Рецензия на книгу

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  Miguera21 апреля 2011 г.

  As If But Not (c)

  I don't believe it a single moment. Futhermore I would not advise anyone to consider it meaningful anyway. This quasi-/pseudo- novel is nothing but -less and -ish. Senseless, Americanish, selfish and whatever words of that kind. The paramount point of literature creation, IMHO, is that while reading, one is penetrating in the reality, built by the author.
  One is given here the " "masterpiece" " that stimulates (yeah, in a physical matter of fact) the only reaction to watch it at the longest distance possible.
  None is geniune = as if but not. Love? Relationship? Care? Hah, where are they there, one wonders. Neither feelings, nor their smallest trace. The sense has no trait of sense at all. The most precise term is just the inanimate, inadequate change of it. Something that is hidden beneath the mess of those AmericanISH petty things (sonovabitch, bullshit, godammit in every line-the greatest number of dirty slang I have ever run into. /For the reason, am shivering, my word, at one thought of reading the Bukowsky's pieces of art/.
  The end is justified by the points here above. There is no place for compassion or pity. There are states and feelings that cannot be estimated in such a -godamn- materialistic way.
  In fact I've given the task to my students to look through the book and analyse its content. Just the wonderful opportunity for some of them, who won't like it, to get better notes. :P

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