Handke's final chapter in the Last Guest is yet again a brilliant collection of lines from his whole life, his whole stream of books and writings, old familiar phrases, images, words, notions (not ideas? yes, ideas but not idea ideas), thoughts, remembrances, nods to places in The Odyssey over and over. A song of songs, a reprise and continuation, recombinations, future imaginings, to the left, to the right, joys there, sorrows here, old paths re-tread, old paths renewed, new paths. Nature rejected as the enemy, of what? of birth?
Fascinating. Did he write this as he "final writing?" Would seem so. And yet we await news to the contrary. Is he ill? Does not feel like it but I suppose we do not know. Dementia? again, we do not know. Is this final chapter an enactment of dementia, of the struggle against memory loss? It does not feel like it, it feels like a final performance of the finest sort. A final rumination about sifting through the whole collection of ruminations. Dreams, memories, tags retagged.
Have I completed all of Handke (available)? Well, can still continue in the books of plays; the narratives are at an end. Already I think I will re-read Left Handed Woman, for one. And maybe these last two books, Last Guest and The Second Sword and My Day in the Other Land.
What a wonderful year of reading!! 3/4s of the year. Began after Shattenfroh in September?
No comments:
Post a Comment