Boys in Zinc: Svetlana Alexievich (Penguin Modern Classics)

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Boys in Zinc: Svetlana Alexievich (Penguin Modern Classics)

Boys in Zinc: Svetlana Alexievich (Penguin Modern Classics)

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kitabın en can acıtıcı bölümü önce bir güzel dökülen anne ve askerlerin sonra yazara dava açmaları. bu dava da kitabın sonuna eklenmiş, çok da iyi olmuş. ama içiniz acıya acıya, hatta ağlayarak okuduğunuz bazı anıların sahiplerinin o çirkefliklerini görmek de acayip bir his. ki svetlana aleksiyeviç'in savaş karşıtlığı, bu çocuklara nasıl bir merhamet duyduğu o kadar belli ki... Much like any war that is not popular or considered a mistake, the combat veterans heavily contemplate why exactly they were fighting, dying, and mentally scarring themselves. Given how the veterans were treated when they returned home by their politicians, the civilians, etc., I am even more completely comfortable calling this Russia's Vietnam. Don't we also believe we are doing good? Don't we also believe we know what's best for others? Don't we also find all kinds of ways to deflect responsibility or rationalize brutal behavior? Don't we all have contradictory feelings tugging inside us, just like the soldiers interviewed by Alexievich? They hated their country for what it made them do, but some didn't necessarily hate what they did. Others did feel the burden of war crimes.

And what is it about war-- the most destructive force on earth-- that provides an opportunity to do the most productive self-reflection? Superbly translated... Alexievich's choice of truth as hero is the right one for the age of Putin and Trump Giles Whittell, The Times It was a week before I heard anything. All of that week I’d start reading a book and put it down. I even got two letters from him. Usually I’d have been really pleased – I’d have kissed them – but this time they just made me wonder how much longer I was going to have to wait for him. And the personal consequences for these soldiers are virtually identical: alienation from family and friends, drug addiction, psychotic episodes, psycho-somatic disabilities, and a host of other maladies generally known as PTSD. It has become clear that every front-line combatant suffers deeply and permanently from the experiences of killing, being the constant target of killing, and the witnessing of comrades being killed and maimed. The Russians put the situation succinctly: They brought in the coffin. I collapsed over it. I wanted to lay him out and they wouldn’t allow us to open the coffin to see him, touch him, touch him….Did they find a uniform to fit him? ‘My little sunshine, my little sunshine.’ Now I just want to be in the coffin with him. I go to the cemetery, throw myself on the gravestone and cuddle him. My little sunshine….Ho questa idea: fare un grande e imponente lavoro; dovrebbe essere esattamente come un romanzo, con un'unica differenza: ogni sua parola dovrebbe essere vera.

Even the female civilian employees were not free from abuse. They volunteered for service; some for patriotic reasons, some for the extra pay, and yet others for the shopping opportunities. Whatever their motivation, they were universally assumed to have come hunting for men. Sadly, many of them felt a need to take on a man as protection against the predations of others. Better one devil you know than many you don't. His second letter began, ‘Greetings from Kabul . . .’ I screamed so loudly that the neighbours ran in. It was the first time since Sasha was born that I was sorry I had not got married and had no one to look after me. The least well-known wonderful writer I've ever come across (Jenni Murray BBC Radio 4 Woman’s Hour) Superbly translated... Alexievich's choice of truth as hero is the right one for the age of Putin and Trump (Giles Whittell The Times)What Alexievich is doing is giving voice to the voiceless, exposing not only stories we wouldn't otherwise hear but individuals as well David Ulin, Los Angeles Times On 29 August I decided summer was over. I bought Sasha a new suit and a pair of shoes, which are still in the wardrobe now. The next day, before I went to work I took off my ear-rings and my ring. For some reason I couldn’t bear to wear them. That was the day on which he was killed. I fell to the floor. ‘My little sunshine. My little sunshine.’ I got up and threw myself at the captain. ‘Why are you alive and my son dead? You’re big and strong and he’s so small. You’re a man and he’s just boy. Why are you alive?’

He was always small. He was as small as a girl when he was born, just couple of kilos, and he grew up small. I’d cuddle him and call him my little sunshine. kitapta sscb askerleriyle yapılmış çok fazla söyleşi var, anneler, hemşireler, eşler de var ama çok tekrar var gibi geldi bir süre sonra. bir de hepsi aynı şeyi anlatıyor: evet, çok acımasız bir savaş, neye gittiklerini bilmeden katılmışlar, yaşananlar zaten korkunç... diğer kitaplarda farklı bölüm başlıklarında farklı bakış açıları oluyordu. We went with him as far as Moscow. It was lovely, sunny May weather, and the trees were in bloom. I asked him what it was like over there. They told us it was a just war. We were helping the Afghan people to put an end to feudalism and build a socialist society. Somehow they didn’t get round to mentioning that our men were being killed. For the whole of the first month I was there they just dumped the amputated arms and legs of our soldiers and officers, even their bodies, right next to the tents. It was something I would hardly have believed if I had seen it in films about the Civil War. There were no zinc coffins then: they hadn’t got round to manufacturing them.

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Svetlana Alexievich depicts life during and after the Soviet Union through the experience of individuals. In her books she uses interviews to create a collage of a wide range of voices. With her "documentary novels", Svetlana Alexievich, who is a journalist, moves in the boundary between reporting and fiction. Her major works are her grand cycle Voices of Utopia, which consists of five parts. Svetlana Alexievich's books criticize political regimes in both the Soviet Union and later Belarus. In the morning we went to the Military Commissariat. They were very formal. ‘You will be notified when it arrives.’ We waited for two more days before we rang the Provincial Military Commissariat at Minsk. They told us that it would be best if we came to collect my husband’s body ourselves. When we got to Minsk, the official told us that the coffin had been sent on to Baranovichi by mistake. Baranovichi was another 100 kilometres and when we got to the airport there it was after working hours and there was nobody about, except for a night watchman in his hut. I could not fathom how some Russian civilians blamed themselves for the war. In a country where the people had no say, had no access to information about what was going on? In a nation run by a monstrous government that forced mothers to bury their sons at night so few people would take notice? Well, angel mother mine, your son has been accepted by the Smolensk Military Academy. I trust you are pleased.’ When they brought the zinc coffin into the room, I lay on top of it and measured it again and again. One metre, two metres. He was two metres tall. I measured with my hands to make sure the coffin was the right size for him. The coffin was sealed, so I couldn’t kiss him one last time, or touch him, I didn’t even know what he was wearing, I just talked to the coffin like a madwoman.



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