maddalenabrozzi's review against another edition
dark
mysterious
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
inkmir's review
challenging
dark
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Suicidal thoughts, Suicide, and Misogyny
david_rhee's review against another edition
3.0
A country doctor wants to speak to his son about something important which has been weighing upon him for some time. He takes him along his rounds through the surrounding Austrian mountainous towns and the long lineup of freaks or "gargoyles" begins. It is one grotesque figure after another in quick succession, so that it seems the doctor has forgotten to have that overdue conversation with his son...or was this it? The novel breaks abruptly into the visit to another patient, Prince Saurau, who rattles off on a monologue of startling length. His ramblings have a disarming effect which actually opens one to be more receptive to the more profound words of the mad prince. The dark tones enhanced by a preoccupation with the prospects of one's own decay and death pervade the whole work. The style takes some getting used to, but it should be enjoyable to those who prefer narratives which stream along like the thought associations of a relaxed mind.
sefugaz's review
4.0
Se me hace una novela como escrita por Cioran, lo cual es bueno, es muy bueno porque me encanta el nihilismo. Lo único malo es el uso excesivo de muletillas, que si bien le da dinamismo al texto, al mismo tiempo esa repetición acaba por ser molesta. Pensaba leerme un grupo de tres novelas pero no. Estoy contento de conocer a Bernhard, pero esperaré un año o más para leerme alguna otra novela. En pequeñas dosis creo que es lo mejor.
lisalotte's review against another edition
adventurous
challenging
dark
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
3.5
msaari's review against another edition
3.0
The first part is interesting: a nihilistic, hateful description of the freaks and losers of the Austrian countryside. Then we get to the mad prince and his monologue, and then the book is pretty much a train wreck. Fascinating, but Bernhard has written better books. [b:Alte Meister|11701118|Alte Meister|Thomas Bernhard|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1353941343s/11701118.jpg|41478117], for example.
jimmylorunning's review against another edition
3.0
I'm entering into my second phase of Bernhard. In which I am no longer enamoured simply with Bernhard being Bernhard (though I enjoy it immensely). I know what he does, and I know he does it well, so what more can I say about a Bernhard book? There is no point focussing on the repetition, only that it's there. And no point focussing on the misanthropy or the humor or the very intentional style, only that it's there.
What interested me about this early Bernhard is that those things were not in place yet. You can see them just on the cusp of formation, but while Bernhard was honing his formula, he wrote this book which completely puzzled me. The first half of the book seemed almost like a traditional narrative in which something is very untraditional, something I can't exactly put my finger on.
Father (who is a doctor) and son travel around the countryside to treat a bunch of sick people. Most of these cases involve other stories such as barbarism, murder, cruelty to animals, slow insanity due to isolation, etc. This is all relayed in a calm fashion, as if from the pen of one of his dour country-mates, Peter Handke. It's like Bernhard is trying to show us the varieties of perversion of the outside world. The forms of Gargoyle-ness that we must first gargle before swallowing.
Then, in the last half of the book, we enter the perversion of the inside world. Father and son meet up with a prince who has gone out of his mind. The prince gives a long rant which fills up the last half of the book. At first glance, this is a very Bernhardian rant. On further thought, however, there were quite a few differences. Firstly, I found the humor quite lacking in this rant, whereas I could barely get through a page of most of his books without cracking up.
Secondly, it seems to me one of the most fruitful sources of Bernhard's humor comes from knowing when not to stop. He usually goes on about something, and just when he is winding down, he takes off again on the very same tangent. This dizzying ever-obsessive mind has not quite developed yet. Granted, he still goes on for pages on one topic before moving on, but the way the sentences are formed do not lend themselves to the same kind of maddening myopia. And in parts, he jumps from one topic to another, flirting restlessly with a variety of under-developed generalities within a few sentences. This is the exact opposite strategy of the 'drilling-down' action of most of his prose.
All of this is mere observation. I am not saying it is better or not as good. However, something about it seems odd to me. Mainly: I can't really figure out what he was trying to do, where he was taking us. There's definitely a direction, but without any destination. The book just peters out at the end, and I am left wondering mostly about the narrator and his father. They seemed so plain, so boring, so calm and unmarred by the perversions around them, and also so purposeless in the entire narrative. What little backstory that can be gleaned about them is inessential to the much more entertaining stories about the barkeep or the twisted necks of exotic birds. What's more, they make judgments on those around them, but in a completely detached way.
I'm not sure Bernhard really knew where he was going with this book, maybe it was just a convenient structure into which he could place a few short stories, and experiment with his budding rant-style... but perhaps I'm also missing something.
What interested me about this early Bernhard is that those things were not in place yet. You can see them just on the cusp of formation, but while Bernhard was honing his formula, he wrote this book which completely puzzled me. The first half of the book seemed almost like a traditional narrative in which something is very untraditional, something I can't exactly put my finger on.
Father (who is a doctor) and son travel around the countryside to treat a bunch of sick people. Most of these cases involve other stories such as barbarism, murder, cruelty to animals, slow insanity due to isolation, etc. This is all relayed in a calm fashion, as if from the pen of one of his dour country-mates, Peter Handke. It's like Bernhard is trying to show us the varieties of perversion of the outside world. The forms of Gargoyle-ness that we must first gargle before swallowing.
Then, in the last half of the book, we enter the perversion of the inside world. Father and son meet up with a prince who has gone out of his mind. The prince gives a long rant which fills up the last half of the book. At first glance, this is a very Bernhardian rant. On further thought, however, there were quite a few differences. Firstly, I found the humor quite lacking in this rant, whereas I could barely get through a page of most of his books without cracking up.
Secondly, it seems to me one of the most fruitful sources of Bernhard's humor comes from knowing when not to stop. He usually goes on about something, and just when he is winding down, he takes off again on the very same tangent. This dizzying ever-obsessive mind has not quite developed yet. Granted, he still goes on for pages on one topic before moving on, but the way the sentences are formed do not lend themselves to the same kind of maddening myopia. And in parts, he jumps from one topic to another, flirting restlessly with a variety of under-developed generalities within a few sentences. This is the exact opposite strategy of the 'drilling-down' action of most of his prose.
All of this is mere observation. I am not saying it is better or not as good. However, something about it seems odd to me. Mainly: I can't really figure out what he was trying to do, where he was taking us. There's definitely a direction, but without any destination. The book just peters out at the end, and I am left wondering mostly about the narrator and his father. They seemed so plain, so boring, so calm and unmarred by the perversions around them, and also so purposeless in the entire narrative. What little backstory that can be gleaned about them is inessential to the much more entertaining stories about the barkeep or the twisted necks of exotic birds. What's more, they make judgments on those around them, but in a completely detached way.
I'm not sure Bernhard really knew where he was going with this book, maybe it was just a convenient structure into which he could place a few short stories, and experiment with his budding rant-style... but perhaps I'm also missing something.
kingkong's review against another edition
3.0
Bernhard tricks you into thinking this is a normal novel with regular sized paragraphs
adrianasturalvarez's review against another edition
4.0
"And there is something else that is unbearable," he said. "The composers of symphonies always have symphonies on their minds, writers always have writing, builders always building, circus dancers always circus dancing - it's unendurable." (pg. 145)
My first Bernhard. I don't know why I enjoyed this novel as much as I did. I really shouldn't have. On the surface it is boring and exhausting, and yet, I haven't been this inspired by a novel in a long while.
At it's heart this is a novel about ideas trapped within various bodies and the ensuing perversion this causes. The first half of the novel follows a doctor and his son as he makes his rounds in a small Austrian village. Along the way they encounter people who are trapped within class distinctions, trapped within societal laws, trapped within physical bodies, and within power dynamics even as this doctor and his son are also trapped within their own relationship, though they struggle to gain purchase on it.
In the second half of the novel, Bernhard really goes for it with an artistic risk. It consists entirely of one man's monologue and the impression it makes on the doctor's son. There is a lot going on here, too much for a few pithy remarks in a Goodreads review, just know this is rich soil and Bernhard more or less pulls off his daring.
The starting point for this insanely rambling monologue is a demonstration of a man trapped within his own language and sense of identity. One reading of this half of the novel could be that this man desperately attempts to use language as a means to get himself out of himself which, of course, doesn't logically follow and therefore leads him to a kind of internal loop of madness. You know, like Comcast technical support only with yourself.
What makes this rather rigorous artistic project palatable are its generous variety of entry points and the fact that Bernhard is an excellent writer. As a result, this long nearly continuous 100 page monologue isn't a slog but at times hypnotically fascinating.
This is Bernhard's second novel and I understand he refines and matures his style in later works. I will certainly be reading them.
I recommend this novel to the adventurous.
My first Bernhard. I don't know why I enjoyed this novel as much as I did. I really shouldn't have. On the surface it is boring and exhausting, and yet, I haven't been this inspired by a novel in a long while.
At it's heart this is a novel about ideas trapped within various bodies and the ensuing perversion this causes. The first half of the novel follows a doctor and his son as he makes his rounds in a small Austrian village. Along the way they encounter people who are trapped within class distinctions, trapped within societal laws, trapped within physical bodies, and within power dynamics even as this doctor and his son are also trapped within their own relationship, though they struggle to gain purchase on it.
In the second half of the novel, Bernhard really goes for it with an artistic risk. It consists entirely of one man's monologue and the impression it makes on the doctor's son. There is a lot going on here, too much for a few pithy remarks in a Goodreads review, just know this is rich soil and Bernhard more or less pulls off his daring.
The starting point for this insanely rambling monologue is a demonstration of a man trapped within his own language and sense of identity. One reading of this half of the novel could be that this man desperately attempts to use language as a means to get himself out of himself which, of course, doesn't logically follow and therefore leads him to a kind of internal loop of madness. You know, like Comcast technical support only with yourself.
What makes this rather rigorous artistic project palatable are its generous variety of entry points and the fact that Bernhard is an excellent writer. As a result, this long nearly continuous 100 page monologue isn't a slog but at times hypnotically fascinating.
This is Bernhard's second novel and I understand he refines and matures his style in later works. I will certainly be reading them.
I recommend this novel to the adventurous.