A Trying to meet all your book preview and review needs.
to e-mail us: support the site |
The Physics of Sorrow general information | review summaries | our review | links | about the author
- Return to top of the page -
Our Assessment:
B+ : creative take on the stories of life See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
The narrator of The Physics of Sorrow identifies himself as 'Georgi Gospodinov', and much of the novel is autobiographical, the born-in-1968 author describing his early childhood as well as much of his life in communist and then post-communist Bulgaria, as well as beyond.
Identifying himself as such, however, does not limit the author to his own (life-)story: named after his grandfather, the narrator inhabits that identity as well, and recounts stories from this previous and other 'Georgi Gospodinov''s life as well.
Early on, the narrator admits: "I could get inside other people's memories, and that was my biggest secret"; The Physics of Sorrow is essentially a chronicle of dealing with and revealing that skill -- of becoming and being a recounter of stories, an author.
We am.If the Cartesian essence of being -- the definitive ergo sum -- is in thought (cogito) itself, so Gospdinov suggests the communal ergo sumus is in our (shared) stories: story-telling, and the preservation and (re)presentation of our stories is what makes us human, what makes humanity. A guiding figure and tale here is that of the not-entirely human Minotaur. Gospodinov identifies with him, writing that at age nine he already began to write a defense of him, the first iteration a very brief text that concludes with the identifying avowal: "I, the Minotaur". That text begins: "The Minotaur is not guilty", and Gospodinov suggests: In broad terms, that is the basic thesis. Over the years I have merely added further evidence.The Physics of Sorrow is, in a sense, the case-file -- with, also, the Minotaur's labyrinth the guiding (and in every sense a literary) metaphor. So too Gospodinov explains: I can't offer a linear story, because no labyrinth and no story is ever linear.Gospodinov describes a variety of attempts at the preservation of stories, from his own efforts with his own work to more elaborate time capsules that have been hidden away over the decades. He collects and stores clippings, and his own notes -- relying also on his "old-fashioned notebooks" rather than digital archiving, "Just in case the world turns analogue [sic] again. The likelihood is not at all negligible". He also collects (and recounts some) actual stories -- but only: "private pasts, the pasts of specific people" --, paying people for them -- often to their surprise. He pays for the stories he collects because it is another way of showing that they have value. His interest isn't necessarily in the grand, historic, important-seeming; he understands and is fascinated by the fact that: In the small and insignificant -- that's where life hides, that's where it builds its nest.And, with Minotaurian obsession, he sees documentation -- writing -- as essential. His is the cry of the author, drawn and pushed to his calling, wanting and imagining nothing else: Let me write, write, write, let me record and preserve, let me be like Noah's ark, not me, but this book. Only the book is eternal, only its covers shall rise above the waves, only the beasts inside, between its pages swarming with life, will survive.The Physics of Sorrow is a deeply personal book. Grandfather Georgi Gospodinov and his otherwise secret and forever lost tale are preserved here, and so is much of the life of author Georgi Gospodinov, from basement childhood to his own experiences with his young daughter: The Physics of Sorrow is testament and, like any story-recording, myth-making. In a post-Knausgaardian world there's less room left for this approach, at least at its most direct: the six volumes of Min Kamp (see e.g. volume one) are exhaustive apotheosis. Gospodinov manages to transcend the limitations in part, his ambition to: "bring back a slice of the past, a pint of drained-away time right here" buttressed by his reliance on the Minotaur, or also, in part, on physics (yes, that also comes into play). Yet much is still traditional personal-account, Gospodinov too often shying away from the promising 'We am' of the Prologue to the entirely self-focused. Perhaps unsurprisingly, among the most successful of the personal memories he recounts are those of imagining more: for example, he describes stealing a cookbook and following the recipes with a girl he was living with, but solely in their imaginations, since they were too poor to buy any of the necessary ingredients -- yet: "we got so into it that afterward, you could see traces of flour on our hands". More revealing is the (potential) get-rich-quick scheme a friend of his dreamed up: 'Movies for the Poor', where they would retell movies for those too poor (like themselves) to buy tickets for the Hollywood blockbusters in post-communist Bulgaria -- the project falling apart because, not having seen the movies either, they couldn't offer an adequate re-telling to satisfy the customers: a failure of the imagination, and reminder of Gospodinov's reliance on factual basis for what he recounts. So also there's the neat look back to childhood, to the beginning of his: "indiscriminate guzzling of books. Some kind of literary bulimia", Gospodinov explaining: I learned the alphabet from the cemetery in that town languishing in the sun. I could put it this way, too -- death was my first primer. The dead taught me to read. This statement should be taken absolutely literally.Validation comes in the factual, the insistence on a claim being taken literally; it need not. At one point Gospodinov writes: Indeed, inside me, the Minotaur shivers, afraid of the dark, but otherwise I look completely normal, I wear the body of a white, middle-aged manThe Physics of Sorrow is at its most successful when the focus isn't on appearances, and on Gospodinov's actual experiences, but rather when he lets the Minotaur out -- or ventures into the labyrinth. Not that it's not successful otherwise, too, but the transcendent is beyond the personal, and while Gospodinov repeatedly reaches for it here, in often marvelous detail, he is dipping his toe in rather than taking the necessary complete plunge. - M.A.Orthofer, 27 February 2015 - Return to top of the page - The Physics of Sorrow:
- Return to top of the page - Bulgarian author Georgi Gospodinov (Георги Господинов) was born in 1968. - Return to top of the page -
© 2015-2024 the complete review
|