What do you think?
Rate this book
Defneler Kesildi
1861 doğumlu Fransız yazar Édouard Dujardin iç monolog veya bilinç akışı tekniğinin mucidi olarak bilinir. Joyce’un, Ulysses’te sık sık kullandığı bu tekniği ondan aldığı düşünülür. Umberto Eco da, Düşman Yaratmak adlı kitabında bu konudan şöyle bahseder: “Joyce'un tek yaptığı, mütevazı Dujardin'in icat ettiği iç monoloğu bir kelime ishaline çevirmiş olmak.”
Paris’te bir akşamüstü. Uçsuz bucaksız bir gökyüzü. Telaşlı kalabalıklar, sesler, gölgeler, hüzünlü bir adam… Bir opera şarkısı: Defneler kesildi, artık gitmeyeceğiz ormana.
Defneler Kesildi, altı saatlik bir zaman diliminde geçiyor. Dujardin bu büyüleyici romanda bir aktrise âşık olan üniversiteli bir gencin zihninden geçenleri anlatıyor. İnsanın beynini yiyip bitiren olasılıklar, ikilemler, hesaplaşmalar ve umutlar durmadan kendini doğuruyor.
Mallarmé de "birinin aniden gırtlağınıza yapışması" olarak tanımlıyor kitabı.
Paris’te bir akşamüstü. Uçsuz bucaksız bir gökyüzü. Telaşlı kalabalıklar, sesler, gölgeler, hüzünlü bir adam… Bir opera şarkısı: Defneler kesildi, artık gitmeyeceğiz ormana.
Defneler Kesildi, altı saatlik bir zaman diliminde geçiyor. Dujardin bu büyüleyici romanda bir aktrise âşık olan üniversiteli bir gencin zihninden geçenleri anlatıyor. İnsanın beynini yiyip bitiren olasılıklar, ikilemler, hesaplaşmalar ve umutlar durmadan kendini doğuruyor.
Mallarmé de "birinin aniden gırtlağınıza yapışması" olarak tanımlıyor kitabı.
100 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1887
9 people are currently reading
657 people want to read
About the author
Édouard Dujardin
24 books9 followersÉdouard Dujardin (1861-1949) was a French writer, one of the early users of the stream of consciousness literary technique, exemplified by his 1887 novel Les Lauriers sont coupés.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews
Read
November 4, 2025The introduction to my copy of this novel, first published in Paris in 1887, credits its author, Édouard Dujardin, with the invention of interior monologue while nonetheless pointing out that it would be several decades before the term 'interior monologue' would come into common usage.
While reading his short novel, I could see that the introduction hadn't overstated the case. Interior monologue is present from the very first page. But to me it seemed more like a prefiguration of the kind of interior monologue we might be familiar with from reading Virginia Woolf or William Faulkner or any of the later books in which it has been used in original and distinctive ways, eg, Eimear McBride's novels.
What do I mean by a prefiguration of interior monologue? Well, the way I see it, main character Daniel Prince, the 'I' of the first page, is often more of an 'eye' registering sights and sounds than a 'mind' ruminating on those perceptions as in Mrs. Dalloway, for example.
The reader gets to accompany Daniel on every step he takes because he's recording everything he sees as if he were a documentarist's camera. From time to time, a fully-formed thought slips in among the sensory registering of his exterior reality. But those thoughts are brief and don't lead to long meditations. To understand what I mean, have a look at this paragraph from page two; he is on his way to meet a friend at the friend's workplace (translation beneath):
My translation: "The building; the hallway; let's go in. Evening is falling; the air is sweet; there's gaiety about. The stairs; the first steps. What if, by some chance, he has left earlier than usual? He does that sometimes; I want to tell him about my day though. The first floor landing; the wide bright stairway; the windows. Why is the stair carpet turned up in this corner? It makes a grey blot on the red, on the red which from step to step rises. The second floor; the door on the left..."
When Daniel enters the office where his friend Lucien works, he finds him finishing up for the day, and they leave the building together. We get to read their conversation, interspersed with Daniel's continued recording of their progress down the stairs, past the concierge's lodge, and out onto the street. The constant noticing of exterior reality plus the conversation between the two friends is interrupted from time to time by an urgent thought of Daniel's, most of which concern his lover's promising words earlier in the day which he is eager to share with Lucien, and which he soon does. But from Lucien's reaction to the lover's 'promise', we understand that he thinks Daniel's lover, Lea, an actress in a musical theatre, is only stringing him along, and has been for a long time.
And meantime, Daniel and Lucien cross the Place du Châtelet and are going down the very crowded Rue de Rivoli. Daniel manages to make us feel we are really in Paris in the 1880s, that we are walking alongside him, seeing and hearing everything he sees and hears. I couldn't stop reading this short book, it was so well done, even if I knew already from Lucien's cynical comments about Lea that Daniel's hopes of finally spending a night with her were probably destined to be crushed before the end of the evening.
And meantime, other people are passing by on the streets, and Daniel takes notice of the women, and if they strike him as particularly beautiful, he watches to see where they go (reminding me of a Baudelaire poem and of some passages in Proust).
Daniel imagines the women he admires are aware of him and that they glance at him meaningfully. I was reminded too of Leopold Bloom from James Joyce's Ulysses as he walks the streets of Dublin, pausing from time to time, eg, to watch a beautifully dressed woman leave a building and step into a carriage, imagining that she is aware of him watching her.
And Daniel's story takes place all on the same day just as Leopold Bloom's does, and before the end of Daniel's day (six pm to midnight), we get the impression that his Lea has spent some time in the course of the evening with a more nonchalant lover whom Daniel thinks he sees looking at them with interest when Lea, after breaking a promise to see him early in the evening, finally agrees to spend a little time with him later, allowing him to take her out for a short drive through the city in an open carriage. The reader suspects Lea of simply wanting to keep the other lover attentive by being seen with Daniel—and of fending off Daniel's amorous advances by riding in an open carriage.
That scenario mirrors Leopold Bloom's catching sight of the nonchalant Blazes Boylan on the street in Dublin. Bloom knows Boylan has a rendezvous with his own wife that afternoon, ostensibly to discuss the music for a concert she will be singing in, though Bloom knows she and Boylan will do more than discuss music. Bloom distracts himself with other things to block out the thought, but when the time of the rendez-vous arrives, and although he is on the other side of the city at that moment, he is still painfully aware of it.
So yes, Daniel Prince and Leopold Bloom are alike, acutely observant of everything around them, and while they show keen interest in the women they catch sight of in the cities they are both criss-crossing, they are also very much in thrall to the actual women in their lives. And both have their hearts crushed in the course of the single day they recount.
James Joyce is known to have admired this book by Édouard Dujardin. It is mentioned in the blurb that he recommended it to a friend as being essential reading.
Dujardin's Daniel Prince reminded me of someone else besides Leopold Bloom. A few friends here on Goodreads will know that I've spent a lot of time recently reading books by 19th century author George Moore, so he's been very much on my mind. It so happens that George Moore shared a Paris apartment with Édouard Dujardin for a while in the 1880s so I'm guessing that Dujardin knew a little about his friend's love life at that time. In Moore's memoirs, he mentions one or two actresses he was in love with, and it was clear they were similar to Lea, stringing him along while seeing other people at the same time, judging by this fragment of speech he includes from one of them.
"You don't mind, darling, if I don't see you tonight? I prefer to tell you M has asked me if he might come. I can't well refuse. You don't mind?"
The woman's manner is exactly like Lea's in Dujardin's novel: encouraging endearments accompanied by polite but firm dismissal.
The title of this book translates into English as 'The laurels have been cut', but in French, to say 'the laurels have been cut' means someone has failed to achieve glory, failed to receive the laurel wreath, in other words. The glory Daniel was seeking and which he failed to receive when Lea packed him off home at the end of the night is not quite the 'glory' people were given laurel wreaths for, so I'm guessing the title is a little joke on Dujardin's part, as his choice of the name Prince for Daniel's surname may also be.
While I was posting reviews of George Moore's memoirs, I came across a photo from the 1920s showing him visiting Édouard Dujardin and his wife in the garden of their country home.
The photo shows the three of them cutting laurel bushes. Perhaps it was an insider joke...
While reading his short novel, I could see that the introduction hadn't overstated the case. Interior monologue is present from the very first page. But to me it seemed more like a prefiguration of the kind of interior monologue we might be familiar with from reading Virginia Woolf or William Faulkner or any of the later books in which it has been used in original and distinctive ways, eg, Eimear McBride's novels.
What do I mean by a prefiguration of interior monologue? Well, the way I see it, main character Daniel Prince, the 'I' of the first page, is often more of an 'eye' registering sights and sounds than a 'mind' ruminating on those perceptions as in Mrs. Dalloway, for example.
The reader gets to accompany Daniel on every step he takes because he's recording everything he sees as if he were a documentarist's camera. From time to time, a fully-formed thought slips in among the sensory registering of his exterior reality. But those thoughts are brief and don't lead to long meditations. To understand what I mean, have a look at this paragraph from page two; he is on his way to meet a friend at the friend's workplace (translation beneath):
"La maison; le vestibule; entrons. Le soir tombe; l'air est bon; il y a une gaieté dans l'air. L'escalier; les premières marches. Si, par hasard, il était sorti avant l'heure? cela lui arrive quelquefois; je veux pourtant lui conter ma journée d'aujourd'hui. Le palier du premier étage; l'escalier large et clair; les fenêtres. Pourquoi le tapis de l'escalier est-il retourné en ce coin? cela fait sur le rouge montant une tache grise, sur le rouge qui de marche en marche monte. Le second étage; porte à gauche..."
My translation: "The building; the hallway; let's go in. Evening is falling; the air is sweet; there's gaiety about. The stairs; the first steps. What if, by some chance, he has left earlier than usual? He does that sometimes; I want to tell him about my day though. The first floor landing; the wide bright stairway; the windows. Why is the stair carpet turned up in this corner? It makes a grey blot on the red, on the red which from step to step rises. The second floor; the door on the left..."
When Daniel enters the office where his friend Lucien works, he finds him finishing up for the day, and they leave the building together. We get to read their conversation, interspersed with Daniel's continued recording of their progress down the stairs, past the concierge's lodge, and out onto the street. The constant noticing of exterior reality plus the conversation between the two friends is interrupted from time to time by an urgent thought of Daniel's, most of which concern his lover's promising words earlier in the day which he is eager to share with Lucien, and which he soon does. But from Lucien's reaction to the lover's 'promise', we understand that he thinks Daniel's lover, Lea, an actress in a musical theatre, is only stringing him along, and has been for a long time.
And meantime, Daniel and Lucien cross the Place du Châtelet and are going down the very crowded Rue de Rivoli. Daniel manages to make us feel we are really in Paris in the 1880s, that we are walking alongside him, seeing and hearing everything he sees and hears. I couldn't stop reading this short book, it was so well done, even if I knew already from Lucien's cynical comments about Lea that Daniel's hopes of finally spending a night with her were probably destined to be crushed before the end of the evening.
And meantime, other people are passing by on the streets, and Daniel takes notice of the women, and if they strike him as particularly beautiful, he watches to see where they go (reminding me of a Baudelaire poem and of some passages in Proust).
Daniel imagines the women he admires are aware of him and that they glance at him meaningfully. I was reminded too of Leopold Bloom from James Joyce's Ulysses as he walks the streets of Dublin, pausing from time to time, eg, to watch a beautifully dressed woman leave a building and step into a carriage, imagining that she is aware of him watching her.
And Daniel's story takes place all on the same day just as Leopold Bloom's does, and before the end of Daniel's day (six pm to midnight), we get the impression that his Lea has spent some time in the course of the evening with a more nonchalant lover whom Daniel thinks he sees looking at them with interest when Lea, after breaking a promise to see him early in the evening, finally agrees to spend a little time with him later, allowing him to take her out for a short drive through the city in an open carriage. The reader suspects Lea of simply wanting to keep the other lover attentive by being seen with Daniel—and of fending off Daniel's amorous advances by riding in an open carriage.
That scenario mirrors Leopold Bloom's catching sight of the nonchalant Blazes Boylan on the street in Dublin. Bloom knows Boylan has a rendezvous with his own wife that afternoon, ostensibly to discuss the music for a concert she will be singing in, though Bloom knows she and Boylan will do more than discuss music. Bloom distracts himself with other things to block out the thought, but when the time of the rendez-vous arrives, and although he is on the other side of the city at that moment, he is still painfully aware of it.
So yes, Daniel Prince and Leopold Bloom are alike, acutely observant of everything around them, and while they show keen interest in the women they catch sight of in the cities they are both criss-crossing, they are also very much in thrall to the actual women in their lives. And both have their hearts crushed in the course of the single day they recount.
James Joyce is known to have admired this book by Édouard Dujardin. It is mentioned in the blurb that he recommended it to a friend as being essential reading.
Dujardin's Daniel Prince reminded me of someone else besides Leopold Bloom. A few friends here on Goodreads will know that I've spent a lot of time recently reading books by 19th century author George Moore, so he's been very much on my mind. It so happens that George Moore shared a Paris apartment with Édouard Dujardin for a while in the 1880s so I'm guessing that Dujardin knew a little about his friend's love life at that time. In Moore's memoirs, he mentions one or two actresses he was in love with, and it was clear they were similar to Lea, stringing him along while seeing other people at the same time, judging by this fragment of speech he includes from one of them.
"You don't mind, darling, if I don't see you tonight? I prefer to tell you M has asked me if he might come. I can't well refuse. You don't mind?"
The woman's manner is exactly like Lea's in Dujardin's novel: encouraging endearments accompanied by polite but firm dismissal.
The title of this book translates into English as 'The laurels have been cut', but in French, to say 'the laurels have been cut' means someone has failed to achieve glory, failed to receive the laurel wreath, in other words. The glory Daniel was seeking and which he failed to receive when Lea packed him off home at the end of the night is not quite the 'glory' people were given laurel wreaths for, so I'm guessing the title is a little joke on Dujardin's part, as his choice of the name Prince for Daniel's surname may also be.
While I was posting reviews of George Moore's memoirs, I came across a photo from the 1920s showing him visiting Édouard Dujardin and his wife in the garden of their country home.
The photo shows the three of them cutting laurel bushes. Perhaps it was an insider joke...
September 5, 2025
(*)
NOUS N'IRONS PLUS AU BOIS
Nous n'irons plus aux bois
Les lauriers sont coupés
La belle que voilà,
la laiss'rons nous danser.
Entrez dans la danse,
voyez comme on danse,
Sautez, dansez,
embrassez qui vous voudrez.(**)
Most readers now will know of this book thanks to James Joyce. Even Édouard Dujardin, the author, has received attention thanks to Joyce. This novella is now hailed as the first attempt at writing an internal monologue. Since then many writers have had a go at this inner speech, have joined the literary dance that tries to celebrate the inner self, and write round and around it.
Édouard Dujardin (1861-1949) from an early age had played an active role in the French literary circles. He moved in the orbit Mallarmé, who was one of the first admirers of this particular novel (***). Like a good Symbolist, Dujardin dabbled in several of the arts. He was very interested in music, studied composition in the same school as Debussy, and founded the prestigious La revue Wagnérienne.
He also became editor of the highly influential La Revue indépendante, and it was in this magazine that his novella was first serialized in 1887. At the time, however, this was just another exercise in his avant-gardist explorations. He played with other techniques such as the prose poem and free verse, got later very involved in the theatre (he was an admirer of Racine) and eventually moved onto pursuits of a mystic and religious nature. He forgot about this work of youth until more than three decades later.
Around 1920 James Joyce told his friend and literary figure Valery Larbaud (1881–1957) that he owed the technique of internal monologue that he had developed in his Ulysses to this work by Dujardin. The French edition I have read includes a letter from Joyce to Dujardin dated November 1917 asking the French author for a copy of his Lauriers, since he had left his own older copy behind in Austria.
Les lauriers has almost no story. We enter the mind of a young man, as he becomes a flâneur in the city of Paris, and see through his eyes, and hear though his ears, and walk with his legs, and are captive in his thoughts during the six hours that his promenade lasts. We also witness his obsession with a courtesan, Léa. And this is where the title makes sense, since the popular song from which Dujardin took the title, is a medieval ballad that sings to the reopening of bordellos, since they had been forbidden and closed. These houses had a laurel branch on top of the door as an advertising and warning signal.
Although this novel has some simple dialogue and some sections with letters it is a novel composed on or set on ‘the point of view’. That is its entity. When reading it then our attention focuses on this now famous ‘interior monologue’ with its staccato rhythm. It is composed of short sentences ; a street mentioned ; observations ; mostly in the present tense ; separated by semicolons ; and spaces ; a street; unexplained associations ; in the first person ; and suspension points…. ; a street crossed ; attention to details ; detached ; reading it like reading a map of Paris… ; a square ; great immediacy …
We are farm from the complexity of Joyce really; and even if there is a segment of a man going to sleep, far from Proust; or from the complex inner associations of the refined mind of Woolf… And once Joyce had rediscovered it, Dujardin became his own scholar, and published in 1931 the essay Le monologue intérieur, son apparition, ses origines, sa place dans l’oeuvre de James Joyce et dans le roman contemporain. Although I have read it in the original, the English edition has its own interest. It was translated by Stuart Gilbert (a Joycean amanuensis) and supervised by Joyce.
And yet, and yet.. ..reading Ellmann's James Joyce, I was struck about the incident when Maria Jolas at a reading in which Joyce rendered public homage to Dujardin, accused him of covering up his real sources or true literary heritage.., and of contriving this true indebtedness.
Was this a Joycean Red Herring? And we are all his dupes?
----
(*)
Toulouse-Lautrec. At the Moulin Rouge. Dujardin first on the left. And Toulouse-Lautrec himself in the centre of the painting, short, in profile, and in front of the tall man, also in profile.
(**)
We'll go to the woods no more,
The laurels have been cut.
That beauty there,
Will we let her dance?
Join the dance
See how we dance,
Jump, dance,
Kiss whoever you want.
(***)
Vous avez là fixé un mode de notation virevoltant et cursif qui en dehors des grandes architectures littéraires, vers ou phrases décorativement contournées, a seule raison d'être, pour exprimer sans métallisation des moyens sublimes, le quotidien si précieux à saisir. Il y a donc là plus qu'un bonheur de hasard, mais une de ces trouvailles vers quoi nous nous efforçons tous en sens divers.
April 13, 2023
“En Los laureles cortados el lector se encuentra instalado, desde las primeras líneas, en el pensamiento del personaje principal, y es el desarrollo ininterrumpido de este pensamiento lo que, sustituyendo a la forma usual, nos muestra lo que este personaje piensa y lo que ocurre…” James Joyce
La frase de James Joyce confirma que él no fue el inventor de la famosa técnica literaria del 'monólogo interior'. Fue este autor francés, llamado Edouard Dujardin, quien fuera amigo y discípulo de Stephane Mallarmé y parte activa del movimiento del simbolismo.
Lo que Joyce posteriormente desarrollaría, profundizaría y llevaría hasta límites insospechados, tanto en el monólogo interior de Molly Boom en el "Ulises" así también como el de Anna Livia Plurabelle en el imposible "Finnegans wake".
Naturalmente, la técnica del monólogo interior sería también utilizada por otros grandes autores de la literatura como William Faulkner o Samuel Beckett y en algún momento por Juan Carlos Onetti.
Esta técnica, que narrativamente consiste en un fluir de pensamientos y descripciones tal cual salen de la mente del personaje es atractiva desde el punto de que rompe totalmente la estructura de novela formal para desplazarse libremente en el texto, sin obstáculo alguno agregando la particularidad de extender esta característica a la descripción del paisaje o ambiente en el que se encuentra dicho personaje.
En esta pequeña nouvelle de Dujardin, el personaje principal, Daniel Prince nos va contando sin interrupciones todo lo que le sucede, desde el atardecer hasta las seis de la mañana del día siguiente con su intento por llegar a concretar un romance amoroso con la bella Léa D'Arsay y para esto se vale de este flujo de conciencia que deja al descubierto su propia psicología hasta contarnos absolutamente todo lo que se le cruza en su camino, incluyendo personajes, lugares y situaciones.
La novela también posee un capítulo en forma epistolar, a la manera en que Fiódor Dostoievski hace en su cuento "Novela en nueve cartas", para después zambullirnos en la narración de los hechos finales.
La acción o argumento de "Los laureles cortados", al estilo de los libros de Joyce ya citados pareciese no tener un comienzo, sino que nos cuenta ya lo que le sucede al personaje como algo ya iniciado y en cierta forma, el final no es cerrado, sino que tal vez podría haber seguido contándonos que nos sucedía empalmando a manera de rulo o bucle hacia el inicio de la historia.
Busqué durante mucho tiempo este libro, porque me interesaba de sobremanera leer un libro escrito en 1887 con una técnica tan novedosa como innovadora como la del monólogo interior, 37 años antes de que James Joyce la inmortalizara en su "Ulises", pero para que esto sucediera, tenemos que tener en cuenta que en lo que al monólogo interior concierne, Edouard Dujardin fue el primero.
La frase de James Joyce confirma que él no fue el inventor de la famosa técnica literaria del 'monólogo interior'. Fue este autor francés, llamado Edouard Dujardin, quien fuera amigo y discípulo de Stephane Mallarmé y parte activa del movimiento del simbolismo.
Lo que Joyce posteriormente desarrollaría, profundizaría y llevaría hasta límites insospechados, tanto en el monólogo interior de Molly Boom en el "Ulises" así también como el de Anna Livia Plurabelle en el imposible "Finnegans wake".
Naturalmente, la técnica del monólogo interior sería también utilizada por otros grandes autores de la literatura como William Faulkner o Samuel Beckett y en algún momento por Juan Carlos Onetti.
Esta técnica, que narrativamente consiste en un fluir de pensamientos y descripciones tal cual salen de la mente del personaje es atractiva desde el punto de que rompe totalmente la estructura de novela formal para desplazarse libremente en el texto, sin obstáculo alguno agregando la particularidad de extender esta característica a la descripción del paisaje o ambiente en el que se encuentra dicho personaje.
En esta pequeña nouvelle de Dujardin, el personaje principal, Daniel Prince nos va contando sin interrupciones todo lo que le sucede, desde el atardecer hasta las seis de la mañana del día siguiente con su intento por llegar a concretar un romance amoroso con la bella Léa D'Arsay y para esto se vale de este flujo de conciencia que deja al descubierto su propia psicología hasta contarnos absolutamente todo lo que se le cruza en su camino, incluyendo personajes, lugares y situaciones.
La novela también posee un capítulo en forma epistolar, a la manera en que Fiódor Dostoievski hace en su cuento "Novela en nueve cartas", para después zambullirnos en la narración de los hechos finales.
La acción o argumento de "Los laureles cortados", al estilo de los libros de Joyce ya citados pareciese no tener un comienzo, sino que nos cuenta ya lo que le sucede al personaje como algo ya iniciado y en cierta forma, el final no es cerrado, sino que tal vez podría haber seguido contándonos que nos sucedía empalmando a manera de rulo o bucle hacia el inicio de la historia.
Busqué durante mucho tiempo este libro, porque me interesaba de sobremanera leer un libro escrito en 1887 con una técnica tan novedosa como innovadora como la del monólogo interior, 37 años antes de que James Joyce la inmortalizara en su "Ulises", pero para que esto sucediera, tenemos que tener en cuenta que en lo que al monólogo interior concierne, Edouard Dujardin fue el primero.
June 12, 2024
Esta novela es imprescindible. Marcó un hito en la historia de la literatura moderna. Aquí se utilizó por primera vez la técnica estilística del monólogo interior. Sí, la misma que desarrolló James Joyce en varios capítulos del Ulises.
Edouard Dujardín, músico, poeta, novelista, autor de teatro y ensayista tuvo un importante papel en el mundo intelectual francés a finales del sXIX y comienzos del sXX.
En Han cortado los laureles el monólogo tiene lugar dentro del cerebro de su protagonista, Daniel Prince, joven estudiante que se enamora de Lea de Arsay, una bella y pícara aspirante a actriz. Así, a través de las reflexiones de Daniel, que parece estar hablando con el lector, conocemos el ambiente ruidoso de París, la moda, la decoración de los boulevares, el interior de las viviendas y el comienzo de la relación amorosa con Lea.
Sugiero leerla lentamente, disfrutando los capítulos y los pensamientos de Daniel en busca del amor, en un día primaveral de 1887, en París.
Edouard Dujardín, músico, poeta, novelista, autor de teatro y ensayista tuvo un importante papel en el mundo intelectual francés a finales del sXIX y comienzos del sXX.
En Han cortado los laureles el monólogo tiene lugar dentro del cerebro de su protagonista, Daniel Prince, joven estudiante que se enamora de Lea de Arsay, una bella y pícara aspirante a actriz. Así, a través de las reflexiones de Daniel, que parece estar hablando con el lector, conocemos el ambiente ruidoso de París, la moda, la decoración de los boulevares, el interior de las viviendas y el comienzo de la relación amorosa con Lea.
Sugiero leerla lentamente, disfrutando los capítulos y los pensamientos de Daniel en busca del amor, en un día primaveral de 1887, en París.
September 4, 2025
No one likes to be a fool, le sot. Especially young students like Lucien Chavainne and Daniel Prince. They taunt each other with the dream of seducing an actress, Léa d’Arsay.
Daniel is determined. Léa keeps a busy social life but finally notices the young man. She has other men in her life like Hénart. However our student Daniel is persistent and he catches her attention. She sends him a note, an invitation to the opera - Andromaque*at the Odéon. An appropriate choice about men fighting over a woman.
Daniel is smitten and offers to lend her money. Actresses are always in need of money. They go for a romantic ride in a carriage but nothing happens. This isn’t Madame Bovary. They return back to her place. It’s cold outside and cold in the carriage. Her maid Marie has a fire going in her room. She spends a long time in her toilette. He drifts off. She promises to play the piano later for him, despite how late it is. He needs to use the toilet as well, it’s been over six hours. She has lovely eyes. She is so lovely. He spent a lot of money on her just to look at her eyes. Who is being played?
In fact very little happens except some marvellous writing on life, nature, love and beauty. There are these long sections of thoughts and descriptions So ushers in the first “interior monologue” in literature. Some say this book published in 1887 inspired the Molly Bloom monologue in Ulysses (1922) by James Joyce. If you remember, Ulysses is set in one day. In this book, time is compressed to a few hours.
The title translates to “the laurels are cut” and according to Wikipedia is based on a French children’s song. “Nous n'irons plus au bois" ("We'll go to the woods no more"). They suggest rebirth but this feels more like growing up.
A uniquely enjoyable if not frustrating read. We’ll at least it is a short read. A big thanks to Fionnuala for mentioning this book in a review on George Moore’s The Lake.
3.5 stars
*Based on Racine’s play, Andromache, the widow of the Trojan Hector, is captured by the Greek Pyrrhus. Orestes, his fellow Greek wants Pyrrhus to put to death Andromache and her son but Pyrrhus is in love with the captured woman. Rejected by her, Pyrrhus turns his attention to Orestes’ fiancée Hermione. Nothing like men fighting over women in an opera.
Daniel is determined. Léa keeps a busy social life but finally notices the young man. She has other men in her life like Hénart. However our student Daniel is persistent and he catches her attention. She sends him a note, an invitation to the opera - Andromaque*at the Odéon. An appropriate choice about men fighting over a woman.
Daniel is smitten and offers to lend her money. Actresses are always in need of money. They go for a romantic ride in a carriage but nothing happens. This isn’t Madame Bovary. They return back to her place. It’s cold outside and cold in the carriage. Her maid Marie has a fire going in her room. She spends a long time in her toilette. He drifts off. She promises to play the piano later for him, despite how late it is. He needs to use the toilet as well, it’s been over six hours. She has lovely eyes. She is so lovely. He spent a lot of money on her just to look at her eyes. Who is being played?
In fact very little happens except some marvellous writing on life, nature, love and beauty. There are these long sections of thoughts and descriptions So ushers in the first “interior monologue” in literature. Some say this book published in 1887 inspired the Molly Bloom monologue in Ulysses (1922) by James Joyce. If you remember, Ulysses is set in one day. In this book, time is compressed to a few hours.
The title translates to “the laurels are cut” and according to Wikipedia is based on a French children’s song. “Nous n'irons plus au bois" ("We'll go to the woods no more"). They suggest rebirth but this feels more like growing up.
A uniquely enjoyable if not frustrating read. We’ll at least it is a short read. A big thanks to Fionnuala for mentioning this book in a review on George Moore’s The Lake.
3.5 stars
*Based on Racine’s play, Andromache, the widow of the Trojan Hector, is captured by the Greek Pyrrhus. Orestes, his fellow Greek wants Pyrrhus to put to death Andromache and her son but Pyrrhus is in love with the captured woman. Rejected by her, Pyrrhus turns his attention to Orestes’ fiancée Hermione. Nothing like men fighting over women in an opera.
May 19, 2023
Gün batımı, uzaktan gelen bir ezgi, uçsuz bucaksız gökyüzü, telaşlı kalabalıklar, sesler, gölgeler, uzayıp giden saatlerin sonsuza dek unuttuğu mekanlar, belirsiz bir akşamüstü...
Kayıp Rıhtım'ın haftalık kitap önerilerinde görüp tanıdım. Kitabın yazarı Eduard Dujardin'in bu kitapta kullandığı bilinçakışı tekniği James Joyce'un Ulysses'i yazmasına ilham olmuş.
Kolay ve sayfalar ilerledikçe merak uyandıran bir kitap.
8/10
Kayıp Rıhtım'ın haftalık kitap önerilerinde görüp tanıdım. Kitabın yazarı Eduard Dujardin'in bu kitapta kullandığı bilinçakışı tekniği James Joyce'un Ulysses'i yazmasına ilham olmuş.
Kolay ve sayfalar ilerledikçe merak uyandıran bir kitap.
8/10
November 12, 2025
Leave it to a guy.
More pointedly: leave it to a fucking guy.
This brief novel is the first in space when it comes to interior monologue, full stop. Yeah, the alpha; Genesis 1, pg. 1; Genesis’ From Genesis to Revelation (28 March 1969; Decca); “Rocket 88;” Big Bang/Jackie Goddam Robinson/and some literary trinational hybridity of Chuck Yeager-Ed Hillary-Tenzing Norgay for books occurring entirely in the mind and its moment, a constant real-time, on the page. Short version: running interior monologue a la Ulysses; in fact, much the same leaf of tea.
Which translates, in praxis, to something very much like a Lou Reed lyric: “Now, who is that knocking? Who's knocking at my chamber door? Now could it be the police? They come and take me for a ride-ride. Oh, but I haven't got the time-time. ‘Hey, hey, hey, she's busy sucking on my ding-dong. She's busy sucking on my ding-dong.’ ‘Oh, now do it just like Sister Ray said.’” That particular VU pull was no accident, as, taking out the whole frustrating inability to find an uncollapsed vein for mainlining a little smackum yackum, Édouard and Lewis are writing about the same thing. That’s right: the evolution of and/or possibilities of a new literary modality as a pathway for self-expression concerns…(Mo Tucker drumroll)…getting fucking laid. Yep. Whole goddamn thing.
While it must be chalked up to fin de siècle mores and a plain ol’ case of being French, that the first-person thoughts of the dandy-bon vivant narrator are almost exclusively limited to 1880’s poetic flouncing around straight-up fucking/hoping to ‘get’ straight-up fucked are a total drag for just how predictable they are. Not only in its obsessive compulsion to bed a budding ingenue, more so in the larger solipsism that the very same compulsion betrays. Not only is too much frontal lobe dedicated to the description of said ‘buds’ (umm, the narrator isn’t musing on her career prospects), he spends the narrative as an explication of the ‘I—I—I’ as the totality of the universe. Now, I’m not unaware that Dujardin was a bright guy that ran in intellectual(ite) circles, nor am I blind to the obvious possibility that this solipsism was used as a device—an incredibly subversive one—to comment upon man’s prediction for the self and self-satisfaction above all other things…but I’m also not buying that shit, either.
Disclaimer: Bear in mind my oft-stated aversion to ‘romantic’ narratives unless used/extant for another purpose. I don’t answer to Harlequin. If you do, and by every and all means, then this may very well be up your amorous and puffèd sleeve. Remember the jaundiced eye informing this ‘review’ and decide for yourself. Oh, and at the request of the vox populi: they go and do stuff (…aaaaaaand that’s all the plot covered).
Postscript (The Serious Bit): It’s not on GR, but I’ve been reading this book by Carol Gilligan called Why Does the Patriarchy Persist? Well, Carol, your largest theses are supported by this, the same I now submit as evidence to the Court of Philosophy; Ethics, Virtue and/of Care Dept. Gilligan, who I hold is unfairly underread/discussed, centers the Oedipal Myth early in it as Freud gave it such columnar import in the reification of Western psychiatry as it is known and practiced today (good luck finding a Jungian shrink). Her contention is that Freud vesting Oedipus-as-myth with so much import illustrates how patriarchal systems are both born anew and perpetuated. She makes the brilliant point that the myth of Oedipus is, historically, based upon what are purported to be true events—but those true events are shunted aside when they’re even known at all. Cliff's Notes for those that mightn't: circa 1300 BCE, King Laius of Thebes was caught committing pederasty with some local young boy, and Laius was subsequently told by the Oracle at Apollo (the Freud of his time) that vengeance would come in the form of his firstborn son. When that child, the real Oedipus was born, a series of tragedies took place that, over time, were sublimated into myth. But all the other stuff? Not a part of history. Not even a part of the theoretical myth that begat the Oedipal myth. Ergo, the true story of Oedipus is one of trauma and tragedy, neither of which are very ‘masculine.’ (Plain: no motherfucking.) What does masculine mean? Well, Freud had an answer for that…something about loving thy mother, right? That he knew both the history and the myth (obviously he'd flipped through Sophocles Monthly once or twice) and chose the latter says everything to me about perpetuality (not to discount Freud’s inheritance of mantle as a man, etc, but stop the fucking buck somewhere, eh, buddy?) My point? Of course the first fucking first-person interior monologue novel is written by a man trying, at great length and with unsubtle remunerative enticement, to convince a young woman to copulate. I’m not faulting Dujardin for his choice; he was a product of an inheritance to which he was very likely blind. Nor am I saying that this barely read novel from the late 19th century is anywhere equal in impact to Freud’s disastrous effects on Western thought through today. So, what am I saying? Only that—maybe—it may serve us well, at least we men, to be aware of the operant levels that even the seemingly innocuous do regrettably occur on. Why? Because we SURE AS FUCK seem to have managed to do one hell of a SHITTY JOB since running the joint! Can we get new management? Please?
Digestif: While I guess it was worth my time reading the first of its kind (not really), I’m enriched in no way for it. In fact, all I want to do is wash all these goddamn secretions off my hands and smoke a cigarette—American. I’m a Camel man, me, just like my daddy before me and his daddy before him down here in the Old South(ern California). A smoke to blow away the stink.
And I have the oddest craving for one of those chocolate Ding-Dongs by Hostess Cupcakes. I’ve no idea why….
More pointedly: leave it to a fucking guy.
This brief novel is the first in space when it comes to interior monologue, full stop. Yeah, the alpha; Genesis 1, pg. 1; Genesis’ From Genesis to Revelation (28 March 1969; Decca); “Rocket 88;” Big Bang/Jackie Goddam Robinson/and some literary trinational hybridity of Chuck Yeager-Ed Hillary-Tenzing Norgay for books occurring entirely in the mind and its moment, a constant real-time, on the page. Short version: running interior monologue a la Ulysses; in fact, much the same leaf of tea.
Which translates, in praxis, to something very much like a Lou Reed lyric: “Now, who is that knocking? Who's knocking at my chamber door? Now could it be the police? They come and take me for a ride-ride. Oh, but I haven't got the time-time. ‘Hey, hey, hey, she's busy sucking on my ding-dong. She's busy sucking on my ding-dong.’ ‘Oh, now do it just like Sister Ray said.’” That particular VU pull was no accident, as, taking out the whole frustrating inability to find an uncollapsed vein for mainlining a little smackum yackum, Édouard and Lewis are writing about the same thing. That’s right: the evolution of and/or possibilities of a new literary modality as a pathway for self-expression concerns…(Mo Tucker drumroll)…getting fucking laid. Yep. Whole goddamn thing.
While it must be chalked up to fin de siècle mores and a plain ol’ case of being French, that the first-person thoughts of the dandy-bon vivant narrator are almost exclusively limited to 1880’s poetic flouncing around straight-up fucking/hoping to ‘get’ straight-up fucked are a total drag for just how predictable they are. Not only in its obsessive compulsion to bed a budding ingenue, more so in the larger solipsism that the very same compulsion betrays. Not only is too much frontal lobe dedicated to the description of said ‘buds’ (umm, the narrator isn’t musing on her career prospects), he spends the narrative as an explication of the ‘I—I—I’ as the totality of the universe. Now, I’m not unaware that Dujardin was a bright guy that ran in intellectual(ite) circles, nor am I blind to the obvious possibility that this solipsism was used as a device—an incredibly subversive one—to comment upon man’s prediction for the self and self-satisfaction above all other things…but I’m also not buying that shit, either.
Disclaimer: Bear in mind my oft-stated aversion to ‘romantic’ narratives unless used/extant for another purpose. I don’t answer to Harlequin. If you do, and by every and all means, then this may very well be up your amorous and puffèd sleeve. Remember the jaundiced eye informing this ‘review’ and decide for yourself. Oh, and at the request of the vox populi: they go and do stuff (…aaaaaaand that’s all the plot covered).
Postscript (The Serious Bit): It’s not on GR, but I’ve been reading this book by Carol Gilligan called Why Does the Patriarchy Persist? Well, Carol, your largest theses are supported by this, the same I now submit as evidence to the Court of Philosophy; Ethics, Virtue and/of Care Dept. Gilligan, who I hold is unfairly underread/discussed, centers the Oedipal Myth early in it as Freud gave it such columnar import in the reification of Western psychiatry as it is known and practiced today (good luck finding a Jungian shrink). Her contention is that Freud vesting Oedipus-as-myth with so much import illustrates how patriarchal systems are both born anew and perpetuated. She makes the brilliant point that the myth of Oedipus is, historically, based upon what are purported to be true events—but those true events are shunted aside when they’re even known at all. Cliff's Notes for those that mightn't: circa 1300 BCE, King Laius of Thebes was caught committing pederasty with some local young boy, and Laius was subsequently told by the Oracle at Apollo (the Freud of his time) that vengeance would come in the form of his firstborn son. When that child, the real Oedipus was born, a series of tragedies took place that, over time, were sublimated into myth. But all the other stuff? Not a part of history. Not even a part of the theoretical myth that begat the Oedipal myth. Ergo, the true story of Oedipus is one of trauma and tragedy, neither of which are very ‘masculine.’ (Plain: no motherfucking.) What does masculine mean? Well, Freud had an answer for that…something about loving thy mother, right? That he knew both the history and the myth (obviously he'd flipped through Sophocles Monthly once or twice) and chose the latter says everything to me about perpetuality (not to discount Freud’s inheritance of mantle as a man, etc, but stop the fucking buck somewhere, eh, buddy?) My point? Of course the first fucking first-person interior monologue novel is written by a man trying, at great length and with unsubtle remunerative enticement, to convince a young woman to copulate. I’m not faulting Dujardin for his choice; he was a product of an inheritance to which he was very likely blind. Nor am I saying that this barely read novel from the late 19th century is anywhere equal in impact to Freud’s disastrous effects on Western thought through today. So, what am I saying? Only that—maybe—it may serve us well, at least we men, to be aware of the operant levels that even the seemingly innocuous do regrettably occur on. Why? Because we SURE AS FUCK seem to have managed to do one hell of a SHITTY JOB since running the joint! Can we get new management? Please?
Digestif: While I guess it was worth my time reading the first of its kind (not really), I’m enriched in no way for it. In fact, all I want to do is wash all these goddamn secretions off my hands and smoke a cigarette—American. I’m a Camel man, me, just like my daddy before me and his daddy before him down here in the Old South(ern California). A smoke to blow away the stink.
And I have the oddest craving for one of those chocolate Ding-Dongs by Hostess Cupcakes. I’ve no idea why….
March 18, 2015
Monologue intérieur was reputedly birthed in this charming little novel. From the first line to the last we, the reader, live six hours captured in the mundane mind of young dandy, Daniel Prince as he navigates Paris in the late 1880's seeking the affections of Leah, a self-possessed actress.
I was introduced to "We'll to the Woods No More" through Ellmann's James Joyce...and was intrigued to read not only the purported seed for Ulysses...but also the beginning of a thread that led to authors I relish...Proust, Virginia Woolf, Marguerite Young...and one I soon hope to explore, Dorothy Richardson.
The brilliance of this little gem was not in the story. I sometimes felt the rattling of a noisy lightweight perpetual rotation of the wheel in a hamster's cage...and longed to escape. Although that, in itself was fascinating because I also found the confined interior atmosphere compelling...along with the understanding that this work was an exciting slender new sprout.
I read the English edition, translated by Stuart Gilbert (and according to Ellmann, assisted by Joyce). Illustrated by Alice Laughlin.
April 28, 2021
27.04.2021
Paris'i çok severim, içinde çok sevdiğim hatıralar biriktirdiğim içindir belki. Kitaota 1887'nin Paris'inde sadece 6 saatlik bir diliminde geçiyor. O kadar net ve etkileyici ki elinizden bırakmak mümkün değil.
Bilinç akışı tekniğinin en güzel örneklerinden bence, en harika tarafı ise monologların asla bunaltmaması ve okuru boğmadan akması.
Hesaplaşmalar, ikilemlerle dolu bir okuma için buyurunuz.
Keyifli okumalar 🌼
#readingismycardio #aslihanneokudu #okudumbitti #2021okumalarım #okuryorumu #kitaptavsiyesi #neokudum #konuroman #konukitap #defnelerkesildi #edouarddujardin #çevirikitaplar
Paris'i çok severim, içinde çok sevdiğim hatıralar biriktirdiğim içindir belki. Kitaota 1887'nin Paris'inde sadece 6 saatlik bir diliminde geçiyor. O kadar net ve etkileyici ki elinizden bırakmak mümkün değil.
Bilinç akışı tekniğinin en güzel örneklerinden bence, en harika tarafı ise monologların asla bunaltmaması ve okuru boğmadan akması.
Hesaplaşmalar, ikilemlerle dolu bir okuma için buyurunuz.
Keyifli okumalar 🌼
#readingismycardio #aslihanneokudu #okudumbitti #2021okumalarım #okuryorumu #kitaptavsiyesi #neokudum #konuroman #konukitap #defnelerkesildi #edouarddujardin #çevirikitaplar
April 10, 2023
Pürüzsüz bir başlangıç, vasat bir gidişat, ivmeyi toparlayamayan bir final.
Yazarlara konu ve ilham olan bilinç akışı tekniğini keşfeden kişi olarak aslında epey değerli bir kitap ama sırf bu yüzden puanımda bonkör davranmak istemiyorum.
Sanki arkadaşla sohbet edermiş gibi hissettiriyor; betimlemeleri falan inanılmaz tatlı.
Ama bu arkadaş kafayı aşk ile bozmuş. Genellikle bu arkadaşlarla keyifli başlayan sohbetler tatsız biter: Her dediğini onaylamayız, bazı fikirleri müthiş saçmadır ama arkadaşımızdır ya? Öyle hakikaten.
Sen kalk bilinç akışı diye teknik bul 137 yıl sonra biri okusun neden sonra lüzumsuz ve küstah yorumlar yapsın.
İnanır mısın Dujardin, bizim dünyamız böyle işte.
Sen hele iç monologumuzu duysan! Dışa yansıtırken filtreliyoruz bi’ de.
Doğru gerçi, ben de bazen inanamıyorum.
Olay!
(Z kuşağı argosu sonlu.)
Yazarlara konu ve ilham olan bilinç akışı tekniğini keşfeden kişi olarak aslında epey değerli bir kitap ama sırf bu yüzden puanımda bonkör davranmak istemiyorum.
Sanki arkadaşla sohbet edermiş gibi hissettiriyor; betimlemeleri falan inanılmaz tatlı.
Ama bu arkadaş kafayı aşk ile bozmuş. Genellikle bu arkadaşlarla keyifli başlayan sohbetler tatsız biter: Her dediğini onaylamayız, bazı fikirleri müthiş saçmadır ama arkadaşımızdır ya? Öyle hakikaten.
Sen kalk bilinç akışı diye teknik bul 137 yıl sonra biri okusun neden sonra lüzumsuz ve küstah yorumlar yapsın.
İnanır mısın Dujardin, bizim dünyamız böyle işte.
Sen hele iç monologumuzu duysan! Dışa yansıtırken filtreliyoruz bi’ de.
Doğru gerçi, ben de bazen inanamıyorum.
Olay!
(Z kuşağı argosu sonlu.)
July 24, 2025
cannot tolerate misogyny sorry
Read
April 28, 2014Den LORBEER dem BURIED BOOK CLUB empfohlen:
The applicant by the name of Dujardin might refer to Mr. J. Joyce, Dublin, who should recommend him as the author who suggested the stream of consciousness / the interior monologue to the author of ULYSSES.
Not only has D. lived (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89do...), he is also the author of LES LAURIERS, a symbolistic french novel, which has - as far as I am informed - not been translated into English.
It´s about a man in love with a young coquette, and who should know but the first-person narrator, how impossible it is to convey his feelings to someone unconcerned. So the stream of c. is Dujardin´s method of choice to tell what can hardly be told.
There is a war between the rich and poor
A war between the man and the woman
There is a war between the ones who say there is a war
And the ones who say that there isn't.
(Leonard Cohen)
The applicant by the name of Dujardin might refer to Mr. J. Joyce, Dublin, who should recommend him as the author who suggested the stream of consciousness / the interior monologue to the author of ULYSSES.
Not only has D. lived (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89do...), he is also the author of LES LAURIERS, a symbolistic french novel, which has - as far as I am informed - not been translated into English.
It´s about a man in love with a young coquette, and who should know but the first-person narrator, how impossible it is to convey his feelings to someone unconcerned. So the stream of c. is Dujardin´s method of choice to tell what can hardly be told.
There is a war between the rich and poor
A war between the man and the woman
There is a war between the ones who say there is a war
And the ones who say that there isn't.
(Leonard Cohen)
February 2, 2022
Να γιορτάζουμε και τις εμπνεύσεις, ναι;
https://pepperlines.blogspot.com/2022...
https://pepperlines.blogspot.com/2022...
June 16, 2021
“Evet, seven bir adama ender rastlanıyor.”
“Böyle mi düşünüyorsunuz?”
“Bir erkeğin sevebileceği kadın sayısı çok az! Herkesin sevdiğini söylediği bir kadının bir tane bile seveni yoktur aslında.”
Lea’nın böyle söylemeye hiç hakkı yok. Fakat şimdi ne desem kırılacak. Asıl sevilmek istediği takdirde sevilmeyecek tek bir kadın yoktur!
“Bir kadının seveni yoksa,” diyorum, “muhtemelen sevilmek istemiyordur.”
Neticesi iyi ya da kötüdür, bilemem ama karşılaştığı bir erkeğin onu sevmemesinden her kadın mesuldür.
“Böyle mi düşünüyorsunuz?”
“Bir erkeğin sevebileceği kadın sayısı çok az! Herkesin sevdiğini söylediği bir kadının bir tane bile seveni yoktur aslında.”
Lea’nın böyle söylemeye hiç hakkı yok. Fakat şimdi ne desem kırılacak. Asıl sevilmek istediği takdirde sevilmeyecek tek bir kadın yoktur!
“Bir kadının seveni yoksa,” diyorum, “muhtemelen sevilmek istemiyordur.”
Neticesi iyi ya da kötüdür, bilemem ama karşılaştığı bir erkeğin onu sevmemesinden her kadın mesuldür.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 29, 2025
kitabı okudum, bitirdim, kapattım ve "ben ne okudum ya?" diye düşündüm.
kısa bir kitaptı, yazarın bilinç akışı tekniğini bulan kişi olduğunu öğrendim ve bu doğrultuda okumaya çabaladım ancak genel olarak yaşanan durum, kadın bedenini tasviri, karakterin betimlemeleri daha çok okuma esnasında kaş çatmama sebep oldu. kitap boyunca adamın 'artık tepki olarak ona yakınlık göstermeyeceğim' düşünceleri, buna uymayışı ve kadının onu parmağında oynatmasını izledim. ayrıca sevişmek istediğin kadının tavırlarını neden çocuksu diye tanımlayarak övüyorsun be adam?
olayları bir kenara bırakırsam, yaşanan duruma 'evet anlayabiliyorum' yaklaşımı sağlanabilir, insanlar da zaten sıklıkla aldıkları kararları bozar, istedikleri olsun diye kendi fikirlerini de çiğnerler.
ana karakter, daniel, ağır derecede dikkat eksikliğine veya kaygı durumuna sahip gibi hissettiriyor - takıntılı biri izlenimi veriyor. bu yanlardan işlenen tekniğin güzel verildiğini söyleyebilirim, kafadaki düşüncelerin bir noktadan bir noktada atlayışına, tabiri caizse parkur yapışına, bilinçteki akışına rahatlıkla tanık oluyorum. kolay okunur, zaten tek günde bitirdim ben de ancak konu/içerik olarak bana uymuyor.
kısa bir kitaptı, yazarın bilinç akışı tekniğini bulan kişi olduğunu öğrendim ve bu doğrultuda okumaya çabaladım ancak genel olarak yaşanan durum, kadın bedenini tasviri, karakterin betimlemeleri daha çok okuma esnasında kaş çatmama sebep oldu. kitap boyunca adamın 'artık tepki olarak ona yakınlık göstermeyeceğim' düşünceleri, buna uymayışı ve kadının onu parmağında oynatmasını izledim. ayrıca sevişmek istediğin kadının tavırlarını neden çocuksu diye tanımlayarak övüyorsun be adam?
olayları bir kenara bırakırsam, yaşanan duruma 'evet anlayabiliyorum' yaklaşımı sağlanabilir, insanlar da zaten sıklıkla aldıkları kararları bozar, istedikleri olsun diye kendi fikirlerini de çiğnerler.
ana karakter, daniel, ağır derecede dikkat eksikliğine veya kaygı durumuna sahip gibi hissettiriyor - takıntılı biri izlenimi veriyor. bu yanlardan işlenen tekniğin güzel verildiğini söyleyebilirim, kafadaki düşüncelerin bir noktadan bir noktada atlayışına, tabiri caizse parkur yapışına, bilinçteki akışına rahatlıkla tanık oluyorum. kolay okunur, zaten tek günde bitirdim ben de ancak konu/içerik olarak bana uymuyor.
August 13, 2025
bikutukitap sayesinde tanistik. bilinc akisi ve monolog okumayi cok sevmeme ragmen bu kitabin turunun ilk eseri oldugunu aylik kitap kutum gelince ogrendim. kitabi bu gozle okudugum icin begendim. elbette ilk eser oldugu icin beklentiyi cok yuksek tutmamak lazim. yumusak ve tatli bi okuma diyebilirim, rahat okunuyo. edebiyat tarihi meraklilari icin daha ilgi cekici olabilir belki. iyi ki cevrilmis, iyi ki basilmis.
March 13, 2025
Que percurso singular, o deste romance. Depois de passar quase despercebido aquando da publicação, em 1887, foi resgatado ao esquecimento, décadas mais tarde, por Valery Larbaud e James Joyce, que reconheceu ter-se inspirado nele para os monólogos interiores de "Ulysses". Não é uma obra-prima, mas está longe de se esgotar na novidade estilística. Fiquei com a impressão de que Dujardin não tinha confiança plena na sua ideia a ponto de visar algo mais ambicioso do que um romance, tão curto que se diria uma novela, limitado à experiência de uma personagem assumidamente banal a quem nada acontece de notável, ao longo de algumas horas de um dia de Abril, em Paris. O exercício é notável, dotado de uma beleza lírica discreta e rico em passagens inspiradas, onde coexistem o mundano e o ideal, sonhos e pequenos acidentes do quotidiano - mas nunca se liberta da condição de exercício. Senti-me, enquanto lia, perante algo de completamente novo e ousado, diferente do que o antecedeu e sem precedentes claros, pelo menos na ficção. (De quantos livros se pode dizer a mesma coisa?) Foi sobretudo dessa ousadia que derivou o prazer que retirei desta breve leitura, que não foi pequeno.
October 4, 2022
Considerado o pai do "monólogo interior" .
James Joyce inspirou-se nesta forma para criar a sua grande obra "Ulisses."
Neste género o protagonista dá-nos a conhecer os seus pensamentos e daí as suas ações decorrentes.
Excelente.
James Joyce inspirou-se nesta forma para criar a sua grande obra "Ulisses."
Neste género o protagonista dá-nos a conhecer os seus pensamentos e daí as suas ações decorrentes.
Excelente.
January 7, 2017
Gezapig, grappig en innemend melodrama over de innerlijke zielenstrijd van een dandyeske rechtenstudent die aanpapt met een Parijs cabaretmeisje op het einde van de 19de eeuw: enerzijds wil hij haar veroveren en steekt zich in schulden voor haar, anderzijds worstelt hij met vreemde platonische ideeën en lonkt met voortduring naar andere vrouwen. Meer dan een gewone liefdesgeschiedenis dankzij de subtiele en intuïtieve stijl. Deze weinig bekende roman verscheen voor het eerst in 1887 en is vooral bekend omdat Dujardin er als eerste het literaire procédé van de 'monologue intérieur' (meesterlijk) gebruikte. Joyce heeft altijd beweerd dat hij bij 'Les lauriers sont coupés' de mosterd had gehaald voor onder meer 'Ulysses'. Maar dat is allemaal bijzaak, zoals vertaler Edu Borger stelt in zijn voorwoord: 'Al lezend vergeet men het historische belang, het is een fonkelend literair kleinood.'
April 8, 2018
Three stars, but only for the prose. The writing itself is very good, the content of the story is laughable.
Poor fellow is obsessively in love with a girl who is very not into him, and i really found myself rooting for her. Like, girl take all his money if he’s stupid enough to give it to you.
There’s a long thought he carries with him throughout the book. To “teach her a lesson” he’ll say no if she invites him to sleep with her. He repeats it to himself the whole book. And then, of course, when he thinks it’s going to happen his resolve crumples and he caves. And then she turns him out. Dude cannot take a hint.
Anyway, the prose really is lovely, the stream of consciousness writing is at times confusing, but well done. It’s a great slice of Paris.
Poor fellow is obsessively in love with a girl who is very not into him, and i really found myself rooting for her. Like, girl take all his money if he’s stupid enough to give it to you.
There’s a long thought he carries with him throughout the book. To “teach her a lesson” he’ll say no if she invites him to sleep with her. He repeats it to himself the whole book. And then, of course, when he thinks it’s going to happen his resolve crumples and he caves. And then she turns him out. Dude cannot take a hint.
Anyway, the prose really is lovely, the stream of consciousness writing is at times confusing, but well done. It’s a great slice of Paris.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 7, 2008
"James Joyce was supposedly influenced by Dujardin's use of the 'interior monologue'. Whether this is true or not, WE'LL TO THE WOODS NO MORE is a delightful story of a young man's love for a Parisian actress. This book retains its importance as the first use of the monologue interieur and the inspiration for the stream-of-consciousness technique perfected by James Joyce. Dujardin's charming tale, told with insight and irony, recounts what goes on in the mind of a young man-about-town in love with a Parisian actress. "
October 23, 2019
Famoso por haber "inventado" el monólogo interior y por la influencia que produjo en la historia de la literatua, y excepcionalmente en el Ulises de Joyce. Sin embargo, hoy en día, no sé hasta qué punto esta pequeña historia del amor frustrado de un joven estudiante que sin descuidar las clases coquetea con la bohemia y con una joven actriuz aprovechada mantiene su interés. Uno al leerlo parece ver una pieza de museo.
October 18, 2022
Little known and read today, but influential in the development of the modern French novel.
December 20, 2022
Σπάνιο. Αιθέριο. Εύθραυστο. Ατμοσφαιρικό. Πολύτιμο.
Όχι, στους περισσότερους σημερινούς αναγνώστες δεν θα αρέσει, δεν θα το αισθανθούν, δεν θα καταλάβουν την πρώτη εμφάνιση του εσωτερικού μονολόγου και της συνειδησιακής ροής ή τη θέση του έργου στον Γαλλικό Συμβολισμό, ούτε το πόσο επηρρέασαν τους Μοντερνιστές 40 χρόνια αργότερα αυτές οι 80 σελιδίτσες.
Ακόμη χειρότερα, δεν θα βρουν τίποτα το ενδιαφέρον στις αποτυπωμένες σκέψεις ενός ντελικάτου ερωτευμένου νεαρού Παριζιάνου του 1880 που περνά ένα Ανοιξιάτικο βραδάκι στους λιθόστρωτους δρόμους της πόλης με το φωταέριο και τις εκατοντάδες άμαξες προσπαθώντας να ευχαριστήσει την ρηχή και άπληστη αγαπ��μένη του μπας και αυτή του επιτρέψει επιτέλους να προχωρήσουν λίγο παραπάνω από τα απλά χάδια και φιλιά.
Εγώ το βρήκα μαγευτικό και μου έδωσε και μια άλλη οπτική στις προ φεμινισμού σχέσεις, όταν υποτίθεται ο άντρας είχε το πάνω χέρι κι η γυναίκα ήταν ένα αντικείμενο: είδα έναν άντρα-έρμαιο της άχρηστης δήθεν αγνής νεαράς αγαπημένης του, να την εκθειάζει και ειδωλοποιεί μέσα του, να σέρνεται και να τσακίζεται όλη μέρα να της κάνει χατήρια, να της δίνει ξανά και ξανά μέχρι και τα τελευταία του χρήματα, ευχαριστώντας την που καταδέχεται και τα παίρνει, με την ελπίδα να του επιτρέψει η μικρή να μείνει λίγη ώρα παραπάνω στο διαμέρισμά της. Εκείνη έχει το απόλυτο πάνω χέρι στη σχέση και όλα βασίζονται στην υπόσχεση του σεξ που ποτέ δεν έρχεται. Αποκόμισα μάλιστα την εντύπωση πως η Λεά παίζει ταυτόχρονα και με άλλους νεαρούς εκτός του Ντανιέλ, απομυζώντας και αυτούς και ζυγιάζοντας μέσα της σε ποιον τελικά θα πει το ναι και θα του παραδώσει την παρθενία της - αν την έχει καν... Βέβαια οι ίδιοι οι άντρες είχαν εξυψώσει επί τόσους αιώνες την ύπαρξή της σε τόσο σπάνιο αγαθό και βασάνιζαν τους εαυτούς τους.
Πόση διαφορά ο κόσμος του πρωταγωνιστή από την εποχή μας που το γρήγορο και δωρεάν σεξ είναι τόσο εύκολο να το βρεις και οι σχέσεις έχουν πια άλλες εξισώσεις από την ηθική και την αποκλειστικότητα.
Υπέροχη μετάφραση. Κρίμα που δεν υπάρχουν άλλα έργα του στη γλώσσα μας.
Όχι, στους περισσότερους σημερινούς αναγνώστες δεν θα αρέσει, δεν θα το αισθανθούν, δεν θα καταλάβουν την πρώτη εμφάνιση του εσωτερικού μονολόγου και της συνειδησιακής ροής ή τη θέση του έργου στον Γαλλικό Συμβολισμό, ούτε το πόσο επηρρέασαν τους Μοντερνιστές 40 χρόνια αργότερα αυτές οι 80 σελιδίτσες.
Ακόμη χειρότερα, δεν θα βρουν τίποτα το ενδιαφέρον στις αποτυπωμένες σκέψεις ενός ντελικάτου ερωτευμένου νεαρού Παριζιάνου του 1880 που περνά ένα Ανοιξιάτικο βραδάκι στους λιθόστρωτους δρόμους της πόλης με το φωταέριο και τις εκατοντάδες άμαξες προσπαθώντας να ευχαριστήσει την ρηχή και άπληστη αγαπ��μένη του μπας και αυτή του επιτρέψει επιτέλους να προχωρήσουν λίγο παραπάνω από τα απλά χάδια και φιλιά.
Εγώ το βρήκα μαγευτικό και μου έδωσε και μια άλλη οπτική στις προ φεμινισμού σχέσεις, όταν υποτίθεται ο άντρας είχε το πάνω χέρι κι η γυναίκα ήταν ένα αντικείμενο: είδα έναν άντρα-έρμαιο της άχρηστης δήθεν αγνής νεαράς αγαπημένης του, να την εκθειάζει και ειδωλοποιεί μέσα του, να σέρνεται και να τσακίζεται όλη μέρα να της κάνει χατήρια, να της δίνει ξανά και ξανά μέχρι και τα τελευταία του χρήματα, ευχαριστώντας την που καταδέχεται και τα παίρνει, με την ελπίδα να του επιτρέψει η μικρή να μείνει λίγη ώρα παραπάνω στο διαμέρισμά της. Εκείνη έχει το απόλυτο πάνω χέρι στη σχέση και όλα βασίζονται στην υπόσχεση του σεξ που ποτέ δεν έρχεται. Αποκόμισα μάλιστα την εντύπωση πως η Λεά παίζει ταυτόχρονα και με άλλους νεαρούς εκτός του Ντανιέλ, απομυζώντας και αυτούς και ζυγιάζοντας μέσα της σε ποιον τελικά θα πει το ναι και θα του παραδώσει την παρθενία της - αν την έχει καν... Βέβαια οι ίδιοι οι άντρες είχαν εξυψώσει επί τόσους αιώνες την ύπαρξή της σε τόσο σπάνιο αγαθό και βασάνιζαν τους εαυτούς τους.
Πόση διαφορά ο κόσμος του πρωταγωνιστή από την εποχή μας που το γρήγορο και δωρεάν σεξ είναι τόσο εύκολο να το βρεις και οι σχέσεις έχουν πια άλλες εξισώσεις από την ηθική και την αποκλειστικότητα.
Υπέροχη μετάφραση. Κρίμα που δεν υπάρχουν άλλα έργα του στη γλώσσα μας.
January 29, 2025
(28 Janvier, 2025)
Une histoire anodine, avec un crétin et une connarde comme personnages principaux, un délice!
Daniel Prince, une vraie patate, est amoureux d'une actrice, Léa d'Arsay. Le problème de Prince est que Léa profite de lui souvent - très, très souvent. Elle le traîne par le nez et lui, innocent et aveugle, se laisse mener. Les deux sont méprisables, elle ne veut que son argent et lui veut je ne sais quoi - relation intime? Amitié? Mariage? Le petit Daniel est tout croche dans ses pensées.
Bon, pour ce qui est de ces pensées, si fameuses qu'elles soient, elles ne sont que prosaïques ou insipides. Daniel ne pense qu'à des niaiseries ou qu'à des anciens souvenirs (authentiques ou non, aucune idée!). Il ne réfléchit à rien qui ait même un semblant de valeur, il n'examine aucune grande idée, ses pensées sont insignifiantes, il est petit d'esprit et ne le sait même pas.
Le plaisir que j’ai eu avec ceci est difficile à comprendre, plus fascinant que vraiment plaisant. Daniel ne cesse de penser, constamment, c’en est fatigant à lire. Ses attentes envers Léa, ses illusions, sont farfelues, pauvre lui (et aussi, tant pis!). Léa, elle, est exécrable. Elle connaît son pouvoir sur Daniel et s’en fout, ce n’est que "Moi! Moi! Moi!" avec elle. Pour des raisons très différentes, ces deux sont affreux!
... je me demande si la décision à la fin va durer.
Une histoire anodine, avec un crétin et une connarde comme personnages principaux, un délice!
Daniel Prince, une vraie patate, est amoureux d'une actrice, Léa d'Arsay. Le problème de Prince est que Léa profite de lui souvent - très, très souvent. Elle le traîne par le nez et lui, innocent et aveugle, se laisse mener. Les deux sont méprisables, elle ne veut que son argent et lui veut je ne sais quoi - relation intime? Amitié? Mariage? Le petit Daniel est tout croche dans ses pensées.
Bon, pour ce qui est de ces pensées, si fameuses qu'elles soient, elles ne sont que prosaïques ou insipides. Daniel ne pense qu'à des niaiseries ou qu'à des anciens souvenirs (authentiques ou non, aucune idée!). Il ne réfléchit à rien qui ait même un semblant de valeur, il n'examine aucune grande idée, ses pensées sont insignifiantes, il est petit d'esprit et ne le sait même pas.
Le plaisir que j’ai eu avec ceci est difficile à comprendre, plus fascinant que vraiment plaisant. Daniel ne cesse de penser, constamment, c’en est fatigant à lire. Ses attentes envers Léa, ses illusions, sont farfelues, pauvre lui (et aussi, tant pis!). Léa, elle, est exécrable. Elle connaît son pouvoir sur Daniel et s’en fout, ce n’est que "Moi! Moi! Moi!" avec elle. Pour des raisons très différentes, ces deux sont affreux!
... je me demande si la décision à la fin va durer.
May 22, 2023
As Leon Edel comments in his 20 page Introductioin, an Importanrt Book, not Great One.
Published in 1887, Joyce picked up a copy of this in a used book bin - and stream of consciousness was "born". A short novel (146 pp here, with Illustrations by Alice Laughlin - who I think is publisher James' sister, Joyce's copy was a collection of stories, including this), with lots of white space on the New Directions pages.
Perhaps it is time for a new translation and Introduction?
Edel keeps talking about "Symbolism", but it is much more Impressionistic. But, as he brings up, Dujardin did not perfect the stream of conciousness writing, it was more of a work in progress (see the chapter in which the character walks into his apartment - no one thinks of all the movements one makes, or all the things that one views daily which make up the room).
All from the POV of the main character and narrator, Daniel Prince, one day, the bowler, and "Yes, yes!"
A "dandy", somewhat studying law in Paris, at his parents' expense, who swings between pure love for an "actress" at a second rate floor show, and expecting sex in return for the money he hands over to her continually.
Worth a read for what it influenced - but No, not a great read.
2 = It was OK.
Published in 1887, Joyce picked up a copy of this in a used book bin - and stream of consciousness was "born". A short novel (146 pp here, with Illustrations by Alice Laughlin - who I think is publisher James' sister, Joyce's copy was a collection of stories, including this), with lots of white space on the New Directions pages.
Perhaps it is time for a new translation and Introduction?
Edel keeps talking about "Symbolism", but it is much more Impressionistic. But, as he brings up, Dujardin did not perfect the stream of conciousness writing, it was more of a work in progress (see the chapter in which the character walks into his apartment - no one thinks of all the movements one makes, or all the things that one views daily which make up the room).
All from the POV of the main character and narrator, Daniel Prince, one day, the bowler, and "Yes, yes!"
A "dandy", somewhat studying law in Paris, at his parents' expense, who swings between pure love for an "actress" at a second rate floor show, and expecting sex in return for the money he hands over to her continually.
Worth a read for what it influenced - but No, not a great read.
2 = It was OK.
February 4, 2021
Ce livre est intéressant dans le contexte du monologue intérieur et son développement, cependant j'ai trouvé l'intrigue en elle-même d'un ennui. Il ne se passe rien et en même temps beaucoup de choses. Et ce n'est pas le problème du monologue intérieur, j'en ai lu d'autres (où pour le cas, il ne se passait vraiment rien et que j'ai adoré). L'écriture et le style... pas ma tasse de thé. J'ai trouvé certaines tournures de phrases joliment exécutées mais elles étaient rare. C'était le fouillis (bon je sais que c'est un MI mais bon).
La relation entre le PP que j'ai trouvé insupportable et Louise son amante (que j'ai trouvé doublement insupportable) est d'un néant intergalactique. Ils ne partagent strictement rien, non tu n'es pas amoureux d'elle Daniel Prince, comme elle n'est pas amoureuse de toi. Rentre toi ça dans la tête.
Néanmoins, comme je l'ai dis plus haut, ce livre a le mérite d'être un des tout premiers monologue intérieur et on ne peut pas retirer ça à l'auteur. Bonne initiative Edouard ! Mais ça se voit que l'on est seulement dans les débuts du MI, celui-ci va être totalement visité par Joyce et d'autres.
La relation entre le PP que j'ai trouvé insupportable et Louise son amante (que j'ai trouvé doublement insupportable) est d'un néant intergalactique. Ils ne partagent strictement rien, non tu n'es pas amoureux d'elle Daniel Prince, comme elle n'est pas amoureuse de toi. Rentre toi ça dans la tête.
Néanmoins, comme je l'ai dis plus haut, ce livre a le mérite d'être un des tout premiers monologue intérieur et on ne peut pas retirer ça à l'auteur. Bonne initiative Edouard ! Mais ça se voit que l'on est seulement dans les débuts du MI, celui-ci va être totalement visité par Joyce et d'autres.
February 5, 2019
A delightful period piece of Paris in the late 1880’s, We’ll to the Woods No More (Les lauriers sont coupés) retains its importance as the first use of the monologue intérieur and the inspiration for the stream-of-consciousness technique perfected by James Joyce. Dujardin’s charming tale, told with insight and irony, recounts what goes on in the mind of a young man-about-town in love with a Parisian actress. Mallarmé described the poetry of the telling as "the instant seized by the throat." Originally published in France in 1887, the first English translation (by Joyce scholar Stuart Gilbert) was published by New Directions in 1938. In 1957 Leon Edel’s perceptive historical essay reintroduced the book as "the rare and beautiful case of a minor work which launched a major movement." (less)
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 17, 2023
“And so the Now, the Here, this hour striking, this world of life, all these come to being within me…And what am I? A soul in flight towards a dreamland of kisses; the Now my dream of a fair woman, my Here her body touching mine, my hour this hour that brings us closer; and the dream of dreams, on which my heart is set, this girl tonight…Murmurous streets, the boulevard, muffled sounds, the cab moving with a rumble of wheels on the causeway, thudding, lurching onward, through the clear
evening air, past streaming shapes on either hand, the two of us side by side…a heavenly night!”
evening air, past streaming shapes on either hand, the two of us side by side…a heavenly night!”
September 10, 2023
Leon Edel, in his introduction, argues that Dujardin's book “represents... in its way, a small triumph of method over matter: it might be argued that the triumph is one of poetry over prose” (x), being “the orchestra of the inner man” (xiii). I think this is a good encapsulation of the novel, which is short and quick.
As Edel explains, the book was seen as little more than a curiosity; it was Joyce who revitalized it briefly, but as it stands alone, the book is valuable for its form. That's about it.
As Edel explains, the book was seen as little more than a curiosity; it was Joyce who revitalized it briefly, but as it stands alone, the book is valuable for its form. That's about it.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews