Carol's Reviews > S. S. Proleterka

"It is for my own good. A venomous expression. But it sounds good. I know that that expression has never boded any good. Since then it has worsened my condition as a minor. You ought to watch your back when listening to diktats of this kind. When you are a hostage to good. A prisoner of good. ... I leave the house with a suitcase and my school bag. I have been consigned to others. For my own good."

S. S. Proleterka will be my number #1 book of 2020. That is, unless I read another of Jaeggy's books and it displaces this short gem and pushes it to #2. I suspect that Proleterka resonates best with those of us whose childhoods and family experiences left us with a void that we cover well as we wander through the world, but that remains ever-present. Then again, anyone who loves language is likely to be equally besotted, even if he or she was raised by the most perfect, loving and encouraging of all parents.

I highly recommend the two reviews whose links are below. Thank you, Jan-Maat and Ilse, for bringing Proleterka to my attention.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Sample quotes follow:

"The man who says he is my father has understood that he must hold his peace. The silence of shadow. In his eyes a sweet and desolate expression. Toward the woman he calls his daughter. Toward things doomed to disappear."

"More pictures. Collectors have pictures everywhere. They do not let the walls breathe."

"His wife deprives herself of everything, even of herself. She has nibbled at her body, leaving the long teeth, when she shows them. She is withered, puritan and castigatory. She was the first person to observe Johannes’s daughter through the lens of contempt. She is abysmally polite. Hair gathered up into a lump, a chignon at the nape of her neck. Eyes dripping rapacious charity. Always kind."

"As if fallen from the talons of a bird of prey in flight, thoughts drop into our mind when we are convinced that we are not thinking."

"Parents are not necessary. Few things are necessary. Some children look after themselves. The heart, incorruptible crystal. They learn to pretend. And pretence becomes the most active, the realist part, alluring as dreams."

"He is not yet seventy years old. White hair, parted, straight. Pale, gelid eyes. Unnatural. Like a fairytale about ice. Wintry eyes. With a glimmer of romantic caprice. The irises of such a clear, faded green that they make you feel uneasy. It is almost as if they lack the consistency of a gaze. As if it were an anomaly, generations old."