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Juja (2010)

de Nino Haratischwili

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In 1953, a teenage girl, Jeanne Sare, jumps in front of a train at the Gare du Nord station in Paris. She leaves behind writings that to some are unreadable, but to others tell universal, unspoken truths about the lives and struggles of women.
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Juja is a cosmopolitan novel about literature and identity and desire which feels like it belongs more to a shared Western literary tradition than to any particular national literature. It requires some patience at the beginning, as the narrative jumps between a handful of characters across a 50-year period and it’s not initially clear what connects them except perhaps for a certain spiritual condition: they all seem to have been very traumatized by something in their past and they struggle with a sense of anxiety and emptiness, a disconnect with the world.

Which all sounds very grim, but I found there is something oddly compelling about the author’s writing and imagery which made me want to keep reading and learn more about the characters. Perhaps because they’re all also very hungry for life, for passion and it’s that yearning that apparently also has a profound effect on the characters as well.

Gradually four main strands emerge: a girl in Paris in the 1950s, who committed suicide at 17, leaving behind a notebook with reflections entitled "The Ice Age"; the eventual publisher of the manuscript, whom we meet at the beginning of his own career as a writer, as a young man in the unrest of Paris in 1968; a woman in the 1980s who becomes one of a series of suicides inspired by reading The Ice Age; three individuals in the present day, who embark on a search to find out more about the book and its mysterious author in an attempt to understand how it could have such power over the young women who killed themselves.

In the second half of the book these strands come together in a mostly satisfying conclusion. The final message about how art can serve as sort of an amplifier of the reader/viewer's thoughts and feelings felt a little bit artificial, but in the end it was, for me, the characters and their unresolved pain and struggles -- no easy closure, just a pause, a regrouping, for more strength to continue anew -- who left the most vivid impression after the last page was turned.

(Read in German; the novel has not been translated into English at this time, but I hope it will be, as Haratischwili's writing seems likely to appeal to audiences outside of Germany.)
  spiphany | Sep 4, 2016 |
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Informação do Conhecimento Comum em inglês. Edite para a localizar na sua língua.
Fixed, complete, we can understand ourselves
Helmut Krausser, Melodies
Juja / A song

I want nothing, Juja.
I am dried out,
Like a parched puddle.
And in my heart
It's empty
It's cold.
And the factory chimneys smoke,
And you kiss me on the lips,
But the rain they forecast__
Where is it now?
Today, another drunken evening,
But it seems easier to me this way.
And even the stars shine brighter:
Ro-mance!
And we dissolve each other, Juja,
Like acid, or someting worse.
And we have to bear the pain
Together:
The glassy pain...
And on the river, the old boats again
So much older than me,
But even so each one lands
Somewhere
Somewhere
Somewhere...it lands.
Zemfira, 'Juja', on the Vendetta album
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Informação do Conhecimento Comum em inglês. Edite para a localizar na sua língua.
I was an EMBRYO and knew everything. I was pushed out into life and forgot my knowledge. I was fucked into life. My knowledge was taken from me. I want revenge.
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In 1953, a teenage girl, Jeanne Sare, jumps in front of a train at the Gare du Nord station in Paris. She leaves behind writings that to some are unreadable, but to others tell universal, unspoken truths about the lives and struggles of women.

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