Oh No! They Didn’t!

Spoiler Alert! This is a blog where I will react to fanfics and books I read, usually with an excerpt of the part that makes me react!  My main blog is @mizutoyama 

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Currently reading

English

War & Peace - Leo Tolstoy

A Girl in Exile - Ismail Kadare

French

Tokyo crush - Vanessa Montalbano

Reading on and off

English

The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol - Nikolai Gogol

From the Shadows: Villainous Tales of Dark Lords, Despots, and Devils - Multiple Authors

The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales - Jack Zipes (Ed.)

French

Dictionnaire amoureux des Mille et une nuits - Malek Chebel

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Book review - A Girl in Exile (Ismail Kadare)

⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4/5)

This book is haunting in the quietest way possible.

The setup: a playwright in communist Albania finds out that a copy of his book, with his dedication in it, was found with a young woman who's now dead. And from there it's just this slow, creeping spiral of guilt and paranoia and obsession, and you just can't look away.

What I loved:

Kadare's writing is so deceptively simple. Like every sentence feels light but hits hard. The atmosphere is suffocating in the best way; you feel the surveillance state pressing in on every conversation, every glance.

The mystery of the girl is never fully resolved, and honestly, that's what makes it so good (but also a bit infuriating). She's more of a ghost than a character, and it works.

The way Kadare ties the personal to the political is *chef's kiss*. The protagonist's paranoia about the regime bleeds into his relationships, his sense of self, everything. It's not just a story about oppression; it's about how living under constant fear warps your entire inner world.

A very atmospheric book. It lingers.

What held it back from 5 stars:

The pacing drags a little in the middle; there are stretches that feel like wandering without enough payoff.

The dreamlike, elliptical style is beautiful but can feel a bit too elusive at times. Might definitely confuse some.

tldr: A gorgeous, unsettling novel about guilt, desire, and what it means to exist under a regime that watches everything. Highly recommend if you love atmospheric books that sit with you long after you finish.

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Chapter 5 - A Girl in Exile

Kadare does a wonderful job capturing the anxiety of living under totalitarianism through a simple café meeting. The broken-up dialogue and Rudian's worried thoughts really bring to life what it's like in a surveillance state where every word counts. The investigator, who's actually scared of finding out too much himself, is a fascinating character, and the chapter manages to build real tension even though it all happens in one place.

That said, the Caligula-Seneca parts feel a bit off-topic and might throw readers who aren't familiar with Roman history, like me. Rudian's worried thoughts do go in circles sometimes without really adding much new. And some of the backstory bits, like the ghost in his play and his past self-criticisms, feel a little forced rather than natural.

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This line from A Girl in Exile really gets me! The oxymoron of a "perfect stranger who would never be forgotten" captures something so beautifully true about obsessive love—how someone can slip away from you in real time, becoming unreachable while at the same time etching themselves into your memory forever.

Rudian barely knows Migena. He doesn't even know her surname! But he's watching her fade from a real person to a haunting absence, and somehow that makes her more present, not less. The relationship is dissolving before it ever really began, yet she'll stay with him precisely because it never got the chance to be complete.

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I love how Kadare captures life under surveillance; there's this incredible insight that your body senses danger before your mind catches up. The "Dajti test" is such a clever bit of survival wisdom: if your feet won't take you into a hotel, you're already at risk.

What really strikes me is how beautifully physical it all is. Not "do you think you're safe" but "do your feet hesitate." Your body's already figured out the danger. And that little phrase "to put it mildly" does amazing work; it's the understatement of someone who can't speak the whole truth openly.

This whole chapter follows Rudian wandering through Tirana, noticing everyone looking away, his play mysteriously postponed (yet again), and being with a girl who keeps crying but won't share why. There's this whole geography of fear happening: certain buildings become tests, certain cafes feel like traps, torn posters carry meanings nobody will voice.

It's both a love story and a surveillance state nightmare. The personal really is political when the state intrudes right into your bedroom.

Just sitting with this idea of how your feet understand things, your mind resists. How surveillance doesn't just observe you: it seeps inside until you're the one watching yourself.

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A Girl in Exile - Chapter 2

Okay so I just finished reading Chapter 2 of Ismail Kadare's A Girl in Exile and my brain is still spinning.

Picture this: Rudian, a playwright, gets called in for questioning because he signed a book for someone. Sounds simple, right? WRONG. The girl who received the book, Linda B., was in political exile, mentioned him constantly in her diary, and just died by suicide. And in a totalitarian state where even the PM's suicide uncovered a massive conspiracy, nothing is simple.

What's gutting me: The way ordinary kindness (signing a book!) becomes evidence, how Rudian decides to stop telling the truth entirely, to become "a sphinx", because nobody deserves his honesty anymore, and the impossible question: is his girlfriend loyal to him or to the Party?

This chapter does something so visceral with paranoia and moral collapse. You watch someone choose silence as armour in real-time, and you understand why.

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A Girl in Exile - Chapter 1

Just started Kadare's "A Girl in Exile" and wow…

So here's what happens: a playwright in communist Albania gets summoned to the Party Committee. No explanation given. As he walks across Skanderbeg Square, he's frantically trying to figure out which secret they've somehow discovered.

He lands on two possibilities: either it's his play that's been waiting for approval, or it's his messy affair with an art student. (Their last fight got pretty intense, physical even, and he called her a spy, which... yeah, not exactly a word you want to throw around casually in that kind of regime!)

So he gets to the interrogation and they ask about "a girl."

And he just... immediately confesses to the affair. Completely volunteers the whole thing, even though he's technically in a relationship with someone else (his girlfriend is off studying anesthetics in Austria). The officials just stare at him like he's completely lost it.

Because, plot twist, they're not even asking about that girl!

They pull out a book he signed for someone named Linda B. And here's the thing: he doesn't even remember her. She was just a reader who wanted an autograph. She couldn't make it to Tirana to get it herself, so someone else brought it to him on her behalf.

"The girl is... or rather was... interned."

That tense shift though. IS/WAS. She's probably dead. And Kadare just lets it hang there, so haunting.

What's really getting to me is how brilliantly the chapter captures that totalitarian anxiety through these completely ordinary moments that suddenly become dangerous. You sign a book for a fan you'll never meet. You have a complicated relationship. You use the word "spy" when you're angry. And then boom! Any of these mundane things can be dredged up from your forgotten past and used against you.

The protagonist cares way more about his play than the actual people in his life, and now here he is being interrogated about a girl whose face he can't even picture. Such a powerful, unsettling way to open the book!

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Translation: In a dictatorial regime, you have no value. You are nothing. No matter how much you want to ignore this reality or create your own world to isolate yourself from external events, no matter how much you escape into art, into drink, into hashish or into evenings with friends, these are only illusions that postpone the moment when you must face reality. At a given moment, like now, you will find yourself confronted with your crushing and shameful defeat. You have no rights, no dignity. The dictator can do with you what he wants when he wants, and you have no right to oppose it. You can only file a petition, and your petitions will be dismissed.

This hits so hard, not only in relation to the story but also in light of what is going on in the world nowadays...

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This quote is still so perfect for this book...

I finished reading it, and it was truly excellent from start to finish. It serves as a powerful and sobering reminder that we simply cannot hide away in our own comfortable bubbles forever; political reality has a way of catching up with us, and when it does, the awakening can be absolutely brutal and disorienting. What struck me most profoundly while reading is that it's not only those opposing dictatorships or who are neutral who end up facing these harsh and painful awakenings. Even the most loyal and devoted supporters eventually find themselves encountering decisions and actions they simply can't stomach or reconcile with their values, and that's precisely when they come to realize the harsh and devastating truth: the person they worked so hard to elevate and support doesn't actually care about them or their well-being at all.

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Translation: In a dictatorial regime, you have no value. You are nothing. No matter how much you want to ignore this reality or create your own world to isolate yourself from external events, no matter how much you escape into art, into drink, into hashish or into evenings with friends, these are only illusions that postpone the moment when you must face reality. At a given moment, like now, you will find yourself confronted with your crushing and shameful defeat. You have no rights, no dignity. The dictator can do with you what he wants when he wants, and you have no right to oppose it. You can only file a petition, and your petitions will be dismissed.

This hits so hard, not only in relation to the story but also in light of what is going on in the world nowadays...

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Just finished the book I was reading in French, and I think it’s the first time I read a book that I would have a hard time explaining to someone. Not that it was bad (far from it), just different from what I’ve read in recent years 🤔 Did learn a lot about Monet!

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Read a book about Monet, end up learning more about Auschwitz (no there’s no direct link between the two, just the book that jumps from Giverny to Auschwitz for reasons that are too complicated to explain)…

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Book review - Chemins de fer du Mexique (Gian Marco Griffi)

This book review will be written in French, as I read it in that language, and, to my knowledge, there is no English translation available at present. I'll provide a translation of my review below the French one.

Ce livre singulier mais captivant défie toute catégorisation simple. Bien que sa structure narrative non conventionnelle puisse ne pas convenir à tous les lecteurs, cette histoire située à l'époque de la Seconde Guerre mondiale comporte des éléments anhistoriques qui s'avèrent divertissants, pour peu qu'on ne recherche pas une stricte exactitude historique (que l'auteur ne promet d'ailleurs jamais). L'intrigue tourne autour d'un soldat italien chargé de cartographier les chemins de fer du Mexique, tout cela découlant d'un livre remis à un bureaucrate nazi décrivant une ville mythique abritant une arme extraordinaire. Un rebondissement survient : le bureaucrate avait reçu ce livre en paiement d'un travail non autorisé, entraînant de graves conséquences et la destruction du livre. Lorsqu'un certain Chancelier moustachu, amateur de Wagner, apprend l'existence de l'arme secrète mentionnée dans le livre détruit, il exige une carte des chemins de fer mexicains menant à cette mystérieuse cité. Cette directive descend la chaîne de commandement jusqu'à atteindre notre protagoniste, Cesco Magetti.

Magetti, qui sert dans la Garde nationale républicaine ferroviaire, doit terminer la carte en une semaine. L'histoire suit sa recherche à travers Asti d'une copie du livre. Le récit entremêle habilement la quête de Magetti avec les histoires de personnages liés à sa "mission". Bien que l'action se déroule principalement à Asti et dans les régions italiennes environnantes, l'histoire fait des incursions captivantes au Mexique et en Allemagne.

Ce livre m'a immédiatement rappelé "L'écume des jours" de Boris Vian, que j'ai lu au secondaire (lycée pour les Européens), avec sa narration inhabituelle qui m'a fait dire "Que suis-je en train de lire ?" autant au début qu'à la fin. Bien que le dernier chapitre s'accorde avec l'intrigue principale, les deux chapitres précédents semblaient plutôt déconnectés. Même si j'ai apprécié le livre, il pourrait ne pas plaire à tout le monde, particulièrement aux lecteurs qui préfèrent les structures conventionnelles, car celui-ci demande de la patience pour s'adapter à son style unique.

Initialement écrit en italien et traduit, à ma connaissance, en français et en allemand, ce livre non conventionnel mérite d'être exploré par les lecteurs maîtrisant l'une de ces langues. Si vous cherchez quelque chose de vraiment hors du commun, "Chemins de fer du Mexique" vous attend.

Translation

This peculiar yet engaging book defies easy categorization. While its unconventional narrative structure may not suit all readers, the World War II-era story includes ahistorical elements that prove entertaining, as long as you don't demand strict historical accuracy (which the author never promises). The plot centres on an Italian soldier charged with mapping Mexico's railways, all stemming from a book given to a Nazi bureaucrat describing a mythical city with an extraordinary weapon. A wrinkle emerges: the bureaucrat received this book as payment for unauthorized work, leading to severe consequences and the book's destruction. When a certain moustachioed Chancellor with a fondness for Wagner learns of the secret weapon mentioned in the destroyed book, he demands a map of Mexican railways leading to this mysterious city. This directive flows down the chain of command until landing with our protagonist, Cesco Magetti.

Magetti, serving in the National Republican Railway Guard, must complete the map within a week. The story follows his search through Asti for a copy of the book. The narrative skillfully interweaves Magetti's quest with tales of characters linked to his "mission." While the action mainly takes place in Asti and its surrounding Italian regions, the story makes compelling forays into Mexico and Germany.

This book immediately reminded me of Boris Vian's "L'écume des jours," which I read in high school, with its unusual narrative that left me wondering "What am I reading?" both at the beginning and end. While the final chapters aligned with the main plot, the two preceding chapters felt rather disconnected. Though I enjoyed the book, it may not appeal to everyone, particularly readers who prefer conventional structures, as this one requires patience to adjust to its unique style.

Originally written in Italian and translated, to my knowledge, into French and German, this unconventional book is worth exploring for fluent readers of any of these languages. If you're seeking something truly out of the ordinary, "Chemins de fer du Mexique" awaits.

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Être lyrique et ironique est la seule chose qui nous protège du désespoir absolu.

- Chemins de fer du Mexique, Gian Marco Griffi

(Translation: Being lyrical and ironic is the only thing that protects us from absolute despair.)

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I think I’ve come across a character that’s weirder or at least just as weird as Luna Lovegood. Pretty sure they’d get on like a house on fire.

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The Midnight Library Review

As someone on the Discord group said, "it was a book."

I feel ambivalent about this book, and I wouldn't recommend it. I'm particularly puzzled by the comparison on the back of Before the Coffee Gets Cold that claims, "If you loved The Midnight Library, you'll love this book." As someone who absolutely loves Before the Coffee Gets Cold (BtCGC), those two books do not belong in the same sentence.

While I may sound harsh, The Midnight Library delivers its lessons with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, whereas BtCGC offers a more nuanced approach—perhaps reflecting its Japanese origins and the culture's characteristic indirectness. But I digress—this is a review of The Midnight Library.

The story introduces us to Nora Seed, whose life is presented through such an oppressively gloomy lens that it becomes difficult to connect with her character. I only began to care about Nora near the novel's end, mostly because we get out of her Gloomy Gus phase and see a bit of sunshine. Before that, I just wanted the book to END! While some readers found it "triggering," I was simply bored and frustrated. Much of the novel reads like a self-help book in fictional form—unsurprising, given the author's background in that genre.

The idea of the book itself is not bad. In fact, it's interesting—but I think it was poorly executed. The focus on Nora alone might have been the issue. In BtCGC, we follow a cast of characters experiencing the chair in the coffee shop. Like Nora, some of these characters haven't had easy lives—there's even one in the second book who contemplates suicide, just like Nora. The difference is that I felt empathy for those characters that I never came to feel for Nora. I think if Nora's story had been tightened into a shorter narrative, with fewer chapters dwelling on "woe is me" at the beginning and perhaps followed two more people experiencing the same phenomenon, it would have been more compelling.

For example, instead of starting with Nora, the story could have begun with Henri to explain how everything works—which we don't learn until midway through the book—similar to how the first story in BtCGC serves to explain its premise. Of course, if you've read the book, you'll realize this change would make the title less fitting.

Another minor flaw, only partially addressed toward the end, lies in a particular mechanic of the story. When entering a new life, the knowledge accumulated by that version of yourself isn't transferred to your root self. This means whenever you possess another version of yourself, you're completely clueless—potentially appearing to have dementia to those around you. While you might wing it in some situations, entering a life where your alternate self has mastered something you barely know would raise suspicions. For instance, if I possessed a version of myself who was fluent in Japanese and living in Japan, while my current self barely speaks the language, people would certainly notice something was wrong. Though this issue is somewhat resolved by the end, it remains problematic in my view.

Overall, The Midnight Library feels like a missed opportunity. While its central premise is intriguing, the execution falls short, particularly in character development and pacing. The heavy-handed delivery of its life lessons and the prolonged focus on Nora's misery make it a challenging read. Though it improves towards the end, it feels too little, too late by then. The book certainly has its admirers, and I can see why its message of appreciating life might resonate with readers. However, I'd recommend looking elsewhere for those seeking a more nuanced exploration of similar themes—perhaps at Before the Coffee Gets Cold instead.