This was a struggle to finish. No organizing structure. No themes. No character development. No settings. In my view, pretty much a mess. I kept reading hoping to find something useful, but alas there didn't seem to be much there. ( )

Screw you, your incohesive drivel and your stupid minotaur, buddy. ( )

«Prima mi immedesimavo negli altri, ora mi tocca comprare. Posso presentarmi anche così: sono l’uomo che compra passato. Mercante di storie. Altri commerciano col tè, col coriandolo, azioni, orologi d’oro, terreni… Io cammino e compro grosse partite di passato. Chiamatemi come volete, trovatemi un nome. Chi possiede terreni è un proprietario terriero, io sono un proprietario di tempi, proprietario del tempo altrui, il proprietario di storie e del passato di altri. Sono un compratore onesto, non chiedo mai sconti. Compro solo un passato privato, il passato di persone concrete. Una volta provarono a vendermi il passato di una nazione intera, lo rifiutai».

Prima delicato romanzo famigliare, poi saggio iconografico, poi un affondo nel vissuto personale e nell’autobiografia della nazione bulgara ("il posto più triste del mondo"), poi un viaggio nelle time capsule e nella morte, poi la fisica della malinconia, una serie di fine che si ricongiungono con l’inizio. Con il minotauro e il labirinto (e il personaggio Gaustin) a tenere insieme questo eccezionale esempio di innovazione letteraria. Libro prezioso che emerge in maniera prepotente dalla produzione contemporanea. Autore da seguire. ( )

An enjoyable metafictional novel about many things, including the narrator’s grandfather, his own childhood in late Communist-era Bulgaria, and minotaurs. The minotaur and the labyrinth are related to various events and themes of the book, although there are ramblings about many random subjects. Early on in the novel, the narrator (who is named Georgi Gospodinov, along with his grandfather) describes two magic realist elements, which are threaded through the rest of the narrative: as a child, he had the ability to enter someone else’s memories and find all their secrets; when he did this with his grandfather, he learned about an incident when his grandfather saw a minotaur at a fair. The narrator learns other secrets from his family, most notably the time when his grandfather was briefly abandoned at a mill.

From here, the narrator further describes his grandfather’s experiences in the war and his own lonely childhood, but there are all sorts of tangents and random musings and even a whole chapter in defense of the minotaur. The minotaur, he notes, is an abandoned child, which he relates to the mill incident and his own childhood stuck in a basement apartment. The narrator loses his ability to enter memories as he grows older and undertakes various projects in response to this loss–obsessing over time capsules and paying strangers for their stories. He also muses on his friend, the eccentric and ambitious Gaustine, who may be a time traveler.

The early sections, even with all the weirdness, were terrific. His descriptions of growing up in Communist-era Bulgaria are interesting, vivid, funny and sometimes sad. Later on, the narrator describes some of his middle-aged ennui and moving numbly around Europe, which was less interesting. I was also hoping for more stories about his grandfather and his family, and the Gaustine plot sort of petered out. Still, overall, the book was smoothly written, thoughtful and entertaining. Although revisionist takes on fairy tales and myths are common now, I don’t think I’ve read one with a defense of the minotaur, so those parts were fun. The book is structured into chapters about one (often random) topic with many short sections. Although it seems like the book should be easy to pick up and put down, I found I was most engaged when I read large chunks at a time. There are also many metafictional/experimental bits--pictures, lists, writing in invisible ink, etc. I liked all this weirdness, but some might find it irritating. Definitely recommended, although maybe for people who like metafiction. ( )

Zoals uit tal van reviews blijkt, is dit boek niet echt samen te vatten; het is ook gewoon bijna niet mogelijk te omschrijven wat voor soort roman dit is, want tegelijk essay, melancholische mijmering over het bestaan in de Bulgaarse versie van het “ware socialisme”, een Bildungsverhaal, een oorlogsroman, een grillig fantasy-verhaal, een uitdieping van een antieke mythe (vooral rond de Minotaurus), enzovoort. Gospodinov zet ons voortdurend op het verkeerde been, verschuilt zich achter diverse personages (waaronder ook een naaktslak en een fruitvlieg), doet ons naar adem happen met telkens nieuwe creatieve invalshoeken, meanderend en associatief. Kortom de auteur stort ons in een verhalen-labyrint, zonder begrenzingen (in tijd noch in ruimte), als een bewuste poging een tijdscapsule samen te stellen voor latere generaties.
Deze chaotisch-associatieve aanpak is niet direct een genre dat mij ligt, maar geregeld bevat deze roman mooie, poëtische beelden en verrassende invalshoeken; het doet een beetje denken aan de manier van schrijven van Claudio Magris, ook een auteur die rijkelijk put uit mythisch materiaal en erg associatief te werkt gaat, of een nog meer met Ovidius en zijn onuitputtelijke, bizarre, ontroerende, afstotende en wonderlijke verhalen die in essentie gaan over wat menselijk is en hoe dynamisch-veranderlijk de menselijke werkelijkheid moet worden opgevat. Het is een literaire aanpak die gemakkelijk vervalt in overdadigheid en bij een reflex van afstoting opwekt. Maar op zijn eigen manier geeft Gospodinov je een treffende impressie van het ongeregelde die ons leven, onze wereld en onze werkelijkheid is. Ik weet, eerlijk gezegd, niet zo goed wat ik hiervan moet denken, maar dit is zeker geen auteur die zomaar van tafel mag worden geveegd. ( )