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ben_miller 's review for:
Memoirs Of Hadrian
by Marguerite Yourcenar
"Little did I know what strange labyrinths grief contains, or that I had yet to walk therein."
This seems to me a memoir in the truest sense, even though it's a work of fiction (or perhaps impersonation): a reconstruction of a mind in all of its perceptive, philosophical, and sensory dimensions.
There's no attempt at drama, or scene, or story here. For example, perhaps Hadrian's most famous legacy is his eponymous wall, which is barely mentioned—this Hadrian certainly didn't regard it as having outsized importance in his life story. What this book does contain is wisdom and emotion, some of it 2nd century AD, some of it timeless.
What I find most remarkable is that Yourcenar eventually distilled her lifelong obsession with Hadrian into its slimmest, densest form. When someone spends decades on a project, you might expect to find it sprawling, panoramic, perhaps bloated—the overcooked product of an author who has gradually lost perspective. Instead, Yourcenar obeyed the opposite impulse, and spent that time making it shorter, pouring her craft into every sentence and wasting nothing. A book to be read slowly.
This seems to me a memoir in the truest sense, even though it's a work of fiction (or perhaps impersonation): a reconstruction of a mind in all of its perceptive, philosophical, and sensory dimensions.
There's no attempt at drama, or scene, or story here. For example, perhaps Hadrian's most famous legacy is his eponymous wall, which is barely mentioned—this Hadrian certainly didn't regard it as having outsized importance in his life story. What this book does contain is wisdom and emotion, some of it 2nd century AD, some of it timeless.
What I find most remarkable is that Yourcenar eventually distilled her lifelong obsession with Hadrian into its slimmest, densest form. When someone spends decades on a project, you might expect to find it sprawling, panoramic, perhaps bloated—the overcooked product of an author who has gradually lost perspective. Instead, Yourcenar obeyed the opposite impulse, and spent that time making it shorter, pouring her craft into every sentence and wasting nothing. A book to be read slowly.