Knut Hamsun (1859–1952)

Do princípio ao fim, sentimo-nos como numa zaragata de café: o autor empurra uma mesa e entala-nos, com um sorriso, de encontro à parede. Mas que raio estou a ler? Mas que raio acabei de ler? Não sabemos exactamente o que pensar sobre cada um dos personagens; o enredo é psicologicamente intrincado (a expressão inglesa, mind-bending, é talvez a mais ilustrativa); a prosa é belíssima, cheia de diálogos e monólogos fantásticos, que nos arrastam para o outro lado do espelho - aproximamo-nos, tanto quando possível, do estado mental alterado, à falta de melhor classificação, do protagonista.

É absolutamente impossível esquecer estes personagens: Nagel; Dagny; Grøgaard, o Anão; a menina Gude; Reinert, o ajudante judicial. Todos têm uma marca que os situa para além do racionalmente apreensivel. Nagel, sobretudo, tem a qualidade de um animal selvagem, completamente imprevisível, impossível de se lhe pôr o dedo em cima; um maníaco-depressivo genial.

O próprio título do livro é intrigante, não sendo, como tudo o resto, cabalmente esclarecido. Dando um passo atrás, afastando a mesa de café onde nos entalaram pela cintura, podemos conjecturar que a intenção do livro não está escondida, a sua intenção é parecer que está (mind-bending), produzindo a sensação que algo nos escapa. Não é possível elaborar uma explicação eficaz sobre o livro, perceber o que o autor realmente nos quis dizer, porque somente pela experiência de leitura se poderá sentir, mais do que perceber, que algo profundo, que escapa à linguagem, foi tocado. E por isso nos fica próximo, interior.

Mais uma vez, uma vénia à tradução do João Reis. Que prazer.… (mais)

What is it about Knut Hamsun's books that stops me dead in my tracks everytime I want to write about one of them? Two years ago I read Wayfarers (1927), my introduction to him. No review followed, although the book made a real impression. Last year it was Hunger (1890). It made an even stronger impression, but again, no review. This brings me to Pan, my 2024 read. The plot here doesn't convey the same sense of economic deprivation and wasted lives as the other two did, but still, it would never be considered upbeat.

Twenty-eight year old Lieutenant Thomas Glahn went to northern Norway in the summer of 1855 on furlough. Although he easily could have lived in the village, he chose to live in a hut in the mountains. There were interactions with the people of the village, usually followed by spells of self imposed isolation, which he spent hunting with his dog Aesop.

All this is recounted by Glahn himself, who says he is writing this memoir of that summer two years ago strictly for his own amusement. Like Pan in his forest, Glahn was living in a world of great natural beauty, but like Pan's world, there was always an undercurrent of sexual tension as the natural world began its own rites of spring. As Tore Rem says in the introduction, In the Nordland spring, the forest is filled with pheromones, and Glahn's hut is their epicentre.

Glahn found himself willing partners, each unsuitable in her own way. As he wrote his memoir though, looking back he seemed to select one, Edvarda, as a sentimental favourite, with no evidence that it was so at the time. His behaviour toward her and others was erratic, boorish, and uncontrolled. Alone, he tended to immerse himself in the natural world, imparting feeling and purpose to it. The two alternating strands result in the kind of frenetic activity, often with a sinister undertone, leaving the reader to lurch along with Glahn until he brings it all to a sudden end.

At the end of Glahn's narrative, is another piece by Hamsun, here titled "Glahn's Death, A Document from 1861". This was actually a short story Hamsun had written and published the year before he wrote Pan. The title is sometimes a subtitle for the later work. Once again there is a first person narrative, this time by an unidentified writer. This writer states clearly about Glahn "I hate him". He recounts how and where Glahn died, judging him harshly as he writes, and like Glahn before him, excusing his own behaviour. It's an odd somewhat jarring addition to Pan. Either piece could stand on its own; together the reader has to consider Glahn more carefully. In this way, it works.… (mais)