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ivyiv's review against another edition
dark
emotional
informative
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
marc129's review against another edition
2.0
Autobiographical story of a 14-year-old jewish boy in Budapest, in 1944. He is put on a train and deported to Auschwitz, and later Buchenwald. This is not an "ordinary" holocaust-novel. The little Gyurgi just describes what he sees and feels, with great eyes and an open mind that is especially susceptible to the efficiency of the Germans. Of course he sees the cruelties and observes his own suffering, but in his view these things are quite logical, almost normal.
Kertesz has often been criticised for this view on the holocaust, but an intelligent reader should recognize the "perverse" layer of his story. It is a very unusual take on a historical reality most people reading this book know a lot about and expect something quite different. Perhaps Kertesz wanted to show how variegated perceptions can be. Interesting as this may be, the story he tells didn't really resonate, I'm afraid.
Kertesz has often been criticised for this view on the holocaust, but an intelligent reader should recognize the "perverse" layer of his story. It is a very unusual take on a historical reality most people reading this book know a lot about and expect something quite different. Perhaps Kertesz wanted to show how variegated perceptions can be. Interesting as this may be, the story he tells didn't really resonate, I'm afraid.
rbcp82's review against another edition
5.0
Probably the best "holocaust literature" I read. Both in the story itself and the form that contains the story, the tropes used by the narrator to make the incomprehensible story comprehensible. All done very well. For many reasons, it is not an easy reading.
Cynicism, irony... the sheer fact of survival violate the novel's clear and logical composition.
... unable to interpret what happened as reality, only as fiction.
"I must admit, there are certain things I would never be able to explain, not precisely, not if I were to consider them from the angle of my own expectations, of rule, or reason--from the angle of life, in sum, the order of things, at least insofar as I am acquainted with it."
The most admirable aspect of this novel is the unbroken neutral tone that persists. Self-denial/self-deception the only survival mode one can adapt.
The type of (in)human experience that one could never understand through vicarious experience.
Obliterate in whole all human dignity, human decency
---------------
He did not bother returning my greeting as it is well known in the neighborhood that he could not abide Jews.
...the shared Jewish fate. ...this fate was one of "unbroken persecution that has lasted for millennia."
... over the immutable order of things.
Everything was in motion, everything functioning, everyone in their place and doing what they had to do, precisely, cheerfully, in a well-oiled fashion.
It turned out that the soap did not, sad to say, lather much but contained a lot of sharp, gritty specks that grazed the skin.
...handed out red enameled bowls and battered spoons--one each between two of us, since the stock was limited, they told us, which was also why, they added, we should return the bowls as soon as they had been emptied.
...fewer details have stayed with me--more just their tone, a sense, what I might call a general impression.
At all events, in any place, even a concentration camp, one gets stuck into a new thing with good intentions, at least that was my experience; for the time being, it was sufficient to become a good prisoner, the rest was in the hands of the future--that, by and large, was how I grasped it...
...that even when soup was being dished out one would do better to aim, not for the front, but for the back of the queue, where you could predict they would be serving from the bottom of the vat, and therefore from the thicker sediment.
For what malice do we in fact have to bear against one another at the individual level, if one thinks about it?
His convict's cap slipping down onto his ears, his face all sunken, pinched, and peaky, a jaundiced dewdrop on the tip of his nose.
But neither stubbornness nor prayers nor any form of escape could have freed me from one thing: hunger. I had, naturally, felt--or at least supposed I felt--hunger before, back at home; I had felt hungry at the brickyard, on the train, at Auschwitz, even at Buchenwald, but I had never before had the sensation like this, protractedly, over a long haul, if I may put it that way. I was transformed into a hole, a void of some kind, and my every endeavor, every effort, was bent to stopping, filling, and silencing this bottomless, evermore clamorous void. I had eyes for that alone, my entire intellect could serve that alone, my every act was directed toward that; and if I did not gnaw on wood or iron or pebbles, it was only because those things could not be chewed and digested. But I did try with sand, for instance, and anytime I saw grass I would never hesitate...
...every morning I believed that would be the last morning I would get up.
Cynicism, irony... the sheer fact of survival violate the novel's clear and logical composition.
... unable to interpret what happened as reality, only as fiction.
"I must admit, there are certain things I would never be able to explain, not precisely, not if I were to consider them from the angle of my own expectations, of rule, or reason--from the angle of life, in sum, the order of things, at least insofar as I am acquainted with it."
The most admirable aspect of this novel is the unbroken neutral tone that persists. Self-denial/self-deception the only survival mode one can adapt.
The type of (in)human experience that one could never understand through vicarious experience.
Obliterate in whole all human dignity, human decency
---------------
He did not bother returning my greeting as it is well known in the neighborhood that he could not abide Jews.
...the shared Jewish fate. ...this fate was one of "unbroken persecution that has lasted for millennia."
... over the immutable order of things.
Everything was in motion, everything functioning, everyone in their place and doing what they had to do, precisely, cheerfully, in a well-oiled fashion.
It turned out that the soap did not, sad to say, lather much but contained a lot of sharp, gritty specks that grazed the skin.
...handed out red enameled bowls and battered spoons--one each between two of us, since the stock was limited, they told us, which was also why, they added, we should return the bowls as soon as they had been emptied.
...fewer details have stayed with me--more just their tone, a sense, what I might call a general impression.
At all events, in any place, even a concentration camp, one gets stuck into a new thing with good intentions, at least that was my experience; for the time being, it was sufficient to become a good prisoner, the rest was in the hands of the future--that, by and large, was how I grasped it...
...that even when soup was being dished out one would do better to aim, not for the front, but for the back of the queue, where you could predict they would be serving from the bottom of the vat, and therefore from the thicker sediment.
For what malice do we in fact have to bear against one another at the individual level, if one thinks about it?
His convict's cap slipping down onto his ears, his face all sunken, pinched, and peaky, a jaundiced dewdrop on the tip of his nose.
But neither stubbornness nor prayers nor any form of escape could have freed me from one thing: hunger. I had, naturally, felt--or at least supposed I felt--hunger before, back at home; I had felt hungry at the brickyard, on the train, at Auschwitz, even at Buchenwald, but I had never before had the sensation like this, protractedly, over a long haul, if I may put it that way. I was transformed into a hole, a void of some kind, and my every endeavor, every effort, was bent to stopping, filling, and silencing this bottomless, evermore clamorous void. I had eyes for that alone, my entire intellect could serve that alone, my every act was directed toward that; and if I did not gnaw on wood or iron or pebbles, it was only because those things could not be chewed and digested. But I did try with sand, for instance, and anytime I saw grass I would never hesitate...
...every morning I believed that would be the last morning I would get up.
maryster's review against another edition
4.0
Πραγματική βαθμολογία 4.5/5.
Σίγουρα μια οπτική όχι από τις αναμενώμενες για κάποιον που ξεκινά να διαβάσει για το Auschwitz και το Buchenwald, αλλά όντως σε αγγίζει σαν μια οπτική ενός μάρτυρα που ήταν παιδί όταν το έζησε όλο αυτό.
Πολύ ωραίο βιβλίο το συστήνω ανεπιφύλακτα.
Σίγουρα μια οπτική όχι από τις αναμενώμενες για κάποιον που ξεκινά να διαβάσει για το Auschwitz και το Buchenwald, αλλά όντως σε αγγίζει σαν μια οπτική ενός μάρτυρα που ήταν παιδί όταν το έζησε όλο αυτό.
Πολύ ωραίο βιβλίο το συστήνω ανεπιφύλακτα.
gosia03's review against another edition
4.0
Ogólnie nie jest to książka o której będę mówić, że ją kocham, ale jest strasznie dobra.
Sposób w jaki została napisana bardzo mi się spodobał.
Książka sama w sobie jest genialna, ale możliwe, że przeczytałam ją w złym momencie, bo przeczytanie zajęło mi strasznie długo i była to ciężka przeprawa.
narazie zostawiam 4,25, ale na pewno do niej wrócę w lepszym momencie i okaże się czy ocena się zmieni
Sposób w jaki została napisana bardzo mi się spodobał.
Książka sama w sobie jest genialna, ale możliwe, że przeczytałam ją w złym momencie, bo przeczytanie zajęło mi strasznie długo i była to ciężka przeprawa.
narazie zostawiam 4,25, ale na pewno do niej wrócę w lepszym momencie i okaże się czy ocena się zmieni
musicsaves's review against another edition
3.0
FIRST LINE REVIEW: "I didn't go to school today." This is likely the shortest sentence in the whole book by at least 50 words! I often felt like I was reading a Hungarian version of a William Faulkner novel. Exhausting!! The narrator's voice is quite distinct and clear, but I found his long, rambling style to be tiring. Certainly a unique perspective on Holocaust novels, though.
christopherc's review against another edition
5.0
Imre Kertesz's FATELESS ("Sorstalansag") is a remarkable and original work within the harrowing field of Holocaust literature. While the bulk of the novel chronicles incomprehensible savagery and pain, the last section of the book makes a number of confessions which transform the author's message completely and make a daring break with other Holocaust writers such as Primo Levi. For a reader who doesn't know what to expect, the ending is shocking (though empowering and hope-giving).
The narrator is a 15-year old Jewish boy living in a suburb of Budapest. As the novel opens, he is saying goodbye to his father, who is leaving for the compulsory labor forced upon Jews by Hungary's Nazi-allied government of the time. A few months later, the narrator is himself shocked to be rounded up with other Jews, under a plan to send them to work within Germany. As they arrive in Auschwitz they naively assume that it will be a place where, though the work is hard, they'll have fun new experiences and meet new people before returning home. Within a few days they realise the purpose of the sinister smokestacks of the camp: they belong to incinerators where the infirm and old among them are disposed of after being murdered in gas chambers. This is only the beginning of the unimaginably terrible journey of the narrator, for he goes on to Buchenwald and Zeits before the Americans liberate his camp and he returns to Hungary.
I can't comment on the translation, having read the translation into Esperanto by Istvan Ertl, but I think that the language of the novel would be preserved quite well in English. The narrator of Kertesz's work speaks in a simple and unadored (but never austere) style. The narrator reports what he sees in a matter-of-fact style, understanding that he doesn't need to make long moral proclamations because any human being can recognise the inhumanity of the setting.
If one reads only a single novel about the Holocaust, it should be this one. No other writer has captured the complexity of a victim's thoughts as Kertesz, and the Nobel prize was well-deserved.
The narrator is a 15-year old Jewish boy living in a suburb of Budapest. As the novel opens, he is saying goodbye to his father, who is leaving for the compulsory labor forced upon Jews by Hungary's Nazi-allied government of the time. A few months later, the narrator is himself shocked to be rounded up with other Jews, under a plan to send them to work within Germany. As they arrive in Auschwitz they naively assume that it will be a place where, though the work is hard, they'll have fun new experiences and meet new people before returning home. Within a few days they realise the purpose of the sinister smokestacks of the camp: they belong to incinerators where the infirm and old among them are disposed of after being murdered in gas chambers. This is only the beginning of the unimaginably terrible journey of the narrator, for he goes on to Buchenwald and Zeits before the Americans liberate his camp and he returns to Hungary.
I can't comment on the translation, having read the translation into Esperanto by Istvan Ertl, but I think that the language of the novel would be preserved quite well in English. The narrator of Kertesz's work speaks in a simple and unadored (but never austere) style. The narrator reports what he sees in a matter-of-fact style, understanding that he doesn't need to make long moral proclamations because any human being can recognise the inhumanity of the setting.
If one reads only a single novel about the Holocaust, it should be this one. No other writer has captured the complexity of a victim's thoughts as Kertesz, and the Nobel prize was well-deserved.
ionm's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
informative
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
György Köves is a fourteen years old Jewish boy living in Budapest in the year of 1944. After his father is sent to a labour camp, his schooling is replaced by factory work to help the German war effort. One day he is stopped on the bus to work by a policeman along with the other Jewish boys, and is eventually promised work abroad. After a tiresome train journey, he arrives at his first destination, the Auschwitz concentration camp. Lying about his age secures him a transfer to the Buchenwald concentration camp, and then to the Zeitz concentration camp.
Inspired by the writer’s own experiences as a boy in the aforementioned concentration camps, “Fatelessness” is a surprisingly unemotional retelling of life in captivity as seen through the eyes of a fictional child. The events are perceived through primal curiosity and unquestionable acceptance of one’s fate. We witness the physical examinations that decide whether someone lives or dies. We are described the demeaning process of disinfection which leads from transforming the respectability of a clothed human being into the raggedness of a prisoner dressed in striped uniforms, void of any worldly possessions. We feel the hunger satiated by inedible rationed soups. We understand the necessity to work to preserve one’s life. A shudder at the helplessness of a child deciding to lie down on the ground and sleep every time he is beaten mercilessly. All of these scenes lack the emotional fragility of Władysław Szpilman’s “The Pianist” or the tragic horror of Thomas Keneally’s “Schindler's Ark”.
The feeling of being cheated of a visceral enlightenment based on the tragedy of history may arise in many a reader. Yet, Kertész’s writing is not about sensationalising the Holocaust. The writer aims for a more complex and deeper understanding of the events and the experiences of those that were part of it. The Holocaust did not emerge out of nowhere. It was the rational conclusion of years/decades/centuries of political change that allowed for antisemitism to permeate the minds of ordinary citizens that eventually led to many of them following orders and turning a blind eye to a reality in which the process of dehumanisation of Jews was relegated to the ordinariness of life. Kertész does not hold any individual responsible, he simply implies through subtle gestures that upon reading the novel we regret to accept that the same ignorance is still in play in our daily life, constantly shaping history and its never-ending injustices.
The main focus of the novel is understanding the individual experience of the victims of the Holocaust. The distant emotion encountered in most of the story gains meaning in its closing two chapters, first as a mirage and ultimately as a lucid rationalisation. The fate of each individual is shaped by their action, their desire to live or die that they make with each step in time. Fate is not a romantic bestowal or tragic curse. It is a construct that frames the human condition to distance from the reality it experiences. The lack of this concept is ultimately a liberation into accepting one’s humanity, one’s power over their unique life story. György Köves may not have seen the gas chambers or the brutality that killed millions, yet this does not make his story less valuable. Moreover, his survival is meaningful, for it allows others to understand the different facets of history. Most importantly the memory of it lets him connect his future into a more meaningful continuum.
“Fatelessness” leaves us with surprising positivism and hope. The light of existence is expressed through the need to remove metaphysical constructs and instead replace them with the learnings of memory. Imre Kertész wrote a novel that is a life story each of us must encounter and learn from – a remarkable celebration of humanity and a damnation of its own choices.
Inspired by the writer’s own experiences as a boy in the aforementioned concentration camps, “Fatelessness” is a surprisingly unemotional retelling of life in captivity as seen through the eyes of a fictional child. The events are perceived through primal curiosity and unquestionable acceptance of one’s fate. We witness the physical examinations that decide whether someone lives or dies. We are described the demeaning process of disinfection which leads from transforming the respectability of a clothed human being into the raggedness of a prisoner dressed in striped uniforms, void of any worldly possessions. We feel the hunger satiated by inedible rationed soups. We understand the necessity to work to preserve one’s life. A shudder at the helplessness of a child deciding to lie down on the ground and sleep every time he is beaten mercilessly. All of these scenes lack the emotional fragility of Władysław Szpilman’s “The Pianist” or the tragic horror of Thomas Keneally’s “Schindler's Ark”.
The feeling of being cheated of a visceral enlightenment based on the tragedy of history may arise in many a reader. Yet, Kertész’s writing is not about sensationalising the Holocaust. The writer aims for a more complex and deeper understanding of the events and the experiences of those that were part of it. The Holocaust did not emerge out of nowhere. It was the rational conclusion of years/decades/centuries of political change that allowed for antisemitism to permeate the minds of ordinary citizens that eventually led to many of them following orders and turning a blind eye to a reality in which the process of dehumanisation of Jews was relegated to the ordinariness of life. Kertész does not hold any individual responsible, he simply implies through subtle gestures that upon reading the novel we regret to accept that the same ignorance is still in play in our daily life, constantly shaping history and its never-ending injustices.
The main focus of the novel is understanding the individual experience of the victims of the Holocaust. The distant emotion encountered in most of the story gains meaning in its closing two chapters, first as a mirage and ultimately as a lucid rationalisation. The fate of each individual is shaped by their action, their desire to live or die that they make with each step in time. Fate is not a romantic bestowal or tragic curse. It is a construct that frames the human condition to distance from the reality it experiences. The lack of this concept is ultimately a liberation into accepting one’s humanity, one’s power over their unique life story. György Köves may not have seen the gas chambers or the brutality that killed millions, yet this does not make his story less valuable. Moreover, his survival is meaningful, for it allows others to understand the different facets of history. Most importantly the memory of it lets him connect his future into a more meaningful continuum.
“Fatelessness” leaves us with surprising positivism and hope. The light of existence is expressed through the need to remove metaphysical constructs and instead replace them with the learnings of memory. Imre Kertész wrote a novel that is a life story each of us must encounter and learn from – a remarkable celebration of humanity and a damnation of its own choices.