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MANEA, NORMANObsesia incertitudinii = The Obsession of Uncertainty: In Honorem Norman Manea / coord: Cella Manea, George Onofrei. – Ia[i: Polirom, 2011

ISBN: 978-973-46-2176-7

I. Manea, Cella (coord.) II. Onofrei, George (coord.)

821.135.1.09 Manea, N.929 Manea, N.

Printed in ROMANIA

Volum `ngrijit de Cella Manea [i George OnofreiEdited by Cella Manea and George Onofrei

POLIROM 2011

Gabriela Adame[teanu este una dintre celemai importante romanciere din România [i ovoce distinct\ `n cultura acestei ]\ri. Cel mairecent roman publicat este Provizorat (Polirom,2010). Dou\ dintre c\r]ile sale au fost traduse `nfrancez\ [i publicate de Editura Gallimard –Diminea]\ pierdut\/Une matinée perdue (2005)[i Drumul egal al fiec\rei zile/Vienne le jour (2009).

Homero Aridjis se num\r\ printre cei maiimportan]i scriitori ai Americii Latine, activistde pionierat `n domeniul mediului [i a fosttimp de dou\ mandate pre[edintele PEN In-ternational. Poezia [i operele de fic]iune aufost traduse `n 15 limbi. Aridjis a fost recom-pensat cu premii importante pentru literatur\,dar [i mediu, `n Mexic, Fran]a, Italia, StateleUnite ale Americii [i Serbia.

Chloe Aridjis este scriitoare. S-a n\scut `nStatele Unite, a crescut `n Olanda [i a locuit`n Mexico City, Berlin [i Oxford. Este fiicascriitorului [i diplomatului Homero Aridjis.

Leon Botstein este un important dirijor [i liderde institu]ii academice, o personalitate prestigioas\a culturii americane contemporane, cunoscutmai ales pentru programele sale inovative [iinteresul manifestat fa]\ de repertoriul con-temporan neglijat. ~n 1975 a devenitPre[edinte al Bard College `n New York, iar`n 1979 – Pre[edinte al Simon’s Rock Collegeof Bard. Botstein a fondat Bard MusicFestival, eveniment anual, care se concen-treaz\ pe opera unui singur compozitor.

Clémence Bouloque este romancier\ [i jurna-list\ francez\. A urmat studii la Science Po Paris [iESSEC, iar `n prezent este doctorand la New YorkUniversity. Este, de asemenea, un critic literar apre-ciat, scriind pentru Figaro littéraire [i Transfuge.

Robert Boyers este editorul trimestrialuluiSalmagundi, Tisch Professor de Arte [i Literela Skidmore College [i director al New YorkState Summer Writers Institute. Scrie cu regu-laritate despre literatura contemporan\ pentruThe New Republic.

Ian Buruma este din 2003 Henry R. LuceProfessor de democra]ie, drepturile omului [ijurnalism la Bard College `n New York. Acâ[tigat The Erasmus Prize `n 2008. Burumaeste un apreciat autor de romane [i c\r]i denon-fiction. Scrie cu regularitate la The NewYork Review of Books, The New York TimesMagazine, The New Yorker, Project Syndicate[i alte publica]ii culturale din Europa [i Asia.Mare parte din activitatea sa se concentreaz\asupra culturii asiatice, `n special aceea a sec-olului XX japonez.

Paul Cernat este lector universitar la Catedrade literatur\ român\ a Facult\]ii de Litere,Universitatea din Bucure[ti. Unul dintre criticiiimportan]i ai noii genera]ii, a publicat un marenumar de articole [i eseuri `n presa literar\.

Anteos Chrysostomides este coordonator al Departamentului de literatur\ str\in\ al

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Obsesia incertitudinii / The Obsession of Uncertainty

Contributori

Editurii Kastaniotis din Grecia [i este unuldintre cei mai cunoscu]i traduc\tori greci dinlimba italian\. ~n 2004, i-a fost decernat titlulde Cavaliere del Lavoro pentru munca sa depromovare a literaturii italiene `n str\in\tate.

Bernard Comment este scriitor elve]ian, tra-duc\tor [i editor. {i-a publicat primul roman,L’ombre de mémoire, `n 1990. A tradus `n lim-ba francez\ mai multe romane ale scriitoruluiitalian Antonio Tabucchi. Din 2004 este coordo-nator al seriei „Fiction & Cie“ a Editurii Seuil.

Sanda Cordo[ este critic [i istoric literar ro-mân. ~n prezent este [efa Catedrei de literatur\român\, teoria literaturii [i etnologie de la Fa-cultatea de Litere, Universitatea „Babe[-Bolyai“,Cluj-Napoca. Autoare a peste 170 de studii [iarticole `n revistele literare. ~n 2004 a publicatvolumul Ce rost are s\ mai citim literatur\?

Paul Cornea a fost Decan al Facult\]ii deLitere, Universitatea Bucure[ti, `ntre 1990 [i1993, iar `n prezent este profesor asociat laaceea[i facultate. Unul dintre cei mai impor-tan]i interpre]i ai fenomenului literar, autorula numeroase lucr\ri `n domenii precum teoria[i istoria literaturii, critic\ literar\, literatur\comparat\, specialist `n perioada preroman-tismului românesc [i a romantismului.

Daniel Cristea-Enache este conferen]iar univer-sitar la Facultatea de Litere a Universit\]ii Bucu-re[ti, consilier la Editura Polirom [i unul dintrecriticii importan]i ai noii genera]ii.

Marco Cugno este profesor de limba [i litera-tura român\ `n cadrul Facult\]ii de Limbi [iLiteraturi Str\ine, Universitatea din Torino. Tra-duc\tor al literaturii române `n limba italian\.Autor al eseului Norman Manea (Clown – il Ditta-tore e l’artista) (1995, 1999), a tradus [ase volumede Norman Manea.

Joseph Cuomo este directorul fondator alQueens College Evening Readings `n New York.

Virgil Duda a debutat cu volumul de nuvelePovestiri din provincie (1967), dup\ care a pu-blicat mai multe romane bine primite de critic\.Cel mai recent volum: Ultimele iubiri (Polirom,2008). S-a stabilit `n Israel `n 1988, devenindbibliotecar la Tel Aviv [i redactor la ziarele delimba român\ Via]a noastr\ [i Ultima or\.

Alexandre Fillon este critic literar [i jurnalistcultural francez. A primit `n 2009 Premiul Hen-nessy pentru jurnalism literar. Public\ texte `nLivres Hebdo, Madame Figaro, Lire [i Bretons.

Luca Formenton este editor, pre[edinte algrupului editorial Il Saggiatore, vicepre[edinteal Fondazione Arnoldo e Alberto Mondador.

Joaquín Garrigos este traduc\tor spaniol, aurmat studii de drept [i filologie hispanic\ laUniversitatea din Murica. A fost director alInstitutului Cervantes din Bucure[ti. A tradusdin limba român\ `n spaniol\ autori precumMircea Eliade, Emil Cioran, Liviu Rebreanu.Este traduc\tor al c\r]ilor lui Norman Manea`n limba spaniol\.

Reginald Gibbons este autorul a nou\ c\r]ide poezie (`ntre care Creatures of a Day, 2008),al unui roman, autor de eseuri, editor de carte.A tradus tragedie antic\ greac\ [i poezie mo-dern\ spaniol\ [i mexican\. Din 1981 pân\ `n1997 a fost editorul publica]iei TriQuarterly,gazeta literar\ a Departamentelor de englez\,limbi clasice [i spaniol\, portughez\ de la North-western University, al c\rui membru este.

Susan H. Gillespie este vicepre[edinte la BardCollege [i director al Institute for Interna-tional Liberal Education, ocupând anteriorfunc]ii la The New York Public Library [iNew York Zoological Society. Este de aseme-nea o cunoscut\ traduc\toare din german\.

Devis Grebu este un ilustrator român cu o ca-rier\ interna]ional\ impresionant\. Din 1964 alocuit `n Fran]a, ob]inând [i cet\]enia francez\.A expus atât individual, cât [i `n grup, `nFran]a, Germania, SUA, Elve]ia, China, Japonia, Italia, Israel, Belgia, Bulgaria,

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In honorem Norman Manea

Serbia, Polonia, Iran [i, dup\ 1995, [i `nRomânia. Ca ilustrator de pres\, a colaboratcu numeroase publica]ii, dintre care unele derenume interna]ional: The New York Times, TheWashington Post, International Herald Tribune,Le Monde, The Wall Street Journal,Frankfurter Allemegne Zeitung, Le Figaro,Forbes, Libération etc.

Jerome E. Groopman este Dina and RaphaelRecanati Professor of Medicine, Harvard MedicalSchool, director al Diviziei de Medicin\ Experi-mental\ a Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center.Colaboreaz\ la cele mai importante publica]iiculturale americane, precum The New Yorker, TheNew Republic, The New York Review of Books.

Edward Hirsch este câ[tig\tor al NationalBook Critics Circle Award, autor al multorvolume de poezie, `ntre care The Living Fire:New and Selected Poems. Este pre[edinte alGuggenheim Foundation.

Peter Hutton a produs peste 20 de filme, portretecinematografice mute ale ora[elor [i peisajelordin lumea `ntreag\. A predat art\ cinematogra-fic\ la Hampshire College, Harvard University,SUNY Purchase, `n prezent fiind Chairman alBard College Film and Electronic Arts Pro-gram, unde pred\ din 1984.

Edward Kanterian este lector `n filosofie laJesus College, University of Oxford. A primittitlul de doctor la University of Oxford cu otez\ care s-a concentrat pe rela]ia dintre limb\[i lume `n 2006. Este autorul volumului AnIntroduction to Analytic Philosophy (2004) [iare `n preg\tire c\r]i despre Kant [i Frege.

Michael Krüger este un poet german important[i are o contribu]ie important\ `n cadrul EdituriiCarl Hanser. Cele mai recente volume ap\rute:Aus dem Leben eines Erfolgsschriftstellerst (Scenesfrom the Life of a Best-selling Author, 1998),Das Schaf im Schafspelz (Satires from the Worldof Books, 2000) [i Wer das Mondlicht fängt(Catching the Moonlight, 2001).Tess Lewis este traduc\toare din german\ [i

francez\, Advisory Editor al The Hudson Review.~n 2009, a primit un grant al PEN TranslationFund pentru traducerea povestirilor lui AloisHotschnig, Maybe This Time, [i a beneficiatde un fellowship din partea NEA Translation.A scris despre literatura str\in\, printre altele,pentru publica]iile The New Criterion, TheHudson Review, World Literature Today, TheAmerican Scholar [i Bookforum.

Silviu Lupescu este editor, director general alEditurii Polirom din România. Din anul 2002este cadru didactic asociat la sec]ia de jurna-lism [i comunicare a Facult\]ii de Litere,Universitatea „Al.I. Cuza“ din Ia[i. A traduslucr\ri din domenii precum antropologie,economie politic\ [i beletristic\.

Claudio Magris este critic, jurnalist, roman-cier, traduc\tor, unul dintre cei mai importan]ioameni de litere europeni [i un excep]ionalexeget al culturii central [i est-europene. Volu-mul Danube a fost tradus `n peste 20 de limbi,iar Microcosms a primit `n 1997 Premio Strega.Noul s\u roman, considerat o capodoper\ laapari]ia sa `n Italia, se intituleaz\ Blindly.Magris pred\ la Universitatea din Trieste.

Rose Meerweim este absolvent\ a Facult\]iide Germanistic\ [i Literatur\ Comparat\ laFreie Universität Berlin, traduc\toare [i agentliterar. Din 1985 este proprietara [i directoa-rea Biroului Gracklauer de Investiga]ii arhi-vistice [i literare. Actualmente pensionar\.

Mercedes Monmany de la Torre este criticliterar, editor [i traduc\tor spaniol. Exeget\ aculturii central-est-europene, a fost membr\ anumeroase jurii pentru acordarea unor premiiliterare [i a comitete de selec]ie ale festivalurilor,face parte din boardul editorial al revistelor li-terare Sibila, Revista de Libros [i La Alegría delos Naufragios.

Gabriel Motola a predat literatura [i filmul caretrateaz\ tema Holocaustului la The New School,New York, [i scrie pentru The Nation Magazine. Este

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profesor emeritus, la City University of New York.Cea mai recent\ carte a lui Kenneth Murphy esteUnquiet Vietnam: A Journey to the VanishingWorld of Indochina. Este senior fellow al SmolnyCollegium, Universitatea din Sankt Petersburg[i director [i redactor-[ef al Project Syndicate.

Antonio Muñoz Molina a primit de dou\ oriPremio National de Literatura `n Spania. Câ[-tig\tor al Femina Prix `n Fran]a. Este membrucu drepturi depline al Royal Spanish Acade-my. Locuie[te la Madrid [i la New York.

Carmen Mu[at este eseist [i critic literar, confe-ren]iar universitar la Catedra de teoria literaturiidin cadrul Facult\]ii de Litere a Universit\]iiBucure[ti. Din 2000 este redactor-[ef als\pt\mânalului Observator Cultural.

Maria Nadotti este jurnalist\ [i scriitoare ita-lian\. Articolele sale trateaz\ teme culturale [iapar `n publica]ii precum Lapis, Il Sole 24 Ore,L’Unità, La Repubblica Donne y lo Straniero.Dintre c\r]ile publicate: Sesso & Genere,Scrivere al buio, Nata due volte.

Cynthia Ozick este câ[tig\toare a NationalBook Critics Circle Award, autoare a multoropere de fic]iune, `ntre care The Messiah ofStockholm, The Shawl, The PuttermesserPapers, Heir to the Glimmering World,Dictation [i, cel mai recent, Foreign Bodies.

Doru Pop este critic literar, eseist [i traduc\torromân. A absolvit Facultatea de Litere a Uni-versit\]ii „Babe[-Bolyai“ din Cluj-Napoca.

Philip Roth a câ[tigat `n 1997 Premiul Pulitzerpentru Pastorala american\, iar `n 2002 GoldMedal in Fiction, cea mai `nalt\ distinc]ie a Aca-demiei Americane, conferit\ anterior, printreal]ii, lui John Dos Passos, William Faulkner[i Saul Bellow. Roth este singurul scriitor `nvia]\ a c\rui oper\ va fi publicat\ `ntr-o edi]iecomplet\ [i definitiv\ de Library of America.Sarah Rothenberg a studiat pianul la Curtis

Institute of Music, Philadelphia [i YvonneLoriod-Messiaen `n Paris. Ca pianist, a oferitreprezenta]ii `n toat\ lumea, printre altele laConcertgebouw din Amsterdam. Din 1994este director artistic al Da Camera Houston [ipred\ la New School University `n New York.

Dieter Schlesak este unul dintre cei mai repu-ta]i poe]i [i prozatori germani. S-a n\scut `nRomânia, la Sighi[oara, `n 1934, iar din 1969s-a stabilit `n Germania [i, ulterior, `n Italia. Afost distins cu numeroase premii literare, iar `n2001 i s-a decernat premiul Funda]iei Schillerpentru `ntreaga sa oper\.

Eran Sela este poet israelian de origine român\,n\scut `n 1940 la Bârlad. Cel mai recent volumpublicat este Cruzimea detaliilor (2010).

Nava Semel este scriitoare israelian\, n\scut\la Jaffa. A publicat 17 c\r]i, pentru adul]i [i co-pii, piese de teatru [i librete de oper\, scenarii[i scurte povestiri. C\r]ile ei au fost traduse `nzece limbi [i au fost distinse cu premii inter-na]ionale. Romanul Râs de [obolan a ap\rutde curând `n versiune englez\.

Hannes Stein (n. 1965, München) este jurnalist [itr\ie[te la New York, autor al unor volume eseis-tice de superior umor. Un interviu cu NormanManea – „Gespräche im Exil“ – a fost publicatde Matthes & Seitz la Berlin. Urm\toarele c\r]iale sale au ap\rut `n limba român\: Cum m-aml\sat de gândit, Enciclopedia lucrurilor care m\sâcâie zilnic, Cum s\ ai `ntotdeauna dreptate.

Corina {uteu este directorul Institutului Cul-tural Român din New York. ~n 1995 a ini]iatprimul program regional de training `n dome-niul managementului cultural pentru profesio-ni[ti din estul Europei. A fost pre[edinte alEuropean Forum of Cultural Networks, alucrat intens ca trainer independent, consul-tant [i cercet\tor pe zona cooper\rii culturale,management [i politici culturale `n Europa.

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Antonio Tabucchi este unul dintre cei maicunoscu]i prozatori italieni. A fost profesor deliteratur\ portughez\ la universit\]ile din Bo-logna, Genova, Pisa [i Floren]a [i director alInstitutului Italian de Cultur\ de la Lisabona(1987-1989). Antonio Tabucchi a mai fostdistins cu Premiul PEN Clubului Italian, iar`n 1989, pre[edintele Portugaliei i-a conferitordinul „Do Infante Dom Henrique“.

Claudiu Turcu[ este doctorand al Univer-sit\]ii „Babe[-Bolyai“ din Cluj-Napoca.Subiectul tezei: Norman Manea. Variante laun portret. A fost `n 2010 rezident la BardCollege `n New York.

Ion Vianu (n. 1934, Bucure[ti), fiu al mareluicritic Tudor Vianu, a emigrat `n Elve]ia [i esteast\zi autor al unor romane de mare acuitatedespre grotescul tiraniei comuniste. A urmatstudii de filologie clasic\, iar ulterior medicin\. Apublicat `n str\in\tate articole [i studii privindistoria [i filosofia psihiatriei [i s-a distins ca

unul dintre colaboratorii constan]i ai postuluide radio Europa Liber\.

Leon Volovici este Head of Research la VidalSassoon International Center for the Study ofAntisemitism de la Hebrew University, Ierusa-lim. A f\cut cercet\ri `n domeniul literaturiiromâne [i al sociologiei `n România, `nainte dea se dedica studiului iudaismului `n EuropaCentral\ [i de Est. A emigrat `n Israel `n 1984.Este autorul unor studii [i volume de istorie [icritic\ literar\.

Monika Zgustová s-a n\scut la Praga, dar lo-cuie[te `n prezent la Barcelona. A publicat[apte c\r]i – romane, proz\ scurt\, o pies\ deteatru [i o biografie. Romanul s\u The SilentWoman (2005) a fost una dintre cele dou\ c\r]ifavorite la Premiul Na]ional pentru Proz\, acor-dat de Ministerul spaniol al Culturii. A tradus maimult de 50 de c\r]i de fic]iune din limbile rus\[i ceh\ atât `n spaniol\, cât [i `n catalan\.

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Gabriela Adame[teanu is one of Romania’smost prominent novelists and a significant voice inher country’s culture today. Her most recentlypublished novel is Provisional (Polirom, 2010).Two of her books have been translated into Frenchand published by Gallimard – Wasted Morning/Une matinée perdue (2005) and The IdenticalJourney of Every Day/Vienne le jour (2009).

Homero Aridjis is one of Latin America’simportant living writers, a pioneering envi-ronmental activist and two-term president ofInternational PEN. His poetry and fictionhave been translated into fifteen languagesand he has received important literary andenvironmental prizes in Mexico, France,Italy, USA, and Serbia.

Chloe Aridjis is a writer. She was born in theUnited States, grew up in Holland and lived inMexico City, Berlin and Oxford. She is thedaughter of writer and diplomat Homero Aridjis.

Leon Botstein is an important American con-ductor and leading academic, an important perso-nality of the contemporary American culture,particularly known for his innovative programsand interest in contemporary and neglected re-pertory. In 1975, he became President of BardCollege in New York and in 1979 president ofSimon’s Rock College of Bard. Botstein foundedthe annual Bard Music Festival, which alwaysfocuses on the work of a single composer.

Clémence Bouloque is a French novelist andjournalist. She studied at Science Po Paris and

ESSEC, and now she is a PhD at the New YorkUniversity. She is also an appreciated critic,writing for Figaro littéraire and Transfuge.

Robert Boyers is Editor of the quarterlySalmagundi, Tisch Professor of Arts andLetters at Skidmore College, and Director ofthe New York State Summer Writers Institute.He writes regurarly on contemporary literaturefor The New Republic.

Since 2003, Ian Buruma is Henry R. LuceProfessor of Democracy, Human Rights &Journalism at Bard College in New York. He haswon The Erasmus Prize in 2008. Buruma is animportant author of novels and non-fictionbooks. Regular contributor to The New YorkReview of Books, The New York Times Magazine,The New Yorker, Project Syndicate, and otherpublications in the Europe, and Asia. Muchof his work focuses on the culture of Asia,particularly that of 20th-century Japan.

Paul Cernat is a lecturer at the Romanian Li-terature Department at the Faculty of Letters,Bucharest University. One of the most impor-tant critics of the new generation, he publish-ed a great number of articles and essays in litterary journals.

Anteos Chrysostomides is Head of the ForeignLiterature Department of the Kastaniotis pu-blishing house in Greece. He is a well knowntranslator from Italian. In 2004 he receivedthe title of Cavaliere del Lavoro for his

Contributors

efforts in promoting the Italian literaturearound the world.

Bernard Comment is a Swiss writer, translatorand editor. He published his first novel, L’ombrede mémoire, in 1990. He has translated intoFrench several novels by the Italian writerAntonio Tabucchi. He has been in charge ofthe ‘Fiction & Cie’ section of the Seuil publish-ing house since 2004.

Sanda Cordo[ is a literary critic and histori-an. At the present time she is the coordinatorof the Romanian Literature, Theory of Litera-ture and Ethnology at the Faculty of Letters,‘Babe[-Bolyai’ University in Cluj-Napoca.She is the author of over 170 studies and arti-cles published in literary magazines.

Paul Cornea was Dean of The Faculty ofLetters at the University of Bucharest between1990 and 1993. At the present time he is As-sociate Professor of the same Faculty. One ofthe most important interpreters of the literaryphenomenon, author of many works in fieldsas theory and history of literature, literarycritic, comparative literature, specialist in theRomanian preromantic and romantic current.

Daniel Cristea-Enache is one of the most im-portant critics of the new generation, Professorat the Faculty of Letters, University of Bucha-rest, fiction editor at Polirom Publishing House.

Marco Cugno is Professor of Romanian Literature and Language at Faculty of Fo-reign Language and Literature, University of Turin. Cugno translates Romanian litera-ture in Italian. Author of the essay NormanManea (Clown – il Dittatore e l’artista)(1995, 1999), he translated six volumes byNorman Manea.

Joseph Cuomo is the Founding Director of theQueens College Evening Readings in New York.

Virgil Duda debuted with the short stories vo-lume Povestiri din provincie (1967). After this

he published several novels which were wellreceived by critics. Duda’s most recent volume:Ultimele iubiri (Polirom, 2008). He went toIsrael in 1988, where he became librarian atTel Aviv and editor at the Romanian languagenewspapers Via]a noastr\ and Ultima or\.

Alexandre Fillon is a French literay criticand journalist. He was awarded in 2009 withThe Hennesy Prix for literary journalism. Hisarticles are published by Livres Hebdo,Madame Figaro, Lire and Bretons.

Luca Formenton is a publisher, president ofIl Saggiatore Holding, vicepresident of Fon-dazione Arnoldo e Alberto Mondador.

Joaquín Garrigos is a Spanish translator. Hestudied Law and Literature at the Murica Uni-versity. He was the director of The CervantesInstitute in Bucharest. Garrigos translated fromRomanian into Spanish authors like Mircea Eliade,Emil Cioran, Liviu Rebreanu. He is the trans-lator of Norman Manea’s works in Spanish.

Reginald Gibbons is the author of nine booksof poems (including Creatures of a Day, 2008),a novel, essays, a number of edited books, andalso translations of ancient Greek tragedy andmodern Spanish and Mexican poetry. From 1981to 1997 he was the editor of TriQuarterly, aliterary journal published at Northwestern Uni-versity, where he is a member of the departmentsof English, Classics, and Spanish and Portuguese.

Susan H. Gillespie is Vice President at BardCollege and Head of the Institute for Inter-national Liberal Education, following posi-tions at The New York Public Library and theNew York Zoological Society. She is also well-known translator from German.

Devis Grebu is a Romanian illustrator with animpressive international career. Grebu held groupor individual exhibitions in France, Germany,United States of America, Switzerland, China,

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Japan, Italy, Israel, Belgium, Bulgaria, Serbia,Poland, Iran and (after 1995) Romania. As a pressillustrator, he published in various newspapersworldwide: The New York Times, The WashingtonPost, International Herald Tribune, Le Monde,TheWall Street Journal, Frankfurter AllemegneZeitung, Le Figaro, Forbes, Libération, etc.

Jerome E. Groopman, Dina and RaphaelRecanati Professor of Medicine, HarvardMedical School, Chief, Division of Exper-imental Medicine Beth Israel DeaconessMedical Center. He is a contributor of themost important American cultural magazinessuch as The New Yorker, The New Republic,The New York Review of Books.

Edward Hirsch is the National Book CriticsCircle Award-winning author of many volumesof poetry, including The Living Fire: New andSelected Poems. He is the President of theGuggenheim Foundation.

Peter Hutton has produced over twenty films, si-lent cinematic portraits of cities and landscapesfrom around the world. He has taught filmmakingat Hampshire College, Harvard University,SUNY Purchase and is currently Chairman ofThe Bard College Film and Electronic ArtsProgram where he has taught since 1984.

Edward Kanterian is lecturer in Philosophyat the Jesus College, University of Oxford. Hereceived his doctoral degree from Oxford Uni-versity with a dissertation on the relation be-tween language and the world in 2006. Heauthored An Introduction to Analytic Philo-sophy (2004) and has forthcoming books onKant and Frege.

Michael Krüger is an important Germanpoet, very much a part of Carl Hanser Verlag.His most recent publications were Aus demLeben eines Erfolgsschriftstellerst (Scenesfrom the Life of a Best-selling Author, 1998),Das Schaf im Schafspelz (Satires from theWorld of Books, 2000) and Wer das Mondlichtfängt (Catching the Moonlight, 2001).

Tess Lewis is a translator from German andFrench and an Advisory Editor of The HudsonReview. In 2009, she was awarded a PENTranslation Fund Grant for her translation ofAlois Hotschnig’s stories, Maybe This Time,and an NEA Translation Fellowship. She haswritten about foreign literature for The NewCriterion, The Hudson Review, World Litera-ture Today, The American Scholar, and Book-forum, among others.

Silviu Lupescu is a Romanian editor, generalmanager of Polirom Publishing House. He isAssociate Professor at the Journalism andCommunication Sciences Department of theFaculty of Letters, ‘Al.I. Cuza’ University inJassy. Silviu Lupescu translated into Romanianworks of antropology, economy and fiction.

Claudio Magris is a critic, journalist, novelistand translator, one of the most importantEuropean men of letters and an exceptionalexegete of the Central and East EuropeanCulture. Danube has been translated intomore than 20 languages and Microcosmsreceived the 1997 Premio Strega. His newnovel, acclaimed as a masterpiece on its ini-tial publication in Italy, is Blindly. He teachesat the University of Trieste.

Rose Meerweim studied at the Faculty ofGermanist and Comparative Literature at theFreie Universität Berlin. She is a translatorand literary agent. Since 1985 she has beenthe owner and manager of the GracklauerOffice of Archive and Literary Investigation.She is now retired.

Mercedes Monmany de la Torre is a Spanishliterary critic, editor and translator. An exegeteof the Central and East European Culture, shehas been a member of numerous literary prizejuries and festival selection committees, andis on the editorial board of the literary maga-zines Sibila, Revista de Libros and La Alegríade los Naufragios.

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Gabriel Motola teached literature and film ofthe Holocaust at The New School, New York andwrites for The Nation Magazine. He is a profes-sor emeritus at the City University of New York.

Kenneth Murphy’s latest book is UnquietVietnam: A Journey to the Vanishing World ofIndochina. He is currently a senior fellow ofSmolny Collegium, Saint Petersburg Univer-sity and also a director and editor-in-chief ofProject Syndicate.

Antonio Muñoz Molina has twice been award-ed the Premio National de Literatura in Spain.Winner of the Femina Prix in France. He isfull member of the Royal Spanish Academyand he lives in Madrid and New York.

Carmen Mu[at is essayst and literary critic,Professor at the Department of LiteratureTheory, Faculty of Letters at the University ofBucharest. Since 2000 she is the editor-in-chiefof the weekly Observator Cultural.

Maria Nadotti is an Italian journalist and writer.She writes cultural articles, published by Lapis,Il Sole 24 Ore, L’Unità, La Repubblica Donney lo Straniero. Among her books: Sesso & Genere,Scrivere al buio, Nata due volte.

Cynthia Ozick is the National Book CriticsCircle Award-winning author of many worksof fiction, including The Messiah of Stock-holm, The Shawl, The Puttermesser Papers,Heir to the Glimmering World, Dictation,and, most recently, Foreign Bodies.

Doru Pop is a Romanian literary critic, essayistand translator. He studied at the Faculty of Let-ters, ‘Babe[-Bolyai’ University in Cluj-Napoca.

Philip Roth won in 1997 the Pulitzer Prize forAmerican Pastoral and in 2002 The Gold Medal inFiction, the highest distinction of the AmericanAcademy, previously conferred, among others,to John Dos Passos, William Faulkner and Saul

Bellow. Roth is the only living writer whoseworks will be published in a definitive andcomplete edition by the Library of America.

Sarah Rothenberg received her education asa pianist at the Curtis Institute of Music andfrom Yvonne Loriod-Messiaen in Paris. As a solopianist, she has been performing all over the world,among other places at the Concertgebouw inAmsterdam. Since 1994, Rothenberg is also Ar-tistic Director of Da Camera Houston and teachesat the New School University in New York.

Dieter Schlesak is one of the most appreciatedpoets and novelists in Germany. He was bornin Romania, at Sighi[oara, in 1934. He movedto Germany in 1969 and after that in Italy. Hereceived many literary prizes and in 2001 hewas awarded the Schiller Foundation Prize forhis entire work.

Eran Sela is an Israelian poet originary fromRomania, born in Bârlad in 1940. The most recentvolume is Cruzimea detaliilor (2010).

Nava Semel is an Israeli writer, born in Jaffa. Shehas published seventeen books, for adults andchildren, and has written plays for the theatre,opera librettos, screenplays, and short stories.Her books have been translated into dozens oflanguages and she has won a number of inter

Corina {uteu is the director of the RomanianCultural Institute in New York. In 1995 sheinitiated the first regional training programmein cultural management for Eastern Europeanprofessionals. Formerly also president of theEuropean Forum of Cultural Networks, shehas worked extensively as independent train-er, consultant and researcher in the fields ofcultural cooperation and cultural managementand policies in Europe.

Antonio Tabucchi is one of the most faimousItalian novelists. Tabucchi was Professor ofPortuguese at the Bologna, Genoa, Pisa andFlorence Universities and director of the Italian

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Culture Institute in Lisbon (1987-1989). AntonioTabucchi also received the Italian PEN ClubPrize and in 1989 the Portuguese president of-fered him the order ‘Do Infante Dom Henrique’.

Claudiu Turcu[, PhD student at ‘Babe[-Bolyai’ University in Cluj-Napoca. His re-search project: Norman Manea. Variants to aportait. In 2010 he followed his residency atBard in New York.

Ion Vianu (b. 1934, Bucharest), the son of thegreat critic Tudor Vianu, emigrated in Switzer-land, and he is the author of several novelsabout the grotesque of the Communist tirany.He has published articles and studies on thehistory and philosophy of psychiatry in Ro-mania and abroad, and distinguished himselfas a regular contributor to Radio Free Europe.

Leon Volovici is Head of Research at the VidalSassoon International Center for the Study ofAntisemitism at the Hebrew University of Je-rusalem. He researched Romanian literature andthe sociology of culture in his native Romania be-fore turning to the study of Central and EasternEuropean Jewry. He emigrated to Israel in 1984.He published studies and volumes on historyand literary critic.

Monika Zgustová was born in Prague and livesin Barcelona. She has published seven books,including novels, short stories, a play, and abiography. Her novel The Silent Woman (2005)was one of the two runners-up for the NationalAward for the Novel, given by the SpanishMinistry of Culture. She has translated morethan 50 books of Russian and Czech fictionand poetry into both Spanish and Catalan.

~ntrebat cum a reu[it s\ men]in\ longevitatea uneic\snicii de peste 50 ani, fostul pre[edinte al Italiei,nonagenarul domn Ciampi, spunea: „Nu ne-amdus niciodat\ la culcare sup\ra]i.“

Cotidianul unui cuplu armonizat prin iubire [iprietenie `ng\duie, `ntr-adev\r, asemenea pre]ioa-se momente de `mp\care cu sine [i cu lumea. Câtdespre longevitatea unei c\s\torii, [tiu c\ mai multde jum\tate din via]a s\rb\toritului s-a petrecut `ncuplu [i c\ am fost, de-a lungul acestor decenii,c\s\torit\, de fapt, cu fiecare dintre b\rba]ii, nupu]ini, `n care Norman s-a `ntruchipat la diversevârste, adesea conflictuali [i imprevizibili, tot-deauna fascinan]i pentru mine, prin inteligen]\ [iumor, prin contrastul [i complementaritatea, atâtde personale, dintre vulnerabilitate [i tenacitate.Iubirea [i-a permanentizat evolu]ia [i iradierile`n prietenie, `n `nrudire fratern\.

A fost un mare noroc pentru mine s\-mi `mpartvia]a cu un om generos, gata s\ acorde aten]ie [ic\ldur\ celor din jur, a c\rui profund\ `n]elegerepentru condi]ia uman\ l-a plasat mereu de parteacelor `n primejdie sau suferin]\. {tiu c\ `i place s\considere drept calitate uman\ major\ „inima fier-binte [i mintea rece“ [i cred c\ aceasta este [i esen]atalentului sau literar. Vibra]ia afectiv\ din pagini-le sale este [i expresia cerebralit\]ii, la fel cumluciditatea [i scepticismul se modereaz\ afectiv.

Exist\ `n scrierile sale un halou muzical [i poe-tic care `[i g\se[te coresponden]e `n preferin]a sapentru muzica de camer\ [i marii ei compozitori,`n surdina liric\ din Proust sau Musil, `n felul cumabordeaz\, polifonic, a[ spune, memoria, dar [i`n alternan]ele, revenirile, secven]ele obsesive[i refrenul intim din compozi]ia textelor.

Dac\ „stilul e omul“, cum [tim, la Normanstilul exprim\ consecvent originalitatea, melan-colia, nelini[tea, c\ut\rile unei personalit\]iacute, de veghe la provoc\rile realit\]ii, impli-cat\, reflexiv\, interogativ\, dar [i disponibil\calamburului, [aradelor [i evaziunii.

Norman a venit `n cuplul nostru cu o sensi-bilitate greu `ncercat\ `nc\ din copil\rie [iintensitatea tr\irilor sale m-a `ntors spre origi-nile noastre comune [i spre `ntreb\rile funda-mentale pe care ni le pun [i repun frecvent.Aportul s\u spiritual a fost esen]ial `n lunganoastr\ existen]\ laolalt\, bogat\ `n `ncerc\ri [ibucuroas\ de frumuse]ea vie]ii [i a artei.Inefabilul [i-a avut mereu locul [i jocul `ntrenoi [i `n noi, dac\ ar fi s\-mi amintesc fie [inumai „scena travers\rii“ la ceasul de laUniversitate, evocat\ cu atâta emo]ie [i fine]e `n`ntâlnirea noastr\ bucure[tean\ din ~ntoarcereahuliganului.

Sper c\ intensitatea cu care Norman m-aobi[nuit s\ ne `nso]easc\ `nc\ mul]i ani `mpre-un\, s\ am parte de surprizele [i umorul cu carea `ncercat mereu, sear\ de sear\, s\ `nseninezeintrarea noastr\ `n somnul zilei care a trecut.

La mul]i ani, dragul meu!Cella

Sunt bucuroas\ s\-mi exprim gratitudineafa]\ de prietenul nostru Silviu Lupescu, directorulEditurii Polirom, care s-a aliat prompt [i entuziastini]iativei, [i domnului George Onofrei, a c\rui co-laborare a fost esen]ial\ `n editarea acestui volum.

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Cuvânt `nainteCCeellllaa MMaanneeaa

Cella si Norman Manea la Festivitatea Literary Lion, 1993

Cella and Norman Manea at the Literary Lion Festivity, 1993

On being asked how he had managed to maintainthe longevity of a marriage of more than fifty years,Mr Ciampi, the nonagenarian former Presidentof Italy, said: ‘We have never gone to bed angry.’

The everyday life of a couple in harmonythrough their love and friendship does indeedallow such precious moments of being at peacewith yourselves and with the world. As for thelongevity of a marriage, I know that the man weare celebrating has spent more than half his lifeas part of a couple and that for all these decadesI have been married to each of the men, no fewin number, in which Norman has been incarnat-ed at various times of life, men often conflictedand unpredictable, but always fascinating to me,thanks to their intelligence and humour, and thehighly personal contrast and complementarinessbetween vulnerability and tenacity. Love hasmade permanent its evolution and irradiationsin friendship and fraternal kinship.

I have been very lucky to share my life witha man who is generous and always ready to im-part his attention and warmth to those around him,a man whose deep understanding of the humancondition has always placed him on the side ofthose in danger or suffering. I know that he likesto think of ‘a warm heart and a cold mind’ as animportant human quality and I think that this isalso the essence of his literary talent. The affec-tive quality that vibrates in his work is also anexpression of the cerebral, just as lucidity andscepticism affectively moderate each other.

In his writing there is a musical and poeticaura that finds its counterpart in his preferencefor chamber music and its great composers, inthe muted lyricism of Proust or Musil, in theway in which he approaches memory polypho-nically, but also in the alternations, repetitions,obsessive sequences and intimate refrains thatare part of the composition of his texts.

If ‘style is the man’, as we know, then inNorman’s work style is a consistent expression oforiginality, melancholy, disquiet, the quests of anincisive personality, watchful of the challenges ofreality, involved, reflexive, questioning, but alsopartial to punning, charades and escapism.

Norman has brought to our life as a couple asensitivity which has sorely been put to the test eversince childhood, and the intensity of his experienceshas made me look back to our shared origins andthe fundamental questions they put to us time andtime again. His spiritual contribution has been es-sential in our long existence together, an existencerich in challenges and rejoicing in the beauty oflife and art. The ineffable has always found a placeand been at play between us and in us: I need onlyrecollect the ‘scene of crossing the street’ to theclock by the University, described with such feel-ing and finesse in the episode of our Bucharestmeeting in The Hooligan’s Return.

I hope that the intensity to which I have grownaccustomed thanks to Norman will continue toaccompany us for many more years to come, andthat I will continue to share in the surprises andhumour with which, every evening without fail,he brightens our entry into sleep.

Happy birthday, my dear!Cella

I am delighted to be able to express my gra-titude to our friend Silviu Lupescu, the director of thePolirom publishing house, who so promptly and en-thusiastically allied himself with Mr George Onofrei'sidea for this book and whose assistance was essentialin its publication. Likewise, I would also like to thankall those who wished to join us in paying this homage,writers with whom the man we are celebrating hasbeen in constant intellectual and affective contact.

[Translated from Romanian by Alistair Ian Blyth]

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ForewordCCeellllaa MMaanneeaa

© D

anilo

de

Marc

o

– 19 –


1936, 19 iulie. Norman Manea se na[te `n Buco-vina, la Burdujeni (Suceava), `n nord-estulRomâniei, fiul lui Marcu [i al Janetei. Tat\l estecontabil la fabrica de zah\r din I]cani, mama estecasnic\, dup\ ce lucrase mul]i ani `n libr\ria din Bur-dujeni a tat\lui ei, Avram (Abraham) Braunstein.Bunicul dinspre tat\, Buium (Benjamin) Manea,are o brut\rie `n Lespezi (F\lticeni). Nou-n\scutuleste `ngrijit `n casa p\rinteasc\ de Maria, o tân\r\]\ranc\ orfan\, crescut\ `n familia buniculuimatern, cu care copilul stabile[te o puternic\leg\tur\ afectiv\.

1941. Politica antisemit\ a guvernuluiAntonescu se accentueaz\, izbucne[te alDoilea R\zboi Mondial, România este aliataGermaniei naziste. Deportarea `ntregii po-pula]ii evreie[ti din Bucovina `n Transnistria.Bunicii din Burdujeni vor deceda `n primaiarn\ a deport\rii. ~mpreun\ cu familia Maneaeste deportat\ [i Ruti, o veri[oar\ din Roman,orfan\ de mam\, care va r\mâne pân\ lamaturitate `n noua ei cas\ parinteasc\. Mariaface `ncerc\ri disperate de a ajuta familiadeportat\, izbute[te s\ ajung\ `n Transnistria,`n ciuda primejdiilor [i a amenin]\rii cu jude-carea la Curtea Mar]ial\, [i se `ntoarce `n Româ-nia, definitiv marcat\ de aceast\ experien]\.

1944. Eliberarea de c\tre Armata Ro[ie. Fami-lia ajunge la Briceni (Basarabia), mai aproapede grani]a româneasc\. Norman este `nscris [ifrecventeaz\ clasa a II-a primar\ `n limba rus\,tat\l lucreaz\ la o banc\.

1945, 14 aprilie. Supravie]uitorii sunt repatri-a]i mai `ntâi la Ia[i, apoi `n localit\]ile pe carele aleg. Familia Manea este g\zduit\ `n casarudelor din F\lticeni.

1945, august. Mutarea la R\d\u]i. Norman vafrecventa clasele a III-a [i a IV-a la [coala pri-mar\ din localitate.

1947. Revenirea la Suceava. Maria este acumso]ia lui Victor Varasciuc, secretar PCR al ju-de]ului. Prima clas\ la Liceul Evreiesc dinSuceava.

1948. Reforma `nv\]\mântului desfiin]eaz\[colile particulare. Norman este transferat la{coala elementar\ nr. 1 din localitate. Na]io-nalizarea tuturor mijloacelor de produc]ie, apropriet\]ilor private. Consolidarea regimuluide partid unic.

1949. Primele `ncerc\ri lirice. Examen deadmitere la Liceul „{tefan cel Mare“.

1950-1954. ~n clasa a X-a, Norman Maneadevine, pentru un an, secretarul organiza]ieicomuniste de tineret (UTM). ~n 1952, devie-rea de stânga-dreapta (Pauker, Luca, TeohariGeorgescu), un nou val de teroare, resim]it [i`n [coal\. Tot mai tulburat de diferen]a dintreUtopie [i realitate, adolescentul se `ndep\rtea-z\ de idealul comunist. ~n 1953, moare Stalin,iar `n 1954, Norman absolv\ (cu diplom\ demerit) liceul [i este admis f\r\ examen laFacultatea de Hidrotehnic\ a Institutului deConstruc]ii din Bucure[ti.

NORMAN MANEA –ITINERAR BIOGRAFICÎÎnnttooccmmiitt ddee CCeellllaa MMaanneeaa && CCllaauuddiiuu TTuurrccuuss,

1959-1961. Absolvent al facult\]ii, inginer laSuceava (Direc]ia de sistematizare, arhitectur\[i proiectare `n construc]ii – DSAPC).

1961-1965. Inginer la Ploie[ti (Trustul deconstruc]ii, Institutul de proiect\ri petroliere).

~l cunoa[te la Ploie[ti pe Virgil Duda. Odat\cu mutarea la Bucure[ti intr\ `ntr-un cerc deprieteni literari: Lucian Raicu, Sonia Larian,Andrei Savu (Eran Sela), Valeriu Cristea, FlorinMugur, Sorin Titel, apoi Radu Petrescu,Mircea Iorgulescu, Paul Georgescu, GeorgeB\l\i]\, Magdalena Bedrosian [i, treptat,tinerii scriitori dintr-o nou\ genera]ie literar\.

1964. Moare Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, con-duc\torul timp de dou\ decenii al Partidului,`nlocuit cu Nicolae Ceau[escu, care promo-veaz\ ini]ial o deschidere spre Occident.

1965. Angajarea ca inginer proiectant princi-pal la IPROMET Bucure[ti.

1966. Debut `n Povestea vorbii, suplimentulliterar al revistei Ramuri, redactat de MironRadu Paraschivescu (cu schi]a Fierul de c\lcatdragostea) [i `n România literar\ (cu poves-tirea Nun]ile). ~n Povestea vorbii au debutatcâ]iva tineri scriitori care aveau s\ devin\ numemajore ale literaturii române contemporane.Suplimentul a fost asiduu atacat `n presa ofi-cial\ [i suprimat dup\ numai [ase numere.

1969. Debut editorial cu volumul de povestiriNoaptea pe latura lung\ (Editura pentru Lite-ratur\, Bucure[ti), prefa]at de Miron RaduParaschivescu.

C\s\toria cu Josette-Cella Boiangiu, stu-dent\ la universitatea Bucure[ti.

1969-1973. Cercet\tor [tiin]ific principal laInstitutul de Studii, Cercet\ri [i Proiect\ripentru Gospod\rirea Apelor (ISCPGA).

1970. Apare romanul Captivi (Cartea Româ-neasc\, Bucure[ti), o `ncercare de captare auniversului claustr\rii socialiste. De[i conside-rat\ de unii lectori cartea sa reprezentativ\, acestprim roman stufos [i codificat va fi judecat

ulterior cu scepticism de autor (vezi discursuldin 2008, la primirea titlului de Doctor HonorisCausa al Universit\]ii „Babe[-Bolyai“ dinCluj-Napoca) drept un imposibil transfer `nroman al viziunii traumatice, netranzitive dinpoezia lui Paul Celan.

1971. Tezele din Iulie. ~ncercarea de restalini-zare a culturii, dup\ vizita lui Ceau[escu `nChina [i Coreea.

1974. Romanul Atrium (Cartea Româneasc\,Bucure[ti): scrutarea op]iunilor ambigue aleunor tineri intelectuali, `n debutul lor socialconfuz sub autoritatea comunist\.

1975. Volumul de povestiri Primele por]i(Albatros, Bucure[ti), o selec]ie de proz\scurt\ v\zut\ ca un virtual Bildungsroman,dinspre tenebrele r\zboiului spre societateapostbelic\, `nchis\ [i opresiv\. Cenzura elimin\mai multe nara]iuni care vor fi incluse, ulteri-or, `n volumul Octombrie, ora opt.

1976. Romanul Cartea Fiului (Eminescu,Bucure[ti). Cele dou\ p\r]i (Simona [i August)ilustreaz\ dou\ tipuri de agresiune contra indi-vidualit\]ii: distrugerea moral\ prin presiuneadogmatic\ [i conspirativ\ (cu aluzii la cazulPatr\[canu) [i depersonalizarea cotidian\ `ntr-osocietate a suspiciunii [i supravegherii.

C\l\torie `n Israel, dup\ mul]i ani de res-pingere a cererii de pa[aport.

1977. Romanul Zilele [i jocul (Cartea Româ-neasc\, Bucure[ti): cotidianul v\zut prinlentilele unui lector juvenil al `ntreb\rilor [iderutelelor existen]ei.

1979. Prima c\l\torie `n Occident. ~ntâlnireala Paris cu reprezentan]i ai exilului românesc:Monica Lovinescu [i Virgil Ierunca, PaulGoma [i Eugène Ionesco, Edgar Reichmann,Sebastian Reichmann, Alain Paruit, Mona}epeneag, Marie-France Ionesco. Este preluatde agen]ia literar\ Liepman din Zürich (EvaKoralnik). Vizit\ `n Italia, unde Cella Maneaavea o burs\ de studii.

– 20 –


– 21 –


Apare, `n aceast\ prim\ perioad\ confuz\ de„desfii]are a cenzurii“, volumul Anii de uce-nicie ai lui August Prostul, un eseu-roman,colaj de citate din presa „obsedantului dece-niu“ stalinist [i post-stalinist, fragmente dejurnal, scrisori, note de lectur\ alegoricedespre „via]a furnicilor“. O imagine grotesc\,burlesc\ [i anxioas\ a cotidianului totalitar,dar [i a solidarit\]ii tainice dintre scriitor [icititorul s\u.

1981. Volumul Octombrie, ora opt (Dacia,Cluj-Napoca), extindere a volumelor de proz\scurt\ anterioare.

Interviul luat de Gheorghe Grigurcu [ipublicat `n revista or\dean\ Familia (nr.12/1981) produce primele reac]ii ostile,calomnioase, `n revista na]ionalist\S\pt\mâna.

1982. O insistent\ campanie contra interviuluidin Familia [i a volumului proasp\t ap\rut sedesf\[oar\ `n revistele na]ionaliste de partid(Flac\ra, S\pt\mâna, Luceaf\rul).

1983. Scriitorii români de limb\ german\ Paul Schuster [i Dieter Schlesak, stabili]i `n Germania de Vest, entuziasma]i deOctombrie, ora opt, `ncearc\ s\ promovezetraducerea [i publicarea volumului `nGermania. Paul Schuster ì scrie, `n acestsens, o scrisoare lui Heinrich Böll, anexândfragmente din povestiri, traduse `n german\.R\spunsul lui Böll const\ `ntr-o patetic\scrisoare de sus]inere a autorului român c\treSocietatea Orient-Occident pe care o `nfiin]ase.Böll solicita publicarea urgent\ a c\r]ii (volu-mul va ap\rea `n Germania abia `n 1987, f\r\leg\tur\ direct\ cu acest demers).

1984. ~n Vatra (nr. 3/1984) apare Scrisoaredeschis\ c\tre Ernesto Sábato, receptat\ cuentuziasm de marele scriitor argentinian.Textul sugereaz\ o rela]ie de profunzime `ntresinistra dictatur\ militar\ din Argentina (re-flectat\ literar `n Despre eroi [i morminte [i

~ngerul `ntunericului) [i universul tenebros [icorupt al socialismului balcanic [i bizantindin România.

Volumul de eseuri Pe contur (Cartea Ro-mâneasc\, Bucure[ti).

1985. Debut occidental `n prestigioasa revist\literar\ Akzente din München (nr. 2/1985) cupovestirea Der Pullover (Puloverul), `n tra-ducerea lui Paul Schuster.

1986. Juriul interna]ional DAAD (Serviciulgerman de schimburi culturale) ì acord\ luiNorman Manea o burs\ de un an `n BerlinulOccidental.

Dup\ istovitoarea lupt\ cu cenzura, apareromanul Plicul negru (Cartea Româneasc\,Bucure[ti), primit elogios `n principalelereviste literare.

~n drum spre Washington, `ntr-o vizit\ defamilie la sora Cellei, Ania Shapiro, Norman [iCella Manea se opresc `n Berlinul Occidental,unde biroul DAAD le arat\ scrisoarea de in-vita]ie pentru burs\, `ntoars\ din România cu[tampila „necunoscut“.

Juriul Uniunii Scriitorilor, `ntrunit cu doi ani`ntârziere, din cauza presiunilor de partid, pre-miaz\ volumul Pe contur. Consiliul Culturii [iEduca]iei Socialiste anuleaz\ premiul acordatlui Norman Manea, situa]ie f\r\ precedent `ncei 40 ani de adminstrare de c\tre partidulcomunist a culturii. Scriitorul protesteaz\, dinWashington, printr-o scrisoare c\tre Pre[edin-tele Uniunii Scriitorilor.

Dup\ o [edere de o lun\ `n capitala ameri-can\, Norman [i Cella se `ntorc la Berlin, undevor fi g\zdui]i pentru anul 1987 `n aparta-mentele DAAD de pe Storckwinkel 14.

1987. Norman Manea ì scrie de la Berlin luiPhilip Roth, propunându-i publicarea antologiei deproz\ scurt\ româneasc\ contemporan\ Arhipe-lag (Eminescu, Bucure[ti, 1981) `n colec]iaamerican\ Writers from the other Europe`ngrijit\ de celebrul scriitor.

Apare la editura Steidl din Göttingen volumulRoboterbiographie und andere Erzählungen,

Norman `n bra]ele mamei, `n fa]alibr\riei bunicului din Burdujeni. ~n fundal, ziarele epocii

Norman in his mother’s arms, in front of hisgrandfather’s bookshop in Burdujeni. In thebackground: newspapers of that period

P\rin]ii, Janeta [i Marcu Manea,dup\ c\s\torie

The author’s parents, Janeta andMarcu Manea, after theirmarriage

Absolvent al Liceului „{tefan celMare“, Suceava, 1954

As a graduate of the Stephen theGreat Lycée, Suceava, 1954

In the army, as a student, with hisclose friend Imanuel Idelovici

~n armat\, ca student, cu bunul s\uprieten Emanuel Idelovici

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care con]ine o parte din Octombrie, ora opt.Volumul se bucur\ de o excelent\ primire `npresa de limb\ german\ [i va fi republicat `n anulurm\tor. Acest succes va fi esen]ial `n evolu]iatraducerilor din opera scriitorului `n Occident.

Prelegere [i lectur\ la DAAD Berlin [i laBiblioteca de Stat din Köln.

1988. Prelegere la Universitatea din Strasbourg.Burs\ Fulbright la Catholic University din

Washington, D.C., la recomadarea profesoru-lui Virgil Nemoianu.

Moare `n România, la Suceava, mama scrii-torului, tat\l s\u depune cerere de emigrare `nIsrael. Norman Manea se `ntâlne[te la NewYork cu Philip Roth, debutul unei prietenii delung\ durat\.

1989. Norman se mut\ la New York, undeCella este angajat\ la o companie de restau-rare. Se `ntâlne[te la New York cu scriitoareaMary McCarthy, profesoar\ la Bard College,care va propune invitarea sa la acest colegiu,cunoscut pentru sprijinul acordat creativit\]iiartistice. Colegiul Bard `i acord\ o burs\ `n ca-drul programului de sprijinire a „scriitorilor [iarti[tilor care nu se pot exprima liber `n ]ara lor.“

Apar Fenster zur Arbeiterklasse (SteidlVerlag, Göttingen) [i Leergeld (Meulenhoff,Amsterdam).

Particip\ la Congresul Interna]ional PENde la Maastricht, unde propune, prin delega]iaamerican\, o mo]iune de sprijin al scriitorilor[i ziari[tilor români aresta]i [i tracasa]i la Bucu-re[ti. Particip\ la Congresul PEN-ului Germanla Köln [i la conferin]a „Central Europe at theCross Road“ la City University of New York.

Prelegere la Literarisches Colloquium `nBerlinul Occidental.

Mi[c\ri de protest `n Europa de Est, c\de-rea regimului Ceau[escu. Norman Maneacomenteaz\ la Televiziunea american\ eveni-mentele din România.

1989-1992. Bursier la Bard College.

1990. Sear\ literar\ la PEN American Center (subtitlul „Cuvântul ca arm\“) – dedicat\ literaturiiromâne – unde Norman Manea particip\al\turi de Matei C\linescu, Nina Cassian [iAndrei Brezianu.

Prelegere la Binghamton University (NY),University of Illinois, University of Hartford.

Apar Ottobre, ore otto (Sera e Riva, Mon-dadori, Milano) [i Le thé de Proust (AlbinMichel, Paris), Der Trenchcoat (Steidl Verlag,Göttingen), Training fürs Paradies (SteidlVerlag, Göttingen).

Particip\ la Salon du Livre (Paris), se `n-tâlne[te cu Emil Cioran, cu care fusese `ncoresponden]\, particip\ la conferin]ele inter-na]ionale „Eastern Europe and Nationalism“(Bard College, cu o Key-Note Address deAndrei Siniavski), „Redefining Europe“(Atlantic CEO, Washington, D.C.), „North-South-East-West“ (Milano), „The WheatlandConference on Literature“ (San Francisco) [i,de asemenea, la marea `ntâlnire interna]ional\ aintelectualilor „La Experiencia de la Libertad“organizat\ `n Mexico City (printre participan]iaflându-se Octavio Paz, Mario Vargas Llosa,Czesław Miłosz, Tatiana Tolstaia, IvanKlíma, Adam Michnik, Tadeusz Mazowiecki,Leszek Kołakowski, Jean-François Revel,Irving Howe, Ágnes Heller, Daniel Bell,Cornelius Castoriadis, Enrique Krauze etc.).Acest extraordinar eveniment politic [i culturala fost violent atacat `n presa mexican\ destânga, fiind numit „noul congres fascist alintelectualilor“.

1991. Prelegere la Indiana University.Apare Le bonheur obligatoire (Albin Michel,

Paris), El Impermeable (Vuelta, Mexico City).Particip\ la simpozionul interna]ional „Dias-pora Estului dup\ Perestroika“ (Madrid).Publicarea `n num\rul din 5 august 1991 alrevistei The New Republic din Washington,D.C. a recenziei-eseu (Happy Guilt) desprevolumele memorialistice ale lui Mircea Eliade(reluat\ prompt, de[i f\r\ autorizarea autorului,

de revista 22 din Bucure[ti) stârne[te o reac]ieviolent\ imediat\ `n presa din România care vacontinua mocnit mai bine de un deceniu [i alec\rei ecouri nu s-au stins cu totul. Discutareaonest\ a „culpei fericite“ a c\rturaruluiromân, ca [i a altor confra]i ai s\i, `n rela]ia cutotalitarismul de stânga [i de dreapta se blochea-z\ `ntr-un provincialism dogmatic [i inhibat,`nc\rcat de opacit\]i [i falsuri conjuncturale.Revigorarea na]ionalismului [i a sloganelorinterbelice ale dreptei române[ti imediat dup\1989 deviaz\ dezbaterea Eliade de la rigoareaunei reale puneri `n chestiune [i `n con[tiin]\a dilemelor de ieri [i de azi ale intelectualit\-]ii române[ti.

1992. Prelegere la Columbia University.Apar October, Eight O’Clock [i On Clowns:

the Dictator and the Artist (Grove Press, NewYork), Het verhoor (Meulenhoff, Amsterdam),Una ventana hacia la clase trabajadora (GrupoLibro, Madrid), Trennwand (Steidl Verlag, Göt-tingen), October, Eight O’Clock (Quartet, Londra).

Invitat de onoare la Congresul Interna]ionalPEN din Rio de Janeiro.

Particip\ la conferin]ele interna]ionale„Intellectuals and Social Change in Central-Eastern Europe“ (Rutger University), unde `l`ntâlne[te pe Saul Bellow, „Eastern Literature –New Bounds for New Borders (Torino), „Guar-dians of Dissent“ (Amsterdam), „Translationas Cultural Transmission“ (Bard College).

Prime[te Bursa Guggenheim [i PremiulFunda]iei MacArthur (considerat Nobelulamerican). I se permanentizeaz\ angajarea caprofesor de literatur\ la Bard College.

1993. ~ntrunirea laurea]ilor PremiuluiMacArthur la Chicago.

Apare Compulsory Happiness (Farrar,Straus & Giroux, New York).

Norman Manea prime[te medalia LiteraryLion a Bibliotecii de Stat din New York [iThe National Jewish Book Award (pentruvolumul On Clowns).

1994. Lectur\ [i dezbatere la Queens College(NY) [i la Universitatea din Roma. Apare Unparadiso forzato (Feltrinelli, Milano), Octubrea las ocho (EMECE, Madrid-Buenos Aires),On Clowns: the Dictator and the Artist(Faber & Faber, Londra).

La Bard College i se atribuie catedra„Francis Flournoy Professor in EuropeanCulture and Studies“ [i titlul de „Writer inresidence“.

1995. Lectur\ la Skidmore College (NY).Apar The Black Envelope (Farrar, Straus &

Giroux), The Black Envelope (Faber & Faber,Londra), Clowns (Il Saggiatore, Milano), DerSchwarze Briefumschlag (Hanser Verlag,München), Obligatorisk Lykke (GeelmuydenKiese, Oslo).

1996. ~ntâlnire cu studen]ii [i profesorii laUniversity of Texas, lectur\ [i dezbatere laSkidmore College (NY) [i la NorthwesternUniversity.

Apare Oktober, She Shmoneh (Schocken,Tel Aviv).

Particip\ la dezbaterea „The Artist and theState“ (New School for Social Research, NY).

Revista clujean\ Steaua `l aniverseaz\ peNorman Manea la cei 60 de ani prin articolelelui Virgil Nemoianu, Liviu Petrescu, LucianRaicu [i Matei C\linescu.

1997. ~l `nso]este pe Leon Botstein, pre[edin-tele colegiului Bard, la Bucure[ti, unde acestadirijeaz\ dou\ concerte la Ateneu. Refuz\contactele publice la Bucure[ti, dar viziteaz\la Cluj-Napoca Universitatea „Babe[-Bolyai“,Asocia]ia Scriitorilor condus\ de prietenul s\uLiviu Petrescu [i acord\ un interviu televiziuniilocale. La Suceava se reculege la mormântulmamei. Prime[te Premiul Bucovina.

Apar `n România primele sale c\r]i de dup\exil: Octombrie, ora opt [i Despre Clovni: Dic-tatorul [i Artistul, ambele la Editura BibliotecaApostrof din Cluj-Napoca.

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In Honorem Norman Manea

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1998. Über Clowns (Hanser Verlag, München),Ha’maatafa Ha’shova (Schocken, Tel Aviv-Jaffa).

Particip\ la Conferin]a interna]ional\ ascriitorilor evrei (San Francisco) [i la confe-rin]a interna]ional\ „Culture and the market“(Institute for Humanities, Viena).

Apari]ia `n revista The New Republic (20aprilie 1998) a recenziei-eseu The Incompa-tibilities despre Jurnalul lui Mihail Sebastianprovoac\ la Bucure[ti iritarea unor intelectualide prestigiu, angaja]i deja `n polemici aprigedespre „suprema]ia“ dintre Holocaust [i Gulag,scandalul Garaudy, genera]ia ’27 [i despre„monopolul evreiesc al suferin]ei“, la care serefer\ `ntr-un editorial directorul revistei Ro-mânia literar\, Nicolae Manolescu. NormanManea r\spunde prin publicarea `n revista 22(nr. 23/1998) a traducerii textului american,urmat\ de un post-scriptum (Lectura infidel\)`n care respinge acuza]iile care i se aduc. Urmarea public\rii acestui r\spuns, doi mem-bri de marc\ ai consiliului revistei, MonicaLovinescu [i Virgil Ierunca, `[i dau demisia,iar revista România literar\ va institui o„carantin\“ riguroas\ asupra numelui Norman Manea.

1999. Invitat la o dezbatere la Hebrew Uni-versity (Ierusalim) despre via]a [i opera sa.Apare Den Sorte Konvolut (Geelmuyden Kiese,Oslo), Casa melcului (Hasefer, Bucure[ti).

Autorul particip\ ca invitat de onoare laTârgul de carte de la Ierusalim, unde i se de-dic\ o sear\ literar\ [i iau cuvântul, printreal]ii, pre[edintele Shimon Peres, scriitorulAharon Appelfeld [i profesorul Moshe Idel.La rândul s\u, scriitorul intervine `n cadruldezbaterii „The best book of the century“,optând pentru Metamorfoza lui Kafka.

~n cadrul programului „Words and Images“,ini]iat, `nregistrat [i arhivat de Jerusalem Li-terary Project [i dedicat celor mai importan]iscriitori evrei contemporani, este intervievatde Leon Volovici [i `l intervieveaz\ pe SaulBellow. Introduce la Bard College cursul

„Contemporary Masters“, la care vor coparticipaPhilip Roth, Saul Bellow, José Saramago,Aleksandar Tišma, Cynthia Ozick, EdnaO’Brien, Antonio Tabucchi, Claudio Magris,Orhan Pamuk, Ismail Kadare, Mario VargasLlosa, Antonio Muñoz Molina, NurrudinFarah, Tahar Ben Jelloun.

2000. Lectur\ la Skidmore College (NY).Apar Pazdziernik, godzina ósma [i O

klownach (Fundacja Pogranicze, Sejny), OMauros Fakelos (Kastaniotis, Atena) [i Elsobre negro (Metáfora, Madrid).

2001. Apare El sobre negro (Alfaguara,Mexico City).

~ntâlnire la Budapesta cu Béla Király,eroul militar al revolu]iei maghiare din 1956.Particip\ la Târgul de carte de la Var[ovia.

2002. Lectur\ [i dezbatere la SkidmoreCollege (NY).

Prime[te prestigiosul premiu literar Nonino(Italia).

2003. Apari]ie simultan\ (Bucure[ti/New York):The Hooligan’s Return (Farrar, Straus &Giroux), ~ntoarcerea huliganului (Polirom).

Apar Peri Gelôpotoiôn (Agra, Atena),Upochreôtikê Eudaimonia (Agra, Atena), A diktátor és a muvész (Európa, Budapesta),Plicul negru (Cartea Româneasc\, Bucure[ti).Norman Manea particip\ la Târgul de carte de laIerusalim, unde Editura Polirom lanseaz\ ver-siunea româneasc\ a ~ntoarcerii huliganului.

2004. Dialog despre via]a [i opera sa cu AntonioTabucchi la Universitatea din Siena (Italia),dezbatere la Funda]ia Primo Levi (Genova,Italia), lectur\ la Libr\ria Feltrinelli din Roma.

Die Rückkehr des Hooligan (Hanser Verlag,München), Il Ritorno dell’Huligano (Il Saggia-tore, Milano), Clowns (Il Saggiatore, Milan).

Particip\ la Târgul de carte de la Leipzig,la Festivalul literar de la Praga, la Conferin]a

Cella and Norman, after their marriage

Cella [i Norman, dup\ c\s\torie

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„Cervantes 400“ (NY State Library). Vizitea-z\ mormântul lui Kafka `n cimitirul evreiescdin Praga.

2005. El Regreso del Húligan (Tusquets, Bar-celona). Particip\ la Festivalul literar PEN dinNew York, la Festivalul literar berlinez, simpo-zionul DAAD („Europa erzählt“), conferin]a„Nexus“ despre democra]ie (Amsterdam).Prime[te Premiul Holzbrinck al AcademieiAmericane din Berlin (cu o [edere de patru lunila Academie) [i Premiul Napoli pentru proz\.

2006. Le retour du Hooligan (Seuil, Paris),Payasos – El dictator y el artista (Tusquets,Barcelona), De terugkeer van de hooligan(Meulenhoff, Amsterdam), Plicul negru (Poli-rom, Ia[i), Textul nomad (Hasefer, Bucure[ti), Laquinta impossibilità (Il Saggiatore, Milano).

Finalist al Premiului Femina [i laureat al pres-tigiosului premiu francez Médicis Étranger.Premiul Anfora [i premiul Lux Mundi (Italia)[i premiul Radio România Cultural.

Este ales membru al Academiei de Arte dinBerlin; de asemenea, membru al juriului Nonino.

Discu]ie public\ `ntre Salman Rushdie, OrhanPamuk [i Norman Manea la Queens College,New York, despre limb\, creativitate si exil.

2007. Prelegere la Institutul Cervantes din Madrid.L’heure exacte (Seuil, Paris), Felicidad

obligatoria (Tusquets, Barcelona,), The BlackEnvelope, On Clowns, The Hooligan’s Return(New Star, Beijing), La llengua nòmada(Arcadia, Barcelona), Oktober, Acht Uhr(Hanser Verlag, München).

Finalist al Premiului Latinit\]ii.Este decorat cu Ordinul Meritul Cultural `n

grad de comandor de c\tre Pre[edintele Româ-niei. Particip\ la simpozionul despre populismorganizat la Barcelona.

2008. Ini]ierea seriei de autor de la EdituraPolirom: ~ntoarcerea huliganului, Vorbindpietrei, ~naintea desp\r]irii. Convorbire cu

Saul Bellow – Un proiect Words & Images,Sertarele exilului – Dialog cu Leon Volovici.Chuligánův návrat (Havran, Praga), ShuvuShel Hahooligan (Nimrod, Tel-Aviv).

Vizit\ `n România, `mpreun\ cu AntonioTabucchi [i Orhan Pamuk. To]i trei primesctitlul de Doctor Honoris Causa al Universit\]iidin Bucure[ti (Norman Manea [i pe cel alUniversit\]ii „Babe[-Bolyai“ din Cluj-Napoca).

Scriitorul vorbe[te la universit\]ile dinBucure[ti [i Cluj-Napoca, Muzeul Literaturii,Grupul de Dialog Social, ICR Bucure[ti [iBiblioteca din Sibiu. O c\l\torie organizat\ de Polirom `i duce pe Manea [i pe Tabucchi,`mpreun\ cu so]iile lor, prin Bucovina [i peste mun]i, la Sibiu.

Are loc lansarea la Bucure[ti [i la Târgul decarte de la Frankfurt a primelor cinci volumedin seria de autor de la Polirom. La evenimen-tul de la Frankfurt particip\ [i editorii scriitoru-lui din Germania, Spania, Italia, Turcia,Grecia, Israel.

Premiul URSUS pentru literatur\ acordatla Bucure[ti.

„An evening with Norman Manea“ laMuzeul Beaubourg (Paris), `ntr-un dialog cuClémence Boulouque. Participare la ColocviulTabucchi (Abbaye de Fontevraud, Fran]a).

2009. Prima di andarsene (Il Saggiatore,Milano), L’enveloppe noire (Seuil, Paris), Dezwarte envelop (Meulenhoff, Amsterdam),Powrót chuligana (Fundacja Pogranicze,Sejny), Ekim, saat sekiz (Metis, Istanbul).

Particip\ la Târgul de carte de la Istanbul,la dezbaterea de la ICR Tel-Aviv, la Conferin-]a interna]ional\ Kisufim de la Ierusalim.

Prime[te Premiul pentru literatur\ al Iuda-ismului Francez [i este finalist al PremiuluiPríncipe de Asturias (Spania). ~i sunt decer-nate, de asemenea, premiul Opera Omnia alrevistei Observator Cultural din Bucure[ti [imedalia Commandeur dans l’Ordre des Artset des Lettres oferit\ de guvernul francez.

Apare romanul Vizuina (Polirom, Ia[i).

Anii '’60, tân\r inginer

As a young engineer in the '60s

Norman, ajuns la Washington,D.C., `n bra]ele lui Einstein, 1988

Norman in the arms of Einstein,after his arrival in WashingtonD.C., 1988

With Octavio Paz, in Mexico, at the ‘La Experiencia de laLibertad’ conference, 1990

Cu Octavio Paz, `n Mexic, la conferin]a „La Experienciade la Libertad“, 1990

Cu Sir Vidia Naipaul, pre[edinteleJuriului Nonino, la primireapremiului, 2002

With Sir Vidia Naipaul, president ofthe Nonino Jury, at the AwardCeremony, 2002

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2010. El té de Proust (Tusquets, Barcelona),Epistrophê tou chouligkan (Kastaniotis, Atena),Holigan in Dönü[ü (Metis, Istanbul), O regressodo Hooligan (Asa, Lisabona), Curierul de Est.Dialog cu Edward Kanterian (Polirom, Ia[i),Laptele negru (Hasefer, Bucure[ti).

Particip\ la Conferin]a interna]ional\ „Sefar-zii din Balcani“ la Institutul Sefarad din Ma-drid, la Târgul de carte Gaudeamus, ca invitatal ambasadorului Fran]ei la Bucure[ti, [i laTârgul de carte de la Salonic. Ia parte la o lec-tur\-dezbatere despre ~ntoarcerea huliganului(Atena) [i la {edinta sec]iei de literatur\ [idezbaterile `n plen ale Academiei de Arte dinBerlin.

I se acord\ titlul de cet\]ean de onoare aljude]ului Suceava.

2011. ICR Viena `i dedic\ o sear\ de dialogpublic, autorul acord\ la Paris [i Roma inter-viuri legate de apari]ia volumelor La tanière(Seuil, Paris) [i Il refugio magico (Il Saggia-tore, Milano). Apare Octombrie, ora opt `ntraducerea greac\ (Oktôbrês ochtô to prôi) laEditura Kastaniotis din Atena.

Particip\ la Festivalul literar de la Roma [i laun dialog public cu Paul Bailey (Londra) organi-zat de ICR Londra [i Royal Society of Literature.

Gespräch im Exil (Matthes & Seitz, Berlin),Fericirea obligatorie (Polirom, Ia[i).

© D

anilo

de

Marc

o

– 31 –


1936, 19 July. Norman Manea is born inBurdujeni (county of Suceava), in the histori-cal region of Bukovina (north-eastern Ro-mania), the son of Marcu and Janeta Manea.His father is an accountant at the sugar facto-ry in I]cani. His mother is a housewife, ha-ving previously worked for many years in thebookshop of her father, Avram (Abraham)Braunstein. His paternal grandfather, Buium(Benjamin) Manea, owns a bakery in Lespezi(F\lticeni). The newborn is looked after byMaria, a young peasant woman, who was anorphan raised by his maternal grandfather,and with whom the child establishes a strongemotional bond.

1941. The anti-Semitic policies of theAntonescu regime worsen. Romania alliesitself with Nazi Germany in the SecondWorld War. The entire Jewish population ofBukovina is deported to Transnistria.Norman’s grandparents from Burdujeni willdie during the first winter of deportation. Along with the Manea family, also deportedis Ruti, a cousin from the town of Roman, or-phaned after the death of her mother, who willlive with her new family until she reachesadulthood. Maria makes desperate attempts tohelp the deported family: she manages toreach Transnistria, in spite of the dangers andthe threat of being tried in a court martial,and she returns to Romania permanentlyscarred by this experience.

1944. Liberation by the Red Army. The familyarrives in Briceni (Bessarabia), close to theRomanian border. Norman is enrolled in thesecond grade of primary school, where instruc-tion is in Russian. His father works in a bank.

1945, 14 April. The survivors are repatriatedfirstly to Jassy and thence to the towns of theirchoice. The Manea family stays at the homeof relatives in F\lticeni.

1945, August. The family moves to R\d\u]i.Norman is a pupil in the third and then thefourth forms of the local primary school.

1947. Return to Suceava. Maria is now mar-ried to Victor Varasciuc, the Communist Partycounty secretary. Norman enrols in the firstgrade of the Jewish Lycée in Suceava.

1948. Educational reforms abolish privateschools. Norman is transferred to the localElementary School No. 1. All means of pro-duction and private property are nationalised.Consolidation of the one-party state.

1949. Norman writes his first poems.Entrance at the Stephen the Great Lycée.

1950-1954. In the tenth grade, Norman Maneabecomes secretary of the Union of Working-class Youth (Uniunea Tineretului Muncitor) forone year. The year 1952 is marked by the purgesfor ‘right and left wing deviationism’ (Ana Pauker,Vasile Luca, Teohari Georgescu) and a new

NORMAN MANEA –Biographical timelineCompiled by Cella Manea & Claudiu Turcu[

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wave of terror, which is also felt in Norman’s high-school. Increasingly troubled by the differencebetween utopia and reality, he becomes estrangedfrom the communist ideal. In 1953, Stalindies. In 1954 Norman finishes lycée (with a diplo-ma of merit) and is admitted to the Hydro-technical Faculty of the Construction Institute inBucharest without having to pass exam.

1959-1961. After graduating from university,he works as an engineer in Suceava, in theDepartment of Systematisation, Architectureand Building Design.

1961-1965. He works as an engineer in Plo-ie[ti, at the Constructions Trust and Institutefor Petroleum Industry Design.

In Ploie[ti he meets Virgil Duda. Moving toBucharest, he joins a literary circle of friends:Lucian Raicu, Sonia Larian, Andrei Savu (EranSela), Valeriu Cristea, Florin Mugur, SorinTitel, Radu Petrescu, Mircea Iorgulescu, PaulGeorgescu, George B\l\i]\, MagdalenaBedrosian Bedrosian and, over time, theyounger writers of the new generation.

1964. Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej dies, havingbeen leader of the Romanian Communist Partyfor two decades. He is replaced by NicolaeCeau[escu, who at first pursues a policy ofgreater openness towards the West.

1965. Hired as chief design engineer atIPROMET in Bucharest.

1966. He makes his debut in Povestea Vorbii (TheTale of Word), the literary supplement ofRamuri (Branches) magazine, edited by MironRadu Paraschivescu, with the sketch IroningLove, and in România Literar\, with the shortstory The Weddings. A number of other youngwriters who will become major names in con-temporary Romanian literature are also publishedin Povestea Vorbii. The supplement comes undervehement attack in the official press and willbe banned after only six issues.

1969. He publishes his first book: the volumeof short stories Noaptea pe latura lung\

(The Night on the Long Side) (Editura pentruLiteratur\, Bucharest), with a preface byMiron Radu Paraschivescu.

He marries Josette-Cella Boiangiu, a stu-dent at Bucharest University.

1969-1973. He works as major scientificresearcher at the Research and DesignInstitute of the National Water Board.

1970. His novel Captivi (Captives) is published(Cartea Româneasc\, Bucharest). It is anattempt to depict the isolated world of com-munist society. Although regarded by somereaders as his most representative work, thisdense and codified first novel will later bejudged with scepticism by its author as animpossible attempt to capture in prose fictionthe traumatic, intransitive poetic vision ofPaul Celan (see the speech in 2008 on recei-ving the title of Doctor Honoris Causa ofBabe[-Bolyai University, Cluj).

1971. Ceau[escu’s ‘July Theses’. After hisvisit to China and North Korea, Ceau[escuattempts to re-Stalinise culture.

1974. The novel Atrium (Cartea Româneasc\,Bucharest), an examination of the ambiguousoptions of young intellectuals beginning theirconfused way in society under communism.

1975. He publishes the volume of short storiesPrimele por]i (The First Gates) (Albatros, Bu-charest). The stories make up a virtual Bildungs-roman, moving from the shadows of war to aclosed and oppressive post-war society. Thecensors strike out a number of narratives thatwill later be included in the collectionOctober, Eight O’Clock.

1976. He publishes the novel Cartea Fiului(The Book of the Son) (Eminescu, Bucharest).The novel’s two parts (Simona and August)

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illustrate two types of aggression against indi-viduality: moral destruction through dogmaticand conspiratorial pressure (with allusions tothe case of Lucre]iu P\tr\[canu) and everydaydepersonalisation in a society of surveillanceand suspicion.

He travels to Israel, after having previouslybeen refused a passport for many years.

1977. He publishes the novel Zilele [i jocul(The Days and the Game) (Cartea Româneasc\,Bucharest): everyday life seen through theeyes of a juvenile reader of existence’s ques-tions and routs.

1979. His first visit to the West. In Paris, hemeets members of the Romanian émigré com-munity: Monica Lovinescu, Virgil Ierunca,Paul Goma, Eugène Ionesco, Edgar Reichmann,Sebastian Reichmann, Alain Paruit, Mona}epeneag, and Marie-France Ionesco. He istaken on by the Liepman literary agency inZurich (Eva Koralnik). He visits Italy, whereCella Manea has been awarded a scholarship.

In this confused first period after ‘abolitionof censorship’, he publishes his book Anii deucenicie ai lui August Prostul (The Apprentice-ship Years of August the Fool), a novel-essay,consisting of a collage of quotations from thepress of the Stalinist and post-Stalinist ‘obses-sive decade’, diary excerpts, letters, and alle-gorical reading notes about ‘the life of ants’.It is a grotesque, burlesque, anxious image ofeveryday life under a totalitarian regime, butalso of the secret solidarity between a writerand his readers.

1981. He publishes Octombrie, ora opt(October, Eight O’Clock) (Dacia, Cluj), anenlarged collection of his previous volumesof short prose.

An interview with Gheorghe Grigurcu,published in Familia magazine in Oradea(No. 12/1981), produces the first hostile,slanderous reactions against the writer, innationalist magazine S\pt\mâna.

1982. A protracted campaign against the in-terview in Familia and his newly publishedbook is waged in the Party’s nationalist ma-gazines (Flac\ra, S\pt\mâna, Luceaf\rul).

1983. Two German-language Romanian émi-gré writers living in West Germany, PaulSchuster and Dieter Schlesak, are enthusedby October, Eight O’Clock and try to have atranslation published there. To this end, PaulSchuster writes a letter to Heinrich Böll,attaching excerpts translated into German.Böll’s answer is a moving letter of supportfor the Romanian author, which he addressesto the East-West Society of which he was thefounder. Böll urges that the book should bepublished as quickly as possible (it will not bepublished in Germany until 1987, however,without any direct link to this endeavour).

1984. In Vatra magazine (No. 3/1984) hepublishes ‘An Open Letter to Ernesto Sabato’,which is greeted with enthusiasm by the greatArgentinean writer. The text suggests a pro-found similarity between the sinister militarydictatorship in Argentina (reflected literarily inOn Heroes and Tombs and The Angel of Dark-ness) and the tenebrous, corrupt world ofBalkanic, byzantine communism in Romania.

He publishes the volume of essays Pe contur(Around the Outline) (Cartea Româneasc\,Bucharest).

1985. He makes his debut in the West with thestory Der Pullover, translated by Paul Schusterand published in Akzente (No. 2/1985), aprestigious literary magazine from Munich.

1986. The international jury of the GermanAcademic Exchange Service (DAAD) awardsNorman Manea a one-year scholarship inWest Berlin.

After an exhausting battle with the censors,the novel Plicul negru (The Black Envelope)(Cartea Româneasc\, Bucharest) is published

Cu Ania (sora Cellei) [i MateiC\linescu la Washington, D.C.

With Ania (Cella’s sister) and MateiC\linescu in Washington, D.C.

Consulatul francez din New York,aprilie 2010. Conferirea medaliei [ititlului de Commandeur dans l’Ordredes Arts et des Lettres

The French Consulate in New York,April 2010. Norman Manea is awardedthe medal and title of Commandeurdans l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres

Aniversarea a 85 ani a lui MarcuManea: cu Norman [i Ruti Dosza(Manea), 28 iunie 1993, Ierusalim

The 85th anniversary of MarcuManea: with Norman and RutiDosza (Manea), 28th of June,1993, Jerusalem

S\rb\torirea debutului editorial `nSUA. De la stânga la dreapta: JohnAshberry, Cella [i Norman Manea,Philip Roth, Leon Botstein, SarahRothenberg (cu spatele)

Celebrating the author’s publishingdebut in the USA. From left to right:John Ashberry, Cella and NormanManea, Philip Roth, Leon Botstein,Sarah Rothenberg

– 35 –


and receives glowing reviews in the main literary magazines.

On their way to Washington to visit Cella’ssister, Ania Shapiro, Norman and Cella Maneamake a stopover in Berlin, where, at the DAADoffice, they are shown the letter of invitationfor the scholarship, returned from Romaniastamped ‘addressee unknown’.

The jury of the Union of Writers, meetingafter a delay of two years, due to Party pres-sures, awards a prize to the volume On theContour. The communist Council of Cultureand Education annuls the prize awarded toNorman Manea, a situation without precedentin the forty years the Communist Party hascontrolled culture. From Washington, thewriter protests in a letter to the President ofthe Union of Writers.

After a one-month stay in the U.S. capital,Norman and Cella return to Berlin, wherethey live in a DAAD flat at 14, Storckwinkeluntil 1987.

1987. Norman Manea writes to Philip Rothfrom Berlin, proposing that Archipelag (Emi-nescu, Bucharest, 1981), an anthology of contemporary Romanian short prose, shouldbe published in the Writers from the OtherEurope series edited by the celebratedAmerican writer.

Göttingen publishing house Steidl publishesthe volume Roboterbiographie und andereErzählungen, which contains part of OctoberEight o’clock. The collection garners excellentreviews in the German press and will be re-published the following year. This successwill be essential in the evolution of transla-tions from the writer’s work in the West.

He gives lectures and readings from hiswork at DAAD in Berlin and at the StateLibrary in Cologne.

1988. He lectures at Strasburg University.At the recommendation of prof. Virgil

Nemoianu, he is awarded a Fulbright Scholarshipat the Catholic University in Washington, D.C.

The writer’s mother dies in Suceava. Hisfather applies to emigrate to Israel.

Norman Manea meets Philip Roth in NewYork. It is the beginning of a long friendship.

1989. Norman moves to New York, where Cellahas a job with a restoration company. In NewYork, he meets writer Mary McCarthy, a pro-fessor at Bard, who invites him to teach at thecollege, which is well known for its supportof artistic creativity. Bard College awards hima scholarship as part of its programme to sup-port ‘writers and artists who cannot expressthemselves freely in their own countries.’

Fenster zur Arbeiterklasse (Steidl Verlag, Göt-tingen) and Leergeld (Meulenhoff, Amsterdam).

He takes part in the PEN InternationalCongress in Maastricht, where, via the U.S.delegation, he submits a motion of supportfor Romanian writers and journalists arrestedand harassed in Bucharest. He takes part inthe PEN German Congress in Cologne andthe ‘Central Europe at the Crossroads’ confe-rence at City University, New York.

He lectures at the Literarisches Colloquiumin Berlin.

Protest movements in Eastern Europe. Thefall of the Ceau[escu regime. On U.S. televi-sion, Norman Manea comments on the eventsin Romania.

1989-1992. Scholarship at Bard College.

1990. The PEN American Center holds anevening dedicated to Romanian literature,titled ‘The Word as a Weapon’, in whichNorman Manea participates alongside MateiC\linescu, Nina Cassian and Andrei Brezianu.

He lectures at Binghampton University(N.Y.), the University of Illinois, and theUniversity of Hartford.

Ottobre, ore otto (Sera e Riva, Mondadori,Milan), Le thé de Proust (Albin Michel, Paris),Der Trenchcoat (Steidl Verlag, Göttingen),Training fürs Paradies (Steidl Verlag, Göttingen).

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He takes part in the Salon du Livre (Paris).He meets Emil Cioran, with whom he hasbeen corresponding. He attends internationalconferences: ‘Eastern Europe and Nationa-lism’ (Bard College, with a keynote addressby Andrei Siniavski), ‘Redefining Europe’(Atlantic CEO, Washington, D.C.), ‘North-South-East-West’ (Milan), ‘The WheatlandConference on Literature’ (San Francisco),and a major international meeting of intellec-tuals in Mexico City, ‘La Experiencia de laLibertad’, whose participants include OctavioPaz, Mario Vargas Llosa, Czesław Miłosz,Tatyana Tolstaya, Ivan Klíma, Adam Michnik,Tadeusz Mazowiecki, Leszek Kołakowski,Jean-François Revel, Irving Howe, ÁgnesHeller, Daniel Bell, Cornelius Castoriadis,and Enrique Krauze, among others. Thisextraordinary political and cultural event isviolently attacked in the left-wing press inMexico, which calls it a ‘new fascist congressof intellectuals’.

1991. He lectures at Indiana University. Le bonheur obligatoire (Albin Michel, Paris),

El Impermeable (Vuelta, Mexico-City). In the 5 August 1991 issue of The New

Republic (Washington, D.C.), he publishes the essay-review ‘Happy Guilt’ on MirceaEliade’s memoirs. The essay, quickly repu-blished in 22 magazine in Bucharest, albeitwithout the author’s permission, provokes animmediate and violent reaction in theRomanian press, which will smoulder formore than a decade, and whose reverbera-tions have still not completely faded. Anyhonest debate about the ‘happy guilt’ of theRomanian scholar and his literary peers inrelation to left- and right-wing totalitarianismremains blocked in dogmatic provincialismand inhibited by opaqueness and conjecturalfalsehoods. The revival of inter-war rightwingRomanian nationalism and slogans immedia-tely after 1989 diverts the Eliade debate awayfrom the rigour of genuine questioning and

awareness of the past and present dilemmasof Romania’s intellectual class.

1992. He lectures at Columbia University. October, Eight O’Clock and On Clowns: the

Dictator and the Artist (Grove Press, New York),Het verhoor (Meulenhoff, Amsterdam), Unaventana hacia la clase trabajadora (Grupo Li-bro, Madrid), Trennwand (Steidl Verlag, Göt-tingen), October, Eight O’Clock (Quartet, London).

He is guest of Honour at the PEN Interna-tional Congress in Rio de Janeiro.

He attends a number of international con-ferences: ‘Intellectuals and Social Change inCentral-Eastern Europe’ at Rutgers University,where he meets Saul Bellow, ‘Eastern Litera-ture – New Bounds for New Borders’ (Turin),‘Guardians of Dissent’ (Amsterdam), and ‘Trans-lation as Cultural Transmission’ (Bard College).

He is awarded a Guggenheim Scholarship andthe MacArthur Foundation Prize (seen as anAmerican ‘Nobel’). His position as a professorof literature at Bard College is made permanent.

1993. Meeting of MacArthur Prize winners in Chicago.

Compulsory Happiness (Farrar, Straus &Giroux, New York).

Norman Manea receives the Literary Lionmedal from the New York State Library andthe National Jewish Book Award (for On Clowns).

1994. He gives readings from his work andtakes part in debates at Queens College(N.Y.) and the University of Rome.

Un paradiso forzato (Feltrinelli, Milan),Octubre a las ocho (EMECE, Madrid-BuenosAires), On Clowns: the Dictator and theArtist (Faber & Faber, London).

At Bard College, he is appointed to theChair of the Francis Flournoy Professorshipin European Culture and Studies and namedWriter in Residence.

1995. He gives readings from his work atSkidmore College (N.Y.).

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The Black Envelope (Farrar, Straus & Giroux),The Black Envelope (Faber & Faber, London),Clowns (Il Saggiatore, Milan), Der SchwarzeBriefumschlag (Hanser Verlag, Munich), Obli-gatorisk Lykke (Geelmuyden Kiese, Oslo).

1996. He meets with students and professorsat the University of Texas, and reads from hiswork and takes part in debates at SkidmoreCollege (N.Y.) and Northwestern University.

Oktober, She Shmoneh (Schocken, TelAviv).

He participates in a debate entitled ‘TheArtist and the State’ at the New School forSocial Research (N.Y.).

Steaua magazine, published in Cluj, cele-brates Norman Manea’s sixtieth birthday witharticles by Virgil Nemoianu, Liviu Petrescu,Lucian Raicu and Matei C\linescu.

1997. He accompanies Leon Botstein, the pre-sident of Bard College, to Bucharest, where thelatter conducts two concerts at the Athenaeum.He refuses any public contacts in Bucharest,but in Cluj he visits the Babe[-Bolyai Uni-versity and the Writers’ Association run byhis friend Liviu Petrescu, and gives inter-views for local television. In Suceava he visitshis mother’s grave. He is awarded theBukovina Prize.

The first of his books written in exile toappear in Romania are published by EdituraBiblioteca Apostrof in Cluj: Octombrie, oraopt and Despre Clovni: Dictatorul [i Artistul.

1998. Über Clowns (Hanser Verlag, Munich),Ha’maatafa Ha’shova (Schocken, Tel Aviv).

He takes part in the International Conferenceof Jewish Writers in San Francisco and a con-ference entitled ‘Culture and the Market’ atthe Institute for Humanities in Vienna.

The New Republic publishes his essay‘The Incompatibilities’ (20 April 1998), areview of Mihail Sebastian’s Diary, much to

the annoyance of leading intellectuals inBucharest, who are already embroiled in bitterpolemics about whether the Holocaust or theGulag is ‘supreme’, the Garaudy scandal, the’27 generation, and the ‘Jewish monopoly onsuffering’, as Nicolae Manolescu calls it in aneditorial for România liber\. Norman Manearesponds by publishing the Romanian text ofthe American article in 22 magazine (No.23/1998), accompanied by a post-script,‘Lectura infidel\’ (Unfaithful Reading), inwhich he rejects the accusations against him.Following the publication of this reply, twoprestigious members of the magazine’s board,Monica Lovinescu and Virgil Ierunca, resign,and România literar\ places the name ofNorman Manea under strict ‘quarantine’.

1999. The Hebrew University in Jerusaleminvites him to a debate on his life and work.

Den Sorte Konvolut (Geelmuyden Kiese,Oslo), Casa melcului (The Snail’s House)(Hasefer, Bucharest).

He is guest of honour at the JerusalemBook Fair, which dedicates to him a literaryevening, whose speakers include PresidentShimon Peres, writer Aharon Appelfeld, andProfessor Moshe Idel. He also takes part in the‘Best Book of the Century’ debate, choosingThe Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka.

As part of the ‘Words and Images’programmeinitiated, recorded and archived by the JerusalemLiterary Project and dedicated to the most im-portant contemporary Jewish writers, he isinterviewed by Leon Volovici and himselfinterviews Saul Bellow. At Bard College, heintroduces his ‘Contemporary Masters’ course,whose invited authors will include Philip Roth,Saul Bellow, José Saramago, Aleksandar Tišma,Cynthia Ozick, Edna O’Brien, Antonio Tabucchi,Claudio Magris, Orhan Pamuk, Ismail Kadare,Mario Vargas Llosa, Antonio Muñoz Molina,Nurrudin Farah, and Tahar Ben Jelloun.

2000. He gives readings of his work atSkidmore College (N.Y.).

Cu Lucian Raicu, la Paris, 1998

With Lucian Raicu, in Paris, 1998

Cu Philip Roth: `nceptul unei prietenii,New York, 1990

With Philip Roth: the beginning of afriendship, New York, 1990

Cu pre[edintele Shimon Peres [i AharonAppelfeld, la Târgul de carte de laIerusalim, „Seara Norman Manea“, 1999

Cin\ cu Cella [i Saul Bellow la Marlboro Festival, Vermont, 2001

Dinner with Cella and SaulBellow at the Marlboro Festival,Vermont, 2001

With President Shimon Peres and AharonAppelfeld, at the 'Norman Manea Evening'held at the Jerusalem Book Fair, 1999

– 39 –


Październik, godzina ósma and O klownach(Fundacja Pogranicze, Sejny), O MaurosFakelos (Kastaniotis, Athens) and El sobrenegro (Metáfora, Madrid).

2001. El sobre negro (Alfaguara, Mexico-City). In Budapest, he meets Béla Király, a hero

of the 1956 Hungarian Uprising. He takespart in the Warsaw Book Fair.

2002. He gives readings from his work and takespart in discussions at Skidmore College (N.Y.).

He is awarded the prestigious Nonino lite-rary prize (Italy).

2003. The Hooligan’s Return (Farrar, Straus &Giroux) and Întoarcerea huliganului (Polirom)are published simultaneously in the UnitedStates and Romania.

Peri Gelôtopoiôn (Agra, Athens), Upochre-ôtikê Eudaimonia (Agra, Athens), A diktátorés a muvész (Európa, Budapest), Plicul negru(Cartea Româneasc\, Bucharest). Norman Maneatakes part in the Jerusalem Book Fair, wherePolirom launches the Romanian version ofThe Hooligan’s Return.

2004. He takes part in a dialogue about hiswork with Antonio Tabucchi at Sienna Univer-sity (Italy) and a debate at the Primo Levi Foun-dation (Genoa, Italy). He gives a reading fromhis work at the Feltrinelli Bookshop in Rome.

Die Rückkehr des Hooligan (Hanser Verlag,Munich), Il Ritorno dell’Huligano (Il Saggia-tore, Milan), Clowns (Il Saggiatore, Milan).

He attends the Leipzig Book Fair, the PragueLiterary Festival, and the Cervantes 400 Con-ference (New York State Library). He visitsthe grave of Franz Kafka in the Jewish Ceme-tery in Prague.

2005. El Regreso del Húligan (Tusquets,Barcelona). He takes part in the PEN Lite-rature Festival in New York, the Berlin

Literature Festival, the DAAD Symposium(‘Europa erzählt’), and the Nexus Conferenceon democracy (Amsterdam). He is awardedthe Holzbrinck Prize of the American Acade-my in Berlin (with a four-month residence atthe Academy) and the Naples Prize for Prose.

2006. Le retour du Hooligan (Seuil, Paris),Payasos – El dictator y el artista (Tusquets,Barcelona), De terugkeer van de hooligan(Meulenhoff, Amsterdam), Plicul negru(Polirom, Jassy), Textul nomad (Hasefer,Bucharest), La quinta impossibilità (IlSaggiatore, Milan).

He is a finalist for the Femina Prize andthe winner of the prestigious Prix MédicisEtranger. He is also awarded the AnforaPrize, the Lux Mundi Prize (Italy), and theRadio Romania Cultural Prize.

He is elected a member of the BerlinAcademy of Arts and of the Nonino jury.

Public debate on language, creativity andexile, with Salman Rushdie, Orhan Pamuk andNorman Manea, at Queens College New York.

2007. He lectures at the Cervantes Institute inMadrid.

L’heure exacte (Seuil, Paris), Felicidadobligatoria (Tusquets, Barcelona), The BlackEnvelope, On Clowns, The Hooligan’s Return(New Star, Beijing), La llengua nòmada (Arca-dia, Barcelona), Oktober, Acht Uhr (HanserVerlag, Munich).

He is a finalist for the Latinity Prize. The President of Romania decorates him

with the Order of Cultural Merit in the rankof Commander. He takes part in a symposiumon populism held in Barcelona.

2008. Polirom launches its Norman Maneaauthor series: Întoarcerea huliganului (TheHooligan’s Return), Vorbind pietrei (Talkingto the Stone), Înaintea desp\r]irii. Convorbirecu Saul Bellow – Un proiect Words & Images(Before Parting. Dialogue with Saul Bellow –

~n umbra lui Kafka, Praga, 2004

In Kafka’s shadow, Prague, 2004

Conversând cu Pessoa, Lisabona, 2005

Conversing with Pessoa, Lisbon, 2005

Ceremonia de decernare a distinc]iei „Ordinul Meritul Cultural `n Grad deComandor“, la re[edin]a ambasadorului României la ONU. De la stânga ladreapta: Philip Roth, Norman Manea, Robert Silvers, Orhan Pamuk, Corina{uteu, Mihnea Motoc. New York, 2007

The ceremony to award Norman Manea the Order of Cultural Merit in the rankof Commander at the residence of the Romanian ambassador to the U.N. From left to right: Philip Roth, Norman Manea, Robert Silvers, Orhan Pamuk,Corina {uteu, Mihnea Motoc. New York, 2007

© Fl

orin

}ola

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A Words & Images Project), Sertarele exilu-lui. Dialog cu Leon Volovici (The Drawers ofExile. Dialogue with Leon Volovici)(Polirom, Jassy).

Chuligánův návrat (Havran, Prague), ShuvuShel Hahooligan (Nimrod, Tel-Aviv).

He visits Romania with Antonio Tabucchiand Orhan Pamuk. The three are awarded thetitle of Doctor Honoris Causa by the Universityof Bucharest. Norman Manea is also awardedthe title of Doctor Honoris Causa of theBabe[-Bolyai University in Cluj.

He speaks at the University of Bucharest,the Babe[-Bolyai University, the Museum ofLiterature, the Group for Social Dialogue, theRomanian Cultural Institute in Bucharest, andthe Sibiu Library. A trip organised by Poliromtakes Manea, Tabucchi and their wives to Bu-kovina and over the mountains to Sibiu.

The first five volumes of the Polirom NormanManea series are launched in Bucharest andat the Frankfurt Book Fair. In Frankfurt, theevent is attended by the writer’s publishersfrom Germany, Spain, Italy, Turkey, Greeceand Israel.

He is presented with the URSUS Litera-ture Prize in Bucharest.

‘An evening with Norman Manea’ is heldat the Beaubourg Museum in Paris, at whichthe author takes part in a dialogue withClémence Boulouque. He takes part in theTabucchi Colloquium at the Abbaye deFontevraud in France.

2009. Prima di andarsene (Il Saggiatore,Milan), L’enveloppe noire (Seuil, Paris), De zwarte envelop (Meulenhoff, Amsterdam),Powrót chuligana (Fundacja Pogranicze, Sejny),Ekim, saat sekiz (Metis, Istanbul).

He takes part in the Istanbul Book Fair, adebate at the Romanian Cultural Institute inTel Aviv, and the Kisufim international con-ference in Jerusalem.

He is awarded the French Jewish LiteraturePrize and is a finalist for the Prince Asturias

Prize (Spain). He is awarded the Opera OmniaPrize by Observator Cultural magazine inBucharest and is presented with the medal ofCommandeur dans l’Ordre des Arts et desLettres by the French Government.

He publishes the novel Vizuina (The Lair)(Polirom, Jassy).

2010. El té de Proust (Tusquets, Barcelona),Epistrophê tou chouligkan (Kastaniotis, Athens),Holigan in Dönü[ü (Metis, Istanbul), O re-gresso do Hooligan (Asa, Lisabona), Curierulde Est. Dialog cu Edward Kanterian (TheEastern Messenger. Dialogue with EdwardKanterian) (Polirom, Jassy), Laptele negru(Black Milk) (Hasefer, Bucharest).

He takes part in the Sephardis of the Bal-kans international conference at the SefaradInstitute in Madrid; the Gaudeamus BookFair, as the invited guest of the French Am-bassador to Bucharest; and the ThessalonikiBook Fair. He gives readings from TheHooligan’s Return and participates in debatesabout the book in Athens and at the Academyof Arts in Berlin.

He is made an honorary citizen of theCounty of Suceava.

2011. The Romanian Cultural Institute in Viennadedicates to him an evening of public debate.In Paris and Rome he gives interviews con-nected to the publication of the books La tanière(Seuil, Paris) and Il refugio magico (IlSaggiatore, Milan).

Oktôbrês ochtô to prôi (Kastaniotis, Athens).He takes part in the Rome Literature Festi-

val and in a public dialogue with Paul Bailey,organised by the Romanian Cultural Institute inLondon and the Royal Society for Literature.

Gespräch im Exil (Matthes & Seitz,Berlin), Fericirea obligatorie (CompulstoryHappiness) (Polirom, Jassy).


IN HONOREM

With Gabriela Adame[teanu, in New York, 1999

Cu Gabriela Adame[teanu, la New York, 1999

– 45 –


Trebuie s\ fi fost `n ajunul `ntunecatuluideceniu 8. Ne cunoscuser\m de curând, peculoarele Casei Scânteii. Eu lucram `ntr-oeditur\, el venise la alta, trebuia s\ `i apar\ o carte. ~i mul]umisem pentru recenzia gene-roas\, schimbaser\m fraze conven]ionale.

Iar acum ne `ntâlniser\m `ntâmpl\tor, `nCentrul Vechi, [i am f\cut câ]iva pa[i `mpreun\.~n amintirea mea, treceam pe lâng\ spitalulCol]ea, pe care Ceau[escu `l va demola cu-rând, `mpreun\ cu celelalte case ale Bucure[-tiului tradi]ional, ca s\ `[i ridice vestitul Palat.

Vorbeam. Cred c\ ajunseser\m, nu [tiucum, la lag\rele de exterminare naziste, pen-tru c\ `mi aud, dintr-odat\, foarte limpede,replica mea, rostit\ cu indiferen]\, dar cu ovoce sigur\ pe ce spune:

„M\car românii n-au avut lag\re“.„Au avut“, m\ contrazice, lini[tit, inter-

locutorul meu.„De unde [tii?“, `i arunc, condescendent\.Cuno[tin]ele mele de istorie sunt mai temei-

nice decât ale colegilor scriitori. A[tept s\ audmen]ionat\ cine [tie ce surs\ istoric\ discutabil\.

„Pentru c\ am fost acolo“, spune el.Intona]ia lui este ceea ce nu voi uita nicio-

dat\. Discre]ia cu care se referise la tragedia`n care fusese inclus. Sensibilitatea [i inteli-gen]a care filtrau istoria `ntunecat\, violen]a [i absurditatea uman\. Oroarea de retoric\,ironia atot`n]eleg\toare, empatic\, chiar [i `nfa]a ignoran]ei obtuze.

Era Norman Manea, liberalul rafinat, afa-bil, civilizat, cu singur\tatea lui, `n lumeacare instaurase brutalitatea, agresiunea. EraNorman Manea, a[a cum aveam s\ `l cunosctreptat, `n deceniile care vor urma. Stilul car-nal-metaforic [i reflexiv, subtilitatea ironiei,simbolistica romanelor, a prozei sale scurte.

Este greu s\ scrii despre un scriitor, [tiinddinainte c\ el va evalua adev\rul [i reu[itastilistic\ a fiec\rei fraze. Este [i mai greu s\scrii despre un prieten scriitor, te sim]i indis-cret [i intruziv. Tot c\utându-mi frazele despreNorman Manea m\ [i v\d instalat\ `n scaunulpersonajului s\u din Vizuina, Augustin Gora.

Ca s\ evit, m\ str\dui s\ `l privesc cu unochi str\in, de la distan]\, [i, distan]ându-m\,m\ `ntreb: cum ar fi ar\tat literatura român\f\r\ Norman Manea? (Ceea ce nu mai e posi-bil.) F\r\ el, literatura român\ se vede s\r\cit\,mic[orat\. Mai provincial\. F\r\ c\r]ile lui,dense, diferite una de alta, reinventându-seuna din alta, a[a cum el s-a reinventat trecânddintr-o lume `n alta, f\r\ s\ abandoneze nimicesen]ial. F\r\ aura pe care i-o dau versiunileinterna]ionale ale c\r]ilor sale, f\r\ felul `ncare s-a racordat, firesc, cu un efort invizibil,la dezbaterea lumii de azi. F\r\ tensiunea in-telectual\ pe care a adus-o romanului, f\r\asumarea riscului de a contrazice stereotipu-rile, cli[eele, mitiz\rile infantile. F\r\ modultotal `n care s-a d\ruit literaturii.

O amintireGGaabbrriieellaa AAddaammeesstteeaannuu,

‘I wonder what would Romanian literature bewithout Norman Manea? (No longer possible!)Without him Romanian literature would bediminished, poorer and more provincial.’

Gabriela Adame[teanu

– 47 –


It must have been close to the black 1980s inRomania. We had met recently in the corri-dors of the Casa Scânteii, the office buildingdedicated to publishing. I worked for a pub-lishing house there, and he had come to visitanother one, where a book of his was soon tobe published. I took the occasion to thankhim for the generous review that he had justwritten on my fiction, and it was rather a con-ventional conversation.

Later we met haphazardly in the old centerof Bucharest and walked on together for a bit.As my memory has it, we were passing bythe Brâncovenesc Hospital, which Ceau[escuwas soon to pull down along with many otherbuildings of traditional Bucharest, to raise hisnotorious People’s Palace.

As Norman and I were chatting, somehow,we got to speak about Nazi exterminationcamps. I can still hear my own words ringing inmy mind, when I said, with casual certainty:

‘At least the Romanians had no camps.’‘Yes, they did,’ he said, quietly.‘How do you know?’ I retorted,

condescendingly.My knowledge of history is more thorough

than that of most of my writer colleagues. I expected Norman to quote some doubtfulhistorical source.

‘Because I was in one,’ he said.It was his tone that I will never forget: the

understated way in which he referred to the tra-gedy that he had participated in; his sensitivityand intelligence filtering out the darkness ofhistory, human violence and absurdity; andhis dislike of rhetoric, with a touch of irony

in his empathy and understanding of every-thing, even when faced with blunt ignorance.

That was Norman Manea, the refined,affable, civilized liberal, with his solitude in aworld that had bunkered brutality and aggres-sion. That was Norman Manea, as I was get-ting to know him gradually over the followingdecades. His substantial metaphoric and re-flexive style, his subtle irony, the symbolismof his novels and short stories.

It is difficult to write about a fellow writer,knowing that he will weigh the truth and style ofevery sentence. It is even more difficult to writeabout a writer who is a friend, as you may becomeindiscreet and intrusive. In shaping these wordson Norman Manea, I risk sitting in the chairof his character Augustin Gora, in The Lair.

To avoid that I consider him from a distance.I wonder what would Romanian literature bewithout Norman Manea? (No longer possible!)Without him Romanian literature would be di-minished, poorer and more provincial. Withouthis books, which are dense and differentiated,which reinvented each other, as the author rein-vented himself shifting from one world to an-other, not abandoning anything essential. Withoutthe international aura derived from the trans-lations of his books, without the natural and ap-parently effortless way in which he assumes arole in contemporary issues. Without the intel-lectual tension that he brings to the novel, with-out the assured risk he accepts in opposingstereotypes, cliches and naive myth making.Without his ceaseless devotion to literature.

[Translated from Romanian by Ioana Ieronim]

A RemembranceGGaabbrriieellaa AAddaammeesstteeaannuu,

– 49 –


O a doua via]\CChhllooee AArriiddjjiiss

L-am cunoscut pe Norman Manea `n toamnaanului 2005, la festivalul de literatur\ de laBerlin. Ne-a f\cut cuno[tin]\ un prieten, iareu am sim]it o afinitate imediat\, care s-aconfirmat când am participat apoi la lecturasa. Uite genul de intelectual, m-am gândit eu,care poate a tr\it la Berlin `nainte de r\zboi,un gânditor de o `n]elepciune [i o omenieexcep]ionale, cineva care cunoscuse cutremu-rele [i fisurile istoriei `n mod direct. Pentrumine, el era `ntruchiparea unei Europe maivechi, a unei Europe care nu mai exist\, dedinainte de reconfigurarea h\r]ii sale, de as-censiunea [i dec\derea statelor totalitare, derecalibr\rile precare. Norman Manea estedeopotriv\ rodul acestor schimb\ri [i o rar\personificare a acelei lumi disp\rute, o con[ti-in]\ luminat\ mai degrab\ decât eclipsat\ de`ntunericul [i pesimismul care au urmat.

~n toamna când ne-am cunoscut, el [i so]iasa, Cella, petreceau o jum\tate de an ca invi-ta]i ai Academiei Americane din Wannsee. ~ntimpul primei noastre `ntâlniri din ziua aceea,`n sala unde avea loc festivalul, am f\cutschimb de adrese de e-mail. Norman a scrispe hârtie dou\ adrese, una de la AcademiaAmerican\ [i `nc\ una. Con[tient\ de faptul c\el avea s\ se `ntoarc\ acas\, la New York, pes-te câteva luni, am sugerat c\ al doilea e-maile mai permanent. El a ridicat privirea [i mi-aspus: „Nimic nu este permanent“.

Vorbele acestea m-au impresionat profund.~mi vin adesea `n minte atunci când `i citesc

c\r]ile – este mesajul care se degaj\ din aproa-pe fiecare povestire. Pentru cineva care a tr\itsub fascism [i sub comunism, `ndurând tot ceera mai r\u din fiecare, no]iunea de permanen-]\ ([i, implicit, de efemeritate) are cu totul alt`n]eles. Dup\ ce [i-a petrecut o parte din co-pil\rie `ntr-un lag\r de concentrare din Trans-nistria [i apoi mul]i ani `nsp\imânt\tori subCeau[escu, cum s\ nu simt\ c\ totul este tre-c\tor [i fragil – `n ceea ce prive[te atât fru-muse]ea [i ordinea vie]ii de familie, cât [iregimurile devastatoare ce au eradicat lumeaaceea iubit\ alt\dat\, dar acum atât de `nde-p\rtat\?

Prima carte a lui Norman Manea pe caream citit-o a fost magnifica Octombrie, oraopt, un volum de povestiri care se petrec `ntr-unloc unde timpul nu are niciun sens – undeminutele [i orele r\mân prea precare ca s\ semai scurg\ [i cuvintele ca permanen]\ nu `[iau locul `n vocabular – [i totu[i, aceast\ carteprofund\ [i important\ ofer\ f\r\ `ndoial\ a-celor zile tr\ite sub giulgiul Holocaustului [icelor de mai târziu, `n vânturile `n\bu[itoareale totalitarismului, o anumit\ permanen]\. Leancoreaz\ `ntr-un prezent aproape biblic – [i,date fiind recentele evolu]ii politice din Euro-pa [i din Orientul Mijlociu, temele sale cap\t\o relevan]\ [i o importan]\ noi. De asemenea,le confer\ `ns\[i eternitatea care le-a fost ne-gat\ atunci.

Statele Unite le-au oferit lui Norman [iCellei o a doua via]\. {i totu[i, `n casa lor din

– 50 –


Manhattan, `n ciuda orizontului m\rginit dezgârie-nori [i a zgomotului `n\bu[it al ma[ini-lor care trec pe strad\, am senza]ia c\ sunt `nEuropa. Nu este vorba doar despre c\r]ile depe rafturi [i despre tablourile de pe pere]i;este vorba despre oamenii care locuiesc aici.So]ia lui Norman, Cella, care vorbe[te `ncet,dar este foarte inteligent\ [i atent\, e restaura-tor de obiecte de art\. Ea lipe[te buc\]i rupte,repar\ stric\ciunile aduse de timp sau de ne`n-demânare, prelunge[te via]a unor artefacte fra-gile. Ca [i Norman, opera sa confer\ perma-nen]\ – sau, mai degrab\, prelunge[te via]a –celor efemere.

~n ~ntoarcerea huliganului Manea schi]eaz\contururile deopotriv\ misterioase [i familiareale acestei noi lumi, trasate cu creionul [i pri-virile ascu]ite ale imigrantului. Meniul de laBarney Greengrass, un restaurant cu delicate-se din Upper West Side a Manhattanului, a-minte[te de buc\t\ria evreiasc\ a ghetoului,`ns\ nu sufer\ compara]ie [i, ca multe alte ex-perien]e, vizita sa aici este dulce-amar\, lumeanou\ fiind sortit\ s\ fie `ntotdeauna proiectat\`n lumina melancolic\ a exilului. Când se`ntoarce `n patria sa, catharsisul nu se producetotu[i. Imposibilitatea de a se rupe de trecuteste resim]it\ `n mod repetat de ambele p\r]iale Oceanului.

Nu doar datorit\ faptului c\ s-au n\scut peacelea[i meleaguri – `n Bucovina – s-a sim]itManea atât de legat de Paul Celan [i, mai târ-ziu, de prietena apropiat\ a lui Celan, IlanaShmueli (cu care Celan a `ntre]inut o vie co-responden]\). To]i trei au venit dintr-un locaproape mitic, alt\dat\ prosper, din col]ulacela de Carpa]i plin de riscuri, dar iluminatpentru totdeauna. O for]\ vital\ similar\anim\ opera celor trei – nu doar puternicab\taie a inimii supravie]uitorului, ci [i privi-rea unei fiin]e spirituale care confer\ sensdetaliilor cotidiene `nainte de a le subsumaunei c\l\torii mult mai ample, metafizice.

~ntr-o diminea]\ din iarna anului 2005,când Berlinul se trezise acoperit de o mantiegroas\ de z\pad\, am vorbit cu Norman la tele-fon. El mi-a citat din Winterreise a lui HeinrichHeine. Mai târziu m-am gândit la cântecul luiHeine despre patria sa, `n parte nostalgie, `nparte lamenta]ie, [i am [tiut c\ sentimentelelui Norman fa]\ de România sa natal\ erau [imai conflictuale, `ns\ nu am putut s\ nu observun r\spuns aproape proustian dat z\pezii;poate c\ invoca peisajul copil\riei sale, un pei-saj r\v\[it de istorie, dar având r\d\cini puter-nice, prin mit [i dialectic\, `n imagina]ia sa.

[Traducere din limba englez\ de Ioana Aneci]

– 51 –


A second lifeCChhllooee AArriiddjjiiss

I met Norman Manea in the autumn of 2005,at the international literature festival inBerlin. Introduced by a mutual friend, I feltan immediate affinity, which was confirmedwhen I attended his reading shortly after-wards. Here was the kind of intellectual, Ithought to myself, who may have lived inBerlin before the war, a thinker of exceptionalwisdom and humanity, someone who had ex-perienced the quakes and fissures of historyfirsthand. To me, he was the embodiment ofan older Europe, a Europe that no longerexists, before the reconfiguring of its map,the rise and fall of totalitarian states, the pre-carious recalibrations. Norman Manea is botha product of these changes as well as a rarepersonification of that vanished world, a con-sciousness enlightened rather than eclipsedby the darkness and pessimism that followed.

The autumn we met, he and his wife Cellawere spending half a year as guests at theAmerican Academy in Wannsee. During ourfirst meeting that day in the festival hall, weexchanged e-mail addresses. Norman wrotedown two, an address at the American Acade-my and another. Aware he would be returningto his home in New York in a few months’time, I suggested the second e-mail was morepermanent. He looked up from the paper andsaid, ‘Nothing is permanent.’

These words left a lasting impression. Theyoften return to me when I read his work – itis the message that rises out of nearly every

story. For someone who lived under fascismand communism, suffering just about the worstof each, the notion of permanence (and, bydefault, impermanence) takes on a wholeother level of meaning. After spending part ofhis childhood in a concentration camp inTransnistria and then abysmal years underCeausescu, how not to sense a fleetingnessand fragility in everything – in both the beautyand order of family life as well as in the cru-shing regimes that eradicated that once loved,now very distant, world?

The first work I read of Norman Manea’swas the magnificent October, Eight O’Clock,a collection of tales from a place where Timebears no meaning – where minutes and hoursremain too precarious to ever add up andwords like permanence have no place in thevocabulary – and yet this profound and im-portant book undeniably gives those dayslived out under the pall of the Holocaust, andlater, in the strangling winds of the totalitarianstate, a permanence. It anchors them in an almostbiblical present – and, given recent politicaldevelopments in Europe and the Middle East,its themes acquire new relevance and urgency.It also grants them the very eternity that wasdenied them at the time.

The United States offered Norman andCella a second life. Yet in their Manhattanhome, despite the horizon of skyscrapers andthe muffled roar of traffic outside, I feel I amin Europe. It’s not only the books on the

‘The United States offered Norman and Cella asecond life. Yet in their Manhattan home, despitethe horizon of skyscrapers and the muffledroar of traffic outside, I feel I am in Europe.’

Chloe Aridjis

– 53 –


shelves and the art on the walls; it is the resi-dents. Norman’s wife Cella, soft-spoken yetvery intelligent and alert, is an art restorer.She mends tears, repairs the damage wroughtby age or mishandling, perpetuates the livesof fragile artefacts. Like Norman, her workgrants permanence to – or rather, extends thelifespan – of the ephemeral.

In The Hooligan’s Return Manea limns the atonce mysterious and familiar contours of thisnew world, drawn with the sharpened eyesand pencil of the émigré. The menu at BarneyGreengrass, a Jewish deli on Manhattan’sUpper West Side, is reminiscent of Yiddishfood from the ghetto yet falls short in com-parison, and like many experiences his visitthere is bittersweet, the new world destined tobe forever cast in the melancholy light of exile.When he returns to his homeland, however,catharsis eludes him. The impossibility oflaying the past to rest is repeatedly felt onboth sides of the ocean.

It is not only because of their shared birth-place – Bukovina – that Manea feels such astrong kinship with Paul Celan and, later in

life, with Celan’s close friend Ilana Shmueli(with whom Celan maintained a vivid corres-pondence). All three came from a near mythicalplace that once thrived in that fraught yet fore-ver illumined corner of the northeastern Carpa-thians. A similar life force animates the workof all three – not only the strong heartbeat ofthe survivor, but the gaze of a spiritual beingwho extracts meaning from small details inthe quotidian before they are subsumed into afar broader, metaphysical journey.

One morning in the winter of 2005, whenBerlin had woken up under a thick mantle ofsnow, I spoke to Norman on the telephone.He quoted Heinrich Heine’s Winterreise. Ilater thought about Heine’s own song of hishomeland, part nostalgia, part lament, andknew that Norman’s feelings towards his na-tive Romania were even more conflicted, yetI couldn’t help detecting an almost Proustianresponse to the snow; perhaps it conjured upthe landscape of his childhood, a landscaperavaged by history but firmly rooted, throughmyth and dialectic, in his imagination.

Norman Manea, Homero Aridjis [i Antonio Tabucchi la Paris

Norman Manea, Homero Aridjis and Antonio Tabucchi in Paris

pentru Norman Manea

Nu to]i `ngerii sunt stele nev\zuteNu toate râurile ajung la destina]ieNu toate pântecele sunt suave ca tobeleNu toate ploile care te ud\ vin de susNu toat\ foamea e cel mai bun buc\tarNu tot ce are din]i caut\ pe cineva s\-l devorezeNu toate femeile au cheile paradisuluiNu toate visele au o trezireNu tot ce spun e adev\rat.

14 martie 2011

[Traducere din limba spaniol\ de Emanuela Stoleriu]

– 55 –


Nu to]i HHoommeerroo AArriiddjjiiss

‘Not all dreams end in a waking up.’

Homero Aridjis

for Norman Manea

Not all angels are invisible starsNot all rivers reach their destinationNot all bellies are as soft as a drumNot all the rains that wash over you fall from aboveNot all hunger makes the best sauceNot all that has teeth goes hunting for someone to chew upNot all women hold the keys to heavenNot all dreams end in a waking upNot all that I say is for certain sure.

March 14, 2011

[Translated from Spanish by George McWhirter]

– 57 –


Not all HHoommeerroo AArriiddjjiiss

Cu Leon Botstein, 2006

With Leon Botstein, 2006

– 59 –


La prima vedere – [i chiar [i la o analiz\ maiatent\ –, Norman Manea las\ impresia c\ estepesimist din na[tere, un scriitor cu o privireager\ [i cu un sim] ascu]it al ironiei, care sur-prinde imediat cele mai `ntunecate curente alevie]ii. ~ns\ de fapt lucrurile stau exact pe dos.~n ciuda instinctului s\u c\ toate lucrurilebune p\lesc [i c\ fericirea r\mâne o c\utareevaziv\ [i `ndoielnic\, Norman a fost `ntot-deauna o prezen]\ optimist\ `n via]a mea,reamintindu-mi cât de necesar, afectuos [irezilient poate fi cineva chiar [i `n vremurilecele mai negre.

Norman a venit la Bard College la reco-mandarea lui Mary McCarthy [i Philip Roth,`ntr-adev\r un semn de mare pre]uire dinpartea a doi mari scriitori care nu sunt renu-mi]i ca având tendin]a s\ pre]uiasc\ prea u[orpe cineva. Povestea sa era una a dificult\]ilor[i a dezr\d\cin\rii. Era un scriitor român careavea o forma]ie de inginer. Via]a lui subregimul Ceau[escu a fost `n cel mai bun cazdificil\ [i `n cel mai r\u caz paralizant\,ucig\toare [i terifiant\. Exilul s\u `n America,l\sându-[i `n urm\ limba matern\ [i Europa, afost ini]ial debusolant [i marcat de contrasteuimitoare [i adesea ilare. Ele aminteau `ntr-unmod ciudat de experien]a lui Pnin, personajullui Nabokov. Prin ochii lui Norman [i `nproza sa, puteai descoperi o variant\ updatat\a Americii, pe care o g\sim `n Lolita.

Dar blânde]ea lui Norman [i maniera sau[or autodepreciativ\, devotamentul s\u fa]\

de literatur\ [i fa]\ de o sensibilitate cosmo-polit\ cu r\d\cini `n identitatea lui bucovinea-n\ de evreu european [i, mai presus de toate,fa]\ de credin]a sa `n rolul scriitorului carespune adev\rul – f\r\ afectarea superiorit\]iimorale de care se molipsesc cu u[urin]\ scrii-torii pentru care Holocaustul [i via]a sub co-munism au fost ni[te experien]e hot\râtoare –l-au f\cut s\ se adapteze noului mediu ameri-cane [i s\ le accepte cu afec]iune [i cu unentuziasm subtil. Umorul s\u nu a p\lit.Demnitatea sa a continuat s\ transpar\ dinco-lo de modestia lui. Capacitatea sa de a legaprietenii – de care am avut privilegiul s\ m\bucur [i eu – s-a accentuat. El a fost, chiar dela `nceputul carierei sale la Bard College, unprofesor [i un coleg generos.

El scrie `n române[te, dar [i engleza sa esteelegant\. Con[tientizarea faptului c\ este unsupravie]uitor [i un reprezentant al unei lumidisp\rute a culturii europene [i evreie[ti nu l-af\cut s\ nu mai vad\ fascinantele, dac\ nuchiar exasperantele provoc\ri, contradic]ii [iabsurdit\]i ale vie]ii contemporane. Felul cumse poveste[te pe sine [i cum `[i poveste[tevia]a – de la ob]inerea cet\]eniei americane lavizitele sale ulterioare `n România –, precum[i fabuloasa lui oper\ `n calitate de romanciereseist sunt un tribut oferit tenacit\]ii sale,dragostei de via]\ nest\pânite, optimismuluis\u inerent [i tinere]ii lui absolute. ~n ciudafaptului c\ are o mul]ime de griji, nu suntsigur c\ va ajunge vreodat\ b\trân [i obosit.

Un memento al puteriiconstructive a memoriei LLeeoonn BBoottsstteeiinn

– 60 –

Pentru mine, Norman Manea este un me-mento al puterii constructive a memoriei camijloc de `ncadrare a prezentului f\r\ nostalgiesau am\r\ciune. Este o raritate. De[i istoria i-aacordat dreptul s\ se considere o victim\, el aales s\ nu fac\ acest lucru [i s\ se opun\ ori-c\rei tendin]e de a fi prea `ng\duitor cu sine [i dea atrage compasiune. Gândirea [i scrisul suntmijloacele prin care el transcende lupta [i sufe-rin]a pentru a localiza uimirea [i posibilit\]ilevie]ii `n prezent, acum [i `n viitor. Este un mare

scriitor ce are darul prieteniei [i `[i determin\cititorii [i colegii s\ se confrunte, f\r\ sentimen-talisme, cu magia imagina]iei umane pe carenici o tiranie, nici o decep]ie [i nici o cruzime –indiferent cât de mari [i cât de inumane – nuo pot stinge. {i este unul dintre pu]inii afla]i`n postura de a [ti cât de aproape am ajuns `nvremurile moderne de a ne pierde capacitatea dea salva decen]a [i a ne re`nnoi umanitatea.



– 61 –


A reminder of the constructivepower of memory LLeeoonn BBoottsstteeiinn

At first glance – and even closer inspection –Norman Manea gives the impression of beinga natural-born pessimist, a writer with a keeneye and a sharp sense of irony who graspsquickly the darker currents of life. But theopposite is actually the case. Despite hisinstinct that all good things fade and thathappiness remains an elusive and question-able pursuit, Norman has always been anoptimistic presence in my life and a reminderof how vital, affectionate, and resilient onecan be even in the darkest of times.

Norman came to Bard on the recommen-dation of Mary McCarthy and Philip Roth,high praise indeed from two great writers notknown for their tendency to praise easily. Hisstory was one of difficulty and displacement.He was a Romanian writer who trained as anengineer. His life under Ceau[escu was atbest trying and at worst paralyzing, deadly,and terrifying. His exile in America, from hisnative language and from Europe, was initial-ly disorienting and marked by startling andoften hilarious contrasts. They were uncan-nily reminiscent of the experience ofNabokov’s fictional character Pnin. ThroughNorman’s eyes, and in his prose, one could

find an updated version of the America weencounter in Lolita.

But Norman’s kindness and gentle self-de-precatory manner, his allegiance to literatureand to a cosmopolitan sensibility rooted inhis Bukovinian identity as a European Jew,and above all to his belief in the role of thewriter as truth teller – without the affectationof moral superiority that easily infects writersfor whom the Holocaust and life under Com-munism were decisive experiences – led himto adapt and embrace his new American sur-roundings with affection and subtle enthusi-asm. His humor never flagged. His dignitycontinued to shine through his modesty. Hiscapacity for friendship – which I have beenprivileged to share – flourished. He has been,from the very beginning of his career at Bard,a generous teacher and colleague.

He writes in Romanian, but his English iselegant. His recognition of himself as a survi-vor and exponent of a vanished world of Euro-pean and Jewish culture has not blinded himfrom the fascinating, if not infuriating entice-ments, contradictions, and absurdities of con-temporary life. His account of himself and hislife – from his becoming an American citizen to

‘For me, Norman Manea is a reminder of theconstructive power of memory as a meansof framing the present without nostalgia orbitterness. He is a rarity.’

Leon Botstein

his travels back to Romania – as well as his fa-bulous work as a novelist and essayist are a tri-bute to his resilience, his irrepressible love oflife, his inherent optimism, and his essentialyouthfulness. Despite his many worries, I am notcertain that he will ever grow old and tired.

For me, Norman Manea is a reminder of theconstructive power of memory as a means offraming the present without nostalgia or bit-terness. He is a rarity. Though entitled by his-tory to see himself as a victim, he has chosennot to do so and resists any tendency to self-indulgence and the garnering of sympathy.

Thinking and writing are the means by whichhe transcends struggle and suffering to locatethe wonderment and possibilities of life in thepresent, now and in the future. He is great writerwith the gift of friendship who leads his rea-ders and colleagues to face, without sentimen-tality, the magic of the individual humanimagination that no tyranny, deception, andcruelty – no matter how extensive and inhu-mane – can extinguish. And he is one of thefew in a position to know how close we havecome in modern times to losing our capacityto rescue decency and renew our humanity.

– 63 –


Norman Manea [i Clémence Boulouque

Norman Manea and Clémence Boulouque

– 65 –


Primul mesaj al lui Norman a ajuns la mine`ntr-un vechi hotel fermec\tor din Rio, `n careoamenii p\reau sorti]i trând\viei. Locul acestadegaja un je-ne-sais-quoi din Lumea de Ieri –de[i poate aceasta era din cauz\ c\ m\ aflam`n Brazilia pe urmele lui Stefan Zweig. ~iscrisesem lui Norman Manea `ntrebându-ldespre ~ntoarcerea huliganului, iar acum el`mi trimisese un e-mail `n care `mi r\spundea.A[a am f\cut cuno[tin]\. Era `n vara anului2006. Urm\ream cu sufletul la gur\ r\zboiuldintre Israel [i Liban, `n timp ce citeamdespre exilul lui Zweig. M\ sim]eam la fel deafectat\ de amândou\. Apoi, brusc, tonul luiNorman mi-a adus mângâiere. Am `nceput s\`mi imaginez ce ar fi vorbit Zweig cu Norman.Poate c\ Norman l-ar fi convins pe omologuls\u vienez s\ nu `[i ia via]a. Sigur ar fi g\sitcuvintele potrivite ca s\ `i aline durerea c\ `[ipierduse c\minul [i ca s\ sublinieze noroculc\ [i-a g\sit altul.

~n ~ntoarcerea huliganului, Norman scriedespre cum po]i s\ te `mpaci cu exilul. Pe to]icei care nu au trebuit s\ fie obliga]i s\ ia caleaexilului, cartea i-ar putea `nv\]a cum s\ se `mpacecu via]a lor, cu ei `n[i[i. Calitatea de victim\ na[teadesea ru[inea. De asta avem nevoie de clovni [ide asta `i trimite Norman pe ai lui. Clovniiiau chipul celor care se r\zvr\tesc `mpotrivapierderii, suferin]ei, regretelor [i ru[inii. Eirefuz\ s\ se reduc\ la dimensiunile durerii.C\r]ile lui Norman au aceast\ natur\ – trans-mit [i bucuria r\zvr\tit\, [i triste]ea r\zvr\tit\.

Numele evreiesc al lui Norman este Noe,omul care sfideaz\ potopul [i este descris ca„drept [i neprih\nit `ntre oamenii timpuluis\u“. Norman a trecut prin ce a fost mai r\udin secolul XX [i totu[i vorbe[te despre ace[tipersecutori cu o voce blând\, dar ferm\, capentru a-i priva de furia pe care ar trebui s\ onasc\ [i astfel a-i pedepsi. Lupta sa e nesfâr-[it\, la fel ca [i calmul lui neclintit. Asta m-afrapat `n r\spunsurile sale din vara aceea. M-amgândit: uite c\ mai exist\ Noe [i `n zilele noas-tre. Spre deosebire de r\spunsurile nepotrivitepe care le-am tot auzit atât de des, vorbele [ifelul lui de a fi au fost pentru mine pline dealinare [i de sens. Habar nu aveam c\ avea s\fac\ asta `n continuare, ad\ugând [i darul feri-cirii. So]ia lui Noe nu este numit\ `n Tora. Uniicomentatori cred c\ se nume[te Na’ama –literal, „cea pl\cut\“. Aceast\ descriere i sepotrive[te [i so]iei lui Norman, Cella.

~n noiembrie 2006, trebuia s\ plec `n fur-tunosul Orient Mijlociu chiar `n seara `n care,dup\ cum umbla zvonul, Norman urma s\primeasc\ Premiul Médicis Etranger. Amreu[it s\ `mi schimb planurile de c\l\torie [im-am dus la ceremonia organizat\ `n onoarealui Norman. Schimb\rile politice mai puteaua[tepta. Am p\strat leg\tura. I-am povestit luiNorman despre unele dintre planurile mele deviitor [i el mi-a dat sfaturi. La un an dup\ cei-am v\zut pentru prima dat\ `n carne [i oasepe Norman [i Cella, ne-am `ntâlnit din nou, laNew York. Am luat cina la un restaurant

Fiica lui Noe CClléémmeennccee BBoouulloouuqquuee

numit Compass, iar eu le-am spus c\ m\ hot\-râsem se m\ mut la New York ca s\ fac un doc-torat la NYU. Seara aceea petrecut\ `mpreun\cu ei m-a f\cut s\ simt c\ vin acas\.

C\r]ile mi sau p\rut `ntotdeauna a fi singu-rele mele rela]ii adev\rate. Citindu-i pe Norman,Proust, Svevo, pe to]i scriitorii numi]i Rothdin lumea asta, pe Celan, Mandelstam, Appel-feld, am crezut c\ ei vor fi `ntotdeauna ni[te[oapte lini[titoare `n `ntuneric, precum cele alemamei sau ale tat\lui meu dinainte s\ mi sedestrame copil\ria. C\r]ile nu te abandoneaz\.~n seara aceea, la Compass, Norman a amintitpovestea lui Avraam [i a Sarei, care a[teptaser\atât de mult pân\ s\ li se `ndeplineasc\ dorin]ade a avea un copil. Eu aveam s\ fiu Isaacullor, al c\rui nume `nseamn\ „el va râde“. Dac\numele biblice semnific\ o caracterizare [i undestin, eu `l accept bucuroas\ pe acesta, laforma de feminin Tisaac, „ea va râde“.

De-a lungul secolelor, comentatorii `ncur-ca]i de râsul lui Isaac au tot `ncercat s\ `l `n]e-leag\. Unii au spus c\ este un râs ne`ncrez\tor,interpretare pe care o `mp\rt\[esc [i eu. Al\-turi de Norman [i Cella, am petrecut YomKippurul `ncercând s\ m\ c\iesc – oarecumgândindu-m\ c\ Dumnezeu ar trebui s\ fie celcare poste[te pentru noi – [i am urm\rit

alegerea lui Barack Obama. Am petrecutRevelionul dansând cu Nathan Zuckerman laNew York [i Pesach cu ni[te Lubavitch ne-buni `n Cluj. Am primit cartea verde prin po[-t\ `n ziua `n care lui Norman i s-a decernattitlul de Cavaler al Legiunii de Onoare.Clovnii pot deveni [i magicieni.

Cu noii mei p\rin]i, m-am sim]it minunat,`n siguran]\. O singur\ dat\ m-am sim]it nela-locul meu – când am `n]eles din t\cerea luiNorman c\ nici el [i nici Cella nu erau con-vin[i de un angajament pe care mi-l asuma-sem. A doua zi mi s-a f\cut r\u [i mi-am datseama c\ nici eu nu sunt prea sigur\ de mine.Mi-am amintit de o or\ de chimie, când amintrodus fâ[ii de hârtie de turnesol `ntr-un lichidpentru a-i evalua aciditatea `n func]ie de cu-loarea hârtiei. Norman [tie cum s\ eviden]iezeaciditatea emo]iilor. Dar apoi el continu\ s\fac\ fâ[iile de hârtie s\ `[i schimbe culoarea.

~n Facerea, numele lui Noe apare al\turi deale celor trei fii ai s\i, iar aceasta `ncheie uncapitol al genealogiilor, o enumerare a gene-ra]iilor. Nic\ieri `n comentarii, `n aceste lumiparalele ale Bibliei, Noe nu are vreo fiic\.

Dar Norman are [i el universul s\u paralel.~n lumile lui Norman, Noe are o fiic\.


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– 67 –


Norman’s first message reached me in a char-mingly faded hotel in Rio where people seemeddestined for idleness. The place exuded a je-ne-sais-quoi from the World of Yesterday –though maybe because I was in Brazil on thefootsteps of Stefan Zweig. I had writtenNorman Manea with questions about TheReturn of the Hooligan, and he had written anemail in reply. This was how we made ouracquaintance. It was the summer of 2006. Iwitnessed in anguish the war between Israeland Lebanon, while I read about Zweig’s exile.I felt equally hurt by both. Then all of a sud-den, Norman’s tone brought me solace. I startedimagining what Zweig and Norman wouldhave discussed. Perhaps Norman would havetalked his Viennese counterpart out of takinghis life. He surely would have found the rightwords to assuage the pain of losing home andto capture the luck of finding a new address.

In The Return of the Hooligan, Normanwrites about how to come to terms with one’sexile. For all of those who have never had toexperience being forced into exile, it couldprovide clues about being at peace with one’slife, with oneself. Being a victim often trig-gers shame. That is why we need clowns, andwhy Norman sends out his. Clowns capturethe face of those who rebel against loss, grief,pity, and shame. They refuse to shrink to thedimensions of pain. Norman’s books sharethis nature – communicating rebellious joyand rebellious sadness.

Norman’s Hebrew name is Noah, the man whodefies the flood and is described as ‘righteousin his generation’. Norman lived through theworst of the twentieth century, yet he speaksabout his tormentors with a soft, firm voice, asif to deprive them of the anger they shouldarouse and thereby punish them. His fight isendless, but so too is his resolute calm. This iswhat struck me about his responses that sum-mer. I thought: there are indeed some Noahs inour time. Unlike the inadequate answers Iheard so often, his words and being brought mecomfort and meaning. Little did I know how hewould continue to do so, and to add a gift ofhappiness. Noah’s wife remains unnamed inthe Torah. Some commentators believe her tobe Na’ama – literally, the pleasant one. Thisalso describes Norman’s wife, Cella.

In November of 2006, I was scheduled toleave for the stormy Middle East the verynight when, as the rumor had it, Norman wasto receive the Médicis Prize. I managed tochange my travel plans and went to the eventcelebrating Norman. Political upheavalscould wait. We kept in touch. I told Normanof some plans for my future and he gave mehis guidance. A year after meeting Normanand Cella in person for the first time, I metthem again in New York. I told them, whiledining at a restaurant called Compass, aboutmy decision to move to New York to pursue aPhD at NYU. That night with them made mefeel that I was coming home.

Noah’s daughter CClléémmeennccee BBoouulloouuqquuee

‘Books have always felt like my only truerelations. Reading Norman, Proust, Svevo, all theRoths in the world, Celan, Mandelstam, Appelfeld, I trusted that they would always be reassuringwhispers in the dark, like that of my mother or ofmy father before my childhood was torn apart.’

Clemence Boulouque

Books have always felt like my only truerelations. Reading Norman, Proust, Svevo, allthe Roths in the world, Celan, Mandelstam,Appelfeld, I trusted that they would alwaysbe reassuring whispers in the dark, like thatof my mother or of my father before my child-hood was torn apart. Books do not abandonyou. That night, at Compass, Norman in-voked the story of Abraham and Sarah, whohad waited for so long before being grantedtheir wish for a child. I would be their Isaac,whose name means ‘he shall laugh’. If bibli-cal names are a characterization and a des-tiny, I gladly take that one on, in the feminineof Tisaac, ‘she shall laugh’.

Throughout the centuries, commentatorspuzzled by Isaac’s laughter have tried tomake sense of it. Some have called it a laugh-ter of disbelief, an interpretation I share. AtNorman and Cella’s side, I spent Kippur try-ing to atone – somehow thinking that Godshould be the one to fast for us – and watchedBarack Obama’s election. We spent NewYear’s Eve dancing with Nathan Zuckerman

in New York and Pessah with some crazyLubbavitch in Cluj. I received my green cardin the mail the day when Norman was award-ed his Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur.Clowns can also become magicians.

With my new parents, I felt a marveloussecurity. Only once did I feel uneasy – andthat was when I knew from Norman’s silencethat neither he nor Cella were convinced ofsome commitment I was making. I got sickthe next day and realized I was not too suremyself. I was reminded of the time spent inchemistry class, when we put Ph paper stripsin a liquid to assess its acidity based on thecolor of the strip. Norman knows how toreveal the acidity of emotions. But then hegoes on to make the strips change colors.

In Genesis, Noah’s name appears alongsidehis three sons’, and this closes a chapter of genea-logies, an enumeration of generations. Nowhere inthe commentaries, in these parallel worlds of theBible, does Noah have a daughter. But Normanalso has his own parallel universe. In Norman’sworlds, Noah does have a daughter.

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Cin\ `n casa Manea de la Bard cu Antonio Muñoz Molina, Mario Vargas Llosa, Peggy [i Robert Boyers, 2006

Dinner at the Maneas, with Antonio Muñoz Molina, Mario Vargas Llosa, Peggy and Robert Boyers, 2006

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„Da]i-mi voie, v\ implor“, spune Augustin `nConfesiunile sale, „`ng\dui]i-mi s\ rostesc `nmemoria mea prezent\ spiralele erorilor mele“.Acesta este strig\tul, obiectul demonstra]ieimultor autobiografi. Eroarea este imboldul,nu adev\rul, nici – sau nu `n mod evident – odelicioas\ mul]umire de sine. „A afla c\ amspus sau am `nf\ptuit o prostie nu `nseamn\nimic“, scrie Montaigne; „e necesar s\ asimi-l\m o lec]ie mult mai cuprinz\toare [i mai im-portant\: c\ nu suntem decât ni[te pro[ti cu to]ii“.O lec]ie pe care mul]i autobiografi [i-au `n-su[it-o prompt, cu o parad\ de sinceritate maimult decât dubioas\. Exist\ tendin]a de a aran-ja atent luminile când se monteaz\ dramele cezugr\vesc nemilos fragilitatea [i prostia.

La baza autobiografiei st\ de mult presu-punerea c\ ea e `n acela[i timp o nara]iuneconstruit\ [i un angajament „sincer“ fa]\ de onatur\ ori o dispozi]ie mai mult sau mai pu]incompus\ la rândul s\u din `ntuneric [i lumin\.Se presupune c\, prin istorisirea unor pove[tide via]\, rezisten]ele vor fi `nfrânte [i dezv\-luirea unor `mprejur\ri pân\ acum reprimate,uitate sau pur [i simplu ignorate va avea celpu]in un efect terapeutic binef\c\tor – [i pentruautor, [i pentru cititor. Dac\ adesea constru-irea unei pove[ti de via]\ atrage dup\ sine ati-tudini afectate [i eschiv\ri, ea va determina deasemenea punerea `n scen\ a unei drame `ncare `nclina]ia de a poza sau de a te eschivaeste recunoscut\ [i astfel atenuat\. ~n oricecaz, când `]i construie[ti povestea vie]ii, ]i se

ofer\ nenum\rate prilejuri de satisfac]ie, iarautorii de memorii ce rezist\ acestei tenta]iisunt extrem de pu]ini.

Exila]ii, ale c\ror pove[ti de via]\ sunt strânslegate de experien]a emigr\rii [i a pierderii,sunt, poate, mai vulnerabili decât al]ii la felu-ritele tipuri de autosatisfac]ie prilejuite descrierea memoriilor. ~n ultima sut\ de ani,persoanele de acest fel au fost, desigur, atât denumeroase, `ncât ast\zi ni se pare ceva banal.Niciun cititor nu poate evita contactul cu ope-rele unor scriitori care au meditat, adesea `nmod str\lucit, la experien]a exilului, de[i adeseaeste vorba despre exil ca o „condi]ie metafizic\“sau un efort nobil de a compensa ceea ce s-a„pierdut printre cuvinte“, cel mai important, maidegrab\ decât exilul ca prilej de a juca rolurisau de am\gire. Cunoscând el `nsu[i exilul,Joseph Brodsky `i recomanda scriitorului `nexil s\ `mbr\]i[eze din toat\ inima „dimensiu-nea metafizic\“, pentru c\ „a o ignora sau a teferi de ea `nseamn\ a te priva de sensul celor ce]i s-au `ntâmplat... a te osifica, devenind o vic-tim\ lipsit\ de `n]elegere“. Totodat\, avertizaBrodsky, din cauz\ c\ a suferit, de obicei dincauza unei tiranii politice, scriitorul exilat seva considera un „martir cu certificat“, „necon-trolat de nimeni“, a c\rui poten]ial\ insignifian]\`n ]ara unde a emigrat nu poate fi contracarat\decât de afirmarea sus]inut\ a statutului s\uprivilegiat, de martor [i martir exemplar.

~ntrucât scriitorul exilat se va sim]i adeseamarginal `n noua sa ]ar\, el are [anse, sus]ine

Autobiografia huliganului RRoobbeerrtt BBooyyeerrss

Brodsky, s\ devin\ „o fiin]\ retrospectiv\ [iretroactiv\“, ignorând, `n cea mai mare m\su-r\, realitatea prezent\, reciclând „materialulfamiliar al trecutului s\u“ [i gravitând `n jurulelegiacului. Aici, pericolele sunt evidente.Printre ele se num\r\ ceea ce Brodsky numea„repetitivitatea nostalgiei“, `ncetinirea „evolu-]iei stilistice“ a scriitorului [i chiar un cinisminsidios. („Materialul vechi `ndr\git i-a servitbine cel pu]in o dat\: i-a câ[tigat exilul. Iarexilul, la urma urmei, este un soi de succes...de ce s\ nu mai `ntoarc\ pu]in pe fa]\ [i pedos vechiul [i dragul dosar? De altfel, acumconstituie material etnografic, iar asta are unsucces teribil... când te `ntorci la acelea[i ches-tii... cel pu]in le poate oferi viitorilor speciali[tio idee de element de «mitizare» `n opera ta.“)

Niciun memorialist de care am cuno[tin]\ nupare s\ `n]eleag\ mai acut decât Norman Maneapericolele analizate de Brodsky. ~n cartea saautobiografic\, ~ntoarcerea huliganului, Manea sefere[te mereu de flatare, de compasiune, chiar [ide lauda bine inten]ionat\. El adulmec\ insistentprin propriile fraze orice urm\ de cli[eu, iluzio-nare, autopromovare. Pentru fiecare afirmaremodest\ a sinelui, exist\ numeroase pasaje deautozeflemea caustic\. Pretutindeni, Manea iala rost tendin]a sa de a deveni ceea ce detest\: oemblem\, o `ntrupare, o figur\ „comercializa-bil\“ de victim\ sau de r\zbun\tor. El [tie – cums\ nu [tie? – cât de seduc\toare este ideea de a„`ntoarce vechiul material [i pe cealalt\ fa]\“,cum spune Brodsky, de a urzi confortabila „mi-tizare“ ce trivializeaz\ suferin]a. Niciun altmartor al numeroaselor barbarisme ale secoluluitrecut nu [i-a instruit atât de insistent cititorul cuprivire la procesul prin care „atentatul de joi[devine] `nscris vineri `n noile tee-shirt-uri“.Cultiv\ el, uneori, ceea ce nume[te „gustul iuda-ic pentru catastrofe“? Este el dependent, m\carpu]in, de situa]ia-limit\ care `l ajut\ pe om s\ i separ\ lui `nsu[i mai interesant? Dac\ da, exist\[i un pronun]at dezgust fa]\ de „victimizarea,iar\[i, lament\rile victimei“, precum [i un dis-pre] ascuns pentru „oboseala de sine“.

Norman Manea s-a n\scut `ntr-un târgu[ordin Bucovina, `n 1936. Tat\l s\u era fiu de bru-tar, iar mama, fiic\ de librar. Dup\ cum scrieManea, evreii din acea provincie „vorbeau [iromâne[te, nu doar germana, [i se aflaser\ `ncontact continuu cu popula]ia româneasc\“. Lafabrica de zah\r unde lucra tat\l lui NormanManea, trudeau de asemenea „«str\inii» cehi[i nem]i [i italieni“, comunitatea dând semne c\devenea din ce `n ce mai cosmopolit\. Dup\ordinul de deportare emis `n 1941 de autori-t\]ile române fasciste, evreii din Bucovina aufost trimi[i `n lag\rul de concentrare dinTransnistria, Ucraina, curmând iluziile createde `ndelungata experien]\ cosmopolit\.

De[i mai mul]i dintre membrii mai vârstniciai familiei `nchi[i `mpreun\ cu ei `n lag\ruldin Transnistria n-au supravie]uit dup\ r\zboi,Norman Manea [i p\rin]ii s\i au ie[it de acolo`n 1945 [i curând dup\ aceea au `nceput luptapentru existen]\ `n România proasp\t comu-nist\. ~n 1949 Manea a devenit lider al Uniu-nii Tineretului Comunist – episoadele dincartea de memorii dedicate acestei perioadedin via]a lui sunt deopotriv\ comice [i patetice –,dar curând a intrat `ntr-o perioad\ de nemul-]umire, a devenit `n cele din urm\ inginer, apublicat mai multe c\r]i [i `n 1974, profitândde un certificat medical, s-a dedicat exclusivscrisului. Publicând opt romane [i numeroasealte scrieri, a devenit o voce literar\ semni-ficativ\ `n ]ara lui, dar [i o figur\ suspect\ `nuniversul autoritar, antisemit al României luiCeau[escu, de[i nu era un scriitor disident„obraznic“ [i nici un anticomunist subversiv`n mod deschis. ~n 1986 [i-a p\r\sit ]ara`mpreun\ cu so]ia, iar dup\ doi ani s-a stabilitla New York.

Reputa]ia lui Manea `n Statele Unite sebazeaz\ pe patru c\r]i ale sale disponibile `nlimba englez\: Octombrie, ora opt, un volumde povestiri serioase, fermec\toare, capricioase,superbe `ntr-un mod sobru, melancolice;Fericirea obligatorie, un volum de nuveles\lbatice, otr\vite, chinuitoare; Plicul negru,

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un roman satiric alegorico-politic; [i DespreClovni, un volum de eseuri tulbur\toare,mu[c\toare, mereu scrut\toare pe subiecteculturale [i politice specifice spa]iului româ-nesc. Toat\ aceast\ oper\ este, evident, crea]iaunui om care cunoa[te blânde]ea [i afec]iunea,dar e prea ironic [i prea b\nuitor ca s\ se mul]u-measc\ doar cu t\m\duirea sau cu `mp\careaori ca s\ ignore seriozitatea specific\ firii sale.

Cartea autobiografic\ a lui Manea debu-teaz\ `n 1997, cu o vizit\ la un popular maga-zin-restaurant de delicatese din New York,unde romancierul discut\ cu prietenul PhilipRoth despre decizia sa – pe atunci nu tocmaidefinitiv\ – de a face o c\l\torie `n România,dup\ nou\ ani de absen]\. Ca [i alte schimburide idei asem\n\toare dintr-o carte care `nain-teaz\ prin salturi surprinz\toare [i derutantepe moment, trecând de la melancolie la capri-ciu, de la sardonic la liric, dialogul cu Rotheste fragmentar, sugestiv, juc\u[, pregnant,neconcludent. Dar, `n acest episod inauguralal unei c\r]i lungi, descifr\m, simultan, sensulgeneral [i strategia consecvent\ a imagina]ieilui Manea, care con]ine foarte multe st\ri despirit, evenimente [i proiec]ii. Pendulând `ntre trecut [i viitor, apropiindu-se [i`ndep\rtându-se, povestea oscileaz\ constant,`n a[a fel `ncât lunga c\l\torie `n Transnistriadin 1941 se `mplete[te cu cea de repatrieredin 1945 [i cu alte drumuri de mai târziu `nOccident [i `napoi `n patrie, `n 1997. Nimicnu r\mâne imobil prea mult\ vreme `n na-ra]iunea aceasta [i nu este deloc surprinz\tor,`ntr-o oper\ atât de mobil\, c\ fantoma mameilui Manea `l viziteaz\ adesea `n timpulc\l\toriilor sale sau c\ vorbele ei `i r\sun\ `nminte `n cele mai improbabile circumstan]e.Nu suntem deloc surprin[i nici c\ una dintrecele mai tulbur\toare sec]iuni ale c\r]iiaminte[te de cucerirea mamei de c\tre tat\ls\u [i surprinde atmosfera tensionat\ de la`nceputul anilor ’30 `n Europa de Est, `naintede na[terea scriitorului, cu „legende exotice“`n familie, discu]iile despre politic\ din cas\

[i „locuin]ele afumate, [amintind de] aburultig\ilor `ncinse“, `n care oamenii stau [i citesc„ziare pline de larm\ [i alarm\“. La Maneatotul este caustic [i solid [i se tope[te mereu,f\cându-se nev\zut, curgerea discursului ecând [optit\, când ferm\; amintirea [i medita-]ia, timpul prezent [i timpul trecut se conto-pesc atât de des\vâr[it, `ncât fiecare pare a fi,invariabil, chipul celuilalt.

Prezen]a „martirului cu certificat“ nu esteexagerat\ la Manea. La urma urmei, el a su-pravie]uit chinurilor succesive la care a fostsupus, iar dac\ supravie]uirea i s-a p\rut demulte ori un privilegiu `ndoielnic, a tr\it sufi-cient ca s\ vad\ pr\bu[irea regimurilor fascist[i comunist `n România, precum [i ca s\ `n-groape unele dintre minciunile [i str\lucirealegate de extrateritorialitatea emigratului. Ca[i Kafka, el este „revendicat de negurile Estu-lui“, dar refuz\ s\ `[i `nsu[easc\ disperarea„certificabil\“ din fraza lui Kafka: „Niciosecund\ de calm nu mi-e `ng\duit\, nimic nu-mi este asigurat, totul trebuie dobândit...“.Da, declar\ el, se recunoa[te `n aceste cuvin-te, de[i trebuie s\ te fere[ti de afinit\]i, tocmaifiindc\ sunt atât de ispititoare, iar cei alec\ror b\rci iau ap\, ca a lui Kafka, sunt `nchip nefiresc `nclina]i s\ capete accentele dis-perate premerg\toare naufragiului.

Rezisten]a lui Manea la afectare [i la mit iaforme diverse. De multe ori, ea vine cu o in-flexiune, cu o voce, cu tonul mânios al unuiprieten care nu este dispus – dup\ Manea –s\-l lase pe scriitor s\ scape ieftin. S`nt opacoste? – se `ntreab\ Manea. Da, „pacoste aifost“, concede mu[c\tor Roth. {i nu sem\ncumva, se `ntreab\ Manea, cum de mult mi separe, cu familiarul personaj August Prostul,„paria, p\gubosul care `ncaseaz\ [uturi `n fund,spre deliciul mul]imii“? Regret, `i r\spundealt amic, dar e[ti, bietul de tine, un „respec-tabil“ scriitor, writer in residence, „onorat cupremii [i, recent, cu un «endowed chair»... ~ncircul oriental, clovnul `ntors din America`nseamn\ `nving\torul“. Amicul este tolerant,

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amuzat. Râde de scriitorul a c\rui `nclina]iespre autodramatizare [i martiriu certificabil nueste deloc atr\g\toare sau viabil\. Oricât s-arstr\dui, Manea nu se poate transforma cu suc-ces `ntr-o figur\ pentru care ar vrea s\ trezeas-c\ o compasiune trist\, universal\.

Pentru a fi vrednic nu doar de compasiune,ci [i de admira]ie, crede Manea, este necesarca exilatul s\ nu se perceap\ doar ca victim\pur [i simplu, ci ca persoana care s-a luptat,ca om care nu a acceptat `nfrângerea [i care amers mereu mai departe, spunând: nu, nu voiac]iona cu delicate]e, nu voi rosti aceast\minciun\, nu o s\-mi ]in gura, nu m\ voicuib\ri `n ritualurile goale ale solidarit\]ii. ~nacest scop, el – om modest, ezitant, timid – `[iaplic\ eticheta de „huligan“, ce are un pedigriremarcabil `n istoria româneasc\ a secoluluiXX. Manea ne spune c\ `n cartea Cum amdevenit huligan, ap\rut\ `n 1935, MihailSebastian afirma „«autonomia spiritual\» asuferin]ei evreie[ti, «nervul ei tragic», disputa`ntre «o sensibilitate tumultuoas\ [i un sim]critic ne`ndur\tor», `ntre «inteligen]a `n for-mele ei cele mai reci [i pasiunea `n formele eicele mai despletite». Huligan? adic\ marginal,nealiniat, exclus?... Pe sine `nsu[i... se defini-se limpede: «Nu sunt un partizan, sunt mereuun disident»... Disident, adic\, chiar [i fa]\ desecta disiden]ilor?“.

~ns\ nu doar evreul Sebastian [i-a apropriattermenul huligan. Tân\rul Eliade – devenit maitârziu celebru datorit\ lucr\rilor sale [tiin]ificede istoria religiei [i profesor respectat, timpde mul]i ani, la University of Chicago – ascris un prim roman intitulat Huliganii. ~naceast\ carte, huliganismul era asociat cu„rebeliunea, cultul mor]ii... «regimente per-fect [i egal aliniate de un mit colectiv»“. Eraun huliganism destul de distan]at de „sim]ulcritic ne`ndur\tor“ [i „autonomia spiritual\“prosl\vite de Sebastian drept componenteindispensabile ale huliganismului. De fapt, `nmomentul scrierii acestui roman, Eliade erapurt\torul de cuvânt al G\rzii de Fier fasciste,a[teptând ner\bd\tor, cum afirma el `n 1938,

„o Românie na]ionalist\, frenetic\ [i [ovinist\,`narmat\ [i viguroas\, nemiloas\ [i r\zbun\-toare“ [i preg\tit\ s\ se ocupe de „ofensiva...evreilor [care] au n\p\dit satele...“. Astfel deremarci i se par lui Manea „ridicole [i dezgus-t\toare“, iar eseul despre Eliade scris de elpentru The New Republic `n 1991 i-a atras, `nRomânia postcomunist\, tot felul de etichete, dela „piticul de la Ierusalim“ la „Jum\tate-de-Om“[i „p\duche“. Nepl\cut, desigur, de[i tocmaiacest greu câ[tigat statut de paria [i de inamicpublic i se pare lui Manea c\ `i garanteaz\ `n-su[irea ambivalent\, autozeflemitoare, ironic\a termenului huligan `n sensul onorific folosit deSebastian. Mai mult, `ntreaga gam\ de asocia]iideclan[at\ de acest termen este la origineac\r]ii autobiografice a lui Manea, inspirându-ideloc infatuata c\utare a identit\]ii.

Cel pu]in `n englez\, cuvântul huligan areo sonoritate oarecum arhaic\, `n parte pentruc\ a fost adesea folosit, cu tandr\ afec]iune, cureferire la copiii „neastâmp\ra]i“ ale c\ror aba-teri, oricât de des repetate, li se par p\rin]iloreminamente pardonabile. ~n acela[i fel, atuncicând Manea `[i aplic\ sie[i cuvântul, o face cusentimentul c\ este cel mai improbabil dintrehuligani, un om de obicei prea blajin [i preavis\tor ca s\ reprezinte un pericol real pentrucorpul politic. A citi povestirile lui Manea`nseamn\ a te reg\si adesea `ntr-un domeniual interiorit\]ii proustiene, pentru a te deplasaapoi prin ceea ce un admirator nume[te „ara-bescurile tot mai complicate ale viselor cu ochiideschi[i“. Desigur, fic]iunea lui Manea con]ine[i satira [i farsa politic\, iar eseurile sale `[i ur-m\resc adesea scopul cu o perseveren]\ insis-tent\. Totu[i, cum observa Beatrix Langner, decele mai multe ori Manea alege „oroarea indes-criptibilului mai degrab\ decât descrierea ororii“,iar „atmosfera misterioas\ a irealit\]ii“ [i „pa-radoxurile codificate“ care prolifereaz\ `nfic]iunea sa `l fac s\ par\ orice altceva, numainu un polemist tipic.

Totu[i, `n repertoriul lui Manea este vizibil\o `nzestrare considerabil\ pentru huliganismulautentic. El este un demistificator compulsiv,

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insa]iabil, iar dac\, `ntorcându-se la „acelea[ichestii vechi“, cum zice Brodsky, Manea ali-menteaz\ mitul scriitorului r\nit [i deposedat,a c\rui unic\ misiune este s\ denun]e tot felulde minciuni mascate, este un mit care se auto-anuleaz\, el `nsu[i deconstruit la nesfâr[it de ointeligen]\ scriitoriceasc\ nefiresc de atent\ lapropriile predilec]ii. ~n mod sigur, Manea scrieadesea sub pretextul, sub masca unui intelec-tual din opozi]ie care `[i dore[te cu `nfocareru[inea oficial\ pe care [i-o atrage. Dar cinese `ncrede mai pu]in decât Manea `n m\[tilepe care le poart\ [i insist\ s\ [i le smulg\ `nmod repetat, astfel `ncât las\ `n urm\, `n toat\cartea aceasta de memorialistic\, o dâr\ lung\de posturi [i postulate refuzate, huliganismul`nsu[i fiind o idee niciodat\ pe deplin abando-nat\ [i niciodat\ complet demn\ de `ncrederesau câ[tigat\ `n mod decisiv.

De[i `n cartea sa autobiografic\ nu folo-se[te cuvântul kitsch, e clar c\ Manea se temeca huliganismul „critic“ s\ nu fie contaminatprintr-o acaparare nesincer\, descris\ de maimul]i scriitori est-europeni importan]i. ~nInsuportabila u[ur\tate a fiin]ei de MilanKundera – pentru a da un exemplu notabil –,eroina c\r]ii, Sabina, fuge din Praga `n Oc-cident `n 1968 [i descoper\ `n catalogul uneiexpozi]ii cu picturile ei „o fotografie a ei, cuun desen reprezentând ni[te sârm\ ghimpat\suprapus acesteia. ~n catalog, g\si o biografiecare p\rea via]a unei sfinte sau a unei martire:suferise, se luptase cu... nedreptatea, fusesesilit\ s\-[i p\r\seasc\ patria `nsângerat\, dar`[i continua lupta“. Când Sabina protesteaz\fa]\ de prietenii ei c\ „du[manul meu ekitsch-ul, nu comunismul“, nu este `n]eleas\.

Manea n-ar fi nici `n ruptul capului deacord cu afirma]ia c\ du[manul s\u din Ro-mânia ar fi fost „kitsch-ul, nu comunismul“,dar o `n]elege, f\r\ `ndoial\, pe Sabina. Maimult, hot\rârea sa de a nu se transforma `ntr-unnobil cavaler al disiden]ei izvor\[te dinaceea[i ur\ fa]\ de falsitate care o inspir\ [i peeroina lui Kundera. Calitatea de huligan,

adic\ o figur\ a opozi]iei, capabil\ s\ vad\ prinorice masc\, `i surâde lui Manea atât timp câtnu implic\ preten]ia la o virtute des\vâr[it\.Aceast\ reticen]\ merge la el dincolo deobi[nuita recunoa[tere a faptului c\ eroii tinds\ aib\ picioare de lut. Se fere[te nu doar desl\biciunea moral\ obi[nuit\, ci [i de auto-am\gire, atent la clovneria celor care, ca [i el,se tot r\zgândesc apropo de orice fapt\ saumotiv al lor. Dar, oricât s-ar teme de capaci-tatea sa de a fi timid sau de a poza, ur\[tepuerilitatea, care este „somnambulismul de zicu zi“ al c\l\torilor gen „nu asculta r\ul, nuprivi r\ul“ din orice ordine stabilit\.

Aceast\ puerilitate este perfect exprimat\ detitlul c\r]ii lui Manea Fericirea obligatorie,care se petrece `n „colonia penitenciar\“ a„Minciunii“. Aici, `n România lui Ceau[escu,cet\]enii „n-au decât s\ sug\ din naiva lorsperan]\“ [i s\ nu recunoasc\ nici fa]\ de ei`n[i[i ceea ce este evident `n via]a pe care oduc. Dictatorul, „clovnul nostru“, cum scriaManea `ntr-un eseu, „administra ]ara ca pe oimens\ gr\dini]\ de copii militariza]i“. Gân-dindu-se la „gr\dini]a“ `n care locuise multtimp, Manea este când dispre]uitor, cânddezam\git, `ndreptându-[i acum furia c\tre„omul slab care am fost“ („La ce folosiseIni]ierea `ntre 5 [i 9 ani, dac\ la 25 de ani nu`mi d\deam foc `n pia]a public\, aidomapreo]ilor budi[ti, pentru a denun]a Minciuna`n care domicilia bizantina noastr\ existen]\?O coaj\ de ou, Minciuna, `nveli[ul nostrucotidian?“), `n alt\ parte fiind doar trist,melancolic, de[i cumva prevestind nesfâr[ita„scrim\“ cu sine. („M\ instruisem `n scepti-cism, nimic nu poate fi mai r\u decât a fi om,`mi repeta scepticul Mark Twain. S\ fiu ro-mân, `mi pl\cuse, cu adev\rat, gluma asta? –p\rea s\ m\ `ntrebe, uneori, glume]ul ameri-can.“) Pe t\râmul „fericirii obligatorii“ Maneaeste gata oricând s\ guste gluma care li seface lui [i tuturor celorlal]i „ucenici `n bana-lit\]ile [i extravagan]ele `n care `i instruie[tepedagogic via]a“.

Paradis este numele pe care Manea `l d\marelui loc „cotidian“ `n care toate nulit\]ilebine adaptate sunt de acord s\ se simt\ ferici-te. Cartea autobiografic\ `ncepe cu cuvintele:„Prin fereastra larg\ cât peretele, intr\ luminaedenic\, de prim\var\“. Pân\ la sfâr[itul para-grafului, „contempl\, de la `n\l]imea a zeceetaje“, strada din New York; „In paradise oneis better off than anywhere else*, ar trebui s\repete“. Mai târziu, hoin\rind dincolo deVerdi Square, observ\ statuia compozitoruluiitalian „pe care odihnesc ciorile placide aleParadisului“. Peste tot Manea `nfrunt\ su-prafe]ele banale, familiare, mângâietoare alevie]ii de zi cu zi care `l ispitesc s\ consimt\ c\putea fi [i mai r\u [i c\ trebuie s\ fii nebun cas\ tânje[ti dup\ un „mai bine“ sau un „cel maibine“ care nu se poate materializa niciodat\ [inici nu o va face. Peste tot observ\ `nclina]iac\tre superficialitate [i adaptare. Oricât ar`ncerca s\ fie recunosc\tor pentru paradisulcu aer condi]ionat pe care l-a g\sit `n StateleUnite, nu poate g\si „bucuriile libert\]ii“.Mi[cat uneori ca s\ `nregistreze cu compasi-unea cuvenit\ necazurile oamenilor obi[nui]i,to]i, ca [i el, incapabili s\ fie altceva decâtsunt, el `[i reaminte[te c\ „masele oprimate“sunt „nu chiar atât de inocente“ [i c\ „elemen-tara polaritate“ – ca `ntre est [i vest, liber [ineliber, deschis [i `nchis – „s-ar putea dovedi,de fapt, complementaritate“. A[a afirmaManea `n Despre Clovni [i a[a s-ar p\rea c\mai crede [i `n ultima sa relatare din paradis.

Pentru Manea, de fapt, ceea ce a p\rut`ntotdeauna problematic este `nsu[i conceptulde normalitate. Normalitatea sugereaz\, la ur-ma urmei, c\ oamenii pot tr\i f\r\ s\ recurg\prea mult la fantezie [i exagerare, a[teptându-se`n mod rezonabil ca lumea s\ fie oricum dez-am\gitoare, mai mult sau mai pu]in regulat\`n ritmurile [i desf\[ur\rile sale. Aceast\ sem-nifica]ie a lucrurilor se str\duie[te Manea s\ oating\, de[i o face, `n cea mai mare parte, f\r\speran]\. ~n România, relateaz\ el, aproapeoricine putea fi invitat s\ serveasc\ guvernul

ca informator. Un prieten apropiat al lui Maneafusese ales s\ `l toarne pe scriitor [i a f\cut acestlucru mai mul]i ani, `ntâlnindu-se `n fiecares\pt\mân\ `n case private „conspirative“ pen-tru a-i raporta informa]ii f\r\ importan]\ unuiofi]er de Securitate, povestindu-i apoi lui Normandespre aceste „vizite oficiale“. Un astfel dearanjament era la ordinea zilei `ntr-o ]ar\ `n careexista „un poli]ist la fiecare cincisprezececet\]eni“, cum scria Manea `n Despre Clovni,„cincisprezece informatori «voluntari» pelâng\ fiecare poli]ist“. Dar poate un astfel dearanjament s\ fie ori s\ par\ normal, `n oricesens normal al cuvântului? Aceasta nu estedecât una dintre `ntreb\rile f\r\ r\spuns pecare le pune Manea `n mod repetat `n carteasa autobiografic\.

~ns\ problema normalit\]ii intervine [i `nalte direc]ii. Mai devreme `n carte, Maneacite[te pe fa]ada unei cl\diri cafenii din NewYork „irizarea albastr\ a mesajului“: „DE-PRESSION IS A FLAW IN CHEMISTRYNOT IN CHARACTER“**. Ca atâtea altelucruri care `i trec prin gând lui Manea `ncartea autobiografic\, aceste cuvinte par `nacela[i timp absurde [i prevenitoare, o diver-siune sau o curiozitate [i o prevestire a unorlucruri mai importante. Mereu atent la defecte,sceptic `n ceea ce prive[te terapiile [i adapt\-rile, suspicios fa]\ de formulele menite s\ `ifac\ pe oameni s\ se simt\ `ncânta]i de ei,Manea se fere[te mereu de orice este lini[titorsau care diminueaz\ `n mod categoric vina.Dispus, `n majoritatea timpului s\ zâmbeasc\`n fa]a absurdit\]ii [i s\ tr\iasc\ f\r\ s\ recurg\la standarde normative, nu are `ncredere `naspectul aparent normal a tot ceea ce vede.Marcat de „toxinele“ pe care le-a ingerat multtimp, el `[i tr\deaz\ `n carte vechiul obicei de aaborda ceea ce trece drept normalitate cu o dis-torsionare acid\, ironic\. Oricât ar fi de ispititde seriozitate, de solemnitate, de simpatia ne-complicat\, se controleaz\, `[i aminte[te sfatulscriitorului polonez Witold Gombrowicz, care„se delecta sco]ând limba la el `nsu[i“.

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Faptul c\ Manea nu are nicio [ans\ s\ sta-bileasc\ o rela]ie „normal\“, netulburat\ cuorice idee imaginabil\ de normalitate ne esteclar din primele pagini ale c\r]ii. Chiar [i amin-tirile sale fericite ne sunt povestite cu un aercompulsiv de distorsionare ironic\. Bucure[-tiul `nsu[i, un loc unde Manea a cunoscutodat\ diferitele fe]e ale aventurii carnale [ialte intensit\]i, este amintit ca „Gomora“. Pestetot limbajul se `nal]\, str\luce[te, uneori pân\la punctul de a deveni caricatural. ~ntâmpl\ri [iemo]ii obi[nuite sunt transformate `n adversaridramatici afla]i `ntr-o lupt\ continu\, astfel`ncât semnifica]ia lucrului care ni se deschide`n fa]\ nu are nicio [ans\ contra unui discursplin de „r\zbunare“, „mântuire“, „seniori ainop]ii“, „ve[nica fric\ a ghetoului“, „sirenacre[tin\“, „capcana profan\rii, tenta]ia tabuu-lui“. Chiar [i atunci când, ocazional, Manea`[i ia seama, `ncercând pentru scurt timp s\controleze ceea ce este o mi[care irezistibil\ agândirii [i a limbajului, nu se poate pune cusine. Chiar [i `ntâlnirea unor `ndr\gosti]i carenu a fost „o parodie“, care a fost ceva „real,firesc“ este evocat\ cu „lumina zorilor pecearceaful p\tat de garoafele sângelui defecioar\“, iar cele dou\ familii implicate sunt„Montague“ [i „Capulet“, un „repertoriutradi]ional“ de conven]ii ce pun st\pânire peceea ce scriitorul pur [i simplu nu poate trans-forma `ntr-o povestire „fireasc\“.

~ns\ distorsionarea [i ironia care sunt aspecteesen]iale ale imagina]iei lui Manea vizeaz\ deobicei `ntâmpl\ri mai terifiante decât poves-tea trec\toare de dragoste dintre un evreu [i oshiksa. Observa]i greutatea cuvintelor „n-afost la nivelul a[tept\rilor“ din fragmentul:„Bilan]ul Potopului n-a fost, totu[i, pân\ laurm\, la nivelul a[tept\rilor. Transnistria... nuse poate mândri decât cu 50% deceda]i“. Iro-nia evident\ care impregneaz\ fraza este cel maibine apreciat\ atunci când fraza este plasat\lâng\ un pasaj de pe o pagin\ anterioar\ a c\r]ii:„Tragicul destin a apropiat, peste milenii“,scrie el, „robia babilonic\ [i iadul de foame,boal\ [i moarte al Transnistriei“. A[a scria

primarul cre[tin al Cern\u]iului, ne spune Manea,un b\rbat pe nume Traian Popovici, care a`ncercat, pân\ `n ultima clip\, s\ `mpiedicedeport\rile evreilor. Aici ironia evident\, de[iManea nu spune explicit c\ exist\ vreuna, estec\ nici Popovici „n-a fost la nivelul a[tept\-rilor“, adic\ nu s-a comportat a[a cum ar fifost de a[teptat de la un oficial „cre[tin“ `nCern\u]iul anului 1941. Nu putem nici s\ nuobserv\m, noi, cititorii obi[nui]i cu variet\]ileironiei [i ale deconstruc]iei critice manifestate`n carte, c\ limbajul lui Popovici, chiar a[a, mar-cat de o retoric\ infla]ionist\ („peste milenii“,„tragicul destin“, „robia babilonic\“, „iadulde foame“), nu este deloc exagerat aici, c\exprim\ de fapt „normalul“, adic\ r\spunsulcu foarte mare `nc\rc\tur\ emo]ional\, com-plet informat, profund resim]it al unei persoane„normale“ la o catastrof\ pe care cre[tinii apa-rent perfect „normali“ din Cern\u]i nu ar fi pu-tut-o pricepe nici pe departe `ntr-un mod „normal“.

Mul]i ani dup\ aceea, un prieten român,poet, avea s\ `i spun\ lui Manea `ntr-o scri-soare: „Slav\ Domnului, nu avem de ce s\ neplângem `n mod deosebit“, un mesaj care luiManea i se pare „restrâns, timorat“, autoruls\u „timorat de spaima supraveghetorilor“ [ideci apelând la o ironie codificat\, cuvântul„deosebit“ clar `nc\rcat, un semn. Indicând ce?Corespondentul lui Manea ar p\rea s\ implice,`n construc]ia unei propozi]ii „nevinovate“,`ntregul aparat normativ al societ\]ii, suge-rând c\ teroarea [i falsitatea sistematic\ au de-venit atât de generalizate, `ncât fac ca oriceplângere „deosebit\“ s\ par\ ridicol\. Din nou,sim]ul rezonabil, familiar al normalului estef\cut s\ par\ inadecvat, oarecum o evadaredin „realitatea“ grotesc\ la care s-a ajuns `nlocuri precum România lui Ceau[escu.

Asaltat de versiuni ale irealit\]ii orchestrate[i de deform\ri monstruoase ale retoricii publi-ce, Manea se `ndoie[te adesea de capacitateasa de a men]ine „coeren]a“, „integritatea“. Elvrea s\ nu `[i fac\ iluzii, s\ renun]e la toateafilierile `n[el\toare [i totu[i are nevoie, simte

el, de un punct de sprijin, oricât de pu]in\ `n-credere are `n puncte [i chiar dac\ nu se maipoate sprijini mult timp. Este el evreu? Este unevreu nepracticant; apar]ine de ceea ce Jean-François Lyotard numea odat\ „un nonpoporde supravie]uitori“ al c\rui „sim] al comuni-t\]ii“ depinde de „o nesfâr[it\ reamintire atrecutului“. ~ns\ Manea se aga]\ de aceast\defini]ie ca un om care nu se `ncrede `n nimic,cu atât mai pu]in `ntr-o cheie a identit\]ii atât deispititoare [i atât de goal\ de con]inut `ncât s\`l conecteze pe cel care se `mp\rt\[e[te cu un„nonpopor“. Evreitatea sa este o realitate, darlui nu i se pare un punct de sprijin adecvat.

Pe tot parcursul c\r]ii Manea face referirela multe surse `n c\utarea coeren]ei. „~mi vin `nminte“, spune el, „citate, de parc\ doar isteriaretoric\ m-ar putea desc\rca, prin vorbelealtora, de mine `nsumi“ [i, am putea ad\uga,s\ `l redea `n cele din urm\ sie[i. Manea estebântuit, dac\ nu prea des de fantome „reale“,atunci m\car de frânturi de monologuri, dia-loguri, fragmente din c\r]i pe care [i le amin-te[te doar pe jum\tate, remarci [i aperçu-urir\t\cite. „Blanchot?“ , se `ntreab\ el, sau „A[ fiputut, la fel de bine... s\ m\ gândesc la Praga[i Milena Jesenská“ ori „«Tu nu e[ti Cioran»,m\ aud bâiguind“. Construirea identit\]ii pentruManea se refer\ la „colajele“ pe care le com-pune la nesfâr[it, modelând [i deformând [iremodelând din mers, extrem de sensibil lafiecare cerin]\ de limbaj [i stare din fiecarefragment de care se apuc\, ispitit, dar nicio-dat\ definitiv intrat `n gra]iile sentimentului.

Nu exist\ niciun om despre care Manea s\poat\ spune, a[a cum ar putea spune EliasCanetti despre Karl Kraus, c\ a fost „unuldintre idolii mei“, dar insa]iabilul Manea nicinu permite vreunei surse s\ le exclud\ pe ce-lelalte. Pasiunile lui Manea sunt `n evolu]ie,entuziasmele sale sunt de obicei atât de provizorii,`ncât el nu este niciodat\ complet dezam\git decei pe care [i-i `nsu[e[te. Ca [i Canetti, poatefi „capricios [i arbitrar“, dar nu este `nclinats\ arunce, dezgustat, cu ceva de pere]i ori s\

se uite bucuros cum entuziasmele sale „se de-gradeaz\ [i se afund\ treptat `n p\mânt“. Acolounde Canetti scrie despre nevoia sa de „a se eli-bera“ de entuziasme, construirea colajelor laManea este un proces `n desf\[urare `n carenicio influen]\ sau voce nu poate p\rea atr\g\-toare prea mult timp f\r\ for]a compensatoareexercitat\ de alte voci, adesea contradictorii.

Canetti identific\ la Kraus „adev\rata sa ca-litate biblic\: oroarea“ [i, cu toate c\ Manea nuare [i celelalte calit\]i ale lui Kraus – „arogan]a“[i „venera]ia fa]\ de zeii s\i“ –, el posed\ cusiguran]\, din abunden]\, acea „calitate biblic\“,acea capacitate de a `nregistra „oroarea“ pecare pu]ini al]i scriitori au redat-o cu atâtafor]\. La Manea, oroarea are adesea de-a facecu sentimentul s\u c\ limba minte, c\ estegreu, foarte greu s\ spunem exact ce vrem s\spunem. ~ntr-un mod ciudat, ceea ce i se parecel mai adev\rat lui Manea este o limb\ foar-te `ndep\rtat\ de „limba diurn\, a tuturor“ [ide limba „literar\“. De[i mama sa nu era, `norice sens obi[nuit al termenului, o persoan\elocvent\, ea pare acum [i i se p\rea atuncilui Manea c\ vorbe[te cu adev\rat ceea ce elnumea odat\ „limba ghetoului“. Aceasta este,spune el, o limb\ care „geme, susur\, recla-m\, vie]uie[te, supravie]uie[te“. O aude `ntimpul bolboroselilor nocturne ale mamei, `mb\-trânit\, mic[orat\, aflat\ `n spital pentru o ope-ra]ie la ochi, o aude `n „lamentare codificat\,limb\ bizar\, de ne`n]eles“, par]ial incompre-hensibil\ pentru c\ este vorba despre idi[, cu-vinte „str\ine“ so]iei lui Manea, Cella, care st\`ntins\ lâng\ b\trân\ pe patul `ngust. Noaptede noapte ea aude „un susur, mai `ntâi, scurtesemnale guturale, urmate de ritmul alert alunei confesiuni zbuciumate, secrete. Vocabu-lar tainic, tânguieli [i repro[uri, lirice reprizede ging\[ie, destinate ini]ia]ilor“, dialecte a-mestecate, „inflexiuni slave sau spaniole [isonorit\]i biblice, un n\mol lingvistic care aadunat [i c\rat cu el afluen]i de tot soiul...monolog sucit, uneori `n tânguiri [i trepida]iidespre care nu [tii cât ar fi glum\ [i ran\“.

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Ca de obicei, bogat `n nuan]e [i sonorit\]i,pasajul pune `n scen\, prin textura limbii,drama str\daniei lui Manea spre sinceritate [icoeren]\, cu toate c\, desigur, nu propune oalternativ\ formal\ la nimic. La urma urmei,Manea nu evoc\ un model de spunere a ade-v\rului, nu e o formul\ de evitare a duplici-t\]ilor obi[nuite din comunicarea de zi cu zisau a discursului institu]ional aprobat oficial.Dar, `n felul s\u, mama cea oarb\ roste[te a-dev\rul, „adunând“, cum scrie Manea, [i „c\-rând“ „afluen]i de tot felul“, `n care ameste-cul de „glum\ [i ran\“, „tânguielile“ [i „liri-cul“, „ging\[ia“ [i „zbuciumul“ tr\deaz\ oautenticitate sau un sentiment de net\g\duitpe care l-ar invidia negre[it orice scriitor ade-v\rat. Cea a mamei nu este decât o variant\ aadev\ratei voci a sentimentului c\tre care tin-de Manea, dar auzim aceast\ „voce a gheto-ului“ cât se poate de insistent `n cartea auto-biografic\ a lui Manea. ~n ciuda enormelorcuno[tin]e [i a `n]elepciunii lui Manea, asofistic\rii sale politice [i a inventivit\]ii luiironice, `n carte el pare s\ nu lase niciodat\vocea mamei s\ se `ndep\rteze prea mult.

Desigur, nu doar mama apare ca personajbine conturat `n carte, de[i la final sim]im c\ peManea `nsu[i `l cunoa[tem cel mai bine. De fapt,oroarea exprimat\ tacit atât de des `n carte aremult de-a face cu teama lui Manea c\ persoa-nele care au `nsemnat cel mai mult pentru el`[i pierd acum din valoare, locurile [i situa]iilecare le-au f\cut reale pentru ele `nsele fiindirecuperabile. Manea nu poate inversa niciprocesul coruperii, banalizarea suferin]ei [ireducerea experien]ei la ceva la care poate par-ticipa oricine [i `n care, scrie el, „orice [este]compatibil cu ori[ice“. O variant\ a acestei expe-rien]e la care poate participa oricine este pro-cesul prin care exilatul reu[e[te s\ se adapteze[i `nva]\ s\ se obi[nuiasc\ cu pierderea lumii,a persoanelor [i a semnifica]iilor care pot,doar ele, s\ fie temelie coeren]ei sale.

Cioran, printre al]ii, a observat c\ scriitoruldin exil este amenin]at de pericolul „de a se

adapta la soarta sa, de a nu mai suferi dincauza ei“. Dar Manea nu g\se[te prea mult\consolare `n „paradisul“ american [i, oricum,cititorului nu `i este la fel de clar ca scriitoru-lui c\ `n cazul lui asimilarea este imposibil\.Iar Manea nicinu „se aga]\ convulsiv“ de„speran]a de repatriere“, de[i Gombrowiczspunea c\ niciun exilat nu ar putea tr\i f\r\ea. Pentru Manea, patria va fi `ntotdeauna„colonia penitenciar\ a Minciunii“, iar ceeace Gombrowicz nume[te „superficialitatedemocratic\“, „normalitate“ [i optimism almarelui loc al exilului pentru Manea este celmult amuzant [i cel mai adesea exasperant.Manea scrie, de fapt, ca [i cum locul care i secuvine pe p\mânt `nc\ nu a fost descoperit, ca[i cum locul s\u adev\rat ar fi oriunde, dar `nalt\ parte. Manea prive[te `napoi tânjind nudup\ un loc, ci dup\ un sentiment al loculuicare `ntotdeauna i-a fost refuzat.

Iat\ de ce `n]elege atât de bine preferin]a mameisale pentru cimitir, dincolo de orice sentimentavea ea fa]\ de sinagog\. „Comunicare fireasc\,imediat\, dar [i transcendent\, un mod de a fiparte dintr-o istorie... trecutul-prezent. Ie[eam,`n fiecare an, din nou, din Egipt“, scrie el, „ca[i ei, f\r\ s\ ie[im vreodat\ definitiv, retr\iam,iar\[i [i iar\[i, alt Egipt, soarta lor este a noastr\,precum soarta noastr\ se leag\ de a lor, de-apururi“. Aceasta este, spune Manea, o „racordaremistic\“ la trecut [i `n niciun caz nu trebuieconfundat\ cu simpla dorin]\ de a te `ntoarce`n `nc\perile [i pe str\zile locului unde te-ain\scut, care `i chinuie atât de mult pe exila]i.

Rela]ia lui Manea cu trecutul reflect\ per-cep]ia sa despre sine ca fiin]\ care se afl\ me-reu `n schimbare, o persoan\ pe care o poaterecunoa[te, cu o dispozi]ie [i o chemare maimult sau mai pu]in stabile, dar volatil\, aflat\`n c\utare, c\utându-[i la nesfâr[it deplin\tateaevaziv\. Ar putea foarte bine s\ spun\, caMontaigne, c\ nu poate „s\ [ [i] ]in\ subiectul `nloc“, c\ „istoria [sa] trebuie adaptat\ momen-tului“, astfel `ncât cartea autobiografic\ „esteo m\rturie a diferitelor [i schimb\toarelor

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`ntâmpl\ri [i a... ideilor... indecise din diferitesitua]ii [i aspecte. A[adar, poate c\ `ntr-adev\rm\ mai contrazic din când `n când; dar ade-v\rul... nu `l contrazic... mintea mea... `nva]\mereu [i este mereu pus\ la `ncercare“.

Mintea „care `nva]\ [i este pus\ la `ncercare“:aceste cuvinte exprim\ ciudat de exact ceea cese g\se[te pe fiecare pagin\ din cartea auto-biografic\ a lui Manea, pres\rat\ cu ardori [isuferin]e solitare de neuitat. Dac\ Manea este,a[a cum vrea s\ cread\, un fel de huligan,aceasta e pentru c\ nu crede c\ este ceea cevrea lumea s\ fie: nici un prin]i[or exemplar,nici un supravie]uitor recunosc\tor, nici unactivist principial, nici un cet\]ean modest.Ironia expus\ `n cartea lui Manea este atât deacid\ pentru c\ nu ]ine cont de niciun fel delimite, e subversiv\ indiferent spre ce este `n-dreptat\ [i se consider\ a fi aproape f\r\ excep-]ie prea pu]in\ [i prea `ntârziat\. De[i Maneanu `[i permite doar ocazional s\ `[i exprimevulnerabilitatea [i afec]iunea, de[i ni se pare`n unele momente prietenos [i tandru, sim]imc\ este `ntotdeauna `n alert\, atent la groaznicaposibilitate de a aluneca `n postura ridiculiza-t\ de Brodsky, cea de „martir cu certificat“sau de „fiin]\ retrospectiv\ [i retroactiv\“. Deprob\, Manea `ncearc\ o idee sau alta, se `n-treab\ `n mod justificat cum se poate ca unuihuligan s\ ì lipseasc\ „neru[inarea“, „legiti-mitatea“, cum poate r\bda s\ aib\ capacitateade „ru[inare“ când sunt atât de pu]ine lucruri –nu-i a[a? – de care s\ se simt\ ru[inat.

~ns\ cartea – o carte excelent\, o `ntreag\via]\ bogat\ surprins\ aici pentru totdeauna –este [i povestea unei `ndelungate ucenicii `nhuliganism, ne`ncheiat\ `nc\. Pentru c\ acestManea va `nv\]a ce este [i cum va fi, din toat\inima, ceea ce el doar cu `ndoial\ poate pre-tinde pentru sine. El este, la urma urmei, unuldintre aceia, cum spunea Lyotard, „care se`ndoiesc de tradi]ie, de mimesis, de imanen]\,dar [i de «emigrare, dispersare [i imposibili-tatea integr\rii» – cu alte cuvinte, de «dublaneputin]\ a neschimb\rii [i schimb\rii»“. Nu

chiar un huligan, ci cineva care ar putea ficonfundat cu unul, un huligan `n a[teptare,poate, sau un huligan aspirant, `ncercând s\`n]eleag\ lucrurile `n mai multe feluri, iar peparcurs s\ nu dea nim\nui satisfac]ie – [i celmai pu]in sie[i. Ucenicia nu este totu[i, nupoate fi un scop pentru un astfel de om, carese gânde[te el uneori c\ „e[ecul te legitimea-z\“, ca [i falsitatea.

La care alternativa este... ce? Perspectivac\ ar putea chiar s\ realizeze ceea ce este –adesea `n joac\ – planificat nu este prea u[orde acceptat de c\tre un astfel de om. Ucenicialui Manea este `n principal bun\ pentru a faceperspectiva unui huliganism hot\rât, eroic s\par\ tot mai improbabil\. ~n mod curajos, celcare aspir\ s\ fie huligan evoc\ unul sau altuldintre momentele `n care ceva ce a scris sau uninterviu pe care l-a acordat a stârnit un scandal,l-a transformat `ntr-un du[man palpabil alpoporului, doar ca dup\ aceea s\ fie luat `nrâs de propria inteligen]\ crud\, subversiv\sau de un prieten: „Ascunzi `n dumneata ungeneral de tancuri, s\ [tii“, ì spune un prieten;[i: „Liberalii dumitale aclam\ curajul liberal“.~n alt\ parte, alt prieten din mintea lui Manea ìzâmbe[te: „Tu, huligan? Impostur\, crede-m\,impostur\. Scut `mprumutat, str\in“. La careucenicul poate accede doar `n mod confuz,reticent, neconving\tor, dar [tiind prea bine c\huliganismul `n sine nu este doar o impostur\,ci o „caricatur\“ tulbur\toare, seduc\toare,amuzant\, care nu va fi niciodat\ repudiat\definitiv sau acceptat\ cu curaj. Adev\rul fal-sit\]ii sale, incurabila lui multiplicitate, integri-tatea (auto)`nstr\in\rii sale buimace, ironice,incorigibile – pe acestea nu poate [i nu tre-buie s\ le contrazic\. {i nu o va face.


* În paradis e mai bine decât oriunde.** Depresia este o caren]\ chimic\, nu de caracter.

‘Allow me, I beseech you,’ pleas Augustinein his Confessions, ‘grant me to wind roundand round in my present memory the spiralsof my errors.’ That is the cry, the ostensiveobject of many an autobiographer. Error isthe spur, not truth, not – or not obviously – adelicious self-approval. ‘To learn that we havesaid or done a foolish thing, that is nothing,’writes Montaigne; ‘we must learn that we arenothing but fools, a far broader and more im-portant lesson.’ It is a lesson many an autobi-ographer has been all too ready to embrace,with a flourish of frankness more than a littlesuspect. In the staging of dramas in which frailtyand foolishness are relentlessly depicted, thelighting tends to be very carefully arranged.

The assumption informing autobiographyhas long been that it is at once a constructednarrative and a ‘truthful’ engagement with anature or disposition more or less equallycompounded of darkness and of light. In thetelling of life stories, it is assumed, resistanceswill be overcome, and there will be at least sometherapeutic benefit – to author and reader – in theuncovering of material previously suppressed,forgotten or simply ignored. If the construc-tion of a life story often invites posturing andevasion, so it will also invite the staging of adrama in which the will to posture or evade isacknowledged and thereby tamed. In any case,the opportunities for self-congratulation affor-ded by the construction of life stories are con-siderable, and rare are the memoirists whocan resist their appeal.

More susceptible, perhaps, than others tothe varieties of self approval opened up bymemoir writing are exiles, those whose lifestories have much to do with the experience ofmigration and loss. Such persons, of course,have been so very numerous in the last hun-dred years as almost to seem commonplacetoday. No one who reads can fail to be famil-iar with the works of writers who have reflec-ted, often brilliantly, on the subject of exile,though often it is exile as ‘metaphysical con-dition’ or noble effort to compensate for whathas been ‘lost in translation’ that is front andcenter, rather than exile as occasion for pos-turing or delusion. No stranger to exile himself,Joseph Brodsky recommended that the writerin exile whole-heartedly embrace ‘the meta-physical dimension,’ for ‘to ignore it or dodgeit is to cheat yourself out of the meaning ofwhat has happened to you... to ossify into anuncomprehending victim.’ At the same time,Brodsky warned, the writer in exile, becausehe has suffered, usually at the hands of a po-litical tyranny, is apt to regard himself as a‘certified martyr,’ ‘unchecked by anyone,’whose potential insignificance in the place towhich he has emigrated can only be coun-tered by the steady assertion of his privilegedstatus as exemplary sufferer and witness.

Because the writer in exile will usually feelmarginal in his new place of residence, he islikely, Brodsky argues, to become ‘a retro-spective and retroactive being,’ ignoring, for

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Hooligan memoir RRoobbeerrtt BBooyyeerrss

‘Manea recoils from flattery, sympathy, even well-intentioned praise. Persistently he sniffs around inhis own sentences for traces of cliche, illusion, self-promotion. ‘

Robert Boyers

the most part, his present reality, recycling‘the familiar material of his past’ and gravi-tating to the elegiac. The dangers here areobvious. They include what Brodsky called‘the repetitiveness of nostalgia,’ the slowingdown of the writer’s ‘stylistic evolution,’ andeven an insidious cynicism (‘he good oldstuff served him well at least once: it earnedhim exile. And exile, after all, is a kind ofsuccess... Why not push the good old stuffaround a bit more? Apart from anything else,now it constitutes ethnographic material, andthat goes over big... when you go over thesame turf... at least it may provide futurescholars with the notion of a “myth-making“element in your work.’)

No memoirist with whom I am familiarwould seem to understand more sharply thanNorman Manea the dangers anatomized byBrodsky. Again and again in his memoir, TheHooligan’s Return, Manea recoils from flattery,sympathy, even well-intentioned praise. Persis-tently he sniffs around in his own sentencesfor traces of cliché, illusion, self-promotion.For every modest self-assertion there arenumerous passages of caustic self-mockery.Everywhere Manea interrogates his own ten-dency to become what he despises: an emblem,an embodiment, a ‘marketable’ victim-figureor avenger. He knows, does he ever know, howseductive it is to ‘push the good old stuffaround,’ as Brodsky says, to collude in thecomfortable ‘myth-making’ that trivializessuffering. No witness to the several barba-risms of the past century has so persistentlyinstructed his reader in the process by which‘Thursday’s atrocities have become grist forthe mottoes on Friday’s T-shirts.’ Does hecultivate, now and again, what he calls ‘theJudaic taste for catastrophe’? Is he addicted,just a little, to the extremity that helps a manto seem interesting to himself? If so, there isalso a pronounced distaste for the ‘whiningsand jeremiads of the victim’ and a sly con-tempt for the ‘fatigue of being oneself.’

Norman Manea was born in a small Roma-nian market town in Bukovina in 1936. Hisfather was a baker’s son, his mother a book-seller’s daughter. The Jews of the province,as Manea reports, ‘spoke Romanian as wellas German, and enjoyed uninterrupted contactwith the Romanian population.’ In the sugarfactory where Manea’s father worked, therealso worked ‘Czech, German, and Italian “fo-reigners“’ in what had seemed an increasinglycosmopolitan community. The deportationorder issued in 1941 by the Romanian fascistauthorities sent the Jews of Bukovina to theTransnistria concentration camp in the Ukraineand put an end to the several illusions inspiredby the long experience in cosmopolitanism.

Though several elderly members of thefamily interned with them in the Transnistriacamp did not survive the war years, Maneaand his parents emerged in 1945 and soonstruggled to make a life for themselves in thenewly Communist Romania. In 1949 Maneahimself became a Communist youth leader –the episodes of the memoir devoted to thisperiod in Manea’s life are alternately hilari-ous and heartbreaking – , but soon he wentthrough a period of disaffection, eventuallybecame an engineer, published several booksand by 1974, with the help of a psychiatricexemption, became a full-time writer. His eightnovels and numerous other works graduallymade him a major literary voice in his coun-try, but he also became a suspicious figure inthe anti-semitic, authoritarian universe ofCeau[escu’s Romania, though he was not adefiantly dissident writer nor an openly sub-versive anti-Communist. In 1986 he left thecountry with his wife and two years later tookup permanent residence in New York City.

Manea’s reputation in the United States isbased on four previous books available here inEnglish translation: October, Eight O’Clock, a vo-lume of grave, charming, moody, quietly gor-geous, melancholy stories; Compulsory Happiness,a book of savage, poisonous, harrowing novellas;

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The Black Envelope, an allegorical-politicalsatiric novel; and On Clowns, a collection oftroubling, mordant, relentlessly probing essayson Romanian cultural and political topics. All ofthe work clearly issues from a man who knowsgentleness and affection but is too ironic andsuspicious to settle for healing or reconciliationor to ignore the specific gravity of his own nature.

Manea’s memoir begins in 1997 with a visitto a landmark deli on New York’s upper westside, where the novelist discusses with his friendPhilip Roth his decision – not then quite final –to visit Romania after an absence of nine years.Like other such exchanges in a book that movesin surprising, briefly disorienting leaps andbounds from melancholy to whimsy, from thesardonic to the lyrical, the exchange with Rothis fragmentary, suggestive, playful, pregnant,inconclusive. But in that opening episode of along book we see at once the tenor and the abi-ding strategy of Manea’s imagination, whichencompasses a great many moods and eventsand projections. Back and forth and away thenarrative persistently swings, so that the longjourney to Transnistria in 1941 is intertwinedwith the repatriation journey of 1945 and thelater trips to the west and back again to the home-land in 1997. Nothing stands still for long inthis narrative, and it is not at all surprising, ina work so unstable, that the ghost of Manea’sdeceased mother should often visit him in hiscomings and goings or that her words shouldsound in his head in the most improbable cir-cumstances. Neither are we at all surprised thatone of the most affecting sections of the memoirshould evoke the courtship of his parents andcapture the charged atmosphere of the earlyEastern European thirties, before the writer’sbirth, with its ‘exotic family legends,’ house-hold political debates and ‘smoky rooms, re-dolent with the vapors of hot frying pans’ inwhich people sit reading ‘newspapers filledwith alarms of planetary passions.’ In Maneaeverything is pungent and solid and melting,ever melting into thin air, the flow of language

alternately murmurous and single-minded,remembrance and reflection, time present andtime past so entirely interfused that the oneseems invariably the face of the other.

There is not much of the ‘certified martyr’in Manea. He did, after all, survive the serialordeals to which he was subjected, and if sur-vival did often seem to him a dubious privilege,he did live long enough not only to observethe demise of fascist and Communist Romaniabut to bury some of the lies and the glamorassociated with émigré extraterritoriality. LikeKafka, he is ‘claimed... by the dark fogs ofEastern Europe,’ but he is loath to appropriatethe ‘certifiable’ despair of Kafka’s ‘I am allowedno moment of calm, I cannot take anythingfor granted, everything has to be fought for...’Yes, he declares, he recognizes himself in thosewords, though one must beware of affiliations,precisely because they are so tempting, andthose whose boats are leaky, like Kafka’s, arepreternaturally susceptible to resonantlydownward-drifting accents.

The resistance to posture and myth in Maneatakes many forms. More often than not it ar-rives with an inflection, a voice, the sharp ac-cent of a friend disinclined, in Manea’s ver-sion, to let the writer get away with anything.Am I a nuisance? Manea wonders. Yes, ‘quitea nuisance occasionally,’ Roth quips. And doI not resemble, Manea wonders, as I have longseemed to myself, that familiar character ofAugustus The Fool, ‘the pariah, the loser, theone who always gets kicked in the ass, to theaudience’s delight’? Sorry, another friend re-plies, but you are, poor thing, a ‘respectable’writer in residence, ‘honored with prizes andan endowed chair... In the East European cir-cus, the clown returning from America is avictor, a star.’ The friend is tolerant, amused.He laughs at the writer whose penchant forself-dramatization and certifiable martyrdomis by no means attractive or sustainable. Try as he may, Manea cannot successfullymake himself into the figure for whom

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he would like to mobilize a dreary, all-pur-pose compassion.

To be worthy not merely of compassionbut of admiration, Manea clearly believes, theexile needs to see himself not as a victimmerely but as one who struggled, a mannever complacent in defeat but moved alwaysto say no, I’ll not go gently, I’ll not utter thatlie, not hold my tongue, not settle into theempty rituals of solidarity. To this end, heapplies to himself – modest, tentative, sheep-ish – the epithet ‘hooligan,’ which has anotable pedigree in twentieth centuryRomanian history. In Mihail Sebastian’s 1935book, How I Became a Hooligan, Manea tellsus, Sebastian affirmed the ‘spiritual autono-my’ of Jewish suffering, its ‘tragic nerve,’ thedispute between a ‘tumultuous sensibility’and a ‘merciless critical spirit,’ between‘intelligence at its coolest and passion at itsmost unbridled.’ A hooligan? Did that meanmarginal, nonaligned, excluded... He definedhimself clearly: ‘I am not a partisan, I amalways a dissident...’ What does being a ‘dis-sident’ mean? Someone dissenting even fromdissidents?

But it was not only the Jew Sebastian whostaked a claim to the word ‘hooligan.’ Theyoung Mircea Eliade, later famous for hisscholarly books on the history of religion anda distinguished professor for many years atthe University of Chicago, published an earlynovel entitled The Hooligans. There, hooli-ganism was associated with ‘rebellion untodeath....’, ‘perfectly and evenly aligned regi-ments within a collective myth.’ This was ahooliganism rather far removed from the‘merciless critical spirit’ and ‘cool autonomy’extolled as indispensable components ofhooliganism by Sebastian. In fact, at the timehe wrote his novel, Eliade was a spokesmanfor the fascist Iron Guard, eagerly awaiting,as he wrote in 1938, ‘a nationalist Romania,frenzied and chauvinistic, armed and vigor-ous, ruthless and vengeful,’ and prepared to

address ‘the advance of the... Jews [who]have overrun the villages...’ Such observa-tions seem to Manea ‘ridiculous and disgust-ing,’ and the essay on Eliade he wrote for TheNew Republic in 1991 won for him in post-Communist Romania epithets ranging from‘dwarf of Jerusalem’ to ‘half-man’ and‘louse.’ Unpleasant, to be sure, though it isprecisely his hard-won status as outcast andpublic enemy that seems to Manea to warranthis ambivalent, self-mocking, ironic appropri-ation of the term ‘hooligan’ in the honorificsense employed by Sebastian. More, theentire range of associations triggered by thatterm is at the root of Manea’s memoir, inspir-ing his disinfatuated search for identity.

The word ‘hooligan’ has now, in Englishcertainly, a somewhat archaic ring, in partbecause it has often been applied with tenderaffection to ‘naughty’ children whose trans-gressions, however habitual, seem to theirparents eminently forgivable. Just so, whenManea applies the word to himself, he doesso with the sense that he is the most improba-ble of hooligans, a man ordinarily too mildand dreamy to represent a genuine danger tothe body politic. To read Manea’s stories isoften to find oneself in a domain of Proustianinwardness, to move through what one admir-er terms ‘proliferating arabesques of day-dreams.’ To be sure, Manea’s fiction alsoencompasses political satire and farce, andhis essays often pursue their targets withunremitting urgency. Still, as Beatrix Langnerhas noted, Manea most often prefers ‘the hor-ror of the indescribable to the description ofhorror,’ and ‘the uncanny atmosphere of unre-ality,’ along with the proliferating ‘coded para-doxes’ of his fiction make him seem anythingbut a typical polemicist.

Still, there is, unmistakably, in Manea’srepertoire, a considerable gift for authentichooliganism. He is a compulsive, irrepress-ible demystifier, and if, by going over ‘thesame turf,’ as Brodsky has it, Manea fuels

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the myth of the writer injured and disposses-sed, whose single mission is to undo a varietyof folded lies, it is a self-cancelling myth, itselfperpetually de-constructed by a writerly intel-ligence preternaturally alert to its own propen-sities. To be sure, Manea writes often in theguise, the mask, of an oppositional intellectualwho covets the official ignominy he brings downupon himself. But who more than Manea mis-trusts the masks he wears and insists upon rou-tinely tearing them away, so that he leavesbehind him, all through the memoir, a trail ofdiscarded postures and postulates, hooligan-ism itself an idea never entirely abandonedand never fully reliable or decisively earned.

Though he does not, in the memoir, resortto the word ‘kitsch,’ Manea clearly fears thecontamination of ‘critical’ hooliganism by aspecies of glib appropriation captured by se-veral leading Eastern European writers. InMilan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightnessof Being – to cite one notable example – , thecharacter Sabina leaves Prague for the Westin 1968, and discovers in the catalogue for anexhibition of her paintings ‘a picture of herselfwith a drawing of barbed wire superimposedon it. Inside she found a biography that readlike the life of a saint or martyr: she had suf-fered, struggled against... injustice, been forcedto abandon her bleeding homeland, yet was car-rying on the struggle.’ When Sabina proteststo friends that ‘my enemy is Kitsch, not Com-munism,’ she is not understood.

Manea would never agree that his enemy inRomania had been ‘Kitsch, not Communism,’but he does surely understand Sabina. More,his determination not to make himself into adissident noble rider is drawn from the sameloathing of falsehood that inspires Kundera’scharacter. To be a hooligan, that is, an opposi-tional figure who sees through every mask, ap-peals to Manea so long as it does not entailthe pretense of perfect, fearless virtue. Thisreluctance in Manea goes beyond the custo-mary acknowledgment that heroes are likely

to have clay feet. He is wary not merely ofordinary frailty but of self-deception, alert tothe clownishness of those, like himself, whohave second and third thoughts about theirevery deed and motive. But as much as he fearshis own capacity for timidity or posturing heloathes puerility, which is the ‘everyday som-nambulism’ of the hear-no-evil-see-no-evilfellow travellers of every established order.

That puerility is perfectly expressed in thetitle of Manea’s Compulsory Happiness, whichis set in the ‘penal colony’ of ‘the big lie.’ There,in Ceau[escu’s Romania, citizens ‘can continuesucking on their dumb lollipop of hope’ anddeny to themselves what is obvious about thelives they lead. The dictator, ‘our clown,’ asManea wrote of him in an essay, ‘has changedthe whole country into a huge kindergartenpopulated by militarized and industrious chil-dren.’As he looks back at himself in the ‘kinder-garten’ he long inhabited, Manea is by turnsscornful and disappointed, now directing hisrage at ‘the weakling that I was’ (‘What hadbeen the point of my Initiation between theages of five and nine if, at twenty-five, I wasunable to set fire to myself in the public mar-ketplace – like those protesting Buddhist monksin Vietnam – to denounce the Big Lie thatencased our lives like the thin shell of anegg?’), elsewhere merely rueful, melancholy,though with an edge bespeaking the endless‘fencing match’ he has always played withhimself. (‘I had trained myself in skepticismand had learned from that great skeptic MarkTwain that nothing could be worse than beinga man. Had I wanted to be Romanian? Did Ienjoy the joke played on me? The Americanwit seemed to be asking.’) In the realm of‘compulsory happiness’ Manea is ever readyto appreciate the joke played on him and onall of the other ‘apprentices in the banalityserved pedagogically by daily life.’

Paradise is the name Manea gives to thegreat good ‘daily’ place most well-adjustedciphers agree to be happy in. The memoir

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opens with the words, ‘The bright spring light,like an emanation from Paradise, streamsthrough the large picture window wide as theroom itself.’ By the end of the paragraph,‘looking down from his tenth-floor apart-ment’ at the New York city street below, ‘hemust remind himself again’ that ‘In Paradise...one is better off than anywhere else.’ Later,strolling casually past Verdi Square, he notesthat ‘the placid pigeons of Paradise have cometo rest’ on the presiding statue of the Italiancomposer. Everywhere Manea confronts thetrivial, familiar, comforting surfaces of ordi-nary life which tempt him to agree that thingscould be worse and that only fools long for a‘better’ or a ‘best’ that will never, can never,materialize. Everywhere he notes the propen-sity to shallowness and accommodation. Trythough he may to be grateful for the air –conditioned Paradise he has come to in theUnited States, he cannot summon ‘the joy ofliberation.’ Moved occasionally to register withdue compassion the plight of ordinary persons,all, like himself, unable to be other than theyare, he reminds himself that the ‘oppressedmasses’ are ‘the not-so-innocent,’ and that ‘ele-mentary polarities’ – as between east and west,free and unfree, open and closed – ‘often proveto be in fact complementary.’ So Manea specu-lated in On Clowns, and so he would seem stillto believe in his latest report from Paradise.

For Manea, in fact, what has always seemedproblematic is the very concept of normality.Normality suggests, after all, that human be-ings can live their lives without undue recourseto fantasy and exaggeration, with some rea-sonable expectation that the world will be,however disappointing, more or less regularin its rhythms and unfoldings. This sense ofthings Manea struggles to achieve, though hedoes so, for the most part, without hope. InRomania, he reports, almost anyone wouldlikely have been invited to serve the govern-ment as an informer. A close friend of Maneahad been chosen to inform on the writer, and

did so for several years, meeting each weekin ‘safe’ private houses to deliver meaning-less information to a Securitate policeman,later casually reporting to his friend Normanon these ‘official visits.’ Such an arrangementwas routine in a country where there was ‘onefully employed police officer for every fifteencitizens – and,’ as Manea wrote in On Clowns,‘for every police officer, fifteen “volunteer“informers.’ But can such an arrangement be, orseem, normal, in any normal sense of that word?This is but one of the unanswerable questionsManea poses again and again in the memoir.

But the question of normality cuts in otherdirections as well. Early in the memoir, Maneareads on a yellow New York city buildingfaçade, ‘spelled out in iridiscent blue,’ thewords: ‘DEPRESSION IS A FLAW IN CHE-MISTRY NOT IN CHARACTER.’ Like somuch that passes through Manea’s thoughtsin the memoir, the words seem at once pre-posterous and cautionary, a diversion, or cu-riosity, and a portent of larger things. Everalert to flaws, skeptical about therapies andadjustments, suspicious of formulas designedto make people feel good about themselves,Manea routinely recoils from anything sooth-ing or categorically guilt-reducing. Willing,much of the time, to smile at absurdity and tolive without recourse to normative standards,he mistrusts the apparently normal face of e-verything he sees. Scarred by the ‘toxins’ hehas long ingested, he betrays in the memoirhis long habit of handling what passes for nor-mality with acidic, ironic distortion. Temptedthough he may be to earnestness, solemnity,uncomplicated fellow feeling, he checks him-self, remembers the advice of the Polish writerWitold Gombrowicz who ‘used to relish stickingout his tongue at himself in an ever-present mirror.’

That Manea has no prospect of establishinga ‘normal,’ untroubled relationship with anyconceivable idea of normality is clear to us fromthe first pages of the memoir. Even his happymemories are delivered with a compulsive air

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of ironic distortion. Bucharest itself, a placewhere Manea once experienced varieties ofcarnal adventure and other intensities, is re-membered as a ‘Gomorrah.’ Everywhere thelanguage heightens, brightens, sometimes tothe point of playful caricature. Ordinary eventsand emotions are transformed into dramaticcounters in an ongoing struggle, so that a ‘nor-mal’ sense of the thing unfolding before us hasno chance against a diction replete with ‘re-venge,’ ‘redemption,’ ‘masters of the night,’‘the ghetto’s eternal fear,’ ‘the Christian siren,’‘the honey trap of defilement, the taboo, temp-tation.’ Even where, occasionally, Manea catch-es at himself, attempts briefly to restrain whatis in any case an irresistible motion of mindand language, he is no match for himself. E-ven a lover’s tryst that was ‘no parody,’ thatwas ‘real, natural,’ is evoked with ‘the lightof dawn pouring down upon the bedsheet scat-tered with the carnations of virgin blood,’ andthe two families involved are ‘Montagues’ and‘Capulets,’ a ‘traditional repertory of conven-tions’ taking hold of what the writer simply can-not make into a ‘natural’ narrative.

But the distortion and irony that are essen-tial aspects of Manea’s imagination are usuallydirected at more terrifying events than the e-phemeral love affair of a Jew and a ‘shiksa.’Consider the weight of the words ‘did not liveup to expectations’ in the sentence ‘Transnis-tria did not live up to expectations and couldonly show a balance sheet of fifty percent dead.’The obvious irony that informs the sentenceis best appreciated when the sentence is pla-ced next to a passage on the preceding pageof the memoir. ‘From across the millennia,’we read, ‘a tragic destiny has united the Baby-lonian captivity with the inferno of starvation,disease, and death in Transnistria.’ So wrotethe Christian mayor of Czernowitz, Manea in-forms us, a man named Traian Popovici, whohad tried, until the very last moment, to haltthe deportations of Jews. The obvious ironyhere, though Manea does not declare it to be

one, is that Popovici too ‘did not live up to ex-pectations,’ that is, did not behave as a ‘Chris-tian’ official would have been expected to be-have in Czernowitz in 1941. Neither can it belost on us, as readers instructed in the varietiesof irony and critical deconstruction exhibitedin the memoir, that Popovici’s language, mar-ked as it is by an inflationary rhetoric (‘acrossthe millennia,’ ‘a tragic destiny,’ ‘Babyloniancaptivity,’ ‘inferno of starvation’), is by no meansexcessive here, that it expresses in fact the‘normal,’ that is to say highly charged, fullyinformed, deeply felt response of a ‘normal’person to a catastrophe most ostensibly ‘normal’‘Christian’ persons in Czernowitz could not havegrasped in anything remotely like a ‘normal’ way.

Many years later, a Romanian poet-friendwould write to Manea in a letter: ‘Thank God,we have no particular reason for complaint,’ amessage that seems to Manea ‘constrained, fear-ful,’ its author ‘conscious of eavesdroppers’and therefore resorting to coded irony, the word‘particular’ clearly loaded, a sign. Of what?Manea’s correspondant would seem to implicate,in the construction of an ‘innocent’ sentence,the entire normative apparatus of his society,suggesting that the terror and systematic false-hood have become so pervasive as to make any‘particular’ complaint almost ridiculous. Again,the reasonable, familiar sense of the normal ismade to seem inadequate, in some ways an e-vasion of the grotesque ‘reality’ that obtainedin places like Ceau[escu’s Romania.

Assaulted by versions of orchestrated unre-ality and by monstrous deformations of publicrhetoric, Manea often doubts his own capacityto maintain ‘coherence,’ ‘wholeness.’ He wants tobe free of illusion, to renounce all misleadingaffiliations, yet he needs, he feels, a place to stand,however much he mistrusts places and cannotlong stand still. Is he a Jew? He is a non-believingJew; he belongs to what Jean-François Lyotardonce called a ‘non-people of survivors’ whose‘sense of communion’ depends upon ‘an endlessrecalling of things past.’ But Manea catches

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at this definition like a man who trusts nothing,least of all a key to identity so seductive andso empty as to connect the communicant to a‘non-people.’ His Jewishness is a fact, but it doesnot seem to him an adequate place to stand.

Throughout the memoir Manea turns to manysources in his search for coherence. His mind‘fills,’ he says, ‘with quotations, as if only therhetorical hysteria of other people’s words couldrelease [him] from [him]self’ and, we might add,effectively deliver him in the end to himself.Manea is haunted, if not often by ‘actual’ ghosts,then by bits and pieces of monologues, dialogues,passages of half-remembered books, vagrantquips and apercus. ‘Wasn’t it Maurice Blanchotwho said that?’ he wonders, or ‘I might as wellhave thought of Prague and of Milena Jesenska,yes, Kafka’s Milena,’ or ‘“You are not Cioran,“I tell myself.’ Identity-making for Manea isall about ‘the verbal collages’ he is forevercomposing, shaping and unshaping and resha-ping as he goes, acutely sensitive to every leastexaction of language and mood in each frag-ment he snatches at, tempted but never con-clusively taken by ingratiations of sentiment.

There is no one figure about whom Maneacan say, as Elias Canetti could say of Karl Kraus,that he was ‘one of my idols,’ but neither doesthe insatiably appropriative Manea allow anyone source to drive out the others. Manea’spassions are so much in flux, his enthusiasmstypically so provisional that he is never enti-rely disappointed with those he appropriates.Like Canetti, he can be ‘moody and arbitrary,’but he does not incline to smash things in dis-gust or to gleefully watch his enthusiasms ‘decayor gradually sink into the ground.’ Where Ca-netti writes of his need ‘to liberate’ himself fromhis enthusiasms, Manea’s collage-building isan ongoing progress in which no one influenceor voice can long seem attractive without thecountervailing force exerted by other, oftencontradictory, voices.

Canetti identifies in Kraus ‘his truly Bibli-cal quality: his horror,’ and though Manea is

without Kraus’s other qualities of ‘arrogance’and ‘veneration for his gods,’ he has, surely,in abundance that ‘Biblical quality,’ that ca-pacity for registering ‘horror’ that few otherwriters have so powerfully conveyed. In Manea,the horror has often to do with his sense thatlanguage lies, that it is hard, very hard, to saytruly what we mean. In an odd way, what seemstruest to Manea is a language far removedboth from the ‘daily communal language’ andfrom ‘literary’ language. Though his motherwas not, in any ordinary sense of the term, aneloquent person, she does seem now and then toManea to speak truthfully in what he once calls‘the language of the ghetto.’ This is, he says, alanguage ‘moaning, murmuring, demanding, li-ving, surviving.’ He hears it in the night-timerambles of the mother, elderly, diminished, inthe hospital for an eye operation, hears it in her‘coded laments, incomprehensible requests,’in part incomprehensible because spoken inYiddish, in words ‘alien’ to Manea’s wife Cella,who lies beside the old woman in her narrowbed. Night after night she hears ‘first a murmur,like water, short guttural signals, followed byan agitated, secret confession, an arcane lexi-con, wailing and reproaches, lyrical, tender re-frains, meant for the ears of initiates only,’ mixeddialects, ‘Slavic and Spanish inflections, bibli-cal sonorities, oozing forth like some linguisticalluvial mud, carrying with it all the debrisgathered along the way... her monologue ispunctuated by spasmodic sounds that couldbe laughter or pain, one cannot tell.’

Characteristically rich in color and sonority,the passage enacts within the texture of its lan-guage the drama of Manea’s struggle towardstruthfulness and coherence, though it does not,of course, propose a formal alternative to any-thing. It is not, after all, a model of truth-tellingthat Manea evokes, not a formula for backingaway from the customary duplicities of every-day communication or officially sanctionedinstitutional discourse. But in her way the blindmother produces a true utterance, ‘oozing forth,’

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– 90 –


as Manea writes, and ‘carrying with it’ every-thing she has ‘gathered,’ in which the intermin-gling of ‘laughter or pain,’ the ‘wailing’ and the‘lyrical,’ the ‘agitated’ and ‘tender,’ bespeaksome indisputable authenticity of feeling that notrue writer would fail to envy. The mother’sis but one version of the true voice of feelingManea works towards, but we hear this ‘voiceof the ghetto’ most insistently in Manea’s me-moir. For all of Manea’s enormous learning andwit, his political sophistication and ironic cun-ning, he seems in the memoir never to let themother’s voice move very far out of reach.

Of course it is not the mother alone who e-merges as a full character in the memoir, thoughin the end we feel that it is Manea himself weknow best. In fact, the horror quietly conveyedso often in the memoir has much to do withManea’s fear that the figures who have meantmost to him are now receding, the places andconditions that made them real to themselvesirrecoverable. Neither can Manea reverse themore general process of corruption, the trivia-lization of suffering and the reduction of ex-perience to a free for all in which, as Maneawrites, ‘Everything [is] compatible with ever-ything else.’ One version of that free for all isthe process by which the exile efficiently adaptsand learns to live comfortably with the loss ofthe world, the persons and the meanings thatalone can furnish the ground of his coherence.

Cioran, among others, observed that the writerin exile is threatened by the danger ‘of adaptinghimself to his fate, of no longer suffering fromit.’ But Manea cannot find significant conso-lation in the American ‘Paradise,’ and in anycase it is as clear to his reader as to him that inhis case assimilation is impossible. Neitherdoes Manea ‘cling convulsively’ to ‘the hope ofrecovering the homeland,’ though Gombrowiczargued that no exile could exist without it. ForManea, the homeland will always be ‘the penalcolony of the big lie,’ and what Gombrowiczcalls the ‘democratic shallowness,’ ‘kindlyordinariness’ and optimism of the great good

place of exile are for Manea at best amusingand most often exasperating. Manea writes,in fact, as if his rightful place on earth hadnot yet been discovered, as if his true placewere anywhere, but somewhere else. Manealooks back with longing not to a place but toa sense of place forever denied him.

That is why he understands so well his mo-ther’s fondness for the cemetary, beyond any-thing she felt for the synagogue. ‘It was,’ hewrites, ‘a form of natural, unmediated, but alsotranscendental, communication, a way of ins-erting herself into history... the past and thepresent... fused. We come out of Egypt everyyear,’ he goes on, ‘as they did, without everleaving it behind altogether, we relive otherEgypts again and again, their fate is ours, justas our fate is theirs, forever and ever.’ This is,Manea says, ‘a mystical connection’ to thepast, and it is not at all to be confused withthe simple longing to be back in the familiarrooms and streets of one’s place of origin thatso afflicts many exiles.

Manea’s relation to the past reflects hissense of himself as an ever-changing being, arecognizable person with a more or less stabledisposition and calling but volatile, searching,ever in pursuit of his elusive wholeness. Hemight well say, with Montaigne, that he can-not ‘keep [his] subject still,’ that ‘[his] historyneeds to be adapted to the moment,’ so that thememoir ‘is a record of various and changeableoccurrences, and of irresolute... ideas... in dif-ferent circumstances and aspects. So, all in all,I may indeed contradict myself now and then;but truth... I do not contradict... my mind... isalways in apprenticeship and on trial.’

The mind ‘in apprenticeship and on trial’:the words say with uncanny exactness what isin evidence on every page of Manea’s memoir,replete as it is with unforgettable solitary ar-dours and afflictions. If Manea is, as he wishesto believe, a kind of hooligan, that is becausehe does not trust himself to be what the worldwishes him to be: neither an exemplary little

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prince nor a grateful survivor, neither a prin-cipled activist nor a modest citizen. The ironyon display in Manea’s memoir is so corrosivebecause it respects no boundaries, is slyly sub-versive no matter in which direction it is aimed,and holds itself to be almost without exceptiontoo little and often too late. Though Manea per-mits himself more than occasional expressionsof vulnerability and affection, though he seemsto us at moments companionable and tender, heis always, we feel, on his guard, alert to thedreaded possibility that he will slip into theposture ridiculed by Brodsky, of the ‘certifiedmartyr’ or the ineffectual ‘retrospective andretroactive being.’ On trial, Manea tries onthis idea and that, wonders reasonably how ahooligan can lack ‘impudence,’ ‘legitimacy,’how he can indulge in himself the capacityfor ‘shame’ when there is so little – is therenot so little? – of which to feel ashamed.

But the memoir – a very great book, an en-tire teeming life seized and made permanent –is as well the record of a long, as yet unfinishedapprenticeship in hooliganism. For he wouldlearn, this Manea, what it is and how it is tobe, with all one’s heart, what he can only withmisgiving claim for himself. He is, after all,one of those, as Lyotard has said, ‘who havedoubts about tradition, mimesis, immanence, butalso “emigration, dispersion, and the impossibilityof integration“ – in other words, “the doubleimpotence of non-change and of change.“’ Nota hooligan, exactly, but one who might well betaken for one, a hooligan in waiting, perhaps,

or a would-be hooligan, attempting to havethings more ways than one, and in the processsatisfying no one, least of all himself. The ap-prenticeship, however, is not, cannot be at an endfor such a man, for whom, he sometimes thinks,‘failure is what legitimizes you,’ and doubleness.

To which the alternative is... what? The pros-pect that he might in fact achieve what is –often playfully – projected, is not easy forsuch a man to embrace. Manea’s apprentice-ship is mainly good for making the prospectof a resolute, heroic hooliganism seem evermore improbable. The would-be hooligan hope-fully calls up one or another of the momentswhen something he wrote or an interview hegave created a scandal, made him a palpableenemy of the people, only in turn to be mockedby his own wicked, subversive intelligence, orby a friend: ‘There’s a tank division generalinside you struggling to get out, you know,’ onefriend says, and ‘Your liberals are acclaimingyour liberal courage.’ Elsewhere, anotherfriend-in-Manea’s-head smiles at him: ‘You, ahooligan? That is sheer imposture, borrowedarmor.’ To which the apprentice can only wrylyaccede, reluctant, inconclusive, but knowingall too well that the hooliganism is itself notmerely an imposture but a ‘caricature,’ trou-bling, seductive, laughable, not ever to be de-finitively repudiated or bravely embraced. Thetruth of his own doubleness, his incurable mul-tiplicity, the integrity of his bemused, ironic,incorrigible estrangement and self – estrange-ment he cannot, must not, will not contradict.

Norman Manea [i Ian Buruma la Bard College

Norman Manea and Ian Buruma at Bard College

L-am cunoscut pe Norman Manea la o con-ferin]\ a scriitorilor foarte special\, `n 1991,la San Francisco. Ne-am adunat acolo, `ntoat\ splendoarea, mul]umit\ generozit\]iiso]iei unui miliardar american din domeniulpetrolului. Veniser\ scriitori din Rusia,Ucraina, Italia, Fran]a, Malaysia, China,Polonia, Germania, Statele Unite, MareaBritanie [i din diferite alte ]\ri. ~n timp ceautorii din democra]iile europene [i dinStatele Unite deplângeau decaden]a, filistinis-mul [i indiferen]a public\ fa]\ de scriitori `nOccident, poe]ii, romancierii [i esei[tii dinfostul imperiu comunist l\udau „lumea libe-r\“ cu entuziasmul promotorilor americani aicapitalismului. Nu `mi aduc aminte ce a spusNorman Manea cu acea ocazie. ~ns\ `mi amin-tesc expresia fe]ei sale, un zâmbet sardonic,pu]in uimit, fericit c\ se afla acolo, totu[i nufoarte sigur de ce se afl\ acolo, expresia unuiom care se simte naufragiat.

Poate pentru c\ nu se mutase de mult `nStatele Unite [i `nc\ nu avusese destul timp s\se acomodeze. Dar, pe m\sur\ ce am ajuns s\`l cunosc mai bine, mi-am dat seama c\ acestaer de uimire deta[at\, impresia c\ a naufra-giat, era probabil permanent. Unul dintrepunctele tari ale lui Norman ca scriitor estesim]ul absurdului, un sim] care adesea sepotrive[te cu situa]ia de naufragiat, de omcare prive[te lumea dintr-un unghi ciudat.

S-ar putea ca unii oameni s\ se nasc\ cuacest sim], dar eu m\ `ndoiesc. Cred c\ el

este mai degrab\ cultivat decât `nn\scut.Sentimentul c\ e[ti naufragiat `ntr-o lume `ncare nimic nu prea mai are un sens ra]ionalnu este de obicei o condi]ie voluntar\, ci maiadesea rodul `mprejur\rilor. ~n cazul lui Nor-man [i al altor nenum\ra]i oameni din vremea[i din ]ara lui, `mprejur\rile personale [i celepublice s-au intersectat `ntr-un mod deosebitde nefericit. Cum ar fi putut pricepe ceva unb\ie]el de cinci ani dintr-o lume `n care ni[teoameni `n uniforme i-au sfâ[iat brusc via]atrimi]ându-l pe el [i familia sa `ntr-un lag\r deconcentrare? Azi e[ti `n c\minul confortabil alfamiliei tale din Bucovina [i mâine te treze[ti`ntr-un lag\r de munc\ din Transnistria. Iaroamenii `n uniforme nici m\car nu erau ni[teinvadatori str\ini, ci oameni care vorbeau ace-ea[i limb\ ca [i tine. {i de ce te aflai `n lag\rulde munc\? Pentru c\ ni[te oameni necunos-cu]i hot\râser\ brusc c\ nu erai ca ei? De cenu? Pentru c\ p\rin]ii, bunicii ori str\buniciit\i credeau `n alt Dumnezeu decât al lor.

Norman a crescut deci `nconjurat de absurd.A supravie]uit nebuniei na]ional-socialismului.Dar via]a de dup\ nu putea decât s\ confirmeceea ce b\ie]elul `nv\]ase deja `n modul cel maicrunt. Absurditatea de a trebui s\ `ndure o utopieimpus\ cu for]a, condus de fiul [i fiica unor]\rani care se comportau ca ni[te `mp\ra]ibizantini, era destul s\ fac\ pe oricine s\ sesimt\ naufragiat. Tinere]ea lui Norman, com-binând ingineria cu literatura, nu putea decâts\ acutizeze acest sentiment.

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Norman Manea:naufragiat `n lumeIIaann BBuurruummaa

Poate c\ Norman s-ar fi sim]it mai acas\dac\ ar fi plecat la timp `n Israel. Sau poate c\nu. A fi naufragiat, pentru Norman, ca pentrumul]i scriitori, chiar [i pentru unii din socie-t\]i mai pu]in sinistre [i despotice, este ocondi]ie existen]ial\ [i o surs\ de creativitate,deoarece artistul e for]at s\ `[i construiasc\ unc\min `n imagina]ia sa.

O via]\ tr\it\ sub semnul arbitrariului ab-surd al unor dictatori este rareori pl\cut\ [iuneori chiar brutal\. Dar exist\ [i o ilaritate`ntunecat\ `n ceea ce prive[te despo]ii [i visu-rile lor nebune[ti. Norman surprinde acestumor amar `n aproape toate scrierile sale. Nuse poate ab]ine. A[a vede el lumea, indiferentunde se afl\, chiar [i `n confortul [i siguran]arelative ale unui campus universitar american,unde pred\ `ntr-o limb\ care nu este a lui [iscrie `ntr-o limb\ pe care niciunul dintre stu-den]ii s\i nu o poate citi.

A fi naufragiat nu `nseamn\ c\ nu `]i po]iconstrui un c\min, chiar dac\ este unul provi-zoriu. Dar, la urma urmei, totul este provizoriu`n via]\. Doar un nebun sau un tiran care sevrea nemuritor poate crede c\ nu e a[a. C\minullui Norman este `nc\ limba sa român\ [i Cella,frumoasa femeie pe care insist\ s\ o numeas-c\ „prima mea so]ie“. {i, oriunde se afl\Norman [i Cella, acolo exist\ [i un c\minpentru al]ii, care poate se simt pu]in naufra-gia]i, ca mine. Acolo putem râde de absurdi-tatea existen]ei noastre [i de lumea din jurulnostru, iar `n acest râs este o mare alinare, cepoate fi `mp\rt\[it\ de to]i cei care `l cunoscpe Norman Manea din c\r]ile sale. {i este omare alinare [i `n acest gând.


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It was a very peculiar writers’ conference,where I first met Norman Manea, in 1991, inSan Francisco. We gathered there, in greatsplendor, thanks to the financial generosity ofthe wife of an American oil billionaire. Therewere writers from Russia, Ukraine, Italy,France, Malaysia, China, Poland, Germany,the US, Britain, and various other countries.While authors from the democracies of Europeand the US complained about the decadence,philistinism, and public indifference to writersin the West, poets, novelists and essayists fromthe shattered Communist empire praised the‘free world’ with the enthusiasm of Americanboosters of capitalism. I cannot rememberwhat Norman Manea said on that occasion.But I do remember the look on his face, asardonic smile, a little bemused, happy to bewhere he was, yet not quite sure why he wasthere, the look of a man who feels stranded.

Perhaps this was because his move to the USwas still recent, and he had not yet had enoughtime to settle down. But as I got to know himbetter, I realized that his air of detached bemu-sement, of looking stranded, was probablypermanent. One of Norman’s strengths as awriter is his keen sense of the absurd, a sensethat often goes with being stranded, of lookingat the world from an odd angle.

It could be that some people are born withthis sense, but I rather doubt it. I believe it hasmore to do with nurture than nature. Feelingstranded in a world where little makes any

rational sense, is not usually a voluntary condition,but more often a product of circumstances. InNorman’s case, and that of countless othersof his time and place, personal circumstancesand public ones intersected in an especiallyunfortunate way. How could a five-year-oldboy make rational sense of a world, in whichuniformed men suddenly tore his life apart bysending him and his family to a concentrationcamp? One day you are in your comfortablefamily home in Bukovina, and the next youare in a slave labor camp in Transnistria. Andthe men in uniform weren’t even foreigninvaders, but people who spoke the same lan-guage as you. And why were you in the slavelabor camp? Because unknown men had sud-denly decided that you were not like them?Why not? Because your parents, or grandpa-rents, or great-grandparents, believed in a dif-ferent God from theirs.

Norman, then, grew up with absurdity. Hesurvived the madness of National Socialism.But life after that can only have confirmed whatthe little boy had already learned the hard way.The absurdity of having to endure an enforcedutopia, ruled by the son and daughter of peasantswho behaved like Byzantine emperors, wasenough to make anyone feel stranded. Norman’searly life, combining engineering with litera-ture, can only have enhanced this feeling.

Perhaps Norman would have felt more athome, if he had moved to Israel in time. Butprobably not. Being stranded, for Norman, as

Norman Manea:stranded in the worldIIaann BBuurruummaa

‘A life lived under the absurd arbitrariness ofdictators is rarely pleasant, and sometimesbrutal. But there is also a dark hilariousnessabout despots and their crazy dreams.Norman catches this bitter humor in almosteverything he writes. He can't help it.’

Ian Buruma

is true for many writers, even from less grim anddespotic societies, is an existential condition,and a source of creativity, for the artist isforced to make a home in his imagination.

A life lived under the absurd arbitrarinessof dictators is rarely pleasant, and sometimesbrutal. But there is also a dark hilariousnessabout despots and their crazy dreams. Normancatches this bitter humor in almost everythinghe writes. He can’t help it. This is the way heviews the world, wherever he is, even in therelative comfort and security of an Americancollege campus, where he teaches in a lan-guage that it is not his own, and writes in alanguage none of his students can read.

To be stranded does not mean that one cannotbuild a home, even if it is a provisional one. Butthen everything in life is provisional. Only a fool, ora tyrant bent on immortality, can believe other-wise. Norman’s home is still in his Rumanianlanguage, and it is with Cella, the beautifulwoman he insists on calling ‘my first wife’.And wherever Norman and Cella are, there is ahome for others, who might feel a little stranded,such as myself. There we can laugh at the ab-surdity of our existance, and the world aroundus, and there is great solace in that laughter,which can be shared by all those who onlyknow Norman Manea from his books. Andthere is great solace in that thought as well.

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Norman Manea and Paul Cernat at the Romanian Cultural Institute, launching the ‘Norman Manea’ author series published by Polirom. Bucharest, 2008

Norman Manea [i Paul Cernat la Institutul Cultural Român, cu ocazia lans\rii seriei de autor„Norman Manea“ de la Editura Polirom. Bucure[ti, 2008

Recitesc `n Textul nomad. Casa melcului II(Editura Hasefer, 2006) o confesiune a luiNorman Manea dintr-un dialog cu MartaPetreu: „...l-am invidiat pe Cioran. Mi s-ap\rut puternic `n felul cum s-a definit apatrid.Paradoxal, eu a[ fi avut mai mult\ `ndrept\]ires\ fac o asemenea solemn\ declara]ie de nea-partenen]\. {i, totu[i, tocmai `n mine, o anu-me traum\ a modelat o sensibilitate care aveanevoie, poate, mai mult decât `n cazul celor-lal]i, de o `nr\d\cinare. (...) A fost, certamente,`n mine o enorm\ spaim\ de dezr\d\cinare,de[i r\d\cinile alea, `nc\ totu[i acolo, audevenit `ntre timp o surs\ de am\r\ciune“. {im\ gândesc, de fapt, la paradoxul condi]ieiacestui autor. Pentru c\ Norman Manea e celmai tradus, mai premiat [i mai pre]uit pestehotare dintre scriitorii români `n via]\. Darexilatul nu a `ncetat niciodat\ s\ scrie `nlimba român\ („casa melcului“, ultimapatrie...), tematizând obsesiv leg\tura – difi-cil\, tensionat\ – cu ]ara sa de origine. Totu[i,nici cele mai vizibile, mai complexe [i maiinovative dintre c\r]ile pe care le-a publicat`naintea expatrierii (Anii de ucenicie ai luiAugust Prostul, Octombrie, ora opt, Pliculnegru [.a.) nu au putut coagula, singure, unproiect prozastic de real impact critic `n Româ-nia postdecembrist\. Nu pentru c\ valoarea lorar fi neglijabil\ (nu este), ci pentru c\ fic]iuneacu m\[ti, alegorizant\, livresc-intelectualist\,constrâns\ la eschiv\, a acestor scrieri din aniidictaturii nu mai f\cea fa]\ concuren]ei etice a

m\rturiei directe, eliberate de surdiniz\ripolitice. Manea a fost dintotdeauna un scriitorde tip reflexiv, nu narativ, iar presiunea con-fesiunii autobiografice sau eseistice deveniseimperioas\, `n libertate. Ce alt\ formul\ sepotrivea mai bine unui intelectual critic scin-dat `ntre mefien]a fa]\ de orice `nregiment\ricolective [i nostalgia apartenen]ei? Nu `ntâm-pl\tor, dup\ 1990, el a revenit `n literaturaromân\ prin câteva c\r]i non-fic]ionale –interviuri [i eseuri – remarcabile ca detent\intelectual\ (interviurile din Casa melcului [iTextul nomad, eseistica din Despre clovni.Dictatorul [i artistul, Plicuri [i portrete...).~ns\ volumul care i-a centrat [i relansat spec-taculos demersul a fost, de departe, ~ntoarce-rea huliganului: un roman autobiografic scris`n Statele Unite, dar având la origine expe-rien]a primei `ntoarceri `n ]ar\ (`n „Jormania“din prozele cu cheie ale lui Ioan PetruCulianu), mai traumatizant\ decât expatrierea`ns\[i... Publicat\ simultan `n Statele Unite [iRomânia, ~ntoarcerea... a devenit nava-amirala literaturii lui Norman Manea. Ea este ceacare i-a (re)dat, exemplar, prozatorului o iden-titate literar\ interna]ional\ de mare portan]\istorico-biografic\, ridicând la puterea fic]iu-nii speculare cele dou\ tendin]e dominanteale scrisului s\u din ultimele decenii: confe-siunea memorialistic\ [i eseul. Amplificat\analitic-introspectiv de interoga]iile intelec-tuale [i politice, bine servit\ de o compozi]ierafinat\, pluristratificat\, imersiunea `n trecutul

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Patria textului nomad PPaauull CCeerrnnaatt

familial iudaic [i bucovinean (cu r\v\[itoareportrete ale p\rin]ilor) [i individual (dominatde o melancolie ap\s\toare, atotdestructiv\)face din aceast\ apari]ie cea mai important\„autofic]iune“ ap\rut\, pân\ `n prezent, `n li-teratura român\ postcomunist\. Mai mult –sau altfel – decât sentimentalul, „tr\iristul“Mihail Sebastian, de la care se revendic\,Norman Manea e un introspectiv problemati-zant pân\ la nevroz\, produs 100% al uneiculturi a traumei [i a (dez)iluziei. Un om alNordului, `n fond. Pornind de la o experien]\existen]ial\ evreo-român\, cu adânci implica-]ii politice [i identitare (copil\ria marcat\, lacinci ani, de lag\rul din Transnistria, iluziilecomuniste ale adolescen]ei, `ncheiate cudeportarea tat\lui `n lag\rul de la Periprava,biografia sentimental\ tensionat\, dilemeleindividului `n raport cu op]iunile divergente

ale comunit\]ii, via]a literar\ `n totalitarism, cucapcanele ei oportuniste [i xenofobe, dramaexil\rii [i ostilitatea remanent\ a celor din ]ar\dup\ apari]ia articolului Felix culpa despreangajamentul legionar al tân\rului MirceaEliade), ~ntoarcerea huliganului sintetizeaz\,intens-personal, câteva dintre marile teme aleliteraturii europene moderne, `ntr-o simfoniebiografic\ admirabil orchestrat\, cu teme [i va-ria]iuni modulate, crepuscular, pe o partitur\ adestinului. Prea grav (chiar atunci când proble-matizeaz\ burlescul [i carnavalescul politic)pentru o cultur\ ce premiaz\ excesiv frivolitatea,prea etic pentru o lume literar\ „evazionist-es-tetic\“, prea incomod pentru o societate dominat\de ipocrizie, prozatorul s-a impus, decisiv,prin implicarea existen]ial\, detenta intelectu-al\ [i anvergura problematic\ a unei opere deo profund\, sever\, dramatic\ autenticitate.

– 100 –


In Nomad Text. The Snail’s House II (Hasefer,2006), I have been rereading the confessionNorman Manea makes in his dialogue withMarta Petreu: ‘I envied Cioran. He seemedstrong to me in the way he defined himself asstateless. Paradoxically, I was the one whowould have been far more justified in makingsuch a solemn declaration of non-belonging.But nevertheless, it was in me that a certaintrauma shaped a sensibility that perhaps neededrootedness much more than in the case ofothers. (...) Certainly, in me there was anenormous fear of being uprooted, althoughthose roots, which are still there, in timebecame a source of bitterness.’ And I think ofthe paradoxical situation of this author. For,Norman Manea is the most translated andcelebrated living Romanian writer. But theexile has never stopped writing in Romanian(‘the snail’s house,’ the ultimate homeland...),obsessively thematising his difficult, tenserelationship with his country of origin.

Nevertheless, not even the most visible,complex and innovative books he publishedbefore becoming an ex-patriot (The Apprentice-ship of August the Fool, October, Eight O’Clock,The Black Envelope and others) were able to

coagulate by themselves into a prose projectof any real critical impact in post-1989 Ro-mania. Not because their value is negligible(it is not), but because the allegorising, liter-arily intellectual, constrainedly evasive fictionsof masks he wrote during the dictatorshipcould not compete ethically with direct con-fession liberated from having to speak in po-litical undertones. Manea has always been awriter of the reflexive rather than the narrativekind, and the pressure of the autobiographicalor essayistic confession had become overwhel-ming in the free world. What other formcould have suited a critical intellectual tornbetween mistrust of collective regimentationand nostalgia for belonging? It was not bychance that after 1990, his return to Roma-nian literature was marked by a number ofnon-fiction books, interviews and essays thatwere remarkable as an intellectual détente(the interviews in The Snail’s House andNomad Text, the essays in On Clowns. TheDictator and the Artist and Envelopes andPortraits). But the volume that most spectac-ularly focussed and re-launched this endea-vour was, by far, The Hooligan’s Return, anautobiographical novel written in the United

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The homeland of the nomad text PPaauull CCeerrnnaatt

‘Published simultaneously in the United Statesand Romania, The Hooligan’s Return becamethe flagship of Norman Manea’s literary work.It is the book that gave (restored to) the writeran international literary identity of greathistorical and biographical import...’

Paul Cernat

States, but whose origins lies in the experi-ence of the writer’s first return to his nativeland (to the ‘Jormania’ of the short stories àclef of Ioan Petru Culianu), a return moretraumatic than exile itself...

Published simultaneously in the UnitedStates and Romania, The Hooligan’s Returnbecame the flagship of Norman Manea’s lite-rary work. It is the book that gave (restored to)the writer an international literary identity ofgreat historical and biographical import, ele-vating to the power of specular fiction the twodominant trends in his writing of the last de-cades: the confessional memoir and the essay.

Lent analytical and introspective resonanceby intellectual and political questioning, wellserved by refined, multi-layered composition,the writer’s immersion in his Jewish and Bu-kowinian family past (with moving portraitsof his parents) and his own individual past(dominated by an oppressive, self-destructivemelancholy) makes this the most important‘auto-fiction’ to have been published in post-1989 Romania. More than, or differently to,the sentimental and ‘experientialist’ MihailSebastian, from whom he claims descent,Norman Manea is introspective and proble-matical to the point of neurosis, the unadul-terated product of a culture of trauma and(dis)illusion. Ultimately, he is a man of theNorth. Setting out from a Jewish-Romanian

existential experience, with profound implicationsin terms of politics and identity (a childhoodscarred, at the age of five, by the concentra-tion camp in Transnistria; the communist illu-sions of adolescence, ending with the depor-tation of his father to the camp at Periprava;the tense, sentimental biography; the dilem-mas of the individual in relation to the diver-gent options of the community; literary life ina totalitarian state, with its opportunistic andxenophobic traps; the drama of exile and theresidual hostility of those in Romania afterthe publication of his article Felix Culpaabout the young Mircea Eliade’s support forthe Iron Guard), The Hooligan’s Return is anintensely personal synthesis of some of themajor themes of modern European literature,within a wonderfully orchestrated biographi-cal symphony, with themes and variationsmodulated, in a crepuscular way, against themusical score of destiny.

Too grave (even when problematising bur-lesque, carnivalesque politics) for a culturethat rewards frivolity in excess, too ethicalfor an ‘escapist-aesthetic’ literary world, toountimely for a society dominated by hypocrisy,Norman Manea has made a decisive markthrough existential engagement, intellectualdétente and the complex breadth of work that isof a profound, severe, dramatic authenticity.


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Cu editorul Anteos Chrysostomides la T=rgul de Carte de la Salonic, 2003

With Anteos Chrysostomides at the Salonic Bookfair, 2003

– 105 –


Nu exist\ nicio `ndoial\ c\ pr\bu[irea regimu-rilor totalitare ale a[a-numitului „socialism real“i-a pus pe intelectualii din Vestul Europei`ntr-o situa]ie stânjenitoare, chiar [i pe ceicare erau capabili s\ citeasc\ semnele vre-murilor [i care se a[teptaser\ ca absen]a de-mocra]iei [i a libert\]ii, combinat\ cu o biro-cra]ie incompetent\ [i cu o calitate a vie]iicare devenea tot mai problematic\ pe zi cetrecea, s\ aib\ ca rezultat, mai devreme saumai târziu, revolta maselor. Iar aceast\ stânje-neal\, bazat\ nu doar pe dezr\d\cinarea pecare ar produce-o consecin]ele autocra]ieiStatelor Unite asupra lumii, ci [i pe neprev\-zuta, dar nu `ntotdeauna justificata muta]iecultural\ a societ\]ilor care au trebuit s\ fac\fa]\ intr\rii bru[te, pe nepreg\tite `n logica pie]ei.

Aceast\ stânjeneal\ a fost accentuat\ de faptulc\ informa]iile nu erau niciodat\ suficiente,iar zidurile care se `n\l]aser\ `ntre cele dou\blocuri `n timpul R\zboiului Rece r\m\seser\mai mult sau mai pu]in neclintite decenii `n-tregi [i care poate continu\ s\ existe, invizibile,dar reale. Cine sunt ru[ii de ast\zi? De ce secomport\ polonezii atât de ciudat fa]\ de Europa?Cum gândesc românii de ast\zi? Ce a mai r\masdin cultura est-germanilor dup\ unificare?

~n aceste cazuri exist\ o nevoie de oameniemblematici, oameni care ar putea explicaaceste schimb\ri istorice, care ar fi capabili s\interpreteze comportamente [i politici, care arsugera poate ce anume ar trebui p\strat dintrecut [i ce ar trebui respins din prezent.

Occidentul nu a cunoscut [i nu cunoa[temul]i astfel de oameni. Unul dintre ceiextrem de pu]ini este Norman Manea.

Via]a joac\ multe farse. Cea mai mare pecare i-a jucat-o deja bine-cunoscutului autorromân este c\ l-a for]at s\ `[i p\r\seasc\ ]ara cudoar trei ani `nainte de c\derea dictatorului;ca [i cum ar fi fost ales pentru rolul dificil alunui om chemat s\ se uite `ntr-o oglind\ lasinele s\u din trecut prin ochii altcuiva, ainoului s\u eu. ~n Occident, Manea a fostobligat s\ priveasc\ istoria ]\rii sale `n acela[itimp prin ochii unui occidental [i ai unui ro-mân. {i s\ fie scindat, s\ sufere [i s\ r\mân\prizonier al unor dileme pe care nimeni nu [i-ar dori s\ le aib\.

Am avut norocul s\ vorbesc de multe ori cuNorman [i Cella. Este `ntotdeauna o pl\cere s\discut cu ei, nu doar pentru c\ sunt `nzestra]i cudarul autosarcasmului, ci [i fiindc\ au reu[its\ scape de capcanele dogmatismului, men]i-nându-[i `ndoielile [i cinstindu-[i sinele dintrecut, exact a[a cum `[i accept\ prezentul.

Scrisul lui Manea urmeaz\ ni[te linii simi-lare; nu caut\ s\ impresioneze, nu inventeaz\intrigi complicate, nu `ncearc\ s\ stoarc\ la-crimi, nu vrea s\ fac\ parad\ de superioritate.Literatura este cea care descrie atmosfera, tr\-irile, trauma, speran]a, dezam\girea, adev\rul,`ndoiala. Ea `[i dore[te `ndoiala, nimic nu estecomplet bun sau complet r\u. Victimele nu suntniciodat\ doar victime, ci [i victimizatori. Celmai important nu este s\ acuzi, ci s\ vezi reversul

Norman Manea:puterea `ndoielii AAnntteeooss CChhrryyssoossttoommiiddeess

medaliei; cum func]ioneaz\ mecanismuluman al supunerii, cum mili]ienii alinia]i deziua dictatorului râd de ridicolul situa]iei [itotu[i sunt gata s\ aresteze orice cet\]eanc\ruia `i vine la rândul lui s\ râd\.

Manea `ntoarce `ntotdeauna invers monedag\sit\ pe jos `nainte de a o pune `n buzunar.Noua Românie nu este doar nou\: este o veche]ar\ nou\, care, `n spatele aparen]ei str\luci-toare de re`nnoire, ascunde p\r]i din vechiulei eu; pentru c\ p\catele nu dispar niciodat\pe aripile vântului.

Reversul medaliei; Manea tr\ie[te `n SUA,dar se simte str\in acolo. Scrie `n române[te[i, a[a cum [tim cu to]ii, marea patrie a unuiscriitor este `ntotdeauna limba sa. {i sunt multelucruri care `l deranjeaz\ `n SUA, a[a cum `lderanjau multe [i `n vechea Românie [i care

continu\ s\ `l deranjeze `n cea nou\. Lui Maneai-ar pl\cea s\ se `ntoarc\ `n ]ara p\rin]ilor s\i,dar [tie c\ o asemenea decizie ar fi o gre[eal\.„Ai destule motive de tortur\ aici. Nu-]i maitrebuie `nc\ unul. Profit\ de distan]\“, `i spu-ne la un moment dat `n]eleptul s\u prietenSaul Bellow. Astfel el r\mâne un str\in atât `n]ara sa adoptiv\, cât [i `n cea de origine.

Dar cine a spus c\ scriitorii ar trebui s\ tr\-iasc\ `n armonie cu p\mântul pe care locuiesc?Sau c\ trebuie s\ `[i rezolve contradic]iile?Cine a spus c\ autorii trebuie s\ aleag\?

Exact `n asta const\ unicitatea lui NormanManea. ~n faptul c\, dup\ ce a cunoscut dou\lumi diferite, `l poate c\uta pe prietenul s\u Kafkaprin labirinturile min]ii fiec\ruia dintre noi.


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There is no doubt that the downfall of thetotalitarian regimes of the so-called ‘real so-cialism’ led the intellectuals of the EuropeanWest to embarrassment, even those who wereable to read the signs of the Times, and hadexpected that the absence of democracy andFreedom, combined with incompetent bu-reaucracy and a quality of life which wasbecoming from day to day more and moreproblematic, would sooner or later result inthe uprising of the masses. Embarrassment,not only based on the unsettlement over theconsequences the autocracy of the USA wouldhave on the world, but also on the foreseenbut not always justified cultural mutation ofthe societies who had to face the sudden andunprepared entry into the market logic.

This embarrassment was further enhancedby the fact that the information was neversufficient, and the walls that had gone upbetween the two blocks to the Cold War andhad more or less remained in place for deca-des, and may still continue to exist, invisiblebut real. Who are today’s Russians? Why dothe Polish behave so strangely towards Eur-ope? How do the Romanians of today think?What has survived from the culture of theEast Germans following the unification?

In these cases there is a need for emblem-atic people, people who could explain thesehistorical changes, who would be able tointerpret behavior and policies, who wouldperhaps suggest what should be maintained

from the past, and what should be rejectedfrom the present.

The West didn’t, and doesn’t, know many suchpeople. One of the very few is Norman Manea.

Life plays many games. The biggest oneplayed on the already well-known Rumanianauthor is that it forced him to leave his countryjust three years before the fall of the dictator;as if he was chosen for the difficult role of aman called upon to look at his past self in amirror through the eyes of someone else, hisnew self. In the West, Manea was obliged toface the History of his country simultaneouslythrough the eyes of both a westerner and aRumanian. And to be divided, to suffer andremain hostage to dilemmas which no onewould wish to have.

I have had the fortune to speak on manyoccasions with Norman and Cella. It is alwaysa pleasure to talk with them, not only becausethey bear the gift of self-sarcasm but also be-cause they succeeded to break free from thetraps of dogmatism, keeping alive their doubtsand honoring their past selves, exactly as theyaccept their present.

Manea’s writing follows similar lines; notseeking to impress, not searching for compli-cated plots, not trying to draw tears, not wan-ting to display superiority. It is literature whichdescribes atmosphere, emotion, trauma, hope,disappointment, truth, doubt. It craves on doubt,nothing is completely good or completelybad. Victims are never just victims, but also

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Norman Manea: the strength of doubt AAnntteeooss CChhrryyssoossttoommiiddeess

‘who said that writers should live in harmony withthe land in which they live? Or that they must solvetheir contradictions? Whoever said that authors haveto choose? This is exactly the uniqueness of NormanManea. That having experienced two differentworlds, can search for his friend Kafka in thelabyrinths of the mind of each and every one of us.’

Anteos Chrysostomides

victimizers. Most important is not to accuse,but to see the other side of the coin; how thehuman mechanism of submission works, howthe policemen lined up for the dictator’s birth-day laugh at the ridiculousness of the situationyet are ready to arrest whichever citizen feelsthe urge to laugh as well.

Manea always reverses the coin found inthe dirt before putting it in his pocket. Thenew Romania isn’t just new: it is an old newcountry, which behind the shiny exterior ofrenewal, hides pieces of its old self; becausesins are never gone with the wind.

The other side of the coin; Manea lives inthe USA but feels foreign there. He writes inRumanian and, as we all know, an author’sgreat homeland is always his language. Andthere is much that bothers him in the USA, as

there was much which bothered him in the oldRomania, and continues to bother him in thenew. Manea would like to return to the countryof his parents, but knows that such a decisionwould be a mistake.’You have many problemshere but you have a huge advantage – distance.Don’t waste it,’ his wise friend Saul Bellowtells him at some point. Thus he remains astranger both in his adopted country as wellas his country of origin.

But who said that writers should live inharmony with the land in which they live? Or that they must solve their contradictions?Whoever said that authors have to choose?

This is exactly the uniqueness of NormanManea. That having experienced two differentworlds, can search for his friend Kafka in the laby-rinths of the mind of each and every one of us.

– 109 –


Cu Bernard Comment, `ntr-o libr\rie parizian\, `n 2006 (Premiul Médicis)

With Bernard Comment, in a Paris bookshop, in 2006 (Médicis Prize)

– 111 –


L-am `ntâlnit pe Norman Manea pentru primaoar\ la Reggio Emilia, `n Italia, cu ocazia unuifestival de literatur\. Am fost imediat frapat depaloarea [i zâmbetul lui, care exprimau deopo-triv\ o suferin]\, o dificultate de a tr\i [i putereaironiei sau a distan]\rii pentru a dep\[i aceast\dificultate. ~n fond, e ceea ce reg\sim `n c\r]ilelui: nebunia Istoriei, un destin tragic `nc\ dincopil\rie, o prim\ [i prea lung\ bucat\ din via]\petrecut\ sub jugul tiraniilor fascist\ [i comu-nist\, iar `n fa]a acestor lucruri, `n fa]a acesteivie]i furate, batjocorite, for]a elegant insurec-]ional\ a zâmbetului.

Norman Manea este un scriitor exilat. Con-tinu\ s\ scrie `n limba lui, pe care a dus-o cusine, ca pe o ve[nic\ valiz\. Dar se aventureaz\`n mod agreabil `n alte limbi, ca engleza, pecare o vorbe[te la New York [i la Bard College,unde pred\, germana, pe care a folosit-o laBerlin `n prima etap\ a exilului s\u, ori fran-ceza, `n care practic\ nobila art\ a glumei.

Am descoperit scrisul lui Manea prin frag-mentul de roman publicat `ntr-o revist\ `ntr-otraducere execrabil\, care ap\sa ca o amenin]arefatal\ asupra acestei opere. Am decis atuncis\-i alertez pe Norman [i pe agentul lui [i amg\sit pân\ la urm\ solu]ia pentru a recuperadrepturile la ~ntoarcerea huliganului [i a pu-blica aceast\ carte superb\ `n colec]ia „Fictionet Cie“ pe care o conduc la Editions du Seuil.Lucrând la nivelul detaliilor acestui text sprea verifica traducerea, am apreciat importan]alui [i impresionanta complexitate pe care

Norman [tie s\ o dea rela]iei sale cu timpul. ~naceast\ c\l\torie de `ntoarcere `n ]ara opresiu-nilor trecute, autorul ne aduce `n prezen]a unorfantome mai vii ca niciodat\ `n memoria lui,iar personajul Ariel care veste[te pericolul `nfa]a norilor negri ce se adun\ la orizontul sfâr-[itului anilor ’30, da, strig\tul acestui personajexcentric, cu p\rul ro[u sau albastru [i privireateribil de lucid\, probabil prea de tot ca s\ fieauzit de contemporanii s\i, `nc\ ne r\sun\ `nurechi [i ne trimite la r\spunderea pentru t\ce-rile noastre `n fa]a abjec]iilor ce persist\ `n unele]\ri din Comunitatea European\ numite „avansa-te“, cu politica lor de excludere [i de team\.Tocmai asta se a[teapt\ de la literatur\, capaci-tatea metaforic\ nu numai de a ne aminti trecutul,ci [i de a desprinde din trecut o perspectiv\ asu-pra realit\]ilor noastre prezente sau viitoare.

Niciodat\ nu e u[or s\ impui o carte de`nalt\ valoare literar\, mai ales atunci cândconstruc]ia ei este ambi]ioas\ [i contracareaz\facilit\]ile linearit\]ii. Dup\ p\rerea mea,~ntoarcerea huliganului e o capodoper\. Amfost deci foarte pl\cut surprin[i când, `n varaanului 2006, principalele ziare [i reviste fran-ceze au reac]ionat cu entuziasm la acest roman[i i-au f\cut o primire critic\ de mare calitate.Toate acestea au condus destul de firesc laob]inerea, cu unanimitate de voturi, a presti-giosului Premiu Médicis pentru roman str\in`n toamna aceluia[i an. Este o consacrare,`ns\ opera continu\, se `nnoie[te, a[a cum oatest\ ultimul roman al lui Norman Manea,

Un mare scriitor [i prieten BBeerrnnaarrdd CCoommmmeenntt

Vizuina, unde reg\sim temele dragi autorului(exilul, `ntoarcerea figurilor din trecut, trauma-tismul tiraniilor), cu o tonalitate mai voioas\[i o parte mai important\ acordat\ dialogurilor,[i care ia uneori un aspect foarte hazos, chiar[i atunci când tragicul irupe. Aceast\ nou\tonalitate ]ine poate de cadrul pove[tii, NewYork, marele ora[ unde nu e[ti niciodat\ cutotul str\in, pentru c\ acolo nimeni nu e

cu totul la el acas\, [i pe care lui Norman Manea`i place s\-l califice drept „capital\ dadaist\“,poate tocmai fiindc\ acolo totul este posibil.

Norman Manea e un mare scriitor, a deve-nit [i un prieten pentru mine [i sunt fericit c\,`n felul ei, Fran]a a contribuit la recunoa[tereamondial\ de care el se bucur\ ast\zi.

[Traducere din limba francez\ de Giuliano Sfichi]

– 112 –


When I met Norman Manea for the firsttime, we were in Reggio Emilia in Italyduring a literary festival. I was immediatelystruck by his smile and by his paleness, whichrevealed someone who had suffered, whohad found life difficult but also someonewho saw the power of irony or the distanceto overcome difficulty. In many ways that’swhat you find in his books: the madness ofhistory, a tragic destiny from early childhood,a first and too long life under the yoke offascist and communist tyranny, but in theface of all that, in the face of this stolen,battered life, the elegant and defiantstrength of the smile.

Norman Manea is an exiled writer. Hegoes on writing in his own language that hetook with him, as an ever reliable stock.But he ventures happily in other languages,like English that he speaks in New York andBard College where he teaches, Germanthat he practiced in Berlin during the firststop in his exile, or even French, withwhich he practices the noble art of wit.

I discovered the work of Norman Maneathrough the excerpt of a novel publishedin a journal in a dreadful translation thatweighed heavy, as a lethal threat over thisbook. I decided to alert Norman and hisagent, and we finally found a solution toget back the rights of The Return of theHooligan and publish this magnificentbook in the ‘Fiction et Cie’ collection that

I run at Le Seuil. While working in detail onthis text to check the translation I becameaware of the impressive complexity thatNorman knows how to give to his acquain-tance with time. During his return to thecountry of passed oppressions, the authorintroduces us to ghosts more alive than everin his memory, and the character Arielscreaming and warning about the dangerin front of the black clouds that gatheredon the horizon at the end of the 1930s,yes, the scream of this eccentric character,with red or blue hair, with eyes so lucid,too lucid to be heard by his contempora-ries, resounds still in our ears today, andsends us back to the responsibility oursilence bears in front of the persistinghorrors in some so called ‘advanced’countries of the European Community andtheir politics of exclusion and fear. This isexactly what one expects from literature:the metaphorical capacity to not only recallthe past but also to shed light on today’sand future realities.

It is never easy to impose a book that hasa high literary quality, especially when itsconstruction is ambitious and eludes thetoo easy path of linearity. As far as I amconcerned, The Return of the Hooligan is amasterpiece. We were wonderfully surpri-sed when, during the summer of 2006, themain French papers and magazines reactedwith enthusiasm about the book and gave

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A great writer and a friendBBeerrnnaarrdd CCoommmmeenntt

‘The Hooligan’s Return is a masterpiece. Duringthe summer of 2006, the main French papersand magazines reacted with enthusiasm a-bout the book and gave it great critical acclaim.’

Bernard Comment

it great critical acclaim. Quite naturally thisled to a unanimous vote from the presti-gious Prix Médicis jury in the fall of thesame year in the category of best foreignbook. Quite a consecration, but the workcontinues, renews itself as the latest novelof Norman Manea testifies, The Burrow,where we find again his favorite themes(exile, the return of people from the past,the trauma of tyrannies), but with asprightlier tone and a larger part devotedto dialogues which can sometimes take a humorous turn, even when the tragicsuddenly appears. This new tone

may come from the background of thisstory, New York, the great city where oneis never totally a foreigner, because noone is ever totally home there, a city thatNorman Manea likes to call ‘the Dadacapital’, maybe because everything ispossible there.

Norman Manea is a great writer. Healso has become a friend, and I am happythat France has, in its way, contributed tothe international renown that he isenjoying today.

[Translated from French by Odile Chilton]

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Vizuina (Polirom, Ia[i, 2009) este primulroman pe care Norman Manea `l public\ dup\plecarea, `n 1986, din România, an `n care `iap\ruse, cu doar câteva luni `nainte de plecare[i dup\ multe amân\ri, romanul Plicul negru.De[i p\streaz\ teme ale c\r]ilor sale nonfic-]ionale, de eseistic\ [i confesiune ap\rute `nacest generos interval (de la Despre clovni:dictatorul [i artistul, editat\ `n SUA `n 1993[i publicat\ la Biblioteca Apostrof `n 1997,Casa melcului, Hasefer, 1999, trecând prin~ntoarcerea huliganului, 2003 – `n lecturamea, o carte decis autobiografic\, nonfic]io-nal\, cu toate camuflajele practicate – [iPlicuri [i portrete, 2004, [i pân\ la volumelede convorbiri din 2008: Sertarele exilului.Dialog cu Leon Volovici [i ~naintea desp\r-]irii. Convorbiri cu Saul Bellow, toate ap\rutela Polirom) [i se `ntâlne[te, inevitabil, cu uni-versul prozei scurte (restituit `n 2008 la a-ceea[i editur\ ie[ean\, `n substan]iala antolo-gie Variante la un autoportret), Vizuina `ntre-]ine cea mai trainic\ leg\tur\ cu Plicul negru.Pe lâng\ aluziile la povestirea lui Mynnheer(supranumele thomasmannian al personajuluiprincipal din romanul anterior) care „f\cuseoarecare vâlv\ `ntre litera]ii patriei socialiste,apoi [i `n norodul oropsit [i gata de glume“ [ic\p\tase „celebritate `n subterana socialist\“,autorul reia, fie [i episodic, metafora (central\`n Plicul...) a surdo-mu]ilor [i, mai important,lucreaz\ cu aceea[i viziune burlesc\ („contra-ritm burlesc“) [i acela[i tip de pesonaj. Dac\

Tolea Voinov, protagonistul romanului anterior,„`ndeplinea rolul de m\sc\rici blazat [i [ic“,Peter Ga[par este „veselul anxios“, „un bietbufon“ sau „elefantul de circ Oliver“.

De[i apropierile nu se opresc aici, diferen-]ele merit\ ele `nsele marcate. R\mas acela[iscriitor estet, Norman Manea renun]\ la frazaarborescent\ `n favoarea unor enun]uri scurte[i cultiv\, de aceast\ dat\, rafinamentul la ni-velul structurii, acolo unde lucreaz\ cu o fin\re]ea de coresponden]e [i reveniri, cu o sub-til\ alternan]\ a perspectivelor narative (de lapersonajele-reflectori la un misterios narator ce`[i asum\ pe alocuri persoana `ntâi) [i a planu-rilor temporale care, `n curgerea alert\ a tex-tului ob]inut\ astfel, pot s\ treac\ – veritabil\prob\ de virtuozitate – neobservate. Subiectulp\r\se[te România dictaturii ceau[iste, fiindplasat `n Statele Unite a anilor 2000 (cu in-cursiuni `n deceniul anterior), acolo undetr\iesc, `n lumea academic\, mai mul]i exila]iromâni. Vizuina, de altfel, poate fi citit [i ca unroman de campus (nelipsit de o dimensiuneautoironic\) sau al mediului universitar (ame-rican, desigur), o specie tot mai `n vog\ `n ulti-mele decenii (care a dat nu doar romanele desucces ale lui David Lodge, ci [i excep]ionalulPata uman\ al lui Philip Roth), cu codific\rile,rela]iile [i libert\]ile specifice, pe care protago-nistul le descoper\ cu candoare [i nelini[te.

~n construc]ia personajelor, autorul utilizeaz\un material (u[or recognoscibil pentru cititorulromân) preluat din biografiile lui Mircea Eliade,

Farsa tragic\SSaannddaa CCoorrddooss,

Ioan Petru Culianu, Matei C\linescu, ca [i dinpropria autobiografie (pe lâng\ situa]ii [i episoa-de, `[i ascunde, `ntr-un pliu al textului, datade na[tere). Miza nu este, `ns\, de a `ngro[aliniile realit\]ii, ci, ca `n defini]iile clasice alefic]iunii, de a le dep\[i, universalizându-le.Materialul românesc `[i estompeaz\ relevan]alocal\ pentru a fixa condi]ia general uman\ aexilului tr\it\ `n noul Babylon. De altfel, de[iprotagoni[tii vorbesc adesea despre „magica [isuprarealista noastr\ ]\ri[oar\ de la marginealumii“, despre „ambigua tranzi]ie spre nic\ieria ]\rii“, fiind preocupa]i de ce poate aduce „orevolu]ie postmodern\ `ntr-o ]ar\ suprarealist\“,adic\ „dac\ dup\ comunism urmeaz\ anul 2000sau anii 1930“ [i de[i evoc\ locuri ori momen-te din trecutul comun, numele României nuapare. Temei strict române[ti Norman Manea`i prefer\ aici tema est-european\, „`ncâlcealabalcanic\“, la care particip\ episodic sau dinpenumbr\ un ucrainean, un grec, o bosniac\cu r\d\cini otomane etc. Mai important\decât identitatea geografic\ este, `ns\, aceeaindividual\ de exilat sau, cu un cuvânt pe carescriitorul `l prefer\, cea de pribeag. Peregrini„`n America, pe lumea cealalt\“ sau „`n Lu-mea de Apoi“, unele personaje consider\ c\refac (retr\iesc) traseul odiseic („C\ut\m Itaca,exila]i precum Ulise“), `n vreme ce PeterGa[par crede c\ „misiunea pribegilor este s\se salveze singuri“, precum `n legenda Esterei(„unde Dumnezeu lipse[te din scen\“), cele-brat\ de Purim, s\rb\toarea evreiasc\ a m\[tilor.Al doilea protagonist al c\r]ii, Augustin Gora,se sprijin\, `n schimb, pe „ofertele viului“adic\: „C\r]i [i arbori, chipuri [i mânc\ruri,râul, m\nu[ile lui Lu, scaunul, computerul,cada de baie, p\durea `n iarn\, Albumul uneizile americane, pisica din verand\, telefonul,prosopul albastru, pantofii caraghio[i“.

Amândou\ personajele contrapun labirintuluicu probele sale ritualice (des invocat, proveninddin c\r]ile autoritare ale `nv\]atului Dima)figura vizuinii, fragil\ [i personal\. Trimi]ând,desigur, omagiant, la Vizuina luminat\ a lui

Max Blecher (un scriitor pentru care NormanManea are o veche [i constant\ admira]ie), vi-zuina este aici fie biblioteca („E[ti `n vizuin\? –Care vizuin\? – ~ntre coper]i“), fie propriulcorp, modulând astfel alte dou\ teme majoreale romanului: lectura [i boala. „Captivii lec-turii“ (prin pasiune [i profesiune), personajelese afl\ `n dialoguri, explicite sau aluzive, careantreneaz\ c\r]ile esen]iale ale bibliotecii [ivie]ilor lor, `ntr-o re]ea intertextual\ lipsit\ deostenta]ie. Dar ei sunt, nu mai pu]in, prizonieriipropriului trup, acela `n care „se l\]ea umbra“[i care tr\ie[te, cu mare acuitate (transpus\ `npagini excep]ionale), metamorfoza `mboln\virii(„Nu cârti]\ sau gândac, ci elefant, nepreg\titpentru tumbele mici ale zilei“) [i apropiereamor]ii. Nu numai `n paginile lui Borges co-mentate de protagoni[ti, ci [i `n romanul luiManea, „eroina este Moartea. Logician\ lu-crând cu busola, echerul [i compasul“. Dac\„Moartea nu-i o fars\, are o busol\ blestemat\[i e lipsit\ de umor“, `n schimb ea este, la felca `n Plicul negru, Nimfomana, Codoa[a ac\rei apropiere aduce accelerarea timpului,adic\ „nop]i sfârtecate, zile n\ucite de obo-seal\“. „Chiria[ul prezentului“ (dar un prezentcare sub trepida]ia n\ucitoare nu e altcevadecât o alt\ fa]\ a neantului), Peter Ga[parpercepe cum „cronometrul `nghite secundelearmisti]iului“ [i este urm\rit, ca [i Gora, derepetate co[maruri. ~n contrapunct, apare te-ma iubirii, cartea fiind dominat\ de figuraenigmaticei [i obsedantei Ludmila („Lu estemai multe femei“, „dublura Sulamitei“), decare sunt `ndr\gosti]i cei doi protagoni[ti [inaratorul, figur\ feminin\ realizat\ mai multprin pregnan]a absen]ei sale [i prin repetateleevoc\ri [i reverii pe care, astfel, le genereaz\.

Construind un univers „sub cupola lui Dalí,circarul“ (cu una din imaginile recurente alec\r]ii), Norman Manea a[az\ `n miezul s\u,sub stratul de fars\ [i sub ritmul alert de na-ra]iune picaresc\, neantul [i dispari]ia caredau dimensiunea nelini[titoare a `ntregului. ~nfond, toate nivelele identit\]ii explorate aici

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([i `n care identitatea etnic\ e doar periferic\,doar coaja), o identitate care se `ncheag\ cu greu[i se risipe[te cu u[urin]\, pot fi subsumatedispari]iei (care nu e numaidecât fizic\) [ianxiet\]ii pe care aceasta o induce. Prin toateaceste paliere, prin densitatea semantic\,Vizuina este o carte remarcabil\. ~n plus, eamarcheaz\ un punct de cotitur\ `n biografiaautorului. ~ntr-un interviu acordat `n 1990 `nItalia, citat de Marco Cugno `ntr-o substan]ia-l\ convorbire pe care o poart\ el `nsu[i cuscriitorul, Norman Manea spunea: „E cert, de

altfel, c\, atunci când m\ voi sim]i din nou `nstare s\ scriu un roman, vindecarea se va fiprodus“. {i `n acela[i loc, r\spunzându-i luiCugno, scriitorul român afirm\: „Romanulcere angajare de mai lung\ durat\, stabilitate,concentrare prelungit\, el marcheaz\ o con-fruntare extins\ cu tine `nsu]i, o prob\ major\de vitalitate creatoare“ (Cartea melcului). Credc\ Vizuina aduce (sau oricum se apropie foartemult de) acea vindecare la care scriitorulaspira `n urm\ cu 20 de ani [i face, totodat\,proba unei autentice, profunde creativit\]i.

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‘The Lair is a remarkable book. In addition, itmarks a turning point in the author’s biography.’

Sanda Cordo[

The Liar (Polirom, Jassy, 2009) is the firstnovel Norman Manea has published since heleft Romania in 1986, the year when, just a fewmonths before his departure and after nume-rous delays, his novel The Black Envelopeappeared. Although it preserves the themes ofthe non-fiction, essayistic and confessionalworks he published during this long interval(On Clowns: The Dictator and the Artist, pu-blished in the United States in 1993 and byBiblioteca Apostrof in 1997; The Hooligan’sReturn, published in 2003, which, as I read it,is an openly autobiographical, non-fiction book,despite the various forms of camouflage itpractises; Envelopes and Portraits, publishedin 2004; and the volumes of dialogue he pu-blished in 2008: The Drawers of Exile.Dialogue with Leon Volovici and BeforeParting. Conversations with Saul Bellow, allof which have been published by Polirom)and inevitably comes into contact with theworld of his short prose (restored in 2008 bythe same Jassy publishing house, in thesubstantial anthology Variations on a Self-Portrait), The Burrow preserves its mostdurable connection with The Black Envelope.Besides the allusions to the tale of Mynnheer(the nickname of the main character in his pre-vious novel, taken from the work of ThomasMann), who ‘had caused something of a stiramong the literati of the socialist homeland,and then among the downtrodden commonpeople eager for jokes’ and had garnered

‘fame in the socialist underground’, theauthor resumes, albeit episodically, themetaphor (central to The Black Envelope) ofthe deaf mute. More importantly, he operateswith the same burlesque vision (‘burlesquecounter-rhythm’) and the same type ofcharacter. Whereas Tolya Voinov, the maincharacter of the previous novel, ‘played therole of the blasé’, Peter Ga[par is ‘anxiouslymerry’, ‘a poor clown’ or ‘Oliver the circuselephant’.

Although the similarities do not end here,the differences are also worth highlighting.Remaining the same writer-aesthete, NormanManea here renounces arborescent sentencesin favour of short statements, and cultivatesrefinement at the level of structure, where heworks with a fine web of a correspondencesand echoes, with a subtle alternation of nar-rative viewpoints (from reflector-characters toa mysterious narrator who in places speaks inthe first person) and temporal planes, which,in the brisk textual flow thereby obtained, canpass unobserved, is proof of genuinevirtuosity. The subject leaves behind the Ro-mania of the Ceausescu dictatorship, and isset in the United States of the 2000s (withincursions into the previous decade), where anumber of exiled Romanians live in the aca-demic milieu. The Liar can also be read as acollege novel (one not lacking in a certainself-irony) or a novel about university life (inAmerica), a genre increasingly fashionable in

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A tragic farceSSaannddaa CCoorrddooss,

the last few decades (which has produced notonly the highly popular novels of David Lodge,but also Philip Roth’s exceptional The HumanStain), with its specific codes, relations andfreedoms, which the main character discoverswith candour and disquiet.

In constructing his characters, the authormakes use of material (easily recognisable toa Romanian reader) drawn from the biogra-phies of Mircea Eliade, Ioan Petru Culianu andMatei C\linescu, as well as his own autobio-graphy (besides situations and episodes, heconceals his date of birth in a fold of the text).What is at stake, however, is not to paint rea-lity in broad brushstrokes, but rather, as inclassic definitions of fiction, to transcend it,to universalise it. The local relevance of theRomanian material is blurred in order to cap-ture the general human condition of exile livedin a new Babylon. In any case, even if theprotagonists often speak of ‘our magical andsurrealistic little land at the edge of the world’,of ‘our country’s ambiguous transition towardnowhere’, being obsessed with what ‘a post-modern revolution in a surrealistic land’ mightbring, i.e. with ‘whether the year 2000 or the1930s will follow communism’, and even ifthey evoke places and moments from the sha-red past, the name Romania does not appear.Norman Manea here opts for an East-Europeantheme, for ‘Balkan gallimaufry’, in whichparticipate, episodically or from the shadows,a Ukrainian, a Greek, a Bosnian with Ottomanroots, etc. More important than geographicalidentity, however, is the individual identity ofthe exile or, to use a word the writer himselffavours, that of the wanderer. Travellers ‘inAmerica, to the other world’ or ‘the WorldBeyond’, some of the characters see themselvesas retracing (reliving) an odyssey (‘We areseeking Ithaca, we are exiles, like Ulysses’),while Peter Ga[par believes that ‘the missionof the wanderers is to save themselves’, thesame as in the legend of Esther (‘where Godis absent from the stage’), celebrated at

Purim, the Jewish festival of masks. Thebook’s second protagonist, Augustin Gora, onthe other hand, relies on ‘what living has tooffer’, which is to say, ‘books and trees, facesand dishes, the river, Lu’s gloves, the chair,the computer, the bathtub, the forest inwinter, The Album of an American Day, thecat on the veranda, the telephone, the bluetowel, the funny shoes’.

Both characters place the figure of thefragile and personal burrow in counterpointto the oft-invoked labyrinth with its ritualistictrials, which originates in the authoritarianbooks of the learned Dima. Paying homage toThe Illumined Burrow by Max Blecher (awriter for whom Norman Manea has a long-standing and constant admiration), here theburrow is either the library (‘Are you in theburrow? – What burrow? – Between the bookcovers’) or one’s own body, thereby modu-lating the novel’s two major themes: readingand illness. ‘Captives of reading’ (throughpassion and profession), the characters areplaced in explicit or allusive dialogues, whichdraw upon the essential books in their libra-ries and their lives, within an unostentatiousinter-textual web. But they are also, no less,prisoners of their own bodies, in which ‘theshadow is lengthening’. Their bodies expe-rience with great acuity (described onexceptional pages) the metamorphosis ofbeing ill (‘Not a mole or a beetle, but an ele-phant unprepared for the day’s little somer-saults’) and the approach of death. Not onlyin the texts of Borges discussed by thecharacters, but also in Manea’s novel, ‘theheroine is Death. A logician working with acompass, try square and callipers’. If ‘Deathis not a practical joke, then her compass iscursed and she is devoid of humour’, on theother hand, the same as in The Black Envelope,she is the Nymphomaniac, the Procuresswhose arrival causes time to speed up, whichis to say, she brings ‘nights torn asunder anddays dazed with weariness’. The ‘tenant of

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the present’ (but a present whose dazing trepi-dation is nothing but another face of the void),Peter Ga[par perceives how ‘the stopwatchingests the seconds of the armistice’ and ishaunted, like Gora, by recurring nightmares.In counterpoint, the theme of love appears, thebook being dominated by the figure of theenigmatic and compelling Ludmila (‘Lu ismany women’, ‘Sulamith’s double’), withwhom the two protagonists and the narrator arein love, a female figure created more by meansof her resonant absence and the repeated evo-cations and dreams she otherwise generates.

Constructing a world ‘under the cupola ofDalí the circus master’ (one of the book’srecurring themes), Norman Manea places atits core, underneath the layer of farce and thebrisk rhythm of the picaresque narrative, thevoid and disappearance, which lend a distur-bing dimension to the whole. Ultimately, allthe levels of identity explored here (and whereethnic identity is peripheral, merely a surfacelayer), an identity that coalesces with difficultybut dissipates with ease, can be included withindisappearance (which is not necessarily physi-

cal) and the anxiety this induces. Thanks toall these levels and its semantic density, TheBurrow is a remarkable book. In addition, itmarks a turning point in the author’s biography.In an interview he gave in Italy in 1990, quotedby Marco Cugno in the substantial dialoguehe had with the writer, Norman Manea said:‘In any case, it is certain that when I shall feelI am capable of writing a novel again, thehealing will have come about’. And in thesame place, in answer to Cugno’s question,the Romanian writer says: ‘The novel demandsa commitment of the longest duration, stability,prolonged concentration, it marks an extendedconfrontation with your own self, a major testof creative vitality’ (The Book of the Snail). I think that The Burrow brings about (or inany case comes very close to) that healing thewriter aspired to twenty years ago and, at thesame time, stands as proof of authentic,profound creativity.

[Translated from Romanian by Alistair Ian Blyth

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Paul Cornea [i Norman Manea la Târgul Gaudeamus, Bucure[ti, 2010

Paul Cornea and Norman Manea at the Gaudemus Bookfair, Bucharest, 2010

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M\rturisesc din capul locului c\ titlul sub ca-re se a[eaz\ masa rotund\ organizat\ cu ocaziaprezen]ei lui Norman Manea la Bucure[ti, `ncadrul Târgului Gaudeamus, m-a contrariat.Dar sunt gata s\ admit c\ o denumire adecvat\trebuia s\ fie cuprinz\toare, incitant\ [i oare-cum enigmatic\. Fiindc\ nimic nu `nt\rât\, nuantreneaz\ mai mult la o dezbatere decât cevatainic ori imprecis. ~n ce m\ prive[te, `n]eleg„obsesia incertitudinii“ ca trimitere spre oviziune a lumii axat\ pe interoga]ie, ca o exi-gen]\ de a chestiona lucrurile consideratedrept sigure, invulnerabile sau incoruptibile,sco]ând la iveal\ fragilitatea, ori efemeritatea,ori z\d\rnicia lor. O `n]eleg ca un efort de arefuza cli[eul, de a denun]a stereotipia, gândi-rea lene[\, hr\nit\ de mituri [i prejudec\]i, atât`n discursul cotidian, cât [i `n discursul `n]elep-]ilor (care când o fac boac\n\ sunt mult maiprimejdio[i decât oamenii de rând). {i cu toateastea, sintagma men]ionat\ transmite o ambi-guitate, care tulbur\ imaginea scriitorului. Eltr\ie[te, desigur, printre [i cu incertitudini, catoat\ lumea, `n acela[i timp `ns\, ca to]i mariiintelectuali pe care-i admir\m [i pe care `i ex-plor\m cu speran]a de a vedea, cu ajutorul lor,mai adânc [i mai departe, Norman Manea esteposesorul unor certitudini trainice. Agnostic `nchestiunile religioase, el nu e deloc agnostic`n cele laice [i cet\]ene[ti, când e vorba dedemocra]ie, libertate, pluralism, respectulminorit\]ilor, combaterea extremismelor dedreapta, ca [i de stânga, obiectivele educ\rii

tinerilor, moralitatea scrisului, idealul unei vie]irezonabile. Atât prin ceea ce refuz\, cât [i princeea ce afirm\, Manea este nu numai un ro-mancier apreciat [i un eseist remarcabil, ci [iuna dintre vocile autorizate ale culturii euro-atlantice de azi, un spirit de autentic\ alonj\intelectual\ [i anvergur\ moral-filosofic\.

Ca [i alte c\r]i ale scriitorului, Curierul deEst. Dialog cu Edward Kanterian cuprinde o`ncreng\tur\ de teme caracteristice lui Manea[i, `n acela[i timp, de o actualitate stringent\.Unele sunt de mare generalitate (Holocaust,Gulag, antiamericanismul [i ra]iunile lui, anti-semitismul, rolul intelectualilor etc.), altele seleag\ de biografia autorului (cuprinzând, pentrucei care o cunosc, poate prea multe recuren]e).Modalitatea foarte relaxat\ a dialogului permiteo discu]ie aerisit\; interlocutorii r\mân mereu`n firesc [i discut\ cu degajare, revenind uneoriasupra problemelor abordate, spre a le nuan]a,[i ab]inându-se s\ dea lec]ii. E. Kanterian e un`nv\]\cel informat [i responsabil, care-[i ia `nserios rolul de a pune `ntreb\ri, nu o dat\ in-comode, f\r\ a se l\sa intimidat de prestigiulscriitorului. Iar pe Norman Manea `l reg\sim,cu delectare, a[a cum `l cunoa[tem [i `ntr-oexcelent\ form\: ca `ntotdeauna, reu[e[te s\-[iconverteasc\ amarul `n umor [i sarcasm, alu-necând de la gravitatea reclamat\ de anumitesubiecte, cum ar fi Holocaustul ori, s\ spu-nem, problema raportului dintre stat [i religie,la redutabila sa ironie, politicoas\ `n form\,dar devastatoare `n con]inut. Aliajul dintre

Obsesia incertitudinii PPaauull CCoorrnneeaa

elegan]a stilistic\ [i precizia enun]\rii func]ionea-z\ f\r\ fisur\. Tezele pe care le ap\r\ apar]inunui liberalism deschis, f\r\ conota]ie parti-zan\, necru]\tor cu extremismele de orice fel(stângismul, fie el comunist ori nu, islamismulradical ori diversele tipuri de fascism camuflat).Argumentarea e solid\ [i conving\toare, arecalitatea rar\ de a merge la esen]\, de a nu serisipi `n marginalit\]i ori a c\uta efecte ieftine.Mai neobi[nuit este c\ tonul r\mâne potolit,echilibrat [i comprehensiv, f\r\ complezen]e,dar [i f\r\ `ncrâncenare, când `mprejur\rile `iimpun s\ polemizeze. Place mult faptul c\ ci-titorul e tratat ca adult, prezentându-i-se, cu osfor]are v\dit\ de obiectivitate, alternativelefiec\rei probleme, ca s\ poat\ conchide singur.

Spre a aproxima densitatea intelectual\ [imodul lejer, de[i extrem de serios `n fond, aldialogului Manea-Kanterian, consider c\ celmai nimerit este s\ dau câteva exemple con-crete. M\ voi restrânge la dou\, având `n ve-dere economia de timp. Cel dintâi: `ntrebatdespre voga „crea]ionismului“ `ntr-o serie de[coli din Statele Unite, Manea r\spunde: „Dis-cu]ia s-a `nte]it, de[i suntem deja `n secolulXXI. Au intervenit [i oameni de [tiin]\ care se`ndoiesc de valabilitatea «absolut\» a darwi-nismului. Este atmosfera fireasc\ unei na]iunilibere, obi[nuite cu individualizarea opiniilor.Cum [tim, exist\ destui savan]i [i intelectuali[i arti[ti care r\mân la un moment dat, indife-rent ce au sus]inut `n opera lor, `ntr-o solitar\perplexitate melancolic\ [i dubitativ\ când caut\«esen]a esen]elor», `nceputul primordial. Ce afost `nainte de `nainte?... Care este `nceputuldinaintea `nceputului [i solu]ia deasupra tuturorefemerelor solu]ii, care e marele r\spuns?...Religia n-ar fi ap\rut [i n-ar fi persistat mii deani, `n multiplele ei forme, dac\ omul n-ar fiavut nevoie de ea, deci nu ar fi fost preg\tit s\[i-o creeze. Transcendentul nu poate fi expe-diat `ntr-o vorb\, nici dilemele f\r\ r\spuns `ntrei vorbe. Asta nu `nseamn\ c\ trebuie s\ ne`ntoarcem la Evul Mediu [i s\-i excomunic\mpe Darwin sau Kepler sau Spinoza“.

Al doilea exemplu se refer\ la o chestiunede o prodigioas\ poten]ialitate de surprize [idificult\]i: definirea condi]iei de iudaitate. Cândeste cineva evreu? R\spunsul e multietajat,date fiind criteriile diverse luate `n considera-re. Dac\ accept\m punctul de vedere tradi]ional,problema se rezolv\ simplu: este evreu oricinese na[te dintr-o mam\ evreic\. ~n cazul c\accept\m acest criteriu – ne spune Manea –,„atunci nu numai Isus este evreu, ci [i Marx,care era destul de antisemit, [i Tro]ki, care eraun fanatic comunist, [i Steinhardt, care s-acre[tinat, [i Chestov, cre[tinat [i el, [i Proust,botezat catolic, [i cardinalul Lustiger al Pa-risului“. Religio[ii sus]in c\ doar circumciziavalideaz\ contractul cu Dumnezeu, `ns\ cri-teriul nu poate fi hot\râtor, de vreme ce [i altesemin]ii o practic\. Mai exist\ [i defini]ia Tal-mudului: este evreu cel care se opune idola-triei, `n]eleas\ `n sensul unui monoteism ap\ratcu o rigoare aspr\; anume: Dumnezeul evreiloreste unic, nu are chip, nu poate fi nici numit,nici reprezentat figural. Interpretând flexibilconceptul de „idolatrie“, Manea afirm\ c\ se„reg\se[te“ `n refuzul idolilor (deci, adaug eu,`n respingerea oric\rui tip de „cult al perso-nalit\]ii“), `n spiritul critic [i autocritic (atât derobust prezent la profe]ii Vechiului Testament).La care domnul Kanterian observ\ c\, dac\dispare referin]a religioas\, se evapor\ [i conceptul de „identitate evreiasc\“. Tot elaminte[te de afirma]ia filosofului israelianYeshayahu Leibowitz c\ azi e foarte dificil deg\sit un criteriu prin care evreul s\ fie distinsde non-evreu. E luat\ `n considerare [i carac-terizarea lui M. Sebastian – c\ evreului i-ar fiproprie contradic]ia dintre o cerebralitate rece[i o pasiune fierbinte. Dar fiindc\ incertitudineapersist\, Manea ne reaminte[te finalmente,f\r\ a mai lungi discu]ia, pasibil\ de dezvol-t\ri nesfâr[ite (ce spun Sartre, Hannah Arendtetc.), enigmaticul r\spuns al lui Freud: „Cer\mâne dintr-un evreu care nu este religios, nueste na]ionalist [i nu cunoa[te limba Bibliei?R\spuns: mult!“. Are la dispozi]ie [i r\spunsul lui

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Eugen Ionescu la o `ntrebare despre existen]alui Dumnezeu, citat `n contextul potrivit, darcare e aplicabil, `n opinia mea, [i cerin]ei de aprinde `n concept condi]ia evreit\]ii: „Nu suntnici atât de inteligent, nici atât de prost `ncâts\ am un r\spuns la o asemenea `ntrebare“.

A[ putea continua cu exemplific\rile, `ns\ar fi infinit preferabil ca to]i cei ce nu cunoscnoua carte a lui Norman Manea s\ [i-o procure[i s\ se edifice singuri. N-am inten]ionat prinscurta mea interven]ie s\ fac o recenzie, cinumai s\ v\ ofer un aperitiv, s\ v\ deschidgustul lecturii. {i acum permite]i-mi dou\ cu-vinte de `ncheiere. E un privilegiu al culturiinoastre, handicapat\ de o limb\ cu circula]ierestrâns\ [i de performan]ele politico-economicemodeste ale statului de drept, c\ dispune

`n chiar miezul Occidentului, `n Statele Unite,deocamdat\ prima putere [i civiliza]ie a pla-netei, de un ambasador literar de talia luiNorman Manea. Din p\cate `ns\ la noi mul]ipar a nu se sinchisi de aceast\ mare, imens\oportunitate, tratându-l pe scriitorul tradus `ndou\zeci de limbi cu m\sura geloziei cole-giale [i a unei arogan]e costisitoare, de vremece ignor\ opiniile criticii occidentale. R\mânepentru oamenii rezonabili o curiozitate faptulc\ printre organizatorii voiajului lui Manea `n]ara noastr\ se afl\ Ambasada Fran]ei dinBucure[ti [i Institutul Francez, dar nu se afl\Uniunea Scriitorilor! A[ vrea s\ sper c\ viito-rul apropiat va aduce repara]iile necesare.

Observator Cultural, nr. 552, noiembrie 2010

‘Like Ernesto Sabato (a physician, one of the authorshe admires and whose influence can be sensed inThe Black Envelope), Manea stands apart from thepurely humanist and apolitical daydreaming literatiwho flounder when confronted with the complexproblems of the modern age.’

Paul Cornea

I should confess from the outset that I was per-plexed by the title of this seminar organisedon the occasion of Norman Manea’s presencein Bucharest as a guest of the Gaudeamus BookFair. But I am ready to allow that a suitabletitle would have to be all-embracing, provo-cative and somewhat enigmatic. Becausenothing incites, nothing stimulates debatemore than something mysterious or impre-cise. As far as I am concerned, I take ‘the ob-session of uncertainty’ to refer to a vision ofthe world that is centred on interrogation, tothe exigency of questioning things regardedas certain, unassailable, or incorruptible, there-by bringing to light their fragility, ephemera-lity or vanity. I take it to be an attempt to re-ject clichés, to denounce stereotypes and thelazy thinking that feeds on myths and preju-dices, both in everyday speech and in intel-lectual discourse (when intellectuals makesuch blunders they are more dangerous thanordinary mortals). Nonetheless, the phrase inquestion conveys an ambiguity, which cloudsthe writer’s image. Of course, he too lives sur-rounded by uncertainties, the same as every-body else, but at the same time, like all the greatintellectuals we admire and whom we explorein the hope of seeing deeper and further withtheir help, Norman Manea is the possessor ofdurable certainties. Agnostic in religious mat-ters, he is not at all agnostic in lay and civicmatters, when it comes to democracy, liberty,pluralism, respect for minorities, opposition

to the far right and the far left, the aims ofeducating the young, the morality of writing,and the ideal of a reasonable life. Both throughwhat he rejects and what he affirms, Manea isnot only a respected novelist and remarkableessayist, but also one of the authoritative voic-es of Euro-Atlantic culture today, a spirit ofauthentic intellectual reach and moral-philo-sophical breadth.

The Eastern Messenger: Dialogue with EdwardKanterian contains a series of themes characte-ristic of Manea’s work, themes that are also ofthe greatest topicality. Some of them are very broad(the Holocaust, the Gulag, anti-Americanismand its rationale, anti-Semitism, the role ofintellectuals, etc.), while others are connectedto the author’s biography (including, for thosethat are familiar with it, perhaps overly manyrepetitions). The dialogue unfolds in a relaxedway; the interlocutors always remain naturaland talk unaffectedly, sometimes returning toissues that have arisen during the discussionin order to provide them with further nuance, butthey refrain from giving lectures. Kanterian isan informed and responsible scholar, who takesseriously his role of asking sometimes uncom-fortable questions, without allowing himselfto be overawed by the writer’s prestige. Andit is a delight to find the Norman Manea weknow so well in such excellent form: as ever,he manages to transform the bitter into humourand sarcasm, gliding from the gravity deman-ded by certain subjects, such as the Holocaust

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The obsession of uncertainty PPaauull CCoorrnneeaa

or, let us say, the question of the relationshipbetween religion and the state, to his formidableirony, polite in form, but devastating in con-tent. The alloy of stylistic elegance and preci-sion of expression is flawless. The theses theydefend belong to an open, non-partisan libe-ralism that is unsparing when it comes to anykind of extremism (leftism, be it communistor not, radical Islamism, and the various typesof camouflaged fascism). The argumentationis solid and convincing. It has the rare qualityof piercing to the heart of the matter, withoutgetting lost in marginal issues or seeking cheapeffects. More unusual is that their tone re-mains calm, balanced and comprehensive,without complaisance, but also without vehe-mence, when the issue calls for polemics. Itis very pleasing that the reader is treated asan adult and obvious pains are taken to pre-sent him with each side of the argument sothat he can make his own mind up.

To give a rough idea of the intellectualdensity and the light although ultimatelyextremely serious manner of the dialoguebetween Manea and Kanterian, I think itwould be appropriate to provide a few con-crete examples. Given the constraints of time,I shall limit myself to just two examples. Thefirst: asked about the craze for ‘creationism’in a number of schools in the United States,Manea replies: ‘The debate has intensified,even though we are already in the twenty-first century. Even scientists who doubt the“absolute“ validity of Darwinism have be-come involved. This is the natural atmosphereof a free nation, accustomed to individual opi-nions. As we know, there are plenty of schol-ars, intellectuals and artists who, regardlessof what they have argued in their work, findthemselves at a given point thrown into asolitary state of melancholy and doubt-riddenperplexity when they seek the “essence ofessences,“ the primordial beginning. Whatcame before all else? What is the beginningbefore the beginning and the solution above

all ephemeral solutions? What is the greatanswer? Religion would not have appearedand it would not have endured for thousandsof years in its multiple forms if man had notneeded it, and therefore man would not havebeen ready to create it for himself. The trans-cendent cannot be despatched in a single word;dilemmas cannot be answered in three words.This doesn’t mean that we have to go back tothe Middle Ages and excommunicate Darwinor Kepler or Spinoza.’

The second example relates to a matter thathas a prodigious potential for surprises anddifficulties: how to define the condition ofJewishness. When is someone a Jew? Theanswer has multiple levels, given the variouscriteria to be taken into account. If we acceptthe traditional point of view, the answer issimple: whoever is born to a Jewish mother isa Jew. If we accept this criterion, Manea tellsus, ‘then not only was Jesus a Jew, but alsoMarx, who was quite anti-Semitic, and Trotsky,who was a communist fanatic, and Steinhardt,who converted to Christianity, and Shestov, whowas also a Christian, and Proust, who wasbaptised a Catholic, and Cardinal Lustiger ofParis.’ The religious hold that only circumci-sion validates the covenant with God, but thiscriterion cannot be decisive as long as othernations also practise it. Then there is the Tal-mudic definition: a Jew is someone who isagainst idolatry, who fiercely and rigorouslydefends monotheism: the God of the Jews isOne, He cannot be named, He cannot be de-picted figuratively. Interpreting the concept of‘idolatry’ flexibly, Manea argues that he ‘re-cognises’ himself in the rejection of idols (andtherefore, I might add, in the rejection of anytype of ‘personality cult’), in the spirit of cri-ticism and self-criticism (so strenuously pres-ent in the prophets of the Old Testament).

At this point, Kanterian observes that if thereligious referent were to disappear, the conceptof a ‘Jewish identity’ would also evaporate.He goes on to recall what Israeli philosopher

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Yeshayahu Leibowitz says about it being verydifficult to find today any criterion wherebyJews might be distinguished from non-Jews.He also takes into account Mihail Sebastian’sdefinition, that proper to the Jew is the con-tradiction between the coldly cerebral and thehotly passionate. But because the uncertaintylingers, Manea finally reminds us, withoutprolonging a discussion liable to endless de-velopment (what Sartre, Hanna Arendt etc.say on the subject), of Freud’s enigmaticanswer to the question: ‘What remains of aJew who is not religious, who is not a natio-nalist, and who does not speak the languageof the Bible? Answer: much!’ There is alsothe answer that Eugene Ionesco gave to thequestion of the existence of God, quoted inthe appropriate context, but also applicable,in my opinion, to capturing in a concept thecondition of Jewishness: ‘I am neither intelli-gent enough nor stupid enough to have theanswer to such a question.’

The examples could continue, but it wouldbe infinitely preferable for all those who havenot yet read Norman Manea’s latest book to gethold of it and see for themselves. My intentionin this short talk has not been to give a review

of the book, but merely to offer you a taste ofit, to whet your appetite to read it. And nowlet me say a couple of words in conclusion.For our culture, handicapped as it is by a lan-guage of limited circulation and a state whosepolitical and economic achievements aremodest, it is a privilege to have a literaryambassador of Norman Manea’s stature at thevery heart of the West, in the United States,currently the world’s foremost power and ci-vilisation. Unfortunately, however, in Romaniathere seem to be many who don’t care aboutthis immense opportunity and who treat thiswriter translated in twenty languages with peerenvy and an arrogance that is costly giventhat they ignore the opinions of western cri-tics. For any reasonable-minded person it isstrange that the organisers of Manea’s visit toour country include the French Embassy inBucharest and the French Institute, but notthe Union of Romanian Writers! I hope thatin the near future the necessary reparationswill be forthcoming.

Observator Cultural, No. 552/November 2010


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~ntr-una din paginile admirabilului volum deconvorbiri cu Leon Volovici, Norman Manea serefer\ undeva la ceea ce el nume[te „cumsec\-denia“ deprins\ `n mediul familiei. Obi[nuit,cuvântul desemneaz\ purtarea bun\,onestitatea,sociabilitatea, toleran]a, modestia. ~ns\ – nem\rturise[te scriitorul – acest florilegiu de ca-lit\]i care, `n tinere]e, au avut darul s\-i tem-pereze „unele avânturi [i excese“ a devenitulterior, `n oarecare m\sur\, o frân\, ajungând„s\-l saboteze artistic“. Surprins, interlocutorul`l `ntreab\ de ce. Fiindc\ – explic\ Manea –„artistul trebuie s\ for]eze percep]iile. ~n crea]ie,ca [i `n existen]\“. {i adaug\: „A r\mas `n mine oanumit\ pruden]\, o anumit\ retractilitate fa]\de zona de margine, fa]\ de frontiera de risc“.

Aceste cuvinte trebuie bine `n]elese. Pe de oparte, ele pun `n lumin\ un adev\r incontestabil,acela c\ f\r\ o anume radicalizare a spuneriinu exist\ performan]\ artistic\ valoroas\. Cre-a]ia autentic\ fuge de repetitiv, reclam\ indivi-dualizare, ie[irea din rutin\, `nfruntarea adeseaviolent\ a locului comun. Pe de alt\ parte, invo-carea „pruden]ei“ fa]\ de „zona de risc“ echiva-leaz\ cu evitarea striden]elor, a exhibi]ionismelor,a experimentelor scop `n sine. Dar oare trebuies\ alegem `ntre conformismul fa]\ de norme [iinconformismul anarhic? Primejdia este c\ celdintâi plictise[te, iar cel de-al doilea vireaz\`n ilizibil. Propriu lui Manea e c\ reu[e[te s\fie insolit f\r\ a c\dea `n manier\ [i c\ se afl\mereu `n deschidere f\r\ a-[i pierde controlulde sine, deci f\r\ a uita c\ `n art\ pân\ [i hao-sul are nevoie de o sintax\.

Manea a cunoscut Holocaustul `n copil\rie,[i-a tr\it anii maturit\]ii sub o dictatur\ comu-nist\ represiv\, paranoid\ [i megaloman\, [i-adobândit libertatea de expresie de-abia la 50 deani. Numai atunci s-a putut smulge exiluluiinterior [i a intrat `n exilul propriu-zis, al `n-str\in\rii de ]ar\ [i de limba comunic\rii coti-diene. Experien]a sa traumatic\ de via]\ l-apredispus la o `n]elegere grav\ a literaturii. Eanu putea fi pentru el un exerci]iu de ludic su-perior, nici o gratuitate cultivat\ `n ceasuri detihn\, nici o competi]ie de virtuozitate ling-vistic\, nici evadarea, fie [i terapeutic\, `ntr-olume de am\giri [i `nchipuiri evanescente. Cascriitor, nu s-a dorit un profet al viitorului, cuatât mai pu]in un militant cu angajament comu-nitar, a râvnit doar la calitatea de observatorindependent [i prob al epocii `ntunecate pecare i-a fost dat s-o traverseze. {i-a consideratcrea]ia un act de con[tiin]\, o depozi]ie `n nu-mele adev\rului, rostit\ desigur pân\ `n 1986(anul emigr\rii `n Occident) `n formele oblice,singurele posibile sub un regim de cenzur\, la`nceput draconic [i institu]ionalizat, apoi mutatla purt\tor, aparent mai blând, dar probabil `nc\mai pervers. Ca [i al]i confra]i reprezentativiai vremii, Breban, Buzura, Adame[teanu,}oiu etc., s-a servit de un limbaj codat [i deambiguitatea unor teme care permiteau, din-colo de primul nivel al lecturii, o interpretareparabolic\, `n total\ opozi]ie cu cerin]ele es-teticii oficiale. Se adresa, ca [i ceilal]i, unuisegment de public exersat `n decriptarea

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Certificat de garan]ie:Norman ManeaPPaauull CCoorrnneeaa

aluziilor, a `n]elesurilor pe muchie de cu]it, ainsinu\rilor subtil strecurate. ~n câteva `mpre-jur\ri pare chiar a fi `mpins jocul cu focul maideparte decât colegii s\i: o carte ca Anii de uce-nicie ai lui August Prostul a reu[it s\ treac\de cerberi de[i subversivitatea ei se etaleaz\`n mod evident. Dup\ 1989, `n lumea liber\,Manea [i-a republicat c\r]ile mutilate de cen-zori `n edi]ii noi [i a deschis un vast [antier,din care pân\ acum au ie[it dou\ opere de vârf:~ntoarcerea huliganului, unde memorialisticase combin\ fericit cu evocarea tranzi]iei ro-mâne[ti, `ntr-o viziune crud realist\,amar\ darsenin\, f\r\ recrimin\ri, cu dragoste pentru ]araoriginilor sale, [i Vizuina – un roman centratpe dramele unor intelectuali de calitate, cel din-tâi cu o carier\ la `n\l]imea ambi]iilor, cel\laltun ratat, amândoi `ndr\gosti]i de aceea[i fe-meie `nf\[urat\ `ntr-o aur\ de mister (romanul,asupra c\ruia nu m\ pot opri acum, de o com-plex\ structur\ narativ\, dezv\luie o imaginehalucinant\ a Statelor Unite, con]ine paginifascinante despre `mb\trânire [i o descrierezguduitoare a zilei de 11 septembrie 2001).

Dou\ componente biografice se conjug\ `npersonalitatea lui Manea, cu implica]ii proble-matice `n oper\, de o `nc\c\tur\ emotiv\ [i oprofunzime ce-i dau un aer inconfundabil:originea iudaic\ [i condi]ia de exilat. De[i s-aconsiderat totdeauna scriitor român – [i odin-ioar\, când era marginalizat [i suspect, [i `nprezent, când a devenit o celebritate a lumiiliterare contemporane –, el nu [i-a ascuns nici-odat\ originea, dar nici nu a f\cut caz de ea.Extrag din numeroasele sale eseuri [i lu\ri depozi]ie asupra subiectului câteva rânduri l\mu-ritoare: „F\r\ vreo inten]ie de afiliere sau mili-tantism, am sim]it totu[i, `nc\ de la `nceputurilemele literare [i mai ales `n anii din urm\, cumbiografia `mi marcheaz\ inevitabil tematica,tensiunea [i tonalitatea scrisului. Experien]elenumite Holocaust, antisemitism comunist,exil s-au poten]at astfel, prin experien]a extrem\a literaturii“. Ca exilat, spre deosebire de Cioran,dornic cu disperare s\ ias\ din limba `n care

se formase, Manea nu se poate dezlipi de ea.Metafora melcului `i define[te pozi]ia: ca [iacesta `[i duce casa cu sine, limba român\ `iconstituie pân\ azi instrumentul crea]iei. ~nalte cuvinte, de[i `[i pred\ lec]iile [i-[i scrietextele publicistice `n englez\, de[i vorbe[tecurent germana [i franceza, acest expatriat,atât de hulit `n ]ara originilor sale de diver[iconfra]i gelo[i ori frivoli, continu\ s\ viseze,s\-[i deschid\ sufletul [i s\ dea form\ fantas-melor ce-l viziteaz\ `n române[te.

Nu cunosc multe exemple de mai rapid\ascensiune a unui scriitor de la zero sau, `norice caz, de la un anonimat provincial f\r\[ans\ la notorietatea transatlantic\ actual\. Eaproape incredibil ca un refugiat, lipsit de mij-loace [i rela]ii influente, aflat la o vârst\ carepare a-i bloca orice promovare, plecat din ]ar\ cuun pa[aport turistic, s\ ajung\ `n numai [ase aniun prozator tradus `n Germania Fran]a, Italia,Statele Unite, Anglia [i alte câteva ]\ri, s\ fier\spl\tit cu dou\ premii interna]ionale de mareprestigiu (Mac Arthur – SUA [i Nonino –Italia), invitat s\ profeseze la o institu]ieamerican\ renumit\, Colegiul Bard, de lâng\New York, [i ales de Nobelul Saul Bellow(`ntre atâtea personalit\]i care-l `nconjurau)drept partener al unui dialog cu semnifica]ietestamentar\. Negre[it, Manea dinainte de1986 e acela[i cu cel de dup\. Deosebireamajor\ const\ `ns\ `n desc\tu[area energiilorferecate, condamnate `n patrie s\ lâncezeasc\,dar stimulate s\ se desf\[oare `n toat\ pleni-tudinea `n societatea competi]iei libere. A fostla mijloc – a[a cum scriitorul o recunoa[te, cumodestie – un fericit concurs de `mprejur\ri.Dar `nainte de toate – fiindc\ norocul e o opor-tunitate, nu un destin – explica]ia ultim\ tre-buie c\utat\ `n excep]ionalitatea talentelor luiManea. Uzez de plural spre a atrage aten]ia c\prozatorul, care s-a distins ca povestitor [i ro-mancier, este, de asemenea, un critic de prim\mân\, cum se vede `n excelentul s\u volumPe contur, premiat de Uniunea Scriitorilor `n1984 (premiul fiind anulat apoi de autorit\]ile

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comuniste, iritate de con]inutul s\u `n r\sp\rcu dogmele [i ierarhiile oficiale). Intelectual cuo bogat\ cultur\ umanist\ [i politic\, de forma-]ie pozitiv\ la baz\ (inginer), ca [i ErnestoSábato (fizician, unul dintre autorii pe care-iadmir\, a c\rui influen]\ se simte cumva `nPlicul negru), Manea se deosebe[te de litera]iitipici, pur umani[ti [i apolitici, aerieni [i `mpot-moli]i `n fa]a problemelor complexe ale epociinoastre, unde tehnologia devine atotputernic\,iar carnavalul politic grotesc [i amenin]\tor. Cuo deschidere ampl\ [i nuan]at\ asupra lumiicontemporane, cu echlibru [i o capacitate acut\de diagnostic, nu e surprinz\tor c\ Manea s-aimpus `n anii din urm\ ca un eseist de primamân\, solicitat de reputate publica]ii occiden-tale [i invitat s\-[i spun\ p\rerea `n controver-sele fierbin]i ale actualit\]ii. Un exemplu alecoului stârnit de una dintre primele sale con-tribu]ii de rezonan]\ [i `n Apus, [i la noi `l con-stituie eseul Felix culpa, din 1992, `n care s`ntexaminate rela]iile lui Mircea Eliade cu mi[-carea legionar\. Acest eseu a stârnit `n epoc\o vâlv\ enorm\, dezl\n]uind asupra autoruluimânia nu doar a na]ionali[tilor extremi[ti, ci[i a multor liberali `n necuno[tin]\ de cauz\,datorit\ t\cerii consecvente p\strate de Eliadeasupra subiectului ori din considerentul dubiosc\ „nu e momentul potrivit“ dezv\luirii „petelor“marelui istoric al religiilor, bine apreciat decomunitatea interna]ional\. Citit azi, dup\ a-pari]ia Jurnalului portughez, singura pies\memorialistic\ neretu[at\ retrospectiv da autor(unde se exprim\ f\r\ `nconjur admira]ia pentruputerile Axei [i fa]\ de Corneliu Codreanu,conduc\torul G\rzii de Fier) [i `n lumina bio-grafiei foarte informate a lui Florin }urcanu,textul lui Manea pare mai degrab\ reticent (cumi-au repro[at Phlip Roth [i al]i intelectualiamericani). ~n pofida atacurilor, pe cât de

vehemente, pe atât de nedrepte, care l-au vizat,scriitorul [i-a p\strat intacte sentimentele fa]\de români [i a continuat s\ aib\ raporturi ami-cale ori afectuoase cu o mul]ime de confra]i.Un semn exemplar `n acest sens `l constituievolumul Plicuri [i portrete, consacrat `n mareparte evoc\rii unor prieteni din lumea literar\(`ntre care Lucian Raicu, Nichita St\nescu, MateiC\linescu, Radu Petrescu, Paul Georgescu,Liviu Petrescu etc.). Portretele schi]eaz\ esen]ia-lul personajelor, combinând cu fine]e observa]iiincisive [i amintiri relevante, `ntr-o atmosfer\de c\ldur\ amical\ [i `n]elegere a ceea ce r\-mâne specific [i tainic `n fiecare, de aceea in-dicibil. Aceea[i art\ subtil\ a caracteriz\rii oreg\sim [i `n textele care adnoteaz\ operecelebre ale marilor autori admi[i de Manea `npropria-i intimitate: Thomas Mann, ErnestoSábato, Bruno Schulz, Fundoianu, Cioran,Imre Kertész [.a. Remarcabil\ aici `mi pare `m-pletirea crea]iei cu via]a `ntr-un conglomeratcare face adesea imperceptibil pragul separ\rii.~n fine, nu pot trece peste ini]iativa, pe cât [tiuunic\ `n câmpul didactic, a profesorului Manea,care, deschizând la Bard un curs asupra marilormae[trii ai literaturii contemporane, a g\sit cucale [i a reu[it s\-i [i aduc\ `n persoan\, la fa]alocului. Ferici]i studen]ii care au putut dezbatecâteva dintre c\r]ile marcante ale epocii noastrecu autorii lor, de talia unor Saul Bellow, PhilipRoth, Vargas-Llosa, Ismail Kadare, ClaudioMagris, Antonio Tabucchi – [i nu [tiu dac\ i-am enumerat pe to]i!

~ncât ]in s\ `nchei contrazicându-l pe Manea.Cred c\ e nedrept autoblamându-[i „cumsec\-denia“. ~n felul s\u de a o ilustra, ca om [i cascriitor, ea nu s-a dovedit o stavil\, nici un han-dicap, ci un certificat de garan]ie: garan]ialucidit\]ii, a generozit\]ii [i a decen]ei.

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‘Two biographical components combine in thepersonality of Norman Manea, which haveproblematic implications in his work and areof an emotive charge and depth that lend himan unmistakable air: his Jewish origins andthe condition of exile.’

Paul Cornea

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In his remarkable volume of conversationswith Leon Volovici, Norman Manea at onepoint refers to what he calls the ‘cumsec\-denie’ he acquired in the family as he wasgrowing up. This Romanian word signifies acombination of decency, honesty, sociability,tolerance, and modesty. However, as the writerconfesses to us, this array of qualities, whichin his youth were able to temper ‘impulsesand excesses’, later became, to a certain ex-tent, an impediment and ended up ‘sabotaging’him artistically. Surprised, his interlocutor askshim why. The reason, explains Manea, is that‘the artist must strain perceptions to the limit.In art as well as in life.’ And he adds: ‘I haveretained a certain prudence, something thatpulls me back from the liminal zone, from theboundary of risk.’

These words need to be understood well.On the one hand, they bring to light an incon-testable truth, namely that without a certainradicalisation of speech, there can be no note-worthy artistic achievement. Authentic artistryshuns the repetitive, it lays claim to individua-lisation, disruption of the routine, and oftenviolent opposition to the commonplace. Onthe other hand, the invocation of ‘prudence’when it comes to the zone of risk is equivalentto avoidance of stridency and exhibitionism,of experimentation for its own sake. But mustwe really choose between conformism andanarchic non-conformism? The danger is thatthe first is boring, whereas the second veers

into the unreadable. What is characteristic ofManea is that he succeeds in being originalwithout falling prey to mannerism and that healways preserves an openness without losinghis self-control, thus without forgetting thatin art even chaos requires a syntax.

Manea experienced the Holocaust in child-hood, and he lived the years of his maturityunder a repressive, paranoid, megalomaniacalcommunist dictatorship, regaining freedom ofexpression only at the age of fifty. It was onlythen that he was able to wrest himself frominner exile and embark upon exile in the pro-per sense, that of estrangement from nativeland and one’s language of everyday commu-nication. His traumatic experience of life hasinclined him towards a solemn understandingof literature. For him, literature could be nei-ther a higher ludic exercise, nor a gratuitousleisure-time hobby, nor a contest of linguisticvirtuosity, nor an escape, however therapeutic,into a world of illusions and evanescent ima-ginings. As a writer, he did not wish to be aprophet of the future, and still less a sociallyengaged militant. He yearned only to be anindependent and upright observer of the darkepoch it has been his lot to traverse. He hasregarded his work as an act of conscience, atestimony in the name of truth, one that upuntil 1986 (the year of his emigration to theWest) was delivered in oblique forms, theonly ones possible under a regime of censor-ship that was draconian and institutionalised at

A certificate of guarantee:Norman ManeaPPaauull CCoorrnneeaa

first, but later shifted gear, becoming apparentlymilder, but probably even more perverse.

Like other representative fellow writersfrom that time, such as Breban, Buzura, Ada-me[teanu, and }oiu, he made use of a codedlanguage and the ambiguity of themes which,beyond the first level of reading, also permit-ted an allegorical interpretation, completely atodds with the demands of the official aesthe-tics. Like these others, he addressed a segmentof the public well versed in decrypting allu-sions, hidden meanings and subtly insertedinsinuations. In a few cases he seems to havetaken this playing with fire even further thanhis fellow writers: a book like The Appren-ticeship of August the Fool managed to slippast the watchdogs, although its subversive-ness is on obvious display. After 1989, in thefree world, Manea republished in new edi-tions those of his books that had previouslybeen mutilated by the censors and opened avast building site, from which up until now twoliterary pinnacles have emerged: The Hooligan’sReturn, where the memoir felicitously combineswith an evocation of Romania’s transitionperiod, in a raw realist, bitter, but serene,unrecriminating vision, and with love for hisnative land; and The Liar, a novel that centreson the dramas of two intellectuals, one with adazzling career and high ambitions, the othera failure, but both of them in love with thesame woman, a character enveloped in mys-tery. (There is no space here to linger overthis novel, whose complex narrative structurereveals a hallucinatory image of the UnitedStates, and which includes fascinating pagesabout growing old and a harrowing descrip-tion of 11 September 2001.)

Two biographical components combine inthe personality of Norman Manea, which haveproblematic implications in his work and areof an emotive charge and depth that lend himan unmistakable air: his Jewish origins andthe condition of exile. Although he has alwaysconsidered himself a Romanian writer – both

formerly, when he was marginalised and viewedas suspect, and in the present, now he has be-come a celebrity of the contemporary literaryworld – he has never concealed his origins,but nor has he made a great fuss about them.From one of his numerous essays on the sub-ject I shall quote the following revealing words:‘Without any intention of affiliation or mili-tancy, since the very beginning of my literarycareer and in the last few years in particular I have nonetheless felt how my biography hasineluctably marked the themes, tensions andtonality of my writing. The experiences thatgo by the name of the Holocaust, communistanti-Semitism, and exile have in this waypotentiated themselves through the extremeexperience of literature.’ In contrast to EmilCioran, who desperately desired to step out ofthe language in which he had developed, asan exile Manea is unable to detach himselffrom his native tongue. His position is definedby the metaphor of the snail: like the snail, hecarries his house with him; the Romanian lan-guage has always been the instrument of hiscreation. In other words, although he teachesand writes his journalism in English, andalthough he also speaks German and Frenchfluently, it is in Romanian that this ex-patriot,reviled in his native land by various enviousand petty-minded fellow countrymen, contin-ues to dream, to open up his soul, and to giveshape to the phantasms that visit him.

I am not familiar with many other exam-ples of a writer making such a swift ascent outof nowhere, or in any case from hopeless pro-vincial anonymity to trans-Atlantic notoriety.It is almost incredible that a refugee, lackingin resources and influential contacts, at an agethat seemed to rule out his being promoted, andhaving left Romania on a tourist visa, couldin just six years become a writer translated inGermany, France, Italy, the United States, Bri-tain and other countries, win two prestigiousinternational awards (the MacArthur, in theUSA, and the Nonino, in Italy), be invited to

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teach at the renowned Bard College near NewYork, and be chosen by Nobel laureate SaulBellow (from all the other famous figuresthat surrounded him) as his partner in a dia-logue with the significance of a last testament.Without doubt, the Norman Manea of before1986 is the same as the one after. But the majordifference resides in the unshackling of energiesthat had been doomed to languish in his nativeland, stimulated to unfold in all their pleni-tude in an open society.

What was at stake, as the writer himselfmodestly admits, was a felicitous conjunctureof circumstances. But above all, since luck isopportunity, rather than destiny, the final expla-nation must be sought in Manea’s exceptionaltalents. I use the plural here in order to drawattention to the fact that the prose writer, whohas distinguished himself as a storyteller andnovelist, is also a critic of the highest calibre,as can be seen in his excellent volume On theCountour, which received an award from theUnion of Romanian Writers in 1984 (thisaward was later annulled by the communistauthorities, irritated by the book’s contents,which went against the grain of official dog-mas and hierarchies). An intellectual with a richhumanist and political culture, with a scientificeducation (as an engineer), like Ernesto Sábato(a physician, one of the authors he admiresand whose influence can be felt in The BlackEnvelope), Manea stands apart from the pure-ly humanist and apolitical daydreamingliterati who flounder when confronted withthe complex problems of the modern age,where technology grows omnipotent and thepolitical carnival grotesque and menacing.

With his broad and nuanced view of thecontemporary world, his balance, and hisability to make incisive diagnoses, it is notsurprising that Manea has made a name forhimself in recent years as an essayist of thehighest order, frequently invited to write forprestigious publications in the West and toexpress his opinion on the burning issues of

the day. An early example of the wide echohis essays have been able to produce not onlyin the West but also in Romania is Felix Culpa,published in 1992, in which he examinesMircea Eliade’s relationship with the IronGuard. The essay stirred up huge controversyat the time, unleashing against its author thefury not only of nationalist extremists, butalso many liberals ignorant of the facts, as aresult of the consistent silence Eliade hadmaintained on the subject, or else on thedubious grounds that it was not ‘the rightmoment’ to expose the ‘blemishes’ of theinternationally respected historian of religions.When one reads it today, after the publicationof Portuguese Diary, the only memoir Eliadedid not subsequently retouch, in which hestraightforwardly expresses his admiration forthe Axis powers and Corneliu Zelea-Codreanu,the leader of the Iron Guard, and in the lightof the very well documented biography writtenby Florin }urcanu, Manea’s text seems reticentmore than anything else (a reticence for whichit was put in question by Philip Roth andother American intellectuals). In spite of theattacks against him, as virulent as they wereunjust, the writer’s sentiments towards Roma-nians have remained undiminished and he hascontinued to have amicable or affectionaterelations with a large number of his fellowcountrymen. A shining example in this res-pect is the volume Envelopes and Portraits,which is mostly dedicated to evocations offriends from the Romanian literary world (in-cluding Lucian Raicu, Nichita St\nescu, MateiC\linescu, Radu Petrescu, Paul Georgescu,and Liviu Petrescu). The portraits map outwhat is essential in these figures, combining,with great finesse, incisive observations andrelevant reminiscences, within an atmosphereof friendly warmth and an understanding ofwhat remains specific, mysterious, and thusineffable, in each. We find the same subtle artof characterisation in the texts that annotatecelebrated works by the major authors Manea

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has admitted into his own private world:Thomas Mann, Ernesto Sábato, BrunoSchulz, Benjamin Fundoianu (Fondane), EmilCioran, Imre Kertész, and others. What isremarkable here seems to be the way inwhich art and life are interwoven to form aconglomerate in which the dividing line isoften imperceptible. Lastly, I cannot overlookthe initiative, one unique in university teach-ing as far as I know, whereby Professor Manea,teaching a course on the great masters of con-temporary literature at Bard College, has mana-ged to bring those very writers there in person.Lucky are the students who have been able to

discuss some of the most significant books ofour time with their authors, writers of thestature of Saul Bellow, Philip Roth, MarioVargas-Llosa, Ismail Kadare, Claudio Magris,and Antonio Tabucchi, to name but a few.

I would like to conclude by contradictingNorman Manea. I think he is unjust in cen-suring his ‘cumsec\denie’. In the way he hasillustrated it, as a man and as a writer, it hasproven neither a hindrance nor a handicap,but rather a certificate of guarantee: the guar-antee of lucidity, generosity and decency.


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~n ~ntoarcerea huliganului termenul tare, dintitlu [i din carte, pare s\ fie cel de huligan, cutoate conota]iile lui derivând din romanele ini-]iatice ale „tr\iri[tilor“ interbelici, din scrisulamar al lui Mihail Sebastian [i din publicisticaromâneasc\ ante- [i postrevolu]ionar\. Cititorulatent [i r\bd\tor c\ruia i se adreseaz\ de faptNorman Manea va sesiza `ns\, de la un punct`ncolo, schimbarea marcajelor. Ceea ce unific\toate romanele din carte [i d\ un sens succe-siunii ori simultaneit\]ii lor este aceast\ `n-toarcere amânat\ [i traumatizant\ a exilatului`n ]ara copil\riei, tinere]ii [i maturit\]ii sale.

A te `ntoarce e mai mult decât o simpl\ ac-]iune. Este o procesualitate implicând un riscini]ial, al plec\rii `n necunoscut, o anterioar\aventurare existen]ial\, [i apoi reg\sirea vechiu-lui cadru, schimbat [i `mb\trânit. La Manea,plecarea din „Jormania“ a fost una extrem dedificil\, [i nu din impedimente exterioare (caevreu, scriitorul se putea l\sa oricând cump\rat,`n contextul de comer] [i de troc al socialis-mului ceau[ist), ci din adânci [i complicatemotiva]ii interioare. Acestea din urm\ se v\dreactivate `nc\ `nainte de scurta c\l\torie ro-mâneasc\ din 1997; [i pe toat\ durata zilelor[i nop]ilor ei.

Refuzul prim de a reveni [i ezit\rile pre-liminare sunt justificate. Scriitorul [tie c\,`ntorcându-se fie [i pentru pu]in\ vreme `n]ara trecutului s\u, acest timp consistent l\sat`n urm\ va re`nvia subit. ~l va destabiliza emo-]ional [i moral, dislocând confortul de citizen

american dintr-o mare ]ar\ de emigran]i. C\l\-toria de aproape dou\ s\pt\mâni nu este a[adaruna turistic\, de pl\cere [i curiozitate; [i nicim\car una sentimental\, de revedere a vechilorlocuri dragi. E o c\l\torie aproape dureroas\:un fel de ini]iere `ntoars\, `n ceva ce c\l\torul[tie prea bine. Philip Roth `l sf\tuie[te s\ fac\acest drum: du-te! Saul Bellow, care cunoa[terealit\]ile române[ti dinainte de 1990, `i d\sfatul contrar: nu te duce! Dubiile personaleale scriitorului nostru sunt, precum `n bas-mele copil\riei, plasate [i men]inute `ntr-oecua]ie de incertitudine, o intersec]ie `n carenu se ghice[te u[or firul cel bun.

Dac\ dilema `ntoarcerii ilustreaz\ modulproblematizant al prozei lui Norman Manea,`ntoarcerea `n sine ([i acest „`n sine“ poate ficitit `n dou\ feluri) va dicta nu numai desf\[ur\-torul factual al c\r]ii, ci [i structura, straturile[i ritmurile ei. Exist\ o vizibil\ coresponden]\,`n ~ntoarcerea huliganului, `ntre gradul dedificultate al revenirii „acas\“ [i gradul decomplexitate al unei proze ce folose[te atâteaformule, instrumente [i tehnici literare.

Scriitorul utilizeaz\, cu rezultate, uneori,excep]ionale, cele mai diferite registre, reu-[ind pe de alt\ parte s\ construiasc\ mai multeniveluri de adâncime ale aceleia[i pagini.Scena conturat\ ne va surprinde, `ntâi, princoloritul ei tipologic, prin paleta personajelor;apoi, prin semnifica]iile gestuale, prin ceea cese degaj\ din mi[c\rile „mici“, de toat\ ziua,ale unui ins; de la cortina ridicat\ de un gest

~ntoarcerea DDaanniieell CCrriisstteeaa-EEnnaacchhee

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Norman Manea, Rodica Binder, Daniel Cristea-Enache, Gabriela Adame[teanu [i Carmen Mu[atla Târgul de Carte de la Frankfurt, octombrie, 2008

Norman Manea, Rodica Binder, Daniel Cristea-Enache, Gabriela Adame[teanu and Carmen Mu[at at Frankfurt Bookfair, October, 2008

[i sonoritatea unei replici, plonj\m `n interiorulpsiho-moral al eroilor, desf\cut [i parcurs, cuspecific\ lentoare, de subiectul cunosc\tor auc-torial; iar aceste diferite euri, mai mereu com-plicate, [i cu tot cu experien]ele care le-audimensionat, sunt r\sfrânte de sensibilitatea [icon[tiin]a autorului-personaj. Un „huligan“ cusensibilitate, con[tiin]\ [i memorie afectiv\,care s-a hot\rât pân\ la urm\ s\-[i reviziteze]ara [i s\-[i r\scoleasc\ propriul trecut.

Toate aceste niveluri suprapuse ori straturilent ad\ugate `ntr-o scriitur\ deopotriv\ cere-bral\, reflexiv\ [i organic\, vie, pulsatil\ potfi separate din necesit\]i analitice [i demon-strative. Dar ele vin toate deodat\ spre cititor,`n mai multe „`ntoarceri“ ini]iatice cople[itoare,insuportabile. Iat\-l pe tat\l bolnav de Alzheimer:„~l priveam: era gol, `n picioare, `n dreptulferestrei, cu spatele spre u[\. Tân\rul `nalt [iblond `l [tergea cu dou\ prosoape `n acela[itimp [i avea alt teanc de prosoape [i cârpe, la`ndemân\, pe jos. Infirmierul m\ v\zuse, `mizâmbea, ne [tiam, vorbiser\m de câteva ori. Untân\r voluntar german, venit s\ lucreze la azilulde b\trâni din Ierusalim. (...) se apleca, grijuliu,asupra fiec\rei por]iuni de trup care trebuiacur\]at\ de fecale: bra]ele osoase, coapseleosoase, g\lbui, spatele, [ezutul fle[c\it, genunchiisticlo[i. Tân\rul german `l cur\]a, precaut, peb\trânul evreu de murd\ria cu care l identificaser\

afi[ele naziste! Am r\mas ]intuit `n imagine [iam `nchis, precaut, u[a. M-am `ntors `n sala demese. Tata a ap\rut, dup\ jum\tate de or\, zâm-bind. «Ast\zi e[ti `n `ntârziere», i-am spus. «Amdormit», a r\spuns, cu acela[i zâmbet absent.Nu-[i amintea c\ abia se desp\r]ise de tân\rulcare `i sp\lase trupul de c\cat [i putoare, `i a-lesese haine curate, `l `mbr\case, `l condusesespre masa unde `l a[teptam. Ajuns, dup\ nou\ani, la `nmormântarea mamei [i a Patriei, tre-buia, `nainte s\ p\r\sesc cimitirul trecutului,s\ las devotatei so]ii a pacientului din Ierusa-lim pre]ioasa informa]ie: eliberat, `n sfâr[it,de singur\tate, tata se afla, senin, f\r\ gândurisau triste]e, `n grija delicat\ a unui tân\r ger-man care ]ine la onoarea ]\rii sale“.

Se poate b\nui cât de greu i-a fost lui NormanManea s\ fixeze pe hârtie o asemenea scen\. Ea`mbrac\, `n prim\ instan]\, o form\ de expresie[i realizare literar\, pentru a l\rgi tot mai mult,a deschide literatura c\tre temele cele mai grave[i problemele cele mai complicate. „Grijuliu“,„precaut“, din nou „precaut“, „delicat\“: ter-menii ace[tia ne spun ceva important, atât `ninteriorul fragmentului respectiv, cât [i `nafara lui, de la distan]a retroproiectiv\.

Modul omenesc al infirmierului de a `ngrijiun bolnav comunic\ profund cu un mod al scri-itorului `nsu[i de a `n]elege [i a scrie proza.

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‘The writer knows that, by returning to the countryof his past even for a short while, the dense time hehas left behind there will all of a sudden come backto life. It will destabilise him emotionally andmorally, wresting him from the comfort of being anAmerican citizen in a sea of immigrants.’

Daniel Cristea-Enache

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In The Hooligan’s Return, the stronger term, bothin the title and in the book, would seem to behooligan, with all its connotations derivingfrom the initiatory, ‘experientialist’ novels ofthe inter-war years, from the bitter writings ofMihail Sebastian and pre- and post-revolutionRomanian journalism. However, the carefuland patient reader whom Norman Manea is infact addressing will, after a given point, noticea shift in the balance between the two terms.What unifies all the stories in the book and lendsmeaning to their sequence or simultaneity isthe belated and traumatic return of the exile tothe land of his childhood, youth and maturity.

To return is more than a mere act. It is aprocess that implies an initial risk: that of set-ting off into the unknown, a preliminary exis-tential venturing forth, and then the rediscoveryof the old framework, now altered and aged.For Manea, the departure from ‘Jormania’ wasextremely difficult, not because of externalimpediments (as a Jew, the writer could at anytime have allowed himself to be purchased,given the Ceau[escu regime’s commerce inexit visas for Israel), but from profound andcomplicated inner motivations. These motiva-tions were visibly reactivated even before thebrief journey to Romania in 1997, and thenfor the length of its days and nights.

The initial refusal to return and the hesitationsare justified. The writer knows that, by returningto the country of his past even for a short while,the dense time he has left behind there will

all of a sudden come back to life. It will desta-bilise him emotionally and morally, wrestinghim from the comfort of being an Americancitizen in a sea of immigrants. The journey ofalmost two weeks is therefore not a leisure tripundertaken from curiosity; and nor is it evena sentimental journey to revisit fond old places.It is an almost painful journey, a kind of initi-ation in reverse; an initiation into somethingthat the traveller knows all too well. PhilipRoth advises him to make the journey: go!Saul Bellow, who is familiar with pre-1990Romanian realities, advises the contrary: don’tgo! The writer’s personal doubts are, the sameas in the fairytales of childhood, placed in anuncertain balance, at a crossroads where it isnot easy to guess the right path.

If the dilemma of return illustrates the pro-blematising manner of Norman Manea’s prose,the journey back into the self (and this ‘intothe self’ can be read in two ways) will dictatenot only its factual sequence, but also its struc-ture, layers and rhythms. In The Hooligan’sReturn there is a visible correspondence bet-ween the level of the difficulty of returning‘home’ and the level of the complexity of aprose that employs so many literary formulas,instruments and techniques.

Sometimes with spectacular results, the writerutilises the most various registers, succeedingin constructing many levels of depth on thesame page. The scene that takes shape willsurprise us first of all thanks to its typological

The return DDaanniieell CCrriisstteeaa-EEnnaacchhee

colouring, its palette of characters, and thenthanks to its gestural meanings, whereby all the‘little’ everyday movements of an individualcome to stand out. From the curtain raised bya gesture and the resonance of a line of dialogue,we plunge into the psychical-moral interiority ofthe characters, which the authorial cognisantsubject unfolds and examines with specificslowness. And these different and always com-plicated ‘I’s’, along with the experiences thathave provided them with dimensions, are re-flected by the sensibility and consciousnessof the author-character: a ‘hooligan’ endowedwith sensitivity, awareness and affective me-mory, who in the end decides to revisit hisnative land and summon up his own past.

All these superposed levels and graduallyaccreting levels within writing that is at oncecerebral, reflexive and organic, living, pulsa-ting can be separated for analytical and de-monstrative reasons. But the reader encountersthem all simultaneously, in multiple, initiatory,overwhelming, unbearable ‘returns’. Here ishis father, suffering from Alzheimer’s disease:‘I was looking at him: he was naked, standingup, next to the window, with his back towardsthe door. The tall blond-haired young man wasrubbing him down with two towels at thesame time and had another pile of towels andwashcloths ready to hand, on the floor. Thenurse had seen me, he was smiling, we kneweach other, we had spoken a few times. Ayoung German volunteer, who had come towork at the old people’s home in Jerusalem...(A)ttentively, he bent over each part of thebody that needed to be cleansed of faeces: thebony arms, the bony yellow thighs, the back,

the saggy rump, the vitreous knees. Cautiously,the young German was cleansing him of thefilth with which the Nazi posters had onceidentified him! I was left transfixed in thisimage and, cautiously, I closed the door. I wentback to the dining room. Father appeared halfan hour later, smiling. “You’re late today,“ Itold him. “I was asleep,“ he answered, withthe same absent smile. He did not rememberthat he had only just parted from the youngman who had washed the shit and the stenchfrom his body, had picked out clean clothesfor him, had dressed him, had led him to thetable where I was waiting. Arriving, nine yearslater, at the grave of Mother and Homeland,before quitting the cemetery of the past I had toleave the devoted wife of the patient in Jerusa-lem a precious piece of information: liberatedfrom loneliness at last, Father, serene, withoutthoughts or sadness, was in the delicate careof a young German who held in high regardhis country’s honour’.

One can suspect how hard it was for NormanManea to set such a scene on paper. At first, itadopts a literary form of expression, only toexpand ever wider, to open literature up to thegravest and most complicated of themes. ‘At-tentively’, ‘cautiously’, again ‘cautiously’,‘delicate’: these terms tell us something im-portant, both within the passage in questionand outside it, from the distance of hindsight.

The human way in which the nurse takescare of the patient communicates profoundlywith the way in which the writer himselfunderstands and writes prose.


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– 147 –


Peste câteva s\pt\mâni urmeaz\ s\ apar\ laeditura Il Saggiatore din Milano traducerea `nitalian\ a romanului Vizuina (titlul a devenit,din dorin]a editorului, Il rifugio magico). Vafi cea de a opta carte publicat\ `n Italia deNorman Manea*. Prezen]a editorial\ a scrii-torului dateaz\ din 1990. Am avut prilejul [iprivilegiul s\ contribui la progresiva afirmarea scriitorului `n Italia, care a culminat, dinpunctul de vedere al recept\rii, `n 2004, când afost publicat romanul autobiografic Il ritornodell’huligano. Una vita. Aceast\ lung\ fami-liaritate cu opera autorului a `nceput prin 1988,datorit\ unui fericit concurs de `mprejur\ri, pecare a[ `ndr\zni s\-l numesc hasard objectif,cum spuneau suprareali[tii, [i care s-a con-cretizat cu traducerea volumului Octombrie,ora opt pentru o mic\, dar important\ editur\din Milano, Serra e Riva Editori, acum dis-p\rut\. Pot s\ spun c\ am avut [ansa s\ intru`n „(i)realitatea imediat\“ Norman Manea (cas\ reiau sintagma lui Blecher, unul dintre scrii-torii pentru care autorul are v\dite „afinit\]ielective“) cu cheia de aur a unei capodopere deproz\ scurt\, Octombrie, ora opt, care, pe de oparte, a pus la `ncercare iscusin]a traduc\torului,dar, de cealalt\, mi-a d\ruit profunde satisfac]ii.

De atunci, rela]ia mea cu autorul [i cu ope-ra lui a devenit mai trainic\ [i adânc\, de[i`ntâlnirile noastre se pot num\ra pe degeteleunei singure mâini, prilejuite de venirea lui laTorino ca invitat la Târgul de Carte care se]ine `n fiecare an `n luna mai (ne-am cunoscut

personal, chiar cu acest prilej, `n 1992) sau cuocazia lans\rii unora dintre c\r]ile sale. Pre-zen]a lui Norman Manea pe pia]a editorial\ [icultural\ italian\ s-a consolidat odat\ cu tre-cerea sa definitiv\ – dup\ dou\ c\r]i publicatela editurile Feltrinelli: Un paradiso forzato [iBaldini & Castoldi: La busta nera – la edituraIl Saggiatore, condus\ de Luca Formenton,nepot din partea mamei al marelui editorArnoldo Mondadori, care, `ncepând cu primaedi]ie a volumului Clown. Il dittatore e l’artista(1995), a devenit editorul s\u.

Cea de a doua experien]\ important\ a fosttraducerea romanului Plicul negru, `n variantarescris\ `n timpul exilului american, care,datorit\ complexit\]ii sale stilistice, mi-a puspriceperea de traduc\tor la o [i mai grea `ncer-care. Mai mult chiar, s-au ivit la nivel editorialunele probleme care riscau s\ compromit\apari]ia romanului `n Italia. Lucrurile s-aul\murit, pân\ la urm\, dup\ ce editura Baldini& Castoldi a preluat drepturile romanului, dar`nc\ `mi amintesc `n ce stare de tensiune am`nceput s\ traduc. Doar când directorul edito-rial de pe atunci al editurii, Maria Nadotti,mi-a spus c\ traducerea este excelent\, toate`ndoielile mele s-au risipit dintr-odat\.

„Experien]a huliganului“ s-a dovedit, dim-potriv\, minunat\: cartea m-a captivat de la`nceput cu o for]\ pe care numai capodopereleo au [i m-am cufundat `n ea cu toat\ d\ruireade care am fost capabil. ~ntr-atât m-am identi-ficat cu acest text, `ncât mi s-a `ntâmplat ceea

Norman Manea `n Italia MMaarrccoo CCuuggnnoo

Lansarea traducerii italiene a romanului ~ntoarcerea huliganului (Il ritorno dell’'huligano) la libr\ria FNAC din Torino, 7 aprilie 2004. De la stânga la dreapta: Ileana Bunget, Norman Manea [i Marco Cugno

The launch of the Italian translation of the novel The Hooligan’s Return at the FNAC bookshopin Turin, April 7, 2004. From left to right: Ileana Bunget, Norman Manea and Marco Cugno

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ce nu mi se mai `ntâmplase niciodat\ `n timpulunei traduceri: nu mi-e ru[ine s\ m\rturisescc\ am izbucnit `ntr-un plâns nest\pânit atuncicând am tradus pasajul din „Penultima zi: joi,1 mai 1977“ unde naratorul descrie scena `ncare „tân\rul german `l cur\]a, precaut, pe b\trâ-nul evreu de murd\ria cu care `l identificaser\afi[ele naziste“. (Este vorba, precum se [tie, detat\l scriitorului, suferind de Alzheimer `ntr-unazil de b\trâni din Ierusalim.) Când am cititprimele recenzii („Il ritorno dell’huligano,nella magnifica traduzione di Marco Cugno,rivela il marchio inconfondibile del capola-voro“, scria recenzorul `n cel mai importantsupliment cultural din Italia, Il Sole-24 Ore,24 martie 2004), mi-am sim]it pe deplin r\spl\-tite eforturile depuse pentru a nu tr\da creati-vitatea originar\ a c\r]ii. Mai cu seam\ `ns\m-au emo]ionat cuvintele cu care un mare scrii-tor italian, Antonio Tabucchi, `[i `ncheia recenzia,deosebit de elogioas\ la adresa romanului: „Achiusura del libro si è riconoscenti a Marco Cugnoche neppure in una riga della sua traduzionefa sospettare che Il ritorno dell’huligano siastato scritto in un’altra lingua. E vorremmodire a Manea: prego, Norman, accomodatinella nostra lingua italiana, anch’essa è casatua“ (L’Unità, 1 aprilie 2004).

Nu pot s\ `nchei aceste rânduri f\r\ a amintio carte care a ap\rut `n Italia „in prima mon-diale“, cum scria corespondentul din New Yorkal ziarului Corriere della Sera (23 noiembrie2006): este vorba de La quinta impossibilità.Scrittura d’esilio, `nc\ o dovad\, de ast\ dat\ `ndomeniul eseisticii, c\ arta scrisului la NormanManea dezv\luie un minunat „f\c\tor“ de c\r]i.

NOT|:* Traducerile apar]in lui Marco Cugno (cu excep-]ia povestirii Interogatoriul, tradus\ de LuisaValmarin, [i de „conversa]ia“ cu Saul Bellow,tradus\ din englez\ de Ada Arduini): Ottobre,ore otto, Serra e Riva Editori, Milano, 1990; Unparadiso forzato (Fericirea obligatorie), Feltri-nelli, Milano, 1994; Clown, Il dittatore e l’artista,Il Saggiatore, Milano, 1995, 1999, 2004; Ottobre, oreotto (edizione definitiva), Il Saggiatore, Milano1998, 2005; La busta nera, Baldini § Castoldi,Milano, 1999; edi]ie nou\: Il Saggiatore, Milano,2009; Il ritorno dell’huligano, Una vita, IlSaggiatore, Milano, 2004, 2007; La quintaimpossibilità, Scrittura d’esilio, Il Saggiatore,Milano, 2006, Felicità obbligatoria, Il Saggiatore,Milano, 2008; Saul Bellow: «Prima di andarsene»,Una conversazione Words§Images con NormanManea, Il Saggiatore, Milano, 2009; Il rifugiomagico, Il Saggiatore, Milano, 2001.

‘The “hooligan experience“, on the other hand,proved to be a wonderful one: the bookcaptivated me from the very start with thepower one only discovers in a masterpiece.’

Marco Cugno

In a few weeks’ time, Milanese publishinghouse Il Saggiatore will publish the Italiantranslation of Norman Manea’s novel TheBurrow (at the publisher’s wish, the title hasbecome Il rifugio magico). It will be his eighthbook to be published in Italian translation*.Norman Manea’s presence as a writer pub-lished in Italy dates from 1990. I have had theopportunity and the privilege to contribute tohis growing reputation as a writer in thiscountry, which, from the point of view ofcritical reception, reached a peak in 2004,when his autobiographical novel Il ritornodell’huligano. Una vita was published. Mylong-standing familiarity with his work beganin 1988, thanks to a fortunate conjuncture ofcircumstances, which I might venture to callhasard objectif, as the Surrealists used to say,and which came to fruition in the translationof October, Eight O’Clock for a small but res-pected Milanese publisher, the now defunctSerra e Riva Editori. I am able to say that Ihad the opportunity to enter the ‘immediate(un)reality’ (to use a phrase of Max Blecher,one of the writers with whom the author hasevident ‘elective affinities’) of Norman Manea’swork using the golden key of this masterpieceof short prose, which, on the one hand, putmy skills as a translator to the test, but which,on the other hand, gave me deep satisfaction.

Since then, my relationship with the authorand his work has become more steadfast and pro-found, although our meetings can be numbered

on the fingers of just one hand, taking place onthe occasion of his visits to the Turin BookFair, held every year in May, which is wherewe first met, in 1992, or events to launch hisbooks. After publishing two books, Un para-diso forzato with Feltrinelli and La busta nerawith Baldini & Castoldi, Norman Manea’spresence in the Italian publishing and culturalmarket was consolidated when he definitivelywent over to Il Saggiatore, the publishing houserun by Luca Formenton, whose maternalgrandfather was the great publisher ArnoldoMondadori. Luca Formenton became his pub-lisher beginning with the first edition ofClown. Il ditattore e l’artista (1995).

The second important experience was thetranslation of the novel The Black Envelope,in the version rewritten during the author’sAmerican exile, a version which, because ofits stylistic complexity, posed an even morearduous test of my skills as a translator. In ad-dition, at the publishing level some problemsarose which risked compromising the novel’spublication in Italy. In the end, matters werecleared up when Baldini & Castoldi acquiredthe rights to the novel, but I still recall the ten-sion I felt as I began work on the translation.It was only when the then editor-in-chief, MariaNadotti, told me the translation was excellentthat all my doubts were dispelled at once.

The ‘hooligan experience’, on the otherhand, proved to be a wonderful one: the bookcaptivated me from the very start with the

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Norman Manea in Italy MMaarrccoo CCuuggnnoo

power one only discovers in a masterpiece,and I immersed myself in it with all the abne-gation of which I was capable. I identifiedwith the text to a degree that I had never be-fore experienced when translating a book: I am not ashamed to confess that I burst intouncontrollable tears when I translated the pas-sage from ‘The penultimate day: Thursday, 1 May 1977’, where the narrator describes thescene in which ‘the young German carefullycleansed the old Jew of the filth with whichthe Nazi posters had once identified him’.(The passage is about the writer’s father, whowas suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, in anold people’s home in Jerusalem.) When I readthe first reviews (‘Il ritorno dell’huligano, nellamagnifica traduzione di Marco Cugno, rivelail marchio inconfondibile del capolavoro’,wrote the reviewer in Italy’s most importantcultural supplement, Il Sole-24 Ore, on 24March 2004), I felt fully rewarded for theefforts I had made not to betray the book’soriginal creativity.

But above all, I was moved by the wordswith which a great Italian writer, AntonioTabucchi, concluded his glowing review ofthe novel: ‘A chiusura del libro si è riconos-centi a Marco Cugno che neppure in una rigadella sua traduzione fa sospettare che Il ritornodell’huligano sia stato scritto in un’altra lingua.E vorremmo dire a Manea: prego, Norman,

accomodati nella nostra lingua italiana,anch’essa è casa tua’ (L’Unità, 1 April 2004).

I cannot conclude these lines without re-calling a book that was published ‘in primamondiale’ in Italy, as the New York corre-spondent of Corriere della Sera wrote on 23November 2006: I refer to La quinta impossi-bilità. Scrittura d’esilio, which is further proof,this time in the genre of the essay, that in thework of Norman Manea the writer’s artreveals a wonderful ‘maker’ of books.


NOTE:* The translations are by Marco Cugno (with theexception of the short story The Interrogation,translated by Luisa Valmarin, and the conversa-tions with Saul Bellow, translated from English by Ada Arduini): Ottobre, ore otto, Serra e RivaEditori, Milan, 1990; Un paradiso forzato(Compulsory Happiness), Feltrinelli, Milan, 1994;Clown, Il dittatore e l’artista, Il Saggiatore, Milan,1995, 1999, 2004; Ottobre, ore otto (definitiveedition), Il Saggiatore, Milan, 1998, 2005; La bustanera, Baldini & Castoldi, Milan, 1999; new edition:Il Saggiatore, Milan, 2009; Il ritorno dell’huligano,Una vita, Il Saggiatore, Milan, 2004, 2007; La quin-ta impossibilità, Scrittura d’esilio, Il Saggiatore,Milan, 2006, Felicità obbligatoria, Il Saggiatore,Milan 2008; Saul Bellow: «Prima di andarsene»,Una conversazione Words&Images con NormanManea, Il Saggiatore, Milano, 2009; Il rifugio magi-co, Il Saggiatore, Milan, 2001.

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Norman Manea scrie c\ se „ini]ia nu doar `nvia]\, ci [i `n Via]a de Apoi“ `n lag\rul de con-centrare unde a fost trimis când avea 5 ani.„Moartea c\p\tase, mai `ntâi“, scrie Norman,„chipul supt [i adorat al bunicului Avram!Brusc\ magie a ne`nsufle]irii: Via]a de Apoi,`n groapa f\r\ nume [i via]\“.

Norman poveste[te: „Se vedea `ntins, el`nsu[i, ca o mumie, `n patul de veci. Priveagroapa, p\mântul, firele de iarb\ `nghe]ate,viermii `nc\ vii... ~nc\ viu, `n via]\“, mai zice,„gândind propria moarte, dar `n]elegând,atunci, c\ plânsul [i foamea [i frigul [i fricasunt ale vie]ii, nu ale mor]ii. Nimic nu eramai important decât supravie]uirea“.

Te-ai putea gândi c\ pentru un b\iat de vârstaaceea – [i chiar pentru orice om de orice vârst\ –faptul c\ a suferit `n lag\re, anii de moarte [ipriva]iuni din lag\re aveau s\ ì modeleze apoitot restul vie]ii. Dar unul dintre lucrurile celemai uimitoare la Norman este neacceptareaacestei idei. „Nu suntem `ns\ doar catastrofecolective...“ , scrie el. „Suferin]a... corupe, iarsuferin]a livrat\ public corupe iremediabil.“

„Suferin]a... corupe“, scrie NormanManea, ceea ce este f\r\ `ndoial\ adev\rat.~ns\ paradoxul este aici c\ Norman e poatecel mai pu]in corupt om pe care `l cunosc.Acest lucru este evident pentru oricine ì ci-te[te romanele, eseurile sau povestirile, dar cuatât mai mult pentru cel care ì cite[te memo-riile. ~ntoarcerea huliganului este genul de

carte care poate schimba via]a cuiva. {i totu[i,nu-l vei auzi niciodat\ pe Norman spunândacest lucru. Pentru c\, de[i este, `n mod clar,unul dintre cei mai mari scriitori est-europeni `nvia]\, Norman r\m=ne un om de o modestie profun-d\, aproape contagioas\. {i poate chiar aceast\modestie `n [i vizavi de sine ì permite s\ fac\ceea ce atâ]ia dintre noi nu reu[esc: s\ ias\ dinpropria minte, din preocup\rile personale `ngus-te [i imediate, [i s\ recunoasc\ realitatea altora.

~n una dintre cele mai impresionante scenedin ~ntoarcerea huliganului, `l vedem pe Norman`n tinere]e, un supravie]uitor al lag\relor, careacum particip\ de bun\voie (dar [i cu naivitate)la teroarea comunist\. ~n liceu, ]ine discursuride Partid `n calitate de secretar al UniuniiTineretului Comunist. La 16 ani, scrie:„{edin]e, excluderi, turn\torii. Ritualurile:dilatarea enorm\ a eului, st\pânind lumea...“.

~nstr\inarea lui Norman de Partid se petre-ce `n timp ce oficiaz\ excluderea mai multoradintre colegii s\i de clas\. Chiar [i la vârsta de16 ani, el recunoa[te realitatea altora, `[i d\ sea-ma de efectul excluderii asupra lor. „Momentul“,scrie el, „tr\it `n aula pe care o dominam de lamasa ro[ie `l cunosc to]i juc\torii pariului utopic,devenit inchizitorial. E[ti somat, din nou, s\alegi dintre indivizii care te populeaz\ [i te dis-put\ nu doar pe cel cerut de ultimatumul clipei,ci [i pe acela care te reprezint\, cu adev\rat“.

Aceasta are greutatea, adev\rul, rezonan]aclar\ a filosofiei. Aici Norman percepe nu

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O multitudine de euri: o apreciere a lui Norman ManeaJJoosseepphh CCuuoommoo

De la stânga la dreapta: Norman Manea, Orhan Pamuk, Salman Rushdie, Joseph Cuomo [i LeonardLopate. ~n culise, dup\ o mas\ rotund\ la care au participat Norman Manea, Orhan Pamuk [iSalman Rushdie, `n cadrul Queens College Evening Readings, New York, 7 noiembrie 2006

From left to right: Norman Manea, Orhan Pamuk, Salman Rushdie, Joseph Cuomo and LeonardLopate. Backstage after a roundtable discussion with Norman Manea, Orhan Pamuk and SalmanRushdie, as part of the Queen’s College Evening Readings, New York, November 7, 2006

© R

ick D

eWitt

doar realitatea altora, ci [i realitatea aceloraltora din el `nsu[i. El recunoa[te c\ fiecaredintre noi are `n sine o „multitudine“ de euri.Fiecare dintre noi are multe identit\]i, unele`nclinate c\tre m\rire, orbire sau cruzime, altelec\tre luciditate ori bun\tate, dar fiecare str\du-indu-se s\ predomine asupra `ntregului. Aceast\realizare, `n [i vizavi de sine, este suficient\ saupoate ar trebui s\ fie suficient\ ca s\ inspiremodestie. Dar Norman dezvolt\ ideea, perfec-]ionând-o la nivel literar [i filosofic. Nu numaic\ fiecare dintre noi este format din multe euri,ci sunt momente `n via]a noastr\ când trebuies\ alegi dintre aceste numeroase euri, trebuies\ `l alegi pe cel care va vorbi `n numele t\u.

{i poate, `ntr-un fel, aceast\ idee, comple-xitatea, elocven]a, integritatea acestei idei,poate toate acestea vorbesc `n numele lui

Norman. Poate, `ntr-un fel, `l reprezint\, celpu]in pentru moment, cel pu]in `n acest eseu.Pentru c\ mai sugereaz\ [i o preocupare a lui:s\ spun\ ce nu s-a mai spus niciodat\. {i totu[i,`n acela[i timp, s\ fie con[tient de ceea ce nupoate fi spus, de ceea ce este dincolo de noi,inexprimabilul, necunoscutul. Poate c\ la bazacelor mai multe dintre scrierile lui Normanstau con[tientizarea profund\ a ceea ce se afl\dincolo de noi, modestia lui `nsufle]itoare, sim-]ul luminos al paradoxului, `n]elepciunea sacare `ndeamn\ la modestie.

{i poate c\ toate acestea, la rândul lor, su-gereaz\ de ce scrierile lui Norman au o putereatât de stranie: aceea de a schimba via]a celuicare le cite[te.


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‘The Hooligan’s Return is the kind of book thatcan change a person’s life. And yet, this is aclaim that you would never hear fromNorman himself.’

Joseph Cuomo

Norman Manea writes that he was ‘initiated intolife, as well as its opposite, in Transnistria’,the concentration camp to which he was sentat the age of five. ‘First death claimed my ma-ternal grandmother,’ writes Norman, ‘then mybeloved grandfather Avram, striking twice with-in three weeks. The sudden magic of lifelessness:the afterlife, in a dead grave without a name.’‘In his mind,’ says Norman, he ‘saw himselflying, mummylike, in an eternal stupor. Hecould see the grave, the snow-covered earth,the frozen blades of grass, the wrigglingworms... I was alive,’ he says, ‘thinking aboutmy own death, but what I understood thenwas that crying and hunger, cold and fearbelonged to life, not to death. Nothing wasmore important than survival.’

One would think that for a boy that age –indeed, for a man of any age – to suffer in thecamps, the years of death and deprivation inthe camps, would then shape the rest of thatman’s life. But one of the things that is mostastonishing about Norman is his resistance tothis notion. ‘...we are not simply the sum ofcollective catastrophes...,’ he writes. ‘Suf-fering...corrupts, and suffering peddled pu-blicly corrupts absolutely.’

‘Suffering... corrupts,’ writes Norman Manea,which is undoubtedly true. But the paradoxhere is that Norman is perhaps the least cor-rupted man I know. This is evident to any

reader of his novels or essays or stories, but itis even more obvious to the reader of hismemoir. The Hooligan’s Return is the kind ofbook that can change a person’s life. And yet,this is a claim that you would never hear fromNorman himself. For while he is clearly oneof Eastern Europe’s greatest living writers,Norman is a man of profound, almost infec-tious humility. And it is perhaps this humilityin and of itself which enables him to do whatso many of us fail to do: to come out of ourown heads, our own narrow and immediateconcerns, and recognize the reality of others.

In one of the most powerful scenes in TheHooligan’s Return, we see Norman as a youngman, a survivor of the camps, who is now awilling (if naive) participant in the Communistterror. In high school, he delivers Party speech-es as the Secretary of the Union of WorkingYouth. By age sixteen, he writes, ‘I had takenpart in meetings, expulsions, informing, andassorted rituals, which, I must admit, had anenormous effect on the ego, to the point whereit believed itself capable of ruling the world...’

Norman’s alienation from the Party comes ashe officiates at the expulsion of several of hisclassmates. Even at the age of sixteen, he re-cognizes the reality of others, he recognizes theexpulsion’s effect on them. ‘My moment inthe spotlight,’ he writes, ‘in that auditorium,over which I presided from the red-covered

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A multiplicity of selves:an appreciation of Norman ManeaJJoosseepphh CCuuoommoo

table, was something that all players of thatutopian-turned-inquisitorial game knew onlytoo well. It is the moment when you are forcedto choose, from all the selves who inhabit andclaim you, not only the one required by themoment’s ultimatum, but also the one whogenuinely represents you.’

This has the weight, the truth, the unmis-takable resonance, of philosophy. Here Normanperceives not only the reality of others, butalso the reality of those others within himself.He recognizes that each of us has within us a‘multiplicity’ of selves. Each of us has manyidentities, some bent toward self-aggrandize-ment or blindness or cruelty, some towardlucidity or kindness, but each striving to layclaim to the whole. This realization, in and ofitself, is enough, or perhaps it should be enough,to inspire humility. But Norman takes the ideato its literary and philosophical completion.Not only is each of us comprised of many

selves, but there are times within our liveswhen you must choose from among thesemany selves, you must choose the self whowill speak for you.

And perhaps, in a way, this notion – thecomplexity, the eloquence, the integrity ofthis notion – perhaps all of this speaks forNorman himself. Perhaps, in a way, it repre-sents him, at least for the moment, at least forthe length of this essay. For it also suggests apreoccupation of his: to say what has not beensaid before. And yet, at the same time, to bemindful of what cannot be said, of what isbeyond us, the inexpressible, the unknown.Perhaps it is Norman’s acute awareness ofwhat lies beyond us that most informs hiswork, its enlivening humility, its luminoussense of paradox, its humbling wisdom.

And perhaps all of this, in turn, may suggesthow it is that Norman’s work possesses suchuncanny power: to change a reader’s life.

– 158 –


– 159 –


Cred c\ ar fi potrivit, la acest important prilejaniversar, s\ relatez `nceputurile literare „oficiale“ale s\rb\toritului. Nu e o misiune prea u[oar\, dinmai multe cauze, dar, de vreme ce s-a nimerits\ fiu primul martor al acestui proces, fascinant`ntr-un anume sens, de[i pare c\ apar]ine anec-doticii banale ori memorialisticii de rutin\,poate c\ ar fi momentul s\ re]in aten]ia celorinteresa]i cu o scurt\ relatare a `mprejur\rilor`n care „s-a ivit pe lume“ un personaj de primrang al literaturii române de azi.

L-am cunoscut pe Nichi (Norman) Manea,`n urm\ cu aproape jum\tate de secol, la Plo-ie[ti. ~n anii „socialismului victorios“, acestmare centru industrial atr\gea foarte mul]itineri intelectuali, care nu dispuneau de fai-mosul „buletin de Bucure[ti“, tocmai pentruc\ era cel mai mare ora[ din preajma capitalei[i `ng\duia iluzia `nfrângerii provincialismuluicelor care tânjeau dup\ o via]\ cultural\ ceva maivie. Dup\ atâta amar de vreme, l\sând deop-arte accidentele biografice ale fiec\ruia, credc\ aceasta este principala explica]ie aprezen]ei noastre temporare acolo, el cainginer la un trust de construc]ii, eu cajurisconsult la o mare rafin\rie.

Ploie[tiul era nu doar un „ora[ `nchis“, `n termi-nologia aceleia[i aberante legisla]ii, care obliga,printre altele, `ntreaga popula]ie la respectareanormei pe care Teodor Mazilu a numit-o „pâineala loc fix“, ci [i o localitate extrem de aglo-merat\, unde g\sirea unei camere de `nchiriatera o opera]iune cvasiimposibil\. ~n ce m\

prive[te, dup\ ce m\ ad\postisem, om al legiicum se nimerise s\ fiu, câteva luni `ntr-un spa]iudin incinta spitalului de urgen]\, rezervat celorcare deprindeau profesiunea de chirurg, m-amv\zut obligat s\ caut tot felul de solu]ii de lao zi la alta, de la o noapte la alta, iar `n cuprin-sul acestei b\t\lii locative hazardul m-a adusla o `ntâlnire cu un grup de tineri, tehnicieni [iingineri din domeniul construc]iilor, cum s-arspune speciali[ti `m problema insolubil\ carem\ purta pe drumuri. Printre ei se afla [i Norman,`ns\, trebuie s\ recunosc, nu doar c\ nu mi-afost de ajutor, nici camarazii s\i de altfel, darnici n-am apucat s\ facem cuno[tin]\, c\ci nuera vreme pentru asemenea delicate]uri.

Dup\ un timp, nu scurt, ni s-au `ncruci[atiar drumurile destinului, [i iat\ c\ acel tân\r,cu `nf\]i[are pl\cut\ [i comportare civilizat\,aceasta din urm\ `n v\dit contrast cu obice-iurile sociale ale „republicii de la Ploie[ti“,a[a cum o cunoa[tem din genialele informa]iifurnizate de Caragiale-tat\l, m-a oprit pe strad\,s-a prezentat [i m-a `ntrebat, foarte politicos,chiar ceremonios (fabulez, c\ci n-am `ncotro,dar cu m\sur\), dac\ nu doresc s\ ne mai vedem,s\ discut\m literatur\, c\ci a aflat, gura lumiislobod\, c\ m\ preocup\ acest etaj al existen]ei,ba chiar am rela]ii strânse, inclusiv de fami-lie, cu lumea aceea `n care fic]iunea [i boemadomnesc deopotriv\.

Mi-a pl\cut omul. A[a a debutat, nu lesne,c\ci maica natur\ m-a f\cut rezervat [i precaut`n rela]iile cu semenii, chiar asem\n\tori, o

„Eu sunt poet... VViirrggiill DDuuddaa

„

Cu Virgil Duda [i Eran Sela, Tel Aviv, 1993

With Virgil Duda and Eran Sela, Tel Aviv, 1993

leg\tur\ amical\, ce a evoluat c\tre una dincele mai substan]iale prietenii din deja lungamea existen]\. Nu-mi place s\-mi povestescvia]a, nu cred c\ ea este „un roman“ (ci multmai multe), nu inten]ionez s\-mi scriu memo-riile, de[i ori tocmai fiindc\ am mare stim\pentru acest dificil [i extrem de preten]iosgen literar, a[a c\ m\ opresc aici cu amintirilesociale, inevitabil trunchiate, pentru a relatacum s-a desf\[urat debutul literar al lui Nichi,privit din unghiul de vedere al martoruluidecisiv care am fost.

La una din lungile conversa]ii cu el, tot mailungi [i mai interesante pentru mine discu]iidespre c\r]i [i autori, dar [i despre tot ce e pelume, mi-a m\rturisit, la umbra unui surâs,pentru a c\rui descriere mi-ar trebui câtevapagini, dar [i o inspira]ie pe m\sur\, c\ `n

adolescen]\ a scris poezie, dar n-a izbutit s\ajung\ cu ea `n paginile unei reviste de pres-tigiu, din pricini multe [i deloc m\runte. „Nicieu, de[i `ncerc de câ]iva ani“, am replicat. {iastfel s-au ivit numele lui M.R.P. [i acela alsuplimentului literar al revistei din Craiovacare-l g\zduia, precum [i gândul comun c\ artrebui `ncercat acolo. Ne `ncuraja „dezghe]ul“.„Eu nu pot `ncerca, pentru c\ scriu romane, a[ami-a fost scris, dar tu, cu câteva povestiri...“,a fost, cred, opinia mea de „specialist“.

M-a cercetat cu uimire: „Eu sunt poet!“.Cum de uitasem?!

Dup\ câteva zile mi-a dat spre lectur\ câtevaproze. Nu, nu avea aerul unui debutant. Una dinschi]e, „Fierul de c\lcat dragostea“, a fost pu-blicat\ de M.R.P. [i atfel s-a ivit un scriitor deexcep]ie. Exist\ miracole. De toate felurile.

– 161 –


‘I liked the man. Not without hitches, since MotherNature has made me reserved and cautious inmy relations with my fellow men, however like-minded they might be, this was how an amicablebond formed between us, which has developedinto one of the most substantial friendships inmy already long existence.’

Virgil Duda

I think it would be appropriate on this importantanniversary that I should recount the ‘official’literary beginnings of the man we are cele-brating. It is not an easy task, for a number ofreasons, but since I happened to be the firstwitness of this process, one that was in a cer-tain sense fascinating, although it seems tobelong to the banally anecdotal or to routinememoir-writing, perhaps now would be themoment to detain the attention of those inter-ested with a short account of the circumstancesin which one of contemporary Romanian litera-ture’s foremost figures ‘came into the world’.

I met Nichi (Norman) Manea in Ploie[ti,almost half a century ago. In the years of‘victorious socialism’, this large industrialcentre used to draw large numbers of youngintellectuals who were not in possession ofthe famous ‘Bucharest I.D.’. This wasbecause it was the nearest large city to thecapital and it allowed those who yearned aftera livelier cultural life to pretend they hadovercome their provincialism. Leaving asideour individual biographical circumstances,after all these years I think that this was themain explanation for our temporary presencethere, he an engineer in a construction com-pany, I a attorney at a large refinery.

Ploie[ti was not only a ‘closed city’, in theterminology of the same aberrant laws which,among other things, forced the entire popu-lace to abide by the norm that Teodor Mazilucalled ‘bread in a fixed place’, but also an

extremely crowded place, where finding a roomto rent was an almost impossible undertaking.As for myself, after having lodged for a fewmonths in a room within the emergency hos-pital reserved for those studying to becomesurgeons, despite my working in the legalprofession, I found myself obliged to find allkinds of solutions from one day to the next,from one night to the next. During the courseof this battle to find living quarters chancebrought me into contact with a group ofyoung men who were technicians and en-gineers in the construction field, experts, as itwere, in none other than the insoluble problemthat caused me to have no fixed abode. Amongthem was Norman, but I have to admit that, likehis comrades, he was of no help to me, and I didnot even manage to make his acquaintance, be-cause the time was not yet ripe for such delicacies.

After not a short while the paths of our des-tinies crossed, and so it was that that young manof pleasing appearance and civilised behaviour,the second of these being in marked contrastto the social mores of the ‘Ploie[ti Republic’as I knew it from the inspired descriptions ofCaragiale père, stopped me on the street, in-troduced himself, and asked me very politely,even ceremoniously (I am embellishing here,but within reason), whether I would like us tomeet and discuss literature. He had learned(word travelled fast) that I was interested inthis level of existence and that I even had closeconnexions, including within my family, with

– 163 –


’I am a poet... VViirrggiill DDuuddaa

’

the world in which fiction and the bohemereign on an equal footing.

I liked the man. Not without hitches, sinceMother Nature has made me reserved andcautious in my relations with my fellow men,however likeminded they might be, this washow an amicable bond formed between us,which has developed into one of the mostsubstantial friendships in my already longexistence. I don’t like to tell my life story. I don’t think of it as a ‘novel’. And I don’t in-tend to write my memoirs, despite or preciselybecause I hold this difficult and extremelyexacting literary genre in high esteem. So, I shall bring my inevitably truncated socialreminiscences to a close, and instead recounthow Nichi’s literary debut unfolded, from theviewpoint of the decisive witness that I was.

In one of our long conversations, our increa-singly long and for me interesting discussionsabout books and authors, as well as everythingunder sun, he confessed to me, with the shadowof a smile, to describe which would require seve-ral pages, but also the appropriate inspiration,

that in his youth he had written poetry, but hehad never managed to have it published in anyprestigious magazine, for numerous and not atall petty reasons. ‘Nor have I, although I havebeen trying for a few years,’ I replied. Andthis was how the name of M.R.P. came upand that of the literary supplement of themagazine in Craiova that hosted him, as wellas the mutual idea that he ought to try hischances there. We were emboldened by the‘thaw’. My ‘expert’ opinion was, I think,along these lines: ‘I can’t try, because I writenovels, such is my lot, whereas you, havingjust a few short stories...’

He looked at me in amazement and said: ‘I am a poet!’ How could I have forgotten!

A few days later, he gave me a few prosepieces to read. No, he did not have the air ofa beginner. One of his sketches, Ironing Love,was published by M.R.P. and thus an excep-tional writer came to light. Miracles exist. Of every kind.


– 164 –


E o poveste despre `ntâmpl\ri [i despre leg\-turi nev\zute. O admira]ie ce dateaz\ de maibine de dou\zeci de ani [i nu a f\cut decât s\creasc\. Cititorii francezi cei mai curio[i auputut s\ aprecieze valoarea operei majore [iesen]iale a lui Norman Manea la `nceputulanilor 1990. Atunci când colec]ia „Les grandestraductions“ a editurii Albin Michel a publicatla interval de un an dou\ volume de nuvele,Le thé de Proust (Ceaiul lui Proust) [i Lebonheur obligatoire (Fericirea obligatorie).A fost un [oc. Descoperirea unei muzici tul-bur\toare, a unei voci nostalgice, dar f\r\ patos,a unui mod unic de a vorbi despre o lume cenu va fi niciodat\ cu adev\rat pierdut\.

Despre Manea se [tia doar c\ p\r\sise Ro-mânia [i preda literatura Estului la Bard College.~n mod misterios, a trebuit s\ a[tept\m multpân\ s\-l reg\sim `n libr\rii. ~n septembrie 2005,cu ocazia manifest\rii „Les Belles Etrangères“,organizat\ de Centre National du Livre pentruMinisterul Culturii [i al Comunic\rii, am avut[ansa s\ merg la Bucure[ti [i la Cluj `n compa-nia scriitoarei [i criticului Clémence Boulouque.Scriitorilor pe care i-am `ntâlnit [i c\rora le-ampus `ntreb\ri – Gabriela Adame[teanu, GheorgheCr\ciun, Leti]ia Ilea, Dan Lungu, Marta Petreu –le-am cerut s\-mi spun\ ce credeau despre unscriitor pe care `l a[ezam cât se poate de sus [i pecare regretam nespus c\ n-am putut s\-l `ntâlnesc.

Fermecat de c\l\torie, am scris apoi pentrurevista Lire o scurt\ not\ elogioas\ desprenativul din Bucovina. Un articol `n care `i

invitam f\r\ ru[ine pe membrii juriului ceacord\ Premiul Nobel pentru Literatur\ s\ seaplece asupra cazului s\u – am reiterat invi-ta]ia recent `ntr-un articol despre Vizuina `nLivres Hebdo, sperând c\ voi fi `n sfâr[itauzit! S\pt\mânile au trecut f\r\ s\ reu[esc s\uit ceasurile petrecute `n România. Pe urm\tat\l meu s-a `mboln\vit, a intrat `n spital [i amurit la `nceputul anului 2006.

La `ntoarcerea de la `nmormântare, amg\sit `n cutia de scrisori un plic galben. Fu-sese pus la po[t\ la New York [i retrimis lamine acas\ prin grija secretarei de ne`nlocuitde la Lire. Pe verso erau trecute numele [iadresa lui Norman Manea. ~n\untru se g\seauo carte po[tal\ ilustrat\ ce reproducea un ta-blou de Van Gogh [i un e-mail listat deoarecenu ajunsese niciodat\ la destina]ie din cauzaadresei gre[ite. Manea `mi spunea c\ d\dusepeste articolul din Lire, `mi mul]umea [i m\anun]a c\ ~ntoarcerea huliganului era `n cursde traducere la Seuil. Cu generozitate, `mipropunea s\-mi trimit\ un exemplar din edi]iaamerican\ publicat\ de Farrar, Straus andGiroux. Ceea ce eu am acceptat cu drag\ inim\!Din acel moment, am schimbat e-mail-uri dincând `n când. Oricât de ciudat ar putea s\ par\,aveam impresia c\ Manea devenise un fel de`nger p\zitor. Am citit ~ntoarcerea huliganului`n vara lui 2006, `n Spania, [i am fost zdrun-cinat mult\ vreme de for]a textului, de emo]iast\pânit\ pe care o degaja. Aceast\ capodoper\s-a bucurat când a ap\rut `n Fran]a de un mare

– 165 –


S-a ridicat [i ne-am `mbr\]i[at... AAlleexxaannddrree FFiilllloonn

– 167 –


r\sunet, dup\ care a fost `ncununat\ cu PremiulMédicis. Manea a venit la Paris s\ primeasc\premiul, dar editorul s\u a omis s\-mi dea de[tire. A[a c\ n-am putut s\ sar `ntr-un tren ca s\vin s\-l salut [i s\ fac `n sfâr[it cuno[tin]\ cu el.

Când a revenit la Paris dup\ câ]iva ani, cuocazia unei serate la Muzeul de Art\ [i Istorie aIudaismului, n-am putut s\ m\ deplasez. Aveamo scuz\, tocmai devenisem tat\ pentru a douaoar\. Totu[i, anul trecut, un miracol s-a produsla Berlin, unde m\ dusesem s\-i pun `ntreb\riromancierului Philippe Kerr `mpreun\ cu al]ijurnali[ti. Printre ei [i prietenul meu BrunoCorty, de la Le Figaro Littéraire, pe care l-am

reg\sit `ntr-o sear\ `n holul unui faimos hotel.Tocmai salutase un domn cu ochelari [i cu p\rulalb. „Vorbe[ti cu necunoscu]i?“, l-am `ntrebatpe când d\deam s\ plec\m s\ lu\m cina. „Nici-decum, e un scriitor genial pe nume NormanManea“, mi-a r\spuns el. Nici una, nici dou\,m-am repezit, tremurând, spre domnul cu pri-cina, care tocmai se a[ezase `n fa]a a dou\ doam-ne. „Norman Manea? Sunt Alexandre Fillon!“S-a ridicat, ne-am `mbr\]i[at. I-am promis c\voi veni s\-l vizitez la New York. Am degând s\-mi ]in promisiunea.

[Traducere din limba francez\ de Giuliano Sfichi]

‘I shamelessly invited the Nobel Prize jury toconsider his case, argument that I havereiterated recently in an article on The Lair inLivres Hebdo, hoping that I will be heard!’

Alexandre Fillon

This story is about chance encounters andinvisible ties, an admiration that lasted over20 years and which still grows. InterestedFrench readers have become aware of the ma-jor and essential writing of Norman Manea atthe beginning of the 1990s when the ‘GreatTranslations’ collection from Albin Michelpublished two short stories collections, Le théde Proust and Le Bonheur obligatoire. Thediscovery of his work was a shock, as it re-vealed a moving music, a nostalgic voice with-out pathos, a unique way of talking about aworld that will never really be lost.

Of Manea we only knew that he had leftRomania, that he was teaching East Europeanliterature at Bard College. Strangely, it took along time to find his work again in bookstores.In September 2005, during the ‘Belles Étran-gères’ event organized by the Centre Nationaldu Livre for the French Ministry of Culture, I had the opportunity to go to Bucharest andCluj along with the writer and critic ClémenceBoulouque. I asked the writers that I met there –Gabriela Adame[teanu, Gheorge Cr\ciun, Leti]iaIlea, Dan Lungu, Marta Petreu – what theythought of an author that I revered and was sosorry I could not meet.

Still under the charm of the trip, I wrote asmall notice of praise on this native of Buco-vina for Lire Magazine. In it I shamelesslyinvited the Nobel Prize jury to consider hiscase, argument that I have reiterated recentlyin an article on The Lair in Livres Hebdo,hoping that I will be heard!

Weeks went by without being able to forgetmy time spent in Romania. Then my fatherbecame ill, went to the hospital and died atthe beginning of 2006.

Coming back from the funeral, I found inmy mail a yellow envelope. It had been sentfrom New York and forwarded to my homethanks to the invaluable Lire magazine secre-tary. At the back were the name and the addressof Norman Manea. Inside was a card with areproduction of a Van Gogh painting as wellas a printed email, never delivered because ofan erroneous address. Manea was thankingme for the Lire article that he had read andwas informing me that The Hooligan’s Returnwas being translated by Le Seuil publishinghouse. He generously proposed sending me acopy of the American edition by Farrar, Strausand Giroux, an offer that I eagerly accepted!We exchanged emails from time to time fromthen on and, however strange it may seem,Manea seemed to have become a sort ofguardian angel. I read The Hooligan’s Returnin 2006 in Spain and was truly shaken by thepower of the text, by the controlled emotionthat came out of the book. This masterpiecewas well received in France when it came outand was awarded the prestigious MédicisPrize for best foreign novel. Manea came toParis to receive his award, but his publisherforgot to inform me, so that I could not jumpinto a train to come and greet him and finallyget to know him.

– 169 –


He got up and wehugged...AAlleexxaannddrree FFiilllloonn

When he came back a few years later foran award of French Judaïsme, I was unable togo. I had a good excuse: I had just become afather for the second time. Last year however,a miracle took place in Berlin where I had justinterviewed Philip Kerr with other journalists.I was meeting Bruno Corty of the Figaro Litté-raire in the hall of a famous hotel. He hadjust greeted a gentleman with glasses and grayhair. ‘You are talking to strangers now?’ I teased

him as we were going to have dinner. ‘Not atall, this is a great writer called Norman Manea,’he replied. Without missing a beat I rushed,trembling, towards the man in question as he wassitting in front of two women. ‘Norman Manea?I’m Alexandre Fillon!’ He got up and wehugged. I promised to go and visit him inNew York. I intend to keep this promise.

[Translated from French by Odile Chilton]

– 170 –


L-am cunoscut pe Norman Manea `n 1994,`ntr-o zi ce]oas\ [i rece de la sfâr[itul iernii, laMilano, `n prima dintre libr\riile Feltrinellicea de pe via Manzoni, lâng\ La Scala.

~ntr-o mic\ aul\ de la etaj, le prezentacititorilor italieni ultimul s\u volum de proz\scurt\, Fericirea obligatorie. Eu deja m\ cu-fundasem `n lectura acestor povestiri, fiindabsorbit pe loc de atmosfera magic\ pe care oevocau scrierile lui.

Dup\ `ncheierea evenimentului, i-am fostprezentat lui Norman de o prieten\ comun\,Maria Nadotti, ziarist\ [i traduc\toare.

Am fost imediat fascinat de umorul spiritualal lui Norman, precum [i de `n]elegerea [icompasiunea profunde fa]\ de natura uman\,care se degajau din felul cum vorbea.

Din una `n alta, am ajuns s\ vorbim despreopera literar\ a lui Norman [i am sim]it unimbold nest\pânit s\ `i spun c\ sunt editorulitalian perfect pentru eseurile sale, care `nc\nu fuseser\ traduse.

{i, astfel, publicând Despre Clovni: Dicta-torul [i Artistul, s-a legat `ntre noi o prieteniecare s-a adâncit de-a lungul anilor. Ast\zifirma mea, Il Saggiatore, este editura italian\care se poate mândri c\ a publicat toatescrierile lui Manea.

V-a[ putea povesti o mul]ime de `ntâmpl\ri cuNorman [i minunata lui so]ie, Cella. Apartamentuls\u din New York sau c\su]a sa de lemn de laBard College reprezint\ pentru mine, ca s\citez titlul ultimei lui c\r]i, o vizuin\ magic\atunci când m\ aflu `n Statele Unite.

O plimbare al\turi de el pe malul râuluiHudson `ntr-o zi `nsorit\ sau imaginea mor-mântului lui Hannah Arendt v\zut\ prin cea]adin zori `n parcul de la Bard sunt clipe pe carenu le voi uita niciodat\ `n agitata mea via]\ deeditor. Clipe de lini[te [i de reflec]ie, care,ast\zi, sunt atât de rare.

Pentru a `ncheia aceste câteva gânduri,cred c\ modul cel mai potrivit de a s\rb\toriun autor este s\ recurgi chiar la cuvintelesale: `n acest caz, ele nu `l explic\ doar pescriitorul Norman Manea, ci [i pe omulNorman Manea, a[a cum `l cunosc eu [i carem-a onorat cu prietenia sa.

Aceste cuvinte sunt din Despre Clovni (1992) –mai exact, dintr-un capitol numit „Istoria unuiinterviu“, care ar trebui citit de oricine vrea s\`n]eleag\ situa]ia unui intelectual ce a trecutprin momentele de `ncercare ale vie]ii sub o dictatur\.

Iat\ ce `i r\spunde Norman celui care `l in-tervieveaz\ despre rolul artei `n societate:

– 171 –


Mul]umesc pentru c\ ne-ai f\cut s\ fim mai buni LLuuccaa FFoorrmmeennttoonn

Cu editorul italian Luca Formenton, la Academia American\ din Berlin, 2005

With Italian publisher Luca Formenton, at the American Academy in Berlin, 2005

– 173 –


...S\ nu confund\m niciodat\ sublimul „joc“ alartei cu „jocurile“ de culise ale societ\]ii... ~nacest crispat final de secol, ajuns la o culme a `n-f\ptuirilor [i a degrad\rii, când din dou\ direc-]ii opuse, banul [i minciuna, armele inventate deom `mpotriva omului, beneficiaz\ de inimagi-nabile mijloace de distrugere, când omenireapare s\ avanseze, ezitând, pe muchia pr\pastiei,spre ciocnirea final\... „a aureola practica fatal\ adedubl\rii“, cum spune]i, ar fi ultima ([i cea de pe

urm\!) culp\ major\ de care s-ar putea face vino-vat\ arta. „Jocul“ artei nu a fost niciodat\ maimult decât fantezie, frumuse]e, adev\r, inteligen]\,sfin]enie, zâmbete, strig\te [i speran]\, cea mai`nalt\ form\ de umanitate, bucuria spiritului.

A[adar, mul]umesc, Norman, pentru c\ ne-aif\cut s\ fim mai buni [i, poate, pentru c\ aif\cut o lume mai bun\ `n care s\ tr\im.


‘Norman’s witty humor along with his deepunderstanding and compassion of humannature, which emerged from his talk fascinatedme instantly.‘

Luca Formenton

I met Norman Manea for the first time on acold foggy day of the late winter of 1994 inMilan, at the first of the Feltrinelli bookstores,the one in via Manzoni by La Scala.

In a small auditorium on the upper floor hewas presenting his latest collection of shortstories to Italian readers, Compulsory Happiness.I had already plunged myself into the reading ofthese stories, being immediately riveted by the ma-gic atmosphere that was evoked by his writing.

After the event, I was introduced to Normanby a common friend, Maria Nadotti, journal-ist and translator.

Norman’s witty humor along with his deep un-derstanding and compassion of human nature, whichemerged from his talk fascinated me instantly.

The conversation fell onto the literary opus ofNorman, and I felt an immediate urgency to tellhim that I was the perfect Italian publisher forhis essays, which were still untranslated.

And so, as I published On Clowns: theDictator and the Artist a friendship was bornand has deepened through the years. Todaymy firm, il Saggiatore, is the proud Italianpublisher of all of Manea’s works.

Many are the anedoctes that I could tell aboutNorman and his wonderful wife Cella. Hisapartment in New York or his little woodencountry house at Bard College, represent forme, to quote his latest work, a magic Vizuinawhile I am in the US.

Walking with him in a sunny day along theHudson River, or watching, in the mist of theearly morning, the grave of Hannah Arendt inthe woods at Bard are moments that I shall

never forget in my tumultuous publishing life.Moments of stillness and reflection, which,nowadays, are very rare.

To conclude these short thoughts I believethat the best way to celebrate an author is byusing his own words: in this case, they do notonly explain Norman Manea the writer, but alsoNorman Manea the man, as I have knownhim and been honoured by his friendship.

The words are taken from On Clowns (1992),more precisely from a chapter named The historyof an interview, which should be read by anyonewho wants to understand the condition of anintellectual under the testing times of livingunder a dictatorship.

Here is what Norman answers to the inter-viewer about the public role of art: ‘Let usnever confuse the sublime “game“ of the arts withthe backstage “games“ of society.... In this tenseend of the century, which has reached a summitof achievements and degradation, when from twoopposite directions, money and lies, the weaponsinvented by man against man have acquired un-imaginable distructive power, when mankindseems to be advancing, waveringly, along theedge of the abyss, (...) giving an “aura to the finalpractice of dualism“ as you say, would be the last(and final!) major failure of which we couldaccuse art. The “game“ of art has never been any-thing more than fantasy, beauty, truth, intelligence,sanctity, smiles, shouts, and hope, the highestform of humanity, the joy of the spirit’.

So thank you Norman for making us betterhumans and, possibly, the world a betterplace to live our lives.

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Thank you for makingus better humansLLuuccaa FFoorrmmeennttoonn

Este foarte dificil s\ sintetizezi `ntr-un spa]iuatât de redus o personalitate atât de bogat\ [icomplex\ ca a lui Norman Manea. Am avutocazia s\-l cunosc personal `n anul 2000, la Ma-drid, cu prilejul lans\rii romanului s\u Pliculnegru, tradus de mine, [i de atunci am ]inut ocoresponden]\ bogat\; m\ simt onorat c\ DomniaSa m-a desemnat pe mine ca traduc\torul lui `nspaniol\. Pân\ acum i-am tradus cinci volume. Amavut satisfac]ia s\ constat c\ unul dintre ele –~ntoarcerea huliganului – a fost socotit una dintrec\r]ile cele mai bune ale anului 2005 `n Spania.

Când cineva p\trunde `n scrierile lui NormanManea descoper\ c\, pe lâng\ un bun scriitor,Manea a fost `ntotdeauna un ap\r\tor `nver[u-nat al libert\]ii, a pus scrisul s\u `n serviciullibert\]ii [i pentru a biciui dictaturile de oriceculoare. ~n toat\ literatura sa, atât `n cea defic]iune, c=t [i `n eseistic\ sau memorialistic\,libertatea constituie un fir conduc\tor. A fostunul dintre pu]inii scriitori care `n Românialui Ceau[escu au `ndr\znit s\ sfideze puterea[i s\ scrie `mpotriva regimului comunist, evident `ntr-o form\ codificat\, pentru c\ alt-fel ar fi fost imposibil. Dar spre a o face a[atrebuie s\ ai un talent literar ie[it din comunpentru ca opera literar\ s\ nu se converteasc\`ntr-un pamflet; numai un mare scriitor estecapabil s\ scrie o oper\ contra sistemului carecontinu\ s\ intereseze [i dup\ c\derea zidului.{i acesta a fost cazul lui Manea. Aceast\ pos-tur\ l-a obligat s\ ia calea exilului [i s\`nceap\ o nou\ carier\ literar\ la cincizeci de

ani [i a f\cut-o `ntr-o limb\ de circula]ie res-trâns\, deoarece Manea n-a renun]at niciodat\la limba matern\ pe care o duce cu sine `ntot-deauna, precum melcul casa.

Exist\ o tr\s\tur\ `n c\r]ile lui Manea, pecare a[ dori s-o subliniez, [i anume pulsul ora-[ului Bucure[ti. Exist\ scriitori care `n operelelor ridic\ un ora[ la rangul de erou, cum se`ntâmpl\ cu Dublinul lui James Joyce sau cuMadridul lui Benito Pérez Galdós. ~n cazullui Norman Manea este capitala României,care se transform\ `ntr-un personaj plin devia]\, a c\rui importan]\ ar merita un studiumai detaliat. S`nt diferi]i scriitori români careau dat via]\ Bucure[tiului. Isac Peltz cuBucure[tiul de atmosfer\ evreiasc\, CezarPetrescu, Camil Petrescu [i HortensiaPapadat-Bengescu cu Micul Paris interbelic,ora[ul cosmopolit [i monden cu firme str\lu-citoare de neon. Norman Manea descrie unBucure[ti foarte diferit, acela din ultimii aniai regimului ceau[ist, cel al cozilor, al s\r\ciei,al penelor de curent, al frigului, al turn\tori-lor, ora[ul `ntunecat al oamenilor `nsp\imân-ta]i, Bucure[tiul ca o gur\ de lup. Reproducecu `nsp\imânt\toare fidelitate atmosfera deco[mar a nop]ilor de iarn\, str\zile goale str\-b\tute de patrule mili]iene[ti cu mitraliereleatârnate [i cu care era mai bine s\ nu dai nas`n nas pentru c\ orice trec\tor le-ar fi pututp\rea suspect numai pentru faptul c\ circula.~n aceste infern p\mântesc tr\ie[te o adev\rat\comédie humaine compus\ din femei,

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Norman Manea v\zutde un traduc\tor JJooaaqquuíínn GGaarrrriiggóóss

b\trâni, copii, muncitori, intelectuali, angaja]i,tirani, informatori [i adulatori ai puterii. To]i, capopor, suferind efectele dictaturii cu secheleleororii, scârb\ [i degradare uman\, la cei de sus[i la cei de jos. Autorul `l introduce pe cititor`n aceast\ lume a psihozei colective. Pentruaceasta, principala resurs\ la care recurge estelimbajul, valorificând posibilit\]ile expresiveale limbii române `n gradul ei cel mai `nalt.

E Bucure[tiul din Plicul negru: „Ora[ul `nbezn\. Ulicioarele cotite [i murdare `nghi]itede `ntuneric. Doar vagi pete g\lbui, `n dep\rta-re. Orbite bolnave ale ora[ului bolnav, pr\bu[it`n co[marurile nop]ii. Lini[te. Rareori, se audpa[ii santinelelor, caden]a lor metalic\. Toxi-nele nop]ii r\zbat din când `n când, `n geme-tele vreunui be]iv [...] t\cerea tenebroas\ [ibocancii blinda]i lovind ritmic caldarâmul.~ntunericul scrâ[ne[te, ]â[nesc rafale de lu-min\“. Oare nu aminte[te asta de secven]a dinfilmul 4 luni, 3 s\pt\mâni [i 2 zile `n careeroina alearg\ pe str\zile goale ale unui car-tier periferic, f\r\ a g\si ]ipenie de om, auto-buze sau taxiuri, `n mijlocul unei `ntunecimiaproape totale [i cu frica de a fi violat\?

Sau Bucure[tiul din Peretele desp\r]itor, oscurt\ bijuterie despre via]a cotidian\ `n comu-nism, cutiile de chibrituri cu toat\ fauna lor uma-n\ [i permanenta [i invizibila supravegherecare provoac\ o senza]ie de zbucium locatari-lor lor. Sau imaginea dezolant\ care se repet\ `nBiografia robot, cu scenele ei de un realism crunt,dar v\zute cu un mare sim] al umorului, `ntr-osucursal\ CEC de la periferia bucure[tean\,un microcosmos – reflectare a `ntregii ]\ri.

Aceasta nu este o lume ireal\, ci realitatea unei]\ri, a sa, a[a cum se `ntâmpl\ când este supus\voin]ei unui singur om. ~n aceste pasaje Manearidic\ limbajul la categoria mesajului `nsu[i.

Primirea operelor lui Norman Manea `nSpania a fost inegal\. Ar trebui s\ tras\m olinie desp\r]itoare `n anul 2005, când a ap\rut~ntoarcerea huliganului. ~n anii ’90 s-a publi-cat un volum de proz\ scurt\ (tradus dinenglez\) [i `n 2000 Plicul negru. Au trecut

aproape neobservate, abia dac\ au avut vreocronic\; autorul nu s-a consacrat ca scriitoraici. Dar nu din cauza lipsei de calitate, ci dinmotive extraliterare, mai complexe [i care nu-lafecteaz\ numai pe Norman Manea, ci pe ori-care alt scriitor ce provine dintr-o cultur\ pecare, pentru a ne `n]elege, am putea-o numiperiferic\. Pia]a editorial\ spaniol\ este do-minat\, `n primul rând, de marea produc]ie `n limba spaniol\, atât din Spania cât [i dinAmerica Latin\. ~n al doilea rând, de literaturaanglo-saxon\, care ocup\ 76% din traduceri,[i, `n al treilea rând, de literaturile scrise `nalte limbi de cultur\, precum franceza, italiana[i germana. Astfel `ncât spa]iul care r\mânepentru alte literaturi este foarte redus. A[adar,pentru a atrage aten]ia nu e suficient ca o car-te s\ fie bun\, deoarece c\r]i bune se public\,de asemenea, `ntre grupurile lingvistice domi-nante, ci trebuie s\ spun\ ceva nou, s\ prezinteceva ce nu s-a ar\tat `nainte [i care merit\ s\fie cunoscut. {i asta a fost ce s-a `ntâmplat cu~ntoarcerea huliganului `n anul 2005. Succesulde critic\ a fost unanim [i numele autorului afost catapultat spectaculos. Manea reflecteaz\,plecând de la experien]a sa personal\, asupramarilor utopii ale secolului XX, precum fas-cismul [i comunismul, cu elementele dena]ionalism [i antisemitism care le `mbib\ [ile unesc pe amândou\, `ntr-o ]ar\, România,care nu s-a debarasat de tot de prejudiciileantisemite. {i cuget\, de asemenea, asupraminciunii care a urmat c\derii regimuluicomunist `n România, cu fo[tii comuni[ti con-verti]i [i urca]i la putere.

~n cei [aptesprezece ani de când sunt tra-duc\tor de literatur\ român\ `n Spania, doartrei c\r]i au constituit un eveniment editorial,[i anume (`n ordine cronologic\): Jurnalulportughez al lui Mircea Eliade (2001); Jurnalullui Mihail Sebastian (2003) [i ~ntoarcereahuliganului (2005). S`nt c\r]i ce au provocatdezbateri [i chiar au produs nelini[ti. Tocmaipentru c\ nimeni nu mai spusese pân\ atunciceea ce ele povesteau. {i atrage aten]ia faptul

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c\ este vorba de c\r]i care apar]in genuluimemorialistic (primele dou\ `n mod clar, vo-lumul lui Manea se amestec\ cu romanul [icu eseul), un gen de care cititorul spaniol nuse simte foarte atras.

De atunci, opera lui Manea are o vizibili-tate mai mare. Toate c\r]ile sale au f\cut su-biectul cronicilor `n suplimentele literare alemarilor ziare [i sunt prezente pe masa nout\-]ilor editoriale `n libr\rii.

~n `ncheiere, a[ dori s\ fac o scurt\ aluziela dificult\]ile pe care opera lui Norman Maneale ridic\ unui traduc\tor. ~n România, ca to]iscriitorii, el trebuia s\ se lupte cu cenzura [ic\r]ile erau pline de sub`n]elesuri, cu o scri-itur\-cheie, pe care o capteaz\ cu dificultatecei care n-au fost `n contact cu ]ara `n epocacomunist\. Norman Manea se bucur\ de fai-ma de scriitor dificil; el `nsu[i a recunoscutacest fapt [i deseori n-a fost de acord cu ceeace consider\ o proast\ traducere a c\r]ilor sale`n limba englez\. ~ntr-o anumit\ ocazie, pen-tru a limita aceast\ problem\, a ajuns s\-[ischimbe stilul, „s\ scrie pentru traduc\tori“,spunea. „Simplificat\, scrierea mea nu sem\-na `n nimic cu stilul «alb» al lui Kafka, ci cuo repovestire goal\, f\r\ farmec [i mister.Evitând riscurile stilistice, dificultatea [i sub-tilitatea, expresia izbitoare [i expresiile tipicelimbii, eu `nsumi deveneam mai simplu, atâtde palid c\ disp\ream cu totul de pe foaia

alb\.“ A[adar, s-a re`ntors la stilul lui obi[nuitcomplex, dar [i str\lucitor, `ntr-o limb\ literar\de o frumuse]e excep]ional\. Norman Maneaare un stil foarte complicat, ì place s\ folo-seasc\ metafore complexe (s-ar putea numimai bine alegorii, datorit\ extinderii lor) [ideformeaz\ limbajul, c\ruia ì d\ o amprent\foarte personal\, ceea ce face s\ aib\ destulepagini de lectur\ dificil\, mai ales `n abun-dentele fragmente onirice `n care autorul d\frâu liber eului s\u, `ntr-un stil care se apro-pie de suprarealism. ~n acela[i timp, Maneadistileaz\ `n destule cazuri o ironie subtil\ `nmijlocul scenelor de un dramatism pu]inobi[nuit, un dramatism colectiv, al unui neam[i al propriului autor, acela al identit\]ii evre-ie[ti [i române[ti `n egal\ m\sur\, toate aces-tea neputându-i sc\pa traduc\torului, care tre-buie s\ le oglindeasc\ `n traducerea sa cu a-ceea[i intensitate ca `n original, cu mijloacelelingvistice de care dispune, pentru ca cititorulspaniol s\ perceap\ aceea[i senza]ie pe care aavut-o cititorul nativ. {i un fapt pe care mi-arpl\cea s\-l remarc: `n ciuda faptului c\ tr\ie[-te `ntr-un mediu englezesc de peste dou\zecide ani [i `n ciuda permisivit\]ii limbii române`n receptarea anglicismelor, scriitura lui Maneaeste lipsit\ de ele, nu s-a l\sat influen]at demediu [i acest lucru ì permite s\ ating\ per-fec]iunea `n folosirea limbii, efect pe care [itraduc\torul trebuie s\-l ob]in\.

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‘Whoever goes deeper into Norman Manea’swork will discover that, besides being a goodwriter, he has always been a stubborn defenderof freedom.’

Joaquin Garrigos

It is very difficult to condense within such alimited space a personality as rich and complexas Norman Manea. I had the privilege ofmeeting him in person in 2000, in Madrid, atthe launch of his novel The Black Envelope,which I translated, and since then we havecorresponded extensively. I feel honoured thathe chose me as his Spanish translator. To date,I have translated five of his books. In 2005, I had the satisfaction of seeing one of them –The Hooligan’s Return – being acknowledgedas one of the best books of the year in Spain.

Whoever goes deeper into Norman Manea’swork will discover that, besides being a goodwriter, he has always been a stubborn defen-der of freedom; he has placed his writing inthe service of freedom and castigates dictator-ships of every stripe. In all his literary work,both in his fiction and in his essays and me-moirs, freedom is the guiding thread. He wasone of the few writers in Ceau[escu’s Romaniawho dared to defy the authorities and writeagainst the regime, in a coded form, of course,because otherwise it would have been impos-sible. But to do so you have to have uncom-mon literary talent if your work is not todegenerate into a diatribe. Only a great writeris capable of writing a work against the com-munist system and for that work to continueto be of interest after the fall of the Iron Curtain.This was the case of Norman Manea. Hisstance obliged him to take the path of exileand begin a new literary career at the age of

fifty. He did so in a language of limited circu-lation, since he has never renounced the mothertongue he always carries with him, as thesnail does its house.

There is a feature of Manea’s books whichI should like to underline, namely the pulse of Bucharest. Some writers elevate a city tothe rank of main characters in their work, as James Joyce does with Dublin or BenitoPérez Galdós with Madrid. In the case ofNorman Manea, it is the capital of Romaniathat is transformed into a character that is fullof life, whose importance deserves moredetailed study. There are various Romanianwriters who have brought Bucharest to life:Isac Peltz, with the atmosphere of JewishBucharest, Cezar Petrescu, Camil Petrescuand Hortensia Papadat-Bengescu with theinter-war Little Paris, a cosmopolitan, high-society city of bright neon lights. NormanManea describes a Bucharest that is very dif-ferent: the capital of the final years of theCeau[escu regime, a city of food queues,poverty, power cuts, cold, informers, a darkcity of frightened people, Bucharest as thewolf’s maw. With terrifying fidelity, he recre-ates the nightmarish atmosphere of winter nightsand empty streets patrolled by militiamenwith machineguns slung over their shoulders,whom it was best not to bump into, given thatthe mere fact of circulating after dark madeone suspect. In this hell on earth there existsa veritable comédie humaine made up of

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Norman Manea as seenby a translator JJooaaqquuíínn GGaarrrriiggóóss

women, old people, children, workers, intel-lectuals, employees, tyrants, informers, andworshippers of power. All of them, as a nation,from the highest to the lowest, are sufferingfrom the effects of dictatorship: horror, dis-gust and human degradation. The author in-troduces the reader to this world of collectivepsychosis. In order to so, his main resource islanguage, making the fullest use of the expres-sive possibilities of the Romanian language at its very highest level.

There is the Bucharest of The BlackEnvelope: ‘The city in pitch darkness. Thewinding and filthy alleys engulfed in dark-ness. Nothing but faint yellowish blotches, inthe distance. The sickly eye-sockets of the sickcity, brought low in the terrifying dreams ofnight. Silence. Infrequently, the footfalls ofthe sentinels can be heard, their metallic ca-dence. From time to time, night’s toxins seepout, in the groans of some drunk [...] tenebroussilence and the armoured boots rhythmicallystriking the cobblestones. The darkness grindsits teeth, volleys of light burst forth.’ Is thisnot reminiscent of the sequence in the film 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, in which thefemale lead is running down the empty streetsof an outlying district, without finding a singlesoul, a bus, or a taxi, in the midst of almosttotal darkness, in terror of being raped?

And then there is the Bucharest of The Par-tition Wall, a short jewel of a story about every-day life during communism, about the matchboxtenement blocks and their human fauna, andthe constant, invisible surveillance that createsa feeling of tension in their inhabitants. Thereis the repeated, desolate image of Bucharestin Robot Biography, with its scenes of harshrealism, but viewed with a great sense ofhumour, set in a branch of the national sav-ings bank at the edge of the capital, a micro-cosm reflecting the whole country.

This is not an unreal world, but the reality ofa whole country, the writer’s country, as it waswhen it was subject to the will of a single

man. Manea elevates language in these pas-sages to the category of the message itself.

The reception of Norman Manea’s works inSpain has been uneven. We need to draw thedividing line in 2005, when The Hooligan’sReturn was published. Up until then, in the1990s, a volume of short prose was published(translated from English) and in 2000 The BlackEnvelope. They passed almost unobserved, withbarely a review. The author was not an establishedwriter in Spain. Not because his work lacksquality, but from non-literary, more complexreasons, which affect not only Norman Maneabut also every other writer who comes from aculture which, to make ourselves clear, we mightname peripheral. The Spanish publishingmarket is dominated primarily by the largenumber of works produced in Spanish, bothfrom Spain itself and from Latin America. Insecond place comes literature in English, whichaccounts for seventy-six per cent of transla-tions, and then literature in other major lan-guages such as French, Italian and German.And so there is very little room left for otherliteratures. In order for a book to garner atten-tion, it is not enough that it should be good,because good books are also published in thedominant language groups. Rather, it mustalso say something new, present somethingthat has not been shown before, and which it isworth knowing. And this was what happenedwith The Hooligan’s Return in 2005. Thebook’s critical success was unanimous and theauthor’s name was catapulted to spectacularfame. Setting out from his own experiences,Manea reflects on the major utopian systemsof the twentieth century, such as fascism andcommunism, with the elements of nationalismand anti-Semitism that imbued and united bothin a country like Romania, which has yet torid itself of all its anti-Semitic prejudices.Likewise, he reflects on the mendacity thatfollowed the fall of the communist regime inRomania, with former communists recycledand reinstated in power.

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In the seventeen years I have been a trans-lator of Romanian literature in Spain, onlythree books can be considered to have been amajor publishing event, namely (in chronolo-gical order) Mircea Eliade’s Portuguese Diary(2001), Mihail Sebastian’s Diary (2003) andThe Hooligan’s Return (2005). These werebooks that stirred debate and even createddisquiet. Precisely because up until then noother book had said the things they did. Whatstands out is the fact that they are books inthe memoir genre (the first two clearly so,whereas Manea’s book blends the novel andessay forms), a genre which does not holdany great attraction for the Spanish reader.

Since then, Manea’s work has enjoyedgreater visibility. All this books have beenreviewed in the literary supplements of the ma-jor newspapers and are to be found in bookshopson the shelves for the latest publications.

In conclusion, I should like to allude brieflyto the difficulties that the work of NormanManea presents to the translator. In Romania,like all writers, he had to struggle with cen-sorship and his books were full of impliedmeanings, containing a textual key difficult tograsp for those who had no contact with thecountry in the communist period. NormanManea has the reputation of being a difficultwriter. He himself acknowledges this and hasoften not consented to what he has regardedas a poor translation of his books into English.On one occasion, in order to get around thisproblem, he ended up changing his style,‘writing for translators’, as he said. ‘Whensimplified, my writing bears no resemblanceto the “blank“ style of Kafka, but rather toempty retelling of the non-digressive, lacking

charm and mystery. Avoiding stylistic risks,difficulty and subtlety, the striking expressi-veness and expressions typical of the language,I myself became simpler, so pale that I com-pletely vanished from the blank page.’ Andso, he went back to his habitually complex,but also dazzling style, a literary language ofexceptional beauty. Norman Manea has a verycomplicated style, he likes to use complexmetaphors (they might more appropriately benamed allegories given their extent) and todistort language, which he lends his own verypersonal imprint, making many pages difficultto read, especially in the abundant oneiric pas-sages where the author gives free rein to his ‘I’ in a style that approaches surrealism. At thesame time, in plenty of instances Manea distilsa subtle irony in the middle of scenes of unusu-al dramatic tension, the collective drama of anation and of the author himself, the drama ofJewish and equally Romanian identity. All thesethings cannot elude the translator, who mustmirror them in his translation with the sameintensity as in the original, with the linguisticmeans at his disposal, so that the Spanish readerwill be able to experience the same sensationas a native reader. There is one thing that I wouldlike to point out: in spite of the fact that he haslived in an English-speaking environment formore than twenty years and in spite of theRomanian language’s permissiveness towardsAnglicisms, these are absent in Manea’s writing.He has not allowed himself to be influencedby this environment and this enables him toattain perfection in his use of language, aneffect the translator must also obtain.


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– 185 –


~n 1988, când eram editor al publica]iei literareamericane TriQuarterly, am primit prin po[t\o povestire b\tut\ la ma[in\, semnat\ de unscriitor al c\rui nume `nc\ nu `l cuno[team.Intitulat\ „Puloverul“, aceast\ proz\ scurt\cutremur\toare ne reamintea profunzimea cucare o imagina]ie tragic\ vie poate crea chiar[i `ntr-un spa]iu restrâns o mediere narativ\ de neuitat a unor scene de oprimare inuman\.Povestea t\cut\ – descrie nenorocirea uneifamilii `n pragul unui imens dezastru plin deteroare [i suferin]\; de asemenea descrie spiritulcurios [i r\nit al copilului care supravie]uie[te. ~naceast\ povestire, ni[te oameni normali careau prea pu]in\ mâncare, afla]i sub amenin]areaconstant\ a mor]ii, cople[i]i de epuizarea fizic\ [ide boli, sunt sus]inu]i de o mam\ eroin\. „Puloverul“,una dintre cele mai memorabile povestiri alelui Norman Manea, a fost prima proz\ scurt\pe care a publicat-o `n Statele Unite.

Am vorbit cu Norman Manea la telefon.Mi-a descris c\m\ru]a din Manhattan `n carelocuia `mpreun\ cu so]ia sa, Cella, având doarlucrurile pe care le putuser\ lua cu ei `n câtevavalize – o `nc\pere ce abia dac\ era mai maredecât patul lor, `ntr-o zon\ care noaptea te`nsp\imânta, iar ziua te demoraliza. Dar nupeste mult timp succesele lui Manea `n StateleUnite aveau s\-i permit\ o locuin]\ mailini[tit\, `ntr-o zon\ mai ocrotit\, precum [iob]inerea unui titlu post universitar.

De-a lungul anilor care au trecut, eu [iManea ne-am mai vizitat – de mai multe ori

la New York [i o dat\ la Chicago. ~n timp cene plimbam ori savuram câte o cafea, amdescoperit unele dintre aspectele literare [ipersonale ale felului cum gânde[te Manea, alefelului cum simte. Am ajuns s\ `n]eleg minteade romancier exemplar. ~n superbele salescrieri [i `n discu]ii, el integreaz\ personalul [iistoricul; incidentele de o ironie amar\ dinistorie [i ironia incidental\ a anumitor vie]i;orizontul uneori tragic chiar [i al unei singurevie]i [i ironia uneori justificatoare a unui momentde triumf `ntr-o astfel de via]\; cursul haotical istoriei [i precaritatea drepturilor omului.

Printre personajele instructive din discu]iilenoastre se num\r\ un tiran nepedepsit, un omde serviciu care `n]elegea via]a de zi cu zi dinperspectiva istoriei lumii, un intelectual str\-lucit, dar brutal, o mam\ umil\, dar eroin\, uninocent prost. La Manea am v\zut [i am auzit,când ne-am `ncetinit ritmul vie]ii pentru câte-va ore ca s\ mai st\m de vorb\, dificultatea dea tr\i `n ritmul epuizant din America (nic\ierimai accelerat ca `n Manhattan) [i vulnerabilita-tea sa ineluctabil\ `n fa]a carnavalului nebuniei[i violen]ei umane nimicitoare (din care o partea v\zut-o tot `n America, desigur). Mi-am sim-]it resemnarea plin\ de regrete `n fa]a ritmuluiaccelerat (de vreme ce am fost format de el) [ifa]\ de orizontul meu individual, la margineaacelui vast carnaval lipsit de remu[c\ri. {i totu[i,chiar [i subiectele noastre marcate de disperaremi-au l\sat, dup\ ce vorbeam cu Norman, ooarecare speran]\ – pentru c\ astfel de discu]ii

Despre Norman Manea RReeggiinnaalldd GGiibbbboonnss

`]i pot schimba, `ntr-un mod izb\vitor [i chiarexaltant, punctul de vedere asupra lucrurilor pecare trebuie pus cel mai mare pre].

Zilele pline de `ndatoriri obi[nuite, atâtpersonale, cât [i istorice, [i nesfâr[itele [tirinedorite (oferite nou\ tuturor ca spectacol)despre catastrofe [i demagogi ne `ndep\rteaz\de realiz\rile scriitorilor [i de scris `n sine. ~ns\Norman Manea a r\mas, pentru mine, un exem-plu al modului cum, atunci când viteza [i uneorichiar oroarea vie]ii anuleaz\ gândirea [i amor-]esc sim]irea, scrisul poate totu[i s\ aboleasc\aceast\ „vitez\ a `ntunericului“ (ca s\ o citez pepoeta american\ Muriel Rukeyser), poate crea un

spa]iu pentru a gândi profund, pe `ndelete, [i nepoate localiza cu mai mult sens [i cu mai mult\imagina]ie `n dezechilibrul nostru inevitabil.

Manea este un artist mondial: marea sa in-tegritate este `ntâmpinat\ cu bucurie dincolo deorice grani]e na]ionale, lingvistice [i etnice,iar descrierile chinurilor omene[ti [i ale izb\-virii prin iubire [i supravie]uire sunt realiz\ridurabile. S`nt recunosc\tor pentru onestitateasa curajoas\ cu privire la cele mai rele lucruripe care le pot face oamenii [i pentru `ncrede-rea lui `n umanitatea noastr\.


– 186 –


In 1988, when I was the editor of the Americanliterary journal TriQuarterly, I received in themail the typescript of a short story from awriter whose name I did not yet know. Titled‘The Sweater’, this brief piece was a startlingreminder of the deftness with which a vividtragic imagination can create even in a smallspace an unforgettable narrative meditationon scenes of the most inhuman oppression.The story is quiet – it depicts one family’scalamity at the edges of an immense disasterfilled with terror and suffering; it also depictsthe wondering, wounded spirit of the childwho survives. In this story, ordinary humanbeings with too little too eat, under constantmortal threat, beset by physical exhaustionand illness, are sustained by a heroic mother.‘The Sweater’, one of Norman Manea’s mostmemorable narratives, was the first short storyhe published in the United States.

Norman Manea and I spoke on the tele-phone. He described to me the tiny room inManhattan in which he and his wife Cella, withonly the possessions they had been able tocarry in a few suitcases, had been living –scarcely bigger than their bed, in a neighborhoodthat was frightening at night and dispiriting byday. But soon Manea’s successes in the UnitedStates would make possible safer, more peacefullodgings, and academic distinction.

Over the years since, Manea and I havevisited a number of times – several times inNew York, and once in Chicago. On our walks

and while we lingered in cafes, I learned someof the literary and personal gestures of Manea’sthought, of his feeling. I came to understandhim as an exemplar of the mind of a novelist. Inhis superb writings and in conversation, heintegrates the personal and the historical; thebitterly ironic incidents of history and the inci-dental irony of individual lives; the sometimestragic scope of even a single life and the some-times vindicating irony of a triumphant momentin such a life; the chaotic unfolding of historyand the precariousness of human rights.

The instructive figures of our conversationhave included a tyrant with impunity; a janitorwith a world-historical understanding of every-day life; a brilliant, brutal intellectual; a humble,heroic mother; a bumbling innocent. In ManeaI have seen and heard as we have slowed downour lives for a few hours in order to talk, thedifficulty of living at the exhausting pace oflife in America (nowhere faster than in Manhat-tan), and his inescapable vulnerability to thecarnival of ruinous human folly and violence(some of which he could see in America, too,of course). I felt my own regretful resignationto the fast pace (since I had been formed by it)and to my merely individual scope, on the edgeof that vast remorseless carnival. Yet even ourtopics of despair have left me, after conversationwith Norman, with a sense of hope – becausesuch conversation can achieve a redeeming andeven exhilarating restoration of perspectiveabout what is to be most deeply valued.

– 187 –


On Norman Manea RReeggiinnaalldd GGiibbbboonnss

‘I am grateful for his courageous honestyabout the worst that human beings can do,and for his kind faithfulness to our humanity.’

Reginald Gibbons

Days filled with ordinary responsibilities bothpersonal and historical, and the constant un-welcome news (offered to us all as entertainment)of catastrophes and demagogues, pull us awayfrom the accomplishments of writers and fromaccomplishing the work of writing. But NormanManea has remained, for me, an example of how,when the speed and sometimes horror of lifecancel thought and numb feeling, writing cannevertheless abolish that ‘speed of darkness’ (toquote the American poet Muriel Rukeyser),

can create a space for slow, deep reflection,and can locate us more meaningfully, moreimaginatively, in our unavoidable imbalance.

Manea is a world artist: his great integrity iswelcomed across national, linguistic and ethnicboundaries, and his accounts of human travailsand the redemptions of love and survival arelasting accomplishments. I am grateful for hiscourageous honesty about the worst that hu-man beings can do, and for his kind faithful-ness to our humanity.

– 189 –


Cu Susan H. Gillepsie, Bard, 2011

With Susan H. Gillepsie, Bard, 2011

– 191 –


~n niciuna dintre povestirile lui NormanManea nu sunt sigur\ c\ am `ntâlnit cuvintele„a spus“. Vocile `[i urmeaz\ una alteia `n suc-cesiune rapid\, o uimitoare, intimidant\ gam\de voci, dialogul lor fiind ne`ntrerupt [i neex-plicat de interpunerea autorului omniscient.Naratorul nu `[i face niciodat\ apari]ia.Trebuie s\ ascult\m cu aten]ie ca s\ ne d\mseama cine vorbe[te.

Dialogul celor care vorbesc este integrat `n-tr-un text plin de gr\mezi de liste de `ntâmpl\ri,impresii, descrieri, sentimente. ~n aceast\ lume,timpurile verbale [i perspectivele pronominalese modific\ `ntr-un mod alarmant, amintirile [ipercep]iile prezente sunt amestecate, epoci `ntregipot fi comprimate `ntr-o `n[iruire de substan-tive. „~n n\ri se rotea praful de aprilie; ruf\rieapretat\; diminea]\; voci, fl\c\ri; curcubeul,tropotul promisiunilor, scrânciobul orbitor“.(Instructori) „Tres\rea trezit, tulburat, clip\de alt\dat\... acceptase, cândva, s\ vin\ cu ofemeie, alta, desigur, demult. Explozie de tru-puri z\p\cite... Membran\ sângerând\ fusesetinere]ea; rupturi sticloase; chinul unor canibalisuavi melancolici; ipocrizia, cruzimea, elanul`nalt al s\riturii. Dar r\m\sese departe chipullui...“ (Marin\ cu p\s\ri)

~n calitate de cititori, [i noi `ncerc\m s\ neorient\m `ntr-o atmosfer\ care este adesea `n-ce]o[at\, ame]itoare sau orbitoare, f\r\ s\ avemo direc]ie clar\ sau vreo orientare vizual\ oritemporal\. Nici chiar `n clipele fericite, nuexist\ nimic care s\ ne fac\ s\ ne sim]im `n

siguran]\ printre incertitudinile sau absurdit\]i-le unei lumi amenin]\toare, ambivalente. „Den-ar p\rea exagerat. De n-ar face cuvintele totulincredibil, trucat“... (Octombrie, ora opt)

Exist\ un caracter lunecos endemic limba-jului, cuvintelor care sunt vagi, contradictorii,„ireale“. Imprecizia [i contradic]ia fac partedin limbaj `nc\ de la `nceput. Irealitatea sa este[i o parte a libert\]ii, define[te „himerele pe caremi le furniza limba“ (~ntoarcerea huliganului).Ambiguit\]ile lingvistice sunt accentuate deprezen]a mai multor limbi: româna, germana[i engleza, franceza [i idi[ul transpar. Aceiadintre noi care oscileaz\ `ntre limbi cunoscaceste ambiguit\]i, poate chiar le `ntâmpin\cu bucurie. Dincolo de acestea, `n povestirilelui Norman, exist\ omniprezentul fals limbajal unit\]ii socialiste, cu dialectele sale de pre-f\c\torie [i minciun\: limba „esopic\“, `ntoars\spre interior `n „socialismul suspiciunii gene-ralizate“ (~ntoarcerea huliganului).

Am devenit interesat\ de actul de a asculta`n scrierile lui Norman. Am descoperit c\ ascul-tarea, atunci când este evocat\, adesea nu sesfâr[e[te `n sunet, ci `n t\cere. Aceast\ t\cere,cred, este unul dintre secretele operei lui Norman.Este t\cerea care `i permite s\ asculte dincolode minciuna [i viclenia cuvintelor, de insufi-cien]a lor, care, `n mod paradoxal, explodeaz\ca ni[te artificii verbale `n scrierile sale.

„Ar vrea cuvintele s\ se destrame `n chiarclipa când pornesc sau respinse de blindajulcorpului s\u absent, trupul acestei vârste de

Norman cel care ascult\ SSuussaann HH.. GGiilllleeppssiiee

mijloc, s\lcii, binecuvântat\ cu apatia... Nu maig\se[te puterea de a-[i aminti dac\ aceste vorbef\r\ leac, care n-ar trebui repetate, nu sunt cumvachiar ale sale, smulse dintr-`nsul de o vocedoar aparent str\in\“. (Octombrie, ora opt)

~n alt\ povestire, Peretele desp\r]itor, as-cultarea se face prin peretele sub]ire construitpentru a `mp\r]i `n dou\ un apartament alt\-dat\ mare [i burghez `n România socialist\.Trasul cu urechea confer\ acestei ascult\ri opoleial\ de autenticitate, colorat\ cu vinov\]ie.Intuim, brusc panica]i, c\ orice ascultare estevinovat\ – vinovat\, cel pu]in de simplificare.Minciunile `n mijlocul c\rora tr\im – indiferentdac\ sunt minciunile Unit\]ii Socialiste sau aleconsumului capitalist – falsific\ traducereaoric\rei experien]e `n cuvinte.

~n romanul autobiografic al lui Norman,~ntoarcerea huliganului, exist\ un capitol re-marcabil `n care b\trâna sa mam\ este internat\`n spital pentru o opera]ie la ochi. ~mp\r]indpatul cu nora sa, ea se scufund\, noaptea, `nidi[, o „limb\ pribeag\“. Nu este doar limbaunui popor r\t\citor, ci limba care ea `ns\[i adevenit r\t\citoare, dislocat\ – f\r\ patrie. Tra-ducerea, `n sensul cel mai larg, se afl\ pretutin-deni. Omniprezent\ [i neap\rat nestatornic\,este tot ce avem.

Ca [i compatriotul s\u Paul Celan, Normantânje[te, cred, dup\ o limb\ care s\ nu con]in\astfel de ambiguit\]i [i `nstr\in\ri. „~l p\trundeaufrigul [i umezeala. S-ar fi strâns, dac\ s-ar fi pu-tut, `n cuvinte. ~ntr-unul singur, s\ se predea, `n el,femeii.“ (Marin\ cu p\s\ri) ~n ~ntoarcereahuliganului, memorialistul invoc\ `n modrepetat un vis halucinant `n care, aflat la elacas\, `n Manhattan, descoper\ c\ brusc toat\lumea vorbe[te române[te f\r\ gre[eal\: portarul,The New York Times, buletinele de [tiri de latelevizor – toate transformate `ntr-o român\f\r\ cusur. Experien]a este cel pu]in derutant\;

impresia r\mâne fals\. ~ntors `n România `n1997 dup\ o absen]\ de 11 ani, el tr\ie[te unuldintre acele rare momente de mântuire: „Cuvin-tele clare aveau `n]eles clar, univoc. Nu des-copeream ambiguitate... Nimeni nu m\ puteadeposeda de coeren]\ [i integritate. Nimeni [inimic, nici chiar visul, dintr-odat\ `mplinit“(~ntoarcerea huliganului).

Astfel de momente sunt pu]ine. Norman `n]e-lege, profund [i concret, c\ ascultarea `nseamn\nu doar s\ ascul]i o limb\, ci [i prin limb\,`nseamn\ s\ o testezi l\sând-o s\ r\sune `nt\cere. Aceast\ ascultare implic\ `ntindere,precum [i intimitate. Aici ([i, a[ spune eu, ori-unde altundeva) `ncercarea de a p\trunde abi-guit\]ile limbajului este atât necesar\, cât [inesfâr[it\. Ascultarea `nseamn\ ascultareaunei pove[ti de sub sau din interiorul ori dinspatele pove[tii, pentru a o spune din nou cuni[te cuvinte mai adev\rate, pentru a `ncercas\ evi]i inevitabilele distorsiuni contextualechiar [i ale celui mai sincer resim]it limbaj.

Studen]ii vin la Norman, marele ascult\tor,s\ `i spun\ povestea vie]ii lor, problemele [isuferin]ele lor. El `mi cunoa[te [i mie toatesecretele [i [tiu c\ acestea sunt `n siguran]\. Cuscriitorii trebuie s\ fii atent când le `ncredin-]ezi secretele tale. Cu Norman ascult\torul, de[ieste scriitor [i povestitor, [i eu, [i studen]ii nesim]im `n siguran]\. De ce? Calitatea scrierilorlui Norman, felul cum abordeaz\ limbajul [i„lumea cuvintelor“ (~ntoarcerea huliganului) –acestea sunt motivele, cred eu. Nefiresc decon[tient de natura nestatornic\ a limbii, eleste alergic la `ntrebuin]area sa gre[it\. Cuvin-tele mele, dac\ s-ar `ntoarce `n povestirile sale,s-ar `ntoarce diferit, `nstr\inate [i `mbog\]itede trecerea lor.


– 192 –


In all of Norman Manea’s stories, I am not sureI have ever encountered the words ‘he said’.Voices follow each other in quick succession,an amazing, intimidating range of voices, theirdialogue unrelieved and unexplained by theinterposition of an all-knowing author. Thenarrator never makes an appearance. We haveto listen carefully to know who is speaking.

The speakers’ dialogue is embedded in atext replete with piled-on lists of events, im-pressions, descriptions, feelings. In this world,tenses and pronominal perspectives shift alar-mingly, memories and present perceptions aremixed up, whole eras can be packed into a nounseries. ‘April dust in his nostrils; starched linen,morning, voices, flames, the rainbow, the clat-ter of promises, the sun blinding you on theswing’ (The Instructor, 82). ‘He awoke, started,confused, in the past. He remembers that hehad once come here with a girl, long ago. Theexplosion of reckless bodies. [...] Their youth:a bloody membrane; the glasslike breaks, thereconciliations; the torture of frail, melancholycannibals; hypocrisy; cruelty; the great feralleap. But his face was lost in the past [...]’(Seascape with Birds, 202).

As readers we, too, grope for orientation in anatmosphere that is often foggy, dizzying ordazzling, without clear direction or visual ortemporal orientation. Even in moments of hap-piness, there is nothing here to let us feel secureamong the uncertainties or absurdities of athreatening, ambivalent world. ‘If it didn’t

seem absurd, if words didn’t make everythingseem incredible, a trick...’ (October, EightO’Clock, 214, 215)

There is a slipperiness endemic to language,to words that are vague, contradictory, ‘unreal’.The vagueness and contradictoriness are partof language from its inception. Its unreality isalso part of its freedom, defines the ‘chimera oflanguage’ (The Hooligan’s Return, 190-91).Linguistic ambiguities are increased by thepresence of more than one language: Roma-nian and German and English, French andYiddish shine through. Those of us who os-cillate between languages are familiar withthese ambiguities, may welcome them. Beyondthese, in Norman’s stories, there is the omni-present false language of Socialist unity, with itsdialects of pretense and deception: ‘Aesopian’language, folded back upon itself in the ‘the so-cialism of generalized suspicion’ (Hooligan, 27).

I became interested in the phenomenon oflistening in Norman’s writing. What I found isthat listening, when it is invoked, frequentlyends not in sound, but in silence. This silence,I believe, is one of the secrets of Norman’swork. It is the silence that allows him to listenpast the lie and the deception of words, theirinadequacy, which, paradoxically, explodes inverbal fireworks in his writing.

‘He would rather not listen; let the wordsdissolve the very moment they arise, or let thembe repulsed by the impenetrable shield of hisabsent body, or immediately incorporated and

– 193 –


Norman the Listener SSuussaann HH.. GGiilllleeppssiiee

‘Like his landsman Paul Celan, Norman longs, I think, for a language that would be free ofsuch ambiguities and estrangements.’

Susan H. Gillepsie

dissolved, lost in the lazy body of this bitter,apathy-blessed middle age. [...] He cannotfind the strength to recall whether these wordswithout remedy, which were better not repeated,were not in fact his own, torn from inside himby a voice that only seemed alien.’

In another story, The Partition, the liste-ning takes place through the thin wall built todivide a once large and bourgeois apartmentin Socialist Romania. Eavesdropping lends aveneer of authenticity, colored with guilt, tothis listening. We intuit, with a sudden panic,that all listening is guilty – guilty, at a minimum,of simplification. The lies among which welive – whether lies of Socialist Unity or ofcapitalist consumption – falsify the translationof any experience into words.

In Norman’s memoir, The Hooligan’s Return,there is a remarkable chapter in which his agedmother is hospitalized for an eye operation.Sharing a bed with her daughter-in-law, shesinks, at night, into Yiddish, a ‘nomadic lan-guage’. It is not only the language of a wan-dering people, but language that itself hasbecome wandering, dislocated – homeless.Translation, in the broadest sense, is every-where. Omnipresent and necessarily unreli-able, it is all we have.

Like his landsman Paul Celan, Normanlongs, I think, for a language that would befree of such ambiguities and estrangements.‘The cold and damp were chilling him. Hewould have loved to shrink himself into wordsif he could. Into a single word, and so to sur-render himself to the woman’. (Seascape withBirds, 205) In The Hooligan’s Return, the me-moirist more than once invokes a hallucinatorydream in which, at home in mid-Manhattan,he discovers that everyone is suddenly speakingflawless Romanian: the doorman, The New YorkTimes, the television newscasts all seamlesslytransformed into Romanian. The experience is,to say the least, disorienting; the impressionremains false. Back in Romania in 1997 afteran absence of eleven years, he experiences a

rare moment of redemption: ‘limpid wordshave a limpid, unequivocal meaning. No am-biguity there. [...] Nobody could take awaymy coherence and my wholeness. Nobodyand nothing, not even that dream that hadsuddenly turned into reality’ (Hooligan, 326).

Such moments are few. Norman under-stands, deeply and in the flesh, that listeningmeans listening not only to, but also throughlanguage, means testing it by letting it ringagainst silence. There is spaciousness to thislistening, along with its intimacy. Here (and I would claim everywhere) the attempt to pene-trate language’s ambiguities is both necessaryand endless. Listening means listening for thestory under or inside or behind the story, inorder to tell it again in truer words, to attemptto escape the inescapable contextual distortionsof even the most truly felt language.

Students come to Norman, the great listener,to tell him their life story, their problems andtheir suffering. He knows all my secrets, too,and I know they are safe with him. One shouldbe careful when confessing secrets to writers.With Norman the listener, even though he is awriter and a raconteur, the students and I feelsafe. Why is that? The quality of Norman’swriting, his approach to language and ‘theworld of “words“’ (Hooligan, 156), are thereason, I think. Preternaturally aware of theunreliable nature of language, he is allergic toits misuse. My words, if they came back inhis stories, would return different, estrangedand enriched by their passage.

NOTE: Page references are to October, EightO’Clock (1992, New York, Grove Press) and TheHooligan’s Return. A Memoir (2003, New York,Farrar, Straus and Giroux).

– 195 –


Desen de Devis Grebu

Drawing by Devis Grebu

– 197 –


Constat\m `n cor, cu o bucurie armonios-festiv\(„melting/potata“ `ntre hotarele acestor paginifo[nind omagial), c\ Norman – probabil – sebucur\ `n sinea sa de o vârst\ simbolic [i estetic„rotunjit\“; a mea, hélas!... a devenit „simetric\“ –77 (fac [i eu ce pot, nu mi-o lua]i `n nume der\u). {i b\nuiesc c\ `n numele ei mi-a fost re-zervat\ o partitur\ „solo“, pe care voi `ncercas-o fredonez cu cât mai pu]ine rat\ri falsate.

Ne leag\ o scurt\ – oare...? (la New York,de-a lungul ultimilor ani, probabil ’92 – ’96,petrecu]i de mine `ntre zgârie-nori, `nainte de am\ re`ntoarce pe meleagurile zgârie-brânzei –fran]uze[ti, of course) – rela]ie de – s\-i zicem –„troc“: de experien]e, de opinii, de gusturi, deidei, de valori [i/sau principii, de frustr\ri, deadmira]ie... de... [.a.m.d. Nu `ndr\znesc s\adaug (cum mi-a[ dori) de prietenie, pân\ cenu voi ob]ine acordul s\u (`n scris).

Dac\ memoria nu-mi joac\ feste tocmaiacum/aci – când am nevoie documentar\ deea –, cred c\ ne-am cunoscut printr-un prietencomun – Harry From – stabilit [i el la NY,`ntre timp decedat (s\-i fie ]\râna u[oar\). Dup\

un timp de „socializare“ `n comun, am trecutla „rela]ii“ bilaterale bazate pe „chemistry“ [idiverse interese cultural-literar-artistic-etnic-cutumiere. Norman `[i tr\ia s\pt\mâna, predândcursuri de literatur\ prin meleaguri mustind `nc\arome Woodstock-ate [i `[i „petrecea“ week-endul `n familie sau/[i cu pretini/[i/to’arisci.Printre care – cu fal\ nedisimulat\ – m\ num\ram(din când `n când, prea rar) [i eu. I-am nutrit`ntotdeauna, f\r\ pierderi de intensitate caurmare a desp\r]irii geografice impuse deobliga]iile supravie]uirii, o admira]ie superla-tiv\, pentru valoarea sa intelectual-literar\combinat\ cu calit\]i evidente ([i `mp\rt\[ite)moral-filosofice. În virtutea acestei sincereadmira]ii, `mboldit de ea pentru a `ndr\zniacest „pas `nainte“– dintr-un front neclintitaliniat al atâtor somit\]i ale „domeniului“ `npozi]ia de drep]i – `i urez lui Norman fericire,s\n\tate, bun\stare, voio[ie, dar – mai ales –dârzenie pentru a-[i continua drumul luptei `nnumele drept\]ii [i adev\rului. Sper s\ avemmai dese prilejuri de a ne `ntâlni.

S\ ne tr\ie[ti [i s\-nflore[ti proasp\t/creator.

Cu Norman, la ai s\i 75 de ani `mplini]i & s\rb\tori]i (câteva cuvinte desenate f\r\ `ndemânare, de un sincer „pal/copain’’)

DDeevviiss GGrreebbuu

– 198 –


Devis Grebu: S-ar putea s\ fiu cel mai exper-imentat `n ale exilului de aici. Am p\r\sit ]arala `nceputul anilor ’60. Nu mai puteam s\respir, m\ sufocam. M-am repatriat `n 2001 [inu regret. S`nt un multiexilat. Am p\r\sitRomânia `n unicul mod `n care se puteap\r\si. Pe vremea aceea nici nu existaupa[apoarte, erau ni[te certificate de c\l\torie,ca pentru animale. Eram deja un artist cunos-cut, am fost cel mai tân\r membru al UAP,dat afar\ din motive „`ndeob[te cunoscute“.Am p\r\sit ]ara cu familia, pretextând c\plec\m `n Israel, unde nu aveam pe nimeni.Aveam leg\turi `n Italia, Fran]a, inten]ionams\ r\mânem acolo. Am plecat cu o so]ie, doip\rin]i [i doi copii. Ajungând `n Italia, amfost emo]ionat, fericit, am s\rutat solul aero-portului din Napoli. Inten]ionam s\ ne stabil-im ori `n Italia, ori la Paris. Am hot\rât totu[is\ mergem `n Israel. Am fost primit foarter\u. Evreii din România nu se bucurau de oprea bun\ reputa]ie, nu [tiu dac\ acumlucrurile s-au schimbat. Am realizat totu[i ocarier\ rapid\ acolo. Din Israel, la `nceputulanilor ’70, am plecat `n Fran]a. Nu era preabine s\ vii din Israel, era epoca embargoului.Din israelian foarte r\u primit `n Fran]a, am

devenit cet\]ean francez repede. Am plecatdup\ aceea `n SUA, ca francez. În SUA„French“ nu era prea bine. În ’98 m-amre`ntors `n Fran]a. Multiplu exilat, de fiecaredat\ primit r\u. Am fost primit `n Israel carom=n r\u, `n Fran]a ca israelian r\u, `nStatele Unite ca francez r\u, dup\ aceea,iar\[i `n Fran]a, ca american r\u. Din 2001 m-am `ntors `n România. Nu pot s\ spun c\`ntâlnesc numai oameni simpatici dup\`ntoarcerea mea, dar m\ descurc.

Norman Manea: Dac\ ar fi s\ `nchei `ntr-unfel, v\ fac cadou un citat, fire[te, pesimist [idescurajant, dar pe care unii s-ar putea s\-linterpreteze ca pe o stenic\ stimulare. Este uncitat care-mi place mult, dintr-un c\lug\r saxon,Hugo de St. Victor, din secolul al XII-lea:„Cine-[i consider\ patria dulce este doar untandru `ncep\tor. Cel pentru care orice soleste ca [i cel natal este deja puternic. Perfecteste `ns\ doar cel pentru care `ntreaga lumeeste un loc str\in“.

Reuniunea de la GDS `n jurul lui Norman Manea,pe tema „exilului“, relatat\ `n revista 22, aprilie 2008

Exilul multiplu DDeevviiss GGrreebbuu îînn ddiiaalloogg ccuu NNoorrmmaann MMaanneeaa

– 199 –


In chorus, we take note, with harmonious-festivejoy (the ‘melting-potted’ joy that rustles in ho-mage within the bounds of these pages), thatNorman is – probably – rejoicing in his mindat having attained a symbolic and aesthetically‘rounded’ age. Mine, alas, has become ‘sym-metrical’: 77 (I do what I can, please don’t thinkpoorly of me). And I suspect that in his nameI have been reserved a ‘solo’ part, which I shalltry to hum with as few false notes as I can.We are bound by a brief relationship (was itreally brief? It was in New York, during thefinal years I spent among the skyscrapers, pro-bably between ’92 and ’96, before my returnto the climes of the cheesescrapers, French ones,of course). It was a ‘exchange’ relationship,one might say: an exchange of experiences,opinions, tastes, ideas, values and/or princi-ples, frustrations, admirations, and so on andso forth. I shall not venture to add (as I wouldwish) that it was also an exchange of friend-ship, until I obtain his consent (in writing).

If my memory is not playing tricks on meprecisely here/now – when I need it for docu-mentary purposes – I think we met via a mutu-al friend, Harry From, who also lived in New York,but who has since passed away (may the earth

rest lightly on him). After a period of mutual‘socialisation’, we moved on to bilateral ‘rela-tions’ based on ‘chemistry’ and various cultural/literary/artistic/ethnic/traditional interests.Norman used to live out his weekdays teachingliterature courses in climes still redolent of Wood-stock and ‘spent’ his weekends en famille and/orwith friends/comrades. I shall not disguise mypride in having numbered among them (from timeto time, all too rarely). Without any reductionin intensity resulting from the geographicalseparation imposed by the necessities of sur-vival, I have always nurtured a superlative ad-miration for his intellectual-literary value thatcombines with his obvious (and shared) moral-phi-losophical qualities. By virtue of this sincereadmiration, impelled by it to venture to takethis ‘step forward’ – out of the unbudginglyaligned ranks of so many celebrities from the‘domain’, all standing to attention – I wishNorman happiness, health, prosperity, cheerand above all the steadfastness to continuealong the road of the struggle in the name ofjustice and truth. I hope that we shall havemore frequent occasions to meet.

Long may you live and flourishfreshly/creatively.

With Norman, on theoccasion of his seventy-fifth birthday celebration(a few words clumsily sketched by a sincere ’pal/copain )

DDeevviiss GGrreebbuu

’

‘I have always nurtured a superlativeadmiration for his intellectual-literary valuethat combines with his obvious (and shared)moral-philosophical qualities. ’

Devis Grebu

Devis Grebu: I may well be the person mostexperienced in the ways of exile here today. I left the country at the beginning of the ’60s.I could no longer breathe. I was suffocating. I was repatriated in 2001 and I don’t regret it. I ama multi-exile. I left Romania in the only waypossible at the time. Back then, there were nopassports, only travel dockets, the same as forcattle. I was already a well-known artist. I wasthe youngest member of the Union of GraphicArtists, kicked out for ‘generally known’ rea-sons. I left the country with my family, on thepretext that we were going to Israel, where wedidn’t know anyone. We had connexions inItaly and France, and we intended to remainthere. I left with a wife, two parents and twochildren. Arriving in Italy, I was excited,happy. I kissed the ground at the airport inNaples. We were intending to settle either inItaly or in Paris. Nevertheless, we decided togo to Israel. We received a very poor wel-come. Jews from Romania did not enjoy avery good reputation. I don’t know whetherthings have changed. All the same, I quicklymade a career for myself there. At the begin-ning of the ’70s we left Israel and went toFrance. It wasn’t a very good thing to becoming from Israel. It was at the time of theembargo. From being an Israeli given a very

poor welcome in France, I soon became aFrench citizen. After that, I went to theUnited States, as a Frenchman. In the UnitedStates, being French wasn’t very good. In’98, I returned to France. A multiple exile,given a poor welcome every time. In Israel I wasreceived as a bad Romanian, in France as a badIsraeli, in the United States as a bad Frenchman,and in France again as a bad American. Since2001, I have been back in Romania. I can’t saythat I have met only agreeable people since myreturn, but I get along.

Norman Manea: By way of conclusion, I shallgive you the gift of a quotation, a pessimisticand discouraging one, naturally, but whichsome people might interpret as an invigora-ting tonic. It is a quotation which I like verymuch, from a twelfth-century Saxon monk,Hugo of St. Victor: ‘The person who finds hishomeland sweet is still a tender beginner; heto whom every soil is as his native one isalready strong; but he is perfect to whom theentire world is a foreign soil.’

The Group for Social Dialogue discussion withNorman Manea on the theme of ‘exile’, asrecounted in 22 magazine, April 2008


– 201 –


The multi-exileDDeevviiss GGrreebbuu iinn ddiiaalloogguuee ccuu NNoorrmmaann MMaanneeaa

– 203 –


Exist\ un pasaj celebru `n Talmud: „~ntr-un locunde nu sunt oameni, str\duie[te-te s\ fii om“.Norman Manea se str\duie[te mereu s\ fie oastfel de persoan\, cu decen]\, omenie [i `n]e-lepciune. El cinste[te individul, `n lucr\rile [irela]iile sale. Aceast\ sensibilitate se opune for-]elor `ntunecate ale fascismului [i comunismuluicare i-au `nv\luit mare parte din via]\. ~ns\ vorbele[i faptele sale au fost o lumin\ c\l\uzitoare

prin aceast\ `ntunecime. Iar arta sa are rolulde a lumina mintea [i a `n\l]a sufletul.

NOT|: citatul din Talmud, atribuit marelui`n]elept [i umanist rabinic Hillel.Pirke Avot, capitolul 2, mi[na 5„~ntr-un loc unde nu sunt oameni, str\duie[te-tes\ fii om.“

„~ntr-un loc unde nu sunt oameni,str\duie[te-te s\ fii om JJeerroommee GGrrooooppmmaann


„

‘“In a place where there are no men, strive tobe a man.“ Norman Manea always strives tobe such a person, with decency, humanity,and wisdom.’

Jerome Groopman

– 205 –


’In a place where thereare no men, strive to be a man’ JJeerroommee GGrrooooppmmaann

There is a famous passage in the Talmud: ‘Ina place where there are no men, strive to be aman.’ Norman Manea always strives to besuch a person, with decency, humanity, andwisdom. He honors the individual, in hiswork and relationships. This sensibility op-poses the dark forces of fascism and commu-nism that shrouded much of his life. But hiswords and actions served as a beacon through

that darkness. And his art serves to illuminatethe mind and lift the soul.

NOTE: The citation from the Talmudic passage,attributed to the great rabbinic sage andhumanist, Hillel.Pirke Avot, Chapter 2, Mishnah 5.‘In a place where there are no men, strive to bea man.’

– 207 –


Treceam prin p\ienjeni[ul de copaci dezgoli]i care se ]ese la un cap\t al parculuidin ora[ul nostru adoptiv, un vast imperiude nori cre[tea deasupra.

P\s\rile se chemau,pu]in disperat, ni s-a p\rut nou\,în ultimele sclipiri de lumin\ ale zilei de iarn\,iar doi bicicli[ti au trecut zumz\ind de partea cealalt\a p\durii, gr\bindu-se s\ scape de întuneric.

Am vorbit despre România anilor ’80:mania dictatorilor, „demonulsadismului [i al stupidit\]ii înc\p\]ânate“,lupta cu cenzura, re]eauade informatori care lega lumea aceea îndep\rtat\ –„ce a fost comunismul pân\ la urm\?“ a întrebat un student –lume de terori medievale [i suferin]e moderne.

Cât de repede s-a l\sat noaptea peste noiprintre copacii drep]ica ni[te solda]i care ne t\iau calea –indiferen]i, nemi[ca]i.

Chiar [i p\s\rile au fugitde întunericul pr\d\tor.

Nu vedeam prea bine, dar, spre norocul nostru,o raz\ palid\ de lun\ s-a strecuratprintre crengi [i ne-am întors pe dibuitepe poteca ce ne ducea acas\.

Atunci am v\zut doi clovni albicu pantaloni [i c\m\[i supradimensionate –între dou\ vârste, ca [i noi, fra]ii no[tri gulera]i, picta]i –mergând gr\bi]i prin parc, spre munc\.

[Traducere din limba englez\ de Ioana Aneci [i Dan Sociu]

Doi clovni (pentru Norman Manea)

EEddwwaarrdd HHiirrsscchh

‘Even the birds fledthe predatory darkness.’

Edward Hirsch

We walked through a web of bare treesthat spiders one end of the parkin our adopted city, a vast empireof clouds thickening overhead.

Birds called to each other,a little desperately, it seemed to us,in the last late light of a winter day,and two bicyclists whirred on the other sideof the woods, eager to beat the dark.

We talked about Romania in the 1980s:the mania of dictators, ‘the demonof sadism and stubborn stupidity,’the struggle with censors, the networkof informers that wired that faraway world –‘what was communism anyway?’ a student asked –of medieval terrors, modern sufferings.

How quickly the night fell on usthrough the trees, which stood at attentionlike soldiers blocking the way –indifferent, motionless.

Even the birds fledthe predatory darkness.

We couldn’t see much, but luckilya faint needle of moonlight threaded the branches and we stumbled backonto the path to circle home.

That’s when we saw two white clownswearing oversize pants and shirts –our ruffled, middle-aged, smeared brothers –rushing across the park to work.

Two clowns(for Norman Manea)

EEddwwaarrdd HHiirrsscchh

– 209 –


Cu Peter Hutton

With Peter Hutton

– 211 –


L-am v\zut prima dat\ pe Norman Manea din fe-reastra buc\t\riei mele, `ntr-o dup\-amiaz\ de toam-n\, cu aproape dou\zeci de ani `n urm\, coborândaleea Kappa spre Biblioteca Kellog a colegiu-lui. L-am z\rit doar trecând prin fa]a ferestrei,a[a c\ n-am surprins chipul. Gulerul paltonuluinegru era ridicat. Mâinile erau `n buzunare [ipurta o [apc\ de lân\. L-am urm\rit pân\ adisp\rut `n josul aleii. Era ceva copil\resc `nfelul cum se mi[ca. L-am observat din nou,câteva s\pt\mâni dup\ aceea, pe AnnandaleRoad, `n timp ce treceam cu ma[ina. Mi-amspus c\ arat\ cam trist. Cineva mi-a relatat c\era un scriitor disident din România.

Câteva luni au trecut. L-am v\zut din nou,mergând `n fa]a mea, când m\ `ntorceam dela cursuri. L-am ajuns [i m-am recomandat.

Era foarte prietenos [i am vorbit pu]in desprevia]a `n campus. Spunea c\ locuie[te `n casaocupat\ `naintea sa de Mary McCarthy. I-amm\rturisit c\ am petrecut ceva timp `n Europa deEst `n anii ’80 [i c\ am f\cut film `n Ungaria.L-am `ntrebat dac\ ar vrea s\ lu\m prânzul`mpreun\ [i mi-a r\spuns c\ i-ar face pl\cere.Am continuat plimbarea. Când am trecut pelâng\ paji[tea deschis\ de-a lungul aleii, s-aoprit [i [i-a pus mâna pe bra]ul meu. Privin-du-m\ cu seriozitate, a spus: „Peter, a[ vrea s\te `ntreb ceva. V\d c\ e un cimitir pe colin\,lâng\ casa pre[edintelui“. „Da“, am r\spuns,„[i ce-i cu asta?“. A t\cut pentru o clip\ [i aspus: „Crezi c\ pot fi `nmormântat acolo?“.

[Traducere din limba englez\ de Nina Montalvo]

Norman Manea – o prim\ impresie PPeetteerr HHuuttttoonn

‘Looking at me in a serious manner, he said,‘‘Peter, I'd like to ask you a question. I see thatthere is a cemetery on the hill next to yourpresident's house’’. ‘‘Yes,’’ I said, ‘‘what aboutit?’’ He paused for a moment and said, ‘‘Doyou think I can be buried there?’’.’

Peter Hutton

I first saw Norman Manea from my kitchenwindow one autumn afternoon almost 20years ago, walking down Kappa Path towardthe Kellogg library. I only saw him after hepassed the window, so I didn’t get a glimpseof his face. The collar on his dark coat wasturned up. His hands were in his pockets, andhe was wearing a wool cap. I watched until hedisappeared down the path. There was some-thing childlike about the way he moved. I no-ticed him again a few weeks later, walkingalone down Annandale road as I drove past inmy car. I thought to myself at the time that helooked a little sad. Someone told me he was adissident writer from Romania.

Several months passed. I saw him again,walking ahead of me as I was returning home

from classes one afternoon. I caught up with himand introduced myself. He was very friendly,and we talked a bit about living on campus. Hesaid he was staying in the house that was onceoccupied by Mary McCarthy. I mentioned thatI had spent time in Eastern Europe in the early’80s and had done some film work in Hungary.I asked if he would like to have lunch someday,and he said he’d enjoy that. We continued towalk. As we passed through the open meadowalong the path, he stopped and placed his handon my arm. Looking at me in a serious manner,he said, ‘Peter, I’d like to ask you a question.I see that there is a cemetery on the hill next toyour president’s house.’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘whatabout it?’ He paused for a moment and said,‘Do you think I can be buried there?’

A first impresionPPeetteerr HHuuttttoonn

– 213 –


Ilustra]ie de pe coperta volumului Curierul de Est. Dialog cu EdwardKanterian, publicat de Polirom `n 2010

Edward Kanterian and Norman Manea, front cover illustration for thevolume The Eastern Messenger. Dialogue with Edward Kanterian,published by Polirom in 2010

– 215 –


C\tre sfâr[itul dialogului nostru din Curierulde Est amintesc o cuvântare ]inut\ de NormanManea la New York, având ca subiect Bucovina[i Paul Celan1. Unul din subiectele principaleale acestei cuvânt\ri este un motiv esen]ial `nopera lui Manea, supravie]uirea, aici `n]eleas\mai ales ca supravie]uirea limbii. Sursa for]eilirice a lui Celan este explicat\ de Manea prin„limbajul intranzitiv, expresia codificat\ [i ade-sea ermetic\ a solitudinii care supravie]uie[te [igermineaz\ [i `n via]a interioar\ a posterit\]ii“,iar poezia lui Celan este descris\ ca „un lamentopregnant, chiar dac\, uneori, fragmentat sausurdinizat“, o „ultim\ [i disperat\ `ncercare dea da via]\ [i expresie spectrului mut [i ars alco[marului `nsu[i“.

~n Curierul de Est motivul reapare, `n le-g\tur\ cu o discu]ie despre Celan [i Kafka.Manea scrie: „R\v\[irea produs\ de cataclismulantievreiesc poten]a fisura, inclusiv fisura limbii,frânt\ [i fragmentat\ [i vie]uind incert `n ran\,[i care nu mai `ng\duia decât o reg\sire [i re-`nsufle]ire tot par]ial\, cum se [i cuvenea. Reg\-sirea [i re`nsufle]irea limbii avariate, torsionate,fracturate, murd\rite [i `mbog\]irea ei prinsuferin]a acestei damn\ri [...]“2.

Despre supravie]uirea limbii `n posteritateaco[marului a scris [i Celan. ~ntr-o cuvântare din

1958 (Bremer Rede) g\sim un pasaj des citat, re-luat `n Curierul de Est, `n care Celan ne spunec\ ea, limba, „a r\mas nepierdut\, da, `n ciudaa toate. Dar a trebuit s\ treac\ prin propria eilips\ de r\spunsuri, s\ treac\ prin teribila amu-]ire, s\ str\bat\ miile de `ntunecate cuvânt\riaduc\toare de moarte; dar ea a trecut prin aceste`ntâmpl\ri. A trecut [i a putut s\ reapar\ «`mbo-g\]it\» [angereichert] de toate“3.

La ambii autori reg\sim acela[i motiv, su-pravie]uirea limbii `n posteritatea co[marului.Dac\ `ns\ limba, limba poetului, a trecut printeribila amu]ire, cum a reu[it ea s\-[i recapeteglasul? Nu `nseamn\ c\ ceea ce o amu]ise atrecut, este acum `n trecut? Nu `nseamn\ c\co[marul a trecut? Co[marul nu este atotpu-ternic, atotcuprinz\tor. {i limba nu a amu]itcomplet, chiar `n timpul co[marului, ci numaia t\cut, pentru ca s\ poat\ s\ vorbeasc\ din nou,odat\ cu trecerea co[marului. C\ci dac\ ar fiamu]it complet, limba nu ar mai fi existat, [iatunci nu ar fi putut s\-[i ridice din nou glasul,nu ar fi fost acea limb\ despre care Celan nespune c\ a reap\rut, `mbog\]it\ de cele `n-tâmplate. {i cum ar fi fost `mbog\]it\, fiindcomplet amu]it\?

Reg\sim aici o problem\ general\: cumpoate o limb\ s\ exprime inexprimabilul? {i

Co[marul [i dialogul la Paul Celan [i Norman ManeaEEddwwaarrdd KKaanntteerriiaann

dac\ o limb\ poate s\ exprime ceva, acest cevanu are cum s\ fie inexprimabil. Ori inexprima-bilul este absolut, [i atunci limba, chiar [i ceapoetic\, nu are acces (dar atunci cum putem [titocmai acest lucru?), ori ea `l ajunge din urm\,[i atunci inexprimabilul nu are cum s\ fie ab-solut [i complet ermetic. Dimpotriv\, limba,cel pu]in `n unele din multiplele ei forme, vafi `n stare s\ treac\ [i prin zonele inexprima-bilului [i, exprimându-l, s\-l transcead\. Dartranscenderea nu `l neag\, nu `l reduce la cevacomunicabil? Cât de `ntunecat mai este atuncico[marul? Nu-l ilumineaz\ limba, exprimân-du-l? Nu `l face mai suportabil? Nu iese eadin aceast\ `ncercare „re`nsufle]it\“ (Manea)[i „`mbog\]it\“(Celan)?

Cuvântul utilizat de Celan este „angereichert“[i este scris `n ghilimele. Este tradus aici ca„`mbog\]it“, dar poate s\ `nsemne [i „saturat“.Când vorbim de `mbog\]ire, ne gândim la osporire pozitiv\, de exemplu, financiar\ sauspiritual\, `ns\ cuvântul este folosit [i `n altecontexte, bun\oar\ `n „`mbog\]irea uraniului“(„Urananreicherung“), când se izoleaz\ [i se`nmul]e[te un izotop instabil al uraniului (U-235),care poate avea o for]\ distrug\toare. ~mbog\-]irea presupune atunci nu numai o activitate alimbii, dar [i asupra limbii. {i nu este neap\rato sporire pozitiv\.

Care a fost aceast\ „activitate“? La Maneaea pare s\ fie premerg\toare co[marului („tân-guirea `ncifrat\ dar vibrant\, dintr-un alt timp [idintr-o alt\ lume“), articulat\ `n posteritatea lui(„solitudinii care supravietuie[te [i germineaz\[i `n via]a interioar\ a posterit\]ii“). La Celan„activitatea“ este una contemporan\ co[marului,„str\baterea prin miile de `ntunecate cuvânt\riaduc\toare de moarte“. Aceast\ formul\ pare s\sugereze c\ am avea de-a face cu dou\ limbi,limba care str\bate cuvânt\rile aduc\toare demoarte [i limba `n care aceste cuvânt\ri suntformulate, adic\ limba care a adus co[marul.Atunci saturarea sau `mbog\]irea primei limbi arconsta `n ad\ugarea unor elemente din limbaa doua la prima limb\; nu am avea decât o

`nmul]ire extern\, a[a cum unui [ir de m\rgele i-am mai ad\uga dou\ perle negre. {irul origi-nal are putea fi ref\cut dac\ am scoate acestedou\ perle. La fel limba original\, de dinain-tea co[marului, „dintr-o alt\ lume“, ar putea firef\cut\ prin sustragerea elementelor limbiicare a adus co[marul.

{tim bine `ns\ c\ nici Celan, nici Manea nu se refer\ la dou\ limbi, ci la una [i aceea[i.Limba matern\, limba mamei `n cazul primului,germana – limba uciga[ilor mamei sale, totgermana. Limba familiei deportate `n Trans-nistria, inclusiv a autorului, pe atunci copil,româna – limba solda]ilor care i-au deportat,tot româna. ~n ambele cazuri, limba a trecut prin„cuvânt\ri“ de moarte, adic\ tot timpul conti-nuitatea limbii a fost garantat\, ea nu a amu]itcomplet, ci a fost vorbit\ de uciga[i [i, `n felulacesta, `n cuvânt\rile lor, prin [i `n aceast\„activitate“ limba a amu]it: germana `ntr-uncaz, româna `ntr-altul. „~mbog\]irea“ limbii lacare se refer\ Celan presupune atunci [i o`ns\r\cire. Datoria limbajului poetic este s\exprime aceast\ `ns\r\cire, s\ [i-l asume pân\`n miezul s\u. ~n a[a fel cicatrizat [i `nsemnatel o s\ poat\ s\ ne vorbeasc\ din nou, purtândurma co[marului, f\r\ s\-l ilumineze.

Ar rezolva acest argument paradoxul articu-l\rii co[marului inexprimabil? Poate c\ da –dar numai prin prezentarea unui al paradox,al `mbog\]irii-`ns\r\cirii.

Istoricii [i criticii literari `nc\ nu ne-au datanalize semantice, stilistice [i poetologice de-taliate despre aceast\ `mbog\]ire-`ns\r\cire alimbii române, despre cum se manifest\ limbaromân\ sub aceste dou\ aspecte [i cum se `m-bin\ ele `n opera literar\ a lui Norman Manea,cu toate c\ scriitorul a insistat de multe ori c\limba român\ `l define[te `n mod esen]ial [i c\mai ales co[marul, ca „marea tem\ `nnegurat\a multor scriitori evrei din Bucovina, [...] nulipse[te nici `n opera mea“ (Bucovina). CumManea `nsu[i vede o `nrudire `ntre el [i Celan4,putem `ncerca o aprofundare a problemei `nopera lui Celan, sugerând astfel un posibil

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model pentru criticii literari `n abordarea ope-rei lui Manea, f\r\ a face abstrac]ie de faptulc\ exist\ [i multe diferen]e fundamentale `ntrecei doi (cum ar fi numai faptul c\ unul estepoet, iar cel\lalt romancier [i nuvelist).

Celan a `mpletit cele dou\ aspecte ale uneia[i acelea[i limbi `n diferite feluri `n corpusuls\u poetic. Aleg dou\ exemple, unul timpuriu [iunul târziu. ~n poezia Nähe der Gräber, scris\`nc\ `n timpul r\zboiului (1944), citim: „Kenntnoch das Wasser des südlichen Bug/ Mutter,die Welle, die Wunden dir schlug?/ Weißnoch das Feld mit den Mühlen inmitten,/ Wieleise dein Herz deine Engel gelitten?/ Kannkeine der Espen mehr, keine der Weiden/ denKummer dir nehmen, den Trost dir bereiten?[...] Und duldest du, Mutter, wie einst auchdaheim/ den leisen, den deutschen, den schmer-zlichen Reim?“5. Poezia este scris\ `ntr-un stiltradi]ional, rimat\, cu referin]e la scene idilicede natur\ („Mühlen“/„moar\“, „Espe“/„plop“,„Weiden“/„câmpie“) [i la poezia clasic\ ger-man\, folosindu-se de cuvintele mult `ntrebu-in]ate de aceasta, cum ar fi „daheim“/„acas\“,„schmerzlich“/„dureros“, dar mai ales acel„leise“/„t\cut“ folosit de romantici, de unEichendorff prin excelen]\, care l-a `mbinat `npoezia Die Nachtblume (1837) cu „Wellen-schlagen“, adic\ cu loviturile line de valuri aleimagina]iei romantice: „Schließ ich nun auchHerz und Mund,/ Die so gern den Sternen kla-gen:/ Leise doch im Herzensgrund/ Bleibt daslinde Wellenschlagen“6.

Acelea[i „valuri“ se transform\ la Celan `nlovituri, provocând r\nile mamei („die Welle,die Wunden dir schlug“). Limba poeziei ger-mane este `nc\ intact\, melancolia romantic\se mai resimte `nc\, [i totu[i, felul `n care cu-noscutele sintagme sunt `mbinate nu mai ]inede universul lui Eichendorff. Valurile carer\nesc nu mai au cum s\ fie line („linde“), numai apar]in nici m\car acelea[i lumi fizice,c\ci despre ce fel de ap\ vorbim `n fond?Ultima strof\ trece definitiv dincolo de roman-tism. ~n ea poetul se apleac\ asupra limbajului

romantic `nsu[i, `ngânându-l, ca un ecou dintrecut (un fel de echoic use, cum `l numesclingvi[tii), din trecutul mamei evreice carecultiva limba german\ acas\ („daheim“) [i decare aceast\ limb\ s-a desprins (oare total?),ca ceva insuportabil („dulden“), nu atât pen-tru mama deja moart\, cât pentru poetul-fiucare scrie `n aceast\ limb\, despre aceast\limb\ [i `mpotriva acestei limbi.

~n acest poem timpuriu identific\m deja uneledintre motivele principale ale operei lui Celan,mama [i creaturalitatea („Kreatürlichkeit“),memoria mor]ilor [i expresia ei poetic\, vinagerman\ [i continuitatea germanei.

Plecând de la aceast\ analiz\, o posibil\ su-gestie `n leg\tur\ cu opera lui Norman Maneaar fi felul `n care limba literaturii clasice ro-mâne[ti `[i g\se[te ecoul stins `n proza sa, [ise `mbin\ `n ea motivele co[marului, urm\rite[i de Celan. Unde [i cum reapare, de exemplu,un Ion Creang\, ale c\rui basme Manea le-acitit imediat dup\ `ntoarcerea din lag\rul dinTransnistria, o lectur\ pe care el o descrie ca„~ntâlnire magic\, imersie `n fantasticul limbii.Clipa decisiv\, cred, pentru tot ce m-a ]inut,ulterior, legat de citit [i de scris“7? Cum estereflectat la nivel semantic co[marul, bun\oar\`n nuvelele din Octombrie, ora opt (1981)?

Pentru un posibil r\spuns, este poate util\o discu]ie despre felul `n care Celan [i-a dez-voltat mai târziu poezia. Dac\ `n Nähe der Gräberco[marul este reflectat prin limba poeziei clasicegermane (a[a cum [i un alt poet bucovineandin acea[i genera]ie, Moses Rosenkranz, acontinuat s\ fac\ `n toat\ opera sa), constat\mcu timpul o radicalizare a articul\rii, bun\oar\`n poemul Tübingen, Jänner (1961): „ZurBlindheit über-/ redete Augen./ Ihre – ’ein/ Rätselist Rein-/ entsprungenes’–, ihre/ Erinnerungan/ schwimmende Hölderlintürme, möwen-/umschwirrt./ [...]/ Käme,/ käme ein Mensch,/käme ein Mensch zur Welt, heute, mit/ demLichtbart der/ Patriarchen: er dürfte,/ spräch er vondieser/ Zeit, er/ dürfte/ nur lallen und lallen,/immer-, immer-/ zuzu./“ (Pallaksch. Pallaksch.)8.

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Avem [i aici o referire la poezia clasic\german\, ba chiar un citat, faimosul fragmentdin imnul lui Hölderlin Der Rhein (1801), „EinRätsel ist Reinentsprungenes“, care la Höl-derlin continu\ cu „Auch/ Der Gesang kaumdarf es enthüllen“. Misterul aceluia n\scut `npuritate, pe care nici cântecul nu are voie s\-ldezv\luie prea mult, apare la Celan numai caun citat, aproape ironizat, c\ci despre ce mis-ter [i puritate mai poate fi vorba, dat fiind c\ne afl\m `n... ianuarie („Jänner“)? Adic\, `nluna `n care nu numai poezia a fost scris\,dup\ o vizit\ la Tübingen, dar [i luna, chiarziua, 20 ianuarie, cu care se deschide cunos-cuta povestire a lui Georg Büchner Lenz (1835)despre poetul J.M.R. Lenz („Den 20. Jännerging Lenz durchs Gebirg“ – „Pe 20 ianuarieLenz a mers la munte“), [i el, ca Hölderlin,`nnebunit, g\sit mort pe strad\ `n Moscova `n1792. Acest 20 ianuarie, `nceput de referin]\pentru literatura german\, este [i ziua unui alt`nceput de referin]\: conferin]a de la Wannsee(1942), `nceputul unui co[mar despre careCelan [tia foarte mult, din proprie experien]\,dar [i din cercet\rile istoricilor9.

Dac\ `n Der Rhein orbii sunt fii zeilor („DieBlindesten aber sind Göttersöhne“), la Celannu mai este vorba decât de ochii poetului careeste el `nsu[i, supus prin limb\, orbirii („ZurBlindheit überredete Augen“). Pasajul dinHölderlin este, pentru poetul prezent, numaiun citat, un reflex vechi, ca [i memoria tur-nurilor lui Hölderlin. Dac\ ar veni un om acum,unul adev\rat, adic\ unul din categoria per-sonajelor biblice cu b\rbi iluminate („mit/ demLichtbart der/ Patriarchen“), [i ne-ar vorbi des-pre timpul nostru, atunci el nu ne-ar dezv\luinimic din misterul pur [i sfânt, ci numai ar bol-borosi („lallen“, „immerzuzu“). {i ca un felde quod erat demonstrandum Celan `l citeaz\din nou pe Hölderlin, de data asta din perioa-da târzie, `n care poetul `[i pierduse min]ile [ifolosea fraza f\r\ noim\ „Pallaksch“ cum `ivenea, câteodat\ `nsemnând un „Da“, alt\ dat\un „Nu“, de multe ori `ns\ exprimând

istovirea [i incapacitatea de a mai spune saugândi ceva.

~n Tübingen, Jänner Celan nu ne mai ofer\o reflec]ie asupra [i o reflectare a co[maruluicu mijloacele germanei clasice, ci trece pesteea, aproape c\ o calc\ `n picioare, o terfele[te,o bolborose[te. Nu mai intuim nicio urm\ asublimului, a sacrului inexprimabil, ci r\mânemdoar cu „inexprimabilul“ unui biet nebun, unnonsens banal, f\r\ adâncime, dup\ arderea [ipustiirea lumii, precum `n de[ert\ciunile sce-nelor din piesele lui Beckett. Cum scrie `nsu[iManea despre limbajul lui Celan: „Este vorbade amu]irea limbajului nu doar «corupt» dereal [...], ci de-a dreptul ars `n bezna realului.Sufletele amu]ite ale celor ar[i bântuie `nvidul morbid pe care `l str\bate poetul“10. ~nasemenea circumstan]e co[marul nu este in-cantat numai prin ecoul unei faze clasice sauromantice a limbii, ci ajunge pân\ `n prezent,intr\ direct `n poezie, `n limbajul ei, `n `ns\[ino]iunea ei, `n forma dup\ care este compus\.{i o nimice[te.

Revenind la `ntrebarea despre felul `n careeste reflectat co[marul la nivel semantic deManea, cred c\ acest aspect autonimicitor allimbii poetice poate fi `ntâlnit [i la el. Modu-rile `n care apare radicalizarea semantic\ `nopera lui `[i g\sesc multe exemple. Dac\ `nOctombrie, ora opt co[marul este `nc\ articu-lat cu metode literare relativ conven]ionale, `nVizuina (2009), c\ruia i s-a repro[at, cu naivita-te, c\ `i lipse[te „suflul narativ“ pentru a reu[ica „un roman politico-ezoteric“ [i „thrillerintelo“11, de parc\ Norman Manea ar concuracu Dan Brown [i Umberto Eco, autorul adopt\un stil mai fragmentat [i sincopat. Eroii nau-fragiaz\ `n derizoriu, dup\ n\ruirea „fundalu-lui grandios“, cum a scris Ovidiu Pecican12.Dac\ ar fi s\ accept\m analiza acestui criticse pare c\ „beckettianismul“ Vizuinei, o oper\târzie, poate fi comparat cu cele spuse mai susdespre opera târzie a lui Celan. Pecican scrie:

„[...] lumea protagoni[tilor din Vizuina [esteplasat\] `ntr-un provizorat caracterizat de

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autoproiectarea pe un fundal grandios [...] –confruntarea individual\ cu Totalitarismul,eviden]ierea fragilit\]ii fiin]ei `n fa]a Terorii –[i n\ruirea de facto `n derizoriu. Iluzia m\re]ieitragice sucomb\ `n gunoi [...]. Romanul Vizuinaeste o fars\, tot a[a cum titlul lui nu pare s\fie decât o interpretare burlesc\, `n registrubarbarizat, hirsut, degradat dinspre uman c\treanimalier, a toposului pe[terii platoniciene.Putem [ti sigur c\ protagoni[tii, cei mor]i, ca[i cei vii, ai romanului, v\d bine lumea dinjur [i propria lor via]\? ~ngust\, `nfundat\ `ndimensiunea teluric\ – vizuinile se sap\ `np\mânt, nu-i a[a? –, protec]ia `ntunecoas\ decare beneficiaz\ to]i exila]ii c\r]ii le r\pe[teposibilitatea unei bune a[ez\ri [i a realei `n-]elegeri a situa]iilor cu care se confrunt\“.

Avem cu alte cuvinte o tendin]\ spre fars\la ambii autori. Ar fi `ns\ [i diferen]e. Dac\ laCelan tendin]a spre fars\ este un fenomen târziu,ea poate fi g\sit\ la Manea mult mai devreme,cum o dovede[te al treilea s\u roman, Anii deucenicie ai lui August Prostul (1979). O alt\diferen]\ ]ine de co[marul specific (la Maneaad\ugându-se co[marului nazist experien]a co-munismului [i a exilului). ~n plus, o mai ap\-sat\ st\ruire asupra ironicului [i burlescului `lface pe autorul român poate mai pu]in numai unscriitor al co[marului total, ci [i unul al apelului„la rezisten]\ [i rena[tere, f\r\ de care nicivia]a [i nici arta n-ar fi posibile“ („Bucovina“).

La Celan, `n schimb, co[marul apare maisumbru [i de nedep\[it, iar acesta afecteaz\concep]ia lui poetologic\ `ntr-un mod maidramatic. Dup\ cum scrie `n cuvântarea sa DerMeridian (1960), unde este citat\ propozi]ia luiBüchner „Den 20. Jänner ging Lenz durchsGebirg“: „Poemul, ast\zi, dovede[te f\r\ nicio`ndoial\ o puternic\ tendin]\ c\tre amu]ire. El seafirm\/men]ine chiar la marginea lui `nsu[i; secheam\ constant, ca s\ se men]in\, din al s\udeja-trecut [Schon-nicht-mehr] `napoi `n al s\u`nc\-aici [Immer-noch]“. Dar este aceasta o so-lu]ie a paradoxului co[marului inexprimabil?Nu este pozi]ia de mijloc, `ntre t\cerea total\

[i rostirea lucid\, o pozi]ie pe muchie, adic\instabil\, dac\ nu chiar imposibil\?

A cere ca poezia s\ se afle pe o pozi]ie stabil$ori articulare lucid\ ori t\cere inexprimabil$ar `nsemna s\ o separ\m de realitatea fiin]eicare o na[te. Celan scrie `ntr-un fragment ini]ialcompus pentru Der Meridian: „Die Dunkelheitdes Gedichts = die Dunkelheit des Todes. DieMenschen = die Sterblichen. Darum zählt dasGedicht, als das des Todes eingedenkt bleibende,zum Menschlichsten am Menschen“13. ~ntune-cimea poeziei este `ntunecimea mor]ii. Pentruc\ oamenii sunt cei care mor, dar [i cei careomoar\, deci nu sunt pe o pozi]ie „stabil\“.Poezia, ca o amintire a mor]ii, dar [i a crimei,este cel mai uman aspect al umanului. Aceast\viziune a lui Celan, foarte probabil inspirat\din Heidegger14, este continuat\ altfel, poatechiar rescris\, de autorul român, care afirm\, `nCurierul de Est: „Suferin]a nu se `ncheie, obli-gatoriu, `n neagra ei «puritate», `n moarte, ciprintr-o impur\ continuare [i compensa]ie: via]a“15.

~n textul propriu-zis al cuvânt\rii Der Meri-dian mai g\sim `ns\ [i un alt r\spuns, care `iaproprie pe cei doi autori bucovinieni. Celan neexplic\ aici c\ poemul este `nsingurat. Dar else afl\ [i pe drum („unterwegs“), spre un cel\-lalt pe care `l caut\ [i prin care se situeaz\ `nmisterul `ntâlnirii, scris chiar de Celan `n lite-re cursive: das Geheimnis der Begegnung.Paradoxul exprim\rii co[marului `[i g\se[teatunci solu]ia `n misterul `ntâlnirii, dac\ poatefi vorba de o solu]ie. Nu este invocarea unuimister, `n fond, numai un alt fel de a repuneproblema, paradoxul, lipsa de explica]ie? {icare este statutul misterului, dincolo de dimen-siunea metaforic\, la doi autori `n fond seculari?

S\ presupunem totu[i c\ misterul `ntâlniriifundamenteaz\ natura dialogic\ a poeziei. Dia-logul nu are cum s\ fie o pozi]ie stabil\. Esteun „Unterwegssein“, un a-fi-pe-drum (cum arzice Heidegger, pe care Celan l-a citit [i `n]elesmai bine `n unele privin]e decât s-a auto`n]elesgânditorul), [i a spune c\ poezia se afl\ pe o

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pozi]ie instabil\, pe muchie, este un alt fel de aspune c\ ea este prins\ `ntre t\cere [i vorbire,dar [i `ntre o voce [i ascult\torul ei. Poeziatinde c\tre o `ntâlnire `ntre oameni reali, pedrumuri directe [i indirecte („Um-Wege“),drumurile unei voci, moart\ sau vie, c\tre un„Tu“ ascult\tor, drumurile creaturii („Wegeeiner Stimme zu einem wahrnehmenden Du,kreatürliche Wege“). Deja `n Bremer RedeCelan scrisese: „Dat fiind c\ poezia este oform\ a limbajului [Erscheinungsform derSprache] [i de aceea, `n esen]a ei dialogic\, eapoate s\ fie un mesaj `ntr-o sticl\, o sticl\aruncat\ `n credin]a, nu mereu plin\ de maresperan]\, ca o s\ ajung\ la un mal, la un malal inimii [Herzland] poate“.

Acela[i motiv dialogic `l reg\sesc [i laNorman Manea. ~l reg\sesc p=n\ [i `n eseulDincolo de mun]i16, unul dintre cele mai triste[i sumbre texte ale sale, un lamento despre doipoe]i mor]i, unul ucis (gazat), altul sinucis, Ben-jamin Fondane [i Celan, despre soarta evre-iasc\ `n ultimul secol [i p=n\ la urm\ despredestinul ultim al omului, moartea. Glos=nd pemarginea singurului text de proz\ a lui Celan,Gespräch im Gebirg (Convorbire `n mun]i, 1959),`n care se `nt=lnesc doi evrei, evreul Klein [ievreul Groß, sau poate numai umbrele lor pos-tume, Manea abordeaz\ aceste teme f\r\ con-solare prin mediul dialogului, transform=ndu-lpe Klein `n Celan [i pe Groß `n Fondane. Undialog `ntre doi poe]i, nu real, ci imaginat, [ichiar ca imaginat numai un dialog `ntre umbrelelor sau cel mult la nivelul „eului liric“, cea maiintangibil\ fiin]\ `n universul literar. „Disp\ru]i`n focul [i apele catastrofei, cei doi poe]i nu se`ntâlnesc decât prin martiriul at=t de diferit [itotu[i comun [i prin dialogul postum dintreEul liric al fiec\ruia, `ntâlnirea mult r=vnit\ asemenului neasemeni Tu, `n [i prin «marea tem\»care i-a fulgerat, inspirat, distrus [i nemurit“17.

~nt=lnirea aceasta `ntre fantome [i umbre –de ce este ea invocat\? Se pare c\ dintr-o ele-mentar\ nevoie a adres\rii pe care Manea o`mparte cu Celan [i care „nu se direc]ioneaz\

doar spre cei vii“, ci chiar [i spre cei uci[i, „poate,mai ales spre ace[tia“18. Celan scrie `n poemuls\u Sprich auch Du (Vorbe[te [i tu) „Wahrspricht, wer Schatten spricht“, literal tradus ca„Vorbe[te adev\rat cine vorbe[te umbr\/umbre“[i tradus `n englez\ de John Felstiner ca „Speakstrue who speaks shadow“19. Manea traduce versul`ns\ ca „Roste[te adev\rul cine d\ glas umbrei“,care pune accentul pe `nsufle]irea umbrei, pec=nd originalul r\m=ne mai ambiguu, mai `ntu-necat. Dialogul `ntre umbre r\m=ne la Manea [iun simbol al vie]ii. Manea scrie mai departe:

„Esen]ial\ cum este, chemarea c\tre cel\lalt,invocarea celeilalte p\r]i care chiar se afl\ de«cealalt\ parte» este `ns\[i legitimarea ei. Fan-tomaticul Celan vorbe[te fantomei Fondanecare `i este al\turi, vie, `n proximitatea popa-sului `n mun]ii de dincolo de mun]i, [tie c\doar lui `i poate vorbi, chiar dac\ `ngân\rile seclatin\, ame]ite, bâlbâite, bolborosite, «p\l\vr\-gite», r\nind t\cerea alpin\ a t\râmului fanto-matic [i atât de viu, totu[i“20. De ce atât de viu?Nu oare pentru c\ `nt=lnirea dintre cei doi poe]imor]i este `nsufle]it\ de unul viu? {i atunci`ntrebarea mai adev\rat\ trebuie s\ fie: de cineeste invocat\ `nt=lnirea `n [i dincolo de mun]i?

C\tre sf=r[itul Curierului de Est citez unpasaj din Procesul lui Kafka. Cu un moment`naintea execut\rii sale, K. z\re[te `n dep\rtareun om la fereastra unei cl\diri [i se `ntreab\:„Cine era? Un prieten? Un om bun? Cinevacare participa? Cineva care vroia s\ ajute? Eraunul? Erau to]i? Mai exista ajutor?“. ~ntreb\-rilor lui K. Norman Manea le r\spunde `n felulurm\tor: „Ar putea fi o prezen]\ virtual\, adre-santul necunoscut, c\tre care este trimis mesajul.F\r\ acest semen (faimosul «tu» al lui Buber),nimic nu exist\. Este o necesitate a comunic\rii,a adres\rii, a confirm\rii de sine prin cel\lalt“21.Iar `n cuvântarea „Bucovina“ t\cerea desprecare vorbe[te Celan este descris\ de Manea ca„t\cerea nelini[tit\ `n c\utarea cuvintelor [i `nc\utarea unui ascult\tor, un fratern [i negurosTU, interlocutorul virtual [i necunoscut,

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capabil s\ `nsufle]easc\“. Avem aici poate unpunct fundamental comun ambilor scriitori.Prin felul `n care omenescul, adic\ creatura,fiin]a fragil\ [i finit\, r\mâne ocrotit `nmisterul `ntâlnirii, [i prin ea atât `n poezie cât[i `n literatur\ (nu [tiu dac\ [i `n filosofie),intuim un r\spuns la paradoxul co[marului

inexprimabil, un r\spuns greu de articulat [i`n]eles, dar unul care ne d\ de gândit. C\ci, cas\ concepem co[marul ca atare, cuvântarileaduc\toare de moarte ca atare, trebuie s\r\mânem `ndrepta]i, deschi[i c\tre acest tufragil [i creatural, c\tre felurile sale de a vorbi[i amu]i, de a ne vorbi [i amu]i.

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NOTE:

1 Cuv`ntarea a fost ulterior publicat\ ca „Bucovina“ `n Via]a Româneasc\, nr. 7-8/2010.2 Curierul de Est, p. 356.3 Paul Celan, „Ansprache anläßlich der Entgegennahme des Literaturpreises der Freien Hansestadt Bremen,`n Gesammelte Werke in fünf Bänden“, vol. 3, pp. 185 [i urm.4 Curierul de Est, p. 352.5 Traducere literal\ (E.K.): „Mai [tie apa Bugului din sud/ mam\, valul care te-a lovit [i r\nit?/ Mai [tie câmpul,cu morile `n mijlocul s\u,/ cât de t\cut\ a suferit inima ta, `ngerii t\i?/ Nu mai poate niciun plop, niciocâmpie/ S\-]i aline grijile, s\ te mângâie?/[...] {i mai `nduri tu, mam\, ca acas\, odinioar\,/ t\cuta rim\,german\ [i dureroas\?“.6 Traducere literal\ (E.K.): „~mi `nchid acum inima [i gura,/ care atât de mult se plâng stelelor:/ Totu[i t\cut,`n adâncul inimii,/ r\mân loviturile line de valuri“.7 Curierul de Est, p. 53.8 Traducere literal\ (E.K.): „Ochi supu[i/ orbirii./ Al lor ‘o/ enigm\ e n\scutul/ `n puritate’ – a lor/ amintire a/turnurilor plutinde ale lui Hölderlin, asediate/ de pesc\ru[i./[...]/ Dac\/ ar veni un om,/ ar veni un om `n lume,ast\zi, cu/ barba iluminat\ a/ patriarhilor: el n-ar putea,/ dac\ ar vorbi despre timpul \sta, el/ n-ar puteadecât bolborosi [i bolborosi,/ mereu-, mereu-/ uu./“.9 John Felstiner sugereaz\ c\ Celan a citit prima istorie important\ a Holocaustului, The Final Solution a luiGerald Reitlinger, publicat\ `n 1953, [i chiar a preluat o fraz\ despre evreii gaza]i („ineinander verkrallt“) dintraducerea german\ a c\r]ii pentru importantul s\u poem Tenebrae (1957). Vezi John Felstiner, Paul Celan:Poet, Survivor, Jew, 2001, p. 103.10 Laptele negru, p. 457.11 Marius Chivu, „Eseist, nu prozator“, Dilema Veche, nr. 345, 2010.12 Ovidiu Pecican, „Capcane [i farse `n exil“, Bucure[tiul Cultural, nr. 100, 2010.13 Paul Celan, Der Meridian: Endfassung, Entwürfe, Materialien, 1999, p. 89.14 Vezi James K. Lyon, Paul Celan and Martin Heidegger: An Unresolved Conversation, 1951-1970, 2006, pp.110 [i urm.15 Curierul de Est, p. 14.16 Publicat `n volumul Laptele negru, 2010.17 Laptele negru, p. 449.18 Laptele negru, p. 457.19 Paul Celan, Selected Poems and Prose, 2001, p. 77.20 Laptele negru, p. 457.21 Curierul de Est, p. 354.

‘Whereas in Celan the tendency toward the practicaljoke is a late phenomenon, in Manea it can bedetected much earlier... In addition, there is aheavier insistence on the ironic and burlesque.’

Edward Kanterian

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Towards the end of our dialogue in The EasternMessenger, I mention a speech Norman Maneagave in New York on the subject of Bukovinaand Paul Celan1. One of the main topics ofthe speech is an essential motif in the Manea’swork: survival, above all in the sense of thesurvival of language. Manea explains well-spring of Celan’s lyrical strength as ‘intransi-tive language, the codified and often hermeticexpression of the solitude that survives andgerminates in the inner life of the aftermath’,and Celan’s poetry is described as ‘a deeplymeaningful lament, albeit one that is oftenfragmented or muted’, ‘a last and desperateattempt to give life and expression to themute and burnt spectre of nightmare itself.’

In The Eastern Messenger, the motif reoccursin connexion with a discussion about Celanand Kafka. Manea writes: ‘The devastationcaused by the anti-Jewish cataclysm potentia-ted the fissure, included the fissure of language,now broken and fragmented and dwelling un-certainly in the wound, and which no longerallowed anything but a rediscovery and anincreasingly partial reanimation, as indeed wasonly fitting. The rediscovery and reanimationof damaged, contorted, fractured, sullied lan-guage and its enrichment through the suffer-ing of that damnation [...].’2

Celan, too, wrote about the survival of lan-guage in the aftermath of the nightmare. In aspeech he gave in 1958 (Bremer Rede), we

find an oft-quoted passage, repeated in The EasternMessenger, in which Celan tells us that lan-guage ‘has remained un-lost, yes, in spite ofeverything. But it had to pass through its ownlack of answers, pass through the terriblesilencing, journey through the thousands of darkdeath-bringing words; but it passed throughthese happenings. It passed through and was ableto re-emerge “enriched“ [angereichert] by it all.’3

In both authors we find the same motif:the survival of language in the aftermath ofthe nightmare. But if language, the languageof the poet, has passed through a terriblesilencing, how then has it managed to regainits voice? Does it mean that what silenced ithas passed, is now in the past? Does it meanthat the nightmare has passed? The nightmareis not omnipotent, omnipresent. And lan-guage was not completely silenced, even dur-ing the nightmare, but rather it merely fellsilent, in order that it might speak again, oncethe nightmare had passed. For, if it had fallencompletely silent, then language would nolonger have existed, and it would not havebeen able to lift its voice once more, it wouldnot have been the language which, as Celantells us, re-emerged, enriched by all that hadhappened. How could it have been enriched,had it been completely silenced?

Here, we rediscover a universal problem: howcan a language express the inexpressible? And

Nightmare and dialoguein the work of Paul Celanand Norman Manea EEddwwaarrdd KKaanntteerriiaann

if a language can express something, then thatsomething cannot be inexpressible. Either theinexpressible is absolute, and then language,even poetic language, has no access to it (butin that case, how can we know this to be thecase?), or language can reach it, and then theinexpressible cannot be absolutely and com-pletely hermetic. On the contrary, language,at least in some of its multiple forms, will becapable of passing even through the regions ofthe inexpressible and, by expressing it, capableof transcending [transceding?] it. But does nottranscendence negate it? Does it not reduce itto something communicable? How dark is thenightmare then? Does language illuminate it,by expressing it? Does it not make it moreendurable? Does not language emerge from it‘reanimated’ (Manea) and ‘enriched’ (Celan)?

The word Celan uses is ‘angereichert’ and itis written in quotation marks. It is here trans-lated as ‘enriched’, but it can also mean ‘sa-turated’. When we speak of enrichment, wethink of a positive augmentation, financial orspiritual, for example. But the word is also usedin other contexts, such as ‘uranium enrichment’(Urananreicherung), when an instable isotopeof uranium (U-235) is isolated and caused tomultiply, lending it destructive power. There-fore, enrichment implies not only an activityof language, but also something acting uponlanguage. And this is not necessarily a posi-tive augmentation.

What was this ‘activity’? For NormanManea, it seems to be preliminary to the night-mare (‘the enciphered but vibrating lamenta-tion from another time and from another world’),articulated in its aftermath (‘of the solitudethat survives and germinates in the inner lifeof the aftermath’). For Paul Celan, ‘activity’ iscontemporary with the nightmare; it ‘journeysacross the thousands of dark death-bringingwords.’ This formula seems to suggest that weare dealing with two languages, the languagewhich journeys across the death-bringing wordsand the language in which these words are for-mulated, i.e. the language that has brought the

nightmare. So, the saturation or enrichment ofthe first language would consist in the additionof elements of the second language to the first;we would have nothing but an extraneousmultiplication, as if we were to add two blackbeads to a string of pearls. The original stringcould be remade if we removed the two blackbeads. Likewise, the original language, priorto the nightmare, ‘from another world,’ mightbe remade by removing the elements of thelanguage that brought the nightmare.

However, we know very well that neitherCelan nor Manea refers to two languages, butto one and the same language. The maternallanguage, the language of the mother, in thecase of the first, is German; the language ofhis mother’s killers was also German. Thelanguage of the family deported to Transnistria,including the language of the author, a childat the time, is Romanian; the language of thesoldiers who deported them was also Roma-nian. In both cases, language has journeyedthrough the ‘words’ of death, i.e. all the whilethe continuity of the language was guaranteed,it never fell completely silent, but rather itwas spoken by the killers, and in this way, intheir words, through and in this ‘activity’,language fell silent, German in the one case,Romanian in the other. The ‘enrichment’ oflanguage to which Celan refers therefore alsoimplies an impoverishment. The duty of poeticlanguage is to express this impoverishment,to take responsibility for it to its very core.Cicatrised and marked in this way, it will beable to speak to us once more, bearing thetrace of the nightmare, without illumining it.

Might the paradox of articulating the inex-pressible nightmare solve this argument? Yes,perhaps, but only though the presentation of aparadox of enrichment/impoverishment.

Historians and literary critics have not yet given us detailed semantic, stylistic andpoetological analyses of this enrichment/im-poverishment of the Romanian language, ofhow the Romanian language manifests these

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two aspects and how it combines them in theliterary work of Norman Manea, even thoughthe author himself has stressed many timesthat the Romanian language defines him in anessential way and, in particular, that the night-mare as ‘the major obnubilated theme of manyJewish writers from Bukovina [...] is not absentin my work’ (‘Bukovina’). As Manea himselfsees a kinship between himself and Celan,4

we may essay a deeper understanding of theproblem in Celan’s work, thereby suggestinga possible model for literary criticism to ap-proach Manea’s work, without losing sight ofthe fact that there are also many fundamentaldifferences between the two writers (such asthe fact that the one is a poet, while the otheris a novelist and prose writer).

Celan wove together the two aspects ofone and the same language in different waysin his poetic work. I shall choose two exam-ples, one from his early work, one from hislater work. In the poem Nähe der Gräber,written during the war, in 1944, we read: ‘Kenntnoch das Wasser des südlichen Bug/ Mutter,die Welle, die Wunden dir schlug?/ Weiß nochdas Feld mit den Mühlen inmitten,/ Wie leisedein Herz deine Engel gelitten?/ Kann keineder Espen mehr, keine der Weiden/ den Kum-mer dir nehmen, den Trost dir bereiten? [...] Undduldest du, Mutter, wie einst auch daheim/ denleisen, den deutschen, den schmerzlichen Reim?’5

The poem is written in a traditional style,with rhymes and references to idyllic naturalscenes (‘Mühlen’/‘watermill’, ‘Espe’/‘poplar’,‘Weiden’/‘plain’) and to German classicalpoetry, employing its commonplace words,such as ‘daheim’/’at home’, ‘schmerzlich’/‘painful, sad’, and above all the adjective‘leise’/‘faint, soft’ used by the Romantics, inparticular Eichendorff, who in his poem DieNachtblume (1837) combined it with‘Wellenschlagen’, i.e. the softly beating wavesof the romantic imagination: ‘Schließ ich nunauch Herz und Mund,/ Die so gern den Sternenklagen:/ Leise doch im Herzensgrund/ Bleibtdas linde Wellenschlagen6.’

In the work of Celan, these ‘waves’ aretransformed into blows, which wound themother (‘die Welle, die Wunden dir schlug’).The language of classic German poetry is stillintact, Romantic melancholy can still be felt, butnonetheless, the way in which the familiarimages are combined no longer relates to theworld of Eichnedorff. The waves that woundcannot be soft (‘linde’), they no longer evenbelong to the same physical world, for, ulti-mately, what kind of water are we talkingabout here? The last strophe moves beyondRomanticism once and for all. In it the poet exa-mines the Romantic idiom itself, murmuringit like an echo of the past (a kind of echoic use,as the linguists call it), the past of the Jewishmother who cultivated the German language athome (‘daheim’), and from whom this languagehas become separated (completely?), as some-thing not to be endured (‘dulden’), not so muchby the mother, already dead, as much as by thepoet/son who writes in this language, aboutthis language, and against this language.

In this early poem we can already identifysome of the main motifs in Celan’s work: themother and creaturality (Kreatürlichkeit), thememory of the dead, the poetic expression of thismemory, German guilt, and German continuity.

Proceeding from this analysis, one possiblesuggestion connected to the work of NormanManea would be the way in which the lan-guage of classic Romanian literature finds itsmuffled echo in his prose, and in it there areinterwoven the motifs of the nightmare alsopursued by Celan. For example, where andhow does Ion Creang\ re-appear, whose fairy-tales Manea read immediately after his returnfrom the camp in Transnistria? He describeshis reading of Creang\ as a ‘magical encounter,an immersion in the fantasticality of language.I think it was a moment that was decisive foreverything that subsequently held me bound toreading and writing.’7 How is the nightmarereflected at the semantic level in the shortstories collected in October, Eight O’Clock(1981), for example?

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To provide a possible answer it will per-haps be useful to discuss the way in whichCelan’s poetry later evolved. Whereas in Näheder Gräber the nightmare is reflected throughthe language of classic German poetry (thesame as another Bukovinian poet of the samegeneration, Moses Rosenkrantz, continued todo in all his poems), in time we notice a radi-calisation of articulation, for example in the poemTübingen, Jänner (1961): ‘Zur Blindheit über-/redete Augen./ Ihre – ‘ein/ Rätsel ist Rein-/ ents-prungenes’–, ihre/ Erinnerung an/ schwimmendeHölderlintürme, möwen-/ umschwirrt./[…]/Käme,/ käme ein Mensch,/ käme ein Menschzur Welt, heute, mit/ dem Lichtbart der/ Pa-triarchen: er dürfte,/ spräch er von dieser/ Zeit,er/ dürfte/ nur lallen und lallen,/ immer-,immer-/ zuzu./’ (Pallaksch. Pallaksch.)8.

Here, we also have a reference to classicGerman poetry, even a quotation: the famousline from Hölderlin’s hymn Der Rhein (1801),‘Ein Rätsel ist Reinentsprungenes’, whichcontinues with ‘Auch/ Der Gesang kaum darfes enthüllen.’ The mystery of the one born inpurity, whom not even song is allowed to revealtoo much, appears in Celan only as an almostironical quotation, for, what mystery and puritycan there be if it is January (‘Jänner’)? Whichis to say, the month when the poem was writ-ten, after a visit to Tübingen, as well as themonth, on the very same day, 20 January, inwhich Georg Büchner’s famous story Lenz(1835) begins, about the poet J.M.R. Lenz(‘Den 20. Jänner ging Lenz durchs Gebirg’ – ‘On20 January Lenz went to the mountain’), who, likeHölderlin, lost his mind, and was found dead ona Moscow street in 1792. The date 20 January,the beginning of a reference to German literatu-re, is also the beginning of another reference:the Wannsee conference of 1942, the begin-ning of a nightmare of which Celan knewmuch, not only from his own experience, butalso from his reading of the history books.9

Whereas in Der Rhein the sons of the godsare blind (‘Die Blindesten aber sind Götter-söhne’), in Celan’s poem it is the eyes of the

poet himself that are made blind by language(‘Zur Blindheit überredete Augen’). For thepresent poet, the passage from Hölderlin is onlya quotation, an old reflex, like the memory ofHölderlin’s towers. Were a real man to come,i.e. a biblical patriarch with a shining beard(‘mit/dem Lichtbart der/Patriarchen’), andspeak to us about our times, he would revealto us nothing of the pure and holy mystery,but rather he would merely babble (‘lallen’,‘immerzuzu’). And as a kind of quod eratdemonstrandum, Celan quotes Hölderlin again,this time from the late period, after the poetlost his mind, and uses the meaningless word‘Pallaksch’, sometimes to mean ‘yes’, some-times to mean ‘no’, but more often than notto express exhaustion and the inability to sayor think anything any longer.

In Tübingen, Jänner Celan no longer pro-vides us with a reflection on and of the night-mare using the means of classic German poetry,but almost tramples it underfoot, sullies it,mangles it. We can no longer intuit any traceof the sublime, the ineffable sacral, but are leftwith the ‘inexpressible’ of a poor madman,banal, depthless nonsense, after the world hasbeen burned and devastated, similar to thewastelands to be found in plays by SamuelBeckett. As Manea himself says of Celan’slanguage: ‘It is a case of the silencing of alanguage not only “corrupted“ by the real [...],but also wholly burned by the pitch darknessof the real. The silenced souls of the burntones haunt the morbid void through whichthe poet travels.’10 In such circumstances, thenightmare is not incanted only through the echoof a classical or romantic phase of language,but also it reaches into the present; it entersdirectly into poetry, into its language, into itsvery notion, into the form according to whichit is composed. And it annihilates it.

To return to the question of the way in whichthe nightmare is reflected at the semanticlevel in Manea’s work, I think that the sameself-annihilating aspect of poetic languagecan also be found in his work. There are

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numerous examples of ways in which semanticradicalisation occurs in his work. Whereas inOctober, Eight O’Clock the nightmare is stillarticulated using relatively conventional lite-rary methods, in The Lair (2009), which hasbeen naïvely criticised for lacking the ‘nar-rative drive’ to succeed as a ‘political-esotericnovel’ and ‘intellectual thriller’11, as ifNorman Manea were competing with DanBrown or Umberto Eco, the author adopts amore fragmented and syncopated style. Thecharacters are stranded in the derisory afterthe demolition of the ‘grandiose backdrop’,as Ovidiu Pecican has put it.12 If we acceptthe analysis of the critic in question, then itseems that the ‘Beckett-like’ aspects of TheLair, a late work, are comparable with whatwas said above about Celan’s later work.Pecican writes:

‘[T]he world of the protagonists of TheLair [is situated] within a provisionality thatis characterised by the projection of the selfagainst a grandiose backdrop [...] the in-dividual’s confrontation with Totalitarianism,the highlighting of human fragility in the faceof Terror, and the de facto collapse into thederisory. The illusion of tragic grandeur ex-pires in the trash [...]. The novel The Lair is apractical joke, just as its title might be noth-ing more than a burlesque interpretation, in abarbarising, hirsute, bestialised key, of thetopos of Plato’s cave. Can we know for cer-tain that the protagonists of the novel, thequick and the dead, view the world aroundthem and their own lives properly? Narrow,sunken in the telluric dimension (burrows areexcavated from the earth, are they not?), thetenebrous protection all the book’s exilesenjoy snatches from them the possibility ofany positive settlement or real understandingof the situations that confront them.’

In other words, in both authors we find atendency toward the practical joke. But thereare also differences. Whereas in Celan thetendency toward the farce is a late phenome-non, in Manea it can be detected much

earlier, as is proven by his third novel, TheApprenticeship Years of August the Fool(1979). Another difference relates to the spe-cific nightmare (in Manea, the nightmare ofNazism is compounded by the experience ofcommunism and exile). In addition, there is aheavier insistence on the ironic and burlesque,which makes the Romanian author, at least, notonly a writer of the total nightmare, but also awriter of the call to ‘resistance and rebirth,without which neither life nor art would bepossible’ (‘Bukovina’).

In Celan, on the other hand, the nightmareappears more sombre and inescapable, and thisaffects his poetological conception in a moredramatic way. As he writes in Der Meridian(1960), where he quotes the sentence from Büch-ner ‘Den 20. Jänner ging Lenz durchs Gebirg’:‘The poem, today, proves beyond doubt apowerful tendency toward silencing. It affirms/maintains itself at the very edge of itself; itconstantly calls itself, in order to preserve itself,from its never-more-to-be [Schon-nicht-mehr]back into its still-here [Immer-noch].’ But isthis a solution to the paradox of the inexpres-sible nightmare? Is there a middle position,between total silence and lucid utterance, aknife-edge position, i.e. a stable albeit notquite impossible position?

To demand that poetry should situate itselfin a stable position (either lucid articulationor inexpressible silence) would mean that weseparated it from the reality of the being thatgives birth to it. In a passage originally com-posed for Der Meridian Celan writes: ‘DieDunkelheit des Gedichts = die Dunkelheit desTodes. Die Menschen = die Sterblichen. Darumzählt das Gedicht, als das des Todes einge-denkt bleibende, zum Menschlichsten amMenschen.’13 The darkness of poetry is thedarkness of death. Because it is humans thatdie, but also humans that kill, and thereforethey are not in a ‘stable’ position. Poetry, as amemory of death, but also murder, is the mosthuman aspect of the human. This was Celan’svision, most likely inspired by Heidegger14,

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‘In both authors (Norman Manea and PaulCelan) we find the same motif: the survival oflanguage in the aftermath of the nightmare.’

Edward Kanterian

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and it is continued differently, perhaps evenrewritten, by the Romanian author, who argues,in The Eastern Messenger: ‘Suffering does notnecessarily come to a close in its black “puri-ty,“ in death, but rather through an impurecontinuation and compensation: life.’15

In the text of the speech Der Meridian pro-per we find yet another answer, however, whichdraws the two Bucovinian writers closer to-gether. Celan explains to us that the poem issolitary. But it is also underway (‘unterwegs’),on its way towards the other who seeks it, throughwhom it situates itself in the mystery of theencounter, which Celan himself italicises: dasGeheimnis der Begegnung. The paradox ofexpressing the nightmare therefore finds itssolution in the mystery of the encounter, if itcan be the case of a solution. Is not the invo-cation of a mystery ultimately another way ofre-positing the question, a paradox, the lackof any explanation? And what is the status ofthe mystery, beyond its metaphorical dimen-sion, in these two basically secular writers?

Let us nevertheless suppose that the mys-tery of the encounter grounds the dialogicnature of poetry. Dialogue cannot be a stableposition. It is an ‘Unterwegssein’, a being-underway (as Heidegger would put it, and insome respects Celan read and understoodHeidegger better than the philosopher under-stood himself), and to say that poetry is in anunstable position, on a knife-edge, is anotherway of saying that it is caught between silenceand speaking, but also between a voice andits listener. Poetry tends toward an encounterbetween real people, by direct and indirect paths(‘Um-Wege’), the paths of a voice, living ordead, on the way to a listening ‘You’, thepaths of the creature (‘Wege einer Stimme zueinem wahrnehmenden Du, kreatürliche Wege’).Already in Bremer Rede, Celan had written:‘Given that poetry is a form of language[Erscheinungsform der Sprache] and for thatreason dialogic in its essence, it can be a mes-sage in a bottle, a bottle cast away in the notalways hopeful faith that it will reach a shore,perhaps a shore of the heart [Herzland].’

I find the same dialogic motif in NormanManea’s work. I even find it in his essay Beyondthe Mountains,16 one of his saddest and mostsombre texts, a lament for two dead poets, onemurdered (gassed), the other a suicide: BenjaminFondane and Paul Celan. It is a text about thefate of the Jews in the last century and, ultima-tely, about man’s final destiny: death. Glossingin the margins of Celan’s only prose text,Gespräch im Gebirg (Conversation in theMountains, 1959), in which two Jews, Kleinand Groß, meet each other, or perhaps onlytheir posthumous shadows, Manea treats thesame inconsolable subjects via a dialogue,transforming Klein into Celan and Groß intoFondane. It is a dialogue between two poets,not a real dialogue, but an imaginary one, andeven then only a dialogue between their shades,or at level of the ‘lyrical “I“’ at the most, themost intangible creature in the literary universe.‘Having perished in the flames and waters ofcatastrophe respectively, the two poets meet onlythrough martyrdom, a martyrdom very differentin each case, but nevertheless shared, andthrough the posthumous dialogue between thelyrical “I“ of each, the much yearned for en-counter with the kindred spirit so unakin toyou, in and through the “great theme“ thatstruck them like lightning, inspired them,destroyed them and immortalised them.’17

Why is this meeting between ghosts andshades invoked? It seems that it is out of anelementary need to address what Manea shareswith Celan and which ‘is not directed only atthe living,’ but also at the slain, ‘perhaps at themabove all.’18 In his poem Sprich auch Du (Speak,you also) Celan writes ‘Wahr spricht, wer Schat-ten spricht’, which John Felstiner translates‘Speaks true who speaks shadow.’19 But in Ro-manian, Manea translates the line ‘Roste[teadev\rul cine d\ glas umbrei’ (literally, ‘Speaksthe truth who gives voice to the shadow’), whichplaces the emphasis on breathing life into theshadow, whereas the original is more ambiguous,darker. In Manea’s work, dialogue between

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the shades is also a symbol of life. Manea goeson: ‘Essential as it is, the calling of the other,the invocation of the other party who is “onthe other side“, is its very legitimisation. Theghostly Celan speaks to the ghost of Fondane,who is beside him, living, near the way stationin the mountains beyond the mountains, heknows that only to him is he able to speak, evenif the murmurings totter, dizzy, faltering,“babbling“, wounding the alpine silence ofthat ghostly yet all too living realm.’20 Why isit all too living? Is it because the meetingbetween the two dead poets is animated byone who is living? And then the truer ques-tion should be: by whom is the meeting inand beyond the mountains invoked?

Towards the end of The Eastern Messenger, I quote a passage from Kafka’s The Trial. A mo-ment before his execution, K. glimpses in thedistance a man at the window of a building andwonders: ‘Who was it? A friend? A good man?Someone who was watching? Someone whowanted to help? Was there one? Was it all ofthem? Was there still help to be had?’ To K.’squestions Norman Manea gives the followinganswer: ‘It might by a virtual presence, the un-known addressee, to whom the message is sent.

Without this fellow man (Buber’s famous“you“), nothing exists. There is a need to com-municate, to address, to confirm the self throughthe other.’21 And in the speech ‘Bukovina’Manea describes the silence of which Celanspeaks as ‘the restless silence in search ofwords and in search of a listener, a fraternaland nebulous YOU, the virtual and unknowninterlocutor, capable of breathing life into theunperishing ash of a bloody past and a ruinedand ephemeral present, in a last, desperate at-tempt to give life and expression to the muteand burnt spectre of the nightmare itself.’

Here we perhaps have a fundamental pointcommon to both writers. Through the way inwhich the human, i.e. the creature, the frail andfinite being, remains protected in the mysteryof the encounter, and through it both in poetryand in literature (I do not know whether in phi-losophy also), we intuit an answer to the paradoxof the inexpressible nightmare, an answer dif-ficult to articulate and understand, but one thatcauses us to think. For, in order that we mayconceive of the nightmare as such, the death-bringing words as such, we must remain ori-ented toward, open toward that fragile andcreatural you, toward its modes of speech andsilence, of speaking to us and being silent.

NOTES:

11 The speech was subsequently published with the title „Bucovina“ in Via]a Româneasc\, Nos. 7-8/2010.22 Curierul de Est, p. 356.33 Paul Celan, Ansprache anläßlich der Entgegennahme des Literaturpreises der Freien Hansestadt Bremen,`n Gesammelte Werke in fünf Bänden, vol. 3, pp. 185f.44 Curierul de Est, p. 352.55 Literal translation: ‘Does the water of the southern Bug still know,/ Mother, the wave that struck andwounded you?/ Does the field with the mills in the middle still know/ how silently your heart, your angelssuffered?/ Can no poplar, no field/ take away your sorrows, give you consolation?/[...] And do you endure,Mother, as you once did at home,/ the soft, the German, the painful rhyme?’66 Literal translation: ‘Now I close my heart and mouth,/ which so willingly lament the stars:/ but silent, inthe heart’s depth,/ the gently beating waves remain.’77 Curierul de Est, p. 53.

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88 ‘Eyes talked into/ blindness./T heir – ‘an enigma is/ the purely/ originated’ –, their/ memory of/ Hölderlintowers afloat, circled/ by whirring gulls.//[...] Should,/ should a man,/ should a man come into the world,today, with/ the shining beard of the/ patriarchs: he could,/ if he spoke of this/ time, he/ could/ only babbleand babble/ over, over, againagain.//’ (Pallaksh. Pallaksh) Translated by Michael Hamburger. Selected Poems(1990), p. 177.99 John Felstiner suggests that Celan read the first major history of the Holocaust, Gerald Reitlinger’s TheFinal Solution, published in 1953, and even adapted a phrase referring to the gassed Jews (‘ineinanderverkrallt’) from the German translation in his important poem Tenebrae (1957). See John Felstiner, PaulCelan: Poet, Survivor, Jew, 2001, p. 103.1100 Laptele negru (Black Milk), p. 457.1111 Marius Chivu, ‘Eseist, nu prozator’ (Essayist, not prose-writer), Dilema Veche, no. 345, 2010.1122 Ovidiu Pecican, ‘Capcane [i farse `n exil’ (Snares and Practical Jokes in Exile), Bucure[tiul Cultural, no. 100, 2010.1133 Paul Celan, Der Meridian: Endfassung, Entwürfe, Materialien, 1999, p. 89.1144 See James K. Lyon, Paul Celan and Martin Heidegger: An Unresolved Conversation, 1951-1970, 2006, pp. 110f.1155 Curierul de Est, p. 14.1166 Published in the collection Laptele negru, 2010.1177 Laptele negru, p. 449.1188 Laptele negru, p. 457.1199 Paul Celan, Selected Poems and Prose (2001), p. 77.2200 Laptele negru, p. 457.2211 Curierul de Est, p. 354.


Cu Michael Kruger la Târgul de Carte de la Ierusalim, 2003

With Michael Kruger at the Jerusalem Bookfair, 2003

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Acum mul]i-mul]i ani, am primit un telefon de laHeinrich Böll, care mi-a vorbit despre un tân\rscriitor evreu care `n copil\rie a fost `ntr-un lag\r[i care nu putea s\-[i publice c\r]ile `n ]ar\ sau `nstr\in\tate f\r\ s\-i fie cenzurate – una dintreacele convorbiri telefonice cu Heinrich Böll,c\ruia, generos, `ntotdeauna i-a p\sat de scriitoriicare aveau probleme, de la Aleksandr Soljeni]`npân\ la prietenul meu (pe care `nc\ nu lcuno[team pe vremea aceea) Norman Manea.Trebuie s\ adaug c\ majoritatea scriitorilor dingenera]ia mea erau de stânga, ca [i HeinrichBöll, dar pentru el era cel mai firesc lucru dinlume s\ ajute oameni care se aflau la ananghie.P\rerea obi[nuit\ despre România pe vremeaaceea era: putred\ pe din\untru, bun\ pe dina-far\; un dictator r\u [i crud care conducea ]ara `ntr-un stil despotic, dar care se pricepea s\ `[i apereindependen]a fa]\ de Uniunea Sovietic\. Ceamai celebr\ vorb\ despre epoca Ceau[escu era:un român este un vagabond, doi `nseamn\ oga[c\, trei – o clic\ [i un informator. Böll miroseasitua]ia [i, spre deosebire de mul]i al]i scriitori, nua ezitat niciodat\ s\ fie de partea vagabondului.~n anii aceia, mul]i scriitori sa[i din România `[iob]ineau libertatea contra unei sume de bani, a[ac\ aveam o imagine mai exact\ a ceea ce se pe-trecea `n aceast\ ]ar\ `n care exista Securitatea.

Oricum, Heinrich Böll m-a rugat s\ publicproza „Puloverul“ de Norman Manea, care `miera trimis\ de funda]ia ORIENT-OCCIDENT, oorganiza]ie nonprofit care traducea [i publica lite-ratur\ din Europa de Est. A[a c\ am publicat a-ceast\ povestire sf=[ietoare `n primul num\r din 1985

al revistei mele, Akzente, `mpreun\ cu poezia unuimai tân\r Marcel Proust, „P\rul lui Berenice“ deClaude Simon (cu mult `nainte s\ câ[tige PremiulNobel), un dosar al lui Wallace Stevens, ni[te po-eme scrise de iranianul Ahmad Schamlu [i ni[tetexte scurte de E.M. Cioran, pe care le-am preluatdin num\rul din toamn\ al Nouvelle Revue Fran-çaise. Aici am g\sit dou\ scurte secven]e. Primaeste, `ntr-o traducere foarte aproximativ\: „La cee bun corpul, dac\ nu s\ ne `nve]e ce `nseamn\cu adev\rat cuvântul tor]ionar?“. Iar a doua:„Voiam s\ ies, când m-am uitat `n oglind\ ca s\`mi aranjez fularul. Brusc, o oroare de necrezut:cine este omul acesta? ~mi era imposibil s\ m\recunosc. ~mi vedeam foarte bine haina, cravata,p\l\ria, dar nu [tiam cine sunt, pentru c\ nu erameu. Mi-au trebuit câteva secunde bune: 20, 30,40? Nici când mi-am mai venit `n fire oroareanu disp\ruse. Chiar a trebuit s\ a[tept pân\ când,`n cele din urm\, a disp\rut“.

Pe vremea aceea, habar nu aveam ce `nseamn\s\ `i pun laolalt\ pe ace[ti doi scriitori – NormanManea [i E.M. Cioran. Pe vremea aceea nu [tiamnimic despre trecutul lui Cioran [i despre anti-semitismul din tinere]ea sa.

Când Norman a venit `n Occident, ne-am `m-prietenit. Eu l-am ajutat pu]in s\-[i g\seasc\ edi-tori `n Europa [i `n cele din urm\ l-am publicatchiar eu. Acum [tiu pu]in mai multe despretinere]ea lui `n România [i sunt fericit c\ aceast\prietenie, ce a `nceput cu un „Pulover“ – care, c\tot veni vorba, a fostul primul text pe care l-apublicat `n Vest – dureaz\ de 25 de ani.


O prietenie caredureaz\ de 25 de ani MMiicchhaaeell KKrruuggeerr

‘When Norman came to the West, we becamefriends. I helped him a little bit to find publishersin Europe, and finally I became his publisher...I’m happy, that this friendship has lasted thelast 25 years.’

Michael Kruger

Many, many years ago, I got a telephone-callfrom Heinrich Böll, who told me about a youngwriter, a Jew, who was, as a kid, in a Lager, andwho had problems to publish his books uncen-sored in his country or abroad – one of thosecalls by Heinrich Böll, who always cared gene-rously about writers with problems, fromAlexander Solzhenitsyn to – my (at that time:unknown) friend Norman Manea. I have to add,that most writers of my generation were on theleft, as was Heinrich Böll, but for him it was themost natural thing in the world to help peoplewho were in trouble. The common judgementabout Romania at that time was: rotten inside,good outside; a bad and cruel dictator with adespotical style of running the country, butgood in defending his independence towards theSoviet Union. The most famous saying aboutthe Ceau[escu era was: One Romanian is avagabond, two is a clique, three is a clique plusone informer. Böll smelled the situation, and un-like many other writers he never hesitated to be onthe side of the vagabond. In those years a lot ofwriters of the German minority in Romania had hadtheir freedom bought , so we had a better picture of whatwas going on in this country with the Securitate.

Anyway, Heinrich Böll asked me to publishthe story ‘Der Pullover’ by Norman Manea,which was send to me by the foundation ORI-ENT-OCCIDENT, a non-profit organisation thattranslated and published literature from EasternEurope. So I published the heart-breaking story

in the first 1985 issue of my magazine AKZENTE, together with the poetry about theyoung Marcel Proust, Claude Simon’s ‘Hair of Berenike’ (long before the Nobel-Prize), a dossier of Wallace Stevens, poems by theIranian poet Ahmad Schamlu, and short pieces byE.M. Cioran, which we took from the fallissueof the Nouvelle Revue Française. In it, I foundtwo short sequences. The first says, in a veryrough translation: ‘I was just about to go out,when I looked in the mirror to straighten myscarf. All of a sudden, incomprehensible terror.Who was this man? I could not recognisemyself. I recognised my coat, my tie, my hat,but I did not know who I was, because I wasnot myself. This lasted a number of seconds:twenty, thirty, forty? Even when I came tomyself, the horror still lingered. I had to wait along time before it finally dissipated.’

At that time, I had no idea what it meant tobring these two writers together, Noman Manea andE.M. Cioran. At that time I had no idea aboutCioran’s past and the anti-Semitism of his youth.

When Norman came to the West, we be-came friends. I helped him for a while to findpublishers in Europe, and finally I became hispublisher. Now I know a little bit more abouthis youth in Romania, and I’m happy that thisfriendship, which started with a ‘Pullover’ –which was by the way, which was, by theway, his first publication in the West – haslasted these last twenty-five years.

– 235 –


A friendship that haslasted for 25 years MMiicchhaaeell KKrruuggeerr

Cu Tess Lewis, New York, 1994

With Tess Lewis, New York, 1994

– 237 –


În Întoarcerea huliganului, Norman scrie des-pre momentul din via]a sa când literatura adeschis „dialogul cu prieteni invizibili“ [i l-asalvat „de slu]irea pe care o impunea Autori-tatea“. A[a s-a deschis [i literatura sa fa]\ demine, o naiv\ sceptic\ din Lumea Nou\, undialog pe care îl pre]uiesc de mai bine dedou\ decenii. Eu nu aveam din ce monopolautoritar s\ evadez, dar c\r]ile lui Norman nesalveaz\ [i de eventuala slu]ire a celor mai pu]inferici]i din societatea noastr\ mai tolerant\:consumerismul, populismul pasager [i hybris-ul politic. Idealismul, a[a cum a ilustratNorman, nu este niciodat\ lipsit de pericole.

De mai multe ori [i doar cu un succes limitat, am încercat s\ creez pun]i de leg\tur\ peste pr\pastia care îi desparte pe aceia dintrenoi care nu au fost binecuvânta]i cu cunoa[-terea limbii române din care provine „ade-v\ratul“ Norman Manea, comparând traduceriîn german\ [i în francez\ ale povestirilor sale cu eseurile publicate în englez\. A fost omisiune nebuneasc\, dar nu lipsit\ de sa-tisfac]ii. Anumite elemente esen]iale alescrisului s\u au supravie]uit aplatiz\rii [i sim-plific\rii procesului procustian al traduceriiîntr-o limb\ str\in\.

Sclipirile erau atenuate, dar îndeajuns declare. În fic]iunea lui Norman ceea ce a su-pravie]uit transferului lingvistic au fost„incandescen]a misterioas\, imprevizibil\“ acuvintelor [i subtilit\]ile „inflexiunii care î[ischimb\ sensul“. Mai evidente erau eschiv\ri-le, fentele [i aluziile care, în însu[i caracterulevaziv necesar pentru a trece de cenzur\, audevenit [i mai impregnate de sens. {i cele maistr\lucite calit\]i ale eseurilor lui Norman,de[i intensitatea lor era oarecum redus\, aur\mas vii în traducere: elegan]a [i sofisticareagândirii, c\reia, în ciuda delicate]ei sale, nu îieste team\ s\ spun\ lucrurilor pe nume, [i –poate chiar [i mai important decât preciziaobserva]iei sale – un sim] al umorului defelin\, sinuos, [iret, rezervat [i înzestrat cughearele cele mai ascu]ite.

O ilustrare a umorului s\u este jocul decuvinte Estetica, pe care l-a exprimat supu-nându-se unui risc considerabil ca reac]ie lafaptul c\ unii dintre concet\]enii s\i de marc\sus]ineau preeminen]a esteticii asupra eticiica justificare pentru refuzul lor de a aborda înscris subiectul unei „Românii devastate decompromis [i complicitate“. Acest joc decuvinte este intraductibil. East-ethics ar fi o

Autoritatea se teme mai mult de ridicoldecât de rezisten]\TTeessss LLeewwiiss

variant\, îns\ cratima sl\be[te leg\tura simbi-otic\ dintre estetic\ [i etic\ pe care o implic\termenul românesc.

Nu mai este nevoie s\ precizez c\ aiciNorman se afl\ într-o companie excelent\.Într-un interviu de acum vreo zece ani, W.G.Sebald încerca s\ speculeze pe margineainterrela]iei etic\-estetic\. „Privite din afar\,unele povestiri con]in mai mult adev\r decâtaltele, dar valoarea de adev\r a pove[tii nudepinde de con]inutul s\u adev\rat în sine.Valoarea de adev\r depinde de felul cum esteîncadrat\ [i formulat\. Dac\ o poveste ecorect\ din punct de vedere estetic, atunci

probabil c\ este corect\ [i din punct de vederemoral“. Stendhal, unul dintre modelele lui Sebald,a formulat aceast\ ipotez\ mai direct, afir-mând c\ „prostul-gust conduce la crim\“.

Autoritatea se teme mai mult de ridicol decâtde rezisten]\. Asumându-[i rolul de AugustProstul, Norman Manea i-a spus compulsiv Pu-terii adev\rul, dar l-a spus piezi[. A fost acesta unact de curaj sau de prostie? Cu siguran]\, amân-dou\. {i totu[i, prostia lui serioas\ a prevalat.Scrierile sale vor d\inui mult mai mult decâtsistemele care l-au format [i l-au deformat.


– 238 –


In his Hooligan’s Return, Norman writes ofthe point in his life when ‘literature opened adialogue with invisible friends’ and rescuedhim ‘from the disfiguring grip of authority.’And so it was that his literature opened forme, a skeptical naïf or naïve skeptic from theNew World, a dialogue with him that I havetreasured for more than two decades. I had no authoritarian stranglehold to evade, butNorman’s books also offer rescue from the po-tentially disfiguring grip of the less-fortunatestrains in our own, more tolerant society: itsconsumerism, sound-bite populism, and poli-tical hubris. Idealism, as Norman has illus-trated, is never without danger.

On several occasions, and with only limitedsuccess, I have tried to bridge the gulf thatseparates those of us not blessed with Roma-nian from what I imagine to be the ‘real’Norman Manea, by triangulating German andFrench translations of his stories and essaysinto English. It was a fool’s errand, but notwithout its satisfactions. Essential elements ofhis writing did survive the flattening and sim-plification of being forced onto the Procrusteanbed of a foreign tongue.

The glimmers were muted, but clearenough. In Norman’s fiction what survivedthe linguistic transfer was the ‘mysterious,unpredictable incandescence’ of words and

the subtleties of ‘the inflection that changessense.’ More evident were the evasions,feints, and hints that, in the very elusivenessnecessary to bypass the censors, became allthe more imbued with meaning. The finestqualities of Norman’s essays, too, althoughsomewhat dimmed, remained unextinguishedin translation: his elegance of mind, his so-phistication of thought that, for all its gentility,is not afraid to call things as they are, and –perhaps even more important than his precisionof observation – his feline sense of humor,sinuous, cunning, reserved, and graced withthe sharpest of claws.

One instance of his humor is his pun Éstetica,which he voiced at considerable risk to him-self in reaction to some of his prominentcountrymen’s championing of aesthetics overethics as justification for their refusal to ad-dress in their writing ‘a Romania devastatedby compromise and complicity.’ It is untrans-latable. East-ethics comes close, but the hyphenloosens the symbiotic bond between aesthe-tics and ethics contained within the original.

There is no need to point out that here Normanis in excellent company. In an interview someten years ago, W.G. Sebald speculated tenta-tively on the interrelation of ethics and aes-thetics. ‘Seen from the outside, some storieshave more truth than others, but the truth

– 239 –


Authority fears ridiculemore than resistanceTTeessss LLeewwiiss

‘In Norman’s fiction what survived the linguistictransfer was the “mysterious, unpredictableincandescence“ of words and the subtleties of“the inflection that changes sense“.’

Tess Lewis

value of the story does not depend on itsactual truth content. The truth value dependson how it is framed and phrased. If a story is aesthetically right, then it is probably alsomorally right.’ Stendhal, one of Sebald’slodestars, formulated the proposition morebluntly with his assertion that ‘bad taste leads to crime.’

Authority fears ridicule more than resist-ance. In his self-fashioned role as Augustusthe Fool, Norman Manea compulsively spokethe truth to Power, but spoke it aslant. Was itbravery or foolishness? Both, certainly. Yethis deadly serious foolishness prevailed. Hiswriting will long outlast the systems thathave formed and deformed him.

– 241 –


Cu Silviu Lupescu la lansarea edi]iei române[ti a ~ntoarcerii huliganului, T=rgul de Carte de laIerusalim, 2003

With Silviu Lupescu, at the launching of the Romanian edition of The Hooligan’s Return,Jerusalem Bookfair, 2003

– 243 –


La peste dou\zeci de ani de la dispari]iaCortinei de Fier, numele lui Norman Manea areu[it s\ se impun\, nu f\r\ dificult\]i maimult sau mai pu]in de conjunctur\, `n chiar]ara sa natal\. Revenirea lui spectaculoas\ sedatoreaz\ [i numero[ilor editori din lumea`ntreag\, care au v\zut `n opera lui NormanManea m\rturia unei con[tiin]e militante [idovada unui talent de net\g\duit pe care l-ausus]inut ani `n [ir.

Norman Manea a supravie]uit vreme de 50de ani `n România, unde a cunoscut ravagiilea dou\ regimuri totalitare, ororile r\zboiului [ideportarea, urm\rile antisemitismului, ale na-]ionalismului extremist [i prigoana `mpotrivacontestatarilor comunismului. A fi scriitorromân de origine evreiasc\, a nu te conformadirectivelor oficiale care transformau cultura`n Osana monumental\ cântat\ regimului [iconduc\torului s\u reprezentau pentru regi-mul ceau[ist prezum]ii de vinov\]ie ce nu maitrebuiau dovedite. Refuzând compromisul,Norman Manea a fost nevoit s\ emigreze luândcu sine doar experien]a [i amintirile unei vie]idramatice, dar [i limba natal\, cea pe care n-ap\r\sit-o nicicând. A continuat s\-[i scrie opera`n limba român\ [i s\ depun\ m\rturie despre

cele pe care le-a tr\it. A continuat s\ condamnederapajele totalitare, care au produs atâta sufe-rin]\ nu numai `n Centrul [i `n Estul Europei,ci `n lumea `ntreag\. A r\mas aceea[i con[ti-in]\ vie, victim\ [i martor `n acela[i timp.

Publicat mai curând sporadic `n România pân\`n 1986, anul autoexil\rii sale cvasifor]ate,Norman Manea a devenit persona non grata [inumele s\u a fost interzis `n România ceau-[ist\. C\r]ile lui au disp\rut din biblioteci.Nici dup\ ridicarea Cortinei de Fier, mult\ vre-me, Norman Manea nu a avut parte de recep-tarea pe care o merit\, `n pofida recunoa[teriiinterna]ionale [i a public\rii c\r]ilor sale laedituri dintre cele mai prestigioase. Acas\,grup\rile nostalgic comuniste [i mediile na]io-naliste, unele de-a dreptul antisemite, nu l-auiertat pentru convingerile ferme [i pentrulu\rile sale de pozi]ie, pentru adev\rurilefruste pe care le-a rostit `n mod tran[ant.

Abia `n ultimul deceniu România a acceptats\ recunoasc\ propriul Holocaust [i crimele`nf\ptuite de regimul comunist, dar disputelelocale privind num\rul de victime [i motiva]iaetnic\ sau ideologic\ au situat pe un plan secundtragediile istorice. ~n aceast\ conjunctur\,Norman Manea s-a dovedit a fi, `n ]ara sa, un

Norman Manea s-a dovedit a fi, `n ]arasa, un autor incomodSSiillvviiuu LLuuppeessccuu

autor incomod [i greu de asimilat. A fost nece-sar\ apari]ia unor critici dintr-o nou\ genera]ie,desprins\ de cli[ee [i ideologii, pentru ca operalui literar\ [i eseistic\ s\ fie reevaluat\ [i rea-dus\ `n for]\ `n aten]ia publicului românesc.

Seria de autor dedicat\ lui Norman Maneape care Editura Polirom a lansat-o acum treiani [i-a propus s\ reconstituie opera unei per-sonalit\]i de excep]ie, cel mai tradus autor con-temporan al culturii române. Vor fi publicatecirca 24 de volume, cuprinzând romanele, prozascurt\, eseurile, publicistica, dar [i convorbirilecu personalit\]i de seam\ ale culturii românesau universale, critic\ literar\ etc. Unele dintreaceste scrieri sunt inedite sau au fost risipite`n diverse publica]ii [i trebuie reunite `n vo-lume. Dorim s\ reconstituim portretul unuiautor român a c\rui oper\ este complex\ [inecesit\ direc]ii multiple de abordare. Dorim

s\ oferim cititorilor români, dar [i editorilor dinlumea `ntreag\, un instrument util [i `n egal\m\sur\ necesar pentru cunoa[terea operei luiNorman Manea, sub numeroasele ei fa]ete.Este un gest firesc [i, totodat\, o invita]ie laun dialog multicultural de idei.

~ntr-o lume dominat\ de conflicte, seria deautor Norman Manea ar putea dovedi c\ omul decultur\, indiferent de extrac]ia geografic\, maiare un cuvânt important de spus `n lume, iarreflec]ia asupra destinelor umanit\]ii trebuie s\ fiemai important\ decât orice alt interes conjunc-tural. R\mas fidel limbii natale [i spa]iuluicentral- [i est-european, Norman Manea sedefine[te ast\zi drept una dintre con[tiin]elecritice ale lumii, iar opera sa trebuie cunos-cut\, tradus\, citit\ [i recitit\, iar seria deopere publicat\ la Polirom este o dovad\ [i,mai ales, o invita]ie `n acest demers.

– 244 –


– 245 –


Norman Manea has proven anincommodious authorin his own countrySSiillvviiuu LLuuppeessccuu

Not without more or less circumstantial diffi-culties, the name of Norman Manea at lastcommands respect also in his native land, morethan twenty years after the collapse of theIron Curtain. His spectacular return has alsobeen due to the numerous publishing housesall over the world that have seen in the workof Norman Manea the testimony of a militantconscience and proof of the incontestable talentthey have supported over the years.

Norman Manea survived fifty years in Ro-mania, where he experienced the ravages of twototalitarian regimes, the horrors of war and de-portation, the consequences of anti-Semitismand extreme nationalism, and the communistpersecution of opponents. To be a Romanianwriter of Jewish origins and not to conform tothe official directives that transformed cultureinto a resounding hosanna sung in praise of theregime and its leader were for the Ceau[escuregime presumptions of guilt that required nofurther proof. By refusing to compromise,Norman Manea was forced to emigrate, takingwith him the experience and memories of

a dramatic life, but also his native language,which he has never abandoned. He continuedto write in Romanian and to bear witnesswhat he had experienced. He continued tocondemn the aberrations of totalitarianism,which caused so much suffering not only inCentral and Eastern Europe but also through-out the world. He has remained the same li-ving conscience, a victim and witness at thesame time.

Published only sporadically in Romania upuntil 1986, the year of his more or less forcedself-exile, Norman Manea became a personanon grata and his name was banned in Ceau-[escu’s Romania. His books vanished fromlibraries. Even after the collapse of the IronCurtain, for a long time Norman Manea wasdenied the recognition he deserved, in spite ofinternational acclaim and the publication ofhis books by the world’s most prestigiouspublishers. In Romania, factions nostalgic forcommunism and nationalist groups, some ofthem blatantly anti-Semitic, have not forgivenhim for his firm convictions, the stances he

‘The author series dedicated to Norman Maneawhich Polirom launched three years ago aimsto bring together the works of an exceptionalliterary figure, Romanian culture’s mosttranslated contemporary author.‘

Silviu Lupescu

has taken publicly, or the unvarnished truthshe has spoken so trenchantly.

It is only in the last decade that Romania hasconsented to acknowledge its own Holocaustand the crimes committed by the communistregime, but local disputes about the numberof victims and ethnic or ideological motiva-tions have shifted historical tragedies into thebackground. In such circumstances, NormanManea has proven to be an incommodiousand unassimilable writer in his own country.The emergence of critics from a new genera-tion, not bound by clichés and ideologies, wasnecessary before his work could be re-evalu-ated and brought back to the full attention ofthe Romanian reading public.

The author series dedicated to NormanManea which Polirom launched three yearsago aims to bring together the works of anexceptional literary figure, Romanian cul-ture’s most translated contemporary author.Around twenty-four volumes will be publishedin the series, which will include novels, shortprose, essays, journalism, and also dialogueswith leading figures in Romanian and worldculture, literary criticism, and so on. Some ofthese texts were previously unpublished or

were scattered among the pages of variouspublications and thus needed to be gatheredtogether. We wish to offer Romanian readers,as well as publishers the world over, aninstrument that is useful and necessary inequal measure for an understanding of thework of Norman Manea in all its numerousfacets. It is a natural gesture and also an invi-tation to a multicultural dialogue of ideas.

In a present dominated by conflicts, theNorman Manea author series might serve asevidence that the man of culture, regardless ofhis geographical origins, still has an importantword to say in the world, and that reflectionon human destinies should be more importantthan any other circumstantial interest. Havingremained loyal to his native language and theCentral- and Eastern-European cultural space,Norman Manea can today be defined as oneof the world’s foremost critical consciences,whose work needs to be made known, trans-lated, read and reread. The author series pub-lished by Polirom is a proof of this and,above all, an invitation in this direction.


– 247 –


Ceremonia de decernare a Premiului Nonino. De la st=nga la dreapta: Claudio Magris, Norman Manea [i familia Nonino

The Award Ceremony of Nonino Prize. From left to right: Claudio Magris, Norman Maneaand Nonino family

– 249 –


„Exilul“, spunea Norman Manea `ntr-un dia-log pe care l-am avut acum câ]iva ani, „expri-m\ `ns\[i esen]a individualit\]ii mele, dar [i arealit\]ii noastre contemporane“. Dezr\d\ci-narea e o ran\ ce sfâ[ie istoria tuturor epocilor,dar cu o violen]\ deosebit\ pe cea a secoluluiXX, care a v\zut atâtea frontiere `n\l]ându-se,pr\bu[indu-se, mutându-se, atâtea popoare [iatâ]ia oameni pierzându-[i casa, patria, identi-tatea [i devenind str\ini, pretutindeni [i pentruto]i, dar mai ales pentru ei `n[i[i. Aceast\experien]\ dureroas\ – care pentru poporulevreu a reprezentat un destin milenar, darcare afecteaz\ diferite popoare – este [i cre-atoare. Orice crea]ie presupune o pierdere, unexod; dac\ Enea nu ar fi exilat din Troia, nuar `ntemeia Roma, iar Exodul, dup\ cum spu-ne Biblia, este necesar Istoriei Sacre. „Scrii-tura mea“, ad\uga Manea `n acel dialog, „esterezultatul dezr\d\cin\rii [i a fisurilor, a incer-titudinii `n de[ertul `n care Lévinas vedea ade-v\rata origine a spiritului, capabil s\ `nlocu-iasc\ p\mântul cu litera“.

Norman Manea – pe care `n 1983 HeinrichBöll `l indica deja drept unul dintre cei maimari scriitori `n via]\, pe atunci aproape ne-cunoscut `n afara grani]elor ]\rii-`nchisoare,România lui Ceau[escu, `n care tr\ia [i dincare nu putea ie[i – a cunoscut diferitele chi-puri ale exilului, „sarcastica sa simetrie“, cumo nume[te el. N\scut `n 1936 la Suceava, `nRomânia – mai precis, `n Bucovina, unde secontopesc mai multe culturi ale Estului

european –, a fost deportat când avea cinciani, pentru c\ era evreu, `n lag\rul de concen-trare din Transnistria, `n Ucraina, [i, prinurmare, a privit `n fa]\ Meduza celei mai mari orori care a existat vreodat\. ~ntors `nRomânia la sfâr[itul celui de-al Doilea R\zboiMondial, Manea a tr\it cei mai negri ani aidictaturii satrap-comuniste – un alt exil, datfiind c\ `n oprimare [i `n sclavie nu te po]isim]i acas\, `n patrie.

„M-am format [i m-am deformat `n exilulinterior al unei societ\]i `nchise, pervertite, unamestec bizantin de demagogie, mizerie [iteroare“, scrie Manea. ~nc\ de la `nceputurilesale literare, a denun]at perversiunea totalitar\[i pervertirea pe care aceasta o produce `n su-fletul oamenilor, inclusiv al scriitorilor, corup-]ia lent\ ce pune st\pânire pe om asemeneaunui viciu, pe care `n cele din urm\ acesta nureu[e[te s\ o disting\ de propria natur\, sfâr-[ind prin a nu-[i mai da seama de ea. Toateacestea au dus la necazuri, la revocarea unuipremiu [i la atacuri personale `mbibate deantisemitism, bine `nr\d\cinat `n multe sec-toare din ]ara sa, care a avut unul dintre celemai rele [i mai rasiste fascisme. Romanul s\uPlicul negru – scris, cenzurat, rescris, `ntr-unriscant joc de-a v-a]i-ascunselea cu cenzura [itotodat\ sfid\tor la adresa acesteia, `n cele dinurm\ republicat `n libertate – e o parabol\grotesc\ [i spectral\ a raportului dintre scri-itur\ [i putere, unde cenzura devine tema,obstacolul [i substan]a construc]iei narative.

Pentru Norman CCllaauuddiioo MMaaggrriiss

Manea a p\r\sit România `n 1986, iar din 1987tr\ie[te `n Statele Unite, unde pred\ la BardCollege. De data aceasta „un exil eliberator,exilul fericit al eliber\rii“, cum spune el, dartotu[i un exil, mai ales pentru un scriitor carese vede obligat s\ scrie `ntr-o limb\ diferit\ de ceavorbit\ `n jurul lui [i pe care o vorbe[te [i el `nrealitatea de zi cu zi. Acest exil lingvistic – „oardere `n profunzime; pentru scriitor, holocau-stul s\u“ – este ambivalent, poate s\ blochezesau s\ stimuleze scrierea, s\ o fac\ artificial\ saus\-i dea o nou\ via]\, s\ o fac\ s\ amu]easc\sau s\ o `nve]e s\ vorbeasc\ `ntr-un fel nou.

Manea este unul dintre scriitorii puternicicare [tiu s\ creasc\ [i au crescut `n de[ert; cu-vântul s\u este via]\, asemenea gen]ianei pe careSlataper o vede r\s\rind dintre st=ncile de laCarso. ~n romanele sale incisive – ca Octombrie,ora opt, poate capodopera sa – [i `n eseuri, [iacestea de o importan]\ indiscutabil\, ca DespreClovni: Dictatorul [i Artistul, Manea a expimatdezr\d\cinarea [i exilul epocii noastre, `n careoricine [tie, asemenea lui Moise, c\ nu pune [i nuva pune piciorul `n niciun P\mânt al F\g\duin]ei.Manea e unul dintre scriitorii care s-au aflat`n gura Leviatanului totalitar, privindu-l `nfa]\, denun]ând puterea sa devastatoare, dar [ianulând seduc]ia sa fals\ [i grosolan\, mizeriasa de mucava. Minotaurul aflat la pând\ `n`ntuneric este [i o carcas\ ridicol\, f\r\ s\ fieprin aceasta mai pu]in teribil\ [i mortal\.

Amabil, taciturn, fratern [i ironic melancolic,plin de modestie [i de `n]elegere pentru via]\,singuratic [i timid, de[i curajos, puternic ancorat`n sentimente [i afecte, Manea ar fi preferat cusiguran]\ s\ nu stea fa]\ `n fa]\ cu istoria [i cu „vio-len]a ei distrug\toare“, cum o numea Nietzsche;se simte f\r\ `ndoial\ mai degrab\ Charlot decâtAhile. Dar Charlot, când se treze[te `n `nv\l-m\[eal\ `mpotriva voin]ei sale, poate s\ se luptela fel de curajos ca Ahile, caraghios ne`nfricatsub loviturile istoriei asemenea clovnului decirc, invincibil `n mijlocul loviturilor care seabat asupra lui. Nu `ntâmpl\tor clovnul [i circulsunt o metafor\ central\ `n opera lui Manea.

Istoria apare ca un circ sângeros [i tragicomic,un carnaval grotesc unde râsul e când feroce, cândgeneros, când `n]elept, când idiot, când eliberator,când prevaricator, când adev\r, când minciun\.

M\re]ia literar\ a lui Manea const\ `n capa-citatea sa de a analiza subtil procesele larvarede degradare, subteranele sufletului [i ale sen-timentelor `n care se elaboreaz\ mecanismelerezisten]ei, dar [i ale duplicit\]ii [i ale experi-ment\rii curajoase, carnavalul dezl\n]uit [ibaroc al minciunii generalizate. Manea [tie c\barbaria nu s-a sfâr[it odat\ cu c\derea mari-lor totalitarisme [i c\ [i „societatea deschis\,democratic\ `nregistreaz\ o diminuare a decen-]ei, a generozit\]ii, a grandorii“, batjocurablasfematoare, luarea `n derâdere a umanuluise extind pân\ când ajung s\ neutralizeze oricevaloare, dar [i pe sine. „~n marea pia]\ liber\[i carnavalesc\ al lumii de azi nimic nu maipare demn de auzit dac\ nu e scandalos, darnimic nu e destul de scandalos `ncât s\ devin\memorabil.“ {i, pentru cel care are o huma-nitas mitteleuropean\ f\cut\ din umor, pietate,solidaritate [i ironie, s\ tr\ie[ti `n aceast\ lumeeste, poate, un mod de a tr\i `n exil.

S`ntem prieteni de ani de zile – o `n]elegerebazat\ pe atâtea lucruri pe care le avem `ncomun, spuse sau nespuse –, `nc\ de când ne-am `ntâlnit prima dat\ cu ocazia unei vi-zite la cascada Niagara organizate `n timpulunui congres care avea loc la Toronto [i lacare participam amândoi. Ne-am trezit unullâng\ altul, `mbr\ca]i ca ni[te pompieri, cuhainele de pânz\ cerat\ ro[ie [i glugile regula-mentar trase pe cap, când am urcat `n vapo-ra[ul ce ne ducea s\ vedem acele cascade pecare Oscar Wilde le numea c\ au fost a douadeziluzie din voiajul s\u de nunt\. Am`nceput s\ râdem, gândindu-ne la câte hainenu mai pu]in clovne[ti purt\m, supu[i, `n celemai diverse ocazii. De atunci, chiar dac\, bine-`n]eles, nu ne-au lipsit momentele triste, amrâs `mpreun\ de mai multe ori. A[a, pu]in `nglum\ [i pu]in ca s\ nu murim.

[Traducere din limba italian\ de Emanuela Stoleriu]

– 250 –


– 251 –


‘Exile,’ Norman Manea said in conversationsome years ago, ‘expresses the very essenceof my individuality, but also that of our con-temporary reality.’ Uprooting is a wound thatslashes across the history of every epoch, butwith particular violence that of the TwentiethCentury, which has seen so many frontiers raised,overturned, displaced; which has seen so manypeoples and individuals lose home, fatherland,identity and become strangers, everywhere andfor everyone, but especially to themselves.This sorrowful experience – which for theJewish people has been a centuries-old destiny,but which strikes the most diverse peoples – isalso creative. Every creation presupposes a loss,an exodus; without the exile from Troy, Aeneaswould not found Rome, and the Exodus, as theBible recounts, is necessary to Sacred History.‘My writing,’ Manea added in that conversation,‘is a result of uprooting and resides in the fis-sures, in uncertainty, in the desert, in whichLévinas saw the true fountain of the spirit,capable of replacing the earth with the letter.’

Norman Manea – whom Heinrich Böll al-ready pointed out in 1983 as one of the greatestliving writers, when he was almost unknownoutside the borders of his native country/prison,the Romania of Ceau[escu where he was livingand which he could not leave – has known thevarious faces of exile, its ‘sarcastic symmetry,’as he calls it. Born in 1936 in Bukovina, inRomania – more precisely in Bucovina, themultinational melting-pot of East-Europeanculture – he was deported at the age of five, as

a Jew, to a concentration camp in Transnistria,in the Ukraine, and thus saw immediately theMedusa face of the greatest horror that has everexisted. When he returned to Romania at theend of the Second World War, Manea livedthrough the worst years of the Communistdictatorship/satrapy – another exile, since inoppression and slavery one can feel at homein one’s own country.

‘I was formed and deformed in the innerexile of a closed, perverted society, a Byzan-tine hodge-podge of demagogy, squalor, andterror,’ Manea has written. From the outset of his literary career he has denounced thetotalitarian perversion and the corruption thatit produces in the souls of men and also ofwriters, the slow corruption that takes posses-sion of a person like a vice, so that at the endthe individual cannot distinguish it from hisown nature and finishes by being no longerable to be aware of it. All that procured himserious harassment, the withdrawal of a prizeand personal attacks permeated with anti-Semitism, deeply rooted in many areas of hiscountry, which experienced one of the worstand most racist forms of Fascism. His novel TheBlack Envelope – written, censored, re-writ-ten, in a risky game of hide-and-seek with thecensorship as well a challenge to it and final-ly republished in freedom – is a grotesqueand ghostly parable of the relationshipbetween writing and power, in which the cen-sorship becomes the theme, the barrier, andthe substance of the narrative construction.

For Norman CCllaauuddiioo MMaaggrriiss

‘Manea is one of the strong writers who cangrow in the desert and have grown; his wordis life, like the gentian that Slataper saw risingfrom the rock of the Carso.’

Claudio Magris

Manea has lived Romania in 1986 and since 1988lives in the United States, where he teaches atBard College. This time, ‘a liberating exile, ahappy one of deliverance,’ as he says, but stillalways an exile, especially for a writer, who hap-pens to write in a language different from theone spoken around him and which he too speaksin his everyday reality. This linguistic exile –‘a deep-seated combustion; for the writer, his holo-caust’ – is ambivalent; it can block or stimulatehis writing, make it artificial or give it new life,cut its tongue or teach it to speak in a new way.

Manea is one of the strong writers who cangrow in the desert and have grown; his word islife, like the gentian that Slataper saw risingfrom the rock of the Carso. In his incisive books –like October, Eight O’Clock, perhaps hismasterpiece – and in essays, these too of un-questioned brilliance, such as On Clowns: TheDictator and the Artist, Manea has expressedthe uprooting and the exile of our age, in whicheveryone knows, like Moses, that he does notand will never set foot in any Promised Land.Manea is one of the writers who found them-selves in the maw of the totalitarian Leviathan,looking it in the face, denouncing its powerto destroy but also debunking its false andgaudy seduction, its papier-mâché squalor.The Minotaur lurking in the darkness is alsoa clumsy and ridiculous corpse, but no lessterrible and deadly for this.

Amiable, shy, fraternally and ironicallymelancholy, full of modesty and friendshiptoward life, withdrawn and timid althoughfearless, intensely rooted in his feelings andaffections, Manea would certainly have pre-ferred not to find himself face to face withhistory and with its ‘annihilating violence,’ asNietzsche called it; he certainly feels himselfmore Charlot than Achille. But Charlot, whenagainst his will he finds himself in a fracas, canfight no less valiantly than Achille, comicallyundaunted under the blows of history like theclown circus, unconquered by blows the raindown on him. It is no accident that the clownand the circus are a central metaphor in Manea’s

work. History appears as a bloody and tragi-cally comic circus, a grotesque carnival inwhich laughter is now savage now generous,now wise now half-witted, now liberatingnow false, now truth now lies.

Manea’s literary greatness consists in hiscapacity to articulate subtly the larval processesof degradation, the underground of the psycheand of the emotions in which grow the mecha-nisms of resistance but also of duplicity andcompromise, and to represent, with grotesquefancy and bold experimentation, the unchainedand Baroque carnival of pervasive lying. Maneaknows that barbarianism did not end with thefall of the great totalitarianisms and that even ‘theopen, democratic society is going through adecline of decency, generosity, greatness’: theblasphemous derision, the mockery of the hu-man is spreading to the point of neutralizingevery value but also itself: ‘In the great freecarnival market of today’s world nothing anylonger seems audible unless it’s scandalous, butnothing is sufficiently scandalous to becomememorable.’ To live in this world, for someonewho carries along a middle-European humanitasmade up of humor, pity, solidarity and irony,is also perhaps a way of living in exile.

We have been friends for years – an under-standing based on so many things in common,said and not said – since we met for the firsttime, on the occasion of a trip to Niagra Fallsorganized during a writers’ conference in To-ronto in which we both participated. We foundourselves near each other, dressed as firemen, dulywearing our red oilcloth capes and hoods gettingon the boat that took us to see the falls thatOscar Wilde called the second disappointmentof the honeymoon. We started to laugh, thinkingof how many others no less clownish outfits weobediently put on in the various occasions of life.From that time, even if sad moments have notbeen lacking, we have often laughed together –a bit in jest and a bit so as not to die.

[Translated from Italian by Frederick Hammond]

– 253 –


Cu Rose Meerwein, la Berlin, 2008

With Rose Meerweim, Berlin, 2008

– 255 –


Trebuie s\ fi fost prin 1987 c=nd am auzitpentru prima oar\ de tine; o coleg\, cu care `mid\dusem `nt=lnire `ntr-o cafenea parizian\, mi-apovestit c\ `]i citise BIOGRAFIA ROBOT [ivorbea despre ea cu totul entuziasmat\. Lac=tva timp dup\ aceea mi-ai f\cut o vizit\ `nbiroul meu de la Berlin. {edeam fa]\ `n fa]\ – tu,cu z=mbetul t\u cel mai bl=nd. {i mi-am spus:„Da, omul \sta vine `ntr-adev\r dintr-o alt\lume, o lume desp\r]it\ de noi printr-o cortin\de fier.“ Pe vremea aceea lucram – `nc\ –, eramscout literar, curiozitatea `mi era meseria.

Ne-am `nt=lnit adesea [i multele discu]ii cutine, Cella [i Dorothea au dat temeiul uneiprietenii care a c\p\tat form\ [i s-a consolidatpe incertitudinile de atunci ale existen]elornoastre materiale, potrivite `mprejur\rilor. Voidoi, tu [i Cella, avea]i un r\gaz de numai doiani ca s\ lua]i hot\r=rea – [i apoi s-o duce]i la`ndeplinire – de a nu v\ mai `ntoarce `n Ro-mânia, ci s\ r\m=ne]i `n Vest. Asta `nsemnapentru tine nu doar s\-]i iei r\mas-bun de lap\rin]ii t\i, de la patria ta pentru un timpimprevizibil; primejdia de a te `nstr\ina,poate, `ntr-un anume sens, [i de limb\, de acelelixir al vie]ii tale, p\rea at=t de mare.

Dorothea [i cu mine tocmai f\cuser\m unpas `ntr-o zon\ periferic\ a vie]ii editoriale [ipreluaser\m Biroul de informa]ii literareGracklauer. {pagatul de la cutiile cu fi[e p=n\ la mijloacele electronice care aveau s\fie introduse era imens [i uneori p\rea de

nesuportat; `ns\ teama de asemenea probleme p\-rea m\runt\ pe l=ng\ deciziile care vi se impuneau.

Dup\ cei doi ani la DAAD `n Berlinul vesticde atunci, Republica Federal\ nu v-a maiprimit. {ederea ta `n lag\rul de concentrare, `ncopil\rie, era neimportant\; la fel [i lucr\riletale literare care, treptat, [i-au g\sit editori [i `nVest [i au fost traduse. Mi-a fost ru[ine, ca demulte alte ori, pentru ]ara asta, ]ara mea. ~ns\eram fericit\ c\ puteam s\ r\m=nem prieteni.

Drag\ Norman, critica interna]ional\ ]i-aapreciat [i ]i-a descris contribu]ia la literaturauniversal\, romanele [i eseurile tale, [i ]i-aacordat premii importante. Al\turi de mareaiubire [i admira]ie pe care le nutresc pentrutine [i pentru lucr\rile tale, trei dintre ele `misunt de mare `nsemn\tate:

BIOGRAFIA ROBOT, prima ta carte pepia]a german\, ale c\rei traducere [i publicaremi-a fost `ng\duit s\ le tr\iesc [i eu; nu voiuita niciodat\ `ncordarea noastr\ p=n\ `n clipa`n care am putut s\ ]inem cartea `n m=n\ [imarea bucurie c=nd, `n sf=r[it, ea exista.

~NTOARCEREA HULIGANULUI m-aemo]ionat `n mod deosebit. Pur [i simplu nupot s\ g\sesc cuvintele care s\ exprime respec-tul [i admira]ia pe care le simt pentru aceast\lucrare, `n care te deschizi larg spre cititor.

{i, nu `n ultimul r=nd, CONVORBIRE CUSAUL BELLOW a c\p\tat pentru mine per-sonal o mare importan]\. Printre altele, `l`ntrebi pe Bellow despre originea creativit\]ii

Drag\ Norman RRoossee MMeeeerrwweeiinn

– 256 –


sa [i despre ce-a `nsemnat ea pentru el.R\spunsurile spre care l-ai condus m-au aju-tat s\ cred `n propria-mi for]\ creatoare.

Drag\ Norman, a[ vrea s\-]i mul]umesc [ipentru ultima ta vizit\ la Dorothea. Era dejaat=t de ve[ted\ [i de ostenit\. Cu umorul t\uz=mbitor ai f\cut-o s\ `nfloreasc\ `nc\ o dat\,pentru o clip\, o luminare brusc\ a ceea ceeste ea [i prietenia voastr\, a noastr\.

La cea de-a 75-a aniversare `]i doresc s\-]ipo]i spori [i intensifica esen]a vie]ii mul]i anide-acum `nainte.

Mult\ fericire [i s\n\tate pe acest drum v\dore[te, ]ie [i Cellei,

Rose

[Traducere din limba german\ de Mariana B\rbulescu]

It might have been 1987 when I first found outabout you; a colleague of mine, with whom Iwas speaking in a coffee shop in Paris told methat she had read ROBOTER BIOGRAPHIEand was fascinated by it. After a while you paidme a visit in my Berlin office. You were in frontof me with your kindest smile and I was thin-king: ‘Yes, this man really comes from anotherworld, a world separated from us by an IronCurtain.’ I was still working at that time as lite-rary ‘scout,’ a bizarre addition to my profession.

We saw each other often and our conversa-tions, with you and Cella and Dorothea builta friendship, formed and fortified by ouruncertainties regarding our material existence.Both of you, Cella and yourself, had only twoyears to make and carry out a decision not toreturn to Romania and to remain in the West.For you it meant being separated for an un-known period of time from your parents, yourhomeland, and the danger being estranged, ina certain way, from your language, your elixirof life, seemed great.

Dorothea and I were setting out into themarginal territory of the publishing worldwhen we took over the Gracklauer Office forLiterary Information. Our exertions amongthe card indexes and new electronic deviceswere dreadful and sometimes seemed almostunbearable; yet our fear when confrontingthese issues seemed to diminish in compari-son with your pressing decisions.

After two years at the DAAD in the WestBerlin of that time, our Federal Republic didn’t want to keep you any more. Your timeas a child in a concentration camp was mean-ingless; also your literary work, which hadalready had found its publishers in the Westand was to be translated. I was ashamed, asoften before, of my country. But I was happythat we could remain friends.

Dear Norman, your contribution to worldliterature, your novels and essays were praisedand commented by international critics, you re-ceived important prizes. Besides the great loveand admiration I have for you and your workthere are three books especially important to me:

The ROBOTER BIOGRAPHIE, whosetranslation and publication as your first book inGerman I also experienced with the tension untilwe finally had the book in our hands. The greatjoy when it finally arrived I will never forget.

Your HOLIGAN AUTOBIOGRAPHIEmoved me especially. I cannot really find thewords to express my high esteem and admira-tion for this work in which you so widelyopened up to the reader.

And last but not least, your INTERVIEWWITH SAUL BELLOW became of great per-sonal importance for me. You asked Bellowamong other things about the roots and mean-ing of his creativity. The answers you guidedhim to were helped me to believe in my owncreative power.

– 257 –


Dear Norman RRoossee MMeeeerrwweeiinn

‘You were in front of me with your kindestsmile and I was thinking: “Yes, this man reallycomes from another world, a world separatedfrom us through an Iron Curtain“.‘

Rose Meerwein

Dear Norman, I would also like to thankyou for your last visit to Dorothea. She wasalready frail and tired. You succeeded, withyour smiling humour you helped her brieflyto blossom once more, with that kind ofbrightness that was part of her and your per-sonality and part of our friendship.

On your 75th Birthday I wish you manymore years to extend and deepen your Es-sence. I wish you great Happiness andHealth, on this path is wishing you

Your Rose

[Translated from German by Nik Braun]

– 259 –


Eduardo Lago, Norman Manea [i Mercedes Monmany, New York, 2008

Eduardo Lago, Norman Manea and Mercedes Monmany, New York, 2008

– 261 –


Observator al continuelor „paralele de dinco-lo de incestuos“ care `nso]esc dictaturile, deorice tip ar fi ele, [i creator de literatur\ ceare tristul privilegiu de a fi fost de dou\ oripersecutat, [i de nazi[ti `n timpul celui de-alDoilea R\zboi Mondial, [i ca oponent al regi-mului comunist, Norman Manea, `n ultimiiani, a devenit o prezen]\ pe care am putea-onumi „familiar\“ `ntr-o ]ar\ ca Spania. O ]ar\care din când `n când se afla `n afara soarteialtora din comunitatea european\. O stareexcep]ional\ care se datoreaz\ par]ial deceni-ilor de dictatur\ sub Franco sau josniceiexpulz\ri a evreilor, care ne-a transformatpentru mai bine de cinci secole, spre ru[inea[i s\r\cia noastr\ intelectual\, `ntr-o na]iunemonocrom\, cu o religie unic\, lipsit\ deculoare [i provincial de monocultural\.

Când spun „familiar\“, m\ refer la ambelesensuri: atât la receptarea [i publicarea continu\a c\r]ilor sale, cât [i la alt nivel, mai personal.Cella [i Norman – calzi, afectuo[i, apropia]i [iinteligen]i, cu un uimitor sim] al umorului – vin`n ]ara noastr\ din când `n când [i la fiecare vi-zit\ sunt tot mai mul]i prieteni care `i `ntâm-pin\. Ni se face dor de zâmbetul lui Normandac\ lipse[te de lâng\ noi mai mult timp, nu-mai al lui [i de atâtea feluri `n acela[i timp:fericit, p\trunz\tor, acut, extrem de `nsufle]it,intuitiv [i melancolic-lucid. Este un zâmbetonest, necorupt intelectual [i pe care `l auamândoi, [i Cella, [i Norman, care, ca `npoemul Un seul sourire al lui Paul Eluard,

`l afi[eaz\ mereu, „f\r\ s\ `[i schimbe nicio-dat\ `nf\]i[area“.

La fel ca al]i mari scriitori central-europeniai vremurilor noastre – ungurii Imre Kertész[i György Konrád ori sârbul Danilo Kiš –,Norman Manea va r\mâne `ntotdeauna mar-cat de povara trecutului [i de cele dou\ tiraniipe care le-a sim]it pe pielea lui, una dup\ alta.Când a venit vremea s\ descrie aceast\ expe-rien]\ devastatoare `n limba literaturii, ei audevenit ni[te mae[tri f\r\ pereche. Aceast\ ex-perien]\ a fost tradus\, uneori, `ntr-un magnific[i tulbur\tor amalgam de genuri care nu se d\`napoi de la nimic `n povestire: eseu, reflec]iifilosofice, istorice [i politice, memorii [i auto-biografie, precum [i, desigur, splendidul exer-ci]iu al fic]iunii pure, plin\ de ironie [i deap\rarea individului ca outsider de temut, ocaracteristic\ a marilor mae[tri ai secoluluiXX, de la Musil, Joyce [i Canetti la Nabokov.Fic]iunea halucinant\ – ca `n terifiantul volumde povestiri Fericirea obligatorie –, plasat\`ntr-un infern cenu[iu `n care – prin lege sauprintr-o pervertire patologic\ a cotidianului –domnesc abjec]ia moral\ [i material\, suspiciunea,frica [i un grad de complicitate generalizat\.

Norman a devenit pentru mul]i dintre noi,prin extraordinarele sale opere care transcendgenurile, precum ~ntoarcerea huliganului, sauprin incomparabilele lui eseuri – unele dintrecele mai bune din vremurile noastre –, ca aceleaadunate `n volumul Despre Clovni: Dictatorul

Paralele familiare MMeerrcceeddeess MMoonnmmaannyy

[i Artistul, ori prin povestirile sale din Ceaiullui Proust, un autor care poate decoda tirani-ile, indiferent ce form\ ar lua ele. A devenitochiul critic extrem de atent [i de caustic `na-inte [i dup\ co[mar. Cu o subtilitate p\trunz\-toare, el disec\ o lume invizibil\ [i subteran\,apele st\tute `n care ne b\l\cim to]i cei caream tr\it – fiecare cu propriile idiosincraziispecifice – sub jugul unor regimuri autoritare.

El este cel mai priceput [i cel mai `n m\sur\s\ interpreteze la lumina zilei [i, cu siguran]\,`n lumina tinerelor democra]ii, abia formate,manevrele opace [i aproape indescifrabile cucare puterile despotice, nedemocratice se `nde-letniceau odat\ ca niciodat\ pentru a se auto-perpetua prin megalomanii barbare [i brutale.


– 262 –


An observer of the continuing ‘parallels beyondthe incestuous’ which accompany dictatorshipswhatever their sign may be, and a literary creatorwho is sadly privileged with the condition ofhaving been twice pursued, both by the Nazisduring the Second World War and as an oppo-nent of the Communist regime, Norman Manea,over the past years, has become a presenceone might call ‘familiar’ in a country like Spain.A country which on occasion falls outside ofthe destiny that is shared by so many otherswithin the European community. A state ofexception that is owed in part to the decadesof the Franco dictatorship, or the infamousexpulsion of the Jews, which left us for morethan five centuries, to our disgrace and intel-lectual paucity, a monochromatic nation, mono-religious, dull and provincially monocultural.

When I say ‘familiar,’ I mean in both re-gards: the continuous reception and publica-tion of his books; and on another, more per-sonal level. Both Cella and Norman – warm,affectionate, close and intelligent, with out-standing senses of humor – dock in our landsfrom time to time, and with each visit there aremore friends to receive them. We miss Norman’ssmile when they haven’t been around for awhile, so unmistakably his and so many thingsat same time: happy, acute, cunning, extremelyawake, intuitive and melancholically lucid. It’san honest smile, intellectually uncorruptedand shared by both of them: by Cella and

Norman who, as in Paul Eluard’s poem, Unseul sourire, hold it steadfastly, ‘without everchanging appearance.’

As other great Central European writers ofour times – the Hungarians Imre Kertész andGyörgy Konrád, or the Serbian Danilo Kiš –Norman Manea will always be marked by theweight of the past and the double tyrannysuffered in his own flesh, one after the other.When the time came to describe this devas-tating experience in literary language, theyhave become unparalleled masters. Thisexperience has been translated, on occasion,into a magnificent and disturbing amalgam ofgenres that foregoes nothing in the telling:neither essay nor philosophical, historical andpolitical reflections, nor memoirs and autobi-ography, nor of course the brilliant exercisingof pure fiction, full of irony and the defenseof the individual as fierce outsider, a charac-teristic of the greatest masters of the twentiethcentury, from Musil, Joyce and Canetti toNabokov. Phantasmagorical fiction – as inNorman’s terrifying story collection CompulsoryHappiness – set in a grey underworld where –by law or through a pathological perversionof the everyday – moral and material abjection,suspicion, fear and a degree of widespreadcomplicity reigns.

Norman has become for many of us, throughhis extraordinary cross-genre works such as TheHooligan’s Return, or incomparable essays –

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Familiar parallels MMeerrcceeddeess MMoonnmmaannyy

‘He has become the extremely sharp andcaustically critical eye before and after thenightmare.’

Mercedes Monmany

some of the best of our times – like those col-lected in On Clowns: The Dictator and TheArtist, or in his stories in Proust’s tea, a dis-cerning decoder of tyrannies, whatever formthey may take. He has become the extremelysharp and caustically critical eye before andafter the nightmare. The most subtle and pe-netrating dissector of an invisible and subter-ranean world, of the stagnant waters we allshare who have lived under the yoke – eachone with their own peculiar idiosyncrasies –

of authoritarian regimes. He is the best andmost highly qualified to interpret in broad day-light and certainly in the daylight of theyoung, recently arrived democracies, theopaque and almost indecipherable maneuver-ings with which despotic, not democratic,powers endeavored once upon a time to per-petuate themselves through barbaric and bru-tal megalomanias.

[Translated from Spanish by Valerie Miles]

– 265 –


Cin\ `n casa Manea dup\ lectura lui Mario Vargas Llosa la Bard. De la st=nga la dreapta: Antonio Muñoz Molina, Norman Manea [i Mario Vargas Llosa

Dinner at the Manea house after Mario Vargas Llosa’s reading at Bard. From left to right: Antonio Muñoz Molina, Norman Manea and Mario Vargas Llosa

©Ce

lla M

anea

– 267 –


~mi aduc aminte foarte clar când l-am cunoscutpe Norman Manea. Era pe la sfâr[itul anului2004 sau la `nceputul lui 2005 [i o prieten\comun\, traduc\toarea Esther Allen, ne aran-jase o `ntâlnire la prânz, fiind sigur\ c\ se vadovedi una pl\cut\. Ne-am `ntâlnit la un resta-urant spaniol primitor din centrul Manhattanului,Solera, nu departe de biroul meu de la InstitutoCervantes, unde lucram atunci. Esther a f\cutprezent\rile [i am `nceput imediat s\ discut\m;peste doar câteva minute aveam sentimentulc\ ne [tim de-o via]\, care, f\r\ `ndoial\, esteuna dintre cele mai mari pl\ceri pe care le poatecunoa[te un om; de fapt, este una dintre pl\-cerile care fac via]a s\ merite s\ fie tr\it\.

Aflasem despre numele [i opera lui Normancâ]iva ani mai devreme, pe când m\ documen-tam despre Jurnalul lui Mihail Sebastian, pecare hot\râsem s\ `l includ `ntr-o serie de me-morii [i m\rturii privind unele dintre cele maisumbre evenimente din secolul XX european,urmând s\ le public `n Spania, la Galaxia Gu-tenberg. Spre marele meu regret de spaniolprovincial, nu auzisem niciodat\ de Sebastian`nainte ca un fragment din Jurnalul lui s\ fiepublicat `n The New Yorker. Mihail Sebastian sedovedea una dintre cele mai remarcabile vocidin literatura despre persecutarea evreiloreuropeni, dar [i ca un scriitor cosmopolit`mplinit [i intelectual cunoscut dintr-o ]ar\c\reia noi, spaniolii, nu `i acordaser\m nicio-dat\ aten]ie ca parte a acestei tenebroase „]\ride nic\ieri“ care se `ntindea dincolo de

Cortina de Fier. {tiam câte ceva despre contem-poranii s\i români mai celebri, transplanta]icu atâta succes `n cultura [i limba franceze,Ionesco, Cioran, Eliade. Numeroasele c\r]i alelui Mircea Eliade despre gândirea [i imaginilesimbolice f\cuser\ parte din bibliografia meadin studen]ie, când eram interesat `n mod spe-cial de istoria artei. Dincolo de frecventelesale aluzii la misticism [i tendin]a c\tre ocultst\tea la pând\ ceva vag b\nuitor, dar el p\reaun specialist serios [i `n acela[i timp un scrii-tor excep]ional. Abia când aveam s\ citesc dinMihail Sebastian aveam s\ `mi dau seama `nce m\sur\ Cioran, Ionesco [i Eliade nu erauni[te aflorimente u[or excentrice ale culturiifranceze, ci reprezentan]i ai unei elite cosmo-polite, bine educat\ [i multilingv\ care `nflori-se `n `ndep\rtata Românie cu mult timp `nainteca r\zboiul [i dictatura comunist\ s\ cad\ ca unv\l al uit\rii peste ]ar\, ca [i peste restul aceleip\r]i a Europei pe care noi, occidentalii, amales, atât de convenabil, s\ o ignor\m.

Dou\-trei eseuri lungi scrise de Normanm-au ajutat s\ fac cuno[tin]\ cu conec]iile deo complexitate unic\ dintre ace[ti membri aiunei intelighen]ii interbelice for]a]i s\ fac\alegeri politice [i personale aproape imposibile`n fa]a iminentei apocalipse a totalitarismului,genocidului, persecu]iei, r\zboiului. Mul]umit\vastului tablou cultural oferit de acest scriitorcontemporan de care nu mai auzisem niciodat\,cu un prenume atât de ne-est-european caNorman, puteam s\ `n]eleg mai profund [i s\

Prietenie la prima vedereAAnnttoonniioo MMuuññoozz MMoolliinnaa

admir mai mult marele jurnal al lui MihailSebastian, entuziasmul s\u neobosit fa]\ devia]\, capacitatea de a percepe cum `ncet,treptat, o societate aparent normal\ se trans-form\ `ntr-o vast\ re]ea de c\l\i, complici [imartori `mpietri]i, cum peste noapte cel maibun prieten al t\u poate deveni un str\in sau,mai r\u, un du[man, un informator.

Ce nu [tiam eu atunci era c\ gra]ie lui MihailSebastian aveam s\ aflu unele dintre cele maivaloroase informa]ii privind contextul pentrua `n]elege [i a aprecia scrierile literare multi-stratificate ale lui Norman Manea. Pe vremeacând Mihail Sebastian era zi de zi martorulmohorâtei nop]i europene a r\zboiului [i alsor]ii fra]ilor s\i evrei, Norman, unul dintreei, copil atunci, `[i primea [i el lec]ia despredeportare, despre istoria secolului XX cu majus-cul\ `ntunecat\. Istoria, aceast\ zei]\ dezgus-t\toare venerat\ de atâ]ia tic\lo[i [i criminali`n mas\, avea s\ `i ofere lui Norman `nc\ dela vârsta de 5 ani un loc `n primele rânduri alecircului s\u macabru la un spectacol abomina-bil care a durat aproape jum\tate de secol. Afost `ndeajuns de norocos sau de ghinionist –ori poate amândou\ – ca s\ supravie]uiasc\celor dou\ otr\vitoare variante de paradis to-talitar, dar dup\ aceea a luat calea exilului [i aavut [ansa s\ cunoasc\ al treilea ([i singurulcare mai supravie]uise) tip de societate uto-pic\, Statele Unite ale Americii, singura ]ar\din lume unde mai exist\ oameni care vorbescserios când spun c\ sunt parte din realizareaunui vis, oricât de ciudat i se poate p\rea unuieuropean care le-a auzit pe toate.

Ceea ce `l face pe Norman Manea unic cascriitor este m\iestria cu care st\pâne[te dou\talente diferite ce foarte rar se `ntâlnesc: talentulde a observa, de a ]ine minte [i de a povesti cea v\zut; [i talentul de a transforma experien]a`n fic]iune. ~n cazul s\u, fic]iunea [i m\rturia

func]ioneaz\ uneori simultan, iar alteori fiecaremerge pe drumul s\u. Ca la Kafka, s\ zicem,sau ca la principalii martori [i cronicari aisecolului trecut, Sebastian, Klemperer, Levi.

La câteva zile dup\ acest prim prânz `mpre-un\ am descoperit `n cutia po[tal\ un exemplarcu autograf al celei mai recente c\r]i scrise pân\atunci de Norman, ~ntoarcerea huliganului.Nu sem\na cu nicio carte pe care o citisemvreodat\. Pentru a comprima trecutul `n pre-zent, via]a sa din America [i cea din România,[i neputându-se baza pe nicio form\ [i pe niciungen literar canonic, Norman reu[ise s\ lecombine pe toate: memorii, m\rturie, imagi-na]ie, jurnal de c\l\torie, confesiune, jurnal,tot ce vre]i. 50 de ani de via]\ `n Europa Cen-tral\ a secolului XX nu puteau fi `nghesui]i`ntre limitele unor forme literare ce nu au fostcreate pentru a cuprinde o asemenea experien-]\ nemaiauzit\, aproape imposibil\. Aproapeimposibil s\ treci peste ea [i s\ ie[i teaf\r laliman; aproape imposibil s\ o exprimi `n cu-vinte, s\ o poveste[ti pe `n]elesul altora ori s\`i faci s\ o accepte.

~ns\ Norman nu `nseamn\ doar scris, oricâtde remarcabil ar fi el. A[a cum am aflat la pri-mul prânz `mpreun\ [i la numeroasele care auurmat de-a lungul anilor, este un om plin deironie [i de tandre]e, un entuziast al c\r]ilor,un povestitor excelent, un observator atent alnumeroaselor nebunii [i frumuse]i ale acesteiceleilalte ]\ri a lui, o gazd\ generoas\ [i gra]ioa-s\. Exist\ dragoste la prima vedere, dar poateexista [i prietenie la prima vedere. Cum eu [iNorman ne-am cunoscut `ntotdeauna prin in-termediul limbii engleze, voi face o mic\ va-ria]iune pornind de la o vorb\ englezeasc\ [ivoi spune c\ m\ simt de mult timp `n-prietenitde Norman [i Cella Manea.


– 268 –


– 269 –


I have a very clear memory of the first time I metNorman Manea. It was late 2004 or early2005, and a mutual friend, translator EstherAllen, had made what she was sure wouldturn out to be a pleasant lunch date. The placewas a welcoming Spanish restaurant in Mid-town Manhattan, Solera, not far from my of-fice at Instituto Cervantes, where I worked atthe time. Esther introduced us to each otherand we started to talk right away, and a fewminutes later I had that feeling of instantrecognition that is undoubtedly one of thegreat pleasures in life; in fact, one of thosepleasures that make life worth living.

I had come across Norman’s name and worka few years earlier, while doing some research onMihail Sebastian’s Journal, which I had decidedto include in a series of memoirs and witnessaccounts of some of the most somber events inthe European twentieth century which I had beencommisioned to edit in Spain by Galaxia Guten-berg. Much to my provincial Spanish regret, I had never heard of Sebastian before an excerptfrom his Journal was published in The NewYorker. Mihail Sebastian stood out as one ofthe most prominent voices in the literature ofthe persecution of the European Jews, but alsoas an accomplished cosmopolitan writer andpublic intellectual from a country we Spaniardshad always distractedly dismissed as part ofthat shady neverland that extended beyond theIron Curtain. Not that I wasn’t aware of someof his more famous Romanian contemporaries

so successfully transplanted into the Frenchculture and language: Ionesco, Cioran, Eliade.Mircea Eliade’s many books on symbolicthought and images had been part of my readinglist as an university student with a specialinterest in Art history. Something vaguelysuspicious lurked over his frequent flights ofmysticism and penchant for the occult, but heseemed a solid scholar and a brilliant writerall the same. Only after getting acquainted withMihail Sebastian would I come to realize towhat extent Cioran, Ionesco and Eliade werenot slightly excentric outcrops of French culture,but representatives of a great cosmopolitan,well-educated and multilingual elite that hadflourished in faraway Romania long before warand communist dictatorship descended like along cloud of oblivion over the country, muchas over the rest of that part of Europe we inthe West chose so conveniently to ignore.

Two or three long essays by Norman helpedme get acquainted with the uniquely complexentanglements among these members of aninterwar intelligentsia forced to make almostimpossible political and personal choices inthe face of the upcoming apocalypse of totali-tarianism, mass murder, persecution, war.Thanks to the wide cultural picture providedby this contemporary writer I had never heardof before, with such an un-Eastern Euroeanfirst name as Norman, I was able to achieve adeeper understanding of, and greater admira-tion for, the masterful journal of Mihail

Friends at first sight AAnnttoonniioo MMuuññoozz MMoolliinnaa

‘There is more to Norman than his writing,outstanding as it is... He is a man full of irony andtenderness, an enthusiast about books, a firstrate oral storyteller, an acute observer... Thereis love at first sight but there can be alsofriendship at first sight.’

Antonio Muñoz Molina

Sebastian, his relentless enthusiasm for life,his keen eye to perceive the slow gradual waya seemingly normal society turns itself into avast network of executioners, accomplices andcallous by-standerds, how overnight your bestfriend can become a stranger, or even worse,an enemy, an informer.

What I didn’t know at the time was that thanksto Mihail Sebastian I would be furnished withsome of the most valuable background infor-mation to understand and appreciate the manylayered literary work output of Norman Manea. Atthe time when Mihail Sebastian was bearing witnessday after day to the grim European night ofthe war and the fate of his fellow Jews, Norman,one of them, still a child, was getting his ownpersonal schooling in deportation, in twentiethcentury history with a dark capital H. History,that sordid goddess whorshipped by so manyscoundrels and mass murderers, would provideNorman from age five with a front row seat in itsmacabre circus, a freak show that lasted abouthalf a century. He has been lucky enough, orunfortunate enough, or both, to live through thetwo most poinous varieties of totalitarian par-adise, but then he went into exile and had theopportunity to experience the third (and theonly surviving) kind of utopian society, theU.S. of America, the only country in the worldwhere there are people left who seriously talkabout being part of the fulfilment of a dream,strange as it may sound to jagged European ears.

What makes Norman Manea unique as awriter is his command of two different talentsthat very seldom come together: the talent toobserve and remember and tell what one has seen;

and the talent to turn experience into fable. Inhis case, fiction and testimony work some-times simultaneously and sometimes go their dif-ferent ways. The way of Kafka, so to speak, orthe way of the major witnesses and chroniclersof the last century: Sebastian, Klemperer, Levi.

A few days after that first lunch I found in themail a signed copy of Norman’s most recentbook at the time – The Hooligan’s Return. Itwas unlike any other book I had ever read. Inorder to compress the past into the present, hisAmerican life and his Romanian life, and unableto rely on any cannonical literary form or genre,Norman had managed to mix them all: memoir,testimony, imagination, travelogue, confession,journal, you name it. Fifty years of twentiethcentury central European life could not beconfined within the limits of literary formsnever meant to encompass that kind of unheardof, almost impossible experience. Almost im-possible to overcome and survive unscathed;almos impossible to put into words, to makeunderstandable or acceptable.

But there is more to Norman that his writing,outstanding as it is. As I learned at the firstlunch and in the many happy ones that havefollowed over the years, he is a man full ofirony and tenderness, an enthusiast aboutbooks, a first rate storyteller, an acute obser-ver of the many follies and beauties of thishis other country, a generous and gracioushost. There is love at first sight but there can bealso friendship at first sight. Since Norman andI have always met through the English language,I’ll make a slight variation on an Englishidiom and say that I fell and have long been infriendship with Norman and Cella Manea.

– 271 –


Cu Kenneth Murphy, la Budapesta, `n 2001

With Kenneth Murphy, in Budapest, in 2001

– 273 –


Saint-Exupéry a spus odat\ c\ „a vrea s\ cu-no[ti un scriitor pentru c\ `]i plac c\r]ile saleeste ca [i cum ai vrea s\ cuno[ti o gâsc\ pentruc\ `]i place pateul“. Ironic\, succint\ [i foarte a-proape de adev\r `n ceea ce prive[te mul]i scri-itori, remarca ustur\toare a lui Saint-Exupérynu se aplic\ [i `n cazul lui Norman Manea. L-am`ntâlnit prima dat\ pe acest om cu vreo dou\decenii `n urm\ din cauza c\r]ilor, dar de atuncim-am delectat `n compania sa.

Ne-am `ntâlnit pentru prima dat\ `ntr-o sal\ de conferin]e mohorât\, f\r\ nimic aparte, din ora[ul Newark – un loc ocupat `n literatur\de prietenul apropiat al lui Nicky, Philip Roth.La lumina aceea chioar\, institu]ional\, aveaiimpresia c\ sala fusese golit\ de aer. Mi-arpl\cea s\ cred c\ impresia asta era creat\ deprezen]a unor gigan]i ai literaturii precum SaulBellow [i Ralph Ellison, dar `n realitate cauzaera c\ acea conferin]\ literar\, ca atâtea altele,era un fel de pantomim\ steril\ `n care auto-rii, contra unei indemniza]ii, `[i expuneauideile `n fa]a unui public compus din genul deoameni care `[i tot propun s\ scrie c\r]i, darnu o fac niciodat\ sau, dac\ o fac, folosesc unasemenea jargon, `ncât cititorii nu reu[esc s\p\trund\ cu adev\rat sensul c\r]ii.

M\ aflam la conferin]\ pentru c\ tocmaiterminasem de scris o carte despre ideea desocialism `n secolul XX, iar editorul meu m\pusese s\ caut un autor celebru sau doi care s\`mi scrie ni[te texte pentru supracopert\. L-amcunoscut pe Nicky aproape din `ntâmplare, `n

timp ce vorbeam cu un alt exilat român ce aveas\ ia cuvântul `n cadrul conferin]ei, specialistul`n [tiin]e politice Vladimir Tism\neanu, care`[i publicase cartea la aceea[i editur\ ca [i mi-ne. Nu mai [tiu exact despre ce am vorbit cuNicky, dar ]in minte c\ la scurt timp dup\ con-ferin]\ i-am trimis o scrisoare `n care `i spuneamdespre o idee de carte care pe atunci abia mi se`nfiripa `n minte [i `n leg\tur\ cu care `i cereamsfatul. Din fericire pentru mine, el mi-a f\cut prafideea, dar `ntr-un mod atât de fermec\tor, `ncâtmi-am dorit s\ ne mai `ntâlnim [i alt\ dat\.

{i chiar ne-am `ntâlnit, peste vreo s\pt\mân\,`ntr-un pub irlandez din New York. Santayanaspunea odat\ c\ acela care va `n]elege Americava `n]elege [i baseballul. Cât despre mine, eucred c\ acela care vrea s\ `n]eleag\ New Yorkultrebuie s\ `n]eleag\ crâ[mele irlandeze. Decine-am `ntâlnit la prânz la P.J. Clarke’s – genulde local adormit din centrul Manhattanului, `ncare barmanul nu se mi[c\ dac\ nu este neap\-rat\ nevoie, iar clien]ii `[i descânt\ halba debere cât e ziulica de lung\.

Clientela era pestri]\, clien]ii obi[nui]i aibarului fiind un grup de mo[negi ursuzi, ma-joritatea irlandezi, care obi[nuiau s\ bea aici`nc\ din tinere]e [i care se purtau de parc\ eracrâ[ma lor. Tentativa noastr\ de a ne a[eza la omas\ liber\ a stârnit oarecare proteste, câ]ivadintre mo[i spunându-ne c\ e rezervat\. Mi-amimaginat c\ scena probabil nu era foarte diferit\de ceea ce poate `[i amintea Nicky din vremu-rile când locuia `n Bucure[ti. O adun\tur\ deoutsideri posaci, neprieteno[i [i suspicio[i.

Cunoa[terea huliganului KKeennnneetthh MMuurrpphhyy

Conversa]ia noastr\ a fost genul la care visatân\rul care eram: o discu]ie liber\, de la egalla egal, cu un scriitor pe care `l admiram. Amvorbit despre revolu]iile din Europa de Est, `nmomentul acela atât de proaspete, `ncât chiar[i Nicky `[i putea permite s\ spere. Am vorbitpu]in [i despre noua lui via]\ `n America [idespre nevoia sa de a-[i mai `mblânzi tem-peramentul ironic, pe care concet\]enii mei l-ar fi luat `n mod sigur drept acea atitudineneamerican\ numit\ cinism – sau poate chiar mai r\u.

Ochii lui Nicky, dup\ cum mi-am dat repedeseama, sunt izbitori – mari, `ntuneca]i, neastâm-p\ra]i, inteligen]i, amuza]i `nc\ dinainte s\ apucs\ zic ceva spiritual ori stângaci. Vocea sa [iengleza pe care o vorbea erau m\surate [i ampresupus c\ i-a trebuit foarte mult\ disciplin\ca s\ ajung\ s\ foloseasc\ o englez\ atât deapropiat\ de cea vorbit\ de americanul de rând`ntr-un timp atât de scurt de când era `n exil`n Statele Unite. M-am bucurat c\ nu luamnoti]e, pentru c\ aveam impresia c\ nu am dece s\ m\ ag\] `n timp ce vorbe[te, nicio pauz\,niciun paragraf, niciun punct.

Totu[i, pe parcursul acelui an, pe m\sur\ ceprietenia noastr\ devenea mai strâns\, am `n-v\]at c\ pove[tile lui Nicky aveau o precizie alor. ~ntotdeauna exist\ propozi]ii; `ntotdeaunasunt paragrafe. Chiar dac\ propozi]iile subor-donate deschid o parantez\ care uneori pares\ dureze la nesfâr[it, `n cele din urm\, ea se`nchide cu ni[te idei clare, deplin conturate.Fiecare propozi]ie pe care o spune Nicky areun fir ro[u foarte clar, `n jurul c\ruia se `mple-tesc propriile calific\ri.

Ordinea caracteristic\ unei conversa]ii cuNicky este melodic\, intuitiv\ [i bazat\ pe a-socia]ii, mai degrab\ decât strict logic\. Stilullui de a vorbi s\rind de la una la alta `i reflect\[i felul `n care gânde[te: subliniaz\ o afirma]ie[i de obicei se a[teapt\ s\ primeasc\ obiec]ii [icomentarii `n timp ce vorbe[te, a[a c\ afirma]ia[i comentariile sunt `mpletite simultan `n aceea[ifraz\. Acum, dup\ ce i-am citit romanele [i

eseurile, `ncep s\-mi dau seama c\ el scrieaproape la fel cum vorbe[te: are un stil `ngrijit,elaborat, cumva de mod\ veche, totu[i incisiv,clar [i calculat, aproape ne`nduplecat.

Persoanele incapabile s\ se exprime clar tre-buie s\ se chinuie s\ dep\[easc\ pr\pastia dintrecuvânt [i gând; `n cazul lui Nicky, cuvântul [igândul se `mping reciproc `n fa]\, cu o for]\aproape de neoprit. Uneori, el `[i exprim\ `n-doielile `n ceea ce prive[te u[urin]a lui `n folo-sirea limbii engleze [i sugereaz\ c\ inteligen]aincoerent\ poate fi mai profund\ [i mai autentic\.~ntr-adev\r, el se refer\ câteodat\ la incapacita-tea de a se exprima caracteristic\ politicieniloramericani ca la un element fundamental algeniului american. Nu po]i fi demagog f\r\ ooratorie care fascineaz\. ~ns\ precizia cu careNicky folose[te cuvintele este, dup\ cum mi-amdat curând seama, secretul senin\t\]ii sale.~nc\ din epoca romantic\, activitatea mental\a fost asociat\ cu solitudinea, angoasa [i scin-darea interioar\. Având `n vedere c\ a tr\it `ntimpul G\rzii de Fier [i sub regimul lui Ceau-[escu, aceast\ sumbr\ treime a omului de literemodern era cu siguran]\ latent\ `n caracterullui Nicky, dar `n discu]iile cu prietenii Nickyeste sinonim cu spirit, ironie [i pl\cere.

~ntr-adev\r, tendin]a sa ludic\ are o puritatemolipsitoare. Odat\, `n cursul unei c\l\torii laBudapesta, am stat amândoi acas\ la un vechiprieten de familie al meu, generalul BélaKirály, comandantul militar al celor ce auluptat pentru libertate `n timpul revolu]iei dinUngaria, c\ruia Yad Vashem i-a acordat titlulde Drept `ntre Popoare. La vremea aceea, gen-eralul Király era consilier pe probleme desecuritate al prim-ministrului Ungariei, lipsindadesea din apartament. ~ntr-o zi, Nicky a obser-vat uniforma de gal\ [i chipiul generalului,atârnate pe hol, abia aduse de la cur\]\torie [iproasp\t c\lcate. B\ie]elul din sufletul lui nu aputut rezista. Imediat a tras pe el mantaua mi-litar\ verde [i [i-a pus [mechere[te chipiul pecap. Brusc, a `nceput s\ se joace de-a militarul,dându-ne mie [i so]iei lui ordine pe care nicinu le puteam `ndeplini de atâta râs.

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Ca s\-]i plac\ s\ gânde[ti, a[a cum este clarc\ `i place lui Nicky, trebuie s\ fii nu doar ager,ci [i sociabil. Pare c\-i face pl\cere s\ gân-deasc\ mai degrab\ `n compania cuiva [i s\ `[itesteze ideile. ~n cazul lui, gânditul se poateconfunda cu vorbitul, cu scânteile izbitoare,cu zeflemeaua, r\spunsurile evazive [i joaca.Felul `n care discut\ nu este doar ager [i p\-trunz\tor, ci – [i `n aceasta const\ una dintreadev\ratele mele pl\ceri `n cadrul prietenieinoastre –, datorit\ lui, conversa]ia se transform\pentru amândoi `ntr-o aventur\ `n necunoscut.Ceea ce `mi amintesc cel mai bine din discu-]iile mele cu Nicky – prea numeroase ca s\ lemai ]in [irul – nu este exact ceea ce a spus, ciexperien]a de a fi fost atras `n salonul min]iisale. ~ns\ conversa]ia sa, ]in s\ precizez, nueste niciodat\ teatral\, nu este un mod de aface spectacol, pentru mine sau pentru oricaredintre cet\]enii ]\rii `n care s-a exilat, ci unmod de a fi `n compania cuiva.

De-a lungul anilor, am tot auzit pove[tileastea de multe ori, de parc\ repetarea lor de-monstra c\ el fusese st\pân pe via]a sa, p\-trunzând `n cele mai `ntunecate cotloane aleei [i risipindu-i t\cerile. Am `n]eles de ce nu avrut s\ `[i scrie autobiografia atunci când i-acerut-o editorul s\u: conversa]ia sa operase dejatrucul acesta. Repeti]iile `l salvau de trecutuls\u [i trebuiau s\ `l salveze [i de despuiereapublic\ pe care o implic\ o carte de memorii.

Când `nt=lne[ti frumoasa lui so]ie, Cella, el spune c\ este un norocos, el fiind intolera-bil de m\runt [i urât. Cu siguran]\, chipul luiare tr\s\turi mai degrab\ nobile decât fru-moase, p\rul c\runt sco]ându-i `n eviden]\sprâncenele monumentale, nasul expresiv [ilinia puternic\ a obrazului [i a maxilarului.Când nu `[i strânge buzele a `ncruntare sau adezaprobare, acestea sunt pline, cu o linie fin\.Acum arat\ de parc\ a[a ar fi trebuit s\ arate`ntotdeauna, de parc\ `ntreaga lui via]\ l-acondus c\tre aceast\ `nf\]i[are de rabin `n]elept.Dar rezultatul acesta este o ironie, c\ci el e,prin convingeri [i temperament, pe cât de ne-rabinic ar putea fi un evreu n\scut `n Suceava.

Singura form\ de narcisism pe care o po]iobserva la Nicky este ipohondria. ~i place s\fie u[or bolnav incurabil. ~i place la nebunies\ povesteasc\ despre vizitele sale la doctori,`n spitale [i `]i d\ o gr\mad\ de am\nunte. Os\-]i spun\ c\ nu o duce prea bine, dar adev\-rul este c\, pentru cineva de vârsta lui [i cu oasemenea istorie personal\, bolile trupului nuprea [i-au f\cut de cap. ~n m\sura `n care no-rocul modeleaz\ vie]ile, nu pot s\ nu m\ gân-desc c\ el este unul dintre cei mai noroco[ioameni de pe lumea asta. Iar eu sunt norocos,la rândul meu, s\ `l num\r printre prieteniimei cei mai dragi.


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‘Not only is his conversation quick and acute,but – and here was one of the real pleasuresin our friendship for me – he made it into ajoint sortie into the unknown.’

Kenneth Murphy

Saint Exupéry once said that ‘wanting toknow a writer because you like his books islike wanting to know a goose because youlike paté.’ Wry and pithy and very near thetruth for many writers, Saint Exupéry’s quipis far from the case with Norman Manea. I first met the man some two decades ago be-cause of the books, but have delighted in thecompany of the goose ever since.

It was in a dour, featureless conference hall inthe city of Newark – a place owned in literatureby Nicky’s close friend Philip Roth – wherewe first met. Under dim institutional lighting,the air seemed to have been sucked out of thehall. I would like to think that this was so be-cause of the presence of literary giants like SaulBellow and Ralph Ellison, but in actuality itwas because that literary conference, like somany others, was something of a sterile pan-tomime where authors, for a fee, paraded theirideas for an audience composed of the sort ofpeople who are always planning to write booksbut never do, or if they do, write in such jar-gon-laden prose that the book’s spine is neveractually cracked by a reader.

I was at the conference because I had justcompleted a book on the idea of socialism in thetwentieth century and had been ordered by mypublisher to find a famous author or two to‘blurb’ the book’s dust jacket. I met Nicky al-most by accident, while talking with anotherRomanian exile who was speaking at the

conference, the political scientist VladimirTismaneunu, who happened to have the samepublisher as I. My recollection about whatNicky and I talked about is scant nowadays,but I recall sending him a letter shortly afterthe conference to describe the idea of a bookthat was then forming in my mind and for whichI wanted his advice. He rubbished the idea –thankfully for me – but in such a charmingway that I wanted to meet him again.

We did meet, perhaps a week or so later, atan Irish pub in New York. Santayana once saidthat he who would understand America wouldunderstand baseball. I happen to believe thathe who would understand New York needs tounderstand Irish saloons. So it was lunch at PJ Clarke’s – a drowsy sort of saloon in mid-townManhattan, one where the bartenders never makea needless move, and the customers nurse andstare into their mugs of ale throughout the day.

The clientele was motley, the saloon’s re-gulars being a group of crusty old men, pre-dominantly Irish, who had been drinking theresince they were young and demonstrated a dis-tinct proprietary feeling about the place. Ourattempt to sit at an empty table incited a smallruckus as a few of the old-timers objected that itwas reserved. I imagined that the scene mightnot have been very different from what Nickymight recall from his life back in Bucharest. Agathering of the sullen, the disaffected, and thedefeated suspicious of any and all outsiders.

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Getting to know the hooligan KKeennnneetthh MMuurrpphhyy

Our conversation was of the sort the youngman that I was back then always dreamed ofengaging in: free ranging talk, equal to equal,with a writer that I admired. We touched onthe revolutions in Eastern Europe, then so neweven Nicky could give himself over to a bit ofhope. We touched on his new life in America,and his need to tame an ironic temperamentwhich my fellow citizens would certainly mis-take for that un-American activity of cynicism,or perhaps even worse.

Nicky’s eyes, I quickly noticed, are striking –large, dark, playful, intelligent, amused evenbefore I might say anything either witty orgauche. His voice and English were bothmeasured, and I assumed that it must havetaken enormous discipline to get his Englishso near to the American vernacular afterbeing in exile in the US for such a short time.I was glad not to be taking notes, for thereseemed to be nothing to cling to as he spoke,no pauses, no paragraphing, no full stops.

As our friendship deepened over the years,however, I learned that Nicky’s stories had aprecision all their own. There are sentencesalways; paragraphs always. Even if the subor-dinate clauses open up a parenthesis that seemsto last for close to forever at times, they doclose, eventually, in completed, fully roundedthoughts. Each sentence Nicky speaks carriesclarity along its spine, with its own qualifica-tions entwined around it.

The order of Nicky’s conversation is me-lodic, intuitive, and associational, rather thanstrictly logical. The darting, leaping style ofspeaking is his style of thinking: he outlines aproposition and usually anticipates objectionsand qualifications as he speaks, so that bothproposition and qualification are spun out inone and the same sentence simultaneously.Having read his novels and essays, I began torealize that the way he talks and the way hewrites are nearly identical: ornate, elaborate,old-fashioned in a way, yet incisive, clear,and tough-minded, almost ruthless.

Inarticulate people have to struggle acrossthe gulf between word and thought; with Nicky,word and thought lead each other onward,almost unstoppably. At times, he gives voiceto suspicions about his own facility with theEnglish language, and suggests that inarticu-late intelligence may be deeper and more au-thentic. Indeed, he sometimes refers to thetongue-tied nature of American politicians asa core element of the native American genius.You can’t demagogue without spellbindingoratory. But Nicky’s precision with words is,I soon came to know, a secret of his serenity.Since the Romantic Age, the life of the mindhas been associated with solitude, anguish,and inner division. Given his life under theIron Guard and Ceau[escu, this somber trinityof the modern man of letters was certainlylurking in Nicky’s character, but in conversa-tion with friends, Nicky is synonymous withwit, irony, and pleasure.

Indeed, his playfulness has an infectiouspurity. Once, on a trip to Budapest, we stayedtogether in the home of an old family friendof mine, General Béla Király, the militarycommander of the freedom fighters duringthe Hungarian Revolution and a righteousgentile at Yad Vashem. At the time, GeneralKirály was serving as a security advisor toHungary’s prime minister, and so was oftenabsent from the flat. One day, Nicky noticedthe General’s full dress uniform and cap, han-ging in the hall, freshly pressed from the drycleaner. His inner boy couldn’t resist. On wentthe great green military great coat; at a rakishangle went the cap. Suddenly, he had a mar-tinet’s swagger, barking orders at his wife and myself, which we were unable to obeythrough the laughter.

To love thinking, as Nicky clearly does,you must not only be quick, you must be so-ciable. He seems to hate thinking alone, andlikes testing his ideas. With him, thinking canbe indistinguishable from talking, from strikingsparks, from bantering, parrying, and playing.

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Not only is his conversation quick and acute,but – and here was one of the real pleasuresin our friendship for me – he made it into ajoint sortie into the unknown. What I remem-ber most about my too many to count conver-sations with Nicky is not precisely what hesaid, but the experience of having been drawninto the salon of his mind. But his conversation,I should make clear, is never a performance;it is not his way of putting on a show for meor any of the other citizens of the land of hisexile; it is a way of being in company.

Over the years, I heard the same storiesmany times, as if repetition proved that hehad mastered his life, penetrated its darkestcorners, and dispelled its silences. It becameobvious to me why he was so reluctant towrite his autobiography when his publisherdemanded one of him: his conversation hadalready done the trick. They both saved thepast and should have saved him from thepublic striptease a memoir demands.

When you meet his beautiful wife Cella, hewill say how lucky he is, that he is intolerablysmall and ugly. Certainly his is a noble rather

than a handsome face, with grey hair empha-sizing the monumental eyebrows, the expres-sive nose, and the strong cheek and jaw lines.When he is not pursing his lips into a frownor a mock expression of disapproval, they havea fine, full shape. He looks now as if he wasalways supposed to look like this, as if his wholelife had lead him towards this appearance ofrabbinical wisdom. But it is an ironic result,since he is by conviction and temperament asunrabbinical as it is possible for Jewish manborn in Suceava to be.

Nicky’s only truly noticeable form of nar-cissism is hypochondria. He likes being mildly,incurably ill. He loves regaling people withstories of his visits to doctors and hospitals,and is forensic with the details. He will tellyou that he is faring badly, but the truth is that,for a man of his age and with his personal his-tory, the ills of the flesh have rarely had theirway. To the degree that luck is a real categoryshaping lives, I cannot help but think him oneof the luckiest men alive. I am a lucky man tocount him among my dearest friends.

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Paul Cornea, Carmen Mu[at [i Norman Manea, Bucure[ti, 2008

Paul Cornea, Carmen Mu[at and Norman Manea, Bucharest, 2008

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Stimate domnule Rector,Stima]i domni Decani,Stima]i membri ai Senatului Universit\]ii,Dragi colegi [i invita]i,

Ne afl\m ast\zi aici pentru a-l omagia pe scrii-torul, eseistul [i profesorul Norman Manea, unuldintre pu]inii autori români mai cunoscu]i `nOccident dec=t `n România. Aceast\ situa]ieparadoxal\ nu se datoreaz\ neap\rat, a[a cums-ar putea crede la prima vedere, faptului c\cel mai tradus autor român `n via]\ tr\ie[te,din 1987, `n Occident (ini]ial `n Germania,apoi `n Statele Unite, la New York), ci „ne-fericitei culpe“ de a fi formulat, `n varii mo-mente ale existen]ei sale, adev\ruri incomodedespre societatea autohton\.

N\scut `n 1936, `n Bucovina, Norman Maneaa publicat, `ntre 1966 – anul debutului – [i 1986 –anul plec\rii sale definitive din ]ar\ –, cinciromane, trei volume de proz\ scurt\ [i dou\volume de eseuri. ~n 1979, autorul a primitPremiul Asocia]iei Scriitorilor din Bucure[ti(pentru Anii de ucenicie ai lui August Prostul),iar `n 1984, Premiul acordat de Uniunea Scri-itorilor a fost anulat de Consiliul Culturii [iEduca]iei Socialiste. Adev\rata recunoa[tere

avea s\ vin\ `ns\ abia `n Occident. Volumeleap\rute `n America – Octombrie, ora opt, DespreClovni: Dictatorul [i Artistul, Fericirea obliga-torie, Plicul negru [i ~ntoarcerea huliganului –au fost ulterior traduse [i publicate pretutindeni`n lume, ultimul, ~ntoarcerea huliganului, fiindpublicat `n Germania, Spania, Fran]a, Italia [iChina. Din 1992, c=nd a fost recompensat cuBursa Guggenheim [i cu Premiul MacArthur(echivalentul Nobelului american), NormanManea a cucerit numeroase premii [i distinc]iiinterna]ionale: 1993 – „Literary Lion“ al Biblio-tecii Na]ionale din New York, 2002 – Premiulinterna]ional Nonino pentru Opera omnia, 2006 –premiul Médicis Étranger pentru edi]ia `n limbafrancez\ a ~ntoarcerii huliganului.

Prozator, eseist, profesor de literatur\ euro-pean\ [i writer in residence la Bard College,Norman Manea este un martor obiectiv, darnu deta[at, al celor dou\ totalitarisme ce aumarcat secolul XX. Descinz=nd din Gogol [idin Heinrich Böll, Norman Manea are `ncomun cu cei doi mari scriitori capacitatea dea contura, `n linii sigure, sobru [i f\r\ artificiiretorice inutile, o umanitate de o cople[itoarefor]\, `n ciuda mediocrit\]ii ei constitutive. Cumijloace artistice minimale, dar cu maxim efect,

Laudatiopentru Norman Manea cu ocazia decern\rii titlului de Doctor Honoris Causa al Universit\]ii din Bucure[tiCCaarrmmeenn MMuussaatt,,

f\r\ s\ recurg\ la stilul esopic, frecvent `n prozaromâneasc\ `nainte de 1989, Norman Maneasurprinde, `n proz\ [i `n eseistic\ deopotriv\,esen]a pervers\ a oric\rei societ\]i totalitare –controlul absolut pe care politicul `l exercit\asupra vie]ii intime a fiec\rui individ `n parte,efectul fiind anularea individualit\]ii, a intimi-t\]ii [i a interiorit\]ii, „des-figurarea, `n caredomin\ masca [i mascarada“. Din nuvele precumInterogatoriul, Biografia robot, O fereastr\c\tre clasa muncitoare [i Trenciul ia na[tere olume `n care minciuna [i adev\rul cu greu potfi disociate, populat\ de o umanitate a c\reichinuitoare existen]\ se recompune din detaliisemnificative, acele detalii despre care MilanKundera spunea c\ au o valoare documentar\mai mare dec=t a oric\rui tratat de istorie, pentruc\ ele sugereaz\, de fapt, specificul unei epoci,„rumoarea confuz\“ a realit\]ii cotidiene.

„Cum se poate rezista `n acest absurd universal derizoriului?“ – iat\ o `ntrebare ce constituietema central\ a operei lui Norman Manea, for-mulat\ explicit `ntr-un eseu substan]ial ([i re-velator pentru practicile culturale din epocaCeau[escu), Istoria unui interviu, publicat `nDespre Clovni: Dictatorul [i Artistul. R\spunsul`l ofer\ mediocritatea destinelor individuale,evident\ at=t `n e[ecuri, c=t [i `n (aparentele)reu[ite. Traumatice [i halucinante `n absurdullor des\v=r[it, traseele existen]iale ale perso-najelor lui Norman Manea sunt exemplarepentru modul `n care „mecanismul obscur [idiabolic al deform\rii [i pervertirii [i carica-turii lucra spornic, f\r\ r\gaz“. Unele dintrescrierile sale, publicate `nainte de 1989 ([i, `nspecial, Biografia robot [i Octombrie, ora opt),au st=rnit furia activi[tilor „culturali“ foarteactivi `n presa aservit\ partidului comunist. I serepro[a autorului c\ minimalizeaz\ „politicajust\ promovat\ de partid“, c\ `[i permite s\sfideze marile realiz\ri ale regimului [i c\ batjo-core[te „idei-fanion ale politicii, ale documentelorde partid“. Lui Norman Manea i se repro[a,de fapt, c\ exist\ `n cultura român\ [i c\ `[iasum\ (suprem\ arogan]\!) rolul de martor al

catastrofei na]ionale, regizate `n detaliu departidul unic. {i, la urma urmelor, ce era at=tde revolt\tor `n scrierile acestui autor „`nfierat“strident de gazetarii de serviciu ai regimului?Curajul [i obstina]ia de a tr\i „`nl\untrul adev\-rului“, refuzul compromisului moral, `ndr\znealade a consemna abjec]ia generalizat\, impostura[i abera]iile traiului cotidian `n infernul comu-nist – atitudini `n total dezacord cu principiileoric\rui regim totalitar.

Scriind pentru un cititor exigent, NormanManea refuza complicitatea cu cenzura comu-nist\, prefer=nd stilul alb, direct, la limita re-portajului, care nu estompeaz\, prin alegoriesau metafor\, asperit\]ile realului, ci le con-semneaz\ sec, cu acribia arhivarului con[tientde valoarea documentar\ a lucrurilor m\runte.Pentru a `n]elege esen]a universului comunistevocat `n opera sa, cititorul nu trebuie s\ fieun complice al autorului, un ini]iat al „lecturiiprintre r=nduri“ [i nici un supravie]uitor al aceleilumi, ci un partener de dialog. ~n aceast\ pri-vin]\, autorul este categoric: „Cititorul adev\ratseam\n\, desigur, cu scriitorul adev\rat [i secondi]ioneaz\ reciproc“, dup\ cum m\rturise[te`n Anii de ucenicie ai lui August Prostul.

Casa melcului – titlul unui volum de dia-loguri purtate de autor `ntre 1980 [i 1999 cudiferite personalit\]i ale vie]ii culturale dinRomânia [i din Occident – este o sintagm\semnificativ\ pentru dou\ dintre temele recu-rente ale operei lui Norman Manea, temaexilului [i cea a identit\]ii individuale, a c\reidefinire presupune retragerea `n solitudineascrisului [i asumarea pe cont propriu a desti-nului. Formula aceasta traduce, metaforic,condi]ia de scriitor român evreu `n regimulcomunist. Asupra acestei condi]ii va reveni,`n ~ntoarcerea huliganului, volum care a con-firmat pe deplin valoarea universal\ a opereilui Norman Manea, o autofic]iune sui-generis`n care „mitul identit\]ii“, „surogatele amin-tirii“ [i „cochilia limbii române“ sunt temerecurente. Nara]iune a unei duble `ntoarceri,`n timp [i `n spa]iu, ~ntoarcerea huliganului

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aduce `n prim-plan problematica „adversit\]iiinterioare“, a unei con[tiin]e ce mizeaz\ sis-tematic pe individualitate, refuz=nd s\ se laseanulat\ de povara persoanei `nt=i plural. „Iden-titatea colectiv\, oricare ar fi fost, mi se p\reasuspect\, opresiv\, simplificatoare. Pr\pastiadintre Eu [i Noi nu mai eram dispus s-o trec“ –scrie Norman Manea, formul=nd astfel o ade-v\rat\ profesiune de credin]\, pe ale c\reicoordonate se `nt=lne[te cu Mihail Sebastian,cel care, `n epoca exploziei antisemitismului,vorbea la r=ndul lui despre valorile individu-lui, indiferent de apartenen]a sau non-aparte-nen]a sa la o colectivitate, ca [i despre „efortulde a trece de la «eu» la «noi» [i drama de a nuputea niciodat\ realiza deplin aceast\ trecere“.

Enun]at\ `n capitolul median al c\r]ii, Di-vanul vienez, `ntrebarea „ce r\m=ne evreiesc`ntr-un evreu care nu e religios, nici na]ionalist,[i nu cunoa[te limba Bibliei“, este imediatnuan]at\: „Nu ce r\m=ne dup\ ce ai pierdutceea ce nu aveai, ci cum devii (s.m.) evreuprin holocaust, comunism, exil“. Holocaustul,comunismul [i exilul sunt, de altfel, cele treiexperien]e majore ce au marcat definitiv desti-nul acestui scriitor pentru care singurul acas\recunoscut [i m\rturisit ca atare `n repetater=nduri a fost [i este limba român\. „Umbra“lui Mihail Sebastian planeaz\, constant, asuprafiec\rei pagini din aceast\ cronic\ a devenirii,ale c\rei origini se afl\, de fapt, `n lunile fier-bin]i ce au precedat apari]ia eseului Cum amdevenit huligan. Tensiunea dintre identitateapersonal\ [i identitatea colectiv\ este resim]it\cu at=t mai intens, cu c=t [i nazismul [i comu-nismul au anulat dreptul natural la intimitate[i la individualitate al fiin]ei umane, distrug=ndechilibrul dintre singur\tate [i solidaritate.Norman Manea vorbe[te despre „umilin]a dea fi definit printr-o negare colectiv\ [i o cata-strof\ colectiv\“ [i pledeaz\ pentru recunoa[-terea adev\rului simplu c\ „nu suntem doarcatastrofe colective, oricare ar fi ele. Diferi]iunul de altul, suntem mai mult dec=t at=t, maimult [i altceva“.

Uneori aspru, de cele mai multe ori amar,tonul autorului nu devine nicio clip\ acuzator.Norman Manea reface, retrospectiv, traseulunui destin exemplar, marcat `n egal\ m\sur\de ideologii opuse [i, totu[i, complementare, ca[i de preocuparea permanent\ a eului de a sedefini pe sine `nsu[i, prin identificare, dar [i prindiferen]iere. Recursul la memorie, frecvent `n~ntoarcerea huliganului, face ca sinele s\ se`nf\]i[eze ca o veritabil\ oper\-`n-mi[care,identitate freatic\, ce se constituie ca r\spunsla o serie de stimuli exteriori. Amintirile per-sonale devin text, se `ntrep\trund [i intr\ `ndialog cu aminitirile celor apropia]i, rude sauprieteni, `ntr-o partitur\ complex\ la cap\tulc\reia traumele trecutului [i [ocurile prezentuluise topesc `ntr-un continuum `n care singuracertitudine o ofer\ cuvintele lui Mark Twain –„un om este o fiin]\ uman\ – asta `mi ajunge.Mai r\u nu poate fi“.

Pentru Norman Manea, limba român\, limba`n care scrie [i viseaz\, nu este doar singuruldomiciliu real, ci [i unicul spa]iu `n care eul sesimte pe deplin liber s\ fie el `nsu[i. Suspendatpermanent `n interval, `ntr-un du-te-vino deo-potriv\ spa]ial [i temporal, la care se adaug\jocul interioritate/exterioritate, Norman Maneacreeaz\ un univers textual care `ncearc\ s\r\scumpere r\ul provocat de istoria colectiv\ aacestui secol. Sobru, dramatic f\r\ s\ fie pate-tic, cu nostalgie, dar [i scepticism, obiectiv [i,uneori, resemnat, scriitorul român `ncearc\ s\`n]eleag\ etapele unui traseu existen]ial, lacap\tul c\ruia se contureaz\ o `ntrebare delocretoric\: „Ce etichet\ port, de fapt, [i de cemi-ar trebui vreuna?“.

Domnule Rector, stima]i invita]i, doamne-lor [i domnilor,

Universitatea din Bucure[ti are ast\zi privi-legiul de a r\spunde acestei `ntreb\ri. Confe-rindu-i domnului Norman Manea titlul deDoctor Honoris Causa [i omagiind, astfel, nudoar o oper\ de mare profunzime, edificat\ peun dublu fundament, etic [i estetic, ci [i o per-sonalitate exemplar\, deprins\ s\ rosteasc\

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adev\ruri adeseori incomode, UniversitateaBucure[ti face un gest necesar de recunoa[terea indubitabilei valori a celui care, dup\ ani deexil, se re`ntoarce acas\. Av=nd `n vedere me-ritele sale culturale [i pedagogice, precum [i

constan]a atitudinii sale etice, este o mare onoa-re pentru comunitatea academic\ româneasc\ s\r\spl\tim astfel excelen]a domnului NormanManea prin decernarea titlului de Doctor HonorisCausa al Universit\]ii din Bucure[ti.

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Esteemed Rector, Deans, University Senators,colleagues and guests,

We are here today to honor the writer, essayistand Professor Norman Manea, one of the fewRomanian authors better known abroad thanin Romania. This paradoxical situation is notnecessarily due, as one might think, to the factthat he, the most widely translated Romanianauthor today, has lived in the West from 1987(first in Germany, then in the United States, inNew York), but rather to the ‘unhappy guilt’/infelix culpa of having dealt, at various mo-ments in his life, with truths our Romaniansociety finds uncomfortable.

Norman Manea was born in Bukovina in 1936.Between 1966, the year of his first publication,and 1986, the year when he left Romania, heproduced five novels, three volumes of shortstories and two volumes of essays.

In 1979, the author was awarded the Bucha-rest Writers’Association Prize (for The Apprentice-ship Years of Augustus the Fool), and in 1984,his Writers’ Union Prize was withdrawn by theCouncil for Socialist Culture and Education.His real breakthrough was to occur in theWest. His volumes published in America –

October, Eight O’Clock, On Clowns: The Dic-tator and the Artist, Compulsory Happiness,The Black Envelope and The Hooligan’sReturn – have been subsequently translatedand published all over the world. The Hooligan’sReturn has also reaped various honors in Ger-many, Spain, France, Italy and China. In 1992Norman Manea was the recipient of both a Gug-genheim Fellowship and a MacArthur FellowsAward (the American equivalent of the NobelPrize), and he has since won many other inter-national distinctions: the New York NationalLibrary ‘Literary Lion’ in 1993; the interna-tional Nonino Literary Prize for Opera Omniain 2002; the Médicis Étranger award for theFrench edition of The Hooligan’s Return in 2006.

A fiction writer, essayist, professor of Eu-ropean literature and writer in residence at BardCollege, Norman Manea has been an objective,though not detached, witness of the two majortotalitarian systems that defined the twentiethcentury. His artistic ancestry may be traced toGogol and Heinrich Böll, sharing with thosetwo great writers the skill to describe an over-whelmingly vital, yet inherently mediocre, hu-manity. He writes with a sure hand in an austerestyle, without rhetorical artifice. With minimal

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Laudatioon the occasion of his Doctor Honoris Causa award ceremony at the University of BucharestCCaarrmmeenn MMuussaatt,,

‘The Romanian language, in which he writesand dreams, is, for Norman Manea, not onlyhis only real home, but also the only space inwhich his ego feels free to be itself.’

Carmen Mu[at

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artistic means he attains maximum effect,avoiding the Aesopian style so characteristicof much of the Romanian prose before 1989.Norman Manea captures, in his fiction as wellas in his essays, the insidiously perverse es-sence of all totalitarian societies, the absolutecontrol that politics exerts over personal life,annihilating individuality, privacy and any in-terior existence, and thus resulting in a general‘disfiguration under the power of the mask andmasquerade.’ Such novellas as Interrogation,Robot Biography, A Window to the WorkingClass and The Trench Coat depict the emer-gence of a world in which truth can hardly bedistinguished from lies. This is a world popu-lated by individuals living a tortured existence,a world described in those details that MilanKundera considers to have a stronger documen-tary value than any book of history, becausesuch details suggest the ‘muddled noise’ ofeveryday reality.

‘How can one survive in an absurd world,shorn of significance?’ That is the questionlying at the core of Norman Manea’s work,explicitly uttered in a major essay, important tounderstand the life of culture under Ceau[escu,‘The History of an Interview,’ published inOn Clowns: The Dictator and the Artist. Theanswer is sought in the mediocrity of individualdestinies, both in their failures, as well as intheir apparent successes. Norman Manea’scharacters, with traumatic and absurd lives,exemplify the ‘obscure and diabolical mecha-nism of distortion, corruption and caricature.’Some of his writings published before 1989(and especially Robot Biography and October,Eight O’Clock) angered the ‘cultural’ activistsof the Communist Party. They reproached theauthor for disparaging ‘the correct policy ofthe Party,’ for disregarding the regime’s greatachievements and mocking at the ‘leading ideasof party politics, and the party documents.’They could not accept Norman Manea as partof Romanian culture or that (what supremearrogance!) he had assumed the role of witness

to the national catastrophe being staged by theone-party state. What exactly was in fact so re-volting in the work of this author, relentlesslycriticized by party journalists? It was hiscourage and obstinate determination to live‘within the truth,’ rejecting moral compro-mise. The fact that he dared write about thegeneral degradation, the imposture and theaberrations of daily life in the communistinferno displayed an attitude totally opposedto this or any totalitarian regime.

Writing for exacting readers, Norman Manearefused complicity with communist censorship.He chose a neutral, direct, almost journalisticstyle, which does not dilute reality with allegoryor metaphor. He writes in a direct way, with theaccuracy of an archivist, aware of the documen-tary significance of common things. The readerdoes not need to be the author’s accomplice,skilled in ‘reading between the lines,’ nor asurvivor of that world, in order to understandit. By reading, he or she is a partner in thedialogue. In this respect, the author is cate-goric: ‘a genuine reader is like a genuinewriter; they shape one another,’ he notes inThe Apprenticeship of Augustus the Fool.

The title of Norman Manea’s The Snail’sHouse – a collection of dialogues betweenthe author and various cultural personalitiesof Romania and the West between 1980 and1999 – is revelatory of two of the recurrentthemes in his work: the theme of exile, andthat of the individual identity, withdrawn intothe solitude of writing, as into destiny itself. Thetitle translates, metaphorically, the condition ofa Jewish Romanian writer under communism.Norman Manea analyzed that condition againin The Hooligan’s Return, the memoir whichconfirmed the international value of his oeuvre.In this sui generis work of autofiction, the ‘mythof identity,’ ‘the surrogates of remembrance’and the ‘shell of the Romanian language’ arerecurrent themes. The Hooligan’s Return, a nar-rative of a return in both time and in space,brings to the fore the issues of ‘interior

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adversity’, of a conscience relying on its individ-uality, never mightallowing itself to be destroyedby the first person plural. ‘Collective identity,whatever that would have been, seemed to mesuspect, oppressive and simplistic. I was notready to cross the space between I and We,’Norman Manea writes. His statement is indeeda credo, which coincides with what MihailSebastian had to say, during the outburst ofanti-Semitism, about individual values thatrise above one’s belonging or not belongingto a group, and about the ‘effort of shiftingfrom “I“ to “we“’, and ‘the drama of neverfully accomplishing that shift’.

‘What is remains Jewish in a Jew who is neitherreligious, nor a nationalist, and cannot speak thelanguage of the Bible’ – thus Norman Maneaquotes an older question in the middle section,The Viennese Couch, of his book. He then pro-ceeds to refine the question in his way: ‘I donot mean what is left after you have lost whatyou have not had, but how does one becomea Jew through the Holocaust, communism andexile?’ The Holocaust, communism and exileare the three major experiences that definitivelymarked the destiny of this writer whose onlyhome, repeatedly acknowledged and confessedas such, is the Romanian language. MihailSebastian’s ‘shadow’ seems to hover aboveevery page of this chronicle, a story which infact begins in the fervent months that precededthe publication of Sebastian’s essay ‘How IBecame a Hooligan.’ The tension betweenpersonal identity and collective identity is feltall the more intensely as Nazism and commu-nism suspended people’s natural right to privacyand individuality, disrupting the balance ofsolitude and solidarity. Norman Manea refersto the ‘humiliation of being defined throughcollective denial and through a collective ca-tastrophe’ and pleads that we acknowledgethe simple truth that ‘we are not merely col-lective catastrophes, whatever those may be.We are different from one another, we aremore than that, more and something else.’

Sometimes harsh, often bitter, he never be-comes prosecutorial. Norman Manea traces hisexemplary destiny, the ways in which it hasbeen affected by opposed, yet complementaryideologies and underlain by a permanent pre-occupation with defining himself through iden-tification, as much as difference. He turns re-peatedly to memory in The Hooligan’s Return,a technique which makes the author’s self intoa true work-in-process, a phreatic identity,which emerges as a reaction to a series ofexternal stimuli. His personal remembrancesbecome texts, they interfere with one anotherand engage in dialogues with remembrancesof people close to him, relatives and friends,shaping a complex score, which ends up mixingpast traumas and present shocks in a way thatleaves us in the same place as Mark Twain, whowrites, – ‘All I care to know is that a man is ahuman being – that is enough for me; hecan’t be any worse’.

The Romanian language, in which he writesand dreams, is, for Norman Manea, not onlyhis only real home, but also the only space inwhich his ego feels free to be itself. Beingendlessly suspended in the space between, ina movement to-and-fro that is both spatialand temporal, along with the shifting relationof interiority to exteriority, Norman Maneahas built a textual world which tries to be acounterpoint to the evil caused by the pastcentury’s collective history. Austere, dramaticwithout being sentimental, nostalgic, but alsoskeptical, objective and, sometimes, resigned,this Romanian writer tries to understand thestages of an existential itinerary, at the end ofwhich a question lingers, one which is not atall rhetorical, but all too real: ‘What label doI bear, in fact, and why should I need one?’

Esteemed Rector, dear guests, ladies andgentlemen,

Today the University of Bucharest has theopportunity to answer this question. HandingMr. Norman Manea the title of Doctor

Honoris Causa, honoring not only his pro-found works, doubly grounded in the ethicand the aesthetic, but also an exemplary personality, accustomed to utter truths thatare often inconvenient, the University ofBucharest acknowledges the indisputablevalue of one who, after years of exile, hascome back home. Given his cultural and

intellectual merit, as well as his unswervingethics, it is an honor for the Romanian aca-demic community to reward Mr. NormanManea’s excellence, by confering on him the title of Doctor Honoris Causa of theUniversity of Bucharest.

[Translated from Romanian by Ioana Ieronim]

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Cu Maria Nadotti, la Milano, 1990

With Maria Nadotti, Milan, 1990

~l cunosc pe Norman Manea din 1989. Peatunci locuiam amândoi `n Statele Unite, maiprecis `n statul New York. Eu st\team `n Man-hattan, el `n Annandale-on-Hudson, unde era([i este `nc\) profesor de European Studiesand Culture la Bard College. Ceva mai multde o sut\ de kilometri `ntre noi [i mii de kilo-metri fa]\ de ]\rile noastre de origine.

Eu m\ mutasem `n New York City `n 1980,`n urma liberei mele alegeri, [i c\l\toream `nvoie `ntre Italia [i SUA. El venise de mai pu]inde trei ani, `n c\utarea unui loc `n care s\ ]eas\la loc firele unei vie]i marcate de catastrofelepolitice ale secolului scurt: a lui era un fel delibertate supravegheat\, cu un singur sens dinpunct de vedere geografic.

~mi amintesc c\, atunci când i-am telefonatpentru a-i cere un interviu (`n Italia urma s\apar\ Octombrie, ora opt), mi-a r\spuns cuacea c\ldur\ afectuoas\ [i amabil\ care r\mânepentru mine cea mai semnificativ\ caracteris-tic\ a personalit\]ii acestui autor cu privire lu-cid\ [i implacabil blând, cu o scriitur\ rafinat\,ironic\ [i dureroas\. „Vino la Bard“, mi-apropus plin de avânt, poate frapat de accentulmeu „latin“, atât de familiar vorbitorilor deromân\, „[i r\mâi s\ dormi la noi. Vom puteas\ vorbim plimbându-ne prin p\dure [i s\ necunoa[tem mai bine“.

Cum nu crezusem niciodat\ `n interviurilede jum\tate de or\ `n care scriitorul aflat larând este aplatizat de cartea lui cea mairecent\, i-am r\spuns cu entuziasm c\ peste

câteva zile aveam s\ ajung `n p\durile dinvalea râului Hudson.

Astfel, omul acela cu gesturi amabile [i me-lancolice, pe care istoria politic\ a secoluluiXX `l aruncase departe de ]ara sa [i `l privasede limba lui matern\ (experien]\ poten]ialmortal\ pentru un scriitor), a intrat `n via]amea, ca autor de referin]\ [i ca prieten.

Cred c\ tocmai `n acele ore am hot\rât – `nciuda acelui broken English care ne servea peatunci drept s\r\c\cioas\ lingua franca – s\-linvit pe Norman Manea la o aventur\ foartedrag\ mie. ~mpreun\ cu Goffredo Fofi, directo-rului jurnalului cultural lunar Linea d’ombra,ini]iasem un proiect de reflec]ie [i cercetare alungii perioade pe care o intitulaser\m „Nord,sud, est, vest: cine este cel\lalt?“. Din doi `ndoi ani, cu un ritm lunar din ianuarie pân\ `nmai, autori [i autoare din orice parte a lumiiaveau s\ soseasc\ la Milano pentru a reflecta`mpreun\ cu noi [i `ntre ei asupra direc]iei `ncare se `ndrepta lumea. Subiectele la care tre-buia s\ medit\m le rezumaser\m `ntr-o seriede oximoroane mergând de la pace/r\zboipân\ la bog\]ie/s\r\cie.

Nu voiam mese rotunde sau congrese, cini[te discu]ii lini[tite, profunde. Astfel, oas-pe]ii no[tri erau doar doi. Acel format avea s\le permit\ celor prezen]i s\-[i confrunte `ntr-adev\r ideile, experien]ele, practicile, visele,limbajele. Printre oaspe]ii no[tri, `ntre 1990 [i1994, s-au num\rat Kazimir Brandys, ChristaWolf, Grace Paley, Amitav Ghosh, John

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Elogiu blânde]iiPentru cea de-a [aptezeci [i cincea aniversare a lui Norman Manea

MMaarriiaa NNaaddoottttii

Berger, Evelyn Fox Keller, RyszardKapuściński, Juan Villoro, Elena Poniatowska,Bill Buford, Acheng, Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio,Yi Munyol, Per Olov Enquist, EduardoGaleano [i mul]i al]ii.

Norman a participat la prima edi]ie a pro-iectului nostru. Interlocutorul s\u a fost regi-zorul Arthur Penn, din Statele Unite, autor alunor filme memorabile, ca Little Big Man,Bonnie and Clyde, Four Friends. A fost undialog intens [i complex, caracterizat de ele-gan]a rafinat\ a manierelor amândurora, deverticalitatea lor etic\, de o indisponibilitatecomun\ vizavi de retoric\ [i de orice tentativ\de seducere a publicului. Ambii veniser\ acoloca s\ analizeze, s\ ra]ioneze, s\ fac\ conexiu-ni, s\ `n]eleag\, nu ca s\ `ntre]in\ publicul sauca s\ se fac\ pl\cu]i. O lec]ie care, dup\ exactdou\zeci de ani, avea s\ se dovedeasc\ maipre]ioas\ ca niciodat\ `n Italia.

De-a lungul timpului, pe m\sur\ ce c\r]ilesale au fost traduse `n italian\ [i puse la dis-pozi]ia cititorilor, Norman Manea a devenittot mai mult „de-al casei“ `n ]ara noastr\. Pre-miile [i recunoa[terile scriiturii sale `n]elepteau fost numeroase [i prestigioase, de la PremiulNonino `n 2002 la Premiul Ora[ului Napoli `n 2005,iar c\l\toriile sale `n Italia au fost frecvente.

Aici, pentru cea de-a [aptezeci [i cinceaaniversare, reproduc câteva fragmente dintr-oconversa]ie recent\. Se aude limpede glasuls\u de „cet\]ean apatrid“ al casei-lume.

Maria Nadotti: ~n aventura ta biografic\,exilul este doar ultima dintre multele anul\riposibile. Mai `ntâi, e lag\rul unde, copil evreu,`]i petreci copil\ria, apoi sunt anii `ngrozitori aisuspiciunii [i cenzurii `n România comunist\,care se teme de propriii intelectuali [i `i con-strânge s\ tac\, s\ mint\, s\ nu se simt\ `nsiguran]\ `n propria cas\. ~n]elepciunea ta sena[te din dezr\d\cinare, dintr-o familiaritatelucid\ cu non-apartenen]a. Cum a influen]ataceast\ constant\ pozi]ie de grani]\ [i de cump\-n\ modul t\u de a vedea lumea [i de a o povesti?

Norman Manea: Vagabondul, exilatul, out-siderul – ceea ce `n cea mai autobiografic\

carte a mea am numit huligan – este o figur\complex\ [i absolut contemporan\. Pe de o par-te, e constrâns s\ locuiasc\ la periferie, s\-[iasume excluderea ca pe o dimensiune existen-]ial\ [i istoric\. ~ns\, pe de alt\ parte, faptul dea fi mereu la periferie, mobil, extrateritorial `ipermite s\ interpreteze ideea de „centru“, s\ oredefineasc\, pân\ la a descoperi c\ centrul numai exist\ [i c\ ast\zi condi]ia marginalit\]iicoincide, simplu, cu condi]ia uman\. Epocanoastr\ [i societatea noastr\ sunt centrifuge,literal, f\r\ centru. Mul]i oameni cred totu[ic\ nu te po]i lipsi de centru [i se `ndârjesc s\caute unul, vechi, nou, nu conteaz\. Atitudi-nea lor e nostalgic\ [i cere o anumit\ doz\ deautoam\gire, deoarece nevoia de apartenen]\`n sens tradi]ional – religios, etnic, na]ional,ideologic – nu are ast\zi nicio referin]\ `nrealitate. Exilatul, huliganul sunt cet\]eniiadev\ra]i [i fluizi ai societ\]ii globale.

M.N.: Casa celui care decide „s\ mearg\cât mai departe posibil de p\mântul Tat\lui“ –ai scris – are perimetrul unei „cochilii demelc“: limba ta matern\, limba `n care scrii,coincide cu acest refugiu fragil?

N.M.: Ani de zile am crezut c\ centrul meuera limba. Ast\zi, [i acest centru este descen-trat [i ambiguu. M-a[ am\gi dac\ a[ continuas\-mi spun c\ acolo tr\iesc. Ast\zi, „cochiliamea de melc“ – m-a `nv\]at biografia mea –`nseamn\ mai degrab\ s\-]i men]ii privireaasupra individului [i s\ `ncerci s\ evi]i cli[eelece decurg din etnicitate, religie, ideologiiledogmatice. Aceasta nu `nseamn\ c\ sunt indi-ferent la via]a social\ [i colectiv\. S`nt atentla lume, atent [i sceptic vizavi de manipul\ri,atent la felul cum idealurile sunt transformate`n ideologii. Comunismul, de exemplu, unideal infantil nepotrivit naturii umane, nuputea s\ nu devin\ dogm\. {i pragmatismul,luând act de imperfec]iunea naturii umane [iadaptându-se la ea, este, evident, r\u; [itotu[i, `ntre aceste dou\ op]iuni, ambele rele,aleg pragmatismul. Corespunde – cred eu –mai bine naturii umane. Mark Twain spunea:

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„Nu am prejudec\]i de ras\ sau de religie,judec fiin]a uman\ `n func]ie de ceea ce e [inimic nu poate fi mai r\u“.

M.N.: O paradoxal\ lec]ie de toleran]\?N.M.: Da, exact. {i cealalt\ mare lec]ie e

aceea pe care o `nve]i atunci când pierzi totce ai. ~n deposedare descoperi relativitatealucrurilor. Rezultatul este o incredibil\ rezis-ten]\ [i capacitatea de a g\si ceea ce nu nea[tept\m.

M.N.: ~n cazul t\u?N.M.: Nu m-am gândit niciodat\ s\ m\ sta-

bilesc `n America. America m\ speria. {i to-tu[i, ast\zi, dup\ mai bine de dou\zeci de ani,pot spune c\ am g\sit `n mine – `n multelepersoane pe care le am `n mine – capacitateade a-mi asuma sarcina de a m\ `nnoi, de a`nv\]a noi reguli, de a m\ supune la prob\.Când am p\r\sit România pentru Americaaveam cincizeci de ani, o vârst\ la care deobicei nu iei decizii atât de drastice. Acumm\ simt recunosc\tor, dar atunci m\ sim]eamfuribund, mut. Am fost obligat s\ regândesc

fiecare lucru. Noua mea formare a avut locprin intermediul unei deform\ri. Ast\zi simt oprofund\ solidaritate pentru persoanele decondi]ia mea. {i sunt din ce `n ce mai multe.Gertrude Stein spunea c\ identitatea (sex,ras\, na]ionalitate etc.) ne serve[te pentru a neda un loc `n re]eaua de rela]ii sociale, dar c\fiecare dintre noi este o entitate, o fiin]\ sin-gur\ `n vid. Eu am renun]at la identit\]ile mele[i nu iubesc etichetele. Un critic german, scri-ind despre huliganul meu, a spus c\ lupta sa e o lupt\ dur\ de emancipare de orice form\de apartenen]\, istoric\ sau privat\. Iat\, credc\ lucrul care trebuie f\cut este s\ privim `nnoi `n[ine `n afara oric\rei structuri. Dar, re-pet, nu sunt `mpotriva solidarit\]ii, nu suntcinic, nici nihilist; sunt gata s\ m\ dedic totalunei cauze, cu condi]ia s\ nu mi se interzic\s\-mi p\strez luciditatea [i s\ o exprim.

Milano, 17 februarie 2011


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‘The man of the courteous and melancholy manners,whom the fierce political history of the twentiethcentury had flung far from his country and haddeprived of his mother tongue (a potentially fatalexperience for a writer) became part of my life, as aliterary point of reference and as a friend.’

Maria Nadotti

I have known Norman Manea since 1989. Atthat time we both lived in the United States, inthe state of New York to be precise. I lived inManhattan, he lived in Annandale-on-Hudson,where he was (and still is) professor of EuropeanStudies and Culture at Bard College. A bitless than a hundred kilometers of distancebetween us, and thousands from our respec-tive countries of origin.

I had moved to New York in 1980, by myown choice, and I commuted as I pleasedbetween Italy and the USA. He had arrivedsome years later, searching for a place inwhich to re-weave the threads of an existencemarked by the political catastrophes of ourbrief century: his was a kind of supervisedfreedom, one-way geographically speaking.

I remember that when I telephoned to askhim for an interview (his October, Eight O’Clockwas about to come out in Italy), he answeredme with that kind and affectionate warmththat remains for me the most significant traitof the personality of this author with the clearand implacably mild glance and the refined,ironic, and sorrowful writing. ‘Come to Bard,’he suggested immediately, perhaps struck bymy ‘Latin’ accent, so familiar to those whospeak Romanian, ‘and stay with us for thenight. We can chat while we walk in thewoods and get to know each other calmly.’

Since I had never believed in the half-hourinterviews in which the writer du jour getspumped dry about his most recent book,

I answered enthusiastically that whithin a fewdays I would join him among the woods ofthe Hudson Valley.

It was thus that the man of the courteousand melancholy manners, whom the fiercepolitical history of the twentieth century hadflung far from his country and had deprivedof his mother tongue (a potentially fatal expe-rience for a writer) became part of my life, asa literary point of reference and as a friend.

I think that I decided precisely in thosehours – notwithstanding the broken Englishthat then served us as a poor lingua franca – toinvite Norman Manea to take part in an ad-venture that was close to my heart. Togetherwith Goffredo Fofi, the director of the culturalmonthly Linea d’ombra, we had launched along-range project of reflection and inquirythat we had titled ‘North, South, East, West:Who is the other?’ Every two years, with amonthly span from January to May, authorsfrom every part of the world would come to-gether in Milan to discuss with us and amongthemselves the direction that the world wastaking. We had assembled the subjects forreflection in a series of oxymora, which wentfrom peace/war to riches/poverty.

We didn’t want round tables or conferen-ces, but rather quiet discussions in depth. Sothat each time our guests would be only twoin number. This format would permit themand those present to really compare ideas,experiences, skills, dreams, languages. Our

– 295 –


In praise of mildnessFor the seventy-fifth birthday of Norman Manea

MMaarriiaa NNaaddoottttii

guests from 1990 to 1994 included KazimirBrandys, Christa Wolf, Grace Paley, AmitavGhosh, John Berger, Evelyn Fox Keller,Ryszard Kapuściński, Juan Villoro, ElenaPoniatowska, Bill Buford, Acheng, RafaelSánchez Ferlosio, Yi Munyol, Per OlovEnquist, Eduardo Galeano, and many others.

Norman participated in the first edition ofour project. His interlocutor was the Americandirector Arthur Penn, author of memorablefilms such as Little Big Man, Bonnie andClyde, Four Friends. From this grew an in-tense and complex dialogue, characterized bythe exquisitely elegant manners of each, bytheir ethical uprightness, by a common indis-position to rhetoric and to every more or lesslarval attempt at seduction in front of an audi-ence. Both of them were there to analyze, con-verse, connect, understand, not to entertain orplease. A lesson that, at a distance of preciselytwenty years, would be more necessary andprecious than ever today in Italy.

Herewith, to celebrate his seventy-fifth birth-day, I report some excerpts from a recent con-versation. His voice as an ‘apolitical citizen’of the world-home comes through clearly:

Maria Nadotti: In the events of your bio-graphy, exile is only the last of so many‘returns to zero’ that you have undergone.First there is the concentration camp where –as a Jewish child – you pass your infancy,then the savage years of suspicion and cen-sorship in Communist Romania, which fearsits own intellectuals and forces them to keepsilence, to lie, to feel unsafe in their ownhomes. Yours is a knowledge born of uproot-ing, of a lucid familiarity with not belonging.How has this constant position of balancingon the edge affected your manner of lookingat the world and telling about it?

Norman Manea: The vagabond, the exile,the outsider – what I have called the hooliganin my most autobiographical book – is a com-plex and absolutely contemporary figure. Onone hand he is obliged to live on the margin,

to assume exclusion as his existential and historic dimension, but on the other hand hisperennial existence at the limits, in motion,extra-territorial, allows him to question theidea of a ‘center,’ to redefine it. Until he dis-covers that the center no longer exists andthat today the condition of marginality simplycoincides with the human condition. Our timeand our society are centrifugal, literally withouta center. All the same many people believethat we can’t do without one and persist dog-gedly in looking for one, whether old or new.Theirs is a nostalgic attitude which requires acertain measure of self-deception, because theneed for belonging of the traditional type –religious, ethnic, national, ideological – todayhas no reference at all to reality. The exiled,the wanderer, the hooligan are the real andfluid citizens of global society.

M.N: The dwelling of one who decides ‘to goas far as possible from the Fatherland’– you havewritten – has the perimeter of a ‘snail shell’:does the mother tongue, the language of yourwriting, coincide with this fragile shelter?

N.M.: For years I believed that language wasmy center. Today even this center is for me de-centered and ambiguous. I would be deceiv-ing myself if I continued to tell myself that itis there where I live. Today my ‘snail shell’ –and my biography taught me rather to keep awatch on the individual and to seek to avoidthe clichés that come from ethnicity, fromreligion, from dogmatic ideologies. Commu-nism, for example, a childish ideal ill-adaptedto human nature, could not avoid turning itselfinto a dogma. Even in pragmatism, in takinginto consideration the imperfection of humannature, there is obviously some evil; however,between these two options, both of them bad,I choose pragmatism. I believe that it corre-sponds better to human nature. Mark Twainsaid: ‘I have no prejudices about race or reli-gion, I take humanity for what it is, and no-thing could be worse.’

M.N: A paradoxical lesson in tolerance?

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N.M.: Yes, exactly. And the other great les-son is the one that you learn when you loseeverything that you possess. In dispossessionyou discover the relativity of things. The re-sult is an incredible power of resistance andthe capacity to find what we did not expect.

M.N: In your case?N.M.: I had never thought of going to live

in America. I was afraid of America. Instead,today, at a distance of more than twentyyears, I can say that I have found in myself –in the many people that I have in myself – thecapacity of taking on the task of renewingmyself, of learning new rules, of puttingmyself to the test. I was fifty when I leftRomania for the United States, an age atwhich one does not usually make such drasticdecisions. Now I feel grateful, but then I feltenraged, struck dumb. I was constrained tore-think everything. My re-formation

occurred through a de-formation. Now I feela deep solidarity with people in my condition.And they are ever more numerous. GertrudeStein said that identity (sex, race, nationality,etcetera) serves to give us a place in the net-work of social relationships, but that each ofus is an entity, a single being in the void. Ihave given up my identities and I don’t likelabels. A German critic, writing about myhooligan, said that his is a harsh battle ofemancipation from every form of belonging,historical and private. So, I believe that thething to do is to observe oneself outside anystructure. But, I repeat, I am not against soli-darity, I am neither a cynic or a nihilist: I amready to dedicate myself entirely to a cause,provided that it does not keep me from main-taining my clarity and expressing it.


– 297 –


Cum po]i s\ vorbe[ti despre un autor altfeldecât refuzând s\ ì ascul]i sfaturile? Ini]ialam fost tentat s\ vorbesc cuminte, despreopera lui Norman Manea, f\r\ a vorbi despreNorman Manea. Apoi mi-am aminti de volu-mul s\u de rememor\ri (Plicuri [i portrete,Polirom, 2004), [i acolo am dat peste unpasaj `n care Norman Manea proclam\ unanti-sainte-beuveianism vehement. L-am citit[i eu pe Marcel Proust, mi-am zis, doar nusunt August Prostul, [tiu c\ nu omul, ci operaeste important\! Dar dup\ ce am parcurs celepeste 500 de pagini de amintiri mi-am datseama c\ nu pot s\ `l ascult nici pe Proust,nici pe Manea, pentru c\ `n urma lecturii amr\mas cu `ntrebarea aceasta agasant\: cum adevenit Norman Manea... Norman Manea.

Un prim indiciu poate fi g\sit `n rememora-rea `ntâlnirii mirabile cu Miron Radu Parachivescu,care, `n 1966 (la 20 de ani de la `ntoarcereacopilului Noah din deportare), ì public\ untext [i ì spune, la debut, mai mult sau maipu]in direct, c\ n-are decât s\ scrie ni[te datebiografice care s\ fie inventate. Am ajuns s\cred c\ inventarea ([i reinventarea) de sineeste motivul ([i motiva]ia) central(\) a(l)rememor\rilor lui Norman Manea. Iar acestfapt m-a trimis imediat `nspre no]iunea deautobiografic]iune. Pentru c\ ce altceva esteautobiografic]iunea decât un bricolaj tipicpostmodern (horribile dictu!), care une[tebiografia, documentarul [i fic]iunea. Iar faptulc\ `n centrul acestei c\r]i se afl\ amintirea

dureroas\ a unei zile de var\ bucure[tean\,din dezgust\torul an 1986 (la 20 de ani de ladebut), când omul Norman Manea pleac\ dinRomânia numai cu o foaie decupat\ dintr-unziar, devine fundamental. Când pleci pentrutotdeauna din patria ta poate c\ la[i `n urm\obiecte, dar nu po]i s\ la[i `n urm\ amintiri,pentru c\ amintirile nu pot fi pierdute. Pentruscriitor, efectul traumatic al plec\rii din Ro-mânia, care a echivalat cu l\sarea `n urm\ atuturor formelor materiale de memorie – pli-curi, scrisori, caiete de lucru, ciorne, epistole –nu a `nsemnat [i abandonarea propriei iden-tit\]i. Iar „plecarea“ nu se refer\ numai laemigrarea „exterioar\“, evident\ la nivelbiografic, ci este o refacere a fic]iunii de a fia unui `ntreg popor. Când amintirile intr\ `nimaginar, ele devin „fic]iuni ale trecutului“,„fabule“ ale unei biografii niciodat\ scindate,dar care se `ndep\rteaz\ mereu de sine. Poatec\ autobiografia este forma cea mai primitiv\de critic\ literar\, dar când grani]a dintrefic]iune [i biografie (care nu este totuna cubiografia fic]ionalizat\) devine translucid\,atunci autobiografic]iunea este singuragaran]ie a eternit\]ii.

Avem `n limba român\ o expresie care sun\cam a[a: spune-mi cu cine te-mprietene[ti, cas\-]i spun cine e[ti. Iar `n primele 250 de pa-gini din Plicuri [i portrete (de fapt o carte`ntreag\, `nchegat\) nu sunt altceva decât por-trete ale prietenilor, ale celor de care NormanManea vrea s\ `[i aduc\ aminte, aducându-[i

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Norman ([i autobiogra-fic]iunea lui) ManeaDDoorruu PPoopp

astfel aminte [i de sine. Iar aducerea aminteeste un prim cod de `n]elegere a devenirii luiNorman Manea.

Nu po]i vorbi despre Norman Manea evi-tând evreitatea. Sigur, Freud a problematizataceast\ `ntrebare fundamental\: ce r\mâne iu-daic dintr-un evreu care nu este nici religios,nici na]ionalist, nici preocupat de `nv\]\turileTalmudului? Nici p\rintele psihanalizei nu adat un r\spuns. Dar poate nici nu poate fig\sit un r\spuns, altul decât faptul de a fi.Pentru c\ evreitatea aceasta este o fic]iune [i,simultan, este o form\ de biografie, care numai poate fi contestat\. Evreitatea pur [i sim-plu este, a[a cum transpare din admirabiladescriere a `ntâlnirii lui Norman Manea cuSaul Bellow. Evreitatea este o stare, careexplic\ pribegia „printre c\r]i [i cuvinte“, so-lidaritatea unor „sublimi orfani“ pentru carerefugiul `n sine [i fuga de sine sunt singurelec\i de sc\pare din captivitatea „Marii Bestii“care era societatea bizantin-ceau[ist\. {i aicinu este vorba nici de Orenstein, nici de Ro-sengarten, nici de Rosenberg, nici de LevysMendelovici, ci de Lucian Raicu, PaulGeorgescu, Florin Mugur, Virgil Duda,

Andrei Savu sau Zigu Ornea.Ca orice exilat, Norman Manea a r\mas

prins `ntre lumea de „Dincoace“ [i lumea de„Dincolo“, care sunt, deopotriv\, lumea depeste Ocean [i lumea p\r\sit\, l\sat\ `n urm\,dar [i una interioar\ [i Lumea de Apoi, „cel\-lalt t\râm“ al mor]ii. Iar ideea mor]ii devineobsesiv\, dac\ st\m s\ ne gândim c\ to]i (sauaproape to]i) cei pomeni]i `n Plicuri [i portretesunt pleca]i dintre noi: Bernard (LucianRaicu), „dublul“ a c\rui dispari]ie nu poate fisubstituit\, Mariana Marin, moart\ `n cad\,Florin Mugur care se sinucide; mor]i suntRadu Petrescu sau Paul Georgescu, la felZigu Ornea sau Ion Negoi]escu, dar [i SaulBellow sau Imre Kertész. S`nt rememora]i al]i„deceda]i ilu[tri“: Radu Enescu, LiviuPetrescu, Marin Sorescu sau Mircea Zaciu.

Dar pentru Norman Manea `n vorbireadespre moarte nu e nimic morbid, pentru c\ea constituie r\spunsul la regula autobiogra-fic]iunii: la moartea unui prieten ar trebui s\vorbim nu numai despre prietenie, ci chiardespre moarte. Pe u[a vie]ii noastre, ne spuneManea, scrie Exit. Acesta e avertismentulperpetuu al existen]ei.

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How may one talk about an author other thanby refusing to heed his advice? Initially, I wastempted to talk commonsensically about NormanManea’s work, without talking about NormanManea himself. Then I remembered his volumeof memoirs (Envelopes and Portraits, Polirom,2004), and there I came across a passage inwhich Norman Manea declares himself vehe-mently opposed to Beuveism. I’ve read MarcelProust, too, I said to myself. I’m not Augustusthe Fool, after all. I know that it’s not the manbut the work that counts! But after readingmore than five hundred pages of memoirs, I realized that I could heed neither Proust norManea, because as a result of my reading I was left with the niggling question: how didNorman Manea become Norman Manea?

The first clue can be found in the descrip-tion of his astonishing meeting with MironRadu Paraschivescu, who, in 1966 (twentyyears after the return of the child Noah fromdeportation), published one of his texts andtold him, from the very start, more or lessdirectly, to write some made-up biographicaldetails. I have come to believe that self-invention (and re-invention) is the centralmotif of (and motive for) Norman Manea’smemoirs. And this immediately brought tomy mind the notion of autobiographical fic-tion. For, what else is the autobiographicalfiction except a typically postmodern (horri-bile dictu!) mishmash, which combines thebiographical, the factual, and the fictional.

And the fact that at the centre of the book canbe found the painful memory of one day dur-ing the Bucharest summer of the disgustingyear of 1986 (twenty years after his literarydebut), when Norman Manea the man leftRomania with only a page clipped from anewspaper, becomes fundamental. When youleave your native land forever you may leavebehind objects, but you cannot leave behindmemories, because memories cannot be lost.For the writer, the traumatic effect of leavingRomania, which was equivalent to leavingbehind all the material forms of memory –envelopes, letters, notebooks, rough drafts,letters – did not also mean an abandonmentof his own identity. And ‘departure’ not onlyrefers to ‘exterior’ emigration, evident at thebiographical level, but also it is a reconstruc-tion of an entire nation’s fiction of being.When the memories enter into the imaginary,they become ‘fictions of the past’, ‘fables’ ofa biography that is never split, but which isalways moving further away from itself.Perhaps autobiography is the most primitiveform of literary criticism, but when the boun-dary between fiction and biography (which isnot the same thing as fictionalised biography)becomes transparent, then autobiographicalfiction is the only guarantee of eternity.

In Romanian we have an expression whichgoes something like this: tell me who you’refriends with, and I’ll tell you who you are.And in the first two hundred and fifty pages

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Norman (and the autobio-graphical fiction of) ManeaDDoorruu PPoopp

‘Like any other exile, Norman Manea hasremained caught between the world “over here“and the world “over there“, which aresimultaneously the world over the Ocean and theworld he left behind, but also an inner world andthe World Beyond, the other realm of Death.’

Doru Pop

of Envelopes and Portraits (in fact an entirecoherent book) we find nothing other thanportraits of friends, of the people NormanManea wishes to remember, thereby recol-lecting his own self. And recollection is thefirst code for an understanding of NormanManea’s evolution.

One cannot speak of Norman Manea andavoid Jewishness. Of course, it was Freudwho problematised this fundamental ques-tion: what remains Jewish in a Jew who isneither religious, nor a nationalist, nor preoc-cupied with the teachings of the Talmud? Noteven the father of psychoanalysis was able toprovide an answer. But perhaps there is noanswer to be found other than the fact ofbeing. For, this Jewishness is a fiction and, atthe same time, a form of biography, whichcan no longer be contested. Jewishness quitesimply is, as it transpires from the wonderfuldescription of Norman Manea’s meeting withSaul Bellow. Jewishness is a state, whichexplains the peregrination ‘among books andwords,’ the solidarity of ‘sublime orphans’ forwhom refuge in the self and flight from theself were the only means of escape from cap-tivity under the ‘Great Beast’ that was thebyzantine society of Ceau[escu’s Romania.And here it is not a question of Orenstein, orRosengarten, or Rosenberg, or even LevysMendelovici, but of Lucian Raicu, Paul

Georgescu, Florin Mugur, Virgil Duda,Andrei Savu and Zigu Ornea.

Like any other exile, Norman Manea hasremained caught between the world ‘overhere’ and the world ‘over there,’ which aresimultaneously the world over the Ocean andthe world he left behind, but also an innerworld and the World Beyond, the other realmof Death. And the idea of death becomesobsessive, if we stop to think that (almost) allthose who are mentioned in Envelopes andPortraits have departed from among us:Bernard (Lucian Raicu), the ‘double’ whosepassing is irreplaceable; Mariana Marin, deadin the bathtub; Florin Mugur, who committedsuicide; Radu Petrescu and Paul Georgescuare also dead, the same as Zigu Ornea and IonNegoi]escu, but also Saul Bellow and ImreKertész. Other ‘illustrious deceased’ are like-wise commemorated: Radu Enescu, LiviuPetrescu, Marin Sorescu and Mircea Zaciu.

But for Norman Manea there is nothingmorbid in speaking about death, becausedeath provides the answer to the rule of auto-biographical fiction: on the death of a friendwe ought to speak not only of friendship, butalso death. On the door of our life, Maneatells us, is written Exit. This is existence’sperpetual warning.


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Cu Philip Roth `n casa sa din Connecticut, 1 ianuarie 2000

With Philip Roth in his Connecticut house, 1st of January, 2000

Cred c\ am fost primul scriitor american pe care l-a cunoscut Norman. El locuia laWashington [i a venit la New York s\ m\cunoasc\, la hotelul unde st\team. M-a m\-surat cu privirea de parc\ nu eram primulscriitor american pe care `l vedea, ci primulcowboy american. Ne-am `n]eles cumva,chiar dac\ la vremea aceea engleza sa eradestul de limitat\. Nu putea spune prea multe,`ns\ `nc\ de la `nceput am râs mult `mpreun\.De atunci, aveam s\ tot râdem `mpreun\. El`nc\ nu se hot\râse dac\ s\ se `ntoarc\ la Parisori s\ r\mân\ `n America. L-am luat la o plim-bare `n Upper West Side din Manhattan, `ntoiul dup\-amiezii, prin aglomera]ia de oa-meni care ie[iser\ la cump\r\turi, se plimbausau f\ceau jogging. L-am condus c\tre pia]aFairways, unde fructele [i legumele st\teau `ngr\mezi pe tarabe. L-am dus `n Citarella’s, s\vad\ l\zile frigorifice `nc\rcate cu 50 desoiuri de pe[ti sclipitori. L-am dus la libr\riaBarnes and Noble, care lui nu i s-a p\rut unmagazin, ci un depozit de c\r]i. Voiam s\ vad\plenitudinea `nainte s\ pornesc la atac, `nainte

s\ `i spun c\ nu numai c\ ar trebui s\ locuias-c\ `n America, ci ar trebui s\ stea aici, `n NewYork, `n Upper West Side.

Peste vreo cinci ani l-am `nso]it la Cl\direaFederal\ din centrul New Yorkului pentru adeveni cet\]ean american al\turi de al]i 500de ferici]i imigran]i. Am stat mândru al\turide el `n timpul ceremoniei de depunere a ju-r\mântului, am s\rb\torit iar servind prânzulla un restaurant italian din Greenwich Village,unde m-a regalat cu cel pu]in 20 de pove[ti,minunat de `ntortocheate [i ironice, relatate cuo mul]ime de detalii, despre lumea pe care ocunoscuse pe vremea când era cet\]ean român.M-am gândit c\ ar trebui s\ devin\ cet\]eanamerican `n fiecare zi dac\ acest lucru ar de-clan[a `n el acest [uvoi `ncânt\tor de pove[ti. Num\ mai opream din râs [i i tot spuneam: „Norman,du-te acas\ [i scrie asta“, amintindu-mi `nacela[i timp ziua aceea de la hotel când aveaatât de pu]in\ englez\ la dispozi]ie, era plin de`ndoieli [i agitat [i nici nu-i trecea prin cap cesucces va avea r\mânând `n America.


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Nu m\ mai opream din râs[i `i tot spuneam: „Norman,du-te acas\ [i scrie astaPPhhiilliipp RRootthh

„

‘I thought he should become an Americancitizen every day if that would release in himthis delightful flow of narrative.’

Philip Roth

I think I was the first American writer thatNorman met. He was living in Washingtonand came up to New York to see me where I was staying in a hotel. He looked me overas though I were not his first American writerbut his first American cowboy. Somehow wegot along, even though at this point hisEnglish was quite limited. He could not sayvery much, but nonetheless we laughed a lottogether right from the start. From then on,we would always laugh a lot together. He wasstill trying to decide whether to return to livein Paris or to stay in America. I took him fora walk on Manhattan’s Upper West Side,heavy in the middle of the afternoon with theBroadway human traffic of people out shop-ping and walking and jogging. I guided himover to Fairways Market, where the fruit andvegetables were stacked in superaudance onthe outdoor stalls. I took him into Citarella’s,to look at the ice-lined bins laden with fiftykinds of gleaming fish. I took him up to theBarnes and Noble bookstore which looked tohim less like a store than like a warehouse of

books. I wanted him to see the plentitudebefore I made my pitch, before I told him heshould not only live in America, he should livehere in New York on the Upper West Side.

Some five years later I went with him whenhe went to the Federal Building in downtownNew York to become a citizen along with an-other five hundred happy immigrants. I satproudly beside him, smiling away, during theswearing-in ceremony, and then we went to acelebratory lunch at an Italian restaurant inGreenwich Village, where he regaled me withtwo dozen stories at least, wonderful convo-luted and ironic stories rendered in rich detail,of the world he’d known back when he was acitizen of Romania. I thought he should be-come an American citizen every day if thatwould release in him this delightful flow of nar-rative. I kept laughing and saying, ‘Norman, gohome and write that down,’ meanwhile remem-bering the day back at my hotel when he hadso little English at his disposal and so muchdoubt and trepidation and no idea at all of thesuccess he would make of life in America.

– 307 –


I kept laughing and saying,’Norman, go home and write that downPPhhiilliipp RRootthh

’

O noapte geroas\ de iarn\ `n p\dure, casa lu-minat\, combina]ia obi[nuit\ de vin [i profesoride colegiu, familiaritate [i plictiseal\, micibârfe. Ie[ind `n eviden]\ f\r\ s\ spun\ nimic,cu privirea sa intens\, nou-venitul urm\rindtotul. Activitatea evident\ din spatele chipuluit\cut – gura uimit\, privirea care danseaz\,mângâietoare, `ntre aceste animale ciudatecare sunt universitarii americani – f\cea s\ nuse mai aud\ discu]ia zgomotoas\.

Prietenia mea cu Norman a `nceput `nnoaptea aceea, la prima noastr\ `ntâlnire. Peatunci – acum vreo 20 de ani? – engleza luiera mai pu]in fluent\, leg\tura imediat\ depin-zând de un fel de recunoa[tere care se facef\r\ cuvinte. De la `nceput, pentru cel care `lprivea, Norman era clar outsiderul, cel carenu apar]ine grupului. Niciunui grup. Dar exis-ta deja un grup de doi, c\ci Cella se afla [i eaacolo, iar c\ldura [i umorul acelei prime `ntâl-niri cu amândoi au contrazis ideea american\de outsider, de izolare social\, promi]ând `nschimb ceva mai inteligent decât apartenen]a – opostur\ est-european\ a individului, farmeculsubversivului. Ca [i cum cineva intra `ntr-uncerc `n care distan]a critic\ r\mânea, dar exis-tau [i prietenie, [i râsete – un fel de petrecerea lui Tonio Kröger.

Pentru cineva ca mine, care sim]eam de ase-menea c\ nu apar]in, atrac]ia a fost imediat\. „Dar,Sarah, tu nu e[ti american\, e[ti ca noi, e[tide-a noastr\...“ Norman, cu inimitabila sclipiredin ochi, spunând mereu dou\ lucruri deodat\ –

cuvintele, gesturile, expresiile fe]ei formând unsplendid contrapunct de sensuri suprapuse.

Când scrie, contrapunctul ia alt\ form\. ~n-totdeauna pe punctul de a fi explicit, creând`n mod ingenios o poveste a acelui non-dit,istoriile lui Norman nu se termin\ cu o rezol-vare, ci cu o suspensie. Este maestru a ceea ce`n muzic\ se nume[te „caden]\ neterminat\“.Pentru c\ aici inteligen]a ascu]it\ [i hipersen-sibilitatea scriitorului l-au ajutat s\ g\seasc\ omodalitate de comunicare f\r\ a numi – pen-tru a evita complet banalizarea care se na[tecând spui un singur adev\r atunci când exist\mai multe.

Aversiunea absolut\ fa]\ de conformitate.Norman prive[te cu acela[i ochi critic nebuniaAmericii capitaliste [i România comunist\ –nebunia existen]ei umane, imposibilit\]ile siste-melor sociale. „Sarah, nebunul \sta...“ Fascina-]ia, nesfâr[ita curiozitate – iat\ supravie]uirea,iat\ pl\cerea absolut\. Ochiul de romancier allui Norman g\se[te `n vie]ile banale din jurulnostru marele roman nescris: [tearsa femeiesingur\ devine un personaj din Balzac; imagina]ialiterar\ de neoprit triumf\ asupra plictiselii.Ironia ce vine din profunzimile sale, nu uzatapostur\ goal\ de con]inut pe care o vedem zilnic,ci aici, cu Norman, o ironie profund\ ce izvor\[tedintr-o experien]\ atât de `ntunecat\, `ncât nueste o atitudine, ci un mijloc de supravie]uire.

Timpul petrecut cu Norman este f\r\asem\nare. Vocea sa este vocea autenticit\]ii,inteligen]a ne`nduplecat\ care str\punge

– 309 –


Pentru Norman SSaarraahh RRootthheennbbeerrgg

prin poz\, preten]iozitate, necinste pentru adezv\lui modestul adev\r uman. Norman actorul,ochii sclipitori [i privirea juc\u[\ care devinebrusc serioas\, grav\ [i inflexibil\. {i apoimomentul de ezitare, nu suntem siguri – cândjoac\ teatru? Când râde sau când este mânios?

Sensibilitatea acut\, dureroas\ din spateleumorului, `nc\p\]ânarea intransigent\ `n careorice `ngenunchere ar echivala cu sinucidereamoral\. Dar comportamentul moral? Exist\oare a[a ceva? Norman ne spune c\ disidentulvorbe[te nu cu curaj, ci dintr-o incapacitatecople[itoare de a t\cea `n fa]a prostiei. „Sarah,n-a[ putea s\-mi ]in gura.“ Provocarea ar puteafi un birocrat comunist sau o comisie de lafacultatea de [tiin]e umane. Necunoscutul: nu exist\ via]\ f\r\ contradic]ie; complexita-

tea vie]ilor interioare este `nv\luit\ `n mister.Dragostea absolut\ de pove[ti. ~n scrierile

sale, `n prietenia lui, `n discu]iile pe care leaveam `n timp ce urm\ream `mpreun\ incre-dibila c\dere a lui Bill Clinton sau primulr\zboi din Golf p\trunzând pe nea[teptateodat\ cu CNN-ul `n mica lui sufragerie dinnordul statului New York, Norman ne rea-minte[te c\ prin pove[ti – pove[tile noastre,pove[tile altora, pove[tile celor pe care `icunoa[tem – supravie]uim noi. Povestea sa neofer\ iar [i iar, `n frânturi, deghizate [i nemas-cate, mereu variate, f\când darul omenescului:fragilitate, dorin]\, râs, surpriz\.

Drag\ Norman, te s\rb\torim!


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– 311 –


For Norman SSaarraahh RRootthheennbbeerrgg

A cold winter night in the woods, the lit house,the usual mix of wine and college professors,familiarity and boredom, local gossip. Stan-ding out quietly with his intense gaze, thenewcomer observing it all. The obvious acti-vity behind the silent visage – the bemusedmouth, the dancing eyes shooting among thesestrange animals that are American academics –drowned out the noisy conversation.

My friendship with Norman began that night,at our first encounter. Back then – now twentyyears ago? – the English was less fluent, theimmediate connection dependent upon a kindof recognition that happens without words. Fromthe start, in that gaze of the observer, Normanannounced himself as the outsider, the one whodoes not belong to the group. To any group.But there was already a group of two, for Cellawas there as well, and the warmth and humorof that first encounter with both of them beliedthe American idea of outsider, of social isola-tion, and instead held out the promise of some-thing more intelligent than belonging – anEastern European stance of the individual, thecharm of the subversive. As though one wereentering into a circle where critical distanceremained but there was also friendship andlaughter – a kind of party of Tonio Kröger.

For one who herself did not belong, theappeal was immediate. ‘But Sarah, you are notAmerican, you are like us, you are one of us...’Norman, with the inimitable twinkle in hiseye, always saying two things at once – the

words, the gestures, the facial expressions forminga splendid counterpoint of layered meaning.

In his writing, the counterpoint takes a dif-ferent form. Always stopping short of the ex-plicit, ingeniously creating a narrative of the‘non-dit’, Norman’s stories end not with re-solution but suspension. He is the master ofwhat we call in music the ‘unfinished cadence.’Because here the writer’s keen intelligenceand hypersensitivity have led him to find a wayto communicate without naming – to avoidcompletely the vulgarization that comes oftelling only one truth when there are many.

The absolute abhorrence of conformity.Norman brings the same critical eye to thecraziness of capitalist America as to Com-munist Romania – the craziness of humanexistence, the impossibilities of social sys-tems. ‘Sarah, this crazy guy...’ The fascina-tion, the endless curiosity – here is survival,here is absolute pleasure. Norman’s novelis-tic eye finds in the mundane lives around usthe great unwritten novel: the dreary singlewoman becomes a character in Balzac; theunstoppable literary imagination triumphsover boredom. Irony that comes deep fromwithin, not the overused empty posture thatwe encounter daily but here, with Norman, aprofound irony which comes from such darkexperience that it is not an attitude but ameans of survival.

Time with Norman is like time with no oneelse. His is the voice of authenticity, he is the

‘Time with Norman is like time with no oneelse. His is the voice of authenticity, he is thereal thing. The unrelenting intelligence thatcuts through posturing, pretension, disho-nesty to reveal the humble human truth.’

Sarah Rothenberg

real thing. The unrelenting intelligence that cutsthrough posturing, pretension, dishonesty toreveal the humble human truth. Norman theactor, the twinkling eye and playful glancethat suddenly turns stern, severe and unbend-ing. And then that moment of hesitancy, weare not sure – which is the acting? The laugh-ter or the anger?

The acute, painful sensitivity underneaththe humor; the uncompromising stubbornnessin which any bending at all would be theequivalent of moral surrender. And what ofmoral behavior? Is there such a thing? Normantells us that the dissident speaks out not withbravery, but from an overwhelming inabilityto remain silent in the face of stupidity.‘Sarah, I could not keep my mouth shut.’The provocation could be a Communist

bureaucrat or a liberal arts faculty committee.The unknowable: there is no life without con-tradiction; the complexity of inner lives iswrapped in secrecy.

The absolute love of stories. In his writing,in his friendship, in our conversations as wewatched together the incredible fall of BillClinton or the first Gulf War as it suddenlyentered his small living room in upstate NewYork on CNN, Norman reminds us thatthrough stories – our stories, the stories ofothers, the stories of those we know and willnever know – we survive. His story he givesus again and again, in fragments, disguised andunmasked, continuously varied, making a gift ofwhat is human: fragility, desire, laughter, surprise.

Dear Norman, we celebrate you!

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Cu Dieter Schlesak [i Paul Schuster, Germania, 1984

With Dieter Schlesak and Paul Schuster, Germany, 1984

– 315 –


Heinrich Böll s-a declarat entuziasmat de prozalui Norman Manea. Critica din Bucure[ti [iTransilvania l-a comparat pe autor cu JamesJoyce, Malcolm Lowry, Robert Musil, ErnestoSábato [i Vargas Llosa. Semne ale unei literaturivaloroase din România? Astfel de semne audevenit rare dup\ Eugen Ionescu, Mircea Eliadesau E.M. Cioran, care ajunseser\, de la Bucu-re[ti, la Paris. Norman Manea este considerat`nnoitorul strategiilor narative pentru situa]iiexisten]iale istorice dureroase [i foarte com-plexe [i pentru analiza proceselor unui prezentpe cale s\-[i piard\ echilibrul, a unui procescare ne este intentat tuturor `n ziua de ast\zi.

Nic\ieri `n proza lui Manea nu exist\ numaisuferin]\ individual\. Cel mai matur [i frumostext care poate servi drept exemplu este Punctulde inflexiune: un b\rbat de cincizeci de ani, undublu al lui Gustav Aschenbach, personajullui Thomas Mann, viziteaz\ Marea Neagr\. ~ntinere]e, ea era metafora bucuriei, a vacan]e-lor, a libert\]ii [i dep\rt\rilor [i iubirii. Acum,totul e vechi [i lipsit de speran]\. Marea devinesimbolul destinului [i al timpului acumulat, alfor]ei naturii [i entropiei. Mai demult, pe cândacest b\rbat `nc\ „mai avea timp“, marea eradeschis\, doritoare, liber\, acum ea semnific\moartea; o apropiere paranoic\ a zidurilor`nguste [i `ntunecate ale lipsei de speran]\.~ns\ devine evident c\ acest b\trân ce seinventeaz\ [i se poveste[te aici nu [i-a pierdutnumai dorul dep\rt\rilor [i capacitatea de aiubi, ci, mai ales, puterile sale utopice au

disp\rut. Aceasta este una dintre experien]elenoastre `n mediul senil al acestei epoci, `n carechiar [i copiii [i adolescen]ii resimt „târziul“,se simt b\trâni [i [i-au pierdut orice speran]\.Numim aceast\ epoc\ „postmodern\“, „post’68“, „restaura]ie“; `n Est ar putea fi numit\„postrevolu]ionar\“. ~n orice caz, acel om care sepoveste[te singur `ntr-un fel de „interogatoriual cuvintelor“, `n `ns\[i textura nuvelei, esteprins `ntr-un proces de con[tiin]\ [i devinemartor colectiv, el trebuind s\ relateze „cum [ide ce sl\biciunile [i dorurile p\lesc [i se `ntune-c\ pe parcursul anilor trecu]i, iar toate inten]i-ile bune sunt pedepsite ca ni[te minciuni“.

A[adar, Zeitgeist chiar `n socialismul realdin Balcani: acest spirit deprimant a `nlocuit„fantoma comunismului“. Vechiul haos al tra-di]iilor levantine re`nvie, se combin\ cu s\r\ciaunei societ\]i pline de lipsuri [i cu simptomeleunei oligarhii. Rezultatul este o `ngrozitoarelips\ de perspective. Pe scurt [i privit din ex-terior, acesta ar fi fundalul conflictelor com-plexe sociale [i suflete[ti din aceast\ proz\:distrugerea viitorului. Dar `n interogatoriulcuvintelor se `ntâmpl\ mult mai multe, c\ciacolo se g\se[te acel suflet treaz [i foarte sen-sibil, despre care nu ar fi fost vorba niciodat\,dac\ nu s-ar fi p\strat un sâmbure din acelsecret hilar: speran]a.

Observ\m c\ Norman Manea nu este un le-vantin exotic. Exist\ paralele cu tanatologiileliterare ale lui Nicolas Born [i Günter Kunert. CuAlexander Kluge. Sau cu Thomas Bernhard.

Un Iov sceptic DDiieetteerr SScchhlleessaakk

Tema e mult prea bine cunoscut\: pieirea, distru-gerea sufleteasc\. ~ns\ este imposibil s\ evadezi`n libertatea privat\ sub presiunea experien]e-lor sub totalitarism. Ca [i cum reprezentan]iiputerii ar fi ei `n[i[i ni[te arti[ti rata]i, parodia]i,Manea le `ntoarce metodele: produce realitatea`n regie [i textur\ proprie, cartea devine o salvarea vie]ii. Aceast\ realitate, sus]inut\ cu greu deiluzii ideologice, s-a pr\bu[it `n Est cu mult `na-inte de 1989. S-a terminat cu con[tiin]a oficial\dictat\ de sus, ceea ce a dus la schimbare [i larevolu]ie. Acolo s-a petrecut un exerci]iu derecuperare literar\ mult mai periculos decât `nOccident. ~n Punctul de inflexiune exist\ unfrumos simbol parodic pentru aceast\ starenou\: s-a sinucis soacra naratorului, o vechetovar\[\ [i o lupt\toare `n rezisten]\. Era atâtde fidel\ principiilor, `ncât a pus un bebelu[`n congelator, ca s\ nu rateze o [edin]\. Aceast\femeie este prezent\ `nc\ de la `nceput ca oumbr\. Este citat\ `ntr-o discu]ie dintr-un barpe Calea Rahovei din Bucure[ti. ~n acest bar`ncepe [i interogatoriul naratorului.

Interogatoriul este o tem\ permanent\ laManea. Cel mai intens apare `n al treilea romanal s\u, Cartea fiului. Aici, protagonistei, oartist\, i se face concuren]\ de c\tre alt „artist“,un expert al terorii, ea fiind nevoit\ s\ pictezemereu locuin]a `n care s-a `ntâlnit conspirativcu al]i tovar\[i. Prima parte a romanului sepetrece `n perioada fascist\: fa]\ de colegii dedeten]ie, pictori]a apare ca o tr\d\toare. Dinmotive etice, renun]\ la pictur\ `n pu[c\rie. ~nacea epoc\ `]i trebuia t\rie s\ scapi de tortur\,de tenta]iile colabor\rii. Pictori]a nu avea copii;dar pentru fiul ei virtual (August), aceast\ prob\este cu mult mai dificil\, el trebuie s\ se aperede ni[te du[mani mult mai istovitori, anumede cotidianul dur, de rutin\, de obliga]iile ba-nalului, care, `ncet dar sigur, distrug oriceetic\. Este acea magm\ difuz\, acel „epic“,acea Gorgon\ pietrificatoare cu care Manealupt\ `n toate scrierile sale. Fiindc\ `n via]a dezi cu zi conteaz\ tocmai acel „epic“, ceea cese poate nara, nu „invizibilul“, dup\ cum

suntem avertiza]i `n Punctul de inflexiune. ~ns\„epicul“ reprezint\ materialul pentru „rubricilede documente personale“, deci pentru pânzade p\ianjen a unei supravegheri stricte. Esteun joc ambivalent. Uneori, pare c\ naratorulregret\ acest „epic“, adic\ acel timp `n carecontururile realit\]ii se puteau zugr\vi aproapeclasic prin intermediul unei priviri naive. Totular fi fost, astfel, chiar [i pentru naratorul om-niscient, mai clar. La Manea, acesta apare ca unnecunoscut, ca un str\in ce p\trunde `n realitate.~n nuvela Biografia robot este un supra-vie]uitor al r\zboiului, care sose[te `ntr-un Bu-cure[ti postbelic cenu[iu. Este `ngrozit când `[id\ seama ce s-a `ntâmplat cu ora[ul [i cu oameniide când s-a `ncheiat r\zboiul. {i `ncepe s\ `n-trebe, dar `[i d\ seama c\ un r\spuns simplunu e posibil. „Totul“ ar trebui dus `n aceast\secund\ universal\ a prezentului, nimic nu artrebui l\sat pe dinafar\, nici glumele care sespun, nici scandalul de corup]ie de dincolo, nicicoada la cump\r\turi, nici blocarea tramvaie-lor din cauza penei de curent.

La Norman Manea exist\ o permanent\ a[tep-tare a armoniei, `n ciuda celor mai groazniceexperien]e, siguran]a [i `ncrederea `ntr-o for]\care echilibreaz\ nefericirea `ntr-o logic\ a echi-librului. Personajele sunt prinse `ntr-un infernontologic [i social al disonan]elor, dar se simtprotejate `n text, care, `n cele din urm\, ducela modelul unui `ntreg logic ordonat. Astfel,naratorul imit\, ca s\ spunem a[a, `n domeniulestetic acea for]\ transcendental\ a echilibruluicelor mai profunde cauze. Critica româneasc\a recunoscut acest imbold ascuns al prozei luiManea, anume acea „stare a unei c\deri `n gol,a unei depresii insuportabile“ (Valeriu Cristea)care face posibile, paradoxal, `ntâi speran]a,apoi transformarea. Preg\tirea se face prin„presim]ire [i o a[teptare confuz\“, observ\Norman Manea `nsu[i. Mentalitatea lui Iov?Trebuie doar s\ ai mare r\bdare, apoi apar [icontururile planului existen]ial, sensul devinevizibil, mai ales `n [ocul unei nefericiri! Scep-ticismul [i disperarea apar dup\ str\vechea

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re]et\ ca un grad al revoltei incon[tiente, careanun]\ schimbarea. Abia `n infern devine posi-bil\ identitatea p\mântean\. Abia acolo `ncepecântecul. Pentru aceast\ proz\ sunt tipice momen-tele de ruptur\, se produc intruziuni dincolo dem\[tile identit\]ii na]ionale [i sociale, intr\ `nconflict cu acestea, intruziuni din miezul per-sonajelor, care se ap\r\ contra falselor truisme;acest miez, aceast\ „identitate f\r\ identitate“,r\mâne mereu la fel. Nu are nevoie de empiric,dar are nevoie de o situa]ie extrem\ pentru a pu-tea deveni vizibil\, pentru a se putea exterioriza.

Acest Eu identitar apare mereu `n prozascurt\. Un Eu nu `n sensul ego-ului, ci maidegrab\ `n sensul lui ego animus al lui Au-gustin, care, `n `n]elegerea fulger\toare, estestrâns legat de confesiune, convertire (con-versio). Dac\, prin intermediul lecturii, amtr\it acel tip de amintiri din copil\rie `mpre-un\ cu eroul lui Manea, ce str\bate toate tex-tele sale, `n]elegem de unde provine aceast\

preferin]\ pentru situa]iile emo]ionale [ocante:este experien]a sa traumatic\. Pentru c\ NormanManea este un supravie]uitor, el nu mai poate finic\ieri acas\. Când era copil, a ajuns `n lag\relemor]ii, de atunci are sentimentul de a fi mort.Percep]iile s-au [ubrezit, este dificil s\ continuis\ tr\ie[ti cu ele, au devenit inutile pentru deru-larea normal\ a timpului. Când scrie, privirealui `nghea]\ lucrurile, opre[te timpul, tot ceea cese `ntâmpl\ vede ca printr-un geam, oamenii`i percepe ca pe ni[te fantome [i mor]i `n va-can]\. Acest ochi vede Estul [i Vestul ca peni[te relicve, ni[te obiecte de muzeu, care dauimpresia c\ `nc\ mai duc o via]\ indecent\ [ilipsit\ de con[tiin]\, ca ni[te zombi.

Not\: Articolul este un fragment – tradus deCosmin Dragoste – din volumul lui DieterSchlesak, Zeugen an der Grenze unsererVorstellung. Studien, Essays, Portraits (Martorila limita cunoa[terii. Studii, Eseuri, Portrete),München, 2005.

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‘We can observe that Norman Manea is not anexotic Levantine. There are parallels with theliterary thanatologies of Nicolas Born andGünter Kunert. With Alexander Kluge. Or withThomas Bernhard. The theme is all too wellknown: perdition, spiritual destruction.’

Dieter Schlesak

Heinrich Böll has declared his enthusiasticadmiration of Norman Manea’s prose. Criticsfrom Bucharest and Transylvania have com-pared him with James Joyce, Malcolm Lowry,Robert Musil, Ernesto Sábato and Vargas Llosa.Signs of a major literature from Romania? Suchsigns became rare after Eugene Ionesco, MirceaEliade and E.M. Cioran, who left Bucharestfor Paris. Norman Manea is regarded as a renewerof narrative strategies appropriate to painfuland extremely complex historical existentialsituations and to an analysis of the processesof a present-day that is on the verge of beingthrown out of kilter, processes to which weare all subject in these times.

Nowhere in the prose of Norman Manea is thereonly individual suffering and nothing else. Themost mature and beautiful text that might serveas an example of this is Turning Point: a manof fifty, a double of Thomas Mann’s GustavAschenbach, visits the Black Sea. In his youth, thesea was a metaphor for joy, holidays, freedom,distances, and love. Now, everything has agedand grown hopeless. The sea has become asymbol of fate and accumulating time, of theforce of nature and entropy. Long ago, whenthis man ‘still had time,’ the sea was open,desirous, free, but now it signifies death, aparanoid likeness with the dark narrow wallsof hopelessness. But it becomes clear that theold man who is invented and narrated herehas not only lost his yearning for distancesand capacity to love, but also, above all, his

utopian powers have vanished. This is one ofour experiences in the senescent environment ofthe age, where even children and adolescentsexperience ‘belatedness,’ feel old and havelost all hope. We call this age ‘postmodern,’‘post-’68’; in the East it might be named‘post-revolutionary.’ In any case, this is theman who narrates himself in a kind of ‘cross-examination of words’, in the very texture ofthe novella, he is caught up in a process ofconscience and becomes a collective witness,having to describe ‘how and why weaknessesand desires fade and darken over the courseof the passing years, and all good intentionsare punished as lies.’

And so here it is, the spirit of the times,the all too real socialism of the Balkans: thisdepressing spirit has replaced the ‘ghost ofcommunism.’ The old chaos of Levantine tra-ditions revives, combines with the poverty ofan impoverished, oligarchic society. Theresult is a terrifying lack of perspectives. Inshort, and viewed from the outside, this is thebackdrop to the complex social and spiritualconflicts in this prose: the destruction of thefuture. But in the cross-examination of wordsmany more things happen besides, for it ishere that can be found the vigilant and highlysensitive soul, which never would have beenmentioned if it had not preserved a kernel ofthat hilarious secret: hope.

We can observe that Norman Manea is notan exotic Levantine. There are parallels with

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A sceptical Prophet Job DDiieetteerr SScchhlleessaakk

the literary thanatologies of Nicolas Born andGünter Kunert. With Alexander Kluge. Or withThomas Bernhard. The theme is all too wellknown: perdition, spiritual destruction. But itis impossible to escape into a private freedomunder the pressure of experiences in a totali-tarian state. As if the representatives of powerthemselves were failed, parodied artists, Maneaturns their methods back on them: he producesreality according to his own script, the bookbecomes a lifesaver. This reality, sustainedwith difficulty by ideological illusions, col-lapsed in the East long before 1989. It endedwith an official awareness dictated fromabove, which led to change and revolution. Inthe East, an exercise of literary recuperationfar more dangerous than in the West has takenplace. In Turning Point, there is a wonderfulparodic symbol of this new condition: the nar-rator’s mother-in-law, an old comrade andunderground fighter, has committed suicide.She was so loyal to her principles that onceshe put a baby in the freezer so that she wouldnot miss a party-meeting. This woman is pre-sented as a shadow from the outset. She isquoted in a discussion in a bar on RahoveiAvenue in Bucharest. It is in the same barthat the narrator’s interrogation begins.

The cross-examination is a constant themein Manea’s writing. It occurs most intensivelyin his third novel, The Book of the Son. Here,the protagonist, a woman artist, is in competi-tion with another ‘artist,’ an expert in terror,and she is forced constantly to paint the housein which she met conspiratorially with othercomrades. The first part of the novel is setduring the fascist period: her fellow prisonersview the painter as a traitor. For ethical rea-sons, she gives up painting in prison. In thatperiod, you needed to be strong in order notto give in to torture and the temptation to col-laborate. The painter has no children, but forher virtual son (August) this trial is all themore difficult: he must defend himself againstenemies far more exhausting, namely harsh

everyday life, routine, the claims of the banal,which slowly but surely destroy all ethics. Thisis the diffuse magma, the ‘epic’, the petrifyingGorgon with which Manea struggles in all hiswritings. Because in everyday life what countsis precisely this ‘epic,’ that which can be nar-rated, rather than the ‘invisible,’ as we arecautioned in Turning Point. But the ‘epic’provides ‘headings for personal documents,’thus for the spider’s web of strict surveillance.It is an ambivalent game. Sometimes, it ap-pears that the narrator longs for this ‘epic,’which is to say, the time in which the outlinesof reality could be painted in an almost clas-sical way through a naïve gaze. Even for theomniscient narrator, everything must have beenclearer then. In Manea’s work, it appears as anunknown, as something strange, which pervadesreality. In the story Robot Biography, he is asurvivor from the war, who arrives in a grey,post-war Bucharest. He is horrified when herealises what has happened to the city and itspeople since the end of the war. And he begins toask questions, but realises that no simple answeris possible. ‘Everything’ needs to be broughtinto the universal present moment: nothing mustbe left behind, neither the jokes people told,nor the scandal of corruption, nor the foodqueues, nor the trams stranded by power cuts.

In Norman Manea’s work there is a con-stant expectation of harmony, in spite of themost dreadful experiences, a certainty andtrust in a force that will bring logical balanceto unhappiness. The characters are caught inan ontological and social hell of dissonances,but they feel protected in the text, which ulti-mately leads to the model of a logically or-dered whole. Thus, if we can put it like this,the narrator imitates in the aesthetic realmthat transcendental force which balances outthe deepest causes. Romanian critics haverecognised this hidden impulse in Manea’sprose, namely ‘the state of falling into a void,of unbearable depression’ (Valeriu Cristea),which paradoxically enables first hope then

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transformation. The preparations are made bymeans of ‘presentiment and confused expec-tation,’ as Norman Manea himself observes.The mentality of Job? One must merely havegreat patience, and then the outlines of theexistential plane will emerge, the meaningwill become visible, above all in the shock ofunhappiness. Scepticism and despair appearaccording to the ancient recipe as a degree ofunconscious revolt, which heralds change. Itis only in hell that earthly identity becomespossible. It is only there that the song begins.Typical of his prose are moments of rupture,there are incursions behind the masks of natio-nal and social identity, it comes into conflictwith them, there are incursions into the coreof the characters, who fend off the falsity oftruisms; this core, this ‘identity without iden-tity’ always remains the same. It does notrequire the empirical, but rather an extremesituation in order to become visible, to beable to exteriorise itself.

This ‘I’ of identity always appears in theshort prose. It is an ‘I’ not in the sense of theego, but rather in the sense of Augustine’s egoanimus, which is closely bound to confession

and revolution (conversio). If via reading wehave experienced this type of childhood me-mory along with Manea’s main character, whotraverses all his texts, we will understandwhence originates this preference for shockingemotional situations: it is his own traumaticexperience. For, Norman Manea is a survivor;there is nowhere he can call home. When hewas a child, he was in the death camps, andsince then he has had the feeling of beingdead. The perceptions have weakened, it is hardto go on living with them, they have come tobe of no use for the normal unfolding of time.When he writes, his gaze freezes objects; it stopstime. He sees everything that happens as ifthrough a window. He perceives people as ghosts,as the dead on holiday. His eye sees East andWest as relics, as museum pieces, which givethe impression of still leading an indecent lifedevoid of consciousness, like zombies.

From Dieter Schlesak, Zeugen an der Grenzeunserer Vorstellung. Studien, Essays, Portraits(Witnesses at the Limits of our Knowledge.Studies, Essays, Portraits), Munich, 2005.


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Cu Eran Sela, 2010

With Eran Sela, 2010

– 323 –


~n Sertarele exilului (Polirom, 2008), Maneaconchidea lapidar: „Singurul lucru pe carepot [i trebuie s\-l fac este a exprima ceea cesunt [i la ce aspir, `n ciuda z\d\rniciei de caresuntem cu to]ii con[tien]i“ (p. 154).

Acest „ins retras [i retractil“, cum se auto-define[te `n ultima lui carte, Curierul de Est(Polirom, 2010, p. 34), recunoa[te c\ „z\-d\rnicia m\ cople[e[te repede“ (idem, p. 37),ceea ce nu anuleaz\ caracterizarea f\cut\ lui,cândva, `ntr-un mic text, de V. Nemoianu:„amestec de timiditate [i tenacitate“.

Când ne-am cunoscut, pe la mijlocul anilor’60, prin intermediul mai vechiului meu pri-eten, Rubin (Virgil Duda, mai apoi), a fost, ca s\ zic a[a, „o dragoste la prima vedere“,nedezmin]it\, `n ciuda a tot [i a toate, multe,de-a lungul unei jum\t\]i de veac, aproape.Ne-au apropiat preocup\rile, aspira]iile, idea-lurile, concep]iile, seriozitatea, ironia, pasiunea,dorin]a de a fi `mpreun\. Cum spunea marele[i neuitatul nostru prieten comun, Lucian Raicu(fratele lui Virgil Duda): „~n tinere]e, scriitoriitrebuie s\ tr\iasc\ laolalt\. Au tot timpul s\ sedespart\, s\ se dezintereseze unii de ceilal]i...“(interviu lui C. Coroiu, Convorbiri Literare,nr. 12/1973, `n volumul Practica scrisului [i expe-rien]a lecturii, Cartea Rom=neasc\, 1978, p. 456).Tot Raicu, `n alt loc, („Reflec]ii asupra spirituluicreator“, Cartea Rom=neasc\, 1979), men]iona:„Munca este singurul factor de realitate [i pondere`n existen]a unui scriitor... ~ntr-o lume de aparen]e[i inconsisten]e, cum este lumea scriitorului,

lucrul zilnic este o certitudine... oboseala [ichinurile «muncii»... restabilesc senza]ia, atâtde necesar\, a seriosului vie]ii. Munca este un factor securizant, un factor de lini[tire acon[tiin]ei «vinovate», vinov\]ia, atât de ap\-s\toare, de a fi altfel, de a fi singur... Pofta dea scrie vine dintr-un deficit de existen]\. Plinultr\irii nu se cere formulat `n cuvinte, mai degra-b\ golul relativ, golul pe jum\tate“ (pp. 9, 10, 30).

~ntr-un text pe care mi l-a consacrat („La oAniversar\“, publicat `n Familia, nr. 3/2000 [ireluat `n volumul Plicuri [i portrete, Polirom,2004), Nicki scria: „Pe vremea când l-am cu-noscut, la Bucure[ti, `n urm\ cu peste 30 deani, «Jenic\», cum i se spunea, nu avea `nc\marcat pseudonimul s\u de poet, Andrei Savu,pe coperta vreunei c\r]i, [i nici eu nu publicasemvreo carte. Eram fiecare, el ca avocat, eu cainginer, captivi `nc\ fragezi ai «Marii Bestii»,cum nume[te Simone Weil societatea“.

~n acei ani ai tinere]ii noastre sim]eam, precumcopilul de 5 ani deportat `n Transnistria, dinmemorabila Puteam fi patru, c\ „zilele pluteaupeste noi albe... Nu [tiam c\ b\nuielile aveau s\se strâng\ `n jurul nostru nep\s\toare de dovezi,`nconjurându-ne treptat [i definitiv... eram mereutrei, chiar patru, [i aveam privirile ocrotite desiguran]a c\ suntem mereu trei, chiar patru“.

Eram, `ntr-adev\r, mereu trei: Virgil Duda,Norman Manea [i Andrei Savu, ba chiar patru,cinci – cu Florin Mugur [i Lucian Raicu, maiales. Ne-am bucurat `mpreun\ de „explozia“descoperirii lui Nicki de c\tre Miron Radu

Panegiric(Norman Manea la 75 de ani)

EErraann SSeellaa

Paraschivescu, de apari]ia excep]ionaluluivolum de debut (Noaptea pe latura lung\,Editura pentru Literatur\, 1969), de apari]iafiec\rei noi c\r]i, [i asistam `ncânta]i [i mân-dri la devenirea lui scriitoriceasc\.

~n 1970, a ap\rut romanul Captivi la CarteaRomâneasc\. „Câ]iva prieteni o consider\ carteamea cea mai bun\“, scrie Nicki `n Curierul deEst (p. 168). M\ num\r printre ace[tia. La 17ianuarie 1971, `i scriam lui Nicki: „Acum,când am terminat de citit: dac\, r\t\cit [i eu`ntr-o vârst\ trucat\, n-am cedat, iremediabilcaptiv, la[it\]ii de a porni pe una din poteciledisimul\rii, numai pentru a-mi urla foamea denoi amintiri, spre libertatea inutil\ a str\zii, nu`nseamn\ decât c\ spaima [ov\itoare din fa]au[ii mi-a interzis acest fel de cer[it ironic, lipsitde violen]\. ~mpiedicat `n detalii, a c\ror cru-zime blestemul cifrat al cuvintelor o spore[temonstrous, m-am surprins adesea reluând,al\turi de tine, urcu[ul c\tre dealul aceleia[idimine]i, sau zile, sau nop]i. Acelea[i statui,acelea[i tr\d\ri, uit\ri, mâr[\vii... Dac\, subacela[i cer jegos, dragostea, prietenia, `ncre-derea mai au vreun pre], prime[te m\rturisireafurioas\: de iubire [i de admira]ie“ (vezi `nvolumul Anii de ucenicie ai lui AugustProstul, Cartea Rom=neasc\, 1979, p. 324).

C\r]i s-au succedat, f\când auzit\ „voceaconfuz\ a timpului confuz“, `n „]ara aceea preaveche [i prea nou\“, `n care „tot `nghea]\ mereualtceva `n noi“ [i „oricine poate deveni orice“(vezi „Trenciul“, `n Fericirea obligatorie,Biblioteca Apostrof, Cluj, 1999). ~n acea ]ar\pe care, cum singur o spune, „a ezitat prea

mult\ vreme s-o p\r\seasc\“, Manea a fost nevoits\ se confrunte dureros cu problema proprieiidentit\]i, asumându-[i evreitatea: „Pentru mine,condi]ia de evreu `nseamn\ a r\mâne om, `n po-fida prea multor adversit\]i“ (Sertarele exilului,p. 115). S\ ne reamintim, `n context, c\ Cioranproclamase: „Omul este un evreu neizbutit“!~ntrucât `ns\, scrie Manea, „interminabilul anti-semitism... r\mane, `mpotriva voin]ei mele, for]acentral\ perturbatoare a biografiei mele“, el s-av\zut nevoit, din când `n când, s\ ias\ `n arenapublic\, de[i „sceptic asupra consecin]elor so-ciale pozitive [i con[tient asupra celor perso-nale negative“ – care nu au `ntârziat s\ apar\.

Casa melcului – 1999, Textul nomad –2006, Laptele negru – 2010 sunt o constant\[i tulbur\toare m\rturie a durerilor [i triste]iloradunate [i depozitate. „Artistul e `ntotdeauna unfel de evreu“ – dar, `ntrucât munca scriitoruluieste „competi]ia cu tine `nsu]i [i cu neantul“,Manea m\rturise[te: „M\ ]in cu greu pe o totmai vag\ linie de plutire, `n `ncercarea delocfacil\ de a supravie]ui ca scriitor `n exil“.

Extraordinarele ~ntoarcerea Huliganului(Polirom, 2003) [i Vizuina (Polirom, 2009)ne-au resuscitat dorul de marea sa proz\ („Ghe-mele decolorate“, „Discursul“ – devenit „Nun]ile“,„Puteam fi patru“, „Lipova“, „Biografia robot“[.a.), care, dup\ mine, este cea mai puternic\lantern\ care-a t\iat, cu cruzime, fâ[ii de lumin\`n Noaptea pe latura lung\ a României comuniste.

L-am iubit [i-l iubesc pe Nicki, cu gelozieaproape, [i-n vremea nu mult\ care ne-a r\mas,a[ vrea s\-i fiu `n preajm\, virtual dac\ nu fizic,s\-l `mbr\]i[ez [i s\-l s\rut fr\]e[te.

– 324 –


In The Drawers of Exile (Polirom, 2008),Manea draws the following lapidary conclusion:‘The only thing I can and must do is expresswhat I am and to what I aspire, in spite of thefutility of which we are all aware’ (p. 154).

This ‘withdrawn and retractile individual,’ ashe defines himself in his latest book, The EasternMessenger (Polirom, 2010, p. 34), acknowledgesthat ‘futility swiftly overwhelms me’ (idem,p. 37), which does not cancel out the descrip-tion of him that V. Nemoianu once made in abrief text: ‘a blend of timidity and tenacity.’

When we met, in the mid-1960s, throughmy old friend Rubin (later called Virgil Duda),it was, if I might put it like this, ‘love at firstsight,’ a love that has been unfailing, in spiteof everything, in spite of so many things, foralmost half a century. What brought us closerwere our interests, aspirations, ideals, concep-tions, seriousness, irony, passion, and desireto be together. As our great and unforgottenmutual friend Lucian Raicu (Virgil Duda’sbrother) once said: ‘In their youth, writersneed to live together. They have all the timein the world to separate, to lose interest in oneanother...’ (Interview with C. Coroiu, Convor-biri literare no. 12, 1973, collected in the vo-lume Practica scrisului [i experien]a lecturii[The Practice of Writing and the Experienceof Reading], Cartea Româneasc\, 1978, p. 456).Raicu also said elsewhere (Reflec]ii asupraspiritului creator [Reflections on the Creativespirit], Cartea Româneasc\, 1979): ‘Work is

the only factor of reality and weight in the exis-tence of a writer... In a world of appearancesand inconsistencies, such as the world of thewriter, daily work is an assurance... tirednessand the pains of “labour“... re-establish the alltoo necessary sensation of seriousness in life.Work is a factor of security, a factory of calmfor the “guilty“ conscience, for the all too oppres-sive guilt at being different, at being alone...The appetite to write comes from a shortfallin existence. Fullness of experience does notdemand formulation in words, but rather therelative void, the half void’ (pp. 9-10, 30).

In a text he dedicated to me (‘On an An-niversary’, published in Familia no. 3/2000and republished in the volume Envelopes andPortraits, Polirom, 2004), Nicki wrote: ‘At thetime when I met him, in Bucharest, more thanthirty years ago, “Jenic\“, as they called him,did not yet have his striking poet’s pseudonym,Andrei Savu, on the cover of any book, and norhad I published any book. He a lawyer, I an en-gineer, we were both as yet tender captives ofthe “Great Beast“, as Simone Weil calls society.’

In those years of our youth we felt, like thechild of five deported to Transnistria in the un-forgettable ‘We Could have been Four,’ that‘the days floated above us, they were white...We did not know that around us suspicionswere to gather, unmindful of proof, graduallyand irrevocably surrounding us... we werealways three, even four, and our eyes wereshielded by the assurance we were alwaysthree, even four.’

– 325 –


Panegyric(Norman Manea at seventy-five)

EErraann SSeellaa

‘In those years of our youth we felt, like the child of five deported to Transnistria in the unforgettable “We Could have been Four“,that “the days floated above us, they were white ...“’

Eran Sela

We were, indeed always three: Virgil Duda,Norman Manea and Adrian Savu, even four orfive, with Florin Mugur and Lucian Raicu, aboveall. We rejoiced together in the ‘explosion’Nicki’sdiscovery by Miron Radu Paraschivescu, inthe publication of his exceptional debut volume(The Night on the Long Side, Editura pentruLiteratur\, 1969), in the publication of everynew book, and we were proud and delightedto witness him becoming a writer.

In 1970, his novel Captives was publishedby Cartea Româneasc\. ‘A few of my friendsconsider it to be my best book,’ writes Nicki inThe Eastern Messenger (p. 168). I count myselfamong them. On 17 January 1971, I wrote toNicki: ‘Now that I have finished reading it,astray in a falsified age of life though I mightbe, if I have not capitulated, an irremediablecaptive, to the cowardice of setting off downone of the paths of dissimulation, merely inorder to shout out my hunger for new memo-ries, for the benefit of the street’s pointless li-berty, all it means is that the wavering fear infront of the door has forbidden me this kindof ironic, non-violent begging. Stumbling overdetails, whose cruelty the encrypted curse ofwords monstrously augments, I often caughtmyself resuming alongside you the climbtowards the hill of the same morning, or day,or night. Of the same statue, the same betray-al, forgetting, vileness... If, beneath the samefilthy sky, love, friendship, and trust are stillworth anything, accept this furious confession:a confession of love and admiration’ (see Aniide ucenicie ai lui August Prostul [The Apprentice-ship Years of Augustus the Fool], Cartea Ro-mâneasc\, 1979, p. 324).

Books have followed upon one another, cau-sing to be heard ‘the confused voice of theconfused times,’ in ‘that land too old and toonew,’ where ‘some other thing keeps freezingin us,’ and ‘anyone can become anything’ (see‘The Trenchcoat’, `n Fericirea obligatorie[Compulsory Happiness], Biblioteca Apostrof,

Cluj, 1999). In that land where, as he himselfsays, ‘he hesitated too long before leaving,’Manea was forced painfully to confront theproblem of his own identity, to accept hisJewishness: ‘For me, the Jewish conditionmeans remaining human, in spite of all toomany adversities’ (The Drawers of Exile,p. 115). Let us remember, in this context, thatCioran had declared: ‘Man is an abortive Jew!’However, as Manea writes, inasmuch as ‘inter-minable anti-Semitism... remains, against my will,the central disturbing force in my biography,’he has found himself obliged, from time totime, to enter the public arena, although he is‘sceptical as to the positive social consequencesand aware of the negative personal ones,’ whichwere not long in appearing.

The Snail’s House (1999), Nomad Text (2006)and Black Milk (2010) bear constant and unset-tling witness to the pain and sadness that haveaccumulated and deposited their sediment. ‘Theartist is always a kind of Jew.’ But inasmuchas the writer’s task is ‘to compete with your-self and with the void,’ Manea confesses: ‘Itis with difficulty that I keep myself above anever vaguer waterline, in the not at all easyattempt to survive as a writer in exile.’

The extraordinary The Hooligan’s Return(Polirom, 2003) and The Lair (Polirom, 2009)have reawakened our longing for his great prose(‘The Faded Skeins’, ‘The Speech’, which laterbecame ‘The Weddings’, ‘We could have beenfour’, ‘Lipova’, ‘Robot Biography’, etc.), which,in my opinion, are the strongest torch to haveincised, cruelly, strips of light in the ‘length-wise night’ of communist Romania.

I have loved and continue to love Nicki,almost jealously, and in the little time we stillhave left, I should like to be near him, if notphysically then virtually, to embrace him and

to kiss him fraternally.


– 327 –


– 329 –


P\rin]ii mei s-au n\scut `n Bucovina – la fel [iNorman Manea.

~n Suceava lui natal\ se afla [i mama mea.La fel ca Norman, la Universitatea din Bu-

cure[ti a `nv\]at [i tat\l meu, Ytzhak Artzi, darei nu s-au `ntâlnit niciodat\.

Transnistria – ]ara urgiei spre care au fostsurghiuni]i Norman Manea [i familia lui – era uncuvânt amenin]\tor care a bântuit [i copil\riamea. Abia la maturitate am aflat c\ acolo undeau fost deporta]i mii de evrei din România apierit [i bunica mea, al c\rei nume `l port.

Când citesc din opera literar\ a lui Maneami se pare c\ ascult ecoul vocilor celor dinfamilia mea, dincolo de cuvintele lui blânde[i dureroase. Prin mijlocirea scrisului s\u –rafinat [i straniu totodat\ –, el m\ conducespre un trecut reprimat, de care con[tiin]amea `ncerca s\ m\ scuteasc\, pân\ când chiarscrisul meu m-a silit s\ m\ confrunt cu el [is\-mi spun: „Eu sunt fiica supravie]uitorilorHolocaustului“. La fel ca Norman Manea, au`ncercat [i ei s\-[i refac\ via]a, dar au purtatve[nic rana care mi s-a transmis [i mie.

M\ `ntorc mereu la nuvela lui Puloverul.~ntr-unul din lag\re, sub un cer de cenu[\, uncopil a[teapt\ `ntoarcerea mamei de la muncafor]at\. Femeia, ca o umbr\, uscat\ [i chircit\,se `ntoarce `ncovoiat\ sub povara unui sac cucartofi, p\trunjel [i trei mere – pentru familiape care ea o ]ine `n via]\. ~n acea zi ea a reu[its\ fac\ rost de un pulover de lân\, dar nu pen-tru eroul povestirii, ci pentru Mara, o feti]\

cre[tin\, Cenu[\reasa r\t\cit\ `ntâmpl\torprintre evreii deporta]i [i devenit\ membr\ afamiliei care a jurat s\ o aib\ `n grij\. Biata`mpletitur\ ajunge s\ fie centrul lumii copilului,firele ei r\sucite reflect\ parc\ toate sim]\min-tele lui. Ea hr\ne[te copilul cu pu]in\ speran]\.„Chiar [i salvarea noastr\ p\rea acum mai apro-piat\, `n orice caz posibil\, de vreme ce maiputeam vedea [i pip\i asemenea minune.“

Puloverul str\luce[te precum straiul luiIosef, cel din Biblie, [i culorile ]es\turii lui `idau copilului un punct de sprijin [i `i ad\pos-tesc imagina]ia `n z\p\ceala [i lipsa de `n]elesa realit\]ii din jurul lui. Dar `n cele din urm\lâna `nd\r\tnic\ [i aspr\ a puloverului devinesemnul unui blestem, pentru c\ Mara moarede tifos, iar b\iatul, chinuit de gândul vinovatde a râvni puloverul, chiar `l mo[tene[te dup\moartea feti]ei. Acum i se pare c\ obiectul t\-cut `l pedepse[te pentru p\catul invidiei [i l-arputea `mboln\vi [i ucide ca pe Mara.

„Poate c\ sufletele pierdute se ascund `nt\cutele obiecte. Ele ne simt prezen]a, ne cers\ le recunoa[tem [i s\ le eliber\m din moar-te“, scrie Manea.

Micul cub de zah\r dintr-o alt\ povestire dinOctombrie, ora opt simbolizeaz\ pe acei oamenide treab\ care i-au abandonat pe cei condam-na]i, iar dulcea]a p\tratului de zah\r le treze[-te speran]a `ntr-o altfel de via]\, tot a[a cumbiscuitul primit `n timpul r\zboiului de la oreprezentant\ a Crucii Ro[ii, `ntr-o sta]ie detren, are efectul madlenei lui Marcel Proust.

Inima trist\ a adev\rului– despre opera lui Norman Manea –

NNaavvaa SSeemmeell

„De[i are gust de s\pun, noroi, rugin\, piele ars\,z\pad\, frunze, ploaie, oase, nisip, usc\ciune,lân\ umed\, sfori, [oareci, lemn putred, pe[te –mirosul f\r\ asem\nare al foamei.“

„Noi tr\im cu privirea `ntoars\ spre trecut“,spune Norman Manea, dar cu toate astea el econ[tient c\ trecutul nu-l po]i retr\i la porunc\,el se poate trezi când copiii se joac\ [i r\mânnemi[ca]i imitând strâmb realitatea – un „dans almor]ii“ `n versiunea groz\viei secolului XX. „Se`mboln\vise [i timpul“ noteaz\ autorul la sfâr-[itul Puloverului, „eram ai s\i“.

Bucovina a cunoscut scriitori [i arti[ti celebri;Paul Celan, unul din marii poe]i de limb\ ger-man\, Joseph Schmidt – admirabil cânt\re] deoper\ [i cantor la sinagoga din Cern\u]i, EliezerSteinberg – n\scocitorul de fabule. ~n aceast\tradi]ie impresionant\ se `nscrie Manea. „N-amvrut s\ pierd leg\tura cu locul meu, cu limbamea, cu poporul meu“, va m\rturisi el pesteani, `n locuin]a sa din New York.

El apar]ine tipului de scriitor interiorizat,cu un limbaj eliptic, aparent uscat, dar prozalui `mbr\]i[eaz\ un lirism sintetizat `ntr-un stilpoetic dur care dezv\luie pr\pastia de netrecutdintre con[tiin]a supravie]uitorilor [i acei no-roco[i care n-au trecut prin experien]a urgiei[i au continuat s\ tr\iasc\ sub pav\za normali-t\]ii. Cum ar putea ei s\ `n]eleag\ ce `nseamn\s\ tr\ie[ti `ntr-un timp bolnav?

Manea e zgârcit cu detaliile istorice [i chiarceea ce el a ales s\ transmit\ e l\sat inten]ionat`n cea]\. Timpul [i locul sunt semnalate doaraluziv [i eroii lui nu au nume – la limita uneiexisten]e kafkiene –, `n timp ce `n adâncul tex-tului se distileaz\ destine umane [i tot ce va r\-mâne de ne`n]eles.

Prin scrisul s\u, Manea p\trunde `n inimar\nii care mai sângereaz\ `n sufletul supravie-]uitorilor. Dar el nu-l bruscheaz\, nu trece din-colo de marginile lui, ci p\streaz\ st\pânirea de

sine a celui care a v\zut totul, `n timp ce `ndu-rarea [i compasiunea r\zbat printre rânduri, cabra]ele t\cerilor amenin]\toare.

Dup\ dictatura regimului nazist [i fascist,Manea a tr\it sub comunismul totalitar. {iacestui capitol din via]a lui el i-a dedicat o bun\parte din scrisul s\u. P\rin]ii mei `ns\ erau sio-ni[ti, au p\r\sit România dup\ Holocaust [i au aless\-[i refac\ via]a `n Israel. Acolo m-am n\scut.

~n iarna anului 1944, tat\l meu a plecat `nTransnistria cu prima echip\ de ajutorare. ~norfelinatul din Moghilev a trecut de la un patla altul [i a f\g\duit copiilor c\ `i va duce `nIsrael, „]ara f\g\duin]ei“. Imaginea acelorcopii s\rmani, invalizi, cu sufletul `nghe]at nu i s-a [ters din inim\ pân\ la sfâr[itul zilelorlui. Spunea c\ a coborât `n infernul lui Dante.Dup\ aproape cinzeci de ani am plecat cu to]iiacolo. Ne-am dat seama c\ localnicii [terseser\Transnistria din memoria lor, iar cine cuno[-tea adev\rul prefera s\ tac\.

Cu tata de mân\ am str\b\tut coridoarele`ntunecate ale cl\dirii, gata s\ se pr\bu[easc\,unde fusese orfelinatul. Ascultam parc\ glasulcopiilor fantomatici, iar Norman Manea-copilulera unul dintre ei. „S\ scrii despre mine, s\ num\ ui]i“, cere unul din eroii c\r]ii mele Capulstrâmb, ascuns `ntr-un s\tuc din Italia `n tim-pul ocupa]iei naziste. Pentru c\ noi, scriitorii,avem, poate, un mic colac de salvare pentru alupta pe marea uit\rii. Ne-a fost dat s\ fimmai departe purt\torii memoriei.

Mormântul bunicii mele care a murit `n Trans-nistria nu l-am g\sit. Numele meu ebraic, amintindde numele ei `n idi[, a r\mas ca o piatr\ fune-rar\ vie, `n spatele c\reia se ive[te adev\rul.

„Nimeni n-ar `ntrerupe pulsul a[trilor“,scrie Norman Manea, la sfâr[itul c\r]ii sale de neuitat, Octombrie, ora opt, „infinita mi[-care, trista inim\ lini[tit\ a adev\rului.“

[Traducere din limba ebraic\ de Leon Volovici]

– 330 –


– 331 –


The sad heart of the truth– on the work of Norman Manea –

NNaavvaa SSeemmeell

My parents were born in Bukovina, just likeNorman Manea.

My mother lived in his native Suceava.Like Norman, my father, Ytzhak Artzi, studied

at Bucharest University, although they never met.Transnistria – the forsaken land to which

Norman Manea and his family were banished –was a menacing word that haunted my child-hood, too. Not until I grew up did I discoverthat it was in that place, where thousands of Jewswere deported from Romania, that my grand-mother whose name I bear also perished.

When I read Manea’s literary work, it seemsas if I am listening to the voices of those frommy own family behind his gentle and painfulwords. Through the medium of his writing,which is at once refined and strange, he leadsme towards a repressed past, from which myconsciousness had tried to shield me, until evenmy own writing forced me to compare myselfwith him and tell myself: ‘I am the daughterof a Holocaust survivor.’ Like Norman Manea,they too tried to rebuild their lives, but theybore the eternal wound, which they passeddown to me.

I always come back to his short story ‘TheSweater.’ In one of the camps, under an ashensky, a child is waiting for his mother to returnfrom forced labour. The woman, like a shadow,haggard and bent, returns bowed under theburden of a sack of potatoes, with some pars-ley and three apples, for the family she keepsalive. That day, she has also managed to obtaina woollen sweater, not for the main character

in the story, but for Mara, a little girl Christian,a Cinderella who accidentally became mixedup with the deported Jews and has become amember of the family that has sworn to takecare of her. The poor knitted garment ends upbecoming the centre of the child’s world, itstangled yarn seemingly reflecting her everyfeeling. ‘Even our salvation seemed closer, orin any case possible, now that we could seeand touch such a miracle.’

The sweater shines like Joseph’s coat of manycolours, from the Bible, and the colours of itsfabric provide the child with a point of supportand shelter her imagination in the confusion andsenselessness of the reality around her. Butultimately the harsh, stubborn wool of thesweater becomes the sign of a curse, becauseMara dies of typhus, and the young boy, torturedby the guilty thought of having coveted thegarment, indeed inherits it after the little girl’sdeath. Now it seems to him that the mute object ispunishing him for the sin of envy and that it mightmake him fall sick and kill him like it did Mara.

‘Perhaps lost souls are concealed in silentobjects. They feel our presence, they demandthat we acknowledge them and release themfrom death,’ writes Manea.

The small sugar cube in another story fromthe collection October, Eight O’Clock symbolisesthose honest folk who abandoned the condemned,and the sweetness of the fragment of sugarawakens in them the hope of a different life,just as the biscuit received from a Red Crossworker in a train station during the war has the

‘When I read Manea’s literary work, it seems asif I am listening to the voices of those from myown family behind his gentle and painful words.’

Nava Semel

effect of Proust’s madeleine. ‘Although it tastesof soap, mud, rust, burnt skin, snow, leaves,rain, bones, sand, dryness, damp wool, string,mice, rotten wood, fish – the unmistakeableodour of hunger.’

‘We live with our eyes turned toward the past,’says Norman Manea, but in spite of this he isconscious that you cannot relive the past at will.It can be awoken when the children are playingand stand stock-still, crookedly imitating reality –a version of the ‘dance of death’ inspired bythe horrors of the twentieth century. ‘Time alsofalls sick,’ observes the author at the end of‘The Sweater.’ ‘We belonged to it.’

Bukovina has also produced other famouswriters and artists: Paul Celan, one of the great-est German-language poets; Joseph Schmidt,a marvellous opera singer and cantor at thesynagogue in Czernowitz; and EliezerSteinberg, the creator of fables. Manea is partof this impressive tradition. ‘I didn’t want tolose the link with my place, my language, mypeople,’ he was to confess years later, at hishome in New York.

He belongs to the type of the inward-lookingwriter, with an elliptical, seemingly dry language,but his prose embraces a lyricism synthesised ina hard poetic style that reveals the unbridgeablechasm between the consciousness of the sur-vivors and those lucky ones who have neverexperienced the wrath and have gone on livingunder the shelter of normality. How could theyunderstand what it means to live in a sick time?

Manea is miserly with historical details andprecisely the thing he has chosen to convey isintentionally left in a mist. Time and place aresignalled only allusively and his characters haveno names – at the limits of a Kafkaesque exis-tence – while in the depths of the text humandestinies and all that will remain incompre-hensible are distilled.

Through his writing, Manea cuts to theheart of the wound that still bleeds in thesouls of the survivors. But he does not treat itbrusquely, he does not go beyond its margins,but preserves the self-control of one who has

seen all, while endurance and compassion canbe glimpsed between the lines, like the armsof threatening silences.

After the Nazi and fascist dictatorship, Manealived under communist totalitarianism. And tothis chapter of his life he has dedicated a largepart of his writing. My parents, on the otherhand, were Zionists. They left Romania afterthe Holocaust and chose to rebuild their livesin Israel. It was there that I was born.

In the winter of 1944, my father went toTransnistria with a first-aid team. In the orphan-age in Mogilev, he went from one bed to anoth-er and promised the children that he would takethem to Israel, ‘the promised land.’ The imageof those poor, sick children with frozen souls wasnot erased from his heart until his dying day.He used to say that he had descended intoDante’s inferno. Almost fifty years later we allwent there. We realised that the locals had erasedTransnistria from their memories, and whoeverknew the truth preferred to remain silent.

Holding my father’s hand, I walked down thedark corridors of the building that had beenthe orphanage, now on the brink of collapse.It was as if I was listening to the ghostly voicesof the children, and the child Norman Maneawas one of them. ‘Write about me, don’t forgetme,’ says one of the characters in my book A Hat of Glass, as he hides in a little villagein Italy during the Nazi occupation. For, wewriters perhaps possess a little life belt in thebattle against the sea of forgetting. We werefated to be the bearers of memory.

I did not find the grave of my grandmotherwho died in Transnistria. My Hebrew name,which bears the memory of her name inYiddish, has remained as a living gravestone,behind which can be glimpsed the truth.

‘No one would interrupt the pulsating of thestars,’ writes Norman Manea at the end of hisunforgettable book October, Eight O’Clock, ‘theinfinite motion, the sad, quiet, heart of truth.’


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~n epoca noastr\ lacrimogen\ `n care fiecareaspir\ s\ fie vreun fel sau altul de victim\, aabuzului sexual, a deprav\rii gnostice sau deorice alt tip, e foarte u[or – [i chiar tentant –s\ interpretezi gre[it fenomenul care esteNorman Manea. Trebuie s\ recunosc c\ la`nceput [i eu am c\zut `n aceast\ capcan\. Unprieten din România mi-a spus c\ trebuie s\merg la o lectur\ a sa `n Hamburg (unde lo-cuiam atunci, trebuie s\ fi fost prin 1988):Manea, mi-a spus prietenul meu, fusesedeportat `ntr-un lag\r de concentrare când eracopil [i mai târziu avusese nenorocul s\ tr\-iasc\ `n România lui Ceau[escu. Altfel spus:s\racul! A fost marcat de dou\ tiranii totalitarela rând! Am participat la lectur\ ferm convinsc\ o s\ fiu lovit `n cap de o durere insupor-tabil\ [i de o melancolie est-european\. Celpu]in par]ial a[tept\rile mele s-au `mplinit:Norman Manea era palid [i trist `n seara aceea,iar dac\ nu m\ `n[al\ memoria, nu a rostit niciuncuvânt. {i, cu siguran]\, experien]ele sale dincopil\rie ca evreu `ntr-o Românie fascist\ nu aufost prea amuzante. {i totu[i, nu am `n]elesceva esen]ial `n timpul acestei prime `ntâlniri(mai degrab\ unilaterale). Am `n]eles abia maitârziu, când am intrat `n rândul cititorilor luiNorman Manea: acest scriitor are un excelent[i minunat sim] al umorului. Uneori, umoruls\u este sardonic, alteori este de-a dreptulnegru, `ns\ un lucru devine clar pentru oricinese cufund\ `n pove[tile, romanele [i eseurilemultistratificate, subtile, uneori labirintice ale

lui Norman Manea: omul acesta nu este ovictim\. ~n ultimele sale zile, Manès Sperbera spus memorabilele cuvinte: „S`nt cel viu,nu mai sunt cadavrul“. ~n mai multe sensuriacesta ar putea fi mottoul celor mai multedintre scrierile lui Manea.

Afirma]ia c\ Norman Manea poate fi foarteamuzant, `ntr-adev\r, este cât se poate de evident\.Nicio propozi]ie nu merit\ s\ fie p\strat\ `ncanonul literar dac\ nu a fost dictat\ de unsim] al umorului; nu po]i fi un mare scriitorf\r\ s\ fii – cel pu]in `ntr-o anumit\ m\sur\ –[i un mare umorist. Este bine cunoscut faptulc\, atunci când Franz Kafka `[i citea povesti-rile `n fa]a prietenilor s\i, ei se pr\p\deau derâs. Joyce, Nabokov, Cehov – alege]i ce exem-plu dori]i. Samuel Beckett a fost un irlandezcare – ca majoritatea compatrio]ilor s\i – eraextrem, mohorât, chiar absurd de amuzant ([iuna dintre cele mai amuzante ne`n]elegeri dinistoria literaturii este modul `n care profesorulneam] Adorno pur [i simplu nu a priceput poan-ta). Nu este deci nicio surpriz\ c\ [i NormanManea este `nzestrat cu acest har al adev\ra-tului povestitor, capacitatea de a vedeaaspectele cutremur\tor de hilare ale lucrurilor.

~ntr-un interviu destul de lung ce tocmai aap\rut `ntr-o carte `n Germania, el mi-a citatdintr-un eseu al s\u `n care spunea: „Nu [tiucât de mult va ajuta s\ explic rinocerilor c\ amfost deportat din cauza `ndelungatelor meleactivit\]i bol[evice `n Transnistria la vârsta de5 ani [i c\ m-am `ntors `n 1945, la vârsta de 9 ani,

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Portretul lui NormanManea ca om care râdeHHaannnneess SStteeiinn

aduc=nd cu mine tancurile sovietice care auinstalat comunismul `n România. Primul lucrupe care l-am f\cut odat\ ce mi-am redobândit]ara natal\ a fost s\ `mi conving tovar\[ii cir-cumci[i s\ `[i schimbe numele evreie[ti `n uneleromâne[ti: Gidale Deutsch `n Gheorgiu-Dej,Bodinger `n Bodn\ra[, Vily Lister `n VasileLuca, Motel `n Moghioro[, Leiba Polanski `nLucre]iu P\tr\[canu, Sami Clein `n Chivu Stoica,Gold Asher `n Gheorghe Apostol, Nahum Ceausu`n Nicolae Ceau[escu, I]ik I]ikovici `n IonIliescu [i a[a mai departe – ca s\ prosteasc\masele oprimate. ~n]eleg c\, din cauza preju-dec\]ilor mele rasiale [i ideologice, nu am avutniciun rol `n ampla rezisten]\ anticomunist\condus\ de camaradul meu Corneliu (numitC\pitanul Corneliu Codreanu `ntr-o alt\ via]\),fostul poet laureat al lui Ceau[escu, care esteacum `n Parlamentul European ca membru alacestuia, Corneliu Vadim Tudor, [i cer iertare`ndur\toarei na]iuni române“. A]i putea numiaceste afirma]ii amare [i sarcastice, a]i puteaspune – oarecum romantic – c\ este strig\tulde durere al unei inimi r\nite. Poate c\ esteadev\rat, `ns\ v\ rog s\ observa]i c\ e [ijuc\u[, artistic [i uimitor de amuzant.

~n acest context ar trebui s\ men]ionez c\,`n timpul interviului pe care i l-am luat lui

Norman Manea, am aflat c\ a fost subiectulunui scandal de propor]ii `n România. ~n 1991,a publicat un eseu `n care l-a criticat (u[or) peMircea Eliade pentru c\ a fost membru al G\rziide Fier; se pare c\ unii intelectuali români nul-au iertat (vreau s\ spun pe Manea, nu pe Eliade)nici pân\ `n ziua de azi. Departe de mine gândul dea m\ amesteca `n treburile interne ale românilor.~ns\ toat\ aceast\ poveste m\ face s\ m\ gân-desc la o vorb\ de duh a filosofului francezClaude Adrien Helvétius. „Adev\rul nu a f\cutniciodat\ r\u nim\nui“, scria Helvétius, „`nafar\ de persoana care `l roste[te“. Totu[i, dinfericire, acest lucru nu este valabil [i `n cazulautorului nostru. Faptul c\ spune [i scrie ade-v\rul `n ultim\ analiz\ nu i-a f\cut r\u deloclui Norman Manea, slav\ Cerului. El este acumrecunoscut, a[a cum merit\, drept un scriitoreuropean important: o voce evreiasc\ dinBucovina, extrem de civilizat [i plin de ome-nie, [i un om al altor timpuri, o voce care teface s\ te gânde[ti la titlul unuia dintre celemai importante romane ale lui Nabokov: Unhohot `n bezn\.


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– 337 –


In our lachrymose age in which everybody as-pires to be some sort of victim, be it of sexualabuse or gnostical turpitude or whatever, it isvery easy – indeed, tempting – to misread thephenomenon that is Norman Manea. I have toadmit that in the beginning I, too, fell for thismisunderstanding. A friend from Romania toldme that I had to come to his reading in Ham-burg (where I was living at the time, it musthave been 1988 or so): Manea, my friend toldme, had been deported to a concentration campas a child and had later had the misfortune tolive in Ceau[escu’s Romania. In other words:the poor man! Scarred by two totalitarian tyran-nies in a row! I attended the reading fully ex-pecting to be hit over the head with unbearablepain and Eastern European melancholia. Atleast partly my expectations were fulfilled:Norman Manea looked pale and sad that eve-ning, and if memory does not betray me, hedid not say a word. And to be sure, his expe-riences as a Jewish child in fascist Romaniawere not exactly fun. And yet I missed a majorpoint during this first (rather one-sided) en-counter. I understood it only later when Ijoined the ranks of Norman Manea’s readers:this writer has a great and wonderful sense ofhumour. Sometimes his humour is sardonic,sometimes it is downright black, but one thingbecomes clear to everyone who immerseshimself in Norman Manea’s multi-layered,subtle, sometimes labyrinthine stories, novelsand essays: this man is not a victim. During

his last days, Manès Sperber uttered the memo-rable sentence: ‘I am the living one, I am thecorpse no more.’ In more than one way thiscould be the motto of most of Manea’s writings.

By stating that Norman Manea can be veryfunny indeed one is stating the very obvious.No sentence merits being preserved in theliterary canon which was not dictated by asense of humour; you cannot be a great writerwithout also being – at least to some extent –a great humourist. It is well known that whenFranz Kafka read his stories to his friends theywere laughing till they cried. Joyce, Nabokov,Chechov – you pick your examples. SamuelBeckett was an Irishman who – like most ofhis compatriots – was wickedly, bleakly, evenabsurdly funny (and one of the more humorousmisunderstandings in the history of literature is theway in which the teutonic professor Adornosimply did not get the joke). No surprise, then,that Norman Manea too is endowed with thatgift of the genuine story-teller, the ability to seethe earth-shatteringly hilarious side of things.

During a longish interview which just ap-peared in book-form in Germany, he quotedto me from an essay of his in which he said:‘I do not know how much it will help when I explain to the rhinos that I was deported be-cause of my long-lasting Bolshevik activitiesto Transnistria at the age of five and that I returned in 1945 at the age of nine, bringingthe Soviet tanks with me which installedcommunism in Romania. The first thing I did

Portrait of Norman Maneaas a laughing manHHaannnneess SStteeiinn

‘Sometimes his humour is sardonic,sometimes it is downright black, but one thingbecomes clear to everyone who immerseshimself in Norman Manea is multi-layered,subtle, sometimes labyrinthine stories,novels and essays: this man is not a victim.’

Hannes Stein

– 339 –


once I had my home country again was that I convinced my circumcised comrades to changetheir Jewish names to Romanian ones: GidaleDeutsch to Gheorgiu-Dej, Bodinger to Bodn\ra[,Vily Lister to Vasile Luca, Motel to Moghioro[,Leiba Polanski to Lucre]iu P\tr\[canu, SamiClein to Chivu Stoica, Gold Asher to GheorgheApostol, Nahum Ceausu to Nicolae Ceau[escu,Itik Itikovici to Ion Iliescu and so on – so asto better fool the oppressed masses. I under-stand that due to my racial and ideologicalprejudices I had no part in the broad anticom-munist resistance led by my comrade Corneliu(call Capitan Corneliu Codreanu in a former life),Ceau[escu’s former poet laureate who is now sit-ting in the European parliament as MP CorneliuVadim Tudor, and I ask the all-merciful Ro-manian nation for forgiveness.’ You mightcall this bitter and sarcastic, you might say –somewhat romantically – that it is the anguishedoutcry of a wounded heart. Perhaps true, butplease take note that it is also playful, artisticand deadpan funny.

In this context I should mention that duringmy interview with Norman Manea I learnedthat he was at the centre of a major scandal inRomania. In 1991, he published an essay inwhich he (mildly) criticized Mircea Eliadefor having been a member of the Iron Guard;it appears that some Romanian intellectualshave not forgiven him (meaning Manea, notEliade) to this day. Far be it from me to med-dle in inner-Romanian affairs. But the wholestory does bring to mind a witticism by theFrench philosopher Claude Adrien Helvétius.‘The truth has never done anyone any harm,’Helvétius wrote, ‘except for the person whoexpresses it.’ Fortunately, however, this is nottrue in the case of our author. Saying and writingthe truth has in the final analysis not harmedNorman Manea at all, thank God. He is nowrightfully recognized as a major European writer:a Jewish voice from the Bucovina, deeply civi-lized and humane and Old Worldish, a voice whichbrings to mind the title of one of Nabokov´smajor novels: Laughter in the Dark.

Corina {uteu, Norman Manea [i Oana Radu, Institutul Cultural Român din New York, 2008

Corina {uteu, Norman Manea and Oana Radu, Romanian Cultural Institute, New York, 2008

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Mi s-ar p\rea nepotrivit s\ vorbesc despreopera de scriitor a lui Norman Manea. Exe-gezele informate [i critica de specialitate suntmult prea extinse `n ceea ce `l prive[te pentrua putea ad\uga ceva interesant la ele dintr-operspectiv\ atât de fragmentar\ ca aceea de di-rector al unei filiale ICR, fie ea [i la New York.

Pentru mine, scriitorul [i omul exist\ `mpre-un\, din cauz\ c\ i-am `ntâlnit `n acela[i timp[i prezen]a ambilor m-a marcat oarecum sime-tric. Nu cred c\ este o `ntâmplare, fiindc\ unadintre obsesiile literare ale autorului este auto-portretul, `nsemnarea autobiografic\, existen]apersonal\ transformat\ `n nara]iune despre un felde sine multipolar [i expandat, aflat `n contextediferite, traversând o c\l\torie existen]ial\ al c\reifinal r\mâne deschis. Romanele [i povestirilelui `mi par toate „variante ale unui autoportret“,dup\ cum autorul `nsu[i intituleaz\ o carte a sade povestiri. Manea scrie [i se descrie `ntr-unvast Bildungsroman: un puzzle despre desco-perirea sinelui traversând aventura vie]ii.

Cum spuneam, personalitatea omului [i ascriitorului mi s-a relevat `ntr-un joc simetric.O aparen]\ calm\, cald\, senin\ [i o prezen]\fluid\, f\r\ asperit\]i aparente, luminoas\ [iplin\ de umor [\galnic ascund o esen]\ lucid\,adânc reflexiv\ [i exigent\ cu sine [i cu ceilal]i,o capacitate ie[it\ din comun de a pune diag-nosticul de la prima fraz\, de la prima `ntâlnire,sub masca unei dispozi]ii etern dubitative. Lafel este [i literatura scriitorului: fluid\ [i con-centrat\, melancolic\ [i f\r\ concesii.

La New York, Norman Manea respir\ aerulcercurilor sociale [i artistice extrem de rafinate.Recunoa[terea [i autoritatea lui `n aceste cer-curi sunt bine consolidate. Am avut privilegiuls\ coorganizez [i s\ asist la decernarea uneiimportante decora]ii acordate lui Norman dec\tre pre[edintele României, Traian B\sescu,la care, al\turi de un mic grup de prieteni români, au participat numai Orhan Pamuk,Philip Roth [i Robert Silvers. Era `n 2007, `ncasa Iuliei [i a lui Mihnea Motoc (ambasadorla ONU `n acel moment), [i sosisem de abiaun an la New York. Norman nu dorise o cere-monie ampl\ [i acceptase chiar [i acest omagiugra]ie insisten]ei unui prieten comun, PetreRado, om extraordinar care s-a stins `ntre timp.Atunci l-am `ntâlnit pentru prima dat\ [i cândam citit, ulterior, ~ntoarcerea huliganului,ambele fe]e ale medaliei lui existen]iale mi s-au p\rut c\ se `mbin\ perfect: omul [i nara-torul, inginerul [i creatorul, copilul deportat [icelebritatea interna]ional\, dezr\d\cinatul [inesfâr[ita nostalgie a `ntoarcerii acas\.

Descoperindu-l pe Norman Manea, am desco-perit o urm\ istoric\ mai pu]in vizibil\ genera-]iei mele, cea care dezv\luie traiectoria tragic\a nara]iunii rom=ne[ti [i europene ce nu ie[eabine din fascism `nainte de a plonja `n comu-nismul totalitar. Ce fel de optimism mai po]iconserva `n asemenea circumstan]e? „S`nt unpesimist incurabil“, se descrie Manea.

E pre]ul interior al atâtor dezr\d\cin\ri. F\r\ele, scriitorul n-ar fi putut descrie `ns\ cu o

Un joc simetric CCoorriinnaa SSuutteeuu,,

cald\ simplitate teribila perisabilitate a fe-ricirii, nesfâr[ita nostalgie dup\ Atlantidasufleteasc\ a copil\riei sau duplicitatea cinic\a la[it\]ii umane.

~n acest moment de jubileu al celor[aptezeci de ani trecu]i, Norman Manea `[i

pune opera [i via]a `n perspectiv\. Acestuipesimist incurabil via]a i-a rezervat o traiec-torie miraculoas\. Singura explica]ie ar fi,poate, aceea c\ prima lui carte `n român\ afost una de basme. F\r\ doar [i poate, `n des-tinul s\u, simetriile au triumfat!

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I would seem to me out of place if I were tospeak about Norman Manea’s work as a writer.The literary criticism and well-informedexegeses of his work are far too extensive topermit me to add anything interesting from afragmented perspective such as that of thedirector of a branch of the Romanian CulturalInstitute, be it even the one in New York.

To me, the writer and the man exist together,because I encountered them both at the sametime and the presence of both has marked mesomehow symmetrically. I don’t think this isaccidental, because one of the author’s literaryobsessions is the self-portrait, the autobiogra-phical text, personal existence transformedinto a narrative about a multi-polar and expan-ded kind of self, existing in different contexts,embarked on an existential journey whose endremains open. His novels and short stories allseem to me ‘variations of a self-portrait,’ asthe author himself titles one of his books ofshort prose. Manea writes and describes him-self within a vast Bildungsroman: a jigsawpuzzle about discovering the self as it movesthrough life’s adventure.

As I was saying, the personality of the manand the writer was revealed to me within a playof symmetries. A calm, warm, serene surface,a fluid presence without apparent asperities,luminous and brimming with playful humour,conceals a lucid, profoundly reflexive essence,an uncommon ability to reach a diagnosis in thevery first sentence, in the very first encounter,

beneath the mask of an eternally dubitative dis-position. Likewise the writer’s work: fluid andconcentrated, melancholy and without concessions.

In New York, Norman Manea breathes the airof extremely refined social and artistic circles.His recognition and authority in these circlesare well established. I had the privilege oforganising and taking part in the ceremony atwhich Norman was awarded an important de-coration by the President of Romania, TraianB\sescu, and which was attended only byOrhan Pamuk, Philip Roth, Robert Silversand a small group of Romanian friends. Ittook place in 2007, at the house of Iulia andMihnea Motoc (Romania’s ambassador to theUN at the time), and I had been in New Yorkfor only one year. Norman had not wanted alavish ceremony and only agreed to this homagethanks to the insistence of a mutual friend,Petre Rado, a wonderful man who has sincepassed away. It was then that I met him forthe first time, and afterwards, when I read TheHooligan’s Return, both sides of his existentialcoin seemed to me to combine perfectly: theman and the narrator, the engineer and thecreator, the child deportee and the internatio-nal celebrity, uprootedness and the eternalnostalgia of homecoming.

Discovering Norman Manea, I discovered ahistorical trace not so visible to my generation,one that reveals the tragic trajectory of a Ro-manian and European narrative which escapedfrom fascism only to plunge into totalitariancommunism. What kind of optimism can you

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A play of symmetries CCoorriinnaa SSuutteeuu,,

‘Manea writes and describes himself within avast Bildungsroman: a jigsaw puzzle aboutdiscovering the self as it moves through life’sadventure.’

Corina {uteu

– 345 –


preserve in such circumstances? ‘I am an incura-ble pessimist,’ says Manea, describing himself.

It is the inner price of so many uprootings.Without them, however, the writer would not havebeen able to describe with such warm simpli-city the perishability of happiness, the endlessnostalgia for the spiritual Atlantis of childhood,or the cynical duplicity of human cowardice.

On the occasion of this seventieth-plusbirthday celebration, the life and work of

Norman Manea come into perspective. Lifehas reserved a miraculous course for thisincurable pessimist. Perhaps the only expla-nation might be that his first book inRomanian was a book of fairytales. There isno doubt about it: symmetries have tri-umphed in his destiny!


Cu Antonio Tabucchi pe str\zile Sibiului, 2008

With Antonio Tabucchi on the streets of Sibiu, 2008

Am privilegiul de a fi prietenul lui NormanManea. Ne-am cunoscut `n 2003 la Bard Collegedin New York, unde el pred\ [i unde m\ invi-tase s\ sus]in ni[te cursuri. ~n realitate `ns\ eu `lcunoscusem cu mult timp `n urm\, când edituraFeltrinelli publicase cartea sa de povestiri Fe-ricirea obligatorie, care m\ impresionase pro-fund. Era descris\ acolo o atmosfer\ cenu[ie [ideprimant\, unde protagoniste erau suspiciunea[i teama, o atmosfer\ care m-a f\cut s\ m\ gân-desc c\ anywhere previziunile lui Orwell sepot adeveri. Acea lume era România lui Ceau-[escu, a c\rei atmosfer\ Manea o descria cu oprecizie demn\ de un raport medical. Acea carte,care ar putea p\rea de science fiction, e o carterealist\, de un realism feroce. De altfel, secolulXX a tr\it cele mai incredibile lucruri, careast\zi ar putea p\rea science fiction. Din p\-cate, sunt lucruri cumplit de reale. Din ceamai atroce realitate a secolului XX NormanManea a tr\it cu siguran]\ ce e mai r\u. De-portat la cinci ani `mpreun\ cu familia `ntr-unlag\r de concentrare din Transnistria (de c\treregimul fascist românesc, e bine s\ o spunem,care nu a avut nevoie de „ajutor“ german),Manea este un „salvat“, ca s\ folosesc un cu-vânt al lui Primo Levi. De dou\ ori „salvat“,pentru c\ nici m\car ceea ce a fost mai r\u [ia venit dup\ fascism, adic\ regimul comunist,nu a reu[it s\-l `nving\. Dar literatura sa nueste una a m\rturiei, de altfel fundamental\pentru to]i cei care, scriind, s-au „salvat“. E omare literatur\, `n care factorul estetic este

atât de rafinat, `ncât reu[e[te s\ transformeexperien]a tr\it\ `n art\.

O alt\ carte a lui Manea care m-a impre-sionat profund a fost cea de povestiri care `nitalian\ [i `n englez\, respectând originalul, seintituleaz\ Ottobre, ore otto, respectiv October,Eight O’Clock (`n Fran]a a fost tradus\ caL’heure exacte), povestiri unde memoria unuiom care, copil fiind, a suferit violen]ele Isto-riei g\se[te o solu]ie literar\ ce nu mai prive[-te biografia, ci, `n libertatea scriiturii, atingesufletul colectiv. S`nt evoca]i aici MarcelProust [i al]i importan]i scriitori ai memoriei(a se vedea `n special povestirea „Ceaiul luiProust“), filtra]i `ns\ prin ceea ce Jankélévitchnumea ironie critique: o calitate a spiritului,dac\ pot spune astfel, care ne permite s\ fim`n acela[i timp prezen]i [i absen]i din ceea cescriem, s\ ne privim ca [i cum am fi privi]i,cu acea „privire `ntoars\“ pe care ne-o d\ oglin-da, `n care axa dreapt\ [i axa stâng\ redau,inversate, axele chipului nostru.

~n ciuda exilului american, ce dureaz\ de-acum de aproape treizeci de ani, Manea acontinuat s\ scrie `n român\. Din ]ara natal\ aadus cu sine limba, a[a cum melcul `[i ducecu sine casa sau a[a cum membrii unui tribnomad din Amazonia, atunci când `[i p\r\sesccâmpul [i o parte din p\dure, duc sub bra]mandibulele propriilor p\rin]i. Despre acestata[ament fa]\ de propria phoné, destul de rarla scriitorii care `n secolul XX, din mai multemotive, s-au pomenit cufunda]i `ntr-un alt universlingvistic, Manea a scris un eseu foarte frumos,

– 347 –


Ur\ri pentru NormanAAnnttoonniioo TTaabbuucccchhii

Limba exilului¸ `n acela[i timp manifest literar[i manifest politic, deoarece arat\ limpede careeste patria unui scriitor: nu steagul, nu pa[aportul,nu imnul na]ional. „Patria mea e limba portughez\“,scria `n anii ’20 Fernando Pessoa. Manea afirm\aceea[i idee, [i prin aceasta face universal ceeace e particular, afirm\ c\ un scriitor locuie[temai ales propria limb\ [i c\ o poate duce cusine oriunde se afl\. Prin urmare, dup\ p\rereamea, el se afirm\ ca un mare scriitor cosmopo-lit (termen pe care, dup\ cum [tim, Stalin `l ura)fiindc\ duce cu sine `n lume propria sa lume.

Când ~ntoarcerea huliganului a ap\rut `nItalia, l-am salutat `ntr-un articol ca pe unuldintre marile romane ale modernit\]ii. Textul

meu a ap\rut apoi `n francez\ `n num\rul dinaprilie 2007 al Nouvelle Revue Française, [i mise pare superfluu s\ repet lucruri pe care le-amspus [i de care acum sunt `nc\ [i mai convins.

Manea se bucur\ ast\zi de un mare respectdin partea criticii [i a publicului `n ]ara sa, `nItalia, `n Statele Unite, `n Spania, `n Fran]a [i `nmulte alte ]\ri. A primit recunoa[terea multor pre-mii interna]ionale [i s-a spus c\ merit\ PremiulNobel. S\-l primeasc\ `n anul celei de-a [aptezeci[i cincea anivers\ri este cea mai bun\ urare pecare i-o pot face prietenului meu Norman.


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I am privileged to be a friend of NormanManea. We met in 2003, at Bard College inNew York where he teaches and where hehad invited me to give some classes. But inreality I had known him long before, whenFeltrinelli published his book of stories, Feli-cità obbligatoria (Compulsory Happiness),which made a profound impression on me. Hedescribed a grey and depressed environment,where suspicion and fear were the leadingcharacters, a setting that made me think thatanywhere the predictions of Orwell had cometrue. That world was Ceau[escu’s Romania,whose atmosphere Manea described with aprecision worthy of a medical report. Thatbook, which might seem to be science fiction,is a realistic book, of a fierce realism. How-ever, the twentieth century has experiencedthe most incredible things, which today couldseem science fiction. Unfortunately, they areatrociously real. Norman Manea has surelyexperienced the worst of the most ferociousreality of the twentieth century. Deported atthe age of five with his family to a concentra-tion camp in Transnistria (by the Romanianfascist regime, it should be said, which hadno need of German ‘help’), Manea is one ofthe ‘saved,’ to employ a term of Primo Levi(‘I sommersi e i salvati’). Doubly ‘saved,’since not even the worst that came after Fas-cism, the Communist regime, succeded in sub-merging him. But his writing is not a literatureof witness, fundamental for all those who, by

writing, have ‘saved’ themselves. It is a greatliterature in which the aesthetic component isso high as to succeed in transforming life into art.

Another book of Manea that strongly im-pressed me was the collection of stories that inItalian and in English, respecting the original,is called Ottobre, ore otto and October, EightO’Clock (in France it was translated asL’heure exacte), stories where the memory ofa man who as a child has undergone the vio-lence of History find a literary solution whichno longer looks back on his biography butwhich in the freedom of its writing touches thecollective soul. Marcel Proust and other dis-tinguished writers on memory are evokedhere (see especially the story titled Proust’stea), but they are filtered through whatJankélévitch calls l’ironie critique; a qualityof the spirit, if I may express it thus, whichallows us to be at the same time present andabsent from what we are writing, to look atourselves as if we were being looked at, withthat ‘returned glance’ that the mirror gives us,in which the right side and the left side sendback the sides of our face reversed.

Notwithstanding his exile in America, whichhas now lasted for almost a quarter of a cen-tury years, Manea has always continued towrite in Romanian. From his native countryhe has carried along his own language, as thesnail carries along its own house or as a no-madic tribe of the Amazon, when it leavescamp and enters the forest carries under itsarmpits the jawbones of its own parents. Manea

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Happy birthday, NormanAAnnttoonniioo TTaabbuucccchhii

‘His writing is not a literature of witness, fun-damental for all those who, by writing, have“saved“ themselves. It is a great literature inwhich the aesthetic component is so high asto succeed in transforming life into art.’

Antonio Tabucchi

has written a beautiful essay, The Language ofExile, on this attachment to one’s own phoné,quite rare in the writers who in the twentiethcentury for many reasons found themselvesimmersed in another linguistic universe. Thisis both a literary manifesto and a politicalmanifesto because it indicates clearly whatthe fatherland of a writer is: not the flag, notthe passport, not the national anthem. ‘Myfatherland is the Portuguese language,’ wroteFernando Pessoa in the ‘20s. Manea affirms thesame idea, and in doing so he renders the par-ticular universal, he affirms that a writer in-habits above all his own language and that hecan carry it with him wherever he goes. Forthis, in my opinion, he establishes himself asa great cosmopolitan writer (a term which weknow Stalin hated) because he carries withhimself into the world his own world.

When The Hooligan’s Return came out inItalian, I greeted it in an article as one of the greatnovels of our modern age. My review was laterreprinted in French in the April 2007 number ofLa Nouvelle Revue Française and it seems tome superfluous to repeat what I said then andof which I am even more convinced now.

Manea enjoys great critical and publicesteem today in his own country, in Italy, inthe United States, in Spain, in France, and inmany other countries. He has had the recog-nition of important international prizes andhas been pointed out as a worthy of the NobelPrize. The wish that he may receive it in theyear of his seventy-fifth birthday is the bestwish that I can make to my friend Norman.


– 351 –


Cu Cella [i Claudiu Turcu[, Bard, 2010

With Cella and Claudiu Turcu[, Bard, 2010

– 353 –


„S`nt probabil o structur\ sceptic\“, recuno[teaautorul ~ntoarcerii huliganului `ntr-un interviuacordat Rodic\i Binder. Sceptic, e-adev\rat,`ns\ nicidecum negativist, adesea reticent, darniciodat\ suspicios, cerebral consecvent cusine `nsu[i, dar f\r\ puseuri didactice, polemistcordial „timid [i tenace“ (Virgil Nemoianu)`mp\rt\[ind deopotriv\ calmul valorilor, can-doarea patetic\ [i sim]ul acut al burlescului,Norman Manea a fost, sub totalitarism, „unscriitor care credea c\ trebuie s\-[i apere calitateascrisului [i c\, `n acela[i timp, ca cet\]ean tre-buie s\-[i exprime [...] opinia onest\ desprerealitatea `n care tr\ie[te. M\ deosebeam –continu\ el – [i de colegii preocupa]i, `n scri-sul lor, doar s\ laude (sau, dimpotriv\, s\ atace)Puterea, ca [i de cei care considerau c\ oriceriscant\ «angajare» este o maculare a nobileiarte.“ Elaborându-[i estetica `n complemen-taritate cu o est-etic\, Norman Manea nutre[teconvingerea c\ integritatea scriitorului presu-pune pe de o parte apologia autonomiei artei, iarpe de cealalt\ implicarea civic\. Fidel literaturii,circumspect fa]\ de atitudini dogmatice [i tea-trale, autorul Plicului negru poten]eaz\ organico retractilitate fecund-subversiv\, evazionismulprogramatic ori simulacrul disiden]ei fiindexcluse. Modelul s\u existen]ial/artistic n-afost pe placul autorit\]ilor socialiste, dar s-abucurat de solidaritatea celorlal]i „`nfrân]i aizilei“, precum [i de pre]uirea unei p\r]i sub-stan]iale a criticilor români.

Capitolul bucure[tean al biografiei luiNorman Manea se va `ncheia cu o aniversare.

~n apartamentul de pe Calea Victoriei, care vaajunge una dintre adresele trecutului, `nconjuratde prieteni apropia]i, August Prostul se preg\teas\ devin\ Leopold Bloom. „Dublinul socialist“al anului 1986 facilitase metamorfoza: „Plecama[adar pân\ la urm\! – m\rturise[te Manea –refuzam s\ devin doar personaj `n locul undesperam s\ fiu scriitor, acceptam s\ mor `n altloc decât cel unde m\ n\scusem. ~n exil, cealtceva aveam s\ devin, de fapt, decât tot unpersonaj, Ulise f\r\ ]ar\ [i limb\? Nu mai be-neficiam `ns\ de alternativ\, amân\rile `[iepuizaser\ limita“. ~n urma scriitorului carepornise c\tre Berlin, r\mâne portretul artistuluila maturitate, „expresia vibrant orgolioas\ [itotodat\ sfid\tor mâhnit\“ (Mircea Iorgulescu)`n care „putem fi siguri c\ `ntâlnim sigiliulartei celei mai subtile, al demnit\]ii care osus]ine“ (Gheorghe Grigurcu) – „cincizeci deani de via]\ nezadarnic\“ (Lucian Raicu).

Dup\ dou\ decenii de fidelitate fa]\ de himerascrisului, Norman Manea va solicita un pa[a-port. Dac\ la cinci ani, din cauza unui dictator[i a ideologiei lui, copilul pornea pe latura lung\,traumatic\ a ini]ierii, la cincizeci de ani – cinic\simetrie! – pleac\, din nou, din cauza unui altdictator, reprezentând ideologia aparent opus\.Atmosfera sufocant\ determinase desprinderea.

Anul berlinez (1987) avea s\ consemnezedebutul provizoratului. Aflat pe o „insul\ liber\`ntr-un teritoriu totalitar“, Manea a trebuit s\`nfrunte atât dilemele existen]iale, cât [i impasulcreator. Cuvintele m\gulitoare rostite despre

Odiseea lui AugustScepticul CCllaauuddiiuu TTuurrccuuss ,

proza sa de c\tre Heinrich Böll l-au `ncurajats\ publice `n Germania, `ns\ agresiunea tim-pului care nu mai avea r\bdare constituia orealitate iritant\. F\r\ s\ poat\ scrie `n aceast\perioad\ (mul]umindu-se cu lectura intens\ apresei germane), scriitorul trebuia s\ aleag\`ntre varianta `ntoarcerii la Bucure[ti sau exi-lul definitiv: adic\ `napoi `n cu[ca balcanic\ ori`nainte c\tre nic\ieri. Con[tient c\ Berlinul – cuamestecul lui de confuzie [i speran]\ – fusesedoar un interludiu existen]ial, Manea a ]inutcont de avertismentul sarcastic al lui Cioran(„Vino la Paris! E locul cel mai potrivit pentrua-]i rata via]a“) [i, `ntrucât – conform `n]elep-tului Kierkegaard – decizia nu-i decât momen-tul nebuniei, a optat pentru o burs\ Fulbrightla Washington, unde va descoperi avantajulsolitudinii („nic\ieri nu se poate `nv\]a maibine singur\tatea!“) [i m\re]ia ajust\rii(„[here] everything can be fixed“).

Cu timpul, necunoscutul american a devenito gazd\, scriitorul s-a reinventat ca profesorde literatur\ european\ la Bard College, f\r\ ar\mâne mai pu]in scriitor bucovinean, apoipragmatismul nu i-a subminat etica profundiudaic\, de asemenea, structura sa sceptic\ nu

s-a estompat oricât de mult s-a intensificatgustul pentru burlesc. Autoironic când `l pa[tenostalgia fa]\ de „]ara trist\ [i plin\ de umor“,deopotriv\ critic nuan]at cu privire la „ameri-canizata Americ\“, Norman Manea a deprins`n exil atât conservarea identit\]ilor sale multi-ple, cât [i o stilistic\ a metamorfozei organice,noua personalitate fiind complementar\ fon-dului de adâncime/conservator al interiorit\]ii.Cheia acestui complex proces de regenerare seafl\, cred, `ntr-un aforism al c\lug\rului saxonHugo de Saint Victor, citat adesea de scriitor:„The person who finds his homeland sweet isstill a tender beginner; he to whom every soil isas his native one is already strong; but he isperfect to whom the entire world is a foreign soil“.

Despre Norman Manea, Lucian Raicu afir-mase `n 1996 c\ „a inventat un alt fel de ascrie. [...] O limb\ a sa, ar zice Barthes, o lim-b\ str\in\ `n cuprinsul limbii sale materne, allimbii ob[te[ti, ar preciza Deleuze“. O limb\,a[ ad\uga, consubstan]ial\ propriei viziuni, nudoar un vehicul al ei. Singura lui cas\ auten-tic\, de fapt o cochilie, dup\ cum figura ma-tern\ va r\mâne pentru agnosticul NormanManea singurul dumnezeu.

– 354 –


‘I’m probably sceptical in structure,’ the authorof The Hooligan’s Return once confessed inan interview with Rodica Binder. Sceptical, itis true, but never negativist, often reticent, butnever suspicious, cerebrally consistent withhimself, but not given to pedantic outbursts, acordial, ‘mixture of timidity and tenacity’ (VirgilNemoianu) polemicist, embracing the serenity ofvalues, compassionate candour and an acutefeeling for the burlesque, Norman Manea was,under the totalitarian regime, ‘a writer who be-lieved that he had to defend the quality of hiswriting and, at the same time, as a citizen hadto express [...] his honest opinion about thereality he inhabited. I was also different,’ he con-tinues, ‘from those contemporaries who in theirwriting were preoccupied only with praising(or, attacking) Power, as well as from thosewho regarded any risky “engagement“ to be a sullying of noble art.’ Elaborating his aes-thetic complementarily with an east-ethic,Norman Manea nurtures the conviction thatthe writer’s integrity presupposes an apologiafor the autonomy of art, on the one hand, andcivic involvement, on the other. Faithful to lit-erature, circumspect with regard to dogmaticand theatrical attitudes, the author of The BlackEnvelope organically potentiates a fecund-subversive retractility, since programmaticevasion or the simulacrum of dissidence isexcluded. His existential/artistic models werenot to the liking of the socialist authorities,but he enjoyed the solidarity of the other

‘losers of the day,’ as well as the esteem of asubstantial part of the Romanian critics.

The Bucharest chapter of Norman Manea’sbiography was to conclude with a celebration.In the apartment on Calea Victoriei, which wasto become another address from the past, sur-rounded by close friends, Augustus the Foolwas about to become Leopold Bloom. The‘socialist Dublin’ of the year 1986 had facili-tated this metamorphosis: ‘And so, finally, I was actually leaving!’ confesses Manea. ‘I refused to become a mere character in theplace where I had hoped to be a writer; I ac-cepted to die in a place other than the onewhere I was born. In exile, what else would I become, in fact, except yet another character,a Ulysses without a country or a language?But I had no other choice. The delays had usedup their limit.’ Behind the writer who set offfor Berlin remains the portrait of a mature artist,‘the vibrantly proud and at the same time de-fiantly pained expression’ (Mircea Iorgulescu)in which ‘we can be sure that we encounterthe seal of the subtlest art, of the dignity thatsustains it’ (Gheorghe Grigurcu), ‘fifty yearsof a life not in vain’ (Lucian Raicu).

After two decades of fidelity to the chimeraof writing, Norman Manea was to apply for apassport. Whereas at the age of five, the childhad embarked on a long, traumatic journey ofinitiation because of a dictator and his ideolo-gy, at the age of fifty (what cynical symmetry!)he set off once more, because of another

– 355 –


The Odyssey of Augustthe ScepticCCllaauuddiiuu TTuurrccuuss ,

‘Elaborating his aesthetic complementarily with aneast-ethic, Norman Manea nurtures the conviction thatthe writer’s integrity presupposes an apologia for theautonomy of art, on the one hand, and civicinvolvement, on the other.’

Claudiu Turcu[

dictator, who represented the apparently oppo-site ideology. It was the suffocating atmospherethat led to this separation.

The year he spent in Berlin (1987) markedthe beginning of a provisory phase. Findinghimself on ‘an island of freedom within total-itarian territory,’ Manea had to confront notonly existential dilemmas, but also a creativeimpasse. The flattering words Heinrich Böllpronounced about his prose encouraged himto publish his work in Germany, but the ag-gression of impatient times constituted anirritating reality. Without being able to writeduring that period (contenting himself withintensive reading of the German press), thewriter had to choose between going back toBucharest and permanent exile: in other wordsback to the Balkan cage or forwards intonowhere. Aware that Berlin – with its blendof confusion and hope – had been merely anexistential interlude, Manea heeded Cioran’ssarcastic warning: ‘Come to Paris! It’s thebest place to turn your life into a failure.’ Andinsofar as decision, according to the wisdomof Kierkegaard, is nothing more than a mo-ment of madness, he opted for a Fulbrightscholarship in Washington, where he was todiscover the advantages of solitude (‘nowhereelse is it possible to learn solitude better!’)and the grandeur of adjustment (‘[here] everything can be fixed’).

In time, unknown America became a fami-liar host, and the author reinvented himself asa professor of European literature at Bard Col-

lege, without becoming any less of a Bukowi-nian writer. Just as his pragmatism in no wayundermined his deeply Judaic ethics, so toohis sceptical structure did not become blurredhowever much his taste for the burlesque in-creased. Self-ironic when consumed by nos-talgia for his ‘sad and humorous home country’and at the same time a nuanced critic of‘Americanised America,’ in exile NormanManea has become accustomed to his multi-ple identities, as well as to a stylistics oforganic metamorphosis, the new personalitybeing complementary with the deeper, store ofinteriority. The key to this complex processof regeneration is to be found, I think, in anaphorism of the Saxon monk Hugo of St.Victor, often quoted by the writer: ‘The per-son who finds his homeland sweet is still atender beginner; he to whom every soil is as hisnative one is already strong; but he is perfect towhom the entire world is a foreign soil.’

In 1996, Lucian Raicu said of NormanManea, ‘He has invented a way of writing.[...] A language of his own, as Barthes wouldsay, or a foreign language contained within hismother tongue, the common tongue, as De-leuze would have it.’ It is a language, I mightadd, that is consubstantial with his vision, notmerely its vehicle. It is his only authentic house,in fact a snail’s shell, just as for the agnosticNorman Manea the mother figure will remainthe only god.


– 357 –


– 359 –


De ce victimele sunt goale, despuiate de vest-minte? Cum s\ `n]elegem c\ nu numai cei cepier `n lag\rele de concentrare, cadavre stivu-ite, ni se arat\ ca trupuri desc\rnate, anatomiijalnice, schelete `nvelite `n tegumente? L\comiamonstruoas\ a prigonitorilor despuind trupulfrem\t\tor, ner\cit, necuprins de rigiditate estecauza material\ a nudit\]ii; dincolo de odioasaavari]ie, aceia[i care colec]ioneaz\ din]ii deaur, imaginea „celor goi [i mor]i“, a mor]ilorgoi dar [i a viilor goi, a supravie]uitorilor dup\un raid `n lumea mor]ilor (r\mânând marca]i pevecie de peregrinarea funest\), imaginea celuigol, deci, este o metafor\ vie [i puternic\ a per-secu]iei, a urii oarbe a c\l\ilor pentru care `n-ver[unarea devine nemijlocit purt\toare de moarte.

Existen]a social\ `ncepe ca acoperire a trupu-lui gol. Ne na[tem goi; dar primul gest al mamei,al femeilor adunate, ca ursitoarele, `n jurulnou-n\scutului, al acelora ce vegheaz\ `ncepu-turile este s\ ne acopere, s\ ne `nfe[e. Nou-n\scu-tul uman este prin defini]ie un prematur. Ceeace se nume[te „hominizare“ este procesul pecare l-a inventat specia pentru a evita conse-cin]ele mortale ale prematurit\]ii nou-n\scutu-lui, lipsit de protec]ie natural\ `ntr-o m\sur\ pecare alte specii nu o cunosc. Mai târziu, `n totcuprinsul vie]ii, fiin]a omeneasc\ are nevoiede o a doua piele, vestmântul, pentru a-i ocrotifiravul trup. A-l lipsi de aceast\ protec]ie este,fizic [i simbolic, o negare a umanit\]ii din om.A oferi cuiva o hain\ este gestul de caritateprimordial\, a[a cum o practic\ sfântul Martin

din Tours spintecând cu sabia lui mantaua deofi]er roman pentru a acoperi goliciunea unuicer[etor (vezi tabloul lui El Greco).

~n scrierile lui Norman Manea surprindemconstant, `n ciuda exprim\rii intelectuale [i sobre, undiscurs emo]ional despre goliciunea dezarmat\,despre nevoia trupului de-a se acoperi. Voi da do-u\ exemple din nuvelele lui Norman Manea.

Puloverul este o poveste trist\ [i crud\, oamintire salvat\ din oceanul amneziei infan-tile, trecut\ prin maniera, `ndr\znesc s\ spun,natural-analitic\ a scriiturii lui Manea. Exter-minarea evreilor din Bucovina [i Basarabia areo istorie proprie, fiecare form\ a R\ului avândfizionomia ei: familia povestitorului este `nlag\r. ~n mizerie absolut\. Mama lipse[te dinbarac\, aproape toat\ s\pt\mâna. Munce[te,de luni pân\ vineri, la o familie de ]\rani din-tr-un sat vecin pentru câ]iva cartofi, un pumnde boabe sau de f\in\, câteva mere. ~n casele]\r\ne[ti, mama tricoteaz\. {i, `ntr-o sear\ devineri, vine `napoi cu un obiect. Un jerseu fa-bricat cu ne`ndemânare, cu nodurile prea vizi-bile, f\cut cu resturi de lân\, din culori varii [iincerte. Lucrul de mân\ nu este destinat tat\-lui [i nici copilului-povestitor, ci Marei. Va fipentru feti]\ o hain\ de zi, o hain\ de noapte,un mijloc de protec]ie `mpotriva frigului. Maraeste cea care trebuie ocrotit\, `n primul rând.Mara este fiin]a aleas\; `n tot cazul, va trebuis\ se `ntoarc\, odat\, vie, acas\. Fiindc\ Maraa ajuns `n lag\r, cu familia care nu este a ei,printr-o `ntâmplare. Când a venit urgia seg\sea cu ei. Str\in\ fiind, trebuia cu orice pre]

Eul-piele IIoonn VViiaannuu

sustras\ fatalit\]ii. Dar Mara se `mboln\ve[te,zace. Din ce `n ce mai limpede, cei din barac\`n]eleg c\ nu va supravie]ui mizeriei, c\ este,ea, a c\rei salvare era prima obliga]ie a familiei,osândit\ s\ piar\ cea dintâi. {i tristul cortegiuo `ngroap\ undeva `n p\dure, al\turi de bunici,mor]i [i ei de foame. Copilul-povestitor este celce mo[tene[te jerseul. Ambian]a este morbid\,locuitorii bar\cii sunt febrili, fragili, moarteaeste mereu aproape. Copilul se viseaz\ `n si-criu, al\turi de Mara. ~n via]a real\, o realitatede co[mar, puloverul, care ar trebui s\ fi o pro-tec]ie, o nou\ piele, se comport\ ciudat. Esteun obiect rigid, transpir\ un soi de otrav\ in-sinuant\ mortal\. Un venin. ~n timp, un soi demetamorfoz\ a modestului pulover are loc. L\r-gimea lui, excesiv\, se corecteaz\; umezealaomniprezent\ `l face mai pu]in rigid. ~n acela[itimp, parfumul divers [i subtil, dulcea]a, amin-tirea olfactiv\ (ca `n C\utarea timpului pier-dut al lui Proust) exist\ doar ca halucina]ienegativ\, ca absen]\, nostalgie. Lâna miroaserânced, putrid. Jerseul devine haina cea de toatezilele; este mai mult o armur\, o c\ma[\ dezale; nu `nc\lze[te trupul debilitat.

Povestirea Puloverul este ilustra]ia patetic\,de o mare putere, a degener\rii „Eului-piele“.Psihanaliza (Didier Anzieu) a creat acest con-cept, ar\tând c\ Eul nu este, a[a cum a fostconceput prepsihanalitic, un nucleu ontologic.Eul, pentru Anzieu, func]ioneaz\ ca un mijlocde protec]ie, ca o piele. Este o suprafa]\ de contactdispus\ pentru a preveni impactul psihological agresiunii exterioare. Eul este definitoriupentru fiin]a uman\. Embriologia a ar\tat –este o no]iune clasic\ – cum se dezvolt\ siste-mul nervos, din foi]a exterioar\ a embrionului.Sistemul nervos este un organ de rela]ie, unmijlocitor, o instan]\ de tranzit `ntre fiin]\ [ilume. Tot astfel, eul exist\ `n primul rând ca oinstan]\ rela]ional\. {i protectoare. Dar mediulambiant, Lumea pot fi atât de veninoase, atât

de malefice, `ncât bariera `ns\[i dintre om [ilume se preschimb\ `n otrav\, se molipse[te detoxicele emana]ii, atunci când realitatea devineun fel de co[mar. Haina, aceast\ a doua piele,devine agent al mor]ii (precum c\ma[a lui Nessuspe trupul lui Hercules). Numai preajma nefast\mai este capabil\ s\ ac]ioneze asupra prefacerii`nveli[ului ocrotitor. „Pielea“ `ncepe s\ fie sim-]it\ exterioar\ insului, o fabrica]ie, deta[at\ deomul viu. Acest tegument artificial [i r\uf\c\tor,puloverul, a fost fabricat, `n nuvela lui Manea,de c\tre mama. De biata mam\ care este silit\s\-[i p\r\seasc\ copilul s\pt\mâni `ntregi pentru,literalmente, o bucat\ de pâine rece. La vârstaaceasta orice separa]ie este, nemilos, resim]it\ decopil ca o tr\dare. Iar `mbr\c\mintea – o otrav\.

Moartea este tot o povestire de lag\r, unadespre acoper\mintele mizerabile [i fragile aletrupului unor copii. Cele dou\ feti]e negricioa-se se joac\ de-a „manechinele“. ~mprumut\posturi gra]ioase, de nedezmin]it\ cochet\rie,f\când s\ fluture zdren]ele de pe ele. Copileleseam\n\ cu ni[te mici statui murdare [i jerpe-lite. Primejdia mortal\ a acestor jocuri `i apareevident\ b\iatului nenumit din povestire. Un-deva `n mirador vegheaz\ militarii care potoricând s\ trag\. Joaca apare ca o provocare,veselia este provocare, chiar nep\sarea vic-timelor este provocare. Zdrean]a trebuie s\ fieneap\rat un giulgiu – ca s\ fie tolerat\ deprigonitor. ~ns\ provocarea suprem\ la carepoate s\ recurg\ victima merge mai departe.B\iatul [tie. ~[i dezgole[te pieptul costeliv [ialb, vrând s\ spun\ prin acest gest: „Trage]i!“.Glon]ul porne[te, naratorul ne `ng\duie intra-rea `n con[tiin]a care se va stinge curând.

Goliciunea `n care `i descoperim pe mor]ieste nu numai l\comia sistematic\ a c\l\ilor;este [i o provocare a victimelor, singura r\zbu-nare ce le st\ la `ndemân\. Fa]\ cu usturimeaglon]ului, fa]\ cu barbara `nfometare, ultimaarm\ a victimei r\mâne despuierea.

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– 361 –


Why are the victims naked, stripped of theirclothing? What are we to make of the fact thatit is not only those that died in the concentra-tion camps, the stacked-up corpses, who revealthemselves to us as fleshless bodies, wretchedanatomies, skeletons swathed in skin? The mon-strous greed of the persecutors stripping thequivering, still warm, not yet stiffened bodyis the material cause of nakedness; beyondthe odious avarice of the same people whosteal the prisoners’ gold teeth, the image of‘the naked and the dead’ – the naked dead butalso the naked living, the survivors of an in-cursion into the world of the dead (foreverscarred by the deathly peregrination); theimage of the naked man – is thus a vivid andpowerful metaphor of persecution, of theblind hatred of the executioners, for whomimplacable fury becomes a bearer of death.

Social existence begins as a covering of thenaked body. We are born naked, but the firstgesture of the mother, of the women gatheredlike the Fates around the newborn, of thosewho watch over our entry into the world, is tocover us, to swaddle us. The newborn humanbaby is by definition premature. What is called‘humanisation’ is a process that the species hasinvented in order to avoid the fatal consequencesof prematurity, as the newborn lacks naturalprotection to an extent not known by any otherspecies. Later, throughout life, a human beingneeds a second skin, clothing, to protect hisfrail body. To be deprived of this protectionis, physically and symbolically, a negation of aperson’s humanity. To offer a person a garment

is a gesture of primordial charity, such as oncepracticed by Martin of Tours, who with hissword rent his Roman officer’s cloak to covera naked beggar (see El Greco’s painting).

In spite of their intellectual and sober ex-pression, in Norman Manea’s writings we oftennotice an emotional discourse about helplessnakedness, about the body’s need to cover itself.I shall give you two examples from his novellas.

The Sweater is a sad and cruel story, a me-mory salvaged from the ocean of childishforgetting, one filtered, I might venture toadd, through the natural-analytic manner ofManea’s writing. The extermination of theJews in Bukovina and Bessarabia has its owndistinct history, just as every form of Evil hasits own physiognomy. The storyteller’s familyis in a concentration camp. Absolute depriva-tion. The mother is away from the hut almostthe whole week: she toils from Monday to Fridayfor a family of peasants in a neighbouringvillage, for which she is paid a few potatoes,a handful of beans or flour, and a few apples.Mother also knits for the peasants. One eve-ning, she returns with an object: a clumsilyknitted jersey, roughly knotted together, madefrom scraps of wool of various, indeterminatecolours. This handmade item is intended nei-ther for the father nor the child storyteller, butfor Mara. It becomes the little girl’s raimentboth night and day, a means of keeping outthe cold. Mara is the one who needs protectingabove all. Mara is the chosen being. In any case,she is the one who must return home alive. For,Mara has ended up in the camp by accident,

The ’I -skin IIoonn VViiaannuu

’

‘In spite of their intellectual and soberexpression, in Norman Manea’s writings weoften notice an emotional discourse abouthelpless nakedness, about the body’s need to cover itself.’

Ion Vianu

with a family not her own. She was with themwhen the day of wrath arrived. As an alien, shemust be helped to elude fate at all costs. ButMara falls ill and languishes. The others in thehut grow increasingly aware that she will notsurvive the deprivation; that the little girl whosesalvation was the family’s first duty will be thefirst of them to die. And a sad funeral cortegeburies her somewhere in the woods, alongsidethe grandparents, who have also died of star-vation. The child storyteller is the one who in-herits the jersey. The ambiance is morbid. Theinhabitants of the hut are feverish, frail. Deathis always close. The child dreams of himself ina coffin, alongside Mara. In real life, a realitythat is nightmarish, the sweater, which oughtto have been a protective garment, a second skin,behaves oddly. It is a rigid object. It sweats aninsinuatingly deadly poison. Venom. In time, thehumble sweater becomes subject to a kind ofmetamorphosis. It loses its excessive bagginess;the omnipresent damp makes it less rigid. At thesame time, its varied and subtle perfume, its sweet-ness, its olfactory memory (as in Proust’s In Searchof Lost Time), exists only as a negative halluci-nation, an absence, nostalgia. The rancid, putridwool reeks. The jersey becomes an everyday gar-ment. At the most it is like a chainmail shirt; itlends no warmth to the debilitated body.

The Sweater is a powerful, moving illustra-tion of the deterioration of the ‘I’-skin. Psycho-analyst Didier Anzieu created this concept,arguing that the ‘I’ is not an ontological nucleus,as it has been conceived by psychoanalysis.For Anzieu, the ‘I’ functions as a means ofprotection, as a skin. It is a surface area ofcontact that protects against the psychologicalimpact of external aggression. The ‘I’ is whatdefines human being. Embryology has revealedhow the nervous system develops from the ex-ternal pellicle of the embryo. This is a classicnotion. The whole nervous system is an organof interaction, a locus of transit between beingand the world. Likewise, the ‘I’ exists primarilyas a relational instance. It is also a protectiveinstance. But the ambient medium, the World,

can be so venomous, so malefic, that the verybarrier between human and world is transfor-med into poison, is contaminated with toxicemanations, when reality becomes a kind ofnightmare. The garment, that second skin, be-comes an agent of death (like the shirt of Nessuson Hercules’ body). Only baleful surroundingsare capable of transforming the protective in-tegument. The ‘skin’ begins to be felt as exter-nal to the self, a fabrication, separate from theliving person. In Manea’s short story, thesweater, an artificial and malevolent integu-ment, is made by the mother. It is made bythe poor mother who is forced to abandon herchild for weeks at a time so that she can liter-ally earn a crust of stale bread. At that age,the child experiences any separation as a mer-ciless betrayal. And the garment is poison.

Death is also a story of the camps, one thatis about the wretched and fragile coverings ofchildren’s bodies. Two swarthy little girls areplaying a game of ‘tailor’s dummies’. Theystrike graceful poses of undisguised coquet-tishness, causing their rags to flutter. The chil-dren resemble dirty, tattered little statues. Themortal danger of these games seems evidentto the unnamed boy in the story. In the guardtower the soldiers are watching and might shootat any moment. The game is like a challenge,the gaiety is a challenge, and even the victims’recklessness is a challenge. To be tolerated bythe persecutor, rags must necessarily be shrouds.But the supreme challenge to which the vic-tim might resort goes much further. The littleboy knows. He bares his scrawny white chest,as if to say: ‘Shoot!’ The bullet begins itsflight, and the narrator allows us to enter theconsciousness that will soon be extinguished.

The nakedness in which we discover thedead is not only the systematic greed of theexecutioners; it is also a challenge flung outby the victims, the only revenge available tothem. Against the bullet’s sting, against bar-barous starvation, the victim’s ultimate wea-pon remains stripping bare.


– 363 –


Cu Leon Volovici, Ierusalim, 1988

With Leon Volovici, Jerusalem, 1988

– 365 –


L-am rev\zut recent pe Norman Manea `ntr-unfilm documentar german despre evreii bucovi-neni `mpr\[tia]i prin lume [i despre nostalgialor dup\ o fabuloas\ dulce Bucovin\. Filmulurm\re[te câteva destine interesante, apoi sepierde `n episoade nesemnificative. Pe minem-a frapat `ns\ o secven]\ care, dincolo deinten]ia modest\ a regizorului, lumineaz\ brusco tr\s\tur\ de penumbr\ a chipului scriitorului[i a scrisului s\u.

Am mai avut de câteva ori prilejul s\-l urm\-resc pe Manea vorbind unui public str\in despreuniversul bucovinean, despre scriitorii români,germani, israelieni ie[i]i din miticul Cern\u]i.M-a surprins de fiecare dat\, ascultându-l, nos-talgia acelui univers [i infinita am\r\ciune lagândul distrugerii lui. O nostalgie reprimat\,interzis\ [i mereu victorioas\.

~n secven]a din film, scriitorul, ajuns la lo-cul de unde copilul de cinci ani a trecut Nis-trul `n toamna deport\rii, iese dintr-odat\ dintimp. Privirea i se pierde dincolo de Nistru,atunci ca [i acum cotropit de un ger de sfâr[itde lume, dincolo de t\râmul bun-r\u al norma-lit\]ii din care a fost smuls [i `mpins `ntr-unuria[ exod colectiv. Copilul de atunci, copilulb\trân de acum, prive[te fascinat `napoi `ntimp, retras `ntr-o singur\tate iremediabil\,parc\ spre un teritoriu al singur\t\]ii cosmice.

„Singur ca Norman Manea“, mi-a trecutprin gând, amintindu-mi de replica celebr\ alui Franz Kafka, scriitorul care l-a `nv\]at s\fac\ fa]\ singur\t\]ii, cruzimii [i absurdului.

~ntrebat de tân\rul poet ceh Gustav Janouchdac\ teribila lui singur\tate e asem\n\toare cua lui Kaspar Hauser, prototipul literar germanal solitudinii, Kafka r\spunde râzând: nu, el esingur „ca Franz Kafka“.

~nsingurarea copilului, cu o sensibilitate ie-[it\ din comun, s-a transferat [i asupra eroilorlui Norman Manea – vulnerabili, dilematici,greu adaptabili –, a p\truns [i `n ]es\tura psihic\a personajelor romanelor sale, dar a izbucnitmai `ntâi `n excep]ionalele povestiri adunate`n volumul Octombrie, ora opt. Toate „mesa-jele“ lumii exterioare – oameni, ambian]e,peisaje – sunt recep]ionate cu o acuitate rar`ntâlnit\, trecute printr-un filtru care le estom-peaz\, le transform\ `n „zgomote de fond“. ~nprim-plan r\mâne mereu, invizibil [i vast, uni-versul de gânduri [i reac]ii afective. O percep]ie„mereu exagerat\“, cum constat\ unul din eroiis\i, provoac\ vibrarea intens\ la toate acciden-tele realit\]ii `nconjur\toare, generând viziunihalucinante [i o tensiune continu\, dureroas\.Rana copilului a r\mas `nc\ vie, resim]it\ [i deomul matur cu aceea[i intensitate insuportabil\.~ntre el [i cei din jur, chiar foarte apropia]i, cevas-a surpat iremediabil. Mânia, `nsingurarea, in-aderen]a la zarva asurzitoare a prezentuluisunt reflexul unei revolte permanente `mpo-triva inautenticului [i adaptabilit\]ii comode.Suferin]a copilului de alt\dat\, oroarea deatunci [i minciuna poleit\ care a urmat nu mai`ng\duie s\ tr\ie[ti oricum, s\ accep]i medio-critatea, ipocrizia, „surogatul normalit\]ii“, comedia cuvintelor golite de sens.

Singur ca Norman ManeaLLeeoonn VVoolloovviiccii

„~ntre nostalgie [i resentiment se instalaset\cerea“, scrie el `n ~ntoarcerea huliganului,capodopera sa. La prima `ntoarcere, dup\ patruani petrecu]i „dincolo“, miracolul [i candoareacopil\riei se spulberaser\: „~n aprilie 1945eram un b\trân care urma s\ `mplineasc\ nou\ani“. La cap\tul celei de-a doua `ntoarceri, dedata aceasta din singur\tatea exilului izb\vitor,bântuit de umbrele trecutului [i `n c\utareatimpului pierdut, copilul etern e urm\rit deimaginea mamei, „b\trâna mam\ oarb\“,cople[it de dor [i solitudine.

Melcul vulnerabil, cel bolnav de singur\-tate, [i-a g\sit leacul `n scris, „chinul fericit“,

„o for]\ a spiritului care `[i caut\ r\scump\ra-rea“, cum `i m\rturisea unei poete.

Când a `mplinit ap\s\toarea vârst\ de [aizecide ani, Norman, cu umorul lui melancolic, aexclamat: „Cum am putut s\ las s\ mi se `ntâm-ple mie a[a ceva?“. Acum a sc\pat de perplexi-tatea acelei vârste neverosimile, a intrat `ntr-unamai senin\ [i mai resemnat\. Dar copilul e totacolo, singur pe malul fluviului, c\utând sen-surile suferin]ei [i ale terapiei prin „rug\ciu-nea laic\“ a literaturii.

Apostrof, nr. 7, 2006

– 366 –


I recently saw Norman Manea in a Germandocumentary film about the Jews of Bukovinawho are scattered throughout the world, abouttheir nostalgia for a fabled ‘dulce Bucovin\’(‘sweet Bukovina’). The film examines a num-ber of interesting destinies, but then gets bog-ged down in insignificant episodes. But whatstruck me was a sequence which, beyond thedirector’s modest intentions, all of a suddenillumined a previously penumbral aspect ofNorman Manea as a writer and of his writing.

I have on a number of occasions had theprivilege to listen to Norman Manea speakingto a foreign audience about Bukovina andabout the Romanian, German and Jewishwriters who came from the fabled city ofCzernowitz. On each occasion, listening tohim I was struck by the nostalgia for thatworld and the infinite regret at the thought ofits destruction. It is a repressed, forbiddenand always triumphant nostalgia.

In the film sequence, as he visits the placewhere the child of five crossed the Dniester inthe autumn of deportation, the writer all of asudden steps outside time. His gaze is lost be-yond the Dniester, then as now overwhelmedby an apocalyptic frost, beyond the good/evilrealm of normality from which he had beensnatched and thrust into a vast collective exo-dus. The child of then, the aged child of now,gazes back in time, fascinated, withdrawn intoirremediable solitude, as if borne off toward aregion of cosmic loneliness.

‘As lonely as Norman Manea,’ I said tomyself in my mind, remembering the famouswords of Franz Kafka, the writer who taughthim to confront solitude, cruelty and the absurd.Asked by young Czech poet Gustav Janouchwhether his terrible loneliness resembled thatof Kaspar Hauser, the German literary proto-type of solitude, Kafka answered with a laugh:no, he was ‘as alone as Franz Kafka.’

The isolation of the child, who possessedan uncommon sensibility, has also been trans-ferred to Norman Manea’s vulnerable, dilem-ma-prone, ill-adapted characters; it has imbuedthe psychological texture of the characters inhis novels, but it burst forth for the first timein the exceptional short stories collected inOctober, Eight O’Clock. All the ‘messages’ ofthe external world – people, settings, land-scapes – are received with a rarely encoun-tered acuity; they are passed through a filterthat blurs them, transforms them into ‘back-ground noise.’ Invisible and vast, what alwaysremains in the foreground is the world of ideasand affective reactions. An ‘ever exaggerated’perception, as one of his characters notes, cau-ses all the chance occurrences of the surroundingreality to vibrate intensely, generating halluci-natory visions and a continuous, aching tension.The child’s wound has remained fresh, and theadult experiences it with the same unbearableintensity. Between him and those around him,even those closest to him, something has ir-retrievably collapsed. Rage, isolation, and the

– 367 –


As lonely as Norman Manea LLeeoonn VVoolloovviiccii

‘When he reached the oppressive age of sixty, Norman, with his melancholy humour,exclaimed: “How could I let something like this happen to me?“’

Leon Volovici

refusal to adapt to the deafening clamour ofthe present are the reflection of a permanentrevolt against the inauthentic, against com-plaisant adaptability. The sufferings of theerstwhile child, the horror of the times andthe gilded lie that followed do not allow youto live just anyhow, to accept mediocrity,hypocrisy, ‘surrogates for normality,’ thecomedy of words voided of meaning.

‘Silence had made its home between nostalgiaand resentment,’ he writes in The Hooligan’sReturn, his masterpiece. On his first home-coming, after four years spent ‘beyond,’ themiracle and candour of childhood had shat-tered: ‘In April 1945, I was an old man about

to reach the age of nine.’ At the end of thatsecond homecoming, this time from the solitudeof redemptive exile, haunted by the shadows ofthe past and in search of lost time, the eternalchild is pursued by the image of his mother,‘the blind old mother,’ overwhelmed by year-ning and solitude.

The vulnerable snail, sick of solitude,found a cure in writing: ‘the happy torment,’‘a strength of the spirit that seeks redemp-tion,’ as he once confessed to a poetess.

Apostrof, nr. 7, 2006


– 369 –


– 371 –


„Când aveam cinci ani, dictatura na]ionalist-militar\ a mare[alului Antonescu m-a deportat`mpreun\ cu familia `ntr-un lag\r de concen-trare. Acesta a fost primul meu exil. ~ntr-o si-metrie stranie, dar semnificativ\, la cincizecide ani m-am v\zut constrâns s\ p\r\sesc dinnou România, de data aceasta condus\ de dic-tatorul Ceau[escu, care afirma c\ este opusulmare[alului. ~ntre aceste dou\ situa]ii extremeam experimentat ceva asem\n\tor unui exilinterior, pentru a putea suporta via]a de zi cuzi `ntr-o societate supus\ tiraniei.“

Aceasta mi-a spus Norman Manea `ntr-odup\-amiaz\ de la `nceputul anilor ’90 laMadrid, `n zilele dedicate recentei c\deri a zidului comunismului.

Dou\zeci de ani mai târziu, vara trecut\,Norman [i cu mine ne-am a[ezat pe terasa uneicafenele din Manhattan, la umbra cl\dirilorde c\r\mid\ `mpodobite cu sc\ri de urgen]\.Norman mi-a autografiat cartea care tocmaiap\ruse `n spaniol\, Ceaiul lui Proust. Cucartea pe mas\, am `nceput s\ vorbim despretemele constante ale ultimelor sale opere:exilul [i ceea ce l-a precedat – deportarea [itotalitarismul – [i exilul [i ceea ce i-a urmat –o scurt\ `ntoarcere `n ]ar\. Am vorbit despreprima noastr\ `ntâlnire [i despre cele trei exil-uri ale lui Norman: deportarea `n Ucraina,refugiul `n interiorul s\u `n România totalitar\[i exilul american, definitiv.

„F\r\ `ndoial\, primele dou\ nu m-au preg\titabsolut deloc pentru adev\ratul exil, care este

acesta“, spune Norman, ar\tând spre zgârie-noriidin jur. Ochii ì sclipesc `ntr-un joc de ironie [iinteligen]\, atât de drag\ intelectualilor central-europeni. „Dar, `n ciuda faptului c\ am pierduttotul `n România [i `n ciuda a ceea ce am do-bândit `n Occident, continui s\ m\ simt str\in `nStatele Unite, nu `n]eleg absolut nimic `n aceast\capital\ dadaist\ de emigran]i [i am senza]ia c\sunt complet singur. Unicul meu refugiu estelimba mea, româna.“ „Atunci de ce r\mâi aici?“„Pentru c\ la New York se nasc tendin]ele a ceeace va veni [i m\ amuz\ s\ observ cum va fi viitorul.“

R\sfoiesc cartea, pe care am citit-o deja, [iì zic lui Norman Manea c\ `n unele povestirivorbe[te despre `ntoarcerea exilatului `n patrie,tem\ c\reia i-a consacrat romanul ~ntoarcereahuliganului. Aici Norman analizeaz\ noua si-tua]ie a secolului XXI, când exilatului ì estepermis s\ se `ntoarc\ `n patrie, iar [ocul reve-nirii provoac\ o traum\ necunoscut\ exila]ilorde alt\dat\, care, asemenea lui Ovidiu, plân-geau la cap\tul p\mântului paradisul pierdut alpatriei lor. „Departe de a deplânge ce ai pierdut,tu prezin]i via]a româneasc\ sub cerul totalitar,iar rezultatul `l constituie ni[te tablouri `ntu-necate [i fantasmagorice, populate de mon[tri,paia]e [i fantome, un soi de pictur\ neagr\ alui Goya transformat\ `n literatur\“, ì spun.

Norman m\ ascult\, concentrat, respectuos,a[a cum face de obicei. ~i comunic impresiilemele despre opera lui [i mai ales despre carteacare tocmai a v\zut lumina tiparului. Titlul,Ceaiul lui Proust, spune totul: este vorba

Pictura neagr\ a lui Goyatransformat\ `n literatur\MMoonniikkaa ZZgguussttoovváá

despre recuperarea autentic\ a experien]elorpierdute. ~n universul lui Norman Manea,experien]ele [i senza]iile tr\ite sunt mute,ce]oase, nedefinite asemenea viselor. Multepovestiri amintesc de co[marurile kafkiene,altele par s\ r\sar\ din picturile lui Magritte,`n care totul este posibil: este concomitent zi[i noapte, un copil este `n acela[i timp undomn plin de decora]ii, cu chelie [i burt\, a[acum se `ntâmpl\ `n „Portretul caisului galben“.Astfel, `n maniera lui Isaak Babel, a lui BrunoSchulz sau a lui Fellini, Norman `[i creeaz\ pro-pria lume poetic\, spectral\ [i magic\.

~n paginile celor mai bune opere ale luiNorman planeaz\ eterna `ntrebare: „Cine sunteu?“, care l-a preocupat [i pe Socrate. Poves-tirile pe care le ]in `n mân\ [i le r\sfoiesclene[ `n c\ldura umed\ a verii newyorkezeprezint\ experien]ele unui copil deportat,zdren]\ros [i `nfometat, care nu vede `n jurdecât dezolare [i moarte. Dau paginile [i a-jung la grotescul [i fantasmagoricul regimuluicomunist: `ngustimea spa]iului privat, dificul-tatea de a tr\i pe deplin rela]ia cu ceilal]i, pe-ricolul [i teama constant\, procesul gradual depr\bu[ire psihic\ [i, `n special, capacitatea omu-lui de a face r\u [i de a-l `ndura. ~n „Premiera“,care poveste[te apropierea erotic\ dintre oprofesoar\ [i un elev, adev\rata protagonist\este atmosfera opresiv\ a socialismului real, `ncare se mi[c\ personaje spectrale: cei doi se`mbr\]i[eaz\ f\r\ pasiune, f\r\ nicio emo]ie,iar naratorul subliniaz\ de mai multe ori: „Nus-a `ntâmplat nimic, bine`n]eles, nu are senss\ insist\m pe asta...“ . România comunist\este prezentat\ ca un spa]iu abrutizat, caretransform\ indivizii `n simple umbre.

„Totalitarismul“, `mi spune Norman `ncet,afectat de c\ldur\, `n timp ce-[i soarbe vinulro[u, „s-a instalat [i a durat atâta timp nu din

vina Istoriei, ci din cauza omului, iar acestmodel de societate r\spundea speran]elor [ifrustr\rilor, resentimentelor, aspira]iilor [i do-rin]elor sale de r\zbunare. De[i unele condi]iiistorice au favorizat aceste proiecte ale uneiidile diabolice, iar mai târziu alte premiseistorice li s-au opus [i le-au anihilat, omul afost cel care a inventat acest proiect social [ipolitic, omul i-a insuflat via]\, omul l-a sabo-tat [i, `n cele din urm\, l-a distrus“.

„Exist\ consecin]e“, continu\, „ale faptuluic\ ai tr\it mul]i ani `ntr-un stat totalitar, [i aces-te consecin]e sunt foarte grave. Otrava uneiasemenea vie]i dureaz\ foarte mult. {i nu `n-ceteaz\ s\ se infiltreze profund `n toat\ via]ata, `n toat\ biografia ta“. Despre aceasta vor-besc ultimul s\u eseu, „Monumentele ru[inii“,[i ultima povestire din Ceaiul lui Proust, „Nop]icu lun\“: despre figuri distruse [i tragicomice, pecare numai privirea plin\ de compasiune [i iro-nie a autorului le desprinde din noaptea timpurilor.

Nimeni nu mi-a explicat mai bine decâtNorman natura `ntunecat\ a totalitarismelor,povestindu-mi cu sarcasm [i râsete experien-]ele dure din România, dar [i `ng\duindu-mis\-i citesc opera. ~n timp ce `n cazul tragedieigrece[ti spectatorul se `ntreab\ dac\ te po]isustrage propriului destin, `n cazul operei luiNorman Manea cititorul este asaltat de `ntre-b\rile: Nu cumva, cu timpul, ne transform\m`n identit\]ile care ne-au fost atribuite `n modrepetat? Este posibil s\ le respingem sau s\ leevit\m? Iar când ajunge la finalul oric\reia din-tre str\lucitele c\r]i ale lui Norman, una dintrecele mai originale voci actuale, cititorul [tie c\se afl\ `n fa]a unei oglinzi convexe a expe-rien]ei umane. Ca atunci când te afli `n fa]apicturii negre a lui Goya.

[Traducere din limba spaniol\ de Emanuela Stoleriu]

– 372 –


‘When I was five years old, the nationalist-military dictatorship of Marshal Antonescudeported me and my family to a concentrationcamp. That was my first exile. In a strangebut significant symmetry, when I was fiftyyears old I had no choice but to leave Roma-nia again, this time under the regime of dictatorCeau[escu, who asserted being the oppositeof the previous one. In the middle of thesetwo extremes, I experienced something likean exile within myself in order to cope withdaily life in a tyrannized society.’

This is what Norman Manea told me oneafternoon in the early 1990s in Madrid, duringa conference devoted to the fall of the commu-nist wall, which was very recent in those days.

Twenty years later, last summer, Normanand I sat on the terrace of a café in Manhattan,in the shade of the brick buildings decoratedwith fire escapes. Norman has signed my copyof the book that was just released in Spanish,Proust’s tea. With the book on the table, westarted talking about the constant themes inhis last works: exile and what preceded it‘deportation and totalitarianism,’ and exileand what came after ‘a brief return to the home-land.’ We talked about our first meeting andabout Norman’s three exiles: the deportationto Ukraine, the refuge deep inside himself inthe totalitarian Romania, and the Americanexile, the final one.

‘However, the two first didn’t prepare me atall for the real exile that this one is,’ Norman

says and points to the skyscrapers around us.His eyes lit up with a play of irony and intel-ligence, so dearly to the Central European in-tellectuals: ‘But despite having lost everythingin Romania and despite what I have achievedin the West, I still feel like a stranger in theUnited States, I don’t understand anything atall in this Dadaist capital of emigrants and Ihave a feeling of being totally alone. My onlyrefuge is my language, Romanian.’ ‘So, why doyou stay?’ ‘Because the trends of what willcome emerge in New York, and I enjoywatching how the future will be.’

I leaf through the book, which I had alreadyread, and I comment to Norman that in someof the short stories he talks about the returnof the exiled to the homeland, a theme towhich he devoted his novel The Hooligan’sReturn. Here, Norman examines this new situation, the one of the XXI century, whenthe exiled is allowed to go back to his land,and the shock generates a trauma that wasignored by the exiled of yesteryear, who, like Ovid, at the ends of the earth lamentedthe lost paradise that their homeland was. ‘Farfrom regretting what was lost, you portrayRomanian life under totalitarian skies and theresults are dark and ghostly paintings, popu-lated with monsters, clowns and ghosts: a kindof black paintings of Goya turned literature,’I mention to him.

Norman listens to me as he usually does:focused and respectful. I tell him about my

– 373 –


The black paintings ofGoya turned literature MMoonniikkaa ZZgguussttoovváá

‘In Norman Manea’s universe, the lived throughexperiences and feelings are mute, blurry andvague like dreams. Many of the stories remindone of Kafkaesque nightmares, others seem tohave come out of Magritte paintings whereeverything is possible.’

Monika Zgustova

impressions of his works and above all aboutthis book just hot off the press. The title Proust’stea says it all already: it is about recoveringthe lost personal experiences with maximumauthenticity. In Norman Manea’s universe, thelived through experiences and feelings are mute,blurry and vague like dreams. Many of the storiesremind one of Kafkaesque nightmares, othersseem to have come out of Magritte paintingswhere everything is possible: it is day and nightat the same time, and a boy is at the same timea decorated, bald and paunchy gentleman, asis the case in the story ‘Retrato del albarico-quero amarillo’ (A portrait of the yellow apri-cot tree). Thus, in the manner of Isaak Babel,of Bruno Schulz or of Fellini, Norman createshis own poetic, ghostly, and magical world.

The same eternal question glides on thepages of all the best works of Norman, Whoam I?, which already preoccupied Socrates.At the beginning, the stories I hold in myhand ‘and which I lazily leaf through in thehumidly hot New York summer’ portray adeported, ragged and hungry boy, who seesnothing but devastation and death around him.I then turn the pages and I find the grotesqueand ghostly communist regime: the meagerprivate space, the difficulty of living an in-depth relationship with others, the constantdanger and fear, the gradual process of psy-chic breakdown and, above all, the humancapacity to do evil and to tolerate it. In ‘Open-ing performance’, which narrates the eroticencounter between a professor and her student,the true main character of the story is theoppressive atmosphere of the real socialism,

in which ghostly characters move: the coupleembraces with neither passion nor emotion,while the narrator stresses several times: ‘Nothing happened, naturally, it is useless toemphasize that...’ Communist Romania is pre-sented as a stultified space that turns peopleinto mere shadows.

‘Totalitarianism,’ Norman tells me slowly,affected by the heat, while he sips his red wine,‘was established and lasted so long not becauseof History’s fault, but because of men, andthat model of society reflected their expecta-tions and frustrations, resentments, aspirationsand desires for revenge. Despite some historicalconditions that had favored those projects for adiabolical romance, and later on, other historicalpremises opposed them and annihilated them,it was man who invented that social and poli-tical project, man who infused life in it, manwho sabotaged it and finally, destroyed it.’

‘There are consequences,’ he continues,‘of having lived many years in a totalitarianState, and those consequences are very seri-ous. The poison from an experience like thisis very, very lasting. And it doesn’t stop infil-trating deeply in your entire life, in your en-tire biography.’ This is the topic of his lastessay, ‘Monuments of shame,’ and the lastshort story of Proust’s tea, ‘Moonlit nights’: is about destroyed and tragicomic characterswhom only the compassionate and ironic perspective of the author takes out from themist of time.

[Translated from Spanish by Mariel Fiori]

– 375 –


RROOMMAANNIIAA1969 Noaptea pe latura lung\/Night on the

Long Side (short fiction). Bucharest:Editura pentru Literatur\.

1970 Captivi/Captives (novel). Bucharest:Cartea Româneasc\.

1974 Atrium/Atrium (novel). Bucharest: Car-tea Româneasc\.2008 second edition. Ia[i: Polirom.

1975 Primele por]i/First Gates (short fiction).Bucharest: Albatros.

1976 Cartea Fiului/Book of the Son (novel).Bucharest: Eminescu.

1977 Zilele [i jocul/The Days and the Game(novel). Bucharest: Cartea Româneasc\.

1979 Anii de ucenicie ai lui August Prostul/TheApprenticeship Years of Augustus theFool (documentary novel). Bucharest:Cartea Româneasc\.2005 second edition. Ia[i: Polirom

1981 Octombrie, ora opt/October, EightO’Clock (short fiction). Cluj-Napoca:Dacia. 1997 second edition (revised). Cluj-Napoca: Apostrof.

1984 Pe Contur/On the Edge (essays).Bucharest: Cartea Româneasc\.

1986 Plicul negru/The Black Envelope(novel). Bucharest: Cartea Româneasc\.1996 second edition (revised).

Bucharest: Editura Funda]iei CulturaleRomâne.2003 third edition. Bucharest: CarteaRomâneasc\.2006 fourth edition. Ia[i: Polirom.2010 fifth edition. Ia[i: Polirom.

1997 Despre Clovni: Dictatorul [i Artistul/OnClowns: The Dictator and the Artist(essays). Cluj-Napoca: Apostrof.2005 second edition. Ia[i: Polirom.

1999 Fericirea obligatorie/CompulsoryHappiness (longer short fiction). Cluj-Napoca: Apostrof.2005 second edition. Ia[i: Polirom.2011 third edition. Ia[i: Polirom.

1999 Casa melcului/The Snail’s House(interviews). Bucharest: Hasefer.

2003 ~ntoarcerea huliganului/The Hooligan’sReturn: A Memoir. Ia[i: Polirom.2006 second edition. Ia[i: Polirom.2008 third edition. Ia[i: Polirom.2011 pocket edition. Ia[i: Polirom.

2004 Plicuri [i portrete/Envelopes andPortraits (essays). Ia[i: Polirom.

2006 Textul nomad/The Nomad Text(interviews). Bucharest: Hasefer.

2008 Vorbind pietrei (poem) – cu traducere `n 10 limbi: englez\, ebraic\, german\,spaniol\, ceh\, maghiar\, polon\, suede-z\, francez\, italian\/Talking to a Stone(poem) – accompanied by translation

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Volume publicate/List of publications

into 10 languages: English, Hebrew,German, Spanish, Czech, Hungarian,Polish, Swedish, French, Italian. Ia[i:Polirom.

2008 ~naintea desp\r]irii. Convorbire cu SaulBellow/Before Parting: Conversationwith Saul Bellow. Ia[i: Polirom.

2008 Sertarele exilului. Dialog cu LeonVolovici/The Drawers of Exile:Conversations with Leon Volovici. Ia[i:Polirom.

2008 Variante la un autoportret/Variations ona Self-portrait (short fiction). Ia[i:Polirom.

2010 Laptele negru/The Black Milk (essays).Bucharest: Hasefer.

2009 Vizuina/The Burrow (novel). Ia[i:Polirom.2010 second edition. Ia[i: Polirom.

2010 Curierul de Est/The Eastern Messenger(dialogue with Edward Kanterian). Ia[i:Polirom.

GGEERRMMAANNYY 1987 Roboterbiographie und andere

Erzählungen/Robot-biography andOther Stories (short fiction). Göttingen:Steidl Verlag. Translated by GerhardtCsejka, Dieter Schlesak, Paul Schuster,Ernest Wichner.

1989 Fenster zur Arbeiterklasse/A Window onthe Working Class (longer short fiction).Göttingen: Steidl Verlag. Translated byPaul Schuster.

1990 Der Trenchcoat/The Trenchcoat (a shortnovel). Göttingen: Steidl Verlag. Trans-lated by Ernest Wichner.

1990 Training für’s Paradies/Training forParadise (short fiction). Göttingen:

Steidl Verlag. Translated by ErnestWichner, Roland Erb, Veronika Riedel.

1992 Trennwandt/Partition (short fiction).Göttingen: Steidl Verlag. Translated byGerhardt Csejka, Dieter Schlesak, PaulSchuster, Ernest Wichner.

2005 Der Schwarze Briefumschlag/The BlackEnvelope (novel). Munich: Hanser Verlag.Translated by Paul Schuster.

1998 Über Clowns/On Clowns: The Dictatorand the Artist (essays). Munich: HanserVerlag. Translated by Paul Schuster.

2004 Die Rückkehr des Hooligan – EinSelbstporträt/The Hooligan’s Return: A Memoir. Munich: Hanser Verlag.Translated by Georg Aescht.2006 second edition. Berlin: BerlinVerlag. Translated by Georg Aescht.

2007 Oktober, Acht Uhr/October, EightO’Clock (short fiction). Munich: HanserVerlag. Translated by Gerhardt Csejka,Roland Erb, Paul Schuster, ErnestWichner.

2011 Gesprache im Exil/Conversations inExile (with Hanes Stein). Berlin: Mat-thes&Seitz Verlag. Translated fromEnglish by Hanes Stein.

IITTAALLYY 1990 Ottobre ore otto/October, Eight O’Clock

(short fiction). Milan: Serra e Riva,Mondadori. Translated by Marco Cugno.1998 second edition. Milan: IlSaggiatore. Translated by MarcoCugno.2005 third edition. Milan: Il Saggiatore.Translated by Marco Cugno.

1994 Un paradiso forzato/CompulsoryHappiness (longer short fiction). Milan:

– 378 –


Feltrinelli. Translated by Marco Cugnoand Luisa Valmarin.2008 Felicità obbligatoria/CompulsoryHappiness (longer short fiction), a newedition. Milan: Il Saggiatore. Translatedby Marco Cugno.

1995 Clowns/On Clowns: The Dictator andthe Artist (essays). Milan: Il Saggiatore.Translated by Marco Cugno.1999 second edition. Milan: IlSaggiatore. Translated by MarcoCugno.2004 third edition. Milan: Il Saggiatore.Translated by Marco Cugno.

1999 La busta nera/The Black Envelope (novel).Milan: Baldini&Castoldi. Translated byMarco Cugno.

2004 Il Ritorno dell’Huligano – Una vita/TheHooligan’s Return: A Memoir. Milan: IlSaggiatore. Translated by Marco Cugno.2007 second edition. Milan: IlSaggiatore. Translated by MarcoCugno.

2006 La quinta impossibilità/The FifthImpossibility (essays). Milan: Il Sag-giatore. Translated by Marco Cugno.

2009 Prima di andarsene/Before I go (dia-logue with Saul Bellow). Milan: IlSaggiatore. Translated from English by Ada Arduini.

2011 Il rifugio magico/The Burrow (novel).Milan: Il Saggiatore. Translated byMarco Cugno.

FFRRAANNCCEE 1990 Le thé de Proust/October, Eight

O’Clock (short fiction). Paris: AlbinMichel. Translated by Alain Parut,Marie-France Ionesco, André Vornic.

1991 Le bonheur obligatoire/CompulsoryHappiness (longer short fiction). Paris:

Albin Michel. Translated by AlainParut, André Vornic. 2006 second edition. Paris: Seuil.Translated by Alain Parut, AndréVornic.

2006 Le retour du hooligan/The Hooligan’sReturn: A Memoir. Paris: Seuil. Trans-lated by Nicolas Veron with the colla-boration of Odile Serre.

2007 L’heure exacte/The Exact Hour (shortfiction). Paris: Seuil. Translated by AlainParut, André Vornic, Marie-FranceIonesco, Odile Serre.

2009 L’enveloppe noire/The Black Envelope(novel). Paris: Seuil. Translated byMarily Le Nir.

2009 Les clowns – Le dictateur et l’artiste/OnClowns: The Dictator and the Artist(essays). Paris: Seuil. Translated byMarily Le Nir, Odile Serre.

2011 La tanière/The Burrow (novel). Paris:Seuil. Translated by Marily Le Nir.

SSPPAAIINN AANNDD LLAATTIINN AAMMEERRIICCAA1991 El impermeable/The Trenchcoat (short

novel). Mexico City: Vuelta. Translatedby Aurelia Álvarez Urbajtel.

1992 Una ventana hacia la clasetrabajadora/A Window on the WorkingClass (longer short fiction). Madrid:Grupo Libro. Translated by Doina{tef\nescu.

1994 Octubre a las ocho/October, EightO’Clock (short fiction). Buenos Aires:EMECE. Translated by FlaviaCompany.

2000 El sobre negro/The Black Envelope(novel). Madrid: Metáfora. Translatedby Joaquín Garrigós. 2008 second edition. Barcelona:

– 379 –


Metáfora/Tusquets. Translated byJoaquín Garrigós.

2001 El sobre negro/The Black Envelope(novel). Mexico City: Alfaguara.Translated by Joaquín Garrigós.

2005 El Regreso del Huligan/The Hooligan’sReturn: A Memoir. Barcelona: Tusquets.Translated by Joaquín Garrigós.

2006 Payasos – El dictador y el artista/OnClowns: The Dictator and the Artist(essays). Barcelona: Tusquets.Translated by Joaquín Garrigós.

2007 Felicidad obligatoria/CompulsoryHappiness (longer short fiction).Barcelona: Tusquets. Translated by Joaquín Garrigós.

2007 La llengua nomada/The Nomad Text(essay). Barcelona: Arcadia. Translatedby Coral Roma i Garcia.

2009 Monuments a la Vergonya/Monumentsof Shame (essay). Centre de CulturaContemporania de Barcelona. Trans-lated by Zoraida de Torres Burgos.

2010 El té de Proust/Proust’s Tea (shortfiction). Barcelona: Tusquets. Trans-lated by Joaquín Garrigós and SusanaVásquez.

NNEETTHHEERRLLAANNDDSS1989 Leergeld/Teaching Money (short

fiction). Amsterdam: Meulenhoff.Translated by Jan Willem Bos.

1992 Het verhoor/The Interrogation (longershort fiction). Amsterdam: Meulenhoff.Translated by Jan Willem Bos.

2006 De terugkeer van de hooligan/TheHooligan’s Return: A Memoir. Am-sterdam: Meulenhoff. Translated byEllen Bredius.

2009 Der zwarte envelop/The Black Envelope(novel). Amsterdam, Meulenhoff.Translated by Ellen Bredius.

IISSRRAAEELL 1996 Oktober, She Shmoneh/October, Eight

O’Clock (short fiction). Tel Aviv-Jaffa:Schocken. Translated by Oded Peled.

1998 Ha’maatafa Ha’shova/The BlackEnvelope (novel). Tel Aviv-Jaffa:Schocken. Translated by Oded Peled.

2008 Shuvu Shel Hahooligan/The Hooligan’sReturn: A Memoir. Tel Aviv: Nimrod.Translated by Yotam Reuveny.

NNOORRWWAAYY1995 Obligatorisk Lykke/Compulsory Happiness

(longer short fiction). Oslo: GeelmuydenKiese. Translated by Tor Fotland.

1999 Den Sorte Konvolut/The BlackEnvelope (novel). Oslo: GeelmuydenKiese. Translated by Tor Fotland.

PPOOLLAANNDD2000 Pazdziernik, godzina ósma/October,

Eight O’Clock (short fiction). Sejny:Fundacja Pogranicze. Translated byHalina Mirska-Lasota.

2000 O klownach – Dyktator i Artysta/OnClowns: The Dictator and the Artist(essays). Sejny: Fundacja Pogranicze.Translated by Halina Mirska-Lasota.

2009 Powrót chuligana/The Hooligan’sReturn: A Memoir. Sejny: FundacjaPogranicze. Translated by KazimierzJurczak.

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HHUUNNGGAARRYY2003 Bohócokról. A diktátor és a muvész/On

Clowns: the Dictator and the Artist(essays). Budapest: Európa. Translatedby Jávorszky Mária.

2009 A hooligán visszatér/The Hooligan’sReturn: A Memoir. Pécs: AlexandraKiadó. Translated by Koszta Gabriella.

CCZZEECCHH RREEPPUUBBLLIICC2008 Chuligánův návrat/The Hooligan’s

Return: A Memoir. Prague: Havran.Translated by Jirí Našinec.

GGRREEEECCEE2000 O Mauros Fakelos/The Black Envelope

(novel). Athens: Kastaniotis. Translatedby Gabriel Andronic.

2003 Upochreotike Eudaimonia/CompulsoryHappiness (longer short fiction). Athens:Agra. Translated by Alon Eidern.

2003 Peri Gelôtopoiôn: ho diktatoras kai hokallitechnes/On Clowns: the Dictatorand the Artist (essays). Athens: Agra.Translated by Victor Ivanovici.

2010 Ephitrophê tou chouligkan/TheHooligan’s Return (novel). Athens:Kastaniotis. Translated by ElefteriaZikou.

2011 Oktôbrês Ochtô to Prôi/October, EightO’Clock (short ficiton). Athens: Kastaniotis.Translated by Elefteria Zikou.

EENNGGLLAANNDD1992 October, Eight O’Clock (short fiction).

London: Quartet.Translated by CorneliaGolna, Anselm Hollo.

1994 Compulsory Happiness (longer shortfiction). London: Faber&Faber.Translated from French by LindaCoverdale.

1994 On Clowns (essays). London:Faber&Faber. Translated by AnselmHollo, Cornelia Golna, Irina Livezeanu,Alexandra-Bley-Vroman.

1995 The Black Envelope (novel). London:Faber&Faber. Translated by PatrickCamiller.

PPOORRTTUUGGAALL2010 O regresso do Hooligan/The Hooligan’s

Return: A Memoir. Porto, Lisbon: Asa.Translated by Carolina Martins Ferreira.

TTUURRKKEEYY2009 Ekim, saat sekiz/October, Eight O’Clock

(short fiction). Istanbul: Metis.Translated by Nesrin Demirtyontan.

2010 Holigan’in Dönü[ü/The Hooligan’sReturn: A Memoir. Istanbul: Metis.Translated by Nesrin Demirtyontan.

UUNNIITTEEDD SSTTAATTEESS 1992, 1993 October, Eight O’Clock (short

fiction). New York: Grove Press.Translated by Cornelia Golna, AnselmHollo.

1992, 1993 On Clowns: The Dictator and theArtist (essays). New York: Grove Press.Translated by Cornelia Golna, IrinaLivezeanu, Anselm Hollo, AlexandraBley-Vroman.

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1993, 1994 Compulsory Happiness (longershort fiction). New York: Farrar, Straus& Giroux. Translated by LindaCoverdale.

1995, 1996 The Black Envelope (novel). NewYork: Farrar, Straus & Giroux. Chicago:Northwestern University Press.Translated by Patrick Camiller.

2003, 2005 The Hooligan’s Return: AMemoir. New York: Farrar, Straus &Giroux. Translated by Angela Jianu.

CCHHIINNAA 2007 The Black Envelope (novel). Beijing:

New Star Publishers.

2007 On Clowns: The Dictator and the Artist(essays). Beijing: New Star Publishers.

2007 The Hooligan’s Return: A Memoir.Beijing: New Star Publishers.

Forthcoming books by the author in Romania,Germany, Brasil, USA, England, Slovenia, China,Sweden, Spain.

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– 385 –


Contributori .................................................................................................................................................. 5

Contributors ................................................................................................................................................ 10

Cuvânt `nainte ............................................................................................................................................. 15

Foreword ..................................................................................................................................................... 17

Norman Manea – Itinerar biografic ............................................................................................................ 19

Norman Manea – Biographical timeline ................................................................................................... 31

Gabriela Adame[teanu

O amintire ................................................................................................................................................... 45

A remembrance ......................................................................................................................................... 47

Chloe Aridjis

O a doua via]\ .............................................................................................................................................. 49

A second life ............................................................................................................................................. 51

Homero Aridjis

Nu to]i ........................................................................................................................................................ 55

Not all ........................................................................................................................................................ 57

Leon Botstein

Un memento al puterii constructive a memoriei ....................................................................................... 59

A reminder of the constructive power of memory ..................................................................................... 61

Clémence Boulouque

Fiica lui Noe ............................................................................................................................................... 65

Noah’s daughter ......................................................................................................................................... 67

Cuprins/Contents

– 386 –


Robert Boyers

Autobiografia huliganului .......................................................................................................................... 71

Hooligan memoir ....................................................................................................................................... 81

Ian Buruma

Norman Manea: naufragiat `n lume ........................................................................................................... 93

Norman Manea: stranded in the world ...................................................................................................... 95

Paul Cernat

Patria textului nomad ................................................................................................................................. 99

The homeland of the nomad text ............................................................................................................... 101

Anteos Chrysostomides

Norman Manea: puterea `ndoielii .............................................................................................................. 105

Norman Manea: the strength of doubt ...................................................................................................... 107

Bernard Comment

Un mare scriitor [i prieten ........................................................................................................................ 111

A great writer and a friend ....................................................................................................................... 113

Sanda Cordo[

Farsa tragic\ ............................................................................................................................................. 117

A tragic farce .......................................................................................................................................... 121

Paul Cornea

Obsesia incertitudinii ............................................................................................................................... 125

The obsession of uncertainty ................................................................................................................... 129

Paul Cornea

Certificat de garan]ie: Norman Manea ..................................................................................................... 133

A certificate of guarantee: Norman Manea .............................................................................................. 137

Daniel Cristea-Enache

~ntoarcerea ................................................................................................................................................ 141

The return ................................................................................................................................................. 145

Marco Cugno

Norman Manea `n Italia ........................................................................................................................... 147

Norman Manea in Italy ............................................................................................................................ 151

Joseph Cuomo

O multitudine de euri: o apreciere a lui Norman Manea ......................................................................... 153

A multiplicity of selves: an appreciation of Norman Manea ..................................................................... 157

– 387 –


Virgil Duda

„Eu sunt poet...“ ....................................................................................................................................... 159

‘I am a poet...’ .......................................................................................................................................... 163

Alexandre Fillon

S-a ridicat [i ne-am `mbr\]i[at... ............................................................................................................... 165

He got up and we hugged... ..................................................................................................................... 169

Luca Formenton

Mul]umesc pentru c\ ne-ai f\cut s\ fim mai buni .................................................................................... 171

Thank you for making us better humans ................................................................................................. 175

Joaquín Garrigós

Norman Manea v\zut de un traduc\tor .................................................................................................... 177

Norman Manea as seen by a translator ..................................................................................................... 181

Reginald Gibbons

Despre Norman Manea ............................................................................................................................ 185

On Norman Manea .................................................................................................................................. 187

Susan H. Gillepsie

Norman cel care ascult\ ........................................................................................................................... 191

Norman the Listener ................................................................................................................................. 193

Devis Grebu

Cu Norman, la ai s\i 75 de ani `mplini]i & s\rb\tori]i (câteva cuvinte desenate

f\r\ `ndemânare, de un sincer „pal/copain“)....................................................................................... 197

Exilul multiplu ......................................................................................................................................... 198

With Norman, on the occasion of his seventy-fifth birthday celebration

(a few words clumsily sketched by a sincere ‘pal/copain’) ................................................................ 199

The multi-exile ......................................................................................................................................... 201

Jerome Groopman

„~ntr-un loc unde nu sunt oameni, str\duie[te-te s\ fii om“ .................................................................... 203

‘In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man’ .......................................................................... 205

Edward Hirsch

Doi clovni ................................................................................................................................................. 207

Two clowns ............................................................................................................................................... 209

– 388 –


Peter Hutton

Norman Manea – o prim\ impresie ......................................................................................................... 211

A first impresion ...................................................................................................................................... 213

Edward Kanterian

Co[marul [i dialogul la Paul Celan [i Norman Manea ............................................................................ 215

Nightmare and dialogue in the work of Paul Celan and Norman Manea ............................................... 223

Michael Kruger

O prietenie care dureaz\ de 25 de ani ...................................................................................................... 233

A friendship that has lasted for 25 years ................................................................................................. 235

Tess Lewis

Autoritatea se teme mai mult de ridicol decât de rezisten]\ .................................................................... 237

Authority fears ridicule more than resistance .......................................................................................... 239

Silviu Lupescu

Norman Manea s-a dovedit a fi, `n ]ara sa, un autor incomod ................................................................ 243

Norman Manea has proven to be an inconvenient in his own country ................................................... 245

Claudio Magris

Pentru Norman ......................................................................................................................................... 249

For Norman .............................................................................................................................................. 251

Rose Meerwein

Drag\ Norman .......................................................................................................................................... 255

Dear Norman ............................................................................................................................................ 257

Mercedes Monmany

Paralele familiare ..................................................................................................................................... 261

Familiar parallels ...................................................................................................................................... 263

Antonio Muñoz Molina

Prietenie la prima vedere ......................................................................................................................... 267

Friends at first sight ................................................................................................................................. 269

Kenneth Murphy

Cunoa[terea huliganului ........................................................................................................................... 273

Getting to know the hooligan ................................................................................................................. 277

– 389 –


Carmen Mu[at

Laudatio pentru Norman Manea cu ocazia decern\rii titlului de Doctor Honoris Causa

al Universit\]ii din Bucure[ti ................................................................................................................ 281

Laudatio on the occasion of his Doctor Honoris Causa award ceremony at the University of Bucharest ...... 285

Maria Nadotti

Elogiu blânde]ii. Pentru cea de-a [aptezeci [i cincea aniversare a lui Norman Manea ........................... 291

In praise of mildness. For the seventy-fifth birthday of Norman Manea ............................................... 295

Doru Pop

Norman ([i autobiografic]iunea lui) Manea ............................................................................................. 299

Norman (and the autobiographical fiction of) Manea ............................................................................. 301

Philip Roth

Nu m\ mai opream din râs [i `i tot spuneam: „Norman, du-te acas\ [i scrie asta“ ................................... 305

I kept laughing and saying, ‘Norman, go home and write that down’ .................................................... 307

Sarah Rothenberg

Pentru Norman ......................................................................................................................................... 309

For Norman .............................................................................................................................................. 311

Dieter Schlesak

Un Iov sceptic .......................................................................................................................................... 315

A sceptical Prophet Job ............................................................................................................................ 319

Eran Sela

Panegiric (Norman Manea la 75 de ani) .................................................................................................. 323

Panegyric (Norman Manea at seventy-five) ........................................................................................... 325

Nava Semel

Inima trist\ a adev\rului. Despre opera lui Norman Manea .................................................................... 329

The sad heart of the truth. On the work of Norman Manea .................................................................... 331

Hannes Stein

Portretul lui Norman Manea ca om care râde .......................................................................................... 335

Portrait of Norman Manea as a laughing man ....................................................................................... 337

Corina {uteu

Un joc simetric ......................................................................................................................................... 341

A play of symmetries .............................................................................................................................. 343

Antonio Tabucchi

Ur\ri pentru Norman ................................................................................................................................ 347

Happy birthday, Norman ......................................................................................................................... 349

Claudiu Turcu[

Odiseea lui August Scepticul ................................................................................................................... 353

The Odyssey of August the Sceptic ......................................................................................................... 355

Ion Vianu

Eul-piele ................................................................................................................................................... 359

The ‘I’-skin ............................................................................................................................................... 361

Leon Volovici

Singur ca Norman Manea ........................................................................................................................ 365

As lonely as Norman Manea ................................................................................................................... 367

Monika Zgustová

Pictura neagr\ a lui Goya transformat\ `n literatur\ ................................................................................ 371

The black paintings of Goya turned literature ......................................................................................... 373

Volume publicate/List of publications ..................................................................................................... 377


– 390 –

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Bun de tipar: iunie 2011. Ap\rut: 2011Editura Polirom, B-dul Carol I nr. 4 • P.O. Box 266

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