Woodcutters (Phoenix Fiction)
von Thomas Bernhard
This controversial portrayal of Viennese artistic circles begins as the writer-narrator arrives at an 'artistic dinner' given by a composer and his society wife—a couple that the writer once admired and has come to loathe. The guest of honor, an actor from the Burgtheater, is late. As the other guests wait impatiently, they are seen through the critical eye of the narrator, who begins a silent but frenzied, sometimes maniacal, and often ambivalent tirade against these former friends, most of whom were brought together by the woman whom they had buried that day. Reflections on Joana's life and suicide are mixed with these denunciations until the famous actor arrives, bringing a culmination to the evening for which the narrator had not even thought to hope."Mr. Bernhard's portrait of a society in dissolution has a Scandinavian darkness reminiscent of Ibsen and Strindberg, but it is filtered through a minimalist prose. . . . Woodcutters offers an unusually intense, engrossing literary experience."—Mark Anderson, New York Times Book Review"Musical, dramatic and set in Vienna, Woodcutters. . . .resembles a Strauss operetta with a libretto by Beckett."—Joseph Costes, Chicago Tribune"Thomas Bernhard, the great pessimist-rhapsodist of German literature . . . never compromises, never makes peace with life. . . . Only in the pure, fierce isolation of his art can he get justice."—Michael Feingold, Village Voice"In typical Bernhardian fashion the narrator is moved by hatred and affection for a society that he believes destroys the very artistic genius it purports to glorify. A superb translation."—Library Journal
Was ist bookie?
- Gratis Lieferung in Deutschland
- Finde Bücher die zu dir passen
- Tracke dein Leseverhalten und setze dir Ziele
- Connecte dich mit anderen Leser*innen
Woodcutters (Phoenix Fiction)
von Thomas Bernhard
This controversial portrayal of Viennese artistic circles begins as the writer-narrator arrives at an 'artistic dinner' given by a composer and his society wife—a couple that the writer once admired and has come to loathe. The guest of honor, an actor from the Burgtheater, is late. As the other guests wait impatiently, they are seen through the critical eye of the narrator, who begins a silent but frenzied, sometimes maniacal, and often ambivalent tirade against these former friends, most of whom were brought together by the woman whom they had buried that day. Reflections on Joana's life and suicide are mixed with these denunciations until the famous actor arrives, bringing a culmination to the evening for which the narrator had not even thought to hope."Mr. Bernhard's portrait of a society in dissolution has a Scandinavian darkness reminiscent of Ibsen and Strindberg, but it is filtered through a minimalist prose. . . . Woodcutters offers an unusually intense, engrossing literary experience."—Mark Anderson, New York Times Book Review"Musical, dramatic and set in Vienna, Woodcutters. . . .resembles a Strauss operetta with a libretto by Beckett."—Joseph Costes, Chicago Tribune"Thomas Bernhard, the great pessimist-rhapsodist of German literature . . . never compromises, never makes peace with life. . . . Only in the pure, fierce isolation of his art can he get justice."—Michael Feingold, Village Voice"In typical Bernhardian fashion the narrator is moved by hatred and affection for a society that he believes destroys the very artistic genius it purports to glorify. A superb translation."—Library Journal
Aktuelle Rezensionen(1)
Rezension von George Patrick HaneLying on my large, comfy couch, I decided to give Thomas Bernhard another try, having previously abandoned [b: Frost]. Based on everything I’d heard about him, I was certain I would love his work. The cold, analytical prose, the cynicism towards society, the dry, witty humor… that’s usually right up my literary alley. [b: Woodcutters] essentially consists of the narrator sitting in a wing chair (<i>Ohrensessel</i>) most of the book, dissecting the Vienna bohemia, himself, and humanity in all its hypocrisy. Theoretically, I should love that: I’ve always enjoyed those minimalistic Kammerspiel settings. I also can relate to the protagonist: having spent years in artsy "avant-garde" circles before ultimately deciding to break away from them. So, I read and read and waited for that moment where it finally clicked... but it never happend. I was very quickly losing interest in the narrator's pessimistic, hateful train of thought… mostly because as I now lay content on my comfy couch, I just don't feel that kind of grimness anymore. I read the Ohrensessel as a metaphor for his isolation and his self-appointed role as a bitter observer. More than once I thought I would probably just get up from that chair after a few minutes, leave the gathering, and be perfectly fine with it. Easier sat than done, I know… I think I understand the core theme: the aporetic paradox of misanthropy intertwined with a desperate need for human connection, which keeps him stuck in that Ohrensessel. Also, Bernhard's use of repetition as a stylistic element didn't work for me at all. I recognize it’s intended to have a hypnotic, perhaps even rhythmic musical quality, but it just made me a bit drowsy. And as for the corners of my mouth: they didn't move a single, tiny bit upward during reading…and believe me, those are the most well-trained muscles on my body. Maybe it’s also that I find satires a bit annoying and even cowardly nowadays. It‘s not that I disliked it because I didn't understand it. I understood it very well, maybe to well. I just didn't feel it.