the passion

am citit niste lucruri scrise despre aceasta carte, the passion, de jeanette winterson. ca este superficiala, ca descrie mult si in cerc. ca se repeta. desi ma uit in urma si la cartea inchisa de pe masa si parca nu imi vine sa cred asa ceva. as putea pune asta in seama faptului ca nu sunt un cititor avizat. am citit multicel, dar cam putin. nu am inca acea finete necesara pentru a observa aceste detalii sau pentru a le taxa ca atare. <later edit: azi-noapte, dupa ce am scris postul asta, m-am gandit un pic mai mult la carte. probabil cartea este precum pasiunea. mereu revine la obiectul ei, uneori obsesiv si de neinteles. circular. repetitiv. zic si eu.>

cand am primit cartea imprumut, alaturi de alte doua, am observat pe cotor o bulina verde, pe celelalte doua cate o steluta aurie. am inteles apoi ca e un soi de clasificare a proprietarului. daca aceasta carte are bulina, ce ma asteapta oare de la celelalte doua? mi-a luat o luna si un pic sa o termin. am trecut cu greu peste primul capitol, prima poveste, si am ramas acolo. spunea ceva despre bonaparte si despre razboi. victorii sau infrangeri. tineri luati de acasa si invatati sa isi lase inima acolo.

“i was happy but happy is an adult word. you don’t have to ask a child about happy, you see it. they are or they are not. adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. much easier to let it blow all over you.” (pg. 25)

“soldiers and women. that’s how the world is. any other role is temporary. any other role is a gesture.” (pg. 45)

o intreaga poveste despre o pasiune care schimba lumi, razboiul. fara sa se povesteasca multe, prezenta lui bonaparte in poveste e coplesitoare, prin ochii baiatului-soldat.

mi-am luat inima in dinti acum o seara si am terminat cartea. nu am ridicat ochii dintre pagini pana cand nu am terminat cele trei capitole-povesti ramase.

cea de-a doua poveste despre fata unui pescar, nascuta sub o stea… diferita. despre aventurile ei la casino, unde lua infatisarea unui tanar subtire, cu mustata, si despre noptile ei alaturi de o doamna casatorita, de vita nobila. despre venetia, un oras care se reinventeaza mereu, care ascunde mereu secrete si dezvaluie mereu cate ceva, fara a lasa niciodata sa se vada un tot.

“we are a philosophical people, conversant with the nature of greed and desire, holding hands with the Devil and God. we would not wish to let go of either. this living bridge is tempting to all and you may lose your soul or find it here.” (pg. 57)

in aceasta poveste o alta fateta a pasiunii. pasiunea de a juca; pasiunea de a pierde. si o alta pasiune, aceea care face intreaga fiinta sa tremure, aceea de a fi ialtcineva stapan pe inima ta.

“you play, you win. you play, you lose. you play.” (pg. 66)

“what you risk reveals what you value” (pg. 43)

“hectic stupor. it manifests itself as a compulsion to be forever doing something, however meaningless. the body must move but the mind is blank.” (pg. 62)

desi ma asteptam la patru povesti complet separate, unite doar prin figura trecatoare a lui bonaparte sau a lui josephine, ultimele doua capitole sunt impletirea vietilor unui baiat si a unei fete. a celor din primele doua povesti. dragostea pare sa se infiripe inca de la prima privire. dar pasiunea isi va cere obolul.

povestea cu dezertatul, cu fuga pe jos din tara in tara, din casa in casa, din rol in rol e doar ceea ce se afla la prima vedere. dincolo de asta este pasiunea. sau obsesia.

“i didn’t know what hate felt like, not the hate that comes after love. it’s huge and desperate and it longs to be proved wrong. and every day it’s proven right it grows a little more monstrous. if the love was passion, the hate will be obsession.” (pg. 84)

lucrurile au evoluat si fata si-a  luat inima inapoi. dar nu a vrut sa i-o dea baiatului. de aici pana a te afla pe marginea lumii nu mai este decat un pas.

“she made him possible”

“i say i’m in love with her, what does that mean? it means i review my future and my past in the light of this feeling. it is as though i wrote in a foreign language that i am suddenly able to read. wordlessly she explains me to myself; like genius she is ignorant of what she does.”( pg. 159)

“there is no sense in loving someone you can never wake up to except by chance.” (pg. 95)

“passion does not take disappointment well.” (pg. 147)

“the hardship is a man made device, because man cannot exist without passion.” (pg. 74)

“bridges join but they also separate” (pg. 61)

“passion is not so much an emotion as a destiny” (pg. 62)

pasiune este sa vrei, iubire este sa renunti la ceea ce vrei. sa alegi sa faci cu mana distant, din cand in cand, femeii iubite care trece cu fiica ta prin fata geamului unei institutii in care vei sta, pentru ca iubesti, pentru totdeauna.

“when the snow falls, you can almost believe the world is clean again. is every snowflake different? no one knows.” (pg. 81)

“they say every snowflake is different. if that were true, how could the world go on? how could we ever get up off our knees? how could we ever recover from the wonder of it? by forgetting. we cannot keep in mind too many things. there is only the present and nothing to remember.” (pg. 43)

“snow doesn’t look cold, it doesn’t look like as though it has any temperature at all. and when it falls and you catch those pieces of nothing in your hands, it seems so unlikely that simple multiplication can make such a difference.” (pg. 100)

my rating: 4/5