His works are characterized by deep psychological analysis, a certain sense of paradox and an absurd, anti-nationalist flavor. In he published his first novel, Ferdydurke, which presented many of his usual themes: the problems of immaturity and youth, the creation of identity in interactions with others, and an ironic, critical examination of class roles in Polish society and culture. He gained fame only during the last years of his life but is now considered one of the foremost figures of Polish literature. In his family moved to Warsaw. Gombrowicz spent a year in Paris where he studied at the Institut des Hautes Etudes Internationales; although he was less than diligent in his studies his time in France brought him in constant contact with other young intellectuals. He also visited the Mediterranean.
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Thursday Me. But this is not what greeted the readers who opened the April, , issue of Kultura. Gombrowicz added it retrospectively, when the segments were collected in book form. Though his project was defined by the search for self, he was not yet ready to thrust himself into it. Later, he grew more adventurous, branching into increasingly personal territory and experimenting more with the form and structure of his entries. In the early years, Gombrowicz fires off one screed after another at the literary establishment.
Gombrowicz made sure to use his platform to lob grenades at the Communist government. In the mid-eighties, when the diary was eventually published in Poland, much of this commentary was excised. Letters from readers could take months to reach Gombrowicz, but that did not deter him from using his diary to respond to them. Therefore: do not judge. Simply describe your reactions. Never write about the author or the work, only about yourself in confrontation with the work or the author.
You are allowed to write about yourself. Indeed, as the years went by, he began to draw away from the polemics and to focus increasingly on his own life.
But soon the diarist moves into the darker corners of his personality. I took out the pencil. I wet the tip. S not on the toilet seat but straight in its eye! Opened the door. And the graffito remained. From that time on, I exist with the awareness that my graffito is still there. I hesitated to disclose this. I hesitated not for reasons of prestige but because the written word should not serve to spread certain.
Gombrowicz, who had affairs with both men and women, also writes with remarkable honesty about his adventures in the homosexual underworld of Buenos Aires. Only children or kindhearted aunts. I am also writing my own story in this diary. That is, not what is important to her or you but to me. I need each of these monologues, each gives me a light impulse. Does my story bore you? That is evidence that you do not know how to read your own from it.
I am the self-made man of literature! At the same time, he becomes weirdly fixated on two young women at the inn, until his sexual obsession combines with the strange signs to create an unidentifiable menace.
In this novel, Gombrowicz is no longer a circus. How many meanings can one glean from hundreds of weeds, clods of dirt, and other trifles? Heaps and multitudes gushed also from the boards of the shed, from the wall. I got bored.
Naturally, as soon as Gombrowicz had resigned himself to a life of obscurity, his reputation caught up with him. He left South America for the first time in nearly twenty-four years. Through his long exile, Gombrowicz had nurtured a fantasy of universal acceptance which he strongly associated with the idea of Europe. But he was disappointed.
Visiting Paris and the offices of Kultura for the first time, he discovered that he and his editors had vastly different frames of reference; their Continental sophistication made him feel like a bumpkin. By the time his stay was over, he was seriously ill, and soon developed heart disease in addition to the respiratory ailments he had suffered for years.
Gombrowicz never returned to Argentina, and, having found his mature fictional voice, he all but abandoned his diary. The last few years of entries—occupying less than thirty pages of the new edition—were written in quick bursts, as he shuttled between Paris, Italy, and the French Riviera. In , he was short-listed for the Nobel Prize, and the story goes that Yasunari Kawabata beat him by one vote. The following summer, he died, at the age of sixty-four.
" COSMOS ", de Witold Gombrowicz
The search for clues, and their interpretation— the piecemeal reconstruction of the crime from the accumulated evidence—are the most basic building blocks of the mystery genre. But what happens if everything looks like a clue? What if the difference blurs between evidence and the random entropy of day-to-day life? What if even the crime itself seems arbitrary or undefined, a non-descript, anomalous circumstance beyond the interest of any legal authorities?
Imp of the Perverse
Sep 24, s. How many meanings can one gleam from hundreds of weeds, colds of dirt, and other trifles? Polish author Wiltold Gombrowicz explores the notions of order in a seemingly random, chaotic world in his novel Cosmos. Gombrowicz exposes the human desire to create order from the randomness that beleaguers their existence in order to view the world as a safe, functionary society in which they are mature and essential cogs instead of a chaotic void in which we are merely immature and irrelevant. The plot of this novel is highly secondary, and consists of the narrator, a college youth on holiday named Witold, accompanying a classmate to an out of the way pension in order to study in peace. In the darkness of the forest, they discover a hung sparrow, which sets off a seemingly connected or are they? Through this sleuthing, the reader is invited into the feverish mind of Wiltold the narrator to question the nature of signs and deciphering symbols from randomness.