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Vidas Escritas
Javier Marías apresenta-nos vinte e seis breves retratos de grandes escritores, que são um convite à leitura das suas obras.Entre os escolhidos estão William Faulkner, Joseph Conrad, Isak Dinesen, James Joyce, Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Conan Doyle, Oscar Wilde, Ivan Turgueniev, Thomas Mann, Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, Rainer Maria Rilke, Vladimir Nabokov, Madame du Deffand, Arthur Rimbaud, Henry James e Laurence Sterne.Todos eles são tratados por Marías com admiração, afecto, ironia e distanciamento.O volume é completado com retratos de «seis mulheres fugitivas».
«É difícil contermo-nos perante o encanto destes breves retratos, estranhos e astutamente irónicos. Um livro encantador.» [Michael Dirda, The Washington Post]
«Ao ler estes textos, cai-se insólita e inesperadamente numa sensação de êxtase.» [The Washington Times]
«Marías é um escritor demasiado hábil para se lançar em qualquer coisa como uma entediante teoria da biografia. […] Para Marías, os grandes escritores não são enigmas por resolver, mas paradoxos para saborear.» [Christopher Benfey, The New York Times Book Review]
«Tenho o pressentimento de que Vidas Escritas, de Javier Marías, será considerado um texto de referência na história da biografia.» [Carl Rollyson, The New York Sun]
«É difícil contermo-nos perante o encanto destes breves retratos, estranhos e astutamente irónicos. Um livro encantador.» [Michael Dirda, The Washington Post]
«Ao ler estes textos, cai-se insólita e inesperadamente numa sensação de êxtase.» [The Washington Times]
«Marías é um escritor demasiado hábil para se lançar em qualquer coisa como uma entediante teoria da biografia. […] Para Marías, os grandes escritores não são enigmas por resolver, mas paradoxos para saborear.» [Christopher Benfey, The New York Times Book Review]
«Tenho o pressentimento de que Vidas Escritas, de Javier Marías, será considerado um texto de referência na história da biografia.» [Carl Rollyson, The New York Sun]
296 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1992
82 people are currently reading
1901 people want to read
About the author
Javier Marías
140 books2,445 followersJavier Marías was a Spanish novelist, translator, and columnist. His work has been translated into 42 languages. Born in Madrid, his father was the philosopher Julián Marías, who was briefly imprisoned and then banned from teaching for opposing Franco. Parts of his childhood were spent in the United States, where his father taught at various institutions, including Yale University and Wellesley College. His mother died when Javier was 26 years old. He was educated at the Colegio Estudio in Madrid.
Marías began writing in earnest at an early age. "The Life and Death of Marcelino Iturriaga", one of the short stories in While the Women are Sleeping (2010), was written when he was just 14. He wrote his first novel, "Los dominios del lobo" (The Dominions of the Wolf), at age 17, after running away to Paris.
Marías operated a small publishing house under the name of Reino de Redonda. He also wrote a weekly column in El País. An English version of his column "La Zona Fantasma" is published in the monthly magazine The Believer.
In 1997 Marías won the Nelly Sachs Prize.
Marías began writing in earnest at an early age. "The Life and Death of Marcelino Iturriaga", one of the short stories in While the Women are Sleeping (2010), was written when he was just 14. He wrote his first novel, "Los dominios del lobo" (The Dominions of the Wolf), at age 17, after running away to Paris.
Marías operated a small publishing house under the name of Reino de Redonda. He also wrote a weekly column in El País. An English version of his column "La Zona Fantasma" is published in the monthly magazine The Believer.
In 1997 Marías won the Nelly Sachs Prize.
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June 13, 2017Written Lives is extremely readable, mostly interesting and just a little disturbing.
Javier Marías is so cunningly selective about the details of the various writers' lives he examines in these brief pieces that the portraits he reveals are quite artfully and quite thoroughly distorted. And speaking of distortion, I must mention André Carillho's cover art: three clever and funny caricatures of Oscar Wilde, James Joyce and R L Stevenson in suitably sepia tones.
The penetrating insights in Written Lives vary from tender to cooly objective, from stealthily critical to openly disparaging. But even when Marías is tender, there is ruthlessness beneath. He is like a sadistic lover, having his wicked way with this group of writers, some of whom he may love, but surely, only a little. He mentions Giuseppe di Lampedusa’s advice to his nephew: “Cave obdurantionem cordis" (beware the hardened heart, or something similar). The phrase strikes me as a very suitable warning to Marías himself.
The final essay, Perfect Artists, a sort of addendum to Written Lives, is quietly excellent and almost free of any irony or desire to humiliate (I say 'almost' because he implies that these artists are 'perfect' because they are dead). In this final essay, Marías examines a set of images of a selection of writers, some of whom already featured in Written Lives. His analysis of these images, his ability to draw intelligent conclusions from the position of a hand, the direction of an eye, is simply brilliant.
Marías admits to omitting Spanish authors but gives a very vague excuse for this omission. Maybe he is afraid of hometown ghosts?
In case I've put anyone off reading Written Lives, here's a little snippet about Emily Brontë to whet your appetite: Afterwards, she went down to the living room and there, sitting on the sofa, she died at two o'clock in the afternoon, having refused to go back to bed. She was only thirty years old and she wrote nothing more.
Javier Marías is so cunningly selective about the details of the various writers' lives he examines in these brief pieces that the portraits he reveals are quite artfully and quite thoroughly distorted. And speaking of distortion, I must mention André Carillho's cover art: three clever and funny caricatures of Oscar Wilde, James Joyce and R L Stevenson in suitably sepia tones.
The penetrating insights in Written Lives vary from tender to cooly objective, from stealthily critical to openly disparaging. But even when Marías is tender, there is ruthlessness beneath. He is like a sadistic lover, having his wicked way with this group of writers, some of whom he may love, but surely, only a little. He mentions Giuseppe di Lampedusa’s advice to his nephew: “Cave obdurantionem cordis" (beware the hardened heart, or something similar). The phrase strikes me as a very suitable warning to Marías himself.
The final essay, Perfect Artists, a sort of addendum to Written Lives, is quietly excellent and almost free of any irony or desire to humiliate (I say 'almost' because he implies that these artists are 'perfect' because they are dead). In this final essay, Marías examines a set of images of a selection of writers, some of whom already featured in Written Lives. His analysis of these images, his ability to draw intelligent conclusions from the position of a hand, the direction of an eye, is simply brilliant.
Marías admits to omitting Spanish authors but gives a very vague excuse for this omission. Maybe he is afraid of hometown ghosts?
In case I've put anyone off reading Written Lives, here's a little snippet about Emily Brontë to whet your appetite: Afterwards, she went down to the living room and there, sitting on the sofa, she died at two o'clock in the afternoon, having refused to go back to bed. She was only thirty years old and she wrote nothing more.
June 8, 2023
There are many works that are collections of mini-biographies of authors such as Lives of the Authors by John Sutherland that I read and reviewed. What makes this book by Marias different, and intriguing, is that Marias paints each writer with a few quick brushstrokes, making us feel like we know them without having to slog through a 500-page biography.
Kipling was marked by his upbringing in India, and was mostly friendless and humorless; well-liked but not loved. Every Henry James was irritated with him.
Or the author focuses on the author's life from the perspective of a snapshot – Isak Dinesen in old age, living alone in her childhood home, smoking like a chimney until her death at age 77; throwing manic-depressive fits of rage.
About two-dozen authors are profiled, mainly big-name English and American authors from the late 1800s through the mid-1900s.
I’ve enjoyed three books by this Spanish author (1956-2022). He uses some of this biographical material on authors again in Dark Back of Time a story of a fictional author, where about a third of the work consists of mini-biographies of early and mid-Twentieth Century British authors. I'm tempted to say ‘obscure British authors,’ but some of these folks, such as Stephen Graham, had fifty published works in their day. "Where are they now?" it seems the author is asking us. The third book of his I read was The Infatuations. I gave that one a '5.'
Photo of the author from nytimes.com
Kipling was marked by his upbringing in India, and was mostly friendless and humorless; well-liked but not loved. Every Henry James was irritated with him.
Or the author focuses on the author's life from the perspective of a snapshot – Isak Dinesen in old age, living alone in her childhood home, smoking like a chimney until her death at age 77; throwing manic-depressive fits of rage.
About two-dozen authors are profiled, mainly big-name English and American authors from the late 1800s through the mid-1900s.
I’ve enjoyed three books by this Spanish author (1956-2022). He uses some of this biographical material on authors again in Dark Back of Time a story of a fictional author, where about a third of the work consists of mini-biographies of early and mid-Twentieth Century British authors. I'm tempted to say ‘obscure British authors,’ but some of these folks, such as Stephen Graham, had fifty published works in their day. "Where are they now?" it seems the author is asking us. The third book of his I read was The Infatuations. I gave that one a '5.'
Photo of the author from nytimes.com
May 28, 2021
WELCOME TO WRITTEN LIVES
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Written Lives. I hope you will enjoy a stroll in the literary hall of fame. We are lucky: our guide will be the creator of this unique gallery of portraits painted with words, señor Javier Marías! You will meet him in a while. Autographs and photos after the visit, please.
First things first. Help yourself to the interesting facts and amusing anecdotes about popular writers. Just to give you a taste, one of my favourites, starring Rainer Maria Rilke, a nameless peacock and Eleonora Duse:
Bear in mind that it is just the outer layer and Written Lives offers much more. When you break the attractive shell of fun facts, you can peek into the abyss of a creative process. It is usually painful, not cute to watch. Listen carefully. You can often hear the clash between the authors' sensitivity and mundane real life.
Geliy Korzhev-Chuvelev, Typewriter.
Be prepared for delusions. It may turn out that the golden statue of your favourite writer, which you have been laboriously sculpting for years in your imagination, has a few unsettling cracks now or it may even be blown to smithereens. Truth about the author or dare to pretend it does not bother you?
Do not despair. Get ready for serendipitous discoveries. Chances are some of the authors depicted in Written Lives will pique your interest.
The thing you might find irritating is Marías' authoritative selection of authors for his gallery created with a mixture of affection and humour. Remember that it is not a regular literature course but a capricious, subjective array of glimpses, short snippets. Personally, I would prefer Marías to include more female writers. More geographical and ethnic diversity would be a big plus also. Another issue: the word portraits are uneven, as it often happens in collections. My favourite vignettes are on Rainer Maria Rilke, Djuna Barnes and Isaak Dinesen (Karen Blixen). Some are slightly disappointing.
Leonid Pasternak, The Passion of Creation
Now I would like to address the visitors who expect idealistic apotheoses of beloved authors. I hope I have already made myself clear: your wish will not be granted. The portrayals you will find here are multidimensional and present humans, not impeccable inhabitants of an ivory tower. Humans, with the baggage of flaws and quirks. Sometimes repelling humans, vide the vignettes on Malcolm Lowry and Arthur Rimbaud.
A friendly warning: beware of the guide. Señor Javier Marías' erudition, humour, charm, subtlety, sensitiveness are of a dangerously bewitching kind – you may end up with a crush. We accept no responsibility for loss of your heart. Even if it is A Heart So White.
Last but not least, we are thrilled to bits to have you here and wish you a memorable visit. Right now, I want to turn the floor over to señor Javier Marías.
John Whytock, The Writer.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Written Lives. I hope you will enjoy a stroll in the literary hall of fame. We are lucky: our guide will be the creator of this unique gallery of portraits painted with words, señor Javier Marías! You will meet him in a while. Autographs and photos after the visit, please.
First things first. Help yourself to the interesting facts and amusing anecdotes about popular writers. Just to give you a taste, one of my favourites, starring Rainer Maria Rilke, a nameless peacock and Eleonora Duse:
As for the diva Duse, to whom Rilke was devoted, even though he met her when she was old and mad and already in poor health, his intimacy with her was cut short by a peacock which, in the middle of an idyllic picnic on one of Venice’s islands, walked stealthily over to where they were taking tea and unleashed its awful, hoarse shriek right in the ear of the actress, who fled not only the picnic, but Venice itself. In some whimsical way Rilke identified with the peacock, a fact that brought with it strange feelings of remorse and kept him awake all night.
Bear in mind that it is just the outer layer and Written Lives offers much more. When you break the attractive shell of fun facts, you can peek into the abyss of a creative process. It is usually painful, not cute to watch. Listen carefully. You can often hear the clash between the authors' sensitivity and mundane real life.
Geliy Korzhev-Chuvelev, Typewriter.
Be prepared for delusions. It may turn out that the golden statue of your favourite writer, which you have been laboriously sculpting for years in your imagination, has a few unsettling cracks now or it may even be blown to smithereens. Truth about the author or dare to pretend it does not bother you?
Do not despair. Get ready for serendipitous discoveries. Chances are some of the authors depicted in Written Lives will pique your interest.
The thing you might find irritating is Marías' authoritative selection of authors for his gallery created with a mixture of affection and humour. Remember that it is not a regular literature course but a capricious, subjective array of glimpses, short snippets. Personally, I would prefer Marías to include more female writers. More geographical and ethnic diversity would be a big plus also. Another issue: the word portraits are uneven, as it often happens in collections. My favourite vignettes are on Rainer Maria Rilke, Djuna Barnes and Isaak Dinesen (Karen Blixen). Some are slightly disappointing.
Leonid Pasternak, The Passion of Creation
Now I would like to address the visitors who expect idealistic apotheoses of beloved authors. I hope I have already made myself clear: your wish will not be granted. The portrayals you will find here are multidimensional and present humans, not impeccable inhabitants of an ivory tower. Humans, with the baggage of flaws and quirks. Sometimes repelling humans, vide the vignettes on Malcolm Lowry and Arthur Rimbaud.
A friendly warning: beware of the guide. Señor Javier Marías' erudition, humour, charm, subtlety, sensitiveness are of a dangerously bewitching kind – you may end up with a crush. We accept no responsibility for loss of your heart. Even if it is A Heart So White.
Last but not least, we are thrilled to bits to have you here and wish you a memorable visit. Right now, I want to turn the floor over to señor Javier Marías.
John Whytock, The Writer.
August 26, 2025
4,5*
#nonfictionnovember
[Stevenson] disse assim: “Quando uma pessoa se casa, já não lhe resta nada, nem sequer o suicídio, apenas ser bom”.
Por várias vezes, ao ler “Vidas Escritas”, senti que estava na sala de espera de um consultório a ler uma revista da imprensa cor-de-rosa. Aqui encontramos coscuvilhices, viagens, casamentos, divórcios, drama, suicídio, doenças graves, alcoolismo, inimizades e muita, mas mesmo muita, má-língua, acompanhada até de fotografias e quadros de vários escritores, em que Javier Marías comenta penteados, farpelas e poses para a posteridade. Estas minibiografias têm graça, estão escritas com muito bom gosto e é visível o respeito e admiração pelos escolhidos. Bem, pela maioria, pois Marías é muito frontal e deixa bem claro logo no prólogo que antipatiza com três autores: James Joyce e Thomas Mann, Yukio Mishima. Será um choque para alguns, mas pessoalmente compreendo-o. Em comum têm não só uma enorme arrogância, a convicção da sua genialidade, mas também tendências escatológicas que fizeram questão de documentar.
“Vens-te enquanto cagas ou masturbas-te até ao fim primeiro e cagas a seguir?” Não se pode negar que Joyce era um homem exigente e amante do pormenor.
Mais adiante, em 1933, Mann continua obcecado e com razão: “Tomei o pequeno-almoço na cama. Propensão para a diarreia.” Não é de estranhar que no ano seguinte se queixe: “Doem-me os intestinos.”
Assim, não nos resta senão ficar a saber que a sua [Mishima] primeira ejaculação teve lugar contemplando uma reprodução do tronco de S. Sebastião que foi pintado por Guido Reni com algumas flechas a trespassá-lo.
Não é, porém, o tom de desdém que impera em “Vidas Escritas”, porque é óbvia a ternura que o autor sente por vários destes vultos da literatura, falando de Joseph Conrad, Robert Louis Stevenson, Lampedusa, Kipling, Oscar Wilde, Faulkner, entre outros, com muito respeito. De todos destaco, até porque não sou nada tendenciosa, a presença constante de Henry James, não só no fragmento a si dedicado, mas também nas várias participações especiais na vida de outros escritores de quem foi amigo ou com quem manteve uma relação cordial.
Pode dizer-se de Henry James que foi infeliz e feliz pelo mesmo motivo, a saber: era um espectador da vida, quase não participava nela, ou pelo menos não o fazia nos seus aspectos mais atraentes e emocionantes. Em troca, praticou durante mutos anos uma vida social intensíssima (...), a ponto de numa única temporada, a de 1878-79, ter sido convidado para jantar (e aceitado) 140 vezes registadas.
Como em todos os círculos, há sempre personalidades mais desenxabidas, e aqui são elas Rainer Maria Rilke, Malcolm Lowry e Laurence Sterne, cuja presença não veio acrescentar nada.
Dos 20 visados por Marías, custa-me que só três sejam do sexo feminino, mas quase lhe perdoo, visto que as escolheu a dedo: Isak Dinesen, Djuna Barnes e Madame du Deffand. Eram as três fabulosas, umas verdadeiras divas.
A sua pessoa chegou precedida de rumores e mistérios infindos: ele é na realidade um homem, ele é na realidade uma mulher, Isak Dinesen são dois, irmão e irmã, Isak Dinesen viveu em Boston em 1870, ela é na realidade uma parisiense, ele vive em Elsinore, (...) ela é freira, ele é muito hospitaleiro e recebe jovens escritores.
#nonfictionnovember
[Stevenson] disse assim: “Quando uma pessoa se casa, já não lhe resta nada, nem sequer o suicídio, apenas ser bom”.
Por várias vezes, ao ler “Vidas Escritas”, senti que estava na sala de espera de um consultório a ler uma revista da imprensa cor-de-rosa. Aqui encontramos coscuvilhices, viagens, casamentos, divórcios, drama, suicídio, doenças graves, alcoolismo, inimizades e muita, mas mesmo muita, má-língua, acompanhada até de fotografias e quadros de vários escritores, em que Javier Marías comenta penteados, farpelas e poses para a posteridade. Estas minibiografias têm graça, estão escritas com muito bom gosto e é visível o respeito e admiração pelos escolhidos. Bem, pela maioria, pois Marías é muito frontal e deixa bem claro logo no prólogo que antipatiza com três autores: James Joyce e Thomas Mann, Yukio Mishima. Será um choque para alguns, mas pessoalmente compreendo-o. Em comum têm não só uma enorme arrogância, a convicção da sua genialidade, mas também tendências escatológicas que fizeram questão de documentar.
“Vens-te enquanto cagas ou masturbas-te até ao fim primeiro e cagas a seguir?” Não se pode negar que Joyce era um homem exigente e amante do pormenor.
Mais adiante, em 1933, Mann continua obcecado e com razão: “Tomei o pequeno-almoço na cama. Propensão para a diarreia.” Não é de estranhar que no ano seguinte se queixe: “Doem-me os intestinos.”
Assim, não nos resta senão ficar a saber que a sua [Mishima] primeira ejaculação teve lugar contemplando uma reprodução do tronco de S. Sebastião que foi pintado por Guido Reni com algumas flechas a trespassá-lo.
Não é, porém, o tom de desdém que impera em “Vidas Escritas”, porque é óbvia a ternura que o autor sente por vários destes vultos da literatura, falando de Joseph Conrad, Robert Louis Stevenson, Lampedusa, Kipling, Oscar Wilde, Faulkner, entre outros, com muito respeito. De todos destaco, até porque não sou nada tendenciosa, a presença constante de Henry James, não só no fragmento a si dedicado, mas também nas várias participações especiais na vida de outros escritores de quem foi amigo ou com quem manteve uma relação cordial.
Pode dizer-se de Henry James que foi infeliz e feliz pelo mesmo motivo, a saber: era um espectador da vida, quase não participava nela, ou pelo menos não o fazia nos seus aspectos mais atraentes e emocionantes. Em troca, praticou durante mutos anos uma vida social intensíssima (...), a ponto de numa única temporada, a de 1878-79, ter sido convidado para jantar (e aceitado) 140 vezes registadas.
Como em todos os círculos, há sempre personalidades mais desenxabidas, e aqui são elas Rainer Maria Rilke, Malcolm Lowry e Laurence Sterne, cuja presença não veio acrescentar nada.
Dos 20 visados por Marías, custa-me que só três sejam do sexo feminino, mas quase lhe perdoo, visto que as escolheu a dedo: Isak Dinesen, Djuna Barnes e Madame du Deffand. Eram as três fabulosas, umas verdadeiras divas.
A sua pessoa chegou precedida de rumores e mistérios infindos: ele é na realidade um homem, ele é na realidade uma mulher, Isak Dinesen são dois, irmão e irmã, Isak Dinesen viveu em Boston em 1870, ela é na realidade uma parisiense, ele vive em Elsinore, (...) ela é freira, ele é muito hospitaleiro e recebe jovens escritores.
September 2, 2025
Written Lies
Marías O Marías
Why must you be so cruel?
With a sleight of your slim hand
You turn Man into a fool
Marías O Marías
No-one escapes your razor-sharp gaze
Not least those who are famous
For their eccentric ways
Marías O Marías
Although I laughed out loud
While reading your clever put-downs
I wasn't always proud
Marías O Marías
I’d rather not be known
Exposed before your eyes
I'd feel naked to the bone
Marías O Marías
You hate immodesty
If one believes in her own worth
She pays the penalty
Marías O Marías
One had better not be ugly
In your books looks are a virtue
And a crime tis to be chubby
Marías O Marías
Have you any respect
For the souls of the departed
Whose bodies you dissect?
Marías O Marías
You write like a magician
So why not use your powers
To end this inquisition?
Marías O Marías
It’s so easy to poke fun
At those who can’t reply
Because they have no tongue
Marías O Marías
Still we may forgive you
If half of what you’ve written
Turns out to be untrue
Marías O Marías
I know you’ll never read this
Your sarcasm's turned into
A million little pieces
Read
December 18, 2024Fun, if you like little sips from famous writers' lives, because each snapshot, written with Marías' wry humor, is only around six pages long. You'll get some insight into the likes of Faulkner, Conrad, Dinesen, Joyce, Di Lampedusa, Doyle, RL Stevenson, Turgenev, Mann, Nabokov, Rilke, Lowry, Kipling, Rimbaud, Barnes, Wilde, Mishima, and Sterne.
At the end, Marias adds a little essay on portraits of writers and his thoughts on the art's connections to the personalities. Some of these authors were treated earlier in the book and some are new.
A dipper-into-book, better read in quick moments between larger fare. Is it slanted by Marías' opinions of each writer? But of course!
At the end, Marias adds a little essay on portraits of writers and his thoughts on the art's connections to the personalities. Some of these authors were treated earlier in the book and some are new.
A dipper-into-book, better read in quick moments between larger fare. Is it slanted by Marías' opinions of each writer? But of course!
February 24, 2023
This was fun, fun, fun! Not only to read but also apparently to write:
Anecdotes are drawn from the lives of writers, retold and reassembled with mischievous humor throughout. This book is decidedly not about their literary merits, though many are clearly among his favorite authors as their literary evaluation occasionally slipped through (Rilke: “the greatest poet of the twentieth century (of this there is little doubt)”). Written with a sympathetic eye (the three authors excepted :-)), biographical vignettes differ in varying shades, ranging from affectionate empathy with one’s unfulfilled life to enjoyable amusement with quirky habits. All writers come across as lively mortals in contrast to worshipped literary demigods as found in many hagiographies that pass as biographies, and it’s not coincidental that all vignettes end with the exact dates and circumstances of their death.
Marías collected postcards of many writers and shared a sample of his collection in the final section, ‘Perfect Artists’, astutely observing the image of a persona from the seating or standing position, eye gaze, hairstyle, wardrobe, many telling details. Right before the last writer in this section (the life mask of William Blake), ‘lo and behold I was excited to see one of my all-time favorite authors and exulted to read his description by another favorite of mine, the inimitable Señor Marías:
Thomas Bernhard's photo is one of the most moving in the whole collection. Despite his not particularly attractive, slightly coarse features (they became more refined with age), and the over-long sideburns that betray the date when the photo must have been taken, his face, because of his eyes, is one of the kindest, most humorous, intelligent, and sympathetic in the gallery.
The only two conditions for a writer’s inclusion in Marías’ book were that they were (1) dead and (2) did not write in his native language, Spanish. From everything I read by him and about him, I have a distinct feeling that he took delight in breaking the rules (especially literary conventions) so I would depart from his second condition by sharing a photo of this brilliant dandy.
With the passage of time, I have come to realise that, although I have enjoyed writing all my books, this was the one with which I had the most fun. (Prologue)Anecdotal vignettes about 20 semi-randomly selected writers form the largest section of the book, some are factual, others probably “embellished”, and, who knows, some could have been made up (“almost nothing in them is invented” - no word is accidental in his writing, note almost). For those who are too pedantic and disconcerted by any slight aberration from facts about their favorite writers, Marías furnishes them with a voluminous bibliography for fact-finding as if with a wink for self-inflicted torture by those who misunderstand the nature of this book… and who take themselves and their literary gods too seriously. And it happens that three of the twenty writers apparently shared this “sin” in Marías’ view, which he found so unforgivable that he denied them any sympathy while lavishly bestowing it on the rest.
Anecdotes are drawn from the lives of writers, retold and reassembled with mischievous humor throughout. This book is decidedly not about their literary merits, though many are clearly among his favorite authors as their literary evaluation occasionally slipped through (Rilke: “the greatest poet of the twentieth century (of this there is little doubt)”). Written with a sympathetic eye (the three authors excepted :-)), biographical vignettes differ in varying shades, ranging from affectionate empathy with one’s unfulfilled life to enjoyable amusement with quirky habits. All writers come across as lively mortals in contrast to worshipped literary demigods as found in many hagiographies that pass as biographies, and it’s not coincidental that all vignettes end with the exact dates and circumstances of their death.
Marías collected postcards of many writers and shared a sample of his collection in the final section, ‘Perfect Artists’, astutely observing the image of a persona from the seating or standing position, eye gaze, hairstyle, wardrobe, many telling details. Right before the last writer in this section (the life mask of William Blake), ‘lo and behold I was excited to see one of my all-time favorite authors and exulted to read his description by another favorite of mine, the inimitable Señor Marías:
Thomas Bernhard's photo is one of the most moving in the whole collection. Despite his not particularly attractive, slightly coarse features (they became more refined with age), and the over-long sideburns that betray the date when the photo must have been taken, his face, because of his eyes, is one of the kindest, most humorous, intelligent, and sympathetic in the gallery.
The only two conditions for a writer’s inclusion in Marías’ book were that they were (1) dead and (2) did not write in his native language, Spanish. From everything I read by him and about him, I have a distinct feeling that he took delight in breaking the rules (especially literary conventions) so I would depart from his second condition by sharing a photo of this brilliant dandy.
November 10, 2018
Só de me imaginar a ler a vida do escritor X, contada pelo biógrafo Y, começo logo a bocejar. No entanto, sou doida por livros sobre livros, ou de pequenos episódios da vida de escritores e, neste género, este é do melhor que já li. E surpreendente porque descobri que Javier Marías também sabe escrever sem divagações existenciais, características da sua obra ficcional, e com muito humor. Bem, por vezes, Marías exagera nas gracinhas, que se tornam um pouco de mau gosto (ou talvez seja só porque beliscou uns autores que admiro muito).
Dividido em três partes — além de um Prólogo de uma senhora que não conheço, de uma Introdução de Javier Marías e uma extensa bibliografia — o livro é totalmente dedicado aos escritores, sendo as referências às suas obras praticamente nulas.
I. VIDAS ESCRITAS
de vinte escritores que se focam em situações reveladoras das excentricidades, vícios e outras características mais vulgares das suas personalidades. Uma maravilha!
II. MULHERES FUGITIVAS
são seis escritoras (só conhecia uma), cuja vida se caracterizou pela fuga às regras ditadas pela sociedade da sua época (Século XVIII e IXX) escolhendo ser livres e fazer o que bem lhes apeteceu.
III. ARTISTAS PERFEITOS
observando trinta e sete fotografias, Marías faz uma análise do estado de espírito do fotografado. Pelo olhar, a posição das mãos, o vestuário, etc., pormenores que a mim me escapariam, mas lendo o texto e olhando a fotografia, está lá tudo. Impressionante!
Dividido em três partes — além de um Prólogo de uma senhora que não conheço, de uma Introdução de Javier Marías e uma extensa bibliografia — o livro é totalmente dedicado aos escritores, sendo as referências às suas obras praticamente nulas.
I. VIDAS ESCRITAS
de vinte escritores que se focam em situações reveladoras das excentricidades, vícios e outras características mais vulgares das suas personalidades. Uma maravilha!
II. MULHERES FUGITIVAS
são seis escritoras (só conhecia uma), cuja vida se caracterizou pela fuga às regras ditadas pela sociedade da sua época (Século XVIII e IXX) escolhendo ser livres e fazer o que bem lhes apeteceu.
III. ARTISTAS PERFEITOS
observando trinta e sete fotografias, Marías faz uma análise do estado de espírito do fotografado. Pelo olhar, a posição das mãos, o vestuário, etc., pormenores que a mim me escapariam, mas lendo o texto e olhando a fotografia, está lá tudo. Impressionante!
January 29, 2018
Javier Marias, geç keşfettiğim ama ne yazdıysa zevkle okuduğum bir yazar. Kurmaca olmayan bu kitabı, bazı ünlü yazarların sıradışı bir şekilde kaleme alınmış kısa yaşamöykülerinden oluşuyor. Sevdiğiniz bazı yazarların iğnelenmesine de hazırlıklı olun. Ama bunun akademik bir kitap olmadığını da hatırınızdan çıkarmayın. Sonuçta, keyifle okunan ama kesinlikle hafif/sığ olmayan, edebiyata ilgi duyanların duyarsız kalamayacağı, birçok ilginç bilgi de edinebileceği, yeni yazarlar keşfetmenizi de sağlayabilecek bir kitap.
May 27, 2022
Além de gostar de ler livros, também gosto de ler coisas sobre escrita e sobre escritores, daí o meu interesse nesta obra. Isto e as atualizações da Paula, - a super influenciadora - quando o leu. No entanto, não fiquei deslumbrada. Terminei a leitura e só depois é que li o prólogo de Elide Pittarello e foi ao lê-lo que encontrei as palavras para definir esta leitura.
Em vez dos sucessos soporíferos com que este tipo de biografias costuma juntar de forma funcional épocas, autores e livros, a alvoroçada galeria das suas Vidas Escrita põe a descoberto a grande variedade de excentricidades e manias que afectava tantos génios das letras. Tendo em conta o registo jocoso com que o assunto é abordado, não é claro se as suas extravagâncias foram um obstáculo ou um aliciante para o talento do criador.
Acho que foi o "tom jocoso" e que, para mim, em alguns casos também pareceu depreciativo, que fez com que não ficasse encantada com o livro nem com os escritores escolhidos para figurarem nesta galeria, independentemente dos seus comportamentos mais ou menos excêntricos. Também não fiquei impressionada com nenhum deles, a maior parte dos quais (ainda) não li.
A única personagem/protagonista que me despertou alguma curiosidade, talvez pela sua personalidade vincada, foi a Madame du Deffand.
A vida de Madame du Deffand foi sem dúvida demasiado longa para quem considerava que a maior desgraça era a de ter nascido. Seria erróneo, contudo, concluir que viveu os seus quase oitenta e quatro anos à espera da morte. Em várias ocasiões exprimiu o problema com clareza: «Viver sem amar a vida não faz desejar o seu fim, apenas diminui o temor de a perder.» Nunca foi uma desesperada, como a sua amiga e inimiga Julie de Lespinasse, nem sequer sofreu feridas profundas de nenhuma espécie. Aborrecia-se, mais nada.(...) Madame du Deffand aborrecia-se e lutava contra o aborrecimento, o que a aborrecia ainda mais.
Fiquei curiosa com outros dois autores, Djuna Barnes e Yukio Mishima. Por este último já tinha um certo fascínio desde que ouvi o episódio sobre ele no podcast "Vamos todos morrer", e o mesmo não desapareceu com a leitura da sua vida escrita, e também por talvez gostar de ser do contra e este autor ser, juntamente com Joyce e Mann, os menos merecedores do afeto do senhor Javier.
Obrigada, Celeste! Sem ti não teria chegado tão depressa a este livro! :)
#maioAGespanhol
Em vez dos sucessos soporíferos com que este tipo de biografias costuma juntar de forma funcional épocas, autores e livros, a alvoroçada galeria das suas Vidas Escrita põe a descoberto a grande variedade de excentricidades e manias que afectava tantos génios das letras. Tendo em conta o registo jocoso com que o assunto é abordado, não é claro se as suas extravagâncias foram um obstáculo ou um aliciante para o talento do criador.
Acho que foi o "tom jocoso" e que, para mim, em alguns casos também pareceu depreciativo, que fez com que não ficasse encantada com o livro nem com os escritores escolhidos para figurarem nesta galeria, independentemente dos seus comportamentos mais ou menos excêntricos. Também não fiquei impressionada com nenhum deles, a maior parte dos quais (ainda) não li.
A única personagem/protagonista que me despertou alguma curiosidade, talvez pela sua personalidade vincada, foi a Madame du Deffand.
A vida de Madame du Deffand foi sem dúvida demasiado longa para quem considerava que a maior desgraça era a de ter nascido. Seria erróneo, contudo, concluir que viveu os seus quase oitenta e quatro anos à espera da morte. Em várias ocasiões exprimiu o problema com clareza: «Viver sem amar a vida não faz desejar o seu fim, apenas diminui o temor de a perder.» Nunca foi uma desesperada, como a sua amiga e inimiga Julie de Lespinasse, nem sequer sofreu feridas profundas de nenhuma espécie. Aborrecia-se, mais nada.(...) Madame du Deffand aborrecia-se e lutava contra o aborrecimento, o que a aborrecia ainda mais.
Fiquei curiosa com outros dois autores, Djuna Barnes e Yukio Mishima. Por este último já tinha um certo fascínio desde que ouvi o episódio sobre ele no podcast "Vamos todos morrer", e o mesmo não desapareceu com a leitura da sua vida escrita, e também por talvez gostar de ser do contra e este autor ser, juntamente com Joyce e Mann, os menos merecedores do afeto do senhor Javier.
Obrigada, Celeste! Sem ti não teria chegado tão depressa a este livro! :)
#maioAGespanhol
November 14, 2020
In contrast to most other works by Marias this is a very short booklet: it’s not a novel, but a collection of about twenty portraits of well-known and lesser-known writers, which he published in a Spanish newspaper in the early 1990s. So don't expect any depth, on the contrary. Marias emphasizes in his introduction that he does not focus on the writers' work, but on the small, usually less well-known aspects of their lives.
As a result, this booklet offers a succession of petty and downright misanthropic aspects of the so famous writers, all of whom seem to have been quite eccentric people, with whom it wasn’t easy to live with, and who often ended their lives in bitter solitude. To be honest, afterwards I had the impression that Marias had presented a real curiosity cabinet. At first, the never-ending list of the writers' petty sides is quite entertaining, but after a while it seems as if authors by definition are impossible people. It is also mainly a male affair (which may explain a few things), but Marias has subsequently added some female portraits that are just as ugly. In general, this is of course an nteresting read, although there is not much new to learn about the most famous writers (Joyce, Faulkner, Nabokov…). Yes, they’re definitely human after all…
As a result, this booklet offers a succession of petty and downright misanthropic aspects of the so famous writers, all of whom seem to have been quite eccentric people, with whom it wasn’t easy to live with, and who often ended their lives in bitter solitude. To be honest, afterwards I had the impression that Marias had presented a real curiosity cabinet. At first, the never-ending list of the writers' petty sides is quite entertaining, but after a while it seems as if authors by definition are impossible people. It is also mainly a male affair (which may explain a few things), but Marias has subsequently added some female portraits that are just as ugly. In general, this is of course an nteresting read, although there is not much new to learn about the most famous writers (Joyce, Faulkner, Nabokov…). Yes, they’re definitely human after all…
March 28, 2022
Fascinantes retratos de escritores. Divertidísimos y centrados en demostrar que toda vida es literatura —pues apenas habla de sus libros, sólo de sus maneras de encarar el día a día, el amor, la muerte, la guerra, el ego—. Aunque la primera versión de este libro apenas tenía nombres de mujeres en sus filas, se añadió una parte final con escritoras fascinantes. De todas las que cita y recupera Javier Marías, yo conocía sólo a dos. Mi lista de escritoras extrañas y fascinantes por recuperar acaba de crecer mucho. Por lo demás, geniales las semblanzas de Yukio Mishima, James Joyce, Djuna Barnes, Arthur Rimbaud, Madame Du Deffand y Vernon Lee. Me quedé con ganas de más en la de Emily Brontë.
August 10, 2013
Written Lives is a twisted triptych, composed of disparate elements, forces which may be at cross-purposes. The first section is a series of slim portraits of established authors. Marias tends to judge favorably on those not burdened with self-importance. He likes the quiet ones, those that shunned self-promotion and didn't think of themselves in terms of immortality. this section has a certain commonality with Cultural Amnesia: Necessary Memories from History and the Arts but more geekily indulgent than James's masterful assemblage: Marias doesn't profess a moral agenda.
The middle section concerns a handful of female authors (there are a number of women in the first section) most of whom I was unaware. Outside of Emily Bronte, most of these people are footnotes in the history of letters. This section proved more evocative, at least to me - it was rather expository.
The final element was an essay on the portraits of authors. This coincides with Sebaldian photographs on every page. This may be the kernel of an abandoned book: an inquiry along the lines of Susan Sontag.
Written Lives was a satisfying diversion, sufficiently steeped with anecdotes for future larding and bereft of anything too harsh.
The middle section concerns a handful of female authors (there are a number of women in the first section) most of whom I was unaware. Outside of Emily Bronte, most of these people are footnotes in the history of letters. This section proved more evocative, at least to me - it was rather expository.
The final element was an essay on the portraits of authors. This coincides with Sebaldian photographs on every page. This may be the kernel of an abandoned book: an inquiry along the lines of Susan Sontag.
Written Lives was a satisfying diversion, sufficiently steeped with anecdotes for future larding and bereft of anything too harsh.
November 7, 2017
Büyük bir yazarla başka büyük yazarların gıybetini yapıyormuş hissini yaşatıyor bu kitap. Marias seçmesinde, özellikle şuan hayatta olmayan yazarları ele almış ve onları bir roman karakteri gibi işlemiş. Yazarların pek bilinmeyen yönlerini dokunulmazlıklarını ortadan kaldırarak esprili ama diğer yandan dokunduran bir dille anlatmış. Ancak Yukio Mishima'ya yazdığı bölüm beni ciddi anlamda sinirlendirdi:) Bu kadar zavallı bir yorumu yaptığı için hayal kırıklığına uğradım da diyebilirim. Zaten oldukça öznel olan metinlerde, özellikle Joyce ve Mishima özelinde, bana kalırsa kıskançlık net bir şekilde hissediliyor. Listeye Dostoyevski, Proust, Tolstoy, Goethe, Woolf gibi yazarları almamasının sebebinin de onları kötüleme konusunda elinin kolunun bağlı olması olduğunu düşünüyorum. Mann ve Mishima bölümleri gibi yerleri saymazsam güzel bir kitaptı.
İyi okumalar!
İyi okumalar!
October 2, 2019
O que torna deliciosas estas resumidas incursões na intimidade dos sumariamente biografados, estas espreitadelas pelo buraco da fechadura, é o humor, a ironia e a renúncia a uma seriedade despropositada que Marías imprime aos seus breves relatos.
Soberba e humoristicamente escrito, lê-se num “ai” cada pequeno trecho que consegue resumir toda uma personalidade.
A parte final, a descrição de retratos antecedida pelos mesmos, é um curioso exercício de extrapolação da personalidade da imagem com a qual nem sempre concordei mas que me deixou profundamente atenta à circunstância de como os olhares divergem e logram extrair da mesma representação da realidade informações diferenciadas.
Por certo tenho que a escrita de Marías é uma maravilhosa tentação.
Soberba e humoristicamente escrito, lê-se num “ai” cada pequeno trecho que consegue resumir toda uma personalidade.
A parte final, a descrição de retratos antecedida pelos mesmos, é um curioso exercício de extrapolação da personalidade da imagem com a qual nem sempre concordei mas que me deixou profundamente atenta à circunstância de como os olhares divergem e logram extrair da mesma representação da realidade informações diferenciadas.
Por certo tenho que a escrita de Marías é uma maravilhosa tentação.
April 23, 2022
I enjoyed this. I think Marias is in his element here. It's frequently funny and sometimes moving, and what's more it's straight to the point. For example, from the end of the Oscar Wilde piece:
Now that's beautiful. That's a homage. It's graceful, not flashy, not indulgent, and it gets the point across. I don't even like Wilde much and it choked me up. Or, at the other end of the spectrum, take the piece on Joseph Conrad – it's downright hilarious:
Ha! I can just see it. So too when Henry James is pontificating so long and intently to two friends while out walking his dog that he doesn't notice the dog has circled the three men several times with its long leash and trapped them. Or the 'black mass' in the piece on Laurence Sterne, during which a baboon 'leapt onto the shoulders of the celebrant, Lord Sandwich, and was assumed to be the Devil himself'. Rilke's obsession with noblewomen, Joyce's terror of storms, Mann's meticulous recording of bowel movements in his journal – the details Marias focuses on here are almost all telling, like little keys to hidden parts of biographies left untold in 500-page tomes as indulgent as Thomas Mann's diaries. (God, it's hilarious when some young American praises Death in Venice to the skies and Mann, trying to be modest, says, 'After all, relatively speaking, I was still a beginner. A beginner of genius but still a beginner.')
In many ways, this resembles Borges – his brief essays on writers, or the biographical portraits from A Universal History of Infamy. But whereas Borges – in those pieces – is too often epigrammatic, Marias never taunts us with riddles or too much brevity. The telling detail is his speciality. His 7 pages on Lampedusa, for instance, give a balanced and touching portrait of that introspective man, based mostly around his daily routine of reading, browsing the local bookshop and sitting for hours outside a certain cafe, his habit of carrying several books with him in a rucksack with cakes and tobacco wherever he went, and his kind, meticulous education of a younger friend (who went on to become a respected critic) in English literature via a series of essays which he sweated over (he described his piece on Byron as 'an utter abomination') and never seems to have considered publishing. With lightness and deftness Marias makes this look easy, something which I have rarely seen done before (Antonio Tabucchi's piece on Antero de Quental is similar, but even Tabucchi pulled off this feat only once), and which I therefore must presume is anything but easy.
This is fun. It's a breeze. It's thought-provoking and educational. Only one thing troubles me: if he can write like this why doesn't he do it more often? After recently having finished All Souls, I looked at The Dark Back of Time and it appeared like quicksand, a glut of words saying (at least judging by the first chapter) far less than a few well-placed phrases in this little gem of a book, and sucking me quickly into a kind of infuriated questing 'Tell me more! Quickly!' attitude of reading which I did not relish. Contrast that with his epitaph on Kipling:
Or with his piece on Joyce, in which after detailing at length one of Joyce's many interrogations of his wife Nora concerning her sexual practices ('I have been trying to picture you frigging... How do you do it? Do you stand against the wall with your hand tickling up under your clothes or do you squat down on the hole with your skirts up... Do you come in the act of shitting or do you frig yourself off first and then shit?') – in which after all of this and more Marias writes:
Senior Marias, as an Anglophile you'd know the saying: brevity is the soul of wit. And judging by Written Lives, when you're not trying to break the record for the most subordinate clauses in a sentence, you're a witty man. Bravo, sir. Now, show us again how it's done?
He lies in the Paris cemetery of Pere Lachais, and on his grave, presided over by a sphinx, there is never any shortage of the flowers due to all martyrs.
Now that's beautiful. That's a homage. It's graceful, not flashy, not indulgent, and it gets the point across. I don't even like Wilde much and it choked me up. Or, at the other end of the spectrum, take the piece on Joseph Conrad – it's downright hilarious:
Conrad was so irritable that whenever he dropped his pen, instead of picking it up at once and carrying on writing, he would spend several minutes exasperatedly drumming his fingers on the desk as if bemoaning what had occurred.
Ha! I can just see it. So too when Henry James is pontificating so long and intently to two friends while out walking his dog that he doesn't notice the dog has circled the three men several times with its long leash and trapped them. Or the 'black mass' in the piece on Laurence Sterne, during which a baboon 'leapt onto the shoulders of the celebrant, Lord Sandwich, and was assumed to be the Devil himself'. Rilke's obsession with noblewomen, Joyce's terror of storms, Mann's meticulous recording of bowel movements in his journal – the details Marias focuses on here are almost all telling, like little keys to hidden parts of biographies left untold in 500-page tomes as indulgent as Thomas Mann's diaries. (God, it's hilarious when some young American praises Death in Venice to the skies and Mann, trying to be modest, says, 'After all, relatively speaking, I was still a beginner. A beginner of genius but still a beginner.')
In many ways, this resembles Borges – his brief essays on writers, or the biographical portraits from A Universal History of Infamy. But whereas Borges – in those pieces – is too often epigrammatic, Marias never taunts us with riddles or too much brevity. The telling detail is his speciality. His 7 pages on Lampedusa, for instance, give a balanced and touching portrait of that introspective man, based mostly around his daily routine of reading, browsing the local bookshop and sitting for hours outside a certain cafe, his habit of carrying several books with him in a rucksack with cakes and tobacco wherever he went, and his kind, meticulous education of a younger friend (who went on to become a respected critic) in English literature via a series of essays which he sweated over (he described his piece on Byron as 'an utter abomination') and never seems to have considered publishing. With lightness and deftness Marias makes this look easy, something which I have rarely seen done before (Antonio Tabucchi's piece on Antero de Quental is similar, but even Tabucchi pulled off this feat only once), and which I therefore must presume is anything but easy.
This is fun. It's a breeze. It's thought-provoking and educational. Only one thing troubles me: if he can write like this why doesn't he do it more often? After recently having finished All Souls, I looked at The Dark Back of Time and it appeared like quicksand, a glut of words saying (at least judging by the first chapter) far less than a few well-placed phrases in this little gem of a book, and sucking me quickly into a kind of infuriated questing 'Tell me more! Quickly!' attitude of reading which I did not relish. Contrast that with his epitaph on Kipling:
He was admired and read, but perhaps not very loved, although no-one ever said a word against him as a person.
Or with his piece on Joyce, in which after detailing at length one of Joyce's many interrogations of his wife Nora concerning her sexual practices ('I have been trying to picture you frigging... How do you do it? Do you stand against the wall with your hand tickling up under your clothes or do you squat down on the hole with your skirts up... Do you come in the act of shitting or do you frig yourself off first and then shit?') – in which after all of this and more Marias writes:
No-one can deny that Joyce was a scrupulous man with a love of detail.
Senior Marias, as an Anglophile you'd know the saying: brevity is the soul of wit. And judging by Written Lives, when you're not trying to break the record for the most subordinate clauses in a sentence, you're a witty man. Bravo, sir. Now, show us again how it's done?
March 4, 2023
Trumpų ir žaismingų dvidešimties rašytojų biografinių apybraižų rinkinys, su gandų kvapeliu. Kiekvienam skirta keli lapai, ne daugiau.
Javier Marias nepažindina mūsų su minimais knygoje autoriais, o tik pamini kai kurias intriguojančias biografijos detales, kuriuos rašytojus aprašomieji autoriai mėgo, kurių nekentė, pasakoja anekdotines istorijas, pamini mirties aplinkybes ir tikslią datą, prie viso to dažnai pacituoja priešmirtinius jų žodžius ar įsimintiną frazę išsakytą gyvenimo pabaigoje. Iš visos tos mozaikos susidėlioja tokie pažįstami (daugumos) veidai. Paprastai ir į dešimtuką! Man dar ir naudinga buvo, nes kai kurių autorių nebuvau girdėjusi. Užsinorejau perskaityti pav. Djuna Barnes.
Rinkinyje aprašomi autoriai:
William Faulkner, Joseph Conrad, Isak Dinesen, James Joyce, Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, Henri James, Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Louis Stevenson, Ivan Turgenev, Thomas Mann, Vladimir Nabokov, Rainer Maria Rilke, Malcolm Lowry, Madame du Deffand, Rudyard Kipling, Arthur Rimbaud, Djuna Barnes, Oscar Wilde, Yukio Mishima, Laurence Sterne.
Knygos priešpaskutiniame skyriuje “Fugitive Woman” dar papildomai (nes pakartotinas leidimas) aprašytos šešios moterys: Lady Hester Stanhope, Vernon Lee, Adah Isaacs, Menken, Violet Hunt, Julie de Lespinasse, Emily Bronte.
J. Marias neabejingas rašančiųjų (gal ir ne tik jų) portretams/atvirukams, kuriuos ir renka. Paskutiniame skyriuje “Perfect Artists” jis trumpai komentuoja/ interpretuoja 26 rašytojų portretus. Smagiai ir taikliai.
Nagi tikrai labai jau linksmas buvo skaitinys. Jautėsi, kad pats autorius irgi linksminosi rašydamas šią knygą. Vienintelis šio rinkinio blogis - kad per trumpas. Norisi dar ir dar.
Keletas ištraukų:
William Faulkner on Horseback. He always said that “Sanctuary”, his most commercial novel, for money: I needed it to buy a good horse.
Isak Dinesen (mums geriau zinoma kaip Karen Blixen) in Old Age. She smoked incessantly until the end of her life, which she departed at the age on seventy-seven, and was buried at the foot of a beech tree she herself had chosen, on the Rungsted coast. According to Lawrence Durrell, she would have shot a fond, ironic glance at anyone daring to mourn her death. “I am, in fact, three thousand years old and have dined with Socrates”.
James Joyce in His Poses. People used to say of J. Joyce that he seemed sad and tired, and he described himself on one occasion as “a jealous, lonely, dissatisfied, proud man”. His own wife, Nora barnacle, who never bothered to read Ulysses, once summed him up. She said: “He’s a fanatic.”
Joseph Conrad on Land. Despite having lost his parents at an early age and despite preserving few memories of them, he was a man much preoccupied with family tradition and with his forebears, even going so far as to express his repeated regret that a great-uncle of his, retreating with Napoleon from Moscow, had been so hard pressed by hunger that he was forced to find temporary respite from it, along with one or two other officers, at the expense of “a luckless Lithuanian dog.” The fact that a relative of his should have consumed dog-meat seemed to him a disgrace, and one for which, moreover, he held Bonaparte himself indirectly to blame.
Ivan Turgrnev in his sadness. Pauline Viardot or “La Garcia” (didzioji Turgenevo meile), who presumably knew him well, said of Ivan Turgenev: “He was the saddest of men.”
Arthur Rimbaud against art. Since the publication of Enid Starkie’s excellent biography, we now know quite a lot about his near-nomadic, post-literary life: about the coffee exporter, the foreman, the colonist, the explorer, the expeditionary, the gun-runner and possible slave-trader. […] on the draft copy of A Season in Hell, he had written: “Now I can say that art is nonsense.” Perhaps that is the real reason why he stopped writing.
Javier Marias nepažindina mūsų su minimais knygoje autoriais, o tik pamini kai kurias intriguojančias biografijos detales, kuriuos rašytojus aprašomieji autoriai mėgo, kurių nekentė, pasakoja anekdotines istorijas, pamini mirties aplinkybes ir tikslią datą, prie viso to dažnai pacituoja priešmirtinius jų žodžius ar įsimintiną frazę išsakytą gyvenimo pabaigoje. Iš visos tos mozaikos susidėlioja tokie pažįstami (daugumos) veidai. Paprastai ir į dešimtuką! Man dar ir naudinga buvo, nes kai kurių autorių nebuvau girdėjusi. Užsinorejau perskaityti pav. Djuna Barnes.
Rinkinyje aprašomi autoriai:
William Faulkner, Joseph Conrad, Isak Dinesen, James Joyce, Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, Henri James, Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Louis Stevenson, Ivan Turgenev, Thomas Mann, Vladimir Nabokov, Rainer Maria Rilke, Malcolm Lowry, Madame du Deffand, Rudyard Kipling, Arthur Rimbaud, Djuna Barnes, Oscar Wilde, Yukio Mishima, Laurence Sterne.
Knygos priešpaskutiniame skyriuje “Fugitive Woman” dar papildomai (nes pakartotinas leidimas) aprašytos šešios moterys: Lady Hester Stanhope, Vernon Lee, Adah Isaacs, Menken, Violet Hunt, Julie de Lespinasse, Emily Bronte.
J. Marias neabejingas rašančiųjų (gal ir ne tik jų) portretams/atvirukams, kuriuos ir renka. Paskutiniame skyriuje “Perfect Artists” jis trumpai komentuoja/ interpretuoja 26 rašytojų portretus. Smagiai ir taikliai.
Nagi tikrai labai jau linksmas buvo skaitinys. Jautėsi, kad pats autorius irgi linksminosi rašydamas šią knygą. Vienintelis šio rinkinio blogis - kad per trumpas. Norisi dar ir dar.
Keletas ištraukų:
William Faulkner on Horseback. He always said that “Sanctuary”, his most commercial novel, for money: I needed it to buy a good horse.
Isak Dinesen (mums geriau zinoma kaip Karen Blixen) in Old Age. She smoked incessantly until the end of her life, which she departed at the age on seventy-seven, and was buried at the foot of a beech tree she herself had chosen, on the Rungsted coast. According to Lawrence Durrell, she would have shot a fond, ironic glance at anyone daring to mourn her death. “I am, in fact, three thousand years old and have dined with Socrates”.
James Joyce in His Poses. People used to say of J. Joyce that he seemed sad and tired, and he described himself on one occasion as “a jealous, lonely, dissatisfied, proud man”. His own wife, Nora barnacle, who never bothered to read Ulysses, once summed him up. She said: “He’s a fanatic.”
Joseph Conrad on Land. Despite having lost his parents at an early age and despite preserving few memories of them, he was a man much preoccupied with family tradition and with his forebears, even going so far as to express his repeated regret that a great-uncle of his, retreating with Napoleon from Moscow, had been so hard pressed by hunger that he was forced to find temporary respite from it, along with one or two other officers, at the expense of “a luckless Lithuanian dog.” The fact that a relative of his should have consumed dog-meat seemed to him a disgrace, and one for which, moreover, he held Bonaparte himself indirectly to blame.
Ivan Turgrnev in his sadness. Pauline Viardot or “La Garcia” (didzioji Turgenevo meile), who presumably knew him well, said of Ivan Turgenev: “He was the saddest of men.”
Arthur Rimbaud against art. Since the publication of Enid Starkie’s excellent biography, we now know quite a lot about his near-nomadic, post-literary life: about the coffee exporter, the foreman, the colonist, the explorer, the expeditionary, the gun-runner and possible slave-trader. […] on the draft copy of A Season in Hell, he had written: “Now I can say that art is nonsense.” Perhaps that is the real reason why he stopped writing.
August 26, 2014
My alternative to pumpkin soup and pop-culture clichés on this, The Halloweenshire of Hollowness. Bitesize essays on a limousine of luminaries, plus some titbits on unknown promiscuous darlings of the demimonde. The final essay, ‘Perfect Artists’ is an illuminating gloss on famous author portraits. Marías plucks out the pertinent data and serves his musings in a coulis of wit and irony. A charming ickle stocking filler for the literate pater in your life. See Mike’s review for some scrumptious selections. Published in the Brattish Isles by Canongate, who sometimes sprout a set of balls and print something original.
May 30, 2025
4.5 ⭐️
“A vida de Madame du Deffand foi sem dúvida demasiado longa para quem considerava que a maior desgraça era a de ter nascido. Seria erróneo, contudo, concluir que viveu os seus quase oitenta e quatro anos à espera da morte. Em várias ocasiões exprimiu o problema com clareza: “Viver sem amar a vida não faz desejar o seu fim, apenas diminui o temor de a perder.”
Excentricidades, manias, perversidades, dependências, é o que encontramos neste livro de pequenas biografias de escritores já falecidos.
De forma desprendida mas cuidada, aprendemos a ver estes autores não pela sua obra, mas pelas suas vivências, personalidade e carácter.
Recomendo!
“A vida de Madame du Deffand foi sem dúvida demasiado longa para quem considerava que a maior desgraça era a de ter nascido. Seria erróneo, contudo, concluir que viveu os seus quase oitenta e quatro anos à espera da morte. Em várias ocasiões exprimiu o problema com clareza: “Viver sem amar a vida não faz desejar o seu fim, apenas diminui o temor de a perder.”
Excentricidades, manias, perversidades, dependências, é o que encontramos neste livro de pequenas biografias de escritores já falecidos.
De forma desprendida mas cuidada, aprendemos a ver estes autores não pela sua obra, mas pelas suas vivências, personalidade e carácter.
Recomendo!
November 13, 2018
Puro deleite. Erudição discreta, sarcasmo a rodos e o olho mágico que espreita para excentricidades irresistíveis (Ah, Mishima!). Mais um livro magnífico de um igualmente magnífico escritor.
November 8, 2019
Pomposity-pricking portraits of peers past and passed-on
Very enjoyable collection of brief profiles of novelists and poets, each with obscure anecdotes and telling details. Emily Bronte punched her dog full in the face one time. James Joyce was a nob. Rilke had a pet bee. Stuff like that. Entertaining bedtime reading.
Very enjoyable collection of brief profiles of novelists and poets, each with obscure anecdotes and telling details. Emily Bronte punched her dog full in the face one time. James Joyce was a nob. Rilke had a pet bee. Stuff like that. Entertaining bedtime reading.
July 26, 2018
Yaklaşık iki senedir beklettiğim bir kitaptı. Her yaz mutlaka bir toplu biyografi kitabı okumaya çalışıyorum. Açıkçası kitabın yazarı Javier Marias olunca beklentim biraz yüksekti. Bu nedenle üç yıldız veriyorum.
Geçen sene Elliot Engel’in Oscar Nasıl Wilde Oldu isimli derlemesini okumuş ve çok beğenmiştim. Bu tarz, toplu biyografi kitabı okuma niyetindeyseniz öncelikle onu tavsiye ederim.
Geçen sene Elliot Engel’in Oscar Nasıl Wilde Oldu isimli derlemesini okumuş ve çok beğenmiştim. Bu tarz, toplu biyografi kitabı okuma niyetindeyseniz öncelikle onu tavsiye ederim.
November 2, 2019
Yazarın ve yayınevinin ismine güvenip aldım. Üçüncü sınıf paparazi gazetecisi uslubuyla yazılmış, dedikodu köşelerindeki bilgilerden derlenmiş bir kitap çıktı karşıma. Önemli yazarların özgün kişilikler olması doğal belki de gerekli, ama bu kitapta özgünlük değil sapkın kişilikler anlatılıyor dersem inan abartmış olmam. Ticari başarı için yazılmış bu net ve anlaşılabilir fakat haksızlık edilecek bilgi ve yorumlar yapma hakkını nereden almış Javier Marias anlamak zor.
October 11, 2013
A thoroughly enjoyable read that held much promise. I was looking ever so forward to the last section being right up my alley with Javier Marías using old postcards and such of authors to gaze at and then muse over what may or may not have been going on that particular day with each of them. But the last section proved to be a bit of a disappointment for me as it did not live up to my perhaps extravagant and unreliable expectations. But I really did like the book as a whole and I shall give it three and a half stars rounded up to four if only because of one very good idea that perhaps needed a bit more fleshing out in order to satisfy me more.
February 28, 2024
I can't overstate how much I enjoy Javier Marías's mind! His wit, his charm, his passion. This is an enchanting collection of mini-biographical sketches of authors we all know (and a few we may not), embellished in a way only Marías could manage. Clearly, he doesn't take anything or anyone too seriously, while simultaneously retaining a reverence and love for the literature and the lives he here registers. The final section, "Perfect Artists," had me literally laughing and crying at the same time. I had to conclude my reading by looking up and selecting my favorite photograph of Marías. You'll understand when you read this book.
May 2, 2018
Tanto en su comentario sobre Rimbaud como sobre Mishima (sobre todo este último) Marías se deja en ridículo, como artista y como lector:
1) Rimbe, sus superdotes y su crueldad son indivisibles, y si se dedicó más a leer, escribir, vagabundear, drogarse, los idiomas y «el piano» que a escalar en el mundo de las letras, es porque fue Arthur Rimbaud, no Pere Gimferrer o algún poetastro o poetisa hipster contemporáneo de nuestra jodida España, y estaba a otras cosas (lo intentó con su carta a Banville para publicar en su periódico y poco más [de su arribismo de aldeano genial habla bien Michon en « Rimbaud le fils »]). Se tiene la sensación de que Marías, catedrático muy culto y muy bueno en su oficio como artesano y novelista al uso, envidia el talento genuino de Rimbaud (esta dicotomía la leí en el diario de Gide y me marcó indeleblemente: «Leyendo el sexto canto de Lautréamont me doy cuenta de que mis libros son el producto de la cultura y los años; quizá no haya nacido para esto»).
2) Lo de Mishima tiene más delito aún (aunque juega a la misma crítica del genio), pues Marías desconoce (eso parece) un par de cosas muy importantes: la relación epistolar de Mishima y Kawabata durante veinticinco años y que el propio Kawabata consideraba a Mishima mejor escritor que él, así que eso de que Mishima se fue a darle la enhorabuena a Kawabata por el Nobel resentido, bueno, que todas las envidias sean educadas y provengan de alguien considerado superior por el propio y supuestamente envidiado, Dios mío, y qué bien nos iría. Mishima fue un narcisista de cuidado, pero, al contrario que Marías, no fue un mero escritor conocedor de su oficio, sino un chiflado genial lleno de talento y ante cuyas obras como «El marino que perdió la gracia del mar» o su tetralogía «El mar de la fertilidad» uno no puede evitar rendirse lleno de admiración y asombro ante tal despliegue de inteligencia, profundidad, belleza y calidad literaria.
No haber leído a Mishima, Rimbaud, Mann, etc., sería una mancha en cualquier expediente literario; no se puede decir lo mismo de Marías (o cualquier otro escritor hispañistaní de los últimos decenios, piedras de sentido común más sosas que la una jugando a artistas).
El problema que tiene Marías con escritores narcisistas, ególatras, megalómanos... me parece muy pueril, pues todos esos pavos reales tenían de veras motivos para pavonearse, y es que, por mucho que estar atascado en el ego de uno sea ulteriormente siempre necio, al menos es racional, y cuando no, uno no es un gran artista narcisista sino un fatuo sin talento (ese tipo de ego sí que es insoportable y no el de un Rimbaud o Joyce).
¿Por qué la literatura hispañistaní es tan mala? ¿Por qué todo el mundo lee al chalado de Houellebecq (o, mejor dicho, por qué es tan bueno) y a la mayoría de doctores letrudos hispañistaníes no?
César Aira (creed a Vila-Matas cuando dice que la mejor literatura de habla hispana sale de Argentina y no de Hispañistán) da en el clavo:
Muchas veces me he preguntado por qué hay tan pocos escritores realmente buenos. Esa escasez no debería darse por sentada. Creo que se debe a que un escritor (un artista, en general) necesita tener al mismo tiempo dos cualidades opuestas e incompatibles: ser inteligente y razonable, y estar loco. Lo primero es necesario para aprender a escribir libros, que no es tan fácil como parece, para hacerlos publicar, y hasta para organizar su vida de modo de poder seguir escribiendo. Pero para que valga la pena tiene que haber esa chispa de locura, o al menos de rareza, de la que puede salir lo nuevo. Es muy difícil que las dos cosas se den en el mismo individuo. O es sólo inteligente y razonable, en cuyo caso escribirá convencionales libros inteligentes y razonables; o será sólo loco, y no podrá llegar a escribir. Cuando es las dos cosas superlativamente, hay un Kafka.
1) Rimbe, sus superdotes y su crueldad son indivisibles, y si se dedicó más a leer, escribir, vagabundear, drogarse, los idiomas y «el piano» que a escalar en el mundo de las letras, es porque fue Arthur Rimbaud, no Pere Gimferrer o algún poetastro o poetisa hipster contemporáneo de nuestra jodida España, y estaba a otras cosas (lo intentó con su carta a Banville para publicar en su periódico y poco más [de su arribismo de aldeano genial habla bien Michon en « Rimbaud le fils »]). Se tiene la sensación de que Marías, catedrático muy culto y muy bueno en su oficio como artesano y novelista al uso, envidia el talento genuino de Rimbaud (esta dicotomía la leí en el diario de Gide y me marcó indeleblemente: «Leyendo el sexto canto de Lautréamont me doy cuenta de que mis libros son el producto de la cultura y los años; quizá no haya nacido para esto»).
2) Lo de Mishima tiene más delito aún (aunque juega a la misma crítica del genio), pues Marías desconoce (eso parece) un par de cosas muy importantes: la relación epistolar de Mishima y Kawabata durante veinticinco años y que el propio Kawabata consideraba a Mishima mejor escritor que él, así que eso de que Mishima se fue a darle la enhorabuena a Kawabata por el Nobel resentido, bueno, que todas las envidias sean educadas y provengan de alguien considerado superior por el propio y supuestamente envidiado, Dios mío, y qué bien nos iría. Mishima fue un narcisista de cuidado, pero, al contrario que Marías, no fue un mero escritor conocedor de su oficio, sino un chiflado genial lleno de talento y ante cuyas obras como «El marino que perdió la gracia del mar» o su tetralogía «El mar de la fertilidad» uno no puede evitar rendirse lleno de admiración y asombro ante tal despliegue de inteligencia, profundidad, belleza y calidad literaria.
No haber leído a Mishima, Rimbaud, Mann, etc., sería una mancha en cualquier expediente literario; no se puede decir lo mismo de Marías (o cualquier otro escritor hispañistaní de los últimos decenios, piedras de sentido común más sosas que la una jugando a artistas).
El problema que tiene Marías con escritores narcisistas, ególatras, megalómanos... me parece muy pueril, pues todos esos pavos reales tenían de veras motivos para pavonearse, y es que, por mucho que estar atascado en el ego de uno sea ulteriormente siempre necio, al menos es racional, y cuando no, uno no es un gran artista narcisista sino un fatuo sin talento (ese tipo de ego sí que es insoportable y no el de un Rimbaud o Joyce).
¿Por qué la literatura hispañistaní es tan mala? ¿Por qué todo el mundo lee al chalado de Houellebecq (o, mejor dicho, por qué es tan bueno) y a la mayoría de doctores letrudos hispañistaníes no?
César Aira (creed a Vila-Matas cuando dice que la mejor literatura de habla hispana sale de Argentina y no de Hispañistán) da en el clavo:
Muchas veces me he preguntado por qué hay tan pocos escritores realmente buenos. Esa escasez no debería darse por sentada. Creo que se debe a que un escritor (un artista, en general) necesita tener al mismo tiempo dos cualidades opuestas e incompatibles: ser inteligente y razonable, y estar loco. Lo primero es necesario para aprender a escribir libros, que no es tan fácil como parece, para hacerlos publicar, y hasta para organizar su vida de modo de poder seguir escribiendo. Pero para que valga la pena tiene que haber esa chispa de locura, o al menos de rareza, de la que puede salir lo nuevo. Es muy difícil que las dos cosas se den en el mismo individuo. O es sólo inteligente y razonable, en cuyo caso escribirá convencionales libros inteligentes y razonables; o será sólo loco, y no podrá llegar a escribir. Cuando es las dos cosas superlativamente, hay un Kafka.
August 4, 2022
Ünlü yazar biyografilerine Marias’ın ironik ve kibirli anlatımıyla şöyle bir göz atmak isterseniz bu kitap aradığınız şey.
Biyografilerin bilinen detayları yerine yazarların da bir noktada sıradan insanlıklarına- daha doğrusu kusursuzluklarını lekeyelen sıradışılıklarına- dair küçük anektodlar şeklinde. Kitapta kullandığı dil öylesine kibirli ve espirili ki bu kitap sayesinde Marias’ın favorilerini ve nefret ettiklerini çok net ayırabiliyorsunuz. Benim bazen çok şaşırdığım, bazen de kahkahalarla güldüğüm bir kitap oldu. Eğer bu kitaptan beklentiniz yazarlara dair detaylı bilgiler edinip, hayatlarını kafanızda oturtmak ise sizin için yanlış kitap olabilir. Zira büyük bir beklentiniz olmadan okuduğunuzda keyif alacağınız bir edebi gıybetler kitabı. Açıkcası kendisiyle oturup bir Real Madrid maçı izleyip, devre aralarında da edebiyat dünyasını çekiştirmeyi çok isterdim. Zira kendisi asla düşmanı olmak istemeyeceğiniz insanlardan.
Biyografilerin bilinen detayları yerine yazarların da bir noktada sıradan insanlıklarına- daha doğrusu kusursuzluklarını lekeyelen sıradışılıklarına- dair küçük anektodlar şeklinde. Kitapta kullandığı dil öylesine kibirli ve espirili ki bu kitap sayesinde Marias’ın favorilerini ve nefret ettiklerini çok net ayırabiliyorsunuz. Benim bazen çok şaşırdığım, bazen de kahkahalarla güldüğüm bir kitap oldu. Eğer bu kitaptan beklentiniz yazarlara dair detaylı bilgiler edinip, hayatlarını kafanızda oturtmak ise sizin için yanlış kitap olabilir. Zira büyük bir beklentiniz olmadan okuduğunuzda keyif alacağınız bir edebi gıybetler kitabı. Açıkcası kendisiyle oturup bir Real Madrid maçı izleyip, devre aralarında da edebiyat dünyasını çekiştirmeyi çok isterdim. Zira kendisi asla düşmanı olmak istemeyeceğiniz insanlardan.
January 4, 2021
Did you know Dickens had a partiality for sitting astraddle on chairs? That Rilke once got thwarted by a peacock? That Tolstoy disapproved of Turgenev dancing the cancan at a birthday party? All these facts and more can be learned in these bizarre, brief bios.
April 22, 2025
"Don't blame it on my heart,
blame it on my youth."
blame it on my youth."
November 8, 2021
A rare mistake - I read someone's review - thought "oh good, must get this." Book in hand, I now realise it is a collection of anecdotes about famous writers - eugh!! I always stay clear of this type of book/memoir/biography because... well let me describe my reaction to the first one I picked - about Isak Dinesen/Karen Blixen - she liked to line her eyes with kohl and eat nothing except champagne and oysters - I'm bored. It is exactly the kind of detail that I don't want to know about the fabulous writer of Out of Africa. I once tried reading her diaries of the years she spent in Kenya - dull as dishwater. The thing about a brilliant book - such as Out of Africa - is that it is a distillation of the best of what a particular author can produce.
I also read the chapter on William Falkner - I won't even go into it!
This book has been happily sent onto another reader - maybe she will enjoy the mundane likes and dislikes of James Joyce, Joseph Conrad, Nobokov, Thomas Hardy - anyone else notice what I noticed - lotta men - not so many women.
I also read the chapter on William Falkner - I won't even go into it!
This book has been happily sent onto another reader - maybe she will enjoy the mundane likes and dislikes of James Joyce, Joseph Conrad, Nobokov, Thomas Hardy - anyone else notice what I noticed - lotta men - not so many women.
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