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The Copenhagen Trilogy #1-3
The Copenhagen Trilogy
Called a masterpiece by The New York Times, the acclaimed trilogy from Tove Ditlevsen, a pioneer in the field of genre-bending confessional writing
Tove Ditlevsen is today celebrated as one of the most important and unique voices in twentieth-century Danish literature, and The Copenhagen Trilogy (1969-71) is her acknowledged masterpiece. Childhood tells the story of a misfit child's single-minded determination to become a poet; Youth describes her early experiences of sex, work, and independence. Dependency picks up the story as the narrator embarks on the first of her four marriages and goes on to describe her horrible descent into drug addiction, enabled by her sinister, gaslighting doctor-husband.
Throughout, the narrator grapples with the tension between her vocation as a writer and her competing roles as daughter, wife, mother, and drug addict, and she writes about female experience and identity in a way that feels very fresh and pertinent to today's discussions around feminism. Ditlevsen's trilogy is remarkable for its intensity and its immersive depiction of a world of complex female friendships, family and growing up--in this sense, it's Copenhagen's answer to Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan Novels. She can also be seen as a spiritual forerunner of confessional writers like Karl Ove Knausgaard, Annie Ernaux, Rachel Cusk and Deborah Levy. Her trilogy is drawn from her own experiences but reads like the most compelling kind of fiction.
Born in a working-class neighborhood in Copenhagen in 1917, Ditlevsen became famous for her poetry while still a teenager, and went on to write novels, stories and memoirs before committing suicide in 1976. Having been dismissed by the critical establishment in her lifetime as a working-class, female writer, she is now being rediscovered and championed as one of Denmark's most important modern authors, with Tove fever gripping readers.
Tove Ditlevsen is today celebrated as one of the most important and unique voices in twentieth-century Danish literature, and The Copenhagen Trilogy (1969-71) is her acknowledged masterpiece. Childhood tells the story of a misfit child's single-minded determination to become a poet; Youth describes her early experiences of sex, work, and independence. Dependency picks up the story as the narrator embarks on the first of her four marriages and goes on to describe her horrible descent into drug addiction, enabled by her sinister, gaslighting doctor-husband.
Throughout, the narrator grapples with the tension between her vocation as a writer and her competing roles as daughter, wife, mother, and drug addict, and she writes about female experience and identity in a way that feels very fresh and pertinent to today's discussions around feminism. Ditlevsen's trilogy is remarkable for its intensity and its immersive depiction of a world of complex female friendships, family and growing up--in this sense, it's Copenhagen's answer to Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan Novels. She can also be seen as a spiritual forerunner of confessional writers like Karl Ove Knausgaard, Annie Ernaux, Rachel Cusk and Deborah Levy. Her trilogy is drawn from her own experiences but reads like the most compelling kind of fiction.
Born in a working-class neighborhood in Copenhagen in 1917, Ditlevsen became famous for her poetry while still a teenager, and went on to write novels, stories and memoirs before committing suicide in 1976. Having been dismissed by the critical establishment in her lifetime as a working-class, female writer, she is now being rediscovered and championed as one of Denmark's most important modern authors, with Tove fever gripping readers.
371 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1967
1802 people are currently reading
58121 people want to read
About the author
Tove Ditlevsen
114 books1,020 followersTove Ditlevsen var en dansk forfatter, som hentede inspiration i sit eget liv som kvinde. I sin digtning og som yndet brevkasseredaktør i Familie Journalen udfoldede hun en dyb psykologisk indsigt i moderne kvinders splittede liv. Hendes evne til at udtrykke sammensatte følelser i et enkelt og smukt sprog fik betydning for flere generationer af læsere.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,807 reviews
July 10, 2023
sure, the new york times said this was one of the best books of the year, but more importantly my friend did.
this was reflective and skilled with a truly stunning writing style, which makes it all the more impressive that i liked the faces (which i found to follow the same themes with a more unique and effective perspective) even more.
but top to bottom, i'm a tove stan now.
bottom line: worth the instagram cool girl hype!
this was reflective and skilled with a truly stunning writing style, which makes it all the more impressive that i liked the faces (which i found to follow the same themes with a more unique and effective perspective) even more.
but top to bottom, i'm a tove stan now.
bottom line: worth the instagram cool girl hype!
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August 30, 2021Beautiful, untouchable, lonely, and full of secret thoughts I would never know.
That sentence is from the first page of this book and describes, in adult language, the impression Tove Ditlevson had of her mother when she herself was a young child.
When I reached the end of the book and turned to the beginning again, as I often do, that sentence sprang out at me for the way it describes Danish poet Tove Ditlevson herself as I came to envision her throughout this memoir. Although she shares many thoughts with us in this book, I felt there was much she chose to keep secret too. I liked that she didn't feel the need to pour everything onto the page. Instead, she focuses on certain moments from her working-class childhood, from her yearning adolescence and from her troubled adulthood, but she gives us every detail of the backdrop of those moments.
I'm reading French author Annie Ernaux's memoir, Les Années, at the moment in which she uses old photos from her working-class family album as launch pads for her very analytical, third person, past tense reconstruction of the years of her life. Tove Ditlevson doesn't use photos, but because of the vividness of the details she shares, and the use of the first person in the present tense, it's as if we are there with her looking through her photo album and living in the immediacy of each snapshot. We see Tove as a child, an adolescent, an adult, beautiful, untouchable, and terribly lonely deep within herself. We get to glimpse, in brief moments, the painful places where her poetry must have come from.
That sentence is from the first page of this book and describes, in adult language, the impression Tove Ditlevson had of her mother when she herself was a young child.
When I reached the end of the book and turned to the beginning again, as I often do, that sentence sprang out at me for the way it describes Danish poet Tove Ditlevson herself as I came to envision her throughout this memoir. Although she shares many thoughts with us in this book, I felt there was much she chose to keep secret too. I liked that she didn't feel the need to pour everything onto the page. Instead, she focuses on certain moments from her working-class childhood, from her yearning adolescence and from her troubled adulthood, but she gives us every detail of the backdrop of those moments.
I'm reading French author Annie Ernaux's memoir, Les Années, at the moment in which she uses old photos from her working-class family album as launch pads for her very analytical, third person, past tense reconstruction of the years of her life. Tove Ditlevson doesn't use photos, but because of the vividness of the details she shares, and the use of the first person in the present tense, it's as if we are there with her looking through her photo album and living in the immediacy of each snapshot. We see Tove as a child, an adolescent, an adult, beautiful, untouchable, and terribly lonely deep within herself. We get to glimpse, in brief moments, the painful places where her poetry must have come from.
November 7, 2020
I was drawn to this trilogy from the moment I first read about them - before the books were translated in English and available to read in the states. “Childhood ( written in 1967), “Youth”, (written in 1967), and Dependency ( written in 1971).
I thought I was going to need to purchase each book separately...
But to my surprise - with thanks - Farrar, Sraus and Giroux publishing has made these books available as a complete -one book volume.
Even today, Tove Ditlevsen is considered an important voice in Denmark. She was a groundbreaker- for women writers. She was a ‘full-exposure’ type author. She wrote about things ( exposing herself intimately) in ways women were not writing about: airing dirty laundry within her family, sharing truthful feelings about men, sex, marriage, children, drug addiction, and abortion.
Tove Ditlevsen was an interesting woman. She wrote 29 books, including short stories, novels, poetry, and memoirs. She began writing poetry as a young child, and by her early twenties, she was a published author.
Born in Copenhagen, in 1917... she died in 1978 by suicide..
“The Copenhagen trilogy: Childhood; Youth; Dependency” ( memoirs), is divided ( as expected) — between each of these books....giving us an experience of her life - as a child, teen, and adult.
In all three books - even as a child - we feel Tove’s tension between every and all relationships and her devotion to her craft. She was serious about being a published author as young as ten years old.
This book has been appraised as her masterpiece.
“Childhood”:
These were not lovey-dovey cozy years in Tove’s young life.
She wrote:
“Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can’t get out of it on your own”.
Her mother was often angry.... Beautiful, lonely, untouchable...filled with secrets that Tove would never learn.
Her father was serious, melancholy, loved to read. “He was unusually moralistic while her mother, at least as the young woman, was lively and silly, irresponsible and vain”
Tove wrote:
“My mother hit me often and hard, but as a rule it was arbitrary and unjust, and during the punishment I felt something like a secret shame or a heavy sorrow tears to my eyes and increased the painful distance between us”.
“My father never hit me. On the contrary— he was good to me”.
In “Childhood”, we also meet Tove’s older brother, and her aunt and uncle. We learn about a dark time when Tove and the entire family had diphtheria.
An interesting tidbit: if somebody lost their job, and went on welfare, they lost their right to vote.
“Childhood” was maybe the most personal - in ‘feeling’ than the next two memoirs.
In “Youth”...we enter the teen years. Hitler had come into power in Germany. Having left school prematurely, Tove takes on menial jobs: dishwashing, cleaning, and other domestic work.
These are typical years of boys, kissing, billiards, movies, dancing, (the carioca: Brazilian dance resembling the samba), drinking, and breaking away from the family more. But her mother still manages to be critical.
Her mother says to Tove:
”You should take more trouble with your appearance. You should buy a spring suit instead of that bicycle. When you’re not naturally pretty, she says, ‘you have to help things out a bit’. My mother doesn’t say such things to hurt me; she’s just completely ignorant of what goes on inside other people”.
We meet a few of the boys that Tove hangs out with. Erling was interested in politics. He wanted to change social democracy. Tove had little interest in politics- but Erling made Tove feel less lonely.
Tove was writing more and more:
I liked this poem that Tove wrote as a teenager:
“There burns a candle in the night,
it burns for me alone,
and if I blow at it,
it flames up,
and flames for me alone.
But if you breathe softly
and if you breathe quietly,
the candle is certainly more than bright
and burns deep in my own
breast,
for you alone”.
In “Dependency”.... things turned much more dark.....sad.....harrowing.
She was already successful in her twenties.... but she also struggled with the horrors of addiction...dependent on opioid demerol and methadone.
Besides her alcohol and drug addictions, Tove had four marriages, ( almost all sporadic and addicted to damaged men), three children, wanted and unwanted children, two abortions, and a few love affairs.
She was still writing... always forming sentences in her head.... which made her distant and distracted when anyone ( including her husbands), started talking with her.
“In the dark, tarnished corridors of my mind there is a faint impression, like a child’s footprints in damp sand”.
Searingly truthful, (but no sneering blame of anyone),, sarcastic and piercingly raw, ...this trilogy was eloquently written.
For those readers ( like me) who enjoyed Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, and books by Jean Rhys.... then this is a book for you.
Introspective....character driven....books by fearless women with one heck of a powerful voice.
I thought I was going to need to purchase each book separately...
But to my surprise - with thanks - Farrar, Sraus and Giroux publishing has made these books available as a complete -one book volume.
Even today, Tove Ditlevsen is considered an important voice in Denmark. She was a groundbreaker- for women writers. She was a ‘full-exposure’ type author. She wrote about things ( exposing herself intimately) in ways women were not writing about: airing dirty laundry within her family, sharing truthful feelings about men, sex, marriage, children, drug addiction, and abortion.
Tove Ditlevsen was an interesting woman. She wrote 29 books, including short stories, novels, poetry, and memoirs. She began writing poetry as a young child, and by her early twenties, she was a published author.
Born in Copenhagen, in 1917... she died in 1978 by suicide..
“The Copenhagen trilogy: Childhood; Youth; Dependency” ( memoirs), is divided ( as expected) — between each of these books....giving us an experience of her life - as a child, teen, and adult.
In all three books - even as a child - we feel Tove’s tension between every and all relationships and her devotion to her craft. She was serious about being a published author as young as ten years old.
This book has been appraised as her masterpiece.
“Childhood”:
These were not lovey-dovey cozy years in Tove’s young life.
She wrote:
“Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can’t get out of it on your own”.
Her mother was often angry.... Beautiful, lonely, untouchable...filled with secrets that Tove would never learn.
Her father was serious, melancholy, loved to read. “He was unusually moralistic while her mother, at least as the young woman, was lively and silly, irresponsible and vain”
Tove wrote:
“My mother hit me often and hard, but as a rule it was arbitrary and unjust, and during the punishment I felt something like a secret shame or a heavy sorrow tears to my eyes and increased the painful distance between us”.
“My father never hit me. On the contrary— he was good to me”.
In “Childhood”, we also meet Tove’s older brother, and her aunt and uncle. We learn about a dark time when Tove and the entire family had diphtheria.
An interesting tidbit: if somebody lost their job, and went on welfare, they lost their right to vote.
“Childhood” was maybe the most personal - in ‘feeling’ than the next two memoirs.
In “Youth”...we enter the teen years. Hitler had come into power in Germany. Having left school prematurely, Tove takes on menial jobs: dishwashing, cleaning, and other domestic work.
These are typical years of boys, kissing, billiards, movies, dancing, (the carioca: Brazilian dance resembling the samba), drinking, and breaking away from the family more. But her mother still manages to be critical.
Her mother says to Tove:
”You should take more trouble with your appearance. You should buy a spring suit instead of that bicycle. When you’re not naturally pretty, she says, ‘you have to help things out a bit’. My mother doesn’t say such things to hurt me; she’s just completely ignorant of what goes on inside other people”.
We meet a few of the boys that Tove hangs out with. Erling was interested in politics. He wanted to change social democracy. Tove had little interest in politics- but Erling made Tove feel less lonely.
Tove was writing more and more:
I liked this poem that Tove wrote as a teenager:
“There burns a candle in the night,
it burns for me alone,
and if I blow at it,
it flames up,
and flames for me alone.
But if you breathe softly
and if you breathe quietly,
the candle is certainly more than bright
and burns deep in my own
breast,
for you alone”.
In “Dependency”.... things turned much more dark.....sad.....harrowing.
She was already successful in her twenties.... but she also struggled with the horrors of addiction...dependent on opioid demerol and methadone.
Besides her alcohol and drug addictions, Tove had four marriages, ( almost all sporadic and addicted to damaged men), three children, wanted and unwanted children, two abortions, and a few love affairs.
She was still writing... always forming sentences in her head.... which made her distant and distracted when anyone ( including her husbands), started talking with her.
“In the dark, tarnished corridors of my mind there is a faint impression, like a child’s footprints in damp sand”.
Searingly truthful, (but no sneering blame of anyone),, sarcastic and piercingly raw, ...this trilogy was eloquently written.
For those readers ( like me) who enjoyed Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, and books by Jean Rhys.... then this is a book for you.
Introspective....character driven....books by fearless women with one heck of a powerful voice.
May 2, 2021
Childhood: 4.5/5
Youth: 3.5/5
Dependency: 4/5
A truly excellent trilogy about growing up in a working-class neighbourhood in Copenhagen, about the search for freedom and artistic fulfillment as a woman in the early 20th century, about love and addiction and finding solace in books and writing. I’m so glad so many people have discovered Tove Ditleven’s work recently and I’m really looking forward to reading more by her!
Youth: 3.5/5
Dependency: 4/5
A truly excellent trilogy about growing up in a working-class neighbourhood in Copenhagen, about the search for freedom and artistic fulfillment as a woman in the early 20th century, about love and addiction and finding solace in books and writing. I’m so glad so many people have discovered Tove Ditleven’s work recently and I’m really looking forward to reading more by her!
April 20, 2022
“… mi infancia… la biblioteca del alma de la que extraeré saber y experiencia por el resto de mis días.”En efecto, Ditlevsen es un ejemplo magnífico de aquello que tan acertadamente decía Rilke: «La verdadera patria del hombre es la infancia». Una patria que desgraciadamente Tove habitaba como un bicho raro, y por lo que era motivo de burla entre sus compañeros de colegio y sermoneada frecuentemente por sus padres, en la que vivía sabiendo que por ser niña nunca podría ser poeta, su gran sueño, en la que recibía palizas continuas de su madre. Sus únicos consuelos eran la lectura, la poesía y Dios, y pensaba en la muerte como un ángel complaciente vestido de blanco.
“La infancia es larga y estrecha como un ataúd, y no se puede escapar de ella sin ayuda… nadie escapa de la infancia que se te adhiere como un olor.”En esta parte inicial, Ditlevsen cuenta con una sincera naturalidad y hasta con ironía y humor como tuvo que parapetarse tras una máscara de estupidez fuera de casa y tras una coraza impenetrable dentro de ella y así poder sobrellevar una relación “estrecha, dolorosa y trémula” con su madre a la que no lograba complacer jamás.
“Yo creo que solo quiero a la gente si se interesa por mí.”Tal fue la experiencia de su niñez que el resto de su vida no fue sino una continua huida de la realidad, primero a través de la escritura (“lo único para lo que sirvo, lo único que me absorbe y me apasiona, es construir frases, formar grupos de palabras”), más tarde gracias a los fármacos y, tanto en un caso como en otro, utilizando a los hombres que le facilitaban esas vías de escape y a los que parecía querer únicamente por ello.
“Me fijo en los perros, en los perros y en sus amos… llevan una correa larga y sus amos aguardan pacientemente cuando un olor interesante entretiene al perro. Ese es el amo que yo deseo. Esa es la vida que me iría a mí… Yo me parezco a esos perros [sin dueño], desgreñada, confusa y sola.”Tras este magnífico inicio, toda la parte central —el final de Infancia, la mayor parte de Juventud y la primera mitad de Dependencia— es bastante más plana, un poco como ella describía su vida, “como un redoble antes de un solo”, después descubriremos lo brillante que es el solo.
Posiblemente ese parapeto que erige entre ella y la realidad (“Puedo llorar cuando veo en el periódico la foto de una familia que ha tenido la desgracia de verse en la calle, pero esa misma escena, tan cotidiana, vista en la realidad no me conmueve”), esa frialdad que rodea todo lo que cuenta, desde lo más trivial a lo más vergonzante, produce un cierto distanciamiento con el lector, al menos lo consiguió conmigo. Tanto es así, que me llamaba más la atención todo lo que callaba que lo que expresamente decía: las referencias a los años de guerra y ocupación nazi apenas ocupan más allá de una página en toda la novela, pasa casi de puntillas sobre lo que siente tras sus abortos, nada o muy poco hay en estas páginas acerca de la celebridad que tuvo que llegar a ser como escritora, siendo muy curiosa la forma en la que se describe, una joven sin apenas educación, ignorante de casi todo y sin muchas ganas de dejar de serlo, a la que no parece interesar nada que no sea escribir. Sus aspiraciones, más allá de sus poemas y novelas, eran como las de cualquier jovencita de la época, tener un hogar, un marido al que le entusiasmaran las chicas rubias de pelo largo y un hijo.
“De pronto es un hecho, Inglaterra le declara la guerra a Alemania… ¿Publicarán ahora mi poemario?... me siento incapaz de odiar a los soldados alemanes que taconean por las calles. Bastante atareada estoy con mi propia vida y con mi futuro incierto como para pensar también a nivel nacional… para mí son buenos tiempos. Voy a casarme, tengo un hijo, tengo un marido joven al que amo…”Por el contrario, la segunda parte de Dependencia es, perdónenme el cliché, una bajada a los infiernos de la drogadicción justamente más impactante cuanto mayor es esa frialdad, naturalidad y sinceridad que antes solo consiguió distanciarme. Un relato estremecedor de lo que significa perder completamente el control de su vida.
“¿Y si le dijera la verdad? ¿Y si le contara que me he enamorado del líquido claro del interior de una jeringuilla y no del hombre que era su propietario?”
Le podría haber dado las cuatro estrellas, pero esa parte central de la trilogía ha enfriado mi generosidad y he redondeado a la baja.
March 18, 2023
5/5
Nuostabi, kvapą gniaužianti, išvien cituotina. Lygina ją su Knausgardu ir jei šis man rodėsi, nu, nevyniosiu, zyzla ir užknisančiai diediškas, tai Dietlevsen pakerėjo ir jis rūko kampe. Jos pastabumas, atida detalėms, smulkmeniškumas, humoro jausmas, gebėjimas patraukti iš pirmo žvilgsnio paprastais kasdienybės aprašymais yra absoliučiai neįtikėtinas. Įdomu žiūrėti ir iš sociologinės, moterų teises ir laisves analizuojančios perspektyvos. Susišaukė su Ernaux Įvykiu, bet šioji paveikė, supurtė ir palietė kur kas labiau. Turbūt bus viena geriausių šiemet skaitytų, jei ne geriausia.
Nuostabi, kvapą gniaužianti, išvien cituotina. Lygina ją su Knausgardu ir jei šis man rodėsi, nu, nevyniosiu, zyzla ir užknisančiai diediškas, tai Dietlevsen pakerėjo ir jis rūko kampe. Jos pastabumas, atida detalėms, smulkmeniškumas, humoro jausmas, gebėjimas patraukti iš pirmo žvilgsnio paprastais kasdienybės aprašymais yra absoliučiai neįtikėtinas. Įdomu žiūrėti ir iš sociologinės, moterų teises ir laisves analizuojančios perspektyvos. Susišaukė su Ernaux Įvykiu, bet šioji paveikė, supurtė ir palietė kur kas labiau. Turbūt bus viena geriausių šiemet skaitytų, jei ne geriausia.
July 26, 2021
This was the most thrilling reading experience of my summer and all of 2021, and I read each of the memoirs in this newly-collected trilogy a few short chapters at a time, never wanting it to end. Ditlevsen's prose is unadorned and unsentimental, even when describing a litany of traumatizing experiences: poverty, abuse, cold parents, alcoholism, violence, multiple failed marriages, abortions, and addiction. This is a book about the pain of loneliness and self-isolation, but it is also strangely comforting, even hypnotic.
The subject matter, especially in Childhood, which recounts her early years in a working-class neighborhood, is unflinchingly bleak, but Ditlevsen approaches the greyness of these circumstances with an absolute lack of nostalgia. Her recollections focus around her unbreakable desire to escape the grinding oppressiveness of her surroundings, and the incomprehension of her dull family, by creating a rich inner life through literature, both by reading books (which are precious and rare objects) and by writing poetry (for which she has an irresistible compulsion).
By the end of Youth, Tove has failed at a long list of horrible jobs with horrible bosses, but has achieved a measure of fame and success as an entirely self-taught writer. She falls in with a litany of wrong men-- a middle-aged publisher, an alcoholic rich boy student, and a mentally ill doctor-- and becomes a mother of four, and perhaps an even more remote mother than her own. In looking back on her twenties, she doesn't explain the reasons why she made these impulsive yet fateful life choices, and her passivity and lack of introspection is remarkable. These things just happen to happen to her, and she uses a few short melodrama-free sentences to describe momentous events (love at first sight, broken engagements, weddings, childbirths, divorces) that would usually occupy entire chapters of a standard-issue memoir.
Dependency, which was the strongest of the three, is Ditlevsen's account of her five-year experience of addiction to Demerol and methadone, and her terrifyingly codependent relationship with her third husband Carl, a doctor who was her enabler and supplier, and preyed upon her sexually while she was high. Their marriage is built on a foundation of reality-avoidance and deception, as Tove invents an entirely fake ear infection, and endures an entirely unnecessary surgery, while relentlessly seeking her next hit. Her mental world disintegrates, as she becomes incapable of writing, or assembling a coherent thought. Ditlevsen describes these experiences of abnormal psychology with such emotional restraint and matter-of-factness. This is the memoir of a suffering writer, but she avoids all of the romantic cliches of suffering for one's art.
The subject matter, especially in Childhood, which recounts her early years in a working-class neighborhood, is unflinchingly bleak, but Ditlevsen approaches the greyness of these circumstances with an absolute lack of nostalgia. Her recollections focus around her unbreakable desire to escape the grinding oppressiveness of her surroundings, and the incomprehension of her dull family, by creating a rich inner life through literature, both by reading books (which are precious and rare objects) and by writing poetry (for which she has an irresistible compulsion).
By the end of Youth, Tove has failed at a long list of horrible jobs with horrible bosses, but has achieved a measure of fame and success as an entirely self-taught writer. She falls in with a litany of wrong men-- a middle-aged publisher, an alcoholic rich boy student, and a mentally ill doctor-- and becomes a mother of four, and perhaps an even more remote mother than her own. In looking back on her twenties, she doesn't explain the reasons why she made these impulsive yet fateful life choices, and her passivity and lack of introspection is remarkable. These things just happen to happen to her, and she uses a few short melodrama-free sentences to describe momentous events (love at first sight, broken engagements, weddings, childbirths, divorces) that would usually occupy entire chapters of a standard-issue memoir.
Dependency, which was the strongest of the three, is Ditlevsen's account of her five-year experience of addiction to Demerol and methadone, and her terrifyingly codependent relationship with her third husband Carl, a doctor who was her enabler and supplier, and preyed upon her sexually while she was high. Their marriage is built on a foundation of reality-avoidance and deception, as Tove invents an entirely fake ear infection, and endures an entirely unnecessary surgery, while relentlessly seeking her next hit. Her mental world disintegrates, as she becomes incapable of writing, or assembling a coherent thought. Ditlevsen describes these experiences of abnormal psychology with such emotional restraint and matter-of-factness. This is the memoir of a suffering writer, but she avoids all of the romantic cliches of suffering for one's art.
January 13, 2022
Czytanie tej książki było ciekawym doświadczeniem. Trudnym i złożonym, ale ciekawym.
October 15, 2021
This volume contains 3 memoirs:
• Childhood, published in 1967….1985 English translation
• Youth, published in 1967….1985 English translation
• Dependency, published in 1971….2019 English translation
I gave the first two 4.5 stars and the third and last one 4 stars. The first two were “enjoyable” to read. I put that in quotation marks because Tove did not have an idyllic childhood and adolescence. Her mother was not in the running for Mother of the Year, that’s for sure. However, it makes for an interesting read, and somehow when reading it, I knew she was going to get out of the mess (because after all she was a famous author in the future). The third memoir however was dark…I could chuckle every now and then at least with some of the stuff that went on in her life as she was growing up, but when she became addicted to the opiate Demerol (meperidine), at times I was horrified. Her addiction led her to openly seek and get an ear operation she did not need (her hearing was perfectly fine), but a crazy doctor was willing to operate on her, at the encouragement of Tove’s husband (her third one) who was also a doctor and was injecting her with Demerol to keep her addicted, and presumably to keep her married to him. It wasn’t clear to me from her writing but it appears she suffered permanent ear damage from the operation (which wouldn’t surprise me given there was nothing wrong with her ear going into the operation/surgery). When she wasn’t taking Demerol she was taking another opiate, methadone. In this time span she had 3 young children, and she seemed like a pretty bad mother, at times ignoring all of them.
“Dependency” was definitely different from the first two memoirs….it was bleak with no apparent let-up in sight. But it was well-written and interesting and stands up well to any other memoir on being addicted to drugs or alcohol. She also was no angel…being unfaithful to at least two of her husbands…marrying the first one to make him her sugar daddy. But she didn’t try to hide this stuff in her memoir, to her credit.
Two quotes that I wrote down when reading “Youth” because for some reason they resonated with me:
• Death…is brutal, hideous, and foul smelling. I wrap my arms around myself and rejoice in my youth and my health. Otherwise my youth is nothing more than a deficiency and a hindrance that I can’t get rid of fast enough.
• Being young is itself temporary, fragile, and ephemeral. You have to get through it – it has no other meaning.
Reviews
• Excellent review from Megan O’Grady: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/26/bo...
• https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
• https://www.newstatesman.com/culture/...
• this is very interesting…how the translation of the third book in the trilogy, Dependence (it was titled “A Gift” by Ditlvesen) came about…the translator had picked up the Danish book at an airport and was fascinated by it: https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/....
• Childhood, published in 1967….1985 English translation
• Youth, published in 1967….1985 English translation
• Dependency, published in 1971….2019 English translation
I gave the first two 4.5 stars and the third and last one 4 stars. The first two were “enjoyable” to read. I put that in quotation marks because Tove did not have an idyllic childhood and adolescence. Her mother was not in the running for Mother of the Year, that’s for sure. However, it makes for an interesting read, and somehow when reading it, I knew she was going to get out of the mess (because after all she was a famous author in the future). The third memoir however was dark…I could chuckle every now and then at least with some of the stuff that went on in her life as she was growing up, but when she became addicted to the opiate Demerol (meperidine), at times I was horrified. Her addiction led her to openly seek and get an ear operation she did not need (her hearing was perfectly fine), but a crazy doctor was willing to operate on her, at the encouragement of Tove’s husband (her third one) who was also a doctor and was injecting her with Demerol to keep her addicted, and presumably to keep her married to him. It wasn’t clear to me from her writing but it appears she suffered permanent ear damage from the operation (which wouldn’t surprise me given there was nothing wrong with her ear going into the operation/surgery). When she wasn’t taking Demerol she was taking another opiate, methadone. In this time span she had 3 young children, and she seemed like a pretty bad mother, at times ignoring all of them.
“Dependency” was definitely different from the first two memoirs….it was bleak with no apparent let-up in sight. But it was well-written and interesting and stands up well to any other memoir on being addicted to drugs or alcohol. She also was no angel…being unfaithful to at least two of her husbands…marrying the first one to make him her sugar daddy. But she didn’t try to hide this stuff in her memoir, to her credit.
Two quotes that I wrote down when reading “Youth” because for some reason they resonated with me:
• Death…is brutal, hideous, and foul smelling. I wrap my arms around myself and rejoice in my youth and my health. Otherwise my youth is nothing more than a deficiency and a hindrance that I can’t get rid of fast enough.
• Being young is itself temporary, fragile, and ephemeral. You have to get through it – it has no other meaning.
Reviews
• Excellent review from Megan O’Grady: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/26/bo...
• https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
• https://www.newstatesman.com/culture/...
• this is very interesting…how the translation of the third book in the trilogy, Dependence (it was titled “A Gift” by Ditlvesen) came about…the translator had picked up the Danish book at an airport and was fascinated by it: https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/....
November 13, 2022
Perskaičius šią knygą sugrįžo skaitymo manija. Bet ne ta kiekybinė, kuriai svarbiausia kuo daugiau, bet ta išrankioji - noriu skaityti tik tai, kas yra geriausia. Nusibodo kišti į save sprangią avižinę košę, geidžiu tą žiupsnį laiko, kai nemiegu, nedirbu ir neplaunu indų, praleisti ragaujant delikatesus, kurie yra nepakantūs abejingumui, bejausmiškumui ir nedėmėsingam rajumui. Kurie reikalauja mėgautis, žavėtis ir aikčioti. Kurie egzistuoja vien tam, kad nustebintų ir pakerėtų. Noriu skaitydama nustoti žvilgčioti į paskutinio puslapio dešinįjį apatinį kampą, vien tam, kad įvertinčiau, kokiu greičiu plaukiu jo link. Noriu plaukti ant nugaros, kad ne kitas krantas būtų tikslas, o dangus.
Po šios knygos nebesuprantu tos savęs, kuri vertino to nevertas knygas 4 ar 5 žvaigždutėm goodreadsuose. Tai buvo klaida, netikėkite mano jokiais įvertinimais. Viskas buvo subjektyvi manoji tiesa tik tą sekundę. Tikriausiai ir šis stiprus įspūdis galiausiai išblės, bet tikiu, kad kiekvieną kartą akiai užkliuvus už pažįstamos nugarėlės lentynoje, pasąmonė primins, kad asociacijos su šia knyga turi būti labai malonios ir kūne išsiskirs nostalgijos hormonai. Taip, kai tai įvyksta pamačius Lucia Berlin ir Patti Smith pavardes. Man labai patinka kolekcionuoti širdies numylėtines.
Kopenhagos trilogijoje radau daug savęs: savo tikrąsias mintis, kurių kartais nedrįsti išsakyti net pačiai sau; savo santykį su rašymu, kai vaikystėje ar ankstyvoje paauglystėje pradedi jausti nežinia kur atsiradusį potraukį sudėti savo pasaulį į žodžius, nors tavo aplinkoje nėra atvirai besireiškiančių menininkų, todėl atrodo, kad bandai įsisprausti ne į savo batus. Ir svarbiausia - Tovė man padovanojo leidimą toliau godžiai rašyti atsispiriant nuo savojo gyvenimo ir išlaisvino nuo vis viduje sukirbančių klausimų, ar tai kažkam gali būti įdomu, ar tai vertinga, ar tai kažkur išvis veda. Dabar mieliau savęs paklausčiau, ar aš išvis turiu galimybę rinktis, ką galiu rašyti, nes juk rašau būtent tai, kas tuo metu išeina geriausiai. Kurdama fiktyvius pasaulius, iškart pajaučiu, kad meluoju, nes viskas taip plokščia, kad vos prilietus paaiškėtų, jog visos dekoracijos yra tiesiog kartono lakštas.
Tikiu, kad rodyti realų pasaulį, kurį mato tavo akys, irgi yra menas. Kaip ir sakyti, ką iš tikrųjų galvoji. Ar atkreipti dėmesį į tai, pro ką kiti eina praeina. Kopenhagos trilogijoje, ypač trečiojoje dalyje, įsitikini, kokią galią turi nuoga tiesa. Supranti, kad net ir su pačiais artimiausiais nepasidaliname savuoju vidiniu pasauliu, jau nekalbant apie mažiau artimus pažįstamus, kurie apie tave žino tik tai, ką nori žinoti, todėl į klausimą „kaip sekasi?” nelaukia atsakymo. Tada tikrųjų žmonių minčių belieka ieškoti knygose, kuriose sužinai, kokia neviltis gali apimti, kai nori savo kūne likti viena, bet abortai yra nelegalūs. Arba kas tokio stebuklingo slypi vaistuose, kurie tave taip nuskausmina, kad tu dėl jų gali palikti savo vaiko tėvą ir išeiti pas kitą, kuris turi galią vėl tave sugrąžinti į tą beskausmį pasaulį. Aš negaliu smerkti to, kurio kailyje esu buvusi. Ši knyga dovanoja dovaną išgyventi patirtis, į kurias galbūt kažkada esi žvelgęs su nepakantumu. Nepaleidžiantys stiprios kūną naikinančios priklausomybės gniaužtai ir bejėgystė bandant iš jų ištrūkti man buvo sunkiausia Tovės patirtis. Nors gyvenime esu pridariusi kvailysčių vien dėl rašymo, vien tam, kad įgyčiau kuo įvairesnės patirties ir mano ateities tekstai turėtų daugiau svorio (tiesa tuo metu išvis nieko nerašydavau, bet viltį tapti rašytoja puoselėjau visuomet), bet dabar manau, kad kai kuriuos dalykus visgi geriau išgyventi tik knygose.
Po šios knygos nebesuprantu tos savęs, kuri vertino to nevertas knygas 4 ar 5 žvaigždutėm goodreadsuose. Tai buvo klaida, netikėkite mano jokiais įvertinimais. Viskas buvo subjektyvi manoji tiesa tik tą sekundę. Tikriausiai ir šis stiprus įspūdis galiausiai išblės, bet tikiu, kad kiekvieną kartą akiai užkliuvus už pažįstamos nugarėlės lentynoje, pasąmonė primins, kad asociacijos su šia knyga turi būti labai malonios ir kūne išsiskirs nostalgijos hormonai. Taip, kai tai įvyksta pamačius Lucia Berlin ir Patti Smith pavardes. Man labai patinka kolekcionuoti širdies numylėtines.
Kopenhagos trilogijoje radau daug savęs: savo tikrąsias mintis, kurių kartais nedrįsti išsakyti net pačiai sau; savo santykį su rašymu, kai vaikystėje ar ankstyvoje paauglystėje pradedi jausti nežinia kur atsiradusį potraukį sudėti savo pasaulį į žodžius, nors tavo aplinkoje nėra atvirai besireiškiančių menininkų, todėl atrodo, kad bandai įsisprausti ne į savo batus. Ir svarbiausia - Tovė man padovanojo leidimą toliau godžiai rašyti atsispiriant nuo savojo gyvenimo ir išlaisvino nuo vis viduje sukirbančių klausimų, ar tai kažkam gali būti įdomu, ar tai vertinga, ar tai kažkur išvis veda. Dabar mieliau savęs paklausčiau, ar aš išvis turiu galimybę rinktis, ką galiu rašyti, nes juk rašau būtent tai, kas tuo metu išeina geriausiai. Kurdama fiktyvius pasaulius, iškart pajaučiu, kad meluoju, nes viskas taip plokščia, kad vos prilietus paaiškėtų, jog visos dekoracijos yra tiesiog kartono lakštas.
Tikiu, kad rodyti realų pasaulį, kurį mato tavo akys, irgi yra menas. Kaip ir sakyti, ką iš tikrųjų galvoji. Ar atkreipti dėmesį į tai, pro ką kiti eina praeina. Kopenhagos trilogijoje, ypač trečiojoje dalyje, įsitikini, kokią galią turi nuoga tiesa. Supranti, kad net ir su pačiais artimiausiais nepasidaliname savuoju vidiniu pasauliu, jau nekalbant apie mažiau artimus pažįstamus, kurie apie tave žino tik tai, ką nori žinoti, todėl į klausimą „kaip sekasi?” nelaukia atsakymo. Tada tikrųjų žmonių minčių belieka ieškoti knygose, kuriose sužinai, kokia neviltis gali apimti, kai nori savo kūne likti viena, bet abortai yra nelegalūs. Arba kas tokio stebuklingo slypi vaistuose, kurie tave taip nuskausmina, kad tu dėl jų gali palikti savo vaiko tėvą ir išeiti pas kitą, kuris turi galią vėl tave sugrąžinti į tą beskausmį pasaulį. Aš negaliu smerkti to, kurio kailyje esu buvusi. Ši knyga dovanoja dovaną išgyventi patirtis, į kurias galbūt kažkada esi žvelgęs su nepakantumu. Nepaleidžiantys stiprios kūną naikinančios priklausomybės gniaužtai ir bejėgystė bandant iš jų ištrūkti man buvo sunkiausia Tovės patirtis. Nors gyvenime esu pridariusi kvailysčių vien dėl rašymo, vien tam, kad įgyčiau kuo įvairesnės patirties ir mano ateities tekstai turėtų daugiau svorio (tiesa tuo metu išvis nieko nerašydavau, bet viltį tapti rašytoja puoselėjau visuomet), bet dabar manau, kad kai kuriuos dalykus visgi geriau išgyventi tik knygose.
February 19, 2024
This is a fictionalised memoir, three of them, collected in this one book, of the famous Danish poet Tove Ditlevsen. And I fell in love with this fictional Tove.
Part 1 - Childhood
She is a frustrated young child, growing up in poverty and with sad apathetic parents. Her father is a depressed socialist and mother is a distant and unsatisfied woman.
Part 2 - Youth
I loved her clumsiness trying to figure out her role as a young woman. While her friends have boyfriends she struggles with how to be a desirable woman. And she has great friendships. She tries to conform and find a husband to escape her unhappiness at home. But she knows only one way out - to marry somebody, anybody. Not a great plan.
Part 3 - Dependency (on demerol and methadone) - my favourite part
Her first marriage is to much older man. She is frustrated with Viggo F. coldness and feels undesirable, but she respects him.
Second one is for love. And this part has a very complex and mature description of seeking abortion without melodrama.
She looks at me solemnly: Do you really think it would be so terrible, she asks, if you had another child? Lise doesn’t understand either. I don’t want anything to happen to me that I don’t want, I say. It’s like getting caught in a trap.
****
On Christmas Eve I wake up, take out a pencil and paper from my bag and write a poem in the weak glow of the nightlight:
You who sought shelter
with one weak and afraid,
For you I hum a lullaby
between the night and day – – –
I don’t regret what I did, but in the dark, tarnished corridors of my mind there is a faint impression, like a child’s footprints in damp sand.
She is frustrated with how hard and illegal it is, considering that every woman she knows secretly had at least one.
Tutti gets out of bed and walks over to me and shouts in my ear, They just want to see blood. So I’ll give you my used pads, and you just show it to them tomorrow morning. Then they’ll scrape you out. Talk louder, I say, and finally I’m able to understand what she said. During the night she walks over and places her used pads in my pail. [...] When I wake up, I’m lying in bed with a clean, white shirt on. Tutti smiles over at me. Well, she says, are you happy now? Yes, I say. I don’t know what I would have done without you
Third marriage is for the love of demerol.
Ebbe, I said, gently touching his eyelids, we’ll visit each other, and maybe you’ll get to know Carl. Maybe we can all be friends. No, he said with a sudden vehemence, I never want to lay eyes on that man. I only want to see you and Helle. I propped myself up on my elbow and observed his handsome face with its soft, weak expression. What if I told him the truth? What if I told him I was in love with a clear liquid in a syringe and not with the man who had the syringe? But I didn’t tell him; I never told that to anyone. It was like when I was a small child and a secret was ruined if you told a grownup. I rolled over on my side and went to sleep. The next day Helle and I moved to a boarding house that Carl had found for us.
That’s where she becomes an addict. And her doctor-husband slowly loses his marbles while simultaneously giving her drugs whenever she wants to leave him even for a meeting with friends and family. And of course she stays to get high. She even tricks her husband and other doctor into unnecessary operation on her ear that leaves her deaf, so she could have more drugs.
I lay motionless and limp in my bed and felt like I was being rocked to sleep in warm, green water. Nothing else in the world mattered to me but staying in this blissful state. Carl told me that lots of people are deaf in one ear, and that it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t care anyway, because it was worth it. No price was too high to be able to keep away intolerable real life.
****
One afternoon, right after I had eaten, Dr Borberg came to see me. We need to have a serious conversation, he said as he sat down. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at him expectantly. I’m healthy again, I said. I’m so happy. Then he explained to me that I was regaining my physical health, but that there was much more to it. There would be a stabilizing process, and that was what would take the longest time. I was going to have to learn how to live a bare, unaffected life, and every memory of Demerol would slowly disappear from my mind. It’s easy, he said, to feel healthy and happy in this protected hospital room. But when you get home and experience adversity – like we all do – the temptation will return
And the fourth, the last one, was like a fairytale, love at first sight, the least believable one.
I’m head over heels in love with you, I said, when we were lying back in my bed. Will you stay overnight? I will, for the rest of my life, he said, smiling with his blindingly white teeth. What about your wife? I asked. We have the law of love on our side, he said. That law, I said, kissing him, gives us the right to hurt other people. We made love and talked for most of the night.
The parts about addiction were honest and riveting.
I promised I would change and then I broke my promises.[...] I was rescued from my years of addiction, but ever since, the shadow of the old longing still returns faintly if I have to have a blood test, or if I pass a pharmacy window. It will never disappear completely for as long as I live.
(She died by suicide in 1976 due to an overdose of sleeping pills.)
Part 1 - Childhood
She is a frustrated young child, growing up in poverty and with sad apathetic parents. Her father is a depressed socialist and mother is a distant and unsatisfied woman.
Part 2 - Youth
I loved her clumsiness trying to figure out her role as a young woman. While her friends have boyfriends she struggles with how to be a desirable woman. And she has great friendships. She tries to conform and find a husband to escape her unhappiness at home. But she knows only one way out - to marry somebody, anybody. Not a great plan.
Part 3 - Dependency (on demerol and methadone) - my favourite part
Her first marriage is to much older man. She is frustrated with Viggo F. coldness and feels undesirable, but she respects him.
Second one is for love. And this part has a very complex and mature description of seeking abortion without melodrama.
She looks at me solemnly: Do you really think it would be so terrible, she asks, if you had another child? Lise doesn’t understand either. I don’t want anything to happen to me that I don’t want, I say. It’s like getting caught in a trap.
****
On Christmas Eve I wake up, take out a pencil and paper from my bag and write a poem in the weak glow of the nightlight:
You who sought shelter
with one weak and afraid,
For you I hum a lullaby
between the night and day – – –
I don’t regret what I did, but in the dark, tarnished corridors of my mind there is a faint impression, like a child’s footprints in damp sand.
She is frustrated with how hard and illegal it is, considering that every woman she knows secretly had at least one.
Tutti gets out of bed and walks over to me and shouts in my ear, They just want to see blood. So I’ll give you my used pads, and you just show it to them tomorrow morning. Then they’ll scrape you out. Talk louder, I say, and finally I’m able to understand what she said. During the night she walks over and places her used pads in my pail. [...] When I wake up, I’m lying in bed with a clean, white shirt on. Tutti smiles over at me. Well, she says, are you happy now? Yes, I say. I don’t know what I would have done without you
Third marriage is for the love of demerol.
Ebbe, I said, gently touching his eyelids, we’ll visit each other, and maybe you’ll get to know Carl. Maybe we can all be friends. No, he said with a sudden vehemence, I never want to lay eyes on that man. I only want to see you and Helle. I propped myself up on my elbow and observed his handsome face with its soft, weak expression. What if I told him the truth? What if I told him I was in love with a clear liquid in a syringe and not with the man who had the syringe? But I didn’t tell him; I never told that to anyone. It was like when I was a small child and a secret was ruined if you told a grownup. I rolled over on my side and went to sleep. The next day Helle and I moved to a boarding house that Carl had found for us.
That’s where she becomes an addict. And her doctor-husband slowly loses his marbles while simultaneously giving her drugs whenever she wants to leave him even for a meeting with friends and family. And of course she stays to get high. She even tricks her husband and other doctor into unnecessary operation on her ear that leaves her deaf, so she could have more drugs.
I lay motionless and limp in my bed and felt like I was being rocked to sleep in warm, green water. Nothing else in the world mattered to me but staying in this blissful state. Carl told me that lots of people are deaf in one ear, and that it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t care anyway, because it was worth it. No price was too high to be able to keep away intolerable real life.
****
One afternoon, right after I had eaten, Dr Borberg came to see me. We need to have a serious conversation, he said as he sat down. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at him expectantly. I’m healthy again, I said. I’m so happy. Then he explained to me that I was regaining my physical health, but that there was much more to it. There would be a stabilizing process, and that was what would take the longest time. I was going to have to learn how to live a bare, unaffected life, and every memory of Demerol would slowly disappear from my mind. It’s easy, he said, to feel healthy and happy in this protected hospital room. But when you get home and experience adversity – like we all do – the temptation will return
And the fourth, the last one, was like a fairytale, love at first sight, the least believable one.
I’m head over heels in love with you, I said, when we were lying back in my bed. Will you stay overnight? I will, for the rest of my life, he said, smiling with his blindingly white teeth. What about your wife? I asked. We have the law of love on our side, he said. That law, I said, kissing him, gives us the right to hurt other people. We made love and talked for most of the night.
The parts about addiction were honest and riveting.
I promised I would change and then I broke my promises.[...] I was rescued from my years of addiction, but ever since, the shadow of the old longing still returns faintly if I have to have a blood test, or if I pass a pharmacy window. It will never disappear completely for as long as I live.
(She died by suicide in 1976 due to an overdose of sleeping pills.)
April 13, 2022
Creo que lo más importante de esta obra es el contexto en el que fue escrita. A finales de los años 60 no era frecuente que una mujer escribiera libremente sobre sus problemas de adicción y su vida sexual con diferentes parejas. Es una autobiografía muy valiente y sincera, que nos lleva a una Dinamarca en los años 30 donde se está gestando un importante cambio de costumbres. Vemos la diferencia entre la generación de los padres de Tove y la de los jóvenes intelectuales, que empiezan a incorporar temas como el divorcio, el aborto o las drogas.
Tove habla con toda sinceridad de una vida marcada por la infelicidad de sus relaciones fallidas y su drogadicción, con una especie de vacío vital que sólo su labor literaria le ayuda a sobrellevar. Hay muchos detalles de la vida cotidiana de la época y también incluye algunos de sus poemas. Ello hace que en algunos momentos la lectura sea algo lenta y requiera un poco de paciencia. La parte final, con su caída en las adicciones es trepidante y te encoge el corazón.
Es una lectura dura, algo deprimente, ya que el tono que ella emplea es frío y pesimista. Me ha resultado difícil empatizar con el personaje, ya que en muchos momentos se muestra calculadora y parece que utiliza a los que la quieren en función de sus intereses. Quizá este problema afectivo se origina en las relaciones con su madre, que se describen ampliamente en la primera parte, donde habla de su infancia. Pero lo que hace más dramático este relato de su vida es saber que pocos años después se suicidó con una sobredosis de píldoras para dormir, por tanto la catarsis que quizá ella buscaba con esta sincera confesión no la pudo salvar.
3,5*
Tove habla con toda sinceridad de una vida marcada por la infelicidad de sus relaciones fallidas y su drogadicción, con una especie de vacío vital que sólo su labor literaria le ayuda a sobrellevar. Hay muchos detalles de la vida cotidiana de la época y también incluye algunos de sus poemas. Ello hace que en algunos momentos la lectura sea algo lenta y requiera un poco de paciencia. La parte final, con su caída en las adicciones es trepidante y te encoge el corazón.
Es una lectura dura, algo deprimente, ya que el tono que ella emplea es frío y pesimista. Me ha resultado difícil empatizar con el personaje, ya que en muchos momentos se muestra calculadora y parece que utiliza a los que la quieren en función de sus intereses. Quizá este problema afectivo se origina en las relaciones con su madre, que se describen ampliamente en la primera parte, donde habla de su infancia. Pero lo que hace más dramático este relato de su vida es saber que pocos años después se suicidó con una sobredosis de píldoras para dormir, por tanto la catarsis que quizá ella buscaba con esta sincera confesión no la pudo salvar.
3,5*
June 10, 2021
Kol kas - viena geriausių šių metų knygų. Nebuvo smūginė, bet buvo lėtai, labai pamažu vis labiau slegianti, gąsdinanti ir tiesiog liūdna. Autofikcija before it was knausgarūl, parašyta 7 ir 8 dešimtmečiais.
Gėda, bet apie Tove Ditlevsen nežinojau visiškai nieko, knygą nusipirkau pagal aprašymą Eurekoje. Skaičiau ir galvojau: kartais nori sužinot apie kokį žmogų, pasižiūri wikipedijoj - ištekėjusi ir išsiskyrusi keturis kartus, keliskart gulėjusi psichiatrijos ligoninėj, nusižudė. Ir visa tai vis vien lieka faktais, kurie gali būt įdomūs pasiskaityti, bet kas už jų - retai kada įsivaizduosi, net jei ir turi bent kuo artimų patirčių. Ditlevsen memuarai užpildo tuos plikus faktus, iš tiesų už jų pamatai žmogų, ir tuo pat metu - vis tiek tai autofikcija - pamatai, kaip jis ar ji rašo save, iš savo gyvenimo faktų sukuria pasakojimą. Radikaliai įspūdinga versija - Coetzee's trilogija, tik ji išties radikali, literatūrizuota. Ditlevsen skausmingesnė, gal kad tikresnė; mano skaitytų autobiografijų hierarchijoj ji stoja šalia Coetzee's.
Čia - labai gera apžvalga apie visas tris knygas - "Vaikystę", "Jaunystę" ir "Priklausomybę" (negi Coetzee ne iš jos įsikvėpė??). Man didžiausią įspūdį paliko du dalykai:
1. Apžvalgos autoriaus Also minimas atsitapatinimas, kaip ji rašo apie save šaltais, atitolintais sakiniais, be jokių didelių paaiškinimų, racionalizavimų ar bandymų suprasti, perteikti save. Atrodo, su savo gyvenimu ji elgiasi visai taip, kaip ir kalbėdavo apie kūrybą: tiesiog norėdavo sėsti ir rašyti, formuoti sakinius. Taip ir čia - ji turėjo medžiagą istorijai, tą istoriją ir papasakojo. Ir tas atsitapatinimas toks be pozos, toks nepretenzingas, kad net šiurpas pereina.
2. Tai, kaip ši autobiografija nėra tikslinga. Kalbant apie žanrą visada pabrėžiama, kad tai judėjimas link kažko, link "to, kas yra dabar", tai parodymas, kaip žmogus tapo tuo, kas yra (nu kaip Rousseau daugmaž). Pas Ditlevsen to nėra, tu net neįsivaizduoji, kur ji juda, ką ji nori paaiškinti - gal nieko ir nenori. Paskutinė knyga, angliškai pavadinta "Priklausomybė", išvis pirmoj daly nekalba apie jokią priklausomybę - tik apie šeimyninį gyvenimą; Alsas sako, kad tai irgi galima suprast kaip priklausymą - nuo šeimos vaizdinio, žmonos vaidmens. Tik antroj daly jau staiga kala švirkštai ir dingsta sąmonė. Ir paskutiniai sakiniai:
Gražu, kad knygoje nepaeksploatuotas faktas, jog ji paskui ir nusižudė perdozavusi migdomųjų. Knyga vis dar baigiasi ta neišvengiamybės nuojauta, ir vis tik tiki, kad - jei jau ji sugebėjo viską sudėti į tiek teksto - gal sugebės ir pajudėti tolyn nuo tos priklausomybės? Paskui wikipedijoj sužinai sausą faktą, kad ne, iki galo taip ir nepavyko.
Apie vaikystę - vis prisimenu, kaip viena draugė sakė, kad vaikystė juk žmonėms yra metas, į kurį turbūt visiems norisi sugrįžti. Tada kažkaip krūptelėjau ir pasijutau fryke, tai paskui tokie pasažai kaip Ditlevsen - kažkaip kaip peiliu:
Ir tas vargas, skurdas ir tai, kaip jame auga vaikas. Ditlevsen augo darbininkų šeimoj, nuolat gyvenančioj iš pašalpų, dirbo nuo keturiolikos, nes tėvai negalėjo jos leisti į mokyklą. Perskaitai, kaip per konfirmaciją (paskutinį jos vaikystės pavasarį, kaip ji rašo) mama nuperka batukus ir sako: čia paskutiniai batai, kuriuos mes tau perkame (p. 82), ir net sustingsti. Iškart supranti, kuriai klasei pati priklausai ir kiek pagrįstai gali pasakot, kad vaikystėj buvo sunku, kad tėvai neturėjo pinigų ir ttt. Čia - kito lygmens skurdas, tas, kuris jau veikia ir kalbą, žodžius, bendravimą ir tai, kokiu žmogum užaugi. Ne kokia nors Martino Ideno oportunistinė istorija.
Arba kaip keliolikmetė mergaitė, prasimokiusi spausdinti ir dirbanti sekretore, sulaukia pirmos savo eilėraščio publikacijos paprastučiam laikraštyje, džiaugiasi, ir ją ant kilimėlio išsikviečia direktorius ir už tą eilėraštį (ne kokį nors politinį, tiesiog eilėraščio faktą) išmeta.
Arba kaip ji, keliolikmetė, susipažįsta su leidėju, kuris galbūt paims spausdinti jos eilėraštį į jaunimo žurnaliuką, jis pasikviečia ją kavos ir ji grįžusi jau planuoja, kaip vasarą leis su juo ir paskui už jo ištekės. Ir... po daugelio puslapių - išteka.
Arba kaip jau susituokus vyras, tas leidėjas, su ja praktiškai nebendrauja, ji neturi už ką nusipirkti drabužių, o kai juos kur nors kas pakviečia, jis važiuoja tramvajumi, o ji dviračiu iš paskos.
Arba jos vaikai, abortai ir vėl vaikai, tikintis prie savęs prisirišti vaiko tėvą, turintį neišsenkančią priėjimą prie leidžiamų nuskausminamųjų.
Ir visame tame - šalta, kone nulinio laipsnio kalba, nieko nesitikint, neieškant jokio modelio, jokio literatūrinio siužeto. Pagalvojau apie Sylvią Plath - net ir ji palyginti atrodo tokia pozuojanti, išskaičiuojanti. Pas Ditlevsen - neįtikėtina kombinacija kraštutinumų ir tiesiog nelaimės kupino gyvenimo ir bet kokio santykio su juo atsisakymas, neprašymas nei užjausti, nei gailėti, nei stebėtis.
Dabar ieškosiu jos romanų ir eilėraščių. Viena svarbiausių Danijos rašytojų, kaip sako blurbsai, o nieko neturim išversto :(
Gėda, bet apie Tove Ditlevsen nežinojau visiškai nieko, knygą nusipirkau pagal aprašymą Eurekoje. Skaičiau ir galvojau: kartais nori sužinot apie kokį žmogų, pasižiūri wikipedijoj - ištekėjusi ir išsiskyrusi keturis kartus, keliskart gulėjusi psichiatrijos ligoninėj, nusižudė. Ir visa tai vis vien lieka faktais, kurie gali būt įdomūs pasiskaityti, bet kas už jų - retai kada įsivaizduosi, net jei ir turi bent kuo artimų patirčių. Ditlevsen memuarai užpildo tuos plikus faktus, iš tiesų už jų pamatai žmogų, ir tuo pat metu - vis tiek tai autofikcija - pamatai, kaip jis ar ji rašo save, iš savo gyvenimo faktų sukuria pasakojimą. Radikaliai įspūdinga versija - Coetzee's trilogija, tik ji išties radikali, literatūrizuota. Ditlevsen skausmingesnė, gal kad tikresnė; mano skaitytų autobiografijų hierarchijoj ji stoja šalia Coetzee's.
Čia - labai gera apžvalga apie visas tris knygas - "Vaikystę", "Jaunystę" ir "Priklausomybę" (negi Coetzee ne iš jos įsikvėpė??). Man didžiausią įspūdį paliko du dalykai:
1. Apžvalgos autoriaus Also minimas atsitapatinimas, kaip ji rašo apie save šaltais, atitolintais sakiniais, be jokių didelių paaiškinimų, racionalizavimų ar bandymų suprasti, perteikti save. Atrodo, su savo gyvenimu ji elgiasi visai taip, kaip ir kalbėdavo apie kūrybą: tiesiog norėdavo sėsti ir rašyti, formuoti sakinius. Taip ir čia - ji turėjo medžiagą istorijai, tą istoriją ir papasakojo. Ir tas atsitapatinimas toks be pozos, toks nepretenzingas, kad net šiurpas pereina.
2. Tai, kaip ši autobiografija nėra tikslinga. Kalbant apie žanrą visada pabrėžiama, kad tai judėjimas link kažko, link "to, kas yra dabar", tai parodymas, kaip žmogus tapo tuo, kas yra (nu kaip Rousseau daugmaž). Pas Ditlevsen to nėra, tu net neįsivaizduoji, kur ji juda, ką ji nori paaiškinti - gal nieko ir nenori. Paskutinė knyga, angliškai pavadinta "Priklausomybė", išvis pirmoj daly nekalba apie jokią priklausomybę - tik apie šeimyninį gyvenimą; Alsas sako, kad tai irgi galima suprast kaip priklausymą - nuo šeimos vaizdinio, žmonos vaidmens. Tik antroj daly jau staiga kala švirkštai ir dingsta sąmonė. Ir paskutiniai sakiniai:
I was rescued from my years of addiction, but ever since, the shadow of the old longing still returns faintly if I have to have a blood test, or if I pass a pharmacy window. It will never disappear completely for as long as I live. (p. 370)
Gražu, kad knygoje nepaeksploatuotas faktas, jog ji paskui ir nusižudė perdozavusi migdomųjų. Knyga vis dar baigiasi ta neišvengiamybės nuojauta, ir vis tik tiki, kad - jei jau ji sugebėjo viską sudėti į tiek teksto - gal sugebės ir pajudėti tolyn nuo tos priklausomybės? Paskui wikipedijoj sužinai sausą faktą, kad ne, iki galo taip ir nepavyko.
Apie vaikystę - vis prisimenu, kaip viena draugė sakė, kad vaikystė juk žmonėms yra metas, į kurį turbūt visiems norisi sugrįžti. Tada kažkaip krūptelėjau ir pasijutau fryke, tai paskui tokie pasažai kaip Ditlevsen - kažkaip kaip peiliu:
Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can't get out of it on your own. It's there all the time and everyone can see it just as clearly as you can see Pretty Ludvig's harelip. [...] Everything that is ugly of unfortunate is called beautiful, and no one knows why. You can't get out of childhood, and it clings to you like a bad smell. You don't recognize your own and sometimes you're afraid that it's worse than others'. You're standing talking to another girl whose childhood smells of coal and ashes, and suddenly she takes a step back because she has noticed the terrible stink of your childhood. On the sly, you observe the adults whose childhood lies inside them, torn and full of holes like a used and moth-eaten rug no one thinks about anymore or has any use for. You can't tell by looking at them that they've had a childhood, and you don't dare ask how they managed to make it through without their faces getting deeply scarred and marked by it. You suspect that they've used some secret shortcut and donned their adult form many years ahead of time. They did it one day when they were home alone and their childhood lay like three bands of iron around their heart, like Iron Hans in Grimms' fairy tale, whose bands broke only when his master was freed. But if you don't know such a shortcut, childhood must be endured and trudged through hour by hour, through an absolutely interminable number of years. (p. 27-28)
Ir tas vargas, skurdas ir tai, kaip jame auga vaikas. Ditlevsen augo darbininkų šeimoj, nuolat gyvenančioj iš pašalpų, dirbo nuo keturiolikos, nes tėvai negalėjo jos leisti į mokyklą. Perskaitai, kaip per konfirmaciją (paskutinį jos vaikystės pavasarį, kaip ji rašo) mama nuperka batukus ir sako: čia paskutiniai batai, kuriuos mes tau perkame (p. 82), ir net sustingsti. Iškart supranti, kuriai klasei pati priklausai ir kiek pagrįstai gali pasakot, kad vaikystėj buvo sunku, kad tėvai neturėjo pinigų ir ttt. Čia - kito lygmens skurdas, tas, kuris jau veikia ir kalbą, žodžius, bendravimą ir tai, kokiu žmogum užaugi. Ne kokia nors Martino Ideno oportunistinė istorija.
Arba kaip keliolikmetė mergaitė, prasimokiusi spausdinti ir dirbanti sekretore, sulaukia pirmos savo eilėraščio publikacijos paprastučiam laikraštyje, džiaugiasi, ir ją ant kilimėlio išsikviečia direktorius ir už tą eilėraštį (ne kokį nors politinį, tiesiog eilėraščio faktą) išmeta.
Arba kaip ji, keliolikmetė, susipažįsta su leidėju, kuris galbūt paims spausdinti jos eilėraštį į jaunimo žurnaliuką, jis pasikviečia ją kavos ir ji grįžusi jau planuoja, kaip vasarą leis su juo ir paskui už jo ištekės. Ir... po daugelio puslapių - išteka.
Arba kaip jau susituokus vyras, tas leidėjas, su ja praktiškai nebendrauja, ji neturi už ką nusipirkti drabužių, o kai juos kur nors kas pakviečia, jis važiuoja tramvajumi, o ji dviračiu iš paskos.
Arba jos vaikai, abortai ir vėl vaikai, tikintis prie savęs prisirišti vaiko tėvą, turintį neišsenkančią priėjimą prie leidžiamų nuskausminamųjų.
Ir visame tame - šalta, kone nulinio laipsnio kalba, nieko nesitikint, neieškant jokio modelio, jokio literatūrinio siužeto. Pagalvojau apie Sylvią Plath - net ir ji palyginti atrodo tokia pozuojanti, išskaičiuojanti. Pas Ditlevsen - neįtikėtina kombinacija kraštutinumų ir tiesiog nelaimės kupino gyvenimo ir bet kokio santykio su juo atsisakymas, neprašymas nei užjausti, nei gailėti, nei stebėtis.
Dabar ieškosiu jos romanų ir eilėraščių. Viena svarbiausių Danijos rašytojų, kaip sako blurbsai, o nieko neturim išversto :(
February 10, 2022
FINAL REVIEW // WHOA, DAMN. What a harrowing yet euphoric reading experience this was. Every time I returned to THE COPENHAGEN TRILOGY, I felt like I was in a trance; nothing else mattered, the outside world ceased to turn. My one regret was not dedicating all of my reading time to just this exceptional book. It would’ve been even more effective had I just let it sink its claws into me without the interruption of other books. I can now see why most people stick to one book at a time. Ha.
I’ve been ruminating over how to describe the prose or better yet, on how the prose manages to seep into your skin. It is written in a clear, matter of fact fashion. For the most part, there is nothing show-offy about it; you won’t find lyrical, run-on sentences here. The text is precise and to the point, yet this style really works in its favor. It gives the “story” more potency, and the words more serration, because it doesn’t give you the opportunity to look away from the seriousness going on within the pages. This “story” will move you, it will unnerve you, it will clearly air out Ditlevsen’s frustrations and longings; her desperation and her need to be heard. Again, I want to stress that this three-book memoir isn’t show-offy, this ain’t no a vanity project. Ditlevsen has a way of just telling it like it is: basically, this is what happened, this is how I was feeling; I’m not making a case for myself, this is how it all played out, this is who I was, this is who I am, this is how I move forward. I loved that.
Ranking the three sections, I’d say: Childhood > Dependency > Youth. “Childhood” is sublime writing full-stop. One of the most gorgeous things I’ve read in some time. “Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can’t get out of it on your own.” As for “Dependency,” this is the most “plot-based” of the sections. There are so many alarming, heartbreaking, upsetting, and defeating moments here. It’s chaotic, tragic and sad.
All in all, this book has no right to be this damn good. Utterly spellbinding and eloquent. *sigh* Why isn’t there more?
https://www.instagram.com/p/CZw_vuKre...
I’ve been ruminating over how to describe the prose or better yet, on how the prose manages to seep into your skin. It is written in a clear, matter of fact fashion. For the most part, there is nothing show-offy about it; you won’t find lyrical, run-on sentences here. The text is precise and to the point, yet this style really works in its favor. It gives the “story” more potency, and the words more serration, because it doesn’t give you the opportunity to look away from the seriousness going on within the pages. This “story” will move you, it will unnerve you, it will clearly air out Ditlevsen’s frustrations and longings; her desperation and her need to be heard. Again, I want to stress that this three-book memoir isn’t show-offy, this ain’t no a vanity project. Ditlevsen has a way of just telling it like it is: basically, this is what happened, this is how I was feeling; I’m not making a case for myself, this is how it all played out, this is who I was, this is who I am, this is how I move forward. I loved that.
Ranking the three sections, I’d say: Childhood > Dependency > Youth. “Childhood” is sublime writing full-stop. One of the most gorgeous things I’ve read in some time. “Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can’t get out of it on your own.” As for “Dependency,” this is the most “plot-based” of the sections. There are so many alarming, heartbreaking, upsetting, and defeating moments here. It’s chaotic, tragic and sad.
All in all, this book has no right to be this damn good. Utterly spellbinding and eloquent. *sigh* Why isn’t there more?
https://www.instagram.com/p/CZw_vuKre...
November 5, 2021
To było intrygujące, lecz trudne. Niezwykła postać.
October 12, 2022
Iki šiam romanui pradėjus šmėžuoti goodreads padangėse, apie Tove Ditlevsen nežinojau nieko. Todėl į autorės gyvenimą sekančią „Kopengahos trilogiją“ nėriau kone aklai, ir, tiesą sakant, džiaugiuosi. Mat pažintis su Tove taip tapo tik dar asmeniškesnė, artimesnė ir skaudesnė.
Skausmo čia daug. Bet nepasirodė, kad autorė jame murkdinasi ar murkdina skaitytoją – visa melancholija kyla tiek iš aplinkos, tiek iš pačios Tovės, tiek iš jos santykio su kitais. Čia ir komplikuota šeimos dinamika, kurią autorė sugebėjo be galo subtiliai apčiuopti, ir draugystės, kurios dažnai pasako labai daug apie mus, ir romantiniai santykiai, į kuriuos žengiama rodos atsargiai, bet kartu kone desperatiškai. Daug pykau, norėjosi kaltinti visus iš eilės už netinkamus sprendimus, grubius žodžius ar atžarumą, bet galiausiai suvokiau, kad kaltinti neverta. Kiekvienas žmogus šiame romane ateina su savo istorija ir ant pečių nešasi nelengvą naštą, o ir pati autorė savęs nepiešia tik geriausiomis spalvomis – ji apnuogina sielą ir šis romanas tampa tikra jos išpažintimi.
Gerai gerai, pamelavau. Kaltinti radau ką. Jei sugebėjau pateisinti tėvus ir drauges, su vyrais tą daryti buvo kur kas sudėtingiau. Paskutiniame romano trečdalyje pykčio ir nevilties daug, o šviesą tunelio gale įžvelgti darosi vis sunkiau. Tovės santykiai su jos gyvenimo vyrais šiais laikais kai kam gal ir atrodytų sunkiai suvokiami, bet juk tiesa ta, kad taip moterys jautėsi ir taip su jomis elgėsi dar visai neseniai. Daug bejėgiškumo, apatijos, noro pabėgti, visiško pasiklydimo savyje ir gyvenime.
Knyga tikrai patenka į geriausių šiais metais skaitytų lentyną – ji turtinga, išbaigta, melancholiška, bet ne skandinanti skaitytoją liūdesyje. Ji be galo tikra. Skaityti nebuvo lengva, bet jaučiau, jog būtina – Tovė norėjo būti išgirsta. Juk rašymas buvo jos išsigelbėjimas ir tokiu liko visą gyvenimą.
Skausmo čia daug. Bet nepasirodė, kad autorė jame murkdinasi ar murkdina skaitytoją – visa melancholija kyla tiek iš aplinkos, tiek iš pačios Tovės, tiek iš jos santykio su kitais. Čia ir komplikuota šeimos dinamika, kurią autorė sugebėjo be galo subtiliai apčiuopti, ir draugystės, kurios dažnai pasako labai daug apie mus, ir romantiniai santykiai, į kuriuos žengiama rodos atsargiai, bet kartu kone desperatiškai. Daug pykau, norėjosi kaltinti visus iš eilės už netinkamus sprendimus, grubius žodžius ar atžarumą, bet galiausiai suvokiau, kad kaltinti neverta. Kiekvienas žmogus šiame romane ateina su savo istorija ir ant pečių nešasi nelengvą naštą, o ir pati autorė savęs nepiešia tik geriausiomis spalvomis – ji apnuogina sielą ir šis romanas tampa tikra jos išpažintimi.
Gerai gerai, pamelavau. Kaltinti radau ką. Jei sugebėjau pateisinti tėvus ir drauges, su vyrais tą daryti buvo kur kas sudėtingiau. Paskutiniame romano trečdalyje pykčio ir nevilties daug, o šviesą tunelio gale įžvelgti darosi vis sunkiau. Tovės santykiai su jos gyvenimo vyrais šiais laikais kai kam gal ir atrodytų sunkiai suvokiami, bet juk tiesa ta, kad taip moterys jautėsi ir taip su jomis elgėsi dar visai neseniai. Daug bejėgiškumo, apatijos, noro pabėgti, visiško pasiklydimo savyje ir gyvenime.
Knyga tikrai patenka į geriausių šiais metais skaitytų lentyną – ji turtinga, išbaigta, melancholiška, bet ne skandinanti skaitytoją liūdesyje. Ji be galo tikra. Skaityti nebuvo lengva, bet jaučiau, jog būtina – Tovė norėjo būti išgirsta. Juk rašymas buvo jos išsigelbėjimas ir tokiu liko visą gyvenimą.
December 16, 2022
This is undeniably one of the most interesting reads this year, one that I wanted to read since some time ago and I'm very glad that I did. The writing - translated very well to Lithuanian I must say - feels very fresh, very laconic and I liked it. And, while the story, or I'd rather say stories, are seemingly tackling quite superficial subjects of everyday life, they have a lot of deep and dark undercurrents that are more for us to guess and to imagine, as the Author doesn't want to share much more than the said superficial. Everything else you can just figure out. Despite the Author's self irony and light humor this book is oozing with sadness.
April 8, 2022
[3.5] I finished this book several days ago and have been mulling over it ever since. It was written at a time (1969-1971) when a memoir by a woman with this level of honesty was rare. I can't think of any. Ditlevsen writes about growing up poor with a difficult family, her dreams about being rescued, her ambition to write and her dependency on drugs (and men) with candor and immediacy. Yet there is a chilliness that suffuses her writing. A detachment that kept me at a distance even as she exposed her inner self. Well worth reading, but I won't be rushing to read her other books.
March 2, 2023
Gostei muito deste livro e o facto de ser autobiográfico torna-o ainda mais fascinante.
A escrita de Tove é crua e quase sem emoção mas brilhante e muito verdadeira.
Este livro é uma viagem pela vida da autora estando dentro da sua cabeça. É muito angustiante mas vale mesmo a pena.
A escrita de Tove é crua e quase sem emoção mas brilhante e muito verdadeira.
Este livro é uma viagem pela vida da autora estando dentro da sua cabeça. É muito angustiante mas vale mesmo a pena.
April 1, 2024
A escrita de Tove é, sem dúvida, honesta. A primeira parte, relativa à "Infância", merece todas as estrelas.
Não concordo, porém, com a comparação feita com Elena Ferrante. Tove é mais fria. Se tivesse uma cor, seria o cinzento.
Não concordo, porém, com a comparação feita com Elena Ferrante. Tove é mais fria. Se tivesse uma cor, seria o cinzento.
December 27, 2021
Tradycją jest, że "książka tygodnia" pojawia się w piątek, ale tradycję warto czasem przełamywać. Dlatego dopiero dzisiaj piszę wam o tej wspaniałej książce.
Jestem pewien, że gdyby Tove Ditlevsen mieszkała w Stanach Zjednoczonych, od dawna znalibyśmy wszystkie jej książki, a „Trylogia kopenhaska” byłaby klasykiem, ukazującym się w niezliczonych wydaniach i dostarczającym literackich emocji kolejnym pokoleniom czytelników i czytelniczek. Mechanizmy promocji amerykańskich wydawnictw są niezrównane, o czym świadczy fakt, że polski przekład ukazał się dwa lata po tym, jak „Trylogia…” została wydana za oceanem, zbierając entuzjastyczne recenzje.
Więcej jak klikniecie, choć chciałbym jeszcze dodać, że końcówka tej książki trzymała mnie w takim napięciu, że musiałem czytać dwa razy - najpierw przerzucałem się co kilka akapitów, żeby dowiedzieć się kiedy i jak autorka wyjdzie z kłopotów, a dopiero za drugim razem na spokojnie. Fantastyczna literatura i nie dziwię się, że w kolejnych krajach Ditlevsen odnosi sukcesy.
Całość - https://www.empik.com/empikultura/ksi...
Jestem pewien, że gdyby Tove Ditlevsen mieszkała w Stanach Zjednoczonych, od dawna znalibyśmy wszystkie jej książki, a „Trylogia kopenhaska” byłaby klasykiem, ukazującym się w niezliczonych wydaniach i dostarczającym literackich emocji kolejnym pokoleniom czytelników i czytelniczek. Mechanizmy promocji amerykańskich wydawnictw są niezrównane, o czym świadczy fakt, że polski przekład ukazał się dwa lata po tym, jak „Trylogia…” została wydana za oceanem, zbierając entuzjastyczne recenzje.
Więcej jak klikniecie, choć chciałbym jeszcze dodać, że końcówka tej książki trzymała mnie w takim napięciu, że musiałem czytać dwa razy - najpierw przerzucałem się co kilka akapitów, żeby dowiedzieć się kiedy i jak autorka wyjdzie z kłopotów, a dopiero za drugim razem na spokojnie. Fantastyczna literatura i nie dziwię się, że w kolejnych krajach Ditlevsen odnosi sukcesy.
Całość - https://www.empik.com/empikultura/ksi...
March 11, 2023
COMENTÁRIO
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Trilogia de Copenhaga
Tove Ditlevsen,
Tradução de João Reis
A Trilogia de Copenhaga reúne num único volume "Infância" , "Juventude" e "Relações Tóxicas" , três obras da escritora dinamarquesa Tove Ditlevsen.
A edição portuguesa é um acontecimento editorial destacado por nos dá acesso a este histórico livro (obrigado à @domquixoteeditora!)
Num registo autobiográfico, a autora conta-nos a estória dos seus primeiros 30 anos de vida, começando com a pobreza da família de origem; as dificuldades que, na juventude, se cruzam entre a paixão da escrita e as condições precarias da vida que a levam cedo a trabalhar. (interessante o quanto me fui revendo nesta outra história de vida)
As duas primeiras obras dedicadas à Infância e Juventude foram uma leitura intensa em que a narradora nos inunda de detalhes sobre o que vivencia e sente. No processo de leitura que fiz, gostei muito de me envolver com criança que queria ser escritora, mas senti-me menos preso com a jovem.
Por fim a terceira obra "Relações Tóxicas" mostra-nos uma personagem perdida nas relações amorosas que vive na juventude e início da vida adulta. Ao longo deste texto construindo uma biografia em que a escrita, os filhos, os homens que ama se vão cruzando numa experiência de vida cada vez mais tóxica. Que descamba num processo de adição a opioides e analgésicos.
As páginas que escreve sobre este processo de adição são espantosas.
E, de novo, ressuou em múltiplas histórias que fui conhecendo ao longo da vida o que me fez embrenhar profundamente nesta leitura. Obrigado a todas as pessoas que nos últimos meses valorizaram a experiência de leitura deste livro, que vale mesmo a pena!
(li de 28/02/2023 a 04/03/2023)
#livro #literatura #leitor #leitores #leitura #literaturaescandinava
#book #bookstagram #bookclub #bookstagramportugal #bookworm #booknerd #booklover
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Trilogia de Copenhaga
Tove Ditlevsen,
Tradução de João Reis
A Trilogia de Copenhaga reúne num único volume "Infância" , "Juventude" e "Relações Tóxicas" , três obras da escritora dinamarquesa Tove Ditlevsen.
A edição portuguesa é um acontecimento editorial destacado por nos dá acesso a este histórico livro (obrigado à @domquixoteeditora!)
Num registo autobiográfico, a autora conta-nos a estória dos seus primeiros 30 anos de vida, começando com a pobreza da família de origem; as dificuldades que, na juventude, se cruzam entre a paixão da escrita e as condições precarias da vida que a levam cedo a trabalhar. (interessante o quanto me fui revendo nesta outra história de vida)
As duas primeiras obras dedicadas à Infância e Juventude foram uma leitura intensa em que a narradora nos inunda de detalhes sobre o que vivencia e sente. No processo de leitura que fiz, gostei muito de me envolver com criança que queria ser escritora, mas senti-me menos preso com a jovem.
Por fim a terceira obra "Relações Tóxicas" mostra-nos uma personagem perdida nas relações amorosas que vive na juventude e início da vida adulta. Ao longo deste texto construindo uma biografia em que a escrita, os filhos, os homens que ama se vão cruzando numa experiência de vida cada vez mais tóxica. Que descamba num processo de adição a opioides e analgésicos.
As páginas que escreve sobre este processo de adição são espantosas.
E, de novo, ressuou em múltiplas histórias que fui conhecendo ao longo da vida o que me fez embrenhar profundamente nesta leitura. Obrigado a todas as pessoas que nos últimos meses valorizaram a experiência de leitura deste livro, que vale mesmo a pena!
(li de 28/02/2023 a 04/03/2023)
#livro #literatura #leitor #leitores #leitura #literaturaescandinava
#book #bookstagram #bookclub #bookstagramportugal #bookworm #booknerd #booklover
April 25, 2024
Labai vaizdinga kalba parašyta autobiografija – būtų ir tiek, bet labai džiugiai nustebino paskutinė dalis („Priklausomybė“).
Vengiau skaityti ir ėmiau labai atsargiai, nes esu baisiai persisotinusi auto/biografijomis. Pradžia užkabino vaizdingumu, itin gerai pagautomis / retrospektyviai sufantazuotomis vaikystės emocijomis. Paskaičius daugiau ėmė atrodyti, kad pernelyg spaudžiama ant empatijos, galvojau – jau skaičiau vieną autobiografišką knygą apie neturtingos moters kasdienybę karo fone (Moteris tarp balandžių), kam man dar viena? Bet labai nudžiugino paskutinė dalis, kur herojė, jau suaugusi ir žinoma, pasirodo iš "blogosios" pusės, veliasi į santykius, neištikimybes, vaikus, priklausomybes – kažkaip gerai uždarė knygą ir laisvai pakėlė vertinimą iki penkių žvaigždžių.
Vengiau skaityti ir ėmiau labai atsargiai, nes esu baisiai persisotinusi auto/biografijomis. Pradžia užkabino vaizdingumu, itin gerai pagautomis / retrospektyviai sufantazuotomis vaikystės emocijomis. Paskaičius daugiau ėmė atrodyti, kad pernelyg spaudžiama ant empatijos, galvojau – jau skaičiau vieną autobiografišką knygą apie neturtingos moters kasdienybę karo fone (Moteris tarp balandžių), kam man dar viena? Bet labai nudžiugino paskutinė dalis, kur herojė, jau suaugusi ir žinoma, pasirodo iš "blogosios" pusės, veliasi į santykius, neištikimybes, vaikus, priklausomybes – kažkaip gerai uždarė knygą ir laisvai pakėlė vertinimą iki penkių žvaigždžių.
August 13, 2025
ultimele rămășițe se desprind de pe mine ca fulgii de piele arsă de soare, iar dedesubt se întrezărește un adult greșit și imposibil
- O Tove! My Tove! 😫
Înainte să încep recenzia (sau confesiunea???), vreau să vă spun ceva simplu: am citit o CAPODOPERĂ. Da, cuvântul ăla mare, greu, uneori folosit prea des, alteori prea puțin. O carte care, din primele pagini, m-a făcut să-mi fie teamă. Teamă că poate nu e chiar așa cum o simțeam eu. Că poate, fiind prea entuziasmat, o voi forța să fie mai mult decât este. Dar nu. N-a fost nevoie să forțez nimic. Cartea m-a atras, m-a ținut aproape și m-a făcut să uit de mine... sau mai corect zis, să mă regăsesc.
Am devorat-o. Cu disperare, cu vină, cu o voce în cap care-mi spunea: "o citești prea repede, n-o lași să respire în tine." Dar nu-i nimic. Fiindcă Tove rămâne. A rămas în mine ca o rană vindecată pe jumătate. Ce m-a lovit cel mai tare? Că, poate pentru prima dată, am citit o carte în care condiția femeii-artist nu e doar o temă, ci un strigăt. Clar, dureros, fără artificii. E prima dată când figura tatălui e estompată, iar în centrul cercului arde mama, nu ca simbol, ci ca prezență. Și poate tot pentru prima dată, m-am văzut pe mine, un tânar, în portretul unei femei. În nevoia ei de a scrie. În lupta ei de a nu se lăsa îngropată de ceilalți. În dorința tăcută de a fi iubită fără să-și piardă vocea.
Acțiunea nu e spectaculoasă. Și tocmai în asta stă toată frumusețea. E o carte despre despre rupturi, despre transformare. Tove nu te manipulează. Nu-ți cere mila. Nu se vrea martiră. Ea doar scrie. Și scrie cu o sinceritate care doare. Tove se luptă cu viața. Cu o viață care n-a fost niciodată blândă, dar pe care n-o înfruntă cu furie, ci cu o luciditate aproape dureroasă. Se luptă să-și găsească un rost, se luptă să fie publicată, să fie văzută, să fie iubită. Se luptă cu ea însăși. Iar lupta asta nu e zgomotoasă. Nu e o explozie de gesturi mari. E o încleștare interioară, care te lasă fără aer tocmai prin calmul cu care e povestită.
Citind-o, am înțeles ceva ce o să port mult timp cu mine: nu doar somnul rațiunii naște monștri, ci și luciditatea memoriei. Să-ți amintești limpede, fără ură, fără dorință de răzbunare... asta e poate cea mai grea formă de curaj. Trilogia Copenhagăi nu e doar o confesiune. E o viață. O viață trăită până la os și așternută în cuvinte cu o demnitate tăcută, sfâșietoare.
Și dacă e ceva ce mă apasă acum, după ce am terminat de citit, e gândul că mi-aș fi dorit enorm să-i pot spune toate astea chiar ei. Să-i spun cât de mult a contat. Cât de tare a durut. Cât de viu a fost totul.
Poate că... da... poate într-o zi... o să găsesc drumul până la ea sau poate doar până la liniștea din mine.
Înainte să încep recenzia (sau confesiunea???), vreau să vă spun ceva simplu: am citit o CAPODOPERĂ. Da, cuvântul ăla mare, greu, uneori folosit prea des, alteori prea puțin. O carte care, din primele pagini, m-a făcut să-mi fie teamă. Teamă că poate nu e chiar așa cum o simțeam eu. Că poate, fiind prea entuziasmat, o voi forța să fie mai mult decât este. Dar nu. N-a fost nevoie să forțez nimic. Cartea m-a atras, m-a ținut aproape și m-a făcut să uit de mine... sau mai corect zis, să mă regăsesc.
Am devorat-o. Cu disperare, cu vină, cu o voce în cap care-mi spunea: "o citești prea repede, n-o lași să respire în tine." Dar nu-i nimic. Fiindcă Tove rămâne. A rămas în mine ca o rană vindecată pe jumătate. Ce m-a lovit cel mai tare? Că, poate pentru prima dată, am citit o carte în care condiția femeii-artist nu e doar o temă, ci un strigăt. Clar, dureros, fără artificii. E prima dată când figura tatălui e estompată, iar în centrul cercului arde mama, nu ca simbol, ci ca prezență. Și poate tot pentru prima dată, m-am văzut pe mine, un tânar, în portretul unei femei. În nevoia ei de a scrie. În lupta ei de a nu se lăsa îngropată de ceilalți. În dorința tăcută de a fi iubită fără să-și piardă vocea.
Acțiunea nu e spectaculoasă. Și tocmai în asta stă toată frumusețea. E o carte despre despre rupturi, despre transformare. Tove nu te manipulează. Nu-ți cere mila. Nu se vrea martiră. Ea doar scrie. Și scrie cu o sinceritate care doare. Tove se luptă cu viața. Cu o viață care n-a fost niciodată blândă, dar pe care n-o înfruntă cu furie, ci cu o luciditate aproape dureroasă. Se luptă să-și găsească un rost, se luptă să fie publicată, să fie văzută, să fie iubită. Se luptă cu ea însăși. Iar lupta asta nu e zgomotoasă. Nu e o explozie de gesturi mari. E o încleștare interioară, care te lasă fără aer tocmai prin calmul cu care e povestită.
Citind-o, am înțeles ceva ce o să port mult timp cu mine: nu doar somnul rațiunii naște monștri, ci și luciditatea memoriei. Să-ți amintești limpede, fără ură, fără dorință de răzbunare... asta e poate cea mai grea formă de curaj. Trilogia Copenhagăi nu e doar o confesiune. E o viață. O viață trăită până la os și așternută în cuvinte cu o demnitate tăcută, sfâșietoare.
Și dacă e ceva ce mă apasă acum, după ce am terminat de citit, e gândul că mi-aș fi dorit enorm să-i pot spune toate astea chiar ei. Să-i spun cât de mult a contat. Cât de tare a durut. Cât de viu a fost totul.
Poate că... da... poate într-o zi... o să găsesc drumul până la ea sau poate doar până la liniștea din mine.
December 17, 2022
"Someday I'll write down all of the words that flow through me. Someday other people will read them in a book and marvel that a girl could be a poet, after all."
Tove Ditlevsen foi uma das escritoras mais importantes da Dinamarca do século XX, começou a escrever poemas aos 10 anos, apesar ou por causa da infância difícil.
Foi criada num bairro pobre e miserável, num mundo onde a educação não era importante.
Tove foi sempre fascinada pelo mundo dos livros, mesmo quando cresceu a ouvir que uma mulher não podia ser poeta.
A solidão da Tove, solidão essa que já vem desde que ela era criança, é angustiante de ler. Nunca teve ninguém com quem conversar sobre poemas e livros, nunca teve ninguém que a entendesse. Sempre que ela tenta falar sobre os seus sonhos, dizer à família que quer ser poeta, Tove é chamada de idiota. Até que é publicada aos 20 anos e torna-se uma grande escritora na Dinamarca.
A última parte foi a parte mais difícil de ler para mim. Ver a autora sucumbir à felicidade instantânea das drogas, vê-la tornar-se uma viciada foi tão angustiante. É um retrato muito visceral, muito cru. É muito difícil e triste de ler, mas a forma honesta como Tove descreve tudo isto é muito impressionante de ler.
"Childhood, Youth, Dependency" lê-se quase como se fosse o diário da própria autora, em que Tove escreve abertamente - sem pudores nem moralismos - sobre as suas memórias. Não esconde nada, é intensamente verdadeira com o leitor. Convém relembrar que este livro foi originalmente publicado em 1967, numa altura em que não se falava de dependência, sobretudo tão abertamente como Tove fala.
Este é um relato muito bonito, mas muito muito triste. A escrita da Tove Ditlevsen é lindíssima, simples mas poética.
Tove Ditlevsen foi alguém que tentou encontrar a sua salvação na escrita.
Tove Ditlevsen foi uma das escritoras mais importantes da Dinamarca do século XX, começou a escrever poemas aos 10 anos, apesar ou por causa da infância difícil.
Foi criada num bairro pobre e miserável, num mundo onde a educação não era importante.
Tove foi sempre fascinada pelo mundo dos livros, mesmo quando cresceu a ouvir que uma mulher não podia ser poeta.
A solidão da Tove, solidão essa que já vem desde que ela era criança, é angustiante de ler. Nunca teve ninguém com quem conversar sobre poemas e livros, nunca teve ninguém que a entendesse. Sempre que ela tenta falar sobre os seus sonhos, dizer à família que quer ser poeta, Tove é chamada de idiota. Até que é publicada aos 20 anos e torna-se uma grande escritora na Dinamarca.
A última parte foi a parte mais difícil de ler para mim. Ver a autora sucumbir à felicidade instantânea das drogas, vê-la tornar-se uma viciada foi tão angustiante. É um retrato muito visceral, muito cru. É muito difícil e triste de ler, mas a forma honesta como Tove descreve tudo isto é muito impressionante de ler.
"Childhood, Youth, Dependency" lê-se quase como se fosse o diário da própria autora, em que Tove escreve abertamente - sem pudores nem moralismos - sobre as suas memórias. Não esconde nada, é intensamente verdadeira com o leitor. Convém relembrar que este livro foi originalmente publicado em 1967, numa altura em que não se falava de dependência, sobretudo tão abertamente como Tove fala.
Este é um relato muito bonito, mas muito muito triste. A escrita da Tove Ditlevsen é lindíssima, simples mas poética.
Tove Ditlevsen foi alguém que tentou encontrar a sua salvação na escrita.
March 25, 2022
Beginning at the age of 50, Tove Ditlevsen wrote three memoirs, translated and presented here for the first time in a single volume. Not well known outside of Denmark during her years as a prominent poet and author, she wrote with a clarity and bravery that belied the material. Part I, Childhood, delivers a portrait of the life of a young girl growing up in a household devoid of warmth and affection. Her brother, being groomed as a skilled worker in order to escape the struggle of life as a stoker like their father and anxious to flee as soon as he reaches 18 years, says that "...this is a not a family to stay with."
There was nothing abusive, not even neglectful in this childhood, merely lacking in any human connection. In the second section, Youth, she is put out to work as soon as possible at the age of 14.
But it is in the third volume, originally titled Life but changed to Dependency for the translation, that the real effects of Tove's search for love and her life as an increasingly well known poet reaches fruition. This volume, begun when she was 54, reads like a novel in which the doomed heroine is used and misused by, and uses in turn, the various men who come into her life. Most notably, by her third husband, a doctor who gets her hooked on opiods in order to maintain control. This could have been written in the present day, her increasing dependency, realizing she was marrying him because he could supply the means for attaining bliss, and her being hospitalized and weaned off it. However she struggled all her life with addictions. Since it is well known, it is not a spoiler to reveal that shortly after completing this memoir, she succumbed to her addictions and committed suicide.
There was nothing abusive, not even neglectful in this childhood, merely lacking in any human connection. In the second section, Youth, she is put out to work as soon as possible at the age of 14.
But it is in the third volume, originally titled Life but changed to Dependency for the translation, that the real effects of Tove's search for love and her life as an increasingly well known poet reaches fruition. This volume, begun when she was 54, reads like a novel in which the doomed heroine is used and misused by, and uses in turn, the various men who come into her life. Most notably, by her third husband, a doctor who gets her hooked on opiods in order to maintain control. This could have been written in the present day, her increasing dependency, realizing she was marrying him because he could supply the means for attaining bliss, and her being hospitalized and weaned off it. However she struggled all her life with addictions. Since it is well known, it is not a spoiler to reveal that shortly after completing this memoir, she succumbed to her addictions and committed suicide.
May 22, 2022
a searingly honest and compulsive memoir. ditlevsen details the experience of growing up in a working-class neighbourhood in copenhagen (childhood), her desire for love and her journey to become a successful female writer in the 20th century (youth), and her dark struggles with addiction (dependency).
January 11, 2022
An honest and engaging memoir.
April 5, 2021
An unusual read because the writing is, on the one hand, so matter of fact, and on the other, so spellbinding. That leaves me saying, "How'd she do that, anyway?"
Autobiographical in nature, Tove Ditlevsen takes you back to pre-WWII Copenhagen and follows her life into her 20s during the war itself. The first part, Childhood, niftily uses a child's POV and dramatic irony to give the knowing reader a few chuckles. This little girl is "different," all right, but what distinguishes her is her ability to make most everyone else seem eccentric.
Little Tove is not big on childhood and, unlike most, doesn't look back on it through rose-colored glasses. Her parents fight more often than not. Her older brother Alvid doesn't get along with his mother and moves out as soon as he hits 18. Tove makes that her goal, too. Every happy family is alike, and all that.
Part Two, Youth, take us to the teen years where Copenhagen's more free-wheeling lifestyle (at least vs. Protestant America) is featured. At 17, Tove is made to feel positively freakish by her girlfriends just because she hasn't lost her virginity yet. Alas, she is as lucky at love as she is at childhood. Not much seems to make her happy. But she does have some success in poetry, mostly short pieces, and she does hope to move on to bigger, better things, like a novel some day.
The last section, Dependency, takes us to the war and a series of affairs and marriages. And a rather hair-raising dependency, which I won't spoil in a review.
If you're looking for a spellbinding plot, take a pass on this. This book is the Beatles' "Day in the Life" every day she chooses to describe. It wins you over softly with the quotidian ups and downs each of us experiences every day, but none of us suspects could be the material for a book.
Shows what we know.
Autobiographical in nature, Tove Ditlevsen takes you back to pre-WWII Copenhagen and follows her life into her 20s during the war itself. The first part, Childhood, niftily uses a child's POV and dramatic irony to give the knowing reader a few chuckles. This little girl is "different," all right, but what distinguishes her is her ability to make most everyone else seem eccentric.
Little Tove is not big on childhood and, unlike most, doesn't look back on it through rose-colored glasses. Her parents fight more often than not. Her older brother Alvid doesn't get along with his mother and moves out as soon as he hits 18. Tove makes that her goal, too. Every happy family is alike, and all that.
Part Two, Youth, take us to the teen years where Copenhagen's more free-wheeling lifestyle (at least vs. Protestant America) is featured. At 17, Tove is made to feel positively freakish by her girlfriends just because she hasn't lost her virginity yet. Alas, she is as lucky at love as she is at childhood. Not much seems to make her happy. But she does have some success in poetry, mostly short pieces, and she does hope to move on to bigger, better things, like a novel some day.
The last section, Dependency, takes us to the war and a series of affairs and marriages. And a rather hair-raising dependency, which I won't spoil in a review.
If you're looking for a spellbinding plot, take a pass on this. This book is the Beatles' "Day in the Life" every day she chooses to describe. It wins you over softly with the quotidian ups and downs each of us experiences every day, but none of us suspects could be the material for a book.
Shows what we know.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,807 reviews