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Morte a Credito (1936)

di Louis-Ferdinand Céline

Altri autori: Vedi la sezione altri autori.

UtentiRecensioniPopolaritàMedia votiCitazioni
1,944268,435 (4.19)84
Death on the Installment Plan is a companion volume to Louis-Ferdinand Céline's earlier novel, Journey to the End of the Night. Published in rapid succession in the middle 1930s, these two books shocked European literature and world consciousness. Nominally fiction but more rightly called "creative confessions," they told of the author's childhood in excoriating Paris slums, of service in the mud wastes of World War I and African jungles. Mixing unmitigated despair with Gargantuan comedy, they also created a new style, in which invective and obscenity were laced with phrases of unforgettable poetry. Céline's influence revolutionized the contemporary approach to fiction. Under a cloud for a period, his work is now acknowledged as the forerunner of today's "black humor."… (altro)
  1. 10
    Fame di Knut Hamsun (helio_)
  2. 10
    Viaggio al termine della notte di Louis-Ferdinand Céline (psybre)
    psybre: For further education of the Parisian downtrodden and destitute population, and some of the avenues whereby they ply their sorrow.
  3. 00
    Panino al prosciutto: romanzo di Charles Bukowski (hvg)
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» Vedi le 84 citazioni

Inglese (18)  Olandese (4)  Francese (2)  Spagnolo (1)  Finlandese (1)  Tutte le lingue (26)
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This companion to Celine’s Journey to the End of the Night details Ferdinand’s tumultuous youth. He becomes a doctor and a world-class pessimist (“All over the world there are trucks that run over nice people at the rate of one a minute”), but for the entirety of this long book his future looks not even remotely bright. He grows up in Paris with continuously soiled pants. “We were always in such a hurry I never had time to wipe myself properly.” His father rants, raves and has no hope for young Ferdinand. “You could have furnished a dozen loonybins with the contents of his dome.”

Every so often the narrator Ferdinand lets loose with a dream, or hallucination – crazy, fantastic, slightly obscene. Celine artfully mixes the scatological with the beautiful, occasionally in the same paragraph. High and low, high and low. Or low, low, low, low, high, low, low.

Finding, and keeping, work is a problem for Ferdinand. Assisting a half-mad inventor/scam artist is one job that suits him, a job that ends in tragedy. Of course he gets room and board, but no pay. There’s an entire novel worth of material in this one section. As that period of his life ends and Ferdinand ponders joining the foreign legion this is where the book ends, soon before Journey to the End of the Night picks up. ( )
  Hagelstein | Jul 13, 2023 |
Narra la infancia y juventud de Bardamu, sus años de formación en un ambiente familiar claustrofóbico asfixiante, sobre el fondo de un mundo disparatado, hecho de miseria y fealdad.
  Natt90 | Jan 13, 2023 |
A flawed work that also pulls its punches. Stylistically, what Celine has accomplished in 600 odd pages is an exercise in inverting the "popular novel"/fairy tale. Instead of layering bad events between good with a general upward trend, he has layered good events between bad on a downward trend (by now the played-out style of a hundred college freshmen, who have, blameless, arrived at the same idea by coincidence)

Celine can't even manage this right. Even a cursory reader can tell he doesn't believe the ostensible theme, and only affects pessimism as a kind of style. He doesn't have the courage to descend to the level of depravity the subject entails. And then, because he's botched the narrative, the plot requires every significant non-parental character lose his wits or kill himself in such a repetitive pattern I felt I had been slipped a line.

The prose is nothing to write home about, except when he paraphrases a tedious conversion with the copious use of ellipses. (this is actually good and i liked the style in these moments) One only wishes the entire work had been written in this way. ( )
  Joe.Olipo | Nov 26, 2022 |
This could have gained more stars, but the misogyny, the racism, is hard to take. This narrator (the author) was born to a couple who didn't have the means or the sanity to bring him up. Every day was drama, yelling, martyrdom. Naturally, with the father more or less telling the kid he was a POS every day, the kid couldn't amount to anything, which made the father yell more, the mother cry, imploring him to calm down, and both of them constantly on their"death beds" from working their fingers to the Bone, trying to support the family. There are some really hilarious parts, nevertheless:
P.54
"August, my father, read La Patrie. He sat down beside my crib. She came over and kissed him. His storm was subsiding... he stood up and went over to the window. He pretended to be looking for something down in the court. He let a resounding fart. The tension was down. She let a little fart in sympathy and fled kittenishly into the kitchen."

Here's an example of the blatant racism:
P.340
"Courtials' little handbooks were translated into a good many languages, they were even sold in Africa. One of his correspondents was a real Nigger, the chief of the sultanate in upper UBanghi Shari - Chad. That boy was wild about elevators of every kind. They were his dream, his mania..."

And he lost no love for the faithful pigeons that loved him, that went up in Courtials' balloons as part of his show, and when there was no money to feed them, too bad, so sad:
P.419
"So I go upstairs for my animals [the pigeons]... I bring them down. I balance the basket on my head... I go out by the Rue Montpensier... I cross the Carrousel... When I get to the Quai Voltaire, I look for a good place... I don't see a soul... On the bank at the bottom of the stairs... I pick up a big cobblestone... I tie it on... I look around again... I pick it up in both hands and throw it in the drink... As far out as I can... It didn't make any noise... I did it automatic..." ( )
  burritapal | Oct 23, 2022 |
Ha a regény olyasféle tudatos konstrukció, amiben a cselekmény az író által irányított módon tart A pontból B-be, progresszívebben szólva: ha a regényírás mércéje az, hogy az alkotó mennyire képes uralma alá hajtani a szöveget – nos, akkor Céline nem jó regényíró. Viszont tud valamit, ami nem kevésbé fontos: képes indulatait olyan mondatfüzérekké transzformálni, hogy azok megőrzik és frissen tartják indulattartalmukat. Tökéletesen kitapintható marad bennük a harag, a felháborodás és az undor. Céline úgy látja a társadalmat, mintha egy különösen elhanyagolt, levedző szifiliszfertőzés lenne: az emberek összehánynak, összeszarnak, összevizelnek mindent e könyv lapjain, talán mert a szerző csak ezekkel a naturálisan ábrázolt testi funkciókkal képes érzékeltetni megvetését irántuk. Nem azt mondom, hogy nincs a Céline-hősökben egy szemernyi empátia sem – de ez az empátia nélkülözi a tisztelet vagy a szeretet minden formáját, így szükségképpen csonka marad.

(És itt hadd pszichologizáljak egy jóízűt, zárójelbe szorítva: nem is csoda, ha valaki, akinek indulatai ennyire kontrollálatlanul áradnak minden irányba, végül az ordas eszmék erdejében köt ki. Mert ez az eszme felkínál neki egy egyszerű, vonzó választ arra, hogy miért gennyes kelés a lét, és ki ezért a felelős. Hogyne kapna egy ilyen ördögi ajánlaton?)

A nyelv, nos, valóban káprázatos. Igaz ugyan, hogy Céline felhasználja a francia irodalom teljes pontpontpont- és felkiáltójelkészletét nagyjából 300 évre előre (és ez picit idegesít), de ez adja meg azt a túlfűtött töredezettséget, azt az élőbeszédszerű hitelességet, amit egyszerűen nem lehet a szerzőben nem bámulni. Sőt: szeretni. Mert ugye én az Utazás az éjszaka mélyére-t szerettem. Imádtam. Szívem mellett őriztem arany kalitkában – bár a bezártságot rosszul tűrte, így elengedtem végül. Ám ezzel a szöveggel nem tudtam megbarátkozni. Oldalakon keresztül sorjáznak benne a kényszeres szitoklavinák, különösebb funkció nélkül – Tourette-szindrómás irodalom. Komplett bekezdéseket lehet átugrani úgy, hogy semmiről sem maradunk le, mert igazából nincs is cselekmény: hosszúra nyújtott jelenetek vannak, amelyek mind az ember ocsmány voltát hivatottak illusztrálni*. „Ebben a regényben ér el pályája zenitjére a szerző”, állítja a hátsó borító, de én pironkodva megmaradok a magam konvencionális, együgyű véleményénél: az Utazás... ennél sokkal jobb regény.

* Hozzáteszem, a kötet második fele - ami szerintem egyértelműen erősebb az elsőnél - nem csak az ember ocsmány voltát, hanem az ember ocsmány ÉS nevetséges voltát is illusztrálni akarja, ami gazdagabb szöveget is eredményez. ( )
  Kuszma | Jul 2, 2022 |
nessuna recensione | aggiungi una recensione

» Aggiungi altri autori (13 potenziali)

Nome dell'autoreRuoloTipo di autoreOpera?Stato
Céline, Louis-Ferdinandautore primariotutte le edizioniconfermato
Aulanko, SirkkaTraduttoreautore secondarioalcune edizioniconfermato
Bökenkamp, WernerTraduttoreautore secondarioalcune edizioniconfermato
Hill, JamesImmagine di copertinaautore secondarioalcune edizioniconfermato
Hindus, MiltonIntroduzioneautore secondarioalcune edizioniconfermato
Manheim, RalphTraduttoreautore secondarioalcune edizioniconfermato
Marks, John H.P.Traduttoreautore secondarioalcune edizioniconfermato
Woerden, Frans vanTraduttoreautore secondarioalcune edizioniconfermato
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Habillez-vous !
Un pantalon!
Souvent trop court, parfois trop long.
Puis veste ronde !
Gilet, chemise et lourd béret
Chaussures qui sur mer feraient
Le tour du Monde !...

Chanson de prison.
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Nous voici encore seuls. Tout cela est si lent, si lourd, si triste... Bientôt je serai vieux. Et ce sera enfin fini. Il est venu tant de monde dans ma chambre. Ils ont dit des choses. Ils ne m’ont pas dit grand-chose. Ils sont partis. Ils sont devenus vieux, misérables et lents chacun dans un coin du monde.
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Elle [ma mère] a tout fait pour que je vive, c’est naître qu’il aurait pas fallu. [p. 55]
Lequel que j’aimerais mieux qu’on tue ? Je crois que c’est encore mon papa. [p. 67]
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Death on the Installment Plan is a companion volume to Louis-Ferdinand Céline's earlier novel, Journey to the End of the Night. Published in rapid succession in the middle 1930s, these two books shocked European literature and world consciousness. Nominally fiction but more rightly called "creative confessions," they told of the author's childhood in excoriating Paris slums, of service in the mud wastes of World War I and African jungles. Mixing unmitigated despair with Gargantuan comedy, they also created a new style, in which invective and obscenity were laced with phrases of unforgettable poetry. Céline's influence revolutionized the contemporary approach to fiction. Under a cloud for a period, his work is now acknowledged as the forerunner of today's "black humor."

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