[30C]⋙ PDF Gratis November Hesperus Classics Gustave Flaubert Nadine Gordimer Books

November Hesperus Classics Gustave Flaubert Nadine Gordimer Books

Download As PDF : November Hesperus Classics Gustave Flaubert Nadine Gordimer Books

November Hesperus Classics Gustave Flaubert Nadine Gordimer Books

This is a beautifully written novella, makes me wish I was fluent enough in French to read it in the author's original language. There are sculpted sentences filled with exotic imagery, as well as some genuine insights into the nature of the human condition, spelled out in language that manages to be rich and vivid while at the same time plain enough to impart its wisdom to the casual reader. To put it in shorthand, this is a novel about what our dreams are when we're young and enchanted by the world, by notions of love, why we dream of these things, and how we disappoint ourselves on the one hand because of some perceived life-stagnation, or what have you; and then, moments later, the fires of our imaginations seem to re-ignite to ten times what they were, and we are swept off on new whirlwind journeys, soaring above intangible landscapes of all the things we might be capable of doing, of thinking and dreaming. All of it sounds really great at first, but this novel ends on a note that seems pensive and a little sorrowful.

The first part of this tale is told in the first person, sort of Flaubert's semi-autobiographical prose-poetic tribute to his youth. Then, a few pages from the end of the novel (which is short, only about 100 pages), it changes to third person, and we read an unknown narrator's short treatise on the person whose first person musings you've just finished: Flaubert's critique of his youthful self, I presume. This second, third-person part of the novel was, for me anyway, the most interesting part of the novel, because it put all of the glittering imagery back into real world context. If this novel can be said to convey a message, it is that the affinity for dreams and flights of fancy often goes hand in hand with the "fear of doing", and that it's important to strike a balance between the two in one's life.

Readers who enjoyed this may also enjoy the novellla "The Hill of Dreams" by Arthur Machen, which contains similar themes and is even more oneiric and image-rich than "November", if that's possible.


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November Hesperus Classics Gustave Flaubert Nadine Gordimer Books Reviews

This is not a novel, this is not poetry, this is nothing but art. In a very short text, Flaubert has managed to flow out feelings described with an unforeseen accurateness that makes us relate closer not only to the author but also to ourselves, for here, for the first time, do things we have felt for so long, go under names.
It was just what I expected. The book was obviously several years old but in very good condition. The price was fair.
Flaubert's first novel is one of his very best. Be warned however that this is a German translation, which was not evident on the page link. When requesting a return, credited the account without asking for a return, realizing it was not advertised correctly on their pages. Luckily, a German friend of mine enjoyed receiving it.
This is a beautifully written novella, makes me wish I was fluent enough in French to read it in the author's original language. There are sculpted sentences filled with exotic imagery, as well as some genuine insights into the nature of the human condition, spelled out in language that manages to be rich and vivid while at the same time plain enough to impart its wisdom to the casual reader. To put it in shorthand, this is a novel about what our dreams are when we're young and enchanted by the world, by notions of love, why we dream of these things, and how we disappoint ourselves on the one hand because of some perceived life-stagnation, or what have you; and then, moments later, the fires of our imaginations seem to re-ignite to ten times what they were, and we are swept off on new whirlwind journeys, soaring above intangible landscapes of all the things we might be capable of doing, of thinking and dreaming. All of it sounds really great at first, but this novel ends on a note that seems pensive and a little sorrowful.

The first part of this tale is told in the first person, sort of Flaubert's semi-autobiographical prose-poetic tribute to his youth. Then, a few pages from the end of the novel (which is short, only about 100 pages), it changes to third person, and we read an unknown narrator's short treatise on the person whose first person musings you've just finished Flaubert's critique of his youthful self, I presume. This second, third-person part of the novel was, for me anyway, the most interesting part of the novel, because it put all of the glittering imagery back into real world context. If this novel can be said to convey a message, it is that the affinity for dreams and flights of fancy often goes hand in hand with the "fear of doing", and that it's important to strike a balance between the two in one's life.

Readers who enjoyed this may also enjoy the novellla "The Hill of Dreams" by Arthur Machen, which contains similar themes and is even more oneiric and image-rich than "November", if that's possible.