This is my first Thomas Bernhard novel despite buying a fair few of his titles due to the high opinions the literary circles have of him. A Bernhard connoisseur would perhaps know better than I, but I get the impression Wittgenstein’s nephew was perhaps not the best of his oeuvre to start with; it felt like it was rather one for an accustomed fan. (If anyone is able to enlighten me on this hypothesis please do!) That is not to say it’s not a decent book, just that I’d maybe have appreciated it a bit more with a bit more Bernhard under my belt, since this is in part a loose autobiographical account of his life. First and foremost it is a rambling catalogue of friendship - that of Bernhard and Paul Wittgenstein who happen to be patients at the same hospital suffering a lung ailment and periodic bouts of madness respectively! The story gently unfolds both the history and journey of their friendship and is decorated by that which drew them together and makes Wittgenstein so valued in the author’s life. He speaks rather candidly that ‘it seems to me that we can count on the fingers of one hand all the people that have really meant anything to us in the course of our lives, and very often this one hand protests at our perversity in believing that we need a whole hand to count them, for to be honest we could probably make do without a single finger.’ This sounds negative and bleak but in fact Bernhard’s writing is brave and honest: he explores and tries to interpret the essence of life, the human condition and himself even if this leads to dark, unpopular places. I’m actually improving my opinion of the book in writing this review! #wittgensteinsnephew is also very much about death and illness and the relationships between opposites - the rich and poor, healthy and ill, the living and the dead. I’m definitely interested to read another, more resolutely fictional work by Bernhard and despite the lowly 2/5 rating I shall give this, I appreciate it to be well written and interesting. Perhaps through reading more of his books I will appreciate it even further. ( )

Curious that this year I’ve already read books Notes from Underground, Cioran’s Anathemas and Admirations, and now this, all curmudgeonly reflections on the unfair and grotesque nature of life. Just now realizing how much Berhard’s book has in common with Cioran’s, alternating between excoriating and adulation, though Berhard’s is *a bit* warmer and less philosophical, as it does seem like him and Paul has a relationship that went beyond intellectual respect.

I wonder how this book was written? It’s one big chunk with no chapter breaks and hardly an indentation. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote this in a couple of sittings and edited minimally if not at all. I guess it’s a testament to the authors ability to be able to ramble and even blatantly repeat himself within the span of a few pages and this thing can still be worthwhile.

The relationship between Paul and the narrator reminds me a lot of those I have with some of my friends. We can quickly swing between intimate and indifferent, pass a whole night talking then not speak for a year. While I don’t think there is necessarily anything wrong with this, i think this book serves as a warning to make sure you are there for friends when you are needed. Paul’s death in abject poverty, his body and mind broken, was totally horrible, and if I was the narrator, I would feel deeply ashamed at abandoning him. But have I not also abandoned friends? Either or purpose or simply through neglect of the relationship? ( )

Ma alla fine il nipote di Wittgenstein non e’ altro che il doppio di Bernhard...

Nietzsche:
DOBBIAMO, DI TANTO IN TANTO, RIPOSARCI DAL PESO DI NOI STESSI, VOLGENDO LO SGUARDO LÀ IN BASSO SU DI NOI, RIDENDO E PIANGENDO SU NOI STESSI DA UNA DISTANZA DI ARTISTI: DOBBIAMO SCOPRIRE L’EROE E ANCHE IL GIULLARE CHE SI CELA NELLA NOSTRA PASSIONE DELLA CONOSCENZA, DOBBIAMO, QUALCHE VOLTA, RALLEGRARCI DELLA NOSTRA FOLLIA PER POTER STARE CONTENTI DELLA NOSTRA SAGGEZZA.


E dato che anche Ludwig atterra su queste righe citiamolo: su ciò di cui non si può parlare si deve tacere. Ed e’ cosi’ che Nietzsche tacque per undici anni (altroche’ pazzo…)

Alcuni brani:
E’ cosi’ che la mente di Paul e’ esplosa, per il semplice fatto che lui non e’ piu’ riuscito, via via, a gettare fuori dalla finestra (della sua mente) le ricchezze del suo spirito. Per lo stesso motivo e’ esplosa altresi’ la mente di Nietzsche. E cosi’ sono esplose in fin dei conti tutte le menti di quei pazzi di filosofi che col passare del tempo non ce l’hanno piu’ fatta a gettare via le ricchezze del loro spirito. (34)

… poiche’, e’ inutile che ce lo nascondiamo, le menti che perlopiu’ ci sono accessibili non hanno per noi il benche’ minimo interesse, da esse non riceviamo di piu’ che dalla compagnia di patate ipertrofiche piantate su poveri corpi macilenti che trascinano nei loro abiti di cattivo o pessimo gusto un’esistenza miserabile… (39-40)

Di fatto tutto io amo fuorche’ la natura… (72)

Un’altra ossessione, anch’essa classificabile come morbosa, Paul e io avevamo in comune: la cosiddetta malattia del contare… Per intere settimane, per mesi interi, ad esempio, ogni volta che viaggio in tram per la citta’, non posso fare a meno, guardando fuori dal finestrino, di contare gli spazi tra le finestre delle case, o le finestre stesse, o le porte, o gli spazi tra le porte… (117)

Per individui come noi niente poteva essere lasciato al caso o alla disattenzione, ogni cosa doveva essere ponderata in tutti i particolari con geometrica, simmetrica e matematica ingegnosita’. (118)
( )

Reason read: botm April 2023, Reading 1001
This is written by Thomas Bernhard, with the narrator being Thomas Bernhard, set in 1967. The narrator and his friend Paul are hospitalized. The book is brief, encompassing passions, music, humor, and a great fear of death. It is fiction but it is also part memoir. ( )

Brutal, brilliant���no words can do this justice. ( )