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Aubrey Trilogy #1
La familia Aubrey
Las vidas de los Aubrey siempre se han visto empañadas por la inestabilidad y excentricidad de un padre que igual escribe artículos de manera febril en su despacho durante horas que vende los pocos muebles que les quedaban para apoyar alguna causa alocada y abocada al fracaso. Pero su nuevo trabajo en las afueras de Londres promete, al menos durante un tiempo, el alivio del escándalo y la amenaza de la ruina. La madre, una ex pianista, lucha por mantener a la familia a flote, pero lo cierto es que ella es tanto o más excéntrica que su marido. Al menos así la ve Rose, una de las tres hijas de la familia, a través de sus ojos de niña a veces amorosos, a veces crueles. Tanto ella como su hermana gemela, Mary, son prodigios al piano. La familia se completa con Cordelia, la hermana mayor —trágicamente privada de talento musical— y Richard Quin, el pequeño de la casa.
En La familia Aubrey Rebecca West transformó su propia infancia volátil en un arte perdurable. Es este un retrato sin adornos pero afectuoso de una familia extraordinaria, en el que la autora se valió de un notable estilo y una poderosa inteligencia para analizar los límites evasivos de la niñez y la edad adulta, la libertad y la dependencia, lo ordinario y lo oculto.
560 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1956
About the author
Rebecca West
157 books476 followersCicely Isabel Fairfield, known by her pen name Rebecca West, or Dame Rebecca West, DBE was an English author, journalist, literary critic, and travel writer. She was brought up in Edinburgh, Scotland, where she attended George Watson's Ladies College.
A prolific, protean author who wrote in many genres, West was committed to feminist and liberal principles and was one of the foremost public intellectuals of the twentieth century. She reviewed books for The Times, the New York Herald Tribune, the Sunday Telegraph, and the New Republic, and she was a correspondent for The Bookman. Her major works include Black Lamb and Grey Falcon (1941), on the history and culture of Yugoslavia; A Train of Powder (1955), her coverage of the Nuremberg trials, published originally in The New Yorker; The Meaning of Treason, later The New Meaning of Treason, a study of World War II and Communist traitors; The Return of the Soldier, a modernist World War I novel; and the "Aubrey trilogy" of autobiographical novels, The Fountain Overflows, This Real Night, and Cousin Rosamund. Time called her "indisputably the world's number one woman writer" in 1947. She was made CBE in 1949, and DBE in 1959, in recognition of her outstanding contributions to British letters.
A prolific, protean author who wrote in many genres, West was committed to feminist and liberal principles and was one of the foremost public intellectuals of the twentieth century. She reviewed books for The Times, the New York Herald Tribune, the Sunday Telegraph, and the New Republic, and she was a correspondent for The Bookman. Her major works include Black Lamb and Grey Falcon (1941), on the history and culture of Yugoslavia; A Train of Powder (1955), her coverage of the Nuremberg trials, published originally in The New Yorker; The Meaning of Treason, later The New Meaning of Treason, a study of World War II and Communist traitors; The Return of the Soldier, a modernist World War I novel; and the "Aubrey trilogy" of autobiographical novels, The Fountain Overflows, This Real Night, and Cousin Rosamund. Time called her "indisputably the world's number one woman writer" in 1947. She was made CBE in 1949, and DBE in 1959, in recognition of her outstanding contributions to British letters.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 483 reviews
December 4, 2013
I who usually hang around with degenerates (murderers, religious maniacs, Hitler) found myself enfolded within the bosom of a shabby-genteel family, the Aubreys, who were - only just - scraping by somewhere between 1900 and 1910 in south London on what the father forgot to gamble away on the stock exchange (not once but many times) and the mother’s fixed purpose that her two middle daughters will become concert pianists. The mother says things like
It must have the strict value of a quaver, otherwise the half-bar does not repeat the pattern of the four descending notes… do you mean to say you cannot understand that though the weak beats are doubled by the left hand they must be kept weak, and the strong beats must be kept strong, though the whole thing is piano? I might as well have been teaching a chimpanzee.
I have just spent a delightful week with these people.
**
Rebecca West :
My work expresses an infatuation with human beings. I don’t believe that to understand is necessarily to pardon, but I feel that to understand makes one forget that one cannot pardon.
**
Our precise, deadly narrator is Rose Aubrey, one of the middle children. She is glorious. For instance
The place was a cave of well-being, crammed with tables at which well-dressed women, with cairns of parcels piled up on chairs beside them, leaned towards each other, their always large busts overhanging plates of tiny sandwiches and glasses of port and sherry and madeira, and exchanged gossip that mounted to the low ceiling and was transformed to the twittering of birds in an aviary.
When the story begins she’s about 9 or 10 I guess. The uncomical antics of their adored father have deposited the family in a “social vacuum” – they’re poor, disowned by the father’s family, they see nobody – but the mother points out that they’re not alone in that, in Edwardian England you didn’t have to do much to find yourself socially excluded.
**
Yes, there is tweeness. You have to be prepared to read about small girls discussing their imaginary pets in detail. That could sink the whole enterprise for some people.
**
This edition is 400 pages long and the print is quite tiny, so it’s more like 500 pages. But I don’t want to sound like my mother – she would appraise books purely on the typeface – “Ooooh, I couldn’t read that, ooh no, the print is so small, ooh no”
**
William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell :
The cistern contains: the fountain overflows. The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow.
**
The plot of The Fountain Overflows is : stuff happens, everyone gets about six or seven years older. The story surges and ebbs and flows like a body of water. It’s comical and tragical and tragicomical by turns. Occasionally it’s outright satire.
We sat still and tried to look calm, and debated in whispers whether it would be rude to ask Mr Phillips whether the car was actually on fire.
**
In one passage the father who’s a campaigning journalist is taking up the cause of margarine manufacturers who are being threatened with legislation in order to force them to colour their margarine with some unpleasant tinge. The butter manufacturers have persuaded parliament that their industry will be torpedoed by the cheaper margarine unless the law compels margarine to be
PURPLE
I was intrigued by this weirdness and discovered that there was indeed agitation along these lines from dairy producers, but it took place in the USA, not England, and in the 19th century, not the early 20th, and it didn’t get anywhere because the margarine manufacturers took to selling white margarine with packets of yellow food colouring.
**
This novel is about children.
Now I recall my emotions at that moment, children seem to me a remarkable race. They want so much to murder so many people, and they so rarely murder anybody at all.
I shook with rage so that Rosamund laid a calming hand on my arm. Almost all grown-ups were constantly rude to children, but of late they had been going too far.
**
This novel can be quite strange. On page 91 we have a detailed account of a plate throwing sheet-twining glass-breaking POLTERGEIST served up to us straight. That was odd.
***
We’re not like moss or spiders, we have been cursed with self-consciousness, so living with the background static of the beckoning grave we have to protest, it’s unfair that we go into the darkness and only get to live this one life, look through this one set of eyes, and in protest, we invent art and writing and poetry and novels so as to look through many eyes, and think more thoughts in one day that would otherwise occur to us in a lifetime. All art geysers out of the injustice of the one life we have and the many lives we wish to have, the thumbnail of years we’re granted against the millions we aren’t. Our novels are our panopticon, our camera obscura, and our zohar (that Borgesian point at which all things are observable at the same time). Self-consciousness is the disease which nearly cures itself.
**
It's not flawless, but it's got my five stars. The Fountain Overflows is another example of the extreme awkwardness of Edwardian writers in dealing with class – E M Forster, H G Wells and (gaucheness personified) D H Lawrence all suffer agonies and often nearly capsize their novels because they can’t strike the right tone when they’re writing about the working class. They desperately try not to patronise but their story is about people who do patronise and despise the working class. Compare Evelyn Waugh in Brideshead Revisited – his middle-class narrator wanders into an aristocratic family a whole social class above his own, but there is no problem, all is smooth as silk.
The working class – also known as the poor – is disliked and feared by the middle class because
- they do not have the same values
- they do not aspire to the same things
- they don’t look the same
- they don’t have any taste
- you might conclude that most of them are stupid
- if they get any money they spend it on the wrong things
- they’re ignorant and happy to be so
In some ways it is agreed that it’s not their fault that they’re poor but this does not make them likeable. You have to deal with them gingerly. The Aubreys have no money but they’re not The Poor, they’re still thoroughly genteel.
He had asked for beer… it was certain we would have none in the house, for it was considered a vulgar drink in those days; I do not think that my father ever tasted it in his life.
At one point the mother tells the children:
You are not allowed to read the newspapers now. I hope you will not attach too much importance to them. They give you a picture of a common-place world that does not exist. You must always believe that life is as extraordinary as music says it is.
**
I guess this novel tells a universal story about how some of the dreams of childhood get smashed to bits by the cruelties of life and some are hurtled along and by some miracle make it through the rapids without loss of life. But I didn't really think about that very much. I was just glad to have spent my time with these people, with those names and those faces.
It must have the strict value of a quaver, otherwise the half-bar does not repeat the pattern of the four descending notes… do you mean to say you cannot understand that though the weak beats are doubled by the left hand they must be kept weak, and the strong beats must be kept strong, though the whole thing is piano? I might as well have been teaching a chimpanzee.
I have just spent a delightful week with these people.
**
Rebecca West :
My work expresses an infatuation with human beings. I don’t believe that to understand is necessarily to pardon, but I feel that to understand makes one forget that one cannot pardon.
**
Our precise, deadly narrator is Rose Aubrey, one of the middle children. She is glorious. For instance
The place was a cave of well-being, crammed with tables at which well-dressed women, with cairns of parcels piled up on chairs beside them, leaned towards each other, their always large busts overhanging plates of tiny sandwiches and glasses of port and sherry and madeira, and exchanged gossip that mounted to the low ceiling and was transformed to the twittering of birds in an aviary.
When the story begins she’s about 9 or 10 I guess. The uncomical antics of their adored father have deposited the family in a “social vacuum” – they’re poor, disowned by the father’s family, they see nobody – but the mother points out that they’re not alone in that, in Edwardian England you didn’t have to do much to find yourself socially excluded.
**
Yes, there is tweeness. You have to be prepared to read about small girls discussing their imaginary pets in detail. That could sink the whole enterprise for some people.
**
This edition is 400 pages long and the print is quite tiny, so it’s more like 500 pages. But I don’t want to sound like my mother – she would appraise books purely on the typeface – “Ooooh, I couldn’t read that, ooh no, the print is so small, ooh no”
**
William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell :
The cistern contains: the fountain overflows. The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow.
**
The plot of The Fountain Overflows is : stuff happens, everyone gets about six or seven years older. The story surges and ebbs and flows like a body of water. It’s comical and tragical and tragicomical by turns. Occasionally it’s outright satire.
We sat still and tried to look calm, and debated in whispers whether it would be rude to ask Mr Phillips whether the car was actually on fire.
**
In one passage the father who’s a campaigning journalist is taking up the cause of margarine manufacturers who are being threatened with legislation in order to force them to colour their margarine with some unpleasant tinge. The butter manufacturers have persuaded parliament that their industry will be torpedoed by the cheaper margarine unless the law compels margarine to be
PURPLE
I was intrigued by this weirdness and discovered that there was indeed agitation along these lines from dairy producers, but it took place in the USA, not England, and in the 19th century, not the early 20th, and it didn’t get anywhere because the margarine manufacturers took to selling white margarine with packets of yellow food colouring.
**
This novel is about children.
Now I recall my emotions at that moment, children seem to me a remarkable race. They want so much to murder so many people, and they so rarely murder anybody at all.
I shook with rage so that Rosamund laid a calming hand on my arm. Almost all grown-ups were constantly rude to children, but of late they had been going too far.
**
This novel can be quite strange. On page 91 we have a detailed account of a plate throwing sheet-twining glass-breaking POLTERGEIST served up to us straight. That was odd.
***
We’re not like moss or spiders, we have been cursed with self-consciousness, so living with the background static of the beckoning grave we have to protest, it’s unfair that we go into the darkness and only get to live this one life, look through this one set of eyes, and in protest, we invent art and writing and poetry and novels so as to look through many eyes, and think more thoughts in one day that would otherwise occur to us in a lifetime. All art geysers out of the injustice of the one life we have and the many lives we wish to have, the thumbnail of years we’re granted against the millions we aren’t. Our novels are our panopticon, our camera obscura, and our zohar (that Borgesian point at which all things are observable at the same time). Self-consciousness is the disease which nearly cures itself.
**
It's not flawless, but it's got my five stars. The Fountain Overflows is another example of the extreme awkwardness of Edwardian writers in dealing with class – E M Forster, H G Wells and (gaucheness personified) D H Lawrence all suffer agonies and often nearly capsize their novels because they can’t strike the right tone when they’re writing about the working class. They desperately try not to patronise but their story is about people who do patronise and despise the working class. Compare Evelyn Waugh in Brideshead Revisited – his middle-class narrator wanders into an aristocratic family a whole social class above his own, but there is no problem, all is smooth as silk.
The working class – also known as the poor – is disliked and feared by the middle class because
- they do not have the same values
- they do not aspire to the same things
- they don’t look the same
- they don’t have any taste
- you might conclude that most of them are stupid
- if they get any money they spend it on the wrong things
- they’re ignorant and happy to be so
In some ways it is agreed that it’s not their fault that they’re poor but this does not make them likeable. You have to deal with them gingerly. The Aubreys have no money but they’re not The Poor, they’re still thoroughly genteel.
He had asked for beer… it was certain we would have none in the house, for it was considered a vulgar drink in those days; I do not think that my father ever tasted it in his life.
At one point the mother tells the children:
You are not allowed to read the newspapers now. I hope you will not attach too much importance to them. They give you a picture of a common-place world that does not exist. You must always believe that life is as extraordinary as music says it is.
**
I guess this novel tells a universal story about how some of the dreams of childhood get smashed to bits by the cruelties of life and some are hurtled along and by some miracle make it through the rapids without loss of life. But I didn't really think about that very much. I was just glad to have spent my time with these people, with those names and those faces.
October 3, 2025
Secondo me il vero talento di Baricco è il suo modo di leggere e raccontare i libri che legge, di parlare dei suoi colleghi e di quello che scrivono.
Ecco quanto dice del libro in questione. Lo riporto così come l’ho trovato, anche se si tratta di citazione lunga, perché mi pare un contributo interessante e prezioso.
Alessandro Baricco scrive:
Non vorrei creare troppe aspettative, ma non ho letto niente di meglio, in questi ultimi dieci anni. Sono tre volumi di un’unica saga famigliare che nei progetti della West doveva coprire buona parte del Novecento. In tutto, qualcosa come 1200 pagine (be’, non siete costretti a comprarli subito tutti e tre)…
Rebecca West non sapevo chi era. Ormai lo sanno in pochi anche in Inghilterra. Un’amica di Virginia Woolf, ti dicono, e poi si fermano lì. Io sono ancora qui a chiedermi come mai non si dica il contrario: Virginia Woolf? Ah, un’amica di Rebecca West.
Venditrice di pesce per le strade di Londra (circa 1910).
Alessandro Baricco continua:
Non avendo capito che era una trilogia, a me è accaduto di iniziare dal secondo volume, Proprio stanotte. Le prime pagine, lo ricordo benissimo, mi parvero di una noia ineguagliabile. Raramente avevo letto qualcosa che procedesse più lentamente. Ma non lo faceva in modo forzato o virtuosistico: era tutto molto naturale. Era solo che quella donna aveva quel passo, e non c’era nulla che si potesse fare a riguardo. Mi ricordo che spesso continuavo a leggere pensando ad altro. Mi ritrovavo a girar pagina che a malapena sapevo cosa avevo letto. Eppure giravo pagina. Perché diavolo non smettevo? Un motivo, immediatamente percepibile, c’era: nello scorrere lentissimo di quel fiume, ogni tanto passava una barca. Una frase, una similitudine, un’osservazione minuscola, l’esattezza di un colore, la precisione millimetrica di un aggettivo. E non c’era passaggio di barca, per quanto raro, che non fosse davvero memorabile (in particolare le similitudini, da rimanere a bocca aperta). Così, per un po’ me ne sono stato ad aspettare il passaggio delle barche, paziente. Poi, pagina dopo pagina, senza accorgermene, ho cominciato a capire il fiume. È durata un po’, e alla fine qualcosa è successo, perché, d’improvviso, ero in quel fiume. Non c’era più lentezza, ma un certo passo del cuore, irrimediabilmente giusto. Quel che prima mi sembrava una collezione sfinente di dettagli inutili adesso mi appariva come il corretto censimento delle cose, il minimo che si debba concedere al miracoloso esistere del mondo. Da lì in poi, è stato tutto facile. Avrebbe anche potuto non finire mai. Così ho navigato per milleduecento pagine e adesso mi toccherebbe spiegare perché l’ho vissuto come un viaggio struggente (personalmente ritenevo deceduto questo aggettivo decenni fa, ma ora non ne trovo un altro per tradurre in una parola il sound di quel fiume, l’inclinazione di quello sguardo, il tono di voce, la luce). Non so, credo di essere rimasto abbagliato dalla calma con cui quella donna poteva scomporre una sensazione, uno sguardo, un sentimento. La calma silenziosa, mi viene da dire. Ci sono invisibili sfumature dell’esistere, del semplice esistere, che solo i libri sanno pronunciare: ma anche conta molto con che tono lo fanno. Quello della West non lo conoscevo, e probabilmente era quello che ero disposto ad ascoltare, in quel momento. Non sempre vuoi avere il fiato di Céline addosso o spellarti le mani tutto il tempo davanti ai virtuosismi di Proust; ci sono anche i momenti in cui non ti va di ridere alle battute di Salinger o ti viene la nausea all’ennesimo superlativo di Conrad. La West (che io non faccio fatica ad annoverare tra i grandi) aveva un suo modo, nel dissezionare gli umani, che mi ricorda la cautela sapiente con cui si dispongono dei fiori in un vaso. Sembrava annotare le verità dei viventi come se fossero un elegante arredo alla falsità della vita. Non aveva l’aria di voler risolvere o svelare alcunché: le andava di ridisporre le cose, una accanto all’altra, in un modo che ne testimoniasse la vocazione a un senso, e a una qualche bellezza. Nel farlo, non dava mai l’impressione di esibirsi in qualcosa di speciale, né di aspettarsi qualche ammirazione. Disponeva i suoi fiori, parlando intanto d’altro. Di rado ho incontrato un esercizio dell’intelligenza così privo di violenza. Così, nella luce di bagliori lentissimi, molto ho ricevuto di quanto non saprei vedere da solo, imparando una serenità che di solito non mi appartiene e un gusto che non saprei insegnare. L’ho fatto con la lentezza da lei stabilita e adesso gliene sono grato, perché alla fine l’ho appresa, e non di rado mi accade di richiamarla alla memoria, e di abitarla per un po’: cosa che mi è fonte di passeggera, ma nitida, delizia. Riprendo a leggere a caso, passando le dita sugli angoli arrotondati delle pagine, e mai ne resto deluso. Tanto che perfino mi dispiace, un po’, di parlarne oggi a gente che nemmeno incontrerò mai. O magari sì, in modo sotterraneo e indefinibile, tutti a nuotare nello stesso fiume.
Ecco, io però, purtroppo – e sottolineo purtroppo – sono rimasto fermo alle prime impressioni di Baricco, alla noia e a quelle barche isolate: purtroppo, non ho mai percepito il fiume, men che meno sono mai riuscito a immergermi in quelle acque.
Come lui, sono stato in grado di sentire che ogni tanto passava una barca. Una frase, una similitudine, un’osservazione minuscola, l’esattezza di un colore, la precisione millimetrica di un aggettivo. Rebecca West scrive bene e per lei ho sincero interesse.
Qui ho particolarmente apprezzato che l’io-narrante, Rose, una delle tre sorelle Aubrey (c’è anche un maschietto più piccolo) scrivesse a distanza di quasi mezzo secolo: non solo, per fortuna, non tenta minimamente di riprodurre la voce di se stessa bambina dell’epoca (inizio Novecento), ma più di una volta riflette sul tempo passato, sulle differenze, le conseguenze, i cambiamenti, e questi attimi sono belli e profondi.
Venditore di muffin (circa 1910).
Peccato aver trovato tutti i personaggi tendenti all’artificiosamente eccentrico e poco pregnanti; abbastanza inspiegabile l’irascibilità della narratrice, la sua smania di giudicare tutto e tutti, così come il tormento, dal sapor di Cenerentola, rivolto alla sorella maggiore rea di essere una mediocre violinista; il senso di claustrofobia che ho imputato all’assillante frequentazione dei membri della famiglia Aubrey uno con l’altro (diavolo, stavano sempre tutti insieme); la sgradevole predominanza dei bambini e del loro mondo infantile; la povertà sbandierata con fierezza, ma sofferta ogni istante, nonostante la quale quell’inspiegabile frequente accollarsi ospiti in pianta stabile tanto da diventare membri aggiunti della già corposa famiglia Aubrey.
Sono arrivato in fondo a queste quattrocentotrenta pagine, impaginate fitte con caratteri minuscoli dalla “benedetta” edizione Mattioli (alla faccia dei refusi) - che mi sono sembrate mille – con insolita lentezza e fatica. E non penso proprio che prolungherò lo sforzo con i due volumi successivi di questa trilogia.
Rebecca West
November 24, 2020
4.5★
There is such a lot to digest in this very accomplished book, where at least some of the characters are based on Ms West (born Cicily Fairfield) and her family.
I don't think there would be any account that would make Ms West's father (Piers Aubrey in the book, Ms West is Rose) seem anything but an awful person. In both real life and in this novel, he In the book anyway, Mother seems determined to look on the bright side of life, to the point of foolishness and by the end of the book I wanted to shake her really hard. However, there was a twist at the end, which I really enjoyed.
The book is dedicated to West's sister Letitia, who is the model for Cordelia. The swipes at Cordelia become extremely repetitive and after reading Letititia's Wikipedia page, I can't help wondering if they were motivated by jealousy. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Letitia... If that is so, that is very sad as West's literary gifts are so remarkable. Understandably Letitia didn't like this book.
The most enjoyable passage for me was Rose & her twin sister Mary's first journey in a motor car. The description was just so vivid and witty! (it would have been quicker for the girls to walk!) But throughout the book there was plenty to keep one reading, even if this one sometimes became exasperated with the characters, I don't mind being exasperated for a family and large caste of characters who are so vividly realised.
Definitely recommended.
There is such a lot to digest in this very accomplished book, where at least some of the characters are based on Ms West (born Cicily Fairfield) and her family.
I don't think there would be any account that would make Ms West's father (Piers Aubrey in the book, Ms West is Rose) seem anything but an awful person. In both real life and in this novel, he In the book anyway, Mother seems determined to look on the bright side of life, to the point of foolishness and by the end of the book I wanted to shake her really hard. However, there was a twist at the end, which I really enjoyed.
The book is dedicated to West's sister Letitia, who is the model for Cordelia. The swipes at Cordelia become extremely repetitive and after reading Letititia's Wikipedia page, I can't help wondering if they were motivated by jealousy. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Letitia... If that is so, that is very sad as West's literary gifts are so remarkable. Understandably Letitia didn't like this book.
The most enjoyable passage for me was Rose & her twin sister Mary's first journey in a motor car. The description was just so vivid and witty! (it would have been quicker for the girls to walk!) But throughout the book there was plenty to keep one reading, even if this one sometimes became exasperated with the characters, I don't mind being exasperated for a family and large caste of characters who are so vividly realised.
Definitely recommended.
July 17, 2018
"Oh bambini se amate qualcuno dategli la possibilità che merita"
Questa è la storia di una famiglia di artisti. O meglio, la mamma è una pianista, di grande talento, che ha smesso di esibirsi nel momento in cui si è sposata.
Il padre è un giornalista, economista, visionario, ma completamente scollato da quella che è la vita di tutti i giorni e dalle necessità e i doveri che devono essere espletati a sostentamento della propria famiglia. Questa mamma e questo papà hanno generato tre figlie femmine, Cordelia, Mary e Rose (alter ego della West, colei che ci narra questa storia), e un bimbo, Richard Quin. Dei quattro, tre sono dotatissimi per la musica, mentre la prima Cordelia, nonostante la cocciutaggine accanita, e la volontà di suonare il violino, non ha la grazia di alcun dono artistico. È molto carina, ed è l'unica che riesca a comprendere quanto la sua famiglia sia aliena, non convenzionale ed estremamente povera. Sempre sull'orlo del lastrico, con un padre che non si preoccupa e non si occupa se non di coltivare l'intelletto dei propri figlioli. Ciò che a lui importa è che facciano domande argute, che dimostrino intelligenza e intuito. Distratto dal gioco in borsa e dalle proprie attività pare non curarsi delle necessità primarie dei propri consanguinei. Non sono le cose materiali a interessare il padre.
"Il gioco è peggio dei tarli e della ruggine, non si lascia dietro brandelli di stoffa e metallo arrugginito, si mangia tutto senza lasciare nulla."
Poco importa che la moglie si arrabatti per sbarcare il lunario e mettere a tavola i propri figli, si ingegni per far sì che non siano privi dei regali di Natale, possano coltivare i propri talenti.
Egli parrebbe poco preoccupato di quelle che potrebbero essere le necessità artistiche cui la moglie ha rinunciato a favore dei propri figli.
Non pare una persona egoista, non pensa in effetti alle proprie soddisfazione personali, tant'è si mette in gioco in prima persona per aiutare chi è in difficoltà anche se sconosciuto. Solo che è incapace di gestire fatti e persone.
In questa famiglia, nessuno cela la verità di ciò che pensa dell'altro. Curiosamente madre e figli adorano il padre, nonostante i suoi evidenti limiti. Non si ama chi è perfetto, si ama semplicemente chi si ama.
La musica, come modus vivendi, come maestra di vita, come passione totalizzante, sta al centro di questo romanzo. E in una simile famiglia, non essere musicalmente dotati, è la peggior sciagura possa capitare.
E questa sciagura, tocca in sorte a Cordelia. Nessuno in famiglia riesce a tacere della inappropriatezza musicale della ragazza: ingiusto e pericoloso illudere chi non ha talento di possederne. Il compito ingrato spetta a chi ama davvero. Il genitore che ama non blandisce o vezzeggia ma fornisce ai propri figli gli strumenti per misurarsi e per comprendere dove effettivamente possano arrivare, senza creare loro false illusioni.
Certo che a 'sta povera Cordelia non vengono risparmiate le peggio umiliazioni.
Un romanzo fatto di nessun accadimento particolare e di tutto, dello sguardo retrospettivo di un'adulta che, a distanza di 50 anni, ricorda gli accadimenti della propria infanzia e fanciullezza, dando ad essi la dimensione a volte di una fiaba gotica.
Quello che succede tra una chiacchiera, una zuppa, un the, e un evento polstergeist è semplicemte la vita.
Questa è la storia di una famiglia di artisti. O meglio, la mamma è una pianista, di grande talento, che ha smesso di esibirsi nel momento in cui si è sposata.
Il padre è un giornalista, economista, visionario, ma completamente scollato da quella che è la vita di tutti i giorni e dalle necessità e i doveri che devono essere espletati a sostentamento della propria famiglia. Questa mamma e questo papà hanno generato tre figlie femmine, Cordelia, Mary e Rose (alter ego della West, colei che ci narra questa storia), e un bimbo, Richard Quin. Dei quattro, tre sono dotatissimi per la musica, mentre la prima Cordelia, nonostante la cocciutaggine accanita, e la volontà di suonare il violino, non ha la grazia di alcun dono artistico. È molto carina, ed è l'unica che riesca a comprendere quanto la sua famiglia sia aliena, non convenzionale ed estremamente povera. Sempre sull'orlo del lastrico, con un padre che non si preoccupa e non si occupa se non di coltivare l'intelletto dei propri figlioli. Ciò che a lui importa è che facciano domande argute, che dimostrino intelligenza e intuito. Distratto dal gioco in borsa e dalle proprie attività pare non curarsi delle necessità primarie dei propri consanguinei. Non sono le cose materiali a interessare il padre.
"Il gioco è peggio dei tarli e della ruggine, non si lascia dietro brandelli di stoffa e metallo arrugginito, si mangia tutto senza lasciare nulla."
Poco importa che la moglie si arrabatti per sbarcare il lunario e mettere a tavola i propri figli, si ingegni per far sì che non siano privi dei regali di Natale, possano coltivare i propri talenti.
Egli parrebbe poco preoccupato di quelle che potrebbero essere le necessità artistiche cui la moglie ha rinunciato a favore dei propri figli.
Non pare una persona egoista, non pensa in effetti alle proprie soddisfazione personali, tant'è si mette in gioco in prima persona per aiutare chi è in difficoltà anche se sconosciuto. Solo che è incapace di gestire fatti e persone.
In questa famiglia, nessuno cela la verità di ciò che pensa dell'altro. Curiosamente madre e figli adorano il padre, nonostante i suoi evidenti limiti. Non si ama chi è perfetto, si ama semplicemente chi si ama.
La musica, come modus vivendi, come maestra di vita, come passione totalizzante, sta al centro di questo romanzo. E in una simile famiglia, non essere musicalmente dotati, è la peggior sciagura possa capitare.
E questa sciagura, tocca in sorte a Cordelia. Nessuno in famiglia riesce a tacere della inappropriatezza musicale della ragazza: ingiusto e pericoloso illudere chi non ha talento di possederne. Il compito ingrato spetta a chi ama davvero. Il genitore che ama non blandisce o vezzeggia ma fornisce ai propri figli gli strumenti per misurarsi e per comprendere dove effettivamente possano arrivare, senza creare loro false illusioni.
Certo che a 'sta povera Cordelia non vengono risparmiate le peggio umiliazioni.
Un romanzo fatto di nessun accadimento particolare e di tutto, dello sguardo retrospettivo di un'adulta che, a distanza di 50 anni, ricorda gli accadimenti della propria infanzia e fanciullezza, dando ad essi la dimensione a volte di una fiaba gotica.
Quello che succede tra una chiacchiera, una zuppa, un the, e un evento polstergeist è semplicemte la vita.
September 17, 2018
in alcuni punti ho sperimentato un retropensiero di faticosa inutilità. simile a quando mi intestardii nel provare a ricordare la differenza tra giambi e trochei, ma erano passati troppi anni dalla maturità. purtuttavia, congedando questa notte rebecca all’agognato traguardo di pagina 486 (la postfazione per ora nun ja fò), è stato con sincero disagio che ho pronunciato la fatidica frase non-sei-tu-sono-io.
perché la signora ovest qui presente ha scritto un a tratti gradevole romanzone (one), che non mi sento di definire brutto, non mi sento di sconsigliare, non mi sento di pentirmi di aver letto. a dire il vero non mi sento di niente fino in fondo. ecco. il punto credo sia qui.
3 stelle sostanzialmente perché, come ebbe a dire @cristina (a cui però il libro è piaciuto assai), gli aubrey mi han fatto pensare più e più volte ai march e a piccole donne. e io per anni volevo essere jo, come tutti.
perché la signora ovest qui presente ha scritto un a tratti gradevole romanzone (one), che non mi sento di definire brutto, non mi sento di sconsigliare, non mi sento di pentirmi di aver letto. a dire il vero non mi sento di niente fino in fondo. ecco. il punto credo sia qui.
3 stelle sostanzialmente perché, come ebbe a dire @cristina (a cui però il libro è piaciuto assai), gli aubrey mi han fatto pensare più e più volte ai march e a piccole donne. e io per anni volevo essere jo, come tutti.
February 5, 2025
A high 3 🌟
The start of this book for me was very strong, I loved the Scottish elements and enjoyed the 'Little Women like' child perspective and how gothic / wintery it all felt but by the middle it went downhill for me with feeling disconnected, seeing easy routes out of the plot and slightly thinking what is the point of the book?
However I did overall like it and should pick up more by this author especially as she seems interesting x
The start of this book for me was very strong, I loved the Scottish elements and enjoyed the 'Little Women like' child perspective and how gothic / wintery it all felt but by the middle it went downhill for me with feeling disconnected, seeing easy routes out of the plot and slightly thinking what is the point of the book?
However I did overall like it and should pick up more by this author especially as she seems interesting x
June 19, 2018
Tutti insieme appassionatamente
In questo romanzo, ambientato a Londra all'inizio del novecento, è protagonista una famiglia. Un padre, tanto geniale quanto sprovveduto, tanto generoso quanto assente, tanto capace di prevedere la storia futura quanto incapace di gestire finanziariamente gli affari di famiglia, tanto bravo nell'aiutare gli altri quanto incapace di gestire sé stesso. Una madre, pianista ed ex concertista, decisa, carismatica, tanto brava e interessata a seguire lo sviluppo musicale e intellettuale dei figli quanto disinteressata al "superfluo"; infatti riempie la giornata dei figli di esercizi e di studio, senza riposo e tempi morti. Quattro figli, tre femmine e un maschietto. Una caparbia ma senza talento musicale, due bravissime e talentuose studentesse di pianoforte e il piccolo coccolato e vezzeggiato.
Il romanzo non ha una vera e propria trama. I pochi fatti importanti che avvengono sono descritti e accantonati in fretta; si limitano a punteggiare un'esistenza fatta di dialoghi, di colazioni, di osservazione della natura, di esercizi al pianoforte, del rito del lavaggio dei capelli, del the del pomeriggio, della cena. Una famiglia strana questa; niente soldi e tante sventure, ma in compenso molta arte, molta cultura e tantissima musica, vista come parte naturale dell'essere e motore della vita.
Nel libro non è importante il "cosa", ma piuttosto il "come" e le sensazioni connesse. Nessuno in questo libro è perfetto o viene dipinto come perfetto. E' un ritratto di persone imperfette che però tendono a migliorare sé stesse, impegnandosi al massimo nelle cose in cui credono e mai per diretto tornaconto personale. Nessuno di loro suona il pianoforte per arricchire, ma per avvicinarsi al senso della musica. Nessuno mette il successo della propria persona davanti a tutto il resto. E' una famiglia povera, una famiglia in cui è difficile vivere; ma è una famiglia a cui tutti i componenti sono felici di appartenere.
Ed è un romanzo in cui la musica ha un ruolo predominante; raramente ho trovato descrizioni musicali di tale livello (ricordo solo Thomas Mann, che lo ha fatto altrettanto bene).
Un libro di più di 400 pagine che non parla di nulla che non mi ha mai annoiato e mi ha stupito quasi sempre. Un libro intelligente e colto che stimola buoni sentimenti e che ci lascia il bel messaggio (per chi non l'avesse ancora capito) per cui non è la ricchezza che fa grandi le persone.
Unico neo: esiste solo l'edizione cartacea (pure piena di refusi). Insopportabile, una volta che ci si abitua all'ebook non si può più tornare indietro.
October 15, 2015
‘The Fountain Overflows’ was Rebecca West’s first book in twenty years; and it was to have been the first volume of a trilogy that would tell the story of her century. She didn’t live quite long enough to complete that story, but after reading this book I am eager to read the next book and to read the final, unfinished work.
This is a story that draws on the authors own life, without being entirely autobiographical; and it tells of growing up in a creative, musical family, from the perspective of one of the children of that family; a girl named Rose.
The father of the family, Piers Aubrey, was charming but he was thoughtless. He was the editor of a minor newspaper, he was a man who was ready to stand by and act on his convictions, but he was also a man who gambled away any money he earned on the Stock Exchange. He loved his wife, he loved his children, but he seemed unwilling – or unable – to accept the responsibilities that laid upon him.
His wife and his children might have resented the choices he made, they might have been disappointed in him; but they weren’t. They loved him, they appreciated his strengths, and they accepted his weaknesses as inevitable in someone who had to venture outside the musical family circle to do battle for them in a world that didn’t appreciate the things that they loved. And so they did their level best to adapt themselves to his absences, to the loss of their good furniture, to frequent changes of address, and to love the copies of family portraits that hung in the children’s bedrooms.
And, of course, it is the mother of the family who holds things together; so clearly adoring her children, her family unit, and her role as mother. She had been a concert pianist, but everything that she had put into achieving that goal was put into family life. She loved finding the right instrument for each child – the violin for Cordelia, her eldest daughter, the piano for each of her twin girls, Rose and Mary; and the flute would – some time into the story – prove to be the instrument for her young son, Richard Quinn.
The author understood – and she made me understand and appreciate – the complex ties that bound that family together.
The story opens with the family on the cusp of moving to a new home in South London, where they will be settled for quite some time. It took me a little while to get my bearings, but I was enchanted with Rose’s voice; with the mixture of the descriptive, the fanciful, and the matter-of-fact; with the intelligence and the insight; and intensity, the love and the gorgeous, child-like attentiveness to detail of it all.
I was just a little sorry that Mary seemed often to disappear; or to be a mere adjunct to Rose, who was sometimes a little too conveniently always at the centre of things.
A picture emerged, and then I was truly captivated, and drawn right into family life.
The story is peppered with incident – most notably the ridding of a cousin’s home from a poltergeist, and the case of a neighbour who has been unjustly accused of murder – but those are not the things that make this story sing.
What does make the story sing?
Well, there’s wonderful insight into the condition of childhood, and the way that, despite its genteel poverty, the family’s lives are rich and full. There’s the drawing close together of a family that is a little isolated, because it is different, because there seems to be no one close to them who understands the very special magic of the creative, artistic life.
The children’s love for each other, that endures even when Cordelia’s wish for a more conventional life maddens them, is caught perfectly. They all adore their little brother, Richard Quinn, who is bright, idiosyncratic, and utterly irresistible. They happily draw their cousin Rosamunde, who is not musical but who they recognise has other wonderful gifts, into their circle. They accept Nancy, daughter of the neighbour accused of murder, too, they are terribly sorry that she seems ungifted, but that is no obstacle to them taking to her hearts. Her difference fascinates them, and they determine that they will help her, as they will help their mother and all of those they love, when their musical gifts rescue them from poverty. They have such wonderful, unwavering faith that they will succeed.
The darkness of the material world, where their father must do battle, is set against the warmth and love of the home that their mother creates. That is why he can always be forgiven. But as the children grow things change. Cordelia could play, but she could not truly understand her music, and so, of course, she could never be a professional musician. Her mother understood that but Cordelia couldn’t, and her pretensions were fostered by an a teacher who had just the same weaknesses. The playing out of this strand is particularly well judged; the contrast between the mother who saw and the teacher who didn’t, and judged the mother harshly, is striking; and I was devastated for Cordelia when she finally came to understand.
That final drama led this novel to its own conclusion.
Taken as a whole it feel idiosyncratic, but that feels right because it is catching all of the twists and turns of lives lived. There were times when it made my heart sing, and there were times when I thought it might break. The writing is so lovely, and it speaks so profoundly of family and musicality, that I was lost when I reached the final page and my life and those lives moved apart.
This is a story that draws on the authors own life, without being entirely autobiographical; and it tells of growing up in a creative, musical family, from the perspective of one of the children of that family; a girl named Rose.
The father of the family, Piers Aubrey, was charming but he was thoughtless. He was the editor of a minor newspaper, he was a man who was ready to stand by and act on his convictions, but he was also a man who gambled away any money he earned on the Stock Exchange. He loved his wife, he loved his children, but he seemed unwilling – or unable – to accept the responsibilities that laid upon him.
His wife and his children might have resented the choices he made, they might have been disappointed in him; but they weren’t. They loved him, they appreciated his strengths, and they accepted his weaknesses as inevitable in someone who had to venture outside the musical family circle to do battle for them in a world that didn’t appreciate the things that they loved. And so they did their level best to adapt themselves to his absences, to the loss of their good furniture, to frequent changes of address, and to love the copies of family portraits that hung in the children’s bedrooms.
And, of course, it is the mother of the family who holds things together; so clearly adoring her children, her family unit, and her role as mother. She had been a concert pianist, but everything that she had put into achieving that goal was put into family life. She loved finding the right instrument for each child – the violin for Cordelia, her eldest daughter, the piano for each of her twin girls, Rose and Mary; and the flute would – some time into the story – prove to be the instrument for her young son, Richard Quinn.
The author understood – and she made me understand and appreciate – the complex ties that bound that family together.
The story opens with the family on the cusp of moving to a new home in South London, where they will be settled for quite some time. It took me a little while to get my bearings, but I was enchanted with Rose’s voice; with the mixture of the descriptive, the fanciful, and the matter-of-fact; with the intelligence and the insight; and intensity, the love and the gorgeous, child-like attentiveness to detail of it all.
I was just a little sorry that Mary seemed often to disappear; or to be a mere adjunct to Rose, who was sometimes a little too conveniently always at the centre of things.
A picture emerged, and then I was truly captivated, and drawn right into family life.
The story is peppered with incident – most notably the ridding of a cousin’s home from a poltergeist, and the case of a neighbour who has been unjustly accused of murder – but those are not the things that make this story sing.
What does make the story sing?
Well, there’s wonderful insight into the condition of childhood, and the way that, despite its genteel poverty, the family’s lives are rich and full. There’s the drawing close together of a family that is a little isolated, because it is different, because there seems to be no one close to them who understands the very special magic of the creative, artistic life.
The children’s love for each other, that endures even when Cordelia’s wish for a more conventional life maddens them, is caught perfectly. They all adore their little brother, Richard Quinn, who is bright, idiosyncratic, and utterly irresistible. They happily draw their cousin Rosamunde, who is not musical but who they recognise has other wonderful gifts, into their circle. They accept Nancy, daughter of the neighbour accused of murder, too, they are terribly sorry that she seems ungifted, but that is no obstacle to them taking to her hearts. Her difference fascinates them, and they determine that they will help her, as they will help their mother and all of those they love, when their musical gifts rescue them from poverty. They have such wonderful, unwavering faith that they will succeed.
The darkness of the material world, where their father must do battle, is set against the warmth and love of the home that their mother creates. That is why he can always be forgiven. But as the children grow things change. Cordelia could play, but she could not truly understand her music, and so, of course, she could never be a professional musician. Her mother understood that but Cordelia couldn’t, and her pretensions were fostered by an a teacher who had just the same weaknesses. The playing out of this strand is particularly well judged; the contrast between the mother who saw and the teacher who didn’t, and judged the mother harshly, is striking; and I was devastated for Cordelia when she finally came to understand.
That final drama led this novel to its own conclusion.
Taken as a whole it feel idiosyncratic, but that feels right because it is catching all of the twists and turns of lives lived. There were times when it made my heart sing, and there were times when I thought it might break. The writing is so lovely, and it speaks so profoundly of family and musicality, that I was lost when I reached the final page and my life and those lives moved apart.
February 21, 2012
Do you feel like you've walked into the edges when you catch someone crying? What if they want you watching them cry? The edges could melt and lines blur. The them with just them, the them with you, you with them and you with just you. Rebecca West's fountain overflowed, all right. Too many people. I guess the lines did too, like one of those chalk drawings from the film of Mary Poppins. Lines on a page from trying to get it all down and figure everyone's place to make your expected move. I had the feeling like if you were watching yourself crying and it felt awkward like watching someone else cry and you had the unsettling feeling of not knowing what the hell they wanted from you. Whatever it is, you don't want to give it to them. A kind of one sided togetherness.
A family obsessed with itsself. Poverty, what's proper, compared to everyone else, all the kids have to be musical prodigies, the baby son a saint. Even their cousins Greek statues of unmovable beauty. Look back down the timeline and there's not you but a branch of a tree. Jealous of how high the others can reach.
Rose is a little kid. She's got a twin sister, Mary. I didn't know this was a twin book when I picked it out, honest. They have an older sister, Cordelia, who wants more than anything to be normal and leave them for good. I didn't know this book was going to be about that. I didn't know that what happens to them, when they see themselves as their sister sees everyone else seeing them, the irredeemably weird shame, was going to spill out as a self image that could stick in their objects are closer than they appear side eye view for the rest of their lives. At least for Rose. Rose can only suspect of her twin sister, who never laughs out loud and would never tell a magician if it was her card or not. I have been them, have heard those words and have not been able to stop looking over my shoulder for that knife again. I've been left standing when everyone else has sat down again. Others laugh too hard over what's not really funny. You forget how to breathe when others are around, once you've noticed the difference.
And what really hurts is the tears adding to this watery fountain thing of guilt about being like Rose. It's not this innocent position to never let it go. Watching yourself cry and hating it. And Mary? It hurts that I don't know about Mary. Rose doesn't have her "Hey, wait a second" moment and see that her sister wanting her to be "normal" (still don't know what that is) is about herself. Her mother tells her she's her favorite in the same breath as accusing her of giving her younger brother a serious illness with a childish prank. Her brother she holds off as a saint. Her twin she counts off as the same. The papa is to win. It's kind of telling to write a biography and cast yourself as the sympathetic musical ear and never play the finish. It's the anti- coming of age, or something. The voice breaks even though they castrated you. The burden to be special and live for her the piano star dreams she gave up when she settled for marriage to the throw it all away father is on Rose and Mary. Cordelia won't relinquish her violin dreams despite their cruelty. The loneliness takes over. Rose loses. Is it some thing about specialness that matters? It's what they were all secretly hoping for. The curse of their family. Is there some body connecting to dire straits and empty swimming pools for all people to go to? The audience for all the crying? This book made me sad. And lonely. And bad about feeling that way, still. I felt like the only place for it all to go to was the nearest thing that's empty... Empty feeling.
All the observations of the joy on her mom's face (this reminded me of women I've known who feel they have to work in all of their relationships. Open all night, like Wal-mart). The late night cuddling from the desperate to fit in with "normal" (I can't understand anyone who knows what that is) Cordelia. I liked that she could never mark off her father as someone who liked them. The mom felt fake with all of her work and it was as if she expected the work out of them. It's interesting just not relaxed enough. Like when you go to sleep and your brain tells you stuff that you can't figure out when you're awake. There's no sleep time and you're always working. Maybe West was trying to say something about that. It was really, really sad that she never knows Mary (I just blanked on Mary's name, no kidding), apart from her own assumptions of unity. The sweet parts only made it worse. Like letting your guard down to get hurt again.
The Fountain Overflows was serialized in some magazine. It shows. There are too many Aunts showing up and I got a little bored of them. Some of it was beautiful and then also the same lonely work feeling. I lost some of my "This is the best book ever!" feeling when someone murders their husband and of course this family is at the center of everything. Numbing of too many other people and their problems.
I liked this description of her cousin, Rosamund and her mother:
"This was not because they were lifeless but because they had an intense life which was independent of physical motion."
It was always good like that even when overcrowded. Still, all the looking back over where it all went wrong doesn't get rid of the seed that you didn't belong and never will, of not being independent of them. I will not be distracted with cunning observations of how the determinedly acceptable shallow interact with each other. Or how the pedestal so-called free spirits manage to stay on for Rose when they had fallen off it long before. Dammit, it's the loneliness for always. I know I'm right despite my poor articulation skills. (Poor Cordelia sucking at the violin.) 'Fountain' actually made a nice follow up read after Bernhard's The Loser. Nothing like comparing everything to see it (yourself) all not fitting. There's a sequel. I pray, for Rose's sake, there are no pedestals and other people to know. Music for music and not for applause (like "normal", it's the water something of acceptance. A douche bag?). I never feel good at anything. I'm no good at reviewing this book. That doesn't stop me from loving on the damned violin that I also can't play (never tried). I want to know if Mary felt the same way, ever. I would not feel sad anymore if all the misery and company really felt like a family.
The imaginary rabbit scene is one of my favorites ever. It's just like that, to get caught up in playing and it takes a life of its own. I also thought the ending of the two hands playing the piano suite was really freaking good. Double back, for the audience. Forget your steps to walk theirs.
A family obsessed with itsself. Poverty, what's proper, compared to everyone else, all the kids have to be musical prodigies, the baby son a saint. Even their cousins Greek statues of unmovable beauty. Look back down the timeline and there's not you but a branch of a tree. Jealous of how high the others can reach.
Rose is a little kid. She's got a twin sister, Mary. I didn't know this was a twin book when I picked it out, honest. They have an older sister, Cordelia, who wants more than anything to be normal and leave them for good. I didn't know this book was going to be about that. I didn't know that what happens to them, when they see themselves as their sister sees everyone else seeing them, the irredeemably weird shame, was going to spill out as a self image that could stick in their objects are closer than they appear side eye view for the rest of their lives. At least for Rose. Rose can only suspect of her twin sister, who never laughs out loud and would never tell a magician if it was her card or not. I have been them, have heard those words and have not been able to stop looking over my shoulder for that knife again. I've been left standing when everyone else has sat down again. Others laugh too hard over what's not really funny. You forget how to breathe when others are around, once you've noticed the difference.
And what really hurts is the tears adding to this watery fountain thing of guilt about being like Rose. It's not this innocent position to never let it go. Watching yourself cry and hating it. And Mary? It hurts that I don't know about Mary. Rose doesn't have her "Hey, wait a second" moment and see that her sister wanting her to be "normal" (still don't know what that is) is about herself. Her mother tells her she's her favorite in the same breath as accusing her of giving her younger brother a serious illness with a childish prank. Her brother she holds off as a saint. Her twin she counts off as the same. The papa is to win. It's kind of telling to write a biography and cast yourself as the sympathetic musical ear and never play the finish. It's the anti- coming of age, or something. The voice breaks even though they castrated you. The burden to be special and live for her the piano star dreams she gave up when she settled for marriage to the throw it all away father is on Rose and Mary. Cordelia won't relinquish her violin dreams despite their cruelty. The loneliness takes over. Rose loses. Is it some thing about specialness that matters? It's what they were all secretly hoping for. The curse of their family. Is there some body connecting to dire straits and empty swimming pools for all people to go to? The audience for all the crying? This book made me sad. And lonely. And bad about feeling that way, still. I felt like the only place for it all to go to was the nearest thing that's empty... Empty feeling.
All the observations of the joy on her mom's face (this reminded me of women I've known who feel they have to work in all of their relationships. Open all night, like Wal-mart). The late night cuddling from the desperate to fit in with "normal" (I can't understand anyone who knows what that is) Cordelia. I liked that she could never mark off her father as someone who liked them. The mom felt fake with all of her work and it was as if she expected the work out of them. It's interesting just not relaxed enough. Like when you go to sleep and your brain tells you stuff that you can't figure out when you're awake. There's no sleep time and you're always working. Maybe West was trying to say something about that. It was really, really sad that she never knows Mary (I just blanked on Mary's name, no kidding), apart from her own assumptions of unity. The sweet parts only made it worse. Like letting your guard down to get hurt again.
The Fountain Overflows was serialized in some magazine. It shows. There are too many Aunts showing up and I got a little bored of them. Some of it was beautiful and then also the same lonely work feeling. I lost some of my "This is the best book ever!" feeling when someone murders their husband and of course this family is at the center of everything. Numbing of too many other people and their problems.
I liked this description of her cousin, Rosamund and her mother:
"This was not because they were lifeless but because they had an intense life which was independent of physical motion."
It was always good like that even when overcrowded. Still, all the looking back over where it all went wrong doesn't get rid of the seed that you didn't belong and never will, of not being independent of them. I will not be distracted with cunning observations of how the determinedly acceptable shallow interact with each other. Or how the pedestal so-called free spirits manage to stay on for Rose when they had fallen off it long before. Dammit, it's the loneliness for always. I know I'm right despite my poor articulation skills. (Poor Cordelia sucking at the violin.) 'Fountain' actually made a nice follow up read after Bernhard's The Loser. Nothing like comparing everything to see it (yourself) all not fitting. There's a sequel. I pray, for Rose's sake, there are no pedestals and other people to know. Music for music and not for applause (like "normal", it's the water something of acceptance. A douche bag?). I never feel good at anything. I'm no good at reviewing this book. That doesn't stop me from loving on the damned violin that I also can't play (never tried). I want to know if Mary felt the same way, ever. I would not feel sad anymore if all the misery and company really felt like a family.
The imaginary rabbit scene is one of my favorites ever. It's just like that, to get caught up in playing and it takes a life of its own. I also thought the ending of the two hands playing the piano suite was really freaking good. Double back, for the audience. Forget your steps to walk theirs.
October 24, 2022
Dalla città di Edimburgo, "che abita i suoi colli con magnificenza superiore a quella della stessa Roma", la famiglia Aubrey si trasferisce nei dintorni di Londra.
Oltre ai genitori, ci sono quattro figli: tre ragazze e un bambino; tutti suonano uno strumento.
Sicuramente una casa molto musicale, in cui il canto del pianoforte si alterna al lamento del violino e alle note leggiadre del flauto.
Ad essere stata nella giovinezza un'insigne musicista è la madre, ora dedita assiduamente a coltivare il talento delle figlie votate al pianoforte.
Gli anni lentamente trascorrono e portano novità, alcune destinate ad avere significative ripercussioni.
La scrittura di Rebecca West è davvero molto bella, dotata di quella armoniosa grazia che conferisce incanto.
Devo qui premettere di aver scarso interesse alle storie di bambini ; pertanto la lieve sensazione che il romanzo, nella prima parte, stenti un po' a decollare sia da ascrivere soprattutto a mio carico di lettore. Man mano che la prole esce dall'infanzia, m'è parso infatti che il libro acquisisse maggior levità per confluire in fresca sinfonia di mezza stagione.
Oltre ai genitori, ci sono quattro figli: tre ragazze e un bambino; tutti suonano uno strumento.
Sicuramente una casa molto musicale, in cui il canto del pianoforte si alterna al lamento del violino e alle note leggiadre del flauto.
Ad essere stata nella giovinezza un'insigne musicista è la madre, ora dedita assiduamente a coltivare il talento delle figlie votate al pianoforte.
Gli anni lentamente trascorrono e portano novità, alcune destinate ad avere significative ripercussioni.
La scrittura di Rebecca West è davvero molto bella, dotata di quella armoniosa grazia che conferisce incanto.
Devo qui premettere di aver scarso interesse alle storie di bambini ; pertanto la lieve sensazione che il romanzo, nella prima parte, stenti un po' a decollare sia da ascrivere soprattutto a mio carico di lettore. Man mano che la prole esce dall'infanzia, m'è parso infatti che il libro acquisisse maggior levità per confluire in fresca sinfonia di mezza stagione.
December 24, 2021
At least during the first half of this book I was shaking my head at myself (I suppose that is impossible to do in real time unless I was to dissociate myself from myself) and asking, “Where have I been all my life that I have not read this book or any of her works?” And after reading this book I would still ask the question although in the last ¼ of the book or so it was losing steam. Nevertheless, there was a lot to like about this book so I can give it anywhere from 3.5 to 4 stars.
This book, mostly set in England in the early 1900s, is about a family consisting of:
• the mother, Mamma — she at times made me laugh out loud, she had been a gifted pianist growing up and had to forsake that career when she got married and had children.
• Rose the daughter who was in her late teens for a good part of the book I am guessing, and is the narrator of this novel.
• Mary, Rose’s twin sister
• Cordelia, the older sibling, who plays the violin, and according to Rose, Mary, and the mother plays atrociously. Much funny writing about this throughout the book.
• Richard Quin, the younger brother. Whom everybody loves.
• The father, Papa — editor of a local newspaper...he was not a very reliable breadwinner and had a gambling addiction with the Stock Exchange. Alcoholics could squander away their wages creating a very difficult life for their family, and this man did it with get-rich schemes in which he never got rich. However, he was quite smart, and it has him in the book debating with George Bernard Shaw.
Also involves a murder that occurs in the middle of the book. I had a book club edition, and it was a lengthy tome of 313 pages. The original publisher’s edition was even lengthier, 435 pages.
Not a whole lot happens in this book. Just interactions between family members. I was engrossed with her writing style, particularly in the beginning since I had never read anything by her. She was a very fine writer using sentences in such a way so that I could readily imagine what the different people were saying and doing. Did not sound contrived to me. The love and hate that Rose harbors for her family (and the love and hate for each other family members towards each other) is what makes this novel move along where one is just engrossed in the narrative and their interactions...it borders on the ridiculous and is so humorous at times...
I have read most novels by Barbara Comyns who I adore, and I remember at times laughing out loud or saying to myself “What did she just say?!” or “She can’t say that!!!” and at times I was doing that with this novel. I loved those moments!
The novel has Rose narrating the book, so we see the family though Rose’s eyes. To my mind, she is not a reliable witness of events, but that’s OK...it makes the story more believable. She had a healthy (well super-inflated) ego about her, and I think was jealous of her older sister, Cordelia, and at times was mean towards her (but aren’t siblings mean to each other occasionally?!) and at times was a bit judgmental about a cousin of theirs who I liked a lot, Rosamund. She had much more common sense than Rose...well that is my opinion and now I am giving away some elements of the book and I shan’t do that! 😊
I enjoyed reading this at this particular time because there were several reminisces of Christmases in their lives.
I am aware that there are two sequels to this book, This Real Night and Cousin Rosamund. But I started to read one review of them (which I shouldn’t have done) and the reviewer was not too keen on them. And was saying they were not finished when West had died. If anybody has strong opinions either way, please let me know. I would like to read more of what happens to Rose and Rosamund and Cordelia and Mamma as she is called. But if it is not worth it, then I would rather avoid an unsatisfying read. 😐
I wrote down 3 pages of notes when reading this...and I wrote down some quotes because they were memorable to me. Here are a couple:
• In this scene the mother had to prepare Sunday dinner and therefore could not go to church with the rest of her family: “It is terrible if I should be denied Christian burial because turkeys will not baste themselves.”
• A mean old rich lady comes to visit the mother and her daughters who at the moment are quite impoverished. ...when she could think of no more she used to turn her pouches and jowls on us children, and inquire whether we realized we must earn our living as soon as possible adding “And there’ll be no nonsense about it either.” This phrase was surely as destitute of meaning as the baying of a dog; and indeed we felt as if we were strayed alpine travelers, sunk in the snow, who found our faces snuffed by a huge St. Bernard, come not to bring us brandy but to take away any we might have. 😅
• Mamma cannot stand Cordelia’s violin teacher, Miss Beevor, considering her a nincompoop: ...As we went through the sitting room Miss Beevor moaned “She is all I have,” tottered, and fell over an armchair. Mamma cast a quiet look on her and said, “Poor idiot, it would have been so much kinder if she had been exposed at birth” ... 😮
Note, and spoiler alert, if you want to read the book, don’t read this: I did not know this when reading the book:
Reviews
• A real Dickensian Christmas pudding of a book-full of incident, full of family delights, full of parties and partings, strange bits of London, the lobby of the House of Commons, a classic murder with portraits of the murderer, the murderee and a couple of innocent bystanders, bill collectors, kitchen fires, good food, and a considerable quota of ghosts. West’s is a world that is a delight to enter and to live in, warm and vital, and constantly entertaining.
— Elizabeth Janeway, The New York Times Book Review
• From a NYT book review in 1956 by Orville Prescott: https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytim...
This book, mostly set in England in the early 1900s, is about a family consisting of:
• the mother, Mamma — she at times made me laugh out loud, she had been a gifted pianist growing up and had to forsake that career when she got married and had children.
• Rose the daughter who was in her late teens for a good part of the book I am guessing, and is the narrator of this novel.
• Mary, Rose’s twin sister
• Cordelia, the older sibling, who plays the violin, and according to Rose, Mary, and the mother plays atrociously. Much funny writing about this throughout the book.
• Richard Quin, the younger brother. Whom everybody loves.
• The father, Papa — editor of a local newspaper...he was not a very reliable breadwinner and had a gambling addiction with the Stock Exchange. Alcoholics could squander away their wages creating a very difficult life for their family, and this man did it with get-rich schemes in which he never got rich. However, he was quite smart, and it has him in the book debating with George Bernard Shaw.
Also involves a murder that occurs in the middle of the book. I had a book club edition, and it was a lengthy tome of 313 pages. The original publisher’s edition was even lengthier, 435 pages.
Not a whole lot happens in this book. Just interactions between family members. I was engrossed with her writing style, particularly in the beginning since I had never read anything by her. She was a very fine writer using sentences in such a way so that I could readily imagine what the different people were saying and doing. Did not sound contrived to me. The love and hate that Rose harbors for her family (and the love and hate for each other family members towards each other) is what makes this novel move along where one is just engrossed in the narrative and their interactions...it borders on the ridiculous and is so humorous at times...
I have read most novels by Barbara Comyns who I adore, and I remember at times laughing out loud or saying to myself “What did she just say?!” or “She can’t say that!!!” and at times I was doing that with this novel. I loved those moments!
The novel has Rose narrating the book, so we see the family though Rose’s eyes. To my mind, she is not a reliable witness of events, but that’s OK...it makes the story more believable. She had a healthy (well super-inflated) ego about her, and I think was jealous of her older sister, Cordelia, and at times was mean towards her (but aren’t siblings mean to each other occasionally?!) and at times was a bit judgmental about a cousin of theirs who I liked a lot, Rosamund. She had much more common sense than Rose...well that is my opinion and now I am giving away some elements of the book and I shan’t do that! 😊
I enjoyed reading this at this particular time because there were several reminisces of Christmases in their lives.
I am aware that there are two sequels to this book, This Real Night and Cousin Rosamund. But I started to read one review of them (which I shouldn’t have done) and the reviewer was not too keen on them. And was saying they were not finished when West had died. If anybody has strong opinions either way, please let me know. I would like to read more of what happens to Rose and Rosamund and Cordelia and Mamma as she is called. But if it is not worth it, then I would rather avoid an unsatisfying read. 😐
I wrote down 3 pages of notes when reading this...and I wrote down some quotes because they were memorable to me. Here are a couple:
• In this scene the mother had to prepare Sunday dinner and therefore could not go to church with the rest of her family: “It is terrible if I should be denied Christian burial because turkeys will not baste themselves.”
• A mean old rich lady comes to visit the mother and her daughters who at the moment are quite impoverished. ...when she could think of no more she used to turn her pouches and jowls on us children, and inquire whether we realized we must earn our living as soon as possible adding “And there’ll be no nonsense about it either.” This phrase was surely as destitute of meaning as the baying of a dog; and indeed we felt as if we were strayed alpine travelers, sunk in the snow, who found our faces snuffed by a huge St. Bernard, come not to bring us brandy but to take away any we might have. 😅
• Mamma cannot stand Cordelia’s violin teacher, Miss Beevor, considering her a nincompoop: ...As we went through the sitting room Miss Beevor moaned “She is all I have,” tottered, and fell over an armchair. Mamma cast a quiet look on her and said, “Poor idiot, it would have been so much kinder if she had been exposed at birth” ... 😮
Note, and spoiler alert, if you want to read the book, don’t read this: I did not know this when reading the book:
Reviews
• A real Dickensian Christmas pudding of a book-full of incident, full of family delights, full of parties and partings, strange bits of London, the lobby of the House of Commons, a classic murder with portraits of the murderer, the murderee and a couple of innocent bystanders, bill collectors, kitchen fires, good food, and a considerable quota of ghosts. West’s is a world that is a delight to enter and to live in, warm and vital, and constantly entertaining.
— Elizabeth Janeway, The New York Times Book Review
• From a NYT book review in 1956 by Orville Prescott: https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytim...
February 23, 2017
On completion: What did I think? Ughhhhh! This was not for me, and honestly I would not recommend this to anyone. I found it childish and boring and long and drawn-out. It is basically a coming of age story, but it is too outdated to give to today's kids. It throws in some satire on Edwardian society and tries to cover disparate topics from feminism, to the essence of music, to clairvoyance and the wisdom of kids / stupidity of adults. It does none of this well. Except for an occasional sentence or two, I found the prose ordinary.
Harriet Carmichael reads the audiobook well.
I gave the author’s non-fiction book Black Lamb and Grey Falcon five stars.
************************
After half:
Phew, this is giving me trouble. Who is it written for? A kid or an adult? Lots of bickering, sibling rivalry and poor parenting. Are we to see from the perspective of a child or an adult?
What do you do if your child wants to play an instrument and you hear that the more she practices the worse it gets? Doesn't the problem usually solve itself? Sooner or later the untalented gets negative feedback from the outside world. That is not happening here. The process is long and drawn out, and the reader, not having heard the music, doesn't know whom to believe. And would a mom behave as this mom does?
Confusion is enhanced by inclusion of poltergeists, “psychic” phenomena and make believe animals of a child's active imagination.
The parents are basket cases too. A possible murder has been thrown in.
I don't deny that the author sometimes draws places and scenes with the touch of an artist, but what about all the rest?!
I continue only to discover what in the world the author could be trying to say.
Harriet Carmichael reads the audiobook well.
I gave the author’s non-fiction book Black Lamb and Grey Falcon five stars.
************************
After half:
Phew, this is giving me trouble. Who is it written for? A kid or an adult? Lots of bickering, sibling rivalry and poor parenting. Are we to see from the perspective of a child or an adult?
What do you do if your child wants to play an instrument and you hear that the more she practices the worse it gets? Doesn't the problem usually solve itself? Sooner or later the untalented gets negative feedback from the outside world. That is not happening here. The process is long and drawn out, and the reader, not having heard the music, doesn't know whom to believe. And would a mom behave as this mom does?
Confusion is enhanced by inclusion of poltergeists, “psychic” phenomena and make believe animals of a child's active imagination.
The parents are basket cases too. A possible murder has been thrown in.
I don't deny that the author sometimes draws places and scenes with the touch of an artist, but what about all the rest?!
I continue only to discover what in the world the author could be trying to say.
January 31, 2018
È il primo volume di una trilogia che racconta la storia di una famiglia e di tre sorelle. Primissimo novecento: quando tutto deve ancora accadere, nella storia del secolo e delle tre ragazze (che poi in realtà diventano quattro e la quarta è un gioiello di personaggio).
Quel che succede nel primo libro è la storia di un'infanzia collettiva, raccontata da una delle tre cinquant'anni dopo: le difficoltà economiche, i riti domestici, le dinamiche quotidiane, la figura contraddittoria eppure mitizzata del padre, la figura gigantesca eppure compressa e sofferente della madre, qualche personaggio di contorno da incorniciare (la Zia Lily in primis). Poi c'è il ruolo centrale della musica, dell’educazione alla musica e della formazione alla musica come ragione di vita (e questa cosa dicono - io non sono un musicologo - è scritta come pochissimi sono riusciti a fare in letteratura). Poca o niente trama. Poco o niente di fatti che accadono. Molte bellissime descrizioni. Più di uno stimolo alla riflessione. Per chi cerca adrenalina, movimento, effetti più o meno speciali, meglio lasciar perdere.
Per gli altri, è uno romanzo di quelli che non si scordano; di sicuro è una cosa di una qualità letteraria altissima. Incredibile che sia pubblicato (male: un sacco di refusi) da una piccola casa editrice e non rieditato in almeno uno, il secondo, dei tre volumi (introvabile: lo sto ancora cercando). In compenso ha sempre goduto di una critica entusiasta. Qualcuno ha giustamente parlato di "incantamento". In effetti, per un lettore comune ben predisposto dopo poche pagine diventa uno dei piaceri della giornata a cui tornare non appena possibile. Personalmente lo metterei di sicuro tra le cose migliori lette negli ultimi anni. Per qualità della scrittura, per resa delle atmosfere, per la capacità di usare il "linguaggio marziano" dell'infanzia e anche per l'esempio che è di scrittura al femminile. E la scrittura femminile quando è così alta, per sensibilità e grazia, per empatia e disincanto insieme, è quasi irraggiungibile. Gli uomini ci riescono solo se sono giganti della letteratura.
Nazione Indiana ha pubblicato questa cosa linkata qui sotto, con un paragone che secondo me c’entra poco, ma per il resto è un buon modo per approfondire la conoscenza. Per chi non avesse pazienza riporto la cosa più giusta che dice:
“Nelle pagine della West, come in ogni vita che si rispetti e come in tutta la grande letteratura, quel che conta sono i momenti e il flusso in cui sono immersi, non quello che si impara o dove si va a finire. L’attesa della vita e la vita stessa sono una cosa sola; l’una senza l’altra non avrebbe lo stesso gusto, e men che meno lo stesso valore. Se c’è qualcosa che questo libro vi insegna è questo, e non è poco, e lo fa mentre vi parla di tutt’altro.”
https://www.nazioneindiana.com/2012/1...
Quel che succede nel primo libro è la storia di un'infanzia collettiva, raccontata da una delle tre cinquant'anni dopo: le difficoltà economiche, i riti domestici, le dinamiche quotidiane, la figura contraddittoria eppure mitizzata del padre, la figura gigantesca eppure compressa e sofferente della madre, qualche personaggio di contorno da incorniciare (la Zia Lily in primis). Poi c'è il ruolo centrale della musica, dell’educazione alla musica e della formazione alla musica come ragione di vita (e questa cosa dicono - io non sono un musicologo - è scritta come pochissimi sono riusciti a fare in letteratura). Poca o niente trama. Poco o niente di fatti che accadono. Molte bellissime descrizioni. Più di uno stimolo alla riflessione. Per chi cerca adrenalina, movimento, effetti più o meno speciali, meglio lasciar perdere.
Per gli altri, è uno romanzo di quelli che non si scordano; di sicuro è una cosa di una qualità letteraria altissima. Incredibile che sia pubblicato (male: un sacco di refusi) da una piccola casa editrice e non rieditato in almeno uno, il secondo, dei tre volumi (introvabile: lo sto ancora cercando). In compenso ha sempre goduto di una critica entusiasta. Qualcuno ha giustamente parlato di "incantamento". In effetti, per un lettore comune ben predisposto dopo poche pagine diventa uno dei piaceri della giornata a cui tornare non appena possibile. Personalmente lo metterei di sicuro tra le cose migliori lette negli ultimi anni. Per qualità della scrittura, per resa delle atmosfere, per la capacità di usare il "linguaggio marziano" dell'infanzia e anche per l'esempio che è di scrittura al femminile. E la scrittura femminile quando è così alta, per sensibilità e grazia, per empatia e disincanto insieme, è quasi irraggiungibile. Gli uomini ci riescono solo se sono giganti della letteratura.
Nazione Indiana ha pubblicato questa cosa linkata qui sotto, con un paragone che secondo me c’entra poco, ma per il resto è un buon modo per approfondire la conoscenza. Per chi non avesse pazienza riporto la cosa più giusta che dice:
“Nelle pagine della West, come in ogni vita che si rispetti e come in tutta la grande letteratura, quel che conta sono i momenti e il flusso in cui sono immersi, non quello che si impara o dove si va a finire. L’attesa della vita e la vita stessa sono una cosa sola; l’una senza l’altra non avrebbe lo stesso gusto, e men che meno lo stesso valore. Se c’è qualcosa che questo libro vi insegna è questo, e non è poco, e lo fa mentre vi parla di tutt’altro.”
https://www.nazioneindiana.com/2012/1...
July 16, 2015
"The Fountain Overflows" is a beautiful story about four siblings who live together with their mother in England; three sisters and one brother. Their father is in the picture, but he's very distraught and seldom present in the house. We then follow these four siblings' lives together with their mother as they grow up and become more and more independent. This is also a story about music and talent and how that can affect your life in positive and negative ways.
Based on this synopsis, it is very evident that this book has a lot of similarities to "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott; however, there are some funny dissimilarities as well: "Little Woman" contains a lot of morals on how to be a proper woman, "The Fountains Overflows" contains no such evident morals - they are more hidden between the lines. Furthermore, "The Fountain Overflows" has a different kind of feeling to it, and it is not as idealized as "Little Women".
This book is written from Rose's perspective and I was fascinated with how Rebecca West manages to describe everything from her point of view. Her childish voice and perceptions of the world were on point and amongst my favourite parts of this book. Nevertheless, this story has its weak points - in my opinion - because very little happens and sometimes you kind of wonder where this is going. I felt kind of a disconnect to the story, but once I picked it back up, I was in love with it and it put a smile to my face.
I find it very hard to rate this book because while I did love it a lot, I didn't feel as strong a connection with the four siblings as I did with the four sisters in "Little Women". I know they are two independent works and that you probably shouldn't compare them, but it's so hard not to. I will say that if you like "Little Women", you're probably going to like this one as well. It even has the same magical Christmas scene as "Little Women" which put a smile to my face. There's definitely something great about this story, but maybe I need some more time to fully digest it. In the meantime, there's no doubt that this book is definitely worth the read because of its enchanting main character and family dynamics.
Based on this synopsis, it is very evident that this book has a lot of similarities to "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott; however, there are some funny dissimilarities as well: "Little Woman" contains a lot of morals on how to be a proper woman, "The Fountains Overflows" contains no such evident morals - they are more hidden between the lines. Furthermore, "The Fountain Overflows" has a different kind of feeling to it, and it is not as idealized as "Little Women".
This book is written from Rose's perspective and I was fascinated with how Rebecca West manages to describe everything from her point of view. Her childish voice and perceptions of the world were on point and amongst my favourite parts of this book. Nevertheless, this story has its weak points - in my opinion - because very little happens and sometimes you kind of wonder where this is going. I felt kind of a disconnect to the story, but once I picked it back up, I was in love with it and it put a smile to my face.
I find it very hard to rate this book because while I did love it a lot, I didn't feel as strong a connection with the four siblings as I did with the four sisters in "Little Women". I know they are two independent works and that you probably shouldn't compare them, but it's so hard not to. I will say that if you like "Little Women", you're probably going to like this one as well. It even has the same magical Christmas scene as "Little Women" which put a smile to my face. There's definitely something great about this story, but maybe I need some more time to fully digest it. In the meantime, there's no doubt that this book is definitely worth the read because of its enchanting main character and family dynamics.
December 29, 2019
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnDGL...
La famiglia Aubrey (chissà, magari … parenti di quel Jack “Lucky”…?) vive in una Londra di fine Ottocento, che, dopo quella Industriale, sta vivendo una seconda Rivoluzione indotta dalle grandi trasformazioni scientifiche e sociali che la trasporteranno tumultuosamente nel XX secolo come capitale del più grande impero della storia.
Piers, giornalista geniale, Clare, pianista di grande talento, i loro quattro figli, Cordelia, mediocre violinista, le gemelline Mary e Rose, eccellenti pianiste in erba, il piccolo Richard Quin e la cugina Rosamund daranno vita ad una coinvolgente rappresentazione. Sullo sfondo la musica alta e le grandi trasfomazioni che, sul finire dell’età vittoriana, muteranno profondamente la società inglese.
«Ora capisco che era un modo di fare deferente ma privo di confidenza. In quello stesso modo avrebbero potuto augurare Buon Natale a un Prospero sbrindellato, esiliato persino dalla sue stessa terra, ma ancora dotato di poteri magici.».
Rebecca, my dear, davvero uno splendido regalo di Natale.
La famiglia Aubrey (chissà, magari … parenti di quel Jack “Lucky”…?) vive in una Londra di fine Ottocento, che, dopo quella Industriale, sta vivendo una seconda Rivoluzione indotta dalle grandi trasformazioni scientifiche e sociali che la trasporteranno tumultuosamente nel XX secolo come capitale del più grande impero della storia.
Piers, giornalista geniale, Clare, pianista di grande talento, i loro quattro figli, Cordelia, mediocre violinista, le gemelline Mary e Rose, eccellenti pianiste in erba, il piccolo Richard Quin e la cugina Rosamund daranno vita ad una coinvolgente rappresentazione. Sullo sfondo la musica alta e le grandi trasfomazioni che, sul finire dell’età vittoriana, muteranno profondamente la società inglese.
«Ora capisco che era un modo di fare deferente ma privo di confidenza. In quello stesso modo avrebbero potuto augurare Buon Natale a un Prospero sbrindellato, esiliato persino dalla sue stessa terra, ma ancora dotato di poteri magici.».
Rebecca, my dear, davvero uno splendido regalo di Natale.
November 13, 2022
IL MONDO È UN LUOGO ASSURDO
Recentemente ripubblicato da Fazi Editore, il primo volume della trilogia dedicata alla famiglia Aubrey, per chi non conosce l’autrice Rebecca West, è una ghiotta occasione di lettura da non farsi sfuggire. Restituisce l’opera come già apparsa nell’edizione Mattioli 1885 e fa entrare il lettore in una dimensione di lettura gradevole, fresca e insieme appassionante.
Non ci si aspetti, a dispetto delle sue oltre cinquecento pagine, un susseguirsi di eventi spalmati in un ampio ventaglio cronologico; i fatti narrati da Rose, una delle figlie dei coniugi Aubrey, godono di una prospettiva difficilmente inquadrabile in una trama specifica o in un mero susseguirsi di eventi: gli episodi salienti si contano sulle dita di una mano. Tutto scorre in una straordinaria quotidianità che esula dai parametri sociali conclamati, accettati e inseguiti nei primi anni del Novecento inglese. Tutto ha il sapore di un sano e, agli occhi degli altri, eccentrico anticonformismo. La famiglia, un padre dissipatore delle residue fortune, mente aperta e anticipatoria dei declini delle epoche successive; una madre, talentuosa pianista dedita all’educazione musicale dei suoi quattro figli; la poco dotata violinista e primogenita Cordelia; Mary e Rose, le gemelle, virtuose pianiste, e il maschietto, ultimogenito, al quale pare essere concesso strimpellare solo il flauto dolce, è un mondo a sé stante. Gradevolissimo e nelle sue storture invidiabile.
La coppia genitoriale è in perenne conflitto ma capace anche di grandi riavvicinamenti, la loro sorte in questo volume appare sospesa e destinata a risolversi in successivi sviluppi e lo stesso ingresso nell’età adulta dei loro figli genera speranze di forti riscatti rispetto all’estrema miseria e instabilità subita durante l’infanzia. Ciò che colpisce è però quanto il modello educativo attuato in questa famiglia, lo si intuisce senza averne diretta conferma, sia destinato, nonostante le avverse fortune, ad essere un modello vincente perché basato sulla cultura. A lettura ultimata scatta un meccanismo di immediata nostalgia e naturale curiosità rispetto all’evoluzione dei singoli destini, rispetto all’avvolgente voce narrante affidata ad una prosa limpida e chiara e a un romanzo che ha il dono di un’estrema efficacia e naturalezza. Da leggere e da ascoltare nelle numerose suggestioni musicali suggerite tra pianoforte e violino.
Recentemente ripubblicato da Fazi Editore, il primo volume della trilogia dedicata alla famiglia Aubrey, per chi non conosce l’autrice Rebecca West, è una ghiotta occasione di lettura da non farsi sfuggire. Restituisce l’opera come già apparsa nell’edizione Mattioli 1885 e fa entrare il lettore in una dimensione di lettura gradevole, fresca e insieme appassionante.
Non ci si aspetti, a dispetto delle sue oltre cinquecento pagine, un susseguirsi di eventi spalmati in un ampio ventaglio cronologico; i fatti narrati da Rose, una delle figlie dei coniugi Aubrey, godono di una prospettiva difficilmente inquadrabile in una trama specifica o in un mero susseguirsi di eventi: gli episodi salienti si contano sulle dita di una mano. Tutto scorre in una straordinaria quotidianità che esula dai parametri sociali conclamati, accettati e inseguiti nei primi anni del Novecento inglese. Tutto ha il sapore di un sano e, agli occhi degli altri, eccentrico anticonformismo. La famiglia, un padre dissipatore delle residue fortune, mente aperta e anticipatoria dei declini delle epoche successive; una madre, talentuosa pianista dedita all’educazione musicale dei suoi quattro figli; la poco dotata violinista e primogenita Cordelia; Mary e Rose, le gemelle, virtuose pianiste, e il maschietto, ultimogenito, al quale pare essere concesso strimpellare solo il flauto dolce, è un mondo a sé stante. Gradevolissimo e nelle sue storture invidiabile.
La coppia genitoriale è in perenne conflitto ma capace anche di grandi riavvicinamenti, la loro sorte in questo volume appare sospesa e destinata a risolversi in successivi sviluppi e lo stesso ingresso nell’età adulta dei loro figli genera speranze di forti riscatti rispetto all’estrema miseria e instabilità subita durante l’infanzia. Ciò che colpisce è però quanto il modello educativo attuato in questa famiglia, lo si intuisce senza averne diretta conferma, sia destinato, nonostante le avverse fortune, ad essere un modello vincente perché basato sulla cultura. A lettura ultimata scatta un meccanismo di immediata nostalgia e naturale curiosità rispetto all’evoluzione dei singoli destini, rispetto all’avvolgente voce narrante affidata ad una prosa limpida e chiara e a un romanzo che ha il dono di un’estrema efficacia e naturalezza. Da leggere e da ascoltare nelle numerose suggestioni musicali suggerite tra pianoforte e violino.
April 22, 2019
I went to book Twitter (specifically the hosts of the Backlisted Podcast) for a recommendation on books with music as a main theme and this is what they came up with - a book Elizabeth had previously recommended to me. Doh! I enjoyed this novel (a first in a series) about an out of luck family in the years before World War II, from the perspective of one of the middle daughters. I enjoyed the challenge of pondering if anyone is an unreliable narrator. The whole family agrees Cordelia has no musical talent but she gets gigs in town (and may be the only person in the family actually *making* money.) The mother (who is 40 and has four children) has a alternate career path as a concert pianist that she gave up to have a family, but I had to wonder if she could have made it, or if that was just her mental escape out of her life.
June 1, 2016
I so enjoyed this book. The way the story was told through the eyes of a child was wonderful, I loved Rose's personality. I really enjoyed the way the children spoke and looking into their make believe world I remembered that I had had imaginary animals too, but had completely forgotten about them until I read this ! If you are a musician or love music this book will have appeal for you.
September 6, 2018
fin dalle prime pagine me bruciaveno le mano.
proseguendo nella lettura sono stata travolta dal desiderio di sterminare l'intera famiglia aubrey, simpatica come un cactus su per il culo.
l'ho finito solo perché ormai sono campionessa intergalattica di lettura in stradiagonale.
proseguendo nella lettura sono stata travolta dal desiderio di sterminare l'intera famiglia aubrey, simpatica come un cactus su per il culo.
l'ho finito solo perché ormai sono campionessa intergalattica di lettura in stradiagonale.
December 4, 2013
(I hate reviewing books like this one! It's impossible. If I say everything rushing around in my head, no one will benefit. If I am brief, it is like an insult both to the book itself and to my feelings about it. I'm just going to grit my teeth and get it over with.)
This is a weird book. Irritating and even disturbing at first, I found myself getting very tense and anxious about the family's situation, and angry with the father for his neglect. I was sure I wasn't going to like the book, but by then it had already got it's hooks in me. I don't know how. I kept thinking to myself - "West couldn't have made this up! She had to have experienced it - because these people are *real*." The details she puts in are so specific and yet universal - the way the children interact, the odd games they play, the incredible description of the family dynamic - they feel authentic (geez, as if that word isn't overused enough, but is there a better one?). I didn't grow up in a family like the Aubreys, but there are so many themes I recognize - it's uncanny. Anyway, I think Rebecca West sums it up the best herself:
(Describing Roses' thoughts about Rosamund beating Mr. Aubrey at a game of chess.)
"But when it was time for Rosamund to make a move it was as if the game already existed, and she was waiting for her senses to tell her not what the next move should be, but what it unalterably was. ..Papa would throw himself back in his chair with an exclamation of bewilderment, for she was always right. He never won now. ...I could not understand it at all. What they had been playing was stranger than a game, for here was Papa thinking out each move, obviously choosing between two or three alternatives and altering his mind at the last minute, yet here was Rosamund, not using her reason at all, simply knowing what moves succeeded each other in a game that existed somewhere in full completion, even before they sat down to play it. How could there be one game which Papa made up as he went along, and another which existed before it began, and how could they both be the same game?"
Love that. Felt like the writing was similar, a story that already existed and that West wrote instinctively because it was already so. Very skilled writing, to give me that impression.
Can't end without adding this quote:
(Mrs. Aubrey is warning Rose, Mary, and Richard Quin to be kind to their older sister Cordelia.)
"Now do not despise her for this desire to be commonplace, to be secure, to throw away what we have of distinction. It is not she who is odd in hating poverty and" - she felt for the word - "eccentricity. It is you who are odd in not hating them. Be thankful for this oddity, which has brought you safe through terrible years. But do not think you owe it to any virtue in yourselves. You owe it entirely to your musical gifts. The music I have taught you to play must have made you realize that there is a great deal in life which is not affected by what happens to you."
Got to go. Heading out to the library to see if they've got any more Rebecca West.
This is a weird book. Irritating and even disturbing at first, I found myself getting very tense and anxious about the family's situation, and angry with the father for his neglect. I was sure I wasn't going to like the book, but by then it had already got it's hooks in me. I don't know how. I kept thinking to myself - "West couldn't have made this up! She had to have experienced it - because these people are *real*." The details she puts in are so specific and yet universal - the way the children interact, the odd games they play, the incredible description of the family dynamic - they feel authentic (geez, as if that word isn't overused enough, but is there a better one?). I didn't grow up in a family like the Aubreys, but there are so many themes I recognize - it's uncanny. Anyway, I think Rebecca West sums it up the best herself:
(Describing Roses' thoughts about Rosamund beating Mr. Aubrey at a game of chess.)
"But when it was time for Rosamund to make a move it was as if the game already existed, and she was waiting for her senses to tell her not what the next move should be, but what it unalterably was. ..Papa would throw himself back in his chair with an exclamation of bewilderment, for she was always right. He never won now. ...I could not understand it at all. What they had been playing was stranger than a game, for here was Papa thinking out each move, obviously choosing between two or three alternatives and altering his mind at the last minute, yet here was Rosamund, not using her reason at all, simply knowing what moves succeeded each other in a game that existed somewhere in full completion, even before they sat down to play it. How could there be one game which Papa made up as he went along, and another which existed before it began, and how could they both be the same game?"
Love that. Felt like the writing was similar, a story that already existed and that West wrote instinctively because it was already so. Very skilled writing, to give me that impression.
Can't end without adding this quote:
(Mrs. Aubrey is warning Rose, Mary, and Richard Quin to be kind to their older sister Cordelia.)
"Now do not despise her for this desire to be commonplace, to be secure, to throw away what we have of distinction. It is not she who is odd in hating poverty and" - she felt for the word - "eccentricity. It is you who are odd in not hating them. Be thankful for this oddity, which has brought you safe through terrible years. But do not think you owe it to any virtue in yourselves. You owe it entirely to your musical gifts. The music I have taught you to play must have made you realize that there is a great deal in life which is not affected by what happens to you."
Got to go. Heading out to the library to see if they've got any more Rebecca West.
December 17, 2025
Rebecca West takes her time, sometimes repetitively, but things do happen, and when they do, they happen quickly, without a lot of detail. Fr'instance, there's a murder (and a murderess!). From the act itself, though, all we learn is the possible means. Of the trial, we are given neither examinations nor arguments, just the result. What import the events carry occur after: what to do about it, and how the characters are affected.
But oh, the characters! It would do you all well to meet Richard Quin (that's his first name), the youngest of the children. We meet him first as a small boy, and he grows, but we don't see him growing, until he's able to break a door down with his shoulder. He stays the same for us because from his earliest utterances he spouts an innocent and precocious wisdom, putting things in perspective. I edged forward in my seat every time he entered the stage. And Aunt Lily, who liked her port, and spouted her own wise variant. Uncle Jock regaled or annoyed with a rough Scottish accent, which Mama knew to be feigned. I think it was Mama who the author wanted us to like best, the central character though not the narrator. She weathers every crisis, most caused by Papa. Yet it was Papa, who should have been excoriated, who endeared himself to every other character and this reader.
Indeed, most of the characters in this novel were kind, or would become so, or were at worst, boorish. Heck, even the murderess was not evil.
Excluding Papa, the family was all musical. Mama had been the brightest talent, and taught piano to the twins, including our narrator:
Later I tried the third number of Beethoven's Sonata in D major (Op. 10), and when I got to the twenty-second measure of the first movement, she cried, "Rose, you are a musical half-wit. You have forgotten what I told you, you must supply the high F sharp though it is not written. Beethoven did not write it because it was not in the compass of the piano as he knew it, but he heard it, he heard it inside his head, and you cannot have understood one note of what you have been playing if you do not know that that is what he heard."
There was this bit of dialogue by the twins:
I say, Mary, do you understand Rosamund?"
"Quite often, no," said Mary.
"Of course, we would find it easier to understand her if she were a musician too," I said.
"Well, she may not be a musician, but she is what music is about," said Mary.
"What is music about?" I asked.
"Oh, it is about life, I suppose, and specially the parts of life we do not understand, otherwise people would not have to worry about it by explaining it by music. Oh, I can't say what I mean."
But she did.
I learned, too, that there are no homes for bad violinists.
I read the news today, or just a few days ago, while also reading this: What a gamble it is to have children!
In the novel though, our narrator notices that things have a way of working out. And so it did for me. Although I could have done without the poltergeist.
But oh, the characters! It would do you all well to meet Richard Quin (that's his first name), the youngest of the children. We meet him first as a small boy, and he grows, but we don't see him growing, until he's able to break a door down with his shoulder. He stays the same for us because from his earliest utterances he spouts an innocent and precocious wisdom, putting things in perspective. I edged forward in my seat every time he entered the stage. And Aunt Lily, who liked her port, and spouted her own wise variant. Uncle Jock regaled or annoyed with a rough Scottish accent, which Mama knew to be feigned. I think it was Mama who the author wanted us to like best, the central character though not the narrator. She weathers every crisis, most caused by Papa. Yet it was Papa, who should have been excoriated, who endeared himself to every other character and this reader.
Indeed, most of the characters in this novel were kind, or would become so, or were at worst, boorish. Heck, even the murderess was not evil.
Excluding Papa, the family was all musical. Mama had been the brightest talent, and taught piano to the twins, including our narrator:
Later I tried the third number of Beethoven's Sonata in D major (Op. 10), and when I got to the twenty-second measure of the first movement, she cried, "Rose, you are a musical half-wit. You have forgotten what I told you, you must supply the high F sharp though it is not written. Beethoven did not write it because it was not in the compass of the piano as he knew it, but he heard it, he heard it inside his head, and you cannot have understood one note of what you have been playing if you do not know that that is what he heard."
There was this bit of dialogue by the twins:
I say, Mary, do you understand Rosamund?"
"Quite often, no," said Mary.
"Of course, we would find it easier to understand her if she were a musician too," I said.
"Well, she may not be a musician, but she is what music is about," said Mary.
"What is music about?" I asked.
"Oh, it is about life, I suppose, and specially the parts of life we do not understand, otherwise people would not have to worry about it by explaining it by music. Oh, I can't say what I mean."
But she did.
I learned, too, that there are no homes for bad violinists.
I read the news today, or just a few days ago, while also reading this: What a gamble it is to have children!
In the novel though, our narrator notices that things have a way of working out. And so it did for me. Although I could have done without the poltergeist.
April 15, 2022
The book description is pretty accurate.
For me, what makes this story interesting is that it is told through the eyes of a child, Rose, one of the children of the family. This leads to funny observations such as
and
I especially liked the 'stupid' cousin Rosamund when she plays chess like an 'eternalist' (someone who believes, like Einstein, that time is an illusion) and always wins.
See also this review that provides information on the real characters behind the story.
All in all, a very pleasant reading experience.
For me, what makes this story interesting is that it is told through the eyes of a child, Rose, one of the children of the family. This leads to funny observations such as
... children seem to me a remarkable race. They want so much to murder so many people, and they so rarely murder anybody at all.
and
... said Mary flatly, with the tired look of a child talking to a stupid grown-up.
I especially liked the 'stupid' cousin Rosamund when she plays chess like an 'eternalist' (someone who believes, like Einstein, that time is an illusion) and always wins.
But when it was time for Rosamund to make a move it was as if the game already existed, and she was waiting for her senses to tell her not what the next move should be, but what it unalterably was. ... Her hand had a sleeping look as it travelled across the board and moved the piece that was foreordained to move.
See also this review that provides information on the real characters behind the story.
All in all, a very pleasant reading experience.
October 12, 2022
Η οικογένεια Όμπρι, είναι μια οικογένεια, λίγο διαφορετική από τις άλλες. Η μητέρα, εξαιρετική πιανίστρια, μεγαλώνει τα 4 παιδιά της, κάνοντας μαθήματα πιάνου στις δίδυμες που έχουν ταλέντο, σε αντίθεση με την Κορντήλια, τη μεγαλύτερη κόρη, την οποία θεωρεί άμουση και περιμένοντας να μεγαλώσει ο μικρός της Ρίτσαρντ Κουίν. Ο πατέρας, εργάζεται γράφοντας άρθρα σε διάφορες εφημερίδες ή και όχι.
Αφηγητής της ιστορίας μας είναι η Ρόουζ, η οποία βλεπει τις προσπάθειες της μητέρας να κατφέρει να βιοπορίσει μια οικογένεια με τα λίγα έως ανύπαρκτα χρήματα που της προσφέρει ο πατέρας. Ένας πατέρας, αδιάφορος, εγωιστής, σπάταλος που τον ενδιαφέρει μόνο η εικόνα του. Μια οικογένεια που ζει μέσα στην ένδεια - ένδεια την οποία ακόμη και τα παιδιά αναγνωρίζουν, αλλά δικαολογούν κι εκείνα με τη σειρά τους τον πατέρα - αφού αυτό κάνει η μητέρα τους.
Όλα λοιπόν, περιστρέφονται γύρω από διάφορα συμβάντα της καθημερινότητας της οικογένειας Όμπρι, σε μια ιστορία που δεν έχει θα έλεγα πλοκή και που ενδεχομένως να κουράσει τον αναγνώστη.
Κλείνοντας λοιπόν το βιβλίο, ανακάλυψα ότι το Συντριβάνι Ξεχειλίζει είναι το πρώτο μέρος μιας αυτοβιογραφικής τριλογίας όπου η Rebecca West μέσα από τη φωνή της Ρόουζ, μας αφηγείται κομμάτια της ζωής της.
3,5 αστέρια
Αφηγητής της ιστορίας μας είναι η Ρόουζ, η οποία βλεπει τις προσπάθειες της μητέρας να κατφέρει να βιοπορίσει μια οικογένεια με τα λίγα έως ανύπαρκτα χρήματα που της προσφέρει ο πατέρας. Ένας πατέρας, αδιάφορος, εγωιστής, σπάταλος που τον ενδιαφέρει μόνο η εικόνα του. Μια οικογένεια που ζει μέσα στην ένδεια - ένδεια την οποία ακόμη και τα παιδιά αναγνωρίζουν, αλλά δικαολογούν κι εκείνα με τη σειρά τους τον πατέρα - αφού αυτό κάνει η μητέρα τους.
Όλα λοιπόν, περιστρέφονται γύρω από διάφορα συμβάντα της καθημερινότητας της οικογένειας Όμπρι, σε μια ιστορία που δεν έχει θα έλεγα πλοκή και που ενδεχομένως να κουράσει τον αναγνώστη.
Κλείνοντας λοιπόν το βιβλίο, ανακάλυψα ότι το Συντριβάνι Ξεχειλίζει είναι το πρώτο μέρος μιας αυτοβιογραφικής τριλογίας όπου η Rebecca West μέσα από τη φωνή της Ρόουζ, μας αφηγείται κομμάτια της ζωής της.
3,5 αστέρια
August 4, 2020
Sulla narrazione di famiglie very-british-so-cool ho già dato coi Cazalet (saga che peraltro mi è piaciuta), qua siamo dalle parti della noia mortale. Tutti questi giovinetti geniali contornati da adulti pazzoidi hanno un po’ stancato.
Confesso che ho letto alla saltailfosso ovvero saltando tutti i paragraaaaaaaaafi che mi facevano sbaaaaaaaadigliare
Confesso che ho letto alla saltailfosso ovvero saltando tutti i paragraaaaaaaaafi che mi facevano sbaaaaaaaadigliare
July 5, 2018
La famiglia Aubrey di Rebecca West esce oggi, cinque luglio, per la casa editrice Fazi ed è il primo libro di una trilogia che, come si può intuire dal titolo, fa parte di una saga familiare.
Rebecca West è in realtà lo pseudonimo di Cicely Isabel Fairfield e la trilogia de La famiglia Aubrey è ispirata alla sua storia familiare.
La storia è ambientata a Londra, a cavallo tra il 1800 e il 1900, e la famiglia Aubrey è composta da Piers, capofamiglia, giornalista e scrittore molto stimato, ma con il vizio del gioco e quasi totalmente disinteressato ai suoi figli; Clare, la moglie, è stata una pianista molto brava, ma ha rinunciato alla carriera di musicista per i suoi figli a cui ha trasmesso la passione per la musica; Cordelia, la figlia maggiore, è la più bella, si dedica al violino, ma non riesce a comprendere che non ha le doti musicali di sua madre e delle sue sorelle; le due gemelle, Mary e Rose, sono due ragazzine sveglie che dedicano gran parte del loro tempo al pianoforte; Richard Quinn, il figlio più piccolo, è un bambino adorabile, ma non particolarmente interessato alla musica.
«Non penso che sarà il piano», disse la mamma, scrutandolo da vicino, come se potesse leggere sulla grana della sua pelle il nome dello strumento che avrebbe suonato. Cosa che peraltro aveva un qualche fondamento.
Musica, politica, questioni finanziarie e sogni da realizzare sono i temi attorno cui si sviluppa e prende forma l’intera vicenda; vicenda che è data da un lento, lentissimo scorrere degli avvenimenti: non succede proprio nulla se non qualche discussione sull’arte in generale, e sulla musica in particolare.
«Be’, può anche non essere un musicista, ma è tutto quello che la musica esprime», disse Mary.
«E cosa esprime la musica?», chiesi.
«Oh, la musica parla della vita, suppongo, e specialmente di quello che della vita non riusciamo a comprendere, altrimenti le persone non si darebbero la pena di raccontarlo per mezzo delle note. Ma non sono in grado di dire a parole quello che intendo».
Qualche tocco di vivacità viene dato nel momento in cui la West dà sfogo alla fantasia narrando situazioni soprannaturali (il poltergeist nella casa di Constance e Rosamund) e una situazione da libro giallo (il presunto omicidio di Queenie ai danni del marito e il conseguente processo).
Mi è stata proposta la lettura de La famiglia Aubrey perché ho amato la saga familiare dei Cazalet di Elizabeth Jane Howard. Purtroppo però questo libro non mi ha minimamente conquistato tanto quanto la saga dei Cazalet. Ne La famiglia Aubrey non succede proprio nulla di interessante e probabilmente anche il fatto che la narrazione avviene tutta in prima persona da parte di Rose ha influenzato negativamente il mio giudizio. Non sono riuscita ad affezionarmi a nessun personaggio, l’unico per il quale ho provato un po’ di affetto è stato Richard Quinn perché sembra un bambino molto sveglio, dolce ed empatico, ma nulla di più. Credo che se Rebecca West avesse dato vita a questa trilogia utilizzando diversi punti di vista, il lettore avrebbe potuto non solo affezionarsi ad alcuni personaggi, ma anche ad apprezzare molto di più la lettura senza annoiarsi.
Se avessi acquistato di tasca mia questo libro, sono sincera, non lo avrei mai terminato ed è un vero peccato perché lo stile della West è impeccabile e anche perché ci sono molti personaggi interessanti e che avrebbero meritato un approfondimento (magari con dei capitoli narrati proprio da loro); per esempio, sarei stata molto curiosa di leggere qualcosa dal punto di vista di Rosamund.
Se vi piacciono le saghe familiari particolarmente lente, La famiglia Aubrey è un libro che vi consiglio proprio perché scritto in modo impeccabile, ma se avete amato alla follia la saga dei Cazalet state attenti perché in questo libro non troverete nemmeno un quarto della vivacità, del brio e dell’affetto provato per la famiglia Cazalet.
Rebecca West è in realtà lo pseudonimo di Cicely Isabel Fairfield e la trilogia de La famiglia Aubrey è ispirata alla sua storia familiare.
La storia è ambientata a Londra, a cavallo tra il 1800 e il 1900, e la famiglia Aubrey è composta da Piers, capofamiglia, giornalista e scrittore molto stimato, ma con il vizio del gioco e quasi totalmente disinteressato ai suoi figli; Clare, la moglie, è stata una pianista molto brava, ma ha rinunciato alla carriera di musicista per i suoi figli a cui ha trasmesso la passione per la musica; Cordelia, la figlia maggiore, è la più bella, si dedica al violino, ma non riesce a comprendere che non ha le doti musicali di sua madre e delle sue sorelle; le due gemelle, Mary e Rose, sono due ragazzine sveglie che dedicano gran parte del loro tempo al pianoforte; Richard Quinn, il figlio più piccolo, è un bambino adorabile, ma non particolarmente interessato alla musica.
«Non penso che sarà il piano», disse la mamma, scrutandolo da vicino, come se potesse leggere sulla grana della sua pelle il nome dello strumento che avrebbe suonato. Cosa che peraltro aveva un qualche fondamento.
Musica, politica, questioni finanziarie e sogni da realizzare sono i temi attorno cui si sviluppa e prende forma l’intera vicenda; vicenda che è data da un lento, lentissimo scorrere degli avvenimenti: non succede proprio nulla se non qualche discussione sull’arte in generale, e sulla musica in particolare.
«Be’, può anche non essere un musicista, ma è tutto quello che la musica esprime», disse Mary.
«E cosa esprime la musica?», chiesi.
«Oh, la musica parla della vita, suppongo, e specialmente di quello che della vita non riusciamo a comprendere, altrimenti le persone non si darebbero la pena di raccontarlo per mezzo delle note. Ma non sono in grado di dire a parole quello che intendo».
Qualche tocco di vivacità viene dato nel momento in cui la West dà sfogo alla fantasia narrando situazioni soprannaturali (il poltergeist nella casa di Constance e Rosamund) e una situazione da libro giallo (il presunto omicidio di Queenie ai danni del marito e il conseguente processo).
Mi è stata proposta la lettura de La famiglia Aubrey perché ho amato la saga familiare dei Cazalet di Elizabeth Jane Howard. Purtroppo però questo libro non mi ha minimamente conquistato tanto quanto la saga dei Cazalet. Ne La famiglia Aubrey non succede proprio nulla di interessante e probabilmente anche il fatto che la narrazione avviene tutta in prima persona da parte di Rose ha influenzato negativamente il mio giudizio. Non sono riuscita ad affezionarmi a nessun personaggio, l’unico per il quale ho provato un po’ di affetto è stato Richard Quinn perché sembra un bambino molto sveglio, dolce ed empatico, ma nulla di più. Credo che se Rebecca West avesse dato vita a questa trilogia utilizzando diversi punti di vista, il lettore avrebbe potuto non solo affezionarsi ad alcuni personaggi, ma anche ad apprezzare molto di più la lettura senza annoiarsi.
Se avessi acquistato di tasca mia questo libro, sono sincera, non lo avrei mai terminato ed è un vero peccato perché lo stile della West è impeccabile e anche perché ci sono molti personaggi interessanti e che avrebbero meritato un approfondimento (magari con dei capitoli narrati proprio da loro); per esempio, sarei stata molto curiosa di leggere qualcosa dal punto di vista di Rosamund.
Se vi piacciono le saghe familiari particolarmente lente, La famiglia Aubrey è un libro che vi consiglio proprio perché scritto in modo impeccabile, ma se avete amato alla follia la saga dei Cazalet state attenti perché in questo libro non troverete nemmeno un quarto della vivacità, del brio e dell’affetto provato per la famiglia Cazalet.
February 11, 2014
Wonderful book!
The first of a trilogy.
Utterly compelling writing.
The Aubrey family live in Edwardian London.
The father loves his children and makes them beautiful things but even so he struggles to keep them to the standard they are used to as he constantly speculates and leaves them in penury.
It is the Mother that keeps the family together even when the Husband leaves.
All is not lost though as the pictures they thought were just copies were in fact real.
I loved it and can't wait to read the next book.
The first of a trilogy.
Utterly compelling writing.
The Aubrey family live in Edwardian London.
The father loves his children and makes them beautiful things but even so he struggles to keep them to the standard they are used to as he constantly speculates and leaves them in penury.
It is the Mother that keeps the family together even when the Husband leaves.
All is not lost though as the pictures they thought were just copies were in fact real.
I loved it and can't wait to read the next book.
June 14, 2020
What do you do when your parents are brilliant but eccentric?
Keith Clare a brilliant pianist married to the brilliant writer Piers Aubrey, both eccentric.
But Piers shows a touch of malevolence, he cares for none of his four children. An inveterate gambler leaves his family in utter poverty, although he shows touches of love and creativity during Christmas, when he constructs elaborate wooden castles for them.
Clare Keith just goes through the utter misery of poverty, duns at the door, never a mean thought for Piers, truly believing that music will give them better days and it does!
Seen through the eyes of Rose, one of the twin sisters, the other Mary, both brilliant pianists, living in a world of fantasy, believing fiercely that someday that 'everything will be alright'.
Never do they desire or cherish the good things in life, all they want is music.
Cordelia, is the one who suffers the most, all she wants is to have a normal life, just like the girls at school.
How does one cope? She thinks and pines to be a violinist but has no real talent and her dreams do not amount to much. Strangely she finds that she does have talent for embroidery and puts her heart and soul into it forming a group and working together with Rosamund and Constance.
This is a woman's book, although all the women go through terrible times, there is not much time for weeping and moaning. Both women, Clare and Constance have been abandoned by their husbands, but it hardly seems to make a difference to them or their daughters.
These brave women just go through life, dipping into their inner resources and their talents to great success.
A wonderful book of hope and courage although long drawn out at times.
Keith Clare a brilliant pianist married to the brilliant writer Piers Aubrey, both eccentric.
But Piers shows a touch of malevolence, he cares for none of his four children. An inveterate gambler leaves his family in utter poverty, although he shows touches of love and creativity during Christmas, when he constructs elaborate wooden castles for them.
Clare Keith just goes through the utter misery of poverty, duns at the door, never a mean thought for Piers, truly believing that music will give them better days and it does!
Seen through the eyes of Rose, one of the twin sisters, the other Mary, both brilliant pianists, living in a world of fantasy, believing fiercely that someday that 'everything will be alright'.
Never do they desire or cherish the good things in life, all they want is music.
Cordelia, is the one who suffers the most, all she wants is to have a normal life, just like the girls at school.
How does one cope? She thinks and pines to be a violinist but has no real talent and her dreams do not amount to much. Strangely she finds that she does have talent for embroidery and puts her heart and soul into it forming a group and working together with Rosamund and Constance.
This is a woman's book, although all the women go through terrible times, there is not much time for weeping and moaning. Both women, Clare and Constance have been abandoned by their husbands, but it hardly seems to make a difference to them or their daughters.
These brave women just go through life, dipping into their inner resources and their talents to great success.
A wonderful book of hope and courage although long drawn out at times.
February 22, 2015
This is the first book of the Saga of the Century (Aubrey) trilogy and I really liked it.
What can I say about this book? It's another little gem of the literature.
This is an auto-biographical novel set in early twentieth-century London, is narrated by a twelve-year-old girl who, along with her twin sister, is a piano prodigy. The girls’ mother--eccentric in her own way and their father is a controversial journalist. By the end of the book, he decides to take another turn on their lives.
Its sequel is This Real Night.
Interesting links:
Paris Review: interview with Rebecca West.
Books of the Times - NY Times.
BIBLIO CURIO.
The International Rebecca West Society.
3* The Return of the Soldier
Aubrey Trilogy:
5* The Fountain Overflows
TR This Real Night
TR Cousin Rosamund
TR The Thinking Reed
TR Harriet Hume
TR Sunflower
TR Black Lamb and Grey Falcon
TR The Birds Fall Down
What can I say about this book? It's another little gem of the literature.
This is an auto-biographical novel set in early twentieth-century London, is narrated by a twelve-year-old girl who, along with her twin sister, is a piano prodigy. The girls’ mother--eccentric in her own way and their father is a controversial journalist. By the end of the book, he decides to take another turn on their lives.
Its sequel is This Real Night.
Interesting links:
Paris Review: interview with Rebecca West.
Books of the Times - NY Times.
BIBLIO CURIO.
The International Rebecca West Society.
3* The Return of the Soldier
Aubrey Trilogy:
5* The Fountain Overflows
TR This Real Night
TR Cousin Rosamund
TR The Thinking Reed
TR Harriet Hume
TR Sunflower
TR Black Lamb and Grey Falcon
TR The Birds Fall Down
October 5, 2018
Lo riprenderò sicuramente, ora ho altre priorità.
Mantengo le mie promesse....
Ripreso , sempre grazie a chi mi ha incoraggiato : ero io che lo avevo approcciato dal un punto di vista sbagliato, non era il momento. Sto proseguendo e.... mi piace !
Finito ! contentissima , un grazie speciale ad Emilio !
Mantengo le mie promesse....
Ripreso , sempre grazie a chi mi ha incoraggiato : ero io che lo avevo approcciato dal un punto di vista sbagliato, non era il momento. Sto proseguendo e.... mi piace !
Finito ! contentissima , un grazie speciale ad Emilio !
January 21, 2019
Piccole donne dark
All'inizio mi è sembrato di riprendere in mano un libro che da bambina ho adorato, Piccole donne, perchè ci sono 2 genitori e quattro figli, con una madre carismatica. La somiglianza finisce qui, perchè se Piccole donne è un libro rassicurante, questo non lo è affatto. C'è un poltergeist che perseguita la cugina Rosamund, ma questa è solo una nota di colore (alla fine del XIX secolo i fenomeni paranormali piacevano tantissimo).
L'atmosfera familiare ha motivi più seri per essere elettrica: il pater familias è un fine intellettuale di quelli che danno il meglio di sé nella professione e non si occupano attivamente della sopravvivenza di moglie e figli, anzi dissipano i guadagni in affari senza senso. La madre è una eccellente pianista che ha abbandonato la carriera per dedicarsi alla famiglia, cerca di sbarcare il lunario e insegna musica ai figli.
Quello che mi è piaciuto di più è la complessità degli stati d'animo all'interno di questa famiglia, il padre idealista ma incapace di badare anche solo a se stesso, la madre consumata dalla difficoltà di arginare il disastro, le ragazze fin dalla prima adolescenza divise fra l'ammirazione verso i genitori e il disincanto sulla vita raminga che sono costrette a condurre, cambiando case che non possono permettersi. Sognano di ottenere una borsa di studio per studiare coi più grandi maestri, vorrebbero togliere la madre dal logorio quotidiano del tenere a galla la famiglia.
Anche il fronte dei figli è variegato, la primogenita vorrebbe lavorare come concertista ma è disgraziatamente priva di talento, cosa evidente a tutti tranne che a lei, le due sorelle di mezzo talentuose e solidali, il bambino amabile. Ci sono altri personaggi che fanno parte della famiglia allargata, descritti in modo efficace e coinvolgente.
Si apprezza in questa storia un notevole realismo (a parte il poltergeist), dovuto al fatto che è estesamente autobiografica per quello che riguarda le difficoltà familiari. I personaggi maschili ne escono veramente male e si capisce benissimo l'adesione di Rebecca West al femminismo: l'irresponsabilità conclamata del padre chiedeva misure urgenti verso la parità dei diritti, per la sopravvivenza della famiglia.
All'inizio mi è sembrato di riprendere in mano un libro che da bambina ho adorato, Piccole donne, perchè ci sono 2 genitori e quattro figli, con una madre carismatica. La somiglianza finisce qui, perchè se Piccole donne è un libro rassicurante, questo non lo è affatto. C'è un poltergeist che perseguita la cugina Rosamund, ma questa è solo una nota di colore (alla fine del XIX secolo i fenomeni paranormali piacevano tantissimo).
L'atmosfera familiare ha motivi più seri per essere elettrica: il pater familias è un fine intellettuale di quelli che danno il meglio di sé nella professione e non si occupano attivamente della sopravvivenza di moglie e figli, anzi dissipano i guadagni in affari senza senso. La madre è una eccellente pianista che ha abbandonato la carriera per dedicarsi alla famiglia, cerca di sbarcare il lunario e insegna musica ai figli.
Quello che mi è piaciuto di più è la complessità degli stati d'animo all'interno di questa famiglia, il padre idealista ma incapace di badare anche solo a se stesso, la madre consumata dalla difficoltà di arginare il disastro, le ragazze fin dalla prima adolescenza divise fra l'ammirazione verso i genitori e il disincanto sulla vita raminga che sono costrette a condurre, cambiando case che non possono permettersi. Sognano di ottenere una borsa di studio per studiare coi più grandi maestri, vorrebbero togliere la madre dal logorio quotidiano del tenere a galla la famiglia.
Anche il fronte dei figli è variegato, la primogenita vorrebbe lavorare come concertista ma è disgraziatamente priva di talento, cosa evidente a tutti tranne che a lei, le due sorelle di mezzo talentuose e solidali, il bambino amabile. Ci sono altri personaggi che fanno parte della famiglia allargata, descritti in modo efficace e coinvolgente.
Si apprezza in questa storia un notevole realismo (a parte il poltergeist), dovuto al fatto che è estesamente autobiografica per quello che riguarda le difficoltà familiari. I personaggi maschili ne escono veramente male e si capisce benissimo l'adesione di Rebecca West al femminismo: l'irresponsabilità conclamata del padre chiedeva misure urgenti verso la parità dei diritti, per la sopravvivenza della famiglia.
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