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A review by lindzlovesreading
The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa
4.0
Many have claimed that 'The Leopard' is the perfect novel. Not quite, in my humble opinion, but definitely a work of art.
Beginning in 1860 as Sicily is being annexed as a state of Italy, Prince Fabrizio watches his beloved island change and more importantly stay the same, over the course of 20 years. This is an incredibly well written book, so well written my chest welled up hurting a little over a brilliant sentence, like hills looking flaccid like breasts with no milk. The words, sentences, paragraphs, characters, similes, images melded together perfectly. They created, smell, texture, noise, colour, heat, and passion.
But this was not the perfect novel for me. Reading the Leopard I got the instinct impression I was on the outside looking in, not engrossed within the story, under its skin. In many ways it was looking as a painting. No doubt a master piece, like Titian, the way he could make colours meld together made angels sing, or looking at Michoangleo's David, the mussels are sculptured in a way that makes it look like he will walk out the door. But with art you are an observer, and with 'The Leopard', you are an observer. I was not sitting down at the table to eat Macaroni Pie with the characters I was looking over the balcony admiring the skill at which they did it.
If I could have lived underneath the skin of 'The Leopard' instead of admiring the genesis of di Lampedusa, this would have been the perfect novel. Close but no cigar.
Beginning in 1860 as Sicily is being annexed as a state of Italy, Prince Fabrizio watches his beloved island change and more importantly stay the same, over the course of 20 years. This is an incredibly well written book, so well written my chest welled up hurting a little over a brilliant sentence, like hills looking flaccid like breasts with no milk. The words, sentences, paragraphs, characters, similes, images melded together perfectly. They created, smell, texture, noise, colour, heat, and passion.
But this was not the perfect novel for me. Reading the Leopard I got the instinct impression I was on the outside looking in, not engrossed within the story, under its skin. In many ways it was looking as a painting. No doubt a master piece, like Titian, the way he could make colours meld together made angels sing, or looking at Michoangleo's David, the mussels are sculptured in a way that makes it look like he will walk out the door. But with art you are an observer, and with 'The Leopard', you are an observer. I was not sitting down at the table to eat Macaroni Pie with the characters I was looking over the balcony admiring the skill at which they did it.
If I could have lived underneath the skin of 'The Leopard' instead of admiring the genesis of di Lampedusa, this would have been the perfect novel. Close but no cigar.