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The Story of My Heart: My Autobiography
This is not an autobiography in the ordinary sense of the word, as it contains no history of the events of Richard Jefferies' life. It is not concerned with his birth or marriage, his actions or fortunes... It is an outpouring of his soul. Like many others, Jefferies found himself at odds with the world. He saw the beauty of the land, the grandeur of the sea, the interest of life - above all of human life - but he was not satisfied. He longed for more beauty, a fuller grandeur, a deeper interest. This feeling completely mastered him, and in this book, first published in 1883, he poured out with what strength he possessed the intensity of his longing.
206 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1883
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325 people want to read
About the author
Richard Jefferies
379 books58 followers(John) Richard Jefferies (1848-1887) is best known for his prolific and sensitive writing on natural history, rural life and agriculture in late Victorian England. However, a closer examination of his career reveals a many-sided author who was something of an enigma. To some people he is more familiar as the author of the children’s classic Bevis or the strange futuristic fantasy After London, while he also has some reputation as a mystic worthy of serious study. Since his death his books have enjoyed intermittent spells of popularity, but today he is unknown to the greater part of the reading public. Jefferies, however, has been an inspiration to a number of more prominent writers and W.H. Hudson, Edward Thomas, Henry Williamson and John Fowles are among those who have acknowledged their debt to him. In my view his greatest achievement lies in his expression, aesthetically and spiritually, of the human encounter with the natural world – something that became almost an obsession for him in his last years.
He was born at Coate in the north Wiltshire countryside - now on the outskirts of Swindon - where his family farmed a smallholding of about forty acres. His father was a thoughtful man with a passionate love of nature but was unsuccessful as a farmer, with the result that the later years of Jefferies' childhood were spent in a household increasingly threatened by poverty. There were also, it seems, other tensions in the family. Richard’s mother, who had been brought up in London, never settled into a life in the country and the portrait of her as Mrs Iden - usually regarded as an accurate one - in his last novel, Amaryllis at the Fair, is anything but flattering. Remarks made in some of Jefferies’ childhood letters to his aunt also strongly suggest an absence of mutual affection and understanding between mother and son. A combination of an unsettled home life and an early romantic desire for adventure led him at the age of sixteen to leave home with the intention of traversing Europe as far as Moscow. In this escapade he was accompanied by a cousin, but the journey was abandoned soon after they reached France. On their return to England they attempted to board a ship for the United States but this plan also came to nothing when they found themselves without sufficient money to pay for food.
A self-absorbed and independent youth, Jefferies spent much of his time walking through the countryside around Coate and along the wide chalk expanses of the Marlborough Downs. He regularly visited Burderop woods and Liddington Hill near his home and on longer trips explored Savernake Forest and the stretch of the downs to the east, where the famous white horse is engraved in the hillside above Uffington. His favourite haunt was Liddington Hill, a height crowned with an ancient fort commanding superb views of the north Wiltshire plain and the downs. It was on the summit of Liddington at the age of about eighteen, as he relates in The Story of My Heart, that his unusual sensitivity to nature began to induce in him a powerful inner awakening - a desire for a larger existence or reality which he termed 'soul life'. Wherever he went in the countryside he found himself in awe of the beauty and tranquility of the natural world; not only the trees, flowers and animals, but also the sun, the stars and the entire cosmos seemed to him to be filled with an inexpressible sense of magic and meaning.
He was born at Coate in the north Wiltshire countryside - now on the outskirts of Swindon - where his family farmed a smallholding of about forty acres. His father was a thoughtful man with a passionate love of nature but was unsuccessful as a farmer, with the result that the later years of Jefferies' childhood were spent in a household increasingly threatened by poverty. There were also, it seems, other tensions in the family. Richard’s mother, who had been brought up in London, never settled into a life in the country and the portrait of her as Mrs Iden - usually regarded as an accurate one - in his last novel, Amaryllis at the Fair, is anything but flattering. Remarks made in some of Jefferies’ childhood letters to his aunt also strongly suggest an absence of mutual affection and understanding between mother and son. A combination of an unsettled home life and an early romantic desire for adventure led him at the age of sixteen to leave home with the intention of traversing Europe as far as Moscow. In this escapade he was accompanied by a cousin, but the journey was abandoned soon after they reached France. On their return to England they attempted to board a ship for the United States but this plan also came to nothing when they found themselves without sufficient money to pay for food.
A self-absorbed and independent youth, Jefferies spent much of his time walking through the countryside around Coate and along the wide chalk expanses of the Marlborough Downs. He regularly visited Burderop woods and Liddington Hill near his home and on longer trips explored Savernake Forest and the stretch of the downs to the east, where the famous white horse is engraved in the hillside above Uffington. His favourite haunt was Liddington Hill, a height crowned with an ancient fort commanding superb views of the north Wiltshire plain and the downs. It was on the summit of Liddington at the age of about eighteen, as he relates in The Story of My Heart, that his unusual sensitivity to nature began to induce in him a powerful inner awakening - a desire for a larger existence or reality which he termed 'soul life'. Wherever he went in the countryside he found himself in awe of the beauty and tranquility of the natural world; not only the trees, flowers and animals, but also the sun, the stars and the entire cosmos seemed to him to be filled with an inexpressible sense of magic and meaning.
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August 18, 2015
I've given this brief work only 2 stars, not because I disliked it but simply because it's definitely not for everyone. It's unabashedly late 19th century prose and if that's not to your taste, give it a pass.
On the plus side, the writing is quite beautiful and passionate, particularly in conveying the writer's deep relationship to the countryside and to the entire earth in general, a relationship that can best be termed spiritual. His prose immediately brings to mind the poetry of Wordsworth "... I wandered lonely as a cloud ..."
Along the way, Jefferies also goes to some lengths to express his personal philosophy about the destiny and rightful place of mankind, notably his disdain for the commercial and utilitarian world of work, business, human organization and in particular the pursuit of wealth. He was clearly an ascetic who might well have felt at home in an ashram. His view that a life spent working was wasted time certainly brought me up short and made me realize that this was a man from a different world, one that has probably never existed -- and if it did, a world that I could never begin to understand.
However, let's not dismiss this man just because he was a dreamer! We have no shortage of "practical" men. Surely there's room in our consciousness for the occasional pure idealist, the prophet without a country, the holy fool.
On the plus side, the writing is quite beautiful and passionate, particularly in conveying the writer's deep relationship to the countryside and to the entire earth in general, a relationship that can best be termed spiritual. His prose immediately brings to mind the poetry of Wordsworth "... I wandered lonely as a cloud ..."
Along the way, Jefferies also goes to some lengths to express his personal philosophy about the destiny and rightful place of mankind, notably his disdain for the commercial and utilitarian world of work, business, human organization and in particular the pursuit of wealth. He was clearly an ascetic who might well have felt at home in an ashram. His view that a life spent working was wasted time certainly brought me up short and made me realize that this was a man from a different world, one that has probably never existed -- and if it did, a world that I could never begin to understand.
However, let's not dismiss this man just because he was a dreamer! We have no shortage of "practical" men. Surely there's room in our consciousness for the occasional pure idealist, the prophet without a country, the holy fool.
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December 16, 2024"يا أيتها الحياة البشرية الجميلة! تصعد الدموع إلى عينيّ حالما أفكر بها. جميلة للغاية، جميلة للغاية إلى حج لا يوصف!"
هذا الكتاب حرّ الحركة، ما أعطاه خصوصية وقوة في أن معًا، يكتب جفريز مشاهداته، معايشاته، مشاعره، أفكاره، خواطره، تأملاته. يكتب عنها حرًا وجانحًا دون قيد، ويظهر هذا جليًّا في تكراره للعديد من الأفكار وحتى الكلمات والجمل، وما في ذلك من دلالة على كتابة دون أي مصفاة.
حتى أن هذا الكتاب حُر التصنيف، ليس سيرة ذاتية تمامًا، هو تأملات أو سيرة روحية كما يسميها الكاتب، سيرة عن الروح ومآلاتها.
كتب المناجاة الكونية عظيمة، لا أمل منها،على العكس أنا دائمًا بحاجة إلى هذا النوع من كتب شاطحة عن المألوف. الاتفاق والاختلاف يتنحى جانبًا تاركًا المكان إلى متعة خالصة.
كتاب بكرم زهرة، ورقة فراشة، وخفة النسمة.
هذا الكتاب حرّ الحركة، ما أعطاه خصوصية وقوة في أن معًا، يكتب جفريز مشاهداته، معايشاته، مشاعره، أفكاره، خواطره، تأملاته. يكتب عنها حرًا وجانحًا دون قيد، ويظهر هذا جليًّا في تكراره للعديد من الأفكار وحتى الكلمات والجمل، وما في ذلك من دلالة على كتابة دون أي مصفاة.
حتى أن هذا الكتاب حُر التصنيف، ليس سيرة ذاتية تمامًا، هو تأملات أو سيرة روحية كما يسميها الكاتب، سيرة عن الروح ومآلاتها.
كتب المناجاة الكونية عظيمة، لا أمل منها،على العكس أنا دائمًا بحاجة إلى هذا النوع من كتب شاطحة عن المألوف. الاتفاق والاختلاف يتنحى جانبًا تاركًا المكان إلى متعة خالصة.
كتاب بكرم زهرة، ورقة فراشة، وخفة النسمة.
November 23, 2021
I had thought this was to be a book mostly about nature; and while nature forms the backdrop of the author's musings, it is not the main emphasis. The author is wrestling with the big questions of life: the origins of man, evolution vs. intelligent design, the treadmill of labor vs the need for leisure, suffering, death. The ecstasies he experiences in nature he calls "prayer," while purporting to disregard any omnipotent, omnipresent "idol." He seeks to enlarge his soul by discarding all the philosophy, wisdom, religion, and learning of previous times. The soul-life, he maintains, is higher than any deity. By enlarging the soul he hopes that one day a utopia of plenty and leisure will materialize.
For anyone who believes prayer has an object (God), and who believes there is profit in labor (beyond monetary benefit), for anyone who respects the wisdom of the sages and saints who have paved the way for our benefit--- this book is blasphemy wrapped it pretty language.
For anyone who believes prayer has an object (God), and who believes there is profit in labor (beyond monetary benefit), for anyone who respects the wisdom of the sages and saints who have paved the way for our benefit--- this book is blasphemy wrapped it pretty language.
September 26, 2018
*”It is eternity now. I am in the midst of it. It is about me in the sunshine; as the butterfly floats in the light-laden air. Nothing has to come; it is now.”*
I’m familiar with some of Jefferies’s nature writing and thought this one might be interesting. In spite of some bright and vibrant passages, it’s a tedious philosophical slog, full of worn-out and roughly presented ideas and self-centered musings.
If Walt Whitman had written overwrought prose, he might have written something like this, except he would have chosen much grander and more apt metaphors to do so, and he would have approached it with a more open mind and sensibility.
Jefferies rejects science, and particularly evolution (which was a still a fairly young theory when this was written). He rejects religion and history (except for Greek and Roman culture, which renders all other cultures useless dust). He sees himself as a visionary seer, launching the mind out into a ocean of new thought.
But in reality there’s very little new or novel about his approach, and he leaves his mystic vision so couched in common terms like “soul-life” that it feels ordinary and tedious at best.
It was a difficult book to slog through, in spite of its modest length.
I’m familiar with some of Jefferies’s nature writing and thought this one might be interesting. In spite of some bright and vibrant passages, it’s a tedious philosophical slog, full of worn-out and roughly presented ideas and self-centered musings.
If Walt Whitman had written overwrought prose, he might have written something like this, except he would have chosen much grander and more apt metaphors to do so, and he would have approached it with a more open mind and sensibility.
Jefferies rejects science, and particularly evolution (which was a still a fairly young theory when this was written). He rejects religion and history (except for Greek and Roman culture, which renders all other cultures useless dust). He sees himself as a visionary seer, launching the mind out into a ocean of new thought.
But in reality there’s very little new or novel about his approach, and he leaves his mystic vision so couched in common terms like “soul-life” that it feels ordinary and tedious at best.
It was a difficult book to slog through, in spite of its modest length.
March 11, 2019
السير غالبًا من النوع الذي أحبُّ قراءتَهُ. وهذه السيرة تجعلُكَ ترى نفسك بمرآة أحدهم. لا يهمُّ أحيانًا من يكون هذا الأحد حتى نقرأ ما يكتبُ، حتى نكابد معه سيرته حتى النهاية وحتى نقرأ معه كلماته الأخيرة التي كتبها جالسًا أمام نفسه مثلما أفعل الآن تقريبًا. أو هكذا يبدو لي أنا القارئ التَّعِب من وضوح حياة إنسان في كتابة وضوح الشمس. ثم نقول من هذا وما يفعل! قصة قلبي هي قصة مقترحة لجميعنا. ستختلف بمحطاتنا وتجاربنا التي لن تختلف كثيرًا حقًّا. لن تختلف.
March 21, 2014
What begins as a fascinating insight into one man's relationship with nature quickly becomes an attempt to find a way forward for the entire human race. Not an autobiography in the truest sense of the word, Jefferies believes he has something to say and this meander around his thoughts reveals a few pearls amid the irritating repetition and abundant purple prose. Not for everyone.
January 8, 2023
I loved large chunks of this book. Some bits lost me a little. Mostly it was written with an ardent, naive intelligence. It was heartfelt, expressing clear feelings, and thoughts on life, and humanity, and potential. A most unusual book.
June 17, 2019
richard jefferies was a 19th century writer mostly known for his nature writing, and is basically unread today. this book says it's an autobiography, but it isn't really; it's more like an attempt at getting across his spiritual ideas and worldview. there is a fair bit of nature mysticism as you nmight expect, but there's also some very radical seeming stuff for 1884, like the fact that he rejects both creation by a deity and rationalistic science. there's also quite a strong emphasis on physical perfection which reminded me a bit of mishima's sun and steel, and some early socialistic seeming ideas. some quotes:
"There is nothing human in any living animal. All nature, the universe as far as we see, is anti- or ultra-human, outside, and has no concern with man. These things are unnatural to him. By no course of reasoning, however tortuous, can nature and the universe be fitted to the mind. Nor can the mind be fitted to the cosmos. My mind cannot be twisted to it; I am separate altogether from these designless things. The soul cannot be wrested down to them. The laws of nature are of no importance to it. I refuse to be bound by the laws of the tides, nor am I so bound. Though bodily swung round on this rotating globe, my mind always remains in the centre. No tidal law, no rotation, no gravitation can control my thought."
"Of all the inventions of casuistry with man for ages has in various ways which manacled himself, and stayed his own advance, there is none equally potent with the supposition that nothing more is possible. Once well impress on the mind that it has already all, that advance is impossible because there is nothing further, and it is chained like a horse to an iron pin in the ground. It is the most deadly—the most fatal poison of the mind."
"I believe all manner of asceticism to be the vilest blasphemy—blasphemy towards the whole of the human race. I believe in the flesh and the body, which is worthy of worship—to see a perfect human body unveiled causes a sense of worship. The ascetics are the only persons who are impure. Increase of physical beauty is attended by increase of soul beauty. The soul is the high even by gazing on beauty. Let me be fleshly perfect."
"Each human being, by mere birth, has a birthright in this earth and all its productions; and if they do not receive it, then it is they who are injured, and it is not the 'pauper'—oh, inexpressibly wicked word!—it is the well-to-do, who are the criminal classes. It matters not in the least if the poor be improvident, or drunken, or evil in any way. Food and drink, roof and clothes, are the inalienable right of every child born into the light."
"For grief there is no known consolation. It is useless to fill our hearts with bubbles. A loved one gone is gone, and as to the future—even if there is a future—it is unknown. To assure ourselves otherwise is to soothe the mind with illusions; the bitterness of it is inconsolable. The sentiments of trust chipped out on tombstones are touching instances of the innate goodness of the human heart, which naturally longs for good, and sighs itself to sleep in the hope that, if parted, the parting is for the benefit of those that are gone. But these inscriptions are also awful instances of the deep intellectual darkness which presses still on the minds of men. The least thought erases them. There is no consolation. There is no relief. There is no hope certain; the whole system is a mere illusion. I, who hope so much, and am so rapt up in the soul, know full well that there is no certainty."
"There is nothing human in any living animal. All nature, the universe as far as we see, is anti- or ultra-human, outside, and has no concern with man. These things are unnatural to him. By no course of reasoning, however tortuous, can nature and the universe be fitted to the mind. Nor can the mind be fitted to the cosmos. My mind cannot be twisted to it; I am separate altogether from these designless things. The soul cannot be wrested down to them. The laws of nature are of no importance to it. I refuse to be bound by the laws of the tides, nor am I so bound. Though bodily swung round on this rotating globe, my mind always remains in the centre. No tidal law, no rotation, no gravitation can control my thought."
"Of all the inventions of casuistry with man for ages has in various ways which manacled himself, and stayed his own advance, there is none equally potent with the supposition that nothing more is possible. Once well impress on the mind that it has already all, that advance is impossible because there is nothing further, and it is chained like a horse to an iron pin in the ground. It is the most deadly—the most fatal poison of the mind."
"I believe all manner of asceticism to be the vilest blasphemy—blasphemy towards the whole of the human race. I believe in the flesh and the body, which is worthy of worship—to see a perfect human body unveiled causes a sense of worship. The ascetics are the only persons who are impure. Increase of physical beauty is attended by increase of soul beauty. The soul is the high even by gazing on beauty. Let me be fleshly perfect."
"Each human being, by mere birth, has a birthright in this earth and all its productions; and if they do not receive it, then it is they who are injured, and it is not the 'pauper'—oh, inexpressibly wicked word!—it is the well-to-do, who are the criminal classes. It matters not in the least if the poor be improvident, or drunken, or evil in any way. Food and drink, roof and clothes, are the inalienable right of every child born into the light."
"For grief there is no known consolation. It is useless to fill our hearts with bubbles. A loved one gone is gone, and as to the future—even if there is a future—it is unknown. To assure ourselves otherwise is to soothe the mind with illusions; the bitterness of it is inconsolable. The sentiments of trust chipped out on tombstones are touching instances of the innate goodness of the human heart, which naturally longs for good, and sighs itself to sleep in the hope that, if parted, the parting is for the benefit of those that are gone. But these inscriptions are also awful instances of the deep intellectual darkness which presses still on the minds of men. The least thought erases them. There is no consolation. There is no relief. There is no hope certain; the whole system is a mere illusion. I, who hope so much, and am so rapt up in the soul, know full well that there is no certainty."
December 30, 2021
Two stars simply for the beautiful writing on nature, reminiscent of L.M. Montgomery, the rest got a bit frustrating and irritating, purple-prosing on how he believes mankind can be improved, and not helped as many of his ideas and beliefs are very dated. I think I might stick to his nature essays.
October 30, 2022
أحب قراءة كُتب السيرة الذاتية جدًا، على أختلافها،إلا إن كتاب قصة قلبي للكاتب ريتشارد جفريز ، شعرت أنه مميز ، ويدهشني ريتشارد في كتابة سيرته وتأملاته عن الطبيعة والشمس والأرض والبحر وعن الأنسان ، وما يدهش حقا هذا القلب والعقل ، يجعلك تتورط معه وتفكر، تحلل وتجد نفسك في تأملاته وسيرته.
كتاب ممتع وخفيف على القلب.
كتاب ممتع وخفيف على القلب.
April 11, 2020
كتاب متعب !
August 4, 2025
Blue carts and yellow omnibuses, varnished carriages and brown vans, green omnibuses and red cabs, pale loads of yellow straw, rusty- red iron clanking on paintless carts, high white wool- packs, grey horses, bay horses, black teams; sunlight sparkling on brass harness, gleaming from carriage panels; jingle, jingle, jingle! An intermixed and intertangled, ceaselessly changing jingle, too, of colour; flecks of colour champed, as it were, like bits in the horses’ teeth, frothed and strewn about, and a surface always of dark- dressed people winding like the curves on fast- flowing water. This is the vortex and whirlpool, the centre of human life today on the earth. Now the tide rises and now it sinks, but the flow of these rivers always continues. Here it seethes and whirls, not for an hour only, but for all present time, hour by hour, day by day, year by year.
The Story of My Heart stands as one of the most extraordinary and intensely personal works of nature writing in the English canon, a spiritual autobiography that defies easy categorisation. Jefferies abandons conventional religious frameworks to articulate a deeply felt pantheistic communion with the natural world, writing with an almost mystical fervour about his experiences on the Wiltshire Downs. His prose achieves moments of sublime beauty as he attempts to capture states of consciousness that language can barely contain—those transcendent moments when the boundary between self and landscape dissolves entirely. Yet the work's very intensity can prove overwhelming; Jefferies' relentless pursuit of absolute truth and meaning, his rejection of traditional consolations, and his urgent, sometimes repetitive style create a reading experience that is both exhilarating and exhausting. The book reveals a mind grappling with fundamental questions about existence, time, and human purpose with remarkable honesty and vulnerability, making it essential reading for anyone interested in the intersection of literature, philosophy, and our relationship with the natural world, though it demands considerable patience and openness from its readers.
The Story of My Heart stands as one of the most extraordinary and intensely personal works of nature writing in the English canon, a spiritual autobiography that defies easy categorisation. Jefferies abandons conventional religious frameworks to articulate a deeply felt pantheistic communion with the natural world, writing with an almost mystical fervour about his experiences on the Wiltshire Downs. His prose achieves moments of sublime beauty as he attempts to capture states of consciousness that language can barely contain—those transcendent moments when the boundary between self and landscape dissolves entirely. Yet the work's very intensity can prove overwhelming; Jefferies' relentless pursuit of absolute truth and meaning, his rejection of traditional consolations, and his urgent, sometimes repetitive style create a reading experience that is both exhilarating and exhausting. The book reveals a mind grappling with fundamental questions about existence, time, and human purpose with remarkable honesty and vulnerability, making it essential reading for anyone interested in the intersection of literature, philosophy, and our relationship with the natural world, though it demands considerable patience and openness from its readers.
September 2, 2020
I had never heard of Richard Jefferies until a book group person recommended this book. Jefferies was a l9th century British romantic who died of tuberculosis at the age of 39. He was quite prolific for such a short life span and wrote childrens’ books, rural life depictions, natural history, novels, and of course, this autobiography near the end of his life. It’s a short work, an outpouring of his feelings of a unity with nature, and a harsh criticism of the industrial system that was changing England forever.
I think it’s fair to say that most readers either love or hate Jefferies, at least this work of his. If love, it’s for his absolute sincerity in finding answers to his existence in the embrace of nature. If hatred, it’s for his seemingly unorganized utterance of whatever was on his mind, sometimes contradictory. Of course, it’s possible to be ambivalent about Jefferies and that’s where I found myself.
At first, he’s a little hard to take, as when he emotes about lying on a hill and losing his sense of separateness, becoming one with the whole of nature, from the earth beneath to the stars above. He writes he was one with “the firm, solid, and sustaining earth, the ceaseless motion of the ocean; the stars, and the unknown in space; by all those things which are most powerful known to me, and by those which exist, but of which I have no idea whatever. . .” He goes on to talk of developing a “soul life” which will bring divine beauty to him, and in the process he hopes to live longer, suffer less pain, and lead a more meaningful existence.
But he can be realistic, and prescient as well, pointing out that nature is absolutely indifferent to humanity, and if humanity were to disappear from the earth (as it well might, given our present degradation of the environment) nature would find continue on, humanity joining the extinct dodo as a forgotten memory.
His ideal would be a human being who is “nude” in the sense that they would stand apart from money, clothing, houses, property, and would enjoy greater strength, safety, beauty, and happiness. He would readily agree that humanity is far from this ideal and attacks the industrial processes that reduce humans to cogs in a vast machine of consumption.
Some of Jefferies’ ideas are appealing and he has had considerable influence on many people who were looking for a simpler and more satisfying way of life. I was surprised, for example, to learn that he influenced a much better known writer, William Morris, particularly in his utopian novel, NEWS FROM NOWHERE which depicts a simpler and nature-grounded life style. I mention Morris as I had happened to have read that book A final word, STORY OF MY HEART is short, and that is one of its virtues, a good introduction I’d guess, to many of his other works which I’m sure fill in details of his thinking.
I think it’s fair to say that most readers either love or hate Jefferies, at least this work of his. If love, it’s for his absolute sincerity in finding answers to his existence in the embrace of nature. If hatred, it’s for his seemingly unorganized utterance of whatever was on his mind, sometimes contradictory. Of course, it’s possible to be ambivalent about Jefferies and that’s where I found myself.
At first, he’s a little hard to take, as when he emotes about lying on a hill and losing his sense of separateness, becoming one with the whole of nature, from the earth beneath to the stars above. He writes he was one with “the firm, solid, and sustaining earth, the ceaseless motion of the ocean; the stars, and the unknown in space; by all those things which are most powerful known to me, and by those which exist, but of which I have no idea whatever. . .” He goes on to talk of developing a “soul life” which will bring divine beauty to him, and in the process he hopes to live longer, suffer less pain, and lead a more meaningful existence.
But he can be realistic, and prescient as well, pointing out that nature is absolutely indifferent to humanity, and if humanity were to disappear from the earth (as it well might, given our present degradation of the environment) nature would find continue on, humanity joining the extinct dodo as a forgotten memory.
His ideal would be a human being who is “nude” in the sense that they would stand apart from money, clothing, houses, property, and would enjoy greater strength, safety, beauty, and happiness. He would readily agree that humanity is far from this ideal and attacks the industrial processes that reduce humans to cogs in a vast machine of consumption.
Some of Jefferies’ ideas are appealing and he has had considerable influence on many people who were looking for a simpler and more satisfying way of life. I was surprised, for example, to learn that he influenced a much better known writer, William Morris, particularly in his utopian novel, NEWS FROM NOWHERE which depicts a simpler and nature-grounded life style. I mention Morris as I had happened to have read that book A final word, STORY OF MY HEART is short, and that is one of its virtues, a good introduction I’d guess, to many of his other works which I’m sure fill in details of his thinking.
October 2, 2019
يصعب التعبير عن التجارب الروحية والمشاعر الوجدانية، ريتشارد رأى أن الطبيعة هي أفضل محفز لتأملاته الوجودية هذه، ورغم ذلك يلومها لعدم وعيها بالإنسان أو لأنها لا تبالي به، كذا فكرته عن الإله وعن العقل الموجه، وعن النشوء والارتقاء، فمسألة وجود الشر في العالم يبدو أنها مركزيةٌ في تحديد موقفه من نظريات تفسير الكون. وفي الوقت الذي يبدو فيه ريتشارد لا أدرياً، فهو يبرهن على أن الصدفةَ هي التي تفسر الوجود والأحداث في العالم. الحقُ أن طريقة الكتابة والربط والتفسير ليست يسيرة لذا يصعب الإمساك بطرف الخيط الذي يهتدي به ريتشارد، بل لعل الأصح أن يقال أن الحالة الشعورية التائهة والفكرية الباحثة هي التي صبغت الكتاب على هذا النحو.
ورغم ذلك فقد طرح ريتشارد أفكاراً -مستقلة عن الوجود ومتعلقة بالمجتمع الإنساني-جديرةً بالاهتمام.
غرض ريتشارد من تأملاته هذه :
- تمجيد الروح لتصبح ذات حضور أكثر قوة .
-ابتداع طريقة تمكن الجسد اللحمي من التمتع بلذة أكبر ومكابدة آلام أقل، وحياة أطول.
- أمر ثالث ضاع تفهمه وسط طلاسم الترجمة السيئة، ولولاها لكان الكتابُ أوضحَ وأقل استفزازاً.
(كنتُ أقرأ في كتاب بيجوفيتش: الإسلام بين الشرق والغرب وأجد إجابات لسؤالات طرحها جيفريز في فصوله الأخيرة وتحدث بيجوفيتش عن جزء منها في نظرة أخيرة: التسليم لله. هذا التفاوت في الإجابات والتماثل في الأسئلة أمر مهمٌ باعثٌ على قراءتهما معاً )
ورغم ذلك فقد طرح ريتشارد أفكاراً -مستقلة عن الوجود ومتعلقة بالمجتمع الإنساني-جديرةً بالاهتمام.
غرض ريتشارد من تأملاته هذه :
- تمجيد الروح لتصبح ذات حضور أكثر قوة .
-ابتداع طريقة تمكن الجسد اللحمي من التمتع بلذة أكبر ومكابدة آلام أقل، وحياة أطول.
- أمر ثالث ضاع تفهمه وسط طلاسم الترجمة السيئة، ولولاها لكان الكتابُ أوضحَ وأقل استفزازاً.
(كنتُ أقرأ في كتاب بيجوفيتش: الإسلام بين الشرق والغرب وأجد إجابات لسؤالات طرحها جيفريز في فصوله الأخيرة وتحدث بيجوفيتش عن جزء منها في نظرة أخيرة: التسليم لله. هذا التفاوت في الإجابات والتماثل في الأسئلة أمر مهمٌ باعثٌ على قراءتهما معاً )
December 23, 2022
I was led to The Story of My Heart by the mention of soul-thought in Murnane’s Border Districts (a book I didn’t much like). That The Story of My Heart exists at all is a good reason to give it 4 stars. No matter that it provides no answers to the questions posed. Have we not all engaged in soul-thought but not given it a name? Richard Jefferies hymn to nature and soul-thought 'the mind of my mind', struggles, as we all struggle, with ’the lack of words to express ideas.’ But that struggle is half the point. The important thing is to look for more.
If this is not a blatant contradiction, I found I was most engaged whenever Jefferies was both intimately connected, yet disconnected from nature, as he was/is from ideas and human history. Our separateness is part of our condition and one which is difficult to reconcile.
I feel that I know nothing, that I have not yet begun; I have only just commenced to realise the immensity of thought which lies outside the knowledge of the senses. p. 143.
If this is not a blatant contradiction, I found I was most engaged whenever Jefferies was both intimately connected, yet disconnected from nature, as he was/is from ideas and human history. Our separateness is part of our condition and one which is difficult to reconcile.
May 6, 2008
The book could also be called The Exalted & the Ecstatic. So is the nature of page after page, line after delirious line – and so many of the lines are so damn lovely. If you picked the best lines and spaced them in an otherwise 'ordinary' narrative they would spark off the base of the ordinary and give you a more sustained appreciation of the writing. But line after line after line of prose describing what the writer repeatedly admits is indescribable, leads one to the edge of profundity to realize only the elusiveness of sensations. That's why the best of this book is the best of any book; and the worst of it isn't deserving of denigration, but it might be too much of a good thing. Written in 1883, it's ahead of its time, and you could choose a worse book to read a passage from every night to set yourself dreaming.
December 21, 2016
I don't know much about Jefferies, I'm not sure how this book ended up on my Kindle. Probably an impulse buy since it was public domain and hence free.
Apparently Jefferies is one of the transcendentalist writers. His reflections basically consider our aesthetic reaction to nature as the ultimate experience. The supernatural is only the ecstasy our senses receive as they drink in the wonder the sky, the stars, earth, trees, etc blah, blah blah...breath into us.
There is no God, no metaphysical. Anything created by man, art, books, architecture, whatever, amount to nothing and living as a jungle beast alone in the forest is vastly to be preferred.
Whatever. I read this in one setting, which is a good thing for the author because I wouldn't have bothered to pick the book up again.
Three stars for the quality of writing, not the substance.
Apparently Jefferies is one of the transcendentalist writers. His reflections basically consider our aesthetic reaction to nature as the ultimate experience. The supernatural is only the ecstasy our senses receive as they drink in the wonder the sky, the stars, earth, trees, etc blah, blah blah...breath into us.
There is no God, no metaphysical. Anything created by man, art, books, architecture, whatever, amount to nothing and living as a jungle beast alone in the forest is vastly to be preferred.
Whatever. I read this in one setting, which is a good thing for the author because I wouldn't have bothered to pick the book up again.
Three stars for the quality of writing, not the substance.
September 19, 2022
This book gave me chills a number of times. In the last few chapters where he was trying to be more practical with his ideas, he lost me a bit, but nonetheless, this is a powerful and bold work. There are some shocking things said here, truly, but he puts it forth with the brash unapologetic nature of a visionary, and his earnestness and passion come through every word. This book is also breathtakingly poetic, and lines and images surge with an immensity of power much like what I imagine he draws from his ocean memories or the feeling of the sun on his face. Beautiful.
Felt like I was reading a more focused version of John Cowper Powys, at times—like a distant cousin, perhaps, with a cosmology and philosophy altered by some slight degree that makes them very different but also recognisably the same in some way. Soul-life;soul-thought: even his terms seem Powysian.
Felt like I was reading a more focused version of John Cowper Powys, at times—like a distant cousin, perhaps, with a cosmology and philosophy altered by some slight degree that makes them very different but also recognisably the same in some way. Soul-life;soul-thought: even his terms seem Powysian.
July 18, 2017
Wow! A mind-blowing book. It is difficult in some parts, in a lot of parts, but worth plowing through even when you need to go back and reread the more obstruse sections. The ideas here are radical to our current way of thinking, yet amazingly simple and profound. You may not agree with him, but you have to spend the time thinking about what he says. And that is what this "story" is about - about thinking, about the soul's search for what we do not know, the ideas that we have yet to discover, the way in which to fully live, mind, body and soul.
And, if this were not enough, the man could really write! Perfectly and wondrously wrought sentences and phrases are all through this. You could even read it just for those.
And, if this were not enough, the man could really write! Perfectly and wondrously wrought sentences and phrases are all through this. You could even read it just for those.
February 4, 2021
While this book, originally written in 1868, purports to be an autobiography, in actuality it is a lengthy philosophical musing about the potentialities of human existence and the nature of the soul, which is reported to have been influential on the work and ideas of nature writer and novelist Henry Williamson. The book ranges from rudimentary metaphysics about nature to rudimentary socialist concepts. It feels a bit contradictory and naive at times, but also admits that it is an inadequate document, that the author had a great deal of trouble explaining himself.
February 27, 2019
What an extraordinary book; oftentimes, I could hardly believe it was written in the 1880s, so unlike so much stodgy Victorian writing it is. This was a man bursting with joy at being alive, and sings a song of love and desire and hope that all can live a happier life. Its written in an oddly soothing repetitive style; a sort of prose poem, that is often beautiful, and worms its way deep into your mind.
I will write more later.
I will write more later.
July 31, 2022
This is a very strange memoir, especially for a great naturalist writer like Jefferies. The ecstatic visions which lace this narrative are all derived from communion with nature but juxtaposed with them are furious denunciations of human dependency or even reciprocity with the nonhuman world. For those who have embraced this work I can only imagine they are reading very selectively or are more cool with the idea of human superiority than I.
April 15, 2022
In many ways, a weird book. I feel sorry for him ( the author) because what he seeks ( a ever deeper soul-life) cannot be found. This is not an autobiography but a collection of his thoughts. It cannot be denied that he is a very deep thinker but I doubt he knew true happiness. Worth reading as a philosophical work.
April 9, 2015
Didn't realize what this book was about when I picked it up to read it. It's been on my shelf for ages. Love that it is an exploration of spirit through the natural world. It was very similar to how I am living and connecting in my life currently. Sweet, simple read.
February 16, 2008
The depths of questioning and understanding revealed by mystical experiences can go deeper than the imagination can fathom.
February 19, 2008
This book is so beautifully written. His words just flow off the page and take you to a place of silent contemplation of the life and the world in which we live.
June 8, 2012
Exactly as long as it needed to be. Short yet substantial.
June 21, 2014
Not really an autobiography. Better. Deep, sensuous reflections on life, nature and meaning. Many pages are extraordinaryly beautiful.
September 30, 2019
شدني في البداية ثم بدأت أفقد تركيزي.
شعرت أن الترجمة تحتاج لمراجعة بسيطة في بعض الأسطر.
شعرت أن الترجمة تحتاج لمراجعة بسيطة في بعض الأسطر.
May 26, 2020
أعتذر لكنه كتاب خايس.
احتمال الترجمة لها دخل، واحتمال الكاتب جالس يكرر نفسه، وكأنه يتسامى مع الكون.
عمومًا لا أنصح به أبدًا.
احتمال الترجمة لها دخل، واحتمال الكاتب جالس يكرر نفسه، وكأنه يتسامى مع الكون.
عمومًا لا أنصح به أبدًا.
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