title : The Blind Owl
author : Sadegh Hedayat’
ratings: not clear yet
type : novel
Comments:
“All of life is made up of stories and tales. I must press the cluster of grapes and pour its essence, spoon by spoon, down the dry throat of this old shadow.”
“It has been known to make its readers suicidal, hence the banning in Iran.” huh?where that comes from? is ahmedi non-reformist-jad has sometime with it?
to express my feeling while reading this short novel ..it led me to feel like intoxicated guy ..even without red-bull could u imagine that! ^^>
it was easy-read , marvelous , exotic , detailed and dark with a reality flavor ..i couldn’t let it away from my eyes since i read it online.. finished in two days..exactly yesterday at 4a.m i read about the interpretations and analysis of this story .. but i like to stick with what the writer explained in plain simple .. whatever i say i couldn’t mention what exactly the point here .. it has alot of mysterious to offer and to measure from! i recommend to everyone.. its really good // THX Narcissa_S
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Blind_Owl
some interesting quotes from the blind owl:
-I was talking to myself with immobile lips and with an inaudible voice!
-I want to pour, drop by drop, the essence, no, the bitter wine of my life into my shadow’s dry throat and say to him, “This is my life!”
-The story of my own past? Tales are means of avoiding the real, unfulfilled, unattainable desires imagined by various storytellers, each according to his own mentality and hereditary traits.
-What are days and months? Time loses its significance for one who lives in a grave. This room was the grave of my life and thought.
-The whole time my shadow was headless. My shadow did not have a head. I had heard that those whose shadow is headless die before the year’s end.
-Although at the time of death the blood ceases to circulate, and although after twenty-four hours some parts of the body begin to decompose and disintegrate, for quite some time the hair and the nails continue to grow. Do senses and thoughts also cease when the heart stops, or do they continue a vague life using what blood remains in the smaller vessels?
-I was still not used to this world in which I was living; what good would another world do me? I had a feeling that this world was not made for me but for a group of pseudo-intellectuals: a group of shameless, diabolical, rude, beggarish mule-drivers who lack insight and wisdom.
-Finally I realized that I was a demi-god and that I was beyond all the low, petty desires of mankind. I felt the eternal flux within me. What is eternity? Eternity for me was playing hide-and-seek with that whore on the banks of the Suren river; it was a momentary closing of my eyes when I hid my head in her lap.
-I am afraid to look out of the window of my room or to look at myself in the mirror, because everywhere I see a multiplicity of my own reflections. To be able to describe my life for my stooped shadow, I must narrate a story. Oh, there are so many stories about childhood days, loves, acts of copulation, weddings and deaths and not a grain of truth in any of them. I am tired of telling stories and of fanciful phraseology.