There`s this pattern that`s usually true for me: if a book in German is boring, it`s written by a real German. If it isn`t boring it`s either written by a Swiss writer or the writer has some Jewish blood. And if it is more than simply boring - the writer must come for Austria. Thomas Bernhard is considered a genius. Still I think that this book is unreadable. Apparantely the story goes like this - a fellow goes together with his father to visit some of the fathers patients (the father is a doctor) and stories about those patients are told. Still everything doesn`t flow at all but it just rots. The only part of the story I can remember from this book at the moment is the one about a man who had a huge collection of living birds and then he died and his brothers killed all the birds so they can stuff them. It took me several weeks to read these less than 200 pages and I fell asleep many times in the process.
Our excursion in the German literature continues. We enter one of the weird rooms. Its entitled `Thomas Bernhard` - and provides us enough material to break our heads. Four plays can be found in this collection of works. "A party for Boris" is the most unpredictable one - out of the 16 characters 15 have no legs. Most of the time one of them - The Good One talks a strange monologue which is directed towards Boris - her husband and her servant that has legs unlike everybody else. "The ignorant and the lunatic" is the most boring of those plays - there`s absolutely nothing going on but a doctor telling lots of stuff about diseases. "The hunting society" is about a wife of a dying general and a writer playing cards and discussing the life. Last but not least there`s "The power of the habit" is about a circus director named Caribaldi who forces four of his artists to practise a musical quintent for two decades, never achieving a perfect performance, and always complaining. What`s weird about these plays - it`s the language. I`m not really sure even - is it poetry or prose. It`s something in the style of Samuel Beckett, only less intriguing. On the other hand, maybe it`s elss intriguinging because I already have read Beckett - I`m not really sure for how much time absurd plays can attract ones interest.
Tomasu Bernhardu iepazīt izlēmu pēc tam, kad par viņu labus vārdus biju izlasījis Agotas Kristofas biogrāfijā. Kā teikt - kaut kādā veidā taču ir jāuzzina par nākamajām grāmatām, ko lasīt, un paļaušanās uz labu rakstnieku viedokli parasti nav tas sliktākais variants. Tiesa, nezinu, cik veiksmīgi man sanāca izvēlēties, ko tieši no viņa darbiem lasīt, jo trīs stāstu krājums, par kuru nav īsti skaidrs, kad un kā tas ir izdots papīra formā, nav pats tipiskākais veids, kā sākt pazīšanos ar kādu autoru (parasti labprātāk tomēr lasu vispirms autora pašu ievērojamāko grāmatu un tikai sākot padziļinātu izpēti, mēdzu pievērsties kam mazāk populāram).
Ar Tomasu Bernhardu es tiekos visai neregulāri - laiku pa laikam es pievēršos kārtējai viņa grāmatai, un vēl ne reizes nav atgadījies tā, ka kaut viena no tām mani sevišķi aizrautu. Kaut kādā mērā tas varētu būt mazohisms - kālab es lasu autoru, kurš mani neinteresē? Laikam jau atbilde ir vienkārša - jo viņa grāmatas mājo manā Kindle, un situācijās, kad slinkums tur ielādēt kaut ko jaunu, sāku lasīt kaut ko jau priekšā esošu.