| Title | : | November |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1843911124 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781843911128 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 106 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1842 |
November Reviews
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Chaque minute de ma vie se trouve tout à coup séparée de l'autre par un abîme, entre hier et aujourd'hui il y a pour moi une éternité qui m'épouvante, chaque jour il me semble que je n'étais pas si misérable la veille et, sans pouvoir dire ce que j'avais de plus, je sens bien que je m'appauvris et que l'heure qui arrive m'emporte quelque chose, étonné seulement d'avoir encore dans le coeur place pour la souffrance ; mais le coeur de l'homme est inépuisable pour la tristesse : un ou deux bonheurs le remplissent, toutes les misères de l'humanité peuvent s'y donner rendez-vous et vivre comme des hautes.
(photograph Friedhof Heidelberg, by André Wohlgemuth) -
Maybe happiness too is a metaphor invented on a day of boredom.
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"Bio sam, dakle, ono sto ste vi svi, covek koji zivi, koji spava, koji jede, koji pije, koji place, koji se smeje, koji se sasvim povukao u sebe i koji uvek iznova nalazi u sebi, kud god da krene, iste rusevine nada, koje se ruse cim se podignu, istu prasinu smrvljenih stvari, iste staze, hiljadu puta obilazene, iste neistrazene, stravicne i dosadne dubine. Niste li poput mene umorni od toga sto se budite svakog jutra i sto opet vidite sunce, umorni da zivite uvek istim zivotom, da patite od istog bola, umorni da zelite i umorni da se zgadite, umorni da cekate i umorni da imate?"
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“…hay días en los que uno está tan triste que quisiera afligirse aún más”
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I love this book. As I read it, I was constantly reminded of my favorite poem:
what would you do
if all the lovers of your years
passed by at midnight
dressed in the flesh
they wore when you
last loved them?
what do I do?
what do I say?
I loved you then,
I touch you now
with all the glow
you left in the palm of my hands.
Robin Blaser (1925-2009)
Although it appears the discovery of sexuality, love, and passion is at the forefront of the book--it is much more than that. It is about the human condition--it is about experience (both lovely and appalling)--it is about the inanities of life and society--it is about being trapped within yourself and released--it is about coming of age, even when your grown--it is about the end of innocence and life, of spirituality--it is about haunting loneliness and the grasp of alienation--it is about the human experience that draws us into and away from ourselves and others. This text is so multi-layered that I will re-read this book many times over simply to grasp all of its implications..
I did not like the ending, but I understand its purpose. The ending is why I give the book four stars instead of five. -
Pet zvezdica zbog Floberovog stila i pronalaženja sebe skoro u svakoj rečenici priče.
Ovo je brutalna ispovest jednog mladića. Flober zaranja u svoje najdublje i najiskrenije predele svog srca i svoje ličnosti i o njima govori sasvim iskreno. Usled nemogućnosti da pronađe ljubav "dostojnu sebe samog" on luta svetom i u svemu nalazi privremen mir iz kojeg kasnije proizlaze dosada i očaj.
Uporedo sa svojim lutanjima Flober nailazi na Mariju, svoju prvu ljubavnicu, koja poput njega ne uspeva da pronađe čoveka kojeg bi mogla voleti svim svojim srcem. -
4,5, ali hajde neka bude 5, čudno mi je prijala, premda nije za 5.
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Me gustó cómo Flaubert encontró la salida antes que la trama se le escapara. Estaba claro que si continuaba en la misma dirección no iba a llegar a nada y toda la escritura terminaría siendo un desperdicio. Entonces, inesperadamente, encontró el atajo para salir bien librado, desprenderse de la solemnidad que cubría página tras página y tomarse la dificultad de completar la historia con humor.
Lo que empieza como una grave confesión juvenil de amor y melancolía y continúa como un nocturno diálogo entre dos amantes imposibles que sufren por desear y anhelan ya no sufrir, termina como un verdadero homenaje formal y técnico al maestro que descubrió o inventó el mejor atajo para huir de la seriedad del tono y del forcejeo permanente que implica cerrar nudos, atar cabos y terminar la historia, el que inventó la peregrina técnica de lavarse las manos en plena acción, jugando con el lector, con su credulidad y con sus expectativas: Miguel de Cervantes.
Flaubert descubre la ironía cervantina justo cuando llega al clímax de lo que cuenta y tiene que decidir, entre varias opciones poco convincentes y aburridas, la mejor que le pueda llevar al final. No se decide por ninguna. Se salta el libreto. No sigue el guión. Hace trampa, recurre a Cervantes, inventa un nuevo narrador, se lleva de encuentro todo lo que ha escrito y se dirige al lector con total confianza, le cuenta un par de cosas anodinas, lo matiza con opiniones aparentemente sinceras y sin más, llega al último párrafo, suelta esa frase que ironiza con la ingenuidad o credulidad del lector, sale airoso, agrega un par de líneas, pone el punto final y se va.
Está claro que no es su mejor trabajo, y que muchas veces se pierde o no sabe por dónde seguir, pero logra describir con mucha solvencia las turbaciones de un muchacho casto que desea conocer el placer, primero, y luego el amor, y que hasta descubrirlo se refugia (o se hunde) en la belleza contemplativa, en la depresión y en el vacío, y el de una joven prostituta que anhela conocer el amor, primero, y luego, o al mismo tiempo, el cariño devoto, desinteresado, sincero.
Flaubert aún está explorando la precisión de las oraciones y el modo en que se enlaza con el ritmo de la trama. Ni sabe dosificar bien la enumeración descriptiva o la floritura barroca, ni rehuye al ritmo maniqueo de 'chico conoce chica'. Pero tampoco insiste en calzar en los marcos comunes. Nunca prosigue en automático, ni es predecible. Justo cuando parece que su prosa se estabiliza, y la escena va fluyendo, irrumpe con algo insólito, inesperado. Ya sea con un recuerdo de la playa o con la voz de Marie, la prostituta joven que le quiere contar su vida, o con la inusitada aparición de otro narrador.
La historia, en simple, es una incompleta love story de menos de un día. Se sabe qué pasó antes de ese encuentro (el narrador-protagonista le cuenta al lector su vida de casto antes de conocer a Marie, y al conocerla, al oírla por unas pocas horas, ella le cuenta al narrador su vida antes de conocerlo), pero no lo que pasó después.
Lo que pasó después lo cuenta otro narrador, cómplice del lector y amigo del protagonista. Pero lo que cuenta no es tan exacto ni tan creíble, o al menos, no irrefutable. Es un rumor, sugiere este nuevo narrador, un chisme que escuchó y que lo comparte para terminar la historia.
Si uno quisiera valorar este relato desde los parámetros de la posmodernidad y lo fragmentario, posiblemente encontraría varios elementos afines. Si quisiera hacerlo desde el romanticismo, aquí hay un ejemplo que anticipa su crisis.
Yo prefiero verlo como un antecedente tierno (en todas las acepciones posibles de tierno) de la película «Before Sunrise» (1995). Encaja en ese ritmo, en esa estética, en ese amor.
Incluso, cuando todo termina, cuando el chico y la chica se separan, y el amor aún enrarece el aire, incluso ahí, encaja en el desconsuelo.
Dice el protagonista: «En el pasado, antes de Marie, mi hastío poseía algo hermoso, algo sublime. Pero ahora resulta estúpido, es el tedio de alguien ebrio de mal aguardiente, el sopor de un hombre borracho perdido».
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Léanla con una copa de champagne rosé 🥂 y escuchando, entre descanso y descanso, a todo volumen, «Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now» de Starship. 🎶 En serio, combina nuy bien.
✌🏽 -
An early work of Flaubert, an author, I must be honest, I have never read before, and a work that might not necessarily commend me to reading other works by him.
The premise will be simple and familiar to at least half of you:
Late-blooming adolescent broods over existence, likely writes bad poetry, reflects on death, and flings himself at random into cornfields.
Our L.B.A. visits a brothel and finally gets laid and everything is suddenly better.
Anyone with functioning genitalia (and maybe some who don't, let's not judge, people) knows about the thrash and thrush of those first liberating moments of discovered sexuality. However, Flaubert, in a kind of proto- bad afterschool special kind of way, limns this event with much hand-wringing and lofty sentiment that no teenager in their right mind actually experiences. -
El título de esta novela fue el que me decidió a leerla. Pensé que sería idóneo leerla en el mes de su nombre. Mis cosas... en fin... Esta novela corta es la primera escrita por el autor, que en vida se negó a su publicación aduciendo que no estaba a la altura para que viese la luz. El protagonista de esta obra nos relata su obsesión por amar y ser amado, y las tribulaciones que ello le conlleva. A mí no me ha gustado mucho, no he conectado con el personaje y sus sentimientos me han parecido superficiales y poco creibles. Creo que aunque está muy bien escrita, el autor tenía sus razones para no publicar este libro.
"Amo el otoño. Esta triste estación es apropiada para los recuerdos. Cuando los árboles pierden todas sus hojas, cuando el cielo crepuscular aún conserva ese tinte rojizo que dora la hierba marchita, resulta dulce ver cómo se apaga todo aquello que, poco antes, ardía en nuestro interior."
"Entre ayer y hoy me parece que haya una eternidad aterradora, cada día me siento más miserable que la vísperay, sin poder precisar qué es lo que he perdido, noto que me empobrezco, que cada hora que pasa me roba algo, y me asombro tan solo de tener todavía en el corazón espacio para el sufrimiento. Pero el corazón humano es inagotable para la tristeza: una o dos legrías bastan para colmarlo, mientras que en él pueden darse cita toda las miserias del mundo y vivir como invitadas." -
Prva polovica knjige mi se jako svidjela, druga polovica baš i ne. Iz promišljanja o jeseni i raspoloženja jesenskoga pređemo u glupastu priču o mladom momku i prostitutki s kojom je kratko bio i nakon koje je izgubio ideale ljubavi (ali ne na način koji se očekuje kad pročitate moju rečenicu u osvrtu, pa nemojte prebrzo donositi zaključke). Dajem 4 zvjezdice zbog bogatstva stila i snažnog dojma do polovice knjige.
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Entiendo que el autor no quisiera publicar este libro. Cuenta el tedio de un sobreexcitado y frustrado joven, muy joven, que proyecta sus fantasías e inseguridades en el personaje de una prostituta. romantizándola y sublimándola, que es tan irreal como la fantasía mediterránea y orientalista que le sigue. El aparentemente transgresor virtuosismo moral del final es insufrible.
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The Sufferings of Young Gustave
Review of the Estonian language translation published in paperback by Kultuurileht (2020) translated from the French language edition
Gustave Flaubert, Oeuvres Completes Tome 1: Oeuvres De Jeunesse (2001) based on the first publication "Oeuvres de jeunesses inédites" (1910) of the previously unpublished manuscript (1842)Novembre is a novella by Gustave Flaubert written in 1842 and completed on 25 October 1842, never published during the author's lifetime; it was later published in the collection of his Oeuvres de jeunesses inédites (Unpublished Works of Youth), published in 1910. This partly autobiographical work, in which the author exalts the pathos of a young man's emotions, similar to the
The Sufferings of Young Werther by Goethe, is today considered one of his first successes of his literary youth, although Flaubert denied it during his lifetime under the pejorative qualifier of "sentimental ratatouille" (correspondence with Louise Colet). - translated from French Wikipedia
https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Novembr..."I love autumn, this gloomy season is made for memories." Thus begins Gustave Flaubert's first novel, "November," which he completed in the fall of 1842 at the age of 21, but which did not see the light of day until after the author's death.
In this story with autobiographical elements, the reader can experience the emotional awakening of the young protagonist, his first joys of love and the boredom that gradually takes over his world. Maturation brings an awareness of time and its temporality, but erases the hope of receiving revelation through love. The author himself has said that he put an end to his youth with this work. - translation of the Estonian language synopsis
November is a novella length early work by Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880) and December 12, 2021 will be the 200th Anniversary of his birth, so it is #GustaveFlaubert200 time. I've only ever previously read Madame Bovary in pre-Goodreads days, so this recent Estonian translation was an interesting curiosity to pick up.
November is full of the angst and the eagerness for love in early life but which then sinks into despair and a detachment from the world after a first romantic fulfillment. Although that sounds like it will be full of cliches, the writing is still very absorbing and I found myself quite swept along by it. I could see where the author would disavow it later, but it certainly captures that time of hope and longing that is felt in youth.
The Estonian translation read very well and the publication came with the typical care and attention to detail of the Loomingu Raamatukogu literary series. There are footnotes to explain various people and events that are relevant and an Afterword by the translator Leena Tomasberg provides biographical information and context. It was especially interesting to learn from the Afterword about the online archive of Gustave Flaubert's correspondence & other materials at
https://flaubert.univ-rouen.fr/ from which Tomasberg drew upon* for snippets of Flaubert's later opinions about November.
Trivia and Links
The
Loomingu Raamatukogu (The Creation Library) is a modestly priced Estonian literary journal which initially published weekly (from 1957 to 1994) and which now publishes 40 issues a year as of 1995. It is a great source for discovery as its relatively cheap prices (currently 3 to 5€ per issue) allow for access to a multitude of international writers in Estonian translation and of shorter works by Estonian authors themselves. These include poetry, theatre, essays, short stories, novellas and novels (the lengthier works are usually parceled out over several issues).
For a complete listing of all works issued to date by Loomingu Raamatukogu see Estonian Wikipedia at:
https://et.wikipedia.org/wiki/Looming...
* Such as from
https://flaubert.univ-rouen.fr/jet/pu...Si tu as bien écouté Novembre tu as dû deviner mille choses indisables qui expliquent peut-être ce que je suis. Mais cet âge-là est passé. Cette œuvre a été la clôture de ma jeunesse. Ce qui m’en reste est une peu de chose mais tient ferme. - Flaubert à Louise Colet 2 XII 1846
If you paid careful attention to November, you must have guessed a thousand indisputable things that perhaps explain who I am. But that time is past. This work was the end of my youth. What remains of it in me is only a little bit that still holds firm. - Flaubert to Louise Colet, 2 XII 1846
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Ne znam kako mi je Flober izmicao svih ovih godina, ali je ovaj čovek genijalan🖤 Jako sam srećna što sam uzela ,,Novembar” u svoje ruke ove jeseni, ovog novembra. Mnogi stavovi u ovoj knjizi su mi bili bliski i imala sam osećaj da pričamo zajedno ili da sam na grupnoj terapiji😁 Iako je knjižica mala, ja sam bukvalno sve ispodvlačila, odobravala, stavljala srculenca i osećala stvari o kojima piše.
Nakon ove knjige ću definitivno nastaviti sa čitanjem njegovih preostalih dela.
Ako volite intimne ispovesti i uvid u razmišljanja depresivnih ljudi ovo je knjiga za Vas. Ja obožavam😀 Nisam očekivala da ��e mi ostaviti ovako sjajan utisak. -
Noviembre es la última novela de juventud de Flaubert. En el prólogo de la edición de Impedimenta se explica que —aunque siempre le tuvo un cariño especial— se negó a publicarla, al considerarla una ratatouille sentimental y amorosa. Me ha parecido interesante la reflexión sobre si debemos leerla, obviando su voluntad.
Creo que es un relato muy triste, de un joven que ansía descubrir el amor y que vive sumido en una constante depresión. Es un texto muy poético, impecablemente escrito, en el que se aprecia la enorme calidad literaria del autor, que alcanzaría su cima con Madame Bovary. Sin embargo, me ha parecido demasiado repetitivo y no he disfrutado de su lectura. -
Uma antologia de 3 contos, editados pela Cotovia, maravilhosos. Autêntica poesia em prosa!
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Everywhere it is said that
Madame Bovary is Flaubert's first novel. This book is 15 years earlier than Bovary. It is fiction, but doesn't quite conform to the notion of a novel. It was written when Flaubert was just 20 years old, but is written from the perspective of an old man who remembers his youth. Four pages in, he begins to recount his thoughts when attending the circus.Those were the first women I ever loved. My mind would whip itself into a frenzy thinking about those strange-shaped thighs, clad in pink tights, and those supple arms, swathed in rings that the dancers would clash together behind their backs when they bent over backwards so far that the plumes of their turbans touched the ground. I was already trying to imagine what woman was like (we think of women at every age: while still children, we fondle with a naive sensuality the breasts of those grown-up girls kissing us and cuddling us in their arms; at the age of ten, we dream of love, at fifteen, love comes along; at sixty, it is still with us, and if dead men in their tombs have any thought in their heads, it is how to make their way underground to the nearby grave, lift the shroud of the dear departed woman, and mingle with her in her sleep); thus, woman was an alluring mystery for me, one that troubled my poor childish head.
This is an odd little book. The GR description is quite accurate, but I'm afraid it makes it sound as if there is more story than actually exists. Flaubert's genius is already apparent, but he had not yet learned how to structure his story. In this, he also didn't quite have a story, but presents rambling thoughts.
I'm glad I read this. I have some perspective on this author I didn't have before reading it. However, I think I wouldn't attempt it again, even if it is just 100 pages.
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Opis doživljaja sveta i ljubavi je divan i skoro se savršeno slaže sa mojim doživljajem. Prelepo.
Kasnije se ne pronalazim toliko...
"Rekao sam vam da sam voleo sunce; onih dana kada sija, u mojoj je duši još do nedavno bilo nečeg od one vedrine blistavih horizonata i nebeskih visina."
"O, na kolika su me putovanja navele kutije od čaja." -
'ljudsko srce je neiscrpno za tugu; jedna ili dve srece ispune ga potpuno, sve nevolje citavog covecanstva mogu tu da zakazu sastanak i da u njemu zive kao gosti'
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La lettura di questo breve romanzo in una pausa (ho rimandato un poco l’attacco alla lettura del quinto volume) della “mia” Recherche mi ha messo direttamente sotto gli occhi il quanto Proust affondi profondamente le proprie radici in Flaubert, scrittore da lui venerato, peraltro maestro riconosciuto da tutti, già ai suoi tempi, una sorta di “padre della lingua letteraria francese” un po’ come da noi il Manzoni.
Ma se accanto alle questioni di grammatica e sintassi, di eleganza linguistica, di uno stile che trovi perfetta corrispondenza tra forma e contenuti narrativi attraverso una strada ardua e sofferta, fatta di continue e faticose scelte e revisioni, che troverà una direzione ancora più decisa verso una vera “estetica” solo a partire dalla Bovary, già qui, in questa opera giovanile e riconosciuta “acerba” dal suo stesso scrittore che non a caso scelse come sottotitolo a questo suo lavoro “Frammenti di uno stile qualsiasi”, si possono incontrare “in nuce” non solo alcuni temi che troveranno un più deciso (e diverso) sviluppo nella Bovary stessa, come peraltro chiaramente sottolineato da Giuseppe Aloe nella nota introduttiva a questa edizione, ma anche nella Recherche proustiana.
Trovo qualche cosa in più di una semplice somiglianza di fondo tra Marcel e il protagonista privo di nome di questa storia che ci viene narrata in forma diaristica (ma continua, senza una pausa) come una ricostruzione tardiva della propria vita, del proprio invecchiamento precoce senza avere conseguito alcunchè, interrogandosi sulle emozioni, sui sentimenti, sulle sensazioni provate, le brevi o lunghe passioni suscitate dagli amori più immaginati che vissuti (uno solo concretizzato o suscitato tardivamente dal ricordo di un’esperienza di una sola notte con una prostituta), sulle pulsioni realmente provate, sulla sua incapacità ad agire e soffermandosi sulle dilatazioni e contrazioni del tempo e della memoria. Anche a voi ricorda qualcosa?
Questo unico protagonista della storia ripercorre così, ancora giovane ma già piombato nel proprio personale autunno (preannunciato già fin dal suo inizio e ancora prima dal titolo), un Novembre precoce che lo porterà ormai solo alla sua fine, senza alcuna speranza, senza alcun annuncio di una successiva primavera, la sua breve esistenza; ma il tema ritroverà nelle opere successive dello stesso Flaubert, e poi in Proust, un diverso e ben più ampio sviluppo e respiro.
Acerba o meno che sia, quest’opera mostra già un’impronta di straordinario talento, e dello sforzo comunque compiuto (pur con qualche caduta) nella ricerca di una sorprendente eleganza di stile.
E merita così qualcosa di più di una fugace occhiata. -
bi kere zaten benim, -çoğunlukla- beni anlatan kitapları aldığımı biliyoruz artık geçiyorum. evet, kitapta bana ait olmaması mümkün bir kısım, cümle ve ya nokta bile yok. (haz konusu belki bende daha hafif ve daha farklı açıdan, ama temel aynı)
yani böyle güzel bi kitap yok! ama nasıl güzel, nasıl fevkalade, nasıl müthiş bir eser; böyle bir tesir etme, böyle bir sarsma, böyle bir nüfuz etme yok! ayaklarımın altındaki zemin kaydı.
sadece kitapta "ben" vardı diye demiyorum. hakikaten muhteşem. Flaubert her zaman baş tacım olmuştur ama bu! ya abi yok böyle bişi yok.
nys.
fransız edebiyatı pirimdir. zaten Madam Bavory'den herife tutkunum. Flaubert'in dilini çok severim. ancak daha önce, son okuduğum dostocuğumda da bahsetmiştim, klasikler adına bir şey hatırlamıyorum. ve şimdi okurken, her ne kadar sadeleştirilmiş ya da eksiltilmiş okusam bazılarını eskiden (çünkü vitamindik, ve fakirdik), o zamanlar nasıl hayretler içerisinde okuduysam ve nasıl doyumsuz bir tat aldıysam şimdi de aynı şekilde duyumsadım bunları. yani betimlemeleri, mecazları, çıkarımları, psikoanalizleri, atıfları, ifadeleri,,, artık edebiyata dair yapılabilecek ne kadar söz sanatı, biçim ve biçem adına ne varsa, hepsinde bambaşka bişi bu kitap. kitabın bırakın verdiği mesajı, alt metnini, diyaloglarını, hikayesini ya da ne anlattığını falan, bunlar için bile bu kitap başyapıt. ve kısa bir başyapıt. kahrolası kısa!
betimleme sizce de tapılası bi'şey değil mi? hele de romantikse!
şimdi gevşek gevşek kitap için 'ergenliğinde cinselliği, aşkı deneyimlemeye adım atan (ve bakirliğini kaybettiği kadında takılı kalan sefil) bakir bir genç' diye de yorabilirim ama ayıp olur. bu kitapta bahsedilen şeyler haz, aşk ve sevişmek; orgazm, sevme ve seks değil. mesele yalnızca cinsel arzu değil ;salt arzu, arzulama fiilinin ta kendisi. kitap sadece bunlar da değil. protagonistin veya Marie'nin bahsettikleri yalnızca bunlar değil. yaşam ve yaşamak adına harika metinler var ve bu kitabın doğasında, haklı, gerçek ve asl'olarak, arzu ağırlık merkezi.
peki o son ne öyle?
beni öldürmeye ne hakkın var?
beni ağlatmaya peki?
bir de şeye şaştım, kitabın müstehcenliği. (tamam hani okuduğumuz romancelara göre hiçbir şey de asdfasf) kitapta var yani. acaba zamanında sansür yemiş mi merak ettim, baktım ancak böyle bir şey okumadım. tabi benlik bir sıkıntı yok, ziyadesiyle memnum oldum okumaktan o sahneleri. sadece yayım tarihi itibariyle düşününce bi 'oha nası yani dorian gray elli yıl sonra basıldı ve sansür yedi' oldu (tmm pek doğru bir karşılaştırma değil ama). belki aradaki fark fransızdır sdfadfasd
ithaki bence yine harika iş çıkartmış. aradım taradım, kitabı daha önce yine ithaki çevirmiş ama kitabı tükenmiş olarak bile bulamadım sadece bi' kitap kapağı çıkıyor. çeviriyi sevdim, imlasında, yazım kurallarında falan sıkıntı yoktu. zaten 'dünya klasikleri serisi'nin kapak tasarımları, iç dizaynı ve yazı biçimlendirmesi çok iyi yayınevinin.« "Koltukaltındaki enfes bir kıvrım, sanki omzunun gülümsemesiydi..."»
esenlikle
xoxo -
I've had a chance to reread the book. I must admit I skimmed the ending the first time, but finding myself on a train, I had the chance to read it more thoroughly. I also read the introduction which informed me that this was written when he was 20. Not quite juvenalia but not quite fully developed work. I found some of it to be to directionless, including long passages about all the places in the world the character would like to visit, and a sort-of afterwords about his miserable life. The true jewel within this work, however, is the story of Marie, the prostitute the protagonist visits. It was a wonderful narrative about searching without ever finding, and contains some of the basis of what I believe would be more fully examined in Emma Bovary. Additionally, the discussion afterwords about lost love and the character never seeing her again is wonderful.
---Original Review---
Flaubert is horny. That is pretty much what I got from this book. Also he is an amazing writer, but I already knew that. The book charts the sexual awakening of a young man, reflecting on his youth (even though he ain't all that old), and a prostitute he loved/was devirginized by. It has wonderfully mellifluous passages reflecting on life and love and is worth it for the prose alone. It is easy to see the machinations of the more mature and accomplished Flaubert in this work, however, in and off itself it is minimalistic. As an artistic statement perhaps it makes sense in context of his later critique of sentimentalist and romantic literature, since this boy is more a realistic depiction of a young man than the chivalric heroes of his contemporaries. It did seem more like something belonging in In Search of Lost Time, with its reflections on the meanings of the past, but since I have only read Madame Bovary I am not qualified to make such statements. I am going to read a Sentimental Education next, and this seems like the early draft from what I've heard. It also is an excellent example of the Flâneur, which James Wood writes about in How Fiction Works, so perhaps it was an important influence on later french literature. I would need at least a Masters to get into this. -
Con este novela, el escritor francés, Gustave Flaubert deja por terminada la etapa literaria de juventud. Una etapa la cual, hacía camino para su ingreso en el Collège de Rouen y formalizarse en las letras, la su padre juzgaba como un oficio de perezosos e inútiles, siendo su padre un destacado cirujano. Algo curioso en este texto fue que nunca el autor dio la autorización para ser publicada, pero no fue hasta 1910 cuando salió al publico.
Ahora de que va esta corta novela de unas 144 paginas, podríamos decir que gira entorno a Eros expresado como una fuerza mágica y adormecedora. El autor con tan solo veintiún años nos narra una perspectiva mitad soñadora, romántica, mitad realista del despertad del deseo del amor de una persona joven. El amor por una mujer inaccesible se vierte en un lenguaje fantástico rico en imágenes, que une todo, vivencias de la naturaleza y amor exuberante, en un amplio torrente. Un ser en busca del idealismo de amor, se deja seducir por Marie, una prostituta, llena de erotismo, mayor a él, pero ambos sufren los mismos tormentos. Una novela, que por su musicalidad, que por su estilo y prosa ya apuntaba a los escritos que podrían venir por parte de autor.
Una novela excelentemente bien escrita donde las palabras crean grandes sensaciones y sentimientos, y mas cuando se pasea por esa etapa de la juventud, donde queríamos arrasar el mundo y dejar nuestro ser en aquella o aquel……. Te toca leerla a ti ahora, y saber que…. -
"Ali zar i sreća nije isto tako jedna metafora izmišljena jednog dana punog dosade?"
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A bit Romantic and (given the era) full of Orientalist imagery. Each sentence almost like finely sculpted marble, almost.
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" Pero el corazón humano es inagotable para la tristeza: una o dos alegrías bastan para colmarlo, mientras que en él pueden darse cita todas las miserias del mundo y vivir como invitadas. "
" Hay días en que vivimos dos existencias; la segunda se convierte en tan solo un recuerdo de la primera. " -
4,5
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Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.
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Htedoh da napišem: neće se ovo dopasti baš svakome, ali će ljubitelji umeti da uživaju. A onda me zaustavi očiglednost. Ništa se ne dopada baš svakome, a floberoljupci su miljama daleko od oznake ''svako''. Ovo je Floberovo mladalačko delo, za njegovog života nije objavljeno. Nije teško pogoditi zašto: romanče je u neobičnom raskoraku, sadržinski neprihvatljivo za svoje, a staromodno za neko kasnije vreme. Ne preporučujem ga ubrzanom modernom čitaocu. Malo je događaja. Akciju guta obilje misli i još više osećanja. Likovi su složeni, krasi ih suptilnost koju vredi makar preko knjige upoznati. A sve je vođeno duhom tako slobodnim da bi mu bilo tesno i danas, unutar naših konvencija.
