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Thomas Bernhard
Yes
Title: Yes
Author: Thomas Bernhard
Format: Hardcover
Language: English
Pages: 135
Publisher: , 0
ISBN: 0704327708
Format: PDF / Kindle / ePub
Size: 7.6 MB
Download: allowed
Description
The narrator, a scientist working on antibodies and suffering from emotional and mental illness,
meets a Persian woman, the companion of a Swiss engineer, at an office in rural Austria. For
the scientist, his endless talks with the strange Asian woman mean release from his condition,
but for the Persian woman, as her own circumstances deteriorate, there is only one answer.
"Thomas Bernhard was one of the few major writers of the second half of this century."--Gabriel
Josipovici, Independent
"With his death, European letters lost one of its most perceptive, uncompromising voices since
the war."--Spectator
Widely acclaimed as a novelist, playwright, and poet, Thomas Bernhard (1931-89) won many of
the most prestigious literary prizes of Europe, including the Austrian State Prize, the Bremen
and Brüchner prizes, and Le Prix Séguier.
Insightful reviews
Oscar: La prosa de Bernhard produce un extraño efecto en el lector. Más que repetitiva, yo diría
que es cíclica. Como si de una pieza de música se tratara, Bernhard nos va contando una
historia para volver sobre sus pasos e ir profundizando sobre lo ya contado; y lo que parecían
simples detalles pasan a convertirse en parte fundamental de la novela. De esta manera
quedas atrapado en esta particular tela de araña que tan bien ha urdido Bernhard. A ello
contribuye también los escasos puntos y aparte, que provocan que sigas leyendo y leyendo
hasta que el texto indique más o menos dónde interrumpir la historia para continuar en otro
momento. Es magnífico dejarse llevar de esta manera.
Con Bernhard, la historia se convierte en un factor secundario, y sólo le exigimos que sea
medianamente interesante, como es el caso de la novela que nos ocupa. En 'Sí', el
protagonista, del que no sabemos el nombre, nos narra en primera persona su caída en una
profunda desesperación, producto, como no deja de insistir, de una enfermedad intelectual y
sentimental. Él es un solitario que vive en una ciudad austríaca dedicándose al estudio de los
anticuerpos, y cuando se encuentra en este estado, que suele ser a menudo, se desahoga
visitando a Moritz, el agente inmobiliario que le encontró la casa en la que ahora vive. Durante
una de estas visitas aparece una pareja de Suizos, un hombre y una mujer, que vienen a
hablar con Moritz sobre la reciente adquisición de su nueva casa. Esta visita, y sobre todo la
mujer, a la que llama la Persa, provocarán una serie de revelaciones que el protagonista nos irá
desvelando.
Es encomiable el saber hacer de Bernhard para mantener la atención del lector con tan poco
material.
Nate D: Surprisingly enjoyable (and sort of weirdly funny) considering what a grim disgorging of
despair and nihilism this is, and how little actually happens. An isolated scientist, too depressed
for months to continue his research (on antibodies), arbitrarily breaks his self-destructive cycle
upon meeting a new couple who has just bought land in the area. But you know his unjustified
enthusiasm cannot possibly last. Told entirely inside the protagonist's head, in just two
paragraphs in 135 pages, as he obsessively turns events over and over and over. Very Beckettlike at times, depressive but vaguely absurd, though without Beckett's overt moments of artifice.
We have reconciled ourselves to the fact that we have to exist, even though most of the
time against our will, because we have no other choice, and only because we have
again and again reconciled ourselves to this fact, every day and every moment anew,
can we progress at all. And where we are progressing to, we have, if we are honest,
known all our lives, to death, except most of the time we are careful not to admit it. And
because we have the certainty of doing nothing except progressing towards death, and
because we realize what that means, we try to employ all kinds of aids to divert us from
that realization, and thus, if we look closely, we see in this world nothing except people
continually and all their lives engaged in such a diversion. (p.70-71)
As usual, lately, I've set aside a couple other quotes here.
I read this as a sort of rapid appetizer to the copy of The Lime Works that I've just picked up,
and am very much looking forward to.
David: Bernhard is incredible. But I never know to whom I should recommend him.
This book has two paragraphs. One is about 50 pages long, the other about 85 pages long. The
narrator has some seemingly pretty serious emotional problems. There are only three other
major characters. The narrator loops and mutters and clarifies and backtracks constantly, and
for the first few pages you're ready to scream at him: get on with it, tell me what you're going to
tell me!
But Bernhard knows what he's doing. The delivery is part of the character, and the stakes keep
rising, and you can't help but wonder whether the glimmers of hope will endure to the end, or be
sucked under the surface of despair.
And he still manages to surprise you.
I'd recommend trying to consume this in one or two sittings over the course of a day or two.
Charles Kell: occasionally I pay attention myself announcing Ja-Ja-Ja quickly, silently, in an
effort to positioned a bit spunk--to use Ursula's word--into my ponderousness. Ja-Ja-Ja I say to
myself, and never even in Dutch.--John Hawkes, Death, Sleep & the visitor
Nata: european m? a?teptam s? se sinucid? el nu ea, los angeles final. Trist, dar frumos finalul.
?i în genere, m? gândeam, ini?ial, c? acel "Da" va semnifica o eventual? cerere în c?s?torie, and
so forth :)N?b?d?i, i?e încurcate, dar, fusese altceva, depresie, depresie, iar depresie, depresie
los angeles p?trat. Ce p?cat.
David: Hey, everyone! i stopped a book! I discover that this is often nearly the similar of crying
out, 'I acquired laid!' at a brothel, yet there you've gotten it. i have been diminished to this. For
the earlier eighteen months or so i have been a non-reader—a demographic i am not usually
cozy consorting with—or, at best, a half-assed reader; i will learn 40 pages of this and set it
down—and then thirty pages of that and set it down. My house is a ruins of literary
misadventures. I hate to be the philanderer who blames his serial infidelities on his humdrum
wife for purposes of her humdrumness, yet not one of the books i have trysted with have given
me the (metaphorical) blowjob that rocked my moribund world. So i have regarded in other
places for gratification. rather than reading, i discovered myself doing strange things, like
looking at the decision starring Halle Berry in a fright wig as a renegade 911 operator. For a
while, I blogged—as all of us must, or later—but there are just such a lot of screeds you could
write approximately petty annoyances prior to you begin sounding like Seinfeld's standup
routine. yet then... (Speaking of screeds!) i made a decision to revisit my outdated blood brother
Tommy 'The Parade Rainer' Bernhard—he of the obsessive, misanthropic tirade fame. along
with his despondent novella Yes, Bernhard once more satisfies my narcissism via making a
literary determine i will be able to relate to. (I should still really say 'a literary determine i will be
able to relate to to a couple extent' in order that not anyone calls the folks with the straitjackets.)
The Unnamed Narrator (hereafter, UN) of certain is a completely depressing and fucked-in-thehead scientist who, in my beginner diagnosis, suffers the mixed results of obsessive thinking,
social isolation, and protracted negativity, normally directed outward as a convenient excuse for
his personal dysfunction. at the verge of a complete and maybe irreparable breakdown he visits
his acquaintance Moritz, town actual property agent, as a way to spill his guts and thereby to
purge his accrued craziness. (Anyone who—in the midst of a few own trauma or drunken
state—has published an excessive amount of approximately himself, at nice length, to a different
individual is familiar with how humiliating any such healthy of exhibitionism can be. Desperation
makes fools of us.) UN does locate a few reduction in vomiting up all his masticated neuroses
for Moritz, yet there's a some distance higher outcome of his visit: He meets the Swiss couple,
or extra in particular the Persian Woman. The Swiss couple—actually a Swiss energy plant
wealthy person and his Persian companion—has lately bought an in a different way unsaleable
land parcel from Moritz on which to construct their new home. The UN turns into fixated at the
Persian woman, who says not anything on the assembly and looks sullen. the beef of the
novella issues the bizarre and ephemeral 'friendship' (if that is the correct word) among the
Persian girl and UN. They take walks mainly. occasionally in silence. They either like Schumann
and Schopenhauer. They either hate the backwoods Austrian city that destiny has brought them
to. i feel sure is probably Bernhard's bleakest paintings that i have but encountered. The name
itself—that little affirmation—is splendidly ironic simply because within the context of the novella, it
really is whatever yet affirmative within the absolute sense. As usual, Bernhard provides voice
to pessimism—a hopelessness so dire and maddened that it can not help yet be humorous.
Bernhard's narrators could reject society at large; they could consider persecuted or
misunderstood; they could even hotel to morbid self-pity at times. yet Bernhard, certain from his
narrators, appreciates the absurdity of those varieties of outlooks. The human
psyche—repetitious, obsessed, self-perpetuating—reveals its grimly comedian element while it
truly is literalized into simple language. and that is precisely what Bernhard's novels do: they
translate the dysfunctional brain into (yes) screeds that right now sympathize with the human
and riff on its follies.
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