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A Night Among the Horses
Book by Barnes, Djuna
256 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1923
6 people are currently reading
335 people want to read
About the author
Djuna Barnes
98 books563 followersDjuna Barnes was an artist, illustrator, journalist, playwright, and poet associated with the early 20th-century Greenwich Village bohemians and the Modernist literary movement.
Barnes has been cited as an influence by writers as diverse as Truman Capote, William Goyen, Isak Dinesen, John Hawkes, and Anaïs Nin. Bertha Harris described her work as "practically the only available expression of lesbian culture we have in the modern western world" since Sappho.
Barnes played an important part in the development of 20th century English language modernist writing and was one of the key figures in 1920s and 30s bohemian Paris after filling a similar role in the Greenwich Village of the teens. Her novel Nightwood became a cult work of modern fiction, helped by an introduction by T. S. Eliot. It stands out today for its portrayal of lesbian themes and its distinctive writing style. Since Barnes's death, interest in her work has grown and many of her books are back in print.
Barnes has been cited as an influence by writers as diverse as Truman Capote, William Goyen, Isak Dinesen, John Hawkes, and Anaïs Nin. Bertha Harris described her work as "practically the only available expression of lesbian culture we have in the modern western world" since Sappho.
Barnes played an important part in the development of 20th century English language modernist writing and was one of the key figures in 1920s and 30s bohemian Paris after filling a similar role in the Greenwich Village of the teens. Her novel Nightwood became a cult work of modern fiction, helped by an introduction by T. S. Eliot. It stands out today for its portrayal of lesbian themes and its distinctive writing style. Since Barnes's death, interest in her work has grown and many of her books are back in print.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews
November 30, 2025
ANATOMIA DELLA NOTTE
Sono nove racconti pieni di passione: non tanto per le storie raccontate, quando per come sono raccontate, per come sono scritte.
Viene da pensare ci sia molto d’autobiografico, non negli accadimenti, ma nell’approccio di scrittura: si sente Barnes coinvolta oltre misura, come se traducesse su carta forse il suo vissuto, forse le sue esperienze, ma ancor di più quelle oniriche, i pensieri, le emozioni.
È una lingua prossima alla poesia, musicale, ritmata, densa di metafore, di chiaroscuri, di ombre, di suggerito, ma non spiegato. È come leggere una lingua straniera che non si conosce ma si capisce.
Nella quarta di copertina è scritto che seconda Djuna Barnes uno scrittore non dovrebbe occuparsi dello straordinario, se ne occupa già il giornalista. E, quindi, è presumibilmente l’ordinario che le interessa: quell’ordinario che la sua scrittura trasforma in straordinario.
Sembra di sentire Carver e la sua teoria del racconto: ma non potrebbe esserci differenza più grande tra questi due scrittori!
Scrisse in "Gli imperdonabili" Cristina Campo che di poesia e scrittura, e Bellezza, se ne intendeva assai:
Djuna Barnes è, tra i vivi colei che meglio abbracciò questo trappismo della perfezione. Si ignora dove sia, dà alle stampe un libro ogni venti anni, lo stesso suo nome trova il modo, ogni volta, di cader fuori dai repertori ; potrebb'essere, per quel che ne sa la gente, la sconosciuta del secolo XVII, una sorta di Inés de la Cruz, di Contessa di Winchilsea..
E Djuna Barnes, novantenne, morì sette anni dopo le parole della Campo.
Sono nove racconti pieni di passione: non tanto per le storie raccontate, quando per come sono raccontate, per come sono scritte.
Viene da pensare ci sia molto d’autobiografico, non negli accadimenti, ma nell’approccio di scrittura: si sente Barnes coinvolta oltre misura, come se traducesse su carta forse il suo vissuto, forse le sue esperienze, ma ancor di più quelle oniriche, i pensieri, le emozioni.
È una lingua prossima alla poesia, musicale, ritmata, densa di metafore, di chiaroscuri, di ombre, di suggerito, ma non spiegato. È come leggere una lingua straniera che non si conosce ma si capisce.
Nella quarta di copertina è scritto che seconda Djuna Barnes uno scrittore non dovrebbe occuparsi dello straordinario, se ne occupa già il giornalista. E, quindi, è presumibilmente l’ordinario che le interessa: quell’ordinario che la sua scrittura trasforma in straordinario.
Sembra di sentire Carver e la sua teoria del racconto: ma non potrebbe esserci differenza più grande tra questi due scrittori!
Scrisse in "Gli imperdonabili" Cristina Campo che di poesia e scrittura, e Bellezza, se ne intendeva assai:
Djuna Barnes è, tra i vivi colei che meglio abbracciò questo trappismo della perfezione. Si ignora dove sia, dà alle stampe un libro ogni venti anni, lo stesso suo nome trova il modo, ogni volta, di cader fuori dai repertori ; potrebb'essere, per quel che ne sa la gente, la sconosciuta del secolo XVII, una sorta di Inés de la Cruz, di Contessa di Winchilsea..
E Djuna Barnes, novantenne, morì sette anni dopo le parole della Campo.
April 27, 2022
3,5*
#abrilcontosmil
Nenhum destes contos alcança o humor negro de “The Lydia Steptoe Diaries” de que eu tinha gostado tanto. Djuna Barnes é fantástica a nível frásico, faz uma caracterização brilhante das suas personagens, mas coloca-as em situações estranhas ou até absurdas das quais elas não saem de forma que eu considere satisfatória num conto. Gosto que acabem no céu ou no inferno, e Barnes deixa-as suspensas no limbo.
Mas o melhor é explicar como ela era: ‘temperamentvoll’ e alta, ‘kraftvoll’ e magra. Nessa altura devia andar pelos 40 anos e vestia desmazeladamente roupa cara. Como se fosse difícil, dir-se-ia, mantê-la vestida; tinha os ombros sempre fora do sítio, a saia talvez estivesse presa só com um colchete, talvez não soubesse onde tinha deixado a carteira, mas o que ela mostrava sempre era um ar bárbaro, por causa das jóias, e arrastava consigo algo de intencional e dramático, como se fosse o centro de um turbilhão, e a roupa não passasse de efémeros despojos.
- Anulação
Às vezes – não com frequência, só às vezes – ria com vivacidade de algo que não era conveniente lembrar-se; e o riso é perturbante, num velho, porque inclemente e excepcional. De vez em quando levantava o lornhão no momento menos próprio, e era espantoso o ar de ‘galant’, de ‘bon-vivant’ com que ficava... embora na sua carne houvesse um banho de azul que era uma afirmação de morte assumida. Nunca falava do espírito.
- A Paixão
Apanhou-a e manteve-a presa entre o indicador e o polegar enquanto o seu espírito disparava até à cena que se tinha passado ali perto, com a dona da casa, pois só “dona da casa” e mais nada podia chamar-se Fred Buckler, a mulherzinha fogosa, com uma pilha eléctrica a fazer de coração e um corpo de brinquedo que tudo dirigia e ronronava, saturada de insolência, com um zumbido mecânico que lhe extorquia a humanidade.
- Uma noite entre os cavalos
A pele da Moydia é fina, fina ao ponto de me sentar, a olhar para ela, e pôr-me a pensar como é que ela pode ter opiniões. (...) Queria tornar-se ‘tragique’ e ‘triste’ e terrível, tudo ao mesmo tempo, como na bela época das mulheres francesas, embora menos ardente e talvez menos oura: além, disso morrer e renunciar ao coração como uma virgem.
- A Grande Malade
"Aller et retour" - 4*
Anulação - 3*
A Grande Malade- 4*
Uma Noite entre os Cavalos- 3*
O criado-3*
O coelho-3*
Os médicos -2,5*
Sangria -3,5*
Paixão -3*
#abrilcontosmil
Nenhum destes contos alcança o humor negro de “The Lydia Steptoe Diaries” de que eu tinha gostado tanto. Djuna Barnes é fantástica a nível frásico, faz uma caracterização brilhante das suas personagens, mas coloca-as em situações estranhas ou até absurdas das quais elas não saem de forma que eu considere satisfatória num conto. Gosto que acabem no céu ou no inferno, e Barnes deixa-as suspensas no limbo.
Mas o melhor é explicar como ela era: ‘temperamentvoll’ e alta, ‘kraftvoll’ e magra. Nessa altura devia andar pelos 40 anos e vestia desmazeladamente roupa cara. Como se fosse difícil, dir-se-ia, mantê-la vestida; tinha os ombros sempre fora do sítio, a saia talvez estivesse presa só com um colchete, talvez não soubesse onde tinha deixado a carteira, mas o que ela mostrava sempre era um ar bárbaro, por causa das jóias, e arrastava consigo algo de intencional e dramático, como se fosse o centro de um turbilhão, e a roupa não passasse de efémeros despojos.
- Anulação
Às vezes – não com frequência, só às vezes – ria com vivacidade de algo que não era conveniente lembrar-se; e o riso é perturbante, num velho, porque inclemente e excepcional. De vez em quando levantava o lornhão no momento menos próprio, e era espantoso o ar de ‘galant’, de ‘bon-vivant’ com que ficava... embora na sua carne houvesse um banho de azul que era uma afirmação de morte assumida. Nunca falava do espírito.
- A Paixão
Apanhou-a e manteve-a presa entre o indicador e o polegar enquanto o seu espírito disparava até à cena que se tinha passado ali perto, com a dona da casa, pois só “dona da casa” e mais nada podia chamar-se Fred Buckler, a mulherzinha fogosa, com uma pilha eléctrica a fazer de coração e um corpo de brinquedo que tudo dirigia e ronronava, saturada de insolência, com um zumbido mecânico que lhe extorquia a humanidade.
- Uma noite entre os cavalos
A pele da Moydia é fina, fina ao ponto de me sentar, a olhar para ela, e pôr-me a pensar como é que ela pode ter opiniões. (...) Queria tornar-se ‘tragique’ e ‘triste’ e terrível, tudo ao mesmo tempo, como na bela época das mulheres francesas, embora menos ardente e talvez menos oura: além, disso morrer e renunciar ao coração como uma virgem.
- A Grande Malade
"Aller et retour" - 4*
Anulação - 3*
A Grande Malade- 4*
Uma Noite entre os Cavalos- 3*
O criado-3*
O coelho-3*
Os médicos -2,5*
Sangria -3,5*
Paixão -3*
July 8, 2018
"Pensa em tudo, o bom, o mau, o indiferente; em tudo, e faz tudo, tudo!"
Nove pequenas histórias, intrigantes, bem desenvolvidas e com finais inesperados ou ambíguos.
Nove pequenas histórias, intrigantes, bem desenvolvidas e com finais inesperados ou ambíguos.
June 10, 2013
As anybody familiar with the singular artistic vision of Djuna Barnes is aware, reading anything she wrote is like entering a type of parallel universe—one that resembles our own in many ways, but also one that is no longer able to repress and erase what is odd or sad or grotesque, particularly in regards to the human condition. As an astute commentator much smarter than me has noted, reading Barnes is to enter a textual space "in which the normative becomes, for once in history, the excluded, the taboo, and the unmentionable."*
Barnes was a prolific artist and her written work encompasses journalism, interviews, novels, plays, poetry, criticism, and a copious amount of wittily irascible letters exchanged with just about all of the great cultural luminaries of the 20th century (unfortunately a collection has yet to emerge, so for now one can catch glimpses of them in the countless biographies and commentaries detailing the modernist era). She was also, of course, a short story writer, and this was my first encounter with her short-form fiction work. Once one is familiar with Barnes's baroque style and bleak worldview it is difficult to not immediately recognize her writing, and so on the one hand these stories easily fit in with all of the other modes she wrote in. But I also found them different in a crucial way as well, for if her novels and longer fiction feel like a meander through a shape-shifting dream world, the short stories operate in a quite different manner. For within these little slips of short stories, many no more than several pages long, she is somehow able to contract and compress entire cosmos of feeling, affect, experiences, and histories (of both a personal and cultural nature).
Not that this ever seems the case at the beginning of each story. Barnes's technique is to introduce several eccentric characters, establish a setting and then embroider these elements in a delicate meshwork of commentary and observations that are unexpected and incisive and beautiful in turn, if not all at the same time. Often they hardly seem like "stories" at all, but rather character sketches, all evocative description and not much else. But that impression is deceptive, for almost like clockwork in the closing lines something inevitably happens—a snippet of dialogue perhaps, or a turn of phrase—and suddenly everything comes together in a brief flash of insight. It's not exactly that everything seems to "fall into place," or it is like a puzzle with an "aha!" conclusion, or even that an epiphany occurs on the part of either character or reader, but everything still comes together in the very last moment, and suddenly makes some kind of sense.
But "sense" isn't even the right word, as it's something more ambiguous and indescribable than that. But whatever it is it's extremely potent: there were several times upon reaching the end of a story that I had to set the book down for a few minutes, blown away by an unexpected wave of emotion that just coursed through me. How? I likely wouldn't have been able to tell you. Why? Glancing back through the stories now, I can't exactly tell anymore. And yet somehow, fleetingly, in the moment of reading these stories they would somehow reveal an emotional coherence, and often to devastating effect. It didn't take long for me to become fully convinced that Barnes is one of the great short story writers, even if she is rarely anthologized, and I'd be surprised if she's ever included as a "how-to" example in a guide to writing a "good" short story. Because by any standards these stories shouldn't work. But somehow they do, and the results are unlike just about anything else I've ever encountered or had the great pleasure to read.
"'You see,' she continued, 'some people drink poison, some take the knife, others drown. I take you."
*Joseph Allan Boone, Libidinal Currents: Sexuality and the Shaping of Modernism (which is more or less my academic bible, and his commentary on Barnes's Nightwood is revelatory)
Barnes was a prolific artist and her written work encompasses journalism, interviews, novels, plays, poetry, criticism, and a copious amount of wittily irascible letters exchanged with just about all of the great cultural luminaries of the 20th century (unfortunately a collection has yet to emerge, so for now one can catch glimpses of them in the countless biographies and commentaries detailing the modernist era). She was also, of course, a short story writer, and this was my first encounter with her short-form fiction work. Once one is familiar with Barnes's baroque style and bleak worldview it is difficult to not immediately recognize her writing, and so on the one hand these stories easily fit in with all of the other modes she wrote in. But I also found them different in a crucial way as well, for if her novels and longer fiction feel like a meander through a shape-shifting dream world, the short stories operate in a quite different manner. For within these little slips of short stories, many no more than several pages long, she is somehow able to contract and compress entire cosmos of feeling, affect, experiences, and histories (of both a personal and cultural nature).
Not that this ever seems the case at the beginning of each story. Barnes's technique is to introduce several eccentric characters, establish a setting and then embroider these elements in a delicate meshwork of commentary and observations that are unexpected and incisive and beautiful in turn, if not all at the same time. Often they hardly seem like "stories" at all, but rather character sketches, all evocative description and not much else. But that impression is deceptive, for almost like clockwork in the closing lines something inevitably happens—a snippet of dialogue perhaps, or a turn of phrase—and suddenly everything comes together in a brief flash of insight. It's not exactly that everything seems to "fall into place," or it is like a puzzle with an "aha!" conclusion, or even that an epiphany occurs on the part of either character or reader, but everything still comes together in the very last moment, and suddenly makes some kind of sense.
But "sense" isn't even the right word, as it's something more ambiguous and indescribable than that. But whatever it is it's extremely potent: there were several times upon reaching the end of a story that I had to set the book down for a few minutes, blown away by an unexpected wave of emotion that just coursed through me. How? I likely wouldn't have been able to tell you. Why? Glancing back through the stories now, I can't exactly tell anymore. And yet somehow, fleetingly, in the moment of reading these stories they would somehow reveal an emotional coherence, and often to devastating effect. It didn't take long for me to become fully convinced that Barnes is one of the great short story writers, even if she is rarely anthologized, and I'd be surprised if she's ever included as a "how-to" example in a guide to writing a "good" short story. Because by any standards these stories shouldn't work. But somehow they do, and the results are unlike just about anything else I've ever encountered or had the great pleasure to read.
"'You see,' she continued, 'some people drink poison, some take the knife, others drown. I take you."
*Joseph Allan Boone, Libidinal Currents: Sexuality and the Shaping of Modernism (which is more or less my academic bible, and his commentary on Barnes's Nightwood is revelatory)
July 24, 2023
Una belleza. A mi (personal y plenamente subjetivo) me cuestan mucho los cuentos. Pero Dujna me ha cautivado hasta el final con cada uno de los presentes en este texto. Que reúne -como ella misma señala- lo único digno de su obra.
February 14, 2021
Djuna tem uma escrita espantosa: elegante, perspicaz, densa, dura, frontal, cruel e precisa. Já não lia algo tão admirável como isto há algum tempo (e, na verdade, acabei, recentemente, livros extraordinários). Djuna é uma mulher livre. Não presta contas. Por isso, a sua escrita é o que é. No meu exemplar, havia um artigo de Helena Vasconcelos sobre "O Bosque da Noite", acrescido de dados biográficos de Djuna Barnes. Que escritora maravilhosa. Que vida intrigante. Dá impressão que só viveu como quis e escreveu o que era realmente importante. Não há concessões a nada. O conto 'Sangria' é simplesmente magnífico. Duvido que encontre algo tão sofisticado, elegante e inteligente nos próximos tempos. A não ser que seja dela.
December 12, 2023
I've fallen into a reread of the complete--or as much of the works as I have in my possession--of Djuna Barnes fascinating oeuvres. I had read at least one tale here included but I don't think I'd ever read the whole of this (a couple of times revised) collection of stories. All-in-all I really enjoyed them. More than classic short narratives, these tales read like vignettes, character studies of mostly emigres as other people uprooted in either space or time--sometimes both. Each tale does have a moment of revelation, a Joycean epiphany if you will, so they definitely qualify as short stories, just of the classic modernist rather than older narrative ilk.
Interestingly, to me, was the language of the stories. Having just read the early novel Ryder and the late play The Antiphon, I was startled by the lack of linguistic pyrotechnics here. The prose is beautiful, sharp, but only as poetic or abstract as it needs to be--rather perfect for the short form, I think. But for those why hate excess, and perhaps have had occasion to dismiss Ms. Barnes because of the obvious linguistic emphasis of either of the two end works I just mentioned, these stories are well worth your time and would change any generalization you might make regarding her other work. Her masterpiece in absolute remains for me Nightwood, which puts the linguistic experimentation best to work, but it's interesting to see through these stories that Djuna Barnes could write without the flourishes if she so chose and thus this fine little collection.
Interestingly, to me, was the language of the stories. Having just read the early novel Ryder and the late play The Antiphon, I was startled by the lack of linguistic pyrotechnics here. The prose is beautiful, sharp, but only as poetic or abstract as it needs to be--rather perfect for the short form, I think. But for those why hate excess, and perhaps have had occasion to dismiss Ms. Barnes because of the obvious linguistic emphasis of either of the two end works I just mentioned, these stories are well worth your time and would change any generalization you might make regarding her other work. Her masterpiece in absolute remains for me Nightwood, which puts the linguistic experimentation best to work, but it's interesting to see through these stories that Djuna Barnes could write without the flourishes if she so chose and thus this fine little collection.
July 25, 2011
Djuna Barnes is one of those amazing writers where the writing is just an expression of a totally singular genius/personality. (the other writers i can think of that are like this are Jane Bowles, Leonora Carrington, Denton Welch, and D.H. Lawrence.) It is unattached to the idea of writing as a craft, the nuts and bolts of Writing and Being a Writer. An unconscious flow unimpeded by too much awareness of what a story/poem/writing SHOULD be. She is stunning in her originality and the very human truths that emerge from her strange stories and twists of language.
August 20, 2017
En 1996 compre un libro llamado "Writing for their lives" en donde se mencionaba a Djuna Barnes y otras escritoras norteamericanas que se tenían en el olvido, y que lucharon por su libertad de expresión como género y como intelectuales, en una sociedad ultra machista. En las décadas de los 20 y los 30, vivió en Europa participando en la vida alegre de un círculo de artistas que comprendía a James Joyce, Gertrude Stein y su novia Alice B. Toklas, Ezra Pound, Colette, etc. Djuna volvió Nueva York en 1941 y se encerró a escribir. Los 4 relatos que aparecen en este volumen fueron tomados de "El Vertedero", en donde la autora reunió sus mejores cuentos. Es claro que después de 77 años, estas narraciones de tipo impresionista, y, quizá, con algún intento de novela psicológica, carecen de interés.
April 27, 2023
Primer contacto con Djuna Barnes antes de entrar de lleno en la lectura de "El bosque de la noche".
Una conjura de relatos sobre ningún tema y sobre todos los temas posibles de la naturaleza humana: el anhelo, la ambición personal, la devoción del amante como una institución a lo largo de la vida, la añoranza por el tiempo que pasa, el querer lo mejor para alguien pero que ese alguien no tenga mayores aspiraciones en la vida más allá de vivirla (como si eso ya no fuera de por sí titánico).
Algo en como escribe Djuna me recuerda a Jaeggy, aunque ese algo sea mucho más granate y como la pulpa de fruta. Un disfrute.
"Una noche entre los caballos" es tal vez mi preferido en el momento en el que escribo esto, preguntadme más adelante a ver cuál os digo.
Una conjura de relatos sobre ningún tema y sobre todos los temas posibles de la naturaleza humana: el anhelo, la ambición personal, la devoción del amante como una institución a lo largo de la vida, la añoranza por el tiempo que pasa, el querer lo mejor para alguien pero que ese alguien no tenga mayores aspiraciones en la vida más allá de vivirla (como si eso ya no fuera de por sí titánico).
Algo en como escribe Djuna me recuerda a Jaeggy, aunque ese algo sea mucho más granate y como la pulpa de fruta. Un disfrute.
"Una noche entre los caballos" es tal vez mi preferido en el momento en el que escribo esto, preguntadme más adelante a ver cuál os digo.
July 12, 2025
Dell' eliminare il rimorso dal proibito
Nove racconti brevissimi.
Nove donne misteriose e senza scrupoli
Nove donne che non hanno più niente da perdere o da mettere in gioco
Nove racconti a testimoniare "l'enorme dissipazione della vita, il suo incedere devastante" il tutto condito dalle passioni, "le spezie che spargiamo" per sopravvivere all'orrore del tutto.
Gotici e di gran fascino.
Nove racconti brevissimi.
Nove donne misteriose e senza scrupoli
Nove donne che non hanno più niente da perdere o da mettere in gioco
Nove racconti a testimoniare "l'enorme dissipazione della vita, il suo incedere devastante" il tutto condito dalle passioni, "le spezie che spargiamo" per sopravvivere all'orrore del tutto.
Gotici e di gran fascino.
December 29, 2021
A great introduction to the writing of Djuna Barnes. Felt like I was in a psychological whirlwind and at the end, wondering who was friend or foe.
February 27, 2022
Barnes' stories are a poetic exercise in the macabre and the bestial. they drip with atmosphere, dread, and ennui, and while they do follow some form of plot, they are more affecting moods than your average formulaic story. Barnes was meticulously and sparing with her wording and phrasing, getting each story just right (tinkering in several successive editions) to arrive at Spillway, what she thought was her distillation of her best short fiction. approach these with a gothic poet's eye, and you will enjoy them all the more. beautiful collection. please get reprinted soon.
July 14, 2014
Imagine a universe that obeys our laws of nature, inhabited by people who travel, suffer, hunger, talk, sleep, love, cry, laugh, are vain, strong, and vulnerable, just like we do, but where our society's established gender roles are acted out and embraced in the way only remotely connected to our spheres of experience. This is Djuna Barnes' magnificent universe where women comfort and entertain crying men, not with any resemblance to antiquity, but with the greatest matter of course known to modernity. Her prose is light as a feather boa, names of places like Paris, Berlin, Rome, Scandinavia bat effortlessly around the pages like butterfly wings behind a veil of sensuality, in front of a marbled canvas of sorrow.
March 29, 2019
I've only read the title story and none of it made sense except this "There had been a party. The guests, a lot of them, were mostly drunk, or touched with drink. And he too had too much. He remembered having thrown his arms about a tall woman, gowned in black with loose shoulder straps, dragging her through a dance. He had even sung a bit of a song, madly, wildly, horribly. And suddenly he had been brought up sharp by the fact that no one thought his behavior strange, that no one thought him presumptuous. Freda's mother had not even moved or dropped the kitten from her lap where it sat, its loud resolute purr shaking the satin of her gown."
October 10, 2020
Le sujet de la nouvelle est je trouve fascinant puisque tout se joue en si peu de temps, il est donc intéressant de voir quels détails, quelles informations, l'auteur·rice soulignera. La structure du récit et bien entendu plus limpide et chaque mot compte double.
Djuna Barnes désarçonne avec ses protagonistes avançant comme des marionnettes programmées par leurs sexes (les hommes jouent à faire les hommes, les femmes jouent à faire les femmes), et ses intrigues comme recouvertes d'un voile trouble. Une écriture sacrément singulière qui marque et pique notre intérêt. Ça n'a pas été un coup de cœur mais une sacrée rencontre tout de même. Avec la hâte de lire le reste de son œuvre.
Djuna Barnes désarçonne avec ses protagonistes avançant comme des marionnettes programmées par leurs sexes (les hommes jouent à faire les hommes, les femmes jouent à faire les femmes), et ses intrigues comme recouvertes d'un voile trouble. Une écriture sacrément singulière qui marque et pique notre intérêt. Ça n'a pas été un coup de cœur mais une sacrée rencontre tout de même. Avec la hâte de lire le reste de son œuvre.
December 18, 2019
Leí el libro en español, este conjunto de relatos incluye: Aller et retour, Anulación, La grande malade, Una noche entre los caballos, El criado, El conejo, Los doctores, El muchacho hace una pregunta, Vaciadero, y La pasión.
Fue una lectura algo difícil, parece un misterio la forma de escribir de Djuna Barnes. Los relatos dan la impresión de que todas la relaciones entre los personajes son negativas en algún sentido, y cuando finalmente concluye cada relato nos deja una sensación de incomodidad indescriptible.
Fue una lectura algo difícil, parece un misterio la forma de escribir de Djuna Barnes. Los relatos dan la impresión de que todas la relaciones entre los personajes son negativas en algún sentido, y cuando finalmente concluye cada relato nos deja una sensación de incomodidad indescriptible.
October 20, 2021
“it was a shame that women threw themselves in the Seine, only to become a part of its sorrow, instead of casting themselves into a just-right pond like this, where the water would become a part of them. we felt a great despair that people do not live or die beautifully, nor plan anything at all; and then we said we would do better.” (The Grande Malade)
Barnes’s writing is truly beautiful but these stories just didn’t hook me
Barnes’s writing is truly beautiful but these stories just didn’t hook me
December 12, 2018
A good short story collection. I enjoy Barnes' writing. These stories are subtle, but powerful.
April 13, 2020
Märkliga och lätt oroande historier. Obehagliga modersfigurer, hjälplösa barn, åldrande och spröda kroppar mm.
September 29, 2021
Quite obtuse. Didn't get much out of
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September 23, 2022I really liked the sharp contrast between natures via horses and this elite upper class world via the woman who wishes to groom the narrator
March 20, 2023
1.5 stars - i have no clue what i read he died at the end lol
December 31, 2023
Wirres Zeug. Figuren, in die man sich nicht hineinversetzen kann, und die völlig irrational handeln. Der Schreibstil rettet es auch nicht.
August 12, 2024
Me ha dejado fría. Creo que tendré que leer algo más de esta autora. Ahora mismo, no podría decir nada de ella.
January 17, 2017
Put this back in print. Djuna needs to be read.
August 20, 2023
Faccio in generale fatica coi racconti. Salvo qualche eccezione, non faccio in tempo ad entrarci che sono già finiti. Mi manca quell’irresistibile voglia di continuare il mio libro, per stare ancora un po’ insieme ai personaggi che sto imparando a conoscere. Questi racconti non mi hanno detto nulla. Scritti benissimo, ma me li sono già dimenticati.
September 21, 2013
djuna barnes beleuchtet mit wirklich wunderbarer sprache unterschiedliche formen von leidenschaft bzw. wie sich diese im leben von menschen manifestiert oder fehlt. eventuell liegt es an der übersetzung: aber manche passagen wirken sehr rätselhaft und gehen nicht auf, wenngleich andere wiederum mit sehr wenigen worten ganze landschaften aufrichten. in summe ist das buch eine tolle leseerfahrung, die einzelnen erzählungen sind kompakt und komprimiert, könnten auch surrogate für ganze romane sein.
""aller et retour" - am beginn räumlich ein wenig verwirrend, aber stofflich schön erzählt."
""löschung" - schöne surreale etude, die die notwendigkeit beschreibt, weiterzugehen - und seine träume selbst zu leben (oder seine ängste)."
""la grande malade" - eine leidenschaftliche beziehung, die tragisch endet, wobei das aber auch nur eine kleine zäsur im jungen leben darstellt."
""eine nacht mit den pferden" - ein mann glaubt, die pferde im griff zu haben, hat er aber nicht."
""der diener" - überraschende geschichte über einen endgültigen abschied, der erst bekanntschaft(en) ermöglicht."
""das kaninchen" - bisher der höhepunkt des buches: falsche entscheidungen führen zu falschen entscheidungen, gespiegelt und im inneren. großartig!"
""die ärzte" - medizin und religion haben sich noch nie so recht verstanden, und wenn eine arztgattin sich verirrt, dann so richtig"
""kopfunter" - eine tödliche krankheit wirft ggfls. alle ordnung über den haufen, vor allem wenn der tod nicht wie prophezeit eintritt: schöne parabel."
""leidenschaft" - hinter einem geordneten, leidenschaftslosen, langen leben einer gealterten prinzessin steckt das warten auf die liebe, die niemals gekommen ist. ein schöner höhepunkt am ende der sammlung."
""aller et retour" - am beginn räumlich ein wenig verwirrend, aber stofflich schön erzählt."
""löschung" - schöne surreale etude, die die notwendigkeit beschreibt, weiterzugehen - und seine träume selbst zu leben (oder seine ängste)."
""la grande malade" - eine leidenschaftliche beziehung, die tragisch endet, wobei das aber auch nur eine kleine zäsur im jungen leben darstellt."
""eine nacht mit den pferden" - ein mann glaubt, die pferde im griff zu haben, hat er aber nicht."
""der diener" - überraschende geschichte über einen endgültigen abschied, der erst bekanntschaft(en) ermöglicht."
""das kaninchen" - bisher der höhepunkt des buches: falsche entscheidungen führen zu falschen entscheidungen, gespiegelt und im inneren. großartig!"
""die ärzte" - medizin und religion haben sich noch nie so recht verstanden, und wenn eine arztgattin sich verirrt, dann so richtig"
""kopfunter" - eine tödliche krankheit wirft ggfls. alle ordnung über den haufen, vor allem wenn der tod nicht wie prophezeit eintritt: schöne parabel."
""leidenschaft" - hinter einem geordneten, leidenschaftslosen, langen leben einer gealterten prinzessin steckt das warten auf die liebe, die niemals gekommen ist. ein schöner höhepunkt am ende der sammlung."
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October 18, 2012Y una vez ella no quería abrir los ojos sino que chilló y poniendo la mano de él en su corazón dijo: “¿No palpita espantosamente, la criatura?” Y él le suplicó: “¿Por qué? ¿Por qué?”
Luego, batiendo las manos, se deshacía en lágrimas y gritaba: “Te doy demasiados destinos con mi cuerpo. Soy Marie camino de la guillotine. Soy María la Sangrienta pero no he visto sangre. Soy Desdémona, pero Otelo, ¿dónde está? Soy Hécuba y Helena. Soy Gretel y Brunilda, soy Nana y Camila. ¡Pero me aburro tanto como ellas! ¿Cuándo voy a aburrirme debidamente?”
Él se aburría y la sacó de su rodilla. Entonces se lanzó sobre él y empezó a tirarle de la ropa y a destrozarle los guantes y dijo con absoluta calma: “Me asombra como no te amo.”
Luego, batiendo las manos, se deshacía en lágrimas y gritaba: “Te doy demasiados destinos con mi cuerpo. Soy Marie camino de la guillotine. Soy María la Sangrienta pero no he visto sangre. Soy Desdémona, pero Otelo, ¿dónde está? Soy Hécuba y Helena. Soy Gretel y Brunilda, soy Nana y Camila. ¡Pero me aburro tanto como ellas! ¿Cuándo voy a aburrirme debidamente?”
Él se aburría y la sacó de su rodilla. Entonces se lanzó sobre él y empezó a tirarle de la ropa y a destrozarle los guantes y dijo con absoluta calma: “Me asombra como no te amo.”
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