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Where My Heart Used to Beat

af Sebastian Faulks

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4434056,623 (3.4)23
Robert, a British doctor haunted by World War II memories, agrees to write a biography of a renowned specialist in memory loss who possesses unsettling knowledge of Robert's past.
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» Se også 23 omtaler

Viser 1-5 af 39 (næste | vis alle)
Another good effort from Sebastian folks. This offering, however, is no Charlotte Gray, nor Birdsong. It is more a reflection of some of his lesser works, such as Ingleby. Although the main tropes of Fox’s fiction are present, in that there is a hefty slice of psychiatric history, war, post-traumatic stress disorder, and unrequited romance, it somehow seems to fail to hold together. The narrative, following a potentially mentally unwell, World War II veteran has too few incidents to make one wonder with curiosity, and the disparate threads of his otherwise empty life become less than enthralling after the middle of the book. Don’t get me wrong, it’s worth reading, I just wouldn’t put that up there with his best works. ( )
  aadyer | Jan 20, 2023 |
A slow burn but ended up really enjoying this ( )
  adrianburke | Oct 21, 2022 |
I don't want to sound melodramatic but it's been a long time since a book physically grabbed me by the collars, raised me up, shook me gently and put me down again.

Faulks is able to fully articulate the desolation that one feels from being emotionally isolated from others, the awkwardness and sense of mistrust towards other people - the feeling of a deep, ancient persistent pain that wells up by itself for no reason.

The relationship between Hendricks and Luisa recalls the heady, exhilarating moments of 'oh shit, you too? I thought it was just me' love. It extends into heartbreak territory, when they separate, after Hendricks realizes that Luisa is married. 37 years later, thankfully, they reunite, without Hendricks losing his cool.

Reading this was a pretty cathartic experience. ( )
  georgeybataille | Jun 1, 2021 |
Hendricks is a lonely man. When Luisa left suddenly years ago, it left a hole in his heart. Not only that, he made his best friends in the army, and most of them died in the war. He chose not to face up to his losses. Until an encounter with Dr. Pereira who made him revisit his memories, he finally reconnected with Luisa and the army pals still alive. A melancholy book, Faulks leaves you thinking after you finish the book. ( )
  siok | Dec 8, 2020 |
Someone wrote of this book: a moving tale of memory, love and war, That's a pretty good summary ( )
  cbinstead | Sep 25, 2020 |
Viser 1-5 af 39 (næste | vis alle)
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Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand. . .
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With its free peanuts and anonymity, the airline lounge is somewhere I can usually feel at home; but on this occasion I was in too much of a panic to enjoy its self-importance.
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I'd been to Paris a fair amount in the past.....I liked the art galleries, the Metro with its enchanting station names, the islands in the river and the cathedral with its flying buttresses. It was a very handsome city, more so than London; but there was the smugness to deal with, the speech of grunts and shrugs, the barely concealed affection for the departed Nazi occupier; its void August, lay religiosity and fixation with appearances; the way people listened to and admired themselves in the act of talking; the surliness of its waiters, ticket sellers and shop assistants; the boiling little hotel rooms with their floral wallpaper; its willed ignorance of other cultures.
One thing of value my mother's eyes had known was my father's face; and as I gazed into them I half hoped to see - as one can sometimes catch the lights of a window reflected in another's iris - a small image of him smiling back at me. But there was of course no such thing, merely a mother's glaucous good will. Her eyes had seem me as an infant and a child; when she died she would take with her all that I had been in those years before my mind was formed: the wicker basket at the bedside, my head limp against her chest in sleep; the first words, learning how to walk, the bleeding knees, the schoolroom door, the emergence of something like a personality from the falls and tantrums and striving - all those sensations ad events which to her were daily trials but which for me were defining and all-but holy...all these would now be lost in the abyss of time.
As everyone of more than forty-five knows, older people don't think of themselves as such; they stayed locked at twenty-nine or thirty-three or some such sprightly age and view the grey hairs and flesh loosening on the bones as an aberration that a quick diet or a softer light will fix.
There are no atheists in a slit trench
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Robert, a British doctor haunted by World War II memories, agrees to write a biography of a renowned specialist in memory loss who possesses unsettling knowledge of Robert's past.

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