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Sto caricando le informazioni... Autoportrait (originale 2005; edizione 2005)di Edouard Levé
Informazioni sull'operaAutoportrait di Édouard Levé (2005)
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Iscriviti per consentire a LibraryThing di scoprire se ti piacerà questo libro. Attualmente non vi sono conversazioni su questo libro. "Autoportrait" is a series of factual statements which, over the course of 117 pages, build to a portrait of the author which goes far beyond the superficial without ever crossing into subjectivity. It could be seen as a really strange way of writing an orderless autobiography that borders on abstraction though it is made entirely out of facts. We get the feeling that we know Léve better, perhaps, than those closest to him, as if he used this idea as a way to pour himself onto paper either for a great catharsis or so that he himself can exist without having to do so in a physical body. He did state that he finds that he reveals more about himself to stranger in the course of 2 hours than he ever has to his friends. Anyways, it's a strange little book, delving many times into controversial subject matter without the batting of an eye or sentimentality of any sort. Having said all that, the book leaves me somewhat indifferent. It's an interesting experience, but one that hasn't affected me much in any way apart from perhaps the exposure to the peculiar ideas that Léve tends to have. It's not mediocre by any means, but it isn't of greatness either. It could be a terrible book when all is said and done, but that just makes it all the more interesting, which is the best way to describe this work. Initially, I suspected I would grow tired of this book's form: each page a wall of simple, declarative sentences wherein the author offers a little anecdote about himself, without any real pattern or structure. But, thankfully, this proved to be quite a treat! The book reads nicely, and I feel confident in Lorin Stein's (editor of The Paris Review) translations from the French. Most striking, though, are the similarities between the author and myself. Never has anther person's life so closely mirrored my own. After about 15 pages, I grabbed a highlighter and restarted the book. There are probably an average of 3-4 highlighted sentences per page. Were I to extract these sentences and compile them I would have a concise little autobiography of my own! Hey, I'm a huuuge fan of Suicide (the book, by Leve), and I loved the Paris Review excerpts from Autoportrait, but, I must be fair and honest, and say that a lot of this book was...you know - plain. Or dull, I suppose. There are moments of great clarity and insight and...things that really made me reflect and notice myself in a new (or fresh) way. But, ultimately, a lot of this book was boring or tedious. The Paris Review 'summary' (essentially), is actually better, because it distills the best parts from this. Check out Suicide by Leve if you haven't already. Especially if you or someone you know has experienced it first-hand. nessuna recensione | aggiungi una recensione
Premi e riconoscimenti
In this brilliant and sobering self-portrait, Edouard Lev? hides nothing from his readers, setting out his entire life, more or less at random, in a string of declarative sentences. "Autoportrait" is a physical, psychological, sexual, political, and philosophical triumph. Beyond "sincerity," Lev? works toward an objectivity so radical it could pass for crudeness, triviality, even banality: the author has stripped himself bare. With the force of a set of maxims or morals, Lev?'s prose seems at first to be an autobiography without sentiment, as though written by a machine--until, through the accumulation of detail, and the author's dry, quizzical tone, we find ourselves disarmed, enthralled, and enraptured by nothing less than the perfect fiction... made entirely of facts. Non sono state trovate descrizioni di biblioteche |
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Google Books — Sto caricando le informazioni... GeneriSistema Decimale Melvil (DDC)843.92Literature French and related languages French fiction Modern Period 2000-Classificazione LCVotoMedia:
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Which is not to say that Autoportrait is a depressing read; like Suicide, it is full of a macabre humor and a very dry wit. I think it was wise on the part of Lorin Stein to render the title in the original French rather than as "self-portrait": the quick, declarative sentences here are almost machine-like in their monotony at first. It is almost as if Levé is confessing mechanically and automatically rather than organically, but as the confessions continue we see some repetitions (we even see a few places where Levé contradicts himself while still insisting on speaking only the truth) and we acclimate ourselves to Levé's confession.
We get to know him inside and out through this short 120-page book, in fragments and at random. One comes away from Autoportrait feeling as though one has learned all there is to know about this man's life, his thoughts, his views on art and his work, his obsessive meanderings about his body, his childhood memories, his sex live, his hatred for the color green in interior design, and a host of other desires, worries, joys, and regrets that make Levé who he is. It also makes one wonder, as a reader, what this strange yet intimate relationship is between Levé and his reader, what is this insistent need for company in the midst of chaos. ( )