat een geschenk van het leven het was dat je een paar jaar geleden niet bent doodgegaan? Cut. Vertrek. En het onbekende, dat zich nog vele jaren uitstrekt, als je het met jouw kinderogen wilt verkennen".
Hoe prachtig: het onbekende dat zich uitstrekt omdat het met kinderogen wordt verkend.... Zoals ook de snelweg en zijn parkeerplaatsen een onbekende ruimte worden, met andere tijdsrekeningen, omdat ze met kinderogen worden verkend. En je voelt intens mee met de vreugde en het geluk dat dit alles bij Cortazar en Dunlop oproept. Tegelijk echter is er ook de loerende dood: in het citaat hierboven (en ook eerder al in het boek) is gezinspeeld op de zwakke gezondheid van Cortazar. Ook weet je als lezer al snel dat Dunlop een ernstige, zelfs fatale ziekte heeft. Dat geeft aan het boek een duistere en verdrietige ondertoon. Maar het mooie is dat die ondertoon niet overheerst: ook in het aanzien van ziekte en dood zoeken Cortazar en Dunlop het plezier, de vreugde, het geluk. Zij lopen niet het gebaande pad van rouw en zelfbeklag: nee, ze reizen over de parallelle snelweg, geleid door hun fantasierijke kinderogen. Ludiek tot het einde, vreugdevol tot de laatste snik.
Met brede grijns en tranen in de ogen sloeg ik het boek dicht. Verdorie, wat houd ik toch van Julio!
August 4, 2021
Este libro confirmó mi admiración por Julio Cortázar y su habilidad para mostrarnos el mundo como un juego en el que confluyen la literatura, la imaginación, el conocimiento, las referencias cruzadas con otros autores, hechos históricos, anécdotas, la fotografía y la música.
La narración de este libro puede al rompe parecer aburrida, pues es un "puro y simple" diario de viaje de dos personas enamoradas entre sí, de la vida y las aventuras. Pero, lo que el subtexto nos presenta, es un diario de imaginación en el que un cotidiano viaje es llevado a un plano mágico que traslada al "pálido lector" a 1982 y lo hace partícipe de esta épica aventura.
También permite adentrarnos sin caer en lugares comunes, en una relación pura entre la Osita y el Lobo, llegando incluso a conmover el amor que sentían el uno por el otro y el dolor que transmite Cortázar en el último capítulo en el que narra lo que es terminar un diario de viaje sin su compañera de vida.
Considero que no es necesario tener conocimiento en la obra de Cortázar, en lo que contenido se refiere. Lo que si es necesario es estar dispuestos a jugar y a dejarse llevar por un texto rico y delicioso de leer, para lo cual se necesita abrir la mente y el corazón.
Cinco estrellas definitivamente no son suficientes para calificarlo. Lo repetiría una y mil veces.
La narración de este libro puede al rompe parecer aburrida, pues es un "puro y simple" diario de viaje de dos personas enamoradas entre sí, de la vida y las aventuras. Pero, lo que el subtexto nos presenta, es un diario de imaginación en el que un cotidiano viaje es llevado a un plano mágico que traslada al "pálido lector" a 1982 y lo hace partícipe de esta épica aventura.
También permite adentrarnos sin caer en lugares comunes, en una relación pura entre la Osita y el Lobo, llegando incluso a conmover el amor que sentían el uno por el otro y el dolor que transmite Cortázar en el último capítulo en el que narra lo que es terminar un diario de viaje sin su compañera de vida.
Considero que no es necesario tener conocimiento en la obra de Cortázar, en lo que contenido se refiere. Lo que si es necesario es estar dispuestos a jugar y a dejarse llevar por un texto rico y delicioso de leer, para lo cual se necesita abrir la mente y el corazón.
Cinco estrellas definitivamente no son suficientes para calificarlo. Lo repetiría una y mil veces.
November 14, 2012
a classic of travel lit. with a twist. going from paris to Marseilles on the "freeway" (a turnpike in usa, pay as you go) going no more than 2 rest stops a day, and must spend night at 2nd, for good or bad. so julio and wife carol dunlop co-write about "being away from it all", slowing down and noticing things, nature, people. 1 interesting thing to me was the distinct lack of freaks. if one traveled usa freeways there would be serial killers, hitchhikers, drug runners, mean police, and everything in between at any given "rest stop". not much of that i guess in france 1982. lovely story, and interesting reading cortazar "in real life". great pics, maps, and drawings. and the log for each day was interesting too, to see the food they ate, drinks, and temps.
June 13, 2008
It is not possible that you have read anything else like this book and unless you are cold-hearted, miserable and vicious, it is likely that you will embrace it, wish it to continue indefinitely and then admire its moving and unexpected conclusion.
Two poetic and imaginative people, very much in love with one another, document a journey from Paris to Marseille that moves through two highway rest stops per day. The travelogue, the photographs, and the ruminations are all made to glow by the intensity and playfulness of Cortazar and Dunlop's relationship and literary talent.
Give this book to people you like.
Two poetic and imaginative people, very much in love with one another, document a journey from Paris to Marseille that moves through two highway rest stops per day. The travelogue, the photographs, and the ruminations are all made to glow by the intensity and playfulness of Cortazar and Dunlop's relationship and literary talent.
Give this book to people you like.
May 23, 2015
Wetende dat je nooit meer iets als dit zult lezen - een ontwapenende expeditie, een ode aan de liefde, een pleidooi voor tomeloze verwondering en een herinnering aan een nog niet zo lang vervlogen tijd - een boek dat je, mede dankzij de vele foto's, gaandeweg tot reisgenoot maakt van Wolf (Cortazar), Beertje (Dunlop) en Fafner de draak (hun VW-busje), zorgt ervoor dat je je lees- en reiservaring naar het einde toe vertraagt, tot je onherroepelijk bij dat hartverscheurende nawoord van Cortazar aanbelandt. 'De autonauten van de kosmosnelweg' heeft me met zijn vele invalshoeken en bespiegelingen geraakt, vermaakt, ontroerd en verwonderd.
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January 15, 2021Har på det sidste været i underskud, hvad angår læselyst. Den her bog viste sig at være kuren. 400 siders læsning på fire dage, i selskab med to mageløse skikkelser og en drage, på motorvejen mellem Paris og Marseille. Motorvejen, som den fremstår, ikke set fra passagersædet af en travl bil på vej fra punkt A til B, men dens mikrokosmos af rastepladser og midlertidige liv (som alt liv). "Den anden vej, som alligevel er den samme."
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April 3, 2014DEMONEN LANGS DE VOORTRAZENDE SNELWEG
Een spookbeeld uit het verleden: op vakantie naar Frankrijk, bij je ouders op de achterbank over die eeuwigdurende Autoroute du Soleil. Verveling, irritatie, geruzie, dan maar even stoppen. Op een parkeerplaats. Julio Cortázar en Carol Dunlop gingen all the way.
In 1982 vertrekken de Argentijnse schrijver en zijn vrouw - die na een zware periode van ziekte weer op de been is – op een wat surrealistische expeditie: een reis van Parijs naar Marseille met een bezoek aan alle 65 parkeerplaatsen op de 770 kilometer lange route. Ze hebben zichzelf opgelegd twee parkeerplaatsen per etmaal aan te doen, overnachting inbegrepen, en nergens de snelweg of parkeerplaats te verlaten. De vuurrode Volkswagencamper – Fafner genaamd, naar de draak in Wagners Ring des Nibelungen – is volgestouwd met leeftocht en twee schrijfmachines. De reis zal ruim een maand duren en heeft als enige doel: leven en schrijven.
In De autonauten van de kosmosnelweg – het uiteindelijke resultaat van de reis – wordt nauwgezet een logboek bijgehouden met dagelijkse notities over tijdstip van vertrek en aankomst op de parkeerplaatsen, het weer, de diverse maaltijden en andere feiten. Een weinig zinnenprikkelende registratie, zou je denken, maar Cortázar zou Cortázar niet zijn om er niet diverse fantasieën op los te laten die de rest van het boek een mythische dimensie geven en tot een verrassend avontuur maken.
Non-plaatsen
Wat te schrijven over de vluchtplaatsen langs de altijd voortrazende snelweg? Het zijn non-plaatsen – onsympathieke oorden waar je niet wil zijn – je stopt er om te plassen of te kotsen, snel iets te eten of van stuur te wisselen. En dan meteen de baan weer op, in volle vaart naar de eindbestemming. De kwaliteit verschilt van een schrale strook parkeervakken langs de snelweg tot een kleine 24-uurs stad met benzinepomp, winkels, restaurant en motel.
De schrijvers (die elkaar Beertje en Wolf noemen) breken een wereld vol verbeelding open door hun dagelijkse habitat te beschrijven in een keur aan metaforische bespiegelingen. Ze vereenzelvigen zich steeds meer 'met de bossen, de grasvelden en de dieren van de heimelijke wereld langs de snelweg':
Parklandia
Iedere nieuwe parkeerplaats zorgt weer voor een andere ervaring. Na het ijverig zoeken naar de meest perfecte plek om neer te strijken (schaduw, rust, picknicktafel) installeren de avonturiers zich om vervolgens vanuit hun comfortabele tuinstoelen, de Gebloemde Griezels genaamd, de wereld om hen heen vast te leggen in een haast toverachtig proza. Een rups op een boomblad, een reeks dreigende vuilnisbakken, een voorbijtrekkende naaktslak, de verboden wereld áchter 'Parklandia', alle indrukken worden verwerkt tot verhalen die stuk voor stuk getuigen van gedreven schrijverschap maar ook van een doorlopende zucht naar het omvormen van de werkelijkheid tot een surreële beleving.
Als het donker wordt, openbaart zich weer een nieuwe sensatie. Geparkeerd tussen de altijd rumoerige vrachtwagens maken de expeditieleden zich klaar voor de nacht. Lichtbundels strijken langs de binnenzijde van de trouwe draak Fafner, het geruis van de snelweg houdt nooit op en maakt dat de schrijvers zich al na een paar dagen voelen als ruimtevaarders in een grenzeloos heelal.
Liefdesverklaring
Opvallend in deze ondoordringbare biotoop ('niemand zou ons kunnen vinden') is de aanwezigheid van een veelheid aan demonen. Tijdens de planning van de reis verschijnen ze plotseling in de vorm van het langdurige uitstel wegens de ziekte van Beertje. Eenmaal onderweg zijn er demonen die de reis zouden kunnen bedreigen zoals politiecontrole, monsterlijke vrachtauto's, argwanende wegwerkers en de donkerte van dicht struikgewas.
De grootste demon duikt echter op – onbenoemd maar tussen de regels door – als de haast voelbare angst om de gezondheid van Beertje. Juist daardoor wordt dit fabelachtige reisverslag tevens een intense liefdesverklaring aan elkaar, aan het verbonden zijn in afzondering, aan het zo kostbare leven. Twee maanden na afloop van de avontuurlijke onderneming overlijdt Carol Dunlop. Als De autonauten van de kosmosnelweg verschijnt, schrijft een verdrietige Cortázar in zijn toegevoegde postscriptum:
http://www.8weekly.nl/artikel/11439/j...
@8WEEKLY/André van Dijk
Een spookbeeld uit het verleden: op vakantie naar Frankrijk, bij je ouders op de achterbank over die eeuwigdurende Autoroute du Soleil. Verveling, irritatie, geruzie, dan maar even stoppen. Op een parkeerplaats. Julio Cortázar en Carol Dunlop gingen all the way.
In 1982 vertrekken de Argentijnse schrijver en zijn vrouw - die na een zware periode van ziekte weer op de been is – op een wat surrealistische expeditie: een reis van Parijs naar Marseille met een bezoek aan alle 65 parkeerplaatsen op de 770 kilometer lange route. Ze hebben zichzelf opgelegd twee parkeerplaatsen per etmaal aan te doen, overnachting inbegrepen, en nergens de snelweg of parkeerplaats te verlaten. De vuurrode Volkswagencamper – Fafner genaamd, naar de draak in Wagners Ring des Nibelungen – is volgestouwd met leeftocht en twee schrijfmachines. De reis zal ruim een maand duren en heeft als enige doel: leven en schrijven.
In De autonauten van de kosmosnelweg – het uiteindelijke resultaat van de reis – wordt nauwgezet een logboek bijgehouden met dagelijkse notities over tijdstip van vertrek en aankomst op de parkeerplaatsen, het weer, de diverse maaltijden en andere feiten. Een weinig zinnenprikkelende registratie, zou je denken, maar Cortázar zou Cortázar niet zijn om er niet diverse fantasieën op los te laten die de rest van het boek een mythische dimensie geven en tot een verrassend avontuur maken.
Non-plaatsen
Wat te schrijven over de vluchtplaatsen langs de altijd voortrazende snelweg? Het zijn non-plaatsen – onsympathieke oorden waar je niet wil zijn – je stopt er om te plassen of te kotsen, snel iets te eten of van stuur te wisselen. En dan meteen de baan weer op, in volle vaart naar de eindbestemming. De kwaliteit verschilt van een schrale strook parkeervakken langs de snelweg tot een kleine 24-uurs stad met benzinepomp, winkels, restaurant en motel.
De schrijvers (die elkaar Beertje en Wolf noemen) breken een wereld vol verbeelding open door hun dagelijkse habitat te beschrijven in een keur aan metaforische bespiegelingen. Ze vereenzelvigen zich steeds meer 'met de bossen, de grasvelden en de dieren van de heimelijke wereld langs de snelweg':
Dat was onze sprookjeskant, onze onschuldige ecologie, ons geluk te midden van het technologisch geweld dat wij braken door van elkaar te houden.
Parklandia
Iedere nieuwe parkeerplaats zorgt weer voor een andere ervaring. Na het ijverig zoeken naar de meest perfecte plek om neer te strijken (schaduw, rust, picknicktafel) installeren de avonturiers zich om vervolgens vanuit hun comfortabele tuinstoelen, de Gebloemde Griezels genaamd, de wereld om hen heen vast te leggen in een haast toverachtig proza. Een rups op een boomblad, een reeks dreigende vuilnisbakken, een voorbijtrekkende naaktslak, de verboden wereld áchter 'Parklandia', alle indrukken worden verwerkt tot verhalen die stuk voor stuk getuigen van gedreven schrijverschap maar ook van een doorlopende zucht naar het omvormen van de werkelijkheid tot een surreële beleving.
Als het donker wordt, openbaart zich weer een nieuwe sensatie. Geparkeerd tussen de altijd rumoerige vrachtwagens maken de expeditieleden zich klaar voor de nacht. Lichtbundels strijken langs de binnenzijde van de trouwe draak Fafner, het geruis van de snelweg houdt nooit op en maakt dat de schrijvers zich al na een paar dagen voelen als ruimtevaarders in een grenzeloos heelal.
De tijd zet zijn tanden in de ruimte, verandert haar; wij slagen er niet langer in een belangrijk verschil te bedenken tussen deze parkeerplaats en de laatste die ons wachten aan het eind van de expeditie.
Liefdesverklaring
Opvallend in deze ondoordringbare biotoop ('niemand zou ons kunnen vinden') is de aanwezigheid van een veelheid aan demonen. Tijdens de planning van de reis verschijnen ze plotseling in de vorm van het langdurige uitstel wegens de ziekte van Beertje. Eenmaal onderweg zijn er demonen die de reis zouden kunnen bedreigen zoals politiecontrole, monsterlijke vrachtauto's, argwanende wegwerkers en de donkerte van dicht struikgewas.
De grootste demon duikt echter op – onbenoemd maar tussen de regels door – als de haast voelbare angst om de gezondheid van Beertje. Juist daardoor wordt dit fabelachtige reisverslag tevens een intense liefdesverklaring aan elkaar, aan het verbonden zijn in afzondering, aan het zo kostbare leven. Twee maanden na afloop van de avontuurlijke onderneming overlijdt Carol Dunlop. Als De autonauten van de kosmosnelweg verschijnt, schrijft een verdrietige Cortázar in zijn toegevoegde postscriptum:
Ik zag hoe zij haar eenzame reis ondernam, waarop ik haar niet langer kon vergezellen, en op 2 november ontglipte ze mijn handen als een straaltje water, zonder te aanvaarden dat de demonen het laatste woord hadden, zij die hen zo had getart en bestreden op deze pagina's.
http://www.8weekly.nl/artikel/11439/j...
@8WEEKLY/André van Dijk
June 19, 2018
Een briljant concept, eigenlijk, het opzet van "de autonauten van de kosmosnelweg" : Julio, een Argentijns schrijver en zijn echtgenote Carol, een Amerikaanse schrijfster en fotografe, ondernamen anno 1982 een bijzondere reis. In een Volkswagen busje, dat ze Fafner doopten, reisden ze van Parijs naar Marseille via de Autoroute du Soleil. Een reis van 800km waarover ze....33 dagen zouden doen. Een slakkentempo. Waarom? Omdat het doel van de reis erin bestond te stoppen aan élke rustplaats langs die weg, à rato van 2 stopplaatsen per dag. Gedurende 33 dagen zouden ze de autosnelweg niet verlaten, en telkens zouden ze op de 2e stopplaats overnachten, wat die stopplaats ook zou brengen.
Mijn avontuurlijke, nieuwsgierige en “doe-vooral-iets-want-anderen-niet-doen” ik werd helemaal vrolijk vanbinnen toen ik de achterflap las. Dit zou ik ook gedaan willen hebben! Dit boek heeft potentieel! Zo dacht ik toch.
Misschien ligt het aan té hoge verwachtingen. Misschien aan een schabouwelijke vertaling vanuit het Spaans (de rijke Spaanse woordenschat en de overvloedige schrijfstijl van de auteurs in een Nederlandse versie gieten is eigenlijk bijna op voorhand een verloren zaak). Of misschien ligt het aan een immens verschil in tijdsgeest tussen het heden - 2018 - en het moment waarop de auteurs hun reis ondernamen en het boek schreven -1982 (mijn god! het boek is bijna zo oud als ikzelf), maar het boek kon me maar matig boeien.
Dat zal niet aan het opzet van het boek liggen, waarin dag per dag nauwkeurig wordt weergegeven welke rustplaatsen worden aangedaan en hoe de omstandigheden daar zijn, welke maaltijd werd verorberd en hoe de weergoden dachten bij te dragen aan het geheel. Noch ligt het aan de overvloedig aanwezige foto’s die de reis illustreren.
Wat ontbrak, naar mijn mening, waren grappige, of ontroerende anecdotes die er ongetwijfeld moeten zijn geweest. Weergaves van menselijk contact en toevallige ontmoetingen. Momenten van spaning tussen het echtpaar. Of meer uitgewerkte beschrijvingen van de eindeloze gedachtengangen die dergelijke reis moeten hebben teweeg gebracht. In de plaats zagen ze in vuilbakken spionnen of in wegarbeiders achtervolgers of saboteurs. Kinderlijk, ergens. Waardoor het boek vooral een oppervlakkige indruk geeft en de lezer met honger achterlaat. Een gemiste kans.
Want wetende dat dit de laatste reis was van Carol, die niet veel later overleed. En wetende dat ook Julio amper twee jaar later het leven liet, dan moet dergelijke reis aanleiding zijn geweest tot filosofische momenten en momenten van reflectie. Deze schitterden jammer genoeg door afwezigheid.
Het boek laat me achter met een dubbel gevoel. Het is meesterlijk en oppervlakkig tegelijkertijd.
Mijn avontuurlijke, nieuwsgierige en “doe-vooral-iets-want-anderen-niet-doen” ik werd helemaal vrolijk vanbinnen toen ik de achterflap las. Dit zou ik ook gedaan willen hebben! Dit boek heeft potentieel! Zo dacht ik toch.
Misschien ligt het aan té hoge verwachtingen. Misschien aan een schabouwelijke vertaling vanuit het Spaans (de rijke Spaanse woordenschat en de overvloedige schrijfstijl van de auteurs in een Nederlandse versie gieten is eigenlijk bijna op voorhand een verloren zaak). Of misschien ligt het aan een immens verschil in tijdsgeest tussen het heden - 2018 - en het moment waarop de auteurs hun reis ondernamen en het boek schreven -1982 (mijn god! het boek is bijna zo oud als ikzelf), maar het boek kon me maar matig boeien.
Dat zal niet aan het opzet van het boek liggen, waarin dag per dag nauwkeurig wordt weergegeven welke rustplaatsen worden aangedaan en hoe de omstandigheden daar zijn, welke maaltijd werd verorberd en hoe de weergoden dachten bij te dragen aan het geheel. Noch ligt het aan de overvloedig aanwezige foto’s die de reis illustreren.
Wat ontbrak, naar mijn mening, waren grappige, of ontroerende anecdotes die er ongetwijfeld moeten zijn geweest. Weergaves van menselijk contact en toevallige ontmoetingen. Momenten van spaning tussen het echtpaar. Of meer uitgewerkte beschrijvingen van de eindeloze gedachtengangen die dergelijke reis moeten hebben teweeg gebracht. In de plaats zagen ze in vuilbakken spionnen of in wegarbeiders achtervolgers of saboteurs. Kinderlijk, ergens. Waardoor het boek vooral een oppervlakkige indruk geeft en de lezer met honger achterlaat. Een gemiste kans.
Want wetende dat dit de laatste reis was van Carol, die niet veel later overleed. En wetende dat ook Julio amper twee jaar later het leven liet, dan moet dergelijke reis aanleiding zijn geweest tot filosofische momenten en momenten van reflectie. Deze schitterden jammer genoeg door afwezigheid.
Het boek laat me achter met een dubbel gevoel. Het is meesterlijk en oppervlakkig tegelijkertijd.
July 8, 2014
"De parkeerplaatsen volgen elkaar op als tegelijk scherpe en onduidelijke scènes in een lange droom, de een na de ander, en de etappes, niet de horloges, fabriceren de tijd, heffen hem op, want eigenlijk bevinden wij ons buiten de tijd zoals wij ons buiten de snelweg bevinden. We ondergaan hem, maar het is niet langer de vijand met schellen, bellen en postzegels, het is een vriend die een boom wordt als wij iets willen drinken of willen lezen in de schaduw, het is dat soort niet-verschil tussen de parkeerplaatsen, allemaal ruimtes om te leven, en telkens komt de geasfalteerde strook der snelheid ons verder en vreemder voor." (p.156)
33 dagen lang volgen Cortázar en Dunlop, schrijver en fotografe, een snelweg die ze nooit zelf beleven maar die hen telkens weer ontglipt op de parkeerplaatsen van de tijd, een onbeweeglijk vooruitgaan waarbij stilstaan nooit leeg maar altijd bewogen wordt
"Ik begrijp een beetje waarom zovelen bang zouden zijn om deze reis te maken. Parkeerplaatsen zijn niets anders dan leegte met een decor. Je moet ze weten te vullen. En ondanks de geografische of fysische verschillen zijn ze altijd hetzelfde. Het zal denk ik echt een verrassing zijn als aan het eind blijkt dat we ook zijn gevorderd volgens de criteria van de anderen, ik bedoel dat we in Marseille zullen zijn aangekomen ondanks de onbeweeglijkheid die ons karakteriseert." (p.156-7)
De autonauten van de kosmosnelweg is het verslag van een expeditie langsheen de randen van de tijd, teder en grappig, soms ook lichtjes verontrustend, maar waarin liefde en verwondering de lege afstand tot de snelweg onbeweeglijk overbruggen
33 dagen lang volgen Cortázar en Dunlop, schrijver en fotografe, een snelweg die ze nooit zelf beleven maar die hen telkens weer ontglipt op de parkeerplaatsen van de tijd, een onbeweeglijk vooruitgaan waarbij stilstaan nooit leeg maar altijd bewogen wordt
"Ik begrijp een beetje waarom zovelen bang zouden zijn om deze reis te maken. Parkeerplaatsen zijn niets anders dan leegte met een decor. Je moet ze weten te vullen. En ondanks de geografische of fysische verschillen zijn ze altijd hetzelfde. Het zal denk ik echt een verrassing zijn als aan het eind blijkt dat we ook zijn gevorderd volgens de criteria van de anderen, ik bedoel dat we in Marseille zullen zijn aangekomen ondanks de onbeweeglijkheid die ons karakteriseert." (p.156-7)
De autonauten van de kosmosnelweg is het verslag van een expeditie langsheen de randen van de tijd, teder en grappig, soms ook lichtjes verontrustend, maar waarin liefde en verwondering de lege afstand tot de snelweg onbeweeglijk overbruggen
June 3, 2008
Osita (Carol Dunlop) and El Lobo (Julio Cortazar) document their travel experiment in France in the early 80's. Two years in the making, they finally embark on a road trip that is just that...a road trip...they have one rule: do not leave the autoroute. They parse out the rest areas between Paris and Marseilles, and plan to stay in two each day while on their 33 day journey. They travel in the heart and belly of the faithful Fafner, mediveal dragon-errant (or to an outside viewer, an red VW bus, with a collapsible top). Their combined travelogue is filled with anecdotes, love stories, conversations with strangers, food journals, photographs, etc. They are also shadowed by a couple who El Lobo calls the ?? and who I suspect are actually the title characters from Roberto Bolano's The Savage Detectives.
December 21, 2019
6 stelle. "Tutti i parcheggi il parcheggio" (J.C.)
"Così non tarderanno a comparire riferimenti all'Orsetta e al Lupo [...]
Il nostro veicolo Fafner viene spesso chiamato Drago [...] qui va detto che il nostro trio non si serviva di quei nomi silvestri solo per ragioni di affetto e intimità, ma anche perché durante la spedizione andò sempre più identificandosi con i boschi, i prati e gli animali del mondo più segreto dell'autostrada. Era il nostro immaginario fiabesco, la nostra ecologia innocente, la nostra felicità in pieno frastuono tecnologico, che annullavamo amandoci. [...]
Il mondo è pieno di aree di sosta, in fondo, dove forse ci aspettano sogni di una tale ricchezza da valere tutti i viaggi di andata e, da una di esse, nessun ritorno". (J.C. - C. D)
Qualsiasi altra parola sarebbe superflua, se non arrogante.
"Così non tarderanno a comparire riferimenti all'Orsetta e al Lupo [...]
Il nostro veicolo Fafner viene spesso chiamato Drago [...] qui va detto che il nostro trio non si serviva di quei nomi silvestri solo per ragioni di affetto e intimità, ma anche perché durante la spedizione andò sempre più identificandosi con i boschi, i prati e gli animali del mondo più segreto dell'autostrada. Era il nostro immaginario fiabesco, la nostra ecologia innocente, la nostra felicità in pieno frastuono tecnologico, che annullavamo amandoci. [...]
Il mondo è pieno di aree di sosta, in fondo, dove forse ci aspettano sogni di una tale ricchezza da valere tutti i viaggi di andata e, da una di esse, nessun ritorno". (J.C. - C. D)
Qualsiasi altra parola sarebbe superflua, se non arrogante.
January 8, 2022
Palabras, dibujos y fotografías. Un libro para leer pausadamente y disfrutar de las experiencias que la pareja protagonista vivió en cada paradero; un viaje París-Marsella que duró poco más de un mes pero que perdurará para siempre en la memoria de los lectores que se emocionen con él.
El dolor no será más fuerte que la vida que me enseñaste a vivir.
Recomendado, especialmente, para los que hayan leído otras obras de Cortázar. Prosa sencilla pero cargada de tanto amor que parece inevitable no emocionarse con el triste final. Ahora los dragones se ven diferentes, ahora dan menos miedo.
El dolor no será más fuerte que la vida que me enseñaste a vivir.
Recomendado, especialmente, para los que hayan leído otras obras de Cortázar. Prosa sencilla pero cargada de tanto amor que parece inevitable no emocionarse con el triste final. Ahora los dragones se ven diferentes, ahora dan menos miedo.
July 1, 2016
Un divertido relato, que es complicado encuadrarlo en cuento, ensayo, crónica. Festivo e irreverente descontextualiza lo cotidiano para narrar una verdadera aventura a dos manos. Muy recomendable haber leído algunas obras de Cortázar con anterioridad pues hace muchas referencias.
De igual manera es necesario conocer el contexto en el que se realiza esta expedición pues es una travesía romántica de despedida.
De igual manera es necesario conocer el contexto en el que se realiza esta expedición pues es una travesía romántica de despedida.
February 18, 2023
Medio que me emocioné al final. Me encantó el formato y todo.
November 21, 2017
Es mas lo que te vende la contratapa que la historia en si. Un lindo final, algunas buenas frases coladas cada tanto, pero la verdad me fue eterno.
March 8, 2019
Oke 4,5 ster.
Maar wat een boek, wat een fantasie, wat een reis.
Zou nu niet meer kunnen omdat er altijd internet is. Juist hun vertraging in de tijd maakt het boek levendig.
Maar wat een boek, wat een fantasie, wat een reis.
Zou nu niet meer kunnen omdat er altijd internet is. Juist hun vertraging in de tijd maakt het boek levendig.
January 24, 2021
Trama: Julio e Carol passano 33 spassosi giorni in autostrada, tra un'area di sosta e l'altra.
Valutazione: divertente, pazzo, a tratti tenero.
Target: viaggiatori costretti in casa dai Covid19.
Valutazione: divertente, pazzo, a tratti tenero.
Target: viaggiatori costretti in casa dai Covid19.
September 11, 2008
Autonauts of the Cosmoroute is awfully heavy for a light read (consisting of nearly four hundred pages of notes taken on the dozens of rest stops between Paris and Marseille) but is ultimately a successful real-time travelogue, comparable in that respect to Wim Wenders' interminable and marvelous Kings of the Road.
Dunlop and Cortazar lived slow and died young. The publishers of this edition make a point of informing the reader that both authors would pass within two years of their voyage along the autoroute. I wondered how important that piece of knowledge was until I reached the book's bittersweet final pages, where the young authors touch on mortality with a courageous lightness that emphasizes the real scope of their undertaking.
Dunlop and Cortazar lived slow and died young. The publishers of this edition make a point of informing the reader that both authors would pass within two years of their voyage along the autoroute. I wondered how important that piece of knowledge was until I reached the book's bittersweet final pages, where the young authors touch on mortality with a courageous lightness that emphasizes the real scope of their undertaking.
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