26 Αυγούστου 2014

Elias Koutsoukos, Eat by yourselfs / Our readings (1st year)

 Elias Koutsoukos, Eat by yourselves 
(possible title in translation)

16-11-2011
Book 3th
A suggestion of George Kalientzidis

The book has not been transleted





Extracts of book reviews
translated by
Xristina Kelesidou

Ifigeneia Theodoridou


The author using minimalist realism tells the story of a teenager, who criticize the world that surrounds him, reflecting our adolescence or at least most of us. A puberty full of rage, anxiety, reaction, romance, innocence, guilt ... as is every puberty more or less.


Maria Triantafyllidou



His technique, the rough language that he uses, which is shocking at first, but spurs, challenges, and if you like it, you stay with him. The writing is torrential, endless, seamless. The "confession" is without brakes in the first person singular, puts the reader in the psychoanalyst chair, lures him, puts off the decency overcoat and says "come on, do not be shy, open up, talk, relieve yourself! Tell everything! ... "! And this is redemption. That for me is the purpose and he achieves it!

Matenides Nikos
What is this wild animal, that wants to conquer little Carmen. If he had around him Lou Salome, he would f..k her and and her psychological issues. Also, if he knew the Zelda (Fitzgerald), he would put angels (Semkel) and demons to win her from her surroundings. [...] He was found on the eastern side of the country. If he lived in the south, he would have resorted to the holes of Matala, and swear from there.
How comfortable he peels his onion.

Stefania Veldemiri

The book for me was a dive in red and black, colors clothe and heroes of the book, the combination of colors that I really like. The description of the kiss with Zizi, was amazing. I think it is the definition of the kiss. It reminded me the kiss in "Peter Pan" by James Barry. It was a conversation with a friend, who did not have to talk. Like the talk on the radio. These are the books I like.

 Elias Koutsoukos
Civil war Major
It is pouring that ridiculous petty snow, which will not stay on the ground, it will only silt and I am taking out Fidel for his evening walk. 
As we turn to Orestes Str he starts growling as if he saw another dog. He saw my father coming from the and of the street wearing his uniform. 
Oh now we are screwed, I think to myself .. I haven't talked to him for fifteen years. What should I say? He stops in front of us. I see his chest going up and down because of the cold and the four polished with brass shiny crosses. I asked him, to be formal,  "How is mom .." He doesn't look at me, he looks at Fidel who makes a muffled sound ... 'your mother has no needs, she is all singing and running around' ... and immediately he says 'the dog has a problem, we'll take him up there where there are yards that he can run ..' and leaves without a goodbye. I look at Fidel who is terrified and pulls from the leash to go back. 
I think ' the motherfucker will get my dog'. It's been fifteen years since he is gone and he still wants to have the first saying ...

Christiana Vellou
Our hero is another lonely child. The author through a hard even raw, I'd say, writing style reveals a whole generation of people who are struggling between two worlds to find "dynamic equilibrium" clogged to "wait and do". The loneliness of the hero forces him to play games with the shadow, the shadow, forces him to remember and refracts pains, which become anger and questions and silently assumes sovereignty and action.

Christina Voumvouraki
Do not get me wrong, I like the subjectivities but I do not know ... Can I blame that flare, somewhere in the middle of the book. I mean Adulthood, which appeared out of nowhere and disappeared loudly closing a chapter. What the heck! Everything I had read previously was indexed distant memories? Didn’t they happen yesterday or even the day before yesterday? Otherwise, between us, this come and forth, was for me the best part of the book. Also the scene with the reluctantly hanging arms against the arms of the inadequate mother.