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Our Assessment:
B : poetic, but heavy on the mystic-elegiac See our review for fuller assessment.
Review Consensus: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
Kali is anything but straightforward, though there is a progression of sorts, as the narrative follows a singer on a strange trip home (or near home, or somewhere, anyway ...) after the last concert of the season.
There is a peculiar omniscient narrator, who follows her trail and records what happens, but we are definitely in Handke-land here, where people don't much interact as in real-life and among whom pontification seems to have largely replaced conversation -- a world of literally and emphatically mythic proportions.
Auch mir hat sie Angst gemacht, macht sie Angst. Aber ich möchte mich ihr stellen.It's all ambiguity: does the narrator fear her or the story he is relating ? Is he hoping to come to terms with his fears or with the singer or this story ? Part of dealing with it is in telling it, and Handke does convey that attempt to impose some shape on formlessness, to let his 'story' coalesce as if almost on its own into a narrative. But, again, that doesn't make for a very conventional tale. Kali is an odyssey, and it takes on a mythical feel. Asked where she is going to spend the winter, the singer tries to explain (no one explains things unambiguously in Kali ...): In meine Kindergegend. Oder nein, in der Nachbargegend. [...] In der Gegend hinter meiner Gegend.It's a place she, who has been everywhere, hasn't been. And the only special thing about those parts ? Lots of salt (yes: kali) and salt-mining. No surprise then that her journey leads her deep down into the salt-mines eventually. A woman priest she encounters complains of the new generation, and a world in which everything is reduced to nonsense (literally: "Unsinn"), as she is able just to hold onto sense in her own four walls and among her books. Is it Handke complaining about the incomprehension he faces ? At times it sounds that way ... yet his simple solutions are the most fanciful dreams -- as when at the salt-mines the singer is told that the deep mines are like a reverse Tower of Babel, the lower down the workers go, the more readily they understand each other. At least: "vorläufig" ('preliminarily'). What communication Handke offers seems both deep and airy. There are few exchanges, and most speak in statements -- both absolute and ambiguous. So also a command into the air, "Laß eine Feder fallen, Falke" ('Let a feather fall, falcon'), is enough to send a feather wafting down ..... This is a world of timelessness, too -- even more emphatically underground, where at one point the journey continues: "Gegen Abend, oder gegen Morgen, oder gegen Mitternacht" ('Towards evening, or towards morning, or towards midnight' -- whereby the German gegen also means against, as Handke doesn't seem willing to miss an opportunity to add a sense of (if not outright) ambiguity -- pity the poor translator !). Near the end someone accuses or diagnoses the singer of being a "geborene Finderin" (a 'born finder' -- and, as one of the few prominent plot-points is a missing child, a particularly valuable ability) and asks her how she does it. She offers some tips, in a scene where Handke barely seems able to contain himself (and hide his authorial presence): don't stand still when looking, don't look where you think you lost what you are looking for, look elsewhere (even to the sky ...), etc. She insists: Der Apfel fällt nicht weit vom Stamm ? Weit vom Stamm fallen manche Äpfel. Weit. So weit.Of course, it's easy for an author to remind dull readers that if they don't get it maybe they aren't looking in the right places; certainly, this is a book in which Handke feels under no obligation to drop his clues in a convenient trail in front of his readers' noses, page after page. It makes for an often frustrating text, its mytho-poetic appeal almost willfully undermined. But then it is also a sort of preamble, a journey of collection that will only lead to story-telling -- and "Zurück zur Prosa" ('Back to prose') -- but doesn't offer it itself (or offers only a rudimentary version, a flailing not so much for the proper words (though there's some of that too) but for narrative itself). An odd book, and hardly entirely satisfactory -- but then part of Handke's appeal is his refusal to make it easy (and the facility with which he plays his games). In a portion of this size, even Handke at his most exasperating (as he occasionally is here) is, at least, manageable. - Return to top of the page - Kali:
- Return to top of the page - Prolific Austrian author Peter Handke was born in 1942. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in 2019. - Return to top of the page -
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