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بدون توقف: سيرة ذاتية
بعد مرور 15 عاماً على رحيل بول بولز، ومن خلال سيرته الصادرة عن منشورات {ضفاف} و«الاختلاف} بعنوان {بدون توقف}، نطل عليه لنكتشف جوانب {ألف ليلة وليلة} في علاقة الكاتب الأميركي بمدينة طنجة وعلاقته بالموسيقى والرواة والشعر والفن والمكان والمحرمات وثقافات الشعوب، كيف أن الكتابة تصنع أسطورة مدينة وكيف أن المدينة تصنع أسطورة الكاتب.
يعترف الروائي الأميركي بول بولز (1910 - 1999) «أن كتابة سيرة حياة ليست بالعمل المرضي في أحسن الأحوال. لعلها نوع من الكتابة الصحافية، حيث التقرير، بدل أن يكون تقرير شاهد عيان على الحدث، هو مجرد ذكرى لآخر مرة يتم فيها تذكر ذلك}.
تتضمن سيرة بولز ذاكرته منذ نشأته في بيئة ثقافية متنوعة حتى وصوله إلى المدن المغربية التي كانت حقلاً لاكتشاف الثقافة الشفوية وصناعتها من بعد تسجيلها، وهناك أيضاً تعرَّف إلى الأدباء والكتاب والرسامين. يكتب ذلك كله في رحلة أشبه بالمتاهة مليئة بمعلومات وسرديات ومشهديات المدن.
جاء بولز إلى طنجة بتحريض من الكاتبة الأميركية المقيمة في باريس جترورد شتاين. فقد بدا لها الشاب مشوش الذهن، حائراً بين النوتات الموسيقية ومسالك الشعر وقد ظنَّت أن طنجة بما تجمعه من تناقضات ستتيح متسعاً للتأمل والتفكير في ما قد يتخذه مستقبله من شكل أو أشكال، لا سيما أن رفيقه في الرحلة كان الموسيقار الأميركي آرون كوبلاند... بولز هذا الكاتب الأميركي الذي أقام في طنجة منذ نهاية الأربعينيات من القرن الماضي مع زوجته جين آور، في منزل في المدينة القديمة في منطقة القصبة، غير بعيد عن قبر ابن بطوطة، وبدلاً من المكوث في هذه المدينة صيفاً واحداً، سكن فيها وتناغم مع طبيعتها طوال أربعة عقود ونيف. كان يعتبرها مثل الحلم، فعايش التغييرات التي حلت على طبيعة المدينة وناسها، مثل ظهور جهازي الراديو والتلفزيون، ثم مختلف التقنيات المعاصرة التي اجتاحت العالم.
اختار بولز طنجة لتكون مستقره، واعترف غير مرة أنها كانت مصدر إلهامه، إذ كان مجتمعها يوفر له مادة غنية لتأليف أعمال حول الثقافة المغربية، خصوصاً أنه، كما صرح بذلك، كان يكتب للأوروبيين والأميركيين وليس للمغاربة.
محاولات شعرية
ومع أن بولز كان يعتبر نفسه شاعراً، إذ نشر بعض القصائد في مجلة سوريالية باللغة الفرنسية، وكان في السابعة عشرة عندما نشرت مجلّة «تحوّل» الطليعية في باريس قصائده الأولى، وبدا فيها منحازاً إلى «الكتابة الآلية»، فإن الأديبة والناقدة شتاين كانت تعتبر هذه المحاولات مجرد تفاهات تثير اشمئزازها أكثر من إعجابها. ومع ذلك واصل كتابة الشعر وتأليف الموسيقى وكانت طنجة المبتدأ والخبر في سيرة حياة كان عنوانها العريض الارتحال بين جغرافيات طبيعية وثقافية مختلفة.
كتب بولز أيضاً نصوصاً إبداعية تتراوح بين الرحلة وبين القصة القصيرة والرواية، وكان المتن هنا كما في اللحمة في توليفاته الموسيقية أحداثاً وشخصيات تستنبط من واقع طنجة ومن مدن إنسانية أخرى شدت نظره.
والحال أن ما نقرأه مجموعاً في سيرة بولز يبدو كأننا اطلعنا عليه في سير أدباء طنجة ورواتها وشعرائها، بدءاً من رواة طنجة وأقوالهم إلى كتاب {بول بولز وعزلة طنجة} بقلم الروائي المغربي محمد شكري، وهو محاولة لتصفية حساب قديم، حساب مع بولز يتعدى العلاقة الشخصية ليكتسب أبعاداً ثقافية وربما تاريخية. فقد كان لبولز الفضل في التعريف بإنتاج شكري ومحمد المرابط الشفوي والروائي على الصعيد الأنكلوساكسوني، واتهماه في أحاديث صحفية بالنصب والتدليس والتحايل على حقوقهما الأدبية من دون أن يتمكنا من البرهنة على ذلك. لكن بول بولز لم يكن قلقاً قط على وضعه الاعتباري رغم كل شيء: كان يعتقد أن أحداً لن يهرب من مصيره، وكان يتساءل أحياناً ما إذا كانت نزعته القدرية جاءته من إقامته الطويلة بين المغاربة، أم أنه اختار العيش بينهم لأن قدريته وجدت صداها فيهم.
بولز الذي عشق طنجة وعاش فيها لأكثر من 50 عاماً، لم يكن مغربياً ولم يكن أميركيا، وفي ثقافته كان مقرباً من الفرنسيين، أسهم في أسطرة المدينة المغربية من خلال الإضاءة على جوانب هامشية فيها، وربما استغلها. كان عرضة للنقد، إذ اتهم من الإعلام السياسي في المغرب، في أوائل الستينيات، بالعمل لحساب المخابرات المركزية الأميركية لمجرد أنه كان يقوم بجولة في أقاليم نائية لتسجيل الموسيقى الشعبية بطلب من خزانة الكونغرس الأميركي. وحينما شرع في نشر ترجماته لمرويات العربي العياشي، ومحمد المرابط، وأحمد اليعقوبي، وجه إليه اليسار الثقافي (عبد الله العروي والطاهر بن جلون الخ)، في خضم موجة نقد الكتابات الاستعمارية، تهم الفلكلورية والسعي إلى نشر صورة {شائهة ومتخلفة} عن المغرب في الخارج.
واللافت أن سيرته ترجمت متأخرة بعدما صدر كثير من أعماله بالعربية من بينها {العقرب} و«السماء الواقية}
يعترف الروائي الأميركي بول بولز (1910 - 1999) «أن كتابة سيرة حياة ليست بالعمل المرضي في أحسن الأحوال. لعلها نوع من الكتابة الصحافية، حيث التقرير، بدل أن يكون تقرير شاهد عيان على الحدث، هو مجرد ذكرى لآخر مرة يتم فيها تذكر ذلك}.
تتضمن سيرة بولز ذاكرته منذ نشأته في بيئة ثقافية متنوعة حتى وصوله إلى المدن المغربية التي كانت حقلاً لاكتشاف الثقافة الشفوية وصناعتها من بعد تسجيلها، وهناك أيضاً تعرَّف إلى الأدباء والكتاب والرسامين. يكتب ذلك كله في رحلة أشبه بالمتاهة مليئة بمعلومات وسرديات ومشهديات المدن.
جاء بولز إلى طنجة بتحريض من الكاتبة الأميركية المقيمة في باريس جترورد شتاين. فقد بدا لها الشاب مشوش الذهن، حائراً بين النوتات الموسيقية ومسالك الشعر وقد ظنَّت أن طنجة بما تجمعه من تناقضات ستتيح متسعاً للتأمل والتفكير في ما قد يتخذه مستقبله من شكل أو أشكال، لا سيما أن رفيقه في الرحلة كان الموسيقار الأميركي آرون كوبلاند... بولز هذا الكاتب الأميركي الذي أقام في طنجة منذ نهاية الأربعينيات من القرن الماضي مع زوجته جين آور، في منزل في المدينة القديمة في منطقة القصبة، غير بعيد عن قبر ابن بطوطة، وبدلاً من المكوث في هذه المدينة صيفاً واحداً، سكن فيها وتناغم مع طبيعتها طوال أربعة عقود ونيف. كان يعتبرها مثل الحلم، فعايش التغييرات التي حلت على طبيعة المدينة وناسها، مثل ظهور جهازي الراديو والتلفزيون، ثم مختلف التقنيات المعاصرة التي اجتاحت العالم.
اختار بولز طنجة لتكون مستقره، واعترف غير مرة أنها كانت مصدر إلهامه، إذ كان مجتمعها يوفر له مادة غنية لتأليف أعمال حول الثقافة المغربية، خصوصاً أنه، كما صرح بذلك، كان يكتب للأوروبيين والأميركيين وليس للمغاربة.
محاولات شعرية
ومع أن بولز كان يعتبر نفسه شاعراً، إذ نشر بعض القصائد في مجلة سوريالية باللغة الفرنسية، وكان في السابعة عشرة عندما نشرت مجلّة «تحوّل» الطليعية في باريس قصائده الأولى، وبدا فيها منحازاً إلى «الكتابة الآلية»، فإن الأديبة والناقدة شتاين كانت تعتبر هذه المحاولات مجرد تفاهات تثير اشمئزازها أكثر من إعجابها. ومع ذلك واصل كتابة الشعر وتأليف الموسيقى وكانت طنجة المبتدأ والخبر في سيرة حياة كان عنوانها العريض الارتحال بين جغرافيات طبيعية وثقافية مختلفة.
كتب بولز أيضاً نصوصاً إبداعية تتراوح بين الرحلة وبين القصة القصيرة والرواية، وكان المتن هنا كما في اللحمة في توليفاته الموسيقية أحداثاً وشخصيات تستنبط من واقع طنجة ومن مدن إنسانية أخرى شدت نظره.
والحال أن ما نقرأه مجموعاً في سيرة بولز يبدو كأننا اطلعنا عليه في سير أدباء طنجة ورواتها وشعرائها، بدءاً من رواة طنجة وأقوالهم إلى كتاب {بول بولز وعزلة طنجة} بقلم الروائي المغربي محمد شكري، وهو محاولة لتصفية حساب قديم، حساب مع بولز يتعدى العلاقة الشخصية ليكتسب أبعاداً ثقافية وربما تاريخية. فقد كان لبولز الفضل في التعريف بإنتاج شكري ومحمد المرابط الشفوي والروائي على الصعيد الأنكلوساكسوني، واتهماه في أحاديث صحفية بالنصب والتدليس والتحايل على حقوقهما الأدبية من دون أن يتمكنا من البرهنة على ذلك. لكن بول بولز لم يكن قلقاً قط على وضعه الاعتباري رغم كل شيء: كان يعتقد أن أحداً لن يهرب من مصيره، وكان يتساءل أحياناً ما إذا كانت نزعته القدرية جاءته من إقامته الطويلة بين المغاربة، أم أنه اختار العيش بينهم لأن قدريته وجدت صداها فيهم.
بولز الذي عشق طنجة وعاش فيها لأكثر من 50 عاماً، لم يكن مغربياً ولم يكن أميركيا، وفي ثقافته كان مقرباً من الفرنسيين، أسهم في أسطرة المدينة المغربية من خلال الإضاءة على جوانب هامشية فيها، وربما استغلها. كان عرضة للنقد، إذ اتهم من الإعلام السياسي في المغرب، في أوائل الستينيات، بالعمل لحساب المخابرات المركزية الأميركية لمجرد أنه كان يقوم بجولة في أقاليم نائية لتسجيل الموسيقى الشعبية بطلب من خزانة الكونغرس الأميركي. وحينما شرع في نشر ترجماته لمرويات العربي العياشي، ومحمد المرابط، وأحمد اليعقوبي، وجه إليه اليسار الثقافي (عبد الله العروي والطاهر بن جلون الخ)، في خضم موجة نقد الكتابات الاستعمارية، تهم الفلكلورية والسعي إلى نشر صورة {شائهة ومتخلفة} عن المغرب في الخارج.
واللافت أن سيرته ترجمت متأخرة بعدما صدر كثير من أعماله بالعربية من بينها {العقرب} و«السماء الواقية}
384 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1972
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About the author
Paul Bowles
252 books869 followersPaul Frederic Bowles grew up in New York, and attended college at the University of Virginia before traveling to Paris, where became a part of Gertrude Stein's literary and artistic circle. Following her advice, he took his first trip to Tangiers in 1931 with his friend, composer Aaron Copeland.
In 1938 he married author and playwright Jane Auer (see: Jane Bowles). He moved to Tangiers permanently in 1947, with Auer following him there in 1948. There they became fixtures of the American and European expatriate scene, their visitors including Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams and Gore Vidal. Bowles continued to live in Tangiers after the death of his wife in 1973.
Bowles died of heart failure in Tangier on November 18, 1999. His ashes were interred near the graves of his parents and grandparents in Lakemont, New York.
In 1938 he married author and playwright Jane Auer (see: Jane Bowles). He moved to Tangiers permanently in 1947, with Auer following him there in 1948. There they became fixtures of the American and European expatriate scene, their visitors including Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams and Gore Vidal. Bowles continued to live in Tangiers after the death of his wife in 1973.
Bowles died of heart failure in Tangier on November 18, 1999. His ashes were interred near the graves of his parents and grandparents in Lakemont, New York.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 38 reviews
September 5, 2020
" Nothing's so much fun as games you play with your own mind," Mother said one day. "You think you're running your mind, but then you find out that unless you're careful, your mind is running you. For instance, I'll bet you can't tell me exactly what motions you make to take off your topcoat. What do you move first? I've thought about it over and over, and I can't for the life of me tell you. Or this. Did you ever try to make your mind a blank and hold it that way? You mustn't imagine anything or remember anything, not even think: 'I'm not thinking.' Just a total blank. You try it. It's hard. You may get it for a second, and then something flashes across your mind, and you lose it. I do it sometimes when I' m just resting in the afternoon, and I've got so I can hold on to it for quite a while. I just go into the blank place and shut the door."
None of this was lost on me. I said nothing, but I too began to practice secretly, and eventually managed to attain a blank state, although I was inclined to hold my breath along with it, which automatically limited its duration. Whatever powers of self-discipline I have now were given their original impetus at that time.
*
Very early I understood that I would always be kept from doing what I enjoyed and forced to do that which I did not. The Bowles family took it for granted that pleasure was destructive, whereas engaging in an unappealing activity aided in character formation. Thus I became an expert in the practice of deceit, at least insofar as general mien and facial expressions were concerned. I could not make myself lie, inasmuch as for me the word and it literal meaning had supreme importance, but I could feign enthusiasm for what I disliked and, even more essential, hide whatever enjoyment I felt. Obviously this did not always give the desired results, but it often helped to deflect attention from me, and this was already a great victory. For attention meant "discipline"; each person was eager to try out his own favorite system on me and study the results. Once Daddymama had a woman come and talk with me for two hours. She was a nice woman; I felt at ease with her and conversed as freely as any other child of six. At the end, without waiting for me to go out of the room, she turned to Daddymama and said:"He has a very old soul, almost too old. You can only wait and see." It seems there never was a time when the Bowles family were not wont to sit discussing my defects. " It's not natural," was the commonest introductory phrase. " It's not natural for a child that age to spend all his time reading." "It's not natural for a child to want to be alone." I even heard Daddymama remark one day to Mother: "It's not natural for a child of his age to have such thick lips." ( This I resented more deeply than her customary criticisms, since I knew I had my mother's mouth. If I was a monster, then Mother also was a monster, and why Daddymama tell her so outright, instead of using me as the weapon?)
*
One balmy night in May, asleep in my quiet bedroom, I had a dream. There was nothing extraordinary about that; I always dreamed, and sometimes I awoke and wrote the dreams down immediately without even turning on the light. This dream was distinctive because although short and with no anecdotal content beyond that of a changing succession of streets, after I awoke, it had left its essence with me in a state of enameled precision: a residue of ineffable sweetness and calm. In the late afternoon sunlight I walked slowly through complex and tunneled streets. As I reviewed it, lying there, sorry to have left the place behind, I realized with a jolt that the magic city really existed. It was Tangier. My heart accelerated, and memories of other courtyards and stairways flooded in, still fresh from sixteen years before. For the Tangier in which I had wandered had been the Tangier of 1931.
The town was still present the following morning, fresh and invigorating to recall, and vivid memory of it persisted day after day, along with inexplicable sensation of serene happiness which, being of the dream's very essence, inevitably accompanied it. It did not take me long to come to the conclusion that Tangier must be the place I wanted to be more than anywhere else. I began to consider the possibility of spending the summer there.
*
I hung on and waited. It seems to me that this must be what most people do; the occasions when there is the possibility of doing more than that are becoming rare indeed.
None of this was lost on me. I said nothing, but I too began to practice secretly, and eventually managed to attain a blank state, although I was inclined to hold my breath along with it, which automatically limited its duration. Whatever powers of self-discipline I have now were given their original impetus at that time.
*
Very early I understood that I would always be kept from doing what I enjoyed and forced to do that which I did not. The Bowles family took it for granted that pleasure was destructive, whereas engaging in an unappealing activity aided in character formation. Thus I became an expert in the practice of deceit, at least insofar as general mien and facial expressions were concerned. I could not make myself lie, inasmuch as for me the word and it literal meaning had supreme importance, but I could feign enthusiasm for what I disliked and, even more essential, hide whatever enjoyment I felt. Obviously this did not always give the desired results, but it often helped to deflect attention from me, and this was already a great victory. For attention meant "discipline"; each person was eager to try out his own favorite system on me and study the results. Once Daddymama had a woman come and talk with me for two hours. She was a nice woman; I felt at ease with her and conversed as freely as any other child of six. At the end, without waiting for me to go out of the room, she turned to Daddymama and said:"He has a very old soul, almost too old. You can only wait and see." It seems there never was a time when the Bowles family were not wont to sit discussing my defects. " It's not natural," was the commonest introductory phrase. " It's not natural for a child that age to spend all his time reading." "It's not natural for a child to want to be alone." I even heard Daddymama remark one day to Mother: "It's not natural for a child of his age to have such thick lips." ( This I resented more deeply than her customary criticisms, since I knew I had my mother's mouth. If I was a monster, then Mother also was a monster, and why Daddymama tell her so outright, instead of using me as the weapon?)
*
One balmy night in May, asleep in my quiet bedroom, I had a dream. There was nothing extraordinary about that; I always dreamed, and sometimes I awoke and wrote the dreams down immediately without even turning on the light. This dream was distinctive because although short and with no anecdotal content beyond that of a changing succession of streets, after I awoke, it had left its essence with me in a state of enameled precision: a residue of ineffable sweetness and calm. In the late afternoon sunlight I walked slowly through complex and tunneled streets. As I reviewed it, lying there, sorry to have left the place behind, I realized with a jolt that the magic city really existed. It was Tangier. My heart accelerated, and memories of other courtyards and stairways flooded in, still fresh from sixteen years before. For the Tangier in which I had wandered had been the Tangier of 1931.
The town was still present the following morning, fresh and invigorating to recall, and vivid memory of it persisted day after day, along with inexplicable sensation of serene happiness which, being of the dream's very essence, inevitably accompanied it. It did not take me long to come to the conclusion that Tangier must be the place I wanted to be more than anywhere else. I began to consider the possibility of spending the summer there.
*
I hung on and waited. It seems to me that this must be what most people do; the occasions when there is the possibility of doing more than that are becoming rare indeed.
July 8, 2010
This book is only great if you are a Paul Bowles lover. The writing it good (of course) and the sentences are amazingly wry and pithy sometimes but he is not trying here for some outstanding work of autobiography. The narrative meanders and name-drops and lets you in on how and where he came about writing his greatest works. It is for that later point that I loved this book. Reading it on its own without having read Bowles would not probably be that great an experience but if you are already into this great writer/musician then this book will only add to your Bowles appreciation.
July 17, 2016
I have long been an admirer of the American author, composer, and poet Paul Bowles. I have read almost all that he has written so I felt it was time to to read his autobiography, Without Stopping (1972). Bowles lived a very interesting life, but I must admit that the first third of the book-the parts about his early life were not very interesting for me. The second third explained about his artistic aspirations as a composer and poet and also show how his wanderlust developed. This was interesting about his protegee-mentor relationship with Aaron Copland came about. I also learned about all the travel he did in Europe and later in Mexico and Latin America. However, it was the final third, that was largely about his artistic life and travels in Morocco and Ceylon (Sri Lanka), which most captivated me. Apparently Jane Bowles called it "Without Telling"-since he kept his and her homosexuality out of the book. I think it can be inferred if one reads between the lines. Bowles was close with all the major homosexual literary stars of the day-Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, William Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg, etc. Many of his travels were with men and Jane at home and she had many companions of the same sex that lived with or near them in many of the reminiscences. I was more disappointed that he glossed over inspirations for his terrifying novels and short stories. He was more concerned about completion and drafting of these books than the actual inception or inspiration for them. He was a consummate name dropper, but he knew many of the leading literary star so the 20th century-from Gertrude Stein who encouraged his to visit Morocco for the first time to the Beats poets and writers who came calling on this leading literary godfather in Tangiers. I also can relate to his endless curiosity for other cultures and travel:
I had the illusion of being about to add another country, another culture, to my total experience, and the further illusion that to do so would in itself be of value. My curiosity about alien cultures was avid and obsessive. I had a placid belief that it was goof or me to live in the midst of people whose motives I did not understand; this unreasoned conviction was clearly an attempt to legitimize my curiosity.
I can see that his relationship with Jane was something that was very important to him as well, this relates to Jane's slow decline and eventual death:
The act of living had been enjoyable; at some point when I was not paying attention, it had turned into a different sort of experience, to whose grimness I had grown so accustomed that I now took it for granted.
Here are a couple of other choice quotes that sum up this very interesting man and his equally interesting life:
Since this state of affairs is axiomatic, it follows that writing an autobiography is not the kind of work one would expect most writers to enjoy doing. And it is clear that telling what happened does not necessarily make a good story. In my tale, for instance, there are no dramatic victories because there was no struggle. I hung on and waited. It seems to me that this must be what most people do; the occasions when there is the possibility of doing more than that are becoming rare indeed.
One culture's therapy is another culture's torture.
I had the illusion of being about to add another country, another culture, to my total experience, and the further illusion that to do so would in itself be of value. My curiosity about alien cultures was avid and obsessive. I had a placid belief that it was goof or me to live in the midst of people whose motives I did not understand; this unreasoned conviction was clearly an attempt to legitimize my curiosity.
I can see that his relationship with Jane was something that was very important to him as well, this relates to Jane's slow decline and eventual death:
The act of living had been enjoyable; at some point when I was not paying attention, it had turned into a different sort of experience, to whose grimness I had grown so accustomed that I now took it for granted.
Here are a couple of other choice quotes that sum up this very interesting man and his equally interesting life:
Since this state of affairs is axiomatic, it follows that writing an autobiography is not the kind of work one would expect most writers to enjoy doing. And it is clear that telling what happened does not necessarily make a good story. In my tale, for instance, there are no dramatic victories because there was no struggle. I hung on and waited. It seems to me that this must be what most people do; the occasions when there is the possibility of doing more than that are becoming rare indeed.
One culture's therapy is another culture's torture.
December 23, 2025
Bowles was certainly one of the most important bridges between the Lost Generation and the Beats and his account of the 20th Century is fascinating on every page. I enjoyed this autobiography but one hardly knows what to say about young, privileged Americans touring Mexico with their luggage full of thousands of stickers demanding the death of Trotsky. Difficult not to view this as a memoir of the colonial twilight when artists and writers treated the southern latitudes as playgrounds for their creative and sexual impulses. Most remarkable here, in a less disturbing way, is how many notable people of all sorts crossed the author's path and were captured by his pen.
October 19, 2018
Pleasantly surprised by much I never knew. What a better time to be alive.
August 1, 2023
"я никогда не задавался вопросом о том, могу ли сказать что-либо, что в состоянии заинтересовать других людей. у меня была цель - всеми возможными способами навязать людям свою личность, никаких других целей я перед собой не ставил"
December 19, 2024
Fantastyczne życie, książka dużo mniej.
Bowles wylicza wszystkie sławne i mniej sławne postaci, które przewinęły się przez jego zycie ale niewiele dowiemy się o jego relacjach z nimi.
Rozczarowująca, choć jego Maroko nieustannie zachwyca.
Bowles wylicza wszystkie sławne i mniej sławne postaci, które przewinęły się przez jego zycie ale niewiele dowiemy się o jego relacjach z nimi.
Rozczarowująca, choć jego Maroko nieustannie zachwyca.
July 26, 2010
Actually really disappointing. Don't know what to say, other than I guess I expected something more. It's interesting from a documentary perspective, but one of the maddening things about Bowles for me is the utter inaccessibility of his person, as opposed to his writing. I get almost no sense of him from the introductions to his novels, his stories, from interviews; I feel like he is a total enigma, off having some profound experience somewhere and telling me to fuck off. Maybe that's why I find his fiction so emotionally devastating. Well...whatever. This autobiography was disappointing for that reason; I just felt like there wasn't any soul to it. It seemed very much like he was writing this not because he wanted to, but because someone else had put him up to it. There was the same feeling to me about his book Days A Tangier Diary. WTFever, dude.
June 8, 2021
يوميات.. الكثير من التفاصيل الزائدة.. ووصف مقاومة الاحتلال في المغرب بالارهاب من شخص يفترض أنه شيوعي
October 29, 2020
The way this book came to me was exactly like Bowles says on the back cover.
"Things don't happen. It depends on who comes along."
At a friend of mine's, on his recommendation, as he handed me the book.
"I met the author," he told me, "when I was travelling in Morocco."
Bowles autobiography, unknown to me, I hesitated, knowing I had no reason, no knowledge of, yet something, an impulse said take it. Give it a shot.
It took a while to realize what was happening, who the author was, as he started from the beginning and I had to deduce from the details who he must be. Born into an established family in rural New York, life at the beginning of the 20th century, his grandfather had a large farm and father and uncle both dentists.
A remarkable life unfolded. Music, writing, composing, life just happens.
The title refers to his style of writing and that was the hook for me. Just do it, without knowing, letting it happen and working with what comes through.
So I won't mention all the famous people he came to know, all he accomplished on his own.
What I really enjoyed was his covering the time before my own life and telling of the world then, mixing with famous artists, musicians, philosophers and writers of the day then entering modern time, post WWII say, of which I am aware, giving me food for thought on life and living.
I highly recommend it.
"Things don't happen. It depends on who comes along."
At a friend of mine's, on his recommendation, as he handed me the book.
"I met the author," he told me, "when I was travelling in Morocco."
Bowles autobiography, unknown to me, I hesitated, knowing I had no reason, no knowledge of, yet something, an impulse said take it. Give it a shot.
It took a while to realize what was happening, who the author was, as he started from the beginning and I had to deduce from the details who he must be. Born into an established family in rural New York, life at the beginning of the 20th century, his grandfather had a large farm and father and uncle both dentists.
A remarkable life unfolded. Music, writing, composing, life just happens.
The title refers to his style of writing and that was the hook for me. Just do it, without knowing, letting it happen and working with what comes through.
So I won't mention all the famous people he came to know, all he accomplished on his own.
What I really enjoyed was his covering the time before my own life and telling of the world then, mixing with famous artists, musicians, philosophers and writers of the day then entering modern time, post WWII say, of which I am aware, giving me food for thought on life and living.
I highly recommend it.
September 3, 2023
"My music was joyful as I was myself. The more nocturnal side to my personality, I managed to express through language." In his surprisingly modest and non-judgmental memoir, Bowles describes his childhood, his transition from music to literature, and the many fascinating artists and notables he's encountered throughout his life and travels. What he does not reveal is any of his deeper feelings and concerns. This book might serve Bowles' readers and literature/music practitioners better than an average memoir reader.
February 11, 2025
A fascinating autobiography of a strange, dark writer whose short stories are among the greatest in the language and had a substantial early influence on my own fiction. What a life! He interacted with everyone who was anyone, it seems, in the arts world of his age, from Gertrude Stein to Aaron Copland and Allen Ginsberg and Barbara Hutton and Arthur C. Clarke. And the deadpan mode of narration is totally in character. I found this book compulsively readable, though it might not be so thrilling if you're not a dyed in the wool Paul Bowles fan like me.
October 31, 2025
Escribir una autobiografia, como explica el propio Paul no debe ser una tarea sencilla. La inconexion, la falta de hilo argumental claro (debido sobre todo a la naturaleza de su nomadismo, curiosidad y aleatoriedad vital) y la saturación de nombres propios personales son compensadas por la riqueza experiencial de este artista de espíritu bohemio que seguro inspiró entre otros a miembros de la generación Beat. Mereció la pena leerlo. También opino que los aviones son para la gente de negocios y el resto de transportes sí son para viajeros de la vida.
March 26, 2023
Resulta sorprendente la claridad de los recuerdos. Mas que una memorias a veces parece estar mirando por el cerrojo la realidad. Y algo más extraño una especie de mirar sin participar. Como si todo pasar por encima con poca implicación emocional. Una especie de catálogo de insectos donde estos además son importantes.
January 2, 2023
Peripatetic.
Interesting for the brief descriptions of the many many people and places but not among his best.
Bowles is most evocative when limited in time and place:
see Their Heads are Green and Their Hands are Blue: Scenes from the Non-Christian World
Interesting for the brief descriptions of the many many people and places but not among his best.
Bowles is most evocative when limited in time and place:
see Their Heads are Green and Their Hands are Blue: Scenes from the Non-Christian World
March 6, 2025
Paul Bowles is one of my favorite authors. I have read his novels and short stories many times. I adore his style: concision, precision, rigor. In February, I read his autobiography "Without Stopping". Even thought it was interesting, I felt like it wasn't enough. He listed names and facts, but missed conversations, anecdotes and description of houses and nature, so I decided to read one of his biography next.
November 14, 2017
Merciless.
February 20, 2021
Una narrativa muy precisa, con el sarcasmo propio de Bowles. Excelente
May 22, 2021
He’s annoyed at writing his own biography which is funny
Read
June 22, 2024What I enjoyed a lot in the book that every time he paul Bowles arrived in a new city or place he searched a calm place for compose music or write,it was a big lesson about descipline.
August 6, 2024
Before reading Bowles’ autobiography, I would recommend tackling two large volumes, The Stories of Paul Bowles, which contains all of his short stories, and Travels: Collected Writings 1950-1993, along with his most famous work, his first novel, The Sheltering Sky.
Written in the more straightforward manner of an autobiography than in Bowles’ meticulously sumptuous style, Without Stopping has much more about his career as a successful music composer, than his authorship. It’s even fairly late that he takes to having his writing published. But all of Bowles' life is fascinating (my opinion may be somewhat skewed as I’m a big fan) from his early life with a cruel father and eccentric family to his college-aged travels to Paris, his half-ass involvement with the Communist Party and eventually his bold adventuring across the globe and settling in Tangier, Morocco as a homebase. Though it’s not clear from Without Stopping how well known Bowles was during his lifetime, he was a close friend of Gertrude Stein, Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal and Vidal’s nemesis, Truman Capote, who show up in this autobiography repeatedly. Otherwise, his music appeared on the same bill as Duke Ellington’s band; he scored several plays directed by Orson Welles and he created the music to a whimsical play written by Salvador Dali, which Bowles and the audience didn’t care for. There’s as much of that sort of rubbing shoulders with “legends” as you will find in a Hollywood autobiography. The gay aspect of Bowles’ life is barely mentioned (both he and his wife, the author Jane Bowles, were bisexual), though there is much about their unique relationship. Her deteriorating health leads to the complete downfall of his life and creative work. In the last chapter, Bowles is at his most profound, as in his great works of fiction.
Written in the more straightforward manner of an autobiography than in Bowles’ meticulously sumptuous style, Without Stopping has much more about his career as a successful music composer, than his authorship. It’s even fairly late that he takes to having his writing published. But all of Bowles' life is fascinating (my opinion may be somewhat skewed as I’m a big fan) from his early life with a cruel father and eccentric family to his college-aged travels to Paris, his half-ass involvement with the Communist Party and eventually his bold adventuring across the globe and settling in Tangier, Morocco as a homebase. Though it’s not clear from Without Stopping how well known Bowles was during his lifetime, he was a close friend of Gertrude Stein, Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal and Vidal’s nemesis, Truman Capote, who show up in this autobiography repeatedly. Otherwise, his music appeared on the same bill as Duke Ellington’s band; he scored several plays directed by Orson Welles and he created the music to a whimsical play written by Salvador Dali, which Bowles and the audience didn’t care for. There’s as much of that sort of rubbing shoulders with “legends” as you will find in a Hollywood autobiography. The gay aspect of Bowles’ life is barely mentioned (both he and his wife, the author Jane Bowles, were bisexual), though there is much about their unique relationship. Her deteriorating health leads to the complete downfall of his life and creative work. In the last chapter, Bowles is at his most profound, as in his great works of fiction.
October 4, 2024
I was familiar with the notion that Paul Bowles was not only a writer: I knew he had received musical training by Aaron Copeland; but I didn't know that he was earning his wages by writing scores for theatre productions in the Big Apple!
Born and raised in the US in a conservative family he was always very independent and with a clear idea as to what he wanted (or not) to do. He would occupy his time creating fantasy place-names for imagined train journeys, he would read a lot, write short stories, he was very curious. Sometimes ruthless and numb to achieve what he set himself out to do. He was ambitious in an idiosyncratic way.
I loved to learn that a few times on the whims of an instinct he'd do things without thinking, for example he ran away from home and boarded a ship towards Europe, his final destination Paris.
He lost his virginity there (female and male, so definitely very open minded by modern standards).
Throughout his life he was a traveler, never tired of long walks and always seeking to get the truth out of each situation. He would always try to learn the local language.
His travels: US, France, Marocco, Sri Lanka. Tanger being the place where he finds the magic.
Like for his novels, he writes his auto-biography as an attentive observer, a curator, never overly emotional. A style I particularly enjoy.
His intellectual occupations and works are the backbone of his autobiography. What he is composing or writing. He talks about his wife Jane Bowles, and about her works.
His way of creating a routine to do creative work regardless of where he was set, was very inspiring to me. And he seems to have kept quite a social life, which made me think that if you don't abuse substances and create routines to make use of your day you can create a lot.
His creative work was conducted mainly alone.
He never stopped. I never will either.
Born and raised in the US in a conservative family he was always very independent and with a clear idea as to what he wanted (or not) to do. He would occupy his time creating fantasy place-names for imagined train journeys, he would read a lot, write short stories, he was very curious. Sometimes ruthless and numb to achieve what he set himself out to do. He was ambitious in an idiosyncratic way.
I loved to learn that a few times on the whims of an instinct he'd do things without thinking, for example he ran away from home and boarded a ship towards Europe, his final destination Paris.
He lost his virginity there (female and male, so definitely very open minded by modern standards).
Throughout his life he was a traveler, never tired of long walks and always seeking to get the truth out of each situation. He would always try to learn the local language.
His travels: US, France, Marocco, Sri Lanka. Tanger being the place where he finds the magic.
Like for his novels, he writes his auto-biography as an attentive observer, a curator, never overly emotional. A style I particularly enjoy.
His intellectual occupations and works are the backbone of his autobiography. What he is composing or writing. He talks about his wife Jane Bowles, and about her works.
His way of creating a routine to do creative work regardless of where he was set, was very inspiring to me. And he seems to have kept quite a social life, which made me think that if you don't abuse substances and create routines to make use of your day you can create a lot.
His creative work was conducted mainly alone.
He never stopped. I never will either.
January 22, 2020
„I never make plans, they make themselves” (z dokumentu „Paul Bowles: The Complete Outsider")
Autobiografia Paula Bowlesa napisana jest dziwnie beznamiętnym językiem, brak w niej emocji, komentarze pojawiają się z rzadka. Gęsto w niej od faktów, właściwie w każdym akapicie pojawia się nowy, dotyczący zwykle miejsca, ludzi bądź wydarzenia. W istocie jest to biografia faktograficzna.
A mimo to czyta się świetnie, nie nuży, jest wręcz fascynująca. W życiu Bowlesa nieustannie coś się dzieje. Jeśli akurat się nie przemieszcza geograficznie, to zajmuje się jakimś projektem (niekoniecznie z szansą na powodzenie), komponuje, pisze, słucha muzyki, bierze udział w spotkaniach, imprezuje. Otaczają go ludzie o Nazwiskach* tworzących kulturę właściwie całego xx wieku, którzy się nawzajem inspirują i napędzają. Okazjonalnie brakowało mi jednak kontynuacji jakiegoś wątku, pointy.
Początki Paula nie były łatwe: samotne dzieciństwo (nie miał kontaktu z innymi dziećmi do 5-ego roku życia, wydawało mu się, że świat zamieszkany jest wyłącznie przez osoby dorosłe), trudna relacja z nieakceptującym i dyscyplinującym go ojcem. „Byłem outsaiderem we własnej rodzinie”; musiał sobie radzić: wcześnie zaczął czytać, a jego bogata wyobraźnia zaowocowała opowiadaniami pisanymi już w szkole podstawowej. Pierwsze wiersze wydał we Francji w wieku 16 lat ukrywając swój młody wiek. W swoją pierwszą podróż do Europy (Francja) pojechał w wyniku…rzutu monetą, reszka zdeterminowała jego wyjazd (gdyby wypadł orzeł, być może nie czytalibyśmy jego autobiografii…). Pojechał bez wiedzy rodziców, z niewielką ilością gotówki, ale jako że był w czepku urodzony, zawsze znalazł się ktoś, kto go poratował finansowo. I tak wyglądało jego życie: wędrował, pracował (do komponowania potrzebował spokoju, w związku z czym , nawet gdy był w towarzystwie, wynajmował dom gdzieś w na odludziu, zwykle z pięknym widokiem), eksperymentował, pisał. Opisy miejsc najbardziej nieprawdopodobnych zakątów świata bardzo działają na wyobraźnię. Ta książka oddycha, jest w niej dużo przestrzeni i wolności, ale jeśli zajrzeć głębiej, to i dużo smutku. Polecam.
*Gertruda Stein i Alicja B. Toklas, Arthur C. Clerk, Truman Capote, Susan Sontag, Aaron Copland, Tennessee Williams, Leonard Bernstein, Nadia Boulanger, Ahmad Yacoubi, Jean Paul Sartre, Gore Vidal, Gala i Salvadore Dali, William S. Burroughs i wielu, wielu innych.
Autobiografia Paula Bowlesa napisana jest dziwnie beznamiętnym językiem, brak w niej emocji, komentarze pojawiają się z rzadka. Gęsto w niej od faktów, właściwie w każdym akapicie pojawia się nowy, dotyczący zwykle miejsca, ludzi bądź wydarzenia. W istocie jest to biografia faktograficzna.
A mimo to czyta się świetnie, nie nuży, jest wręcz fascynująca. W życiu Bowlesa nieustannie coś się dzieje. Jeśli akurat się nie przemieszcza geograficznie, to zajmuje się jakimś projektem (niekoniecznie z szansą na powodzenie), komponuje, pisze, słucha muzyki, bierze udział w spotkaniach, imprezuje. Otaczają go ludzie o Nazwiskach* tworzących kulturę właściwie całego xx wieku, którzy się nawzajem inspirują i napędzają. Okazjonalnie brakowało mi jednak kontynuacji jakiegoś wątku, pointy.
Początki Paula nie były łatwe: samotne dzieciństwo (nie miał kontaktu z innymi dziećmi do 5-ego roku życia, wydawało mu się, że świat zamieszkany jest wyłącznie przez osoby dorosłe), trudna relacja z nieakceptującym i dyscyplinującym go ojcem. „Byłem outsaiderem we własnej rodzinie”; musiał sobie radzić: wcześnie zaczął czytać, a jego bogata wyobraźnia zaowocowała opowiadaniami pisanymi już w szkole podstawowej. Pierwsze wiersze wydał we Francji w wieku 16 lat ukrywając swój młody wiek. W swoją pierwszą podróż do Europy (Francja) pojechał w wyniku…rzutu monetą, reszka zdeterminowała jego wyjazd (gdyby wypadł orzeł, być może nie czytalibyśmy jego autobiografii…). Pojechał bez wiedzy rodziców, z niewielką ilością gotówki, ale jako że był w czepku urodzony, zawsze znalazł się ktoś, kto go poratował finansowo. I tak wyglądało jego życie: wędrował, pracował (do komponowania potrzebował spokoju, w związku z czym , nawet gdy był w towarzystwie, wynajmował dom gdzieś w na odludziu, zwykle z pięknym widokiem), eksperymentował, pisał. Opisy miejsc najbardziej nieprawdopodobnych zakątów świata bardzo działają na wyobraźnię. Ta książka oddycha, jest w niej dużo przestrzeni i wolności, ale jeśli zajrzeć głębiej, to i dużo smutku. Polecam.
*Gertruda Stein i Alicja B. Toklas, Arthur C. Clerk, Truman Capote, Susan Sontag, Aaron Copland, Tennessee Williams, Leonard Bernstein, Nadia Boulanger, Ahmad Yacoubi, Jean Paul Sartre, Gore Vidal, Gala i Salvadore Dali, William S. Burroughs i wielu, wielu innych.
December 12, 2008
You can always find good bits in a good writer's writing memoir. Unfortunately, Bowles' autobiography spends more time between travel lists and gossipy paragraph-long anecdotes about all the famous writers and composers and artists he spent time with. Oddly tedious for a writer capable of the drugged out Moroccan cult scene in Let it Come Down. Still, I enjoyed his childhood recollections and bits like this scene with his wife, Jane:
In the spring we returned to Fez and stayed at the Belvedere. I was completing The Sheltering Sky, and Jane was deep into her novella Camp Cataract. At the break of day we would have breakfast in bed in Jane’s room. Then I would go into my own room, leaving the door open so that we could communicate if we wanted. At one point she had a terrible time with a bridge she was trying to build over a gorge. She would call out: “Bupple! What’s a cantilever, exactly?” or “Can you say a bridge has buttresses?” I, immersed in the writing of my final chapters, would answer anything that occurred to me, without coming out of my voluntary state of obsession. She would be quiet for a while, and then call out again. The rushing of the stream directly beneath our windows covered all but the most penetrating sounds; communications had to be fairly important to make it worthwhile shouting them. After three or four mornings I became aware that something was wrong: she was still at the bridge. I got up and went into her room. We talked for a while about the problem, and I confessed my mystification. “Why do you have to construct the damned thing?” I demanded. “Why can’t you just say it was there and let it go at that?” She shook her head. “If I don’t know how it was built, I can’t see it.”
This struck me as incredible. It never had occurred to me that such considerations could enter into the act of writing. Perhaps for the first time I had an inkling of what Jane meant when she remarked, as she often did, that writing was “so hard.” (pp. 286-7 / Chapter XIV)
In the spring we returned to Fez and stayed at the Belvedere. I was completing The Sheltering Sky, and Jane was deep into her novella Camp Cataract. At the break of day we would have breakfast in bed in Jane’s room. Then I would go into my own room, leaving the door open so that we could communicate if we wanted. At one point she had a terrible time with a bridge she was trying to build over a gorge. She would call out: “Bupple! What’s a cantilever, exactly?” or “Can you say a bridge has buttresses?” I, immersed in the writing of my final chapters, would answer anything that occurred to me, without coming out of my voluntary state of obsession. She would be quiet for a while, and then call out again. The rushing of the stream directly beneath our windows covered all but the most penetrating sounds; communications had to be fairly important to make it worthwhile shouting them. After three or four mornings I became aware that something was wrong: she was still at the bridge. I got up and went into her room. We talked for a while about the problem, and I confessed my mystification. “Why do you have to construct the damned thing?” I demanded. “Why can’t you just say it was there and let it go at that?” She shook her head. “If I don’t know how it was built, I can’t see it.”
This struck me as incredible. It never had occurred to me that such considerations could enter into the act of writing. Perhaps for the first time I had an inkling of what Jane meant when she remarked, as she often did, that writing was “so hard.” (pp. 286-7 / Chapter XIV)
April 12, 2012
Paul Bowles is an incredibly complex character. A composer who studied with Aaron Copland and was a close friend, (and with Henry Cowell, in the SF Bay Area)- an author, who was a contemporary and friend of Gertrude Stein, and as well, a friend and colleague of Kerouac, Corso, Burroughs, and Ginsberg. Not the least of his attraction, to me, was his time as resident expatriate-at-large and expert to the Rolling Stones glitterati set, encouched in fumes of hashish and plates of majoun, and, last but not least, an eminent field researcher of Moroccan ethnic music, responsible for bringing Brian Jones (thru Brion Gyson) to record the Pipes of Pan at Joujouka music... although this edition ends just before that period (about 1968).
Now all that said, it's rather amusing to learn that Bowles (and wife) were, for a couple of years, Stalinist apologists for the Communist Party USA. Even to the point of his taking hundreds "Muerte a Trotsky" posters down to Mexico to distribute amongst "the proletariat"... who knows how much that may have had with Trotsky's death, one is left to muse, since Bowles never mentions that. Americans who become Marxist and Communist lack a sense of humor since they're too busy murdering their class enemies to laugh at (or with) life. And besides, it was a dustbin philosophy as lame as fascism, yet, every bit just as attractive.
Well, what perhaps saves Bowles from ignominy as a Stalinist Commie on the wrong side at the wrong time, is that he writes damn good, succinct, interesting stories. His music, I've decided is pretty lame, tame, for the most part, but then again, his music itself was a product of its time. Even so, this is one writer who holds his own amongst all his contemporaries. I suppose we can place him close to Lawrence Durrell for his sage writing on the Mediterranean environment and culture.
Now all that said, it's rather amusing to learn that Bowles (and wife) were, for a couple of years, Stalinist apologists for the Communist Party USA. Even to the point of his taking hundreds "Muerte a Trotsky" posters down to Mexico to distribute amongst "the proletariat"... who knows how much that may have had with Trotsky's death, one is left to muse, since Bowles never mentions that. Americans who become Marxist and Communist lack a sense of humor since they're too busy murdering their class enemies to laugh at (or with) life. And besides, it was a dustbin philosophy as lame as fascism, yet, every bit just as attractive.
Well, what perhaps saves Bowles from ignominy as a Stalinist Commie on the wrong side at the wrong time, is that he writes damn good, succinct, interesting stories. His music, I've decided is pretty lame, tame, for the most part, but then again, his music itself was a product of its time. Even so, this is one writer who holds his own amongst all his contemporaries. I suppose we can place him close to Lawrence Durrell for his sage writing on the Mediterranean environment and culture.
October 6, 2008
in "without stopping", paul bowles recounts the details of his extraordinary life like a man holding a garden-hose; looking down at the limp flow of water with as much enthusiasm as one has for giving a shrub a drink. he states: "writing an autobiography is an ungratifying occupation at best." he simply recalls his memories without aggrandizing.
the steady trickle of events is not without hilarious (though, still dead-panned) surprises: "during my childhood i had been good-natured and unusually tractable, but subject to occasional bursts of temper. as i grew more devious and circumspect, the rages ceased to occur. it was natural for me to assume that i would cease to be visited by them. thus, at the age of nineteen, i was astonished one night to discover that i had just thrown a meat knife at my father."
for my part, reading the recount, i was enthralled.
'without stopping' serves as a travelogue where each location is made exotic by its people; be they the colorful, encountered natives, or people who appear as acquaintances that have since graduated into the world-wide culture canon.
besides stoking my desire to see north africa, this book makes me wonder how famous the artists, musicians, and writers around me will someday become.
the steady trickle of events is not without hilarious (though, still dead-panned) surprises: "during my childhood i had been good-natured and unusually tractable, but subject to occasional bursts of temper. as i grew more devious and circumspect, the rages ceased to occur. it was natural for me to assume that i would cease to be visited by them. thus, at the age of nineteen, i was astonished one night to discover that i had just thrown a meat knife at my father."
for my part, reading the recount, i was enthralled.
'without stopping' serves as a travelogue where each location is made exotic by its people; be they the colorful, encountered natives, or people who appear as acquaintances that have since graduated into the world-wide culture canon.
besides stoking my desire to see north africa, this book makes me wonder how famous the artists, musicians, and writers around me will someday become.
August 4, 2020
After having read Michelle Green's book, The Dream at the End of the World, if I expected a deeper immersion into Bowles' life, I was disappointed. Her book, solely about the Bowles' life in Morocco, was much richer and more inclusive about his literary output and the many creative people who dropped in at the Tangier "salon." She goes into much greater detail about his wanderings and his relationships, whether platonic or intimate, with people he knew.
You'd think from Bowles' review of his life that he thought of himself first as a composer, with the writing of stories being kind of an afterthought that worked out well. I found it particularly weird that he barely mentions his wife Jane until the last chapters when she becomes ill. She was very present in all his wanderings and it seemed difficult for her to produce much writing in his shadow. He never mentions Cherifa, the overbearing Moroccan woman who became Jane's cook, caretaker and baleful presence in her life.
This was solely a book about Bowles, by Bowles. He did have a truly fabulous life, full of travel to exotic places and meetings with the most interesting people of his era, but to get a fuller picture other authors would be more informative.
You'd think from Bowles' review of his life that he thought of himself first as a composer, with the writing of stories being kind of an afterthought that worked out well. I found it particularly weird that he barely mentions his wife Jane until the last chapters when she becomes ill. She was very present in all his wanderings and it seemed difficult for her to produce much writing in his shadow. He never mentions Cherifa, the overbearing Moroccan woman who became Jane's cook, caretaker and baleful presence in her life.
This was solely a book about Bowles, by Bowles. He did have a truly fabulous life, full of travel to exotic places and meetings with the most interesting people of his era, but to get a fuller picture other authors would be more informative.
August 30, 2007
The lack of cover image here is notable. This is not an easy book to find. All copies have been stolen from the New York Public Library. I got a used copy off ebay. It's very cliche that Jane Bowles nicknamed this book "Without Telling" because Bowles never explains why these gentlemen are traveling with him to Sri Lanka and Bangkok and Morocco and New York. That does very little to detract from the book, in my opinion. Bowles went everywhere and met everyone.
September 5, 2008
Hugely disappointing. Except for his childhood, which is brillaintly recounted, Paul Bowles reveals nothing of himself and his affective life. THe book becomes a list of who's who of the time and more like a travel journal. I suppose, being a homo/bi-sexual, he wanted to hide his private life but it is a pity that he undertook to write an autobiography at all. His novels are much more revealing , particularly 'Let it all Come Down' and the Sheltering Sky.'
October 1, 2015
I enjoyed reading about all the famous people with whom Bowles interacted. There's not much about the craft of writing in here, or deep reflections on life, nor any politics to speak of. But if you're down to find out which composer got so excited about a recording of his own music that he rolled around on the floor squealing with joy, this is the book for you!
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