hiç acıklı değil, hiç duygusallaşmıyor, hiç ajitasyon yok. bakmayın ben kitabı zırıl zırıl ağlayarak bitirdiysem tamamen kişisel meselelerle ilgili. ama yazarak iyileşmek ne demek çok iyi biliyorum ve annie ernaux’yu o kadar anlıyorum ki yaşadığım duygudaşlık gözyaşı olarak fışkırıyor. Ernaux’s bare-boned, fragmented prose style is often harsh on her subject matter. She observes her parents’ hard work and dedication to support their family with sympathetic snobbishness. Her father mispronounced the name of her school teachers, “as if the normal pronunciation implied that he was intimate with the closed world that these words evoked, a liberty he was not prepared to take”.

A Man’s Place | novel by Ernaux | Britannica

A small gem of a work, and I deeply appreciate the work of Ernaux being so crisp, small in size but high in impact. You can loose yourself for a few hours in her books and have food for thought for many, many days.They were convinced that being well-read and well-mannered were marks of an inner excellence that was innate. I have read A Woman’s Story by the author previously, which was about her mother, A Man’s Place is apparently about her father. The author writes here too in that familiar unbiased and dissociated manner- a neutral manner of writing- which marks perhaps a different sort of biography or a new genre altogether. It’s like reliving memories as you do with old suppressed memories, sometimes to re-imagine them, sometimes to get away with them. At times it gets difficult to dig up old forgotten memories so we invent them, the book lies somewhere there. Or perhaps we write about it so that the eternal events such as death may be helped to get merge with the past, to be one with our past, so that our turbulent soul may find solace as then it would become like any other events of our past. The writing of the author is somewhat like a cross between family history and sociology, reality and fiction, it could be said to be an effort to delve deep inside your subconscious mind to find what lies there, a sort of unseen truth which could only be brought out to the life through something fragile but tangible such as words. Though it could not be regarded as realism as she chooses sparse, factual prose, perhaps it could be categorized as’ autofiction’. Sparse observations on the impact of class and generational differences on how close one can be with a parent. The language of Ernaux is precise and captures the universal well

Annie Ernaux: A Man’s Place review – an intimate portrait Annie Ernaux: A Man’s Place review – an intimate portrait

I liked it, thought it felt quite familiar to me, almost as if I had written it myself about my own father, who was born in 1913 and died at the age of 76, close to twenty years ago, on the operating table, in heart by-pass surgery. That was the single worst moment of my life, having the surgeon report to us the news. I thought my own heart would literally burst from grief as I heard from the surgeon this news. I was close to him, in a non-verbal way. I was the fifth of six children, loved him very much, though I was quietly somewhat ashamed he was so much older than my friends' fathers, and uneducated as I myself went to school. I thought to myself: 'One day I shall have to explain all this.' What I meant was, to write about my father, his life and the distance which had come between us during my adolescence. Although it had something to do with class, it was different, indefinable. Like fractured love." Ernaux realiza um compêndio de sua família normanda na pequena Y. (possivelmente Yvetot), tendo os seus pais nascido em situações de grande miséria numa França que em pleno século XIX e início do século XX ainda aparentava condições de vida quase medievais em muitas de suas regiões.

Gosh. Four books in a row. This was 4.5 stars for me which rounding out makes it a 5-starrer. I can’t recall having read 4 books in a row that I loved. Christmas come early! 🙂 🙃 Note: In my notes at one point in the book early on I made this comment, ‘can’t believe what I’m reading...’. I was reading about the father’s childhood: Revisiting painful periods is hardly new territory for writers, but Ernaux distills a particular power from the exercise.’ Erno portretiše oca višedimenzionalno, na nemalom broju stranica, a u velikom vremenskom rasponu. Neraspričano, otmeno i tako da ispovest prevazilazi samu sebe, postajući promišljanje o pronalaženju svog mesta na ovom svetu. A jedino izvesno mesto je, zapravo, ono koje nije na ovom svetu, ono koje dolazi nakon života. Un romanzo che segue la vita di un padre, il padre della narratrice, un operaio diventato commerciante, iniziando dalla sua scomparsa e andando a ritroso, per poi ricongiungersi, di nuovo, con l'inizio.

A Mans Place HOME | A Mans Place

Ernaux’s parents met at the rope factory. Then her father worked as a roofer. When he fell from a rafter, her parents looked for a business they could manage, one that didn’t require a lot of start-up money. They bought a grocery store. Because they had to grant credit, they struggled financially. Her father had to get a second job while her mother ran the business. babasını kaybettikten sonra onu anlatmak için bir romana başlaması ve bunu kesinlikle yapamaması, aynen ebeveyniyle mektuplaşır gibi dümdüz anlatmayı tercih etmesi bize ernaux’nun o muhteşem üslubunu kazandırmış. He would be honored by her book about him, I think, but also he'd make fun of her seriousness, including some of the (very few) observations of an educated daughter, though she is careful to honor him though her use of language. She uses words to create a man, her father, though they are not quite his words. They are a daughter's loving, respectful words.This book goes by two names, ‘A Man’s Place (Four Walls Eight Windows. 1992 and then later editions) and “Positions” (Quartet Books, 1991). I have no idea why. 😐 He liked to sing: C'est l'aviron qui nous mène en rond – 'The paddle that is rowing us in circles'" Oggi la mamma è morta. O forse ieri, non so. Ho ricevuto un telegramma dall’ospizio: ‘Madre deceduta. Funerali domani. Distinti saluti.’ Questo non dice nulla: è stato forse ieri. The few outbursts Ernaux permits her teenage self are invariably to do with language: “How do you expect me to speak properly if you keep on making mistakes?” Language was Ernaux’s father’s embarrassment, but it’s Ernaux’s, too. A book cannot capture everything – it can only do its best. Slowly and with difficulty, Ernaux’s fiction sets out to tell the story of her father against this matter-of-fact adage. ernaux bu kitapta aşkı, meşki de atmış kenara bir yüzyılın tarihini yazmış kendince. aynı zamanda köle gibi çalışılan bir zamandan işçiliğe, sonrasında ise esnaflığa uzanan bir sınıf yolculuğu bu.