Jerzy Kosi?ski The Painted Bird

Jerzy Kosi?ski
The Painted Bird
Title: The Painted Bird
Author: Jerzy Kosi?ski
Format: Paperback
Language: English
Pages: 234
Publisher: , 0
ISBN: 080213422X
Format: PDF / Kindle / ePub
Size: 5.1 MB
Download: allowed
Description
Originally published in 1965, The Painted Bird established Jerzy Kosinski as a major literary
figure. Called by the Los Angeles Times "one of the most imposing novels of the decade," it was
eventuallly translated into more than thirty languages.
A harrowing story that follows the wanderings of a boy abandoned by his parents during World
War II, The Painted Bird is a dark masterpiece that examines the proximity of terror and
savagery to innocence and love. It is the first, and the most famous, novel by one of the most
important and original writers of this century.
Insightful reviews
Yuri Kruman: Let fools argue about Kosi?ski's biography and "authenticity" of experience. His
supreme ability to tell a child's horrific coming-of-age story in rural Nazi-controlled Poland,
where the peasants are just as gruesomely sadistic, with adult credibility and moral authority
without overreaching or sentimentality, is a dark and bittersweet triumph of humanity and then
also of literature.
IMHO, the book was not written as an invective against Polish peasants or Nazis alone, any
more than it is solely an indictment of human nature in wartime. Kosi?ski's scalpel cut too deep
to the marrow to stop at Mitka-style revenge. His truth lies deeper than in paranoia and
suspicion of man; it exposes the harrowing duality of man's nature, sharpened to extremes in
wartime - by turns cruel and tender, superstitious and rational, vengeful and forgiving, brutal and
sophisticated.
The Painted Bird is the strongest, most harrowing novel I've ever read and it will stay with me
for life, both as a Jew, human being and as a writer. It is an incredibly difficult and important
book, and the fact of the controversy surrounding it and the author only heightens its effect.
João Carlos: 6 estrelas
“I am going to put myself to sleep now for a bit longer than usual. Call it Eternity.” – esta é a
frase da nota de suicídio de Jerzy Kosinski (1933-1991), encontrado morto a 3 de Maio de
1991, na sua casa de Manhattan, nos Estados Unidos da América, depois de ter ingerido uma
quantidade letal de comprimidos e álcool e ter envolvido um saco plástico em volta da sua
cabeça.
Com a publicação do controverso “Pássaro Pintado” em 1965, Jerzy Kosinski sofreu inúmeras
acusações; do sentimento anti-polaco, sendo a Polónia o seu país natal, de plágio, uma vez
que não era fluente em inglês, de inúmeras falsidades, incluindo a questão autobiográfica da
personagem principal e da sua autenticidade, como o próprio apregoava, e por consequência
se enquadrar o livro, pura e simplesmente, numa obra de ficção.
Na minha opinião as múltiplas questões, directamente ou indirectamente, relacionadas com o
escritor Jerzy Konsinski e com o livro “O Pássaro Pintado” são irrelevantes face à dimensão da
história ou das histórias narradas.
Como é que uma obra literária de ficção – ou não – se consegue enquadrar com relatos e
sequências tão chocantes como (contém descrições, eventualmente, chocantes e alguns
“spoilers” irrelevantes no contexto integral do livro): o moleiro que arranca os olhos do seu
ajudante, “suposto” amante da sua mulher com uma colher; o Lekh que pinta os pássaros,
com tintas fétidas, libertando-os em seguida, para sofrerem ataques ferozes e mortais de
outros pássaros; a Ewka, “namorada” do rapaz/menino, que o inicia na sua vida sexual, e que
faz sexo com um bode; e tem relações incestuosas com o irmão e o pai; a violação de uma
criança de cinco anos pelos “Kalmuks”; espancamentos e torturas com um excesso e um
dramatismo angustiante, violações atrozes e sistemáticas a mulheres de todas as idades; os
horrores perpetrados durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial contra os judeus; pactos com o Diabo
e o Demónio; os fanatismos e as crenças religiosas; e homens e mulheres que vivem e
sobrevivem em lugares hediondos e execráveis; e muito mais, num caldeirão literário
fumegante, misturado e repleto de ambiguidade e de desprezo, pela vida humana e pelos
valores sociais, que se revelam absolutamente supérfluos.
“O Pássaro Pintado” tem vinte capítulos, que se iniciam no Outono de 1939, algures numa
zona remota da Polónia e na proximidade da fronteira com a Rússia, durante a Segunda
Guerra Mundial, e que nos relata a vida de um pequeno rapaz/menino, de olhos e cabelo
pretos, a ser entregue pelos pais judeus para o salvar a uma morte anunciada.
Em quase todos os capítulos de “O Pássaro Pintado” existem personagens que “acolhem” o
rapaz/menino, alguns com nome, como a Marta, a Olga, o Lekh, e mais para o final, o Garbos,
o Makar e a Labina, mas muitos outros identificados apenas pela sua profissão, o moleiro, o
carpinteiro, o camponês, o gigante lavrador, o padre e o agricultor, o lavrador, e muitos outros
que num determinado período e contexto lhe dão abrigo, em relacionamentos complexos,
moldados pelas superstições e pela blasfémia, pela bruxaria e pelas curandeiras e curandeiros,
da fé católica e das orações, por torturas e espancamentos inexplicáveis, pelo ódio e vingança
sistemática, decorrentes da sua cor dos olhos, cabelo e tez da pele – o bastardo cigano –
absolutamente sozinho e desamparado, vai sobrevivendo ora em pequenas aldeias ora nas
florestas fantasmagóricas e medonhas, repletas de sombras e escuridão.
No final de “O Pássaro Pintado” o círculo fecha-se, o rapaz/menino, já com doze anos, e uma
vez terminada a guerra, e no contacto com Gavrila, e com o Exército Vermelho, no período
estalinista, tenta encontrar um novo sentido para sua vida, fruto de um envelhecimento precoce
e da perda da inocência.
Este é um livro de emoções e de violência sem limites, assente na crueldade e na maldade
humana, mas com uma escrita dominada por sensações extremas.
John David: Writing about tragedy is a tricky business. Even when a literary voice does come
across as authentic, the writing sometimes seems more interested in using its characters as
allegorical, historical foils instead of respecting their individuality of experience. This always
strikes me as untrue to the spirit of writing about history in the first place (even if it is in the form
of fiction), and especially something as historically close and horrifying as the Holocaust. That’s
the major problem that I had with “The Painted Bird,” and I think Kosinski might be the most
egregious offender in the small selection of Holocaust literature with which I’m familiar.
The content is very difficult, with its relentless violence, and not infrequent incidents of rape,
bestiality, and physical abuse of a very young child (the narrator). Soon after being separated
from his parents, he is shuttled from village to village and peasant to peasant to be looked after,
nearly all of them suspicious of his “Gypsy” dark features. He is the disenfranchised bastard of
History. Almost all of these would-be caretakers are physically brutal, superstitious, and
backward. To read this, and to know that there were children who lived through experienced
that very much paralleled the narrator’s, one might think that it was impossible to live through
this without deep, permanent psychological scars.
The unyielding violence, however, doesn’t allow for a single moment of reflection. You always
have to be on your feet, anticipating the next rape or beating. And while the violence never
became anaesthetizing as it has in similar novels, I couldn’t help but feeling that the narrator
was simply a cipher for Kosinki’s philosophy of history: we are thrust into this cruel word,
helpless and naked, only to be teased and kicked and humiliated, and then you die. He has no
problem with letting you know that God won’t be there to help you, and that political parties are
just as cruel and manipulative as history itself. Considering the course of twentieth century
history, there are many good reasons for coming to such conclusions. In a piece of fiction,
though, a reader needs room to breathe and space in which the characters can have thoughtful
self-reflection. The narrator is denied all of that here – simply because he’s trying to make it to
the next day.
There is the occasional book that fails not because of its message, but because of the way in
which the writer tries to communicate it. There are important ideas about human nature and how
inhumane it can so often be, but using a character as both a figurative and literal whipping boy
for history can never succeed as a novel. It just doesn’t ring true.
Jess: The Painted chicken used to be a debatable booklet for years after its publication, and it
truly is tricky to split the booklet from the controversy. Artistically speaking, i used to be no
longer extraordinarily inspired through this novel - it looked as if it would me little greater than a
parade of macabre episodes. i am partial to such horrors whilst they are defined so poignantly
that they bounce off the page; after all, I simply defined Blood Meridian as my new favourite
novel. yet Kosinski's prose is simple, his photos blunt-edged and so grotesque as to ultimately
numb the reader. so as to be convincing, this ebook wanted extra contrast: purely the grotesque
facet of humanity is depicted, and for that ugliness to return swarming off the pages effectively,
there had to be whatever appealing and natural with which to match it. there has been no such
thing. For that reason, i cannot name this e-book powerful, as such a lot of critics have. The
"light on the finish of the tunnel" got here within the type of the younger protagonist's supply
from the horrid Christian peasants via the atheist Soviet army, and the main optimistic phrases
within the ebook have been dedicated to his new best Deity, Stalin. even though the rejection of
God and Christianity was once convincing, i could not observe even a touch of irony within the
Stalin worship - one can not help yet wonder whether the younger guy ever determined that
Stalin was once simply as terrible a decision of idol as God had been.As a section of conflict
literature, however, i do not consider certified to pass judgement on the book's influence or
relevance. Kosinski is a WWII survivor who doubtless observed lots of issues simply as
grotesque as these he describes during this twentieth century medieval fairy tale. I doubt he
intended to be literal, and masses of the outrage with which the publication used to be bought in
his place of origin used to be most likely the results of a too-literal interpretation. Did Polish
peasants within the 1940's relatively combine human & horse urine with cat feces, flooring
horse bones and extra-plump lice as a medication for a bellyache? i actually don't have any
idea, yet this and plenty of different info appeared to belong in the dead of night a while instead
of WWII Europe, that could be a significant and justifiable touch upon the a part of the author.
The again of the ebook is perhaps correct while it calls The Painted chicken one in every of
WWII's most vital documents. yet that does not make it an excellent novel.
Jennifer (JC-S): ‘Was the sort of destitute, merciless international worthy ruling?’‘The Painted
Bird’ used to be first released via Jerzy Kosi?ski in 1965, and revised in 1976. it's a fictional
account of the private reports of a boy elderly six who might be Jewish or will be a Gypsy taking
safe haven in jap Europe in the course of international conflict II. it's a fictional account full of
hate for Polish peasantry and jam-packed with excruciating, frightening element of rape,
murder, bestiality and torture.‘The Painted Bird’ depicts a trip via a truly brutal and brutalising
hell. There aren't any secure places, really, for this boy. He could have escaped together with
his existence yet he can by no means get away his experiences.There are stable purposes not
to like this book: it's not, as has been thought, an autobiographical account of Kosi?ski’s
personal experiences. also it is dependent upon the proximity of the Holocaust to accentuate its
personal horror; it demonises Polish peasantry as either merciless and backward; and it wallows
in violence. yet for all of that, it has its personal haunting power.I’ve first learn this novel at the
very least two decades in the past and lately revisited it. i don't just like the graphic, likely
endless violence. the purpose is made and reiterated: man’s inhumanity to guy takes many
types and vulnerability is frequently relative instead of absolute. Did Kosi?ski fairly regard the
area as being past redemption? Is that the query he used to be posing during this novel? Is that
why he devoted suicide in 1991? Did he write this novel to offer voice to his personal
melancholy as a result of the occasions of worldwide conflict II? For me this novel increases
way more questions than it answers. and a few of these questions about the writer and his
motive color the way in which I learn this novel. i can't ‘hate’ it: it truly is a long way too good
written for that. i can't ‘love’ it: it truly is some distance too grotesque and there are some
distance too many questions unanswered. Instead, I ‘like’ it in an uneasy type of approach
since it makes me ask yourself concerning the world.I won’t have to learn it again.Jennifer
Cameron-Smith
The Crimson Fucker: the 1st rock thrown againWelcome to hell, little SaintMother Gaia in
slaughterWelcome to paradise, SoldierIs all BS! All of it! We a failure as a society, as a species,
as individuals! We suck! There’s no means in hell anyone can persuade me different wise! you
recognize why? Cuz like hundreds of thousands of years in the past a few type of ameba
divided itself in 2... you recognize what the very first thing it did whilst It separated itself? It
attacked the opposite weaker part… and that’s what we been doing for fucking thousands of
years now! One its born and lifestyles fuck you within the butt! That’s it! a few humans might
name me emotionally broken simply because I snigger at others demise… what they fail to
spotted is that once I’m guffawing is simply because that individual had a hell lot of
percentages to prevent the entire shit that befall him/her! As someone said… “a idiot merits all of
the foolery that befalls him” or anything like that! Anyway, that’s how I see it! yet this bad child
broke my middle today! rattling man! This negative little child used to be simply jogging round
and shit went down on him and simply him! there has been not anything he may possibly do to
prevent it! He used to be simply there jogging minding his personal busyness and BANG! It felt
just like the entire universe made up our minds to defecate on that bad kid! Superstitious loopy
outdated women hitting him (x), getting molested via loopy nympho (x), being chased by means
of fucking Nazis (x), humans telling him he has a demon inside him and making him believe
terrible for being “different” (x), being molested by way of a few loopy chick and falling in love
together with her simply to later watch her getting freaky together with her father, brother and a
goat (mother fucking check!), gazing a few loopy cock blocker bitches positioned a tumbler
bottle contained in the neighborhood nympho’s vagina after which kicking her to demise (again
holy fuck, check!), that’s pretty well all I’ve visible so far! I’am end interpreting it tomorrow…
I’m beautiful not easy to provoke and simple to amuse… I suggest I’m a ailing fuck! yet god
damn! I’m impressed! And shock! And disgusted! And depressed!
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