Eugenio Montale's (1896-1981) The Butterfly of Dinard ranks with his poetry as the most important work of this Italian master. By virtue of similarity of theme and background, this collection of prose sketches and the poetry complement one another, and of the fundamental aspects of the poems for which Montale is better known.
Eugenio Montale was born on October 12, 1896 in Genoa, Italy. He was the youngest son of Domenico Montale and Giuseppina (Ricci) Montale. They were brought up in a business atmosphere, as their father was a trader in chemicals. Ill health cut short his formal education and he was therefore a self-taught man free from conditioning except that of his own will and person. He spent his summers at the family villa in a village. This small village was near the Ligurian Riviera, an area which has had a profound influence on his poetry and other works. Originally Montale aspired to be an opera singer and trained under the famous baritone Ernesto Sivori. Surprisingly he changed his profession and went on to become a poet who can be considered the greatest of the twentieth century’s Italian poets and one who won the prestigious Nobel Prize in Literature in 1975 "for his distinctive poetry which, with great artistic sensitivity, has interpreted human values under the sign of an outlook on life with no illusions."
A set of 50 very short stories from Italy by the Poet, Eugenio Montale. The autobiographical stories are about his childhood, adult life in Italy and growing old in Milan.
I found these stories too short to develop and just average to read.
The Author did win the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1975.
It's not always that children—at once sworn enemies and friends of animals—have within their reach so rich and varied a store of natural wealth as was to be found in zoos of the big cities before the bombs had set free rattlesnakes and tropical animals. There are—the more so in countries still called civilised—children almost completely deprived of the fabulous bestiary of one's infancy, children for whom the Pillars of Hercules are represented by the dog, the cat and the horse, and even these not always the best specimens. In these circumstances the boys of my generation, who knew practically nothing about the game of football or about any other game, used to rely for their amusement on their imagination, and on the legends of olden times. If the menagerie was missing, it was not beyond them to invent one for themselves—each, of course, after his own fashion.
Book of 50 short stories, mostly autobiographically inspired, by the 20th Century Italian poet Eugenio Montale. The stories are also chronologically arranged, from childhood to late success. The stories are all very short. I do not believe any story takes more than 10 minutes to read. Unlike many short story collections, there were few if any duds. The book includes helpful footnotes to explain cultural (especially operatic) references.
I'm glad I read it, but it wasn't particularly thought-provoking or moving. My favorite piece was the one about the man who held on to the memories of his dead friends, even though they were so different than how they were remembered by their widows.
The significance of this collection escapes me, I will be honest. If there is a category of literature that is notable within a certain time and place but that has little relevance to a modern reader, is it still notable? Worth the honor of an NYRB pick? Worth the time to read? Perhaps to a scholar of Italian literature, perhaps, and I am not that.
Some stories were entertaining, some were funny, but many were just flat. I will have to read a few GR reviews and ponder my rating, but for now it's just a 3.
A collection of (very) short stories that read more like snapshots of Italy from WW1 to the post-WW2 reconstruction era. The quality felt pretty uneven, with some stories being absolute heaters and others being odd journeys into esoteric, seemingly meaningless details of Montale’s life. The entire work is shot through the existentialism that dominated the shellshocked post-war years, however, Montale’s style of distilling narratives to their most condensed form at the sacrifice of exposition prevents many of the stories from having much bite. While I can recognize his importance in the Western and specifically Italian canon for helping to shed the dense, flowery prose that dominated the pre-war literary scene, I can’t help but think the approach would bear more fruit in poetry (which is what he’d known for) or novels (ala Hemingway). Overall, a decent collection that’s fragmentary approach to the World Wars accurately captures a feeling of ordinary citizens sifting through the wreckage of past lives, memories, what ifs, and what now’s.
May 2024 NYRB Book Club Selection Some of these short pieces are deeply incisive or feature startling images that grabbed my attention (the first piece and the last six in particular) - others drag across five pages with references to opera and concerts in which I quickly lost interest. A mixed-bag then for the casual reader and a fitting end for another year of the NYRB subscription that made me remember why I let it lapse in the first place - much easier to simply request the ones that interest me at the library (they didn't even put a Sorokin in the book club! very disappointed). I can only be so literarily cultured, after all.
Overall, the book seems put together backwards. The best saved for last, and the problem there is that I nearly missed that because I almost put it down much earlier. Part 3 with it's short snappy prose remains my favorite with part 4 running a close second. So why 4 stars if I nearly abandoned it? I read simply for pleasure, and this is well written, but I didn't care for the first 2 parts, too morose for me. Maybe another read later when it's not raining would help? The introduction explains the arrangement and points toward greater depth than I found. The butterfly left before I could get acquainted properly. Maybe I'll see hum again.
Read these very short prose pieces singularly bit by bit, occasionally, as they would be read in a newspaper, not several at a time.
Montale's short prose was published in the newspaper Corriere della Sera. This collection of 50 reproduces those published in book form--beginning in 1956-- with the additional stories of the 1973 edition. The notes are helpful, especially for the musical references.
These stories were written over a 10-year period in the late 1940s. It would have been nice to have the dates of the original publications added to the title so we have the historical context, especially for those describing fascist Italy.
“if other people's love affairs (and especially those of our friends) appear at times incomprehensible, to the point of seeming exaggerated and contrived, as though a praiseworthy capability was being wasted, the same can be said with minor variations about friendships. Here, too, our judgments tend to be both tyrannical and proverbial: "A man is known by the company he keeps," and so on. But the premise is unjust, as each and every one of us has had at least one friendship that we don't know how to explain, not even to ourselves.”
"Gli uomini sono un po' come i libri: ne leggete distrattamente uno, e non prevedete che finirà per lasciare in voi una traccia incancellabile; ne digerite con ogni zelo un altro, che abbia tutta l'aria di esser degno dell'impresa; e scorsi pochi mesi vi accorgete che la fatica è stata peggio che inutile. Ma sul primo momento, al primo incontro, il risultato finale, la perdita o il profitto, sono sospesi a un punto interrogativo." (La piuma di struzzo, p. 64)
I can see that Montale is a poet. A short story writer, well I have mix feelings about that. There are two short stories in this collection that I love - AN Awkard Conversation and Widows are great. There are some wonderful passages in many of the other stories, but most of them were just okay.
While I prefer Montale as a poet, I was still charmed by these short stories. Some melancholic, some hilarious, some much more memorable than others. For fans of Natalia Ginzburg and Pier Paolo Pasolini.
collection of very short stories, translated from Italian. A handful of standouts for me with unique, diverse "micro" moments explored, but overall I found it a slog to get through. Got this as part of the NYRB book club subscription for May
Good but not great. Moments of greatness in individual pieces, but perhaps overall a little too slight to be truly excellent. Still, slight Montale outdoes good others.