marți, 21 decembrie 2010
Haruki Murakami - After Dark
Dupa primele randuri m-am panicat, crezand ca lectura acestei carti intr-o limba nu chiar apropiata mie, va fi mai mult decat pot eu duce. Dar, usor, am trecut de prima pagina, de a doua, si cand am inchis cartea (file'ul, sa fiu mai precisa, ca o am pdf pentru viitorime) era 6 dimineata si mie imi parea, din nou, rau.
Cum sa zic ca este 'After Dark'? Fireasca in structura, fantezista, reala in exprimarea fiecarei trairi, simpla in subiect, complexa si grea in intrebarile pe care le ridica...
O sa fiu nevoita sa fac un eseu pe marginea ei, dar este atat de bine legata, in copertele care iti curg printre degete, incat deja ma ingrijoreaza gandul.
Murakami zice, prin personajul sau, Takahashi:
"After I'd been to the court a few times, though, and
observed a few cases, I started to become strangely
interested in viewing the events that were being judged
and the people who were involved in the events. Maybe I
should say I found myself less and less able to see these as
other people's problems. It was a very weird feeling. I
mean, the ones on trial are not like me in any way: they're
a different kind of human being. They live in a different
world, they think different thoughts, and their actions are
nothing like mine. Between the world they live in and the
world I live in there's this thick, high wall. At least, that's
how I saw it at first. I mean, there's no way I'm gonna
commit those vicious crimes. I'm a pacifist, a goodnatured
guy, I've never laid a hand on anybody since I was
a kid. Which is why I was able to view a trial from on high
as a total spectator.
As I sat in court, though, and listened to the testimonies
of the witnesses and the speeches of the
prosecutors and the arguments of the defence attorneys
and the statements of the defendants, I became a lot less
sure of myself. In other words, I started seeing it like this:
that there really was no such thing as a wall separating
their world from mine. Or if there was such a wall, it was
probably a flimsy one made of papier-mâché. The second
I leaned on it, I'd probably fall right through and end up
on the other side. Or maybe it's that the other side has
already managed to sneak its way inside of us, and we just
haven't noticed. That's how I started to feel. It's hard to
put into words.
So once I started having thoughts like this, everything
began looking different to me. To my eyes, this system I
was observing, this 'trial' thing itself, began to take on the
appearance of some special, weird creature.
Like, say, an octopus. A giant octopus living way down
deep at the bottom of the ocean. It has this tremendously
powerful life force, a bunch of long, undulating legs, and
it's heading somewhere, moving through the darkness of
the ocean. I'm sitting there listening to these trials, and all
I can see in my head is this creature. It takes on all kinds
of different shapes—sometimes it's 'the nation,' and
sometimes it's 'the law,' and sometimes it takes on shapes
that are more difficult and dangerous than that. You can
try cutting off its legs, but they just keep growing back.
Nobody can kill it. It's too strong, and it lives too far down
in the ocean. Nobody knows where its heart is. What I felt
then was a deep terror. And a kind of hopelessness, a
feeling that I could never run away from this thing, no
matter how far I went. And this creature, this thing
doesn't give a damn that I'm me or you're you. In its
presence, all human beings lose their names and their
faces. We all turn into signs, into numbers."