Nana - Emile Zola (trans. George Holden) (Penguin Books, 1972 [1880])
Once upon a time (college) a friend recommended this novel. She was a great reader of classic literature, and while I forget the details, this was among her very favorite.
Nana is a courtesan. Or more than a courtesan, rather a force of nature. She takes Paris by storm, attracting lovers and riches. And spending both just as freely. And around her, constellations of other courtesans and the well-born men who keep them, constantly trading places in some whirling dance. And anyone who ascends from the gutter to rise as high as Nana does... can her end come with anything other than a fall?
This novel is highly readable. It's well-paced and rarely bogs the reader. I confess that a lot of French literature makes me very sleepy - this did not. On the other hand, I can't tell if Zola hated women, or just hated sex. Nana is less a person than a creature, almost like an exquisite tiger kept by a prince. She acts according to her whims, pouting and smiling and changing moods on a dime. She gives up her body for money, or for laughs, or out of pity, or... Zola's descriptions often verge on the grotesque. And the sights and (especially) smells of anywhere that women gather... those go well past the tipping point.
These two qualities made for an unsettling reading experience. I enjoyed reading, and I was curious about the fates of the characters, and yet I found them all reprehensible (Zola's intent) and found Zola himself fairly repugnant. Why so hateful?
Showing posts with label classic lit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classic lit. Show all posts
Monday, July 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 07, 2013
What Gatsby?
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald (Scribner, 1925, 1995)
First off, this is a re-read. Once upon a time (high school) I read this book and was profoundly moved to indifference tinged with distaste. (This was typical of the books I read for my American literature class, which may say quite a bit about my teacher.) I couldn't quite figure out what to do with that when I got to college and got interested in the Jazz Age, and when I was enchanted by Tender is the Night. (On the other hand, I was totally unmoved by This Side of Paradise.) When I found a cheap copy, I bought it, figuring that eventually I would give Fitzgerald another try, this time giving him the benefit of how much I wanted to like him.
And here the assist goes to Baz Luhrmann. The story seems right up his alley, and while I haven't particularly liked his other big films, I am newly fascinated by Leonardo DiCaprio, and have to go see this one. But I wanted to be back in the text first, even if that is likely to hurt my enjoyment of the film.
First and foremost, I was amazed at not only how short the novel is, clocking it at 189 pages, but how quick a read. I blew through it. The events of the novel take place over a single summer, and they pass as quickly as summer always seems to. Nick meets up with Daisy and Tom, meets Jordan, meets Tom's mistress, meets Gatsby, meets Gatsby's business associate, hears a variety of rumors and half-truths and straight up lies about Gatsby's origins and wealth, and watches as a series of love triangles collide. And then it mops up.
Weirdly, while I remembered lots of feelings about the book's characters (Nick is lame, Gatsby naive, Tom terrible, Daisy annoying -- and everyone made me feel vaguely uncomfortable) I had lost a lot of the plot. Like I knew the raw sketch of the climax, but not all the details. How did I lose those?
Oh, and here's what the LA Times had to say back in 1925. I'll approve, but how on earth does the reviewer get away with not only giving away the fate of the characters but what might also be one of the best lines in the whole book, when Nick realizes the truth about Tom and Daisy?
First off, this is a re-read. Once upon a time (high school) I read this book and was profoundly moved to indifference tinged with distaste. (This was typical of the books I read for my American literature class, which may say quite a bit about my teacher.) I couldn't quite figure out what to do with that when I got to college and got interested in the Jazz Age, and when I was enchanted by Tender is the Night. (On the other hand, I was totally unmoved by This Side of Paradise.) When I found a cheap copy, I bought it, figuring that eventually I would give Fitzgerald another try, this time giving him the benefit of how much I wanted to like him.
And here the assist goes to Baz Luhrmann. The story seems right up his alley, and while I haven't particularly liked his other big films, I am newly fascinated by Leonardo DiCaprio, and have to go see this one. But I wanted to be back in the text first, even if that is likely to hurt my enjoyment of the film.
First and foremost, I was amazed at not only how short the novel is, clocking it at 189 pages, but how quick a read. I blew through it. The events of the novel take place over a single summer, and they pass as quickly as summer always seems to. Nick meets up with Daisy and Tom, meets Jordan, meets Tom's mistress, meets Gatsby, meets Gatsby's business associate, hears a variety of rumors and half-truths and straight up lies about Gatsby's origins and wealth, and watches as a series of love triangles collide. And then it mops up.
Weirdly, while I remembered lots of feelings about the book's characters (Nick is lame, Gatsby naive, Tom terrible, Daisy annoying -- and everyone made me feel vaguely uncomfortable) I had lost a lot of the plot. Like I knew the raw sketch of the climax, but not all the details. How did I lose those?
Oh, and here's what the LA Times had to say back in 1925. I'll approve, but how on earth does the reviewer get away with not only giving away the fate of the characters but what might also be one of the best lines in the whole book, when Nick realizes the truth about Tom and Daisy?
Monday, May 07, 2012
Old New York, NOT Don Henley
The Age of Innocence - Edith Wharton (Barnes & Noble Classics, 1920, 2004)
Despite not actually having the same name at all, I spent a lot of my time reading this book while humming along to the mental soundtrack of "The End of the Innocence." And any other Don Henley songs that came up in my head. Also, I saw the movie with Daniel Day-Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer back when it came out. So I had a hard time displacing those characters from my head, even when they didn't feel quite right.
First off, the casting? I bought DDL as Newland Archer. Actually, that seems just about perfect. Pfeiffer I'm a little more meh about. And then there's Winona Ryder as May Archer (nee Welland). Wharton keeps stressing how Archer views her as being like the Goddess Diana. And I can't think of an actress who inspires that thought less in me. On the other hand, from what I remember, she nails the whole forced innocence thing.
But this isn't a movie review, and I really shouldn't be reviewing movies I saw almost twenty years ago, and when I was awfully young too. So, on to the book.
I'm not going to go into too much analysis, possibly because I'm lazy. Instead, going to be sorta solipsistic. First of all, there were ways in which this novel felt very Russian. Maybe just because most of the 19th-century novels I've read in the past several years (that were not Jane Austen) were Russian. (And yes, I know that this was actually written after WWI, so this may be a really weak point.) Or maybe it's that Mme Olenska reminded me of Anna Karenina. I'm not really sure. But more importantly, it was honestly such a pleasure to read this. I forgot how much I enjoyed the classics. I may be adding more of them to my list.
Despite not actually having the same name at all, I spent a lot of my time reading this book while humming along to the mental soundtrack of "The End of the Innocence." And any other Don Henley songs that came up in my head. Also, I saw the movie with Daniel Day-Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer back when it came out. So I had a hard time displacing those characters from my head, even when they didn't feel quite right.
First off, the casting? I bought DDL as Newland Archer. Actually, that seems just about perfect. Pfeiffer I'm a little more meh about. And then there's Winona Ryder as May Archer (nee Welland). Wharton keeps stressing how Archer views her as being like the Goddess Diana. And I can't think of an actress who inspires that thought less in me. On the other hand, from what I remember, she nails the whole forced innocence thing.
But this isn't a movie review, and I really shouldn't be reviewing movies I saw almost twenty years ago, and when I was awfully young too. So, on to the book.
I'm not going to go into too much analysis, possibly because I'm lazy. Instead, going to be sorta solipsistic. First of all, there were ways in which this novel felt very Russian. Maybe just because most of the 19th-century novels I've read in the past several years (that were not Jane Austen) were Russian. (And yes, I know that this was actually written after WWI, so this may be a really weak point.) Or maybe it's that Mme Olenska reminded me of Anna Karenina. I'm not really sure. But more importantly, it was honestly such a pleasure to read this. I forgot how much I enjoyed the classics. I may be adding more of them to my list.
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