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Kahju olnud asjadest
Dimitri Verhulst (1972) on Belgia kirjanik, kelle kirjutamisstiili on iseloomustatud kui sarkastilist, ent kaastundlikku, kus terav huumor ja ühiskonnakriitilisus põimuvad sooja inimesemõistmisega.
Poolautobiograafiline romaan "Kahju olnud asjadest" kirjeldab noore Dimitri elu koos vanaema ning purjutajatest isa ja kolme lellega. Kuigi tundub, et sügavamale pole selles kolkaküla argipäevas võimalik vajuda, ei puudu seal omad head küljed.
Poolautobiograafiline romaan "Kahju olnud asjadest" kirjeldab noore Dimitri elu koos vanaema ning purjutajatest isa ja kolme lellega. Kuigi tundub, et sügavamale pole selles kolkaküla argipäevas võimalik vajuda, ei puudu seal omad head küljed.
First published January 1, 2006
About the author
Dimitri Verhulst
43 books664 followersNa zijn debuut in 1999 schreef Dimitri Verhulst 13 boeken, romans, verhalen, novellen, poëzie en toneel. Zijn werk verschijnt in meer dan 20 talen over de hele wereld en hij wordt gezien als een van de grote schrijvers uit de Lage Landen. De klassieker De helaasheid der dingen werd bekroond met de Gouden Uil Publieksprijs, met Godverdomse dagen op een bol won hij de Libris Literatuurprijs. Zijn laatste, De laatkomer, verkocht binnen een half jaar meer dan 75 000 exemplaren, wordt verfilmd en over de hele wereld vertaald.
• 2007 - Publieksprijs Gouden Uil voor De helaasheid der dingen
• 2007 - Humo's Gouden Bladwijzer voor De helaasheid der dingen
• 2008 - De Inktaap voor De helaasheid der dingen, literaire jongerenprijs Vlaanderen, Nederland en Suriname
• 2009 - Beste Boek 2008 Humo's Pop Poll voor Godverdomse dagen op een godverdomse bol
• 2009 - De Libris Literatuur Prijs voor Godverdomse dagen op een godverdomse bol
Dimitri Verhulst in de Nederlandstalige Wikipedia
Dimitri Verhulst in de Digitale Bibliotheek voor de Nederlandse Letteren
Dimitri Verhulst bij "Schrijversgewijs"
Dimitri Verhulst is a Flemish poet and writer.
Dimitri Verhulst in the English Wikipedia
• 2007 - Publieksprijs Gouden Uil voor De helaasheid der dingen
• 2007 - Humo's Gouden Bladwijzer voor De helaasheid der dingen
• 2008 - De Inktaap voor De helaasheid der dingen, literaire jongerenprijs Vlaanderen, Nederland en Suriname
• 2009 - Beste Boek 2008 Humo's Pop Poll voor Godverdomse dagen op een godverdomse bol
• 2009 - De Libris Literatuur Prijs voor Godverdomse dagen op een godverdomse bol
Dimitri Verhulst in de Nederlandstalige Wikipedia
Dimitri Verhulst in de Digitale Bibliotheek voor de Nederlandse Letteren
Dimitri Verhulst bij "Schrijversgewijs"
Dimitri Verhulst is a Flemish poet and writer.
Dimitri Verhulst in the English Wikipedia
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 568 reviews
November 9, 2017
If you ever find yourself in a small village in Flanders, don't despair. Take a deep breath of wet grey air and go for a little walk. The centre marked by the closed-off church will have one light to offer: that of one of the local bars. The cold neon lights shine on the stained wooden furniture and faces puffed up by alcohol. The fat laughter that rises from behind the door is difficult to distinguish from the profanities that precede and follow it. You ignore the bar, you will encounter many more during your short walk. You will take one of the many small roads leading up to the fields and enjoy the silence there for a moment.
Maybe you start wondering what the point of this walk is. It is the following: you climb over one of the fences, get down on your knees and plunge your hand in the earth. You grab a fistful of this dark earth and green wet grass and you hold on to it, you squeeze it as you feel the raw essence get under your fingernails. You open your hand and rub the stuff all over your face. You let the smell of earthen freshness overpower you. You'll try standing up but instead you will lay down on your back, look at the ghostly rainclouds and smile, until you smell the tinge of shit emanating from the sticky stuff on your face. You look in your hand and see that it bleeds as it pulsates under the black goo. You get up to wash your hands and quickly find the watering trough but it's as dry as your throat.
I think that fistful of Flemish earth is an apt metaphor for the reading of this book. It's fresh and it's dirty. The book is often bleak and miserable but there's a spark of wit and some unexpected flashes of wisdom and tenderness. And most of all: it's REAL. It's as real and true as the wet, fertile earth that life is made of. It's a book that's unapologetic about its baseness and confident in its ultimate eminence.
I tend to avoid Flemish literature. All my experiences with it were the same: depressing. All the Flemish books I've read have one thing in common: they managed to make me a little more unhappy. They all have this chilling breeze of muted despair blowing through them. Even though "De Helaasheid der Dingen" has this same tone of hopelesness, I feel pride for this book, precisely because of its flashes and sparks. It makes me want to push this book into a stranger's hands and say: "Here. Read this. This is of our people."
The pride I feel is unwarranted however. I have to admit I myself felt like a stranger in this book. If I would have entered one of the bars at any given point in the story, I'd be greeted as an outsider and tested for drinking skills or folcloric wisecracks. I'd be asked for subtle testaments of my despair. I'd fail miserably and be violently thrown out of the bar. I'd readjust my glasses, go back to my happy home and would feel a strange longing to be part of this band of hard-to-like drunks.
Flanders has many faces. The one the author shows in this book has got an abundance of scars and rotten teeth, but it's the prettiest face I've seen.
Maybe you start wondering what the point of this walk is. It is the following: you climb over one of the fences, get down on your knees and plunge your hand in the earth. You grab a fistful of this dark earth and green wet grass and you hold on to it, you squeeze it as you feel the raw essence get under your fingernails. You open your hand and rub the stuff all over your face. You let the smell of earthen freshness overpower you. You'll try standing up but instead you will lay down on your back, look at the ghostly rainclouds and smile, until you smell the tinge of shit emanating from the sticky stuff on your face. You look in your hand and see that it bleeds as it pulsates under the black goo. You get up to wash your hands and quickly find the watering trough but it's as dry as your throat.
I think that fistful of Flemish earth is an apt metaphor for the reading of this book. It's fresh and it's dirty. The book is often bleak and miserable but there's a spark of wit and some unexpected flashes of wisdom and tenderness. And most of all: it's REAL. It's as real and true as the wet, fertile earth that life is made of. It's a book that's unapologetic about its baseness and confident in its ultimate eminence.
I tend to avoid Flemish literature. All my experiences with it were the same: depressing. All the Flemish books I've read have one thing in common: they managed to make me a little more unhappy. They all have this chilling breeze of muted despair blowing through them. Even though "De Helaasheid der Dingen" has this same tone of hopelesness, I feel pride for this book, precisely because of its flashes and sparks. It makes me want to push this book into a stranger's hands and say: "Here. Read this. This is of our people."
The pride I feel is unwarranted however. I have to admit I myself felt like a stranger in this book. If I would have entered one of the bars at any given point in the story, I'd be greeted as an outsider and tested for drinking skills or folcloric wisecracks. I'd be asked for subtle testaments of my despair. I'd fail miserably and be violently thrown out of the bar. I'd readjust my glasses, go back to my happy home and would feel a strange longing to be part of this band of hard-to-like drunks.
Flanders has many faces. The one the author shows in this book has got an abundance of scars and rotten teeth, but it's the prettiest face I've seen.
June 1, 2021
Yazar oldukça farklı bir çocukluğun öyküsünü, ironik bir dil ile anlatıyor. Bu hikayenin Dimitri Verhulst’un hayatından da ilham aldığını öğrendiğinizde, bazı noktalar ciddi bir şekilde şok etkisi yaratıyor. Açıkçası ben daha basit bir okuma bekliyordum ancak yazar mizah dozu yüksek bir hikayeyi toplumsal psikolojiyle harmanlayarak ilerliyor. Annesinin evi terk etmesinin ardından, babası, büyükannesi ve amcaları ile Flanders’ta yaşayan bir çocuğun, arka planda, pislik, sefalet ve alkol ile dolu dünyasına düşüyoruz. Baktığınızda babadan nefret edebilmek için her türlü sebebe sahip bir çocuğun, durumun tam tersine geçmişine ve ailesine yönelik şefkatli ve komik bir bakış açısı var. Dimitri yalnızca seyrediyor, zaman zaman sorguluyor ve bir sonraki sahneye geçiyor. Asla acıma ve nefrete dönmüyor bu bakış. Dramalara konu olabilecek bir çocukluğu gayet eğlenceli bir şekilde takip ederken bir yandan da “sosyal sınıf ve aile hataları da kalıtımsal mıdır yoksa bu döngü dışına çıkılabilir mi?” soruları da üzerinize geliyor. Kara mizah ve kimi noktalarda tiksindirici olabilecek sefalet ortamlarına mesafeliyseniz bu kitap çok hoşunuza gitmeyebilir. Ancak eğer filmi izlediyseniz ve sevdiyseniz, kitabı mutlaka okumalısınız.
3,5/5
3,5/5
February 24, 2014
We do not forget that literature has another face, that of responsibility, awareness, commitment. It is the last that attracts me. - Dimitri Verhulst
Just another Belgian dipsomaniac proletarian coming of age story, albeit one with a Tour De France drinking competition and a multipage homage to the genius of Roy Orbison. The Misfortunates is brutal and never flinching, never allowing any moralizing in its episodic survey. This was likelier far more hilarious than it should have been for me. My reaction likely represents me as a darkish coot. I am pretty cool with that. The novel makes no effort to glorify the unfortunate nature of addiction and depravity. All the characters understand the situation, most are simply powerless in its wake. I did expect a return from the posh side of the family later in the novel after such an interesting arrival: the retrurn didn't occur. That isn't really a spoiler in the context of things.
Just another Belgian dipsomaniac proletarian coming of age story, albeit one with a Tour De France drinking competition and a multipage homage to the genius of Roy Orbison. The Misfortunates is brutal and never flinching, never allowing any moralizing in its episodic survey. This was likelier far more hilarious than it should have been for me. My reaction likely represents me as a darkish coot. I am pretty cool with that. The novel makes no effort to glorify the unfortunate nature of addiction and depravity. All the characters understand the situation, most are simply powerless in its wake. I did expect a return from the posh side of the family later in the novel after such an interesting arrival: the retrurn didn't occur. That isn't really a spoiler in the context of things.
May 19, 2017
Every third novel nowadays seems to have a dysfunctional family at its core. So indeed does The Misfortunates by Belgian author Dimitri Verhulst. But on second thoughts, I'm not so sure that the family we're concerned with here should be tagged with that particular label. Although they are undoubtedly comfortably installed at the very lowest rung of society and not in any hurry to ascend the ladder any time soon --held back by constant inebriation, sloth and a regrettable tendency to fix everything with their fists -- they possess a quality that is perhaps not necessarily part of the make-up of dysfunction as we have come to understand that term. This quality is a fierce loyalty to the family unit, a well-developed sense of the importance of forming a united front against all comers.
We first get a glimpse of the Verhulsts in the opening pages of the novel -- and what an eye-opener this is with a horrifyingly funny (and I suspect accurate) picture of the bear cave lifestyle of a bunch of boozing bachelors -- complete with a habitual indifference to the sartorial conventions and toenail parings scattered all over. The narrator is Dimitri Verhulst, teenage son of Pierre, one of the notorious Verhulst brothers. In tried and tested tradition Pierre has moved back to his mother's house (with his son in tow) in the wake of an irrevocable breakdown in his marriage. This is what the Verhulst brothers do: once their tawdry relationships go down the drain, they move back to their widowed mother's place where they will be looked after while they pursue the only things they live for -- wearing out the well-established route from pub to pub in their backwater Belgian town, always on the lookout for available women, and bashing in the faces of anyone who dares to look at them twice. They do not hold much with the idea of work, so mounting debts make the bailiff a regular visitor to the house -- ditto the police officers who knock on the door at all hours, bringing tidings of one or the other brother's latest arrest for any number of misdeeds; and more often than not news of a hospitalization as a result of yet another barroom brawl. Old Mrs. Verhulst is so accustomed to these visits that she hardly bats an eye, and in fact berates them for their inconsideration in disturbing her rest at such ungodly hours.
The author concentrates on certain significant periods in the life of the Verhulsts. In non-chronological fashion, the reader is taken on a whirlwind ride taking in many surreal incidents. There is a decrepit canine that has a very valid reason for doing Dimitri and his barely-older uncle Girder serious harm; an unexpected visit from a social worker to establish whether the young Dimitri is cared for properly; an elaborate drinking game based on the Tour de France; Pierre's brave decision to check himself into a psychiatric clinic in a determined effort to dry out (with pit stops at every pub on the way there and plenty of time for pool and darts); and the brothers becoming involved in a folklore professor's madcap research project into drinking songs as part of the Belgian cultural heritage (the Verhulsts' reputation as dedicated alcoholics making them the ideal candidates for assisting with the study.) There are also sections concerning the adult Dimitri's ambivalent feelings towards an unwanted son fathered in a reckless moment of sexual gratification.
To what extent the novel is autobiographical, is anybody's guess. The fact that the author chooses to link his own surname to that of the main characters -- not to mention bestowing his own name on his narrator -- could be significant, but then again it may not have any bearing whatsoever on anything. Verhulst writes convincingly enough of these larger than life grotesques -- making it hard to believe that they only ever existed in the confines of his wildly-inventive imagination. What is abundantly clear, is Verhulst's ability to create unique characters that are thoroughly original in word and deed, likeable to the extent that references to sweaty feet and bodily functions brilliantly define them without in any way diminishing them. This is a highly entertaining read, rendered in prose that is uncompromisingly tough on the outside, but as tender as a new born kitten on the inside.
We first get a glimpse of the Verhulsts in the opening pages of the novel -- and what an eye-opener this is with a horrifyingly funny (and I suspect accurate) picture of the bear cave lifestyle of a bunch of boozing bachelors -- complete with a habitual indifference to the sartorial conventions and toenail parings scattered all over. The narrator is Dimitri Verhulst, teenage son of Pierre, one of the notorious Verhulst brothers. In tried and tested tradition Pierre has moved back to his mother's house (with his son in tow) in the wake of an irrevocable breakdown in his marriage. This is what the Verhulst brothers do: once their tawdry relationships go down the drain, they move back to their widowed mother's place where they will be looked after while they pursue the only things they live for -- wearing out the well-established route from pub to pub in their backwater Belgian town, always on the lookout for available women, and bashing in the faces of anyone who dares to look at them twice. They do not hold much with the idea of work, so mounting debts make the bailiff a regular visitor to the house -- ditto the police officers who knock on the door at all hours, bringing tidings of one or the other brother's latest arrest for any number of misdeeds; and more often than not news of a hospitalization as a result of yet another barroom brawl. Old Mrs. Verhulst is so accustomed to these visits that she hardly bats an eye, and in fact berates them for their inconsideration in disturbing her rest at such ungodly hours.
The author concentrates on certain significant periods in the life of the Verhulsts. In non-chronological fashion, the reader is taken on a whirlwind ride taking in many surreal incidents. There is a decrepit canine that has a very valid reason for doing Dimitri and his barely-older uncle Girder serious harm; an unexpected visit from a social worker to establish whether the young Dimitri is cared for properly; an elaborate drinking game based on the Tour de France; Pierre's brave decision to check himself into a psychiatric clinic in a determined effort to dry out (with pit stops at every pub on the way there and plenty of time for pool and darts); and the brothers becoming involved in a folklore professor's madcap research project into drinking songs as part of the Belgian cultural heritage (the Verhulsts' reputation as dedicated alcoholics making them the ideal candidates for assisting with the study.) There are also sections concerning the adult Dimitri's ambivalent feelings towards an unwanted son fathered in a reckless moment of sexual gratification.
To what extent the novel is autobiographical, is anybody's guess. The fact that the author chooses to link his own surname to that of the main characters -- not to mention bestowing his own name on his narrator -- could be significant, but then again it may not have any bearing whatsoever on anything. Verhulst writes convincingly enough of these larger than life grotesques -- making it hard to believe that they only ever existed in the confines of his wildly-inventive imagination. What is abundantly clear, is Verhulst's ability to create unique characters that are thoroughly original in word and deed, likeable to the extent that references to sweaty feet and bodily functions brilliantly define them without in any way diminishing them. This is a highly entertaining read, rendered in prose that is uncompromisingly tough on the outside, but as tender as a new born kitten on the inside.
March 29, 2020
I saw the movie years ago, only now I read the book. I was quite excited about the film, certainly about the beautiful imagery, the visual reconstruction of a marginal environment in the 1970s in rural Flanders. It made me think of my own youth; not that it was as marginal and squalid as in the Verhulst family, but it came close. The renewed acquaintance through the book was less successful: some scenes (such as the Roy Orbinson reunion at the home of an Iranian refugee couple) were as hilarious as in the movie, but the accumulation of squalid scenes, constant inebriation and endless vile language worked more repulsively.
What struck me in the book much more than in the film is the intellectual layer that is inserted in the narrative of the little ‘Dimmitrieken’, the youngest of the Verhulst-clan, a youth version of the writer himself. Observing and describing the extreme behavior of his uncles, he regularly uses very expensive words to explain this behavior psychologically; it's a way of story telling that creates distance between him and them. This distancing stands in contrast with the warm sympathy the narrator also clearly feels for the unbreakable bond between his relatives and the glorious intensity of their loose way of life.
Only in the last quarter of the book the much older Dimitri Verhulst clearly comes in view as story teller, the celebrated writer, the intellectual who outgrew his marginal environment, but still struggles with his roots. When he passes the village of Reetveerdegem (in English this is something like 'Arsechester', but it actually exists in Flanders) once again, he feels like a stranger, a traitor even. But once a Verhulst, always a Verhulst, and so he still feels a strong bondage and even compassionate sympathy. And from his sarcastic commentary on how he fared later, you can conclude that he doesn’t think he did so much better than his uncles: he also did not escape the fate of the "misfortunates” (the original Dutch title is much better, perhaps a better English title would have been something in line with Kundera "the unbearable emptiness of life"). It is this personal ambiguity that constitutes the strength of this book, much more than the grotesque outline of a marginal environment. (2.5 stars)
What struck me in the book much more than in the film is the intellectual layer that is inserted in the narrative of the little ‘Dimmitrieken’, the youngest of the Verhulst-clan, a youth version of the writer himself. Observing and describing the extreme behavior of his uncles, he regularly uses very expensive words to explain this behavior psychologically; it's a way of story telling that creates distance between him and them. This distancing stands in contrast with the warm sympathy the narrator also clearly feels for the unbreakable bond between his relatives and the glorious intensity of their loose way of life.
Only in the last quarter of the book the much older Dimitri Verhulst clearly comes in view as story teller, the celebrated writer, the intellectual who outgrew his marginal environment, but still struggles with his roots. When he passes the village of Reetveerdegem (in English this is something like 'Arsechester', but it actually exists in Flanders) once again, he feels like a stranger, a traitor even. But once a Verhulst, always a Verhulst, and so he still feels a strong bondage and even compassionate sympathy. And from his sarcastic commentary on how he fared later, you can conclude that he doesn’t think he did so much better than his uncles: he also did not escape the fate of the "misfortunates” (the original Dutch title is much better, perhaps a better English title would have been something in line with Kundera "the unbearable emptiness of life"). It is this personal ambiguity that constitutes the strength of this book, much more than the grotesque outline of a marginal environment. (2.5 stars)
May 27, 2021
2013 yılında filmi izleyip hayran olunca onlarca kişiye izletmekten biraz daha ötesine gitmeyi arzulayan biri olarak kitabın Türkçe’ye çevrilmesi için pek çok yayıncı arkadaşa ısrar etsem de ciddi bir sonuç alamamıştım. Sonunda güzel bir çeviriyle İthaki Yayınları yardıma koştu diyebilirim. Tebrik ve teşekkürlerimi sunarım. Dramı ve komediyi etkili anlatmak edebi bir beceridir, kabul ama trajediyi iyi bir biçimde ele almak, deyim yerindeyse; dibine yapıştırmadan kıvamı tutturmak çok büyük ustalık gerektirir. Bu kitapta da Dimitri Verhulst’un edebi zekâsını, benzerine çok az rastlanan kurgu becerisini ve insanı hem sarsan hem de sırtını sıvazlayarak teselli eden anlatım biçimini görmek hiç de zor değil. Otobiyografik eser olma özelliğini taşıyan “Çölde Kutup Ayısı” yazarı daha iyi tanıma ve analiz etme imkânı sunarken onun yaşadığı dünyaya açılan pencereden kafamızı uzatıp olanlara gülmek, acımak ve hatta şaşırmak eylemleri arasında gezinmemize de izin verdiği aşikâr. Edepten ve ahlaktan yoksun, işe yaramaz, hizaya gelmez ve düşkünlükleri kimseyle kıyaslanamaz bir aileyi okura sevdirme işini ancak kıvrak zekâsıyla ve üstün yeteneğiyle öne çıkan yazarlar becerebilir. Bunu gerçekleştirebilmek için de hayatlarının her alanında kaybetmekten muzdarip üç amca ve babadan oluşan malzeme deposu yazarın elini fazlasıyla güçlendirmiş kuşkusuz. Alkolizmin, sorumsuzluğun, kavga-gürültünün ve her şeye rağmen aile olmanın kutsallığını başarılı bir şekilde ele alıp üstün gözlem yeteneğiyle birleştirmesi Dimitri Verhulst’un başarısına kılıf oluyor. Bağışıklık sistemi güçlü, midesine güvenen ve edebi sınırları olmayan okurlar için Çölde Kutup Ayısı; Köpüğü ironi ve mizah olan esaslı bir bira gibi sert ve keyif verici.
August 30, 2021
Mislila sam da će biti kec, ali ipak sam promenila mišljenje. Priča ispričana već ne znam koliko puta - opet neka vukojebina (ovaj put flandrijska) i dete koja odrasta međ' ujacima alkoholičarima, psovkama, brdima prljavog veša, da kažemo u jednoj suboptimalnoj sredini za zdrav dečiji razvoj.
Naslov preveden na srpski je "Zaludnost življenja", na makedonski i engleski "Baksuzi", a na nemački i francuski "Usranost stvari" i taj mi se najviše i dopada.
Ono što je drugačije jeste da se pisac na svu čitaočevu sreću ne iživljava tokom opisa gadosti (kao što je to slučaj kod Teskobe večeri i Gotovo je sa Edijem Belgelom dodati-još-koji-naslov-po-potrebi). Osim možda opisa one jadne keruše. Druga pozitivna stvar je jedna fina klackalica između želje da se pobegne iz te učmale sredine, da se preseku sve veze sa prošlošću... i trčanja nazad u selo, i prkosnog dokazivanja da je i on pravi član svoje porodice. I treća je naravno Roj Orbinson.
Naslov preveden na srpski je "Zaludnost življenja", na makedonski i engleski "Baksuzi", a na nemački i francuski "Usranost stvari" i taj mi se najviše i dopada.
Ono što je drugačije jeste da se pisac na svu čitaočevu sreću ne iživljava tokom opisa gadosti (kao što je to slučaj kod Teskobe večeri i Gotovo je sa Edijem Belgelom dodati-još-koji-naslov-po-potrebi). Osim možda opisa one jadne keruše. Druga pozitivna stvar je jedna fina klackalica između želje da se pobegne iz te učmale sredine, da se preseku sve veze sa prošlošću... i trčanja nazad u selo, i prkosnog dokazivanja da je i on pravi član svoje porodice. I treća je naravno Roj Orbinson.
February 13, 2017
Identičan naslov; država u kojoj je snimljen film istovetna kao i zemlja porekla pisca; radnja, što se i podrazumeva, identična. Ništa od navedenog, pak, nije me podsetilo da sam pre pola gofine gledao filmsku adaptaciju ovog romana. Ne. Mene je navela samo jedna rečenica koja glasi: "Ali kada je trebalo, mi štitimo jedni druge. Uvek. Svugde". Upravo ta rečenica i jeste suština ovog romana. Jer ova priča nije (samo) o porodici, već o jedinstvu. To što autor pripoveda o porodici tj. Retkom Usponu i vrlo čestim padovima iste, može da se prenese i na bilo kakvu zajednicu. Ista ta skupina postoji u svakom kolektivu, i kao svaki kolektiv koji se nalazi na dnu margine - ne želi da izadje iz njega. Sama ta dekadencija, uzročno-poslednične veze koje kopaju - golim rukama - još veće dno za sigurnu raku, ne bi bilo za ocenu koju sam postavio da nije humora. I to kakvog humora! Invalid koji se šali na račun nepokretnih ljudi ili slep čovek koji se od srca smeje na humorističke dosetke na račun "vida", bio bi neka vrsta ekvivalenta humoru koji je prisutan u ovom romanu. Istina, ima "prostog" humora koji to u stvari nije. Jer bi Bilo prosto blasfemično strpati genijalni saut park u isti koš sa duhovitošću scenarista dva i po muškarca, kao što ni ovaj pisac ne bi trebao da se strpa u isti koš sa humorom koji je prisutan kod bukovskog.
Oni(familija u romanu), poput boracakoji u nekim rqtnim situacijama ginu isključivo zbog toga što nisu hteli da se razdvoje, takodje propadaju zbog tog jedinstva. Jer kao što u jednom trenutku izgovara pripovedač: "... Da su kao leva i desna ruka, i da jedan drugog uvek štite"
P.s. za greške u interpunkciji, gutanje slova, i izostanak velikih slova tamo gde im je mesto - optužite moj telefon.
Oni(familija u romanu), poput boracakoji u nekim rqtnim situacijama ginu isključivo zbog toga što nisu hteli da se razdvoje, takodje propadaju zbog tog jedinstva. Jer kao što u jednom trenutku izgovara pripovedač: "... Da su kao leva i desna ruka, i da jedan drugog uvek štite"
P.s. za greške u interpunkciji, gutanje slova, i izostanak velikih slova tamo gde im je mesto - optužite moj telefon.
April 11, 2022
‘Je zag hen bedenkelijk naar ons kijken wanneer wij geheel traditioneel bezopen wederkeerden van een kaatswedstrijd, of angstig naar binnen hollen wanneer wij onze overspelige vrouwen in het kruis trapten of een deel van het meubilair op de straatstenen keilden. Maar had men over ons een televisieserie gemaakt, dan zouden zij daar wel geamuseerd naar gekeken hebben’ (p. 119).
Dimitri, you got my heart ❤️
Dimitri, you got my heart ❤️
July 9, 2022
Meermaals luidop gelachen om vervolgens, paar pagina’s verder, even te moeten slikken.
January 9, 2023
ik zag net dat ik nog geen review heb geschreven voor een van mijn allerfavorietste boeken allertijden.
dus bij deze.
dat was het.
dus bij deze.
dat was het.
February 1, 2022
Godverdenondedommemiljaardenondedju, Verhulst. Zelden dat een boek mij zo intrigeerde. Merci.
November 6, 2016
De tweede poging om door dit verhaal te geraken was de goede. Tien jaar geleden legde ik het boek vol walging opzij na honderd pagina’s. Omdat mijn levensverhaal veel overeenkomsten heeft met dat van Dimitri Verhulst, waren de beschreven scènes verschrikkelijk herkenbaar. Ook ik werd geconfronteerd met ‘De helaasheid der familiebanden', misschien een betere want veelzeggender titel dan ‘De helaasheid der dingen’. Nu het contact met mijn familie verwaterd is en mijn jeugd verder van me af staat, lukte het uitlezen opeens wel. Toch blijft de herkenning groot. Hoezeer je ook je eigen weg baant, je jeugd en opvoeding blijven je achtervolgen. Echt mooi vind ik dit boek niet. Weer moest ik me vanaf pagina honderd pushen om verder te lezen, maar ik ben toch blij te hebben doorgezet. Anders had ik op het eind het zo herkenbare fragment gemist waarin Verhulst een zeldzaam later bezoek aan zijn nonkels beschrijft: “Ik ben het die mij als een vreemde heeft gedragen, als de vreemde die ik misschien ook geworden ben, en het was pedant geweest hen niet over mijn geluk te willen vertellen omdat zij daar misschien geen boodschap aan gehad zouden hebben, terwijl ze blij zouden zijn te horen dat ik het goed heb”. Ook ik voel me een vreemde als ik me tussen mijn familie bevind. Ook ik vertel hen niet hoe goed het met me gaat. Het blijft een confronterend boek. En om heel eerlijk te zijn vond ik de film beter. Daar zie je duidelijk hoe Dimitri zich een weg door het leven baant, weg van zijn familie, vooral door zijn intelligentie én bepaalde invloeden van buitenaf. De positieve boodschap op het eind bleef bij me hangen: er bestaat een weg uit alle miserie. Zaak is die te (willen) vinden. In het boek is dat effect een pak minder.
May 2, 2021
Thanks to Arjen for introducing me to this book! It's originally in Dutch and there is also a movie, so I'm really curious who, of my readers, has heard of this book. We read it quite fast, it wasn't that long, but I enjoyed it a lot. The writing style and humor were things that stood out to me.
Full review can be found at BiteIntoBooks
Definitely a piece of Dutch Literature that I would recommend anyone to read. You get through it quite quick and the choice of words and the humor balanced out with the heavy topics are like nothing I've ever seen. Definitely a book that will leave you laughing out loud, but also pondering several heavy subjects.
Full review can be found at BiteIntoBooks
Definitely a piece of Dutch Literature that I would recommend anyone to read. You get through it quite quick and the choice of words and the humor balanced out with the heavy topics are like nothing I've ever seen. Definitely a book that will leave you laughing out loud, but also pondering several heavy subjects.
January 11, 2021
The Misfortunates gives an impression of an autobiographical novel of the Verhulst family living in the small town of Arsendegem (fictional... trust me, I looked it up). In a sequence of chapters that read more like a compilation of short stories, we follow the growing-up tale of Dimmy (Dimitri Verhulst) among his forever-drunk father and uncles who all live at the grandmother's (whenever they're not at the pub). Through a healthy dose of dark humor, we're introduced to a rather sad and moving story whose main focus is on father-son relationships from one generation to the next. However, it leaves a lot of gaps and something to be desired for in a story that's supposed to reveal how one gets to become an author and a fairly successful human being with a childhood like that. In a way, I got the impression of something unfinished in the life story of Dimmy beyond that of his own struggles with fatherhood. Hence, the 3.5-star rating that's rounded up to 4 stars this time.
April 16, 2023
İlginç ve iğrenç. Hassas bir okur için belki talihsiz bir kitap ama böyle şeylere takılan bir okur değilseniz trajikomik bir cevher.
May 23, 2013
Dimmy is twelve and lives with his father, three uncles and his grandmother in her crappy old house in the fictional town of Aresendegem, Belgium. Since the four brothers are serious beer drinkers who live to drink - and watch Roy Orbison on the telly - the house is filthy and Dimmy has grown up sleeping in the fug of his father's drunken breath, ever since his mother left and they moved here. His uncles - Heavy, Herman and Girder - are all pretty interesting blokes, and Dimmy loves them all. But at some point, he grows up to realise that a life of drinking, fighting, smoking, sleeping and then starting it all again the next day isn't for him.
It wasn't until I was about halfway through this relatively short novel that I realised the main character and narrator had the same name as the author - I know, how could I have missed that?! Once I did notice it, the novel shifted its footing from fiction to memoir, and I've no idea how much of this really is based on the author's life - I got the feeling quite a lot of it is (promotional material for the book described it as "semi-autobiographical"). I also started to wonder, especially by the end, whether this book slotted in amongst the author's other novels, something that needed to be read in conjunction with all his novels, in order to get the full picture: the fact that, towards the end, he skips over a great deal and leaves out a lot, left me sadly disappointed and dissatisfied at the end (though I would also say that he knew when to stop, and that's something I sometimes wish more writers would learn).
The Misfortunates is highly entertaining, quite funny, rather sad but always honest and surprisingly upbeat. This isn't one of those "oh woe is me" memoirs or novels of childhood abuse and addiction. The Verhulsts are quite proud of their drinking, and they're living the life they want to live. As Dimitri describes the homes he's lived in with his father, and his father's convictions - such as they are - you get a clear sense for this family and what Dimitri's life was like:
Translated by David Colmer, an Australian, the story reads extremely well and has wonderful flow. There's a great deal of humour, though it's often of the sardonic, ironic or "black comedy" style, the kind of humour that makes the realities of the story both easier to read about and that much more tragic and heavy-of-heart. I initially wanted to read this because I was looking for a book set in Belgium, but I don't know if it's because of the translation or because this is indeed reflective of life there in the late 20th century and it just happens to be all-too familiar, but it was easy to imagine I was reading a book set in Ireland, say, or Manchester or many other places where men go to the pub in the evening and poverty's a bitch you can't escape (or a lifestyle that becomes ingrained).
Dimitri recounts certain chapters, or vignettes, in his life, moving back and forth in time sometimes, but deftly creating a clear picture. The chapters each focus on a memorable time in Dimitri's life, like when his cousin Sylvia and her mother came to stay to escape her abusive father, or the summer he and his friends hung out on the pond rumoured to be where a crazy old lady drowned all her babies. The time his uncle Girder, only sixteen himself, he devised a Tour de France of drinking is quite the story: five miles equaled one beer, and there were certain drinks that had to be consumed on particular legs, and different jerseys to win. Girder ends up in the hospital for that one, and we never do learn who won the race. In fact, many of them end up in hospital after drinking too much - his uncle Herman for the contest to win a Guinness World Record, and his own father ends up voluntarily entering a psychiatric clinic in order to stop himself from drinking. It's rather vague whether that worked or not, in the end, but it's clear what led to his decision.
I was very absorbed in this story, which is why I was so troubled in the last two or three chapters when it started to skip around in Dimitri's adult life, completely skipping over what I would have thought were pivotal moments in his life, just abruptly dumping us in a new scene without any kind of transition, or not following-up on a previous story to tell us the outcome. True, the focus on the story turned out to be the four Verhulst men and their drinking, their lifestyle and Dimitri's memories of them, but the connection between them and Dimmy's decision not to follow in their footsteps (not that he abstains or anything), is not present in this story. It disrupted the flow and made it feel like I was missing a section or two.
This is indeed a story of the misfortunates, those who "have a more realistic view of the world" [p.129], and Dimitri's love for his uncles and father. It's also a story of Dimitri's childhood, sharing certain chapters from his life that paint a clear and interesting portrait of his life growing up in this small, run-down town, in a decrepit house with a fiercely loyal family. There's nothing self-indulgent about this story, nothing melodramatic - it's tone is one of wry humour, deep affection and pride, as well as a shake of the head at the waste and foolishness. It is a refreshing read after the more bleak stories Australian and Canadian writers produce, or the more self-indulgent and "uplifting" stories from America. It left me with questions, true, but that doesn't take away from its attributes. A wonderful story, wonderfully told.
They also made this book into a movie; you can see the trailer for it here.
It wasn't until I was about halfway through this relatively short novel that I realised the main character and narrator had the same name as the author - I know, how could I have missed that?! Once I did notice it, the novel shifted its footing from fiction to memoir, and I've no idea how much of this really is based on the author's life - I got the feeling quite a lot of it is (promotional material for the book described it as "semi-autobiographical"). I also started to wonder, especially by the end, whether this book slotted in amongst the author's other novels, something that needed to be read in conjunction with all his novels, in order to get the full picture: the fact that, towards the end, he skips over a great deal and leaves out a lot, left me sadly disappointed and dissatisfied at the end (though I would also say that he knew when to stop, and that's something I sometimes wish more writers would learn).
The Misfortunates is highly entertaining, quite funny, rather sad but always honest and surprisingly upbeat. This isn't one of those "oh woe is me" memoirs or novels of childhood abuse and addiction. The Verhulsts are quite proud of their drinking, and they're living the life they want to live. As Dimitri describes the homes he's lived in with his father, and his father's convictions - such as they are - you get a clear sense for this family and what Dimitri's life was like:
It's like this: I spent my first years with my parents in Kanton Stret on a tiny courtyard with a communal water pump and a communistic toilet - a hole in a plank, directly above the septic tank. Water ran down the inside of the living-room walls and we stuffed balls of newspaper into the worm-eaten window frames to keep out the wind. My father always spoke of the inconveniences of our residence with pride - longing for an easy life was a clear sign of inadequate masculinity - and when we finally moved to Mere Street [his grandmother's house] it was only to be even worse off. Our new toilet was a hole in a plank as well, but this house had the advantage of a leaking roof. [...] And we cherished the rotten, mushroom-sprouting death trap of a staircase over the cellar as a prime example of proletarian architecture. My father was a socialist and went to great lengths to be recognized as such. For him, possessions were nothing more or less than extra dusting. You didn't own them, they owned you. If a burst of unexpected thrift put us in danger of reaching the end of the month with a financial surplus, he hurriedly plundered the bank account and drank his entire pay packet to protect us from the temptations of capitalism. Unfortunately my mother revealed herself more and more as a bourgeois cow: she was too vain for worn-out shoes and filed for divorce after just ten years of marriage. When she left, she took everything that wasn't nailed down, thus granting my father ultimate bliss. [pp.2-3]
Translated by David Colmer, an Australian, the story reads extremely well and has wonderful flow. There's a great deal of humour, though it's often of the sardonic, ironic or "black comedy" style, the kind of humour that makes the realities of the story both easier to read about and that much more tragic and heavy-of-heart. I initially wanted to read this because I was looking for a book set in Belgium, but I don't know if it's because of the translation or because this is indeed reflective of life there in the late 20th century and it just happens to be all-too familiar, but it was easy to imagine I was reading a book set in Ireland, say, or Manchester or many other places where men go to the pub in the evening and poverty's a bitch you can't escape (or a lifestyle that becomes ingrained).
Dimitri recounts certain chapters, or vignettes, in his life, moving back and forth in time sometimes, but deftly creating a clear picture. The chapters each focus on a memorable time in Dimitri's life, like when his cousin Sylvia and her mother came to stay to escape her abusive father, or the summer he and his friends hung out on the pond rumoured to be where a crazy old lady drowned all her babies. The time his uncle Girder, only sixteen himself, he devised a Tour de France of drinking is quite the story: five miles equaled one beer, and there were certain drinks that had to be consumed on particular legs, and different jerseys to win. Girder ends up in the hospital for that one, and we never do learn who won the race. In fact, many of them end up in hospital after drinking too much - his uncle Herman for the contest to win a Guinness World Record, and his own father ends up voluntarily entering a psychiatric clinic in order to stop himself from drinking. It's rather vague whether that worked or not, in the end, but it's clear what led to his decision.
We knew that thoughts come at night, in bed, and we suspected that my father had lain awake in mortal fear, feeling the pain in his body, in his liver, his stomach, his chest. And that he, alone with his thoughts, lost his brave acceptance of physical deterioration. We couldn't exclude the possibility that he had licked his sopping hands, discovering to his horror that he had started to sweat alcohol, that his body was defeated and no longer knew how to get rid of all that fluid, that it had started to leak it out of all possible pores and holes. My father now tasted like beer and his armpits smelled like it too. Maybe he had already noticed the whites of his eyes growing yellow, his steady loss of weight. A drinker's coffin is seldom a heavy burden, undertakers are always glad to carry them, and our family would have saved a lot of money if we'd been able to pay for our funerals by the pound. Did he think that night about the worms that were besotted by the deliciously fermenting bodies of dead soaks and made the soil of our graveyard so rich that the gravediggers spent their working hours growing carrots and spinach between the collapsed and forgotten tombstones of a previous generation of chain drinkers? [p.100]
I was very absorbed in this story, which is why I was so troubled in the last two or three chapters when it started to skip around in Dimitri's adult life, completely skipping over what I would have thought were pivotal moments in his life, just abruptly dumping us in a new scene without any kind of transition, or not following-up on a previous story to tell us the outcome. True, the focus on the story turned out to be the four Verhulst men and their drinking, their lifestyle and Dimitri's memories of them, but the connection between them and Dimmy's decision not to follow in their footsteps (not that he abstains or anything), is not present in this story. It disrupted the flow and made it feel like I was missing a section or two.
This is indeed a story of the misfortunates, those who "have a more realistic view of the world" [p.129], and Dimitri's love for his uncles and father. It's also a story of Dimitri's childhood, sharing certain chapters from his life that paint a clear and interesting portrait of his life growing up in this small, run-down town, in a decrepit house with a fiercely loyal family. There's nothing self-indulgent about this story, nothing melodramatic - it's tone is one of wry humour, deep affection and pride, as well as a shake of the head at the waste and foolishness. It is a refreshing read after the more bleak stories Australian and Canadian writers produce, or the more self-indulgent and "uplifting" stories from America. It left me with questions, true, but that doesn't take away from its attributes. A wonderful story, wonderfully told.
They also made this book into a movie; you can see the trailer for it here.
January 6, 2024
Çölde Kutup Ayısı, Geç Kalan’dan sonraki durağımdı. Bu kitap Dimitri Verhulst’tan izler taşıdığı için hem daha iyi bağlantı kurduğumu hissettiğim bir kitap oldu hem de mizah olarak Geç Kalan’ın biraz daha ilerisindeydi.
Kitabın alkol seviyesi o kadar yüksek ki yanına ateşle yaklaşsanız alev alır muhtemelen. Çoğu bölümde Dimitri’nin alkolik babası ve amcaları (yüce içiciler) beni çok güldürdü. Başta Putrel’in komaya giriş haberi annelerine "Koma durumu bilimsel bir terim hanımefendi. Tam ölmüş sayılmıyorsunuz ancak pek yaşıyor da sayılmadığınız bir durum anlamına geliyor." şeklinde verildiğinde de çok eğleneceğimden emindim ve bu düşüncem doğrulanmış oldu. Çünkü zaten Geç Kalan’dan anlatım şekline alışkındım. Aslında alışkın olmanızın gerektiği bir anlatım değil ama ben yazarlardan kişisel izler taşıyan kitaplardan önce başka kitaplarıyla başlamayı seviyorum çoğu zaman bu sıralamaya uyamasam da.
Normalde böyle bir ortamda geçen çocukluk çok daha başka bir anlatımla da karşımıza çıkabilir (belki dramatik bir şekilde bile verilebilir) ama Dimitri Verhulst aynı çetenin bir üyesi olduğunu hissettiren bir savunmayla ve ironik bir şekilde yansıtmış çocukluğu. Sanki dünyanın en iyi ortamıymış ve bunu biz bozuyormuşuz gibi bir anlatımdan bahsediyorum. Fakat sonuna kadar böyle devam etmiyor, karakter yetişkin bir adam olarak karşımıza çıktığında kitap daha melankolik bir yola doğru sapıyor. Eskiden ait olduğun yere yabancılaşıyorsun ve "Seni tanıyamaz olduk" cümlesine çarpabiliyorsun. Ölümler, geride bırakılanlar, nefret edilenler ve terk edilenler kalıyor elinde. Dimitri Verhulst bu noktaya nasıl geçebildi bilmiyorum ama detay veremeyeceğim bir noktada birden çöktüğümü hissettim. Ayrıca "Halkbilimciler Yorumlasın" kısmında halkı inceleyenlerin kendilerini halktan daha yüksek görmesi kısmı acayip iyiydi. Gerçekten Verhulst’un bazı konularda çok net bir şekilde hedef alması ve bunu okura tertemiz iletmesini inanılmaz buluyorum. Bu yüzden gözlerimi kendisine diktim, seni izliyorum!
Kitabın alkol seviyesi o kadar yüksek ki yanına ateşle yaklaşsanız alev alır muhtemelen. Çoğu bölümde Dimitri’nin alkolik babası ve amcaları (yüce içiciler) beni çok güldürdü. Başta Putrel’in komaya giriş haberi annelerine "Koma durumu bilimsel bir terim hanımefendi. Tam ölmüş sayılmıyorsunuz ancak pek yaşıyor da sayılmadığınız bir durum anlamına geliyor." şeklinde verildiğinde de çok eğleneceğimden emindim ve bu düşüncem doğrulanmış oldu. Çünkü zaten Geç Kalan’dan anlatım şekline alışkındım. Aslında alışkın olmanızın gerektiği bir anlatım değil ama ben yazarlardan kişisel izler taşıyan kitaplardan önce başka kitaplarıyla başlamayı seviyorum çoğu zaman bu sıralamaya uyamasam da.
Normalde böyle bir ortamda geçen çocukluk çok daha başka bir anlatımla da karşımıza çıkabilir (belki dramatik bir şekilde bile verilebilir) ama Dimitri Verhulst aynı çetenin bir üyesi olduğunu hissettiren bir savunmayla ve ironik bir şekilde yansıtmış çocukluğu. Sanki dünyanın en iyi ortamıymış ve bunu biz bozuyormuşuz gibi bir anlatımdan bahsediyorum. Fakat sonuna kadar böyle devam etmiyor, karakter yetişkin bir adam olarak karşımıza çıktığında kitap daha melankolik bir yola doğru sapıyor. Eskiden ait olduğun yere yabancılaşıyorsun ve "Seni tanıyamaz olduk" cümlesine çarpabiliyorsun. Ölümler, geride bırakılanlar, nefret edilenler ve terk edilenler kalıyor elinde. Dimitri Verhulst bu noktaya nasıl geçebildi bilmiyorum ama detay veremeyeceğim bir noktada birden çöktüğümü hissettim. Ayrıca "Halkbilimciler Yorumlasın" kısmında halkı inceleyenlerin kendilerini halktan daha yüksek görmesi kısmı acayip iyiydi. Gerçekten Verhulst’un bazı konularda çok net bir şekilde hedef alması ve bunu okura tertemiz iletmesini inanılmaz buluyorum. Bu yüzden gözlerimi kendisine diktim, seni izliyorum!
July 5, 2024
Ook bij dit geweldige boek van Dimitri Verhulst volstaat het om een goede quote te geven.
“Wij hadden hem allemaal horen thuiskomen die ochtend. Wij hadden hem horen pissen in de wasbak, ondertussen puttend uit het oeuvre van Nina Simone, Julia Iglesias en Roy Orbison. Wij hadden hem vervolgens van de trap horen struiken, fotolijsten meesleurend in zijn val. Gevolgd door een kletterende vloek, prachtige coïonaden gericht aan het adres van mijn moeder en enkele liberale politici. Daarna was hij in een oorlog verwikkeld geraakt met zijn schoenveters, en toen hij uiteindelijk na veel labeur zijn naar een ganse tabaksplantage muffende kleren uit had heeft hij het raam aan de straatkant opengemaakt en is hij daar in zijn blote piezeloeter luidkeels de Internationale beginnen zingen in, volgens hem, het Russisch. Wellicht liefdevol denkend aan Marx en Lenin, en tollend in zijn hoofd, is hij in slaap gerold.”
“Wij hadden hem allemaal horen thuiskomen die ochtend. Wij hadden hem horen pissen in de wasbak, ondertussen puttend uit het oeuvre van Nina Simone, Julia Iglesias en Roy Orbison. Wij hadden hem vervolgens van de trap horen struiken, fotolijsten meesleurend in zijn val. Gevolgd door een kletterende vloek, prachtige coïonaden gericht aan het adres van mijn moeder en enkele liberale politici. Daarna was hij in een oorlog verwikkeld geraakt met zijn schoenveters, en toen hij uiteindelijk na veel labeur zijn naar een ganse tabaksplantage muffende kleren uit had heeft hij het raam aan de straatkant opengemaakt en is hij daar in zijn blote piezeloeter luidkeels de Internationale beginnen zingen in, volgens hem, het Russisch. Wellicht liefdevol denkend aan Marx en Lenin, en tollend in zijn hoofd, is hij in slaap gerold.”
August 1, 2024
Belgen kunnen het echt heel veel beter. Prachtig geconstrueerde volzinnen. Er zit zoveel informatie en gevoel in sommige zinnen dat ik ze steeds herhaalde in mijn hoofd, wilde lospeuteren en ophangen. Men zou er een college over kunnen geven. Schurend, rauw maar romantisch, met veel ironie. Dit kom je maar weinig tegen. Een van mijn favorieten.
May 30, 2021
Türkiye’de yaşayan insanlar olarak “doğduğun ev kaderindir” veya “coğrafya kaderdir” gibi lafları sık sık duymaya alışkınız. İstesek de istemesek de kendi kaderimizi yazmayı becerebilsek de içinde büyüdüğümüz aile, ülke, edindiğimiz çevre kim olduğumuzu ve nasıl yaşadığımızı etkiliyor bence. Çölde Kutup Ayısı da bunun örneklerinden biri. Belçikalı yazar Dimitri Verhulst, filme de uyarlanan kısmen otobiyografik romanında içinde büyüdüğü aileyi anlatıyor. Çölde Kutup Ayısı hikayesi pek çok yerde Shameless dizisiyle karşılaştırılmış. Okuduğunuzda ve/veya izlediğinizde neden böyle yaptıklarını anlayacaksınız: her ikisi de sürekli “yok artık; bu olmuş olamaz!” dedirtip duruyor insana. Büyük bir kısmını 13 yaşındaki Gunther’ın ağzından okuduğumuz hikâye b*k, bira ve leşlik kokuyor.
Gunther, babası, üç amcası ve babaannesi ile birlikte aynı evde yaşıyor. Strobbe ailesinin hayattaki amacı bol bol içki içmek, sarhoş olmak, gönül eğlendirmek ve toplumun gerektirdiği tüm kurallara karşı koyarak, kafalarına göre yaşamak!
Devamı: https://zimlicious.com/colde-kutup-ay...
Gunther, babası, üç amcası ve babaannesi ile birlikte aynı evde yaşıyor. Strobbe ailesinin hayattaki amacı bol bol içki içmek, sarhoş olmak, gönül eğlendirmek ve toplumun gerektirdiği tüm kurallara karşı koyarak, kafalarına göre yaşamak!
Devamı: https://zimlicious.com/colde-kutup-ay...
September 10, 2024
Wat mij keer op keer pakt wanneer ik in het Nederlands lees, is de manier waarop Nederlandse taal gebruikt wordt. De schrijver laat mij zien dat ondanks wat mijn omgeving soms beweert: namelijk dat alles beter klinkt in het Engels, en waar zij dan ook steevast in geloven, zeker niet altijd het geval is. Volgens mij moet je Nederlandse literatuur leren appreciëren, en dat gebeurt natuurlijk niet vanzelf, niet als je enkel Engels leest. Om onze taal te waarderen vind ik dit boek wel goed. Als je beweert dat Nederlands geen mooie taal is, lees je de juiste boeken niet!
Naar het einde toe ervaarde ik het me wat emotioneler, al kan dat helemaal aan mijzelf liggen. Misschien kwam dat omdat ik me zo moeiteloos kon inbeelden in zijn wereld dat alle volgende gebeurtenissen me begonnen te raken. De helaasheid er dingen heeft mij ontroert. Inhoudelijk én taalkundig.
Hoewel de schrijver het me door zijn beeldend taalgebruik zeer gemakkelijk maakt om me het verhaal in te beelden, voelde ik me absoluut een vreemde in deze wereld, en zou het haten me hierin te bevinden. Toch vond ik het fijn om te lezen en kon ik haast niet stoppen (wat bij mij niet snel gebeurt), verslaafd aan het verhaal werd ik. In tegenstelling met andere boeken, voelt dit zo echt aan. Dat is ook eens wat anders hé.
Scheldwoorden, vulgair of onbeschaafd taalgebruik worden zeker niet vermeden, een kutsituatie is nu eenmaal een kutsituatie. Je moet daar dan geen strikje rond doen, vind ik.
Het boek is gedeeltelijk autobiografisch en alle hoofdstukken van het boek zijn enigszins afgeronde verhalen, wat ik nog niet eerder gelezen had en waarin ik me wel kon vinden.
Naar het einde toe ervaarde ik het me wat emotioneler, al kan dat helemaal aan mijzelf liggen. Misschien kwam dat omdat ik me zo moeiteloos kon inbeelden in zijn wereld dat alle volgende gebeurtenissen me begonnen te raken. De helaasheid er dingen heeft mij ontroert. Inhoudelijk én taalkundig.
Hoewel de schrijver het me door zijn beeldend taalgebruik zeer gemakkelijk maakt om me het verhaal in te beelden, voelde ik me absoluut een vreemde in deze wereld, en zou het haten me hierin te bevinden. Toch vond ik het fijn om te lezen en kon ik haast niet stoppen (wat bij mij niet snel gebeurt), verslaafd aan het verhaal werd ik. In tegenstelling met andere boeken, voelt dit zo echt aan. Dat is ook eens wat anders hé.
Scheldwoorden, vulgair of onbeschaafd taalgebruik worden zeker niet vermeden, een kutsituatie is nu eenmaal een kutsituatie. Je moet daar dan geen strikje rond doen, vind ik.
Het boek is gedeeltelijk autobiografisch en alle hoofdstukken van het boek zijn enigszins afgeronde verhalen, wat ik nog niet eerder gelezen had en waarin ik me wel kon vinden.
January 18, 2020
recensie volgt
January 11, 2023
Een Vlaamse klassieker - de Ronde Van Frankrijk bier drinken (en ja ook sterke drank per col die beklommen moet worden) is ronduit hilarisch maar toch ook herkenbaar als je opgegroeid bent in een tijd waar in elke straat op elke hoek een café was! Dit alles niet enkel overgoten met voldoende alcohol, maar vooral met een geweldige schrijfstijl! Wow!
May 26, 2021
Şeylerin Boktanlığı 💙
May 6, 2024
Schrijnend, maar ook weer humoristisch. Heel goed geschreven.
December 22, 2023
Goor, zielig, grappig en een keiharde spiegel voor elke laag van de samenleving. Je gunt het niemand om zo op te groeien maar raadt het boek een ieder aan met een sterke maag
September 14, 2024
Vlaamser wordt het niet!! Heel grof en toch poëtisch
March 19, 2018
Het is een smal richeltje waarop Dimitri Verhulst balanceert in de roman ‘De helaasheid der dingen’. Enerzijds is er de kans om ‘over de top’ te geraken in het overdrijven van de asociale toestanden in de beschreven familie Verhulst, als een zichzelf overschreeuwende lied(erlijke)-zanger van een loflied op amoreel gedrag. Anderzijds loert de kans op sentimentaliteit.
Ik vind dat de schrijver Dimitri Verhulst, op die ‘Grat’, als in de lengterichting van een berglandschap – gedeeltelijk schuilgaand in onbelangrijke dalletjes, de roman is episodisch – een goede balans heeft weten te behouden. De hoofdpersoon maakt een ontwikkeling door van een jongen die al snel zijn argeloosheid kwijtraakt, via het onderdeel zijn van het loyaliteitscollectief dat hij vormt met zijn vader en enkele ooms, tot het afstand nemen van die familie(trekken) als langzamerhand, als hij zelf vader is geworden, het besef doordringt, dat doordrinken niet helpt. Dimitri, de kleine, raakt niettemin een zekere verbondenheid met het familiaire milieu waaruit hij voortkomt, niet kwijt. Voor mij is de meest aansprekende scene die met vader die met weekendverlof naar huis terugkeert uit de kliniek, waar aan het eind zo prachtig voelbaar is hoe dat gaat. Ik ben ook wel een liefhebber van het rijke taalgebruik dat Verhulst hanteert. JM
Ik vind dat de schrijver Dimitri Verhulst, op die ‘Grat’, als in de lengterichting van een berglandschap – gedeeltelijk schuilgaand in onbelangrijke dalletjes, de roman is episodisch – een goede balans heeft weten te behouden. De hoofdpersoon maakt een ontwikkeling door van een jongen die al snel zijn argeloosheid kwijtraakt, via het onderdeel zijn van het loyaliteitscollectief dat hij vormt met zijn vader en enkele ooms, tot het afstand nemen van die familie(trekken) als langzamerhand, als hij zelf vader is geworden, het besef doordringt, dat doordrinken niet helpt. Dimitri, de kleine, raakt niettemin een zekere verbondenheid met het familiaire milieu waaruit hij voortkomt, niet kwijt. Voor mij is de meest aansprekende scene die met vader die met weekendverlof naar huis terugkeert uit de kliniek, waar aan het eind zo prachtig voelbaar is hoe dat gaat. Ik ben ook wel een liefhebber van het rijke taalgebruik dat Verhulst hanteert. JM
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