Although he is best known for his luminous reports from the farthest-flung corners of the earth, Bruce Chatwin possessed a literary sensibility that reached beyond the travel narrative to span a world of topics—from art and antiques to archaeology and architecture. This spirited collection of previously neglected or unpublished essays, articles, short stories, travel sketches, and criticism represents every aspect and period of Chatwin’s career as it reveals an abiding theme in his his fascination with, and hunger for, the peripatetic existence. While Chatwin’s poignant search for a suitable place to “hang his hat,” his compelling arguments for the nomadic “alternative,” his revealing fictional accounts of exile and the exotic, and his wickedly en pointe social history of Capri prove him to be an excellent observer of social and cultural mores, Chatwin’s own restlessness, his yearning to be on the move, glimmers beneath every surface of this dazzling body of work.
Charles Bruce Chatwin was an English novelist and travel writer. He won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for his novel On the Black Hill (1982).
In 1972, Chatwin interviewed the 93-year-old architect and designer Eileen Gray in her Paris salon, where he noticed a map of the area of South America called Patagonia, which she had painted. "I've always wanted to go there," Bruce told her. "So have I," she replied, "go there for me." Two years later in November 1974, Chatwin flew out to Lima in Peru, and reached Patagonia a month later. When he arrived, he left the newspaper with a telegram: "Have gone to Patagonia." He spent six months in the area, a trip which resulted in the book In Patagonia (1977). This work established his reputation as a travel writer. Later, however, residents in the region contradicted the account of events depicted in Chatwin's book. It was the first time in his career, but not the last, that conversations and characters which Chatwin presented as fact were alleged to have been fictionalised.
Later works included a novel based on the slave trade, The Viceroy of Ouidah, which he researched with extended stays in Benin, West Africa. For The Songlines (1987), a work combining fiction and non-fiction, Chatwin went to Australia. He studied the culture to express how the songs of the Aborigines are a cross between a creation myth, an atlas and an Aboriginal man's personal story. He also related the travelling expressed in The Songlines to his own travels and the long nomadic past of humans. Winner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, his novel On the Black Hill (1982) was set closer to home, in the hill farms of the Welsh Borders. It focuses on the relationship between twin brothers, Lewis and Benjamin, who grow up isolated from the course of twentieth century history. Utz (1988), was a novel about the obsession that leads people to collect. Set in Prague, the novel details the life and death of Kaspar Utz, a man obsessed with his collection of Meissen porcelain.
Chatwin was working on a number of new ideas for future novels at the time of his death from AIDS in 1989, including a transcontinental epic, provisionally titled Lydia Livingstone.
Anatomia dell'irrequietezza è una raccolta di testi, editi e non, composta dopo la prematura morte di Chatwin. I testi sono di vario genere, sia di natura autobiografica, sia narrativa (che nel caso di Chatwin è indissolubilmente legata all'autobiografia), sia saggistica. I testi autobiografici sono ovviamente, come ci si potrebbe aspettare, al di sotto del livello dei grandi capolavori del viaggiatore inglese: eppure sono testi di spessore, si catalogano come secondari soltanto per la grandezza irraggiungibile dei primi. In effetti è sempre lo stesso Chatwin, scarno, asciutto nello stile, fanciullesco nell'interesse per il mondo e per l'uomo, e in cui è presente la solita ironia britannica. I testi narrativi sono un po' più meh. Per quanto gli intrecci siano semplici, riescono comunque a gravare sulla fascinazione chatwiniana. Ciò che mi ha realmente stupito invece sono i testi saggistici. Non mi aspettavo un acume critico così spiccato nelle recensioni letterarie, mentre i saggi sul nomadismo mi hanno incantato: la canonica girandola di curiosità e aneddoti si incastrano ad una vena saggistica, a tratti rigorosa a tratti un po' ballerina, in cui, come indica lo stesso titolo, viene indagato il grande, eterno problema per Chatwin, ossia l'essenza nomade dell'uomo, e quella che è storicamente l'alternativa nomade alla sedentaria e decadente civiltà (intesa nel significato originario di vita nelle città). È bellissimo l'abbozzo di quello che doveva esserne l'esposizione piena della materia, un saggio di nome L'alternativa nomade, soltanto canovacciato e mai scritto realmente. Ma Chatwin non si limita a ciò, e gli ultimi due saggi della raccolta vertono su un problema, a tratti indipendente, ma in realtà strettamente legato a quello del nomadismo, e soprattutto autobiografico (essendo stato Chatwin legato alla Sotheby's, la più importante casa d'aste del mondo): la percezione psicologica dell'arte, in cui affiora l'iconoclastia dello stesso Chatwin, tratta dal modus vivendi frugale delle tribù nomadi. Per quanto Anatomia dell'irrequietezza sia una raccolta secondaria, oltre a fornire una visione globale su uno degli scrittori più interessanti del XX secolo ed indagarne il pensiero attraverso scritti inediti e a tratti privati, è anche un testo di assoluta fruibilità, e un modo per approcciarsi a Bruce Chatwin.
It is always fascinating to read the minor works of someone whose majo works one loves. After having finished Anatomy of Restlessness: Selected Writings, 1969-1989, I have only two more works of Bruce Chatwin to tackle: On the Black Hill and his collected letters, both of which I have on my shelves.
There are some things that draw me to Chatwin, and others that repel me. On the one hand, he had this mania for travel that has been part of my life after since I broke free of my parents; and, as a former art auction expert for Sotheby's, he has a distrust for people who keep score in life by accumulating "things."
On the other hand, Chatwin's restlessness also pertained his relationships with people. He was bisexual and somewhat treacherous (in effect) with those people who were drawn to him. Even in his best books, The Songlines and In Patagonia, he partook of the same mythomania that he criticizes in others. The story took precedence over the data provided by informants. Many of those who acted in that capacity felt seduced and betrayed by him. Read Nicholas Shakespeare's Bruce Chatwin: A Biography for particular instances of his "treacherous" side.
And yet, the stories he tells are frequently -- but not always -- wonderful. I feel I have the same yearnings toward travel, the same horreur du domicile and distrust of "accumulators" of stuff. I wish I could write like the man, but I will just have to content myself by reading him. Particularly good are the opening essay, "I Always Wanted to Go to Patagonia" and the two closing essays, "Among the Ruins" and "The Morality o Things."
The only disappointing part of this collection is Chatwin's failed attempt to provide a philosophical basis for his rootlessness, his so called "Nomadic Alternative." It is always a danger to take one's own psychological traits and write them large as a theory of life.
Chatwin tried to live his "Nomadic Alternative," but sadly died all too young of AIDS in 1989.
Quando lês este livro, viajas com o autor em interessantes reflexões sobre a arte e a literatura. Mas também sobre os humanos, as suas idiossincrasias e sobre as suas paisagens. Por lendas , por mitos, por personagens excêntricas, passando pelas históricas como às políticas . Começas a pensar com Chatwin sobre determinadas personalidades menos favoráveis, nomeadamente Hitler e Mussolini. Descobres as vidas narcisistas de alguns escritores na famosa ilha de Capri, refúgio para vários escritores, tais como Oscar Wilde. E tão fruidora foi esta leitura, com uma linguagem simples, Bruce Chatwin envolve -nos numa nuvem de conhecimento.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Collage malriuscito Si tratta di una raccolta di saggi e racconti pubblicata postuma e purtroppo sembra un’operazione editoriale volta a sfruttare il nome dell’autore pubblicando contributi trascurabili. Il filo conduttore dovrebbe essere la celebrazione della vita nomade, dato che la vita stanziale è considerata dall’autore non salutare per l’essere umano in quanto portatrice di psicosi ed eccessivo attaccamento ai beni materiali. Chatwin fa presente che il genere umano ha iniziato a insediarsi in villaggi solo negli ultimi diecimila anni, da quando è dedito all’agricoltura. Il filo conduttore si perde presto per via e anche i motivi di interesse. La prima parte, autobiografica, è piacevolissima, le disquisizioni successive sulle culture nomadi e via divagando non so quanto siano fondate. Decisamente è una lettura evitabile, Chatwin ha scritto di meglio.
I tre racconti li saltate, e fin qui ci siamo. I pezzi autobiografici son sempre belli, che ve lo dico a fare. E dei saggi leggete "questo nomade nomade mondo", che secondo me coglie quello che gli altri brani cercano di dire. Poi il resto fate voi, appiascére vostro.
La eterogeneità dei testi compresi nella raccolta nuoce un po' alla sua consistenza. Ma più che in altri suoi libri si può cogliere qui qualcosa della personalità di Chatwin. Alcune delle sue brillanti osservazioni (grandi o piccole che siano) sono probabilmente infondate, ma mai banali: aprono, in modo 'laterale', squarci sulla realtà e possono offrire a ciascuno materiale di riflessione autonoma a partire dalla misurazione di una differenza con modi di pensare condivisi, più consueti e scontati
It left me lukewarm, compared to Chatwin's collected letters, which are more informative and consistently rather amusing.
The first section, Horreur du domicile, is OK; the second, Stories, quite unremarkable; the third, The Nomadic Alternative, quite redundant if you know the letters; Reviews - might be useful to some, but not many; and the final section, Art and the Image-breaker forms an interesting analysis of Chatwin's attitude to art, possessions, and nomadism.
"Diversivo. Distrazione. Fantasia. Cambiamento di moda, di cibo, amore e paesaggio. Ne abbiamo bisogno come dell'aria che respiriamo. Senza cambiamento, corpo e cervello marciscono. L'uomo che se ne sta quieto in una stanza chiusa rischia di impazzire, di essere tormentato da allucinazioni e introspezione. (...) Monotonia di situzioni e tediosa regolarità di impegni tessono una trama che produce fatica, disturbi nervosi, apatia, disgusto di sé e reazioni violente. (...) I pochi popoli "primitivi" degli angoli dimenticati della Terra comprendono meglio di noi questa semplice realtà della nostra natura. Sono in perpetuo movimento. I bimbi bruno-dorati dei cacciatori boscimani del Kalahari non piangono mai e sono tra i bimbi più contenti del mondo. E diventano anche, crescendo, persone mitissime. "
Imperdibile raccolta di saggi, articoli, recensioni letterarie e racconti brevi di Chatwin, pubblicata dopo la sua morte ma sulla falsariga del titolo (L'alternativa nomade) che lo scrittore vagheggiava per un'ambiziosa, enciclopedica, mai terminata opera sul nomadismo, che esercitava sul suo spirito un'irresistibile attrazione. Le parti più belle del libro sono infatti quelle dedicate ai nomadi del deserto e ai personaggi nomadi, bizzarri, irrequieti per vocazione e destino, primo fra tutti lui stesso; notevoli anche i ritratti capresi di Axel Munthe e Curzio Malaparte.
During my heavy travel years I read Chatwin religiously. His stories brought me to places I'd never known of or even thought of going to, but made me see them with all the unique details he tended to collect. I thought I'd read everything when I stumbled upon Anatomy of Restlessness in a box in my storage bin. This collection may have seemed dull to a 20-something on the road, but as an older man with a tired body I have to say it's priceless.
As I go through the careers of authors I love, I always wind up at something like The Anatomy of Restlessness -- a B-side collection, as it were. And just like when I was 18 and was routinely disappointed by B-side collections of bands that had broken up before my time that wished I could have seen (The Jesus & Mary Chain, Galaxie 500), I was not much wowed by these errata, for the most part, but some shone fairly bright, because, after all, it's still Chatwin writing them.
Predictably, Chatwin is best on travel and history. Significantly worse when he’s on his pith-helmet, evo-psych, anthropo-Freudian bullshit. Kind of interesting to see the seeds of later (better) books in his early pieces, and hard to blame the author for the shortcomings of a posthumously-assembled miscellany.
Mappazzone editoriale per molti aspetti, la raccolta ha il pregio di sottolineare alcuni brillanti concetti ancora attualissimi, quali l’elogio del nomadismo e del minimalismo, e alcune notevoli curiosità come il breve excursus biografico di Curzio Malaparte e lo scarso gusto estetico di Mussolini nella scelta delle cravatte.
A collection of short stories, essays and articles from the pen of Bruce Chatwin, the author of In Patagonia and Songlines. Helpful in shedding some light on this frustratingly mysterious author.
Anatomy of Restlessness was what I’d call an ‘inbetween book’. Sick of hard non-fiction tomes, I looked to Mum for something shorter and simpler. She picked this haphazardly from her school library.
Chatwin was a man of many talents: journalist, travel writer, critic and story-teller. Anatomy of Restlesness is a collection of his neglected and unpublished works, meaning it’s a rather strange book for someone who isn’t a Chatwin aficionado to pick up.
The works vary a lot in quality, but I’ll pick out a few chapters to talk about.
Milk In this short story, a white American loses his virginity to a black woman while travelling through Africa. We never find out where in Africa the story is set, except that it was colonized by France (which doesn’t really narrow things down, does it?) Here, Chatwin reveals the lengths to which he’ll go to fetichize black women. This intoxication with the other (or the “exotic” or “primitive” as he variously calls them) runs throughout the work. It was deeply uncomfortable to read and a disturbing reminder of what Said terms the “extrareal, phenomenologically reduced status” with which the White Imperalist views the world beyond the West.
The Estate of Maximilian Tod Whereas in Milk Chatwin’s racism is likely unintended, in The Estate of Maximilian Tod he is purposefully a provocateur. The protagonist decides to fight for the Nazis. The justification given: “war is Man’s supreme aesthetic experience and… only the Germans and Japanese understood this.” I couldn’t follow this reasoning and I’m not sure Chatwin even knew what he was saying.
The Anarchists of Patagonia This was, by far, my favorite piece in the book. It is a review of Osvaldo Bayer’s Los Vengadores de la Patagonia Trágica and it charts the 1920 Anarchist Revolution. Much of the review is just a summary of the events: there isn’t a whole load of criticism. But the events of the revolution are so interesting that Chatwin accomplished his job as a reviewer and left me wanting to read Bayer’s work.
The Nomadic Alternative The second half of the book is less autobiographical and tends towards non-fiction. Chatwin presents his thesis which, essentially, is that humans (or ‘man’ as he terms us) are meant to wander the Earth. Things and civilization corrupt us. We are better off with few possessions, living like the ‘noble savage’ which he so desperately desires to be. One possession he wishes us to do away with is art. “For what, on the face of it,” he argues, “enhances life less than a work of art?”
All in all, this work is a vestige of colonialism and a deeply unsettling form of anthropology. Its value therefore does not lie in the arguments it presents but rather in it being a historical document.
con alcune punte magistrali. in molte parti non l'ho capito, forse per come scrive Chatwin, forse perché pur amando l'idea del viaggio non sono abbastanza "folle" per poterlo concepire come "motivo di una vita". se il viaggio è "evasione" allora lo sia per un determinato tempo e non come obiettivo di un'intera vita. e forse è solo che sono irrequieta e quindi non riesco ad applicarmi a sufficienza.
jules verne non mi è mai piaciuto, essendo io convinto che il reale è sempre più fantastico del fantasioso.
Un po' delusa da In Patagonia, avevo messo da parte Bruce Chatwin e la sua narrativa di viaggio ripresa con Anatomia dell'irrequietezza.
Anche in questo libro è difficile mantenere alta l'attenzione sui contenuti che, per quanto interessanti e di ampio respiro, tendono a disperdere, con le lunghe descrizioni di cui sono corredate, l'intento di leggere in profondità e a dare un effetto dispersivo all'insieme tutt'altro che superficiale. Da leggere ma, con impegno.
Published in 1996, seven years after Chatwin's death, Anatomy is a compilation of his shorter writings. The editor finds it "intriguing to see a common thread emerge from ... texts published some twenty years apart." A less generous assessment is that Chatwin was a man with just one dominant idea.
He was sensitive to his surroundings, eager to find places that spoke to him of "home". The collection offers two essays on such sources of refuge: a friend's ancient Tuscan tower which, as a guest, he turned into a "sea of books and papers and unmade beds and clothes thrown this way and that" , and a tiny apartment that he bought in London and which he had decorated by John Pawson ("I told him I wanted a cross between cell and a ship's cabin. I wanted my books to be hidden in a corridor, and plenty of cupboards. ")
But Chatwin soon found himself desperate to leave the comforts of such settled life to explore the world as a modern nomad. The same push-pull tension is evident in his attitude towards possessions. He was an avid lover of beautiful things: he rose rapidly through the ranks at Sotheby's auction house and his London apartment boasted an eclectic collection of rare treasures (Islamic Kufic calligraphy from an eighth-century Koran, an Indian painting of a banana tree, a Sienese fifteenth century cross in tempera and gold, a gilt-bronze roundel from a Japanese Buddhist temple, and a small collection of Japanese negoro lacquers.)
Yet he was wary of being trapped by possessions. In a 1973 talk, he rails against collecting art. "And do we not all long to thrown down our altars and rid ourselves of our possessions? Do we not gaze coldly at our clutter and say, "If these objects express my personality, then I hate my personality." For what, on the face of it, enhances life less than a work of art? One tires of it. One cannot eat it. It makes an uncomfortable bedfellow. One guards it, and feels obliged to enjoy it long after it has ceased to amuse. We sacrifice our freedom of action to become its privileged guardian, and we end its imprisoned slave." (One wonders how this speech was received by its audience, attendees at a charity auction.)
Chatwin is his worst enemy when he digs into sociology to defend the nomadic life. We have a detailed letter to his publisher proposing a book about the history of nomads (a text determined to be unpublishable), an essay linking nomadism to shamanism, and another musing on literature and nomadism ("In one of his gloomier moments Pascal said that all man's unhappiness stemmed from a single cause, his inability to remain quietly in a room.") By this point, Chatwin verges on becoming a crashing bore on his pet theme of nomads.
Better moments are provided with some short stories (actually more like travel observations than stories) and a book review for a biography of Robert Louis Stevenson.
The publishers and Chatwin estate presumably decided there was money to be made in recycling his unpublished writings. Sadly, these haven't stood the test of time.