Bieguni Olga Tokarczuk
First of all I want to recall the words of the Nobel Prize announcement about the 2018 winner Olga Tokarczuk. I love a precise way thy had summarized her literature. It is a kind of poetry to me, a masterpiece:
"for a narrative imagination that with encyclopedic passion represents the crossing of boundaries as a form of life"
Next, I want to confess with a bit of shame that this was my first book by Tokarczuk I ever read. Her literature were around in my friends' amusements, comments and discussions. Literature is to heavy for me, sometimes I am not able to bear all the emotional burden that it is present in a narrative, full of human tragedy and suffering. There is too much it around the people I meet and serve every day.
And I was right, this literature were for me sometimes unbearable, I had to balance between the poisonous excitement to get to the last page, or story and the striking emotional strength of the narrative. Tokarczuk is a magician painter that makes her pictures alive. Her images have been working in my mind with strong emotions, engraved in my memory.
She is a witch as my friend used to call her. Her physical appearance of a petite woman, dressed mostly black with an colorful, scrambled details and unconventional hairstyle is marked her prose.
She is a total peaceful witch but with a tremendous talent of catching reader's attention to a curious and fascinating world of something unusual, unobvious, and often cripple.
I am grateful for many moving moments when I read this book: for a description of a man dying from effusion as a flood that coverts all the places he was during his life, cities, mountains, streets, houses, until the flood taking over the hospital where he is dying; for telling me that watching maps have a therapeutic power; for the question: if a phantom pain is a God?; for plastic bags living their life; for a woman taking care for a man with a post war traumatic syndrome and disable child when she runs away to be homeless on her day off; for all his narratives
in the airports and in a travel. Thank you, I need to pause.
First of all I want to recall the words of the Nobel Prize announcement about the 2018 winner Olga Tokarczuk. I love a precise way thy had summarized her literature. It is a kind of poetry to me, a masterpiece:
"for a narrative imagination that with encyclopedic passion represents the crossing of boundaries as a form of life"
Next, I want to confess with a bit of shame that this was my first book by Tokarczuk I ever read. Her literature were around in my friends' amusements, comments and discussions. Literature is to heavy for me, sometimes I am not able to bear all the emotional burden that it is present in a narrative, full of human tragedy and suffering. There is too much it around the people I meet and serve every day.
And I was right, this literature were for me sometimes unbearable, I had to balance between the poisonous excitement to get to the last page, or story and the striking emotional strength of the narrative. Tokarczuk is a magician painter that makes her pictures alive. Her images have been working in my mind with strong emotions, engraved in my memory.
She is a witch as my friend used to call her. Her physical appearance of a petite woman, dressed mostly black with an colorful, scrambled details and unconventional hairstyle is marked her prose.
She is a total peaceful witch but with a tremendous talent of catching reader's attention to a curious and fascinating world of something unusual, unobvious, and often cripple.
I am grateful for many moving moments when I read this book: for a description of a man dying from effusion as a flood that coverts all the places he was during his life, cities, mountains, streets, houses, until the flood taking over the hospital where he is dying; for telling me that watching maps have a therapeutic power; for the question: if a phantom pain is a God?; for plastic bags living their life; for a woman taking care for a man with a post war traumatic syndrome and disable child when she runs away to be homeless on her day off; for all his narratives
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