Sitting down this autumn to the work of transposing all my hand-written work from last summer onto my computer I am somewhat surprised at how relevant this particular work of Elfriede Jelinek is to what I myself had been impelled to write about. Reading for me is far more than a diversion from my life. This novel makes me think. Clearly I am no longer of the patriarchal and consumer-driven society I have been born into, and I have done my utmost to insure against my falling back into what I so laboriously rid myself of further becoming. Yes, I am married to a woman I have sex with, but never a day passes in which I am not grateful for her and what she does for me.
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Sitting down this autumn to the work of transposing all my hand-written work from last summer onto my computer I am somewhat surprised at how relevant this particular work of Elfriede Jelinek is to what I myself had been impelled to write about. Reading for me is far more than a diversion from my life. This novel makes me think. Clearly I am no longer of the patriarchal and consumer-driven society I have been born into, and I have done my utmost to insure against my falling back into what I so laboriously rid myself of further becoming.
Yes, I am married to a woman I have sex with, but never a day passes in which I am not grateful for her and what she does for me. I never feel entitled to anything awarded me except for the continuance of a fair shake and honest relationship. Deceit and covert affronts of power are expressly not my cup of tea.
Elfriede Jelinek is a poet. Or the translator, Michael Hulse, is a poet. It matters not to me who the responsible party is here. Fact is, this novel is a masterpiece in brutal honesty. Fiction as fact.
I know these people she writes about and they exist in the world I live in. They always have. They are my neighbors and we live in the same towns. A third of the way into this beautifully profound though vicious treatise the narrator, after somewhat sarcastically speaking of a factory worker fetching from the dispenser a refreshing Coke, says the word I. She, or he, unhesitatingly and frankly makes strong claims. Because of mounting evidence and personal experience I feel confident that Elfriede is not exclusively a man-hater as others have previously suggested.
To label her one is totally unfair. Obviously she equally hates all that is oppressive and insanely preposterous, which covers enormous swaths of ground and leaves her much else to expose in the course of her saying so. As for the pitiful women she portrays she clearly positions herself above and beyond them, and in fact holds them responsible for the spousal abuse they receive inasmuch as they are themselves slaves to wanting the things and prestige that only money can buy.
This mass disease of consumerism is as much at fault as the worldly desire for more money and property. Through the ages this hunger has undoubtedly proven to feed a vicious cycle of abuse. In matters of sexual behaviors Jelinek goes well over the line in order to be herself appropriately absurd. The gargantuan number of orifices filled and splayed seem almost hilarious and often delightfully insane.
It is the human condition we are born with. The ones-in-charge continue to profit and consider themselves superior in their disgusting delusions of grandeur. Her courageous honesty is so absurd to be somewhat funny and profanely enjoyable to read.
A weaker mind of lesser character could never delight in these scribblings patterned in short paragraphs of hers that never fail to inspire a reader to go on and hear what else she might have to say about these people we all should know and be dreadfully aware of. Otherwise we are one of them as well. Better to be a recreational observer slouched within the stuffing of our leisure chair, devoid of any personal feeling of responsibility that urges us to also merge within these irrelevant lives as additional willing participants.
She is obeying her own command. When a reader is offended by these painfully direct accounts and graphic details explicitly made out for us it pauses me to consider the source of their written complaints and credit them to another version of the typically judgmental and self-righteous one who holds little to no credibility based on a typically guilty history.
The sensitive man who feels somehow affronted as well is considered also in less than a good light as we are all complicit of these same behaviors and thoughts no matter how hard we impress ourselves and others in our attempts to deny them. She is anything but taciturn in her sometimes disgusting assaults so perversely avowed. Two-thirds through this generously elongated tirade marks a new measure of tiredness.
She flirts with boredom. It is possible the book could have ended at this same mark. But perhaps she still has something new and yet unheard of to say? Surely it is hoped her constant fucking and sucking might beget a new meaning. It is true the hairdresser fails at keeping Gerti fresh. No longer available to Jelinek are any additional analogies for going downhill.
Perhaps she could have the fuckers skiing backwards, or perhaps in reverse? So Gerti degrades herself even more. A husband who uses her every hole to fill and gorge with his own juices and then leaves her soiled and bent with nary a kiss goodbye is still not enough abuse for her so Gerti ventures out to seek more in the shape and forms of youth that are now and forever escaping her.
Quiet, now! How shall I put it? She has been at the mercy of hands and tongues… And for some of us having been roughly groped and fondled like this would be just what we have wanted. An orgy designed for denying personal despair. But not Gerti. She wants the young man Michael and not the rest of what comes with him.
The narrator frankly tells us that this woman has to get attached to an asshole like Michael, of all people… He grabs roughly inside the front of her coat and dress, and, laughing, tugs and twists her nipples… The book is strikingly more about regrets over life choices rather than the popular blurbed-war between the sexes. On almost every page men and women being caught up in superficial looks and pretentious appearances are shown as contagious diseases prevalent throughout our consumer-driven societies.
Age is not kind, and life simply wears one out. And ultimately a god is blamed or held responsible for this creation. It is hard to imagine a work like this becoming popular. But the dear women are so attached to them In this book Elfriede Jelinek has much to say.
Of which ample need impels all of us to consider. And where we might also discover why her violence is most driven.
DESEO (PREMIO NOBEL DE LITERATURA 2004)
Daigor Product details Paperback Publisher: Jelinek has created a powerful and interesting narrative voice which I believe only a woman is capable of having. Nov 22, Sebadiaz rated it really liked it. Deseo : Elfriede Jelinek : I was going through a weird funk and this book just made that funk that much more pronounced. I might return to this. Clearly I am no longer of the patriarchal and consumer-driven society I have been born into, and I desei done my utmost to insure http: Thanks for telling us about the problem.
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This shit is bleak. She wants the young man Michael and not the rest of what comes with him. Reading for me is far more than a diversion from my life. Es un tipo que ejerce su violencia como se lo permite su valor en la sociedad: This is a magnificent piece of art, but there are very few people I would recommend read this book, though it was recommended to me by my Uncle. Two-thirds through this generously elongated tirade marks a new measure of tiredness.
deseo elfriede jelinek