A few days ago the book [b:The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity|49348225|The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity|Carlo M. Cipolla|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1595814345l/49348225._SX50_.jpg|358622] came across my desk. Living as I do in the vaccine-refusing epicenter of the US Delta variant surge of infection and of hospitals that are once again becoming overwhelmed, I couldn’t help feeling a note of sympathy with the book. Opening it up I read the first law: “Always and inevitably everyone underestimates the number of stupid individuals in circulation.” Here’s an author who probably read Thomas Bernhard.

I take it that all of Bernhard’s work is essentially variants of a theme, of which stupidity plays a large role. Stupidity is the spike protein of Bernhard’s worldview, always present as the details of the larger work change a bit. I have no idea if that claim works, by the way, but I’m leaving it. How does Bernhard put it across in Gargoyles?

I say to Huber: The republican death-throes are probably the most repulsive, the ugliest of all. Aren’t they, Doctor? I say: The common people are stupid, they stink, and that has always been so.

I have been reflecting, Doctor, on the stupidity of all phrases, on stupidity, on the stupidity in which man lives and thinks, thinks and lives, on the stupidity…

… has never come into conflict with the law and never will because the world is too stupid.

The prince said he was forever compelled to make a stupid society realize it was stupid, and that he was always doing everything in his power to prove to this stupid society how stupid it was.

The shattering thing,” he said, “is not the ugliness of people but their lack of judgment.”

Naturally this makes for an unhappy outlook. “As I go about, there is hardly a man I see who isn’t repulsive.” “He was used to sacrificing himself to a sick populace given to violence as well as insanity.” “It would be wrong to refuse to face the fact that everything is fundamentally sick and sad.”

Sometimes this is funny. Nothing is above the novel’s complaints: “If I send it now, at noon, I thought, it won’t reach Kobernausserwald until tomorrow morning. The postal system, the hopeless, ruined Austrian postal system.” Now there’s some pettiness. And here it reads like a parody of Grumpy Old Man: “We paid and left. In the restaurant a band of schoolchildren were being fed. They were given hot soup and admonishments not to make noise. What gruesome people these innocent creatures will inevitably become, I thought as we left the restaurant.”

Bernhard’s apparent horror of sex appears: “I once saw him naked by the river, together with his equally naked wife; I remember that infantile penis. There they were, indulging their pitiable Sunday connubiality behind the bushes, away from the clear water, where they thought they were alone and could indulge themselves in their revolting intimacies, succumbing to their stupor in the sunset.” That’s some pretty good and funny anti-eroticism, I have to admit.

If Bernhard’s debut novel [b:Frost|12203|Frost|Thomas Bernhard|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1537115859l/12203._SY75_.jpg|1244054] had one solitary note of optimism and grace, embodied by nuns caring for the ill, Gargoyles has its one note of optimism and grace located in nature:

I would climb the northern hills and let myself dream while contemplating the outward aspects of nature. Whenever I looked at it, I said, and from any perspective, the surface of the earth struck me as new and I was refreshed by it.

I liked this novel more than I did Frost, perhaps because it has more variety and hints of an actual plot to its largely one note hammering away. Bernhard’s third novel, I read, marks the start of his major work, so having served somewhat of a gruesome apprenticeship I look forward to the gruesome main event. After all, “We always want to hear something even worse than what we have inside of us,” as the prince said. Perceptive. ( )

Una struttura articolata che usa in modo affascinante il moltiplicarsi dei narratori dentro i narratori. Un libro dal fascino morboso che parla in fondo sempre di solitudini, follie e malattie, mantenendo al tempo stesso una grande eleganza formale e un senso di distacco dell’autore dalle vicende narrate. Un’esperienza di lettura di grande intensità. ( )

Leggendo questo libro mi sono sentita come in prima persona proiettata nella storia. Nelle descrizioni la natura é sempre piú cupa e silenziosa e questo mi ha portato a pensare al bosco in cui vado a passeggiare a volte col mio cane. Ci sono giorni in cui mi ritrovo da sola col mio cane e non si vede proprio nessuno in qualsiasi direzione si guardi. Poi il cielo s'annuvola, tutto nel bosco diventa di conseguenza piú scuro. Lá gracchia un corvo gigantesco. E io lentamente mi sento oppressa dalla vastitá. Questa oppressione deriva secondo me dal mio bisogno di controllare l'ambiente circostante e i personaggi di Perturbamento sembrano pervasi della mia stessa paura. Solo che io posso tornare indietro e cercare di calmarmi, mentre i personaggi di Perturbamento ci vivono giorno per giorno con questo disagio.

Il principe Saurau mi ha fatto molta tenerezza. Non oso immaginare lo stress continuo a cui é sottoposta la sua mente atterrita da quel frastuono interiore che solo lui é destinato a patire. Peró il suo monologo-fiume mi ha sfinita.

Il personaggio che mi é rimasto piú impresso é sicuramente il figlio del dottore. Uno studente con una grande capacitá di introspezione e in grado di immedesimarsi nei panni altrui. Mi ha colpito molto la sua decisione di scrivere al padre una lettura contenente tutti i suoi timori, speranze e punti di vista riguardanti eventi famigliari molto difficili. Penso che il padre proprio come risposta a questa lettera, decide di prendere con sé il figlio per un giro di visite e tra un paziente e l'altro gli racconta i suoi di ricordi. ( )

> Babelio : https://www.babelio.com/livres/Bernhard-Perturbation/4224
> Trois Coups, 2 octobre 2013 (France Culture) : https://www.radiofrance.fr/franceculture/perturbation-de-thomas-bernhard-critiqu...
> Pereperot, le 20 décembre 2005 (Critiques Libres) : https://www.critiqueslibres.com/i.php/vcrit/10593
> La Cause Littéraire : https://www.lacauselitteraire.fr/perturbation-thomas-bernhard-par-leon-marc-levy

> « Les maladies sont le plus court chemin de l’homme pour arriver à soi. »
—Thomas Bernhard, Perturbation, 1989.

first section reminds me of Ralph Ellison in Invisible Man, but a bit too much malice, too many "themes", and not really directed anywhere per-se. The Loser turns out much better than Gargoyle's boy in the cage. i had remembered the latter half as not too remarkable compared to his other work, but revisiting the following excepts i think there's certainly something to it. And is this the same prince who receives the portentous letter from his son - that very Wittgenstein?

Prince Saurau now said to me: “The more intensively I talked about the flood, the more your father was distracted from the flood. Moreover,” the prince said, “he was distracted by the play that was put on in the pavilion the day before the terrible flood. This play, a different one every year,” Prince Saurau said, “is a tradition at Hochgobernitz. The curious thing is,” Saurau said, “and I am speaking now of an absurdity that is absolutely phenomenal: The moment I began talking about the flood, your father began talking about the play. The more I was preoccupied with the flood, the more preoccupied your father became with the play. I talked about the flood and he talked about the play.”
My father said: “I kept thinking all along that you couldn’t help talking about the flood, but I talked about the play.”
Prince Saurau said: “But I talked about the flood and not about the play, for what else could I possibly have talked about that day, if not the flood! Naturally I could not think of anything but the flood. And your father thought of nothing but the play. As I became more and more preoccupied with the flood, your father became more and more preoccupied with the play, and insofar as I, speaking of the flood, was irritated by your father’s speaking of the play, your father, speaking of the play, was irritated by me because I spoke of nothing but the flood. There was tremendous irritation!” the prince said. “Again and again I heard your father commenting on the play in the midst of my endless talk about the flood. The incredible, amazing thing was,” the prince said, “that as the time went on I spoke more and more about the flood and nothing else and your father spoke about the play and nothing else. And your father spoke more and more loudly about the play, and I more and more loudly about the flood. Loudly, equally loudly, at the same time, both of us, your father and I went on, he speaking about a tremendous play, I about a tremendous flood. And then,” the prince said, “there came a period in which both of us spoke exclusively about the flood, followed by a period in which we talked of nothing but the play. But while we were both talking about the play, I was thinking only about the flood, and while we were talking about the flood, your father was thinking only of the play; while your father thought of the play, my thoughts were with the flood. If we talked about the flood, I thought that your father wanted to talk about the play; if we talked about the play, I wanted to talk about nothing but the flood.”

"... my son writes," the Prince said --- also referring to the doctor directly in the son's letter

"He went on to speak of the admiration for a person that we generate in ourselves. Suddenly that person can brutally destroy our admiration by suddenly becoming, in our very presence, and simultaneously inside us, the very thing he consistently and in reality is. Ultimately such a discovery destroys everything, the prince said. “The truth is, all we hear in this world is: That is good, that is not good, this man is thus and so, and so on.… How often we hear: He has a keen mind, he hasn’t, he speaks French fluently, he doesn’t, he is materialistic, he isn’t, he is a Communist, he isn’t, he is poetic, he isn’t, he is rich, he isn’t. Disgusting! You know,”

I often pace back and forth in the library thinking that the others are thinking that I am pacing thoughtfully back and forth in the library, whereas I am pacing back and forth in the library without a thought. Just as children often pretend to be sleeping or dead in order to frighten their parents, I pretend to be thoughtful.

"He said he had something magnificent in store for his head. But I must not think he was going to cut it off himself. He put a knife into my hand and said: Cut my head off, my dear fellow. I have long waited for you to turn up to cut off my head. For I have something magnificent in store for my head. Don’t be afraid, this eccentric said, I have calculated everything in advance. It cannot go wrong. Here, cut! He gave me three minutes. Here, he said, this is the spot where I want my head cut off. I’ll continue to stand, because it seems to me thoroughly undignified to have your head cut off while lying down, let alone sitting. I won’t embarrass you! the stranger said. Incidentally, the knife is manufactured by the Christofle Company, he said. And I actually saw the name Christofle engraved on the knife. I seized the head and cut it off. I was quite astonished at how easy it was. The head then said: You see, you had no difficulty cutting off my head. But then I see that I haven’t cut off his head, and the stranger said: You didn’t seriously imagine you could cut off my head, did you? Or did you? Let us go on, the stranger said."

“You see, Doctor, I am putting on my jacket, and I am taking my jacket off again. I bought this jacket in Brussels, that one in London, that one in Cairo. I am putting on the Cairo jacket, taking off the London jacket, putting on the Brussels jacket, taking off the Cairo jacket.'

Grasping the helplessness of all people, but without pity. The necessity of letting everything you know freeze hard.

"I go into the pavilion and find her on the sofa, reading a novel. I say at once: Where is my notebook? Yes, I say, I found my notebook in the kitchen. This outrageous human race, now it has actually laid impious hands on my notebooks, I say. Probably you have been laying impious hands on my notebooks for years, I say. Possibly, I say, you have laid impious hands on all my notebooks. And probably, I say, what you have read into all my notebooks" ( )