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angus_mckeogh's review against another edition
4.0
This book was actually really good. A monster. Long. And at times the storyline was really convoluted. But it was awarded the National Book Award for a reason and ended up being much better than I anticipated.
breadandmushrooms's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
2.75
kingtoad's review against another edition
dark
informative
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.75
bennought's review against another edition
5.0
An epic masterpiece. Quoting another review is helpful, "A jarring, haunting, absurdly ambitious symphony of a book... It has an emotional force capable of ripping almost any read from his moorings." (Steve Kettman). In many ways, the book does almost feel like it is musical. The prose has a tone, rhythm, and timbre unlike anything else I've ever read. And while it can take a little while to get used to (or even to get into), being patient with it is well-worth your time.
I was exceedingly disappointed with the first two books in Vollmann's Seven Dreams series. [b:The Ice-Shirt|45634|The Ice-Shirt|William T. Vollmann|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1170294784s/45634.jpg|905344] was interesting, but incredibly difficult to read and, in the end, I didn't really feel like I ended up getting much out of it. [b:Fathers and Crows|45679|Fathers and Crows (Seven Dreams)|William T. Vollmann|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1170294901s/45679.jpg|382631] I couldn't even finish. I got about 30 pages in, and just couldn't take it anymore. Both have a lyricism to them that is akin to that of a classic orally told myth, but in my opinion while he managed to capture many elements of the style and structure of a spoken story (especially a naturally spoken one), he wasn't able to transfer it onto paper well enough so that it was enjoyable. In 'Europe Central,' that style has evolved and has morphed almost into a dream-like state. Logic and structure as we generally think of them in terms of a story or a novel do not apply. Instead, it is the ways in which emotions are attached to, or resonate within, or become associated with, or are evoked by a memory associated with one of the five senses. The impressions one is left with after reading this book are those elusive, tantalizing flashes that occur in the natural translation of events into memories within our own lives--a smell that reminds you of the feeling of the sun on your face that day at the beach; a particular color that is just like that dress your girlfriend from 10 years ago wore to that party; or, in the case of this book, a piece of music (a tone even) that encapsulates and evokes the screaming of an innocent woman as she is beaten to death on the streets by SS troops.
This book is not for the faint of heart. It digs deep into the psyche and experiences of people who were enmeshed (both actively, mistakenly, and grudgingly) within the conflicts and horrors (as well as triumphs) that occurred across Europe Central (the area between Germany and Russia, inclusive) roughly during the lifetime of the composer Dmitry Shostakovitch. And just like the various 'themes' and 'motifs' which run through a symphony (like, say, the Rat Theme in Shostakovitch's Seventh Symphony), many similar 'themes' run throughout Vollmann's book--especially those which are involved in the life, mind, and music of Shostakovitch. His involvement with, love of, and regret over Elena Konstantinovskaya and his experiences living in Soviet Russia (especially during the war) expressed through the music of his composition Opus 110 (String Quartet No. 8 in C Minor) being the most prominent. The brilliant composer's music itself becomes almost a framework around which Vollmann's story (and the prose itself) winds--not necessarily building or structuring itself upon it, more like how water flows around an obstruction.
I will freely admit that I certainly did not understand everything in this book, all of what Vollmann was trying to say or express. This is a book that definitely requires a few readings to really grasp entirely. Unfortunately, that is partly a symptom of the unique prose of the book--just as how the world in many sci-fi and fantasy books take a while for the reader to gather a good picture of, it takes a while for the reader to become immersed in the dream-world (sadly, often nightmare-world) of Vollmann's Europe Central. But, it is worth the initial confusion and frustration. There are moments that will leave you feeling punched in the gut (both emotionally and physically), and others that leave you sympathizing with Nazi's (certainly not something I find myself doing often). What Vollmann has done is to present an interpretation of reality through a distorted lens that comes closer to capturing the reality of emotions, memories, and visceral experience than most anything I have ever read. As they say, it is through our dreams that we process, grapple with, and attempt to understand our waking lives.
I was exceedingly disappointed with the first two books in Vollmann's Seven Dreams series. [b:The Ice-Shirt|45634|The Ice-Shirt|William T. Vollmann|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1170294784s/45634.jpg|905344] was interesting, but incredibly difficult to read and, in the end, I didn't really feel like I ended up getting much out of it. [b:Fathers and Crows|45679|Fathers and Crows (Seven Dreams)|William T. Vollmann|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1170294901s/45679.jpg|382631] I couldn't even finish. I got about 30 pages in, and just couldn't take it anymore. Both have a lyricism to them that is akin to that of a classic orally told myth, but in my opinion while he managed to capture many elements of the style and structure of a spoken story (especially a naturally spoken one), he wasn't able to transfer it onto paper well enough so that it was enjoyable. In 'Europe Central,' that style has evolved and has morphed almost into a dream-like state. Logic and structure as we generally think of them in terms of a story or a novel do not apply. Instead, it is the ways in which emotions are attached to, or resonate within, or become associated with, or are evoked by a memory associated with one of the five senses. The impressions one is left with after reading this book are those elusive, tantalizing flashes that occur in the natural translation of events into memories within our own lives--a smell that reminds you of the feeling of the sun on your face that day at the beach; a particular color that is just like that dress your girlfriend from 10 years ago wore to that party; or, in the case of this book, a piece of music (a tone even) that encapsulates and evokes the screaming of an innocent woman as she is beaten to death on the streets by SS troops.
This book is not for the faint of heart. It digs deep into the psyche and experiences of people who were enmeshed (both actively, mistakenly, and grudgingly) within the conflicts and horrors (as well as triumphs) that occurred across Europe Central (the area between Germany and Russia, inclusive) roughly during the lifetime of the composer Dmitry Shostakovitch. And just like the various 'themes' and 'motifs' which run through a symphony (like, say, the Rat Theme in Shostakovitch's Seventh Symphony), many similar 'themes' run throughout Vollmann's book--especially those which are involved in the life, mind, and music of Shostakovitch. His involvement with, love of, and regret over Elena Konstantinovskaya and his experiences living in Soviet Russia (especially during the war) expressed through the music of his composition Opus 110 (String Quartet No. 8 in C Minor) being the most prominent. The brilliant composer's music itself becomes almost a framework around which Vollmann's story (and the prose itself) winds--not necessarily building or structuring itself upon it, more like how water flows around an obstruction.
I will freely admit that I certainly did not understand everything in this book, all of what Vollmann was trying to say or express. This is a book that definitely requires a few readings to really grasp entirely. Unfortunately, that is partly a symptom of the unique prose of the book--just as how the world in many sci-fi and fantasy books take a while for the reader to gather a good picture of, it takes a while for the reader to become immersed in the dream-world (sadly, often nightmare-world) of Vollmann's Europe Central. But, it is worth the initial confusion and frustration. There are moments that will leave you feeling punched in the gut (both emotionally and physically), and others that leave you sympathizing with Nazi's (certainly not something I find myself doing often). What Vollmann has done is to present an interpretation of reality through a distorted lens that comes closer to capturing the reality of emotions, memories, and visceral experience than most anything I have ever read. As they say, it is through our dreams that we process, grapple with, and attempt to understand our waking lives.
pained_creations's review against another edition
I thought I would like the book, because initially the style drew me in, but over many chapters, Following the people got harder. Ultimately, I didn't care for the sexual content, and decided to quit before I got any further.
samwreads's review against another edition
5.0
Absolutely brutal in the best of ways. Not recommended if you want to be happy. Within are intense character portraits, history, minutiae and a bit of mysticism and poetry thrown in for good measure. I love the way each story builds on the earlier sections, whether explicitly or implicitly. The flights of fancy Vollmann seems prone to are kept largely in check but come out at just the right time to complement the narrative rather than supplant it. When he builds a psychological/mnemonic architecture for Shostakovich's music, the blocks (blocs?) he draws on serve to paint not just the music but the times themselves and the horrors and joys of which they are formed.
The Shostakovich sections (including the Leningrad siege) are easily my favorite, though I enjoyed the Vlasov and Paulus pairing as well. While the Shostakovich narrative does a really good job of conveying oppression, fear and dread, I have to say the Gerstein passage was so bleakly depressing that it made me sad for several days.
The Shostakovich sections (including the Leningrad siege) are easily my favorite, though I enjoyed the Vlasov and Paulus pairing as well. While the Shostakovich narrative does a really good job of conveying oppression, fear and dread, I have to say the Gerstein passage was so bleakly depressing that it made me sad for several days.
karp76's review against another edition
4.0
There is a distinct feeling reading these pages. I can see Vollmann. He is offstage in the dark. His writing room is empty and dark, save for a card table. A light shines down over it, illuminating it. There is a typewriter. A stack of pages waiting to be created upon. Some notes, a few books on history. An ashtray. A pack of cigarettes. A bottle of something, half gone. And a dirty juice glass, smudged with fingerprints. Vollmann enters into the light and sits at the table. Adds a sheet to the typewriter. And writes. Just writes. No pauses or breaks. Writes for the allotted time, stops and then leaves, the smokes gone, the booze gone. This is how this book reads. Different parts, different voices framed within one story. There are hints even of Pynchon, the Russian heroes, the strange Germans, half evil, half guilty. With any work this long, it becomes long in the tooth, not ever, really, ready to leave. Yet it must. And yet, we must as well. We look back and remember: there is fact here. Places and people, long and dark years of war, lost loves and stories still not told. "Parables," Vollmann chimes out of the darkness, "embellished here and there with supernatural cobwebs." This is a work of a fiction. And, a good one.
iamjudgedredd's review against another edition
4.0
Perhaps I should rate this as 3, or 3.5 stars. This is a book that requires an immense amount of effort, time, prior knowledge, dedication, and perseverance.
Effectively a collection of linked short stories (or parables, as the author calls them). The whole is not greater, than, but equal to the sum of it's parts. At times the novel is prosaic, poetic, and sublime. At others it is a struggle, a slog, and grinding. It being a post-modern tome, the struggle, the slow pace, the grind is purposeful, to make you feel the struggles of D. D. Shostakvich, or the USSR, of class struggle, of the soldier on the Eastern Front, of the organs.
I think this book might be magnificent, but I need time to recover mentally to be able to say that. It demands all of you. You will do as much extra research into film, music, art, and history as you would when reading Proust, or Joyce.
I will revisit this "review" because it's a lot, in the immediate aftermath to process.
Effectively a collection of linked short stories (or parables, as the author calls them). The whole is not greater, than, but equal to the sum of it's parts. At times the novel is prosaic, poetic, and sublime. At others it is a struggle, a slog, and grinding. It being a post-modern tome, the struggle, the slow pace, the grind is purposeful, to make you feel the struggles of D. D. Shostakvich, or the USSR, of class struggle, of the soldier on the Eastern Front, of the organs.
I think this book might be magnificent, but I need time to recover mentally to be able to say that. It demands all of you. You will do as much extra research into film, music, art, and history as you would when reading Proust, or Joyce.
I will revisit this "review" because it's a lot, in the immediate aftermath to process.
jamesnpmarsh's review against another edition
3.0
There's a bit near the end where the corrugations of a waffle remind a melancholic (if memory serves) Shostakovich of the skeletal remains of a bombed out city block. Which is about the bleakest language I've ever seen used to describe breakfast.
I liked this novel a fair bit. It's something like 3/4s intensely rigorous historical textbook, and 1/4 heartbreakingly beautiful prose.
It's also kind of a pitiless bitch to get through, though. Prepare to put in some work for this one.
I liked this novel a fair bit. It's something like 3/4s intensely rigorous historical textbook, and 1/4 heartbreakingly beautiful prose.
It's also kind of a pitiless bitch to get through, though. Prepare to put in some work for this one.