Scan barcode
ruta_crnoja's review against another edition
informative
inspiring
lighthearted
reflective
slow-paced
5.0
kitkat2500's review against another edition
3.0
I would actually rate this book 3.5 stars...it presents discussions about the art of writing a novel which are fascinating for both writers and readers alike. I will read novels with a different perspective going forward.
The book is a collection of lectures given by the author, and I found the tone to be sometimes too lecture-y for my taste. But otherwise a fast read providing many insights.
The book is a collection of lectures given by the author, and I found the tone to be sometimes too lecture-y for my taste. But otherwise a fast read providing many insights.
amiraandthecats's review against another edition
4.0
Reading one of your favorite novelists talk about his writing process is like taking a walk inside his twisted genius mind. However, the book is more than just a manual on writing. It is a manifestation of the love for reading, for humanity and the simple beauty of our everyday lives.
james_d_swanson's review against another edition
3.0
When possible, always choose a book of quality. This book is full of quality information and deserves to be read more than once to capture the treasure it holds.
tifferschang's review against another edition
3.0
Orhan Pamuk's 'The Naive and the Sentimental Novelist' should be required reading in all English classes. Pamuk raises considerable points in dissecting the art of the novel both as a writer and as a reader. It a book that must be read, discussed, and digested.
al_sharnaqi's review against another edition
4.0
لماذا تقرأ الروايات؟
سؤالٌ كهذا يُثمر لك من الإجابات المختلفة الكثير، باختلاف عدد وأنماط القرّاء الموجهِ لهم. وفي الوقت ذاته، ما إن وجهت السؤال للكتَّاب: لماذا تكتب الروايات؟ حتى تحصد أيضًا عددًا مختلفًا من الإجابات. بيّد أنّه حين نُلقي نظرة على الأجوبة من كلا الطرفين –القرّاء والكتّاب- نجد أن كلّ تلك الأجوبة تدور في ذات المحور، أو على الأقل في عدّة محاور معدودة على أنماطٍ مختلفة.
يناقش أورهان باموك في كتابه هذا فكرة الروايات من ناحية القرَّاء والكتَّاب واستنادًا على ضوء خبرتهِ الشخصية في ذلك. فهو قارئٌ للروايات لأكثر من عقدٍ قبل أن يكون كاتب روايات. وعلى ضوء خبرتهِ، يناقش ما الذي يحدث لعقل الإنسان حين يقرأ الروايات، وكيف يعمل أثناء ما القراءة، والكتابة أيضًا.
يُشبّهِ أورهان باموك قارئ الرواية، بالمرء الذي يقود السيارة. فيقول: عقولنا تعمل بكلّ نشاط كلّما تعمقنا أكثر في الرواية. فعقلنا وإدراكنا يعملان باهتمام مع سرعة وتركيز، وينفذان العديد من العمليات في نفس الوقت. تمامًا مثل شخص يقود السيارة، يدفع بدون وعي كل أزرار التشغيل، يضغط برجله على الدواسات، يدير بكل دقة السيارة تبعًا للعديد من القواعد، يقرأ إشارة المرور ويفسرها، ويراقب حركة المرور بينما يقود. وهذا التشابه مع سائق السيارة لا ينطبق على القارئ فحسب، ولكن على الروائيّ أيضًا.
يفسر لنا أورهان باموك بعمق وبعد أن يُوضح النمط الذي يعمل فيه عقولنا عند قراءة الروايات وكتابتها أيضًا في حال الكتَّاب، الفرق بين الساذج والحساس، أسواءٌ قارئ ساذج أم حساس، أو كاتبٌ ساذج أم حساس. ويستخدم كلمة "ساذج" لوصف هذا النوع من الروائيين وقرّاء الرواية، أولئك الذين لا يشغلون أنفسهم بالجوانب الفنية لكتابة وقراءة رواية. وكلمة "حساس" لوصف الإحساس المعاكس تمامًا: بكلام آخر، القرّاء والكتَّاب المفتونون بتصنع النص وعجزه في تحقيق الواقع، والذين يولون اهتمامًا كبيرًا للأساليب التي يستخدمونها في كتابة الروايات والطريقة التي تعمل بها عقولنا عندما نقرأ.
جمع أورهان باموك المحاضرات التي ألقاها في السنوات الأخيرة في فن الرواية كتابةً وقراءةً، في هذا الكتاب، ليتيح لقرّائهِ الاستفادة من محاضراتهِ التي سبق وأن ألقاها في احدى الجامعات، على نحو موجزٍ واضح. ويوضح في الكتاب علاقة الروايات بالرسم، وبالمتاحف. وكيف أن عقولنا تسعى لتقبّل ذلك التناقض الذي يحدث معنا عند الاتصال بالروايات، والبحث الذي نصارع فيه من أجل معرفة محور الروايات. كما ويناقش فكرة الشخصية الأدبية، والحبكة الزمنية من حيث السرد والوصف وما الفرق بينهما.
في حقيقة الأمر، حين انتهيت من قراءة هذا الكتاب، وصلتُ لمرحلة ما وكأني أقول: إن المكان الذي نعود إليه، لن يكون هو نفسه الذي غادرنَاه. بهذا المعنى، تغيّر كل شيء داخل عقلي بشأن الروايات، كتابةً أم قراءة. فالطريقة التي كنت أتعامل فيه مع الرواية قبل قراءة هذا الكتاب، ومن بعد قراءتهِ، مختلفة تمامًا. فقد هيأ لي قراءتُه طرقًا كنت أتخبط على بابها من غير أن أتمكن البلوغ لبدايتها، وأنار لي من الغُرف المظلمة التي لم أكن أستطيع حينها العثور عليها بسبب الظلمة القاتمة.
ختامًا، وعند إتمام قراءة الكتاب، يتبادر لذهن القارئ أن يلقي على نفسه السؤال: هل أنا قارئٌ حساس أم ساذج؟ والكاتب كذلك بدوره: أأنا كاتبٌ حساسٌ أم ساذج؟ والجواب على السؤال يختلف من شخص لآخر. لكن أودُّ بأن أختتم بجواب أورهان باموك حين طُرح عليه السؤال في ختام محاضراتهِ بقولهِ: "أن تكون روائيًا هو الإبداع في أن تكون ساذجًا وحساسًا في الوقت نفسه.".
سؤالٌ كهذا يُثمر لك من الإجابات المختلفة الكثير، باختلاف عدد وأنماط القرّاء الموجهِ لهم. وفي الوقت ذاته، ما إن وجهت السؤال للكتَّاب: لماذا تكتب الروايات؟ حتى تحصد أيضًا عددًا مختلفًا من الإجابات. بيّد أنّه حين نُلقي نظرة على الأجوبة من كلا الطرفين –القرّاء والكتّاب- نجد أن كلّ تلك الأجوبة تدور في ذات المحور، أو على الأقل في عدّة محاور معدودة على أنماطٍ مختلفة.
يناقش أورهان باموك في كتابه هذا فكرة الروايات من ناحية القرَّاء والكتَّاب واستنادًا على ضوء خبرتهِ الشخصية في ذلك. فهو قارئٌ للروايات لأكثر من عقدٍ قبل أن يكون كاتب روايات. وعلى ضوء خبرتهِ، يناقش ما الذي يحدث لعقل الإنسان حين يقرأ الروايات، وكيف يعمل أثناء ما القراءة، والكتابة أيضًا.
يُشبّهِ أورهان باموك قارئ الرواية، بالمرء الذي يقود السيارة. فيقول: عقولنا تعمل بكلّ نشاط كلّما تعمقنا أكثر في الرواية. فعقلنا وإدراكنا يعملان باهتمام مع سرعة وتركيز، وينفذان العديد من العمليات في نفس الوقت. تمامًا مثل شخص يقود السيارة، يدفع بدون وعي كل أزرار التشغيل، يضغط برجله على الدواسات، يدير بكل دقة السيارة تبعًا للعديد من القواعد، يقرأ إشارة المرور ويفسرها، ويراقب حركة المرور بينما يقود. وهذا التشابه مع سائق السيارة لا ينطبق على القارئ فحسب، ولكن على الروائيّ أيضًا.
يفسر لنا أورهان باموك بعمق وبعد أن يُوضح النمط الذي يعمل فيه عقولنا عند قراءة الروايات وكتابتها أيضًا في حال الكتَّاب، الفرق بين الساذج والحساس، أسواءٌ قارئ ساذج أم حساس، أو كاتبٌ ساذج أم حساس. ويستخدم كلمة "ساذج" لوصف هذا النوع من الروائيين وقرّاء الرواية، أولئك الذين لا يشغلون أنفسهم بالجوانب الفنية لكتابة وقراءة رواية. وكلمة "حساس" لوصف الإحساس المعاكس تمامًا: بكلام آخر، القرّاء والكتَّاب المفتونون بتصنع النص وعجزه في تحقيق الواقع، والذين يولون اهتمامًا كبيرًا للأساليب التي يستخدمونها في كتابة الروايات والطريقة التي تعمل بها عقولنا عندما نقرأ.
جمع أورهان باموك المحاضرات التي ألقاها في السنوات الأخيرة في فن الرواية كتابةً وقراءةً، في هذا الكتاب، ليتيح لقرّائهِ الاستفادة من محاضراتهِ التي سبق وأن ألقاها في احدى الجامعات، على نحو موجزٍ واضح. ويوضح في الكتاب علاقة الروايات بالرسم، وبالمتاحف. وكيف أن عقولنا تسعى لتقبّل ذلك التناقض الذي يحدث معنا عند الاتصال بالروايات، والبحث الذي نصارع فيه من أجل معرفة محور الروايات. كما ويناقش فكرة الشخصية الأدبية، والحبكة الزمنية من حيث السرد والوصف وما الفرق بينهما.
في حقيقة الأمر، حين انتهيت من قراءة هذا الكتاب، وصلتُ لمرحلة ما وكأني أقول: إن المكان الذي نعود إليه، لن يكون هو نفسه الذي غادرنَاه. بهذا المعنى، تغيّر كل شيء داخل عقلي بشأن الروايات، كتابةً أم قراءة. فالطريقة التي كنت أتعامل فيه مع الرواية قبل قراءة هذا الكتاب، ومن بعد قراءتهِ، مختلفة تمامًا. فقد هيأ لي قراءتُه طرقًا كنت أتخبط على بابها من غير أن أتمكن البلوغ لبدايتها، وأنار لي من الغُرف المظلمة التي لم أكن أستطيع حينها العثور عليها بسبب الظلمة القاتمة.
ختامًا، وعند إتمام قراءة الكتاب، يتبادر لذهن القارئ أن يلقي على نفسه السؤال: هل أنا قارئٌ حساس أم ساذج؟ والكاتب كذلك بدوره: أأنا كاتبٌ حساسٌ أم ساذج؟ والجواب على السؤال يختلف من شخص لآخر. لكن أودُّ بأن أختتم بجواب أورهان باموك حين طُرح عليه السؤال في ختام محاضراتهِ بقولهِ: "أن تكون روائيًا هو الإبداع في أن تكون ساذجًا وحساسًا في الوقت نفسه.".
sharonbakar's review against another edition
3.0
What actually happens when we read a literary novel? And what is in the mind of an author when he writes one? These are the central questions addressed by Orhan Pamuk in The Naïve and Sentimental Novelist. And since the Turkish writer is both an avid reader and the Nobel Prize winning author of several internationally acclaimed novels (including Snow, My Name is Red, and The White Castle), he is extremely well-qualified to do so.
The title of the book is taken from the famous essay by Friedrich Schiller . Pamuk’s “naïve” novelists, he says, are unaware of the techniques they are using, and they write spontaneously as if carrying out a natural act, as opposed to “sentimental” or reflective novelists “who are concerned with artificiality of the text and its failure to attain reality”. I have to say though that I did not find the distinction a particularly useful scaffold for Pamuk’s arguments, particularly as the author himself admits that all great novelists ultimately have to be a blend of both. At times, his discussion seems rather abstract and academic, perhaps not surprisingly, as these six linked essays were initially delivered in the form of lectures at Harvard University in 2009.
On Naive and Sentimental Poetry
But it is when he writes more anecdotally and personally that he is at his best. Anyone who has fallen passionately in love with reading will recognize themselves in Pamuk’s descriptions of his younger self, encountering the great works of fiction for the first time, discovering in them important truths about life, and acquiring from them “a breathtaking sense of freedom and self-confidence”. Pamuk draws on the classics for his examples, including Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina and War and Peace, James Joyce’s Ulysses, Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, and Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.
Pamuk captures the special magic of the literary form. He describes how the words on the page become invisible as we look through them onto an entire landscape with the ability “to oscillate between the long view and fleeting moments, general thoughts and specific events, at a speed no other literary genre can offer.” We can simultaneously see, he says “the broader picture, the whole landscape, the thoughts of the individual, and the nuances of the character’s mood.”
More than once he refers to the “intense and tiring effort” required to read a literary novel, and he lists a whole lot of different things that the reader actually has to do simultaneously to connect with the text. We observe the scene and follow the narrative, and transform the words on the page into images. Our memory labours intensively to hold all the threads of the story and what we know of the characters. We appreciate the style, make judgments about the moral choices the characters make, and congratulate ourselves for being able to read “a difficult” novel.
As we read, we are constantly wondering, he says, how much of the novel tells of real experience and how much is an act of imagination, and also how much of the author’s own life is invested in the fiction. Indeed, he devotes a whole essay to the topic, but concludes, not surprisingly, that “the novel is not completely imaginary nor completely factual.”
But even as we are deriving pleasure from the surface details of the novel, we are searching at a deeper level for “motive, idea, purpose”, in fact what he calls “a secret centre”. Reading literary fiction, he says, is the act of determining the real centre of the novel, “whose source remains ambiguous but which nevertheless illuminates the whole.” It is the slow uncovering of this centre that gives the reader full satisfaction.
Popular genre fiction, he says, typically lacks this centre, and is read largely for comfort. But he does single out some genre writers (including Patricia Highsmith, John Le Carre, Stanislaw Lem and Philip K. Dick) as authors whose work can be read at a deeper level.
Pamuk is perhaps at his most controversial when he talks about the creation of character in the novel. He suggests that over the past 150 years our curiosity about characters has taken up much more space in the novel than it has in life, and that “It has sometimes become too self-indulgent, almost vulgar”. He believes that “People do not actually have as much character as we find portrayed in novels” , and reckons that human character is not nearly as important in shaping our live as it is made out to be in the novels and literary criticism of the west. This certainly is food for serious thought.
He goes on to attack the idea of the character-driven plot, where the author seems to expect that “… the hero like a prompter on stage will whisper to the novelist the entire course of the novel.” This approach, taught extensively on creative writing courses, “merely goes to show that many novelists begin to write their novels without being sure of their story, and that is the only way they are able to write.” He says that in his own writing his protagonist’s character will be formed, as a real person’s is, by situations and events.
Much of what is written about literature in academic circles is made inaccessible to the ordinary book-lover and writer by the jargon of literary theory. This book can be enjoyed by both the enthusiastic reader and by writers, and should serve to spark deeper discussion of the craft of the novel - whether or not one chooses to agree on all points with Pamuk.
And of course, perhaps more importantly for fans of Pamuk’s work, The Naïve and Sentimental Novelist gives an intriguing insight into the preoccupations and approach to writing of one of the world’s most important authors.
The title of the book is taken from the famous essay by Friedrich Schiller . Pamuk’s “naïve” novelists, he says, are unaware of the techniques they are using, and they write spontaneously as if carrying out a natural act, as opposed to “sentimental” or reflective novelists “who are concerned with artificiality of the text and its failure to attain reality”. I have to say though that I did not find the distinction a particularly useful scaffold for Pamuk’s arguments, particularly as the author himself admits that all great novelists ultimately have to be a blend of both. At times, his discussion seems rather abstract and academic, perhaps not surprisingly, as these six linked essays were initially delivered in the form of lectures at Harvard University in 2009.
On Naive and Sentimental Poetry
But it is when he writes more anecdotally and personally that he is at his best. Anyone who has fallen passionately in love with reading will recognize themselves in Pamuk’s descriptions of his younger self, encountering the great works of fiction for the first time, discovering in them important truths about life, and acquiring from them “a breathtaking sense of freedom and self-confidence”. Pamuk draws on the classics for his examples, including Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina and War and Peace, James Joyce’s Ulysses, Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, and Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.
Pamuk captures the special magic of the literary form. He describes how the words on the page become invisible as we look through them onto an entire landscape with the ability “to oscillate between the long view and fleeting moments, general thoughts and specific events, at a speed no other literary genre can offer.” We can simultaneously see, he says “the broader picture, the whole landscape, the thoughts of the individual, and the nuances of the character’s mood.”
More than once he refers to the “intense and tiring effort” required to read a literary novel, and he lists a whole lot of different things that the reader actually has to do simultaneously to connect with the text. We observe the scene and follow the narrative, and transform the words on the page into images. Our memory labours intensively to hold all the threads of the story and what we know of the characters. We appreciate the style, make judgments about the moral choices the characters make, and congratulate ourselves for being able to read “a difficult” novel.
As we read, we are constantly wondering, he says, how much of the novel tells of real experience and how much is an act of imagination, and also how much of the author’s own life is invested in the fiction. Indeed, he devotes a whole essay to the topic, but concludes, not surprisingly, that “the novel is not completely imaginary nor completely factual.”
But even as we are deriving pleasure from the surface details of the novel, we are searching at a deeper level for “motive, idea, purpose”, in fact what he calls “a secret centre”. Reading literary fiction, he says, is the act of determining the real centre of the novel, “whose source remains ambiguous but which nevertheless illuminates the whole.” It is the slow uncovering of this centre that gives the reader full satisfaction.
Popular genre fiction, he says, typically lacks this centre, and is read largely for comfort. But he does single out some genre writers (including Patricia Highsmith, John Le Carre, Stanislaw Lem and Philip K. Dick) as authors whose work can be read at a deeper level.
Pamuk is perhaps at his most controversial when he talks about the creation of character in the novel. He suggests that over the past 150 years our curiosity about characters has taken up much more space in the novel than it has in life, and that “It has sometimes become too self-indulgent, almost vulgar”. He believes that “People do not actually have as much character as we find portrayed in novels” , and reckons that human character is not nearly as important in shaping our live as it is made out to be in the novels and literary criticism of the west. This certainly is food for serious thought.
He goes on to attack the idea of the character-driven plot, where the author seems to expect that “… the hero like a prompter on stage will whisper to the novelist the entire course of the novel.” This approach, taught extensively on creative writing courses, “merely goes to show that many novelists begin to write their novels without being sure of their story, and that is the only way they are able to write.” He says that in his own writing his protagonist’s character will be formed, as a real person’s is, by situations and events.
Much of what is written about literature in academic circles is made inaccessible to the ordinary book-lover and writer by the jargon of literary theory. This book can be enjoyed by both the enthusiastic reader and by writers, and should serve to spark deeper discussion of the craft of the novel - whether or not one chooses to agree on all points with Pamuk.
And of course, perhaps more importantly for fans of Pamuk’s work, The Naïve and Sentimental Novelist gives an intriguing insight into the preoccupations and approach to writing of one of the world’s most important authors.
wmhenrymorris's review against another edition
Argument by self-extrapolation, which is interesting but interesting more in a personal essay kind of way than a philosophy of aesthetics or literary criticism kind of way.