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Yonder: Essays
En six textes, une méditation sur les relations complexes entre l'art et le monde, livrée par un écrivain à la pensée discursive et pénétrante.
196 pages, Hardcover
First published May 15, 1998
4 people are currently reading
238 people want to read
About the author
Siri Hustvedt
93 books2,516 followersHustvedt was born in Northfield, Minnesota. Her father Lloyd Hustvedt was a professor of Scandinavian literature, and her mother Ester Vegan emigrated from Norway at the age of thirty. She holds a B.A. in history from St. Olaf College and a Ph.D. in English from Columbia University; her thesis on Charles Dickens was entitled Figures of Dust: A Reading of Our Mutual Friend.
Hustvedt has mainly made her name as a novelist, but she has also produced a book of poetry, and has had short stories and essays on various subjects published in (among others) The Art of the Essay, 1999, The Best American Short Stories 1990 and 1991, The Paris Review, Yale Review, and Modern Painters.
Like her husband Paul Auster, Hustvedt employs a use of repetitive themes or symbols throughout her work. Most notably the use of certain types of voyeurism, often linking objects of the dead to characters who are relative strangers to the deceased characters (most notable in various facits in her novels The Blindfold and The Enchantment of Lily Dahl) and the exploration of identity. She has also written essays on art history and theory (see "Essay collections") and painting and painters often appear in her fiction, most notably, perhaps, in her novel, What I Loved.
She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband, writer Paul Auster, and their daughter, singer and actress Sophie Auster.
Hustvedt has mainly made her name as a novelist, but she has also produced a book of poetry, and has had short stories and essays on various subjects published in (among others) The Art of the Essay, 1999, The Best American Short Stories 1990 and 1991, The Paris Review, Yale Review, and Modern Painters.
Like her husband Paul Auster, Hustvedt employs a use of repetitive themes or symbols throughout her work. Most notably the use of certain types of voyeurism, often linking objects of the dead to characters who are relative strangers to the deceased characters (most notable in various facits in her novels The Blindfold and The Enchantment of Lily Dahl) and the exploration of identity. She has also written essays on art history and theory (see "Essay collections") and painting and painters often appear in her fiction, most notably, perhaps, in her novel, What I Loved.
She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband, writer Paul Auster, and their daughter, singer and actress Sophie Auster.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
August 28, 2023
An absolutely stunning piece of writing. Yonder is a collection of essays.
There are 4 art analysis pieces (of two paintings and two books, only one of which I didn't read because it's a book I plan to read for the first time shortly). They were so passionate and intricate. Reading this author talk about The Great Gatsby made me want to re-read it and it's not even a favourite of mine.
Hustvedt is apparently a teacher, I see how she could easily fascinate an audience with words.
I loved the first -more- personal piece the most. The way she talks about her childhood and everything that she is all at once.
It felt like the author was speaking directly to me and at the same time as if I'd found a way to visit the inside of her cranium and chose the best, rosiest parts of her brain to pick at, either way it was a mesmerizing experience. I don't know that I can explain how much I loved this book. I'm looking forward to reading more of her.
There are 4 art analysis pieces (of two paintings and two books, only one of which I didn't read because it's a book I plan to read for the first time shortly). They were so passionate and intricate. Reading this author talk about The Great Gatsby made me want to re-read it and it's not even a favourite of mine.
Hustvedt is apparently a teacher, I see how she could easily fascinate an audience with words.
I loved the first -more- personal piece the most. The way she talks about her childhood and everything that she is all at once.
It felt like the author was speaking directly to me and at the same time as if I'd found a way to visit the inside of her cranium and chose the best, rosiest parts of her brain to pick at, either way it was a mesmerizing experience. I don't know that I can explain how much I loved this book. I'm looking forward to reading more of her.
December 27, 2022
A collection of 6 essays on art, literature and life.
January 19, 2021
Creo que este libro encarna lo que quiero en la vida: pasarme horas (páginas) hablando de algo que me apasiona y me interesa, y que he investigado y analizado, y que alguien tenga la paciencia/el interés suficiente como para sentarse a leer/escucharme todo el tiempo.
Me gusta mucho la forma en la que Siri habla de estas cosas que le apasionan. Me encanta Paul Auster y tenía ganas de leerla a ella también. Me ha generado muchas ideas, sensaciones y también provocado acciones (o ganas de hacer cosas al menos). Tengo el libro con mil frases subrayadas y ganas de hacer una relectura más consciente.
Aun así, las 3 estrellas las dejo porque, como digo al principio, dedica todo el libro a hablar de 4-5 cosas concretas que ella considera interesantes. Algunas me han gustado pero otras las he leído forzosamente, a veces pensando más en querer avanzar que disfrutándolas (pero siempre encontrando ideas interesantes). Mi cap favorito es el inicial, con un tinte más personal, y el que se me ha hecho más largo ha sido el análisis de Nuestro amigo común de Dickens. Influye el hecho de que no he leído este libro, así que confío que si algún día lo hago pueda volver a Siri, completar mi percepción y valorar mejor sus reflexiones.
Si te gusta la literatura y el arte, y pensar las cosas hasta la saciedad, este conjunto de ensayos valen mucho la pena. La forma en que habla del lenguaje, la identidad, nuestra relación con el arte y nuestro entorno me ha gustado muchísimo y me ha inspirado para escribir sobre ello, algo que siempre valoraré en un libro.
Me gusta mucho la forma en la que Siri habla de estas cosas que le apasionan. Me encanta Paul Auster y tenía ganas de leerla a ella también. Me ha generado muchas ideas, sensaciones y también provocado acciones (o ganas de hacer cosas al menos). Tengo el libro con mil frases subrayadas y ganas de hacer una relectura más consciente.
Aun así, las 3 estrellas las dejo porque, como digo al principio, dedica todo el libro a hablar de 4-5 cosas concretas que ella considera interesantes. Algunas me han gustado pero otras las he leído forzosamente, a veces pensando más en querer avanzar que disfrutándolas (pero siempre encontrando ideas interesantes). Mi cap favorito es el inicial, con un tinte más personal, y el que se me ha hecho más largo ha sido el análisis de Nuestro amigo común de Dickens. Influye el hecho de que no he leído este libro, así que confío que si algún día lo hago pueda volver a Siri, completar mi percepción y valorar mejor sus reflexiones.
Si te gusta la literatura y el arte, y pensar las cosas hasta la saciedad, este conjunto de ensayos valen mucho la pena. La forma en que habla del lenguaje, la identidad, nuestra relación con el arte y nuestro entorno me ha gustado muchísimo y me ha inspirado para escribir sobre ello, algo que siempre valoraré en un libro.
February 26, 2023
This is book three in my publication order (re-)read of all Hustvedt’s fiction and non-fiction. I was a bit late to the party with Hustvedt and didn’t start reading her until The Blazing World was Booker-listed. Since then, I’ve read several of her novels but am now working my way through them and mixing in the non-fiction as I go.
Reading the books in publication order gives a good perspective on an author’s development and on how ideas develop as they write. One of the things that really attracted me to Hustvedt’s writing in The Blazing World was the way she writes about art. Later on, I read Memories of the Future and I really liked what she wrote about memories and imagination. Both these things come into play here in this collection of six essays.
This isn’t the order in which the essays are presented in the book, but I’m going to mention them in an order that makes sense to me as I reflect back on my experience of the book. Two of the essays are about other books, The Great Gatsby and Our Mutual Friend. I haven’t read either of these books, but I now want to even though my previous attempts at other Dickens books haven’t gone all that well. The depths Hustvedt is able to explore in these novels, especially OMF, the longest essay in the collection, is really impressive. I have to admit that I got a bit distracted in the essay about Gatsby because she talks for a while about the character described as “owl eyed” and this snagged my interest because I’ve only recently read Ben Myers’ upcoming novel, Cuddy, which also contains a character known for his “owl eyes”.
The opening and title essay is about memory and place. Reading it now, 20 years and quite a few books later, it’s impossible not to think about Memories of the Future. It explores how our memories form and are altered by subsequent experiences, something which I think Hustvedt has stuck with in her writing.
A Plea for Eros is a bit of a tongue-in-cheek dig at contemporary sexual mores. “Contemporary” as in early-2000s when the book was published. Things have moved on, although this remains a thought-provoking essay.
Then there’s the art. I love the way Hustvedt writes about art. It’s one of my favourite things about her novels. And she definitely doesn’t disappoint in her non-fiction. Vermeer’s Annunciation presents a radical interpretation of Vermeer’s “Woman with a Pearl Necklace”. And “Ghosts at the Table” explores still life painting as it has developed through different art movements. Every time I read Hustvedt writing about a piece of art, I want to go and spend a long time looking at it. That’s frustrating in her fiction because the art doesn’t actually exist. But here she writes about real art and I can look at it on the internet which isn’t the same as looking at it for real but at least gives me an idea. And it also gives me a greater appreciation of the excellence of Hustvedt’s writing.
As I dedicate more and more of time to my photography and, in particular, to my abstract/expressionist photography, I appreciate more and more when people write well about art. So I devoured this book. Definitely one to re-read.
Reading the books in publication order gives a good perspective on an author’s development and on how ideas develop as they write. One of the things that really attracted me to Hustvedt’s writing in The Blazing World was the way she writes about art. Later on, I read Memories of the Future and I really liked what she wrote about memories and imagination. Both these things come into play here in this collection of six essays.
This isn’t the order in which the essays are presented in the book, but I’m going to mention them in an order that makes sense to me as I reflect back on my experience of the book. Two of the essays are about other books, The Great Gatsby and Our Mutual Friend. I haven’t read either of these books, but I now want to even though my previous attempts at other Dickens books haven’t gone all that well. The depths Hustvedt is able to explore in these novels, especially OMF, the longest essay in the collection, is really impressive. I have to admit that I got a bit distracted in the essay about Gatsby because she talks for a while about the character described as “owl eyed” and this snagged my interest because I’ve only recently read Ben Myers’ upcoming novel, Cuddy, which also contains a character known for his “owl eyes”.
The opening and title essay is about memory and place. Reading it now, 20 years and quite a few books later, it’s impossible not to think about Memories of the Future. It explores how our memories form and are altered by subsequent experiences, something which I think Hustvedt has stuck with in her writing.
A Plea for Eros is a bit of a tongue-in-cheek dig at contemporary sexual mores. “Contemporary” as in early-2000s when the book was published. Things have moved on, although this remains a thought-provoking essay.
Then there’s the art. I love the way Hustvedt writes about art. It’s one of my favourite things about her novels. And she definitely doesn’t disappoint in her non-fiction. Vermeer’s Annunciation presents a radical interpretation of Vermeer’s “Woman with a Pearl Necklace”. And “Ghosts at the Table” explores still life painting as it has developed through different art movements. Every time I read Hustvedt writing about a piece of art, I want to go and spend a long time looking at it. That’s frustrating in her fiction because the art doesn’t actually exist. But here she writes about real art and I can look at it on the internet which isn’t the same as looking at it for real but at least gives me an idea. And it also gives me a greater appreciation of the excellence of Hustvedt’s writing.
As I dedicate more and more of time to my photography and, in particular, to my abstract/expressionist photography, I appreciate more and more when people write well about art. So I devoured this book. Definitely one to re-read.
Read
February 14, 2017Hustvedt ponders the meaning of yonder – "The place of reading is a kind of yonder world, a place that is neither here nor there but made up of the bits and pieces of experience in every sense, both real and fictional, two categories that become harder to separate the more you think about them." – beautifully, traveling to Northfield, Minnesota, Norway, NYC, and her family’s past (Siri’s “private geography”). She ruminates on the reliability of memory, what you remember isn’t the same as I remember, which is true, are they both true, does it matter? And what about the “memories” that are yours, but not yours, family stories you grew up with and imagine quite differently than they actually happened – transposing her father’s memories of receiving his draft notice into a college friend’s house. But compare that with her grandfather, a second generation immigrant from Norway, and his exact knowledge of his family farm’s layout, despite only learning of it through his father’s words.
I’ve loved Siri’s works for awhile now – it all goes back to What I Loved – but this is my first experience with her nonfiction. I was expecting to enjoy it, but I wasn’t prepared for the emotional onslaught of the memories it stirred in me. She can exactly recall the layout of her grade school, and I realized: so can I. I know every hallway, room placement, despite not having visited the building in at least ten years – and going through I went through all the memories of each room: 2nd through 8th grade classrooms, gymnasium/cafeteria/auditorium/art room (it was a small school), administrative offices, my 7th grade teacher’s bookcase that held every Agatha Christie novel, her desk where she kept her vodka laced Diet Pepsi. I’m sure that most people can do this; I just didn’t realize I still held those memories, and how vividly. And I’m grateful to this essay for reminding me of it.
However, the middle essays weren’t as powerful for me. Siri sits in front of Vermeer’s Woman with a Pearl Necklace for four hours, reflects on Gatsby, and her mostly lacking “plea for eros.” While I liked her plea, I wanted more from it, an actual plea for actual eros, I wanted it to make me think deeper and pull things out of myself like Yonder did before it. The most interesting parts here were her personal reflections on her past romantic history and present history with her husband. It hits good points – “eroticism thrives both on borders and on distance”, “erotic pleasure, derived from the most intimate physical contact, thrives on the paradox that only by keeping the alive the strangeness of that other person can eroticism last” – but failed, for me, to go further.
Towards the end, there’s one on Our Mutual Friend that I can’t judge since the beginning made me actually want to read Dickens again, so I’m saving it for later.
The final essay, “Ghosts at the Table”, was a delight: “Still life is the art of the small thing, an art of holding on to the bits and pieces of our lives.” It’s hard enough to talk about art, and I’m honestly not up to talking about someone else talking about art, so I’ll end with four of the works she discusses instead.
On Chardin: “Still life, like all art, happens through selection. One thing is chosen over another, and through the artist’s choice, my eyes find a new focus. Chardin’s painting is not a reflection of the tables laid with sausages and knives that I have seen in my own life but a spectral reincarnation of that familiarity.”
On Cotan: “When I look at this painting, I do not feel the presence of the brother who ate that piece of melon. I do not even feel the painter. I am alone, staring into something both strange and incomprehensible. Like a monk, I am alone with God.”
On Matisse: “When I look at these still lifes by Matisse, I remember that ordinary things at home are also beautiful—a white pitcher on my red table, yellow roses in a blue vase. But looking at Matisse is not like looking at things at home. It is a more vivid, very recent memory—the imprint that remains after you have closed your eyes to the image in the light.”
On Giorgio Morandi: “Giorgio Morandi’s miraculous bottles fall within the tabletop genre and tantalize the viewer with a strange dynamic between belief and doubt. […] If you look long enough at his paintings, the forms seem to change in their light—not sunlight but light from some imaginary source.”
Follow up: OMF and Joseph Joubert’s notebooks for this quote: “Those for whom the world is not enough: poets, philosophers, and all lovers of books.”
I’ve loved Siri’s works for awhile now – it all goes back to What I Loved – but this is my first experience with her nonfiction. I was expecting to enjoy it, but I wasn’t prepared for the emotional onslaught of the memories it stirred in me. She can exactly recall the layout of her grade school, and I realized: so can I. I know every hallway, room placement, despite not having visited the building in at least ten years – and going through I went through all the memories of each room: 2nd through 8th grade classrooms, gymnasium/cafeteria/auditorium/art room (it was a small school), administrative offices, my 7th grade teacher’s bookcase that held every Agatha Christie novel, her desk where she kept her vodka laced Diet Pepsi. I’m sure that most people can do this; I just didn’t realize I still held those memories, and how vividly. And I’m grateful to this essay for reminding me of it.
However, the middle essays weren’t as powerful for me. Siri sits in front of Vermeer’s Woman with a Pearl Necklace for four hours, reflects on Gatsby, and her mostly lacking “plea for eros.” While I liked her plea, I wanted more from it, an actual plea for actual eros, I wanted it to make me think deeper and pull things out of myself like Yonder did before it. The most interesting parts here were her personal reflections on her past romantic history and present history with her husband. It hits good points – “eroticism thrives both on borders and on distance”, “erotic pleasure, derived from the most intimate physical contact, thrives on the paradox that only by keeping the alive the strangeness of that other person can eroticism last” – but failed, for me, to go further.
Towards the end, there’s one on Our Mutual Friend that I can’t judge since the beginning made me actually want to read Dickens again, so I’m saving it for later.
The final essay, “Ghosts at the Table”, was a delight: “Still life is the art of the small thing, an art of holding on to the bits and pieces of our lives.” It’s hard enough to talk about art, and I’m honestly not up to talking about someone else talking about art, so I’ll end with four of the works she discusses instead.
On Chardin: “Still life, like all art, happens through selection. One thing is chosen over another, and through the artist’s choice, my eyes find a new focus. Chardin’s painting is not a reflection of the tables laid with sausages and knives that I have seen in my own life but a spectral reincarnation of that familiarity.”
On Cotan: “When I look at this painting, I do not feel the presence of the brother who ate that piece of melon. I do not even feel the painter. I am alone, staring into something both strange and incomprehensible. Like a monk, I am alone with God.”
On Matisse: “When I look at these still lifes by Matisse, I remember that ordinary things at home are also beautiful—a white pitcher on my red table, yellow roses in a blue vase. But looking at Matisse is not like looking at things at home. It is a more vivid, very recent memory—the imprint that remains after you have closed your eyes to the image in the light.”
On Giorgio Morandi: “Giorgio Morandi’s miraculous bottles fall within the tabletop genre and tantalize the viewer with a strange dynamic between belief and doubt. […] If you look long enough at his paintings, the forms seem to change in their light—not sunlight but light from some imaginary source.”
Follow up: OMF and Joseph Joubert’s notebooks for this quote: “Those for whom the world is not enough: poets, philosophers, and all lovers of books.”
February 13, 2016
Initial note: 3 of the 6 pieces in this volume are already part of the 12-essay collection "A Plea for Eros", which I have previously reviewed (the duplicates are "Yonder", A Plea" and "Gatsby's Glasses.) Siri Hustvedt doesn't disappoint. In fact reading her this morning lifted my spirits, offering a much-needed respite from my life. In "Ghosts at the Table" she takes a fascinating look at the art form of still life and the role of the spectator, with particular focus on Chardin and Cotan (who she describes as occupying "the psychological poles" of still life) and Cezanne. In "Vermeer's Annunciation" we are witness to her emotional experience at a exhibition of the artist's works, with a detailed focus on the magic of "Woman with a Pearl Necklace" and "Girl with a Pearl Earring." I started reading "O.M.F. Revisited" (Dickens' "Our Mutual Friend") and became so intrigued I've decided to stop until I get a chance to read the novel first myself - hopefully very soon! I highly recommend this and the other collection to anyone who appreciates thoughtful and beautifully-written essays.
October 16, 2011
I love the ways this author looks at paintings. And memories. And articulates how, when we read, we visualize a book, and it is those images we remember, not the words so much. Even so, I want to write down the sentences that move me or I am connected to in some way. I know I will not remember the quotations. And that, even, there will be a day when I am looking through my journal and come across the words again, I might wonder, "Now, why did I write that down?" I love the exploration she takes us on in this collection of essays. It is quite a voyage into the known but not recognized.
January 16, 2019
First time reading Siri Hustvedt’s essays and it was a lovely experience. I’m not familiar with her works of fiction but I loved being inside her mind and reading her thoughts. My favorite essays were Yonder, Vermeer’s Annunciation and Ghosts at the Table. Her two essays on literature, although written wonderfully, failed to grasp me only because they were about books I am not interested in. The last time I read The Great Gatsby was more than a decade ago in school and although I do love and have read a lot of classic literature I’ve never been interested in reading Dickens. I tried reading O.M.F. Revisited, her essay on Dickens, but it was much too long and boring and I skipped it. Her writing is so intelligent and she has great things to say and writes beautifully. I would definitely read anything else she has published.
September 5, 2008
I loved these essays, but she's one of those authors that is very deep. But in a good way.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews