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John Fante, Türkiye'de olduğu kadar dünyada da geç keşfedilmiş, tanınmış bir yazar. Bu tekrar tanınmasında, yeniden keşfinde de kuşkusuz Charles Bukowski'nin büyük katkısı olmuş.John Fante, 1909 Colorado doğumlu. Üniversite öğrenimini tamamladıktan sonra 1929'da yazmaya başlamış. 1932'de ilk kısa öyküsü The American Mercury'de yayınlanmış. Daha sonra The Atlantic Montly, EJohn Fante, Türkiye'de olduğu kadar dünyada da geç keşfedilmiş, tanınmış bir yazar. Bu tekrar tanınmasında, yeniden keşfinde de kuşkusuz Charles Bukowski'nin büyük katkısı olmuş.John Fante, 1909 Colorado doğumlu. Üniversite öğrenimini tamamladıktan sonra 1929'da yazmaya başlamış. 1932'de ilk kısa öyküsü The American Mercury'de yayınlanmış. Daha sonra The Atlantic Montly, Esquire, Harper's Bazaar gibi dergilerde öyküleri yayınlanmış. İlk romanı Wait Until Spring, Bandini 1938'de yayınlanmış. 1940'da da öyküleri Dago Red adıyla basılmış.Kitaplarının yayınlanmasından sonra sinemacılar tarafından keşfedilen John Fante bir çok senaryoya da imza atmış. Full of Life, Something for a Lonely Man, Walk on the Wild Side filme çekilen senaryolarından bazıları.1955'de şeker hastalığına yakalanan John Fante, 1978'de hastalığın etkisiyle kör olmuş ama eşi Joyce'un yardımıyla yazarlığa devam etmiş. Bu birlikte çalışmanın sonucunda Dreams From Bunker Hill (1982) adlı romanı yayınlanmış.Fante 74 yaşındayken, 8 Mayıs 1983'de hayata gözlerini kapamış.Charles Bukowski gençlik yıllarında kütüphanede tesadüfen kitaplarını keşfettiği Fante'yi hiç unutmamış. Tanınmış bir yazar olunca, Fante'yi keşfinden 39 yıl sonra, 80'li yıllarda, kitaplarını basan yayınevine önermiş. Fante hayattayken kitaplarının yeniden basıldığını görmüş. Şimdi Fante'nin tüm eserlerini kitapçılarda bulmak mümkün.Charles Bukowski, "Fante benim Tanrım'dı" diyor Toza Sor'un önsözünde. John Fante gerçekten de iyi bir yazar. Kendi yaşamından yola çıkarak yazıyor eserlerini. Toza Sor da yazarlık yaşamının, gençliğinin ilk yıllarını anlattığı dörtlemesinin en tanınmış romanı. Toza Sor'u okuduğunuzda gerçekçi anlatımı sizleri de etkileyecek ve Bukowski'ye hak vereceksiniz.John Fante'nin tüm eserleri Parantez Yayınları'nca Türkçe'de yayınlanacak....

Title : Toza Sor
Author :
Rating :
ISBN : 9789758441068
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 160 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

Toza Sor Reviews

  • Matt Eckel
    2018-11-17 20:47

    I remember when I was fourteen, reading Catcher in the Rye. I went downstairs and told my mom, "it's the weirdest thing, this guy is, like, reading my mind!"She said, "Matt, everyone thinks they're Holden Caulfield." God, adults can be so stupid sometimes. Obviously she didn't understand that this was something meaningful -- mystical, really -- that was happening to me. Or, to quote another influential poet of my youth, "parents just don't understand."Flash forward another fourteen years, the last five or so of them being spent living in Los Angeles. Arturo Bandini, I know you too well! Living and dying with each minor victory and defeat... Fighting so often with the object of your affection to where eventually there's a perverse sort of pleasure to be found in it... Realizing that just because love might go unanswered, it doesn't make it any less real... and then of course all the dusty urban imagery that in sixty-five years has gone essentially unchanged and will likely continue to do so well into the future.It's the telltale sign of good, strong writing when you get the feeling that someone has been reading your mail (or email). To inspire this feeling from a distance of more than half a century is an even greater trick. I would recommend this book to, like, everyone.

  • Eleanor
    2018-11-29 22:31

    John Fante was Bukowski's god, and "either you adore him or you've never heard of him." Writing that's raw, swolen, true, and moving from a macro view of paragraph by paragraph, tectonic plates, words that are so organic, you never think about the words, they're tendons and muscles and joins that are by themselves ordinary yet Fante's voice is bold, heroic, cowardly, greedy, broken, blindingly joyful, I would follow him anywhere. It's rare that I buy a copy of a book I've already read, if I didn't own it to begin with. I needed to own Ask the Dust. The intro by Bukowski is terrific, too.

  • Joe Valdez
    2018-11-27 21:42

    Here goes my 200th book report since joining Goodreads.And my introduction to the fiction of John Fante is Ask the Dust, his 1939 novel considered by some scholars and educators to be one of the best works of fiction set in the Great Depression and the best set in Los Angeles. Superlatives like those could work against the book's vitality, which is palpable. Fante's narrator--destitute twenty year old boy Arturo Bandini struggling against hunger, wanting and creative resistance--lacks the worldliness of John Steinbeck's Depression-era men and would've done well to read The Grapes of Wrath and grow up. His story is as bare as a cupboard, but Fante's language and the atmosphere he conjures are breathtaking.I was passing the doorman of the Biltmore, and I hated him at once, with his yellow braids and six feet of height and all that dignity, and now a black automobile drove to the curb, and a man got out. He looked rich, and then a woman got out, and she was beautiful, her fur was silver fox, and she was a song across the sidewalk and inside the swinging doors, and I thought oh boy for a little of that, just a day and night of that, and she was a dream as I walked along, her perfume still in the wet morning air.Then a great deal of time passed as I stood in front of a pipe shop and looked, and the whole world faded except that window and I stood and smoked them all, and saw myself a great author with that natty Italian briar, and a cane, stepping out of a big black car, and she was there too, proud as hell of me, the lady in the silver fox fur. We registered and then we had cocktails and then we danced awhile, and then we had another cocktail and I recited some lines of Sanskrit, and the world was so wonderful, because every two minutes some gorgeous one gazed at me, the great author, and nothing would do but I had to autograph her menu, and the silver fox girl was very jealous.In reality, Arturo (or Arthur, depending on how prejudiced the person he's introducing himself to is towards Italians) is five months off the bus from Boulder, Colorado, chasing dreams of becoming the Great Writer he knows himself to be. He checks in to a room in the Alta Loma Hotel in Bunker Hill, in the center of downtown Los Angeles, with little more than one-hundred fifty dollars in his pocket and big dreams in his head. Arturo carried two suitcases, one full of copies of a literary magazine edited by his hero J.C. Hackmuth, who has published a short story Arturo wrote titled The Little Dog Laughed. No one in the hotel seems to care, too busy eroding by sun, hunger or dust.Down to his last nickel, Arturo makes his way to Spring Street and a bar called the Columbia Buffet. He becomes fixated on a Mexican waitress named Camilla Lopez who serves him the worst cup of coffee he's ever tasted. Their romance hardly blossoms along the lines of mutual respect; Arturo projects his own self-loathing onto Camilla, who in return is often angry that the vigorous writer cannot be the man she loves, bartender Sammy Wiggins, who longs to publish western stories but is ailing from tuberculosis. Arturo is pursued by a desperate older woman named Vera Rivkin who becomes the inspiration for his first novel. Wanting to celebrate his success with Camilla, fate steps in.So this is where she lived! I smelled it, touched it with my fingers, walked through it with my feet. It was as I had imagined. This was her home. Blindfolded I could have acknowledged the place, for her odor possessed it, her fevered, lost existence proclaimed it as part of a hopeless scheme. An apartment on Temple Street, an apartment in Los Angeles. She belonged to the rolling hills, the wide deserts, the high mountains, she would ruin any apartment, she would lay havoc upon any such little prison as this. It was so, ever in my imagination, ever a part of my scheming and thinking about her. This was her home, her ruin, her scattered dream.The writing in Ask the Dust is so intoxicating, so filled with ardor and longing--whether it's righteous or completely misplaced by our boy narrator--that I couldn't help but fall under its spell. With little more than his imagination and a typewriter, Fante sketches Depression-era Los Angeles as vividly as the three greatest L.A. movies--Chinatown (1974), Blade Runner (1982) andL.A. Confidential (1997)--were able to do with an army of visual artists. Fante also knows the tempests brewing under the skin of both the aspiring artist and the amorous, socially awkward male--often one and the same--and conveys the life and times of both demographics memorably.Ask the Dust comes up short of complete satisfaction due to a couple of things. There's the length, which I'd peg at 50,000 words, nearly novella length. This is accounting for the threadbare nature of the story, the unwillingness of Fante/Bandini to really explore Camilla, Sammy, Vera, or anyone else in Los Angeles. This is a book about a boy's angst first and a city second, with characters further down the list. There's also disconnection between Arutro and Camilla where a novelist like Steinbeck might've developed a connection. The target demographic for Fante might be budding (male) authors or those with an interest in historic Los Angeles. These are my demographics.One of the novel's fans was Robert Towne, the Academy Award winning screenwriter of Chinatown who called Ask the Dust the greatest novel ever written about Los Angeles. In 2006, a long-simmering film version adapted and directed by Towne was released. Starring Colin Farrell as Arturo Bandini, Salma Hayek as Camilla and Idina Menzel as Vera, it suffered a fate similar to Billy Bob Thornton's 1999 adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses as a sober love story mismatched with idealistic imagery. It is in Fante's book where his descriptions thrive. I didn't ask any questions. Everything I wanted to know was written in tortured phrases across the desolation of her face.

  • Jonathan Ashleigh
    2018-11-16 19:39

    This book was beautifully depressing. I read it because Charles Bukowski loved John Fante so much and I was not let down. The story had a depressed swagger that was believable even though it was about a time mostly remembered for glamor.

  • Sarah ~
    2018-12-12 21:47

    *جزء مما قاله تشارلز بوكوفسكي عن الرواية :في البدء كان تشارلز بوكوفسكي ..تصفحت الرواية وأنا أقوم بترتيب الكتب التي اقتنيتها من معرض الرياض ..ووجدتني وقد بدأت بقراءتها ..في مقدمته تحدث بوكوفسكي عن حبه للقراءة والأدب بحثاً عن كتب تتحدثُ إليه وتصرخ به (حسب تعبيره) ، كتب استثنائية ولم يجد إلا القليل ، حتى وقعت بين يديه نسخة لـ رواية اسأل الغبار ..تحدثَ عن كيف أحب العمل وأثر به وأثر بكتاباته طوال حياته ، وعن تقديره لـ جون فانتي ..مقدمة كـ هذه ستجعلك تبدأ بقراءة الكتاب فوراُ ..آرتورو باندبني شاب طموح يعيش في لوس انجلوس في ثلاثينيات القرن الماضي ، كاتب وحالم يتكسب من كتاباته الغير منتظمة والتي تنشر في بعض المجلات وعلى فترات متباعدة ..يسحرك (خاصة في البداية ) آرتورو بكل عنفوانه وغضبه واندفاعه ، وتجذبكَ تناقضاته وصراعاته مع هويته ، كراهيته للنظرة الدونية التي وصمَ باعتباره ابناً عائلة كانت ذات يوم عائلة مهاجرة وهو مع ذلكَ لا يتواني ممارسة نفس الفعل مع آخرين .رواية عن الحياة ، عن مصاعبها وآلامها ، تتحدث أيضاً عن حب وموت وصحراء قاسية ، عن التدمير الذاتي ، وعن الواقع وخرابه وعن النهاية ، إنه مزيج مثالي ..عمل يضحكك ويبكيكَ بـالوقت نفسه ، مليء بالكوميديا السوداء وبالآلام ، ومؤثر واجزم أنه سـ يلمس كل قاريء بطريقة خاصة ، جون فانتي كاتبٌ عظيم ، هذه رواية مكتوبة بقوة وتصميم : مكتوبة من القلب ، فهمت الكثير بعدَ أن عرفت مدى التشابه بين شخصية آرتورو والكاتب ..إنها رواية عن الأحلام ، عن الكتابة وعن رجل وحيد وعالمٍ قاسٍ وحبٍ مستحيل ...

  • E.
    2018-12-09 21:46

    I'm giving it three but it really deserves 3.5. I started off tearing into this book with the momentum I tore through Bukowski, which isn't to say that I love Bukowski, I don't, but I tore through his works. It's easy shit to tear through.So I read the overwhelmingly positive Bukowski introduction and I'm off and running. I have a strange fasination with early 20th century LA. I couldn't say why. I have lived in San Francisco the majority of my life and been to LA 3-4 times. I couldn't care less about modern LA, it's something about private eyes and coniving starlets with loose morals in gang run speak easys that gets me going. Wait, that's Raymond Chandler....Anyways, I like the time period. I also like Antonio Bandini's general insanity. He's a complex guy. A mess but a complex guy. The writing starts out interesting but decent and by about a hundred pages I didn't care so much anymore. The book was destined to sit on the side of my bed with the other 10 books I'm half way through and will finish sometime before 2010.Then on a random Saturday afternoon, camping in the Redwoods, about half way through my second 22 of Lagunitas Mother IPA I locked in. Every word was resonating. Bandini was speaking God's truth. I was there with him, with her, in the desert. Bandini takes it, but man can he dish it out. I tore through the rest of that novel that Saturday afternoon. And in it's finishing pages when the small plastic cup of IPA was gone and the whiskey was burning strong I closed Ask the Dust with a bang and threw that fucker into the desert.Bandini!

  • Mariel
    2018-11-12 22:24

    And I answer, the sea is back there, back in the reservoir of memory. The sea is a myth. There never was a sea. But there was a sea! I tell you I was born on the seashore! I bathed in the waters of the sea! It gave me food and it gave me peace, and its fascinating distances fed my dreams! No, Arturo, there never was a sea. You dream and you wish, but you go on through the wasteland. You will never see the sea again. It was a myth you once believed. But, I have to smile, for the salt of the sea is in my blood, and there may be ten thousand roads over the land, but they shall never confuse me, for my heart's blood will ever return to its beautiful source.The glorious face of the greatest editor, J.C. Hackmuth, a God of magazine publishers, gazes benevolently on the castawayed writer. Arturo Bandini, writer of the greatest story told. The Little Dog Laughed. Not about a dog, what stunning prose. He will autograph it for you. Here, take two and three with love. Tear and hunger stained pages and his prostrate body in signed (a puppy love school girl wouldn't flourish the name combinations so well) IOUs. They'll sell, some day, one day bright blind. It hurt me when he peeled off two dollars, three and eight. Fifteen and fifty cents loaned to a man who was so not good for it. Remember the lean days, Arturo! Oranges for breakfast, lunch and no dinner. I liked about Fante how I felt sorry for the charitable Japanese fruit dealer when Arturo bypasses his stall to blow an unexpected windfall (weeell, a deadbeat returns fifteen cents so he can get it adds up later) on two dozen cookies. I hated Arturo as he hated himself, waiting for him. A hazy Japanese fruit seller with blunted edges of charity, waiting on him in unreality. He's also unreal in world goes on without you. I wanted to hold his hand blind leading the blindfolded. He hurts me because he is too damned dumb. He would give it all away just in case some other dumb asshole might be thinking about him what he's thinking about himself. If they are thinking about him, laughing at him. I bet he could get afraid of going out in public with a smile on his face lest some jerk sees him and decides to turn it upside down. I liked a whole lot how Fante held this self aware/unself awareness of Arturo like it was just the weather. He is always greatest writer in the world voice-over in the aftermath of the kicked dog tail under tow. In his blind spot he's a part time racist. Dear great Hackmuth, they called me all kinds of names when I was coming up. All the bad ones, you can't imagine. I hate him as he licks his wounded on her. The dancing Mexican, his Mayan princess. Camilla the poor waitress in the center of his virgin's fixation. Arturo is youngish, I guess, but the more he lied the longer he grew in the tooth. They don't allow your kind in my hotel. I guess there was an upper hand change somewhere in the fists and fits. It's too sad as she's covered in his useless writer's glamour. That's what stuck to me, how no good he was on her terms and his own terms were pity and hate. It could have been worse. He could have stayed in the writer's block motel with Barton Fink. His neighbor murders veal on a blood soaked binge. His neighbor lets it all hang out in a filthy bathrobe. No heads in boxes. Every cloud. It was funny when he's sunk to his knees in lowest moment prayers to God for blessing of stolen milk. It was buttermilk! The homesick "Memphis Kid" signs his I gotta get out of here and go home where friends are friends out of Fort Worth, Texas. Home becomes home when they had to leave it and Los Angeles (or wherever) picks up the same old wander lust bowl. Okay, I'm not so sure I buy the letting down of I'm the star of the movie and what can they do for me that settles on the two women he manages to bang (by not running out of the room). I wouldn't change anything about Ask the Dust, it's just this nagging wonder about what is going to happen if he writes a great book, anyway. There's a shut up silence in him for Vera and Camilla and I wish it had had nothing to do with him in my gut, though I know it wouldn't be Arturo Bandini if he didn't ruin it and start talking again. Of course he has to autograph his book, a gesture for the wind. Hackmuth is a mere man (I never met him. Maybe such a Godsend is out of my sights). Maybe he wanted to remember her where he liked himself, wild beach hair blowing ancient temptress. I was there and he couldn't get it up and it was to the ground and snarling echoes of cruel thoughts from where they are wherever people are before they are born. (Fante was pretty perfect in the phoenix ashes of shame and ego I could hardly stand it. )Wherever people go when they die, that's where Camilla is. I guess he loved her in between.... I liked that it felt real all this damned pretense. It is a lot of work to be Arturo every day. It was strangely kind of innocent, and I didn't mean it hurt. I wouldn't change a thing since the book about him didn't just read like some book about something....

  • mai ahmd
    2018-12-04 17:26

    بالنسبة لي هذه الرواية مدرسة في فن كتابة الرواية من أجمل ما قرأت مؤخرا

  • Jimmy
    2018-12-12 22:36

    I picked this up for a buck last week. Fante's such an easy read that I should have been finished that night, but I can't even seem to feign an interest in fiction lately. Well, maybe that's not entirely true. Maybe brain is still convalescing from all the Texas, drugs, and alcohol that I consumed last weekend. I'm astonished that I'm even capable of reading my e-mails lately. An example of Fante's ostensible solipsism. "War in Europe, a speech by Hitler, trouble in Poland, these were the topics of the day. What piffle! You warmongers, you old folks in the lobby of the Alta Loma Hotel, here is the news, here: this little paper with all the fancy legal writing, my book! To hell with that Hitler, this is more important than Hitler, this is about my book. It won't shake the world, it won't kill a soul, it won't fire a gun, ah, but you'll remember the book. The story of Vera Rivken, a slice out of life." Indeed, he makes such a charming argument. World War II, bah! Bandini's aimless adventures; far more important. Books such as Ask the Dust seem to fall into the "hey, listen-to-me-becoming-a-great-writer" category. I've never really understood how any of these guys were published. I chalk it up to the historical period. Maybe the idea of the struggling writer trying to make a name for himself in Los Angeles appealed to the sympathies of the difficult times in which these books were written. Honestly, I see nothing more than a nuanced journal kept by someone who thinks that they are becoming a great writer. There isn't really anything more to Ask the Dust than a few banal observations about the human condition, a masochistic relationship with a bar waitress, and an appalling amount of exclamation points. I've often heard Bukowski compared to Fante. Fante's influence on Bukowski is chronologically accurate, but it's unfair to Bukowski to say that Fante is superior in some way. They're both awful writers. They're both assholes too. The only difference is that Fante paints a portrait of his alter-ego as this altruistic, Catholic saint, whereas Bukowski drowns himself in booze-soaked, self deprecation. At least Bukowski was honest, and funny. Anyway, I don't even know why I really care that much. Maybe I just can't stand needless arguments about which piece of crap is better.

  • Murat Gonul
    2018-12-09 18:28

    Çarpıcı ve ilginç bir kitaptı. Yazarın okuduğum ilk kitabı, yıllardır denk gelirdim okumamıştım keşke daha önce deneseymişim çok beğendim. Sıradışı bir sadelik ve gerçekçilikle yazılmış hikaye. Baş karakter Bandini'yi Yabancı (Albert Camus)'daki Mersoult'a benzettim biraz. Her şeyden kopuk ve bağlanmakla ilgisi yok. Yaptıkları ile hissettikleri taban tabana zıt, bazen elinde olmadan kötü gibi. Bir çok zaman herkesin olduğu gibi aslında. İnsanın kendisine bakmasını sağlıyor gibi yazar. Hikayenin fonunda Amerika'nın nerden kaynaklandığına anlam veremediğim Amerikalı Irkçılığı ve ikinci dünya savaşı olduğu eleştirel bir mesajla hissettiriliyor gibi geldi bana. Güzel kitaptı tavsiye ederim.

  • Alex V.
    2018-11-19 17:33

    Ask the Dust is about as good a book as has ever been written. I say book, instead of novel because I'm not sure it is a novel. Same with story, not sure there is much of a story here either. Instead, it is a hotwired connection to the mind of Arturo Bandini, the manic writer manifested in this and two other books Fante wrote. It might be a shambles of a story, a bust as a novel, but it's a motherfucker of a book.It's been said that Joyce's Finnegan's Wake is a collection of all things in the world at that moment, half of them in Ireland, half of those in Dublin, half of those on Joyce's street, half of those in his house and so on and so forth until you reach either infinity or negation, depending on which way you traverse the graph. In Ask the Dust, Bandini feels everything whether in proximity or imagined but it all channels through this one man in a frightening rush, and this man, ill equipped to survive even without the encumbering of being the universe's conduit, is ravaged by the unending spurt of life. Bandini possibly experiences nothing, no one - they are figments in his narrative. I've considered the possibility that this book actually takes place with a catatonic Bandini sitting in that dour Bunker Hill apartment, his synapses sparking out like burnt fuses, manufacturing this wild life of devastating failures punctuated by successes. I've also considered that Bandini is Fante, a juvenile, but often dead-on assumption among writers who only write a few books all about writers.None of it matters though. Arturo Bandini is the greatest. Muhammad Ali took ego lessons from Bandini. He is a shrieking lunatic mostly because it is possible that he is the only living person all earth, that the rest of us are either dull shades or occasional fellow lost souls. Reading Ask the Dust makes you want to go raving mad for just a while, so you can get the taste of blood in your mouth, so you can hear what it sounds like when you howl like a wolf. I think its the third time I've read this over the past decade, but the first time as a writer myself, and Bandini's anguish and longing to be read and to be loved and whatever pathetic impulses and personality defects that compel a person to Make Things of Spiritual Value only serve to underscore and expose the frightening longing we all have to exist.

  • Abeer Saleh
    2018-11-25 20:20

    لا أذكر أني قرأت شيئًا ما من قبل بمثل هذا الصدق, و مع الذات قبل الآخر, فانتي كاتب صادق بشكل مرعب, تمنيت أن أكون صادقة لهذا الحد على الأقل مع نفسي, أن أقول ما أشعر به,ما أريده, ما يؤلمني, ما يثيريني, أو حتى ما يغضبني بهذا الأسلوب الشفاف, البسيط بساطة فرحك بالصباح, أو بساطة ابتسامتك لأمر ما يسعدك, تمنيت أن أكون ببساطة آرتورو بانديني هنا, بخوفه من ذنوبه, بقلقه على عشيقة لاتحبه, بتناقضاته, بحبه لوالدته, بعطاءه وكرمه لكل من حوله, بغباءه أحيانًا, وبعفويته كثيرًا, و بعشقه "للإنسان والحيوان على حد سواء".أسلوبه قريب من بوكوفسكي لدرجة أني كنت أشك هل كنت أقرأ لفانتي أو لبوكوفسكي, ولا أنسى الترجمة البديعة من الجميلة أماني لازار, ترجمة أعطت الروح للنص قبل المعنى, شكرًا والله يا أماني, و شكرًا لأثر شكرًا كبيرًا ولا يفِ ❤.سعيدة بتعرفي على فانتي , وسعيدة أكثر لامتلاكي نسخة ورقية من الكتاب, تحتل حيزاً من غرفتي, كما احتلت حيزاً من قلبي وفكري, كتاب أكثر من رائع, بالطبع سأنصح به, كتاب يقرأ بكل حب, وبالتأكيد سيمس شيئًا ما في قلب قارئه, و سيحتل مكانًا في ذاكرته.

  • Imogen
    2018-11-13 20:33

    Fuck this book. "I acted like a racist douchebag toward a girl I like/hate because I've experienced racism myself, and then I sexually assualted her. Later, I felt sad she was gone forever." Arturo Bandini writes charmingly, and the setting and (non)plot are super inviting, but Jesus Christ, I expected so much more from a press (Black Sparrow) that's supposed to be cool and an author with such an old-timey mystique. Fuck this.

  • Chiara Pagliochini
    2018-11-13 20:23

    « Avevo vent’anni, allora. Che diavolo, dicevo, prenditela comoda, Bandini. Hai davanti a te dieci anni per scrivere un libro, vacci piano, allora, guardati attorno e impara qualcosa, gira per le strade. Il tuo guaio è che non sai niente della vita. Dio Mio, amico, ti rendi conto che non sei mai stato una donna? »Arturo Bandini. Sì, Arturo Bandini. Non conoscete Arturo Bandini?Come no… via! Lo scrittore! Arturo Bandini lo scrittore!No? Dai, quello lì… quello che ha scritto… ‘Il cagnolino rise’ e ‘Le colline perdute’ e quell’altro romanzo che adesso sta spopolando in libreria che… come si chiama? Mannaggia. Parla di una donna, sì, la storia di una donna che…Ma, Cristo, che ci parlo a fare con voi. Se non sapete neanche chi è Arturo Bandini. Roba da non credere. Ve lo dico io chi è Arturo Bandini. Arturo Bandini è un tronfio, narcisista, iper-sicuro-di-sé e promettente giovane scrittore. Quel che fa Arturo Bandini è sempre ben fatto. Quel che scrive Arturo Bandini è sempre ben scritto. Arturo Bandini capisce tutto lui. Non sbaglia mai. È un figo. Le donne lo amano. Se potessimo spaccare in due la testa di Arturo Bandini, sezionarla come un’anguria, questo è all’incirca ciò che ci troveremmo dentro: un perpetuo elogio di sé che si trasforma continuamente in apologia. L’elogio di sé è necessario, come sempre è necessaria l’apologia, perché, per quanto il lettore medio sia suscettibile al fascino del Bandini, vede bene – lo vede pure l’occhio meno acuto – che l’Arturo Bandini in potenza si trasforma raramente nel Bandini in atto. Il Bandini che vive, quello che del Bandini-idea ha solo il nome e i contorni, è un ragazzetto, è povero, è andato via da casa con pochi soldi e tanti sogni di gloria, con le donne è un disgraziato, nessuno lo prende sul serio, è una miseria. Il cozzo tra l’idea che Bandini ha di sé e l’impressione che suscita sugli altri è terribile. Il vero Bandini è uno che si affaccia appena alla vita, che ha bisogno di sicurezze e di conferme, continuamente scisso tra i precetti dell’educazione cattolica e un grande desiderio di trasgressione. Si professa ateo, ma prega. Si considera sessualmente un portento, e riesce a possedere una donna sì e no. Si sente incredibilmente virile, ma si eccita sempre al momento sbagliato. Il desiderio lo smorza, lo annichilisce anziché attizzarlo: solo il disprezzo e il dolore gli risvegliano l’appetito. Pensa di essere un sadico, invece è masochista. Il vero Bandini strepita per imporre alla vita l’idea che ha della vita, per sovrapporre l’immagine mitica che ha di sé alla sua immagine in carne e ossa. Far entrare la letteratura nella vita è la stessa cosa che far entrare la vita nella letteratura: una lotta impari, una faticaccia, uno sforzo spesso senza risultati o con risultati così magri da non valere l’impegno. « Questi momenti – il lato brutto della vita – si trasformeranno in altrettante pagine ». Così io credo sia questo. ‘Chiedi alla polvere’ è una teoria del possesso. Il possesso della vita nella vita. Il possesso della vita nella letteratura. Il possesso della donna nella vita – Camilla. Il possesso della donna nella letteratura – Vera. Il possesso di quella forza che sta oltre la vita, la letteratura e l’amore e che è il furore, l’orgoglio vitale, la potenza di esistere. Così mi ha fatto sentire questo libro: potente, vitale, divertita, in pace col mondo, coraggiosissima. Pronta a solcare il globo da est a ovest e da ovest a est. Pur essendo un libro terribile, mi ha fatto sentire terribilmente bene. La scrittura di Fante è un’automobile sportiva lanciata a tutta velocità su un rettilineo. Il rettilineo, però, è circondato da mura di mattoni e l’auto sbanda continuamente a destra e a sinistra cozzando contro i muri. Il lettore è scagliato in avanti e frantumato perpendicolarmente. La visuale è tutta una polvere di schegge di vernice. Non aggiungo altro. Credo di aver letto questo libro nel momento giusto per me. Vi auguro di leggerlo nel momento giusto per voi.

  • Luana
    2018-11-12 19:35

    I libri fanno male. I libri possono uccidere. E mentre fisso il muro bianco e penso a qualcosa di intelligente da dire riguardo Chiedi alla polvere tutto ciò che mi viene in mente è che esistono libri più taglienti di lame e che Fante doveva essere un grande stronzo.Perché quando scrivi così maledettamente bene e scrivi vite che hanno la forma di tragedia costringendo la gente a leggerle, allora sei davvero un grande, grandissimo, perfido stronzo maledettamente, dannatamente, immensamente bravo a scrivere. Perché Fante aveva talento in quantità, ne aveva talmente tanto che allora ha scritto una storia che sa di ferite, che sa di dolore, per riversare una vita sbagliata e un talento straripante in un libro che ferisse di mano in mano, che passasse da occhi a occhi per far male.Ma si tratta di un dolore che vorresti provare in continuazione; il dolore delle parole messe insieme talmente bene che ti ritrovi a lacrimare e a sentire una fitta all’addome senza sapere più se è per quello che leggi, se è per quello che ciò che leggi ti fa rivivere o ancora se è per la meraviglia di come Fante sappia architettare la musica delle parole.John Fante e Arturo Bandini, scrittore e personaggio, personaggio e scrittore, stessa persona, stesso individuo meschino diviso tra l’aspirazione dolente e lacerante a scrivere per i soldi, tra il richiamo di una chiesa cattolica che perdona e castiga e un amore impossibile. Un amore di pugni e schiaffi e morte e deserto.Un intreccio perfetto, signor Fante, mi complimento con lei, sapeva che avrebbe fatto del male a chiunque l’avrebbe letto e allora l’ha scritto perché sapeva di essere talmente bravo che qualsiasi cosa avesse scritto, ci sarebbe stato qualcuno a leggerla. Vorrei chiedere alla polvere perché la vita deve sempre essere così malvagia, così macchinatrice mentre ci lascia soli in un deserto con tutti i nostri rimpianti, e i peccati e i dolori, e le lacrime non versate, quelle versate di troppo. E gli amori mancati. Lui ama lei, lei ama l’altro, e l’altro la vorrebbe solo uccidere.Attraverso queste pagine e la polvere dannata che le ricopre, corrono le micce accese che arrivano di fretta ai barili di dinamite che esplodono sul finale lasciando desolazione e sconforto. Ma anche il senso di grandezza che le parole possono assumere quando chi impugna la penna è John Fante, o Arturo Bandini. Arturo Bandini o John Fante.Vorrei chiedere alla polvere se esiste un modo per non soffrire più, se esiste una soglia oltre la quale la vita dice ‘adesso basta anche per me, li ho fatti ammalare e piangere sin troppo’. Ma la polvere sa solo che non si può diventare chi non si è mai stati nel sangue, e la polvere sa solo che torneremo alla polvere. Con le nostre vite, con i nostri desideri mancati. La polvere sa che torneremo a lei, e lo sapeva anche John Fante. Che ha scritto un capolavoro inneggiando alla polvere che si deposita su qualsiasi tragedia, lasciando che i finali diventino solo futili pietre in un deserto troppo grande e troppo spazientito per raccontare tutto ciò che sa.Questo libro m’ha spaccato il cuore e, se non sono in grado di gettare fuori le lacrime, sento comunque dentro il gemito del sangue che non accetta la ferita. (annotazione delle 4 del mattino)Vi starete chiedendo perché leggere questo libro visto che a quanto pare fa solo male. E allora ve lo dico. Questo libro fa male, ma fameravigliosamente male . Come una droga, chiedete alla polvere.

  • João Carlos
    2018-11-30 17:40

    Alta Loma Hotel - Los Angeles“Pergunta ao Pó” - terceiro livro da saga de Arturo Bandini – foi originalmente publicado em 1939 pelo escritor norte-americano John Fante (1909-1983).O alter-ego de John Fante, Arturo Bandini, filho de emigrantes italianos, vai para Los Angeles no final do anos 30, em busca de um sonho, ser escritor. Bandini instala-se num pequeno hotel, na zona de Bunker Hill, à espera da carta do agente literário Hackmuth, a quem tinha enviado o seu conto “O Cãozinho Riu”. Sem dinheiro, com a sua conta sempre a aumentar, a dona do hotel, a viúva Hargraves, “… não acreditava num mentiroso como eu. Na verdade, não chegava a ser uma mentira, era uma esperança e não uma mentira, ou talvez não fosse sequer uma esperança, mas um facto, e a única forma de o saber era esperar o carteiro…”. Finalmente “O Cãozinho Riu”, foi publicado por dez dólares: “era uma história de ler e chorar por mais e nem sequer falava de um cão: uma história brilhante, pura poesia.”Bandini é, simultaneamente, um convencido e um descrente, dominado por um comportamento misógeno, fruto da sua educação católica, em desespero pelo desejo de sexo, mas incapaz de consumar a sua excitação inicial, confirmando essa incapacidade na cena com a prostituta.A instável mexicana Camilla Lopez, é empregada de bar no Columbia Buffet, e exerce em Bandini uma atracção explosiva, de amor e de ódio, numa relação conflituosa, enquadrada por um triângulo amoroso com Sammy.O estilo narrativo de “Pergunta ao Pó” é muito mais moderado do que “A Primavera Há-de Chegar, Bandini” e “Estrada para Los Angeles”, a linguagem é menos virulenta, mas Fante consegue manter um humor sarcástico, hilariante e genuíno dominado pelos comportamentos erráticos e arrogantes do Arturo Bandini – que afinal de contas ainda é um adolescente – num final comovente e trágico. John Fante é imensamente influenciado pelo escritor norueguês Knut Hamsun; o romance e a personagem de a “Fome”, têm uma similitude inquestionável, ambos querem ser escritores, mas deambulam em cenários e vivências dominados pela fome e pelas agruras da vida.O título “Pergunta ao Pó” é retirado de uma frase do tenente Glahn no livro de Knut Hamsun “Pan”.“Pergunta ao Pó” é um excelente livro – em que se revela indispensável a leitura prévia de “A Primavera Há-de Chegar, Bandini” e “Estrada para Los Angeles”.

  • Makis Dionis
    2018-11-21 00:22

    Στην Καμίγια, με αγάπηΑρτούρο!Ο καταραμένος έρωτας κ η αγωνία των ακραίων αντιθέσεων που όμως τόσο μοιάζουν να συγκλίνουν

  • RandomAnthony
    2018-11-12 19:31

    Someone recently mentioned Ask the Dust on Goodreads. I don't remember who. But, uh, thank you, whoever you are. I appreciate the recommendation and I'm surprised, even with its flaws, that the novel isn't revered by the Bukowski Fan Club crowd. Ask the Dust functions as Arturo Bandini's (fictional) first person account of his rising and falling and rising (etc.) as a young Colorado writer new to California. Arturo wanders around Los Angeles, writes in his spartan hotel room, and makes a shitload of bad decisions. Fante excels in his ability to track Bandini's thought process from feverish creativity to mild paranoia to lust and self-loathing to sincere but halfhearted stabs at returning to his childhood Catholicism. On any day Arturio lurches from puffed-up arrogance to stomach-acid despair. He spends too much time alone. His relationship with Camilla, a local waitress, becomes a case study in how two messed up people can both lift each other up and drag each other down. More of the latter. Fante writes with a muscular, lyrical style; his Los Angeles is both movie set and dusty, hopeless slum. He's more heady than Bukowski, crossing over into near-poetry especially when describing the city and desert. Bukowski readers will recognize Fante's influence within the first 100 words. Mr. Bukowski (in the edition I read, anyway) schools introduction-writers with his brief, direct articulation of his Fante admiration. If you can find an edition with the Bukowski introduction, get that one. Not the other one. The novel's last 20%, however, blunders into an almost Reefer Madnessesque portrayal of marijuana addiction. It's hilarious. Fante blow his momentum with an anti-drug cautionary tale complete with “cans” of pot, users who conventionally put towels under doors because apparently you can't smoke pot in an open room, and what can only be described as a crackhouse for pot smokers. A pothouse? Maybe pot was stronger in the thirties. I don't know. But until the last couple pages, when Arturo walks out into the desert alone (I don't think I'm spoiling anything, don't worry), the gritty, compelling monologue becomes a cardboard addict story. I couldn't help but consider if Fante, like Bandini, was sabotaging himself.That said, Ask the Dust is required reading for people into that whole drunk crazy writer thing. I very much liked the bulk of the book but I can't go beyond three stars because of the novel's disappointing swerve toward the end. I don't know much about the controversy Ms. Sanchez references below but I know Ms. Sanchez well enough to trust said controversy exists. This book was probably innovative for its time and deserves shelf-space next to the writers Fante influenced. I just wish the excellent Ask the Dust hadn't faltered near the finish line.

  • Ebru Çökmez
    2018-12-05 01:31

    çok gerçek, yalın bir dili var kitabın. sevdim aslında. Fante'nin diğer kitaplarını da okuyacağım.Ama Bukowski değilim sonuçta. onun kadar etkilenmedim.

  • Yücel Batu
    2018-11-29 22:39

    Kitaba başlamadan önce herhangi bir fikrim yoktu konusu hakkında. Bukowski tavsiye ettiği için (hatta Fante’yi tanrısı ilan ettiği için) Bukowski’ye çok benzer bir metin okuyacağımı düşünerek kitaba başladım. Yanılmışım. Ana karakter (Arturo Bandini), çokça örneğini gördüğümüz bir yazar adayı ve onun yaşadıkları (Martin Eden/J.London ve Açlık/K.Hamsun ‘dan aşina olduğumuz üzere). Arturo, gel gitleri bol bir karakter, kimi yerde mizaha kayan bir ruh hali içerisinde. Ancak bazı yerlerde de son derece gerçekçi bir ruh haline bürünüyor ve ağzından (kaleminden) inanılmaz güzellikte cümleler dökülüyor :“Harikulade, sorgulamaktan çekindiğim huzur dolu günler. Kenti keşfediyorum: gizemli ara sokaklar buldum, maziden arda kalmış çürümeye yüz tutmuş eski evler, yalnız ağaçlar. Gece gündüz Ford’umda yaşıyor, bir tek hamburger ve kahve molası veriyordum. Hayat böyle yaşanmalıydı, gayesizce dolaşarak, bir mola ve yola devam, beyaz çizgiyi izle, bir sigara yak ve çölün şaşırtıcı göğünde anlamları ara boşuna” (S.145)Diğer karakterler çok uçlarda yaşayan tipler; Camillia Lopez, Sammy, Vera Rivken.. dünya üzerinde var olduğunu bildiğim ama yolumun bir türlü kesişmediği karakterler. Hepsi çok baskın, çok kaotik ve çok kararlı karakterler.. Hem acınası hem de imrenilesi.

  • TAM •'
    2018-11-28 21:46

    ||- اسأل الغبار، رواية تتحدث عن عقدة الكتّاب الأزلية، بطلها "آرتورو بانديني" كاتب يؤمن بموهبته، ويؤمن بأن العالم ينتظر منه الكثير .. بعد أن نشر قصته القصيرة الأولى، توقع أن ما يأتي بعدها أمرٌ سهل، ولكن الكتابة والإلهام أمران لا يمكن توقع حدوثهما من عدمه، وبذلك دخل بانديني في صراع الكتابة وصناعة اسمه الأدبي . تبدأ الرواية بتصوير حالة العجز المادي التي يواجهها بانديني -الذي لا يعمل ويكسب قوت يومه من كتابة القصص- والتي يترتب عليها قراراً حاسما أما أن يدفع أجر الفندق أو يغادره، ومن هذه النافذة ندخل حياة هذا الكاتب الطموح الذي يبحث عن اسمه.الأحداث التي تحدّث عنها بانديني كان يشعر بها كلياً ويكتبها بصدق، بعضها حدث معه فعلاً وبعضها من صنع تخيلاته ولكنّه كان يحكيها وكأنها حدثت فعلاً، أما الشخصيات التي التقى بها فكانت شخصيات غريبة، لكل شخصية مشاكلها الخاصة وبانديتي كان يتعامل معها بكل شفافية وصدق، يصحبك بانديني معه بكل تناقضاته، تؤيده مرة وتكره فالمرة التي تليها، كما يفعل هو نفسه يُحب كاميلا ويكرهها في نفس الوقت، ويعود ليحنّو عليها ويرحمها، كما يكره العنصريّة وأن تتم معاملته على أنّه ليس أمريكي الأصل -بحكم أنّه ينتمي لعائلة ايطالية مهاجرة منذ زمن- ولكنّه عامل كاميلا بالقسوة نفسها وللسبب نفسه، وينتهي بإهدائها النسخة الأولى من كتابه مع حبه الكبير، يسحرك بانديني برغم تناقضاته، يسحرك بطموحه وإصراره وعفويته وصدقه . شخصية آرتورو بانديني ليست شخصية مثالية، وربما لن تكون من أشد المعجبين بها، ولكنّها شخصية ستلتصق بذاكرتك، ستتعاطف معها، ستُضحكك وستبكيك وستؤثر فيك، إنّها شخصية عادية تصور لك مصاعب الحياة، شخصية أكبر ما أنجزته كتابة قصة قصيرة وأفظع ما فشلت فيه العثور على الحُب والوقوع في حُب امرأة تُحب شخصاً آخر. ذكرتني ببطل رواية الجوع لكنوت هامسون، ولكن مع بطل هامسون كانت الحياة مرّوعة وبائسة أكثر ، والاثنان تمكنّا من خلق شخصيّة من الصعب تجاهلها أو نسيانها . إذن اسأل الغبار قصة حزينة، ليست قصة ممتعة أبداً، وأعتقد أن جميعنا نتتفق مع تشارلز بوكوفسكي حين كتب عنها أنها "كُتبت عن ومن الصميم والقلب" . تمّت

  • Richard Derus
    2018-11-24 00:27

    ***KINDLE EDITION $1.99 TODAY, 23 JUNE 2014I rated this 4 stars because, when I first read it in the early 1980s, it riveted me. I've taken a star off because after 30-plus years the chances are it's not going to get close to 5 stars, since I've read so very much more by now.Well, we shall see. I've Kindled it up, it's a short book (under 200pp), and I feel daring.

  • Mike Puma
    2018-11-21 19:32

    An unreliable narrator, Arturo Bandini, relates his highest accomplishments (writing short stories and a novel) and his deepest failures (finding love). His piques of racism and misogyny are followed by moments of tenderness and compassion for the same woman. He’s a man hard to admire, yet equally hard to forget or not care about. For this reader, at least, he’s one who will have to be revisited, re-evaluated, through the pages of the author’s other volumes in the The Saga of Arturo Bandini sequence. Bandini succeeds in the imagination where he hasn’t in his fictive life—one must know more about him.This novel put me in mind of Knut Hamsun’s Hunger and Italo Svevo’s Zeno’s Conscience. While Hamsun’s unnamed narrator is more horrific and more hungry, and Svevo’s narrator is more comic, the three share that out-of-place-in-the-world persona and their authors exploit them well in presenting unforgettable narratives and characters. Ask the Dust is bleak. It’s not a fun story. Fante’s Bandini earns his sympathy slowly. In that regard, Fante’s minimalism is akin to Cormac McCarthy, whose work I admire greatly. If forced to choose, I’d stick with McCarthy; since I don’t expect to face that choice, I’ll horde McCarthy, and take on more Fante as I stumble into them.

  • Sandra
    2018-12-01 18:21

    Arturo Bandini alias John Fante mi ha conquistato. Ho letto diversi commenti su questo libro, in cui i lettori si dividono tra chi ama Bandini e chi lo odia. Io rientro nella categoria di chi lo ama. Bandini è un individualista, uno sbruffone, è anche un sognatore e un generoso, è un uomo in perenne conflitto con sé stesso, tra ciò che vorrebbe essere e ciò che è: vorrebbe diventare uno scrittore ricco e famoso, invece è uno sconosciuto scrittore di racconti; vorrebbe essere ateo, invece il cattolicesimo in cui è stato cresciuto da sua madre è parte integrante del suo essere; vorrebbe essere moralmente integro, invece è un peccatore; vorrebbe fare l’amore con Camilla, invece non ci riesce; vorrebbe che Camilla lo amasse, invece lei ama un altro, uno che non vale un’unghia di Bandini e per di più non la vuole neanche. Arturo Bandini fa tenerezza, fa anche rabbia in certi momenti quando lo vedi fare o dire o non dire qualcosa di cui si pente immediatamente dopo averla fatta, detta o non detta, ma Bandini non si può odiare. Sarebbe come odiare sé stessi.

  • M.
    2018-11-26 01:23

    Mojave çölünün kendine özgü gerçekliğinde, tozların; sıcaklık dalgalarının altında bir hayat: Bandini'nin hayatı. Marihuana, sefalet, ucuz otel odaları, külüstür arabalar, öyküler; şiirler, Voltaire ve uçsuz bucaksız toz... Atalarımızın, zamanın, geleceğin ve geleceğin çocuklarının tozları...(view spoiler)[Rüzgarda savrulan amaçsız ve ağırlığını yitirmiş bir yaprak gibi yaşayan Bandini; kendini ait hissettiği hayat ile ait olmak istediği hayat arasında; üstelik aldığı kararlarda neyin doğru neyin yanlış olduğunu da bir türlü çözemeyen; bu yüzden sürekli ızdırap içinde yaşayan bir yazar karakteri.(hide spoiler)]Mutlaka okunması gereken kitaplar arasında.

  • Magdalen
    2018-11-19 01:48

    WhileI was reading the book I was determined that I would rate it with a single star. Arturo was a misogynist , racist, arrogant and self-centered. The plot was rather boring. The narration after a certain point was becoming annoying(although there were some great scenes tbh). The characters were flat, irritating and I just couldn't relate to them or like them. I found myself detesting most of them. I only felt bad for Camilla.. But then the ending happened and it changed everything. I finally could feel that Arturo trully cared about Camilla. He was taking care of her, he was trying to help her. That was -for me- a genuine character development. It wasn't just a love-hate relationship after all.And this is why I chose to give it 3,5 stars instead. It would be unfair to do otherwise. I am just glad that I didn't quit reading it due to the countless boring scenes..All in all it was a fine book..

  • Sinem A.
    2018-11-22 00:43

    Arturo Bandini insanla hayvan arasında bir ayrım görmez sever ama göstermez sevmez ama cebindeki her kuruşu yağmurda ıslanmasın diye gönderir çok ister ama hiçbirşey yapmaz karanlıkta oturup düşünür.. hem hüzünlü hem neşeli hem yaşar hem izler.. şahitse sadece toz....gördüğüm en canlı diyalektik kahraman..

  • إبراهيم عادل
    2018-11-14 00:27

    كانت مفاجأة سارّة كثيرًا بالتأكيد أن تترجم ـ أخيرًا ـ رواية الروائي الأمريكي "جون فانتي" التي أشاد بها أحد أكبر شعراء أمريكا "تشارلز بوكوفسكي" منذ عام 1980 بل واعتبرها مؤثره على حياته وكتابته الأدبية، لتكون متاحة للقارئ العربي من خلال دار أثر وبترجمة احترافية للمترجمة "أماني لازار"، ولم تكن "اسأل الغبار" هي رواية "فاونتي" الوحيدة، بل كتب لبطل روايته "أرترو بانديني" ما عرف بـ"رباعية بانديني" تشتمل على الروايات: انتظر حتى الربيع، والطريق إلى لوس انجلوس، و أحلام من بنكر هل" ولم تترجم أي من هذه الأعمال إلى العربية حتى الآن!.في ظني أن الجميل في هذه الرواية التي كُتبت وتحكي معاناة كاتب في مطلع القرن التاسع عشر الميلادي أنها ـ شأن كل كتابة إنسانية ـ تبقى معبّرة عن حال الكتّاب حتى يومنا هذا! ولاشك أن حالة من التقارب الفكري والعاطفي بين "فانتي" و"بوكوفسكي" جعلت الأخير يشيد بهذه الرواية بطريقة غير مسبوقة وذلك في مقدمة الرواية التي جاء فيها:(في يوم من الأيام سحبت كتابا وفتحته، وهاك هو. وقفت للحظة أقرأ.. ومن ثم كرجل وجد ذهبا في مكب نفايات المدينة.. حملت الكتاب إلى الطاولة.. تدحرجت الأسطر بيسر عبر الصفحة، تدفقت.. كانت الأسطر تتابع وطاقة كل منها لا تقل عن الآخر.. التركيب نفسه لكل سطر بسطره منح للصفحة شكلاً، شعوراً بشيء منحوت فيها.. ها هنا أخيرا رجل لم يكن خائفا من العواطف.. كانت الفكاهة والألم متمازجين ببساطة رائعة.. كانت بداية ذلك الكتاب معجزة هائلة ووحشية بالنسبة لي).يمكن أن تكون مقدمة "بوكوفسكي" مفتاحًا مهمًا لقراءة "اسأل الغبار" بالفعل حيث يشير إلى تلك الحالة الخاصة التي تتلبس القارئ الذي لاشك سيتورط في حكاية "بانديني" ويشعر بالتعاطف مع حكايته إلى الحد الذي يجعله يغرق في الحزن والبكاء مرة ثم إذا به يقفز ضاحكًا في مواقف أخرى، وكل هذا يشير بكل تأكيد على براعة "فانتي" في تمثل شخصيته وقدرته على التعبير عنها وحمل القارئ ـ مهما اختلفت ثقافته وبيئته ـ للتعاطف مع شخصية ذلك الكاتب المسكين الذي يبحث عن كتابة قصته.. عمله الأول!.ولكني لا أعتقد ـ في الوقت نفسه ـ أن من الإنصاف أن يتم اختزال قصة ومغزى هذه الرواية في بحث الكاتب ورحلته مع الكتابة ومغامرته العاطفية المرتبكة، وربما لهذا يشير "بوكوفسكي" أيضًا في ختام تقديمه حيث يقول:(إنها قصة عن حظ ومصير مريعين وعن شجاعة نادرة وطبيعية. ستروى يوماً ما لكني أشعر بأنه لم يرغب أن أقولها هنا. لكن دعني أقول إن أسلوب كلماته وأسلوبه متشابهان: قوي وجيد ودافئ).تبدأ الرواية بحكاية ذلك الكاتب الشاب "أرتورو بانديني" الذي يجد نفسه متورطًا في ضرورة دفع مصاريف الفندق الذي يقيم به، والذي كان قد كتب قصةً وأرسلها إلى أحد المجلات وحاز منها على "عشرة دولارات"، يبدأ حياته الأدبية ويأمل في أن يكون كاتبًا كبيرًا، يبحث عن فكرة لقصته التالية ويحاول أن يشحذ ذهنه وأفكاره حتى يتمكّن من الكتابة ومن دفع مصاريف حياته في الوقت نفسه، تقابله بعض العقبات والعراقيل، وبينما هو كذلك يعثر على "كاميلا" تلك الفتاة التي تعمل في البار فيحبها ويحاول أن يرتبط بها، ولكنه يفاجئ بأنها تحب شخصًا آخر".- See more at:

  • Simona Bartolotta
    2018-11-15 17:23

    "Dio Onnipotente, mi dispiace di essere diventato ateo, ma hai mai letto Nietzsche?!"Esistono libri belli per lo stile con cui sono stati scritti.Esistono libri belli per le storie che raccontano.Esistono libri belli per i personaggi di cui parlano.Esistono libri belli per i messaggi che trasmettono.Ma questo è l'unico libro del quale ho potuto afferrare la bellezza grazie al titolo ed al prologo.Perché il romanzo in sé forse non sarebbe poi nulla di particolare: un aspirante scrittore, statunitense figlio d'immigrati italiani, cattolico (?), mentre cerca di realizzarsi attraverso la scrittura si innamora di una cameriera messicana. Con tutti i giri ed i rigiri, complicazioni a destra e a manca, ma il succo è questo. Bella storia, già.O almeno questo era ciò che pensavo, fin quando non sono arrivata all'appendice. Venti quindici pagine, nulla di più. Eppure fondamentali. Nel mio caso sono state, diciamo, il "passepartout" per i passaggi segreti di Chiedi alla polvere. Quando si dice addentrarsi nel libro, vah.Per prima cosa ho capito la ragione del titolo (che per alcuni sarà forse ovvia, ma che io, devo ammettere, non avevo minimamente afferrato), titolo il cui fascino è stato accresciuto dalla suddetta spiegazione che col cavolo che ve la dico, vi andate a leggere il libro. Ma a parte questa curiosità svelata, sono pagine di una forza grandissima, un caleidoscopio d'immagini che si succedono, si rincorrono, si azzuffano e si sovrappongono, la cui maestosità e così impregnata di sconsolazione e sfiducia da far venire le lacrime agli occhi.Sono perfettamente consapevole che non si capisce nulla di ciò che ho scritto, ma è per farvi venire la curiosità e convincervi a leggere questo Chiedi alla polvere. E nel caso non ci fossi riuscita, beh, tanto peggio. Intanto mi sono un po' liberata di tutti i frammenti di emozioni che erano rimasti incagliati tra i miei pensieri e ho dovuto raccogliere.

  • StevenGodin
    2018-11-17 00:50

    Struggling writer Arturo Bandini (Great name!) arrived in 1930's Los Angeles to make it Big, but ends up in a crummy hotel on Bunker Hill where he spends most of his time dreaming the days away whilst surviving on a diet of oranges and cheap drink, the town is gripped by poverty and every time he sits at his typewriter the lack of ideas is paramount. But the publication of a short story which leads to some much needed cash brings Bandini some joy, where it's a case of spend! spend! spend!, new clothes, cigars, fine food, and nights out, indulgent excess!, but the high life does not last, and it's while at a diner that he is drawn to Camilla Lopez, a waitress with hidden troubles of her own, and so begins a love/hate relationship that always seemed doomed from the start. Arturo Bandini is such a great creation and on first impressions Henry Chinaski springs to mind, although there are some similarities here with Charles Bukowski, Fante writes more from the heart with a tenderness that overall makes this a moving read. Actually if I had to liken this to anything it would be Nathaniel West's ' The Day of the Locust' in terms of tone, where there is a foreboding hanging over a city built on the power of hopes and dreams for those trying to make a name for themselves.