If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.
In this case a narrator who is apparently identifiable but may actually be another of the characters; so the 'point of view' aspect is not clear. I gave up on my idea of telling a story in which there were no characters at all. I can't remember who the 'narrator' was, if anyone. It all got a bit convoluted. I also took an idea from Borges y yo about the 'narrator' meeting himself on a park bench. I have a feeling that's the one I submitted to Stand magazine and they just returned the covering letter with the word 'No' written on it. I think there might be a short story in all of this
Thanks, that helps. As does a "Borges & I" translation (courtesy of Wikipedia).
BTW, I misread that as Strand magazine, Holmes.
re : 'narrator identity'. I have just been re-reading Death in Venice , this time in the Norton critical edn, translated by Clayton Koelb. The novella itself takes up about 60 pages, the rest of the 230 pages comprises notes and essays, including an interesting piece by Dorrit Cohn, 'The Second Author of Death in Venice' - which tries to disentangle which parts of the book are narrated by Mann, which by 'the narrator', and which by Aschenbach. I think I need to reread the essay...
And I think it's time to try again with Dr Faustus. Years back I read the Lowe-Porter translation (struggled, but eventually enjoyed). A friend has recommended the more recent translation by John Woods.
Well, I may be in a very contrary mood but that doesn't stop me from recommending, "Cahokia Jazz", by Francis Spufford. Sort of - but not really - a police procedural. An imaginative triumph.
....I think I'd sell my soul....to be able to eat cornish pasties, pies and belgium buns again....let alone walk up a hill....
I'm sure there is great scope for a short story, or a novel, in that synopsis 8o, but I'm not the man for it. My contribution to the theme of hidden narrators is to refer to Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (was it?) where the first person narrator was them what dunnit.
I'll get my coat.
I'm sure there is great scope for a short story, or a novel, in that synopsis 8o, but I'm not the man for it. My contribution to the theme of hidden narrators is to refer to Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (was it?) where the first person narrator was them what dunnit.
I'll get my coat.
Once done that idea couldn't very well be used again!
"The sound is the handwriting of the conductor" - Bernard Haitink
Just finished The other Bennet sister, by Janice Hadlow, her take on Mary's life after the death of Mr Bennet and the entail on the house coming into effect.
Perhaps a bit long for its content, but some splendid language and put downs.
I loved it when Lady Catherine, having criticised both the grocer and the cook on a visit, helped herself to another piece of thedespised cake.
Now just started Amnesty, by Avarind Adiga (winner of the Man Booker Prize with The White Tiger).
Just about to start 'Overlord', which is one of the few books by Max Hastings that I have not yet read. His integration of the experiences of individuals into the larger picture and his detailed yet commendably clear explanation of the latter are masterly.
Once done that idea couldn't very well be used again!
There was some anger and cries of "cheating' from people reading "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd" for the first time. My idea was more of a cliché: the story within a story to induce readers into making false assumptions about what they were being told. I don't have much interest in straightforward fiction (that's for factual narrative). But then, I've never had any of my fiction accepted for publication
It isn't given us to know those rare moments when people are wide open and the lightest touch can wither or heal. A moment too late and we can never reach them any more in this world.
A favourite play which I can now read in Isaiah Berlin's splendid translation, which I found yesterday after many years searching . I've long regarded it as one of the most lovable and profound works of literature, and indeed it is internationally-acclaimed as one of the finest plays ever written, yet curiously Turgenev himself repeatedly disparaged it in correspondence .
... Wilhelm Raabe, Stopfkuchen. In an English translation, Tubby Schaumann.
It'll be the third time I read it : each time I get more out of it.
At the age of 72, I suppose I have half-a-dozen major regrets in life : bigly among them, not having acquired German. I would love to be able to read Raabe, Storm, Stifter, Fontane, &c in the original. Precious few of their works are available in English : fortunately quite a lot have been done into French, and I can get some of them that way ...
Just about to start 'Overlord', which is one of the few books by Max Hastings that I have not yet read. His integration of the experiences of individuals into the larger picture and his detailed yet commendably clear explanation of the latter are masterly.
I enjoy most Hastings books, although I can’t remember anything about Overload that particularly separates it from other accounts, such as Anthony Berber or Stephan Ambrose D-Day.
On the subject of WW II I am reading Guadalcanal Diary, I book that I have seen referenced repeatedly but never got around to reading.
Also somewhat OTT I am in Lyon today and just toured the Resistance Museum. An interesting place but one that doesn’t address the issues of French Collaboration or or sort out the differing roles of the Communists (and their initial passivity until Hitler attacked Stalin) and the De Gaulle affiliated groups. As for the British operatives who worked with the Resistance there isn’t a mention.
Every decade or so I re-read Robert Irwin’s Arabian Nightmare in the vain hope of disentangling the real from the dream worlds it creates, and fail. But the attempt is always entertaining, not least to enjoy the exquisite quality of the writing. Set in an atmospheric medieval Cairo, we follow Balian of Norwich down a rabbit hole of fractal complexity. He may have contracted the Arabian Nightmare, a distressing, appalling and dangerous contagion, causing vivid nightmares of ‘infinite suffering’ that cannot be remembered upon waking, but which culminate in an explosive nosebleed. Thus the sufferer becomes progressively weaker, spending more and more time being tortured in disturbed sleep. Then again, he may simply be dreaming that he’s contracted the disease. It’s horrible, but it’s also drolly amusing and is populated by a cast of colourful, fantastical, sexy, sinister and (possibly) outright dangerous characters who want to track down Balian for their own reasons (or are they the products of dreams?) Irwin is a specialist of Arabian literature and has written a scholarly tome on The Thousand and One Nights, which is clearly a model for the novel’s nested dreamscapes.
A cooler read next, Sue Prideaux’s Wild Thing: A Life of Paul Gauguin, which promises to reassess his dissolute reputation. It’s handsomely illustrated.
I gave up on the predicted Booker Prize winner, James (Percival Everett).
I just couldn't get my head around the idea that Jim would be aware of (and mention) concepts such as proleptic irony!
Comment