Sunday, November 28, 2010

Can Herpes Come On Your Legs?

Cry, transmit and loves

Elegy to an American , Siri Hustvedt

Fathers, even fathers, fathers always. As one of the most beautiful voice in American literature.

A serious breach. Since our blog exists, we have not yet had the opportunity to talk about Siri Hustvedt. Yet What I Loved is certainly one of the books that has most marked. As in his essays on painting ( Mysteries of the rectangle) or on various topics ( Plea for Eros), writing that many too easily reduced to the status of "woman of "has a magnetic force and immerses you, the time to read, in a sensible world, familiar and strange. A fairly deep to see the contemporary world and human relationships, art, language, ...

In his last novel to date, as we find in What I Loved the weight of death and mourning. Erik Davidsen, divorced psychiatrist, has just lost his father in the business of emptying it, finds a letter suggesting the possibility of a disturbing secret. Erik tries to find clues in Memoirs left by his father and revisits the lives of his family, marked in particular by the Pacific war, including wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are the echo.
The father is the central figure in the story. Deceased father, absent father, father missing. All the characters of the novel trying to build or rebuild itself by rethinking and confronting their foundations. Inga, Erik's sister, the widow of a famous writer, discovers the dark sides of life of her husband and tries to protect his teenage daughter who keeps silent in her suffering since the attacks of 11 September. Miranda, the new neighbor with Erik immediately fell in love, raise her daughter alone in the shadow of an absent father and yet very disturbing. His stories are different cross those patients of Erik to form a community of characters but suffering, and that's obviously what comes to save the book, struggling. It is also much talk of transmission, a theme that seems to inhabit deep American writers today.
Needless to say, you will certainly understand, this novel carries a great sadness that I was particularly touched. Without playing on the identification easy Hustvedt manages to give his characters, yet all very brooklyniens sores, a profound dimension, human and almost universal. So of course this is very steeped in psychoanalysis (through the story of dreams, etc.) but without dogmatism. The pace is quite fragmented, sometimes rambling but very controlled. And like those other novels, the author takes us into an atmosphere and a special color that attracted me.

A beautiful portrait of our times.

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