Chaos and Night

by Henry de Montherlant, Terence Kilmartin (Translator), Gary Indiana (Introduction)

Don Celestino is old and bitter and afraid, an impossible man. An anarchist who has been in exile from his native Spain for more than twenty years, he lives with his daughter in Paris, but in his mind he is still fighting the Spanish Civil War. He fulminates against the daily papers; he brags about his past exploits. He has become bigoted, self-important, and obsessed; a bully to his fellow exiles and a tyrant to his daughter, Pascualita.

Then a family member dies in Madrid and there is an inheritance to sort out. Pascualita wants to go to Spain, which is supposedly opening up in response to the 1960s, and Don Celestino feels he has no choice but to follow. He is full of dread and desire, foreseeing a heroic last confrontation with his enemies, but what he encounters instead is a new commercialized Spain that has no time for the past, much less for him. Or so it seems. Because the last act of Don Celestino’s dizzying personal drama will prove that though “there is nothing serious . . . , there is tragedy.”

An astonishing modern take on Don Quixote, Chaos and Night untangles the ties between politics and paranoia, self-loathing and self-pity, rage and remorse. It is the darkly funny final flowering of the art of Henry de Montherlant, a solitary and scarifying modern master whose work, admired by Graham Greene and Albert Camus, is sure to appeal to contemporary readers of Thomas Bernhard and Roberto Bolaño.

Genres: Fiction, French Literature, France, Novels, Literary Fiction, Classics, Spain

256 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1963

About the author

Henry de Montherlant (1895-1972) fut romancier, dramaturge, essayiste et poète. Il était membre de l’Académie française et peut être considéré comme un des plus grands écrivains du XXe siècle, à l’égal d’un Proust ou d’un Céline.

Reviews

[Hux · Rating 3 out of 5]

A book that had the potential to be something great but never got there. The writing is plodding and dense, too busy pushing the narrative and the buffoonish protagonist along to find the time to be anything more than prosaic. It's not unreadable but it's certainly not fluid either. It reminded me a little of Man's Fate by Malraux both in terms of style and subject matter (that book also underwhelmed).

The story focuses on Don Celestino, a Spanish exile living in Paris with his daughter Pascualita after having fought and lost against the Franco fascists. He is an anarchist with communist sympathies and, having been reduced to an insignificant foreigner, has become a tedious blowhard who massively overestimates his importance. After 20 years away from his homeland he receives news of his sister's death and decides to return despite the risks. In Madrid he is shocked to discover that normal life continues, cinemas and cafes, people getting on with life, America's influence to be seen everywhere. Was it all for nothing? Well, of course it was. There are definite Don Quixote allusions being drawn here, an oafish, old fool whose life was never that important or worthwhile to begin with, especially in the face of mortality (is anyone's?). Meanwhile his daughter acts as a kind of bewildered Sancho Panza, trying desperately to respect her father's intellect and influence but always knowing that it is predominantly a fictitious creation. Celestino is clown, a man who has dedicated his life to windmills and performative commie nonsense (people still do this) and he is always presented by De Montherlant as a dullard, an oaf, a delusional idiot. The politics are a sideshow but are effective in illustrating Celestino's infantile view of the world.

But I can't say that any of it was especially fun to read. De Montherlant's writing was not something that ever excited me and even less so his story. It drags on. It relies on you being thoroughly entertained (loving or hating him) by Celistino as a caricature, a bloated and monstrous creation that has elements of Ignatius J Reilly about him (another character that I found significantly less interesting than others). I can't say I hated the book. But I definitely did not like it and would probably not recommend with any enthusiasm.

[Danilo Scardamaglio · Rating 4 out of 5]

Il Caos e la notte è l'ultimo romanzo scritto da Henry de Montherlant, imperniato sugli ultimi anni vissuti da Celestino Marcilla, ex combattente durante la guerra civile spagnola tra le fila anarchiche, e successivamente espatriato in Francia, a Parigi, città e popolo che ferventemente odia, onde evitare possibili persecuzioni da parte del regime franchista. Celestino è uno dei personaggi più bizzarri che abbia mai letto delineato in un romanzo: è un paranoico senza limite, convinto durante i suoi anni di esilio di essere costantemente pedinato dalla polizia politica spagnola a causa dei suoi trascorsi bellici e della sua passione anarchica, è un egoista, un rancoroso e uno sprezzatore, un disadattato che vede il mondo esterno come un immenso campo di battaglia, ma è anche un grandissimo sognatore, un uomo integro fino al midollo, e soprattutto fedelissimo alle sue idee. Sì, come è semplice ipotizzare Don Celestino è un moderno Don Chisciotte, ma al posto della spada Celestino (che un tempo come da lui sempre rimembrato impugnava un parabellum) impugna una penna, ed il suo combattere per cambiare il mondo e attuare una trasformazione di stampo anarchico-comunista (concessione cui malincuore è costretto a cedere a causa del numero assai maggiore di essi in Francia rispetto agli anarchici) avviene attraverso la scrittura di articoli politici, sempre rigettati dalla stampa di sinistra spagnola per la stramberia delle sue idee. E come Don Chisciotte poteva contare su Sancho, fedelissimo scudiero, anche Celestino può contare su Pascualita, la figlia, devota e sottomessa nonostante le infinite stramberie del padre e il suo proverbiale egoismo, che sotto sotto cela tuttavia un immenso amore nei confronti della figlia. La maggior parte del romanzo è improntato su una chiave più comica: numerose sono le bizzarrie commesse da Celestino, come la toreada tra le macchine o la passeggiata tra i piccioni in piazza, ma delinea alcuni dei temi fondamentali degli ultimi due capitoli, ossia i capitoli del ritorno in Spagna di Celestino, che sono i capitoli della vecchiaia che incombe e lo abbatte improvvisa, e della conseguente morte. Le vicende di colui che poteva sembrare un pagliaccio, un folle, diventano con la meravigliosa scena della corrida esemplificative dell'intero genere umano: Celestino, spoglio ormai di cose del mondo e proiettato nella solitudine più cupa, comprende negli ultimi istanti di vita, dopo un presentimento che si era acceso agli inizi del testo, di come al mondo non esista che nebbia, e ciò che esiste realmente non sia altro che il caos, ossia la sovrapposizione caotica di accidenti che è la vita, e la notte, ossia il nulla, il buio, che sono il prima della nascita e il dopo della morte. Stilisticamente devo ammettere che all'inizio mi aspettavo di più, avendo letto dell'eleganza e della raffinatezza stilistica di Montherlant: più che questo, ho apprezzato la facilità con cui Montherlant riesce a giungere al profondo delle cose, mentre mi ha fatto storcere un po' il naso una prolissità e una ripetitività a tratti eccessiva.

[Tony · Rating 2 out of 5]

Sometimes, in make-believe literature anyhow, a character who might otherwise be evil - murderer, abuser - can nevertheless be rendered interesting, even likeable. But there is nothing likeable about Don Celestino, the protagonist in this novel. And while his backstory could be interesting, it was certainly diluted in this telling.

Celestino's "crime" is that he was an anarchist in the Spanish Civil War. He may have plotted and even attempted an assassination of Franco. Anyhow, in Part One of this novel, Celestino is in Paris, where he has been hiding for twenty years. He spends those hundred pages thinking back on those heady times, but fuzzily, without detail. When he's not ruminating about the good old days, he's shedding the few friends he still has, or just being a distancing wretch with his grown daughter.

Then he learns that his elder sister has died and he has an inheritance coming. He doesn't have to, but he goes, with daughter, to Madrid to collect. That would be Part Two, wherein Celestino worries he will be arrested for his past associations.

All the "action" in this novel occurs in the third-person, in Celestino's mind. Even a bullfight. I found it a disagreeable perch on which to view a man's dissolution. Too, the absence of details made me wonder whether Celestino's past, in the War, was even real. That is answered at book's end, and cleverly so, the only part of the book I liked.

[Elena · Rating 4 out of 5]

Una novela compleja y ambigua sobre el sentido de la vida. De esas que probablemente volveré a leer cuando sea viejecita (en otra edición, claramente. Las dioptrías no creo que aguanten la prueba). Si obviamos el cuerpo de letra, la edición es estupenda con el prólogo del escritor norteamericano Gary Indiana y un apéndice con fragmentos de los cuadernos de Montherlant donde desvela algunas claves del libro. Así como fragmentos de crítica contemporánea. El afamado Cyril Connolly escribió: "Todos los lectores de más de sesenta y cinco años deberían leerlo con una copa generosa de brandy en la mano (...). A esta novela no le sobra ni una sola palabra, tiene una brillantez, una mordacidad, un encanto arrollador muy especiales; su ingenio e imaginería son de una precisión impresionante y revelan una vida entera de observación y de estudio, como los últimos dibujos de un viejo maestro." "El caos y la noche" es una obra postrera en la producción del francés (muy interesante bucear en su bio). Cuenta la historia de Celestino Marcilla un exiliado español en París que se presenta como anarquista pero que el desarrollo de la trama me hace dudarlo. El autor conoce sobradamente la historia de España y juguetea continuamente con su complejidad e idiosincrasia. Exilio y desarraigo, amistad y venganza, la muerte y el toreo son solo algunos de los temas que se dan cita en esta novela psicológica que va de menos a más. El humor negro, negrísimo, la ironía y cierto lirismo completan un texto de un gran nivel que acabada su lectura sigue dando vueltas en mi cabeza. Solo al alcance de unos pocos escritores.

[Paul O'Leary · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book should probably be subtitled "How to age gracelessly". But that would be casting a callous interpretation upon it. The story revolves around an irascible Spanish expatriate, Don Celestino. Having fled from Spain during the aftermath of the Spanish Civil because of his anarchist partisanship, he ends up residing in a France he never grew to appreciate, much less love. Despite living there for well over a decade, he doesn't bother to learn its language, always using Spanish despite inconveniences. Truth be told, it's an ever-present question what Celestino actually does love in his old age. A listing would seem uncomfortably anemic: Talking about world politics. Writing about anarchist politics. And his daughter, when she was young. Perhaps bullfighting; but then again, perhaps not..... All else has either fallen out of favor with him, or had never enjoyed it in the first place. Ultimately, the author illustrates to his reader, aging progressively narrows one's worldview as experiences progressively become more meager, isolating, and bottlenecked. Friends pass away. Retirement puts one out of life's bustle which employment insists upon. Clarity of the senses diminishes. Thoughts blur. Identification with the burgeoning youth in society becomes improbable, if not impossible. But our main character distinguishes himself by prodding these natural events along toward their sad conclusions. He breaks with all friends purposely. He manipulates his daughter so as to achieve his selfish ends. He mentally lounges in the old ideas of the Generation of '98 without irony. He writes down his thoughts without hope that anyone will bother to read them. He discovers comfort in cold but beautiful material things used to adorn his shrinking world. His descent into complete loneliness and his mastery in it is close to absolute. "From the depths of his abyss, he was still in command," the narrator informs us. As Celestino descends into isolation, paranoia, anger, and maybe delusion, the reader feels sorry for his miserable slide, until remembering Celestino is exactly where he wants himself to be. His return to his native land is a journey shorn of all affection, undertaken solely for base enrichment from a family loss. His apparent paranoid insistence that people are after him strikes the reader as a stark farce. Unfortunately, Celestino's grasp of the sordid machinations of the world aren't completely without foundation. He has more enemies than even he imagines, perhaps. The completion of the novel ends with the completion of a particularly miserable and sullen life. But it was a life lived almost entirely on its own terms. An impressive achievement, albeit an altogether unheroic one. The title, Chaos and Night, refers to the dichotomy of life as restless tumult)chaos) until the arrival of its ceasing death(night). Maintaining mastery amid flux is one method of keeping the frightful "trappings" of death at bay....if only for a brief while. Celestino forces the reader to question whether personal mastery against the chaotic contemporary world acquired through sacrifice of all amiable sociability and human friendship is ever worth the bargain. For night may descend even before biological death occurs, though it often does so only upon request.....

[Cody · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've fallen into the habit of getting in deep arrears, hundreds/thousands of pages onwards, and trying to access parts of my brain rotted with age, booze, LSD, very potent weed, assorted hallucinogens, anxiolytics abuse, and the moron tumult of modern living to write-up books too long after the fact. And my shoulder hurts. So, bear with me.

This is the rare midcentury French novel that has zilch 'nouveau' about it; Montherlant earns every bit of ache and wince the novel works toward in the old familiar way. Rich in a biographical depth generally regarded as passé by the demimonde both then and now, this reminds me more of Diderot than, for the rhyme, Derrida (noted asshole). To which: thank fucking Christ. There's plenty of room for hyper-structuralism too, and Montherlant makes that case and breaks your spine simultaneously. A superb, (gasp—) traditional (no!) novel of the highest order.

[Steve]

Celestino Marcilla is a cantankerous Spanish exile, either an avowed anarchist or repressed fascist, depending on one’s interpretation of such ambiguous labels, who serves as a focal point for human foibles and existential thoughts – this title, Chaos and Night, refers to life and death. Don Celestino is an eternal cynic and pessimist, constantly pondering arrest and death. I liked the imagery and meanings M. Montherlant created through references to Don Quixote and bull fighting. I’ve a sense this book is an even more enjoyable read in its original language, especially the dry humor, which flowed throughout.

[Richard Fulgham · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is what happens to true-believers when their cause fails. It takes place in 1040's Paris. I recommend this novel to all readers of serious fiction EXCEPT young American writers. The quality and powerful content of this classic might influence you to write similarly serious prose works, which will bar you from real publication in the current USA.

[Kauzar Ben · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5 ⭐️.

[Laurent De Maertelaer · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Er was de chaos, die het leven was, en de nacht, die was wat er voor het leven en na het leven was. (...) Er was dat wat geen zin heeft: het leven, en dat wat geen zijn heeft: hetgeen er voor het leven en na het leven was."

Overrompelende roman over Don Celestino, een moegestreden Spaanse Burgeroorlog-veteraan die sinds 20 jaar asiel vond in Parijs. Bedwelmd door zijn eigen desillusies teert en vegeteert hij op zijn politieke dromen en zijn gefnuikte ambities. De voormalige anarchist en barricadenstrijder Celestino, een nakomeling van Don Quichotte en even eenzaam in zijn milde waanzin als Lear, is bezeten door het voze verleden van zijn vaderland (en stierevechten), een obsessie die hem onderuithaalt en onderdrukt. Maar Montherlant maakt op grandioze wijze van zijn hoofdpersonage een tragische held (en geen verliezer of nietsnut), onder meer dankzij een verbluffende ('tauromagische') apotheose op het eind van de roman. Een onvergetelijk boek over leven, hoop, liefde en dood. Zeer Grote Literatuur, met drie kapitalen, jawel.

[Daniel Polansky]

About a Spanish anarchist living in Paris, having fled his country after the Civil War. This is a bone bleak depiction of a wasted life, in essence, of an enormously bitter man who antagonizes everyone close to him out of a deep-seeded personality disorder masquerading as an exaggerated sense of moral purity. Motherlant (no way in hell that was his real name) seems to be one of those infant terrible sorts who everyone grew to hate, a rightist in the Ezra Pound mold whom my introduction suggests was also a pederast (though I confess a quick internet search offered no evidence of this – any French folk who can enlighten me on this point, please do), and there is something rather straw-mannish here about writing so vicious a character study of a political enemy. That said, it is effective (if rather one dimensional), and the miserable final scene, w/ (SPOILER ALERT) our protagonist dying pointlessly, alone and unmorned is neatly done, though I confess I can’t actually imagine recommending it to anyone.

[Ft. Sheridan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Politics doesn't matter because you're going to die.

[G.S. Richter · Rating 4 out of 5]

The protracted death-rattle of a cantankerous socialist, veteran of the Spanish Civil War. Soaked in the self-pity of the defeated ideologue. Smoldering with the self-righteousness of one so obsessed with politics that he never cared exactly whom he was shooting at (falangists, socialists, communists) because everyone else was wrong. Such is his paranoia after twenty years of exile that at the bottom of his spiral into the abyss of self, he is forced to ask: Am I a fascist too?

[Wendy · Rating 4 out of 5]

"There is no such thing as "human progress"; it is simply a question of passing time. You can pretend if you like, you can behave 'as if'...But deep down inside you desert."

I loved this book. In some ways, it reminded me of Nicolai Gogol's Dead Souls, an unflinching look at the absurdity of human beings and human activity. Our protagonist Celestino is an embittered narcissist, an "anarchist" who is exiled to France after the Spanish Civil War and lives in his memories, fantasies, and delusions. This guy is a loser, a parasite who makes his daughter's life hell, as well as anyone else with who he comes into contact. With a face and physique like Don Quixote, Montherlant references that Spanish masterpiece throughout this brilliant little novella. Celestino is definitely tilting at windmills, but with a sour, nasty disposition very unlike the Don.

There is so much lucidity that Montherlant brings to this work. We see humanity at its worst, its pettiest, its most unconscious, and unaware. The writing is crisp and intelligent. Politics and revolutions skewered, human relations exposed as co-dependency, the spotlight firmly on personal male vanity. Fabulous.

"But if there was a truth for the age of twenty, a truth for the age of forty, a truth for the age of sixty, a truth for the hour of death- if there were so many truths there was no such thing as truth."

Wisdom arrives, as it hopefully will always do, at the end.
What a great book.

I really enjoyed this read.

"Do you know what the greatest power in the world is? Indifference."

[Sparrow .]

Revolutions destroy lives, but the lack of revolution can also be devastating. Don Celestino is one such victim. He is an aging Spanish anarchist living in Paris, on a small stipend sent by his uncle. He has two friends, and at the beginning of the book loses them. The rest of the story is Don Celestino's decline. Chaos and Night shows how Death draws its net around a man, and slowly, almost playfully reels him in. It's at once terrifying and reassuring. Don Celestino needs death, to answer certain riddles he doesn't know he's asking.

Every political man outlives his time. Once he's adapted to the struggles of the 1930s, it's already the 1950s, and everything he's learned is useless. America has lost roughly 5 wars by refighting World War II.

Are we all exiles, living far from our true native land? Or is this only true of anarchist exiles? "A novel is a soggy thing," E. M. Forster writes in Aspects of the Novel, which I'm now reading. It's impossible to say what it "means."

The central relationship in the book is between Don Celestino and his daughter Pascualita, a young woman who yearns to be free but is saddled with this cantankerous egomaniac, her dad (whom she also loves). De Montherlant, the fascist sympathizer, has written an utterly feminist novel -- about an anarchist.

Chaos and Night might be the most despairing novel ever written. I can see why it was out of print, before being revived by New York Review Books. I can also see why they revived it.

[Justin Evans · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not what I was expecting- I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't latter day Celine. Montherlant's protagonist is an anarchist who, thanks to self-obsession and an almost pathological hatred of actually existing human beings, turns into a nihilist, despite his own better judgment. HdM does a nice job mixing up omniscient third person narration and free indirect discourse. It's quite tricky, sometimes, working out whether we're reading 'Celestino,' HdM, or HdM's thoughts on Celestino's thoughts... and so on. Anyway, plenty of irony, which apparently a lot of readers don't pick up on, despite the author's preface (in which he denies having any of the thoughts in the book, and denies that he was trying to paint a portrait of 'The Left' in general). I don't know how much of the 'philosophy' of this book HdM truly believe; I'd like to think none of it. But who knows. Novelists aren't necessarily the brightest bulbs in the box.
Otherwise, plenty of nifty aphorisms, a killer ending, and a fabulous scene in which Celestino watches a bullfight. Also, it's short, and, pace Celine/Dostoevsky etc., nihilism is best treated quickly. And well translated.
On the down side, what's with all the typos? Get on that, NYRB.

[Aaron · Rating 2 out of 5]

While I usually enjoy curmudgeons and their complaining, the airing of grievances in this is much too frustratingly petty and pervasive.

[Artur Coelho · Rating 4 out of 5]

Recordo ter ouvido falar deste romance nas sempre interessantes conversas do João Morales, e quando o apanhei nos desvios literários, dei asas à curiosidade. É um livro curioso, que nos reorda as feridas abertas da guerra civil de Espanha através da história de um personagem deveras idiosincrático.

Décadas após o fim da guerra, o antigo combatente republicano Celestino Marcilio vive uma vida recatada como refugiado espanhol em França. Os seus dias são passados a discutir passado e política com um reduzido grupo de companheiros, que progressivamente aliena, enquanto escreve diatribes sobre a situação que acabam por não passar da sua gaveta. São impublicáveis, nem a imprensa mais radical lhes toca, e Don Celestino teme também vir a ser expulso e deportado para as garras do franquismo.

Celestino vive consumido por uma guerra que já terminou, entre medos, memórias e revolta. A pureza ideológica de anarquista é o seu norte, embora lhe escape a ironia de ser um anarquista qie vive de rendimentos finaceiros geridos de forma sábia e nem sempre honesta por outro espanhol. Resume a sua vida de pequeno-burguês convencido de que é revolucionário aos cafés, à filha e á criada.

Tudo muda quando lhe chega a notícia de que a irmã morreu, e terá de ir a Madrid tratar de questões de herança. Celestino entra em paroxismos de terror, embora se resigne à ideia do regresso. Teme, a todo o momento, ser capturado pelos franquistas, detido e torturado pela polícia. Mas nada acontece, e o perceber que afinal não é tão importante quanto imagina deixa-o ainda mais paranóico. Depois de uma tourada, um espetáculo desejado mas que Celestino percebe ser de uma sordidez patética, chegará o seu fim inglório, às mãos de um ataque cardíaco no quarto de hotel.

Uma história patética, de um homem que vive tão embrenhado e atemorizado pelo seu passado, tão imerso nos seus ideários, que a vida lhe passou ao lado. E que, ao perceber com o seu regresso à pátria, todo o sangue derramado são memórias esquecidas, que a sua luta já de si inglória foi descartada, se reduz ao nada. O triste resultado de uma vida passada entre caos e a fuga na noite.

[Kevin Kosar · Rating 2 out of 5]

There are sparkling moments in this novel. Motherlant creates a Don Quixote type figure and draws on literary cources such as Hesiod's myths of chaos and night.

But the book is a bit of a slog as most pages are devoted to the railings of a sixty-seven year old Spanish anarchist in exile. Everything and everyone comes earns his withering assault. He drives away what few friends he has, and family too. He fusses wrings his hands daily over fantasies of fascists and cops coming to kill him, despite nobody In Paris cares a wit for him. It grows tiresome quickly, and other others (e.g., Dostoevski and Conrad) have written better and more engaging expositions of the pathologies of the radical nihilist mind. Somewhat oddly, the narrators voice often intrudes for the purpsoe of explaining what already has been illustrated, or to offer a sarcastic comment. Which is distracting and also violates a fundamental rule of fiction: show me don;t tell me.

Montherlant was an accomplished playwright, but this late in life novel did not impress me. I was glad to be done with it.

[Ferris · Rating 5 out of 5]

An aging veteran of the Spanish Civil War has been living in Paris, in exile, for many years. He is an ardent anarchist, obsessed with Spanish politics. Initially he seems somewhat ludicrous and out of touch with the times, as well as absurdly paranoid about his need to watch out for being arrested for his crimes during the war. Due to family circumstances he must risk a return to Spain. I will not spoil the plot, but the ending is excellent.

More than a story, this novel represents an exposition on facing mortality. The author suggests that all that is true are "chaos" (life) & "night" (that which exists before birth & after death). Much philosophical pondering occurs throughout this tale, and the combination make for an excellent reading experience.

One warning: If one does not know Paris intimately the beginning can be confusing. Eventually, however, it makes no difference.

[Aaron · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wow! What a great book! At times getting through the incessant rambling and narcissism of the main character, Celestino, a paranoid and bitter ex-anarcho socialist can be a chore, but its rewarding at the end. Most of the book reads like an hilarious satire of a comfortable bourgeoisie wanker, angry at society but completely powerless and inept..He is nasty to his adult daughter and argues with everyone. The final two chapters are masterful. This book is way ahead of its time, a critique of modern capitalism and modern life in general. Those bitter and twisted Euro writers had the post war milleu worked out way before anyone, especially the Beatniks. And this shit still burns like acid today! Recommended!

[Andres Besada · Rating 5 out of 5]

Celestino, un personaje siniestro: en contra de la vida, en contra del gobierno, en contra del amor. En contra de todo. Una novela impresionante que desnuda los ismos: facismo ; anarquismo; etc. Mención aparte el capítulo de las corridas de toros.

[Jeff Bursey · Rating 4 out of 5]

Read way back when. The ending stays with me.

[Pierre Prisset · Rating 4 out of 5]

Titre : Coup de soleil
Admirable écriture ce petit livre contient une foule de petits récits descriptifs glorifiant l’Andalousie , les espagnols et les arabes

[Ginevra · Rating 2 out of 5]

Very readable but, without significant poignancy or point...

[Matthew · Rating 5 out of 5]

‘In Paris he could walk as far as this without getting tired because he walked without thinking of anything.’

[♡•Daisy]

This book has been fermenting, half read on my bedside table for far too long...not that it isn't worth reading, but just not right now

[el · Rating 4 out of 5]

randomly picked this up in oxfam but it was acc entertaining

[Stephen Rowland · Rating 5 out of 5]

4½

[Joel Fernández · Rating 3 out of 5]

El príncipe Nikolai Bolkonsky si hubiera nacido 150 años (creo?) después y en España.