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31 reviews
The Kiss and Other Stories by Ronald Wilks, Anton Chekhov
Chekhov is also brilliant at capturing the elusiveness of happiness. Darkness gives way to moments of light, and just as quickly, that light will revert back into the oppressive shadow. Fleeting moments, ephemeral moods are rendered permanent in the same hues as the bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks of the paintings of Ilya Repin (yes, I’m comparing everything to art).
Again, I can’t comment on any further detail because I simply don’t remember how I felt after putting the book down.
Favourite stories in the collection were the Kiss, Peasants, the Bishop, a Case History, and in the Gully.
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
5.0
Given that I am writing this review long after having finished the collection of stories, much of my initial thoughts on them are lost. Despite this temporal divide between then and now, I still find myself thinking of the rich genre scenes Chekhov paints with his subtle language, moments described in words that are so well contrived that they seem to be visual memories of my own.
What drew me into these stories initially was the richness and minute detail of the natural landscapes that Chekhov places in the background of each these stories (something I’ve grown to love in literature). The trees, the wind, the sun and the clouds stand as their own characters that either empathize with or remain completely indifferent to the protagonists. In the Kiss, for example, the same countryside villa is described at one moment as colourful and full of life, only to be inundated with streaks of grey at the next, not just reflecting but actively tainting the mood of the insignificant Ryabovich. Another example is in the Bishop, where the acute psychological torment of the dying vicar is juxtaposed with the calm indifference of a sunny spring day. The use of nature to evoke scenes such as these to me is reminiscent of Maupassant, except the impressionistic scenes of the Norman landscape are replaced with the thick, saturated oils of of something much more visceral; more present.
What drew me into these stories initially was the richness and minute detail of the natural landscapes that Chekhov places in the background of each these stories (something I’ve grown to love in literature). The trees, the wind, the sun and the clouds stand as their own characters that either empathize with or remain completely indifferent to the protagonists. In the Kiss, for example, the same countryside villa is described at one moment as colourful and full of life, only to be inundated with streaks of grey at the next, not just reflecting but actively tainting the mood of the insignificant Ryabovich. Another example is in the Bishop, where the acute psychological torment of the dying vicar is juxtaposed with the calm indifference of a sunny spring day. The use of nature to evoke scenes such as these to me is reminiscent of Maupassant, except the impressionistic scenes of the Norman landscape are replaced with the thick, saturated oils of of something much more visceral; more present.
The red moon was reflected in the water near the left bank; tiny waves rippled through the reflection, pulling it apart and breaking it up into little patches, as if trying to bear it away… The water raced past and he did not know where or why; it had flowed just as swiftly in May, when it grew from a little stream into a large river, flowed into the sea, evaporated and turned into rain. Perhaps this was the same water flowing past. To what purpose?
Chekhov is also brilliant at capturing the elusiveness of happiness. Darkness gives way to moments of light, and just as quickly, that light will revert back into the oppressive shadow. Fleeting moments, ephemeral moods are rendered permanent in the same hues as the bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks of the paintings of Ilya Repin (yes, I’m comparing everything to art).
Again, I can’t comment on any further detail because I simply don’t remember how I felt after putting the book down.
Favourite stories in the collection were the Kiss, Peasants, the Bishop, a Case History, and in the Gully.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Grief, Murder, Child death, and Death
Moderate: Alcoholism
Minor: Child abuse, Fire/Fire injury, and Terminal illness
I did take a bit reading break halfway through the book, so I may have forgotten some explicit content in the warnings. It is Russian literature, so generally speaking one can expect the worst.
White Nights and Other Stories by Fyodor Dostoevsky
As soon as I had read the first paragraph of White Nights, I knew that the story would have obliterated my psyche if I had read it a month ago. For that reason, I feel like I missed the train on this one, despite the fact that it still affected me deeply.
White Nights follows the narrator, a dreamer, forever lost in the recesses of his own mind, when he suddenly and spontaneously encounters a woman, who (of course) he falls in love with.
This is meant to be a very meditative read. Dostoevsky's winding, wandering sentences and long, relentless paragraphs transport you into the infinite and muddled thought of the dreamer, in which everything is painted in watercolour; that is, until the bleakness and greyness of reality sets in, and life becomes hazy, as though coated in a thick layer of dust.
While White Nights was by far my favourite, and the reason for having read the book at all, I found that all the stories in this collection were extremely well written. Dostoevsky, in all these stories, focuses heavily on the theme of self-destruction. He presents various character studies, each with a central personality trait - a flaw - that eventually leads to ruin. What struck me the most, however, was the fact that everyone was fully cognisant of this flaw, and yet did nothing to pull themselves out of their self-made pit. This is precisely what intrigued me the most about these stories: Dostoevsky not only presents to us the follies of human nature in the form of a pantomime, stupid and unaware; instead, he gives us full consciousness: the pantomime and his audience are united in one person. He presents to us not our foolishness, for everyone is foolish, but our inability to change, our intrinsic inertia that prevents us from achieving betterment and instead chains us to the post of our current disposition. We are given a mirror in which we can see ourselves at our most intricately, reprehensibly, and tragically human.
In fact, the human is all that is presented to us. Setting is so sparse in these stories, and limited only to what the protagonists themselves experience. We are forced to see the world through the dreamer's eyes and are not offered the bigger picture. Our world is theirs - the author robs us of omniscience.
This mastery of human nature is well complemented by pathos and almost extreme sentimentalism. All his characters feel profoundly, which I thought was particularly beautiful, although I can imagine some may find it a little kitschy. Especially in A Little Hero and A Faint Heart, conversations are riddled with demonstrations of endearment, hot tears, and profound love one can only experience from a close friend or a sensual awakening. I loved the deep, pseudo-romantic relationship of Vasya and Arkady in Faint Heart. Sensational, in the most basic sense of the word.
Overall, I very deeply enjoyed these stories. This is my first foray into Dostoevsky's mind, and I know for sure that it will not be my last. I Highly recommend this book, especially to those who feel deeply. I also should note that I recommend reading this when you can devote your whole mind to it.
(note: my edition of the book included White Nights, A Faint Heart, A Christmas Tree and a Wedding, Polzunkov, A Little Hero, and Mr. Prokhartchin)
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
tense
slow-paced
5.0
Either the sunbeams suddenly peeping out from the clouds for a moment were hidden again behind a veil of rain, and everything had grown dingy again before my eyes; or perhaps the whole vista of my future flashed before me so sad and forbidding, and I saw myself jut as I was now, fifteen years hence, older, in the same room, just as solitary, with the same Matrona grown no cleverer for those fifteen years.
As soon as I had read the first paragraph of White Nights, I knew that the story would have obliterated my psyche if I had read it a month ago. For that reason, I feel like I missed the train on this one, despite the fact that it still affected me deeply.
White Nights follows the narrator, a dreamer, forever lost in the recesses of his own mind, when he suddenly and spontaneously encounters a woman, who (of course) he falls in love with.
This is meant to be a very meditative read. Dostoevsky's winding, wandering sentences and long, relentless paragraphs transport you into the infinite and muddled thought of the dreamer, in which everything is painted in watercolour; that is, until the bleakness and greyness of reality sets in, and life becomes hazy, as though coated in a thick layer of dust.
While White Nights was by far my favourite, and the reason for having read the book at all, I found that all the stories in this collection were extremely well written. Dostoevsky, in all these stories, focuses heavily on the theme of self-destruction. He presents various character studies, each with a central personality trait - a flaw - that eventually leads to ruin. What struck me the most, however, was the fact that everyone was fully cognisant of this flaw, and yet did nothing to pull themselves out of their self-made pit. This is precisely what intrigued me the most about these stories: Dostoevsky not only presents to us the follies of human nature in the form of a pantomime, stupid and unaware; instead, he gives us full consciousness: the pantomime and his audience are united in one person. He presents to us not our foolishness, for everyone is foolish, but our inability to change, our intrinsic inertia that prevents us from achieving betterment and instead chains us to the post of our current disposition. We are given a mirror in which we can see ourselves at our most intricately, reprehensibly, and tragically human.
In fact, the human is all that is presented to us. Setting is so sparse in these stories, and limited only to what the protagonists themselves experience. We are forced to see the world through the dreamer's eyes and are not offered the bigger picture. Our world is theirs - the author robs us of omniscience.
This mastery of human nature is well complemented by pathos and almost extreme sentimentalism. All his characters feel profoundly, which I thought was particularly beautiful, although I can imagine some may find it a little kitschy. Especially in A Little Hero and A Faint Heart, conversations are riddled with demonstrations of endearment, hot tears, and profound love one can only experience from a close friend or a sensual awakening. I loved the deep, pseudo-romantic relationship of Vasya and Arkady in Faint Heart. Sensational, in the most basic sense of the word.
Overall, I very deeply enjoyed these stories. This is my first foray into Dostoevsky's mind, and I know for sure that it will not be my last. I Highly recommend this book, especially to those who feel deeply. I also should note that I recommend reading this when you can devote your whole mind to it.
(note: my edition of the book included White Nights, A Faint Heart, A Christmas Tree and a Wedding, Polzunkov, A Little Hero, and Mr. Prokhartchin)
Content Warnings
Moderate: Adult/minor relationship
A Christmas Tree and a Wedding is pretty slimy: an older man makes a marriage proposition to a very young girl.
While the stories themselves are quite dark, I can't think of specific trigger warnings to watch out for.
The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kundera
I loved the topic of this book as well. Laughter and forgetting, in other words, meaninglessness, and the human condition of living directly on that frontier between gravity and weightlessness. (read the book, and I promise that the nonsense I'm spewing will make sense). This theme is taken up in 7 variations and expanded upon therein. Each section follows a different set of characters in their own milieu, contextualised by the author's first person voice, and all placed in the wider political stage of 1960s and 70s Czechia. Every section of the book felt like a light meal to be chewed up and swallowed; to be pondered and scrutinised, to be reflected upon, and re-read in order to savour every last detail, every nuance and every meaning (or every non-meaning). This is a philosophical treatise made digestible as fiction.
As with most things I read, I highly recommend this book. Given the open-endedness with which Kundera writes, I also suggest reading this book with a friend or as part of a book club. I would have gotten so much more out of the novel with a bit of discussion.
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
sad
medium-paced
5.0
I was not planning on reading this book, it just happened. Which is why I think I enjoyed it as much as I did. This is also my first Milan Kundera, and I know it will definitely not be my last.
I want to start by stating how much I loved Kundera's writing. It is a narrative and a diary, fiction and autobiography, a treatise on existence and meaning, and yet impossibly easy to read. His flow of thoughts, ideas, and stories from one to the next is incredibly organic, organic enough to feel like I, the reader, am part of a dialogue. This is perhaps the first book I've read in which I felt involved with the author, as if we were sitting for a chat over coffee, or at least a public lecture. I was also blown away by the uniqueness, innovation, and stark ingenuity of Kundera's various and layered metaphors. "As infinite as an open accordion" and "the open eye of her naked backside" were two of my favourites, if not for their novelty, then for the heavy precision of nuance with which they convey meaning. The subtle poetry, the simplicity and airiness of style, and the exactitude with which words are chosen places Kundera in my personal pantheon of favourite authors.
I want to start by stating how much I loved Kundera's writing. It is a narrative and a diary, fiction and autobiography, a treatise on existence and meaning, and yet impossibly easy to read. His flow of thoughts, ideas, and stories from one to the next is incredibly organic, organic enough to feel like I, the reader, am part of a dialogue. This is perhaps the first book I've read in which I felt involved with the author, as if we were sitting for a chat over coffee, or at least a public lecture. I was also blown away by the uniqueness, innovation, and stark ingenuity of Kundera's various and layered metaphors. "As infinite as an open accordion" and "the open eye of her naked backside" were two of my favourites, if not for their novelty, then for the heavy precision of nuance with which they convey meaning. The subtle poetry, the simplicity and airiness of style, and the exactitude with which words are chosen places Kundera in my personal pantheon of favourite authors.
People fascinated by the idea of progress never suspect that every step forward is also a step on the way to the end and that behind all joyous "onward and upward" slogans lurks the lascivious voice of death urging us to make haste.
I loved the topic of this book as well. Laughter and forgetting, in other words, meaninglessness, and the human condition of living directly on that frontier between gravity and weightlessness. (read the book, and I promise that the nonsense I'm spewing will make sense). This theme is taken up in 7 variations and expanded upon therein. Each section follows a different set of characters in their own milieu, contextualised by the author's first person voice, and all placed in the wider political stage of 1960s and 70s Czechia. Every section of the book felt like a light meal to be chewed up and swallowed; to be pondered and scrutinised, to be reflected upon, and re-read in order to savour every last detail, every nuance and every meaning (or every non-meaning). This is a philosophical treatise made digestible as fiction.
As with most things I read, I highly recommend this book. Given the open-endedness with which Kundera writes, I also suggest reading this book with a friend or as part of a book club. I would have gotten so much more out of the novel with a bit of discussion.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Sexual content, Misogyny, and Sexism
Moderate: Sexual harassment and Pedophilia
Minor: Death of parent
A good portion of the book goes off into describing sexual experiences. However, I don't think that it's the same as smut. These scenes weren't necessarily meant to be arousing, but reflective, philosophical, and contemplative. This, of course, means that it would be much weirder than your average spicy romance.
I didn’t necessarily find the misogyny that I had been told about coming from the voice of the author, but it definitely exists coming from his characters. However, women in this book are often depicted with reductionist theory, meaning their actions and choices are explained just by their biology. I wasn’t too much a fan of that, and it is a little hard to look past.
I should also mention a very strange series of scenes that involve an adult character and an island of children. Whether the events that transpire necessarily constitute rape or exploitation is subject to debate, but be aware that it is very, very strange, and personally, I found it alarming.
Cousin Bette by Honoré de Balzac
The only reason why I did not give it a perfect 5 is because, while the hot outbursts of feeling certainly added a lot to the story, I found that it was not as emotionally driven or as psychologically vivid as other stories I’ve read and adored, and the criticisms of the bourgeois and society did not help either. In some instances it almost felt like a gossip piece.
Overall a great read, I recommend it especially to those who read for the plot and historians who care for the nonsensical redundancy of 1840s Parisian bureaucracy .
slow-paced
4.75
Cousin Bette follows the eponymous character Lisbeth, a certain Edmond Dantès of Parisian society, as she seeks revenge upon her cousin’s family for generally disregarding her and stealing her pseudo-lover. Lisbeth’s convoluted plan is brilliantly set and developed by the author and riddled with so much irony, double-entendres, and social commentary that I can only marvel at Balzac’s creative genius.
I loved the cast of characters that make up the story. They are given such individual personalities, complete with their own set of passions, philosophies, and personal little tics that give each of them such life. I especially loved Lisbeth’s character. Her thoughts and convictions were so emotive, her rage palpable, and her brilliance admirable. I also enjoyed the characters of Wenceslas for the first half of the book, and Josépha in the latter half, for reasons that become apparent as the story develops.
I also loved her ride-or-die relationship with Valérie — I found it quite endearing, despite the viciousness of their actions. They’re two perfect opposites, yet they get along and collude with one other in such a way that reminds me of my own strongest friendships (I promise that we are not wreaking anyone’s home!). I like to think that they were lovers.
There is also something to be said about the portrait of 1840s Paris that Balzac shows to us. I can see the appeal to a historian, but I found talk of interest rates and government services redundant and uninteresting, outside of the necessary context required for the story. I can appreciate the realism with which Paris is rendered by the author, but it takes away from the story’s timelessness and universality. Interspersed within the story was also Balzac’s occasional commentary on art, artistry, and taste, which I greatly appreciated.
There were moments of emotion that were incredibly poignant and beautifully written. I myself felt the hopeless resign of an old woman who will never experience love, her rage as all her hopes were stolen from her, the woes of a pious wife upended by her cheating husband, as well as the repentant plea of a sinner in terminal sickness.
I loved the cast of characters that make up the story. They are given such individual personalities, complete with their own set of passions, philosophies, and personal little tics that give each of them such life. I especially loved Lisbeth’s character. Her thoughts and convictions were so emotive, her rage palpable, and her brilliance admirable. I also enjoyed the characters of Wenceslas for the first half of the book, and Josépha in the latter half, for reasons that become apparent as the story develops.
I also loved her ride-or-die relationship with Valérie — I found it quite endearing, despite the viciousness of their actions. They’re two perfect opposites, yet they get along and collude with one other in such a way that reminds me of my own strongest friendships (I promise that we are not wreaking anyone’s home!). I like to think that they were lovers.
There is also something to be said about the portrait of 1840s Paris that Balzac shows to us. I can see the appeal to a historian, but I found talk of interest rates and government services redundant and uninteresting, outside of the necessary context required for the story. I can appreciate the realism with which Paris is rendered by the author, but it takes away from the story’s timelessness and universality. Interspersed within the story was also Balzac’s occasional commentary on art, artistry, and taste, which I greatly appreciated.
There were moments of emotion that were incredibly poignant and beautifully written. I myself felt the hopeless resign of an old woman who will never experience love, her rage as all her hopes were stolen from her, the woes of a pious wife upended by her cheating husband, as well as the repentant plea of a sinner in terminal sickness.
Lisbeth sat down and sombrely contemplated the youthfulness and distinguished good looks before her: the artist’s brow, the mane of silky hair; everything that called to her repressed instincts as a woman; and a few tears, instantly dried, dimmed her eyes for a moment. She looked like one of the frail, meagre, figures carved by medieval sculptors above tombs.
The only reason why I did not give it a perfect 5 is because, while the hot outbursts of feeling certainly added a lot to the story, I found that it was not as emotionally driven or as psychologically vivid as other stories I’ve read and adored, and the criticisms of the bourgeois and society did not help either. In some instances it almost felt like a gossip piece.
Overall a great read, I recommend it especially to those who read for the plot and historians who care for the nonsensical redundancy of 1840s Parisian bureaucracy .
Content Warnings
Graphic: Infidelity and Racial slurs
Moderate: Misogyny
Minor: Racial slurs
Theres a few instances, especially near the end, where racial slurs are used in my translation of the novel. There is also some excessive exoticism and even racism/prejudice directed towards Brazilians and Polish people.
La Divina Commedia I. Inferno by Dante Alighieri
Mi interesse tantissime il modo in cui Dante dipinge le anime disgraziate dell’inferno, descrivendo il loro dolore e le loro condizioni con pennellate precise di colori scuri e miserabili.
4.5
Piena di filosofia, di mitologia, e di religione, questa storia è considerato il capolavoro di Dante.
Al di là dei soggetti filosofici e religiosi, di cui non scrivo qui siccome tanti scolastici si trattano diggià, mi è piaciuto assai. La descrizione dell’inferno è particolarmente originale per il suo tempo, e trovo belli/interessanti i canti V, per il tema dell’amore condannato; e XXXII-XXXIII, per la storia viscerale di Ugolino.
Al di là dei soggetti filosofici e religiosi, di cui non scrivo qui siccome tanti scolastici si trattano diggià, mi è piaciuto assai. La descrizione dell’inferno è particolarmente originale per il suo tempo, e trovo belli/interessanti i canti V, per il tema dell’amore condannato; e XXXII-XXXIII, per la storia viscerale di Ugolino.
“Poscia, più che ‘l dolor, poté ‘l digiuno.”Quand’ebbe detto ciò, con li occhi torti riprese ‘l teschio misero co’ denti, che furo a l’osso, come d’un can, forti
Mi interesse tantissime il modo in cui Dante dipinge le anime disgraziate dell’inferno, descrivendo il loro dolore e le loro condizioni con pennellate precise di colori scuri e miserabili.
Manon Lescaut by Abbé Prévost
3.5
I picked up this book because so often I have seen it mentioned in French literature (Stendhal, Dumas Fils) and heard it in opera (Puccini, Massenet) that I just had to read it for myself.
This is also my first ‘rococo’ era read, and while I’m heavily drawn to the apparent, almost hedonistic sensuality of the period’s culture, I found Manon Lescaut to lack that charm, that feathery decadence that sweetens the music and visual art of Prévost’s France.
It could have been the strangeness of the romance that disinterested me - I am already not a big fan of the romantic genre - that led me to dislike most of the novel; The incessant back and forth and frivolity of Des Grieux and Manon was more tiresome than exciting. (In my opinion, of course!)
Something that all my favourite stories have in common is their emotional depth and rawness, and the rich prose that shapes the scenery around the characters. There was neither of these in Manon Lescaut, or at least they remained undetectable to my understanding. Every action was described in strictly sequential terms, emotions were placidly listed, and most of the story was carried out with such taciturnity and single-dimensionality that it was very hard — impossible — to identify in any way with either Des Grieux or Manon. At the same time, the lack of any external descriptors forced me, the reader, to focus only on the chronology of events, most of which have left me with my face in my palm.
Perhaps, however, this was the point of the book. Could it be satire? A commentary on foolishness? A treatise, almost, on the folly of love? The insuperability of desire? Or maybe it's meant to be a character study on Des Grieux? The nebulous image of Manon? How well can we trust his story, told and acted by an idiot prostrate before the opaque idol of a woman, who tells us nothing of her except her infidelity, her beauty (without describing it), and the fact that he is so completely obsessed with her? Personally I like the idea of Des Grieux and Manon as the embodiments of worldly lust and transcendent love can represent the other. Of course, I haven’t done any research on Prévost nor on this book, and perhaps there is something written between the lines that I could not grasp, at least not in translation. What is clear, however, is that the book is rapt with ambiguity on all fronts, which can be exciting to think about and discuss in a book club setting.
I did enjoy it as a foray into early 18th century Paris and contemporary attitudes, and it was fun imagining everyone and everything as if painted in the pastels of Fragonard or Boucher. There were some scenes, particularly closer to and at the end of the book, that offer a certain beauty in their sensuous, almost sweet portrayal of grief.
This is also my first ‘rococo’ era read, and while I’m heavily drawn to the apparent, almost hedonistic sensuality of the period’s culture, I found Manon Lescaut to lack that charm, that feathery decadence that sweetens the music and visual art of Prévost’s France.
It could have been the strangeness of the romance that disinterested me - I am already not a big fan of the romantic genre - that led me to dislike most of the novel; The incessant back and forth and frivolity of Des Grieux and Manon was more tiresome than exciting. (In my opinion, of course!)
Something that all my favourite stories have in common is their emotional depth and rawness, and the rich prose that shapes the scenery around the characters. There was neither of these in Manon Lescaut, or at least they remained undetectable to my understanding. Every action was described in strictly sequential terms, emotions were placidly listed, and most of the story was carried out with such taciturnity and single-dimensionality that it was very hard — impossible — to identify in any way with either Des Grieux or Manon. At the same time, the lack of any external descriptors forced me, the reader, to focus only on the chronology of events, most of which have left me with my face in my palm.
Perhaps, however, this was the point of the book. Could it be satire? A commentary on foolishness? A treatise, almost, on the folly of love? The insuperability of desire? Or maybe it's meant to be a character study on Des Grieux? The nebulous image of Manon? How well can we trust his story, told and acted by an idiot prostrate before the opaque idol of a woman, who tells us nothing of her except her infidelity, her beauty (without describing it), and the fact that he is so completely obsessed with her? Personally I like the idea of Des Grieux and Manon as the embodiments of worldly lust and transcendent love can represent the other. Of course, I haven’t done any research on Prévost nor on this book, and perhaps there is something written between the lines that I could not grasp, at least not in translation. What is clear, however, is that the book is rapt with ambiguity on all fronts, which can be exciting to think about and discuss in a book club setting.
I did enjoy it as a foray into early 18th century Paris and contemporary attitudes, and it was fun imagining everyone and everything as if painted in the pastels of Fragonard or Boucher. There were some scenes, particularly closer to and at the end of the book, that offer a certain beauty in their sensuous, almost sweet portrayal of grief.
“I laid forever in the bosom of the Earth the most perfect and lovely thing she ever bore“
Content Warnings
Graphic: Infidelity
Minor: Colonisation and Racism
The Oil Jar and Other Stories by Luigi Pirandello
challenging
lighthearted
reflective
fast-paced
4.0
My first introduction to Pirandello and his works.
They were quite philosophically charged, and for that reason I feel like I’ve lost a lot of meaning from some of the stories. They were entertaining nonetheless, and I quite enjoyed the author’s conversational, oratorical style of writing.
My favourite story, however, was “A Voice”, a story about how debilitating insecurity can be and whether it’s possible to love someone enough to separate them from their appearance.
While I can’t say that this was my favourite collection short stories I’ve ever read, I still found them all interesting, and would like to return to them in the future, probably in Italian.
They were quite philosophically charged, and for that reason I feel like I’ve lost a lot of meaning from some of the stories. They were entertaining nonetheless, and I quite enjoyed the author’s conversational, oratorical style of writing.
My favourite story, however, was “A Voice”, a story about how debilitating insecurity can be and whether it’s possible to love someone enough to separate them from their appearance.
While I can’t say that this was my favourite collection short stories I’ve ever read, I still found them all interesting, and would like to return to them in the future, probably in Italian.
Selected Stories: Introduction by Catriona Seth by Guy de Maupassant
Additionally, the rawness of emotions are exquisitely rendered: The longing for youth, the desire to return to the past, the internal debate between human’s biology and intellect, grief, loss, ire, ecstasy, and infinite others. I only long to feel as deeply and as completely as some of the characters in this anthology.
Overall, I deeply enjoyed all of these stories. My favourites were: Boule de Suif, the Vendetta, Maison Tellier, Moonlight, Miss Harriet, the Olive Grove, A Portrait, and Idle Beauty. I cannot recommend this book enough. The more of Maupassant I read, the more of myself I see, the more I can say with certainty that he is one of my favourite authors.
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
fast-paced
5.0
Maupassant, as always, is brilliant. Each and every one of these short stories present different characters in different settings, yet they are all connected by something, a certain angst, an implicit cynicism that’s difficult to place, yet abundantly apparent in the sardonic tone with which the author writes. Despite this, there is still an inherent beauty in each of the characters he presents, a humanity that demands sympathy from the reader and forces identification with each of their individual plights.
“The Earthquake burying a whole nation beneath the ruins of their houses; the river bursting its banks, drowning peasants and their cattle, tearing rafters from roofs and sweeping all away; the triumphant army slaughtering all who resist, making prisoners of the rest, pillaging in the name of the sword and giving thanks to God amid the roar of cannon: all alike are terrifying visitations which shatter our belief of eternal Justice and the confidence we have been taught to place in divine protection and human reason.”
There is plenty to say about these stories, not the least of which is the way with which Maupassant describes place. He doesn’t just list time and location, but paints landscapes and genre scenes with his words. While the settings are beautiful in and of themselves, the way in which they reflect the actions of the characters is even more potent: to fall into neurotics in the obliterating snow of the alps; to plead divine aid among a grove of olive trees; to wait for death in the debilitating summer heat; all of these stories punctuated and inflated by their milieu.
Additionally, the rawness of emotions are exquisitely rendered: The longing for youth, the desire to return to the past, the internal debate between human’s biology and intellect, grief, loss, ire, ecstasy, and infinite others. I only long to feel as deeply and as completely as some of the characters in this anthology.
I also found interesting the characters that Maupassant had chosen to depict: prostitutes, peasants, widows, unhappy women — he gives them such dignity, such humanity that to them is usually not afforded.
Overall, I deeply enjoyed all of these stories. My favourites were: Boule de Suif, the Vendetta, Maison Tellier, Moonlight, Miss Harriet, the Olive Grove, A Portrait, and Idle Beauty. I cannot recommend this book enough. The more of Maupassant I read, the more of myself I see, the more I can say with certainty that he is one of my favourite authors.
Content Warnings
Considering that this is an anthology, it would be pretty difficult to put a content warning for each and every one. I will say that there are many, and are most often related to misogyny and death.
Vita Nova by Dante Alighieri
Non amavo tanto la media mista di prosa e di metrum entrambi, specificamente la prosa esegetica, in quanto toglie tanta emozione e tanta bellezza dalla poesia secondo io.
Però mi è piaciuto assai: la storia era carina e la filosofia dell’amore e della letteratura rafforzato con ragione e Caritas è stato abbastanza interessante. Anche la lingua era bella, particolarmente nelle canzone, dove si può sentire i sentimenti dell’autore. Dante seppe come manipulare la lingua per creare un’opera propria universale—la folla dell’amore, l’ossessione, e il lutto sono temi integrali del libello—senza creando una trama coerente. È come un’antologia dei pensieri e sentimenti, molto astratto però viscerale; una raccolta dei momenti formativi dell’autore scritti nell’oscuro ma che dà la luce sulle cose segrete che teniamo nel cuore.
challenging
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
4.5
Lo dovevo leggere per gli studi, e quindi penso che ne abbia ottenuto di più in questa moda che se l’avessi letto da solo. È stato anche la prima letteratura medioevale che abbia mai letto, quindi non era cosa mi aspetto solitamente.
E chi avesse voluto conoscere Amore, fare lo potea mirando lo tremare degli occhi miei.
Non amavo tanto la media mista di prosa e di metrum entrambi, specificamente la prosa esegetica, in quanto toglie tanta emozione e tanta bellezza dalla poesia secondo io.
Però mi è piaciuto assai: la storia era carina e la filosofia dell’amore e della letteratura rafforzato con ragione e Caritas è stato abbastanza interessante. Anche la lingua era bella, particolarmente nelle canzone, dove si può sentire i sentimenti dell’autore. Dante seppe come manipulare la lingua per creare un’opera propria universale—la folla dell’amore, l’ossessione, e il lutto sono temi integrali del libello—senza creando una trama coerente. È come un’antologia dei pensieri e sentimenti, molto astratto però viscerale; una raccolta dei momenti formativi dell’autore scritti nell’oscuro ma che dà la luce sulle cose segrete che teniamo nel cuore.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Grief and Death