When the fine taste of a masterpiece, we must have gained a lot, can not just will read oh, write a reading after it. So you will write after reading? The following is my "Tin Drum" for you to organize after reading (General 8), welcome to read and collect.
"The Tin Drum" after reading Part 1In the spring and summer of 1952, I hitchhiked and traveled around France. I had no occupation to earn a living, but sketched on wrapping paper and wrote incessantly. I was a man of many words, and in addition to composing an ode in imitation of the patriarchal giants, "Pellinurus the Sleeping Helmsman," I wrote a bloated, long poem whose protagonist, the stigmatic friar, was the predecessor of Oscar Matzerath.
Confined by fashion, I have identified the hero of the long poem as a young existentialist. He lives in our time and is a mason by profession. He is wild and erudite, often quoting famous sayings. Just before the arrival of affluence he had grown tired of it, and disgust became his hobby. He built a high pillar in the middle of a nameless town and squatted at the head of it to sit in meditation. His mother cursed him and passed his meals up to him on a long wooden stick picking a lunch box. She sought to lure him home, and she even gained the support of a choir of maidens with mythological overtones. The social circle of the town revolves around Tall Pillar, where friends and foes flock together to form a group that looks up to Tall Pillar. The unattached monk at the head of the pillar looks down, calmly shifting between the legs of gravity and the legs of false standing, finding his perspective on the world and speaking in metaphors.
This long, failed poem is in my hands. From the only surviving fragments of it, it is possible to glimpse: at the time, Trakl (Note: Joe Trakl (1887-1914), Austrian Expressionist poet, author of the collection of poems Sebastian in Dreams (1915), among others). , Apollinaire, Lingelnatz (Note: Joe Lingelnatz (1883-1934), German writer, author of Gymnastic Poems (1920), etc.) , Rilke and the crappy Garcia Lorca German translation, and what a huge influence on me. The only funny thing is the poem's search for a transcendent perspective. The perspective of the towering pillar-headed friar is too static, while Oscar Matzerath's three-year-old boy-like height is just right, a dwarf perspective that is both flexible and versatile, but also creates a sense of distance. We are able to say that the dwarf Oscar Matzerath is the opposite pole of the pillar-headed friar.
At the end of the summer of the same year, when I left France for Düsseldorf via Switzerland, I met Anna for the first time and abolished the image of the stigmatic friar through intuition. One afternoon, on an ordinary occasion, I saw standing among the adults drinking coffee a three-year-old boy with a tin drum around his neck. The boy's demeanor was compelling and y embedded in my mind. This three year old boy was quite obsessed with his instrument, to the point of oblivion. At the same time, he looked disdainful of the adult world as he chatted over coffee in the afternoon.
This "discovery" was forgotten for three years. I moved from Düsseldorf to Berlin, got a new sculpture teacher, reunited with Anna, married the following year, took my misguided sister out of an 86-year-old Catholic convent, sketched, made sculptures of birds, scarecrows, and hens made of filigree. My first full-length prose exercise, Fences, was in the mode of Kafka's novel and borrowed the rich metaphors of the early Expressionists, yet the exercise failed. I then created my first collection of loosely structured, improvised poems with a single stroke. Gradually, these succinct and lucid poems broke away from the author's control and gained relative independence. This was The Merits of Hyacinth Chickens, my first book, which came out in paperback format and included poems and illustrations.
Thereafter, while I was primarily engaged in my career as a sculptor, I completed a number of short plays, such as the one-act plays Uncle, Uncle and The Flood. When I was invited to a meeting of the Four Sevens, I recited these skits with a modicum of success.
Because Anna was a dancer, I also wrote ballet scripts for her. I tried to draft several ballets, the plots of which later became chapters of the novel "The Tin Drum", such as the opening of the novel "The Fat Skirt", the story of the stone statue of Nyborg on the bow of a ship (Nyborg, the queen of Thebes in Greek mythology, whose twelve children were killed by Apollo and Apollo), and the story of a woman with the name of Nyborg. Nymphaea, the queen of Thebes in Greek mythology, whose twelve children were killed by Apollo and Artemis, so she wept all day long and was eventually turned into a stone statue). In the novel, Oskar Matzerath and his friend Vitra ride the tram through Düsseldorf at night. There are also scenes of Polish cavalry attacking German armored cars. These ballet drafts, which I cast aside, all unpublished, were eventually transformed into chapters of the epic novel The Tin Drum.
Armed with long-accumulated material, an ill-defined plan and a definite sense of meritocracy, I set out to write a full-length novel. Anna wanted to understand more rigorous ballet training, so we left Berlin in early 1956 for Paris. Although we had nothing at this time, our travels were carefree. Near the Place Pigalle, Anna studied with Madame Nora, who was in Anna's mind a respected Russian ballet instructor. At the same time that I was putting textual touches on the play The Wicked Chef, I wrote the first draft of a full-length novel that changed its title repeatedly, from Oscar the Drummer to The Drummer until The Tin Drum.
The Tin Drum Part 2The Tin Drum is used throughout the story, and the main character, Oskar, has been carrying it on his back since he was three years old.
The Tin Drum has accompanied Oskar to witness countless historical moments.
The Tin Drum witnesses Oscar's fall from a nineteen-step cellar at the age of three.
From that moment on, Oscar did not grow a centimeter taller in the next dozen years of his life, remaining at ninety-four centimeters.
The Tin Drum has been with Oskar through the defense of the Polish post office, the German invasion of Poland, the Soviet bombardment of Danzig, and other historical events.
Oskar keeps banging the drum, and he uses it to tell the story of her poor mother's death, and the absurd and magical life he has lived.
In the story, Oscar is uprooted, he goes through the war, he goes to the front line to perform, he works as a stonemason, he works as an art school model, he plays in a jazz band, and through all of these things, Oscar fully participates in a series of historical events.
And so, as Oscar transforms, a little bit of the social context of the time unfolds.
The book has a deep political metaphor, expressed through the absurdity of Oscar's experiences.
To understand this novel, it is important to have a good understanding of the historical events involved.
I don't know much about these histories, and so didn't get the ****ing reaction that people who have lived through these events get when they read this book.
But that didn't stop me from continuing to read the book, and the story line was still clear.
Along with Oscar's perspective, the story is a mix of fiction and reality, with real historical events and the absurdity of Oscar singing about broken glass.
People around Oskar die one after another, his biological father, Bronski, was executed for his involvement in the defense of Poland, and his nominal father, Matzerath, was killed as a Nazi by the counterattacking Soviets.
He follows his "stepmother", Maria, to a new city, where he lives through a period of economic depression and scarcity.
Oskar swings between Satan's blasphemy of sending people away with his drums, and Jesus' omniscient vision of God.
The drums have always accompanied him, beating at every historical point, and the rhythm of the story is the rhythm of the drums.
By reading this book, one also seems to hear the roar and murmur of history through the sound of the drums.
This is a rare book that shows history from multiple perspectives and levels, but unfortunately I didn't fully understand it, and only left a sigh of admiration after reading it.
The novel "Tin Drum" **** divided into three parts, at the moment I only read the first of them, I read this part of the brief talk about my feelings.
Curtis. Glass with its very rich imagination to shape the main character of the image of little Oscar. Little Oskar was able to understand the adults' speech all his life. At the time of his birth, because two moths blocked the light, so that he felt the world dim, they want to go back to their mother's tire. It was just a pity that it was too late. This also sets the stage for the later part of the novel. Because the novel is set at the time of the First World War, the darkness of the times and the social turmoil at that time caused young Oskar to be dissatisfied with the society and dissatisfied with life. When he was three years old, he fell down the stairs, turning himself into a non-speaking "demented", and no longer grow, but he still has a high IQ, and he also gained a kind of special ability, can use the sharp shout to shatter all the glass products. This allowed him to hide and protect himself from the complexities of adult society. He began to play his beloved tin drum all day long, hiding away and observing the world with a cold eye, avoiding and coping with this dark society in his own way.
The novel is a first-person autobiographical account of Oskar's life, and it uses reminiscence. In the beginning of the novel, it is written that Oscar lives in a mental sanatorium. He lives in a ward that is completely isolated from the world and is only in contact with the outside world through his caretakers. This also shows Oscar's boredom and dissatisfaction with the society at that time. He continues to play his beloved tin drum all day long, recalling his past to the beat of the drum, and then asks the nursing staff to bring him "clean" paper to write down his memories. Why the word "innocence" is used there? I think it is also Oscar's irony and contempt for the dark society at that time.
In the first part of the novel, when Oscar witnesses the darkness of society, he becomes disgusted. He keeps beating his tin drum, thus giving vent to his dissatisfaction with the monstrous society. He also uses his potential to break glass to "disrupt" society. In his eyes, this society is chaotic, weird and hopeless.
Much of the novel is based on Curtis Glass's own experiences and insights. Grass's own experiences and insights to write. He also used the novel to express his own dissatisfaction with the darkness of World War I Germany.
The Tin Drum, Part 4Anna experienced firsthand the four-year-long process of writing The Tin Drum. She often wanted to hear, and sometimes made sure to hear, my account of the novel's tentative endings, which were not yet finalized and often differed only in detail. I was often lost in thought as I wrote, and smoked so incessantly that the room was so smoky that Anna might have had difficulty identifying the man as her husband. As her partner, I must have been insufferable because I spent my days obsessed with the world of my fictional characters. I was a power distribution device that operated many circuits and was connected to several interlocking levels of consciousness. People call this "madness".
While I create, I also live a very real life. I cooked the five flavors with great care and danced whenever I could, because I admired Anna's long legs and dance moves. In September, 1957, just as I was concentrating on the second draft of The Tin Drum, our twins Franz and Raoul were born. It was not a question of creativity, but of economy. We had three hundred marks a month to live on, a sum I earned as I went along. At the annual gathering of the Four-Seven Society I sold my sketches and lithographs; Walter Herre (Note: W. Herre (1922- ), German poet, literary critic, and one of the publishers of the literary magazine "Repertoire". He paid me by asking me to write and by using my manuscripts, he was charitable by nature and brought me money when he came to Paris, and far away in Stuttgart, Heisenbüttel (1921-), the German poet of "concrete poetry", produced a play that I never staged. The following year I had begun to work on the final draft of The Tin Drum, when I won the Literary Prize of the Society of the Four Seventies and earned for the first time a large sum of money, totaling 5,000 Marks, with which we bought a jukebox, which is still sounding today, and which belonged to our daughter Laura.
The bare fact that I never took the baccalaureate often saddened my parents, but sometimes I think: it was precisely this that protected me. Because if I had earned a high school diploma, then I would surely have had a position where I would have become a nightly program revising while locking my freshly penned manuscripts in a drawer. As a buried writer, I'm sure I'd be filled with resentment toward the quick-witted writers who are surprisingly capable of spilling out and writing thousands of words in nature, and who are often inspired by the heavens.
The Tin Drum After Reading Part 5From yesterday to this moment, I have always been immersed in the atmosphere created by Curtis Glass, it is difficult to calm down. When I first started to read his 1999 Nobel Prize-winning work "The Tin Drum", I was struggling, and I felt that I could never find that high level of shock that the work should bring me, and I wanted to give up a few times.
At the moment it seems so shallow! However, I still insisted, because as a writer, I have a high respect for the Nobel Prize for Literature, I believe that those distant judges must be the world's most discerning. The Tin Drum had to be extraordinary in its own way.
It was only in the next reading that I felt The Tin Drum was like a lion with the wind and the rain, only but at first it was prostrate and immobile, and as soon as the wind blew it presented its irresistible dominance. In my years of reading, I saw a lot of excellent works, but most of them I have a kind of "I can do it" feeling, I think the time is ripe I can imitate them, only the "Dream of Red Mansions" let me look forward to sigh, and then the "Tin Drum". I feel I can't do it. Curtis Glass has created a height that I can't climb, and I look up to it and y respect it.
I was especially struck by the fact that I finished The Tin Drum with my nose open.
After reading The Tin Drum, Part 6
I don't know how many times this book was mentioned in Wang Xiaobo's book, so I've admired it for a long time. However, the reading time of this book is also really dragged too long, are feeling a little sorry for Glass. Mundane business in the body plus more distractions, can not properly read this wonderful novel is really a big regret. This day after reading, even if it is on their own to Glass to Wang Xiaobo's account of an account.
This book is full of too many metaphors, and if you dig deeper, you'll have a lot of fun.
Escaping the adult world Oscar is a symbol of passive resistance. Being able to arrive at the effect of being stuck as a 3 year old at will is, I suspect, the dream of most adults. However children are looking forward to growing up early, except for the precocious Oscar. Yet being stuck in a 3-year-old state in the body doesn't allow the mind to be stuck in a 3-year-old state as well, and a growing mind makes Oskar suffer twice as much from the tormenting pains of lust and evil - eventually one day he's going to have to grow up, albeit just a little bit.
Fortunately, there is the magical tin drum, a child's toy that is undoubtedly an externalization of childishness. The Oscar who owns the tin drum, or rather the tin drum that Oscar owns, has a miraculous Jesus-like magic, a power that is the very power of childlike innocence, and he (it) can make the adults dance and cry - to return to the childhood days far away.
There is also the miracle of Oskar's childhood scream - the random glass-sculpting tool, the powerless child's only weapon, which has magical power without possessing the slightest hint of real might. In the crucible of reality, this weapon gradually fails.
I was moved by a scene in the "onion cellar" in which he cries through an onion.
The author of The Tin Drum had just finished revising the final proof when the book left him. The final correction happened fourteen years ago, and I have lost The Tin Drum ever since. The novel was translated into Croatian, Japanese and Finnish, and I expected it to make the petty bourgeoisie of all countries sit up and take notice. But the Langfuhr district of Sawa is my lost hometown, and its fame has spread throughout the world.
Reviews and stereotypes piled up, and they seemed to block my path to the book, for I never read the printed `The Tin Drum' in a coherent manner. For five years, the writing project or draft of `The Tin Drum', its first, second and third drafts determined my habits and even my sleep. At the moment this is all over. Several subsequent books, such as Dog Years and Months and a collection of poems, were then nearly finished and within reach.
The fact that I have never so far read a bound copy of The Tin Drum can be attributed to an aversion born of professional habit. Even at the moment, when I am asked to tell the story of how my first full-length novel came into being, I merely flick aimlessly through the opening pages of certain chapters. At first I was reluctant to look back at where I was and what led me to write The Tin Drum; I was afraid of being cocooned. The author of The Tin Drum talks about The Tin Drum and he is a dubious witness.
Precisely because I recognize that I am not qualified to review this novel, I have been able to clear away the trash in piles and have been able to avoid helpful lies. These lies thrive like plugs in the hothouse of Germanic language and literature.
It was neither a desire to write (as in, I'm definitely going to write it and I know how to do it), nor a pent-up determination (as in, I'm going to write it now!), nor some noble sense of purpose. Nor was it a sense of high purpose or purpose (a natural obligation or something like that) that drove me to sit down at the typewriter. My humble beginnings were perhaps my surest propellant, for I wanted to shorten the distance between myself and high society. I was ambitious and determined to do something amazing. An intermittent liberal arts middle school education (I flunked out of high school as a fifth grader) fueled this smelly ambition. It's a dangerous drive that often leads to arrogance. It's precisely because I know where I come from and what drives me that I always write with a simple, calm control of this drive. I see writing as a distanced, ironic process. This process is personal, and its results (whether success or failure) are public.
In 1954 my mother, Helen Glass, died at the age of fifty-six. Because she not only harbored the sentiments of the little people, but loved the theater, she called her son, when he was twelve or thirteen years old, not without mockery, Peer Gynt (Note: Peer Gynt, the egoist protagonist of Ibsen's play Peer Gynt.) . Her son loved fictional stories and promised her riches, Persian lamb-skin coats, and travel money for trips to Nepal and Hong Kong. The Tin Drum came out five years after her death and was the kind of success Peer Gynt imagined it would be. When my mother was alive, I always wanted to prove my potential to her; but it wasn't until after her death that my energy was released.
The Tin Drum Part 8I am certainly at a disadvantage compared to writers who have a sense of social duty. Such writers hammer away at their typewriters under the banner of social obligation, unconcerned with self, but with the whole of society as the starting point for the fulfillment of their duties. There was no noble attempt at all to induce me to dedicate a sparkling gem of post-war German literature. I did not want to, and could not, fulfill the reasonable demands of the literary world at that time to "clarify German history," because my efforts could not bring comfort or relief. I tried to measure my own lost countryside and, first of all, to level, layer by layer, the garbage heap of the so-called middle class (i.e., the gravel of the proletarians and the common people). The author of The Tin Drum may have succeeded in unearthing certain new realizations, in unmasking the pretensions of some, in literally breaking the magic of National Socialism with a sneer, in dismantling the false sense of awe with which it was regarded, and in giving back freedom of action to hitherto fettered language. But he had not wanted to, and could not, clarify history.
My humble self is content with the joy of artistic creation, appreciates changing forms, and enjoys depicting anti-reality on paper. In short, the organ of artistic experimentation already exists, and it looks forward to overcoming resistance and devouring huge material. However, the material has also existed for a long time, and it waits for the basic metabolism. Out of fear of large-scale material, and because I am free-spirited and absent-minded, I have not made any major effort.
The inducements of private life once again liberated my creativity. In the spring of 1954, shortly after my mother's death, I married Anna Margareta Schwartz. After my marriage, I was dedicated to the work ethic and dedication of a citizen and determined to prove my talents to my in-laws, who burst into my humble abode. My in-laws, all of them Swiss citizens, were as simple and tolerant as the Puritans, and watched with the eyes of art connoisseurs as I performed gymnastic feats on overly large apparatus.
It was a ludicrous venture, since Anna had just broken free from the protection of the big bourgeoisie in favor of a life of uncertainty, and was making her first foray into the circle of artists in postwar Berlin. She certainly had no ambition to be the wife of a so-called great writer at that time.
Though the interests of the small-town high-flyer often collided hilariously with the emancipatory aspirations of the grande dame of a big bourgeois family, my union with Anna kept me steadfastly focused on my goal. Although the literary opportunity to write The Tin Drum occurred before we met, our marriage set a clear goal for me.