Больше рецензий

12 октября 2015 г. 18:57

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You know how it goes – sometimes the newsline brings a cluster of reviews of a particular book. The reason may be a new edition, an upcoming screen version, or a local book club meeting – in the case of Equus it was, I suppose, some kind of “grapevine”, and after stumbling across the title three days in a row, I finally put it in my list. I was both convinced that it was a must read, a landmark in modern literature (or at least in drama), a mind-turning work – and at the same time I feared to open it. Believing myself a mature reader, certainly able to tell fiction from real life, could not help my disgust at the true event which inspired the whole play. But, once glimpsed, Equus would not lie still. It haunted me, like some forbidden fruit of knowledge.
Equus never promised a pleasant read. It is a story of madness, obsession and unimaginable violence (the only thing in the play the wasn’t made up and, I suppose, just couldn’t possibly have been for literary purposes alone). However, the text is neither tough nor awkward; it reels on from scene to scene as easily as that ball-beared square on the stage. A play, unlike a novel, involves time dimension: you are not supposed to break the contact or to lose the pace within the prescribed hours. In this respect, Equus is faultless. I might even call it a lesedrama, meaning that there is everything you need in the printed text to imagine it performed. The suggested set is as simple as possible, necessary and sufficient to make the most of theatre medium. I’m not sure that Equus is always mounted in the same original way, but many details like Alan participating in dialogues where he is not actually present or telling his memories and acting them at the same time would be hard to reproduce anywhere but in theatre. Besides, the horses played without a hint of naturalism is the only way to perceive the symbolic part of the story – I simply can’t bring myself to see the film by Sidney Lumet, knowing that the final scene was shot very true-to-life.
But as for the content and message of this form quite sublime, I’d expected it to be somewhat more original than a mixture of Freudian and Christian ideas. Well, having some experience in the XXth century literature, you can’t take a step without stumbling over one or another, or both. The problem is that I can understand worshipping horses, if they personify ideas inherent to them as they are: strength, freedom, disengagement, sincerity, loyalty, pride. In Equus, we just see a biblical picture replaced with a portrait of a horse; we see Alan performing the Last Supper, Nugget instead of Christ, sugar instead of bread. I say, he must have looked pretty ridiculous from the horse’s point of view, with all these sacred sticks and kneeling and “eat my sins for my sake”. Alan Strang did not think out a new god in equine shape – looks like he cannot get rid of religious ideas drilled into him since childhood. He’s just not up to inventing gods. He’s an absolutely mediocre teenager, lonely, notorious, uneducated, despising the whole world for its hypocrisy. He strongly reminded me of Holden Caulfield, which added no points. And if man creates his god in the image and likeness of himself, what did Alan’s idol give to him? – accusation, abasement and disgrace. Is this really what you should feel when dealing with horses, or any other animals? Alan’s shame of being with a girl before the eyes of Equus (“the most naked thing you ever saw!”) doesn’t make sense to me at all. Shame is totally alien to animals, and that’s why we admire them, saying, what is natural is not ugly. The feel of guilt for being alive is human invention. Maybe sometimes it serves as a deterrent. This time, it was very much the reverse.
Think of it. That bastard existed. He mutilated six creatures whose only blame was being godlike beautiful. He actually did it. He stabbed out their eyes with a metal spike. One by one. He heard their cries. He betrayed their trust. I bet he had not any prominent philosophic ideas. But for a playwright, it looked like a story and it brought him fame.
Really, I don’t know if all this would have been more hideous if Peter Shaffer had thought up the plot himself.

Комментарии


Отлично, что можно почитать англоязычные рецензии прямо здесь, а то неохота на Goodreads бегать. Книга же, по-видимому, просто жуткая, надо бы с ней поосторожнее, если наткнусь o_o