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3.37 AVERAGE
3.37 AVERAGE
read this in one sitting during a bath and it was so BORING i thought i might pass out
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
Uh
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
emotional
reflective
challenging
emotional
informative
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
Difficult read, but I enjoyed it. The complexity of the relationship between Nadja and Breton interweaves throughout the novella demonstrating Breton's own complex relationship with surrealism.
There is beauty in these pages, and the artwork and photographs interspersed throughout the text go far to bolster this strange fake-real world. (I'm reminded of Sebald here, though I know his books proceed Nadja.)
A number of lines required second, third, or even fourth reads—not because they were necessarily confusing but because they were things I wanted to soak in, consider, and lodge in my memory. To borrow this phantom and make her my own.
You will of course say that more than just a story about a "mad" woman, Nadja is the story about the power of enigma, of surrealism. But read in a purely literal sense, this book aroused a wrath in me.
Surely part of it is personal. (Is it?) What we have here is yet another manic pixie dream girl, a precursor to the similar (albeit dull by comparison) Natalie Portmans and Zooey Deschanels. The manipulative artifice of a woman, the siren (to borrow an image from the book) that lures lost men. There is not enough evidence in this text to draw me to Nadja, to make me relate to Breton's obsession. Indeed, one of the only times she IS allowed to be a real person and speaks more than a few words, Breton balks. The final blow to their relationship and his obsession is alarming: that her story of essentially denying a man's advances "alienated [him] from her forever."
But ultimately my frustration is this: I'm left in the dark. Is Nadja a genius as Breton suggests, or is there nothing there behind those dark mysterious eyes and the infuriating and intoxicating string of words she spouts from her lips? Perhaps only Nadja knows, and even that I doubt.
Of course, when I allow myself a more metaphorical read (which I enjoyed sufficiently more than the literal read), I realize seeking this answer or attempting to separate the facts from the tangle of reality and artifice is precisely what Breton (or the narrator, if you'd rather) seemed bent on obfuscating and minimizing. "I am concerned with facts of quite unverifiable intrinsic value, but which, by their absolutely unexpected violently fortuitous character, and the kind of associations of suspect ideas they provoke" (Nadja 19). More often than not, the things we tell ourselves, our biased and deeply personal reactions matter more than the truth.
A number of lines required second, third, or even fourth reads—not because they were necessarily confusing but because they were things I wanted to soak in, consider, and lodge in my memory. To borrow this phantom and make her my own.
You will of course say that more than just a story about a "mad" woman, Nadja is the story about the power of enigma, of surrealism. But read in a purely literal sense, this book aroused a wrath in me.
Surely part of it is personal. (Is it?) What we have here is yet another manic pixie dream girl, a precursor to the similar (albeit dull by comparison) Natalie Portmans and Zooey Deschanels. The manipulative artifice of a woman, the siren (to borrow an image from the book) that lures lost men. There is not enough evidence in this text to draw me to Nadja, to make me relate to Breton's obsession. Indeed, one of the only times she IS allowed to be a real person and speaks more than a few words, Breton balks. The final blow to their relationship and his obsession is alarming: that her story of essentially denying a man's advances "alienated [him] from her forever."
But ultimately my frustration is this: I'm left in the dark. Is Nadja a genius as Breton suggests, or is there nothing there behind those dark mysterious eyes and the infuriating and intoxicating string of words she spouts from her lips? Perhaps only Nadja knows, and even that I doubt.
Of course, when I allow myself a more metaphorical read (which I enjoyed sufficiently more than the literal read), I realize seeking this answer or attempting to separate the facts from the tangle of reality and artifice is precisely what Breton (or the narrator, if you'd rather) seemed bent on obfuscating and minimizing. "I am concerned with facts of quite unverifiable intrinsic value, but which, by their absolutely unexpected violently fortuitous character, and the kind of associations of suspect ideas they provoke" (Nadja 19). More often than not, the things we tell ourselves, our biased and deeply personal reactions matter more than the truth.