Status Updates From Scoala pentru prosti

oh yeah this is at least as good as i remember

No clue what’s happening honestly but i’ll just see the book through to its conclusion

Started well but too meandering, too abstract, not my cup of tea.

You see, a man cannot disappear instantly and completely; at first he turns into something different than himself in form and essence - for instance into a waltz, into a distant, barely perceptible evening waltz, that is, disappears partially, and only then disappears entirely.

dnf, it's a translated piece that it's beauty isn't conveyed if it isn't in the original language. what a pity, if i learnt russian i'd pick this book up first thing

Наверное, самое красивое, что я читала на русском языке

Wow! Engrossing and strange. Faulkner meets…. Dedalus meets Soviet coming of age tale?

15

remembering what a beautiful dream this book is and savoring every line ❣️

“I’ll break into your dreams and your reality like a hooligan breaks into a class in session.”

I think my dad would have liked this book.

Still going strong...
Will definitely need a reread to get everything out of this.

I don't like that the endnotes are not marked in the text. Other than that, I have no complaints. The prose flows from thought to thought and it is nice to meander through the mind of Solokov.

It's not like the writing has no appeal; it's lyrical, flows beautifully, and is sometimes poignant. But... I like story, I like plot. Word portraits like this are beautiful art, but they're not what I read for. That said, I don't plan on making this a dnf.

Our calendars are too arbitrary and the numbers written in them means nothing and backed by nothing, like counterfeit money. why, for example,it is customary to think the first of January is followed by the second and not immediately by the twenty-eighth? ..This sequence of days is some poetic gibberish.There is no sequence at all; The days come whenever each feels like it, and occasionally several come simultanouly.

Ого, шото маловат я пока для постмодерна

Ketimbang dibilang stream of consciousness, lebih cocok dibilang stream of madness kali ya..

Probably the most “experimental” thing I’ve read in awhile, after being turned off by the godawful La Medusa. This, thankfully, is not that. Quite beautiful so far.

а эта форма в свою очередь оказала влияние на содержание»

чем открытое недомогание. Следовательно подсушенный нами внутренний шепот [невинного] звучит громче чем возмущенный крик всех моральных судей в мире. Содержание романа обусловила определенную форму,

Картина жестокости и несправедливости окружающих всплывает как бы сама собой: казалось бы самым беспристрастным способом все это зло выставляется на всеобщее суд. Такое косвенное изобличение намного эффектнее,

With the COVID-19 pandemic slowly driving me crazy, I thought to return to some in-progress books and escape from reality for a bit.
This particular one was a poor choice, as it manages to drive me crazier still.

Yes yes yes

Chapter 2 is literally the only good part of this book

This is like... The Jackson Pollock of novels

We are leaving the station farther and farther behind, dissolving in the world of suburban things, sounds, and colors, and with every motion we seep more and more into the sand and into the bark of the trees, we become the optical illusion, invention, child’s amusement, a play of shadow and light. We break into the voices of birds and people and we reach the immortality of the nonexistent.

A fairy tale. It’s twilight outside; the snow is the color of dark blue ash or the wing of a pigeon. Homework isn’t done. Dreamy emptiness in the heart, in the solar plexus. Sadness of the entire man. You are little. But you know, you already know. Mother said: This will also pass. Childhood will pass like a clanking orange streetcar—across the bridge, spreading almost unreal sparks of flame.

Still cannot make any headaway into the plot structure; god, this is one hell of a confusing book!

....that in time nothing is located in the past and in the future but contains none of the present, and in nature it comes close to the impossible, therefore, as can be derived from what was said, it doesn’t exist because there, where nothing would be, we should be able to see emptiness, but regardless, continues the artist, using the windmills I’ll produce wind at any time.

Reading it in Russian. Already hooked.