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The Reader [Anglais] [Broché]

Bernhard Schlink
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Descriptions du produit


Chapter One

When I was fifteen, I got hepatitis. It started in the fall and lasted until spring. As the old year darkened and turned colder, I got weaker and weaker. Things didn't start to improve until the new year. January was warm, and my mother moved my bed out onto the balcony. I saw sky, sun, clouds, and heard the voices of children playing in the courtyard. As dusk came one evening in February, there was the sound of a blackbird singing.

The first time I ventured outside, it was to go from Blumenstrasse, where we lived on the second floor of a massive turn-of-the-century building, to Bahnhofstrasse. That's where I'd thrown up on the way home from school one day the previous October. I'd been feeling weak for days, in a way that was completely new to me. Every step was an effort. When I was faced with stairs either at home or at school, my legs would hardly carry me. I had no appetite. Even if I sat down at the table hungry, I soon felt queasy. I woke up every morning with a dry mouth and the sensation that my insides were in the wrong place and too heavy for my body. I was ashamed of being so weak. I was even more ashamed when I threw up. That was another thing that had never happened to me before. My mouth was suddenly full, I tried to swallow everything down again, and clenched my teeth with my hand in front of my mouth, but it all burst out of my mouth anyway straight through my fingers. I leaned against the wall of the building, looked down at the vomit around my feet, and retched something clear and sticky.

When rescue came, it was almost an assault. The woman seized my arm and pulled me through the dark entryway into the courtyard. Up above there were lines strung from window to window, loaded with laundry. Wood was stacked in the courtyard; in an open workshop a saw screamed and shavings flew. The woman turned on the tap, washed my hand first, and then cupped both of hers and threw water in my face. I dried myself with a handkerchief.

"Get that one!" There were two pails standing by the faucet; she grabbed one and filled it. I took the other one, filled it, and followed her through the entryway. She swung her arm, the water sluiced down across the walk and washed the vomit into the gutter. Then she took my pail and sent a second wave of water across the walk.

When she straightened up, she saw I was crying. "Hey, kid," she said, startled, "hey, kid"--and took me in her arms. I wasn't much taller than she was, I could feel her breasts against my chest. I smelled the sourness of my own breath and felt her fresh sweat as she held me, and didn't know where to look. I stopped crying.

She asked me where I lived, put the pails down in the entryway, and took me home, walking beside me holding my schoolbag in one hand and my arm in the other. It's no great distance from Bahnhofstrasse to Blumenstrasse. She walked quickly, and her decisiveness helped me to keep pace with her. She said goodbye in front of our building.

That same day my mother called in the doctor, who diagnosed hepatitis. At some point I told my mother about the woman. If it hadn't been for that, I don't think I would have gone to see her. But my mother simply assumed that as soon as I was better, I would use my pocket money to buy some flowers, go introduce myself, and say thank you, which was why at the end of February I found myself heading for Bahnhofstrasse.

Chapter Two

The building on Bahnhofstrasse is no longer there. I don't know when or why it was torn down. I was away from my hometown for many years. The new building, which must have been put up in the seventies or eighties, has five floors plus finished space under the roof, is devoid of balconies or arched windows, and its smooth façade is an expanse of pale plaster. A plethora of doorbells indicates a plethora of tiny apartments, with tenants moving in and out as casually as you would pick up and return a rented car. There's a computer store on the ground floor where once there were a pharmacy, a supermarket, and a video store.

The old building was as tall, but with only four floors, a first floor of faceted sandstone blocks, and above it three floors of brickwork with sandstone arches, balconies, and window surrounds. Several steps led up to the first floor and the stairwell; they were wide at the bottom, narrower above, set between walls topped with iron banisters and curving outwards at street level. The front door was flanked by pillars, and from the corners of the architrave one lion looked up Bahnhofstrasse while another looked down. The entryway through which the woman had led me to the tap in the courtyard was a side entrance.

I had been aware of this building since I was a little boy. It dominated the whole row. I used to think that if it made itself any heavier and wider, the neighboring buildings would have to move aside and make room for it. Inside, I imagined a stairwell with plaster moldings, mirrors, and an oriental runner held down with highly polished brass rods. I assumed that grand people would live in such a grand building. But because the building had darkened with the passing of the years and the smoke of the trains, I imagined that the grand inhabitants would be just as somber, and somehow peculiar--deaf or dumb or hunchbacked or lame.

In later years I dreamed about the building again and again. The dreams were similar, variations on one dream and one theme. I'm walking through a strange town and I see the house. It's one in a row of buildings in a district I don't know. I go on, confused, because the house is familiar but its surroundings are not. Then I realize that I've seen the house before. I'm not picturing Bahnhofstrasse in my hometown, but another city, or another country. For example, in my dream I'm in Rome, see the house, and realize I've seen it already in Bern. This dream recognition comforts me; seeing the house again in different surroundings is no more surprising than encountering an old friend by chance in a strange place. I turn around, walk back to the house, and climb the steps. I want to go in. I turn the door handle.

If I see the house somewhere in the country, the dream is more long-drawn-out, or I remember its details better. I'm driving a car. I see the house on the right and keep going, confused at first only by the fact that such an obviously urban building is standing there in the middle of the countryside. Then I realize that this is not the first time I've seen it, and I'm doubly confused. When I remember where I've seen it before, I turn around and drive back. In the dream, the road is always empty, as I can turn around with my tires squealing and race back. I'm afraid I'll be too late, and I drive faster. Then I see it. It is surrounded by fields, rape or wheat or vines in the Palatinate, lavender in Provence. The landscape is flat, or at most gently rolling. There are no trees. The day is cloudless, the sun is shining, the air shimmers and the road glitters in the heat. The fire walls make the building look unprepossessing and cut off. They could be the firewalls of any building. The house is no darker than it was on Bahnhofstrasse, but the windows are so dusty that you can't see anything inside the rooms, not even the curtains; it looks blind.

I stop on the side of the road and walk over to the entrance. There's nobody about, not a sound to be heard, not even a distant engine, a gust of wind, a bird. The world is dead. I go up the steps and turn the knob.

But I do not open the door. I wake up knowing simply that I took hold of the knob and turned it. Then the whole dream comes back to me, and I know that I've dreamed it before.

Chapter Three

I didn't know the woman's name.

Clutching my bunch of flowers, I hesitated in front of the door and all the bells. I would rather have turned around and left, but then a man came out of the building, asked who I was looking for, and directed me to Frau Schmitz on the third floor.

No decorative plaster, no mirrors, no runner. Whatever unpretentious beauty the stairwell might once have had, it could never have been comparable to the grandeur of the façade, and it was long gone in any case. The red paint on the stairs had worn through in the middle, the stamped green linoleum that was glued on the walls to shoulder height was rubbed away to nothing, and bits of string had been stretched across the gaps in the banisters. It smelled of cleaning fluid. Perhaps I only became aware of all this some time later. It was always just as shabby and just as clean, and there was always the same smell of cleaning fluid, sometimes mixed with the smell of cabbage or beans, or fried food or boiling laundry.

I never learned a thing about the other people who lived in the building apart from these smells, the mats outside the apartment doors, and the nameplates under the doorbells. I cannot even remember meeting another tenant on the stairs.

Nor do I remember how I greeted Frau Schmitz. I had probably prepared two or three sentences about my illness and her help and how grateful I was, and recited them to her. She led me into the kitchen.

It was the largest room in the apartment, and contained a stove and sink, a tub and a boiler, a table, two chairs, a kitchen cabinet, a wardrobe, and a couch with a red velvet spread thrown over it. There was no window. Light came in through the panes of the door leading out onto the balcony--not much light; the kitchen was only bright when the door was open. Then you heard the scream of the saws from the carpenter's shop in the yard and smelled the smell of wood.

The apartment also had a small, cramped living room with a dresser, a table, four chairs, a wing chair, and a coal stove. It was almost never heated in winter, nor was it used much in summer either. The window faced Bahnhofstrasse, with a view of what had been the railroad station, but was now being excavated and already in places held the freshly laid foundations of the new courthouse and administration buildings. Finally, the apartment also... --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Poche .

Revue de presse

"Moving, suggestive and ultimately hopeful. . . . [The Reader] leaps national boundaries and speaks straight to the heart."
The New York Times Book Review

"A formally beautiful, disturbing and finally morally devastating novel."
Los Angeles Times

"Arresting, philosophically elegant, morally complex. . . . Mr. Schlink tells his story with marvelous directness and simplicity."
The New York Times

"Haunting. . . . What Schlink does best, what makes this novel most memorable, are the small moments of highly charged eroticism."
—Francine Prose, Elle --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Poche .

Détails sur le produit

  • Broché: 240 pages
  • Editeur : Phoenix (an Imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd ); Édition : Film Tie-in Ed (1 décembre 2008)
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0753823292
  • ISBN-13: 978-0753823293
  • Dimensions du produit: 1,7 x 12,8 x 19,6 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.2 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (4 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 12.471 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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4 internautes sur 4 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
anglais tres accessible , facile à lire ... qui donne ensuite à réfléchir,non seulement à l'Histoire , mais à l'adolescence.
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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 bien 5 juillet 2011
Par giada
Format:Poche|Achat vérifié
Il faut absolument lire ce livre avant de regarder le film. Il est bien écrit et émouvant. Rapide et facile à lire.
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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 a mettre dans votre liste 29 octobre 2009
A lire absolument , personnellement j'ai adoré ce livre , l'histoire est touchante et vraiment boulversante
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4.0 étoiles sur 5 The reader 30 avril 2013
Format:Format Kindle
Passionnant pour ceux intéressés par la guerre et c est bien mieux que le film.

L adoration du jeune garçon pour cette femme qui ne sait pas lire mais qui arrive à le dissimuler au garçon est incroyable.
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) 3.7 étoiles sur 5  1.092 commentaires
312 internautes sur 324 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 COMPELLING...COMPLEX...PROFOUND... 5 juillet 2004
Par Lawyeraau - Publié sur
Winner of the Boston Review's Fisk Fiction Prize, this thematically complex story is written in clear, simple, lucid prose. It is a straightforward telling of an encounter that was to mark fifteen year old Michael Berg for life. The book, written as if it were a memoir, is divided into three parts. The first part of the book deals with that encounter.

While on his way home from school one day in post-war Germany, Michael becomes ill. He is aided by a beautiful and buxom, thirty six year old blonde named Hanna Schmitz. When he recovers from his illness, he goes to Frau Schmitz's home to thank her and eventually finds himself seduced by her and engaged in a sexual encounter. They become lovers for a period of time, and a component of their relationship was that Michael would read aloud to her. Michael romanticizes their affair, which is a cornerstone of his young life. Then, one day, as suddenly as she appeared in his life, she disappears, having inexplicably moved with no forwarding address.

The second part of the book deals with Michael's chance encounter with Hanna again. He is now a law student in a seminar that is focused on Germany's Nazi past and the related war trials. The students are young and eager to condemn all who, after the end of the war, had tolerated the Nazis in their midst. Even Michael's parents do not escape his personal condemnation. The seminar is to be an exploration of the collective guilt of the German people, and Michael embraces the opportunity, as do others of his generation, to philosophically condemn the older generation for having sat silently by. Then, he is assigned to take notes on a trial of some camp guards.

To his total amazement, one of the accused is Hanna, his Hanna. He stoically remains throughout the trial, realizing as he hears the evidence that she is refusing to divulge the one piece of evidence that could possibly absolve her or, at least, mitigate her complicity in the crimes with which she is charged. It is as if she considers her secret more shameful than that of which she is accused. Yet, Michael, too, remains mute on the fact that would throw her legal, if not her moral, guilt into question. Consequently, Hanna finds herself bearing the legal guilt of all those involved in the crime of which she is accused and is condemned accordingly.

The third part of the book is really the way Michael deals with having found Hanna, again. He removes himself from further demonstration and discussion on the issue of Germany's Nazi past. It affects his decisions as to his career in the law, eventually choosing a legal career that is isolating. He marries and has a child but finds that he cannot be free of Hanna. He cannot be free of the pain of having loved Hanna. It is as if Hanna has marked him for life. He divorces and never remarries. It is as if he cannot love another, as he loved Hanna. Michael then reaches out to Hanna in prison, indirectly, through the secret they share of what she seems to be most ashamed. Yet, he carefully never personalizes the contact. The end, when it comes, is almost anti-climatic.

The relationship between Michael and Hanna really seems to be analogous to the relationship between the generations of Germans in post-war Germany. The affair between Michael and Hanna is representational of the affair that Germany had with the Nazi movement. The eroticism of the book is a necessary component for the collective guilt and shame that the Germans bear for the Holocaust, as well as for the moral divide that seemingly exists between the generations. Yet, the book also shows that such is not always a black and white issue, that there are sometimes gray areas when one discusses one's actions in the context of the forces of good and evil. There is also the issue of legal and moral responsibility. One would think that the two are synonymous, but they are not always so. It also philosophizes on the ability to love another/a nation who/that was complicit in war crimes. This is an insightful, allegorical book that defies categorizing. It is also a book that is a wonderful selection for a reading circle, as it has a wealth of issues that are ripe for discussion. This is simply a superlative book. Bravo!
105 internautes sur 106 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 A revised reading of relationships 18 décembre 2004
Par Friederike Knabe - Publié sur
The topic of the Holocaust is raised almost every day in some manner. Many books have been written about the topic. Whether in studies, documentaries or fictional accounts, finger-pointing at the perpetrators of the crimes against millions has been part of the process of coming to terms with the Nazi atrocities. For Imre Kertesz, renowned author and Nobel laureate of 2002, there is no other topic. Yet, when he reflects on the traumatic impact of Auschwitz, "he dwells on the vitality and creativity of those living today" and "thus, paradoxically, not on the past but the future." Bernhard Schlink, professor of law and practicing judge in Germany, born in 1944, has attempted to capture the struggles of his generation in confronting the past and the future in "The Reader". "Pointing at the guilty party did not free us from shame", his narrator and protagonist contemplates, "but at least it overcame the suffering we went through on account of it".

The usually unambiguous distinction between villain and victim has facilitated the identification with those who lost their lives or suffered under the Nazi atrocities while all scorn, abhorrence and hate was piled on the perpetrators. Until recently, few books have focused on the after-war generation. While growing up, the children had to come to terms with the, often sudden, exposure of their parents' active or passive participation in the crimes of the Nazi regime. "The Reader", set in post-war Germany and against the backdrop of the Frankfurt Auschwitz trials of the mid-sixties, takes this new and, for our generations, important angle: in the form of the fictional memoir of Michael Berg. Michael, while not refuting guilt, shame, and atonement, is led to examine and dissect the complexity of inter-generational conflicts in the context of his personal experiences. Like Schlink himself, he grapples with the fundamental problem of the relationships between these two generations.

Michael recounts the most important stages in his life, starting with experiences long passed in his youth. While his account follows the chronology of events, he progressively interleaves retrospective reflections on his past conduct, questioning his conflicting emotions - his behaviour. The story starts with Michael's first, secret, love affair at age 15 with a woman more than twice his age. The blossoming erotic relationship strengthens his self-worth and confidence yet, at the same time, increasingly isolating him from his family and peers. Hanna Schmitz, of whose circumstances and background Michael knew very little, was affectionate and standoffish at the same time, prone to abrupt mood swings. The young lover is completely captivated and eager to please. He is the "Reader", in German "Vorleser" is a person who reads aloud to an audience. At her insistence he reads his books to her and it becomes an important element of their shared intimacy. When she disappears one day without any warning, her loss leaves him devastated and scarred for life. He can only seek the reasons in his own actions. Seeing Hanna again years later and in unanticipated surroundings, triggers a flood of questions about the person he loved and thought he knew. Her behaviour raises many questions and Michael discovers a long secret that puts in doubt the facts as they are exposed. He also wrestles with himself over his own inaction when confronted with choices. "What would you have done?" Although addressed to the judge by the defendant, this question hangs over Michael, as it does over his whole generation. It encapsulates the primary dilemma of the child-parent generations relationships. Finally, writing the story of his life, drafting and redrafting it in his head until it is in a publishable form, is seen as a chance for his own recovery and for living his own life.

The Reader, while a work of fiction, is deeply anchored in the personal experiences of the author and symbolic for his generation. His spare and unemotional language underlines the impression of a biographical investigation and is used quite deliberately. The English translation captures the tone and style amazingly well. Reading this book should not be an "easy pleasure" as some reviewers have suggested. The Reader covers difficult and complex terrain in a way that it forces the reader to reflect and question their own position long afterwards. Although written directly for a German audience of Schlink's and my generation, the novel, surprisingly, has attracted world-wide attention. While reviews and reactions among readers are highly diverse and even contradictory, it should be read by as many people as possible and with the care the subject matter deserves. [Friederike Knabe]
61 internautes sur 66 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 A Unique Topic - Post WWII German Youth 30 décembre 1999
Par Helene Hoffman - Publié sur
What impressed me far more about this book than the main plot (15 year old has sensuous affair with much older woman who turns out to be former SS Guard), was a seemingly minor issue in the book. That issue was that of how the sons and daughters of the Germans who lived in Germany during WWII dealt with their "Holocaust Legacy". My parents are Holocaust Survivors, and I have read a lot about the Holocaust, but little has been written on the topic of that first generation of Germans born after the end of WWII. The author articulately and clearly describes how the sons and daughters of those Germans who lived through WWII absolutely had no respect for their parents; that the sheer force of the genocide that their parents conspired in, ignored, or did whatever, demanded that their children's feelings toward them just had to plunge far deeper than the "typical" disdain which every generation of young people have toward their parents. My only wish is that the author had delved into this topic even further; as he himself was born in Germany in 1944, he is indeed a member of that postwar generation of Germans, and therefore has a unique perspective on the subject. As for the book generally, the plot was nothing short of incredible. With that said, I thought Parts I and III (the beginning and ending of the book) were very well-written; the author does a great job describing the sensuous affair of the teenager, and a great job at the end, about his conflicting feelings towards his former lover during and after her trial, and about what ultimately happens to her. However, the middle of the book was awful; it was written in a superficial manner, with no real character development. So remember: just keep reading until the end. All in all, a fascinating portrayal, from a German, of what it means for the post-war German generation to live with tremendously complex feelings concerning the Holocaust and their parents.
57 internautes sur 62 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Past overlies present for The Reader and for Germany 17 novembre 1997
Par Mary Whipple - Publié sur
For the three hours it takes to read this short book, the outside world disappears. When it reappears at the book's conclusion, the reader's view of the behavior of some "ordinary" Germans during and after World War II is changed. Schlink sweeps up the reader and totally immerses him/her in dramatic tension, quick narrative pace, and thought-provoking views of the German past by creating a unique love story involving singular characters and spanning several decades. The book would have had a longer lasting effect for me, however, if an important "secret," one which, in fact, impels Hanna's actions, had not been obvious to me from the start. Her behavior as the book progresses simply confirmed my early suspicions, preventing the suspense from developing fully. By the time the author formally reveals Hanna's secret, almost 2/3 of the book has passed. Additionally, I am not sure that protecting this secret is sufficient motivation to rationalize the full extent of Hanna's self-destruction. Michael's philosophical questioning, which adds immeasurably both to the thematic scope and pleasure of this book, does not fully explain his motivations, his actions, or his inactions, at least on the human level. Nevertheless, this is a totally absorbing, memorable novel with unusual characters in unusual conflicts, one which will reverberate long after you close its covers.
43 internautes sur 47 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Intense, Emotional, Moving, and Unforgettable 22 juin 2009
Par John F. Rooney - Publié sur
"The Reader" is an intensely moving novella in which Michael, a fifteen-year old German boy, falls in love with a thirty-six-year old woman, Hanna, a streetcar conductor. A story as old as the hills, yet their affair became a life-altering event for both of them. The narrative is divided into three sections: one, the affair, two, Hanna's trial as the perpetrator of war crimes atrocities while she was serving as an SS guard in concentration camps, and three, Hanna's years of imprisonment following the trial and Michael's half-life seeking answers and salvation.
In Part One Michael thinks he has betrayed Hanna by disavowal, by not admitting her existence to his friends. That is nothing compared to his betrayals of her during the trial and in her prison years. In the sections of the book in which Michael is trying to probe his own moral predicaments and dilemmas, his philosophical positions, his reasoning is complicated and convoluted.
He goes to the judge to give him information, and he chickens out. He goes to his father and is satisfied with non-answers to his problems. He lacks moral courage and conviction and is willing to let events take their course. It is not a story of redemption, and no one gets off easy in this sad story.
Michael attended all of Hanna's long trial and watched her tortured and damaging testimony. She realized he was in the courtroom but didn't acknowledge him. Hanna had a cold-blooded streak, and Michael had a selfish, cowardly stripe.
When they first met he could see her tough side, her coldness at times. She called him, at first sarcastically "kid," but it becomes obvious that she loved him. She loved to be read to, and he read serious stuff to her. When she left him, he vowed "never again to love anyone whom it would hurt to lose." In later life he can't get over two parts of his life: Hanna and the trial.
The book gives no easy answers. We cannot forgive Hanna for what she did. She had a secret that she tried desperately to keep.
I think each reader will come away from this book with a different outlook, different opinions, different conclusions, but with a recognition of how real the two people have become and how they continue to inhabit and haunt our minds.
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