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Our Assessment:
B+ : nicely done See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review: Halfway through 533 Days Cees Nooteboom actually dates one of the book's eighty chapters -- and reveals that: When I began these notes, without thinking too much about it, I came up with the working title Diario Novo. That is not Spanish (nuevo) and not Italian (nuovo), maybe I was secretly hoping it would be Portuguese.It's an amusing admission in a work that is, as is clear from much else he writes about here, so attentive to language -- by an author who moves freely among several. 533 days is the span of time presented here, chronologically, but it's not a day-by-day diary. [The dates Nooteboom gives at the conclusion -- 1 August 2014 to 5 January 2016 -- also don't actually span 533 days; I only count 523 (start- and end-date inclusive); I'm not sure what exactly happened there .....] Still, it's only at that midpoint that Nooteboom comes to admit what's become fairly obvious: It is even doubtful whether this is in fact a diary, perhaps it is more like a book of days, something to help you preserve the occasional something from the stream of what you think, what you read, what you see, certainly not a book for confessions. The theme was il faut cultiver notre jardin until I realized it was more a case of my garden teaching me(The original Dutch title of the volume is 533: Een dagenboek -- captured then also in the way the UK edition is presented: 533: A Book of Days.) So also then, nearing the conclusion, he considers again what his intentions had been: "I never meant for this to become a diary, I wanted to go inwards, and to stop going outwards. I had been out there for so long, and so often". 533 Days is a book of meandering reflections, many occasioned by the locales -- much of the time spent on the familiar retreat of Menorca ("For more than half a century, I have been migrating to this island"), with some winter months spent in another retreat, in Germany (where: "everything is the German antithesis of my Spanish summers"). As he notes repeatedly, he's getting on in years, and he's been most everywhere; he takes comfort in being able to (or at least trying to) retreat to these places. If he can't exactly get away from it all, he can still at least withdraw to a fair extent. Nooteboom may not have done and seen it all, but he certainly has a long lifetime's worth of experiences to look back on, ranging very far across the globe -- as he also reminds readers. He gets amusingly pissy in noting that: Last year, I read a piece by a Flemish reviewer. Apparently I pondered too much. That could be right. And I did not pay attention to the world. That happens when you get to my age. I think the writer was young. I did not meet him in Budapest in 1956, or in Bolivia in 1968, or in Tehran in 1976, or in Berlin in 1989He's certainly earned the right to lean back and adopt an (even) more reflective pose -- but in fact it's his keen, continuing interest in and deep knowledge of past and present, far beyond his garden's reaches, that makes his writing so interesting. Current events only intrude slightly here -- Greece, Ukraine, a few other odds and ends -- but he ranges far and wide otherwise. Mostly, word- and literature-related, but also beyond that. Nature, close at hand, is one of his preöccupations -- especially the cacti on his Menorcan property. Part of their appeal is the mystery they remain -- "I know nothing about cactuses", he admits at the outset -- and he observes more than once: "what if it were the garden that was cultivating me ? Teaching me unexpected forms of attention ?" These are enjoyable bits -- and there are several photographs, giving the reader a closer look at the unusual plants -- and it fits in with his larger theme of aging and time passing, as he's also been able to observe over the more than forty years he's been coming to this island. If close to nature, Nooteboom is also very much a word-person, and much here is also about language and literature. Among others, he mentions reading Elias Canetti, Philip Roth's Sabbath Theater, and a trio of Hungarians: Bánffy, Esterházy, and Towards the One & Only Metaphor-author Miklós Szentkuthy ("something like a volcano in constant eruption"), noting also the different languages he reads the latter three in: Dutch, German, French, and English. He consults a whole batch of diaries -- Max Frisch's and Gombrowicz's, Julien Green, Michel Leiris, and André Gide's. He wonders: "what could you go on to do after Finnegans Wake ?" -- asking: So is that it, then ? The end of the novel ? No. There is still an undiscovered realm of possible variants. And perhaps the metamorphosis of reality, captured in a metamorphosis of the way of dealing with that change. But what is most likely is in fact what you see around you all the time, the apotheosis of the manufactured novel, fiction as a product, respectable enough to fill the increasingly slim literary supplements, which also turns them into an extension of the industry.He notes that after writing his first novel, Philip and the Others, in 1954: "I did not write fiction for another seventeen years, because I had realised I had not yet lived enough to do so". By this point, as he writes these words, he's certainly had a very full lifetime worth of experience -- quite a few bits of which are also related along the way here -- but, interestingly, he sticks to reflection, rather than turning again to fiction ..... Language at its most basic continues to interest him -- "Language, words, style" --, and he devotes some space to dictionaries -- which, he points out: "are not only treasuries, they are also graveyards" (which certainly seems to be part of their appeal to him). He also writes about acquiring a second-hand set of the Dutch OED, the Woordenboek der Nederlandsche Taal with its "endless number of volumes" (forty-three, apparently) -- so enormous that: "In my house in Amsterdam it stands on the floor -- there is nowhere else that can accommodate it" -- and how he can: "spend hours reading it", feeling: "as if I am descending in a bathyscaphe, where words dwell that I have never seen or read before". 533 Days is an agreeably rambling piece of work, a man with a great deal of knowledge and experience weaving some of that together with a very practiced hand in these reflections on art, life, nature, aging, and death. It's a charming and enjoyable work, with many very good and clever observations -- some borrowed from elsewhere (he quotes and refers to numerous others' works, from Max Frisch on Bertolt Brecht to a riff that skips from Albert Samain to Gertrude Stein to Kant and Kleist), but all nicely put together. - M.A.Orthofer, 1 May 2022 - Return to top of the page - 533 Days:
- Return to top of the page - Dutch author Cees Nooteboom was born in 1933. He is a poet, novelist, and travel writer. |