砂の女 [Suna no Onna]

砂の女 [Suna no Onna]❰Read❯ ➵ 砂の女 [Suna no Onna] Author Kōbō Abe – Jobs-in-kingston.co.uk Amazing ePub, 砂の女 [Suna no Onna] author Kōbō Abe This is very good and becomes the main topic to read, the readers are very takjup and always take inspiration from the contents of the book 砂 Amazing ePub, 砂の女 [Suna no Onna] author Kōbō Abe This is very good and becomes the main topic to read, the readers are very takjup and always take inspiration from the contents of the book 砂の女 [Suna no Onna], essay by Kōbō Abe Is now on our website 砂の女 [Suna PDF \ and you can download it by register what are you waiting for? Please read and make a refission for you. Suna No Onna = Sand Woman = The Woman in the Dunes, Kōbō Abe

The Woman in the Dunes is a novel by the Japanese writer Kōbō Abe, published in 1962. It won the 1962 Yomiuri Prize for literature, and an English translation and a film adaptation appeared in 1964.

In 1955, Jumpei Niki, a school teacher from Tokyo, visits a fishing village to collect insects. After missing the last bus, he is led, by the villagers, in an act of apparent hospitality, to a house in the dunes that can be reached only by rope ladder.

The next morning the ladder is gone and he finds he is expected to keep the house clear of sand with the woman living there, with whom he is also to produce children. He eventually gives up trying to escape when he comes to realize returning to his old life would give him no more liberty. After seven years, he is proclaimed officially dead.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز پانزدهم ماه اکتبر سال 2005میلادی

عنوان: زن در ریگ روان؛ کوبو آبه؛ مترجم: مهدی غبرائی؛ تهران، نیلوفر، 1383، در 236ص؛ شابک 9789644482229؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان ژاپنی - سده 20م

این رمان کافکایی، تجربیات کابوس مانند یک آموزگار، و حشره‌ شناس، به نام: «نیکی جامپی» را روایت می‌کند؛ که توسط گروهی از افرادی که پایین یک تپه شنی بزرگ زندگی می‌کنند، به اسارت گرفته میشود؛ «کوبو آبه» با انتشار همین رمان، و فیلمی که با اقتباس از آن، ساخته شد، به شهرت جهانی دست یافتند

در داستان «زن در ریگ روان» یک مرد حشره شناس به دنبال ثبت نام خود در دانشنامه‌ ی حشرات است و در پی سوسکی منحصر به فرد است اما از آنچه سرنوشت پیش پای او قرار می‌دهد آگاهی ندارد؛ داستان از زبان دانای کل روایت می‌شود و در هر فصل، زمان داستان و رویدادهای آن دگرگون میشود اما این پرش‌های زمانی خوانشگر را سردرگم نمی‌کند؛ آنچه که در این کتاب آشکار است استفاده هنرمندانه «کوبو آبه» از نماد هاست؛ در کتاب «زن در ریگ روان» می‌توان رد پایی از «افسانه سیزیف» را دید، که به تلاش‌های بی‌فرجام انسان در زندگی اشاره می‌کند؛

نقل نمونه متن: «سر به زیر راه افتاد و خط هلالی تلماسه ها را که چون قلعه ای بر فراز ده خیمه زده و در برش گرفته بود؛ دنبال کرد؛ به چشم انداز دور تقریبا هیچ توجهی نداشت؛ حشره شناس باید ششدانگ حواسش را متوجه دو سه متری دور و برش کند؛ و یکی از قواعد اساسی آن است که نباید به آفتاب پشت کند؛ اگر پشتش به خورشید باشد؛ سایه اش حشرات را میرماند؛ در نتیجه پیشانی و دماغ گردآورنده حشرات هميشه آفتاب سوخته است

با گامهای یکنواخت، آهسته پیش میرفت؛ هر قدمی که برمیداشت، شن روی کفشهایش میپاشید؛ جز علفهای هرز، با ربشه سطحی، که انگار یکروزه و با هر نمی، سر برمیآوردند؛ هیچ موجود زنده ای، پیدا نبود؛ گاهی تک و توک، مگسی لاکی که بوی عرق آدمپزاد، جذبش کرده بود؛ دورو برش پر میزد؛ با این حال؛ دفیقا در چنین محیطی، انتظار داشت چیزی پیدا کند؛ بخصوص اینکه، سوسکها گروه زی نیستند، و میگویند: که در برخی موارد نادر، یک سوسک منطقه ‌ای به وسعت حدود دو کیلومترمربع را، قلمرو خود قرار می‌دهد؛ مرد همچنان صبورانه پیش می‌رفت؛ ناگهان سر راه ایستاد؛ کنار ریشه ‌های دسته ‌ای علف، چیزی جنبیده بود؛ یک عنکبوت بود؛ عنکبوت‌ها به دردش نمی‌خوردند؛ نشست که سیگاری دود کند؛ باد بی‌امان از جانب دریا می‌وزید؛ آن پایین موج‌های پرتلاطم، سر بر شنزار می‌کوفتند؛ آنجا که تلماسه‌ ها، رو به غرب، سر فرود می‌آوردند؛ تپه ی کوچکی، که خرسنگی برهنه، بر فراز آن بود، به سوی دریا پیش رفته بود؛ نیزه‌ های نور خورشید، روی این خرسنگ پاشیده بود؛ روشن کردن کبریت، مکافاتی داشت؛ از ده تا کبریت، یکی هم روشن نشد؛ موج شن، کنار کبریتهایی که به زمین می‌انداخت، با سرعت عقربه ی دقیقه ‌شمار ساعت مچی‌ اش، حرکت می‌کرد؛ به یکی از این موجک‌ها توجه کرد، و وقتی به نوک پاشنه ‌اش رسید؛ بلند شد؛ شن، از چین و شکن‌های شلوارش، پایین ریخت؛ تف کرد، و در دهانش، زبری دانه‌ های شن را احساس کرد.»؛ پایان نقل

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 19/06/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی This book is horrifically claustrophobic and eerie.

How much of our lives consist of frantically trying to stay afloat? Life can be as fruitless as a man trapped under sand dunes digging to live
or living to dig. Do we work to live or live to work? If you think being held hostage in sand is fantastical, what do you think your life is, anyway?

This book wears you down. It gets into your skin, your hair, under your fingernails. The sand is everywhere. The wind, the salt air, their eyes always watching. You never breathe in all the way. You can't see the horizon through the grains scratching the insides of your eyelids.

There's a man and sand. A lot of sand. And a woman. And it's all delusional, suffocating and brilliant

He was like an animal who finally sees that the crack in the fence it was trying to escape through is in reality merely the entrance to its cage –like a fish who at last realizes, after bumping its nose numberless time, that the glass of the goldfish bowl is a wall. This book tell the story of an entomologist that, in his search for a specific beetle, ends up trapped by local villagers in a huge sand hole with a woman, where he is forced to work gathering sand. As time pass by, his emotions and sanity begin to get twisted. In his struggle to escape both human and nature obstacles, he tries different strategies, and we are caught cheering for his success, but kind of knowing that his chances are minimal, which is a good distressing experience.
This is truly timeless, global, layered story that everyone should read. A man is trapped in a sand pit by villagers while he is out hunting for insects in the dunes. He is forced to shovel sand out day after day, as he plots to escape and forms an odd relationship with the woman who shares the pit. The role of the woman is intriguing. She is a sex object, his rational conscience, an imagined foe, an eventual partner/friend-- and at the same time, very one dimensional. The sand, the insects even, are more developed as characters than the woman is. The real appeal of this novel is in the existentialist allegory. It's life, as perceived by most humans at the various stages of maturity. Anger, selfishness, rebellion. Then, reason, planning, strategic alliances. Lastly, acceptance, contentment, humanity. At the end, as he is close to achieving his purported goal, he chooses to delay. To delay death perhaps? Is the message here that life is the journey and not the destination? Is freedom all we imagine, or do we all harbor a hidden need to be enslaved?I would love to spend some time with this book again-- perhaps with a class-- and study it closely. There is much to appreciate-- from the sand and insect imagery, to the enigmatic woman, to the man's psychological states. I can't take it all in with one read.
When we mix surrealistic Kafkaesque climate with existential questions about sense of human being then we get something like The woman in the dunes.

Tale about a man obsessed or maybe possessed with sand who during the trip to the sea is trapped in the dunes in a cave inhabited by a lonely woman. Initially desperately tries to escape but the magnetic strength of the woman, her desperate fight with sand makes that what previously seemed to be a trap now becomes a sense of his life. The first what comes to your mind is like: hang on, I know that history. It's like The Trial by Kafka. The same anonymous hero, entangled in an absurd situation, condemned and imprisoned for unspecified faults.

Prose is hallucinatory, atmosphere stifling and nightmarish. This story is captured by the sand. In fact, sand rules everyone and everything, sand never rested. Reading you can almost hear rustle of the sand as if it was pouring from the book.
Had my arachnophobia been replaced by Ammophobia (fear of sand) there was a certain moment in Kōbō Abe's 1962 existential fable my hands would have turned extra clammy and my thumping heart would have likely jumped out of my chest to find safety. What an odd story this was. It reads something like a Japanese Kafka, infused with a bit of Nietzsche, and topped off with a light dusting of Beckett. Abe was generally known for work where plot and character are usually subservient to idea and symbol. This makes The Woman in the Dunes something of an anomaly. Its plot is somewhat devious, addictive yes, but rather straightforward, told in almost abstract, allegorical terms.

A nameless man arrives in a remote area of sand dunes with the hope of finding a certain type of sand beetle. As the day draws to a close, villagers offer him shelter in a ramshackle old house at the bottom of a funnel-shaped pit of sand, where descent is only possible by a rope ladder. The only inhabitant, a young woman, spends most of the time shovelling epic amounts of sand into buckets, which are then raised up the sand cliffs, and sold off to construction companies, apparently. On awakening the first morning the man finds the ladder gone, and no other means to escape, with his attempts to climb out of the pit becoming futile. For the most part he is filled with both anger and fear. His world is now a prison, not of brick walls, cells, or barbed wire fences, but of sand.

A strange relationship then develops between the man and woman, with an underlying weird sort of sexual tension going on. Ultimately, when the two aren't stuck in the house together, the novel pits the man’s strong will to escape this sun-baked landscape of sand, against the villagers, who do what it takes to keep him down there, which does lead to some compelling reading. One thing that struck me, is that most of the story happens either inside or right outside the woman’s abode, like it could have been engineered for the stage. On the down side for me though, it did feel like a really good novella dragged-out into a novel. Some of the narrative felt unnecessary, and I liked it's stripped down nature before it started to get too metaphysical for its own good. description
Kōbō Abe - Image from Vice.com

This is a kafkaesque story of an entomologist who travels to a remote village in search of a new species of beetle. It is he and not the bug who is captured. The village is beset by relentless sand. Their homes have already been buried so deep that it takes full time effort by residents to remove incoming sand from the holes in which their houses are now nearly buried to keep from being destroyed. Jumpei is placed in the home of a widow to help her. The story tells of his imprisonment and his attempts to escape. There is much detail here about sand, but the true intent here is an examination of life. What is existence? What is the true role of man? Do we control our fate? If so, how much? A bond grows between the man and woman, and becomes sexual. Finally, he is faced with a choice, when freedom is offered, to stay or go. There is one scene that is quite chilling, in which taunting village elders at the top of his hole tease him that they will set him free if he will only have sex with the woman in their view. God playing with his human toys? I appreciated the intellectual drive of the novel, but I never felt much of a visceral tie to the characters. The absurdity of the story prevented that for me. 4.5 stars

Without the threat of punishment there is no joy in flight.

In Kobo Abe's fantasy world of The Woman in the Dunes, an amateur entomologist on vacation finds himself in a remote coastal village built amid deeply undulating dunes. There, he is tricked by a lonely widow and her neighboring villagers, trapped in deep pits shored by sand drift walls, to be charged with the task of shoveling back the ever-sliding banks, persistent and never-ending in its threat to entomb them.

Sand moves around like this all year long. Its flow is its life. It absolutely never stops— anywhere. Whether in water or air, it moves about free and unrestricted. So, usually, ordinary living things are unable to endure life in it.

The landscape of the dunes which Abe describes, of wood-rotted boxed dwellings built at the bottom of shifting sand hills, could not realistically exist, marking the novel as a science fiction/ fantasy thriller. In addition, its themes adopt surrealistic, dreamlike, metamorphosing features reminiscent of the works of Kafka, slowly shifting and deforming like the dunes themselves.

Sand

Things with form were empty when placed beside sand. The only certain factor was its movement; sand was the antithesis of all form.

Abe's works are generically concerned with the human state of balance, whose fragility becomes evident in a life of pointlessness and insufferable futility. In The Woman in the Dunes, Abe presents the grotesque sadness borne from a man's oppressive, fruitless daily life; the image of a degraded human being who is isolated, trapped in the monotony of routine, unable to escape a meaningless existence.

What's hardest for me is not knowing what living like this will ever come to.
What was this Hell of Loneliness? he wondered. Perhaps they had misnamed it, he had thought then, but now he could understand it very well. Loneliness was an unsatisfied thirst for illusion.

To effectuate some meaningfulness to his situation, whether for the choice to stay or freedom of escape, the protagonist heroically attempts to alter his circumstance, significantly going through a metamorphosis of his own, but like the true kinetic nature of sand, its waves of ebbs and flows, his fate lays ambiguous.

(view spoiler)[The theory had been advanced that the man, tired of life, had committed suicide (hide spoiler)] “While he mused on the effect of the flowing sands, he was seized from time to time by hallucinations in which he himself began to move with the flow.”

This book is about a man who tricked and has to live in a house at the bottom of a sand pit with a woman. They can't escape the sand which settles on them even as they sleep. As much as they shovel it away, they can't get rid of it.

This is definitely a unique story. I now know more about sand than I probably need to. I never really thought much about sand but I kind of didn't have a choice in this book.
Since I started reading both more avidly and more widely several years ago, I've spent more time analyzing different genres, different kinds of authors, and different kinds of literature. In Jane Smiley's 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel, she makes a number of observations about how classic French novels differ from classic British novels, and how American novelists differ from either. I'm not well read enough in French and British literature to judge the validity of her points, other than to notice that yes, Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas do have a tone that is noticeably different from, say, Charles Dickens and George Eliot.

All of which brings me to Japanese literature. Which I haven't read nearly enough of since taking a couple of courses in medieval Japanese literature as an undergrad. So far I have read several books by Haruki Murakami, Battle Royale, and now, The Woman in the Dunes. I've got several more in my queue.

Haruki Murakami, Kobo Abe, and Koushun Takami are very different authors (just as Charles Dickens and George Eliot are very different authors), but Japanese novels all have a very different feel from Western novels. That is not to say they are particularly hard to understand or that they don't have the same elements of English-language novels: plot, characters, theme, storytelling, etc. But Japanese literature seems to focus very much on the moment, and an individual's experience of it. Long, descriptive passages about mundane details in the character's environment, or his mental ruminations, often wandering off onto bizarre sidetracks, almost as if the author is trying to describe how a person's thoughts actually work (like, when you're focusing on the matter at hand, but somehow your mind makes a subconscious leap onto a completely unrelated topic).

And that is how The Woman in the Dunes reads. The story is of a Japanese schoolteacher and amateur entomologist who takes a little weekend trip to the beach. He happens upon a small, very poor village that is being overwhelmed by the encroaching sands on all sides. Needing a place to stay for the night, the villagers offer to put him up in the home of one of the locals, who turns out to be a widow living alone. Her house is at the bottom of a sandpit and the only way in or out is by rope ladder. Our unfortunate schoolteacher doesn't think anything is odd or sinister about this until he has lowered himself into the trap.

The rest of the book is really more about Niki Jumpei's thoughts and experiences, and of course, sand. Sand is everywhere. Kobo Abe describes it - its porosity, its viscosity, its physical qualities, its omnipresence - the way gothic authors describe the brooding atmosphere and the dark manor. By the end of the book you're feeling sand crawling up all your crevices, rubbing your skin raw, getting in your hair, and threatening to bury you.

Jumpei's relationship with the widow, who is never named, is turbulent, sexual, ambiguous, and disturbing. She was the bait for the trap, and she is by turns apologetic, vulnerable, pathetic, and callous. One gets the impression she is the way Kobo Abe, as a Japanese man of a certain age, may see all women, as these opaque, unrelatable beings as prone to break into sudden charming laughter and offer you a massage as to turn out to be dangerous fairy tale creatures luring you into hell. Certainly our protagonist, Jumpei, never quite relates to the widow as a fellow human being, but he seems to be completely disconnected from people in general. The world he's been abducted from really wasn't much better than the world he is now trapped in, where he must forever shovel sand to keep it from burying the widow's hovel. This metaphor seemed one of the more obvious ones in the novel, but I'm sure there were many others I missed, and like the other Japanese novels I've read, I have the feeling that much imagery and symbolism is lost in translation.

I can't really say how I felt about this book, other than that it was an interesting reading experience and the story is definitely haunting and weird and memorable, like a slightly surreal movie. I definitely recommend it for anyone who is interested in sampling Japanese literature.

Oh, but speaking of surreal: come on, all your Goodreaders who labeled this magical realism! Kobo Abe is not Haruki Murakami. There are no talking cats or parallel worlds in this book. Okay, yes, parts of it are a little
strange, but there is nothing that is, strictly speaking, fantastical about it. It's not magical realism just because it's written in Spanish or Japanese, folks! One of my favorite books of all time. One of the best film adaptations of a book as well, done by Hiroshi Teshigahara in collaboration with Abe. Both are equally mesmeric.

Kobo Abe's well-honed, surreal worlds became etched permanently in my mind, and this novel more than his others. Even after reading some of his less intense, and less masterful novels, I still retained a deep appreciation for his bizarre aesthetic. You will discover a similar texture and attitude as in Poe or Baudelaire. Though he is not often discussed in the same circles as Kenzaburo Oe or Haruki Murakami, his influence has become far-reaching, and is more singular in its approach.

This is Abe's finest work, in my opinion, far-surpassing Box-Man, Ruined Map, Ark Sakura and Kangaroo Notebook. However, almost everything he wrote affected me in one way or another. This could have been because I read most of his oeuvre in college, impressionable as I was.

It wasn't until I also read Quicksand, by Tanizaki, that I realized that both novels were about on the same level in my mind. Tanizaki's masterpiece, less about sand, and more about love, felt like a parry to Abe's, even though Abe's came later. Both are existential. Abe's is more mythic, and Tanizaki's more grounded. I was socked in the gut by both. There is an essence of self-sabotage to the characters' psyches and an inescapable passion consumes them, leading inevitably toward a void. I was enraptured by Abe first, and will likely return to this novel far more often.

Entomology exists on the fringes of Woman in the Dunes, as it does in Ark Sakura. Insects crawl through the novels, but they also make for a nice comparison to the main characters, who are trapped in an environment, where their humanity wears away, kept in a terrarium of sorts, and we, the readers, are studying them, fascinated. The film captures the voyeuristic quality of the narration incredibly well.

The shifting psychological portraits that Abe presents to us, are reminiscent of his experimental plays. I believe he was concerned with the human being as an object among disorienting constraints. As in Box Man, the most intriguing aspects of the plot arise from the juxtaposition of humanity with the absurdity of their own weakness, their limitations define them, and allow them to discover hidden potentialities, often as disturbing as they are enlightening. He explores humanity's survival instinct in Beasts Head for Home, and much of the same sentiment can be found here.

As dark and brooding as Kafka, but pure, simple, yet beguilingly complex, this novel rewards those who seek to dwell in the liminal spaces between reality and dream. The burden of understanding ourselves is an illustration of perpetual motion. Humanity's protean heart is contained in us all, vaguely buried beneath layers of propriety, comfort and self-denial. If all the world were sand, if it was all we knew, how would our minds conform to the contours of our flat horizon? Would the solitary figures of other minds, blasted smooth and coppery, sink into our anima?

Enmesh yourself in this softly distressing masterpiece.