Contiene partes crueles y muy duras, y todo visto desde la perspectiva de una niña. Solo muestra pincelazos de sus vivencias pero bastan para estremecer.

Meh. Can't wait to read her novels though because these stories showed some promise, I just couldn't get into them.

Bassure di Herta Müller- Narrazione che avviene per frasi minime in perenne bilico tra prosa e poesia.
L’ampio ricorso agli analogismi e alle sinestesie estreme provoca un effetto di chiusura nel lettore, quasi di distorsione. I racconti di Herta Müller hanno un sapore crudele e inconscio, restituiscono un mondo reale non per come effettivamente è, ma attraverso la percezione della voce narrante.
Una scrittrice da approfondire anche per il rapporto non facile con il regime di Nicolae Ceaușescu.

Nadirs is a series of short stories told from the point of view of a child who grows up in a community in Romania united by its German roots. Anthropologically it's pretty interesting, and yet without or without the identity aspect to me it's a book about the oppression of small-minded dumb country living. There's a lot of dirt, dead crops, dead animals, blood, schnapps, hopelessness and impoverished perspective, by which I mean the narrator is starved for something beyond village life, which is overwhelmingly dark and occasionally absurd.

“Nadirs” is the longest story in the book and not among the better ones, in my opinion. I liked most the two-page “The Swabian Bath,” and “Village Chronicle” for their tense touch of humor.

Here’s the start of “The Swabian Bath:”
**
It is Saturday night. The bath stove has a glowing belly. The ventilation window is shut tight. Last week two-year old Arni caught a cold from the chilly air. Mother is washing little Arni’s back with faded panties. Little Arni is thrashing about. Mother lifts little Arni out of the bathtub. Poor child, says Grandpa. Such young children shouldn’t be given a bath, says Grandma. Mother climbs into the bathtub. The water is still hot. The soap is foaming. Mother is rubbing little grey rolls off her neck. Mother’s rolls are floating on the surface of the water. The tub has a yellow ring. Mother climbs out of the bathtub. The water is still hot, Mother calls to Father. Father gets into the the bathtub. The water is warm. The soap is foaming.
**

It goes on like that, with all the family members getting into the tub and rubbing their little grey rolls free. The repetition works well to jack up the absurdity, and the image of greasy rolls of skin collecting on the water surface is so repulsive and oppressive that I can’t help but laugh.

I think Herta Müller is an excellent writer and her skills are evident here but the book didn't bowl me over. One of the blurbs on the back says “the range of Müller’s artistry makes it difficult to convey the full resonance in an English rendering, yet Sieglinde Lug has provided a readable and accurate translation that will make Müller more accessible to an American audience.” Personally I hardly find this a recommendation. I also don’t think – worthy or not – this book is going to have wide appeal in America! Perhaps I should have read it in German. Too late now.

That said I read [b:The Land of Green Plums|230861|The Land of Green Plums|Herta Müller|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1172928692s/230861.jpg|223593] a few months ago and thought it was terrific. The writing was superior and although the plot was weak I felt much more "in" the book.

I suppose childhood's heart is either savage or enchanted depending on the circumstances enclosing it, but depending even more, I think, on the disposition of the child. Müller's extraordinary manipulations of syntaxes and the performative functions of words create the sense of slippery, unfixed meaning that comes as such a trauma to the child narrator. I love also her exploration of the friction between the world-understanding the adults are trying to develop in the child and the many ways it is betrayed by the actions of those same adults.