You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.45 AVERAGE
3.45 AVERAGE
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
dark
funny
mysterious
medium-paced
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I didn't enjoy that much this book. The beginning was interesting and I thought that the book would have talked about Gösta Berling, a disavowed priest, and his adventures. It talked about him, but the whole story wasn't flowing: every chapter was a kind of short story. I may say that the book is made by many episodes with several characters, all equalliy important though Gösta Berling is the "gravity center". So some chapters are dedicated to Gösta's friends and these chapters didn't add anything to the story or the plot.
I also couldn't understand if Gösta Berling is a character of Swedish folktales or if those were stories the author had listened to as a child or if there is something real but with some magic added (witches etc.) or if it's only a piece of fiction.
The author perhaps wanted to add also some moral teachings? There is good vs evil but at the same time every character is both good and evil. Sadly this analysis is pretty cold, there aren't shades, so the characters don't seem real. The author underlines that sometimes bad can be done involuntarily and that bad things sometimes happen so that we can learn from it and improve as a person, but it isn't put well in the story and so sometimes I had the feeling to listen to a puerile moral teaching. Towards the end there were also too many religious concepts that I really couldn't stand. An example: who is the cause of a drought? A priest is the culprit because he was stingy and wasn't able to pray God as he should and so God punished the people with a drought. Meh.
As said, the characters don't seem real because some of their behaviors go from "very bad" to "too good" and often I had the feeling they were crazy.
There are some very good descriptions of the place and of the landscape, but sometimes the author becomes too aulic and solem so I didn't like these parts because it's a way of writing I don't like.
I also couldn't understand if Gösta Berling is a character of Swedish folktales or if those were stories the author had listened to as a child or if there is something real but with some magic added (witches etc.) or if it's only a piece of fiction.
The author perhaps wanted to add also some moral teachings? There is good vs evil but at the same time every character is both good and evil. Sadly this analysis is pretty cold, there aren't shades, so the characters don't seem real. The author underlines that sometimes bad can be done involuntarily and that bad things sometimes happen so that we can learn from it and improve as a person, but it isn't put well in the story and so sometimes I had the feeling to listen to a puerile moral teaching. Towards the end there were also too many religious concepts that I really couldn't stand. An example: who is the cause of a drought? A priest is the culprit because he was stingy and wasn't able to pray God as he should and so God punished the people with a drought. Meh.
As said, the characters don't seem real because some of their behaviors go from "very bad" to "too good" and often I had the feeling they were crazy.
There are some very good descriptions of the place and of the landscape, but sometimes the author becomes too aulic and solem so I didn't like these parts because it's a way of writing I don't like.
I'm pleasantly surprised to see storytelling tropes that I've associated with beloved 20th century Scandinavian film narratives like Smiles of a Summer Night, Fanny and Alexander and Pelle the Conqueror have roots running back to this 19th century cornerstone of Swedish national literature - beloved eccentrics, alazons, compassion for human foibles, and an ultimate acknowledgement that life is beautiful amidst its uglier aspects. There's a Faust story that pulls the whole shaggy story of the fall and redemption of Gösta Berling together, and a lot of the narration has the feel of a Homeric psalm of earthy celebration. The roots of magical realism are here, too.
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
All'inizio questo libro mi ha annoiata un po'. Poi ho capito che mi stavo approcciando al tipo di opera in modo sbagliato: mi aspettavo di leggere un romanzo, in cui avrei dovuto trovare narrate le gesta di Gosta Berling e dei suoi compagni, e invece mi trovavo davanti a qualcosa di diverso, più simile a una raccolta di racconti che a una trama lineare. Penso che l'intento dell'autrice fosse quello di farci entrare nella sua terra, nei suoi paesaggi e nelle sue leggende, descrivendo eventi di un passato glorificato e anche in buona parte mitizzato. Spesso l'autrice si inserisce anche nel racconto in prima persona, come voce narrante da cui traspaiono malinconia e amore per la propria patria lontana. Questo crea un effetto di "storie raccontate accanto al fuoco" che contribuisce a spezzare la narrazione. Certo, c'è un punto d'inizio ben chiaro e un altrettanto ben chiaro punto di fine, ma nel mezzo ci sono tanti piccoli punti, tanti avvenimenti che si affastellano nell'arco temporale delineato, connessi da un filo molto sottile quando non proprio slegati. Quello che si racconta non è una vera e propria storia, ma una serie di episodi che portano i personaggi a cambiare, maturare e scoprire se stessi, fino ad arrivare ciascuno a dare un significato diverso alla propria vita.
All'inizio questo tipo di narrazione mi ha disorientata, ma da quando sono entrata in questa forma mentis, il libro mi è sembrato molto più scorrevole ed interessante. Tuttavia è probabilmente lontano da ciò che mi piace e da cosa stavo cercando. La prosa quasi lirica dà a tutto un sapore solenne e, francamente, antico; quando i personaggi parlano, anche se si tratta di dialoghi, spesso sembra che facciano dei monologhi decantando chissà quali grandi verità.
Sebbene ci siano degli spunti interessanti, ho trovato molti personaggi troppo caricaturali e legati ad un proprio stereotipo. Anche la consapevolezza che essi raggiungono a fine libro mi è sembrata una morale troppo spicciola e semplicistica, in linea col contesto di una narrazione epica ma estremizzata e superficiale. I cavalieri scoprono l'onore nel lavoro fatto per amore di altri, e questo è nobile. Ma Gosta che decide che rimanere povero sia meglio che essere ricco, per poter vivere una vita piena e felice, e la contessina con lui, mi è sembrata l'ennesima esagerazione del prete rinnegato per sentirsi perennemente martire. E sarebbe anche andato bene se non fosse stata presentata come una decisione positiva, a cui si piega anche la Signora di Ekebù.
In conclusione, mi aspettavo di più, o forse semplicemente mi aspettavo qualcosa di diverso.
All'inizio questo tipo di narrazione mi ha disorientata, ma da quando sono entrata in questa forma mentis, il libro mi è sembrato molto più scorrevole ed interessante. Tuttavia è probabilmente lontano da ciò che mi piace e da cosa stavo cercando. La prosa quasi lirica dà a tutto un sapore solenne e, francamente, antico; quando i personaggi parlano, anche se si tratta di dialoghi, spesso sembra che facciano dei monologhi decantando chissà quali grandi verità.
Sebbene ci siano degli spunti interessanti, ho trovato molti personaggi troppo caricaturali e legati ad un proprio stereotipo. Anche la consapevolezza che essi raggiungono a fine libro mi è sembrata una morale troppo spicciola e semplicistica, in linea col contesto di una narrazione epica ma estremizzata e superficiale. I cavalieri scoprono l'onore nel lavoro fatto per amore di altri, e questo è nobile. Ma Gosta che decide che rimanere povero sia meglio che essere ricco, per poter vivere una vita piena e felice, e la contessina con lui, mi è sembrata l'ennesima esagerazione del prete rinnegato per sentirsi perennemente martire. E sarebbe anche andato bene se non fosse stata presentata come una decisione positiva, a cui si piega anche la Signora di Ekebù.
In conclusione, mi aspettavo di più, o forse semplicemente mi aspettavo qualcosa di diverso.
adventurous
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The moon rose, and the loveliest time of night came.I do not mourn for the stories told around the fire like those of previous generations do, for I was not the one who killed them. I do not mourn for "simpler" times in as pigeonholed a way as those of an aged nostalgia, for a smaller view of things does not inherently lead to less amounts of cruelty, or an increase in understanding. What I mourn for is what I have interpreted of the bits and pieces left to me, the music, the literature, the sense of Far over the misty mountains cold that raises hairs no matter how many may puke over technology and newfangled young'uns and their contemporary times. So I got Stravinsky's Firebird Suite through a Disney cartoon instead of a radio or concert hall or whatever is 'legitimate' and 'enculturated' these days. Big whoop. I'd pay attention if I heard "white supremacy" or "morality that must be babysat is no morality at all", but alas. I do not mourn for these times like one supposedly must, and thus must figure it out on my own.
The moon poured down her light from the pure blue
High arch of heaven over the leaves of the terrace.
At our feet a lily shivered in its urn;
And gold light rose from its chalice.
We had all come to sit on the stairs,
Both the old ones and young, silent
In order to let the emotions take up
The old tunes in the loveliest time of night.
Friends and children, dancing or laughing! I want to warn you to dance with care and laugh softly, for if your shoes should step on an oversensitive nature rather than on hard boards, it can cause an enormous amount of suffering; and your strong laughter can drive a soul to desperation.One nice result of having set myself on all the Big and Difficult Things is that I can compare millenium old Japanese classics to Nineteenth Century Nobel Prize Winning Literature without any and all daring a peep, so I will go ahead and say Lagerlöf successfully pulls a Genji. Sure, I like Gösta Berling a hell of a lot more than Shikibu's titular soul, but that doesn't mean he's more of a main point than he is a particularly effective fictional device. Where he goes, we go, and enjoy what comes. What he does, we view from all sides, and appreciate the need for life and sociocultural norms. Whom we meets, we embody, and it is never so simple to say what we mean with love and alcohol on one side and the stability of civilization on the other. Deals with the devil never looked better when one thinks on how humanity's run the world thus far.
Those who were wiser could console themselves that they had fought for their country and for honor. What did he know of such things? He simply felt that he was hateful because he had killed and caused much injury.Course, any work of this breed of creation and beyond is nothing more than a compilation of fictional devices, so let's do what some are pleased by and others are pissed off by (sometimes both, depending on the lies they are defending and the truths they are denying) and compare literature to math. Into our formula troops Gösta Berling, twelve guests, one major's wife, one heiress, one beauty, one devotee, one countess, the landscape of Selma Lagerlöf's childhood, the history of her riches and the future of her downfall, religion as the hardbound moral work it was meant to be, cultural heritage as it is meant to awe in equal measure, and that 'good' so fought over by pagans and Christianity and whoever else has a hard time with raisons d'être. It's beneficial to know something of the place and the times, but sagas of events that may have been a downfall, may have been a triumph, may have been a scandal and may have been a time of holiness have played out the world over, so too much knowledge of the nonfictional sort may cloud more than it conceals.
You ought to know that no one can worship the goddess of wisdom without some punishment.Beyond that, the differences between the two previously mentioned works of classical status and male-webbed plotlines lie in a matter of worlds, insular Heian court versus sprawling Värmland woods, the latter of more instinctive appeal to my Euro-bred self for its ice, its mythos, the joys of its industry and the hells of its souls. My mind is most comfortable in sidelong conjuring when the woods are dark and the air is fog and the depths of evil are wandering the roads at will, so those to whom [b:Dracula|17245|Dracula|Bram Stoker|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1387151694s/17245.jpg|3165724] appeals for glimpsed landscapes and [b:Kristin Lavransdatter|6217|Kristin Lavransdatter (Kristin Lavransdatter, #1-3)|Sigrid Undset|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1388289230s/6217.jpg|1370150] calls for the bitter glory of moral triumph, come. This one's happier than either and is best read aloud, even to music if one is of mind.
My reward would be enough if the poor would remember me for a year or two after my death. I should have done some good if I had planted a couple of apple trees in the yard or taught the country fiddlers some of the old tunes or taught the shepherd children a few good songs to sing in the woods.The afterword's a mewling twit of a thing penned by someone who cannot believe a woman wrote this work, so find your Lagerlöf bio elsewhere. You do not need theological nitpicking, nor erratic Euro-patriarchal namedropping, nor even a few final begrudging lines about experimental literature and life that are ruined by being couched in whines of "feminine in the best sense" and the like. You may, however, need the work. It's something I'd hedge my bets on even if 'twere wrote in blood on black and rang of ghostly bells, deep in the misty nights.
Dear reader, must I say the same? The great bees of imagination have now swarmed about us for one year and one day; but how are they going to squeeze into the beehive of fact is a problem they will have to solve by themselves.