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July 25, 2019
hmmm. so this was supposed to be for my "october is dystopian/apocalyptic month." and for most people, this book would definitely fall on the dystopian side of things. am i crazy for thinking i could thrive (for a few years anyway, until i run out of parts) in this type of environment? here's the rundown: if ladies don't have kids by the age of 50, and men by 60, and they have no elderlies of their own to take care of, or a job that involves caring for others (teacher, doctor, etc), they get shipped off to a facility where they are housed in pretty plush apartments (with cameras, but no biggie), amazing-sounding food, exercise facilities, library, theater etc. the catch is that you have to perform in drug-testing or psychological experiments and eventually give up your organs. eventually, all of them. but imagine living for three years uninterrupted, getting to read and eat and be left alone with no job or responsibilities except keeping your organs in good condition? this appeals so much to the part of me that wants to go to a loony bin or jail or somewhere just... away... where i can be left alone to read and not have to worry about what i will eat or wear or how i will pay for things. i think about it more than is probably healthy, but it would be so nice to just not take responsibility for once.but this book kind of made my mouth water. because i don't see mommy-ing in my future, and someone should get a use from my parts, right?? i'm big on being useful. and i was giving blood yesterday, thinking "yeah, i could get used to this... take my kidney, take some marrow, whatever..." (i really love giving blood) so as long as they take my eyes last, and i can still read - sign me up, sweden - i give you my body.
come to my blog!
come to my blog!
July 4, 2017
For women turning 50 (60 for men), it is the beginning of the end. You have no children, no partner, no one depending on you. You have just become officially dispensable. You are about to be installed in the Reserve Bank Unit. The longer you can contribute, the longer you live.
Plausible? Nah. Not a bit. It doesn't keep this from being disturbing as hell, especially if you are no longer a young'un.
Plausible? Nah. Not a bit. It doesn't keep this from being disturbing as hell, especially if you are no longer a young'un.
July 5, 2011
The Unit is billed as a Sci-Fi dystopia. If so, it's just barely so. It's speculative with a lower case "s" but little more than that.
Told in the first person by Dorrit Weger -- the most insipid, pathetic, annoying narrator I've read in years -- The Unit is about a future in Sweden where old "dispensable" people (women at fifty and men at sixty who have no families or partners who've avowed love for them), are harvested for their organs and made subjects for medical testing while living the cushiest of lives in a utopian Organ Bank Unit, complete with live and movie theatres, art gallery, library, great food, lovely little shops, fantastic fitness facilities, and a gorgeous park straight out of a Monet painting.
And they live there charmed little end of life until their final donation when the surgeons take their senior citizen heart or pancreas or liver or some other big organ and give it to someone who's needed in the outside world, when, of course, they die. Boo hoo. I am so sad for them. Or I'm supposed to be, but Ninni Holqvist managed to strip me of pity and just fill me full of "Suck it up!"
And that's just my emotional response.
How on earth are senior citizen organs viable options -- on a large scale -- for transplant into youths? Moreover, Holmqvist goes to great lengths to constantly remind us that tobacco and alcohol are not allowed in the Unit because of the deleterious effects they have on the residents bodies, but apparently experimental radiation therapies, hormone therapies and psychotropic drugs have no such impacts, since subjects give organs even after their own health fails because of the testing. What?!
And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Holmqvist's political and philosophical concepts are poorly executed. Her male characters are poorly drawn. Her pacing is just plain poor. There is no suspense, no tension and nothing compelling. But there are plenty of cheese sandwiches and Dorrit's constant obsession with the dog she left behind to keep us going.
I almost gave this book a second star, though, because the ending was precisely what Dorrit would have done in the situation in which she found herself. But nope. Even the two decent sex scenes couldn't overcome my disdain. I hated this book too much for that or that. So one star.
I hope Ms. Holmqvist is one of those pretentious "literary" authors who deny that their work is Science Fiction because I expect my Sci-Fi to be good, and I'd hate to have her sully my favourite genre with the presence of this book. Steer clear, my friends, steer clear.
Told in the first person by Dorrit Weger -- the most insipid, pathetic, annoying narrator I've read in years -- The Unit is about a future in Sweden where old "dispensable" people (women at fifty and men at sixty who have no families or partners who've avowed love for them), are harvested for their organs and made subjects for medical testing while living the cushiest of lives in a utopian Organ Bank Unit, complete with live and movie theatres, art gallery, library, great food, lovely little shops, fantastic fitness facilities, and a gorgeous park straight out of a Monet painting.
And they live there charmed little end of life until their final donation when the surgeons take their senior citizen heart or pancreas or liver or some other big organ and give it to someone who's needed in the outside world, when, of course, they die. Boo hoo. I am so sad for them. Or I'm supposed to be, but Ninni Holqvist managed to strip me of pity and just fill me full of "Suck it up!"
And that's just my emotional response.
How on earth are senior citizen organs viable options -- on a large scale -- for transplant into youths? Moreover, Holmqvist goes to great lengths to constantly remind us that tobacco and alcohol are not allowed in the Unit because of the deleterious effects they have on the residents bodies, but apparently experimental radiation therapies, hormone therapies and psychotropic drugs have no such impacts, since subjects give organs even after their own health fails because of the testing. What?!
And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Holmqvist's political and philosophical concepts are poorly executed. Her male characters are poorly drawn. Her pacing is just plain poor. There is no suspense, no tension and nothing compelling. But there are plenty of cheese sandwiches and Dorrit's constant obsession with the dog she left behind to keep us going.
I almost gave this book a second star, though, because the ending was precisely what Dorrit would have done in the situation in which she found herself. But nope. Even the two decent sex scenes couldn't overcome my disdain. I hated this book too much for that or that. So one star.
I hope Ms. Holmqvist is one of those pretentious "literary" authors who deny that their work is Science Fiction because I expect my Sci-Fi to be good, and I'd hate to have her sully my favourite genre with the presence of this book. Steer clear, my friends, steer clear.
March 1, 2021
Dystopian literature seems dominated by books with courageous and defiant teen protagonists. While some are enjoyable, the majority I cannot relate to. I rarely connect with a 15- or even 20-year old and get annoyed that more and more dystopia and science fiction are centered around teenage characters.
It was a relief to see this dystopian novel that has a middle-age woman as the MC. While I had some minor issues with this novel, for the most part I enjoyed it.
It's set in Sweden in the near future, when middle age and elderly people are deemed less important than economic growth and young people who have children and are still able to reproduce. Actually, the same is true today.
As the author asserts in her note at the end, in Sweden (and I would argue in much of the world), "you need to be needed in order to count, to be regarded as normal, to have a value in the eyes of other people and society."
In The Unit, middle age people who have not reproduced are considered dispensable. They are moved into the Second Reserve Bank Unit for biological material where they spend the rest of their days living in luxury... if luxury can be defined to include a life where all your needs are met and even surpassed, but where you must slowly die by donating your organs and be a lab rat for pharmaceutical companies.
This is the story of Dorrit, a fifty-year-old woman who never married or had kids and now finds herself forced to move into the Second Reserve Bank Unit.
There is not much action and the story is contemplative, asking difficult questions about the value of individual lives and showing the importance -demand even- society places upon women to reproduce. It demonstrates how women become invisible in middle age, and how our value is determined by both our reproductive ability and how much we produce.
If your idea of a good dystopia involves lots of action, you should look elsewhere. However, if you enjoy introspective reads that explore the value of human life and how that value is determined, you will find much to appreciate in this well-written novel.
It was a relief to see this dystopian novel that has a middle-age woman as the MC. While I had some minor issues with this novel, for the most part I enjoyed it.
It's set in Sweden in the near future, when middle age and elderly people are deemed less important than economic growth and young people who have children and are still able to reproduce. Actually, the same is true today.
As the author asserts in her note at the end, in Sweden (and I would argue in much of the world), "you need to be needed in order to count, to be regarded as normal, to have a value in the eyes of other people and society."
In The Unit, middle age people who have not reproduced are considered dispensable. They are moved into the Second Reserve Bank Unit for biological material where they spend the rest of their days living in luxury... if luxury can be defined to include a life where all your needs are met and even surpassed, but where you must slowly die by donating your organs and be a lab rat for pharmaceutical companies.
This is the story of Dorrit, a fifty-year-old woman who never married or had kids and now finds herself forced to move into the Second Reserve Bank Unit.
There is not much action and the story is contemplative, asking difficult questions about the value of individual lives and showing the importance -demand even- society places upon women to reproduce. It demonstrates how women become invisible in middle age, and how our value is determined by both our reproductive ability and how much we produce.
If your idea of a good dystopia involves lots of action, you should look elsewhere. However, if you enjoy introspective reads that explore the value of human life and how that value is determined, you will find much to appreciate in this well-written novel.
January 8, 2015
The Unit is the saddest piece of dystopian fiction I have ever read. Normally the genre leaves me angry or frightened or feeling the need for a good shower, but this made me feel heartbroken. The Unit is a place where women who have reached the age of 50 and men who have reached the age of 60 without having children are sent to live in order to participate in "humane" experiments and act as organ donors for the so-called needed. These people are known as dispensable.
The story portrayed is one where these people are provided a life of complete luxury with no cost to themselves, but also have no freedom to leave, no rights to privacy, and are compelled to participate in whatever experiments and physical sacrifices required of them. Psychology is used to great effect to keep them happy. Eventually they all go for their "final donation," the surgery in which all of their vital organs are harvested for the benefit of needed people. Ninni Holmqvist paints a painful picture of people who feel they have failed and never found love, of people who have always been lonely, being thrust into proximity, finding love or friendship, then constantly losing those people to the demands of the Unit. This book disturbed me greatly and will stay with me for some time.
The story portrayed is one where these people are provided a life of complete luxury with no cost to themselves, but also have no freedom to leave, no rights to privacy, and are compelled to participate in whatever experiments and physical sacrifices required of them. Psychology is used to great effect to keep them happy. Eventually they all go for their "final donation," the surgery in which all of their vital organs are harvested for the benefit of needed people. Ninni Holmqvist paints a painful picture of people who feel they have failed and never found love, of people who have always been lonely, being thrust into proximity, finding love or friendship, then constantly losing those people to the demands of the Unit. This book disturbed me greatly and will stay with me for some time.
January 11, 2021
The premise of the novel was good. It was the telling…the boring details…I think this could have been at best a novella with what sketch this author developed. Not 268 pages.
The premise: Men at age 60 and women at age 50 who are single, childless, and without jobs in progressive industries (from inner cover of dust jacket) are housed in very comfortable environs…sort of like a very nice assisted-living facility with shops, a theater, restaurants, etc. etc. And you are expected to over the course of 6 or 7 years donate body parts to younger people who need them, and participate in scientific experiments. Take drugs with known terrible side effects. One women participated in a study and I guess the drug turned on male sex hormones or something. One drug caused brain atrophy. And there were cameras all over the place monitoring your every movement. Big brother… The first 50 or so pages were interesting enough and then it just got incredibly boring. Like I say, I guess this could have made for a very nice short story or at most a novella of 100 pages, but this was going nowhere fast (or actually going nowhere slowly).
I do not have much more to say on the matter. 😐
I cannot recommend that this book be placed on your TBR list.
Reviews:
• https://www.theatlantic.com/entertain...
• https://www.wordswithoutborders.org/b...
• http://necessaryfiction.com/reviews/T...
• from a blogsite: http://jeanzbookreadnreview.blogspot....
The premise: Men at age 60 and women at age 50 who are single, childless, and without jobs in progressive industries (from inner cover of dust jacket) are housed in very comfortable environs…sort of like a very nice assisted-living facility with shops, a theater, restaurants, etc. etc. And you are expected to over the course of 6 or 7 years donate body parts to younger people who need them, and participate in scientific experiments. Take drugs with known terrible side effects. One women participated in a study and I guess the drug turned on male sex hormones or something. One drug caused brain atrophy. And there were cameras all over the place monitoring your every movement. Big brother… The first 50 or so pages were interesting enough and then it just got incredibly boring. Like I say, I guess this could have made for a very nice short story or at most a novella of 100 pages, but this was going nowhere fast (or actually going nowhere slowly).
I do not have much more to say on the matter. 😐
I cannot recommend that this book be placed on your TBR list.
Reviews:
• https://www.theatlantic.com/entertain...
• https://www.wordswithoutborders.org/b...
• http://necessaryfiction.com/reviews/T...
• from a blogsite: http://jeanzbookreadnreview.blogspot....
July 3, 2015
There are cases where I don't agree with the premise of a book, either because of my hangups or because it seems far out, and I still like the book. That's not the case with this book. It was distracting in its similarity in concept to one of my favorite books ever, Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go. And I can only say that this book disappointed in contrast.
I was not moved by this book, even though I was supposed to have been. I was more concerned with how this is even viable. The dispensable senior citizens are housed in luxury (I mean, Italian shoes and silk shirts and what have you). They're supposed to gradually donate all their organs to "needed" people of the community. In the middle of their donations, they get to participate in all kinds of experiments (even some involving freaking chemical weapons). They have not been monitored their entire life, they could have lived really terribly. Their organs are old in the first place, not to mention the toll that the experiments take on the thing. A few of the characters die from complications due to experimentation, and their organs are still harvested. I can't even.
It's also completely baffling to me that this needed thing wasn't circumvented more. If some people did it beyond raping strangers for their sperm*, it's not deemed important enough to mention. At least in the beginning, they only need a partner to say they are loved and needed to be saved. I have no idea why no one would consider mutual scratching of backs. I know I would have.
*= The main character's sexual fantasy is to be one of those 50s TV housewives with the fluttering hands and the cute dresses. She cooks for her man, who chops wood and does manly man stuff, comes in and services her after eating her nice meal. The first time she does it with an old guy in her unit, she calls it caveman style sex, where he did all the work and she moved not a finger. Nothing wrong, I guess, to each their own. Except the book tries to get preachy - she thinks it's beautiful when men show their physical strength, without being ashamed or apologetic about it. And that more women should be delicate daisies - because that's courage. Yeah. Anyway. The sperm raping thing. These are women, right? After more than a few mentions of women picking up strangers, there's no mention of men taking women hostage and making them have babies or whatever. Too nice, I guess.
I'm hesitant in advancing this, but it's actually spelled out: the main character calls herself a product of the feminist generation. That her mother drilled into her to never find herself depending on a man financially or emotionally, to be independent. To not let get caught in a trap (presumably of marriage and baby-making). And the lady says it's because of this that she never had a good, steady job or a good, steady relationship. And since her mother raised her to be independent, she ended up on a path that sees her dispensable, and in an organ farming unit. She co-relates this. I can't help but think this regressive, especially given how the unit is accepted. There is no talk of mutiny, there is no talk of escaping among the people. The state of the world is not discussed, but no one mentions leaving the country for another more liberal. There are even lines that say that the unit, and the government that enforces it, is rather humane when it comes right down to it.
I... Let's just say I did not follow the intention of this book at all.
I was not moved by this book, even though I was supposed to have been. I was more concerned with how this is even viable. The dispensable senior citizens are housed in luxury (I mean, Italian shoes and silk shirts and what have you). They're supposed to gradually donate all their organs to "needed" people of the community. In the middle of their donations, they get to participate in all kinds of experiments (even some involving freaking chemical weapons). They have not been monitored their entire life, they could have lived really terribly. Their organs are old in the first place, not to mention the toll that the experiments take on the thing. A few of the characters die from complications due to experimentation, and their organs are still harvested. I can't even.
It's also completely baffling to me that this needed thing wasn't circumvented more. If some people did it beyond raping strangers for their sperm*, it's not deemed important enough to mention. At least in the beginning, they only need a partner to say they are loved and needed to be saved. I have no idea why no one would consider mutual scratching of backs. I know I would have.
*= The main character's sexual fantasy is to be one of those 50s TV housewives with the fluttering hands and the cute dresses. She cooks for her man, who chops wood and does manly man stuff, comes in and services her after eating her nice meal. The first time she does it with an old guy in her unit, she calls it caveman style sex, where he did all the work and she moved not a finger. Nothing wrong, I guess, to each their own. Except the book tries to get preachy - she thinks it's beautiful when men show their physical strength, without being ashamed or apologetic about it. And that more women should be delicate daisies - because that's courage. Yeah. Anyway. The sperm raping thing. These are women, right? After more than a few mentions of women picking up strangers, there's no mention of men taking women hostage and making them have babies or whatever. Too nice, I guess.
I'm hesitant in advancing this, but it's actually spelled out: the main character calls herself a product of the feminist generation. That her mother drilled into her to never find herself depending on a man financially or emotionally, to be independent. To not let get caught in a trap (presumably of marriage and baby-making). And the lady says it's because of this that she never had a good, steady job or a good, steady relationship. And since her mother raised her to be independent, she ended up on a path that sees her dispensable, and in an organ farming unit. She co-relates this. I can't help but think this regressive, especially given how the unit is accepted. There is no talk of mutiny, there is no talk of escaping among the people. The state of the world is not discussed, but no one mentions leaving the country for another more liberal. There are even lines that say that the unit, and the government that enforces it, is rather humane when it comes right down to it.
I... Let's just say I did not follow the intention of this book at all.
April 11, 2018
In the world this novel portrays, the 'dispensable' are sent to live in self-contained communities known as 'units'. Being dispensable means you are over 50 (if you're a woman) or 60 (if you're a man), single, childless, with no dependent older relatives, and work in a 'non-essential' job. In seemingly idyllic surroundings like those of the 'Second Reserve Bank Unit for biological material', the dispensable can live as they please, with a shopping centre, theatre, cinema, art gallery, regular parties and generous spreads of food – and all this is free. But they are under constant surveillance, can never leave, must submit to all sorts of medical testing, and will ultimately be required to make their 'final donation', which is exactly as ominous as it sounds.
Our narrator, Dorrit, is a moderately successful writer who was able to scrape together enough money to buy a house, but can't afford to maintain it. Her long-term lover is married and refuses to leave his wife, she's never had children, and her only dependent is her beloved dog Jock. And her 50th birthday is looming. In short, she's the epitome of dispensable, and at the start of The Unit she is contemplating her beautiful, yet deeply sinister, new home.
This is a clean, minimalist sort of dystopian tale. The language is simple and straightforward. Problems between people are resolved with relative ease, contributing to the sense of dreamy unreality surrounding the Unit. Of course, it's obvious there is horror lurking beneath the glossy surface, and it's impossible to imagine a happy ending for Dorrit. Speaking of Dorrit: she's a difficult character to get along with, displaying qualities that seem in conflict with each other – tough independence at the same time as an intense, subservient neediness. I couldn't quite get to grips with who she was supposed to be.
I also found the simplicity of the narrative problematic with regards to the many plausibility issues. Through Dorrit, we learn of an (unsurprising) national obsession with becoming 'needed'. The easiest way to do that is to have children – the more the better – and legislation has helped things along with, for example, compulsory childcare: 'there is no longer any excuse not to have children... [or] not to work when you have children'. How is overpopulation not a concern here? How is all this – both the free childcare and the lavish Unit – being paid for? Surely organs from older, poorer people would be a really inefficient solution for health problems in the young and privileged? Why do so many of the 'needed' require major organ transplants anyway? There's a weird, contradictory contrast between what seems to be the enforced removal of traditional gender roles (in this world, it's illegal for men to demonstrate 'improper use of male physical strength' by, for example, helping a woman do something she could do by herself) and the fact that women are considered virtually useless if they don't have kids. And the only time we hear about non-heterosexual relationships is within the Unit itself.
The Unit is an entertaining, intriguing novel, yet it's often frustrating too. The premise raises so many questions, but the story doesn't focus on answering them – it's more about Dorrit's personal experience, and a lot depends on how engaging you find her. This was average overall for me, but honestly, if there was a sequel that explored and explained this vision of society in more detail, I'd probably read it.
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Our narrator, Dorrit, is a moderately successful writer who was able to scrape together enough money to buy a house, but can't afford to maintain it. Her long-term lover is married and refuses to leave his wife, she's never had children, and her only dependent is her beloved dog Jock. And her 50th birthday is looming. In short, she's the epitome of dispensable, and at the start of The Unit she is contemplating her beautiful, yet deeply sinister, new home.
This is a clean, minimalist sort of dystopian tale. The language is simple and straightforward. Problems between people are resolved with relative ease, contributing to the sense of dreamy unreality surrounding the Unit. Of course, it's obvious there is horror lurking beneath the glossy surface, and it's impossible to imagine a happy ending for Dorrit. Speaking of Dorrit: she's a difficult character to get along with, displaying qualities that seem in conflict with each other – tough independence at the same time as an intense, subservient neediness. I couldn't quite get to grips with who she was supposed to be.
I also found the simplicity of the narrative problematic with regards to the many plausibility issues. Through Dorrit, we learn of an (unsurprising) national obsession with becoming 'needed'. The easiest way to do that is to have children – the more the better – and legislation has helped things along with, for example, compulsory childcare: 'there is no longer any excuse not to have children... [or] not to work when you have children'. How is overpopulation not a concern here? How is all this – both the free childcare and the lavish Unit – being paid for? Surely organs from older, poorer people would be a really inefficient solution for health problems in the young and privileged? Why do so many of the 'needed' require major organ transplants anyway? There's a weird, contradictory contrast between what seems to be the enforced removal of traditional gender roles (in this world, it's illegal for men to demonstrate 'improper use of male physical strength' by, for example, helping a woman do something she could do by herself) and the fact that women are considered virtually useless if they don't have kids. And the only time we hear about non-heterosexual relationships is within the Unit itself.
The Unit is an entertaining, intriguing novel, yet it's often frustrating too. The premise raises so many questions, but the story doesn't focus on answering them – it's more about Dorrit's personal experience, and a lot depends on how engaging you find her. This was average overall for me, but honestly, if there was a sequel that explored and explained this vision of society in more detail, I'd probably read it.
TinyLetter | Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr
November 1, 2009
Ninni Holmqvist's novel is compelling and disturbing at the same time. From the first turn of the page I was drawn into the futuristic world where childless women who have reached the age 50 and childless men at age 60 are "welcomed" into The Unit. A beautiful spa like setting with walking paths, beautiful gardens', wonderful food, medical experiments and body harvesting from their "residents". Our protagonist is Dorrit, a woman who never had a steady job, had a lover who lived with someone else, and whose loyal dog Jock who was her only family. But without children and not contributing in some job deemed worthy, Dorrit is considered "dispensable". As she gives up her lover, her dog, and her home and gets picked up by The Unit, we enter the world of the "dispensables" and what life means for them. It is a sad, touching and even at times humorous story, that makes us question, what makes a person indispensable? Who has the right to discount a life just because it doesn't conform to the "standard". In The Unit, the government makes that decision, and it is infuriating! I kept trying to think of ways of Dorrit and her new found friends to get out of there. I was angered at how accepting Dorrit was by her circumstances. But part of that acceptance is a kind of new found "family" of people, who care about each other and who finally have found a place where they "fit in". For days after finishing The Unit I was haunted. An amazing book, and one worth reading and discussing!
May 1, 2010
There is a good summary of the plot in the book’s description field (it’s basically what I read in/on the book’s cover) so I don’t see the need to repeat any of the information in my review.
I loved this book and I think it is excellent, but it is also the most personally depressing book I’ve ever read, worse than The Bell Jar when I was 19, maybe as bad as As We Are Now if I read at age 79 or 80 vs. reading it first when I was 19 or 20.
Recipe for feeling devastated by this book (even more than those such as myself who have a highly empathetic nature):
woman over 50 (or man over 60): check
childless: check
single: check
loves dogs: check
values private time: check
values having a fair amount of control over their life: check
Very powerful story and for me it was palpably painful and emotionally grueling.
Dorrit tells the story in first person and she tells it brilliantly, how well I wasn’t aware until well into the book, although I enjoyed it from first to last page. I was very aware that I would not have fared as well as her, in any way. (Being physically uncomfortable when reading it: post minor eyelid surgery and foot injury & infection made reading this even more chilling.)
Three things happen toward the end that worked, but I wasn’t so sure if that is the direction I’d have taken the story had I written it. I think some readers are going to hate the ending but it worked for me well enough.
I don’t know how good the translation is, but between the author and translator, it’s beautifully written.
I loved this book and I think it is excellent, but it is also the most personally depressing book I’ve ever read, worse than The Bell Jar when I was 19, maybe as bad as As We Are Now if I read at age 79 or 80 vs. reading it first when I was 19 or 20.
Recipe for feeling devastated by this book (even more than those such as myself who have a highly empathetic nature):
woman over 50 (or man over 60): check
childless: check
single: check
loves dogs: check
values private time: check
values having a fair amount of control over their life: check
Very powerful story and for me it was palpably painful and emotionally grueling.
Dorrit tells the story in first person and she tells it brilliantly, how well I wasn’t aware until well into the book, although I enjoyed it from first to last page. I was very aware that I would not have fared as well as her, in any way. (Being physically uncomfortable when reading it: post minor eyelid surgery and foot injury & infection made reading this even more chilling.)
Three things happen toward the end that worked, but I wasn’t so sure if that is the direction I’d have taken the story had I written it. I think some readers are going to hate the ending but it worked for me well enough.
I don’t know how good the translation is, but between the author and translator, it’s beautifully written.
March 2, 2010
This was nearly a five star book for me and I don't give those out very often--probably only a few of them in the hundreds of books I've rated since starting this a few years ago. The only reason it didn't get 5 stars was because of the ending--big mistake for Holmqvist that didn't ruin it for me but it could have been a real classic dystopian novel. It was still really, really good but five stars is for the elite of the elite to me.
The Unit is set in Sweden in the near future and is a dystopian novel--I love dystopian fiction! When women turn 50 (and men when they are 60) and if they are childless and deemed unneeded by others in Swedish society, they are taken to these biological "units." At these places, people are farmed for organs and have experiments done on them. They donate a kidney, an eye, etc etc to people who are needed and worthy to keep living. They donate their parts until they make their "final" donation of liver, heart and other organs.
This book is incredibly well done and thought out--except for the last few pages!--and is one of the best dystopian works I've read recently. It's very believable that this could take place. I had to stop myself from reading it all at once as it is a chilling, chilling tale.
You know what, after writing this, even with a kind of disappointing last few pages, screw it, I'm giving this a five star as it's a great, great work of dystopian literature.
***Thought about it and giving 5 stars for a book where I didn't like the ending can't be done. So, I've gone back to my original 4 stars after agonizing over it all afternoon, ha!***
The Unit is set in Sweden in the near future and is a dystopian novel--I love dystopian fiction! When women turn 50 (and men when they are 60) and if they are childless and deemed unneeded by others in Swedish society, they are taken to these biological "units." At these places, people are farmed for organs and have experiments done on them. They donate a kidney, an eye, etc etc to people who are needed and worthy to keep living. They donate their parts until they make their "final" donation of liver, heart and other organs.
This book is incredibly well done and thought out--except for the last few pages!--and is one of the best dystopian works I've read recently. It's very believable that this could take place. I had to stop myself from reading it all at once as it is a chilling, chilling tale.
You know what, after writing this, even with a kind of disappointing last few pages, screw it, I'm giving this a five star as it's a great, great work of dystopian literature.
***Thought about it and giving 5 stars for a book where I didn't like the ending can't be done. So, I've gone back to my original 4 stars after agonizing over it all afternoon, ha!***
April 12, 2024
L’unità di Ninni Holmqvist è un romanzo distopico che spesso mi ha richiamato alla mente “Il racconto dell'ancella” di Margaret Atwood.
Il romanzo è ambientato nell’Europa del Nord. Dorrit è una donna di cinquant'anni, che non si è mai sposata né ha mai avuto figli, che si ritrova costretta a trasferirsi presso la struttura dell'Unità della Banca di riserva.
Nell'Unità, le persone di mezza età che non si sono riprodotte sono considerate superflue. Per questo sono trasferite nella Seconda Unità della Banca di Riserva per il materiale biologico dove trascorrono il resto dei loro giorni vivendo nel lusso... se può essere definito “lusso” quella situazione in cui tutti i bisogni di ciascuno sono soddisfatti e persino superati, al prezzo di una morte lenta; un lusso che si compra donando i propri organi, per diventare un topo da laboratorio per le aziende farmaceutiche.
Un racconto introspettivo, che pone domande difficili sul valore delle vite individuali e che investiga il delicato tema della riproduzione in tarda età. Uomini e donne diventano invisibili nella mezza età, perché la capacità riproduttiva e produttiva lentamente diminuisce.
Davvero una vita è utile solo se la persona è in grado di produrre e riprodursi?
Dorrit saprà ribellarsi. Imparerà ad amarsi, a donare e a essere artefice del proprio destino. Saprà essere primavera in un giardino d’inverno.
“Nell'Unità esistono soltanto i giorni e le notti, l'unica cosa che muta sono il buio e la luce. Nel giardino d'inverno tutto sta per sbocciare o è in fiore, nulla si secca, appassisce o muore. Non è mai inverno nel giardino d'inverno.”
Il romanzo è ambientato nell’Europa del Nord. Dorrit è una donna di cinquant'anni, che non si è mai sposata né ha mai avuto figli, che si ritrova costretta a trasferirsi presso la struttura dell'Unità della Banca di riserva.
Nell'Unità, le persone di mezza età che non si sono riprodotte sono considerate superflue. Per questo sono trasferite nella Seconda Unità della Banca di Riserva per il materiale biologico dove trascorrono il resto dei loro giorni vivendo nel lusso... se può essere definito “lusso” quella situazione in cui tutti i bisogni di ciascuno sono soddisfatti e persino superati, al prezzo di una morte lenta; un lusso che si compra donando i propri organi, per diventare un topo da laboratorio per le aziende farmaceutiche.
Un racconto introspettivo, che pone domande difficili sul valore delle vite individuali e che investiga il delicato tema della riproduzione in tarda età. Uomini e donne diventano invisibili nella mezza età, perché la capacità riproduttiva e produttiva lentamente diminuisce.
Davvero una vita è utile solo se la persona è in grado di produrre e riprodursi?
Dorrit saprà ribellarsi. Imparerà ad amarsi, a donare e a essere artefice del proprio destino. Saprà essere primavera in un giardino d’inverno.
“Nell'Unità esistono soltanto i giorni e le notti, l'unica cosa che muta sono il buio e la luce. Nel giardino d'inverno tutto sta per sbocciare o è in fiore, nulla si secca, appassisce o muore. Non è mai inverno nel giardino d'inverno.”
May 21, 2024
“ho sempre creduto che la mia vita mi appartenesse”
In Svezia, in un futuro indeterminato.
I non più giovani che nella vita non si sono particolarmente distinti e che non hanno avuto figli non servono più alla società , non sono più "indispensabili"
E così le donne sopra i cinquanta e gli uomini sopra i sessanta vengono dichiarati senza possibilità di scelta, i “dispensabili”
Le loro vite sono a disposizione dello Stato
Dorrit, protagonista e voce narrante, ha appena compiuto cinquant’anni è una scrittrice non di successo, costretta a lasciare la propria casa e l’adorato cane Jock per trasferirsi all’Unità, un luogo in cui si vive nell’ agiatezza lontani dal mondo.
Per ripagare la struttura di così tanto benessere, c’è un prezzo da pagare .
Un contributo fondamentale
I dispensabili saranno utili alla società sottoponendosi a test ed esperimenti con farmaci e donando organi fino a quello in cui la donazione finale conduce alla morte stessa.
Possono trascorrere mesi o addirittura anni prima di arrivare all’epilogo finale
Nel frattempo tutti possono godere di tutti i piaceri che l’Unità offre loro Appartamenti ben arredati, ricchi pranzi, grandiosi giardini, palestra, serate tra musica e teatro
È tutto così perfetto che tutti in questa bolla sono loro agio, dimenticandosi di essere continuamente video sorvegliati e soprattutto condannati.
L’unità di Ninni Holmqvist è diverso dalle altre storie ambientate in un futuro distopico, perché ciò che accade non è né oscuro né segreto ma è accettato da tutti,inclusa la protagonista.
Dorrit è una donna forte e indipendente che è già pienamente consapevole di ciò che la aspetta all'Unità.
Imprevedibilmente, sia per Dorrit che per gli altri ospiti , la struttura alle prime impressioni è molto migliore di quanto immaginato.
Mi sarei aspettata che questa storia descrivesse una sorta di ribellione.
Sin dall'inizio tifavo affinché i personaggi reagissero, cercando la fuga, ma tutti all'interno dell'Unità sembravano aver semplicemente accettato il loro destino.
Tutti sono convinti, seppur sotto "gentile coercizione ”, dell'importanza del sacrificio per quelli che fuori sono necessari
È questa accettazione del destino che rende la trama ancora più inquietante.
Quanto valiamo, a un certo punto, per la società ?
Qual è il senso della vita e della libertà ?
“il senso della vita è che la vita sia sopportabile.”
La forza del romanzo sta nello scarto tra la superficie paradossalmente luminosa e l'abisso che si nasconde sotto
"E a conclusione di tutto questo, finite qui, dove capita spesso che trascorriate bene il tempo che vi…..resta”
Quello di Hinni Holmqvist è un libro di silenziosa e lucida crudeltà, e forse la svolta più straziante di tutte è che il mondo fuori dalle mura dell'Unità, sembra ancora peggiore.
Per assurdo, il senso di stare nell’Unità è scoprire la bellezza nella desolazione
“nella sofferenza esiste qualcosa di bello. Perfino nel puro dolore fisico. Sa di perverso? Sa di psicopatico?"
"Be’…", commentai. "Forse sì. ”
In Svezia, in un futuro indeterminato.
I non più giovani che nella vita non si sono particolarmente distinti e che non hanno avuto figli non servono più alla società , non sono più "indispensabili"
E così le donne sopra i cinquanta e gli uomini sopra i sessanta vengono dichiarati senza possibilità di scelta, i “dispensabili”
Le loro vite sono a disposizione dello Stato
Dorrit, protagonista e voce narrante, ha appena compiuto cinquant’anni è una scrittrice non di successo, costretta a lasciare la propria casa e l’adorato cane Jock per trasferirsi all’Unità, un luogo in cui si vive nell’ agiatezza lontani dal mondo.
Per ripagare la struttura di così tanto benessere, c’è un prezzo da pagare .
Un contributo fondamentale
I dispensabili saranno utili alla società sottoponendosi a test ed esperimenti con farmaci e donando organi fino a quello in cui la donazione finale conduce alla morte stessa.
Possono trascorrere mesi o addirittura anni prima di arrivare all’epilogo finale
Nel frattempo tutti possono godere di tutti i piaceri che l’Unità offre loro Appartamenti ben arredati, ricchi pranzi, grandiosi giardini, palestra, serate tra musica e teatro
È tutto così perfetto che tutti in questa bolla sono loro agio, dimenticandosi di essere continuamente video sorvegliati e soprattutto condannati.
L’unità di Ninni Holmqvist è diverso dalle altre storie ambientate in un futuro distopico, perché ciò che accade non è né oscuro né segreto ma è accettato da tutti,inclusa la protagonista.
Dorrit è una donna forte e indipendente che è già pienamente consapevole di ciò che la aspetta all'Unità.
Imprevedibilmente, sia per Dorrit che per gli altri ospiti , la struttura alle prime impressioni è molto migliore di quanto immaginato.
Mi sarei aspettata che questa storia descrivesse una sorta di ribellione.
Sin dall'inizio tifavo affinché i personaggi reagissero, cercando la fuga, ma tutti all'interno dell'Unità sembravano aver semplicemente accettato il loro destino.
Tutti sono convinti, seppur sotto "gentile coercizione ”, dell'importanza del sacrificio per quelli che fuori sono necessari
È questa accettazione del destino che rende la trama ancora più inquietante.
Quanto valiamo, a un certo punto, per la società ?
Qual è il senso della vita e della libertà ?
“il senso della vita è che la vita sia sopportabile.”
La forza del romanzo sta nello scarto tra la superficie paradossalmente luminosa e l'abisso che si nasconde sotto
"E a conclusione di tutto questo, finite qui, dove capita spesso che trascorriate bene il tempo che vi…..resta”
Quello di Hinni Holmqvist è un libro di silenziosa e lucida crudeltà, e forse la svolta più straziante di tutte è che il mondo fuori dalle mura dell'Unità, sembra ancora peggiore.
Per assurdo, il senso di stare nell’Unità è scoprire la bellezza nella desolazione
“nella sofferenza esiste qualcosa di bello. Perfino nel puro dolore fisico. Sa di perverso? Sa di psicopatico?"
"Be’…", commentai. "Forse sì. ”
October 19, 2017
I am a bit ambiguous about this book. The translator did a wonderful job translating the story into English. And it was very fast paced and enjoyable.
What has me torn is the fact there is another book with a similar premiss. Just that the age group is different. So I am having a hard time separating the two.
Aside from that, it is a wonderful story.
What has me torn is the fact there is another book with a similar premiss. Just that the age group is different. So I am having a hard time separating the two.
Aside from that, it is a wonderful story.
February 18, 2019
Przerażająca na ten swój zimny, spokojny, skandynawski sposób wizja dystopijnej przyszłości, w której każdy może stać się zbędny – „Jednostka” Ninni Holmqvist.
Wyobraź sobie świat, w którym rządzą zimne liczby, a człowiek zredukowany jest do ciała. Społeczeństwo, które nie potrafi odmówić, nie potrafi wyrazić sprzeciwu, ale biernie poddaje się woli wszechobecnego państwa. Wyobraź sobie placówkę, do której może trafić każdy, który już nie jest potrzebny, z kogo, według ustalonych kryteriów, nie będzie już pożytku. Ostatnie pożegnania, porzucone domy, spakowany dorobek życia w walizce, sztuczny uśmiech na twarzy. A potem kilka dni pięknej iluzji, państwowej fatamorgany, który prowadzi ku jednemu – ku śmierci.
„Jednostka” przeraża i wrzeszczy ku przestrodze. Ninni Holmqvist nie robi tego jednak agresywnie czy brutalnie, ale po cichu, tak po skandynawsku, jakby szeptem, ale wystarczająco głośno, by przypomnieć, że utylitarna wizja przyszłości to wizja, której możemy uniknąć, której musimy uniknąć, by pozostać cywilizacją. Opowieść, którą snuje jest jasna, przestronna, dająca czytelnikowi wystarczająco miejsca na oddech, ale też w jakiś sposób obezwładniająca, zdehumanizowana, surowa na tyle, że wzmaga poczucie osaczenia z każdą stroną. Paraliżuje i utrzymuje uwagę od początku do samego końca.
To jedna z najciekawszych i najbardziej realistycznych powieści dystopijnych ostatnich lat.
Wyobraź sobie świat, w którym rządzą zimne liczby, a człowiek zredukowany jest do ciała. Społeczeństwo, które nie potrafi odmówić, nie potrafi wyrazić sprzeciwu, ale biernie poddaje się woli wszechobecnego państwa. Wyobraź sobie placówkę, do której może trafić każdy, który już nie jest potrzebny, z kogo, według ustalonych kryteriów, nie będzie już pożytku. Ostatnie pożegnania, porzucone domy, spakowany dorobek życia w walizce, sztuczny uśmiech na twarzy. A potem kilka dni pięknej iluzji, państwowej fatamorgany, który prowadzi ku jednemu – ku śmierci.
„Jednostka” przeraża i wrzeszczy ku przestrodze. Ninni Holmqvist nie robi tego jednak agresywnie czy brutalnie, ale po cichu, tak po skandynawsku, jakby szeptem, ale wystarczająco głośno, by przypomnieć, że utylitarna wizja przyszłości to wizja, której możemy uniknąć, której musimy uniknąć, by pozostać cywilizacją. Opowieść, którą snuje jest jasna, przestronna, dająca czytelnikowi wystarczająco miejsca na oddech, ale też w jakiś sposób obezwładniająca, zdehumanizowana, surowa na tyle, że wzmaga poczucie osaczenia z każdą stroną. Paraliżuje i utrzymuje uwagę od początku do samego końca.
To jedna z najciekawszych i najbardziej realistycznych powieści dystopijnych ostatnich lat.
March 24, 2010
At the end of this book I cried. Not with sadness at Dorrit's sacrifice and losses. But because since I've been an adult, I've never read a book that I felt so understood me. Those were the words I thought to myself as hot tears came to my eyes: "she understands." It is Elsa I cried for. And all the others.
When you read a lot, you recognize that those tropes you hear about how there are oly 7 plots in the world (or 10 or 5 or 3) are true. So when you run across a book with a truly novel point of view, you treasure it. I can recall no other book I've read that treats the single and childless with such respect. (And that respect that the members of the Unit are shown is frequently noted as it's the first time they've felt it int heir lived.)
I dread my bookclub. As the only member who is single and one of only two who are childless, I feel I will be focussed on. But this book has left me raw and I don't particularly want to talk about how I would feel heading off to a Unit as that's where I'd be headed in that world while everyone else stayed and didn't even notice I was gone for a couple of years. My only hope would be to work hard and become invaluable that way.
This book is powerful and heart-wrenching. It will stay with me forever.
When you read a lot, you recognize that those tropes you hear about how there are oly 7 plots in the world (or 10 or 5 or 3) are true. So when you run across a book with a truly novel point of view, you treasure it. I can recall no other book I've read that treats the single and childless with such respect. (And that respect that the members of the Unit are shown is frequently noted as it's the first time they've felt it int heir lived.)
I dread my bookclub. As the only member who is single and one of only two who are childless, I feel I will be focussed on. But this book has left me raw and I don't particularly want to talk about how I would feel heading off to a Unit as that's where I'd be headed in that world while everyone else stayed and didn't even notice I was gone for a couple of years. My only hope would be to work hard and become invaluable that way.
This book is powerful and heart-wrenching. It will stay with me forever.
June 24, 2024
Distopia svedese in cui gli individui non utili alla società (donne over 50 e uomini over 60 senza figli o coniuge, nello specifico definiti "dispensabili") vengono internati in una struttura piena di comfort in cui vivranno il resto della loro vita facendo da cavie e/o donando parti e organi del loro corpo a soggetti invece socialmente utili.
Da tale premessa la trama pare l'ennesimo rimescolone di idee tratte da rinomati e arcinoti esempi del genere, su tutti Il racconto dell'ancella e Non lasciarmi, ma non è così (peraltro da noi questo romanzo è arrivato solo ora ma in patria è uscito nel 2006, quindi è appena di un anno successivo a quello di Ishiguro).
La storia, narrata in prima persona dalla protagonista Dorrit, che nel mondo fuori dall'Unità era una scrittrice, è straziante.
È straziante sapere che questa sorta di regime è stato eletto democraticamente dai cittadini (probabilmente poco interessati e informati sulle conseguenze della loro scelta); è straziante notare come chi viene rinchiuso passi rapidamente dalla paura alla rassegnazione e poi ancora a una sorta di soddisfazione che non ha nulla di genuino, ma è indotta dai gestori della struttura per mezzo di una studiatissima commistione di premi, discorsi motivazionali, perfino accorgimenti architettonici, visivi, uditivi, in pratica un gaslighting all'estrema potenza; è straziante realizzare che nonostante tutto le persone cercano di esserci le une per le altre, formano legami fortissimi, che però vengono tranciati di netto in un qualsiasi momento senza preavviso perché sono carne da macello, coi centri benessere e i pasti prelibati, ma pur sempre destinate a venire smembrate, un pezzo alla volta fino alla "donazione finale".
Lo consiglio davvero, ma fa un male cane.
E per una volta: se non hai figli puoi capire.
Da tale premessa la trama pare l'ennesimo rimescolone di idee tratte da rinomati e arcinoti esempi del genere, su tutti Il racconto dell'ancella e Non lasciarmi, ma non è così (peraltro da noi questo romanzo è arrivato solo ora ma in patria è uscito nel 2006, quindi è appena di un anno successivo a quello di Ishiguro).
La storia, narrata in prima persona dalla protagonista Dorrit, che nel mondo fuori dall'Unità era una scrittrice, è straziante.
È straziante sapere che questa sorta di regime è stato eletto democraticamente dai cittadini (probabilmente poco interessati e informati sulle conseguenze della loro scelta); è straziante notare come chi viene rinchiuso passi rapidamente dalla paura alla rassegnazione e poi ancora a una sorta di soddisfazione che non ha nulla di genuino, ma è indotta dai gestori della struttura per mezzo di una studiatissima commistione di premi, discorsi motivazionali, perfino accorgimenti architettonici, visivi, uditivi, in pratica un gaslighting all'estrema potenza; è straziante realizzare che nonostante tutto le persone cercano di esserci le une per le altre, formano legami fortissimi, che però vengono tranciati di netto in un qualsiasi momento senza preavviso perché sono carne da macello, coi centri benessere e i pasti prelibati, ma pur sempre destinate a venire smembrate, un pezzo alla volta fino alla "donazione finale".
Lo consiglio davvero, ma fa un male cane.
E per una volta: se non hai figli puoi capire.
January 7, 2021
„Wir sind wie glückliche Kühe oder freilaufende Hühner. Der einzige Unterschied ist, dass die Kühe und die Hühner – hoffentlich – das Glück haben, von etwas anderem als dem Jetzt nichts zu wissen." [S.55]
Dorrit Weger ist 50, unverheiratet, kinderlos, hat als Schriftstellerin keinen nachhaltigen Mehrwert und leistet auch sonst keinen nennenswerten Beitrag, der Wohlstand und Wachstum der Gesellschaft zugutekommt. Damit gehört sie automatisch dem Kreis der „Entbehrlichen“ an und wird kurz nach ihrem Geburtstag in eine streng überwachte Reservebankeinheit für biologisches Material eingeliefert. Fortan muss sie sich für psychologische bzw. Medikamententests und Organentnahmen zur Verfügung stellen, bis es dann schlussendlich zur sogenannten „Endspende“ kommt, die unweigerlich zum Tode führt.
„Ich ging weiter; nickte, lächelte oder sagte Hej zu den Leuten, denen ich begegnete. Einige von ihnen kannte ich schon. Die meisten erkannte ich wieder. Eine geringe Anzahl sah ich zum ersten Mal. Den ein oder anderen sah ich zum letzten Mal.“ [S.76]
Ein schreckliches Szenario, was den Gedanken der absoluten Leistungsgesellschaft auseinandernimmt und das Miteinander in der Gesellschaft im allgemeinen kritisch hinterfragt.
Das Buch hat eine gewisse Schwere, bleibt dabei aber zutiefst menschlich. Scharf beobachtet und klug erzählt kratzt es an den Grenzen des Vorstellbaren und zeigt auf, dass der Wert eines Menschen nicht messbar ist und sich oftmals in kleinen Dingen wiederfindet.
Für mich ein Volltreffer aber sicherlich nicht für jeden geeignet.
Dorrit Weger ist 50, unverheiratet, kinderlos, hat als Schriftstellerin keinen nachhaltigen Mehrwert und leistet auch sonst keinen nennenswerten Beitrag, der Wohlstand und Wachstum der Gesellschaft zugutekommt. Damit gehört sie automatisch dem Kreis der „Entbehrlichen“ an und wird kurz nach ihrem Geburtstag in eine streng überwachte Reservebankeinheit für biologisches Material eingeliefert. Fortan muss sie sich für psychologische bzw. Medikamententests und Organentnahmen zur Verfügung stellen, bis es dann schlussendlich zur sogenannten „Endspende“ kommt, die unweigerlich zum Tode führt.
„Ich ging weiter; nickte, lächelte oder sagte Hej zu den Leuten, denen ich begegnete. Einige von ihnen kannte ich schon. Die meisten erkannte ich wieder. Eine geringe Anzahl sah ich zum ersten Mal. Den ein oder anderen sah ich zum letzten Mal.“ [S.76]
Ein schreckliches Szenario, was den Gedanken der absoluten Leistungsgesellschaft auseinandernimmt und das Miteinander in der Gesellschaft im allgemeinen kritisch hinterfragt.
Das Buch hat eine gewisse Schwere, bleibt dabei aber zutiefst menschlich. Scharf beobachtet und klug erzählt kratzt es an den Grenzen des Vorstellbaren und zeigt auf, dass der Wert eines Menschen nicht messbar ist und sich oftmals in kleinen Dingen wiederfindet.
Für mich ein Volltreffer aber sicherlich nicht für jeden geeignet.
December 6, 2014
3.75 stars. This book takes place in Sweden, sometime in the near future. Dorret Weger has just turned 50 and must surrender her existence and dog, in order to be remanded to the Unit. 50+ year old women and 60+ year old men, deemed not needed by society go to the Unit, where they are subjected to various testing and organ harvesting. One is "dispensable" if s/he does not have children or does not create economic growth, so there are many artists and writers. Life is sterile but pleasant for the inhabitants, and Dorrit finds more friends than she has ever had before. Then she falls deeply in love, and miraculously gets pregnant despite her age. Has she become useful now, and what will happen to her, the father and the baby? A sympathetic worker provides her with a means to escape the Unit. Will they break out? What I liked best about this book was the way it conveyed the Swedish view of life, and a myriad of social issues. Excellent job by the translator.
June 28, 2010
Wow I just flew through The Unit, and now my heart just aches for Dorrit, the Dispensables and for the society.
It's the near-future in Sweden, a society that values capital and societal value above individual life. If you are childless, not in a protected job, have no dependents and no loving relationship, you are considered to be "dispensable." Dispensables are taken to The Unit at age 50 for women or 60 for men-i.e. after they are no longer reproductively viable, with the intent to give back to society through their own body. They donate body parts, participate in drug trials and scientific experiments, all while living in a little enclosed Club Med-like "utopic" dollhouse.
It's a very disturbing situation that Dorrit, our narrator, seems to implicitly accept, even while grieving the loss of her independence, privacy and solitude. She was a novelist who loved living alone, in a remote little cottage with her spotted dog, Jock. Cracks start to form in Dorrit's acceptance and beliefs in society. The new close relationships she develops in The Unit - unlike any relationships she's had before - create an unusual situation for her. She eventually has to decide between those relationships, her place in society and the common good.
I think what's remarkable is Holmqvist's simple, stark, straight-forward writing can still pull you into an unusual world and the complex mental state of a Dispensable. This book will hit you between the eyes if you have made life choices that are out of the mean for our society.
In the end, I'm not sure if Holmqvist is making a statement about capitalism or socialism. The dystopia is not created by some sort of totalitarian regime (as in The Handmaid's Tale or 1984) or as a response to a world-wide catastrophe (as in A Canticle for Leibowitz). Instead, it appears that the democratic society has decided that people who add no value or capital to the society should donate their organs to the more deserving, and remove themselves from life. Somehow everyone is convinced they are choosing this option, yet no one appears to have a choice or claim on their own life. This seems more insidious: to grow up believing that some people have more rights to their life than others just based on who they are.
I was wavering between four and five stars for this one. Ultimately, I can't deny the power of a book that makes me hold my breath and cry and grieve for the characters.
It's the near-future in Sweden, a society that values capital and societal value above individual life. If you are childless, not in a protected job, have no dependents and no loving relationship, you are considered to be "dispensable." Dispensables are taken to The Unit at age 50 for women or 60 for men-i.e. after they are no longer reproductively viable, with the intent to give back to society through their own body. They donate body parts, participate in drug trials and scientific experiments, all while living in a little enclosed Club Med-like "utopic" dollhouse.
It's a very disturbing situation that Dorrit, our narrator, seems to implicitly accept, even while grieving the loss of her independence, privacy and solitude. She was a novelist who loved living alone, in a remote little cottage with her spotted dog, Jock. Cracks start to form in Dorrit's acceptance and beliefs in society. The new close relationships she develops in The Unit - unlike any relationships she's had before - create an unusual situation for her. She eventually has to decide between those relationships, her place in society and the common good.
I think what's remarkable is Holmqvist's simple, stark, straight-forward writing can still pull you into an unusual world and the complex mental state of a Dispensable. This book will hit you between the eyes if you have made life choices that are out of the mean for our society.
In the end, I'm not sure if Holmqvist is making a statement about capitalism or socialism. The dystopia is not created by some sort of totalitarian regime (as in The Handmaid's Tale or 1984) or as a response to a world-wide catastrophe (as in A Canticle for Leibowitz). Instead, it appears that the democratic society has decided that people who add no value or capital to the society should donate their organs to the more deserving, and remove themselves from life. Somehow everyone is convinced they are choosing this option, yet no one appears to have a choice or claim on their own life. This seems more insidious: to grow up believing that some people have more rights to their life than others just based on who they are.
I was wavering between four and five stars for this one. Ultimately, I can't deny the power of a book that makes me hold my breath and cry and grieve for the characters.
July 4, 2024
Incredibile ma vero👉🏼🤭 Ho trovato il libro distopico che mi ha colpito. Dopo svariati tentativi e il timore di riprovarci... ecco che arriva #Lunità , degno di 4⭐️!
L'unità racconta una storia commovente e attualissima, che racchiude un’acuta riflessione sulla società odierna e l’identità femminile.
Dorrit, da un giorno all'altro andrà a vivere all'Unità, una struttura all’avanguardia considerata un luogo idilliaco... ma solo in apparenza visto che si tratta di un luogo particolare legato a diversi esperimenti: tutti coloro che vivono in questo posto non hanno figli, nè una vita sentimentale stabile.
Tutte le persone si trovano lì per un motivo ben preciso: faranno parte di esperimenti, sono delle cavie e doneranno, pian piano, tutti i loro organi... fino ad arrivare alla donazione finale.
I residenti dell'unità hanno uno scopo ben preciso: visto che sono soli, senza figli e senza un compagno/a, diventeranno utili, sacrificando la propria vita. Questo è il destino di Dorrit... ma pian piano, amicizia dopo amicizia e nuove conoscenze, la sua vita prenderà una piega inaspettata e dovrà prendere una decisione davvero importante. Quelli che dovevano essere gli ultimi giorni di vita in pace, avranno un sapore amaro: sarà felice per la prima volta e questa felicità ha un prezzo da pagare.
Un libro che finisce troppo in fretta... un finale bello ma avrei preferito che continuasse...!
L'unità racconta una storia commovente e attualissima, che racchiude un’acuta riflessione sulla società odierna e l’identità femminile.
Dorrit, da un giorno all'altro andrà a vivere all'Unità, una struttura all’avanguardia considerata un luogo idilliaco... ma solo in apparenza visto che si tratta di un luogo particolare legato a diversi esperimenti: tutti coloro che vivono in questo posto non hanno figli, nè una vita sentimentale stabile.
Tutte le persone si trovano lì per un motivo ben preciso: faranno parte di esperimenti, sono delle cavie e doneranno, pian piano, tutti i loro organi... fino ad arrivare alla donazione finale.
I residenti dell'unità hanno uno scopo ben preciso: visto che sono soli, senza figli e senza un compagno/a, diventeranno utili, sacrificando la propria vita. Questo è il destino di Dorrit... ma pian piano, amicizia dopo amicizia e nuove conoscenze, la sua vita prenderà una piega inaspettata e dovrà prendere una decisione davvero importante. Quelli che dovevano essere gli ultimi giorni di vita in pace, avranno un sapore amaro: sarà felice per la prima volta e questa felicità ha un prezzo da pagare.
Un libro che finisce troppo in fretta... un finale bello ma avrei preferito che continuasse...!
August 22, 2017
The Unit is a near future, Swedish take on dystopia. In here, being useful or needed is the highest priority, and your contribution to society is crucial. Women aged 50 and men 60 that are considered "dispensable" are taken to a complex where they are expected to life a life of comfort and companionship and do their part for society through medical and psychological experiments, tissue donation, and, eventually, final donation.
I was struck by a few things here. First, what the Swedish dystopian view of "indispensible" is. Having a child. Having a good income. Having a critical profession. Giving back to society. All can exempt you from The Unit. But vaguely self-sufficient people who putter around the world, usually making art of some sort? A potential drain on society, and therefore a risk to the greater good.
Also, there wasn't a lot of "highest bidder" assumptions. If this were the US, of course people could pay for extended life. Capitalism-based-cruelty. But here it's seen as giving back because someone living a more worthy life needs it more, it's an honorable end.
Also, there was a lot of resignation. No "we must bring down the system!" or multi-volume sagas of courage and fight. More a quiet overarching sense of acceptance that this is the fate of the dispensible.
We get plenty of musing on what constitutes a good life, on why the childless are considered lesser, the lonliness that comes as society moves in a different direction than the individual. But it's rarely spelled out that this is wrong on a moral level. We are sympathetic observers to an individual's struggle to accept that her life is considered less worthy to the outside.
This has stuck with me, maybe because the dreaded 50 is heading straight at me like a freight train. Or maybe because I struggle with how "indispensible" I am in my life, though it's the opposite side of the coin, raising three kids on my own knowing I'd leave a massive mom-sized hole if I were gone.
Side note, this was translated really well. I never felt like I was missing perspective or subtlety. I disagreed with the choices made in this, especially towards the end, but I still understood why they were made, why these choices were right for her.
I was struck by a few things here. First, what the Swedish dystopian view of "indispensible" is. Having a child. Having a good income. Having a critical profession. Giving back to society. All can exempt you from The Unit. But vaguely self-sufficient people who putter around the world, usually making art of some sort? A potential drain on society, and therefore a risk to the greater good.
Also, there wasn't a lot of "highest bidder" assumptions. If this were the US, of course people could pay for extended life. Capitalism-based-cruelty. But here it's seen as giving back because someone living a more worthy life needs it more, it's an honorable end.
Also, there was a lot of resignation. No "we must bring down the system!" or multi-volume sagas of courage and fight. More a quiet overarching sense of acceptance that this is the fate of the dispensible.
We get plenty of musing on what constitutes a good life, on why the childless are considered lesser, the lonliness that comes as society moves in a different direction than the individual. But it's rarely spelled out that this is wrong on a moral level. We are sympathetic observers to an individual's struggle to accept that her life is considered less worthy to the outside.
This has stuck with me, maybe because the dreaded 50 is heading straight at me like a freight train. Or maybe because I struggle with how "indispensible" I am in my life, though it's the opposite side of the coin, raising three kids on my own knowing I'd leave a massive mom-sized hole if I were gone.
Side note, this was translated really well. I never felt like I was missing perspective or subtlety. I disagreed with the choices made in this, especially towards the end, but I still understood why they were made, why these choices were right for her.
March 2, 2013
Brief synopsis: Dorrit turns 50 in a dystopian future Scandinavia, where people her age are politely imprisoned and harvested for parts if they've not managed to establish a family.
I wanted to love this book, because I love dystopian novels, and I've loved a couple other books with similar themes (notably Never Let Me Go and The Handmaid's Tale, two of my favorite novels). And while I liked it fine, I didn't manage to fall in love with Dorrit or her story. It delved into some themes that have some importance to me personally—if you grow older alone, without a spouse or children, is your life less meaningful and purposeful? But while the whole novel circled around this theme, I never felt like Holmqvist really nailed it. In the end, the meaning in Dorrit's life at the friendly organ-snatching prison is about her ability to establish a family, even though most of that quasi-family is one that develops by happenstance with the other men and women who are waiting to make 'final donations'. I would've liked to feel reassured that Dorrit's life had meaning and value on its own. There's a bit of this (Dorrit is a writer, for instance, and there are some suggestions that the novel is a record she's left behind). But I felt like the story was more about Dorrit building spouse-, sister-, and mother-style bonds with others.
The book also shares very little information on how society got to this horrific point, or much about how the outside world copes with the knowledge that these prisons exist. Which doesn't ruin the story, but is a little disappointing. I would've liked to have known.
There are some really lovely moments in the book. I loved Dorrit's relationship with her dog. And I loved that the descriptions of all the prison amenities (free food, a garden in constant bloom, saunas) sometimes lulled me into a feeling that the place might not actually be a bad place to end up—and then someone would lose a pancreas or something. So that was done really effectively. I was just hoping for...a bit more.
I wanted to love this book, because I love dystopian novels, and I've loved a couple other books with similar themes (notably Never Let Me Go and The Handmaid's Tale, two of my favorite novels). And while I liked it fine, I didn't manage to fall in love with Dorrit or her story. It delved into some themes that have some importance to me personally—if you grow older alone, without a spouse or children, is your life less meaningful and purposeful? But while the whole novel circled around this theme, I never felt like Holmqvist really nailed it. In the end, the meaning in Dorrit's life at the friendly organ-snatching prison is about her ability to establish a family, even though most of that quasi-family is one that develops by happenstance with the other men and women who are waiting to make 'final donations'. I would've liked to feel reassured that Dorrit's life had meaning and value on its own. There's a bit of this (Dorrit is a writer, for instance, and there are some suggestions that the novel is a record she's left behind). But I felt like the story was more about Dorrit building spouse-, sister-, and mother-style bonds with others.
The book also shares very little information on how society got to this horrific point, or much about how the outside world copes with the knowledge that these prisons exist. Which doesn't ruin the story, but is a little disappointing. I would've liked to have known.
There are some really lovely moments in the book. I loved Dorrit's relationship with her dog. And I loved that the descriptions of all the prison amenities (free food, a garden in constant bloom, saunas) sometimes lulled me into a feeling that the place might not actually be a bad place to end up—and then someone would lose a pancreas or something. So that was done really effectively. I was just hoping for...a bit more.
September 26, 2019
3.5 stars. This was a very readable, but slightly flawed dystopian novel set in the near future (technology has hardly changed). When women reach 50 and men reach 60 they are taken out of society and live in 'the unit' if they aren't carers (for children, for older people etc). The unit is luxurious and we follow Dorrit as she comes into the unit, makes friends, and finds love. All people placed there - dispensibles - have to participate in all sorts of trials of drugs and psychological tests, donate organs to those living in society, and usually about three years after their arrival give a final donation which kills them. I really had to know what happened to Dorrit, and I couldn't stop reading - and there were some very moving sections, as well as interesting questions posed about the value of women without children etc. I also really liked the ending - a brilliant last line.
There are some flaws though with the world-building: if it's set in the near future, what has brought civilisation to this turn of events? This is barely touched on, but it must have been momentous for society to agree to such a thing. The characters never discuss it. Also nearly everyone has to undergo some toxic trials, and yet society still wants their organs? That seems unlikely.
And finally, some of the writing (or translation) was a little clunky.
There are some flaws though with the world-building: if it's set in the near future, what has brought civilisation to this turn of events? This is barely touched on, but it must have been momentous for society to agree to such a thing. The characters never discuss it. Also nearly everyone has to undergo some toxic trials, and yet society still wants their organs? That seems unlikely.
And finally, some of the writing (or translation) was a little clunky.
August 28, 2024
Copia sbiadita di “Never Let Me Go” di Ishiguro, troppo simile nella trama (solo in quello) per non pensarci tutto il tempo. Il POV della protagonista, però, insipido e bidimensionale, appiattisce completamente la narrazione e rende una storia che, per la natura del suo contenuto, dovrebbe essere quantomeno commovente, noiosa all’eccesso. Si va avanti a leggere sperando che accada qualcosa, che un briciolo di emozione traspaia, ma, in maniera del tutto anticlimatica, proseguendo il ritmo riesce addirittura a calare.
L’unica parte distopica del romanzo sta nelle fantasie mancate di Dorrit di essere una trad wife: davvero l’unica critica sociale che l’autrice fa emergere è l’auspicio ad un ritorno ai ruoli di genere tradizionale? Ninni, mi permetto di rivolgermi a te: è questa la sola falla in un sistema (in un sistema immaginario, peraltro, creato da te), in cui le persone over 50/60 senza figli e senza una professione di servizio vengono usate come cavie? La vogliamo risolvere così?
L’unica parte distopica del romanzo sta nelle fantasie mancate di Dorrit di essere una trad wife: davvero l’unica critica sociale che l’autrice fa emergere è l’auspicio ad un ritorno ai ruoli di genere tradizionale? Ninni, mi permetto di rivolgermi a te: è questa la sola falla in un sistema (in un sistema immaginario, peraltro, creato da te), in cui le persone over 50/60 senza figli e senza una professione di servizio vengono usate come cavie? La vogliamo risolvere così?
April 11, 2017
I think I was drawn to the cover. (Very nice cover.) That and the jacket made me cross my fingers and hope for something reminiscent of Michael Bay's "The Island" (sue me; it's entertaining), Kazuo Ishiguro's "Never Let me Go," and Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale." And it does end up being difficult not to compare themes in "The Unit" to "Never Let Me Go": passivity, life, death, humanity, worth, acceptance.
As a 38-year old woman who just recently found love, the premise of "The Unit" intrigued me: single, childless 50+ women and 60+ men who are not in "progressive industries" are sent to a "reserve bank" to participate in experiments and eventually donate their organs.
This is an easy read for anyone interested in the premise. But sadly, it just didn't deliver, and failed to haunt me or shock me like Ishiguro did. There was a detachment in both narrations that worked so well in "Never Let Me Go," but here, just made me want to shake protagonist Dorrit.
As a 38-year old woman who just recently found love, the premise of "The Unit" intrigued me: single, childless 50+ women and 60+ men who are not in "progressive industries" are sent to a "reserve bank" to participate in experiments and eventually donate their organs.
This is an easy read for anyone interested in the premise. But sadly, it just didn't deliver, and failed to haunt me or shock me like Ishiguro did. There was a detachment in both narrations that worked so well in "Never Let Me Go," but here, just made me want to shake protagonist Dorrit.
September 3, 2024
Il romanzo L’Unità (Fazi, 2024, traduzione di Margherita Podestà Heir ) della scrittrice svedese Ninni Holmqvist stupisce per l’insolita trama che dà alla narrazione carattere distopico. È infatti negativamente utopico il mondo in cui la cinquantenne Dorrit Weger vive.
Narrato in prima persona dalla stessa protagonista, il romanzo è ambientato nella Svezia dell’autrice e temporalmente posto in un non lontano futuro nel quale i non più giovani sono considerati meno importanti rispetto alla crescita economica e ai giovani che hanno figli o che possono ancora procreare.
Nel Paese non c’è posto per coloro che non sono “indispensabili”, non servono più, non sono socialmente utili. A partire da un’età in cui la fertilità viene meno, donne e uomini senza prole vengono dichiarati “dispensabili” e sono, senza possibilità di scelta, a disposizione dello Stato. Questo succede anche a Dorrit, cinquantenne scrittrice senza figli che, un giorno come tanti, è costretta a lasciare la propria casa per trasferirsi all’Unità, un luogo in cui si vive con una certa agiatezza ma lontani dal mondo e in cui soprattutto si deve pagare il caro prezzo di non aver generato prole. Si diventa “dispensabili” per dare quel contributo non donato in età fertile.
Il fio che i dispensabili debbono pagare è assai alto: saranno utili alla società sottoponendosi a esperimenti con farmaci e, in caso di necessità, donando organi fino al momento finale, quello in cui la donazione ultima conduce alla morte stessa.
Prima di giungere a ciò, però, i dispensabili possono trascorrere periodi di mesi e anche anni piacevoli all’Unità.
La stessa Dorrit ha un’ottima impressione allorché entra nel bilocale assegnatole
Una nuova abitazione per Dorrit, più confortevole della casa di campagna che lei non era mai riuscita a ristrutturare ma a cui era comunque affezionata. Purtroppo, però, ogni stanza, ogni angolo dell’Unità non è privato: ci sono telecamere ovunque e nessuno può più godere di momenti personali. Gli ospiti di oltre cinquanta o sessant’anni e senza prole sono al servizio del Paese; attendono solo che venga loro dato un compito e un destino che non hanno scelto. Nel lungo periodo che trascorrono all’Unità, i dispensabili possono frequentare molti luoghi di ritrovo ma hanno già perso ciò che è più prezioso, la libertà .Tra di loro nascono però amicizie e questo succede anche alla protagonista: Lena, Elsa, Alice, Johannes, Vania, Erik divengono parte della quotidianità di Dorrit che, ad un certo punto, stringerà un rapporto particolare con uno dei dispensabili.
Non si possono negare i rapporti umani neanche all’Unità, ma ciò che ha luogo in itinere non era stato assolutamente previsto. Non avrebbe dovuto esserci futuro per nessuno di loro ma esso invece potrebbe essere possibile per la protagonista. Come tornare indietro ad una normalità negata, forse ancora possibile?
Come far comprendere a chi dirige l’Unità che si ha il diritto di rientrare fra gli indispensabili? Pochi sono coloro che comprendono e solo Petra che fa parte della Direzione così si esprime, condividendo con Dorrit un’amara realtà
Cosa farà Dorrit ora che ciò che è più straordinario sta per diventare realtà?
La scrittura semplice ma diretta di Ninni Holmqvist trascina in un mondo non reale. eppure non così impossibile. L’Unità colpirà i lettori per le tematiche importanti e attuali, quali la procreazione e il ruolo di giovani e anziani nella società. Nella crudezza di una realtà distopica la scrittrice riesce però a far emergere i sentimenti umanamente più veri e scrive una storia su cui è impossibile non riflettere.
Narrato in prima persona dalla stessa protagonista, il romanzo è ambientato nella Svezia dell’autrice e temporalmente posto in un non lontano futuro nel quale i non più giovani sono considerati meno importanti rispetto alla crescita economica e ai giovani che hanno figli o che possono ancora procreare.
Nel Paese non c’è posto per coloro che non sono “indispensabili”, non servono più, non sono socialmente utili. A partire da un’età in cui la fertilità viene meno, donne e uomini senza prole vengono dichiarati “dispensabili” e sono, senza possibilità di scelta, a disposizione dello Stato. Questo succede anche a Dorrit, cinquantenne scrittrice senza figli che, un giorno come tanti, è costretta a lasciare la propria casa per trasferirsi all’Unità, un luogo in cui si vive con una certa agiatezza ma lontani dal mondo e in cui soprattutto si deve pagare il caro prezzo di non aver generato prole. Si diventa “dispensabili” per dare quel contributo non donato in età fertile.
Il fio che i dispensabili debbono pagare è assai alto: saranno utili alla società sottoponendosi a esperimenti con farmaci e, in caso di necessità, donando organi fino al momento finale, quello in cui la donazione ultima conduce alla morte stessa.
Prima di giungere a ciò, però, i dispensabili possono trascorrere periodi di mesi e anche anni piacevoli all’Unità.
La stessa Dorrit ha un’ottima impressione allorché entra nel bilocale assegnatole
Una nuova abitazione per Dorrit, più confortevole della casa di campagna che lei non era mai riuscita a ristrutturare ma a cui era comunque affezionata. Purtroppo, però, ogni stanza, ogni angolo dell’Unità non è privato: ci sono telecamere ovunque e nessuno può più godere di momenti personali. Gli ospiti di oltre cinquanta o sessant’anni e senza prole sono al servizio del Paese; attendono solo che venga loro dato un compito e un destino che non hanno scelto. Nel lungo periodo che trascorrono all’Unità, i dispensabili possono frequentare molti luoghi di ritrovo ma hanno già perso ciò che è più prezioso, la libertà .Tra di loro nascono però amicizie e questo succede anche alla protagonista: Lena, Elsa, Alice, Johannes, Vania, Erik divengono parte della quotidianità di Dorrit che, ad un certo punto, stringerà un rapporto particolare con uno dei dispensabili.
Non si possono negare i rapporti umani neanche all’Unità, ma ciò che ha luogo in itinere non era stato assolutamente previsto. Non avrebbe dovuto esserci futuro per nessuno di loro ma esso invece potrebbe essere possibile per la protagonista. Come tornare indietro ad una normalità negata, forse ancora possibile?
Come far comprendere a chi dirige l’Unità che si ha il diritto di rientrare fra gli indispensabili? Pochi sono coloro che comprendono e solo Petra che fa parte della Direzione così si esprime, condividendo con Dorrit un’amara realtà
Cosa farà Dorrit ora che ciò che è più straordinario sta per diventare realtà?
La scrittura semplice ma diretta di Ninni Holmqvist trascina in un mondo non reale. eppure non così impossibile. L’Unità colpirà i lettori per le tematiche importanti e attuali, quali la procreazione e il ruolo di giovani e anziani nella società. Nella crudezza di una realtà distopica la scrittrice riesce però a far emergere i sentimenti umanamente più veri e scrive una storia su cui è impossibile non riflettere.
December 18, 2025
This book has been in my library (archives) for years and yesterday it called to me. It is a very compelling novel of a facility where childless women over 50 and childless men over 60 are considered to be disposable and are used for organ donations and medical experiments. Creepy.
September 1, 2024
appena terminato, sento di dover dare a questo breve ma intenso testo una 'votazione' che oscilla tra il tre e il quattro, questo perché la storia e la prosa e le premesse sono riuscita a farmi ricredere, mi hanno incuriosita e istigata a tal punto da farmi dare una seconda possibilità a questo libro, che avevo ormai abbandonato!
mi viene comunque da storcere un po' il naso ripensando ad alcune affermazioni fatte dalla protagonista, che non ho compreso e tantomeno apprezzato, eppure non posso permettere che questa mia percezione metta in ombra l'idea brillante, spaventosa e carica di denuncia che l'autrice è riuscita a portare alla luce con semplicità e astuzia, servendosi di una prosa tagliente e viscerale, estremamente umile e quotidiana.
non posso nascondere o minimizzare la commozione e la rabbia provate in alcuni passaggi, la paura e il disgusto nati davanti alla rappresentazione priva di finzione di un'umanità che non ha più il diritto di definirsi tale, l'interesse e la curiosità per ogni singolo personaggio e le sue relazioni, i suoi sogni, i suoi 'se solo avessi...'
insomma, sono felice di aver ripreso la lettura di questo libro, mi ha totalmente catturata, illuminandomi su alcune situazioni e condizioni molto pericolose che nella nostra società abbiamo normalizzato!
se cercate un distopico intenso, originale e che vi si poserà come un macigno su testa, stomaco e cuore, siete nel posto giusto!
mi viene comunque da storcere un po' il naso ripensando ad alcune affermazioni fatte dalla protagonista, che non ho compreso e tantomeno apprezzato, eppure non posso permettere che questa mia percezione metta in ombra l'idea brillante, spaventosa e carica di denuncia che l'autrice è riuscita a portare alla luce con semplicità e astuzia, servendosi di una prosa tagliente e viscerale, estremamente umile e quotidiana.
non posso nascondere o minimizzare la commozione e la rabbia provate in alcuni passaggi, la paura e il disgusto nati davanti alla rappresentazione priva di finzione di un'umanità che non ha più il diritto di definirsi tale, l'interesse e la curiosità per ogni singolo personaggio e le sue relazioni, i suoi sogni, i suoi 'se solo avessi...'
insomma, sono felice di aver ripreso la lettura di questo libro, mi ha totalmente catturata, illuminandomi su alcune situazioni e condizioni molto pericolose che nella nostra società abbiamo normalizzato!
se cercate un distopico intenso, originale e che vi si poserà come un macigno su testa, stomaco e cuore, siete nel posto giusto!
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