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Cose che succedono la notte
Questo libro è fatto di buio e di neve. Di un treno nella notte, e di una coppia senza nome che scende in una stazione deserta del Grande Nord. Di un immenso, lussuoso albergo nel cuore di una foresta. Delle sue stanze chiuse, dei suoi infiniti corridoi, dell’isola di luce del suo bar. Dei suoi ambigui ospiti – una vecchia cantante che tutto ha visto, e un losco uomo d’affari con un suo crudele disegno. E ancora, di un sinistro orfanotrofio, e di un enigmatico guaritore. Non tutti gli scrittori avrebbero saputo trasformare questa materia in un avvincente, misterioso romanzo. Ma Peter Cameron, questo nel tempo lo abbiamo imparato, è uno scrittore a parte.
241 pages, Paperback
First published August 4, 2020
About the author
Peter Cameron
24 books543 followersPeter Cameron (b. 1959) is an award-winning novelist and short story writer. Born in Pompton Plains, New Jersey, he moved to New York City after graduating college in 1982. Cameron began publishing stories in the New Yorker one year later. His numerous award-winning stories for that magazine led to the publication of his first book, One Way or Another (1986), which received a special citation for the Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award for a First Book of Fiction. He has since focused on writing novels, including Leap Year (1990) and The City of Your Final Destination (2002), which was a PEN/Faulkner Award finalist. Cameron lives in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 544 reviews
November 4, 2021
They had been traveling for days, first by plane, and then by train and ferry, and now again by train, for their destination was a place at the edge of the world, in the far north of a northern country, and not easily gained.What you have is an unhappy couple who go on a journey of self-discovery to a far off place and come away with greater self-awareness…or don’t. The stuff in between is sometimes entertaining, and often very confusing. The man and the woman, as they are always referred to, (they are never named) arrive at an ends-of-the-earth town after a lengthy and arduous trip. They are there to adopt a baby, and this place has the only orphanage that will accept their application. The woman is dying of cancer and wants the man to have a child to raise, a child she was never able to give him, having suffered several miscarriages, so he will be able to go on after she passes. [He wants a child, but can’t he pursue another relationship after his wife passes? It was not entirely clear to me why, if he is so desperate to have a child, it must be an adoptee if it cannot be hers.] They even pass through the equivalent of a tunnel getting there, usually a symbol for entering a place of change.
For a long time she had been staring absently out the window, mesmerized, it seemed, by the endless expanse of tundra, but she suddenly recoiled when the train entered the dark woods as if the trees brushing the sides of the carriage might reach in and scratch her.Scary change, at that. Well, there is certainly a big change coming if the woman is dying, and another if they are to adopt an orphan. So, ok, change is coming. Get the baby, head home, have a few months together as a family before the woman dies. That is the plan, however strange. But nothing is ever simple, right?
Peter Cameron - image from his FB pages
There was so much he wished he could do for her, so much he wished he could give to her, but nothing he tried to do, or give, ever seemed to reach her. It was as if she wore a shield that deflected all of his love, an armor that protected her from anything he gave.That shield gets much more literal, as she cringes at his touch, yet does not recoil from the touch of others. Ouch! It is pretty clear that this is a relationship in serious trouble, whether her cancer had caused her increased distancing from the man, or whether it was there before her diagnosis.
The train. He turned to see it slowly moving, so slowly that for a moment he thought it must be the darkness moving behind it, but then he knew it was the train, for he could see his wife leaning forward, looking out of the still-opened door, her white face silently surprised, and for a second it felt like death to him, like how one must let one’s beloved depart this world, gliding silently slack-faced into the snow-dark.Is it her demise he fears or her emotional departure he senses? She baits him from time to time, and then attacks him for his responses. (Boy, that conjures up some memories!)
The man and woman are tossed (by their choice, but still tossed) into a very other-worldly environment, not just the remote, freezing, almost always dark town, but The Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel. Go right ahead and think of Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel, the corpse of a lost empire, mostly unoccupied, but with a 24/7 bar. This is, well, was, an elegant place, and so vast that as the man and woman cross the lobby they cannot quite make out the walls in the distance. The staff is definitely of the quirky sort, and account for some of the odd humor in the book. A concierge, who seems barely animate, warns them that their room will be cold. I can imagine comments in Trip Advisor warning potential hotel visitors that they might have to chip ice out of the tub before settling in. NO STARS!
The bartender was a young man, tall and dark, vaguely Asiatic, and remarkably stiff, as if he had been born with fewer joints than normal.Even the drinks are weird. Lárus, the above noted barkeep, serves the man a local schnapps that is tinged with the silvery blue glow that the snow reflects at twilight. (Sounds like a drink that would be served in Night Vale) The man finds it tastes of bleach and watercress and spearmint and rice. (Maybe it will cure Covid?) How is it that the lobby and dining room are so grand and the rooms so Motel 6? So, does the hotel act as merely a background for the couple’s adventure, does it reflect their interior conflicts? or does it intercede, or interfere? Who knows?
They soon learn that the orphanage is not the only attraction in town. Among the things to do while in Borgarfjaroasysla, and luckily for the woman, is to visit a local (and world-renowned) healer, Brother Emmanuel. (who was instantly Sasha Baron Cohen in my tiny mind). While they had had no prior notion of his propitious presence, the woman figures what’s to lose, given her stage-four cancer. But then, if something can be done for her expected longevity, where does that leave the adoption plan? Complications.
In the hotel they come across a handful of eccentric characters, usually while wandering about on their own, the other usually asleep or somewhere else. Livia Pinheiro-Rima is prime among these, a former actress, former circus performer, now the hotel’s lounge singer. Of uncertain but considerable age, she helps each of them out in diverse ways, but is not above some dishonesty. She gets the best lines in the book. Is Livia a fairy godmother to one or both of them? A busybody? A mischievous sprite? Who knows? But she is always a treat whenever she crosses the pages.
In the lobby, the man encounters a businessman who claims to know him. There to conclude a deal of some sort, he seems much taken with the man and tries to drag him away from the hotel and his wife for outings with way too much determination. Does he represent some inner portion of the man’s psyche? Maybe a dark force in the universe? Who knows?
The weather is usually hostile, freezing, wind-blowing, snowing as often as not. An image of a malevolent world? A manifestation of a chill in the couple’s relationship? Their fraught state made real? How about the relentless darkness? The human condition? Personal ignorance? Got me.
Color comes in for some attention. The woman is drawn to vibrant flowers in a market very early, only to find that they are artificial. I guess color represents hope or life to her. The attraction would be obvious. Later, Brother Emmanuel’s place is alive with color. That she finds Emmanuel appealing may or may not have anything to do with the colors that are so dazzling in such a dead-tinted environment, but they are there. Can Emmanuel really heal anyone? Who knows?
There is strangeness at the orphanage. It seems that whenever the man and the woman plan to do something, they are waylaid by inexplicable interference. This has a very Kafka-esque feel, as if no matter what you do, however many hoops you jump through, it will never be quite enough and their trial will go on and on.
The man and the woman seem to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, and even if they start out in common unconsciousness it is never long before one or the other is up and out. What we’ve got here is failure to coordinate. Or maybe they are each heading their separate ways, and this is a way of showing that. Who knows?
You might check out a definition of absurdist fiction. There is a large one on Wikipedia. I am sure there are many others. Absurdism tends to deal in characters struggling to find some purpose in life, who engage in meaningless actions in events that prove futile. Ah, the joy! The book certainly sends the man and woman on quests that may or not prove meaningful. Will they get out, with a baby, or is there no exit for them? Will they get in to see the healer or will they remain always waiting for Emmanuel?
As an annual form of dark entertainment, my wife and I used to pore through the NY Times reviewers’ lists of the best films of the year. There would always be gushing praise for the most inaccessible, grim, nihilistic, unentertaining fare you could wish for. Among the films on the lists, there were always a few we had seen and enjoyed, but many, most, sometimes, would be films that neither of us had ever heard of, and there is no harm in that. Sometimes good work is underappreciated and poorly marketed, or maybe just not yet widely available in the USA. But far too often the top-pick films seemed intended for a more art film viewer. When some of these received Oscar nominations, we would risk sitting in a darkened theater for two hours to see what had appealed so much. Sometimes we were in for a happy surprise. More often than not, however, we would confirm our view that movie reviewers for the NY Times (whom we refer to, with some notable exceptions, as card-carrying members of the snoterati) were suffering from some form of alternate reality syndrome (maybe induced by having to sit through so many of the same, garden-variety sorts of movies, that anything, anything that landed outside those boxes made them go gaga?) that predisposed them to favor the unusual, the obscure, the outlier, the inexplicable, regardless of its entertainment value or watchability.
And so it is, in a way, with What Happens at Night. I have read a fair number of reviews for this book, something I almost never do before writing my own. The praise is of the gushing variety. But frankly, I expect that most of you would not really enjoy this book all that much. I am not saying that it is not a good book, or that the reviewers who have been praising it so highly are incorrect in their analyses. There is much to appreciate here, much to enjoy. But it is not a book that was written for you or me. It seems that it was written for MFA grads who will giddily pick apart the references to other works, themes, and literary legerdemain. Now, don’t get me wrong. This is a sport in which I happily indulge, as you might note above. But it seemed to me that the core of the human relationship in the book, that between the man and the woman, is overwhelmed by a bear-skin-coat of craft. The need for physical human contact, even from odd humans, is so important to our being. When this notion takes center stage, it is effective, relatable, and moving. But there is so much literary show-biz going on that the core of the man and woman’s relationship and that primal human need get overwhelmed, well, they did for me, anyway.
So, if you enjoy absurdist entertainment, this one may be a perfect fit for you. If you enjoy professional-level literary treasure hunting; if you have a special decoder ring to make sense of the absurdity; if you get off on a constant sense of unease, always wondering what impediment may arise next; if this look at a relationship in serious trouble wending its way toward resolution is your cuppa schnapps, this one may be for you. And if the entertainment value of the luminous Livia Pinheiro-Rima (you might almost want to ask Livia “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”) is sufficient to carry you through, this one may be for
You’re lost, aren’t you?
Yes, said the woman I am.
The thing to remember is that we’re all lost, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. We’re living in a dark time. No one can find their way.
Review posted – August 21, 2020
Publication date
----------hardcover - August 4, 2020
----------trade paperback - October 19, 2021
I requested this book from Counterpoint/Catapult’s Influencer program, and the dear souls sent me a copy. Maybe, henceforth they will consider me a bad influencer. Who knows?
=============================EXTRA STUFF
Links to the author’s personal and FB pages – but his FB page has been inactive since 2013
This is Cameron’s tenth book
Items of Interest
-----Gutenberg - The Dark Forest by Hugh Walpole – noted on page 5 – the woman was reading it on their train ride north
-----Lambda Literary - excerpt
-----Electric Lit – an excerpt with an intro by Margot Livesy - Confessions from the Stranger at the End of the Bar
August 1, 2020
I knew from the first paragraph that I was going to love this novel, and then it kept getting better. The control of scene and mood here is exhilarating. The experience of reading this language is almost filmic--I experienced continual rapid-fire flashes of scene, and even impressions of lighting and cinematography in some scenes, as I read. The writing itself is literary, in spite of it having this vivid, filmic quality. I can feel the care that went into every choice. It's such a pleasure to read. The effect of Camerons language gripped me from the first paragraph, which begins with a disorienting scene set in a train. The mood is anxious, approaching paranoia. It's incredibly effective. It's a language that perfectly supports the underlying story, which is delightfully unnerving. The meticulous attention to word and rhythm reminds me of some of Nabokov's more disorienting novels, like Bend Sinister perhaps. I'll be reading all of Cameron's novels now.
July 3, 2022
I just loved the nightmarish, cinematic, noir atmosphere of this darkly disturbing novel: Cameron tells the story of the "the man" and "the woman", a married couple from New York City in deep personal crisis. The woman has suffered several maiscarriages and is now dying from cancer, but before her death, the couple wants to adopt a child - and the orphanage accepting their request is located in the Finnish tundra. When they arrive at the Grand Imperial Hotel, they meet a cryptic lounge singer, a strange barman, a shady Dutch businessman, and the people at the orphanage as well as the celebrated local healer Brother Emmanuel are equally puzzling: The man, the woman and their relationship start to unravel...
The hallucinatory story reads like a movie with lots of fog, shot in black-and-white. The unsettling atmosphere is the star of the show and helps develop a strong pull, while the characters spiral out of control. The cold landscape mirrors the emotional estrangement of the couple, the baby is juxtaposed with the dying woman, and multiple transformations move the story forward.
What really fascinated me is that Cameron's prose works with so much restraint, with sparse, crystalline dialoge and descriptions. There is a quiet, clear lyricism to his stlye that develops an elegant. recognizable beauty. Great stuff, I need to read more Cameron.
The hallucinatory story reads like a movie with lots of fog, shot in black-and-white. The unsettling atmosphere is the star of the show and helps develop a strong pull, while the characters spiral out of control. The cold landscape mirrors the emotional estrangement of the couple, the baby is juxtaposed with the dying woman, and multiple transformations move the story forward.
What really fascinated me is that Cameron's prose works with so much restraint, with sparse, crystalline dialoge and descriptions. There is a quiet, clear lyricism to his stlye that develops an elegant. recognizable beauty. Great stuff, I need to read more Cameron.
January 31, 2021
I'm not even sure how to describe what I read. This is one strange book, but because of its strangeness, it's bleak atmosphere, I found it intriguing. I had to find out what was going on. A couple arrive at a deserted train station in a European city. They have come to adopt a child. The woman is dying and this is the only place that would allow them to adopt. A grand hotel peopled by some very strange people, a healer, a debauched business man, a stoic bartender. Who are these people. Why do they stay here?
So, as I read I thought one way, than another. A real mind bender of a read. I think, and make note of the think, because even after finishing I'm not quite sure I'm right, that I figured it out. A challenging story, but somehow enticing nonetheless.
So, as I read I thought one way, than another. A real mind bender of a read. I think, and make note of the think, because even after finishing I'm not quite sure I'm right, that I figured it out. A challenging story, but somehow enticing nonetheless.
August 20, 2020
An American couple – known only as 'the man' and 'the woman' – travel to an unspecified, and possibly nonexistent, north European country. Their reason for going there is to adopt a baby: the woman desperately wants a child, but she has cancer, and her treatment has left her unable to conceive.
Nothing seems quite as it should be in this inhospitable place. The man and woman struggle to make themselves understood; taxis take them to locations they haven't asked for; even the English speakers they meet seem to pursue their own agendas, taking little notice of what the couple actually want. The place in which they're staying, the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel, is strange too: it's vast yet nearly empty, old-fashioned, potentially haunted. (To add to the sense of disorientation, real place names are used – Borgarfjaroasysla is (was?) a county of Iceland – but they are from a variety of different countries, and make no geographical sense together.)
While it may seem antithetical to describe something so deliberately opaque as 'gripping', What Happens at Night truly is. Cameron uses a really effective combination of frustration and mystery to shape ephemeral scenes into an intriguing plot. The writing is gorgeous, pinpointing exactly the right details; I could picture every element of the setting clearly. It's extremely disturbing when it needs to be, and no more often than that. It's also absurdly funny at times.
What Happens at Night is one of those dreamlike novels in which reality seems somewhat pliable and you can never be sure that any conclusion is, in fact, a conclusion. This type of story can be difficult to execute successfully (Indelicacy, for example, tries a similar thing and gets it all wrong), but Cameron pulls it off. In the right hands, it would make a brilliant film too. It's reminiscent of similarly cryptic novels such as Colin Winnette's The Job of the Wasp and Charles Lambert's The Children's Home, as well as the work of Stefan Zweig and Fleur Jaeggy.
I received an advance review copy of What Happens at Night from the publisher through Edelweiss.
TinyLetter | Linktree
Nothing seems quite as it should be in this inhospitable place. The man and woman struggle to make themselves understood; taxis take them to locations they haven't asked for; even the English speakers they meet seem to pursue their own agendas, taking little notice of what the couple actually want. The place in which they're staying, the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel, is strange too: it's vast yet nearly empty, old-fashioned, potentially haunted. (To add to the sense of disorientation, real place names are used – Borgarfjaroasysla is (was?) a county of Iceland – but they are from a variety of different countries, and make no geographical sense together.)
While it may seem antithetical to describe something so deliberately opaque as 'gripping', What Happens at Night truly is. Cameron uses a really effective combination of frustration and mystery to shape ephemeral scenes into an intriguing plot. The writing is gorgeous, pinpointing exactly the right details; I could picture every element of the setting clearly. It's extremely disturbing when it needs to be, and no more often than that. It's also absurdly funny at times.
What Happens at Night is one of those dreamlike novels in which reality seems somewhat pliable and you can never be sure that any conclusion is, in fact, a conclusion. This type of story can be difficult to execute successfully (Indelicacy, for example, tries a similar thing and gets it all wrong), but Cameron pulls it off. In the right hands, it would make a brilliant film too. It's reminiscent of similarly cryptic novels such as Colin Winnette's The Job of the Wasp and Charles Lambert's The Children's Home, as well as the work of Stefan Zweig and Fleur Jaeggy.
I received an advance review copy of What Happens at Night from the publisher through Edelweiss.
TinyLetter | Linktree
June 4, 2023
Racconti di persone inadeguate: la gente tutto il giorno va avanti cercando ganci, anche minuscoli, a una vita più luminescente. Sono persone che sembrano non saper vivere, come tant* di noi in lunghi periodi.
Cameron è esatto, e in poche pagine crea storie senza sconti: se tra le capacità di chi scrive ammiro chi non protegge i suoi personaggi, Cameron in questo eccelle.
Divorato in 24 ore.
Cameron è esatto, e in poche pagine crea storie senza sconti: se tra le capacità di chi scrive ammiro chi non protegge i suoi personaggi, Cameron in questo eccelle.
Divorato in 24 ore.
October 20, 2020
Bellissimo romanzo nella più pura accezione cameroniana: delicata costruzione sempre in equilibrio tra realismo e surrealismo, tra fiaba evocativa e dramma umano, tra ombre dense e intensi riflettori, tra psicologia e teatro. L’intera storia si compie su un palcoscenico pieno di colori, di immagini e personaggi bizzarri, di vago mistero, di atmosfere esotiche ma anche di banali particolari quotidiani: come un castello di carte che resta sempre in bilico perfetto fra realtà e sogno.
Tutto avviene infatti, nell’arco di sei giorni, in un grand hotel (o nelle sue vicinanze) ai confini del mondo civile, là dove si incontrano Russia, Norvegia e Finlandia, hotel che ha qualcosa di strano ma qualcosa di così sottile che è difficile precisare cosa, hotel che forse è solo rivestito dai colori di un’accesa immaginazione, come il Grand Budapest Hotel di Wes Anderson. E sul palcoscenico si muovono, si incontrano e si rincorrono cinque personaggi: lui e lei, newyorkesi, sofferenti ma ancor pieni di speranza, e tre tipi strani e solitari che la coppia incontra: un guaritore dal fascino ipnotico ma sincero, un uomo d’affari volgare eppure sensibile, e una anziana cantante di passate glorie cosmopolite, che, con la sua affettuosa saggezza, risolverà, per quanto possibile, la triste situazione. Succedono tante cose - è una girandola di avvenimenti più o meno ambigui, più o meno plausibili - cose che suscitano nel lettore sentimenti misti e contraddittori, apprensione, curiosità, meraviglia, inquietudine, incredulità, tenerezza. Mi è capitato di chiedermi se certi particolari avessero un significato simbolico (la pianta tropicale morta nell’orfanatrofio, per esempio, dettaglio apparentemente incongruo e non strettamente necessario al racconto) o addirittura se tutta la vicenda possa essere interpretata come un'allegoria (i viaggiatori che giungono all'estremo lembo di terra, l'amore che riunisce i due viandanti in una sola camera d'hotel, sospesi tra nascita e morte, la maternità rappresentata da Livia, la spiritualità rappresentata da Fratello Emmanuel, la passione erotica rappresentata dal Norvegese, la razionalità rappresentata dal direttore dell'orfanatrofio, che compare proprio quando si sceglie di lasciar perdere ogni buonsenso...) ma, tutto sommato, non credo sia così.
È un gioco poetico che non va preso alla lettera, frutto dell’invenzione, della fantasia originale, della raffinata scrittura con cui Cameron, simile a un prestigiatore o addirittura a un mago, sa farci balenare visioni incantate, e tuttavia piene di vita, di dolore e di felicità, davanti agli occhi.
Tutto avviene infatti, nell’arco di sei giorni, in un grand hotel (o nelle sue vicinanze) ai confini del mondo civile, là dove si incontrano Russia, Norvegia e Finlandia, hotel che ha qualcosa di strano ma qualcosa di così sottile che è difficile precisare cosa, hotel che forse è solo rivestito dai colori di un’accesa immaginazione, come il Grand Budapest Hotel di Wes Anderson. E sul palcoscenico si muovono, si incontrano e si rincorrono cinque personaggi: lui e lei, newyorkesi, sofferenti ma ancor pieni di speranza, e tre tipi strani e solitari che la coppia incontra: un guaritore dal fascino ipnotico ma sincero, un uomo d’affari volgare eppure sensibile, e una anziana cantante di passate glorie cosmopolite, che, con la sua affettuosa saggezza, risolverà, per quanto possibile, la triste situazione. Succedono tante cose - è una girandola di avvenimenti più o meno ambigui, più o meno plausibili - cose che suscitano nel lettore sentimenti misti e contraddittori, apprensione, curiosità, meraviglia, inquietudine, incredulità, tenerezza. Mi è capitato di chiedermi se certi particolari avessero un significato simbolico (la pianta tropicale morta nell’orfanatrofio, per esempio, dettaglio apparentemente incongruo e non strettamente necessario al racconto) o addirittura se tutta la vicenda possa essere interpretata come un'allegoria (i viaggiatori che giungono all'estremo lembo di terra, l'amore che riunisce i due viandanti in una sola camera d'hotel, sospesi tra nascita e morte, la maternità rappresentata da Livia, la spiritualità rappresentata da Fratello Emmanuel, la passione erotica rappresentata dal Norvegese, la razionalità rappresentata dal direttore dell'orfanatrofio, che compare proprio quando si sceglie di lasciar perdere ogni buonsenso...) ma, tutto sommato, non credo sia così.
È un gioco poetico che non va preso alla lettera, frutto dell’invenzione, della fantasia originale, della raffinata scrittura con cui Cameron, simile a un prestigiatore o addirittura a un mago, sa farci balenare visioni incantate, e tuttavia piene di vita, di dolore e di felicità, davanti agli occhi.
August 13, 2020
When we were looking for our first home, I read House of Leaves and had crazy dreams. It might be that the week of an adoption home study is not the week to read this novel - or the most perfect week! "The man" and "The woman" are in an unnamed Northern or is it Eastern European country to bring home the baby they are adopting. The journey has been long and once they arrive, nothing seems right and things get stranger and stranger....
I spent some of my reading experience as investigator, where are they? Some clues had me convinced of Finland or Estonia. Someplace with washed up circus performers, lichen schnapps, endless course meals, and shady businessmen. Other times I was reading like mad to see what would happen next. Some bits made me laugh and at one point I called the book wackadoodle, and it is, but it's also sometimes poignant or beautiful or dreamlike.
This is the first book I've read from this author but I've had an earlier work on my TBR for a long time. I'll be checking it out sooner now!
This came out August 4 from Catapult and they did send me a copy ahead of time.
I spent some of my reading experience as investigator, where are they? Some clues had me convinced of Finland or Estonia. Someplace with washed up circus performers, lichen schnapps, endless course meals, and shady businessmen. Other times I was reading like mad to see what would happen next. Some bits made me laugh and at one point I called the book wackadoodle, and it is, but it's also sometimes poignant or beautiful or dreamlike.
This is the first book I've read from this author but I've had an earlier work on my TBR for a long time. I'll be checking it out sooner now!
This came out August 4 from Catapult and they did send me a copy ahead of time.
September 27, 2021
Except for his immediately previous novel (Coral Glynn), I think I have pretty much read everything Cameron has written, although I don't really consider him a favorite author. This is one of his better efforts, an odd, enigmatic book that gets points for really being unlike anything else I can name (it comes closest to some of the literary/cinematic puzzles of Alain Robbe-Grillet).
One constantly has to question exactly what is going on, and the palpable uneasiness evoked is genuinely unnerving. However, I can't really say I related to, or even much LIKED, any of the characters, and the 'woman' (the two main characters are never named) is particularly unpleasant - even given the fact she is dying from uterine cancer, so one might be a bit forgiving of her contrariness. And although it has a satisfying conclusion, I'm not sure what ANY of it 'means'.
The spare, cinematic prose style is one of its salient features, and as three of Cameron's previous books have been adapted to film (only The Weekend, IMHO, successfully), it would be an interesting challenge for some adventurous director to tackle this one also. I just hope s/he casts Blythe Danner as Livia, as that is who I kept picturing as I read it!
One constantly has to question exactly what is going on, and the palpable uneasiness evoked is genuinely unnerving. However, I can't really say I related to, or even much LIKED, any of the characters, and the 'woman' (the two main characters are never named) is particularly unpleasant - even given the fact she is dying from uterine cancer, so one might be a bit forgiving of her contrariness. And although it has a satisfying conclusion, I'm not sure what ANY of it 'means'.
The spare, cinematic prose style is one of its salient features, and as three of Cameron's previous books have been adapted to film (only The Weekend, IMHO, successfully), it would be an interesting challenge for some adventurous director to tackle this one also. I just hope s/he casts Blythe Danner as Livia, as that is who I kept picturing as I read it!
June 2, 2024
Se cerchi tristezza qui ne troverai.
Se cerchi solitudine qui ci sarà.
Se cerchi rimpianti ne troverai.
Se cerchi drammi ci saranno anche quelli.
Ma se cerchi finali, conclusioni, chiusure beh quelli col cavolo che li troverai, no non ci saranno e io odio le storie sospese. Già vivo una vita sospesa, senza sapere dove andrò a parare, che cosa mi attende nel domani, almeno qui, tra le pagine rassicuranti di un libro io vorrei un epilogo.
Vorrei, anche se non con un lieto fine, ma che le storie finiscano....lo so è chiedere troppo 😪
Comunque è interessante quello che Cameron ha da dire, mi piace il suo scrivere di amori, famiglia, vecchiaia e di queste vite normali, di gente normale che se le guardi da vicino sembrano la tua. Niente di eclatante, esaltante, ma che rispecchiano Noi.
☆☆☆,5
Se cerchi solitudine qui ci sarà.
Se cerchi rimpianti ne troverai.
Se cerchi drammi ci saranno anche quelli.
Ma se cerchi finali, conclusioni, chiusure beh quelli col cavolo che li troverai, no non ci saranno e io odio le storie sospese. Già vivo una vita sospesa, senza sapere dove andrò a parare, che cosa mi attende nel domani, almeno qui, tra le pagine rassicuranti di un libro io vorrei un epilogo.
Vorrei, anche se non con un lieto fine, ma che le storie finiscano....lo so è chiedere troppo 😪
Comunque è interessante quello che Cameron ha da dire, mi piace il suo scrivere di amori, famiglia, vecchiaia e di queste vite normali, di gente normale che se le guardi da vicino sembrano la tua. Niente di eclatante, esaltante, ma che rispecchiano Noi.
☆☆☆,5
November 24, 2020
Una coppia infelice diretta all’estremo Nord. Un hotel in mezzo alla neve che sembra una via di mezzo tra l’Overlook e il Grand Budapest. Un orfanotrofio. Un guaritore. Un’anziana attrice e cantante avvolta in una pelliccia d’orso. Un uomo d’affari.
È un libro pieno di ostacoli e incomprensioni.
Assurdo, kafkiano, perturbante.
La scrittura ha una sua eleganza e Cameron resta fedele alla sua capacità di tratteggiare situazioni e atmosfere con una manciata di parole.
Però più no che sì.
L’ho finito boccheggiando.
[67/100]
È un libro pieno di ostacoli e incomprensioni.
Assurdo, kafkiano, perturbante.
La scrittura ha una sua eleganza e Cameron resta fedele alla sua capacità di tratteggiare situazioni e atmosfere con una manciata di parole.
Però più no che sì.
L’ho finito boccheggiando.
[67/100]
April 1, 2024
Etereo, onirico, surreale, magico e, a tratti, spirituale.
Non so quale sia effettivamente il senso di questo libro ma l'esperienza di lettura è stata ottima.
Non so quale sia effettivamente il senso di questo libro ma l'esperienza di lettura è stata ottima.
April 20, 2022
Non ho parole per descrivere questo libro se non terribile.
Letto insieme a due amiche per un gdl, lo abbiamo caricato di aspettative errate aspettandoci un horror prima, e poi dei significati dietro il simbolismo adottato.
Horror non lo è minimamente, ma qui ci siamo sbagliate noi perché non è classificato così da nessuna parte, anche se più che pauroso questo romanzo è estremamente tetro ed angosciante senza scampo o possibilità di redenzione.
Il simbolismo invece, nell’interpretazione che gli avevamo dato, non trova minimamente riscontro.
Questa coppia americana si reca in Svezia per adottare un bambino. La moglie ha un tumore in stadio terminale e non vuole lasciare il marito da solo.
Arrivano con un viaggio strambo e quasi per caso nell’hotel che avevano prenotato, ma lì comincia a succedere una serie di cose strane che vanno dall’incontro con una vecchia cantante di opera, che comincia a decidere delle loro vite, a tete a tete gay, a tentativi di raggiungere l’orfanotrofio depistati verso un guaritore-santone Emmanuel, a furti e pestaggi improvvisi.
Fin da subito cominciano a venire fuori i problemi di relazione della coppia, che si comincia a sfaldare fin dal momento in cui scendono dal treno.
Dall’inizio alla fine del romanzo non c’è un momento, uno solo, in cui il piano della realtà non risulti completamente scollato da quello della narrazione, per cui qualsiasi evento risulta del tutto illogico.
Ma non ti aspetti nemmeno più di trovare qualche tipo di logica da un certo punto in poi.
Si legge una serie di eventi slegati del tutto tra di loro, che accadono senza una vera e propria causa precisa, e senza nessi logici.
I personaggi sono strampalati nel migliore dei casi, odiosi nel peggiore.
In particolare la donna protagonista, egoista ed opportunista.
Ma tutti in fondo però si rivelano poco decisivi, senza spina dorsale e inconcludenti.
L’unico che ho un minimo apprezzato è il barista Larus, che compare per nemmeno un quarto del libro e agisce davvero poco, e questo la dice lunga, ma ho apprezzato il suo rimanere defilato e non cogliere le provocazioni.
Nessuno, per il resto, prende veramente una posizione definita ma tutti sembrano vagare, senza uno scopo preciso e sensato, girano attorno ai loro obiettivi e, se per caso lo raggiungono, non è mai perché si siano impegnati per farlo ma perché gli piovono dall’alto, e, anche in quel caso, restano comunque pieni di dubbi.
Mi dispiace ma non riesco proprio a trovare un valore a questa lettura, con negatività e senso di oppressione gratuiti quando insomma nella vita quotidiana ne troviamo davvero quanti ne vogliamo, tanto più che, dopo aver letto Un giorno questo dolore ti sarà utile e averlo apprezzato, mi sarei aspettata molto di più da questo libro.
Letto insieme a due amiche per un gdl, lo abbiamo caricato di aspettative errate aspettandoci un horror prima, e poi dei significati dietro il simbolismo adottato.
Horror non lo è minimamente, ma qui ci siamo sbagliate noi perché non è classificato così da nessuna parte, anche se più che pauroso questo romanzo è estremamente tetro ed angosciante senza scampo o possibilità di redenzione.
Il simbolismo invece, nell’interpretazione che gli avevamo dato, non trova minimamente riscontro.
Questa coppia americana si reca in Svezia per adottare un bambino. La moglie ha un tumore in stadio terminale e non vuole lasciare il marito da solo.
Arrivano con un viaggio strambo e quasi per caso nell’hotel che avevano prenotato, ma lì comincia a succedere una serie di cose strane che vanno dall’incontro con una vecchia cantante di opera, che comincia a decidere delle loro vite, a tete a tete gay, a tentativi di raggiungere l’orfanotrofio depistati verso un guaritore-santone Emmanuel, a furti e pestaggi improvvisi.
Fin da subito cominciano a venire fuori i problemi di relazione della coppia, che si comincia a sfaldare fin dal momento in cui scendono dal treno.
Dall’inizio alla fine del romanzo non c’è un momento, uno solo, in cui il piano della realtà non risulti completamente scollato da quello della narrazione, per cui qualsiasi evento risulta del tutto illogico.
Ma non ti aspetti nemmeno più di trovare qualche tipo di logica da un certo punto in poi.
Si legge una serie di eventi slegati del tutto tra di loro, che accadono senza una vera e propria causa precisa, e senza nessi logici.
I personaggi sono strampalati nel migliore dei casi, odiosi nel peggiore.
In particolare la donna protagonista, egoista ed opportunista.
Ma tutti in fondo però si rivelano poco decisivi, senza spina dorsale e inconcludenti.
L’unico che ho un minimo apprezzato è il barista Larus, che compare per nemmeno un quarto del libro e agisce davvero poco, e questo la dice lunga, ma ho apprezzato il suo rimanere defilato e non cogliere le provocazioni.
Nessuno, per il resto, prende veramente una posizione definita ma tutti sembrano vagare, senza uno scopo preciso e sensato, girano attorno ai loro obiettivi e, se per caso lo raggiungono, non è mai perché si siano impegnati per farlo ma perché gli piovono dall’alto, e, anche in quel caso, restano comunque pieni di dubbi.
Mi dispiace ma non riesco proprio a trovare un valore a questa lettura, con negatività e senso di oppressione gratuiti quando insomma nella vita quotidiana ne troviamo davvero quanti ne vogliamo, tanto più che, dopo aver letto Un giorno questo dolore ti sarà utile e averlo apprezzato, mi sarei aspettata molto di più da questo libro.
June 16, 2020
I first heard Peter Cameron's name when I overheard a conversation between two authors who I respect, when one of them said she read everything Cameron wrote and was surprised when she had heard him referred to as a "niche writer." Intrigued, upon reading him, I discovered he could not fall into any category, and one of the myriad of blurbs on What Happens At Night suggested the term Cameronesque should be coined. The advance blurbs on this book are spectacular from a wide range of respected writers, many of whom don't fall into any category themselves. Accolades from so many authors could grant him the title a "writer's writer" -- his style is unique.
As I read, I was reminded of early Ian McEwan, Paul Bowles -- of innocents abroad and completely out of their depth, overhanging menace, dread. Here a terminally ill woman and her husband travel to an icebound Eastern European country to take possession of a baby in order to repair their crumbling marriage. That's all I'll say of the plot. The two principal characters are unnamed, but secondaries are given names and at least in one case, is always referred to by her entire first and last hyphenate every time she is referenced. Lack of punctuation seems to be common these days, but once into the swing of the proceedings, barely noticeable. Highly recommended.
As I read, I was reminded of early Ian McEwan, Paul Bowles -- of innocents abroad and completely out of their depth, overhanging menace, dread. Here a terminally ill woman and her husband travel to an icebound Eastern European country to take possession of a baby in order to repair their crumbling marriage. That's all I'll say of the plot. The two principal characters are unnamed, but secondaries are given names and at least in one case, is always referred to by her entire first and last hyphenate every time she is referenced. Lack of punctuation seems to be common these days, but once into the swing of the proceedings, barely noticeable. Highly recommended.
May 30, 2021
Un uomo e una donna senza nome che viaggiano in treno diretti al Nord.
Un elegante albergo e i suoi insoliti ospiti. Una cantante non più giovanissima e un ambiguo uomo d'affari.
Un orfanotrofio.
Una cura miracolosa.
E la sensazione che dietro a ogni misterioso evento si celi un significato più profondo che è dato a noi scoprire.
È tutto così triste, alla fine.
Triste?, chiese l'uomo.
Sì, triste. Prima o poi vanno tutti a letto, dico bene? Sono cose che succedono la notte. Le persone spariscono, sempre che ci siano mai state.
Un elegante albergo e i suoi insoliti ospiti. Una cantante non più giovanissima e un ambiguo uomo d'affari.
Un orfanotrofio.
Una cura miracolosa.
E la sensazione che dietro a ogni misterioso evento si celi un significato più profondo che è dato a noi scoprire.
È tutto così triste, alla fine.
Triste?, chiese l'uomo.
Sì, triste. Prima o poi vanno tutti a letto, dico bene? Sono cose che succedono la notte. Le persone spariscono, sempre che ci siano mai state.
June 27, 2023
divorato in due giorni al mare.
racconti non per forza leggeri, ma veri.
leggendo mi sono sentita come se avessi spiato ognuno dal buco della serratura delle porte.
racconti non per forza leggeri, ma veri.
leggendo mi sono sentita come se avessi spiato ognuno dal buco della serratura delle porte.
December 27, 2022
I received a copy of this book from Netgalley in exchange for a review.
A man and woman, husband and wife, take a journey to "a place at the edge of the world, in the far north of a northern country" to adopt a child. Tension and dislocation build between the man and woman, neither of whom are named, and they pull further away from each other, adrift in the cold creepiness of the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel. At first this book oozes with a type of disorientation that's almost cozy, when one is so far out of their element that every single creature comfort becomes monumental - turning on the furnace to warm the room, taking a hot bath, having a drink at the bar in your deserted hotel (the local schnapps tastes "faintly of bleach and watercress and spearmint and rice" which sounds strange and delightful). The writing is lovely: the dark forest with trees crowded against train windows, the faint red light and curtain of glass beads at the doorway of the bar, the falling snow and foggy cafe windows and Livia Pinhiero-Rima's Russian black bear coat. But the man and woman remained bloodless and never developed as characters for me. I found them both unsympathetic and the decisions they made to be nonsensical; considering their circumstances, the fact that I wasn't really able to emphasize with either one of them was disheartening. And the eccentric cast of characters they meet seemed to be drawn as quirky for no reason, acting out near the main characters without any depth. I didn't want to leave this unread, but it was a struggle to finish because I didn't care what happened to anyone but the baby they were there to adopt.
A man and woman, husband and wife, take a journey to "a place at the edge of the world, in the far north of a northern country" to adopt a child. Tension and dislocation build between the man and woman, neither of whom are named, and they pull further away from each other, adrift in the cold creepiness of the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel. At first this book oozes with a type of disorientation that's almost cozy, when one is so far out of their element that every single creature comfort becomes monumental - turning on the furnace to warm the room, taking a hot bath, having a drink at the bar in your deserted hotel (the local schnapps tastes "faintly of bleach and watercress and spearmint and rice" which sounds strange and delightful). The writing is lovely: the dark forest with trees crowded against train windows, the faint red light and curtain of glass beads at the doorway of the bar, the falling snow and foggy cafe windows and Livia Pinhiero-Rima's Russian black bear coat. But the man and woman remained bloodless and never developed as characters for me. I found them both unsympathetic and the decisions they made to be nonsensical; considering their circumstances, the fact that I wasn't really able to emphasize with either one of them was disheartening. And the eccentric cast of characters they meet seemed to be drawn as quirky for no reason, acting out near the main characters without any depth. I didn't want to leave this unread, but it was a struggle to finish because I didn't care what happened to anyone but the baby they were there to adopt.
April 12, 2022
"Cuando uno deja de sentir se olvida de que existen los sentimientos, de que otros los sienten de verdad".
En la que quizás sea su mejor novela, Peter Cameron profundiza en la crisis de un matrimonio llevándolos a un hotel misterioso que parece habitado por personajes de Lynch. Atmósfera inquietante y opresiva que acompaña las gélidas emociones de la pareja protagonista.
En la que quizás sea su mejor novela, Peter Cameron profundiza en la crisis de un matrimonio llevándolos a un hotel misterioso que parece habitado por personajes de Lynch. Atmósfera inquietante y opresiva que acompaña las gélidas emociones de la pareja protagonista.
May 27, 2023
Il mio preferito: Mercatino d'inverno 💔
December 9, 2020
Peter Cameron è uno scrittore che su di me fa uno strano effetto: non ho mai trovato brutto un suo libro, li ho letti quasi tutti, eppure, ogni volta che ne finisco uno, resto da un lato contento di non aver letto un romanzo noioso oppure scritto male, ma deluso dall’altro perché dopotutto il libro non mi ha esaltato, tant’è vero che dopo un po’ me lo dimentico. Diciamo che brutto non è nemmeno questo, uscito più o meno in contemporanea qui e negli Stati Uniti; però a conti fatti resta, dei libri di Cameron, quello che m’è piaciuto di meno. Ciò, penso, perché, mentre di solito le aure crepuscolari, leggermente senili e leggermente antiquate che l’autore americano crea senza sforzo apparente hanno pur sempre un loro sapore di vissuto e di sentito, qui tutto, all’opposto, ha un sentore di artificio e costruzione letteraria. Cameron, in sostanza, crea una storia tutta intessuta sulla reticenza, l’ambiguità e l’oscurità; una vicenda d’un passato prossimo ma sicuramente passato – mancano calcolatori, telefonini e tutte quelle diavolerie delle quali chi ha l’età mia o quella dello scrittore a volte rimpiange l’invenzione – notturna, lunare, invernale e nevosa, piena di settentrione gelido e buio (e oltre il muro il silenzio, oltre il muro solo ghiaccio e silenzio), di parole fuori luogo, di colloqui taciturni o, viceversa, di sproloquî torrenziali vagamente insensati, dove tutto ha nomi stranieri e incomprensibili o illeggibili, eccettuati i protagonisti totalmente senza nome, un marito e una moglie americani che parlano in modo spezzato e demente, palesando di continuo una tale indefinibile antipatia, tanta ostinazione bizzosa, un’incapacità così esibita e pervicace di capirsi quasi da personaggi delle pellicole di Antonioni, che già nel primo capitolo li si vorrebbe perlomeno pigliare a male parole, e andando avanti se ne vorrebbe far anche peggiore governo, se già non pensassero da soli a cacciarsi fra guai sempre più assurdi. Alla fine, peraltro, arriva una specie di lieto fine sghembo e amaro, di cui non si sa se rallegra di più perché in qualche modo è positivo o perché in qualche modo fa finire la storia. Insomma, è come per quelle pellicole deboli dei buoni registi, dove c’è sempre qualcosa che le salva dalla completa perdizione: la fotografia o i movimenti di macchina o l’interpretazione del primo attore o d’un famoso caratterista dalla carriera veneranda; sicché non si riesce a dar ad esse la baia o a bollarle con epiteti poco eleganti: ma si rimpiange che non le abbia dirette un altro regista, o che il regista che le ha dirette non fosse in un periodo di grazia.
December 9, 2020
It is only now that I've realized, sitting down to write this, the degree to which the last few novels I've read have blurred the lines between fiction and reality. The first, The End of October, concerns a pandemic and the response to that pandemic that, in 2020, feels all too familiar. The second, Red Pill, is about a man searching for meaning in a world — populated by refugees and alt-right figures — that feels increasingly without any.
If those two novels feel all too much like a typical day this year, "What Happens at Night" feels all too much like the typical dream.
There was a report, several months back now, about the recent phenomenon of "COVID dreams" — that is to say, dreams filled with the sort of anxious tension that we've felt over too many days in this dreary year. You're at a party, you're out with friends, and suddenly you realize that you're not wearing a mask, that no one is, you're exposed to something, whether that's microscopic particles or something similarly threatening.
I've had a frequently recurring dream this year that takes place back in my university days, when I've suddenly become aware that I'm late for class. Realizing this, I debate over whether or not to go because I've also forgotten to read for the day's lesson so I'll have nothing to contribute and my ignorance will be obvious. In the end, I never end up attending because the idea that I actually can attend, that I have some choice in the matter, is a canard. In the same dream I'll then miss a second lesson, then a third, but no matter what I do, I can't bring myself to go. I'm too sleepy, literally incapable of walking into the classroom. A feeling of inadequacy then creeps over me, as well as the certainty that I'll fail the class and that there's nothing I can do about it.
"What Happens at Night" starts with darkness abruptly falling, not because of the setting of the sun but because of a train entering a dense forest. But even when the train emerges the darkness remains for the rest of the story.
The two passengers on the train are a married couple traveling to a northern town in a northern country somewhere in northern Europe. The marriage is in trouble, in large part due to the fact that the woman is dying, diagnosed with stage four cancer, but there appear to be other, unknown issues plaguing the couple as well. Unable to have kids, and in what seems to be an attempt to rescue their marriage, the two have set out for this northern town to adopt a child.
To say that not everything goes according to plan would be something of an understatement. The mystery of the town, "Borgarfjaroasysla," seems to come from both its high latitude and the strange, wraith-like characters that populate it. We never even learn the names of most of them. There's "the businessman" and even the couple are only ever referred to as "the man" and "the woman." On the other hand, names are given for other characters, including Livia Pinheiro-Rima — never just "Livia" — the lounge singer who haunts the hotel where the couple stay.
Everything here has the feeling of a dream. I could almost taste the strange, lichen-flavored schnapps served in the bar, the best schnapps you'll find anywhere, and the ever-present darkness tinges the entire story with a kind of magic that made me think of a Sleep Story on the Calm app I'm currently trying out.
Our two main characters, the man and the woman, are constantly losing track of time, or falling asleep, or waking up to find other people in their room, or noting anew the darkness lurking all around them.
But while the darkness is perhaps the most important character in "What Happens at Night," the tone of the story itself is never especially dark. Or, rather, there is a sort of comforting darkness about the whole thing, unnerving though the events sometimes are, like the little boat you're floating on through the "It's a Small World" ride has taken a sudden, unexpected turn into a part of the world that's long been closed to visitors.
Perhaps most remarkably, "What Happens at Night" has the feel of a book written by an old European master, one part Stefan Zweig, another part Dostoevsky, with a bit of Italo Calvino thrown in to give the whole thing a lighter, magical tone. That it's written by an American but reads like it's written by a European is perhaps the best compliment that can be paid to it.
This makes for deceptively easy reading, deceptive because you're never quite sure exactly what you're reading. There almost always seems to be some hidden subtext, some alternate meaning to the words we're confronted with on the page.
"The man thought about everything that was buried beneath the snow and realized that a year is like a day here—half of it in darkness and half of it in light, and so the winter is really nothing more than a single night. A long night followed by a long day. Perhaps that was a better pace for life, and his own ceaseless and inescapable revolution of days and nights, being yanked from the depths of sleep and slammed into a new day every twenty-four hours, was all wrong."
It isn't the story that matters here, but the mood. The darkness. Once you've emerged back into the light, you can't help but wonder where you've just been, in what sort of spell you've just been under, and how to go back.
If those two novels feel all too much like a typical day this year, "What Happens at Night" feels all too much like the typical dream.
There was a report, several months back now, about the recent phenomenon of "COVID dreams" — that is to say, dreams filled with the sort of anxious tension that we've felt over too many days in this dreary year. You're at a party, you're out with friends, and suddenly you realize that you're not wearing a mask, that no one is, you're exposed to something, whether that's microscopic particles or something similarly threatening.
I've had a frequently recurring dream this year that takes place back in my university days, when I've suddenly become aware that I'm late for class. Realizing this, I debate over whether or not to go because I've also forgotten to read for the day's lesson so I'll have nothing to contribute and my ignorance will be obvious. In the end, I never end up attending because the idea that I actually can attend, that I have some choice in the matter, is a canard. In the same dream I'll then miss a second lesson, then a third, but no matter what I do, I can't bring myself to go. I'm too sleepy, literally incapable of walking into the classroom. A feeling of inadequacy then creeps over me, as well as the certainty that I'll fail the class and that there's nothing I can do about it.
"What Happens at Night" starts with darkness abruptly falling, not because of the setting of the sun but because of a train entering a dense forest. But even when the train emerges the darkness remains for the rest of the story.
The two passengers on the train are a married couple traveling to a northern town in a northern country somewhere in northern Europe. The marriage is in trouble, in large part due to the fact that the woman is dying, diagnosed with stage four cancer, but there appear to be other, unknown issues plaguing the couple as well. Unable to have kids, and in what seems to be an attempt to rescue their marriage, the two have set out for this northern town to adopt a child.
To say that not everything goes according to plan would be something of an understatement. The mystery of the town, "Borgarfjaroasysla," seems to come from both its high latitude and the strange, wraith-like characters that populate it. We never even learn the names of most of them. There's "the businessman" and even the couple are only ever referred to as "the man" and "the woman." On the other hand, names are given for other characters, including Livia Pinheiro-Rima — never just "Livia" — the lounge singer who haunts the hotel where the couple stay.
Everything here has the feeling of a dream. I could almost taste the strange, lichen-flavored schnapps served in the bar, the best schnapps you'll find anywhere, and the ever-present darkness tinges the entire story with a kind of magic that made me think of a Sleep Story on the Calm app I'm currently trying out.
Our two main characters, the man and the woman, are constantly losing track of time, or falling asleep, or waking up to find other people in their room, or noting anew the darkness lurking all around them.
But while the darkness is perhaps the most important character in "What Happens at Night," the tone of the story itself is never especially dark. Or, rather, there is a sort of comforting darkness about the whole thing, unnerving though the events sometimes are, like the little boat you're floating on through the "It's a Small World" ride has taken a sudden, unexpected turn into a part of the world that's long been closed to visitors.
Perhaps most remarkably, "What Happens at Night" has the feel of a book written by an old European master, one part Stefan Zweig, another part Dostoevsky, with a bit of Italo Calvino thrown in to give the whole thing a lighter, magical tone. That it's written by an American but reads like it's written by a European is perhaps the best compliment that can be paid to it.
This makes for deceptively easy reading, deceptive because you're never quite sure exactly what you're reading. There almost always seems to be some hidden subtext, some alternate meaning to the words we're confronted with on the page.
"The man thought about everything that was buried beneath the snow and realized that a year is like a day here—half of it in darkness and half of it in light, and so the winter is really nothing more than a single night. A long night followed by a long day. Perhaps that was a better pace for life, and his own ceaseless and inescapable revolution of days and nights, being yanked from the depths of sleep and slammed into a new day every twenty-four hours, was all wrong."
It isn't the story that matters here, but the mood. The darkness. Once you've emerged back into the light, you can't help but wonder where you've just been, in what sort of spell you've just been under, and how to go back.
May 28, 2022
4,5
Esta novela no es, para nada, lo que esperaba. Y me ha gustado muchísimo. Está muy bien escrita, a pesar de ser muy descriptiva, alterna la narración con multitud de diálogos intimistas y profundos sobre multitud de temas.
Es un libro que habla de la soledad, de las relaciones cuando llegan a un punto de no retorno, en el que es mejor separarse. De la muerte y de cómo nos lleva a la desesperación, a tomar decisiones a la desesperada sin utilizar la lógica. De lo que significa el amor cuando estamos solos y de la inseguridad que uno siente hacia sí mismo cuando se es padre o madre. La ignorancia sobre si lo harás bien o mal, pero con la certeza de que lo harás lo mejor posible porque quieres a ese hijo o hija con todos los poros de tu piel. De lo que nos cuesta separarnos de alguien con el que nos hemos sentido unidos, menos solos, comprendidos. De cómo nos agarramos a eso como si no hubiera un mañana.
Esta novela no es, para nada, lo que esperaba. Y me ha gustado muchísimo. Está muy bien escrita, a pesar de ser muy descriptiva, alterna la narración con multitud de diálogos intimistas y profundos sobre multitud de temas.
Es un libro que habla de la soledad, de las relaciones cuando llegan a un punto de no retorno, en el que es mejor separarse. De la muerte y de cómo nos lleva a la desesperación, a tomar decisiones a la desesperada sin utilizar la lógica. De lo que significa el amor cuando estamos solos y de la inseguridad que uno siente hacia sí mismo cuando se es padre o madre. La ignorancia sobre si lo harás bien o mal, pero con la certeza de que lo harás lo mejor posible porque quieres a ese hijo o hija con todos los poros de tu piel. De lo que nos cuesta separarnos de alguien con el que nos hemos sentido unidos, menos solos, comprendidos. De cómo nos agarramos a eso como si no hubiera un mañana.
November 26, 2022
"You could find another home, Lárus. Anywhere in the world.
Only in this world? That is the only choice you give me?"
One of the best things I've read this year. A couple travel to the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel to adopt a baby. Full of eccentric folk in a blisteringly cold unnamed northern European city, the wife is ravaged by cancer, the man hoping the baby will mend an ever growing distance between them.
Eerie, almost fable-like, with a cast of unhinged characters - a cross between The Shining and Sartre.
Only in this world? That is the only choice you give me?"
One of the best things I've read this year. A couple travel to the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel to adopt a baby. Full of eccentric folk in a blisteringly cold unnamed northern European city, the wife is ravaged by cancer, the man hoping the baby will mend an ever growing distance between them.
Eerie, almost fable-like, with a cast of unhinged characters - a cross between The Shining and Sartre.
August 15, 2020
Strange things happen at night: “people disappear. Or they’re not there in the first place. Life is so wicked. So cruel.”
In a bewitching and fugue-like fable, an unnamed couple travel to an unnamed snowy northern European city to claim the baby boy they are adopting. The woman is in the end stages of cancer. The man is concerned that they can do this last thing together—bring home their new son for however long she has left.
Exhausted, they check in to the Borgarifjaroasyla Grand Imperial Hotel, with a bar that never closes and quaint touches of a former imperial age. In ways that – for me – were reminiscent of Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled, the couple meet a variety of characters who will play a part in their journey: an flamboyant older woman in a Russian bear coat with a thick, lush pelt who takes a shine to them, a faith healer who deplores trickery, a debauched businessman who insists he has met the man before, and a stoic bartender who observes and provides liberations.
What kind of journey is this, anyway? Because it is a journey, and adoption is not the only thing at stake. As the book progresses, dreams turn into nightmares and some nightmares become dreams as the man and woman search for enduring truths about themselves and their marriage and what matters.
In unsparing and mesmerizing prose that weaves a magic spell, Peter Cameron succeeds in creating a fabulist portrait of the ways we get lost and found.
In a bewitching and fugue-like fable, an unnamed couple travel to an unnamed snowy northern European city to claim the baby boy they are adopting. The woman is in the end stages of cancer. The man is concerned that they can do this last thing together—bring home their new son for however long she has left.
Exhausted, they check in to the Borgarifjaroasyla Grand Imperial Hotel, with a bar that never closes and quaint touches of a former imperial age. In ways that – for me – were reminiscent of Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled, the couple meet a variety of characters who will play a part in their journey: an flamboyant older woman in a Russian bear coat with a thick, lush pelt who takes a shine to them, a faith healer who deplores trickery, a debauched businessman who insists he has met the man before, and a stoic bartender who observes and provides liberations.
What kind of journey is this, anyway? Because it is a journey, and adoption is not the only thing at stake. As the book progresses, dreams turn into nightmares and some nightmares become dreams as the man and woman search for enduring truths about themselves and their marriage and what matters.
In unsparing and mesmerizing prose that weaves a magic spell, Peter Cameron succeeds in creating a fabulist portrait of the ways we get lost and found.
January 23, 2021
Solo un aggettivo può descrivere questo libro... TETRO !
April 28, 2022
Cose che succedono di notte è stata una lettura particolare, incalzante all’inizio ma a poco a poco sempre più pesante nei dettagli. Un noir dai paesaggi tetri e con atmosfere ambivalenti. La storia narra di una coppia di sposi che arriva in una cittadina dell’est Europa, o più verosimilmente del nord, per adottare un bambino. I personaggi non hanno un nome, la loro identità non è svelata ma neanche costruita attraverso l’analessi, anzi sembra che ciò di cui il lettore debba disporre non possa fuoriuscire dal racconto della città. Incontrano così una serie di personalità piuttosto nosense all’interno dell’hotel in cui alloggiano. E qui inizia un miscuglio di idee che si condensano in volti: la vecchia dalla gran carriera di circense, cantante e spericolata esistenza, l’uomo d’affari che nutre una morbosa passione omosessuale nei confronti del protagonista, Làrus il barista che non si smuove a nessuno scuotimento esterno, la cameriera affabile, fratello Emmanuel, guaritore della cittadina e impaurito dalla sua stessa ombra. Tutti si aggrappano al lettore, e ad un certo punto, se è lecito chiederselo, mi son detta: ma che diamine ho capito di questo libro? Ma ci capirò qualcosa prima o poi, piuttosto?
Ecco, penso sia stato un viaggio onirico, ognuno di queste persone rappresentava una sfaccettatura dell’uomo senza nome. La paura, la costrizione, l’ira, l’inadeguatezza, spinte sessuali represse, illogicità nell’insieme, lineare nel susseguirsi da una scena all’altra, anche l’acquavite era diventata manifestazione di qualcosa in questo lungo sogno.
Mi è piaciuto? Mah! Mi aspettavo un’accelerazione, sono stati pochi i colpi di scena, la suspense sottile non ha giocato molto a suo vantaggio, non me la sento di dare troppa risonanza a questa lettura anche se c’era del buon potenziale.
Ecco, penso sia stato un viaggio onirico, ognuno di queste persone rappresentava una sfaccettatura dell’uomo senza nome. La paura, la costrizione, l’ira, l’inadeguatezza, spinte sessuali represse, illogicità nell’insieme, lineare nel susseguirsi da una scena all’altra, anche l’acquavite era diventata manifestazione di qualcosa in questo lungo sogno.
Mi è piaciuto? Mah! Mi aspettavo un’accelerazione, sono stati pochi i colpi di scena, la suspense sottile non ha giocato molto a suo vantaggio, non me la sento di dare troppa risonanza a questa lettura anche se c’era del buon potenziale.
August 12, 2020
I'm a Peter Cameron fan and this novel is sensational. An eerie, dreamy tale of an American couple’s journey to a fictional, remote, snow-laden Northern European town, Borgarfjaroasysla, where the nights are long and the snow never-ending. They have come from New York City, via plane and train and ferry and train, to this place to adopt a child. The couple is unnamed throughout. The Woman, very ill with cancer, hopes that by adopting this child she will be able to die knowing that her husband is not completely alone. Her husband, the Man, is in denial of her impending death, and counting on the child to glue their broken, chilly marriage back together. The couple checks in to the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial – a cavernous and mysteriously underpopulated hotel with employees and guests who seem to be fixtures in the place like the decor. This cast of characters – a rude and handsy businessman; a lonely, aging and big-hearted chanteuse with the fabulous name of Livia Pinheiro-Rima; an alluring faith healer named Brother Emmanuel, and a stoic but accommodating bartender – guide the couple throughout the novel. What do we want from those we love or come to know? Stylish, spare, cinematic, and with sinister overtones, it's a haunting excavation of companionship and desire.
July 17, 2023
Cameron ha il dono di parlare di vite comuni e di renderle straordinarie. Questo libro è fatto di tante storie scollegate, di quelle che incrociamo per strada o che stiamo vivendo noi stessi. Sono storie di amori che nascono, che finiscono, nascosti o vissuti a pieno, vergogne e tenerezze, malattie e tradimenti. È impossibile sintetizzarne la trama: i personaggi sono bambini o sono anziani, adulti come noi. Sono tutti un po' persi, in fondo, trascinati in un'esistenza vuota ma piena di cose. Sono storie piccole e veloci, tristi nel senso più poetico del termine. La vita ordinaria può fare un libro, e anche un libro bellissimo, di quelli che fanno sorridere e piangere. E, ancora una volta, Cameron ci ricorda questo: nell'ordinario si annida la meraviglia, e non dovremmo mai, mai, essere così distratti dalla vita, da non volgere ad essa nemmeno uno sguardo diretto. E assaporarla, almeno un po'.
December 13, 2020
4,5 stars
Very strange, atmospheric novel that reminded me of a Wes Anderson movie. Loved it!
Thanks very much Catapult and Edelweiss for the ARC.
Very strange, atmospheric novel that reminded me of a Wes Anderson movie. Loved it!
Thanks very much Catapult and Edelweiss for the ARC.
August 10, 2020
There's certainly an appeal about the setting of a grand old hotel, like Wes Anderson's Budapest, a vast and very old-fashioned lobby, the whole place just a shadow of its former glory. Books with such settings stick in my memory; Towles's A Gentleman In Moscow, Strugatsky's The Dead Mountaineer's Inn, and from very recently, Šarotar's Billiards at the Hotel Dobray, and Maurensig's Theory of Shadows.
Here, an American couple referred to only as 'the man' and 'the woman' check into the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel, which has a distinctly Gothic feel, in the snow and ice of an unspecified northern European country. They are to adopt a child from a nearby orphanage, the woman, with an advanced stage of cancer.
The setting maybe a well-used one, but Cameron's writing is a weirdly compelling mix of genres, from the romantic to mystery to the supernatural, confronting love, birth and death.
The vaguely surreal atmosphere he creates in the hotel is the pull here though; the restaurant with its elaborate 13 course meal or only the option of cold bar food, and the and fellow residents, including a 70 year old pianist, who are either mysterious or too intimate by turns enhance the sense of unease.
Here, an American couple referred to only as 'the man' and 'the woman' check into the Borgarfjaroasysla Grand Imperial Hotel, which has a distinctly Gothic feel, in the snow and ice of an unspecified northern European country. They are to adopt a child from a nearby orphanage, the woman, with an advanced stage of cancer.
The setting maybe a well-used one, but Cameron's writing is a weirdly compelling mix of genres, from the romantic to mystery to the supernatural, confronting love, birth and death.
The vaguely surreal atmosphere he creates in the hotel is the pull here though; the restaurant with its elaborate 13 course meal or only the option of cold bar food, and the and fellow residents, including a 70 year old pianist, who are either mysterious or too intimate by turns enhance the sense of unease.
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