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Le piccole virtù
Questa raccolta di saggi e articoli, scritti in vari anni dalla Ginzburg, affinano e migliorano il suo stile, dimostrando le straordinarie capacità comunicative dell'autrice. Questo libro, pubblicato tra due grandi opere come Le voci della sera e Lessico famigliare, non risulta ridimensionato dall'accostamento con le due opere più celebri della scrittice.
Le piccole virtù presenta abbozzi, riflessioni e constatazioni della realtà che circondava la Ginzburg: l'ambiente londinese dove viveva, il suo rapporto con il secondo marito, tra passione e incomprensione, episodi rievocati di un'infanzia e una giovinezza trascorsa da tempo ma mai dimenticate.
Il titolo della raccolta, di carattere antifrastico, chiarifica che, per l'autrice, le piccole virtù, che consistono soprattutto in un'ostentato perbenismo e in una bonomia di maniera, sconsiderata e semplicistica, sono le principali cause di incomprensione, semplicioneria, stupidità, dolori e sofferenze. Il tutto ci viene presentato nel consueto stile diretto, immediato ma sapientemente evocativo, con cui la Ginzburg manifestava una dote di ingenuità che riesce ad arrivare al nocciolo delle vicende e dei problemi. Questo stile è capace, con pochi tratteggi, di rievocare atmosfere e ambienti, non solo fisici, ma soprattutto mentali, e questa ingenuo candore misto a acuta ponderatezza riescono a dare a quest'opera il tocco di maestria che tramuta una raccolta di saggi in un grande lavoro artistico.
Le piccole virtù presenta abbozzi, riflessioni e constatazioni della realtà che circondava la Ginzburg: l'ambiente londinese dove viveva, il suo rapporto con il secondo marito, tra passione e incomprensione, episodi rievocati di un'infanzia e una giovinezza trascorsa da tempo ma mai dimenticate.
Il titolo della raccolta, di carattere antifrastico, chiarifica che, per l'autrice, le piccole virtù, che consistono soprattutto in un'ostentato perbenismo e in una bonomia di maniera, sconsiderata e semplicistica, sono le principali cause di incomprensione, semplicioneria, stupidità, dolori e sofferenze. Il tutto ci viene presentato nel consueto stile diretto, immediato ma sapientemente evocativo, con cui la Ginzburg manifestava una dote di ingenuità che riesce ad arrivare al nocciolo delle vicende e dei problemi. Questo stile è capace, con pochi tratteggi, di rievocare atmosfere e ambienti, non solo fisici, ma soprattutto mentali, e questa ingenuo candore misto a acuta ponderatezza riescono a dare a quest'opera il tocco di maestria che tramuta una raccolta di saggi in un grande lavoro artistico.
160 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1962
About the author
Natalia Ginzburg
116 books1,301 followersNatalia Ginzburg (née Levi) was an Italian author whose work explored family relationships, politics during and after the Fascist years and World War II, and philosophy. She wrote novels, short stories and essays, for which she received the Strega Prize and Bagutta Prize. Most of her works were also translated into English and published in the United Kingdom and United States. An activist, for a time in the 1930s she belonged to the Italian Communist Party. In 1983 she was elected to Parliament from Rome as an Independent.
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May 10, 2024
"I shall take my children in hand and overcome the temptation to let my life go to pieces. I shall become serious and motherly, as always happens when I am with them."
(from Worn-out shoes)
In the wake of two books of Natalia Ginzburg I have been reading some time ago (a brief biography on Chekhov, Tsjechov. Een schrijversleven and her novel All Our Yesterdays, a family novel on growing up during the Second World War), I came across these lines. Her perceptive and in my opinion wise insight on the need for resilience as a mother hit home. Because Ginzburg’s sober, luminous and no-nonsense style and particularly her peculiar, somewhat prickly humour had resonated with me previously, I was quite excited to find a copy of this collection on the shelves of the (digital) library.
These eleven essayistic pieces, written at different times and places (between 1944 and 1960, in Turin, Rome and London) mark episodes in Ginzburg’s life, ranging in tone from elegiac to sharp and bitter, to meditative and mildly nostalgic. She thematises friendship, poverty, compassion, war experiences, happiness, morality, the vocation of writing, parenthood, intimate and family relationships often by relating these grand themes dexterously and with a light, almost sleight of hand touch, to her own life, without rendering her discourse so overwhelmingly personal it might turn mawkish or for the reader uninterestingly egotistical.
The fragment on motherly duties echoed the thoughts of the (insupportable) Momina in Cesare Pavese’s novel Tra donne sole (Among Women Only), where Momina puts sharply that the decision of having children is ineludibly a committal one and so she will not: When you have children, you accept life. So don’t have children, if you cannot accept living yourself. Regardless of what fate has in store for you, remember that having children implies you cannot decide to give up anymore and so you will lose your ultimate freedom of self-determination (One year after that penultimate novel, Pavese ended his own life, like one of the characters in his novel, in a Turin hotel room by a barbiturate overdose, following his own bitter logic to the very end. Pavese was a friend of Leone and Natalia Ginzburg; he is the nameless friend she commemorates tenderly and poetically in Portrait of a Friend, without mentioning his name once).
"There is a kind of uniform monotony in the fate of man. Our lives unfold according to ancient, unchangeable laws, according to an invariable and ancient rhythm. Our dreams are never realised and as soon as we see them betrayed we realise that the intensest joys of our life have nothing to do with reality. No sooner do we see them betrayed than we are consumed with regret for the time when they glowed within us. And in this succession of hopes and regrets our life slips by."
There is a fresh feel to these essays, the tone at once radiant and detached (for instance when matter-of-factly mentioning the brutal death in prison of her spouse Leone, murdered and tortured by the fascist police), often having a bittersweet aftertaste. I wasn’t so gripped by England: Eulogy and Lament which is pervaded with a bitter homesickness, which seemed to make Ginzburg unforgiving in her observations with regard to what she perceives as typical English in both the landscape and the people, to what she perceives as the English way of living which looks very pale and depressing in comparison to the Italian one.
"Human relationships have to be rediscovered and reinvented every day. We have to remember constantly that every kind of meeting with our neighbour is a human action and so it is always evil or good, true or deceitful, a kindness or a sin."
My favourite pieces were Winter in the Abruzzi (1944), Worn-out shoes (1945) and particularly the titular essay The Little Virtues (1960), which, as an anti-bourgeois valediction to the petty values that sometimes tend to encumber the upbringing of a child into responsible adulthood, I would recommend to every parent.
"As far as the education of children is concerned I think they should be taught not the little virtues but the great ones. Not thrift but generosity and an indifference to money; not caution but courage and a contempt for danger; not shrewdness but frankness and a love of truth,; not tact but love for one’s neighbour and self-denial; not a desire for success but a desire to be and to know."
"In general I think we should be very cautious about promising and providing rewards and punishments. Because life rarely has its rewards and punishments; usually sacrifices have no reward, and often evil deeds go unpunished, at time they are even richly rewarded with success and money. Therefore it is best that our children should know from infancy that good is not rewarded and that evil goes unpunished; yet they must love good and hate evil, and it is not possible to give any logical explanation for this."
For me this is Ginzburg at her best: it are such insights, almost casually phrased moral observations, which make this collection feel relevant and powerful.
Nevertheless, something held me back from embracing these pieces fully, a similar sense of slight disappointment that grated me when I was reading Rachel Cusk’s Coventry: Essays (Cusk wrote an introduction to The Little Virtues which also features in that Coventry collection). I am aware however this feeling that something is missing is not at all connected to the essays as they are; it reflects my own indisposition to accept them for what they are – another illustration how my own expectations on what an essay ‘should’ essentially be keeping me from fully grasping and enjoying what I was reading. I like to read essays which are lucid, to the point, erudite and thought-provoking and which inspire me to look at things in a different way, or which bring forth the excitement of being struck by a turn of phrase capturing some nebulous thought or feeling of mine enticing a big yes, yes, brilliant! as if I were one of the prisoners let out of the cave enabled to see things in the light of truth for a moment. Some of the essays offered such flashes of gemlike observations, others more came across as vignettes about Ginzburg’s life – not as essays.
Familiar only with the scent but not (yet?) with the taste of the beverage, Natalia Ginzburg’s The Little Virtues is how I imagine a fine, smooth cognac: earthly-coloured, rich in flavour and best to savour by small sips.
(***1/2)
(from Worn-out shoes)
In the wake of two books of Natalia Ginzburg I have been reading some time ago (a brief biography on Chekhov, Tsjechov. Een schrijversleven and her novel All Our Yesterdays, a family novel on growing up during the Second World War), I came across these lines. Her perceptive and in my opinion wise insight on the need for resilience as a mother hit home. Because Ginzburg’s sober, luminous and no-nonsense style and particularly her peculiar, somewhat prickly humour had resonated with me previously, I was quite excited to find a copy of this collection on the shelves of the (digital) library.
These eleven essayistic pieces, written at different times and places (between 1944 and 1960, in Turin, Rome and London) mark episodes in Ginzburg’s life, ranging in tone from elegiac to sharp and bitter, to meditative and mildly nostalgic. She thematises friendship, poverty, compassion, war experiences, happiness, morality, the vocation of writing, parenthood, intimate and family relationships often by relating these grand themes dexterously and with a light, almost sleight of hand touch, to her own life, without rendering her discourse so overwhelmingly personal it might turn mawkish or for the reader uninterestingly egotistical.
The fragment on motherly duties echoed the thoughts of the (insupportable) Momina in Cesare Pavese’s novel Tra donne sole (Among Women Only), where Momina puts sharply that the decision of having children is ineludibly a committal one and so she will not: When you have children, you accept life. So don’t have children, if you cannot accept living yourself. Regardless of what fate has in store for you, remember that having children implies you cannot decide to give up anymore and so you will lose your ultimate freedom of self-determination (One year after that penultimate novel, Pavese ended his own life, like one of the characters in his novel, in a Turin hotel room by a barbiturate overdose, following his own bitter logic to the very end. Pavese was a friend of Leone and Natalia Ginzburg; he is the nameless friend she commemorates tenderly and poetically in Portrait of a Friend, without mentioning his name once).
"There is a kind of uniform monotony in the fate of man. Our lives unfold according to ancient, unchangeable laws, according to an invariable and ancient rhythm. Our dreams are never realised and as soon as we see them betrayed we realise that the intensest joys of our life have nothing to do with reality. No sooner do we see them betrayed than we are consumed with regret for the time when they glowed within us. And in this succession of hopes and regrets our life slips by."
There is a fresh feel to these essays, the tone at once radiant and detached (for instance when matter-of-factly mentioning the brutal death in prison of her spouse Leone, murdered and tortured by the fascist police), often having a bittersweet aftertaste. I wasn’t so gripped by England: Eulogy and Lament which is pervaded with a bitter homesickness, which seemed to make Ginzburg unforgiving in her observations with regard to what she perceives as typical English in both the landscape and the people, to what she perceives as the English way of living which looks very pale and depressing in comparison to the Italian one.
"Human relationships have to be rediscovered and reinvented every day. We have to remember constantly that every kind of meeting with our neighbour is a human action and so it is always evil or good, true or deceitful, a kindness or a sin."
My favourite pieces were Winter in the Abruzzi (1944), Worn-out shoes (1945) and particularly the titular essay The Little Virtues (1960), which, as an anti-bourgeois valediction to the petty values that sometimes tend to encumber the upbringing of a child into responsible adulthood, I would recommend to every parent.
"As far as the education of children is concerned I think they should be taught not the little virtues but the great ones. Not thrift but generosity and an indifference to money; not caution but courage and a contempt for danger; not shrewdness but frankness and a love of truth,; not tact but love for one’s neighbour and self-denial; not a desire for success but a desire to be and to know."
"In general I think we should be very cautious about promising and providing rewards and punishments. Because life rarely has its rewards and punishments; usually sacrifices have no reward, and often evil deeds go unpunished, at time they are even richly rewarded with success and money. Therefore it is best that our children should know from infancy that good is not rewarded and that evil goes unpunished; yet they must love good and hate evil, and it is not possible to give any logical explanation for this."
For me this is Ginzburg at her best: it are such insights, almost casually phrased moral observations, which make this collection feel relevant and powerful.
Nevertheless, something held me back from embracing these pieces fully, a similar sense of slight disappointment that grated me when I was reading Rachel Cusk’s Coventry: Essays (Cusk wrote an introduction to The Little Virtues which also features in that Coventry collection). I am aware however this feeling that something is missing is not at all connected to the essays as they are; it reflects my own indisposition to accept them for what they are – another illustration how my own expectations on what an essay ‘should’ essentially be keeping me from fully grasping and enjoying what I was reading. I like to read essays which are lucid, to the point, erudite and thought-provoking and which inspire me to look at things in a different way, or which bring forth the excitement of being struck by a turn of phrase capturing some nebulous thought or feeling of mine enticing a big yes, yes, brilliant! as if I were one of the prisoners let out of the cave enabled to see things in the light of truth for a moment. Some of the essays offered such flashes of gemlike observations, others more came across as vignettes about Ginzburg’s life – not as essays.
Familiar only with the scent but not (yet?) with the taste of the beverage, Natalia Ginzburg’s The Little Virtues is how I imagine a fine, smooth cognac: earthly-coloured, rich in flavour and best to savour by small sips.
(***1/2)
December 23, 2023
The author is the type of person I actively avoid
The Little Virtues is a collection of essays originally published in 1962.
The author seems to be buried under a mountain of complaints while missing the miracles swirling around her. Ginzburg bashes England and Italy. One of her aims is English food. The best red velvet cake I ever had was in London, and oh…..the gelato! There is magic and wonder in the streets and shops. Oh to walk upon the same pathways as Charles Dickens and JM Barrie!
All aboard the complaint train! Chugging right along…..
Ginzburg also complains about everyone wearing black and criticizes this as unoriginal. In my opinion, this is a narrow-minded view—there is more than one way to stand out in a sea of black than wearing an obnoxious outfit. For example, people can subtly differentiate themselves with a pop of color from a scarf.
But more importantly…….
Who allows themselves to be defined by their clothes? I would rather be defined by the books I am carrying.
In the essay, He and I, Ginzburg essentially asserts that her husband is perfect, and she is hopeless aka more complaints about her lot in life.
“I can be very annoying at time.” You don’t say?
“He buys enormous quantities of bicarbonate of soda and aspirins.” He probably has a headache from all of the complaints.
Ironically, Ginzburg has a messy essay about how she was destined to be a writer. At the same time, her essay is boring, has no dialogue, and has three-page paragraphs.
Some of the essays also haven’t aged well.
“And perhaps this is the one good thing that has come out of the war. Not to lie, and not to allow others to lie to us.”
Hate to break it to you, but liars still exist.
In the last essay, Ginzburg asserts that people should not be taught to save money but to spend indifferently. However, at the time of this book, people didn’t have credit cards, student loans, mortgages (the author lived in Europe where staying in the family home was the norm), and health insurance. Life expectancy was lower, so people didn’t have to worry about living to 100 and outliving their assets.
If this book is about virtue, it certainly isn’t about the virtue of tolerance. If I had the privilege of sitting next to this author, I would wear earplugs.
How much I spent:
Hardcover text – Free through Mel-Cat (Michigan Library System)
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The Little Virtues is a collection of essays originally published in 1962.
The author seems to be buried under a mountain of complaints while missing the miracles swirling around her. Ginzburg bashes England and Italy. One of her aims is English food. The best red velvet cake I ever had was in London, and oh…..the gelato! There is magic and wonder in the streets and shops. Oh to walk upon the same pathways as Charles Dickens and JM Barrie!
All aboard the complaint train! Chugging right along…..
Ginzburg also complains about everyone wearing black and criticizes this as unoriginal. In my opinion, this is a narrow-minded view—there is more than one way to stand out in a sea of black than wearing an obnoxious outfit. For example, people can subtly differentiate themselves with a pop of color from a scarf.
But more importantly…….
Who allows themselves to be defined by their clothes? I would rather be defined by the books I am carrying.
In the essay, He and I, Ginzburg essentially asserts that her husband is perfect, and she is hopeless aka more complaints about her lot in life.
“I can be very annoying at time.” You don’t say?
“He buys enormous quantities of bicarbonate of soda and aspirins.” He probably has a headache from all of the complaints.
Ironically, Ginzburg has a messy essay about how she was destined to be a writer. At the same time, her essay is boring, has no dialogue, and has three-page paragraphs.
Some of the essays also haven’t aged well.
“And perhaps this is the one good thing that has come out of the war. Not to lie, and not to allow others to lie to us.”
Hate to break it to you, but liars still exist.
In the last essay, Ginzburg asserts that people should not be taught to save money but to spend indifferently. However, at the time of this book, people didn’t have credit cards, student loans, mortgages (the author lived in Europe where staying in the family home was the norm), and health insurance. Life expectancy was lower, so people didn’t have to worry about living to 100 and outliving their assets.
If this book is about virtue, it certainly isn’t about the virtue of tolerance. If I had the privilege of sitting next to this author, I would wear earplugs.
How much I spent:
Hardcover text – Free through Mel-Cat (Michigan Library System)
Connect With Me!
Blog Twitter BookTube Facebook Insta
April 5, 2023
En la primera parte de este libro, me iba dejando llevar, para leer un poco más de Ginzburg, y ver lo que vendría. Está lindo, bien escrito, pero nada que me pareciera sobresalir, solo Elogio y Lamento de Inglaterra, muy simpático en ver el contraste de un temperamento latino frente a el medio inglés.
Pero empezó la segunda parte y me movió el piso. Es una belleza, esa belleza profunda que solo puede dar el haber vivido, y en grandes cantidades. Bellísimo.
Había leído un libro de Ginzburg, con algo de interés, aunque es en este libro en donde me conquistó.
En El Hijo del hombre, habla de cómo se siente todo después de una guerra, después del miedo, de el saber que todo puede cambiar en un instante.
En Mi oficio, mi favorito, habla sobre precisamente eso, su vocación, el escribir.
Silencio es precioso y triste, la voz de un corazón roto.
Las relaciones humanas, es un poco describir los cambios que vamos viendo en nosotros, a través de la vida.
En Las pequeñas virtudes, da algunos consejos sobre crianza, como para que no les demos esas pequeñas virtudes a nuestros hijos, sino algo mucho más grande.
Así que, aunque había leído una novela suya, puedo decir que con este libro la descubrí realmente, su relación con las palabras, su manera de ver la vida, si visión, sus vivencias, ahora sí puedo decir que las veo, y seguiré leyéndola, con mucha curiosidad y alegría.
Pero empezó la segunda parte y me movió el piso. Es una belleza, esa belleza profunda que solo puede dar el haber vivido, y en grandes cantidades. Bellísimo.
Había leído un libro de Ginzburg, con algo de interés, aunque es en este libro en donde me conquistó.
En El Hijo del hombre, habla de cómo se siente todo después de una guerra, después del miedo, de el saber que todo puede cambiar en un instante.
En Mi oficio, mi favorito, habla sobre precisamente eso, su vocación, el escribir.
Silencio es precioso y triste, la voz de un corazón roto.
Las relaciones humanas, es un poco describir los cambios que vamos viendo en nosotros, a través de la vida.
En Las pequeñas virtudes, da algunos consejos sobre crianza, como para que no les demos esas pequeñas virtudes a nuestros hijos, sino algo mucho más grande.
Así que, aunque había leído una novela suya, puedo decir que con este libro la descubrí realmente, su relación con las palabras, su manera de ver la vida, si visión, sus vivencias, ahora sí puedo decir que las veo, y seguiré leyéndola, con mucha curiosidad y alegría.
May 3, 2021
تا آنجا که مربوط به تربیت بچهها میشود، فکر میکنم که به آنها نباید فضیلتهای ناچیز، بلکه باید فضیلتهای بزرگ را آموخت. نه صرفهجویی را، که سخاوت را و بیتفاوتی نسبت به پول را. نه احتیاط را که شهامت و حقیر شمردن خطر را. نه زیرکی را، که صراحت و عشق به واقعیت را. نه سیاستبازی را، که عشق به همنوع و فداکاری را. نه آرزوی توفیق را، که آرزوی بودن و دانستن را.
🌻
این اولین کتابیه که از این نویسنده خوندم و خیلی با قلمش حس نزدیکی و صمیمیت داشتم. نویسنده با قلمی بیتکلف و نگاهی ساده درمورد چیزهایی مینویسد که در زندگی ما عادی شده و به آنها اهمیتی نمیدهیم. او در ۱۱ داستان این فضیلتها را مطرح میکند. تجربهاش از کار و حرفهاش، ارتباط با دوستانش و فرزندانش، نویسنده کتاب را از دید یک معلم نوشته و به نظرم برای هر مادر یا هرکسی که با کودکان سروکار داره میتونه مفید باشه.
🌻
ناتالیا گینزبورگ در خانوادهای یهودی در سال ۱۹۱۶ به دنیا آمد. او همسر روزنامهنگاری سیاسی شد که با شروع جنگ جهانی دوم همراه با شوهرش و دو فرزندش به شهر آ
بروتزو تبعید شد. او در ۱۹۹۱ درگذشت. ناتالیا نویسندهای وقایعنگار، موشکاف و دارای نثری پر از صوت و حرکت و ریز و بم است که حتی با استفاده از کلمات پیشپاافتاده میتواند حقیقتا اثری شاعرانه بر خواننده بگذارد. از کودکی شعر میسروده و بعد به داستانسرایی روی آورده. کتاب دیگهای که ازش خوند�� کتاب الفبای زندگی است که بعد از خوندن این کتاب مطالعهش کردم، در آن کتاب شرح زندگیاش از بدو تولد تا ظهور و سقوط فاشیسم را بیان میکند.
🌻
این اولین کتابیه که از این نویسنده خوندم و خیلی با قلمش حس نزدیکی و صمیمیت داشتم. نویسنده با قلمی بیتکلف و نگاهی ساده درمورد چیزهایی مینویسد که در زندگی ما عادی شده و به آنها اهمیتی نمیدهیم. او در ۱۱ داستان این فضیلتها را مطرح میکند. تجربهاش از کار و حرفهاش، ارتباط با دوستانش و فرزندانش، نویسنده کتاب را از دید یک معلم نوشته و به نظرم برای هر مادر یا هرکسی که با کودکان سروکار داره میتونه مفید باشه.
🌻
ناتالیا گینزبورگ در خانوادهای یهودی در سال ۱۹۱۶ به دنیا آمد. او همسر روزنامهنگاری سیاسی شد که با شروع جنگ جهانی دوم همراه با شوهرش و دو فرزندش به شهر آ
بروتزو تبعید شد. او در ۱۹۹۱ درگذشت. ناتالیا نویسندهای وقایعنگار، موشکاف و دارای نثری پر از صوت و حرکت و ریز و بم است که حتی با استفاده از کلمات پیشپاافتاده میتواند حقیقتا اثری شاعرانه بر خواننده بگذارد. از کودکی شعر میسروده و بعد به داستانسرایی روی آورده. کتاب دیگهای که ازش خوند�� کتاب الفبای زندگی است که بعد از خوندن این کتاب مطالعهش کردم، در آن کتاب شرح زندگیاش از بدو تولد تا ظهور و سقوط فاشیسم را بیان میکند.
September 4, 2015
"We have seen reality's darkest face, and it no longer horrifies us. And there are still those who complain that writers use bitter, violent language, that they write about cruel, distressing things, that they present reality in the worst possible light."- Natalia Ginzburg, The Son of God
I picked this one up and started reading because it was in the Italian lit section at the library and I'm trying to read more women writers. It took me a while to realize that these were short essays and not short stories like I'd initially supposed. Maybe it has something to do with her writing style? I found it very accessible. I liked her essays a lot. She writes about her struggles as a mother and a writer, her time in exile, her travels, and personal challenges.
She also wrote a very biting piece on England, which I think most English people will take umbrage at but was quite interesting to me regardless:
Eulogy and Lament: We are quickly infected by the English melancholy. It is a sheepish, stunned melancholy, a sort of empty bewilderment, and on its surface the conversations about the weather, the seasons-- about all those things one discusses without going too deeply into anything, without giving offense or being offended-- linger like the constant buzzing of mosquitoes...
There were also essays about raising kids during the war, what changes regarding parenting because of war and hardships. In a way it reminded me of Zweig's reminiscences of Europe after the war:
"We cannot do this to children who have seen terror and horror in our faces...There is an unabridgeable abyss between us and the previous generation. The dangers they lived through were trivial and their houses were rarely reduced to rubble."
A couple of passages I liked:
"My vocation is to write stories-- invented things or things which I can remember from my own life, but in any case stories, things that are connected only with memory and imagination and have nothing to do with erudition. This is my vocation and I shall work at it till I die."
"As far as the things we write are concerned there is a danger in grief just as there is a danger in happiness. Because poetic beauty is a mixture of ruthlessness, pride, irony, physical tenderness, of imagination and memory, of clarity and obscurity-- and if we cannot gather all these things together we are left with something meagre, unreliable and hardly alive."
I picked this one up and started reading because it was in the Italian lit section at the library and I'm trying to read more women writers. It took me a while to realize that these were short essays and not short stories like I'd initially supposed. Maybe it has something to do with her writing style? I found it very accessible. I liked her essays a lot. She writes about her struggles as a mother and a writer, her time in exile, her travels, and personal challenges.
She also wrote a very biting piece on England, which I think most English people will take umbrage at but was quite interesting to me regardless:
Eulogy and Lament: We are quickly infected by the English melancholy. It is a sheepish, stunned melancholy, a sort of empty bewilderment, and on its surface the conversations about the weather, the seasons-- about all those things one discusses without going too deeply into anything, without giving offense or being offended-- linger like the constant buzzing of mosquitoes...
There were also essays about raising kids during the war, what changes regarding parenting because of war and hardships. In a way it reminded me of Zweig's reminiscences of Europe after the war:
"We cannot do this to children who have seen terror and horror in our faces...There is an unabridgeable abyss between us and the previous generation. The dangers they lived through were trivial and their houses were rarely reduced to rubble."
A couple of passages I liked:
"My vocation is to write stories-- invented things or things which I can remember from my own life, but in any case stories, things that are connected only with memory and imagination and have nothing to do with erudition. This is my vocation and I shall work at it till I die."
"As far as the things we write are concerned there is a danger in grief just as there is a danger in happiness. Because poetic beauty is a mixture of ruthlessness, pride, irony, physical tenderness, of imagination and memory, of clarity and obscurity-- and if we cannot gather all these things together we are left with something meagre, unreliable and hardly alive."
September 14, 2024
Some books enter your life like a breath of fresh air
Blowing open the windows of a mind
Grown so stuffy it smells like a beast slept in there
—They let in light where you thought you were blind
Some books teach you to read or to think or to love
Or simply to admire their pages
The one in your hand teaches all of the above
Without ever turning you into sages
There is something this book will remind you to do
Which you must do before you are dead
And if you have it in mind to ask me to tell you
What it is—I'll just keep quiet instead
December 28, 2021
3,5*
"As Pequenas Virtudes” abre com um prólogo de Rachel Cusk, tão insípido e frio como tudo o que ela escreve e que deverá, como todas as introduções que comentam demasiado, ser lido no fim.
Nesta compilação de Natalia Ginzburg há quatro ensaios de que desgostei realmente. Sob a mesma temática, temos “England: Eulogy and Lament” e “La Maison Volpé”, ambos escritos em Inglaterra sobre Inglaterra, no início dos anos 60. Não deixo de os compreender, pois, no fundo, são uma resposta merecida aos escritores ingleses que passaram séculos a rebaixar e a insultar os italianos sempre que viajavam pelo seu país, referindo-se a eles praticamente como uns selvagens, mas parecem-me ambos mesquinhos e revanchistas, sem terem propriamente substância.
No campo da intelectualização da trivialidade, temos “Human Relationships”, que é bastante elementar: um conjunto de generalizações que não acrescentam nada de relevante. A utilização generalista do “nós” neste ensaio torna-se insuportável no seguinte, “Little Virtues”, que é tão moralista que mais parece um sermão do alto de um arrogante púlpito. Dizer aos outros como devem gastar o SEU dinheiro e educar os SEUS filhos são assuntos que me deixam imediatamente eriçada.
There is no better way to teach a child this indifference than to give him money to spend when there is money – because then he will learn to part with it without worrying about it or regretting it.
“He and I”, “My Vocation” e “Silence” são interessantes reflexões pessoais de Natalia Ginzburg, que nos permitem ficar a conhecê-la um pouco, mas o ponto alto são os três primeiros textos e “The Son of Man”, que justificam por si só a leitura de “As Pequenas Virtudes”.
“Winter in the Abruzzi” descreve com muita graça um período em que Natalia, os filhos e o marido se exilaram nessa região, por se oporem ao regime fascista, e onde ela escreveu a sua primeira novela, “O Caminho da Cidade”. As descrições da paisagem e da vida na província são encantadoras, mas o final é de gelar o sangue.
When the first snows began to fall a quiet sadness took hold of us. We were in exile: our city was a long way off, and so were books, friends, the various desultory events of a real existence.
“Worn-out Shoes” é uma história singela mas cheia de significado sobre amizade e cumplicidade em torno de um par de sapatos descambados, enquanto “Portrait of a Friend” é um retrato tão nostálgico e pungente como se pode imaginar algo escrito por uma amiga chegada de Cesare Pavese.
And now it occurs to us that our city resembles the friend whom we have lost and who loved it; it is, as he was, industrious, stamped with a frown of stubborn, feverish activity; and it is simultaneously listless and inclined to spend its time idly dreaming.
Escrito no rescaldo da Segunda Guerra, “The Son of Man” fala do medo intrínseco e da impossibilidade de superar o trauma dos horrores vividos durante essa época.
We cannot lie in our books and we cannot lie in any of the things we do. And perhaps this is the one good thing that has come out of the war. Not to lie, and not to allow others to lie to us.
Winter in the Abruzzi - 5*
Worn-out shoes - 5*
Portrait of a Friend-5*
England: Eulogy and Lament-2*
"La Maison Volpé - 2*
He and I - 3*
The Son of Man-5*
My Vocation-4*
Silence - 3*
Human Relations – 2*
Little Virtues – 2*
"As Pequenas Virtudes” abre com um prólogo de Rachel Cusk, tão insípido e frio como tudo o que ela escreve e que deverá, como todas as introduções que comentam demasiado, ser lido no fim.
Nesta compilação de Natalia Ginzburg há quatro ensaios de que desgostei realmente. Sob a mesma temática, temos “England: Eulogy and Lament” e “La Maison Volpé”, ambos escritos em Inglaterra sobre Inglaterra, no início dos anos 60. Não deixo de os compreender, pois, no fundo, são uma resposta merecida aos escritores ingleses que passaram séculos a rebaixar e a insultar os italianos sempre que viajavam pelo seu país, referindo-se a eles praticamente como uns selvagens, mas parecem-me ambos mesquinhos e revanchistas, sem terem propriamente substância.
No campo da intelectualização da trivialidade, temos “Human Relationships”, que é bastante elementar: um conjunto de generalizações que não acrescentam nada de relevante. A utilização generalista do “nós” neste ensaio torna-se insuportável no seguinte, “Little Virtues”, que é tão moralista que mais parece um sermão do alto de um arrogante púlpito. Dizer aos outros como devem gastar o SEU dinheiro e educar os SEUS filhos são assuntos que me deixam imediatamente eriçada.
There is no better way to teach a child this indifference than to give him money to spend when there is money – because then he will learn to part with it without worrying about it or regretting it.
“He and I”, “My Vocation” e “Silence” são interessantes reflexões pessoais de Natalia Ginzburg, que nos permitem ficar a conhecê-la um pouco, mas o ponto alto são os três primeiros textos e “The Son of Man”, que justificam por si só a leitura de “As Pequenas Virtudes”.
“Winter in the Abruzzi” descreve com muita graça um período em que Natalia, os filhos e o marido se exilaram nessa região, por se oporem ao regime fascista, e onde ela escreveu a sua primeira novela, “O Caminho da Cidade”. As descrições da paisagem e da vida na província são encantadoras, mas o final é de gelar o sangue.
When the first snows began to fall a quiet sadness took hold of us. We were in exile: our city was a long way off, and so were books, friends, the various desultory events of a real existence.
“Worn-out Shoes” é uma história singela mas cheia de significado sobre amizade e cumplicidade em torno de um par de sapatos descambados, enquanto “Portrait of a Friend” é um retrato tão nostálgico e pungente como se pode imaginar algo escrito por uma amiga chegada de Cesare Pavese.
And now it occurs to us that our city resembles the friend whom we have lost and who loved it; it is, as he was, industrious, stamped with a frown of stubborn, feverish activity; and it is simultaneously listless and inclined to spend its time idly dreaming.
Escrito no rescaldo da Segunda Guerra, “The Son of Man” fala do medo intrínseco e da impossibilidade de superar o trauma dos horrores vividos durante essa época.
We cannot lie in our books and we cannot lie in any of the things we do. And perhaps this is the one good thing that has come out of the war. Not to lie, and not to allow others to lie to us.
Winter in the Abruzzi - 5*
Worn-out shoes - 5*
Portrait of a Friend-5*
England: Eulogy and Lament-2*
"La Maison Volpé - 2*
He and I - 3*
The Son of Man-5*
My Vocation-4*
Silence - 3*
Human Relations – 2*
Little Virtues – 2*
September 6, 2022
Once the experiece of evil has been endured it is never forgotten. Someone who has seen a house collapse knows only too clearly what frail things little vases of flowers and pictures and white walls are.
I've completely fallen in love with Ginzburg's writing: her prose is so simple and pellucid but that transparency holds depths. My only slight frustration with this book is that I wanted more - much more - I wanted these essays to continue.
This is a brief collection of short pieces, little more than a hundred pages in my edition. Not that the contents are slight: they distil much wisdom and hard-won life experience. Whether Ginzburg is contemplating exile from Mussolini's Rome, friendship, shoes or her vocation as a writer, these pieces have that rare ability to both connect with the reader and to also take on a resonance so much greater than their apparent subject.
Stand out pieces for me are 'The Little Virtues' where Ginzburg's politicised values are shown to shape her concept of life aimed at a younger generation ('the true defence against wealth is not a fear of wealth - of its fragility and of the vicious consequences that it can bring - the true defence against wealth is an indifference to money. There is no better way to teach a child this indifference than to give him [sic] money to spend when there is money - because then he will learn to part with it without worrying about it or regretting it'); and the beautiful melancholy of 'Winter in the Abruzzi', the place to where she, her first husband and children were exiled by the fascist government. Only at the end do we understand how this captures a time, unrecognised in the moment, of happiness.
For all of Ginzburg's tribulations and losses, one of the key emotions that comes through this book is her love of life, something which she, at least partly, attributes to having a vocation or purpose in life.
Wise, thoughtful, beautifully if unobtrusively written, I found this a fine companion to my recent reading of Ginzburg's Family Lexicon.
October 7, 2023
فوق العاده بود فصل آخرشو خیلی دوست داشتم.
کتابی که سالهاست تو لیست مطالعه ام بود بالاخره خوندم
کتابی که سالهاست تو لیست مطالعه ام بود بالاخره خوندم
April 16, 2016
کتاب «فضیلتهای ناچیز» را اولین بار وقتی خیلی جوان بودم، دوستی به من قرض داد. آن زمان وبلاگ و نویسندگی مهمترین و متداولترین دغدغهام بود و فکر میکردم دنیا همین است که من مینویسم و میبینم و هر چه زندگیست از سر قلم من جاری میشود و میجوشد. خلاصه من بودم و نوک دماغم. دوستم ولی از نظر من زیادی ادیب بود و بچهمثبت. من نه جدی میگرفتمش و نه از روی ادب به خودم اجازه میدادم به او که 10سالی از من بزرگتر بود، تندی کنم. کتاب ماند دستم تا روزی که میدانستم دیگر نخواهم دیدش و او را میان روزمرگیها گم کردم. دیگر از آن اهن و تلپ خبری نبود و کمی متعادل شده بود مقیاس بین من و زندگی. کتاب را خواندم. دوستش داشتم، چون گینزبورگ را دوست میداشتم. چون دیدش به آنچه زندگی مینامیمش، اگرچه یکتا نبود، اما بینهایت ملموس بود و فهمیدنی. چون گینزبورگ زن بود و زن بودن را به وضوح بعد از انکار کردنهای فراوان پذیرفته بود. حالا برای بار دوم پس از سالها کتاب را خواندم. هنوز هم دوستش داشتم. این مجموعه یادداشتهای نابدیهی در بارهی بدیهیات. و حالا عمیقا میفهمم آن دوست زلزلهشناسِ من، چه دیده بود در من که تشویقم کرد به خواندن کتاب. چرا که کتاب «فضیلتهای ناچیز» میتواند شما را در برابر طغیان ناامیدی، غرور بیخود، بیاعتمادی به خود و خلاصه؛ زندگی، کمی و فقط کمی آرامتان کند. تا نفسی تازه کنید و دوباره سپر بردارید.
December 25, 2017
Le so TUTTE!
Non nego di essere abbastanza stupito dalle tante recensioni positive su questa raccolta di racconti e articoli di Natalia Ginzburg.
Avevo avuto la sensazione di un certo snobismo della scrittrice leggendo il Lessico, sensazione che qui è per me confermata.
La Ginzburg mi è sembrata saccente, snob, irritante; spara sentenze come un Kalashnikov in una furiosa battaglia (il capitolo su inglesi e Inghilterra è ai limiti della sopportazione). Non ha il minimo dubbio, mai, in quanto sembra l’unica tenutaria del Vero. Riesce perfino a spiegarci come evitare di fare errori che ahimè contraddistinguono prevalentemente lei.
Essendo, come negarlo, una grande scrittrice, riesce a concederci fortunatamente anche qualche perla.
"Per quanto riguarda l'educazione dei figli, penso che si debbano insegnar loro non le piccole virtù, ma le grandi. Non il risparmio, ma la generosità e l'indifferenza al denaro; non la prudenza, ma il coraggio e lo sprezzo del pericolo; non l'astuzia, ma la schiettezza e l'amore alla verità; non la diplomazia, ma l'amore al prossimo e l'abnegazione; non il desiderio del successo, ma il desiderio di essere e di sapere. Di solito invece facciamo il contrario: ci affrettiamo a insegnare il rispetto per le piccole virtù, fondando su di esse tutto il nostro sistema educativo."
L’impressione generale però è di tristezza, di angoscia, di autocompiacimento, di circolarità, di totale assenza di gioia; lo sguardo è sempre rivolto solo al passato. Mi verrebbe da dire un libro invecchiato; e male.
Se non fosse stato per i racconti “Le piccole virtù” e “Ritratto di un amico” avrei messo una stella. Ma è la Ginzburg, arrivo (con fatica e, pusillanime, per evitare il linciaggio) a tre.
September 13, 2016
توصیف بسیار دقیق و جذابی دارد گاها ! جوری که احساس میکنی دارد حر�� های ته نشین شده دلت را از پس سالها به سطح زبانت آورده و صورت بندی میکند ...مثلا تکه ی زیر یکی از بخش هایی ست که همیشه نگاه من به این جهان و آدم ها و اشیاء درونش بوده و گینزبورگ اون رو خیلی خوب بیان کرده:
چه کسانی اند دیگران و چه کسانی هستیم ما؟ از خود می پرسیم .گاهی تمام بعد از ظهر را در اتاق مان می مانیم، با اندیشیدن با احساس گنگی از سرگیجه، از خود می پرسیم آیا دیگران واقعا وجود دارند یا ما آنان را خلق کرده ایم؟ به خود میگوییم شاید در غیبت مان دیگرانی وجود نداشته باشند و با وزش بادی ناپدید شوند و به طور معجزه آسایی به محض آنکه نگاه شان میکنیم یکباره سر از خاک برآورند. اگر یک روز برامان اتفاق بیفتد که ناگهان سربرگردانیم و هیچ چیز و هیچ کس را نبینیم ، حیرت زده نخواهیم شد؟ بنابراین به خود می گوییم دلیلی ندارد که از بی اعتنایی دیگران، دیگرانی که شاید وجود ندارند این همه غمگین شویم.
August 19, 2022
I was frustrated very often while reading this book: I had borrowed it from a friend who likes to keep her copies pristine, and as someone quite the opposite I knew I was in for a rough time. What I did not know was that I was to battle not just a few resonant words, but over 170 pages of radiant prose where nearly all the sentences begged to be underlined. Even the friend seems to have felt similarly, for every now and then I found my struggle mirrored in her neatly pencilled lines of surrender.
Written variously between 1944 and 1960, the eleven essays in The Little Virtues explore themes such as war, melancholy, friendship, and love in its many forms with an almost transcendent sense of wisdom and dexterity. Ginzburg's style here as elsewhere is disarmingly, almost memoiristically intimate at the same time as it is direct and unsentimental, all to the effect of drawing readers into reflecting on our values and experiences alongside her own. Despite my separation from the author in time and place, I felt as if her words spoke to me at eye level.
Though the arrangement is not chronological, the essays are divided into two sections. Part I is more focused on memories and experiences from wartime: "Winter in the Abruzzi" looks back on the author's memories of exile in a small town turned fond in hindsight; "Worn-out Shoes" traces her journey with two friends, a woman and a pair of shoes; and "Portrait of a Friend" traces the relationship between cities and loneliness while paying beautiful homage to the poet Cesare Pavese. In "England: Eulogy and Lament" and "La Maison Volpe," the author writes with characteristic humour and a hint of bitterness of her observations of an alien country, and in "He and I," she traces her loving—though also exasperating—relationship with her second husband by enumerating all their differences.
Part II, marked by the essay "Son of a Man," is informed by post-war sensibilities and comprises longer, more meditative pieces aimed at the generative, creative, and even reparative work of childcare and writing. In "Human Relationships," the author creates a unique bond with the reader over the span of her own lifetime; "Silence" acts almost as a companion piece and adds dimensions to its observations on compassion. "My Vocation"—one of Ginzburg's most cited works and my personal favourite—expounds on her relationship with writing through its crests and troughs, demonstrating too the ways in which she, as Rachel Cusk says in her introduction, gives a new template for the female voice and what it might sound like. The volume closes with the moral crescendo of the groundbreaking title essay, which urges readers to look beyond convention and at a more honest and harmonious way of parenting our children and, in my interpretation, our own selves.
Though I rarely enjoy essay collections from start to finish, I relished this one throughout. On the occasions I disagreed with what the author was saying, I was still in awe of the art with which she said it. The Little Virtues felt to me a warm, glowing thing that I would like to keep and seek out for equal measures of comfort and instruction (much like what I believe Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet may be to some people). I would like to get myself a copy of my own and underline away—I would suggest you do, too.
Written variously between 1944 and 1960, the eleven essays in The Little Virtues explore themes such as war, melancholy, friendship, and love in its many forms with an almost transcendent sense of wisdom and dexterity. Ginzburg's style here as elsewhere is disarmingly, almost memoiristically intimate at the same time as it is direct and unsentimental, all to the effect of drawing readers into reflecting on our values and experiences alongside her own. Despite my separation from the author in time and place, I felt as if her words spoke to me at eye level.
Though the arrangement is not chronological, the essays are divided into two sections. Part I is more focused on memories and experiences from wartime: "Winter in the Abruzzi" looks back on the author's memories of exile in a small town turned fond in hindsight; "Worn-out Shoes" traces her journey with two friends, a woman and a pair of shoes; and "Portrait of a Friend" traces the relationship between cities and loneliness while paying beautiful homage to the poet Cesare Pavese. In "England: Eulogy and Lament" and "La Maison Volpe," the author writes with characteristic humour and a hint of bitterness of her observations of an alien country, and in "He and I," she traces her loving—though also exasperating—relationship with her second husband by enumerating all their differences.
Part II, marked by the essay "Son of a Man," is informed by post-war sensibilities and comprises longer, more meditative pieces aimed at the generative, creative, and even reparative work of childcare and writing. In "Human Relationships," the author creates a unique bond with the reader over the span of her own lifetime; "Silence" acts almost as a companion piece and adds dimensions to its observations on compassion. "My Vocation"—one of Ginzburg's most cited works and my personal favourite—expounds on her relationship with writing through its crests and troughs, demonstrating too the ways in which she, as Rachel Cusk says in her introduction, gives a new template for the female voice and what it might sound like. The volume closes with the moral crescendo of the groundbreaking title essay, which urges readers to look beyond convention and at a more honest and harmonious way of parenting our children and, in my interpretation, our own selves.
Though I rarely enjoy essay collections from start to finish, I relished this one throughout. On the occasions I disagreed with what the author was saying, I was still in awe of the art with which she said it. The Little Virtues felt to me a warm, glowing thing that I would like to keep and seek out for equal measures of comfort and instruction (much like what I believe Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet may be to some people). I would like to get myself a copy of my own and underline away—I would suggest you do, too.
February 18, 2022
(3.5) Enjoyable collection of essays, on subjects such as war, how inescapably miserable and insular ("dissatisfied with itself") England is, how crap English food is ("...those cakes—so prettily covered in chocolate and dotted with almonds—are, when you eat them, like a paste made of coal-dust or sand") the mystery and tyranny of writing as a vocation and the difficulty of parenthood. The best piece, 'Human Relationships', is the one absolutely essential essay in the collection.
'Now I discovered that it is tiring to write something seriously. It is a bad sign if it doesn’t make you tired. You cannot hope to write something serious frivolously flitting hither and thither, as it were with one hand tied behind your back. You cannot get off so lightly. When someone writes something seriously he is lost in it, he is sucked down into it up to his eyebrows; and if there is a very strong emotion that is preoccupying him, if he is very happy or very unhappy for some let us say mundane reason which has nothing to do with the piece he is writing, then if what he is writing is real and deserves to live all those other feelings will become dormant in him. He cannot hope to keep his dear happiness or dear unhappiness whole and fresh before him; everything goes off into the distance and vanishes and he is left alone with his page; no happiness or unhappiness that is not strictly relevant to that page can exist in him, he cannot possess or belong to anything else—and if it does not happen like this, well that is a sign that the page is worthless.'
'But despite all this fuss which is made about food, for the English it remains simply ‘food’, which is a sad, generalized thing. In novels you read that ‘some food’ was brought, no affectionate or specific description is given. The thousands of tins stacked up in the groceries carry pictures of the most various and mouth-watering animals—pheasants, partridges, different kinds of deer, and they are stamped with the enticing names of distant countries which it would be marvellous to visit. But anyone who has been here for some time is unimpressed, he knows very well that the contents of these tins are ‘food’, which is to say nothing. Nothing that could be eaten with enjoyment and a quiet mind anyway.'
'As far as the education of children is concerned I think they should be taught not the little virtues but the great ones. Not thrift but generosity and an indifference to money; not caution but courage and a contempt for danger; nor shrewdness but frankness and a love of truth; not tact but love for one’s neighbour and self-denial; not a desire for success but a desire to be and to know.'
'Now I discovered that it is tiring to write something seriously. It is a bad sign if it doesn’t make you tired. You cannot hope to write something serious frivolously flitting hither and thither, as it were with one hand tied behind your back. You cannot get off so lightly. When someone writes something seriously he is lost in it, he is sucked down into it up to his eyebrows; and if there is a very strong emotion that is preoccupying him, if he is very happy or very unhappy for some let us say mundane reason which has nothing to do with the piece he is writing, then if what he is writing is real and deserves to live all those other feelings will become dormant in him. He cannot hope to keep his dear happiness or dear unhappiness whole and fresh before him; everything goes off into the distance and vanishes and he is left alone with his page; no happiness or unhappiness that is not strictly relevant to that page can exist in him, he cannot possess or belong to anything else—and if it does not happen like this, well that is a sign that the page is worthless.'
'But despite all this fuss which is made about food, for the English it remains simply ‘food’, which is a sad, generalized thing. In novels you read that ‘some food’ was brought, no affectionate or specific description is given. The thousands of tins stacked up in the groceries carry pictures of the most various and mouth-watering animals—pheasants, partridges, different kinds of deer, and they are stamped with the enticing names of distant countries which it would be marvellous to visit. But anyone who has been here for some time is unimpressed, he knows very well that the contents of these tins are ‘food’, which is to say nothing. Nothing that could be eaten with enjoyment and a quiet mind anyway.'
'As far as the education of children is concerned I think they should be taught not the little virtues but the great ones. Not thrift but generosity and an indifference to money; not caution but courage and a contempt for danger; nor shrewdness but frankness and a love of truth; not tact but love for one’s neighbour and self-denial; not a desire for success but a desire to be and to know.'
May 10, 2021
3.5
Though her topics are sympathetic, the persona Ginzburg writes from in these nonfiction pieces/essays doesn’t make it easy for the reader to relate to her. Some essays are written—or at least translated—in the first-person plural, likely for both distancing and communal effects. It works well the first time, but later, particularly in a piece called “Relationships,” it felt unnecessary and, after the opening, awkward. The account of her and her family fleeing their home in Nazi-occupied Italy is written with sufficient detail and emotion; but after they are established in another home, a tragic event is left tantalizing bare. An essay complaining about the English way of life might seem grumpy—it likely is—but I thought at least some of it was intentionally humorous. Her philosophy on vocation, her reason for writing, is impassioned. Though it felt preachy to me in its beginning, the title essay is similarly impassioned.
Though her topics are sympathetic, the persona Ginzburg writes from in these nonfiction pieces/essays doesn’t make it easy for the reader to relate to her. Some essays are written—or at least translated—in the first-person plural, likely for both distancing and communal effects. It works well the first time, but later, particularly in a piece called “Relationships,” it felt unnecessary and, after the opening, awkward. The account of her and her family fleeing their home in Nazi-occupied Italy is written with sufficient detail and emotion; but after they are established in another home, a tragic event is left tantalizing bare. An essay complaining about the English way of life might seem grumpy—it likely is—but I thought at least some of it was intentionally humorous. Her philosophy on vocation, her reason for writing, is impassioned. Though it felt preachy to me in its beginning, the title essay is similarly impassioned.
May 10, 2024
This was my bedtime reading for a few nights. Ginzburg really is a brilliant thinker. The longest essay, Human Relationships, was so evocative of all stages we go through as we age and change perceptions about former passionate beliefs. I didn't much agree with the title essay though.
September 2, 2015
یکنواختی کسل کننده ای در سرنوشت انسان است. سرنوشت ما طبق قوانین کهن و غیرقابل تغییر، طبق ضرباهنگی منظم و دیرین به پیش می رود.
رویاها هرگز به حقیقت نمی پیوندند و به محض اینکه آنها را برباد رفته می بینیم، یکباره متوجه می شویم که شادی های بزرگتر زندگانی مان، دور از واقعیت بوده است.
به محض اینکه رویاهایمان را برباد رفته می بینیم، بخاطر مدت زیادی که در ما ولوله برپا می کردند، از دلتنگی کلافه می شویم.
تقدیر ما در فراز و نشیب امید و دلتنگی جریان دارد.
بعضی پاراگرافهای این کتاب رو واقعن دوست داشتم. حرفهای ملموس و قابل درکی از جنگ، از مردم، از سکوت و از روابط انسانی زده. از تفاوت نسل ها گفته و از تغییر تدریجی نگرشهای فردی با توجه به زندگی.
در کل خوب بود، ولی آنچنان که می بایست، قوی نبود.
رویاها هرگز به حقیقت نمی پیوندند و به محض اینکه آنها را برباد رفته می بینیم، یکباره متوجه می شویم که شادی های بزرگتر زندگانی مان، دور از واقعیت بوده است.
به محض اینکه رویاهایمان را برباد رفته می بینیم، بخاطر مدت زیادی که در ما ولوله برپا می کردند، از دلتنگی کلافه می شویم.
تقدیر ما در فراز و نشیب امید و دلتنگی جریان دارد.
بعضی پاراگرافهای این کتاب رو واقعن دوست داشتم. حرفهای ملموس و قابل درکی از جنگ، از مردم، از سکوت و از روابط انسانی زده. از تفاوت نسل ها گفته و از تغییر تدریجی نگرشهای فردی با توجه به زندگی.
در کل خوب بود، ولی آنچنان که می بایست، قوی نبود.
October 4, 2016
Esta pequeña obra está compuesta por una colección de once breves ensayos-relatos de la escritora italiana Natalia Ginzburg (1916-1991), quien se me ha revelado como una escritora muy apreciada, a pesar de que ella se considerase como una pequeña escritora.
Su narrativa es extraordinariamente sencilla y misteriosamente bella. Durante esta obra la escritora entrelaza magníficamente algunas de sus experiencias de vida con temas que incumben a todos nosotros y que reverberan en nuestro interior; temas como la educación, las virtudes, el prójimo, la pobreza, los hijos, el oficio de escribir, la persona con la que compartimos nuestra vida, la fraternidad, las relaciones humanas y algunos otros que aborda con un estilo muy particular que podría parecer anodino.
Me parece que la actividad de escribir no es nada fácil. Hablar en un acto espontáneo, escribir es un acto meditado y programado previamente que requiere de todo un proceso de planeación, organización y traducción de las ideas. Poder plasmar en un papel clara y coherentemente las ideas que surgen de nuestras mentes requiere de ciertas habilidades como un alto nivel de claridad de pensamiento y una alta capacidad tanto de invención como de transmisión.
Ahora bien, escribir como lo hace Natalia Ginzburg con esa claridad proverbial , con esa sencillez, con ese poder para tocar las fibras sensibles de los lectores, significa que su prosa ha llegado a un punto de desarrollo muy alto. Podríamos decir que su obra posee el difícil y profundo encanto de la sencillez.
La narrativa de Ginzburg es emotiva e íntima. Tratando de hacer una alegoría con la música, podríamos decir que la música de Bach va hacia todo el Universo, lo invade; la de Beethoven se dirige y le habla con una poderosa emotividad a toda la humanidad, la de Shostakovich está destinada a aliviar y motivar a una doliente sociedad y la de Tchaikovski nos habla dulcemente al oído a cada uno de nosotros, nos aborda de una manera personal, de una manera intimista. Al igual que el músico ruso, Natalia Ginzburg nos aborda a través de su obra de una manera íntima, familiar e individual.
Su narrativa es extraordinariamente sencilla y misteriosamente bella. Durante esta obra la escritora entrelaza magníficamente algunas de sus experiencias de vida con temas que incumben a todos nosotros y que reverberan en nuestro interior; temas como la educación, las virtudes, el prójimo, la pobreza, los hijos, el oficio de escribir, la persona con la que compartimos nuestra vida, la fraternidad, las relaciones humanas y algunos otros que aborda con un estilo muy particular que podría parecer anodino.
Me parece que la actividad de escribir no es nada fácil. Hablar en un acto espontáneo, escribir es un acto meditado y programado previamente que requiere de todo un proceso de planeación, organización y traducción de las ideas. Poder plasmar en un papel clara y coherentemente las ideas que surgen de nuestras mentes requiere de ciertas habilidades como un alto nivel de claridad de pensamiento y una alta capacidad tanto de invención como de transmisión.
Ahora bien, escribir como lo hace Natalia Ginzburg con esa claridad proverbial , con esa sencillez, con ese poder para tocar las fibras sensibles de los lectores, significa que su prosa ha llegado a un punto de desarrollo muy alto. Podríamos decir que su obra posee el difícil y profundo encanto de la sencillez.
La narrativa de Ginzburg es emotiva e íntima. Tratando de hacer una alegoría con la música, podríamos decir que la música de Bach va hacia todo el Universo, lo invade; la de Beethoven se dirige y le habla con una poderosa emotividad a toda la humanidad, la de Shostakovich está destinada a aliviar y motivar a una doliente sociedad y la de Tchaikovski nos habla dulcemente al oído a cada uno de nosotros, nos aborda de una manera personal, de una manera intimista. Al igual que el músico ruso, Natalia Ginzburg nos aborda a través de su obra de una manera íntima, familiar e individual.
October 3, 2023
آه از این کتاب... مجموعهای از یازده جستار، چیزی ما بین همه چیز. یادداشتهایی درمورد زندگی... بینهایت دوستش داشتم. نوع نگاهش به زندگی، به مسائل، حسهایی که نوشته شده بود و تا حالا هیچجا ندیده بودمشان. جایی از عمق قلبم رو لمس کرد و مطمئنم که بارها بهش برمیگردم. مقدار زیادیش رو دلم میخواد بلند بخونم و صدام رو ضبط کنم. و وقتی پولدارتر از وضعیت حاضرم شدم، احتمالا تعدادی ازش رو خواهم خرید تا به آدمهایی که حس میکنم درکش میکنند هدیه بدم. (همینجا یه پرانتز باز کنم و بگم احتمال خیلی بالایی هست که این کتاب رو اصلا دوست نداشته باشید. یه مدل عجیبیه. یه جوری شبیه هیچی نیست! پایان پرانتز) مخصوصا به کسایی که نوشتن رو دوست دارن. :) یه جایی از کتاب بود که حتی من رو هم به نوشتن مشتاق کرده بود و دلم میخواست شروع به نوشتن کنم. ناتالیا گینزبورگ از اون نویسندههایی شد که دلم میخواد همه کتابهاشو بخونم.
May 21, 2018
Este conjunto de ensayos quizás compongan una de las más bellas autobiografías de la literatura del siglo XX. La escritura de Ginzburg, ya hable de su confinamiento en los Abruzzos durante la guerra, ya hable de la vida en Inglaterra, es de una sencillez aparente pero de una agudeza extrema, como la de esos días claros en los que se pueden ver mejor los detalles de la lejanía. Quizás es el ensayo que da título el libro el que menos me interesa, lleno de moral didáctica, pero es magistral en ese retrato de Pavese, que casi equivale a haberlo tratado en persona.
November 9, 2018
این کتاب در اواخر جنگ جهانی دوم نوشته شده و دارای ۱۱ نوشتهی کوتاه با عنواین مختلف درمورد زندگی شخصی نویسن��ه است. سبک نوشته طوریه که انگار ناتالیا گینزبورگ نشسته کنار شما و با صداقتی دلنشین داره از دغدغههاش باهاتون درد و دل میکنه.
بخشی از نوشته کفشهای پاره :
«کفشهایم پاره است و دوستی هم که حالا با او زندگی میکنم، کفشهایش پاره است. وقتی که باهم هستیم، غالبأ از کفش صحبت میکنیم. وقتی با او از زمانی که نویسندهی چیرهدست و مشهوری خواهم شد صحبت میکنم، بلافاصله از من میپرسد:«چه کفشهایی خواهی داشت؟» آن وقت به او میگویم :«کفشهایی خواهم داشت از چرم سبز، با سگکی طلایی در یک طرف آن.»
بخشی از نوشته کفشهای پاره :
«کفشهایم پاره است و دوستی هم که حالا با او زندگی میکنم، کفشهایش پاره است. وقتی که باهم هستیم، غالبأ از کفش صحبت میکنیم. وقتی با او از زمانی که نویسندهی چیرهدست و مشهوری خواهم شد صحبت میکنم، بلافاصله از من میپرسد:«چه کفشهایی خواهی داشت؟» آن وقت به او میگویم :«کفشهایی خواهم داشت از چرم سبز، با سگکی طلایی در یک طرف آن.»
October 2, 2009
کسی که یک بار رنج کشیده است، تجربه ی درد را هرگز فراموش نمی کند. کسی که ویرانی خانه ها را دیده است، به وضوح کامل می داند که گلدان های گل، تابلوها و دیوارهای سپید، اشیایی ناپایدارند. خوب می داند خانه از چه چیز ساخته شده است. یک خانه از آجر و گچ ساخته شده است و می تواند فرو ریزد. یک خانه خیلی محکم نیست. هر لحظه می تواند فرو ریزد. در پس گلدان های آرام گل، پشت قوری های چای، فرش ها، کف اتاق ها که با موم برق افتاده است، چهره ی دیگر واقعی خانه است. چهره ی بی رحم خانه ی ویران شده
February 15, 2021
As always with this author, this short book was a pleasure to read. Perfect style and interesting, sometimes autobiographical, stories. It would be 5 stars were it not for the final 3 essays that I found a bit boring.
September 28, 2016
I am in the minority when it comes to this book. And I have wracked my brain trying to understand why it is held in such high, high regard. There are a handful of short essays in this collection that I thought were excellent, but I found the majority of them almost interminable. The context here, and so many of the essays, is World War II, Italian fascism, the horrors of what unfolded as communities were ravaged. Her dismissive, shallow essays on England can be seen as cries for home, I understand. That still doesn't make them great art. She's at her best, when she writes about vocation, in this case writing. Her advice in the final essay that we can only be good parents if we have a passion in our own lives is excellent. But there was so much in here that I didn't like, stuff that did not resonate with me at all. When she writes about her longtime partner he comes across as an abusive dick, and yet it seems to me that she is paying homage to this behavior. This book was barely over 100 pages, and it took me 10 days to read. I do not mean this review to persuade anyone not to read the book. Finer minds than mine have found in this book wonderful writing and timeless, original thinking.
June 4, 2022
Las pequeñas virtudes es un libro editado en 1962, que reúne reflexiones y recuerdos de la autora escritos entre 1946 y 1981, publicados en su momento en medios de comunicación.
Algunos son más breves, y emotivos; y otros, más largos, en los que la autora describe sus relaciones, habla sobre Inglaterra (país en el que vivió durante un tiempo), o reflexiona sobre sobre los cambios a lo largo de la vida o la educación de los hijos.
Algunos de los textos pueden estar basados realidades que han cambiado desde el momento de la escritura, pero todos siguen preservando una humilde lucidez en sus observaciones; y en algunas ocasiones, detrás de una reflexión de apariencia anacrónica, aparece una inteligencia que vence al tiempo.
Si le sumamos la magnífica prosa de Ginzburg, todas las historias terminan dejando una sensación de haber asistidito a una tertulia grata e inteligente.
Algunos son más breves, y emotivos; y otros, más largos, en los que la autora describe sus relaciones, habla sobre Inglaterra (país en el que vivió durante un tiempo), o reflexiona sobre sobre los cambios a lo largo de la vida o la educación de los hijos.
Algunos de los textos pueden estar basados realidades que han cambiado desde el momento de la escritura, pero todos siguen preservando una humilde lucidez en sus observaciones; y en algunas ocasiones, detrás de una reflexión de apariencia anacrónica, aparece una inteligencia que vence al tiempo.
Si le sumamos la magnífica prosa de Ginzburg, todas las historias terminan dejando una sensación de haber asistidito a una tertulia grata e inteligente.
July 6, 2024
عشق به زندگی، باعث عشق به زندگی است.
ناتالیا گینزبورگ را خیلی نمیشناختم. شاید فقط تعدادی برش کتابی از او خوانده بودم اما نمیدانستم قلمش اینقدر شیوا و روان است تا اینکه این کتاب را خواندم.
فضیلتهای ناچیز، مجموعهای کوچک اما وسیع از مهمترین جستارهای گینزبورگ است. جستارهایی درمورد محلی که به آن تبعید شده بود تا فضیلتها ناچیز که نام آخرین جستار است.
چرا این کتاب را باید خواند؟
شاید برای اینکه ناتالیا را بهتر بشناسید. شاید هم برای اینکه جستار را شروع کنید و یا شاید برای خود فضیلت ناچیز.
بخشهایی از کتاب، تامل برانگیز بود. حتی تلنگر برانگیز.
" قبلا گفتم، کسی در لحظهای که مینویسد، بهطور معجزهآسایی ناچار به نادیده انگاشتن شرایط حاکم بر زندگی خود میشود. قطعا چنین است. اما شاد یا ناشاد بودن، هرکدام ما را به طریقی به نوشتن وا میدارد."
شاید به همین دلیل است که گاهی مینویسیم. هرچند کم و کوتاه.
اگر روزی بچهدار شدم، یادم باشد حتما آخرین جستار را بخوانم. گرچه همین الان هم صاحب فرزندی هستم. صاحب کودک درون خودم.
به طورکلی، من جذب قلم ناتالیا شدم. شاید به زودی در کلماتش گم شوم و از ایتالیا سر درآورم.
ناتالیا گینزبورگ را خیلی نمیشناختم. شاید فقط تعدادی برش کتابی از او خوانده بودم اما نمیدانستم قلمش اینقدر شیوا و روان است تا اینکه این کتاب را خواندم.
فضیلتهای ناچیز، مجموعهای کوچک اما وسیع از مهمترین جستارهای گینزبورگ است. جستارهایی درمورد محلی که به آن تبعید شده بود تا فضیلتها ناچیز که نام آخرین جستار است.
چرا این کتاب را باید خواند؟
شاید برای اینکه ناتالیا را بهتر بشناسید. شاید هم برای اینکه جستار را شروع کنید و یا شاید برای خود فضیلت ناچیز.
بخشهایی از کتاب، تامل برانگیز بود. حتی تلنگر برانگیز.
" قبلا گفتم، کسی در لحظهای که مینویسد، بهطور معجزهآسایی ناچار به نادیده انگاشتن شرایط حاکم بر زندگی خود میشود. قطعا چنین است. اما شاد یا ناشاد بودن، هرکدام ما را به طریقی به نوشتن وا میدارد."
شاید به همین دلیل است که گاهی مینویسیم. هرچند کم و کوتاه.
اگر روزی بچهدار شدم، یادم باشد حتما آخرین جستار را بخوانم. گرچه همین الان هم صاحب فرزندی هستم. صاحب کودک درون خودم.
به طورکلی، من جذب قلم ناتالیا شدم. شاید به زودی در کلماتش گم شوم و از ایتالیا سر درآورم.
June 22, 2024
فضیلتهای ناچیز، مجموعهی جستارهایی که گینزبورگ در سالهایی به نگارش درآورده که اروپا (حداقل در ظاهر) روزهای تلخ فاشیسم را پشت سر گذاشته اما بازماندگانش هنوز سایهای سنگین و مهیب آن را در پس افکارشان حس میکنند.
گینزبورگ گریزی میزند به زندگی تبعیدی در روستایی در جنوب ایتالیا. نوعی زندگی که تجربه کردنش برای او، همسر و سه فرزندش توفیقی اجباری بود که فعالیت علیه رژیم موسولینی نصیب آنها کرده بود. او این زندگی روستایی در دل غریبهها را در تضادی شیرین با زندگی شهری در تورینی میبیند که دوستان خانوادگیشان آن را پر کرده بودند. حال نه دوستانی باقی ماندهاند و نه آن کانون گرم خانواده، تنها خاطرات هستند و کلماتی که به یاری آنها شاید بتوان بخشی از این تردیدها، دوستیها، ترسها و رنجها را زنده کرد و البته نه لزومن از خلال کلماتی پرطمطراق و حسهایی والا، بلکه از خاطرهی کفشهای پارهای که نویسنده دوست نداشت عوضشان کند.
اما تمام جستارها نیز مستقیمن از زندگینامهی گینزبورگ برنیامدهاند. مقایسهی میان زندگی انگلیسیها و ایتالیاییها، هرچند مالامال از تعمیمهای بیجا و غیرتاریخیست، اما او بهخوبی روشن میکند که هدفش نه پژوهشی علمی در باب جغرافیا و مردمشناسی انگلیس (که پس از جنگ سالها در آن زیسته بود)، بلکه شکافتن حسی سراسر شخصی از جنس دلتنگیست. دلتنگی برای غذا، دلتنگی برای خیابان، دلتنگی برای روزهایی که باری به هر جهت میگذشت و دلتنگی برای مردمی که سرشار از استعدادهای هرزرفته بودند.
و بلاخره میرسیم به نقطهی اوج کتاب و فصل درخشان روابط انسانی. فصلی که نویسنده در آن از روزهای دور کودکی شروع میکند. خجالتی که از دعوای بلند پدر و مادرت میکشی، وقتی ۷ سالهای و با دوستت در حیاط پشت خانه بازی میکنی. تا روزهایی که بیصبرانه منتظر جلب توجه شاگرد اول کلاسی و بعدتر، روزهایی که با دوستی از جنس خودت به آن انتظار برای شاگرد اول کلاس میخندی. و باز روزهایی که همهی اینها را پشت سر میگذاری و منتظر «آن آدم مناسب» میمانی، سر خیابان، در ایستگاه اتوبوس، یا گوشهی کافهای. منظومهی روابط انسانی او همانقدر که شخصیست، جهانشمول هم هست و میتوانی خودت، خانوادهات، دوستانت و آن آدم مناسب را در جایجای آن قرار دهی و شگفتزده شوی از اینکه چطور این زنجیره بیوقفه و بدون گسست پیش میرود.
گینزبورگ چهل و چند ساله، در فصل آخر کمی از قالب زن مردد و خاطرهباز قبل درمیآید و از والد بودن حرف میزند و کمی توصیههای کاربردی چاشنیاش میکند. تجربهی زیستهی او بهعنوان فرزند یک خانوادهی روشنفکر و دانشگاهی، شاعر و نویسنده، فعال ضدفاشیست، مادر سه فرزند و خردهریزهای دیگری که خودش هم یادش نیست.
(ترجمه محسن ابراهیم – نشر هرمس؛ خوب اما نه بدون ایراد)
گینزبورگ گریزی میزند به زندگی تبعیدی در روستایی در جنوب ایتالیا. نوعی زندگی که تجربه کردنش برای او، همسر و سه فرزندش توفیقی اجباری بود که فعالیت علیه رژیم موسولینی نصیب آنها کرده بود. او این زندگی روستایی در دل غریبهها را در تضادی شیرین با زندگی شهری در تورینی میبیند که دوستان خانوادگیشان آن را پر کرده بودند. حال نه دوستانی باقی ماندهاند و نه آن کانون گرم خانواده، تنها خاطرات هستند و کلماتی که به یاری آنها شاید بتوان بخشی از این تردیدها، دوستیها، ترسها و رنجها را زنده کرد و البته نه لزومن از خلال کلماتی پرطمطراق و حسهایی والا، بلکه از خاطرهی کفشهای پارهای که نویسنده دوست نداشت عوضشان کند.
اما تمام جستارها نیز مستقیمن از زندگینامهی گینزبورگ برنیامدهاند. مقایسهی میان زندگی انگلیسیها و ایتالیاییها، هرچند مالامال از تعمیمهای بیجا و غیرتاریخیست، اما او بهخوبی روشن میکند که هدفش نه پژوهشی علمی در باب جغرافیا و مردمشناسی انگلیس (که پس از جنگ سالها در آن زیسته بود)، بلکه شکافتن حسی سراسر شخصی از جنس دلتنگیست. دلتنگی برای غذا، دلتنگی برای خیابان، دلتنگی برای روزهایی که باری به هر جهت میگذشت و دلتنگی برای مردمی که سرشار از استعدادهای هرزرفته بودند.
و بلاخره میرسیم به نقطهی اوج کتاب و فصل درخشان روابط انسانی. فصلی که نویسنده در آن از روزهای دور کودکی شروع میکند. خجالتی که از دعوای بلند پدر و مادرت میکشی، وقتی ۷ سالهای و با دوستت در حیاط پشت خانه بازی میکنی. تا روزهایی که بیصبرانه منتظر جلب توجه شاگرد اول کلاسی و بعدتر، روزهایی که با دوستی از جنس خودت به آن انتظار برای شاگرد اول کلاس میخندی. و باز روزهایی که همهی اینها را پشت سر میگذاری و منتظر «آن آدم مناسب» میمانی، سر خیابان، در ایستگاه اتوبوس، یا گوشهی کافهای. منظومهی روابط انسانی او همانقدر که شخصیست، جهانشمول هم هست و میتوانی خودت، خانوادهات، دوستانت و آن آدم مناسب را در جایجای آن قرار دهی و شگفتزده شوی از اینکه چطور این زنجیره بیوقفه و بدون گسست پیش میرود.
گینزبورگ چهل و چند ساله، در فصل آخر کمی از قالب زن مردد و خاطرهباز قبل درمیآید و از والد بودن حرف میزند و کمی توصیههای کاربردی چاشنیاش میکند. تجربهی زیستهی او بهعنوان فرزند یک خانوادهی روشنفکر و دانشگاهی، شاعر و نویسنده، فعال ضدفاشیست، مادر سه فرزند و خردهریزهای دیگری که خودش هم یادش نیست.
(ترجمه محسن ابراهیم – نشر هرمس؛ خوب اما نه بدون ایراد)
July 6, 2018
ادبیات ایتالیا و آن سینمای درخشانِ گونه گون اش و لایه هایی که باید از میان شان رد بشوی و بعد ماندگار بشوند با تو- همه ی اینها لذت عجیبی دارد. انگار ادبیات و سینما و هنر ایتالیا همه یکپارچه تو را به یک فرآیند وارد می کنند بیرون از هر سبکی که پرداخته شده باشند. سبک مگر همان شیوه ی بیان نیست؟ حتا آنجا که فقط قصدش فرم نمایی باشد؟
و آیا همه ی اینها بسته نیست به جغرافیا و همان فرمِ مردم سالاری؟ یا به عبارتی حکومت؟
غنای ادبی و هنری یی که از امپراتورذی روم تا فاشیسم ریشه دوانده است! صحبت از فضیلت هاست. آنچه که بزرگ ترین نمایانده می شود که چه بسا بی ارزش ترین بوده است
فضیلت های ناچیز، این کتابِ ارجمند هر بخش او حکایتی ست از همین تعمق در فرم و بازگشت به ریشه ها. در سکانس بندی های مدامِ خاطره ها
1397/04/15
و آیا همه ی اینها بسته نیست به جغرافیا و همان فرمِ مردم سالاری؟ یا به عبارتی حکومت؟
غنای ادبی و هنری یی که از امپراتورذی روم تا فاشیسم ریشه دوانده است! صحبت از فضیلت هاست. آنچه که بزرگ ترین نمایانده می شود که چه بسا بی ارزش ترین بوده است
فضیلت های ناچیز، این کتابِ ارجمند هر بخش او حکایتی ست از همین تعمق در فرم و بازگشت به ریشه ها. در سکانس بندی های مدامِ خاطره ها
1397/04/15
January 21, 2020
venho em praça pública admitir que eu estava equivocado a respeito de natalia ginzburg
January 29, 2021
بعضی وقتها هیچ پاسخی به جهان جز اشکهایمان نمیشود داد. لحظههایی که قدم از قدم نمیتوان برداشت و اندوه چون بختکی در گوشهی اتاق به نجوای بیآزارمان خیره است. ناتالیا گینزبورگ کاشف و راوی این احساسات، در هرروزگیهای زندگی است. راوی لحظههایی است که پس از برخورد باد تاریخ بر گردهی زندگی حتی از به یاد آوردنشان هم فرار میکنیم. لحظههایی که بار غم آنقدر سنگین اش کرده است که ناخودآگاه به عمیقترین لایههای وجودمان رسوخ و جای خوش کرده است. ناتالیا گینزبورگ ام�� از خود اتفاقات نمیگوید، لحظه را بازسازی نمیکند، در ناداستانهایش جوری روایت میکند که اتفاقات محو شدهاند و صرفا حال آن لحظه ، بار بر فضای حاکم بر روایت سادهاش از روزمرگیهای اکنونش شده است.
توی کروشه درباره کتاب مفصل نوشتم:
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توی کروشه درباره کتاب مفصل نوشتم:
https://koroshemag.ir/product/ماهنامه...
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