Something about the literature of modernism and postmodernism

Прослушать или скачать Quizas, Quizas, Quizas бесплатно на Простоплеер

We live in the 21st century, in the era of postmodernism, and have the right to know what postmodernism, especially in literature, is. Postmodern literature was born in the second part of the 20^th century and characterizes nonclassical worldview of peoplLiterature of postmodernism would not exist without literature of modernism which refused from traditions and created the new vanguard directions: dadaism, surrealism, expressionism, cubism… Now we will try to understand better how today’s literature was formed.

An important place in the literature of modernism plays the theme of understanding the war and the lost generation which suffered the war and lost a part of itself. A really good German writer Erich Maria Remarque wrote a novel “Three comrades”. The following extract will say more then I can: “She died in the last hour of the night, before morning came. She died hard and no one could help her. She held my hand fast, but she did not know any longer that I was with her.

Suddenly someone said: "She is dead."

"No," I replied, "she is not dead yet. She is still holding my hand fast."

Light. Intolerable, harsh light. People. The doctor. Slowly I opened my hand. Pat's hand dropped down. Blood. A distorted, suffocated face. Tortured, fixed eyes. Brown, silky hair.

"Pat," said I. "Pat."

And for the first time she did not answer me.

"I'd like to be alone," said I.

"Shouldn't we first . . . ?" asked someone.

"No," said I. "Go out. Don't touch her."

Then I washed the blood from her. I was like wood. I combed her hair. She grew cold. I laid her in my bed and covered her with the bedclothes. I sat beside her and could not think. I sat on the chair and stared at her. The dog came in and sat with me. I watched her face alter. I could do nothing but sit vacantly and watch her. The morning came and it was she no longer.”

In its turn, Russian modernism bloomed thanks to the creation of Anna Akhmatova. She was a strong and independent woman, everyone loved her but maybe she loved nobody. Who knows?

I wrung my hands under my dark veil.. . 

"Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?" 

— Because I have made my loved one drunk 

with an astringent sadness. 

  

I'll never forget. He went out, reeling; 

his mouth was twisted, desolate . . . 

I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters, 

and followed him as far as the gate. 

  

And shouted, choking: "I meant it all 

in fun. Don't leave me, or I'll die of pain." 

He smiled at me — oh so calmly, terribly — 

and said: "Why don't you get out of the rain?" 

In the literature, modernism replaces classic novel. Instead of biography it began to offer literary interpretation of various philosophical, psychological and historical concepts, there was a new style called stream of consciousness, characterized by deep penetration into the inner world of the characters. In Britain it was represented by Virginia Woolf. Her artwork is as dramatic as her life. In March 1941, Woolf put on her overcoat, filled its pockets with stones, walked into the River Ouse near her home, and drowned herself. In her last note to her husband she wrote:

“Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.”

Another representative of the stream of consciousness literature is the French writer Marcel Proust. Proust believed that the most valuable thing is the past and in it is necessary to search for answers, because present becomes the past and the future is uncertain. He wrote a series of novels “In search of lost time”. Writer a few times in his life filled different questionnaires. Later they became known under the name of Proust questionnaire. Let’s hear some of his answers:

-         To what vices you feel forgiven? To privacy geniuses.

-         Where would you like to live? In the country of an ideal, or, more accurately, my ideal.

-         What is your favorite color? Beauty is not in the same color, but in their harmony.

-         What do you hate most? That evil that is in me.

-         How would you like to die? Becoming better than I am now, and loved ones.

Postmodern literature erased all previous literature boundaries and created a world of pieces. One of the representatives of postmodernism - Latino Gabriel Garcia hassle-free, non-psychological and even vulgar. They are wrong because Marquez is more philosophy than Tolstoy:

“Those sorts of men, who are doomed to a hundred years of solitude, not destined to appear on earth twice.”

“Aureliano avidly read the books sitting up late, however, listening to his opinions about the read, Gaston thought, reading books, Aureliano is not seeking to enhance their knowledge, but only looking for a verified already known to him truths.”

“Colonel Aureliano Buendia continued to believe and repeat if Remedios Lovely - the sanest person from everyone he knew, and that she proves it every step of her uncanny ability to spit on everyone and everything ...”

I would like to finish a brief survey of the literature of modernism and postmodernism with the story about a Japanese writer Haruki Murakami. His style is incredibly easy and conveys not the story but the inner experiences of the hero, for example, in “Hear the wind sing”: 

“The girl with only four fingers on her left hand, I never saw her again. When I went back to the town that winter, she did quit the record store and vacated her apartment. Then, in a flood of people and in the flow of time she vanished without a trace. When I go back to the town in the summer, I always walk down the street we walked together, sit on the stone stairs in front of the warehouse and gaze out at the sea. When I think I want to cry, the tears won’t come. That’s just how it is. Things pass us by. Nobody can catch them. That’s the way we live our lives.”