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The Love of a Superfluous Man

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A Nest of the Gentry by Ivan Turgenev
Translated by Michael Pursglove

Russian author Turgenev was a very prolific man (as can be witnessed by the amount of his books I have lurking on Mount TBR – but that’s for another post….) However, despite owning all these works, I don’t seem to have read many of them; just “Smoke”, “Faust” and the short story “Mumu” that I can be sure of. So the arrival of a lovely shiny new translation in the form of a pretty edition of “A Nest of the Gentry” seemed like a good way to get on with reading more of his work.

nest-gentry

“Nest” has been translated under a number of titles, most often it seems “Home of the Gentry”,”A Nest of the Gentlefolk” and even “Liza” after one of the main characters (more on that in that forthcoming post). This new version from Alma Classics comes with a lovely cover and the usual excellent notes and supporting material. And the book itself is an interesting read.

“Nest” was Turgenev’s second novel, published in 1859, and it focuses primarily on Fyodor Lavretsky, a minor landowner. The epitome of the Russian superfluous man, he’s had a fragmented, incomplete education, a fractured upbringing and no real experience of life. So when he comes across the beautiful Varvara, he’s instantly smitten and the two soon marry. However, Varvara is more interested in the money and status she gets from the marriage rather than the somewhat provincial man who’s her spouse, and so the pair rattle around the capitals of Europe with Fedya rarely coming out of his shell; and it isn’t long until he discovers his wife’s infidelity and separates from her completely.

All of this is told in flashback, after Fedya has returned to his “nest”, the family home in the province of O-. Here he encounters a number of relatives, including Liza. During his absence she has grown from the child he knew to a beautiful young woman – pious, artistic and kind-natured, she already has suitors including the self-centred Panshin; she’s also adored from afar by her old German music teacher Lemm.

News reaches Fedya via the gossip columns that his wife is dead, and he desperately sends off for proof. Meanwhile, he and Liza have been growing closer and the inevitable happens. However, there will be several twists in the plot that will prevent a happy ending and it seems that Fedya is destined to be superfluous in more ways than one.

So on the surface this is a fairly straightforward, one might say predictable love story and it was no difficulty to anticipate the twists and turns the story took. However, I think there *is* a subtext here, and that relates to the character of Fedya and his lack of purpose in life. The Superfluous Man was a regular trope in Russian fiction of the time, and it was applied to someone with no real focus or purpose, a loafer or a drifter, obviously with enough money to support him in his chosen lifestyle! At one point, Fedya meets up with his old school friend Mikhalevich, who berates him for having a life lacking in meaning, and it’s true that he *does* seem to drift around in a bit of a fog.

…you’re a loafer, a nasty loafer, and you know it. You’re not just a plain and simple loafer – they lie on the stove and do nothing, because they’re incapable of doing anything. They don’t even think about anything, but you’ve got an active mind – and yet you just lie there. You could be doing something – and you do nothing. You lie on your back with a full stomach and say: this is the life, lying like this, because whatever people do, it’s all rubbish and pointless nonsense.

However, there seems to be an underlying strand dealing with the conflict between Western life and the more traditional Russian ways. Fedya’s return to his ancestral home, his “nest”, brings him back into contact with tradition and the land, and Liza comes to personify this for him. There are pastoral scenes where the two fish and spend time with nature, and perhaps Turgenev is saying that the solution to the problem of superfluity is to live a good life as an honest, hardworking landowner and not to seek meaning in Western culture.

220px-turgenev_perov_scanned

There is some beautiful writing in the book, particularly when Turgenev describes the landscape and the rural settings. And the symbolic return of the prodigal to the house of his late aunt, where he opens the windows to let in the light, cleans and refurbishes and reconnects with the servants is well handled. And yet… I hesitate to be critical, but I found the book to be a little underwhelming, and I can’t put my finger on why. There’s nothing bad I can say about it; the characters were well-drawn and amusing; the story entertaining; and the denouement moving. Perhaps it’s that I found that the love story, which was a little predictable, dominated too much and clouded whatever else Turgenev was trying to say. Certainly, I didn’t engage as strongly with the book as I hoped to and at times found my interest drifting.

Nevertheless, “A Nest of the Gentry” is an evocative book, capturing bucolic rural Russia and its inhabitants well; and it may be that if I read the book again I would respond differently. Certainly, if you want to read this particular Turgenev work the Alma edition is a good one to have as the translation read smoothly and well, and the supporting material is particularly useful. As for the other Turgenev books I have on the shelves – well, I’m off to take some pictures for my next post…

Dipping into Sylvia Townsend Warner’s short stories

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“Dipping” is a word I’m trying to introduce into my reading vocabulary at the moment, as I seem to have got myself into a mindset of having to finish a book at a time, regardless of what it is. And when it comes to poetry and short stories, this isn’t necessarily the best way to read, so I’m going to attempt to be a little more flexible, picking up volumes of poems and shorter works when the mood takes me and not fretting about when I finish them. And I was gifted with some lovely volumes at Christmas, so this would be the ideal way to start exploring them.

A book I’ve been keen on getting for a long time is Sylvia Townsend Warner’s Selected Stories in a lovely Virago volume, and my Secret Santa Trish kindly came up trumps with this one. The stories are chosen by Susanna Pinney and William Maxwell, STW’s literary executors, and having only read one of her books before (“Mr. Fortune’s Maggot”) I was interested to see what her other work was like.

stw-stories

So far, I’ve read a few stories and they really are good. In particular, “The Love Match”, the first story in the collection, is a real gem and a wonderful way to open the book. Telling the story of Celia and Justin Tizard, a brother and sister who come to live in the little town of Hallowby, it initially seems that Mr Pilkington, who brings them there, might be the focus of the story or heavily involved. In fact, he plays a minor part, and STW twists and subverts your expectations with a dark little tale about a very strange relationship between the wars and how it plays out. I was left with a *lot* of questions about Celia and Justin, about what really *had* been going on in the town, and also thinking about what happens behind closed doors and beneath the surface.

I shall carry on dipping into this book whenever the fancy takes me, as it seems that I’m going to be guaranteed something interesting. Now I just have to get myself into this mindset as regards poetry: should I read chronologically? Open the book at random? Search for titles that are recommended or highly thought of? Any suggestions gratefully received…

Raging against the dying of the light

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The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Tolstoy

The second short work in the Tolstoy collection which OH gifted me at Christmas time is the title story, and it’s apparently reckoned to be one of his masterpieces. First published in 1886, so considered one of his later works, I imagine it’s been gathered with the three other pieces in the book as they all seem to focus on marriage and the relationships between men and women. However, although I’ve only read the first two, I think “Death” is something more than just a meditation on the battle of the sexes.

The novella opens with three men receiving the news that their friend and colleague Ivan Ilyich Golovin has died. These are officials of the Russian court of Justice and although sorry about their friend’s death, they also can’t help thinking of the effect this will have on their careers and their lives. Golovin’s best friend of the three, Pyotr Ivanovich, goes to pay his respects; yet he cannot wait to leave the house after the service, glad to be alive and able to go on with his own life.

ivan

The story then takes us back to Ivan’s younger days, following his life from childhood through to school days, early working life and making his way in the civil service. He moves from province to province to improve his lot; meets his future wife Praskovya in one of these outposts and they marry because she is in love and he thinks it would be a good match and she is quite agreeable; and they have a family. However, things deteriorate once the children arrive, as Ivan finds his wife too demanding and unreasonable, and he retreats into his work.

In all this the great thing necessary was to exclude everything with the sap of life in it, which always disturbs the regular course of official business, not to admit any sort of relations with people except the official relations; the motive of all intercourse had to be simply the official motive, and the intercourse itself to be only official.

After a good promotion, however, the family move to a new home which Ivan decorates in readiness for their arrival. It is here that fate takes a hand: Ivan falls whilst hanging curtains and hurts his side. This apparently minor injury develops into what will be a fatal one, and the rest of the book takes us with Ivan on his final journey towards an angry death. And a long, dark journey it is. Ivan’s illness is undefined, and the doctors seem unable to diagnose or treat him properly. His family is relatively unsupportive, with only his young son seeming to care about him, and Ivan himself only realises towards the very end quite how much his condition has deteriorated. He suffers the indignity of having to have what we would now call ‘personal care’ from a peasant in his employ, who ends up being the most comforting presence around him because he is totally non-judgemental. Ivan is not ready to die, and suffers more when he comes to realise that he has probably wasted his life, doing things that were pointless and meaningless, and it is this that makes his death so painful – as well as dealing with the physical agony, he is also in mental and emotional agony.

What of the portrayal of his marriage? Well, it isn’t a happy one but then when are they in Tolstoy? Initially the young couple seemed to jog along quite nicely, but as soon as Praskovya becomes what Ivan thinks of as far too demanding he pulls away, shutting himself off from his family and making walls around himself. Tolstoy is critical of Praskovya, but I couldn’t help thinking that in fact Ivan was emotionally copping out and if he had *really* cared about his wife he would have tried to understand and meet her halfway (especially as her demanding behaviour began when she was pregnant and her hormones were presumably running riot). The marriage is mostly conflict and it does seem to be Tolstoy’s feeling that that’s what a marriage is.

But of course central to the book (and its title) is Ivan Ilyich’s death, and Tolstoy is unsparing in his depiction of this. I can’t recall reading anything that deals so starkly and realistically not only with the physical effects of a human’s deterioration but also the mental effects. Ivan’s coming demise dominates his thoughts and emotions to the exclusion of anything else; he is unable to put it out of his mind and it gnaws away at his brain as much as his disease does at his body. His gruelling path to death is not an easy read, but perhaps it’s an essential one. In a society that doesn’t talk about the practicalities of death very much, maybe we need reminding of what it’s really like to take leave of this earth and this life.

So a much more powerful read than the first story in the book, a dark one which I can understand being ranked with Tolstoy’s great works. Next up will be “The Kreutzer Sonata”, a story I’ve tried to read before and failed because the attitude towards women and marriage was just too much. We’ll see whether I can get through it on a second attempt! 🙂

A journey into the universe of libraries

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The Library at Night by Alberto Manguel

library-night

As I’m someone who’s fairly obsessive about books it would come as no surprise that I’d be keen on reading books about books! And I have read a lot of them over the years; but the Manguel book, which was a birthday gift from Eldest Child, is one I’d been keen on reading for a long time, and as I’d reached a point where I wasn’t sure what I wanted to read next, I picked it up.

Old books we have known but not possessed cross our paths and invite themselves over. New books try to seduce us daily with tempting titles and tantalizing covers.

I’ve previously read one book by Manguel, “A Reading Diary”, which I loved very much; and many commenters mentioned how good “Library” was so it’s been on my radar for a while. And what a fascinating read it was. You could I suppose describe it as a series of essays, connected by the fact that they all consider the library as an entity, but each from a completely different point of view. So there are sections titled “The Library as Myth”, “The Library as Power” and “The Library as Survival”, for example. Within each chapter, Manguel mixes thoughts about his own library and its construction, the kind of books he houses there, other libraries through history, the uses of books and literacy in power struggles, how libraries can spring up in the most unlikely places and help people to survive dreadful situations, book burning – and so on.

manguel-alberto

There’s a dazzling display of erudition here – Manguel obviously knows books, libraries and their history well – and one of the elements I found most fascinating was the detail included about libraries from antiquity in cultures all over the world. It’s easy in our western, English-speaking world to think that we’re the repository of all knowledge and literature but that’s patently not the case, as there are civilisations going back centuries who were amassing records of stories and histories and philosophies in one form or another. Poignantly, Manguel relates the fates of the many, many libraries that have been lost over the years, from the ancient library of Alexandria, to the modern National Library of Lebanon. To any bibliophile these losses are traumatic, and it seems that culture and knowledge is one of the first things to suffer during wars and conflicts.

Of course, running through this volume is Manguel’s huge love of books and what they can tell us and where they can take us. So references abound, taking in everything from The Iliad to Dorothy L. Sayers. Borges, whom Manguel knew (and read to) is a recurring presence, and I hadn’t realised that he was a librarian for part of his life; famously, he said “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” Fittingly enough, there is a section on imaginary books and imaginary libraries and I think Borges would have approved!

It’s hard to encompass such a wide-reaching and wide-ranging book in a blog post, particularly as there is so much food for thought as well as so many new books and authors to be tracked down. The fact that there is a list of Manguel’s 100 favourite books at the end is not going to be helpful for the TBR either. Manguel celebrates the joy of random explorations of books, the chance finds whilst browsing and the happy accidents which bring us to a book we might never have consciously chosen.

We pick our way down endless library shelves, choosing this or that volume for no discernible reason: because of a cover, a title, a name, because of something someone said or didn’t say, because of a hunch, a whim, a mistake, because we think we may find in this book a particular tale or character or detail, because we believe it was written for us, because we believe it was written for everyone except us and we want to find out why we have been excluded, because we want to learn, or laugh, or lose ourselves in oblivion.

As well as more philosophical musings, there are sections on how to organise and catalogue your books – always a knotty problem – and a history of the Dewey system. Personally, it’s the cross-over books I find hardest – do I put all my Margaret Atwood books with the Viragos even though half are from different publishers? Or do I just put the Virago Atwoods with the Viragos and the rest with women authors? Or have a separate section for Atwood on her own? It makes my head hurt…

We tend nowadays to take for granted access to the written word in the form of books, newspapers, magazines, electrical devices and all of the material on the InterWeb. However, it’s sobering to realise that this is a relatively recent freedom we’ve had and one that we should guard jealously. The Manic Street Preachers famously stated that “Libraries gave us power” and certainly literacy is crucial to trying to resist dictatorship of all sorts. At several points in the book, Manguel relates situations where books and libraries and individuals have suffered at the hands of regimes like the Nazis; the literature has often helped them to survive and in dark times we still turn to books for the wisdom they can provide. “The Library at Night” was as powerful and involving as I expected, and I suspect it might have been even more effective had I read a chapter at a time and then read something else while I assimilated Manguel’s thoughts. As it was, “Library” sent me scurrying back to rearrange and explore my own personal collection; and I expect it to be a book I’ll return to over and over again.

Setting sail for a final voyage – Virago Author of the Month

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No Signposts in the Sea by Vita Sackville-West

One of my favourite online things is belonging to the LibraryThing Virago Modern Classics group; definitely the nicest and friendliest of the LT groups I’ve come across, and always supportive and good fun for a challenge or readalong. The group often has some kind of project going on (a chronological read of Viragos, for example) but as some of us were a little stretched by challenges, this year’s has been kept simple after one of the members came up with the wonderful idea of having an author featured each month whom we could choose to read from or about as our whim took us. After a little voting, Vita Sackville-West was settled upon, which was a good choice for me as I have so many of her books lurking on the TBR, and have read so few! (Please note how much reading from the stacks I’m doing just now!) I decided to pick the slim volume “No Signposts in the Sea” as it’s a book I started once before then got distracted from, so now was the ideal time to read it.

signposts

Published in 1961, NSITS was Vita’s last novel, and it’s narrated by Edmund Carr; a middle-aged, cynical political journalist, he has been given a short time to live and decides he will spend it taking a sea voyage. This is no ordinary trip, however, as Carr has chosen to travel on a ship carrying Laura Drysdale, a widow with whom he’s in love, in the hope that he can spend his last months in her company. The decision to make the trip had been a spur of the moment thing, as on the day he received his medical sentence of death, he visited Laura and learned of the journey she was making.

Laura seems pleased to see him, and the two spend much time together on the journey. The ship sets off for southern, warmer climes and although there are islands and natives, we really have no idea where the cruise is going; Carr has no real interest in specifics, only thinking of Laura, and as he says, there are no signposts in the sea. As the journey continues, he reflects on his past, the change that has come over him since receiving the news of his demise, and the bittersweet pleasure of being in the company of someone he loves, but unable to tell her because of his impending death and his fear of disturbing what relationship they have.

An extra element is thrown into the mix in the form of Colonel Dalrymple; initially, Carr befriends the man and likes him very much, until he perceives that Dalrymple is attracted to Laura – and it seems to Carr that Laura is attracted back. However, the voyage is coming to a close for Carr, and a final revelation proves just how little we know or understand about our fellow humans.

I take it that any creative work, as opposed to my own hack effort, must be intensely private, not to be mentioned, least of all discussed. No doubt the actual process is comparable. One lives in a little world of one’s own, and nothing else seems to matter. The most egotistical of occupations, and the most gratifying while it lasts. To see the pages piling up, and to live in the persuasion that one is doing something worthwhile. Because of course one must hold on to that conviction, or one wouldn’t go on. Luckily a writer’s powers of self-delusion are limitless, and oh the smugness of feeling that one has done a good day’s work!

NSITS is a short novel (less than 150 pages in my Virago edition, although the type is fairly large so I’d be more inclined to call it a novella) but it contains much food for thought. It’s impossible to read this book without speculating how much it draws on Vita’s own life, and indeed the excellent introduction by Victoria Glendinning sets out the events in the author’s life that informed the book. Vita and her husband Harold Nicolson had been on a number of cruises, which Vita drew on for the book, and she also used the story to discuss her thoughts on life, love and writing through Edmund’s musings. She was already suffering from the cancer that would eventually kill her, and there is a bittersweet element running through the book that presumably reflects her state of mind at the time. Edmund Carr has gone from being cynical to sentimental, regretting his single life and considering what makes a good marriage and a meeting of minds; and I can’t help speculating that this latter must have been much on Vita’s mind as she looked back at her life and her unconventional union with Nicolson. The book also contains a direct discussion of lesbianism which I’m not sure that Vita had ever tackled in her work before.

vita-and-harold

However, the book is certainly not perfect. It reflects some very outdated and unpleasant attitudes to race which I would perhaps expected to start to be filtered out; certainly I wouldn’t have guessed the book was from the 1960s with these viewpoints on show. And there is a class element showing too; as Glendinning points out, although Carr is meant to be from a lower class than Laura, his thoughts, behaviour and attitudes are those of the author rather than someone who has worked his way up from humbler beginnings.

The text is interspersed with unattributed quotations and poems reflecting Edmund’s thoughts on particular topics, and I must confess I rather wished for an annotated edition giving background to these excerpts. Although Glendinning points out that the reader can have fun tracking them down (and they might have been more widely known at the time the book was published), I was too involved in the narrative to want to stop reading and do some research.

And involved I was. Despite my minor criticisms, the book is beautifully written and very evocative; the sense of the removal from reality and everyday life that occurs on a cruise is captured in Vita’s clear prose, and I felt as if I was at sea with Edmund, Laura and Dalrymple. NSITS is a poignant little book, full of thoughtful discussions of the important things in life, and a fitting addition to Vita’s oeuvre. This is only the second of Vita Sackville-West’s books I can be sure I’ve read (I loved her “The Heir” which I reviewed here), but on the evidence of these I can highly recommend her.

Outdoing the world’s greatest fabulist

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The Return of Munchausen by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky
Translated by Joanne Turnbull

mde

I’ve written about Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky on the Ramblings before; an author who was unpublishable under the Soviet regime, his works came to light after the collapse of the USSR and have been gradually published and then translated into English thanks to the great talents of Joanne Turnbull. Three of his works have been issued by NYRB, and I’ve read, loved and reviewed all of them. So you can imagine how excited I was when I heard that NYRB would be bringing out another volume by SK, in the form of “The Return of Munchausen”. The book is out today and the publisher has kindly provided a review copy.

Every Baron has his flights of fancy… I flatter myself with the hope that I have made better and wider use than any other barons of my right to flights of fancy.

Munchausen was in fact a real historical character, a German nobleman who fought for Russia in the Russo-Turkish war of 1735-39. He gained a reputation for his tall tales, and the German author Rudolf Raspe transmuted him into the fictional fabulist we know him as today, thanks to a fictionalised version of his life. Munchausen has become synonymous with lying, and the real character died back in 1797. However, SK resurrects him rather wonderfully to take on Soviet Russia – and the story is absolutely fascinating.

And in the third place, you are a bad poet, I swear by my pipe, if you do not know that books, if only they are books, may be commensurate with but never proportionate to reality!

Munchausen reappears after 200 years by dropping off the hands of time back into the Palace of Versailles. He makes a base in Berlin, where he spins more fabulous yarns, accompanied by occasional sidekick, the poet Ernst Unding (which translates as Earnest Nonsense). Amusingly enough, he’s announced as:

Baron
HIERONYMUS VON MUNCHAUSEN
Supplier of Phantasms and Sensations
In and Out of This World
Since 1720

Immediately, he’s courted by the great and good, and called upon to tell tales, solve problems and eventually to undertake a secret mission. The Baron is asked to visit Soviet Russia and report back, which he does. Munchausen’s visit to Russia is not relayed directly; instead we see it filtered through his eyes, as he relates his adventures to a rapt London audience. And it’s a fascinating story, as the Baron encounters poverty, twisted logic and a society which says one thing and does another. He even manages an audience with Lenin, who seems to be able to read Munchausen’s mind, and has strong opinions on writers:

A literary hero is naturally curious about literature. About ‘how life smells’. It smells of printer’s ink to the people who populate books or have emigrated to them. So then, all of our penmen are given a choice: feast or fast. Some work steadily; others starve.

Nothing usually fazes the Baron; however, in the nascent Soviet Union he has met his match. In the end, a reality full of such fabrication is too much for the Baron and he takes himself back to where he came from. His visit was in fact spurious, but the stories he invented were sometimes actually real, and the truth is more fantastic than his tales. Munchausen the fabulist is ultimately outdone by the Soviet state, which can create more outlandish untruths than he can deal with.

I swept a fact away with a phantasm, replaced the existent with the non-existent. Always and invariably my phantasms won – always and invariably, that is, until I chanced upon the country about which one cannot lie.

So where to begin talking about “The Return of Munchausen”? Obviously, you have suspend disbelief from the start and just go with the flow. The Baron himself, as presented by SK, is a fantastic creation; confident, convinced that his tales are better than truth, it’s wonderful watching him sail indomitably through the world, an elusive figure following his own agenda. And if there’s something he wants to avoid, he simply jumps back into the book he originally came from.

Then again, how hard could it be for a man who had slipped through the five beams of a star to elude five claws?

Sigizmund_Krzhizhanovsky

However, putting aside the humour, this a book with a serious heart and I would say more directly satirical than his other works. There is a recurring obsession with smoke which occurs throughout the book; of course, smoke and mirrors signify the trickery of politics (both Soviet and in the wider world), but this also brought to mind the book “Smoke” by Turgenev, a book which deals with the illusions existing in Russia during that author’s time. As with all SK’s books, the imagery is unusual and stunning; on the first page, almost the first lines, we read “Now he sprang up the length of a long runner; leaping after him, taking the stairs two at a time, came muddy footprints”. Some of the phrases take your breath away as you’re reading, and even if you weren’t aware of the underlying issues the book is wonderful to read. Its self-referential qualities make it feel almost post-modern at times, and I’ve seen it described as part roman a clef, although it’s not clear whether Munchausen, Unding or the unnamed person in the quote below is standing in for the author himself….

And as for that poor scholar from the country about which one cannot lie, do not worry. I have sent him, by way of compensation, my rough drafts; if he possesses so much as a pair of scissors and a pot of glue, the resulting manuscript should help him on his literary way.

“The Return…” is an extended meditation on the nature of truth, something which must have been sharply relevant to an author living in Soviet Russia and refusing to produce Soviet Realism. The qualities in the Communist state which would be transformed by Orwell into concepts like Doublethink and Doublespeak were already in place; set in 1921, the book was written towards the end of the 1920s when the iron grip of Soviet rule was becoming established so it’s not surprising it was never published. Like so many other authors at the time, SK was most definitely writing for the drawer (the few attempts he made to get his works into print being crushed by the censor).

If you look at Moscow from a bird’s-eye view, you will see: a stone spider in the center – the Kremlin, peering out of four wide open archways at the web of streets it has woven, their gray threads, as in any web, stretching away radially, attaching themselves to distant gates…

moscow-1920s

I found myself profoundly affected by this book; it’s vivid and allusive (and fortunately provided with excellent notes and introduction by Turnbull), and the more I think about it, the more there is in it. SK seems to manage to comment on every aspect of Soviet life, even pulling in a sly reference to the theories of the Communist Manifesto when discussing the attraction of such opposites as a White Russian aristocrat and a Red Guard:

So it always was, so it will always be: antitheses will always trail after theses, but let them marry – and their old friend synthesis will be there like a shot.

If it seems that I’ve pulled out a lot of quotes that’s because the writing is so good and the imagery so outstanding. Although it’s a book with a message, “The Return of Munchausen” is a joy to read as well.

His listeners are all ears, and right away he begins to bend them; first around the edges, then along the auricular cartilage, inward and inward, until they curl up like autumn leaves and, ear by ear, softly and unrustlingly, flutter to the floor. But now his disciplined manservant, who has appeared behind the guests’ backs with dustpan and brush, quietly sweeps up the ears and carries them out.

I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface of the book here, as it’s rich with references, thoughts, aphorisms and wild imaginative humour. It’s certainly a work which I’ll return to and which will continue to resonate as I assimilate what it has to say. “The Return of Munchausen” is a deeply thoughtful and fascinating read, and I can’t recommend SK’s books enough,

Exploring my Library: Italo Calvino

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Whilst rummaging around on the shelves a few days back to dig out my Fitzgeralds, I had to move my collection of Italo Calvino books to get to them; and I realised just how many books I had by one of my favourite authors! So I thought I would share a couple of photos here (and I really do need to get myself a decent camera or some lighting – sorry if the images are a little dark!)

calvino-spines

This is the Calvino collection! As you can see, I have just about everything available in English, plus a few volumes where he’s done the introduction or where it’s an author recommended by him!

cosmicomics

“The Complete Cosmicomics” is one of my favourite Calvino works – clever and thought-provoking tales, which Lem’s works remind me of in a way, I read and reviewed the complete works in 2012 and loved them all over again.

invisible-cities

“Invisible Cities” is one of Calvino’s most highly regarded works. Supposedly an account of the fantastic places visited by Marco Polo on his travels, it’s in fact a highly structured piece of work with impressionistic descriptions of the places in a particular OuLiPian pattern  – which of course I didn’t recognise and wouldn’t have worked out unless I’d read it online…. Doesn’t make it any the less readable though! 🙂

traveller

And this is the first Calvino I read, and probably my favourite (with “Cosmicomics” a close second). The copy of “If on a winter’s night a traveller” on the left is my original one; the middle a volume I picked up for a re-read because I didn’t want to mess up my original; and the one on the right a pretty volume that I had to have just because… It’s a stunning book which I love – one of my desert island books – and I can’t recommend it or Calvino’s books enough!

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