The Winter of Artifice: a facsimile of the original 1939 Paris edition (Villa Seurat) (Villa Seurat)

by Anaïs Nin

The original, uncensored 1939 edition of Anais Nin's third book and second volume of fiction is republished for the first time anywhere. Not to be confused with other Nin books titled 'Winter of Artifice,' which have dramatically different contents, these novellas that draw on Nin's experiences are occasionally so graphic in detail that the book was, according to Nin, banned in America. The depiction of the love triangle among Hans, Johanna, and the narrator in "Djuna" is the precursor of Nin's magnificent 'Henry and June,' the first volume of Nin's unexpurgated diary, the movie version of which was the first film to receive the NC-17 rating. One of the few surviving copies of 'The Winter of Artifice' was used to produce this facsimile.

Genres: Fiction, Short Stories, Classics, France, 20th Century, Erotica, Literature

322 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1948

About the author

Writer and diarist, born in Paris to a Catalan father and a Danish mother, Anaïs Nin spent many of her early years with Cuban relatives. Later a naturalized American citizen, she lived and worked in Paris, New York and Los Angeles. Author of avant-garde novels in the French surrealistic style and collections of erotica, she is best known for her life and times in The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volumes I-VII (1966-1980).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ana%C3%...

Reviews

[Janet · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm a lover of Anais Nin's fiction, and Winter of artifice is one of the greats. A spiderweb, a veil--you either love her or you hate her.

The first story in this collection--in my edition of it, all of them are different, for historical/censorship reasons. The history of the publication of this book is fascinating. "Stella", is a heartbreakingly lovely portrait of the actress Luise Rainer, who was a very close friend of Nin's, a stunning artist who was incredibly uneasy with her stardom. (Though the interaction with the father is all Nin's own story). So many of its images stay with me. Make sure, if you read this collection, that you get one that has "Stella" is in it. Although the Paris facsimile edition, put out by Blue Sky Press, has a story that appears in none of the others, "Djuna" which is a portrait of June Miller, well known from the Diaries and the film 'Henry and June'. Here's Stella:

"Stella sat in a small dark room and watched her own figure acting on the screen. Stella watched her "double" moving in the light, and she did not recognize her. She almost hated her. … The shock came from some violent contrast between Stella's image of herself and the projected self she could not recognize at all…. the image on the screen was completely washed of the coloring and tones of sadness…"

"Sitting next to her, they [the audience] did not see her, intent on loving the woman on the screen. Because she was giving to many what most gave to the loved one… They were permitted to witness the exposure of being in a moment of high feeling, of tenderness, indulgence, dreaming, abandon, sloppiness, mischievousness, which was only uncovered in moments of love and intimacy… The woman on the screen was a stranger to her. … What stella had seen on the screen, the figure of which she had been so instantaneously jealous, was the free stella. What did not appear on the screen was the shadow of Stella, her demons, doubt and fear. And Stella was jealous. She was not only jealous of a more beautiful woman, but of a free woman."

And this is the image that will always haunt me:

"Once when Stella was on the stage acting a love scene, which was taking place after a scene in a snowstorm, one of the flakes of artificial snow remained on the wing of her small and delicate nose…. all during the is scene there lay the snowflake catching the light and flashing signals of gently humorous inappropriateness and misplacement. The snowflake gave the scene an imperfection which touched the heart and brought all the feelings of the watchers to converge and rest upon than infinitely moving absurdity of the misplaced snowflake…"

I will always think of Luise Rainer and that snowflake.

[Rowena · Rating 5 out of 5]

Splendiferous! Once again I'm enthralled by Anais Nin's writing. It's quite interesting that I don't really like any of the characters in this book (a couple are pretty awful) yet all three stories in this novella were brilliant. I especially liked the second story (Winter of Artifice). Great in-depth look into the psychological side of seriously-flawed relationships, and beautiful and poetic language,as usual. Definitely worth re-reading.

[Lisa Wilson · Rating 1 out of 5]

This novel (or three stories) is literally just esoteric inner monologue which lacks a plot. The writing is heavy handed and screams of hyper conflation. Rather than being swept away in the current of the story, the reader literally drowns in the author’s attempt to prove herself linguistically adept. Instead of sounding fresh, new, and intellectual, the writing comes off as the incessant, melodramatic drivel of an insecure woman who is trying to prove herself amid the company of those who consider themselves great “thinkers” of their day. While Nin may have been trying hard to impress her literary friends by producing something profound, the writing here comes off as nothing short of self-aggrandizing prattle. The philosophizing is so overripe that I almost expected Nin to find the beauty of a holy sacrament in Johanna’s lipstick marks on a cigarette butt or shades of Nirvana in a stream of Hans’s urine. Nin simply strains too much and seems as though she was desperately writing with a thesaurus at hand. She uses three adjectives when one would suffice; she repeats descriptions in triplicate. It occurs so often that instead of creating a rhythm in the language, it bogs the reader down. A good work of fiction engrosses the reader, makes him or her invest in the stories and care about the characters. I experienced none of those things in reading this book. It’s no wonder these people, the characters and those upon whom they were based, were so screwed up…They sought the mystical in the common, they philosophized over minutiae, they tried to parlay their experiences into something enigmatic and lofty. What they really needed was less time on their hands and a good shrink (other than “the Voice”)!

[Bryan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mostly consisting of the very psychoanalytic interior monologues, these stories are best when narrative takes a back seat for pure poetry. Though nothing much happens, the lace-like intricacy of the language is to be admired, as well as the crystaline disentaglement of the murky relationships between human psyches. Very sensual and decadent, Nin is an aesthete's dream.

[Janelle · Rating 4 out of 5]

Three novellas. Stella - a self doubting actress
Winter of Artifice - a father daughter reunited after many years apart
The Voice - an analyst and his relationship with patients
I haven’t read Anaïs Nin for many years but as soon as I started her voice was familiar. I love the way her thoughts flow always searching for the precise word to describe emotions and situations. I particularly like The Voice, there’s a surrealism to it that seems to capture the weirdness of listening to other people’s dreams and fears all day.

[Serene Chang · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book healed me in ways I can't even disclose. Demanding reality to be crushed for love to exist, falling in love with the performance, jealous of how you are perceived to others, theory of forms

Substantively- how and when was your love for someone killed? What point in childhood was the possibility of paradise replaced by anguish? Aesthetically- truth and lies, the subconscious, dreams, fantasies, mirrors and shadows, the symphony and ballet, Lilith and god

"She lay in the darkness of her white satin bedroom, the mirrors throwing aureoles of false moonlight, the rows of perfume bottles creating false suspended gardens"

[Maxime Daher · Rating 5 out of 5]

Whoa! I have been recommended to read Anaïs Nin for a very long time but have kept postponing it until a few days ago - and now not only do I regret this postponement, but I am utterly hooked on her! What a woman, and what a great writer!

[Dr. K · Rating 3 out of 5]

Anaïs Nin short stories aren't stories - they're paintings.

I enjoy beautiful writing that doesn't have much plot but has a lot of inner torment. There's a profound cosmopolitan sadness in these stories and many beautiful passages to underline. We experience the inner world of women seeking both love and an understanding of love.

For the reasons above, I also find it challenging to review Nin. These stories melt together in my memory, and are not dissimilar from her other works. But what she does, she does well.

Recommended if you've read some Nin and are craving more, and also recommended to read in the sun on a riverbank while eating cherries. 3 stories, 3 stars.

[aliya]

la la la la love her

[Jamie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Winter of Artifice by Anais Nin is a set of three novelettes that explore relationships between woman and lover, woman and father, and patient and therapist. Nin writes eloquently in her stories and goes deep into the intricacies of the imperfections of relationships. The beauty of her language balances the often negative nature of the stories themselves. The prose used in the three stories give each story a haunting and unearthly quality, while exposing some of the deep seeded realities of human nature.

[Nadia Kay · Rating 4 out of 5]

“I look at the people walking in the street, just walking, and I feel this: they are walking, but they are also being carried away.”

“Looking down at them to keep fresh in him the wound of compassion.”

“I want to live only with the intimate self of the other. I only care about the intimate self. I hate to see people in the world, their masks, their falsities, their surrender to the world, their resemblance to others, their promiscuity. I only care about the secret self. I suppose I only want the dream and the isolation.”

[Jed · Rating 3 out of 5]

I think Winter is Anais Nin's most evokative and far-reaching work. Deeply psychological and exploratory of the trenches that love and intimacy can carve with either a delicate sculptor's hand or butcher's two left thumbs. There are three novelettes here. Each story interconnected to the three women artists dealing with the layers of damage.

[S · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the few authors whose fiction is relatable. I am hopelessly in love with her.

“The whole world is based on fear, even behind the jealousy of the day before lay dear. Fear of being alone, fear of being abandoned, fear of life, fear of being trapped in tragedy, fear of the animal in us, fear of one's hatred, of committing a crime, fear of cancer, of syphilis, of starvation.”

[Mads · Rating 2 out of 5]

Consistently considered one star for this book until I read the third story, The Voice. Somehow that one did what the others couldn’t, and I was finally let in on the secret love for Nin that many hold.

[G Reads · Rating 5 out of 5]

Anaïs Nin is a masterclass in writing. The way she transmits the most gut wrenching and complex emotion into even just quips of dialogue is a masterpiece in itself. While you may not find every story to be so deeply connected to you, I think you'd absolutely find something relatable in at least one story, if not in many of the characters.

The only painful read were some of these reviews. Some claim rambling too much or summarize all her work with just “daddy issues”-- yikes, spare me lol I guess it is a matter of you vibe with her or you don’t-- that being said, resonating with her writing is such a profound treasure & I found it exceptionally easy to connect with her. She's easily become a beloved author of mine based off of this work.

I found her first story to be especially compelling. Nin's ability to offer such unadulterated emotional depth to her characters-- one that does not force the reader to choose sides but rather see & feel without boundaries upon the character or the reader. I would absolutely recommend this to anyone, especially if they experience or have every experienced the listless discomfort of navigating foundational relationships. 5 stars. Sensational read.

[Φερειπείν · Rating 4 out of 5]

A heartbreaking description of a controversial father-daughter relationship, which oscillates between insecurity and the lack of a clear identity. This relationship has clear elements of a romantic fantasy, constantly moving on the hidden path of its underlying realization, but it ends in the perverse and twisted distortion of love, as both parties realize that each finds in the other the selfish love of themselves, as he's returning to the past and she's facing the future, without him.

Χειμώνας τεχνασμάτων. Αναϊς Νιν
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"Ένιωθε ανάπηρη, χαμένη, μεταφυτεμμένη, ξεσηκωμένη, γεμάτη σχέδια για το μέλλον".
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Ένα πολύ ιδιαίτερο ανάγνωσμα όσο ιδιαίτερη υπήρξε και η δημιουργός του. Δεν ξέρω πόσο θα είναι εύκολα διαχειρίσιμο από όλους τους αναγνώστες, ωστόσο η δυναμική και ομορφιά του λόγου της είναι αδιαμφισβήτητη οπότε αφήνω την ανάρτηση εδώ για όποιον ενδιαφέρεται.
📖📖📖
Μια σπαρακτική περιγραφή για την αμφιλεγόμενη σχέση πατέρα-κόρης, που παραπαίει στην ανασφάλεια και την αδυναμία οριοθέτησης καθώς ντύνεται ξεκάθαρα στοιχεία μιας ερωτικής φαντασίωσης, κινείται συνεχώς στο κρυφό μονοπάτι της υποβόσκουσας πραγμάτωσής της, αλλά καταλήγει στη διαστροφική και στρεβλή παραποίηση της αγάπης, καθώς και τα δύο μέρη αντιλαμβάνονται πως έκαστος βρίσκει στον άλλον την εγωπαθή αγάπη του ίδιου του εαυτού του, εκείνος επιστρέφοντας στο παρελθόν και εκείνη αντικρίζοντας το μελλον, χωρίς εκείνον.
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Οι εκφράσεις της Αναΐς Νιν μοιάζουν με την αγωνιώδη προσπάθεια ενός ανθρώπου που ασθμαίνοντας τρέχει να προλάβει. Να προλάβει την τέλεια απόδοση του νοήματος που περικλείεται στην τέλεια φράση, αυτήν που εντόπισε φευγαλέα κάπου στο μυαλό του και αποδίδει με χειρουργική ακρίβεια αυτό που επιδιώκει να εκφράσει. Ο λόγος της διαθέτει τη δυναμική τοποθέτηση των ρεαλιστικών παρομοιώσεων , που καταλαμβάνουν υπολογίσιμη παρουσία στο χώρο, δύσκολο να την αγνοήσεις.

[shelly · Rating 4 out of 5]

"She is lost herself. All that she says about herself is false. She is misleading and misled. No one will admit blindness. No one who does not have a white cane, or a seeing eye dog will admit blindness. Yet there is no blindness or deafness as strong as that which takes place within the emotional self."

[leni_hermanni · Rating 3 out of 5]

Didn't like it as much as her other ones. I felt the subject of her eternal anticipation of her father was interesting at first but honestly it got unnecessarily tiring.

[Jill · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is very beautiful and Anaïs Nin has daddy issues.

[Mina Widding · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tre noveller, i Nins poetiska, ganska abstrakta stil. Personporträtt, relationsdramatik, mycket psykologi. Jag klarar inte av att lägga bort min läsning av hennes dagböcker, och söker, eftersom jag vet att det finns och hon öppet talar om det, efter hennes egna erfarenheter omvandlade till dessa fiktioner. Och problemet är kanske den där slöjan mellan, att om novellerna skrivits ur ett genuint jagperspektiv, med den ärlighet som finns i dagböckerna, så skulle det ha känts mer. Mer verkligt, kanske. Anaïs Nin är ingen gestaltare, och det stör också läsningen, eftersom den blir hoppig. Karaktärerna och vad som händer i novellerna, är inte rotade, inte fyllda av kött och blod, det är ett psykologiskt beskrivande av det som sker i huvudet på dem, ett förklarande av deras beteenden snarare än en gestaltning av det, som faktiskt hade drabbat mig starkare. De består nu av sammanfogade fragment vars narrativa linje kan anas men som förmodligen står starkast för den som upplevt det själv (det vill säga Nin själv, oavsett om det handlar om egna erfarenheter eller omksrivningar av hennes vänners erfarenheter) och lite klarare för en som har läst dagböckerna och är bekant med både tematik och händelser genom dem (som för mig). Men utan denna förkunskap vet jag inte hur jag kunnat ta till mig berättelserna. Kanske bättre? För att jag inte söker och jämför, utan hade haft friheten att ta dem för vad de är? Eller sämre, för att fragmenten glidit isär, tidsrytmerna visat sig vara alltför dissonanta, karaktärerna glidit alltför mycket samman. Som det verkligen blir i den sista novellen, The voice. Djuna & Lilith känns som samma person för mig, ävne om hon försökt klä dem i lite olika personligheter och också visar deras vetskap. Och vem är den där Lillian som dyker upp en gång och sedan inte mer? Bara en annan sida av fortfarande samma kvinna, allihopa? Jag är rädd för det. I titelnovellen, som berör Nins förhållande till sin fader, är det också konstiga tidshopp, händelser som inte förklaras eller skrivs ut i gestaltade scener, utan det mesta försiggår uppe i huvudet på henne. Det gör att man inte riktigt förstår hennes svängning, då hon inser falskheten i faderns kärlek och börjar lösgöra sig från den. Det hade blivit tydligare och kraftfullare, om det byggts ut till en hel bok, eller en längre novell, där det som sker i huvudet hade fått synas mer i deras rörelser, och manifesteras i novellmiljön.
Det finns en stark poetisk och psykologisk drivkraft i Anaïs Nins berättelser, ochjag känner likheter med mitt eget sätt att skriva (och jag har också beskyllts för att inte gestalta!) och kanske påverkar tiden, men det är ändå ett element jag saknat i min läsning. Antingen det, eller att renodla det till poesi, för de mest fantastiska passagerna i boken är de kursiva drömsekvenser/upplevelser som beskriver första mötet med fadern (och möjligen är en poetisk omskrivning för ett incestuöst möte) och i den sista novellen, en drömbeskrivning som också reflekterar Djunas poetiska och psykologiska sinne. Stella innehåller inte lika starka element av poesi men börjar med en poetisk beskrivning av hur skådespelaren Stella känner en stark skillnad mellan sig själv på duken och sitt ”verkliga jag”. Hon kan det där med metaforer, jämförelser, psykologiska skildringar. Men det är något som saknas i det narrativa, som skapar flödet. För inte måste det vara gestaltning och konventionellt narrativ, inte alls. Men det saknas en förankring, en konsekvens mellan sekvenserna, något som jag som läsare kan hålla som en ledstång, oavsett hur abstrakt den ledstången är.

[Lee Foust · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is my first reading of Anaïs Nin and I must say I'm impressed. Although not completely blown away, the originality here is remarkable and this is indeed a very good book. I just read the Wikipedia entry to get a little more background on it, and learned something from its publication history: namely that the three novelettes were originally more connected, the first two featuring the character names of Djuna and Lilith, who then appear together in the third novelette. Although I can't compare the other--apparently copious--textual revisions, I will say I think I would have preferred the characters' identities to specifically link up between the three texts. The reason I felt compelled to look up the wikipedia entry was, I suppose, a certain feeling of incompleteness, of not quite getting it all. Even if all of the other words of the three texts were the same I think this small sense of cohesion, of following two characters through the various states described in the three tales, would have given me a greater feeling of cohesiveness.

But wait, aren't you the guy who hates pandering to an audience? I am, but still, that's the way I felt about it--so sue me.

What I loved about the three texts is that, unlike most writers, modernist like Nin or otherwise, they were about 90% character study with only the smallest concessions made to event or plot, yet this worked brilliantly. I would have thought the pure expository descriptions would have gotten tiresome but they never do. I loved the fact that Nin wrote absolutely against maybe the most common rule of thumb of contemporary writing and showed us that it can be totally ignored while still writing great fiction.

The tales themselves, the film actress and her daddy issues, the woman who tries to deal with her daddy issues through an incestuous relationship with daddy himself, and the several characters undergoing therapy in the search for a daddy substitute, thematically link up quite well (obviously), which is why I guess I would have preferred for the characters to remain the same, in order to draw the three sections into an avowed single, thematic novel. reading on Wikipedia that the four characters (as they stand in the definitive version of the text) are all explorations of Nin's own psyche, only goes to show we are indeed made of multitudes. Each of have a lot of literary characters inside us. (Sadly, this probably proves literature to be rather reductive of the complexities of reality, but what isn't?)

Well, single novel or thematically linked trio of novelettes, it's fine and groundbreaking work and I look forward to reading more Nin.

[Fallen · Rating 2 out of 5]

When I was younger and fixing to thrill along the library stacks, Anaïs Nin was one of the names geared to me. She, Henry Miller, Marquis de Sade, and the like were likened as “edgy” whose works purportedly tantalized. I’m sure this likeness still holds.

However, when I actually read their work, there’s little wonder to take in. A part of that can be attributed to the time differences since many of those names, including Nin’s, wrote in different eras whose literary vogues differed drastically from now; yet for me, it was the overall content was the rub of being nonplussed.

The personae are largely eccentric, perhaps deliberate caricatures of aristocracy whom delight in hedonism or excess. Despite their colourful carnalities, they’re impossible to relate to; which becomes painfully clear each time I revisit these works or explore those I haven’t read already.

Nin is no exception to this. She writes beautifully, but erratically and somewhat pretentiously; and this is one of many testaments as how or why texts falter against the test of time. Gratuitous musings and torrid diction mot only misdirect, but diminish the focus; and admirers will then allege the text itself is artfully “ambiguous.” I find myself drawn to collections like Little Birds and Delta of Venus because they’re more pointed, as unremarkable as they may be. The same applies to A Spy in the House of Love.

Winter of Artifice is not of that and therefore seems rightfully lesser known. Its characters are not hot-blooded, vaguely indulgent or inconsiderate victims of indecision or stringent status quo; they’re simply shells whom resent or blither through life as they know it. Nin’s writing dresses them up nicely, but I find the quality of writing fares worse if it goes nowhere. I resolved to read this book as I strive to cover Nin’s publications in their entirety, but I wouldn’t recommend this collection overall.

[Nate D · Rating 3 out of 5]

Like Absolution, a trio of novellas. But not connected, and unlike Absolution in every other conceivable manner. Or perhaps thematically connected by a focus on terrible fathers and the daughters whose lives have been disrupted (or destroyed, or left with lingering obsessions) by them. And by a tendency to tell what people are like at extreme lengths without moving into scenes of action which would better show this. For the first two stories, it's utterly stifling, but in the last, The Voice, which is more concerned with a wider web of relationships connected through psychoanalysis, the distance and focus on telling makes much more meaningful sense and the whole is a much richer experience. Nin is known for using her published diaries as source material for many of her fictions. Which in general can lead to lazy readings, but seems somewhat unavoidable information with her. Her best work is, of course, the material she is able to reconfigure most effectively, to move furthest from tis raw source, and this feels true of The Voice. (Even if wikipedia tells me that Nin had had affairs with no less than two of her own psychoanalysists by the time she wrote it. This information is I think neither here nor there as far as the story itself goes, but funny to know in hindsight. Maybe I'll spoiler this.)

Apparently this changed form very substantially over several printings starting in 1939. This refers to the final 1948 version. I did not enjoy parts 1 and 2 but I'll bump this up to 3 stars for the 4-star third part, which is fortunately longest.

[D. Thrush · Rating 3 out of 5]

Each fictional story is based on relationships in Nin’s life. The first dealt with a writer and his wife (based on Henry Miller and his wife) both of whom she was attracted to, then the complicated relationship with her father who abandoned the family when she was a child, and her professional and personal relationship with her therapist. Here’s a line that grabbed me from the first story: “Let’s cultivate our insanity like precious flowers.” Nin is a truly gifted writer. The way she weaves words is magical and mesmerizing. However, in each of the three stories I felt that her prose went off on long tangents that lost me. Sometimes I wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to convey and the long passages were difficult to get through. Still, there are moments of great insight and brilliant prose. She inspires me as a writer.

[Connor Leavitt · Rating 4 out of 5]

Artfully written. Musical. Diaristic. What you'd expect if you know the basics about Anaïs Nin. A bit too Freudian in perspective. In many places, orientalizing or reducing in a way that is so typically French intellectual.

All three novellas depict severe alienation brought on by...mostly daddy issues. The titular Stella recoils at the Don Juan who reflects her father, the very transparent author-insert in "Winter of Artifice" recoils at the Don Juan who *is* her father, and Lilith makes a father of her therapist (the Voice) after he helps her work thru trauma from her biological father's abandonment. The reader is caught in swirling emotional maelstroms, characters dancing between questions of authenticity and artifice.

[Sara · Rating 4 out of 5]

These were three psychological portraits, very Freudian and in dialogue with the psychoanalytic movement. I really enjoyed the first two stories, but the last one, “The voice” did not make much sense to me at all and it was hard to follow. There are some beautiful phrases and images in here though. Overall it took me a while to get through because it was so dense, but I did find some passages very fulfilling and relatable. Here’s my favorite passage, from the second story:

“He had not discovered as she had that by meeting the person she feared to meet, by reading the letter she feared to read, by giving life a chance to strike at her she had discovered that it struck less cruelly than her imagination. To imagine was far more terrible than reality, because it took place in a void, it was untestable.”

[Hannah Gadbois · Rating 4 out of 5]

"He had not learned what she had learned: not to clutch at the perfume of flowers, not to touch the dew, not to tear all the curtains down, to let exaltation and breath rise, vanish. The perfume of the hours distilled only in silence, the heavy perfume of mysteries untouched by human fingers. The friction of words generated only pain and division. He had not learned to formulate without destroying, without tampering, without withering. An awe of the senses."

[Natasha · Rating 4 out of 5]

“The loss of memory was like the loss of a chain. With all this fluidity came a great lightness. Without memory I was immensely light, vaporous, fluid. The memory was the density which I could not transcend except in the dream.
I was not lost, I had only lost the past. Sand passing through the hourglass which never turned. Passing.”

[Ryan · Rating 2 out of 5]

This was very dense and very visceral. It had its moments, but it is hindered by bad writing and lumbering, rambling prose.

The first of the three novelettes was torture. The following two teetered between uncomfortable and boring.

[Adrienne · Rating 2 out of 5]

Overwritten. Like, so many words about feelings and almost nothing happening and the whole time I'm afraid these daddy issues are gonna erupt into incest cause, well, Nin. This type of writing does nothing for me.