Mircea Cartarescu's books orbit round an experience as enigmatic as it is essential: that of »nameless emotion«. Emotion of the kind stirred by women, but also the anguish of unrequited or lost love, emotion stirred by life altogether, which is occasionally »shot through with crazy flashes of great and true happiness.« There's Irina, for one, a literature student from Brasov, who introduced the young writer to Nabokov and D.H. Lawrence, and was recruited by the Securitate. Or the Romanian woman from Hermannstadt who lives with an Algerian in Paris and is determined to persuade the writer to join them for a threesome. Mircea himself is a highly sensitive individual, intoxicated with beauty, who variously appears on the scene as a pale, dreamy, inconspicuous young man in Bucharest in the 1970s, or as a long-haired youth walking through San Francisco in a leather jacket on the trail of Ferlignhetti and Kerouac. According to this greatest Romanian literary artist, we love women because they are extraordinary readers. And we love Cartarescu, because the tales he dedicates to that finest, most tender and violent of feelings are as simple as they are impressive.
Perché amiamo le donne
MAZZONI, BRUNO
2009-01-01
Abstract
Mircea Cartarescu's books orbit round an experience as enigmatic as it is essential: that of »nameless emotion«. Emotion of the kind stirred by women, but also the anguish of unrequited or lost love, emotion stirred by life altogether, which is occasionally »shot through with crazy flashes of great and true happiness.« There's Irina, for one, a literature student from Brasov, who introduced the young writer to Nabokov and D.H. Lawrence, and was recruited by the Securitate. Or the Romanian woman from Hermannstadt who lives with an Algerian in Paris and is determined to persuade the writer to join them for a threesome. Mircea himself is a highly sensitive individual, intoxicated with beauty, who variously appears on the scene as a pale, dreamy, inconspicuous young man in Bucharest in the 1970s, or as a long-haired youth walking through San Francisco in a leather jacket on the trail of Ferlignhetti and Kerouac. According to this greatest Romanian literary artist, we love women because they are extraordinary readers. And we love Cartarescu, because the tales he dedicates to that finest, most tender and violent of feelings are as simple as they are impressive.I documenti in IRIS sono protetti da copyright e tutti i diritti sono riservati, salvo diversa indicazione.
