Friday, April 1, 2016

Horace Engdahl | The last pig – Göteborgs-Posten

Sinziana Ravini reading Horace Engdahl’s recent book with the provocative name The last pig and notes that the Swedish culture absolute household gods finally become human. But he has a blind spot. The women.

Horace Engdahl is back. He is, as usual – brilliant, cruel, self-righteous and elegant, and last but not least – interested enough humanity to continue to want to raise it. But also entertain with reglerätta one-liners like: “Translator’s underdogs against the author is that he must understand what is in the text,” and “He went without a mask, and they praised not without reason his exquisite disguise” and “After a certain point it only with the dead man may have a natural relationship, because they treat a person who still thinks he is. “

But something new has happened. Engdahl has also started to look inward. Seriously, and he writes with seriousness heaviest artillery, in a tough, clear style that reads: “I am no longer me, because I thought loved me do not do it, because the esteem I thought it was for me not “. Later, an even deeper sadness, a deliciously melancholy phrases like: “Mom and Dad took the sun”. And what remains? A lonely man struggling with their grief, their anger and their personal losses: “The most impressive thing about Kafka is that he could write process without having been married.” Sometimes it gets worse, but we’re not quite there yet.

Let us first to note that the Swedish culture absolute household gods finally become human. Not in a Jesus-like manner. Oh no. Jesus’s anything but human. Christianity was missing, unfortunately, good public relations consultants, how will people learn to forgive each other, if they can not learn to forgive God?

That’s exactly what Horace seems to have understood. In order to be an interesting divinity, one must avoid perfection. It must be a bad smelly, funny and terrible God, like the ancient Greek gods. In this sense the Horace finally dared to step out of the idealized, unworldly romanticism, while he succeeds in realizing the Romantics vast wettest dream – to become more Greek than the Greeks.

Does this mean that Engdahl can begin to measure up to maximize the great masters? La Rochefoucauld, La Bruyère and Chamfort? Sure, why not? For the French laid-back salongsfähigheten, has now begun to face competition by a cioransk misanthropy. For what else is one to say about phrases like: “Your value is equal to your ability to do evil, if only by stopping doing good” and “Death is beautiful, but killing people is unappetising. Love is beautiful, but the lovers are embarrassing. “Engdahl seem innermost suffering from a masochistic pride that ask to be on the leader, in the fear of being forgotten, or worse – produce indifference. Engdahl has of course never been better.

We learn that “presumption is an indispensable art, if you do not want to live like a slave”, that Casanova’s genius lay in the art of knowing when you have to pack up and go that “healthy society is permeated with death, not life. If we dare to live, we would also dare to die, “that” hatred of luxury is a form of sexual terror, masked to the social conscience “and must suck long caramels that” When you notice that someone believes you completely wrong, you should consider that there is someone else that you misunderstand just as miserably. You just do not know who. “

Engdahl hate people who live beyond their means and do their best to avoid them, people who do not manage to finish a phone conversation, the author dedicated to the recitals, talking down the readers, or writers who are not sufficiently unhappy. He complains also of all people who constructs profound expressions of trying to see interesting out: “It is enough to look around at an ordinary cafe. The visitors are like a collection unemployed actor. Maybe some of them are really there. That’s why they have the time to sit at a cafe ‘.

What’s Engdahl’s blind spot? The women. At one point he writes: “In a young man’s mind, there is an inner room, and in this there is only room for one more thing, namely for himself.” And further: “In a young woman’s mind, there is an inner room, and this center is empty, she’s not even there myself. She was sitting outside and waiting for someone to fill it. “

And the worse it gets:” The completed penetration is forever a defeat for the woman and the eternal victory of man, then you can stack theories to heaven. It is known among sexforskare to men in anonymous surveys tend to exaggerate the number of partners and frequency of intercourse, while women tend to drive the numbers even when answers are given anonymously and in the privacy of a computer. ” But the worst is probably: “In the woman leading the freedom to depression: that’s what a young read drain can learn of Marguerite Duras. Then simply select “.

Yes, for which he writes:” Das Ewig-weibliche … Satan Goethe who got away before the bullets started whistling of the gender policy battlefield! “. Yes, what can I say?

Something went wrong in Engdahl’s formation. What? The wheat gods. But it’s never too late. For as he himself writes in one place. “In all the research is to find that they were wrong.”

I imagine that these maxims, which eventually turns into a small theater piece, with an inner monologue that suddenly change disguise, revealing a pig, male pig, in fact conceals a novel. A novel that does not want to write himself, and that is contrapuntal for the simple reason that the protagonist tries to resist the conviction of one’s own excellence.

No, Horace Engdahl is not the last pig, without the first, because it is the first man who really dare to consider himself as a pig. But even pigs have lookalikes. Everyone knows who played “Pass the Pigs”. And in Horace’s case, it is of course none other than Karl Ove Knaus Farm.

Sometimes ports pigs on your feet again. Sometimes they lie and struggles with his legs. What is Horace’s fate? It’s up to him, and whether he wants to win the women’s real heart. But this requires a true interest in a woman’s nature. Only then can he seriously considered to be great, as he, like Flaubert could say – Madame Bovary is me.

As for Culture man, so must the new cultural women’s small (where women are infinitely stronger than men, because they notoriously tend to study both women and men of literature), take care of them, educate them, perhaps even letting them be who they are, for the culture man now belongs to both a fragile and endangered species.


No comments:

Post a Comment