vesti

Fizika tuge

Georgi Gospodinov

Prevela s bugarskog Ivana Stoičkov

Godina izdanja: 2013

Format (cm): 20cm

Broj Strana: 344

ISBN: 978-86-6145-143-0

Cena: Rasprodato

Već na prvi pogled jasno je da je pred nama moderan roman. A koliko je još i moderniji na drugi pogled?
Gospodinov bez zazora preispituje granice žanra. To čini tako da nam se čini kao da je ovo jedan od poslednjih pokušaja da se dokaže da roman kao književni rod ima još oblika za izmišljanje, obogaćivanje i pokazivanje. Autor istovremeno lakonski i temeljno preispituje roman kao oblik književnog istraživanja, dovodeći ga u ozbiljnu sumnju, te ga potom, tako negiranog, uspostavlja u jednom novom melanžu. Fizika tuge nije više i samo eksperiment; ona je nova romaneskna vrednost. Istorija književnosti verovatno će ga jednoga dana označiti kao: a) prekretnički roman, b) izdajnički roman, ili v) jedan od poslednjih romana koji bi da obuhvate - sve.
Ovaj pre svega poetičan roman, vrlo tanane duše, priča je o fizici ali i metafizici tuge. Čine ga: montaža, kinematografska struktura, pauze, grafika, simboli, tišina, prividna fragmentarnost, samoća, minotaurska napuštenost, lavirinti, antički mitovi, praznina. To je istorija sveta ispričana pogledom nevažnih događaja, netipičnih stvorenja (od puževa do dinosaura i ljudi). U zbiru svega glavni junak je Ja smo. To ja smo ključ je romana: ono je oscilirajuće klatno između prvog i trećeg lica, jednine i množine. Autorska snaga, koja je u svim pričama i telima ove knjige, mnogo je šira od tzv. Sveznajućeg autora.
Roman - vremenska kapsula. Roman u koji se zaljubljuje.
Ako je originalni i uspešni Prirodni roman G. Gospodinova, preveden na 20 jezika, od kojih je srpski bio prvi u svetu (Geopoetika, 2001), bio postmoderan u najplemenitijem smislu reči, Fizika tuge je roman apokaliptičan u najrevolucionarnijem značenju reči.  philip mainlander

Philip Mainlander Site

Philip blinked. “Is that a proper haunting?”

And Philip Mainlander, the quietest ghost in Greyhearth, turned back to the counter. He didn’t vanish. He didn’t ascend. He simply picked up a cold cup of coffee, slid it toward the empty stool beside him, and waited for the next lonely soul to sit down.

The problem was, no one ever saw him. Not the waitress, Della, who refilled his untouched cup every morning. Not the cook, Big Sal, who sometimes slid a cold plate of eggs in his direction out of pity for “the regular who never eats.” Not even the stray tabby cat that napped by the radiator, though it did twitch an ear his way now and then.

Not the wailing, chain-rattling kind. No, Philip was the quietest ghost in the entire city of Greyhearth. He haunted a single spot: the third stool from the left at the counter of the Silver Cup Diner, a place that smelled of burnt coffee and forgotten dreams.

She finished her shake, stood up, and flickered—just once—like a bad lightbulb. Then she was gone.

“Maps are terrifying,” Wren said dryly. “Ever shown a tourist a subway map? Bloodbath. Now go on. The night shift is dead—no pun intended—except for that guy in the booth.”

Ostale knjige iz edicije - Svet proze

Philip blinked. “Is that a proper haunting?”

And Philip Mainlander, the quietest ghost in Greyhearth, turned back to the counter. He didn’t vanish. He didn’t ascend. He simply picked up a cold cup of coffee, slid it toward the empty stool beside him, and waited for the next lonely soul to sit down.

The problem was, no one ever saw him. Not the waitress, Della, who refilled his untouched cup every morning. Not the cook, Big Sal, who sometimes slid a cold plate of eggs in his direction out of pity for “the regular who never eats.” Not even the stray tabby cat that napped by the radiator, though it did twitch an ear his way now and then.

Not the wailing, chain-rattling kind. No, Philip was the quietest ghost in the entire city of Greyhearth. He haunted a single spot: the third stool from the left at the counter of the Silver Cup Diner, a place that smelled of burnt coffee and forgotten dreams.

She finished her shake, stood up, and flickered—just once—like a bad lightbulb. Then she was gone.

“Maps are terrifying,” Wren said dryly. “Ever shown a tourist a subway map? Bloodbath. Now go on. The night shift is dead—no pun intended—except for that guy in the booth.”