The Tartar Steppe is about waiting. It is a tale of the wasted life and a parable of time lost.
Youth is full of hopes and expectationsÂ…
Of course with the others, with his colleagues, he had to be a man, had to laugh with them and tell swashbuckling stories about women and the soldier’s life. But to whom could he tell the truth if not to his mother? And that evening the truth as Drogo saw it was not what you would have expected from a good soldier – probably it was unworthy of the austere Fort, and his companions would have laughed at it. The truth was that he was tired from the journey, that the gloomy walls weighed upon him, that he felt completely alone.
Time flies and expectations are withering and hopes are dying slowly. A stronghold guards an empty space and the lives of the soldiers are full of emptiness. Their existence is as barren as the Tartar Steppe. Time keeps flyingÂ…
Thick, thick snow fell from the sky and lay on the terraces and made them white. As he looked at it Drogo felt his old worry more acutely than ever and sought in vain to dispel it by thinking of his youthfulness, of the number of years that lay before him. For some inexplicable reason time had begun to pass more and more quickly and engulfed the days one after another. You had barely time to look about and the night was falling, the sun was travelling below the horizon and would reappear in the opposite direction to illuminate the snow-clad world.
Waiting is easy – everything is calm and nothing happens… Life inexorably passes by and nothing is left behind.402 s Adina 1,018 4,234

Update 2022: While reading Zambra’s “Not to Read” I stumbled over a quote from this novel. I thought I should put it here:

‘It doesn’t hurt to remember, by the way, the passage in The Tartar Steppe when, with tepid good judgement, Giovanni Drogo intuits his fate: ‘It is difficult to believe in a thing when one is alone and there is no one to speak to. It was at this period that Drogo realized how far apart men are whatever their affection for each other, that if you suffer the pain is yours and yours alone, no one else can take upon himself the least part of it; that if you suffer it does not mean that others feel pain, and that brings about life’s loneliness.’

Previous comments: The most haunting metaphor of life and death that I've ever read. It is an incredible book but it leaves you spent, desolated at the end of it, the tartar steppe.1001 favorites italy296 s2 comments ?.??? (??? ??????)308 582

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'Time has slipped by so quickly,
that his heart has not had a chance to grow old'


While Dino Buzzati was putting the finishing touches to his 1938 novel, the world outside began a slow and oblivious path, looming towards a war that shook the very foundations of mother Earth. Is it possible Buzzati knew what lied ahead?, as his story here revolves around anticipating war, waiting, watching, fearful of what may appear over the horizon.

The Tartar Steppe is both a scathing critique of military life pre-war, and a meditation on the independent thirst for glory. Giovanni Drogo a young officer is posted to a remote mountain garrison, an anomalously surreal fort, smack bang in the middle of nowhere, known as 'fort Bastiani, which sits overlooking the vast and eerie 'Tartar Steppe' baron landscape (gaining it's title as supposedly Tartars once lived on the other side of the desert). Leaving the city by horseback, Drogo has no idea what to expect on arrival, and starts conjuring up thoughts of just what his life is going to be .
Never thinking on staying long, he is suddenly overtaken by the passing of time, leading to weeks, months, and years of service, and never seeing any signs what so ever, that a possible army could be looming far off in the distance, biding time, ready to strike.
Becoming distinguished with fellow guards, he would rise in rank over the years, and slowly come to terms with his empty existence.
Over the course of many years the fort would be downgraded, and almost forgotten about by the powers that be, and the world around it, a place of solitude, but an important place of solitude nonetheless, as there is always, no matter how small, a chance an invading army will march through the mist, and take those holding the fort by surprise.

On a mysterious level the novel works so well at never specifying time or place, it could be 20th century, but then again as nothing is ever related to this, we could be going back much further.
When you here of the "the Northern Kingdom", it gets me thinking of centuries ago, but again it's a clever way to add even greater dimension, to it's already quite bizarre story.
The namelessness of the setting was surely deliberate: not only are the hopes and ambitions of the characters in total vain, but just as we are struggling to care about their fate, we also cannot care about their country, which, after all, doesn't even exist. This is easy to get over, as Buzzati writes with a big heart, you truly feel ever step, every though, and every action of Giovanni Drogo, and I am not ashamed to admit, was left close to moist eyes by the final haunting passages.

This is very much the epitome of the literary novel, by which I mean that Buzzati wasn't trying to tell a story but express something deeper through the medium of a novel. This is the sort of novel that professors of literature love, because it begs for a close reading, and that most genre readers hate, because the plot and the characters are just symbols to express the author's intent. Camus, Kafka and Calvino spring to mind when thinking of similarities, with Kafka's 'The Castle' a good point of reference in terms of overall tone.

On the one hand, this is a bleak, desolate and droll story of the wasting away of ones life, but on the other an unseen tension is lurking, even though it would appear the novel has absolutely no tension of any sort. Something just bothered me the whole way through, but can't put my finger on what that something is, there is obviously more to this work than meets the eye.
The leaden prose is not lacking in descriptive detail and the dialog is expressive enough (with help from an authorial style that tells us exactly what each character is actually thinking) to capture the empty years and desolation, for which the Tartar Steppe is a metaphor.
For all his boredom, Drogo is always anticipating war with an excitement, but also a lingering sadness, that his day will never come, and one day he will be cast off into oblivion having never any heights.

This was a read where going into it was a complete unknown, I knew nothing of Buzzati, or his Tartar Steppe, but have come out on the other side realizing a quite unique piece of writing has passed before my eyes.classic-literature existential favourites ...more258 s Luís2,059 820

This novel is not one; it is a long and magnificent poem. Well, that's what I felt because Giovanni is universal. He's me here; he's you (and anyone who wants him. Um, I'm going out). It embodies our desires, regrets, wanderings, and a life that could be ours as we take a perverse pleasure in wasting. By an extensive range (for that, the ideas are never lacking) - this precious time, which crumbles and escapes the sand of our vacation beach, slips through our carefree toes.
A downside for me, however, is that I have already spent a lot of time ;-) On these questions and pondered a lot on "Cute, let's go see if the rose" and others, "Happiness is in the meadow. Run fast. It goes. Spin". Since then, I have tried to keep in mind this quote from Seneca, which could perhaps have helped Giovanni:" Life is not to wait for thunderstorms to pass, it is to learn how to dance in the rain."
In the end, I must admit that even if I do not necessarily want to go over these somewhat weighty themes. It is quite another thing to approach them with Dino Buzzati because there you are; being indifferent is well-written, mastered, and impressive. Nevertheless, I must admit that I took great pleasure in reading it. No doubt, this novel is a masterpiece.e-5 italian-literature magical-realism ...more237 s1 comment Gaurav181 1,332

Time has a strange quality; scientists would say it has always been relative, but we are not discussing here the relativity of life, rather we would be more interested in exploring how we perceive time. When we have time in excess it may be cruel and unforgiving but when it passes quickly as the mundanity of life takes over and keep us engaged, then it may be choking life out of us, the commonness and mediocrity of life may keep our soul imprisoned in routine and not allowing it to be assuaged by realizing the adventures of passion. The excruciating speed of time as it passes by us does not allow us to assimilate life and when we realize it, many years are already spent. Life becomes an inexhaustible spree of mundane wherein we seem to lose knowledge of time and youth.


What about hope? Is hope necessary to brave the existential angst of life? Generally, we maintain in life that hope is a prerequisite to have an optimistic state of mind amidst our eternal anxiety and angst towards life. Our consciousness forges it as a powerful tool when crisis looms over us and in fact, it enables us to manufacture creative possibilities in those times of cataclysm. But can hope be futile and even counterproductive? At times, hope can be very exhausting, especially at a certain age when one could not muster the faith one has in youth, our eyes become stoned and indifferent towards the trivial beauties of life since they have seen too many ordeals of life. You wait your entire lifetime, riding upon the optimism of hope, for just a moment of glory which may pull out from the sea of mundane so that your existence springs up from the hell of nothingness and your life leapfrogs from mediocrity to extraordinary.




source


Giovanni Drogo, encountering the usual cloud of skepticism one faces while entering an unknown realm of life, embarks upon a sojourn to Fort Bastiani. He summons the courage of his entire being and mobilizes himself to make peace with the situation. The flames of youth forces him to seek escape from Fort Bastiani in which complete silence seems to be the undisputed master. A frightening sensation surrounds his soul, having seen various examples of life which gets stuck here for their lifetime, inspiring him to contemplate that what if he would never be able to get free from the fort, a darkness fell over his consciousness as he becomes a prey of his own desire to escape. The eternal wheel of time makes indefatigable and relentless rounds and Drogo (having initially unwillingly decided to stay at the fort) gets marooned at Fort Bastiani and his fate gets fastened to the fate of the fort, as the river of time passes over in vain.


The fort turns out to be an intimidating and terrifying place wherein the rules are so strong and rigid that it is humanely not possible for a mortal life form to break them, even if someone has to pay the price with his life. Days become months, months get transformed into years, years into decades but the fate of Drogo and the fort remain untouched by the dash of change. Fort Bastiani and Giovanni Drogo, every captive of the fort, keep waiting for a moment of glory which may spring them up from the hell of nothingness to give meaning to their existence. Why is the moment of glory or valor so important, is it because of the military conditioning or is it because of the basic human need to provide essence to his life. And how would that moment of glory arrive, a seemingly possible war presents a gleam of light in the sea of darkness. How could war bring us glory, how our conscience would allow us to seek glory from it? I guess the confined walls of constrained thinking probably make men the ruthless machines, riding upon the tides of valor and fame interspersed among the emotions of patriotism and bravery. These colossal gargantuan commemorations of wars take inspiration from the fire of pride, grace, and dignity, burning in the heart of people. The flames of the holy fire are so vigorous and impregnable that crumbs of reason, doubt, probe, and contemplation are blazed to nothingness in it.



source


As youth fades away, the hope and expectations give in to the waves of frustration and the walls of the fort become the walls of prison. The memories of past, childhood and youth, may be excruciating, so piercing and tormenting at times that they engulf you in a sort of nostalgia (drawn from the riveting delights of the past) which springs up as a painful reminder of joy, exultation, exuberance and youthfulness, life used to have. However, a man, having been into the regulated space of minded, becomes stranger to not only the rest of the world but to the old times (and perhaps also to possible future) too since something comes in between the people who used to be deeply connected in past and youthful hopes of love and affection often return to disappointment.


How far apart are men from each other, despite living on this overcrowded blue planet; and their affection for each other, how constrained it may seem at times that their emotions could not traverse the gap of space or time. The solitude of human existence is anxious and frightening reality man has to live with, the suffering of a man cannot be felt by others even if love and affection are there which underlines the loneliness of existence; and fast pacing of time as if it becomes an impasse, keeps one reminding of life reducing to just passing hours. Drogo gradually becomes an outsider, a complete stranger to the outside world so much so that he gets imprisoned in his life writhing in the walls of the fort. The future of his life becomes terribly short, and he is being reduced to just anybody easily replaceable and replicable who is fulfilling mundane jobs, perhaps his entire life has become a ‘living death’ which has already succumbed to the vagaries of being and nothingness and has been unleashed with just an extended existence.


The eternal cycle of life repeats itself and the man is replaced by another one as if he is nobody but just a small cog in the wheel of life, what does his existence mean then, and why this cry for valor and glory. Life becomes a perpetual inferno wherein men are churned out of hell of nothingness to a borrowed existence, only to fall eventually into the hell itself. Eventually, the great persistence with hope prevails, and Drogo finds himself at the door of an opportunity to give his inauthentic existence some essence, his soul gets filled with zeal and enthusiasm to prepare itself for the divine occasion, but Drogo has been robbed even from the grand opportune. The rare glimpse of hope which death of glory provides, has been snatched away with disdain from Drogo, and he has again thrown into the searing hell of nothingness, just as he tastes the authentic existence. But is death capable of providing meaning to someoneÂ’s life, his inauthentic existence? Perhaps the death of bravery and honor may provide you momentous comfort, even that mean in the last breaths of your life, to pull you up from the inferno of non-being to the marvelous airs of substance and essence.




source


Our beloved Drogo has been denied even the comfort the death of eminence and heroism may provide. We need to ask ourselves what it means to live authentically or die with valor of life. Perhaps the man has to imbibe a Sisyphean attitude and die authentically, which essentially means to look into the eyes of death with passion and valor without showing any signs of weakness and to accept it with open hands as if it is just a phase of life; probably in such a manner, a man dies bravely with an air of real heroism without requiring the worthless assistance of war.211 s Guille831 2,127

“No hay temor sin esperanza, ni esperanza sin temor.” (La Rochefoucauld)

“Lo mejor es enemigo de lo bueno.” (Voltaire)

“La vida es aquello que te pasa mientras estas ocupado haciendo otros planes.” (Lennon) Todas estas frases y muchísimas más pueden aplicarse a la obra de Buzzati. Los temas que aquí encontrarán han sido tratados, analizados y representados infinidad de veces y en infinidad de formas, no es la originalidad ni tampoco la profundidad lo que hace grande a esta novela. Lo que la hace extraordinaria es la belleza sobria del relato, su aire de leyenda atemporal, la fuerza sutil con la que logra mantenerte absorto y fascinado a pesar de que la anécdota se pueda explicar en una frase.

La anécdota: Drogo ha alcanzado el grado de teniente y empieza su primer servicio en una fortaleza de frontera que vivió tiempos mejores y donde los que permanecen en ella, por decisión propia o no, anhelan un ataque enemigo eternamente esperado en el que puedan demostrar sus dotes y encontrar un sentido a sus vidas.

Los temas: la novela es una sencilla alegoría de la soledad, del paso del tiempo, de la esperanza y, en definitiva, del sentido y el propósito de la vida.

La esperanza, nos viene a decir la novela, nos ayuda a levantarnos cada mañana… “Era la hora de las esperanzas y él meditaba sobre las heroicas historias que probablemente no se harían realidad nunca, pero que, aun así, servían para alentar la vida.” … y, sin embargo, puede constituir una trágica trampa en la que el posible gozo futuro, siempre por vernir, se antepone al modesto disfrute presente, que así pronto se convierte en un pasado olvidable, dando como resultado una vida desaprovechada. Como muy bien dice Borges acerca de la obra, muchas veces esperamos multitudes en un desierto que ha estado, está y estará siempre vacío. Una característica humana explotada profusamente y con gran éxito por los altos poderes. “¿Queda aún mucho? No, basta con atravesar aquel río de allá al fondo, con franquear aquellas verdes colinas. ¿No habremos llegado ya, por casualidad? ¿No son quizá estos árboles, estos prados, esta blanca casa lo que buscábamos? Por unos instantes da la impresión de que sí y uno quisiera detenerse. Después se oye decir que delante es mejor, y se reanuda sin pensar el camino.“ Toda la novela está envuelta en el halo de tristeza que caracteriza la personalidad de Drogo y que se nos revela desde sus sombríos presagios iniciales. Nos compadecemos de su soledad, de su inocencia ante el mundo y los que lo habitan, por su apatía, por su renuncia, por la fatalidad que le aguarda y puede verse en sus ojos, por la jugada final que le depara el destino, por hacer verdad la dura y pesimista verdad que le comunica su superior: “Después de todo, a uno le toca siempre lo que se merece.”

Al concluir la novela, sentimos algo de consuelo con la, sí, también, triste victoria que consigue Drogo con una sonrisa en los labios.205 s Valeriu GherghelAuthor 6 books1,656

În De?ertul t?tarilor, Giovanni Drogo a?teapt?, în fort?rea?a de la grani??, un atac al semin?iei s?lbatice de la miaz?noapte, o invazie a „t?tarilor”, o b?t?lie nemaipomenit?, demn? de analele istoricilor, o b?t?lie care va r?mîne în memoria umanit??ii.

Atacul se amîn?, t?tarii nu sosesc, totul este numai o idee a celor din fort?rea?? (o idee pe care o accept?, treptat, ?i Drogo), un „presentiment întunecat al unor întîmpl?ri fatale”, menite s?-i justifice, s? le ofere o ra?iune de a tr?i sau un soi de mîntuire profan?. A?teptarea goal? nu ofer? niciodat? un sens pozitiv vie?ii, nici m?car a?teptarea mor?ii sau a Turneului de la Doha. Ca ?i John Marcher - protagonistul din Fiara din jungl?, povestirea lui Henry James -, Drogo î?i irose?te via?a a?teptînd. M?car dac? ar fi iubit pe cineva...

Transcriu îndemnul naratorului c?tre eroul s?u muribund:
„Dar nimic nu este mai greu decît s? mori într-un ?inut str?in ?i necunoscut, într-un pat oarecare de han, b?trîn ?i urî?it, f?r? s? la?i pe nimeni în urma ta pe lume. Curaj, Drogo, asta e ultima carte, ie?i în întîmpinarea mor?ii ca un adev?rat soldat, în a?a fel încît existen?a ta ratat? cel pu?in s? sfîr?easc? bine! R?zbun?-te, în sfîr?it, pe soart?, nimeni nu-?i va cînta osanale, nimeni nu te va socoti erou sau ceva asem?n?tor, dar tocmai din pricina asta merit? osteneala s-o faci! P??e?te cu pas hot?rît în împ?r??ia întunericului” (p.217).
Aceasta este ultima b?t?lie a lui Giovanni Drogo. Din p?cate, din ea nu po?i ie?i înving?tor. Nimeni n-a ie?it.

Alte c?r?i pe tema a?tept?rii:

? Samuel Beckett, A?teptîndu-l pe Godot (1952), traducere de Gellu Naum, Bucure?ti: Editura Univers, 1970, 96p.
? J. M. Coetzee, A?teptîndu-i pe barbari, traducere de Michaela Niculescu, Bucure?ti: Humanitas, 2014, 198p.
? Henry James, „Fiara din jungl?”, in Daisy Miller, traducere de Antoaneta Ralian, Ia?i: Polirom, 2003, 456p.

P. S. Poetul Konstantinos Kavafis a scris, în decembrie 1898, un splendid poem intitulat „A?teptîndu-i pe barbari”. L-a publicat abia în 1904. Titlul în englez?: „Waiting for the Barbarians”. J.M. Coetzee face, probabil, aluzie la el...214 s1 comment °°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· ????? ??????? ???????? ·._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°° ?·.·´¯`·.·? ?????? ???????? ??????? ????????? ??736 841

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???? ????????!
??????? ?????????!!

Running before time took our dreams away.160 s Marco TamborrinoAuthor 5 books185

Poi nel buio, benché nessuno lo veda, sorride.

Ho sempre odiato entrare nel personale quando scrivo una recensione. Qui però va fatta una doverosa premessa. Fino a qualche mese fa io ero ingarbugliato nella mia routine quotidiana e non osavo fare mezzo passo avanti per timore che, una volta spezzata, mi ritrovassi sperduto. Quando ho fatto questo passo, esattamente verso la fine dello scorso novembre, ho scoperto che cambiare è necessario. È necessario fare una scelta. Anche se può essere sbagliata. Ma quella scelta è un simbolo, sta a significare che tu non sei una macchina che ripete a pappagallo ogni movimento e ogni parola che prevede un determinato stile di vita. Quella scelta è il tempio in tuo favore che ti dice: tu esisti.

Ecco, io credo che se avessi letto questo libro un paio d'anni fa - e l'avessi capito - magari avrei fatto prima quel passo. Magari non avrei perso così tanto tempo.

In realtà Giovanni Drogo è ancora in me, così come è in tutti noi, persino i più intraprendenti.
Ma chi è Giovanni Drogo?

Uno stupido?
Un eroe?
Uno sfortunato?

Giovanni Drogo è un uomo. È un personaggio terribilmente reale, così reale da apparire angosciante. Questo libro è vero e noi lo sappiamo, negarlo sarebbe inutile. Il tempo passa per tutti, giovani e anziani, e col tempo si consumano le occasioni. [...] una giornata identica all'altra, ripetendosi all'infinito, come soldato che segni il passo. Eppure il tempo soffiava; senza curarsi degli uomini passava su e giù per il mondo mortificando le cose belle; e nessuno riusciva a sfuggirgli, nemmeno i bambini appena nati, ancora sprovvisti di nome. Agghiaccante pensare che proprio nessuno è al riparo dallo scorrere del tempo. Non siamo immortali. O agiamo adesso, o un giorno, anche se vorremo agire, sarà ormai troppo tardi.

Ho trovato irrealmente triste tutta la storia. Una narrazione ricca e una buona dose di poesia hanno reso farraginosa la lettura in parecchi punti, ma il risultato finale è eccezionale. Drogo, arrivato al termine della sua vita, nel momento in cui accade l'evento che attende da sempre, deve lasciare il mondo. La speranza del libro si concentra tutta nelle ultime pagine, nell'affrontare la morte con dignità, senza disperarsi perché l'esistenza è andata sprecata inutilmente. Nella sua ultima ora, a Drogo si è aperto uno spiraglio di luce. E lui sa quant'è difficile andarsene quando si è soli: A poco a poco la fiducia si affievoliva. Difficile è credere in una cosa quando si è soli, e non se ne può parlare con alcuno. Proprio in quel tempo Drogo si accorse come gli uomini, per quanto possano volersi bene, rimangano sempre lontani; che se uno soffre, il dolore è completamente suo, nessun altro può prenderne su di sé una minima parte; che se uno soffre, gli altri per questo non sentono male, anche se l'amore è grande, e questo provoca la solitudine della vita. Anche il fatto che i giovani non si rendano conto di cosa vale la loro età è fondamentale. Drogo continua a ripetersi, per ben quattro anni, che di tempo per tornare a casa ne ha, che è ancora giovane, ha tutta la vita davanti. Giovanni aspetta paziente la sua ora che non è mai venuta, non pensa che il futuro si è terribilmente accorciato, non è più come una volta quando il tempo avvenire gli poteva sembrare un periodo immenso, una ricchezza inesauribile che non si rischiava niente a sperperare.

Credetemi quando dico che le parole di questo libro danno fastidio. Ognuno ogni tanto pensa che la vita sia monotona e che i piccoli momenti che la costituiscono si ripetano incessantemente. E non è forse vero che abbiamo una paura del diavoloa a interrompere tutto questo buttare via la vita, gli anni, i mesi, le settimane, i giorni, le ore, i minuti? Non ci diciamo forse che a volte un istante solo vale tutta la vita. Sarebbe ora di chiedersi il perché. Ed è così semplice. Abbiamo paura a cambiare. È normale. Ma è una paura così grande che ci paralizza e a volte ce la teniamo, gettando l'esistenza al vento.

Il tempo intanto correva, il suo battito silenzioso scandisce sempre più precipitoso la vita, non ci si può fermare neanche un attimo, neppure per un'occhiata indietro. "Ferma, ferma!" si vorrebbe gridare, ma si capisce ch'è inutile. Tutto fugge via, gli uomini, le stagioni, le nubi; e non serve aggrapparsi alle pietre, resistere in cima a qualche scoglio, le dita stanche si aprono, le braccia si afflosciano inerti, si è trascinati ancora nel fiume, che pare lento ma non si ferma mai. Questo fiume che pare lento e non si ferma mai mette un'ansia incredibile. Viene voglia di correre fuori a urlare: io voglio vivere. Eppure rimandiamo sempre a domani, ed è questo rimandare a domani che ogni volta ci frega, ci bastona. Invece di fermare il rimandare, andiamo a curare la ferita, ben consapevoli che non sarà l'ultima.

Di Giovanni Drogo c'è però da dire che ha fatto il suo tentativo. Ha provato a ritornare indietro, ma era già troppo tardi. Una volta i suoi passi la raggiungevano nel sonno come un richiamo stabilito. Tutti gli altri rumori della notte, anche se molto più forti, non bastavano a svegliarla, né i carri giù nella strada, né il pianto di un bambino, né gli ululati dei cani, né le civette, né l'imposta che sbatte, né il vento dentro le gronde, né la pioggia o lo scricchiolare dei mobili. Soltanto il passo di lui la svegliava, non perché fosse rumoroso (Giovanni anzi andava in punta di piedi). Nessuna speciale ragione, soltanto che lui era il suo figliuolo. Quattro anni di attesa sono bastati perché la madre di Drogo non lo riconsocesse più, perché un cambiamento si insinuasse in suo figlio senza che lui avesse potuto un giorno porvi rimedio.

Tirando le somme: se noi non andiamo a cercarci quello che vogliamo, pretendiamo forse che questo qualcosa venga da noi per un fortuito caso? La legge che vige nel proverbio di Maometto e la montagna è ridicola. Disse Ortiz: «Io alle volte penso: noi desideriamo la guerra, aspettiamo l'occasione buona, ce la prendiamo con la sfortuna, perché non succede mai niente. [...]». Esatto. Le cose belle non ci verranno mai incontro. Noi potremo lamentarci finché vorremo, potremo pretendere per non so quale ragione che stare fermi e aspettare sia la cosa migliore. Però così perderemo solo tempo. E potremmo perderne troppo.

Allora, io non voglio stare qui a fare l'avvocato del diavolo di Buzzati e ripetervi come un mantra che questo libro contiene duecentodue pagine di angosciante verità esistenziale. Sapete benissimo voi se siete capaci o meno di mettervi in gioco. E potrete decidere di conseguenza.132 s Nika180 216

4.5 stars

This story follows two protagonists - a man and a fort. Their fates become inseparable for better and for worse.
A young man named Giovanni Drogo is sent to a distant fort to serve there. He intends to spend in the fortress no more than a few years, but life decided otherwise. Drogo's fate will be tied with the Fort for the rest of his days. And Drogo is not an exception. His fellow officers are also connected to the Fort and the vast Tartar steppe that stretches in front of it. This steppe serves as a sort of buffer zone that separates the fort and its defenders from their enemies. Giovanni and others see those on the other side of the steppe not as fellow human beings but as their adversaries, barbaric and cruel.
The world is divided into the two categories - 'us' and 'them'. The images of division, fear, and glory occupy the mind of the soldiers and officers of the Fort. If the enemy finally attacks, they will be relieved from the burden of constant waiting and will have a chance for glory.

"Twenty-two months are a long time and a lot of things can happen in them- there is time for new families to be formed, for babies to be born and even begin to talk, for a great house to rise where once there was only a field, for a beautiful woman to grow old and no one desire her any more, for an illness- for a long illness- to ripen (yet men live on heedlessly), to consume the body slowly, to recede for short periods as if cured, to take hold again more deeply and drain away the last hopes; there is time for a man to die and be buried, for his son to be able to laugh again and in the evening take the girls down the avenues and past the cemetery gates without a thought. But it seemed as if DrogoÂ’s existence had come to a halt."

The story takes us on a trip down the river of time. Time, which is the third protagonist, flows and evaporates day after day, hour after hour. These days and hours constitute a life of a sentient being. It explores how impactful and destructive the relationship both between the man and the object (the Fort) and between the man and the idea (waiting for the “barbarians” to invade) may be.
The defenders of the Fort fear and eagerly anticipate the foreign invasion that keeps failing to happen. They do not ask themselves what their expected adversaries wish to gain from the attack except for acquiring power over the steppe. The fact that this supposedly so much desired steppe is just bare soil adds a bitter irony to the narrative.

The main character and the situation in which he finds himself embody a pattern of detrimental behavior. Drogo's experiences could serve as a warning to the reader who is not accustomed to appreciating the present moment and tends to postpone their life. GiovanniÂ’s story imprints on us the simple yet important truth. We should not sacrifice our time to the gods of waiting and to illusions, even if we surmise that a countless number of days are ahead of us.
wise, the novel implies that it is never too late to attempt to start a new page from scratch. The task may turn out too challenging, you may experience disillusionment and ultimately fail. But all these would be better than simply not trying and giving up. Giovanni in the novel has never come to do something to change the course of his life. He has always been afraid of change.
The end of the story tricks Giovanni for the last time.fiction129 s28 comments Lizzy305 165

A powerful novel, The Tartar SteppeÂ’s writing and context made an impression on me from the start. I read it many years back, and now as I revisited it all came back. It's about looking for the meanings of life, and much more. The Italian Dino Buzzati immerses the reader in a story of hope and how cruelly such feeling can be wasted leading to disappointment. It's the story of a young officer dispatched to serve on a remote fort overlooking the desert. It's about waiting for the enemy at the frontier, in hope of glory.
"One September morning, Giovanni Drogo, being newly commissioned, set out from the city for Fort Bastiani; it was his first posting. ...This was the day he had looked forward for years - the beginning of his real life." He paints a scenario of frustration and impotence, that should not come as a surprise:
"It was true that his heart was full with the bitterness of leaving the old house for the first time... full with the fears which every change brings with it, with emotion at saying goodbye to his mother; but on top of this there came an insistent thought to which he could not quite give a name but which was a vague foreboding as if he were to set out on journey of no return." A sequence of events start to be set and Drogo cannot escape. He knows that he must not stay in the Fort but is unable to leave. He slips into a routine, and we can fell it all happening as if we are there with him:
"But it seemed as if Drogo’s existence had come to a halt. The same day, the same things, had repeated themselves hundreds of times without taking a step forward. The river of time flowed over the Fort, crumbled the walls, swept down dust and fragments of stone, wore away the stairs and the chain, but over Drogo it passed in vain- it had not yet succeeded in catching him, bearing him with it as it flowed.” The Tartar Steppe is beautiful and poetical, and it could be labelled an anti-war novel. Drogo is continually waiting in the fronteirs for the tartars, who are supposed to arrive any day. But they never do. And life goes on everywhere else, but the hero is always waiting. With time, Drogo comes to feel strange when among family and friends, those that are not part of his destiny anymore. Even I that only moved from one country to another and from city to city, know how easy it is to feel out of place with friends that stayed behind as we drifted away.

In a sense this is about mundane existence, about not finding meaning in everyday life and thus expecting to face death empty handed when all hopes were for nothing.

According to Tim Parks, in the introduction in the English edition, “…The Tartar Steppe was submitted to the publishers in January 1939. There is no need to comment on what followed. In any event, the book still serves as an alarming reminder that the century that discovered nothingness would go to any lengths, however catastrophic, to fill that nothingness." He could not be more accurate!classics-literay-fiction favorites-of-all-times read-years-ago ...more116 s Leonard GayaAuthor 1 book1,020

Le Désert des Tartares est un roman de l’attente et de l’irréversible. Le récit est assez simple, quoiqu’ étrange : Drogo, jeune officier d’un royaume fictif, est affecté à un poste frontière, dans une vieille citadelle, à la lisière d’une étendue désertique, d’où, dit-on, pourraient surgir des hordes d’ennemis, les Tartares, à tout moment. Drogo, tout d’abord, souhaite être muté ailleurs, mais sans conviction et finalement sans succès. En définitive, il restera au fort presque toute sa vie, dans l’attente d’une guerre qui tardera toujours à s’annoncer.

La vertu principale de ce roman est, en effet, de faire sentir le passage inéluctable du temps et, sous-jacente, l'approche de la mort. L’auteur y parvient, non seulement par les réflexions existentielles de son protagoniste, mais surtout (Buzzati était également peintre) à travers des descriptions contemplatives d’objets parfois imperceptibles, des natures mortes: la course d’une étoile à travers le cadre d’une fenêtre, le parcours d’un rayon de lune sur le sol, un cheval immobile dans le désert, les rituels militaires mille et mille fois répétés, des mouvements de troupes à l’horizon, la fonte des neiges, la fuite des nuages dans l’atmosphère. Les interactions entre les soldats du fort et, occasionnellement, avec les bourgeois de la ville, sont presque toujours captivantes par leur caractère à la fois concret et insolite, leur mesquinerie dérisoire. Un trait d’écriture qui, cela a été souligné à juste titre, fait souvent penser au Kafka du Procès et du Château.

Je connais peu d’exemples de romans qui se comparent à ce petit chef-d’œuvre de la littérature italienne. Peut-être Le Rivage des Syrtes de Julien Gracq, Sur les falaises de marbre de Ernst Jünger ou encore Waiting for the Barbarians de Coetzee. La forteresse de Minas Tirith, attendant des assaillants de Mordor dans The Return of the King, me revient également à l’esprit.114 s Dream.M625 90

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Bazen okudu?umuz kitaplar hayat?m?z? etkilemekten öteye gidiyor. Bizi s?k?ca kavr?yor, sall?yor ve altüst ediyor. Tatar Çölü böyle bir kitap. Bir kez Bastiani Kalesi'nin içine girince aniden Drogo'nun kendisi oluyor okuyucu. Drogo gibiyiz hepimiz. Ertelediklerimiz, yar?na b?rakt?klar?m?z, eylemsizliklerimiz, korkular?m?z ve kayg?lar?m?zla hayat?n içinde kendimizin bile fark?na varmad??? k?s?r bir döngünün silik kahramanlar?y?z. Ve kitab? okurken sars?c? gerçekler teker teker ç?k?yor ortaya.
Basit gerçeklerle yüzle?mek daha ac? oluyor san?r?m. Asl?nda hep gözümüzun önündeler ama her nas?lsa onlar? görmezden geliyoruz.

Müthi? bir sadelikle yaz?lm?? çok güçlü bir roman Tatar Çölü. Herkes üzerinde böyle bir etkisi olur mu bilmiyorum ama hala 'zaman?n?z' varken okuman?z? öneririm. Çünkü aynen ?öyle ;

“Yine de zaman geçiyordu; insanlar? hiç dü?ünmeden, dünyada gidip geliyor, güzel ?eyleri solduruyor; ve henüz ad? bile konmam?? yeni do?mu? bebekler de dahil olmak üzere hiç kimse onun elinden kurtulam?yordu.”

Nefis çeviriyi de atlamayay?m. Hülya Tufan’?n incelikli çevirisi çok güzel.99 s Ahmad Sharabiani9,564 51

Il Deserto dei Tartari = The desert of the Tartars = The Tartar Steppe, Dino Buzzati

The Tartar Steppe is a novel by Italian author Dino Buzzati, published in 1940.

The novel tells the story of a young officer, Giovanni Drogo, and his life spent guarding the Bastiani Fortress, an old, unmaintained border fortress. The plot of the novel is Drogo's lifelong wait for a great war in which his life and the existence of the fort can prove its usefulness.

The human need for giving life meaning and the soldier's desire for glory are themes in the novel. Drogo is posted to the remote outpost overlooking a desolate Tartar desert; he spends his career waiting for the barbarian horde rumored to live beyond the desert.

Without noticing, Drogo finds that in his watch over the fort he has let years and decades pass and that, while his old friends in the city have had children, married, and lived full lives, he has come away with nothing except solidarity with his fellow soldiers in their long, patient vigil.

When the attack by the Tartars finally arrives, Drogo gets ill and the new chieftain of the fortress dismisses him. Drogo, on his way back home, dies lonely in an inn.

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????? ?????? ????? 20/04/1399???? ???????? ?. ???????This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.Show full review Ladan183 452

Wake me up when September ends...

One September morning Giovanni starts the journey of his professional life, "the beginning of his real-life". Recalling his dull days at Military academy, left him wondering if his best youth years were over. This may sound he has learned his lesson. HELL NO, he didn't. Did I? Did you? Did anyone of us learn our lesson? We keep waiting for that miracle for that hero for that very moment, yet deep down we know it is an illusion and will never show up, and we linger on. Giovanni waited for those four months to end, for September to end, for all those "just another year", which seemed so distant to end. We do the same!
We keep on waiting until the drab sluggish birth of habit. Then it comes the stinky sticky hands of a lifetime of pathetic repetition of habits, which leads to paralyzing one to stay trapped in his comfort zone. Giovanni derived special pleasure from his mastery of the routine, we all do! So Go away while there is still time...

Which side are you on?

Lazzari or Moretto?
The military is a messed up business! A password vital now and gone tomorrow, the stupid rules and roles, how people put their lives in jeopardy for the sake of nothing are heartbreaking. The foundation of this unabashed business is well depicted by the scene in two and a half men:
It's exactly a video game. Except we blow up real people!
This could be generalized to any role one would take in any position. How deep is one drowned into the roles imposed by society?

The death of Ivan Ilych(1886)/The castle(1926)/The tartar steppe(1940)/The stranger(1942)/Waiting for Godot(1953)
They all resemble one another, if you enjoyed one of them, you will enjoy the rest.

Little boxes on the hillside
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside
Little boxes all the same
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same
And the people in the houses All went to the university
Where they are put in boxes, and they come out all the same
And there's doctors and there's lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same
And they all play on the golf course and drink their martini dry
And they all have pretty children And the children go to school
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes, and they come out all the same
And the boys go into business and marry and raise a family
And boxes made out of ticky tacky, and there all look just the same
There's a pink one and a green one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same

The way Buzzati illustrates one's emptiness is by emphasizing the importance of having a career as one's comrades, getting married, having kids and even grandchildren. I disagree. No boxes, no limitations. If you wanna go for the weirdest kind of lifestyle, stay single, marry the chubby fat ass shorty guy or gal, have no kids, feel free and do whatever serves you best, yet don't wait, Just move, take action, LIVE, I will do the same:
favorites italian-lit must-have-read-when-i-was-20 ...more93 s Ian819 63

One of those classic books that sat on my TBR list for many years. I’ve heard that Dino Buzzatti originally called his book “The Fort”. I think the revised title was a big improvement. I don’t know how it sounds in the original Italian, but in English the phrase “The Tartar Steppe” conjures up mysterious and romantic images that would have helped the book to stand out. Incidentally the author doesn’t attempt to anchor this story in any sort of geopolitical reality, but that’s not a criticism on my part. This novel is about the human experience.

ItÂ’s a difficult novel to talk about without introducing spoilers. At the outset the main character, Giovanni Drogo, is a newly commissioned Lieutenant assigned to a frontier post that overlooks the aforementioned steppe. Hardly anything ever happens in the fort. The land on the other side of the frontier is an uninhabited part of the neighbouring Kingdom. Even the appearance of a riderless horse on the other side of the frontier is a major event. Initially Drogo is appalled at the idea of spending time in this backwater, but gradually he makes friends with the other officers and settles into a life of comfortable routine and lack of challenge. When he goes on leave, he finds he no longer has anything in common with his old friends, and he is faced with decisions to make about his career and his personal life.

It might be best to read The Tartar Steppe as a young person, preferably when in your twenties. The message is too late for anyone at my stage of life. On the plus side, the book is still a good literary experience.4-star-lit-fiction fiction modern-classics81 s Paul Bryant2,280 10.6k

The first posting for the newly qualified junior officer Giovanni Drogo is a distant border fortress, Fort Bastiani, a kind of military Gormenghast with vast corridors, distant redoubts and an ancient regime of mindless inflexible ritual. It guards the kingdom against the enemy to the north. The forlorn wilderness overlooked by the fortress is called the Tartar Steppe. Where was that ? This was Tartary



but the name had been discarded by the 19th century. So this is not a historical novel.

Our unheroic hero asks an officer about this wilderness.

“A desert. Stones and parched earth – the call it the Tartar steppe.”
“Why Tartar?” asked Drogo. “Were there ever Tartars there?”
“Long, long ago I believe. But it is a legend more than anything else.”
“So the Fort has never been any use?”
“None at all,” said the captain.

There are three parts to the universe of this novel. There is the city – source of the pleasures of ordinary life, of taverns, pretty women, dancing, of business careers; there is the fort itself, austere, useless, m
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