Op de omslag van deze roman staat een uitspraak van Irvine Welsh. Hij zegt daarin onder andere dat Negen een portret is van een ontwortelde en rusteloze generatie Oost-Europeanen. Door dat citaat van Welsh drong de vergelijking met Welsh' Trainspotting zich verschillende keren aan mij op tijdens het lezen. Waarom?

Lees verder op deze pagina van mijn boekenblog. ( )

This is a strange book and, while I can't say I enjoyed it, it was compelling in an odd sort of way.

Paweł, a failing businessman, is on the run from people to whom he owes money. He seeks help from former acquaintance, Jacek, who is also being pursued (although I couldn't tell you precisely why). Then there is Bolek, a hunter rather than prey, and the people working for him, along for the ride. And there are those innocently caught up in the trouble, Zosia and Beata (women, of course) and the more complex Syl, still essentially a victim.

By the end of the novel, the plot doesn't seem to have moved on a great deal. What you do get is a detailed description of the topography of Warsaw - tram and bus routes, the various streets taken by drivers or pedestrians and references to the city's various districts. I've visited Warsaw three times, but don't know the city inside out and found all these references a bit much. In some senses this book feels like an ode to Warsaw and its people, and I felt very much an outsider looking in.

Various characters also reminisce about their childhoods. I know that this novel is set not too long after the fall of Communism and I was expecting there to be some nostalgia for past times, but I didn't get the impression that the characters' childhoods were any less bleak than the present. Essentially, nothing good happens in the book.

I'm sure this book is great if you look for atmosphere in a novel - there are lots of sights, sounds and smells and a general air of menace - but if, like me, you appreciate engaging characters and a plot that moves forward, then it probably isn't for you.

She wanted them to come back, to open the door and talk to her and touch her, because human pain is better than inhuman fear.

I've had this book for a while. Bought it because I liked the cover and the big red number '9' for a title was cool. I like the number '9'. But about the book...

I won't even attempt to pronounce this writer's name and compared to the street and neighborhood names in the book his name is as easy to say as 'Bob'. The book was originally written in Polish. The English translation was beautiful.

Stasiuk, or 'Bob' as I called him, writes like a poet. The prose is a bit stream-of-conscience like. Reading '9' is like being a wraith floating around the streets of Warsaw bumping into some of the seedy characters trying to get by in a new capitalistic society. It's a simple story. Pawel owes money to a loan shark. They are after him. He runs around the city and mixes with drug dealers and low lifers. But Stasiuk holds this simple tale together by introducing the main protagonist, the city of Warsaw in the 90's.

The book is dark. It is dismal. There are some light moments (the crippled cat not being one). I'm glad this book wasn't called '3'... because I might not have bought it.

'A book like this makes most British and American writing seem so asinine.' - Tom Tomaszewski, Independent on Sunday

Read the entire review here: http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/reviews/9-by-andrzej-stasi...

And the NY Times review is here: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/10/books/review/Welsh-t.html?_r=1

Stasiuk on Beckett's face: 'I would like to go to Ireland. I'm a great Van Morrison fan. And Samuel Beckett is a first-degree star. Of all writers in the world, his face is the most beautiful. I have written two essays about his face. His way of ageing was just so much in tune with the way minerals and trees age.'

The complete Guardian article is here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2001/feb/03/fiction ( )

This is a fragmented elegiac for a many apsects of postmodern life in 1990's lower class Warsaw. The book is hard to read and it can't be due totally to translation. The author moves frequently between plot lines, and uses pronouns almost exclusively. The reader is left not knowing which character is analyzing tram routes, bus numbers and routes, train numbers and the lives of their parents until halfway or more into each segment of the story. This does not engender suspense as much as frustration. The story is, for the first 75% of the book, a plotless trek with drug addicts and unemployed youth through sketchy parts of Warsaw in the cold. Near the end there is apparently a weaving together of some plot lines however the author does not pull off any kind of resolution or symbolism or conclusion. I would not recommend this book. ( )

I agree with DieFledermaus in finding the style very flat, but wonder if that is the translator's fault. I found the gritty milieu of cement block Warsaw both depressing and interesting. The desperate characters are driven to desperate ends, but I wouldn't call this a thriller because the pace is too slow. I wish the protagonist had some good quality that made him more appealing. ( )