I first read THE NOTEBOOKS OF MALTE LAURIDS BRIGGE more than 35 years ago. I found it difficult going, but I thought it profound (as I had been taught to regard it).
Although I love Rilke's poetry (check out Archaic Torso of Apollo, now!)I read this for my job, which is to re-tell classic lit.
Brigge seems to be journaling through some rage here. But a good kind of rage, the kind that somehow weaves childhood memories together with weird historical anecdotes with existential subtexts.
I discovered this book quite by accident, so it has a a special place for me. I found it at a used book sale in my home town, pop.
I've tried to get through this book at least 3 times and always give up somewhere in the middle. there are some beautiful memorable moments but for some reason i just cant get through it.
Great book. Kind of like Proust for beginners, I'd say, but more surreal.
Si knyga yra kitokia. Gali vadinti tai proza, taciau ji nesiskaito kaip koks romaniukstis, kuri gali perkrimsti per nakti.
"But what he wanted in those days was that profound indifference of heart which sometimes, early in the morning, in the fields, seized him with such purity that he had to start running, in order to have no time or breath to be more than a weightless moment in which the morning becomes conscious of itself."
"Let us be honest about it, then; we do not possess a theatre, anymore than we posses a God.
I'm afraid I was defeated by this book! I know that it is a reflection of Rilke's very sensitive state of mind transformed into fiction but I was frequently confused by the muddled storytelling and characters that I couldn't keep track of.
Klasik kitaplara baslarken sikilacagimi bilirim ama yine de okumak isterim.Cunku bitirdigimde bana iste bu dedirten bir duygu olur.
I felt this got stronger as it went along. I think his insights about love are incredible, but the prose seems a little uneven to me.
Rilke's semiautobiographical surrogate Malte Laurids Brigge is a young Dane, a noble scion adrift in early twentieth century Paris, trying to become a poet. He corresponds rather well to Anthony Burgess's description, in his charming study ReJoyce (1965), "of the type of student Stephen Daedelus represents, poor, treasuring old books with foxed leaves, independent, unwhining, deaf to political and social shibboleths, fanatically devoted to art and art only.
"Dear God!--how much there was to cast aside and forget; for it was
right to forget; it was necessary; otherwise one would give oneself
away if one were questioned closely.
