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الزنبقة الحمراء
The Red Lily tells of the affair between a woman of the world, married to a politician, with an artist. A trip to Florence (which symbolizes the title) crowns this carnal and mystical union. Soon, jealousy insinuates itself into the lover's heart, who ends the affair.
This novel by Anatole France, unique in its genre, now rehabilitated and returned to fashion, is partially autobiographical, since it is based on the, at first passionate affair, between the author and Mrs. de Caillavet.
This novel by Anatole France, unique in its genre, now rehabilitated and returned to fashion, is partially autobiographical, since it is based on the, at first passionate affair, between the author and Mrs. de Caillavet.
296 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1894
37 people are currently reading
878 people want to read
About the author
Anatole France
1,603 books558 followersFrench critic Anatole France, pen name of Jacques Anatole François Thibault wrote sophisticated, often satirical short stories and novels, including
Penguin Island
(1908), and won the Nobel Prize of 1921 for literature.
Anatole France began his career as a poet and a journalist. From 1867, he as a journalist composed articles and notices.
In 1869, Le Parnasse Contemporain published La Part de Madeleine of his poems. In 1875, he sat on the committee in charge of the third such compilation. He moved Paul Verlaine and Stéphane Mallarmé aside.
Skeptical old scholar Sylvester Bonnard, protagonist of famous Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard (1881), embodied own personality of the author. The academy praised its elegant prose.
Anatole France in La Rotisserie de la Reine Pedauque (1893) ridiculed belief in the occult and in Les Opinions de Jerome Coignard (1893) captured the atmosphere of the fin de siècle.
People elected him to the Académie française in 1896.
People falsely convicted Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish army officer, of espionage. Anatole France took an important part in the affair, signed manifesto of Émile Zola to support Dreyfus, and authored Monsieur Bergeret in 1901.
After the nearsighted Abbot Mael baptized the animals in error, France in later work depicts the transformation into human nature in 1908.
People considered most profound La Revolte des Anges (1914). It tells of Arcade, the guardian angel of Maurice d'Esparvieu. Arcade falls in love, joins the revolutionary movement of angels, and towards the end recognizes the meaningless overthrow of God unless "in ourselves and in ourselves alone we attack and destroy Ialdabaoth."
People awarded him "in recognition of his brilliant literary achievements, characterized as they are by a nobility of style, a profound human sympathy, grace, and a true Gallic temperament" in 1921.
In 1922, the Catholic Church put entire works of France on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum (Index of Prohibited Books).
He died, and people buried his body in the Neuilly-sur-Seine community cemetery near Paris.
Anatole France began his career as a poet and a journalist. From 1867, he as a journalist composed articles and notices.
In 1869, Le Parnasse Contemporain published La Part de Madeleine of his poems. In 1875, he sat on the committee in charge of the third such compilation. He moved Paul Verlaine and Stéphane Mallarmé aside.
Skeptical old scholar Sylvester Bonnard, protagonist of famous Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard (1881), embodied own personality of the author. The academy praised its elegant prose.
Anatole France in La Rotisserie de la Reine Pedauque (1893) ridiculed belief in the occult and in Les Opinions de Jerome Coignard (1893) captured the atmosphere of the fin de siècle.
People elected him to the Académie française in 1896.
People falsely convicted Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish army officer, of espionage. Anatole France took an important part in the affair, signed manifesto of Émile Zola to support Dreyfus, and authored Monsieur Bergeret in 1901.
After the nearsighted Abbot Mael baptized the animals in error, France in later work depicts the transformation into human nature in 1908.
People considered most profound La Revolte des Anges (1914). It tells of Arcade, the guardian angel of Maurice d'Esparvieu. Arcade falls in love, joins the revolutionary movement of angels, and towards the end recognizes the meaningless overthrow of God unless "in ourselves and in ourselves alone we attack and destroy Ialdabaoth."
People awarded him "in recognition of his brilliant literary achievements, characterized as they are by a nobility of style, a profound human sympathy, grace, and a true Gallic temperament" in 1921.
In 1922, the Catholic Church put entire works of France on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum (Index of Prohibited Books).
He died, and people buried his body in the Neuilly-sur-Seine community cemetery near Paris.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 49 reviews
December 28, 2013
I will start with an avowal and with apologies. The main reason I decided to read this novel now was not so much because of an interest in the book and in its writer, but in another work and in another author. As part of the full year project of reading Proust’s La recherche, I want to read a selection of some of his contemporary writers.
Ruskin would have questioned the morality of such a purpose.
Anatole France himself was an important figure in Proust’s world. Older than Proust by almost thirty years, he was sort of his literary protector, writing the Preface to his first published work, Les plaisirs et les jours (1896). The character of Bergotte in the famous roman à clef is a key to Anatole France.
AF’s real name was François-Anatole Thibault and he lived from 1844 until 1924. As the son of a book seller, he was very well read and developed a very polished, sensitive and witty writing style. He occupied a very public place in the Parisian literary circles, as both a member of the prestigious Académie Française and as the Librarian of the Senate. May be it was his weighty role in the cultural circles of Paris, and his general excellent writing abilities, rather than the greatness of any particular work, that earned him the Nobel Prize in 1921 and that keep his name alive today.
The first draft of this novel had the very different title of La terre des morts. The final version was published in a serialized manner in La Revue de Paris in 1894 under its more beautiful name of Le lys rouge. This red flower crops up repeatedly in different guises along the book. As a natural flower, as a piece of jewelry, as a decoration in a silver teaspoon or most importantly, as the heraldic symbol of the city of Florence, it becomes a sort of idée fixe very much favored by the Symbolists.
The novel is considered as an exemplary Roman d’amour in French literature. For a more cynical reader from the twenty first century the story can easily seem one of silly jealousies. For the whole drama consists of a woman committing adultery with one man, and then with another one, and of the consequent jealousy felt by the latter two (no, not the husband). At the time it was easily realized that Anatole France knew what he was talking about. The not so hidden story between himself and Mme Arman-Caillavet (Léontine Lippman) could be easily read into the book. Mme Arman de Caillavet was well known for the Salon she held in Paris. AF eventually divorced his wife for her.
The main appeal of the book, if not in the plot, resides in the scenes, incidents, settings, and all the cultural vignettes that it describes. Art is the pervasive air that everyone breathes. The red lily could represent love as the embodiment of artistic passion, or a passionate love of art, or the art of passionate love, or as a passion for the love of art. But the best of all is that this is explored by AF’s exquisite prose.
But to return to our interest on the book’s relevance for Proust: the novel starts with a scene in a Parisian Salon. It then follows the British art and literary circles by traveling to the place in Europe where these circles could best be found, Florence. There it visits a Vivienne Bell (sic), who darlings everyone and collects “cloches” or bells (AF could be very lyrical but also very funny), and an opportunity is created to mention one of the Pre-Raphaelites, Burne Jones. Upon returning to Paris, there is an inevitable visit to the Opera house in which the looking around to society and to who is with whom, switches on the Degas mode. And in case anyone had missed this, Degas seems to be walking in himself with a lovely but somewhat disconnected description of his dancers doing their bar exercises next to men dressed in black.
In addition to the above elements, which make this a suitable parallel read to La recherche, there is an additional incident that links both writers and friends even closer. AF includes, again in a somewhat disconnected fashion to the rest of the story, and in the mouth of one of the secondary characters, Joseph Schmoll, an angry diatribe against the Arch of Titus standing in Rome. He denounces its high reliefs that show and celebrate the spoils from the Temple in Jerusalem. It is also this character who declares what has become the most famous quote from this novel: "L’antisémitisme, c’est la mort, entendez-vous, de la civilization européenne"
This, at the time very controversial statement, certainly takes us to one of the most memorable episodes of the friendship between Proust and AF.
When the Affair Dreyfus exploded, Proust, who later would represent himself as the first Dreyfusard, persuaded AF to stamp the first signature in a public statement in support of Alfred Dreyfus. A group of writers and artists declared their belief in the innocence of Alfred Dreyfus. When Zola later vociferously and much more controversially championed the case also in support of Dreyfus, Anatole France then lent his support to both Dreyfus and Zola.
Le lys rouge has then been a perfect foyer for approaching La recherche.
But to do AF justice, I plan to read, later on, two more of his books, Thaïs, in honor of someone, and the evocatively titled L’île des Pinguoins.
-----------
I am adding a postscript on Dec 11th, 2012 :
I have just learnt from Marcel Proust: A Life, that Proust was buried wearing the ring that Anatole France had given to the actress Gabriele Réjane, when Le lys rouge was later adapted for the theatre. She had acted the main role and the ring was brought to Proust's deathbed by Jacques Porel, her son.
Ruskin would have questioned the morality of such a purpose.
Anatole France himself was an important figure in Proust’s world. Older than Proust by almost thirty years, he was sort of his literary protector, writing the Preface to his first published work, Les plaisirs et les jours (1896). The character of Bergotte in the famous roman à clef is a key to Anatole France.
AF’s real name was François-Anatole Thibault and he lived from 1844 until 1924. As the son of a book seller, he was very well read and developed a very polished, sensitive and witty writing style. He occupied a very public place in the Parisian literary circles, as both a member of the prestigious Académie Française and as the Librarian of the Senate. May be it was his weighty role in the cultural circles of Paris, and his general excellent writing abilities, rather than the greatness of any particular work, that earned him the Nobel Prize in 1921 and that keep his name alive today.
The first draft of this novel had the very different title of La terre des morts. The final version was published in a serialized manner in La Revue de Paris in 1894 under its more beautiful name of Le lys rouge. This red flower crops up repeatedly in different guises along the book. As a natural flower, as a piece of jewelry, as a decoration in a silver teaspoon or most importantly, as the heraldic symbol of the city of Florence, it becomes a sort of idée fixe very much favored by the Symbolists.
The novel is considered as an exemplary Roman d’amour in French literature. For a more cynical reader from the twenty first century the story can easily seem one of silly jealousies. For the whole drama consists of a woman committing adultery with one man, and then with another one, and of the consequent jealousy felt by the latter two (no, not the husband). At the time it was easily realized that Anatole France knew what he was talking about. The not so hidden story between himself and Mme Arman-Caillavet (Léontine Lippman) could be easily read into the book. Mme Arman de Caillavet was well known for the Salon she held in Paris. AF eventually divorced his wife for her.
The main appeal of the book, if not in the plot, resides in the scenes, incidents, settings, and all the cultural vignettes that it describes. Art is the pervasive air that everyone breathes. The red lily could represent love as the embodiment of artistic passion, or a passionate love of art, or the art of passionate love, or as a passion for the love of art. But the best of all is that this is explored by AF’s exquisite prose.
But to return to our interest on the book’s relevance for Proust: the novel starts with a scene in a Parisian Salon. It then follows the British art and literary circles by traveling to the place in Europe where these circles could best be found, Florence. There it visits a Vivienne Bell (sic), who darlings everyone and collects “cloches” or bells (AF could be very lyrical but also very funny), and an opportunity is created to mention one of the Pre-Raphaelites, Burne Jones. Upon returning to Paris, there is an inevitable visit to the Opera house in which the looking around to society and to who is with whom, switches on the Degas mode. And in case anyone had missed this, Degas seems to be walking in himself with a lovely but somewhat disconnected description of his dancers doing their bar exercises next to men dressed in black.
In addition to the above elements, which make this a suitable parallel read to La recherche, there is an additional incident that links both writers and friends even closer. AF includes, again in a somewhat disconnected fashion to the rest of the story, and in the mouth of one of the secondary characters, Joseph Schmoll, an angry diatribe against the Arch of Titus standing in Rome. He denounces its high reliefs that show and celebrate the spoils from the Temple in Jerusalem. It is also this character who declares what has become the most famous quote from this novel: "L’antisémitisme, c’est la mort, entendez-vous, de la civilization européenne"
This, at the time very controversial statement, certainly takes us to one of the most memorable episodes of the friendship between Proust and AF.
When the Affair Dreyfus exploded, Proust, who later would represent himself as the first Dreyfusard, persuaded AF to stamp the first signature in a public statement in support of Alfred Dreyfus. A group of writers and artists declared their belief in the innocence of Alfred Dreyfus. When Zola later vociferously and much more controversially championed the case also in support of Dreyfus, Anatole France then lent his support to both Dreyfus and Zola.
Le lys rouge has then been a perfect foyer for approaching La recherche.
But to do AF justice, I plan to read, later on, two more of his books, Thaïs, in honor of someone, and the evocatively titled L’île des Pinguoins.
-----------
I am adding a postscript on Dec 11th, 2012 :
I have just learnt from Marcel Proust: A Life, that Proust was buried wearing the ring that Anatole France had given to the actress Gabriele Réjane, when Le lys rouge was later adapted for the theatre. She had acted the main role and the ring was brought to Proust's deathbed by Jacques Porel, her son.
Read
June 13, 2017Like the Adriana character in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, many of us must wonder what it would have been like to live at the height of the Belle Epoque in France during the last decades of the nineteenth century. Reading Le Lys Rouge is like stepping back in time just as Adriana did; we get to walk about the streets of Paris with the beautiful Thérèse Martin-Bellème who is always impeccably dressed and usually in the company of writers, sculptors or poets. Thérèse’s world is not only fashionably literary, it is also very political and we understand quite early on how fascinated Anatole France must have been with French history and politics. Since he was a journalist as well as a writer, the novel is sprinkled with both political and artistic digressions ranging from an assessment of Napoleon Bonaparte to a critique of the 1879 Grèvy government, touching on the miseries of military conscription, the reconstructions of national monuments, the inadequacies of the Catholic church and the wonders of the Renaissance in between. Sometimes these digressions work beautifully, at other times they disrupt the smooth flow of the novel and seem more like an afterthought. But perhaps it is the novel which is the afterthought and it is the political and artistic discussions which are the most important elements in Le Lys Rouge since there isn’t really much in the way of plot. There might have been a more sensational ending but France chooses a more realistic one instead. This is essentially a snapshot of a period and as such, it succeeds perfectly.
For any Proustians reading this, there are interesting links. The novel is set in much the same period as A la Recherche du Temps Perdu. Anatole France is said to have been the model for the character Bergotte in Proust's work. Anatole France’s mistress had a literary salon which Proust attended and the character of the young writer Paul Vence in Le Lys Rouge resembles Proust himself. France’s mistress was famous for refusing to have any boring people attend her salon so she may be the model for Proust’s Mme Verdurin who had a similar rule for her salon. Like A la Recherche itself, this makes for a very interesting roman à clef.
For any Proustians reading this, there are interesting links. The novel is set in much the same period as A la Recherche du Temps Perdu. Anatole France is said to have been the model for the character Bergotte in Proust's work. Anatole France’s mistress had a literary salon which Proust attended and the character of the young writer Paul Vence in Le Lys Rouge resembles Proust himself. France’s mistress was famous for refusing to have any boring people attend her salon so she may be the model for Proust’s Mme Verdurin who had a similar rule for her salon. Like A la Recherche itself, this makes for a very interesting roman à clef.
July 31, 2013
Is it possible all French women in French literature up to the 20c are actually one person, whose ennui-ridden prototype is being etched-by-numbers in all the great classics? Madame Martin being the final straw that finally shook me out of my lazy reverie, I’m going to have to go with with yes.
Who is it, then, that presents the French vision of womanhood, embossed starkly in the collective literary consciousness of the West, exemplified by say Madame Bovary, Therese Raquine, Mme du Maupin, Manon Lescaut, others & cie, ad nauseum? A bunch of men, that’s who.
Now, I’m not saying a male author can’t write from a woman’s perspective authentically and vice versa, except, I am (I have no problem with sfumato thinking, btw. Love it, in fact. The intellectual’s take on sitting on the fence, heh).
My point is, these women are not ‘real women’. They are what their male counterparts imagine them or desire them to be. Madam Martin so much so, that it becomes impossible to not acknowledge this point. France dispenses with all pretence to explain, justify or contextualise her as a flesh and blood personage. She presides like an automaton during discussions of state affairs, beautiful but silent and futile, and ‘switches on’ only during love scenes, with the express purpose of promulgating, nay, perpetuating France’s well ensconced psychological and philosophical terminology for defining the female psyche.
And for the avoidance of any doubt, just in case any reader out there might become a little confused about the overall message, France brings it all nicely home with an impassioned diatribe which tells us whats what. Decharte, Martin’s lover, informs her: ‘you are the thing and I am the mind. You are the clay and I am the artisan.’
Now, OK. But. Heres the problem with that type of thinking. There you are, molding away, artisaning and whatnot, all pleased as punch, and before you know it: you got yourself, instead of a real woman, a man with breasts:
Who is it, then, that presents the French vision of womanhood, embossed starkly in the collective literary consciousness of the West, exemplified by say Madame Bovary, Therese Raquine, Mme du Maupin, Manon Lescaut, others & cie, ad nauseum? A bunch of men, that’s who.
Now, I’m not saying a male author can’t write from a woman’s perspective authentically and vice versa, except, I am (I have no problem with sfumato thinking, btw. Love it, in fact. The intellectual’s take on sitting on the fence, heh).
My point is, these women are not ‘real women’. They are what their male counterparts imagine them or desire them to be. Madam Martin so much so, that it becomes impossible to not acknowledge this point. France dispenses with all pretence to explain, justify or contextualise her as a flesh and blood personage. She presides like an automaton during discussions of state affairs, beautiful but silent and futile, and ‘switches on’ only during love scenes, with the express purpose of promulgating, nay, perpetuating France’s well ensconced psychological and philosophical terminology for defining the female psyche.
And for the avoidance of any doubt, just in case any reader out there might become a little confused about the overall message, France brings it all nicely home with an impassioned diatribe which tells us whats what. Decharte, Martin’s lover, informs her: ‘you are the thing and I am the mind. You are the clay and I am the artisan.’
Now, OK. But. Heres the problem with that type of thinking. There you are, molding away, artisaning and whatnot, all pleased as punch, and before you know it: you got yourself, instead of a real woman, a man with breasts:
May 24, 2014
"She was young, she was loved, and she was discontented."
She is Therese, married 6 yrs to a politico who goes about
his business and expects her to do the same. She naturally
takes a lover. In France, marriage is a strategy to further
careers or status. It's expected that you find your "hots"
elsewhere. Perfection: I approve.
When her lover explains that he'll be away on a hunt, she's
insulted. Therese must be the Center of Attention. In Italy
she caresses the red lily, symbol of love, and submits to a
passionate Frenchy who wants to control her ideas and emotions.
He erupts with a smothering unlovely sense of possession,
jealousy and a tangy love-hate that only a French writer
could produce. Anatole France, winner of the Nobel Prize 1921,
consumes our attention with this exercise in a man's obsession
and a woman who realizes "the terrible immensity" of life.
"Whatever one does one is always alone in the world."
"Love is a brief intoxication. We want to be loved, and
when we are loved we are either tormented or bored."
"Having attained to years of discretion, how can one
commit the folly of marriage."
"Hope keeps us alive. We live in the expectation of
tomorrow."
The French take the complexities of "Love" seriously.
Americans take monogamy seriously and End Up Fuked Up.
An elegant, ironic novel that you underline. The most
shattering liner: "It is only ourselves that we find
in books."
She is Therese, married 6 yrs to a politico who goes about
his business and expects her to do the same. She naturally
takes a lover. In France, marriage is a strategy to further
careers or status. It's expected that you find your "hots"
elsewhere. Perfection: I approve.
When her lover explains that he'll be away on a hunt, she's
insulted. Therese must be the Center of Attention. In Italy
she caresses the red lily, symbol of love, and submits to a
passionate Frenchy who wants to control her ideas and emotions.
He erupts with a smothering unlovely sense of possession,
jealousy and a tangy love-hate that only a French writer
could produce. Anatole France, winner of the Nobel Prize 1921,
consumes our attention with this exercise in a man's obsession
and a woman who realizes "the terrible immensity" of life.
"Whatever one does one is always alone in the world."
"Love is a brief intoxication. We want to be loved, and
when we are loved we are either tormented or bored."
"Having attained to years of discretion, how can one
commit the folly of marriage."
"Hope keeps us alive. We live in the expectation of
tomorrow."
The French take the complexities of "Love" seriously.
Americans take monogamy seriously and End Up Fuked Up.
An elegant, ironic novel that you underline. The most
shattering liner: "It is only ourselves that we find
in books."
June 9, 2014
"I need love"
"I need love"
says the title of the first chapter. So basic a need that will define this book's essence.
"I need love"
says Mdm. Therese, and inevitably a love that cannot be found in the arms of his husband leads to adultery and fornication, not just in an isolated occurrence. This is a recurring aspect of France's in his novels, characters which seemed to be designed with the canonical belief to engage in adultery. France's own life inevitably trickles in these instances as he too was known for these kind of passionate indecencies.
"I need love"
says the art. For France's talks about the myriad facets of arts, of passion, of styles, of inspiration for passion for art, of the differences in style, of art itself.
"I need love"
says France's impeccable prose, to that, love need not be asked twice!
Other works by Anatole France:
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard(4 Stars)
Revolt of the Angels(4 Stars)
Penguin Island (3 Stars)
This book forms part of my remarkably extensive reading list on Nobel Prize for Literature Awardees
This review, along with my other reviews, has been cross-posted at imbookedindefinitely
"I need love"
says the title of the first chapter. So basic a need that will define this book's essence.
"I need love"
says Mdm. Therese, and inevitably a love that cannot be found in the arms of his husband leads to adultery and fornication, not just in an isolated occurrence. This is a recurring aspect of France's in his novels, characters which seemed to be designed with the canonical belief to engage in adultery. France's own life inevitably trickles in these instances as he too was known for these kind of passionate indecencies.
"I need love"
says the art. For France's talks about the myriad facets of arts, of passion, of styles, of inspiration for passion for art, of the differences in style, of art itself.
"I need love"
says France's impeccable prose, to that, love need not be asked twice!
Other works by Anatole France:
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard(4 Stars)
Revolt of the Angels(4 Stars)
Penguin Island (3 Stars)
This book forms part of my remarkably extensive reading list on Nobel Prize for Literature Awardees
This review, along with my other reviews, has been cross-posted at imbookedindefinitely
October 24, 2023
Semi-autobiographical fiction.
August 4, 2021
Scritto nel 1894 e ambientatato fra Parigi e Firenze, il romanzo parla della storia d'amore fra Térèse Martin-Bellème e Jacques Dechartre.
Letto oggi forse sembrerà una normale relazione amorosa, ma a quei tempi scrivere esplicitamente delle sensazioni femminili deve essere stato piuttosto provocatorio.
Dall'introduzione si apprende che dietro la figura di Térèse si cela, in realtà, l'amante dell'autore e, di conseguenza, la loro relazione.
Molte sembrano essere le similitudini fra questa passione fittizia e quella reale.
Térèse, cresciuta nella buona società parigina, sposata ma libera di ampliare le sua frequentazioni agli amanti, si allontana da Parigi per trascorrere l'inverno a Firenze.
Proprio qui conosce il suo ultimo amante, mentre un altro l'attendeva a Parigi, qui viene travolta da un amore passionale come mai prima, il giglio, simbolo di Firenze, si tinge dunque del rosso della passione.
Ma il romanzo non è solo questo.
Il marito di Térèse è un polico, ottima scusa per inserire anche la situazione politica del periodo, fra una cena e l'altra, politica e pettegolezzi allietano le serate.
Il viaggio in Italia è poi, come sempre, arricchito da passeggiate artistiche, fra sculture e quadri i personaggi trovano anche il tempo per socializzare con le persone del luogo.
Mentre la passione si consuma asclusivamente al chiuso di stanze ben arredate e discrete, il mondo fuori torna ad esistere, per loro e per noi, solo una volta riaperta la porta di quelle stanze.
Letto oggi forse sembrerà una normale relazione amorosa, ma a quei tempi scrivere esplicitamente delle sensazioni femminili deve essere stato piuttosto provocatorio.
Dall'introduzione si apprende che dietro la figura di Térèse si cela, in realtà, l'amante dell'autore e, di conseguenza, la loro relazione.
Molte sembrano essere le similitudini fra questa passione fittizia e quella reale.
Térèse, cresciuta nella buona società parigina, sposata ma libera di ampliare le sua frequentazioni agli amanti, si allontana da Parigi per trascorrere l'inverno a Firenze.
Proprio qui conosce il suo ultimo amante, mentre un altro l'attendeva a Parigi, qui viene travolta da un amore passionale come mai prima, il giglio, simbolo di Firenze, si tinge dunque del rosso della passione.
Ma il romanzo non è solo questo.
Il marito di Térèse è un polico, ottima scusa per inserire anche la situazione politica del periodo, fra una cena e l'altra, politica e pettegolezzi allietano le serate.
Il viaggio in Italia è poi, come sempre, arricchito da passeggiate artistiche, fra sculture e quadri i personaggi trovano anche il tempo per socializzare con le persone del luogo.
Mentre la passione si consuma asclusivamente al chiuso di stanze ben arredate e discrete, il mondo fuori torna ad esistere, per loro e per noi, solo una volta riaperta la porta di quelle stanze.
January 20, 2016
فإذا كان الحب أعمى لا يرى، فإن للغيرة عيونًا مترصدة ترى التافهات قبل العظيمات
ولا أجد ما أعلق به على هذه الرواية
سوى كلمات (مى)التى بعثت بها إلى (جبران خليل جبران) فى ردها على (الأجنحة المتكسرة):
Want to read
May 10, 2025This is a book that F. Scott Fitzgerald recommended in his College of One, a set of 40 books he considered necessary for an education: https://www.listchallenges.com/f-scot...
November 10, 2019
I’m sorry, this was dreadful. It’s my second book by Anatole France, and I’m afraid it will be the last. I read Les dieux ont soif when I was in high school, and wasn’t impressed. Now this one was a very famous and scandalous book in its day, so I wanted to know what the whole brouhaha was about.
It’s a story of love between a beautiful society woman with a barely sketched personality, and a society man who has no personality at all. They fall madly in love; why, I couldn’t say, but it must have been love, because the word “love” was used in every second sentence. Another big theme was Woman as a Species which is in constant need of Analysis.
There are other characters hovering in the background, one of them is evil, one is supposed to be good, the rest are foolish. They are all irritating and different shades of bland. The “good” guy is an obnoxious artist who wants to be like St. Francis and extols the virtues of poverty and has lived with a former sex worker to elevate her with his love etc., and yet for some reason he hangs around the rich and gropes their maids. I absolutely loathed him.
I don’t know whether I’m angry or surprised at myself at having finished this thing. No more Anatole France for me. Bye, Felicia.
January 11, 2016
Es un privilegio leer a Anatole France, ganador de Premio Nobel, a principios del siglo pasado.
Esta obra trata de amores apasionados, intensos que al final, después de tramas de celos y malos entendidos, cobran justicia. La prosa es exquisita, muy característica de los autores del siglo XIX, algunos bellísimos poemas adornan la obra. Además en la misma, hay un toque de política y de arte. Vale la pena leerla.
Esta obra trata de amores apasionados, intensos que al final, después de tramas de celos y malos entendidos, cobran justicia. La prosa es exquisita, muy característica de los autores del siglo XIX, algunos bellísimos poemas adornan la obra. Además en la misma, hay un toque de política y de arte. Vale la pena leerla.
November 16, 2022
son bir ay içinde okuduğum üçüncü Anatole France 😶 her okuduğum kitabı ayrı bir dünyaydı, zorunlu okumaya tabi olmasaydı okur muydum bilmiyorum.
February 6, 2021
A few months ago, I found this book in the back of a dusty old bookstore in my hometown. I was looking through several unknown titles in the high shelves containing antique novels, and this one, upon quick research on my phone, caught my eye. Since this is my year of reading classics, I decided to include this obscure French title, especially since it seemed to be a good old-fashioned romance. And, I must admit, this book was indeed a pleasant surprise.
I fell in love first with the language, sensual, gorgeous, and intricate, then I fell for the heroine: Countess/Madame Therese Martin-Belleme. Her story is one of a married-off-for-political-reasons woman pursuing love through another man, and how jealousy is often the monster that drives even the closest lovers apart. This premise is incredibly well-known throughout human history; from fairytales to mythology, to television and movies of today, it shows the ups and downs of a passionate romance, and how just one slip-up, one silly miscommunication, can bring the whole foundation down to its knees.
I must confess, I enjoyed indulging myself in the sweeping romance of this philosophically-inclined, unhappily married countess, and how an Italian sculptor brought colors into her "boring life," despite already having a long-term lover. Perhaps it was the beautiful language, or my own personal romantic tendencies, that drew me deeper into the heart of late 19th century aristocratic France, and the "first world problems" of dear Therese. She's emotional, intelligent, thoughtful, and witty, and a lover of the arts and the beauty of life. Her original lover is a good man who's unfortunately simply too boring for her needs; her passionate new lover brings her joy and intimacy that she never imagined experiencing before.
It's a typical love story, just with a bittersweet moral: Jealousy does not bode well in a healthy relationship. That moral, at the very least, remained consistent and was certainly not romanticized the way it is in Hollywoodand anime. Honestly, my only issue with the ending, despite the implications that it was never meant to last, was Jacques' - the sculptor - overblown jealousy. If he had just grown the fuck up and swallowed his pride, he could have forgiven her, but noooo.... Ugh, stupid masculine possessive bullshit...
The only truly dull moments in the story were the occasional (and sometimes frequent, in the same chapter) monologues of political/philosophical discussion, but they were fitting for the scenes in which they took place. I actually found myself enjoying some of the philosophical tangents, that were expressed by both the narrative and characters, because it showed that more often than not universal and ancient ideas still take root in our modern culture. The passion, the sorrows, the angst, the anger, the joys; every emotion and idea was felt and conveyed beautifully -- if not melodramatically, though that's probably the point. It's a very human story: of love, sex, philosophy, politics, desires, grudges, and sorrows.
I fell in love first with the language, sensual, gorgeous, and intricate, then I fell for the heroine: Countess/Madame Therese Martin-Belleme. Her story is one of a married-off-for-political-reasons woman pursuing love through another man, and how jealousy is often the monster that drives even the closest lovers apart. This premise is incredibly well-known throughout human history; from fairytales to mythology, to television and movies of today, it shows the ups and downs of a passionate romance, and how just one slip-up, one silly miscommunication, can bring the whole foundation down to its knees.
I must confess, I enjoyed indulging myself in the sweeping romance of this philosophically-inclined, unhappily married countess, and how an Italian sculptor brought colors into her "boring life," despite already having a long-term lover. Perhaps it was the beautiful language, or my own personal romantic tendencies, that drew me deeper into the heart of late 19th century aristocratic France, and the "first world problems" of dear Therese. She's emotional, intelligent, thoughtful, and witty, and a lover of the arts and the beauty of life. Her original lover is a good man who's unfortunately simply too boring for her needs; her passionate new lover brings her joy and intimacy that she never imagined experiencing before.
It's a typical love story, just with a bittersweet moral: Jealousy does not bode well in a healthy relationship. That moral, at the very least, remained consistent and was certainly not romanticized the way it is in Hollywood
The only truly dull moments in the story were the occasional (and sometimes frequent, in the same chapter) monologues of political/philosophical discussion, but they were fitting for the scenes in which they took place. I actually found myself enjoying some of the philosophical tangents, that were expressed by both the narrative and characters, because it showed that more often than not universal and ancient ideas still take root in our modern culture. The passion, the sorrows, the angst, the anger, the joys; every emotion and idea was felt and conveyed beautifully -- if not melodramatically, though that's probably the point. It's a very human story: of love, sex, philosophy, politics, desires, grudges, and sorrows.
December 13, 2015
He did not wish to go in. He declared that the door was closed.
She pushed it, and slipped into the immense nave, where the inanimate trees of the columns ascended in darkness. In the rear, candles were moving in front of spectre-like priests, under the last reverberations of the organs.
She trembled in the silence, and said: "The sadness of churches at night moves me; I feel in them the grandeur of nothingness."
He replied: "We must believe in something. If there were no God, if our souls were not immortal, it would be too sad."
She remained for a while immovable under the curtains of shadow hanging from the arches. Then she said: "My poor friend, we do not know what to do with this life, which is so short, and yet you desire another life which shall never finish."
----
The shame of emperors and of republics is to have made it an obligation for men to kill. In the ages called barbarous, cities and princes entrusted their defence to mercenaries, who fought prudently. In a great battle only five or six men were killed. And when knights went to the wars, at least they were not forced to do it; they died for their pleasure. They were good for nothing else. Nobody in the time of Saint Louis would have thought of sending to battle a man of learning. And the laborer was not torn from the soil to be killed. Nowadays it is a duty for a poor peasant to be a soldier. He is exiled from his house, the roof of which smokes in the silence of night; from the fat prairies where the oxen graze; from the fields and the paternal woods. He is taught how to kill men; he is threatened, insulted, put in prison and told that it is an honor; and, if he does not care for that sort of honor, he is fusilladed. He obeys because he is terrorized, and is of all domestic animals the gentlest and most docile.
----
She murmured carelessly: "We long to be loved, and when we are loved we are tormented or worried.
----
Ah! The things that live are only too mysterious; and you remain for me, my beloved, an enigma, the unknown sense of which contains the light of life. Do not fear to give yourself to me. I shall desire you always, but I never shall know you. Does one ever possess what one loves? Are kisses, caresses, anything else than the effort of a delightful despair? When I embrace you, I am still searching for you, and I never have you; since I want you always, since in you I expect the impossible and the infinite.
----
There is nothing like suffering to enlarge the mind.
She pushed it, and slipped into the immense nave, where the inanimate trees of the columns ascended in darkness. In the rear, candles were moving in front of spectre-like priests, under the last reverberations of the organs.
She trembled in the silence, and said: "The sadness of churches at night moves me; I feel in them the grandeur of nothingness."
He replied: "We must believe in something. If there were no God, if our souls were not immortal, it would be too sad."
She remained for a while immovable under the curtains of shadow hanging from the arches. Then she said: "My poor friend, we do not know what to do with this life, which is so short, and yet you desire another life which shall never finish."
----
The shame of emperors and of republics is to have made it an obligation for men to kill. In the ages called barbarous, cities and princes entrusted their defence to mercenaries, who fought prudently. In a great battle only five or six men were killed. And when knights went to the wars, at least they were not forced to do it; they died for their pleasure. They were good for nothing else. Nobody in the time of Saint Louis would have thought of sending to battle a man of learning. And the laborer was not torn from the soil to be killed. Nowadays it is a duty for a poor peasant to be a soldier. He is exiled from his house, the roof of which smokes in the silence of night; from the fat prairies where the oxen graze; from the fields and the paternal woods. He is taught how to kill men; he is threatened, insulted, put in prison and told that it is an honor; and, if he does not care for that sort of honor, he is fusilladed. He obeys because he is terrorized, and is of all domestic animals the gentlest and most docile.
----
She murmured carelessly: "We long to be loved, and when we are loved we are tormented or worried.
----
Ah! The things that live are only too mysterious; and you remain for me, my beloved, an enigma, the unknown sense of which contains the light of life. Do not fear to give yourself to me. I shall desire you always, but I never shall know you. Does one ever possess what one loves? Are kisses, caresses, anything else than the effort of a delightful despair? When I embrace you, I am still searching for you, and I never have you; since I want you always, since in you I expect the impossible and the infinite.
----
There is nothing like suffering to enlarge the mind.
April 5, 2019
This book is quite different from anything else I've ever read by Anatole France. It has the same lyrical quality and elegant prose as his other books but the subject matter is very different which is basically that it is a love story between a married woman and an artist. I've read that the story is a fictional autobiography based on a love affair by the author which would explain the subject matter. It wasn't as enjoyable a read for me as his other books have been but the quality of his writing is so extraordinary that anything by him would be a must read for me and so I will continue seeking out more books by him.
March 6, 2013
So elegant, so romantic, son cynical... and well written! Anatole France is one of those classics one should read at least once a year, to learn what is beautiful writing.
The red lily is a kind of Madame Bovary with the glamour of Paris and romantic Tuscany, and without the mercilesss tragic aura that Flaubert gave to his heroine.
The red lily is a kind of Madame Bovary with the glamour of Paris and romantic Tuscany, and without the mercilesss tragic aura that Flaubert gave to his heroine.
November 13, 2021
Kırmızı Zambak hiç aklımda yokken bir arkadaşımın aklıma soktuğu ve okumaya heveslendirdiği bir kitap oldu. Iyi ki heveslendirmiş diyorum çünkü kitabı aman aman beğenmesem de bir yazar ve onun tarzı hakkında bilgi sahibi olmuş olduğum için kendimi zararda görmüyorum kesinlikle.
Kitap aristokrat sınıfına mensup bir kadın olan ve evliliğinde bulamadığı şeyleri başka ilişkilerde bulmaya çalışan Therese Martin ile onun ve kocasının arkadaş çevresine sonradan dahil olan heykeltıraş Jacques Dechartre ile arasındaki gönül ilişkisini anlatıyor. Kitapta çok fazla karakter var, dolayısıyla diyalog açısından da zengin bir roman.
Başlarda hikayenin içine girmekte zorlansam da - hem karakterleri tanıyamamam hem de olayların yavaş gelişmesi yüzünden - kitap yüz sayfa sonra kadar açılır gibi oldu ve nispeten daha kolay okunmasını sağlayacak bir tempoya ulaştı. Bir de artık karakterleri tanır hale geldim ki zaten hepsi isimden ibaret karakterler gibilerdi. Yani hiçbirinde bir derinlik göremedim ben, yan karakterleri bir kenara bırakırsak en azından üç ana karakterde, hani onu da geçelim, hikâyenin merkezinde olan Therese'in iyi bir şekilde kurgulanmış bir karakter olmasını isterdim. Duygularının ve davranışlarının arkasındaki düşüncelerin daha yoğun bir şekilde anlatılması, okur olarak beni daha çok tatmin ederdi. Bu yüzden mesela söz konusu olan aşkın büyüklüğü de benim için sözde kaldı açıkçası.
Ilgimi en çok çeken karakter ise söylemleri nedeniyle Choulette isimli şair oldu. Kendini Hıristiyan bir sosyalist olarak tanımlaması bile beni yeterince cezbetti. Bu kişiliğiyle paralel olan konuşmalarını keyifle okudum. Bu karakter hakkında daha fazla şey okumak, onun sohbetlerine, düşüncelerine daha fazla yer verilmesini isterdim. Choulette bence gerçekten derinlikli bir karakter olma potansiyeli taşıyordu fakat o da yine yazarın detaylandırmadığı bir karakter sergilemiş oldu. En çok onun yüzeysel kalmasına üzüldüm sanırım, hayalet gibi bir görünüp bir kayboldu, fakat neyse ki her göründüğünde insanı düşünmeye iten şeyler söyledi.
Kitapta hoşuma gitmeyen bir başka şey de cinsiyetçi söylemlerdi. Kadınlar hakkında yapılan genellemeler kaş çatmama sebep oldu, çoğunlukla yazıldığı dönemin zihniyetine vermeye çalıştım ama bazen de dayanamayıp başınıza kadın kadar taş düşsün demeden edemedim. Dönemine veriyoruz tamam ama okuduğum aynı dönem eserlerinde bu kadar çok kadın-olumsuzlaması görmemiştim. Rahatsız ediciydi.
Önsözde bu eserden, yazarın en güçlü eseri olarak söz ediliyor. En güçlüsü buysa, diğer eserlerini merak ettiğimi pek söyleyemeyeceğim. Yazıldığı dönemde sansasyonel olarak nitelendirilmiş olmasının sebebi elbette yasak bir aşkı öykülemesidir. Konusu artık yavan gelse de en azından işleyiş ve karakterizasyon açısından doyurucu bir eser olabilirdi diye düşünüyorum. Ama bence bu açılardan zayıf bir romandı.
Kısacası pek beğenmedim, sadece yazar hakkında bir fikir vermesi açısından okuduğuma pişman değilim. Önereceğim bir kitap olmadı ne yazık ki, muggle boş verin diyor.
Kitap aristokrat sınıfına mensup bir kadın olan ve evliliğinde bulamadığı şeyleri başka ilişkilerde bulmaya çalışan Therese Martin ile onun ve kocasının arkadaş çevresine sonradan dahil olan heykeltıraş Jacques Dechartre ile arasındaki gönül ilişkisini anlatıyor. Kitapta çok fazla karakter var, dolayısıyla diyalog açısından da zengin bir roman.
Başlarda hikayenin içine girmekte zorlansam da - hem karakterleri tanıyamamam hem de olayların yavaş gelişmesi yüzünden - kitap yüz sayfa sonra kadar açılır gibi oldu ve nispeten daha kolay okunmasını sağlayacak bir tempoya ulaştı. Bir de artık karakterleri tanır hale geldim ki zaten hepsi isimden ibaret karakterler gibilerdi. Yani hiçbirinde bir derinlik göremedim ben, yan karakterleri bir kenara bırakırsak en azından üç ana karakterde, hani onu da geçelim, hikâyenin merkezinde olan Therese'in iyi bir şekilde kurgulanmış bir karakter olmasını isterdim. Duygularının ve davranışlarının arkasındaki düşüncelerin daha yoğun bir şekilde anlatılması, okur olarak beni daha çok tatmin ederdi. Bu yüzden mesela söz konusu olan aşkın büyüklüğü de benim için sözde kaldı açıkçası.
Ilgimi en çok çeken karakter ise söylemleri nedeniyle Choulette isimli şair oldu. Kendini Hıristiyan bir sosyalist olarak tanımlaması bile beni yeterince cezbetti. Bu kişiliğiyle paralel olan konuşmalarını keyifle okudum. Bu karakter hakkında daha fazla şey okumak, onun sohbetlerine, düşüncelerine daha fazla yer verilmesini isterdim. Choulette bence gerçekten derinlikli bir karakter olma potansiyeli taşıyordu fakat o da yine yazarın detaylandırmadığı bir karakter sergilemiş oldu. En çok onun yüzeysel kalmasına üzüldüm sanırım, hayalet gibi bir görünüp bir kayboldu, fakat neyse ki her göründüğünde insanı düşünmeye iten şeyler söyledi.
Kitapta hoşuma gitmeyen bir başka şey de cinsiyetçi söylemlerdi. Kadınlar hakkında yapılan genellemeler kaş çatmama sebep oldu, çoğunlukla yazıldığı dönemin zihniyetine vermeye çalıştım ama bazen de dayanamayıp başınıza kadın kadar taş düşsün demeden edemedim. Dönemine veriyoruz tamam ama okuduğum aynı dönem eserlerinde bu kadar çok kadın-olumsuzlaması görmemiştim. Rahatsız ediciydi.
Önsözde bu eserden, yazarın en güçlü eseri olarak söz ediliyor. En güçlüsü buysa, diğer eserlerini merak ettiğimi pek söyleyemeyeceğim. Yazıldığı dönemde sansasyonel olarak nitelendirilmiş olmasının sebebi elbette yasak bir aşkı öykülemesidir. Konusu artık yavan gelse de en azından işleyiş ve karakterizasyon açısından doyurucu bir eser olabilirdi diye düşünüyorum. Ama bence bu açılardan zayıf bir romandı.
Kısacası pek beğenmedim, sadece yazar hakkında bir fikir vermesi açısından okuduğuma pişman değilim. Önereceğim bir kitap olmadı ne yazık ki, muggle boş verin diyor.
September 25, 2025
A rather boring read, with plenty of philosophical musings on human nature. The last twenty to thirty pages (or so) are actually quite good, so a bit of a reward for enduring the first 200+ pages.
December 30, 2019
"İnsanlar birbirlerine çarpıp parçalanıyor, birbirleriyle yoğrulamıyor."
Lisedeyken kütüphaneden alıp okumuş ve bu alıntıyı defterimin bir köşesine yazmıştım. Birkaç ay önce de Tahsin Yücel çevirisinden görünce alıp hem kütüphaneme kazandırmak hem de yeniden okumak istedim sevdiğimi hatırladığım ama ayrıntılarını unuttuğum bu kitabı. İyi ki de okumuşum yeniden.
Şöyle bir göz getirdiğimde genel anlamda düşük puanlar verildiğini ve olumsuz yorumlar yapıldığını gördüm roman hakkında. Açıkçası bu beni şaşırttı çünkü kitap gerçekten dolu dolu bir klâsik. Siyasetten, sanattan, mimariden, insan psikolojisinden, ilişkilerden, kadınlara ve erkeklere olan yaklaşımlardan, evlilik ve aşk hakkındaki görüşlerden... O kadar çok şeyden bahsedilmiş ki kitapta. Ve yazarın betimlemeleri, analizleri, üslûbu oldukça başarılıydı bence. Bazı karakterlere çok kızsam da (Dechartre'a mesela 🤦🏻♀️) genel anlamda karakterler çok renkli ve okuması güzeldi. Özellikle baş karakter Therese'i ve Dorian Gray'in Portresi'ndeki Lord Henry'i bana anımsatan Mösyö Choulette'i çok sevdim. Benim için oldukça doyurucu, edebi zevk veren güzel bir romandı.
"Yaşayan şey fazlasıyla gizemlidir. Sevgilim, sen benim için, bilinmeyen anlamı, yaşamın hazlarını, ölümün dehşetini içinde bulunduran bir gizem olarak kalıyorsun. Kendini vermekten korkma. Her zaman arzulayacağım seni, hiçbir zaman bilmeyeceğim. Sevdiğine hiç sahip olabilir mi insan?"
"Yaşamı çok güzel bir bahçeye çevirebilirdik."
Lisedeyken kütüphaneden alıp okumuş ve bu alıntıyı defterimin bir köşesine yazmıştım. Birkaç ay önce de Tahsin Yücel çevirisinden görünce alıp hem kütüphaneme kazandırmak hem de yeniden okumak istedim sevdiğimi hatırladığım ama ayrıntılarını unuttuğum bu kitabı. İyi ki de okumuşum yeniden.
Şöyle bir göz getirdiğimde genel anlamda düşük puanlar verildiğini ve olumsuz yorumlar yapıldığını gördüm roman hakkında. Açıkçası bu beni şaşırttı çünkü kitap gerçekten dolu dolu bir klâsik. Siyasetten, sanattan, mimariden, insan psikolojisinden, ilişkilerden, kadınlara ve erkeklere olan yaklaşımlardan, evlilik ve aşk hakkındaki görüşlerden... O kadar çok şeyden bahsedilmiş ki kitapta. Ve yazarın betimlemeleri, analizleri, üslûbu oldukça başarılıydı bence. Bazı karakterlere çok kızsam da (Dechartre'a mesela 🤦🏻♀️) genel anlamda karakterler çok renkli ve okuması güzeldi. Özellikle baş karakter Therese'i ve Dorian Gray'in Portresi'ndeki Lord Henry'i bana anımsatan Mösyö Choulette'i çok sevdim. Benim için oldukça doyurucu, edebi zevk veren güzel bir romandı.
"Yaşayan şey fazlasıyla gizemlidir. Sevgilim, sen benim için, bilinmeyen anlamı, yaşamın hazlarını, ölümün dehşetini içinde bulunduran bir gizem olarak kalıyorsun. Kendini vermekten korkma. Her zaman arzulayacağım seni, hiçbir zaman bilmeyeceğim. Sevdiğine hiç sahip olabilir mi insan?"
"Yaşamı çok güzel bir bahçeye çevirebilirdik."
May 28, 2013
This is the first book by Anatole France that I've read; I'm not familiar with French literature in general and would like to improve that by reading more novels and such by French authors.
France's style is brilliant, his descriptions elegant and beautiful. You can see in your mind quite vividly the places and people he describes, and can comprehend the characters and their actions with the exception of those of the main character, Therese. As I read, she continued to baffle me with her actions and her thinking; there came a point toward the end of the novel at which I wanted to slap her face and say, "Wake up! Can you not see how your flirting and dishonesty are driving the men in your life absolutely insane?" Although a married woman, Therese involves herself emotionally and physically with several men, and each time she gets into a relationship with men she ends up hurting them terribly. She has no self-awareness, no understanding of her own motives, and just barges through these men's lives like some kind of tornado. And yet she's astonished when them boot her out of their lives!
Again, being unfamiliar both with French writing and the period during which the novel was written, I don't know if this is the usual plot of a novel of its time. However, I hope to read more of France's novels and some novels by other French writers of the same period to find out.
France's style is brilliant, his descriptions elegant and beautiful. You can see in your mind quite vividly the places and people he describes, and can comprehend the characters and their actions with the exception of those of the main character, Therese. As I read, she continued to baffle me with her actions and her thinking; there came a point toward the end of the novel at which I wanted to slap her face and say, "Wake up! Can you not see how your flirting and dishonesty are driving the men in your life absolutely insane?" Although a married woman, Therese involves herself emotionally and physically with several men, and each time she gets into a relationship with men she ends up hurting them terribly. She has no self-awareness, no understanding of her own motives, and just barges through these men's lives like some kind of tornado. And yet she's astonished when them boot her out of their lives!
Again, being unfamiliar both with French writing and the period during which the novel was written, I don't know if this is the usual plot of a novel of its time. However, I hope to read more of France's novels and some novels by other French writers of the same period to find out.
November 7, 2019
يقول طه حسين عن هذه الرواية: "وما هذه القصة التي أريد أن أحدثك عنها فلا أكاد لأنني لا أستطيع الانصراف عن الكتاب؟ إنك لتقرؤها فتجد فيها لذة إلهية لا تظفر بمثلها إلا حين تقرأ آثار صاحبه أفلاطون. إنك لتقرؤها فتجد فيها جدا وهزلا، إنك لتقرؤها فتجد فيها شكا ويقينا، وإنك لتقرؤها فتجد فيها إلحادا ودينا، وإنك لتجد أثناء قراءتها من اللذة القوية الدقيقة ما يسحرك عن نفسك ويملك عليك هواك وينسيك أن للكتاب فكرة بعينها وغرضا واضحا يسعى إليه، وإنك لتفرغ من قراءتها فتسأل نفسك: أكنت في حلم أم في يقظة؟!".
أما أنا فلم أفهمها
أما أنا فلم أفهمها
November 10, 2023
Geçen yüzyılda, Paris-Floransa arasında evli bir kadının kocasını aldatarak yaşadığı cinsellik ve aşklar. Olay kurgusu güçlü değildi, aşkın aşk olduğunu anlayacak kadar yani bu aşkları "kimin" yaşadığını bilecek yada okurken onları canlandırabilecek kadar karakter betimlemesi yoktu, buluşup yatıyorlar ve sana çok aşığım diyorlar ama tam olarak kim bu karakterler? Adlarından, mesleklerinden başka fazla pek bir bilgi yok, gizlice buluştuklarını biliyoruz bir de. Anatole France'dan ilk okuduğum kitap, açıkçası biraz hayal kırıklığı oldu.
September 22, 2020
ربما تكون ذات أهمية تاريخية , لكن في 2020 لا تحتوي على شيء مميز
September 3, 2023
Anatole France, hijo de un librero parisino, publicó esta novela en 1894 en pleno Romanticismo.
Las características románticas están presentes en el libro: veneración a los cásicos (Dante, por ejemplo); el paisaje natural (la Toscana en Italia o el mar de Saint-Malo en Francia); libertad de normas poéticas y estéticas en las Artes; o la anteposición de sentimientos frente a la razón.
Sobre este último aspecto, el autor ahonda en la naturaleza humana, en las pasiones masculinas y femenina; ambas visiones opuestas en lo referente al Amor y, en consecuencia, la diferencia de roles según el sexo.
La protagonista de la historia es una mujer adúltera en medio de dos amantes atormentados debido a los pormenores de sus relaciones.
A pesar de este triángulo de amor y desamor, la trama gira en torno a un círculo social aristócrata donde se habla de temas elevados: pintura, escultura, literatura, política, la Belleza, la Revolución Francesa, etc. Todo ello da lugar a un ambiente de lo más cultural y selecto de París del S.XIX.
Los personajes son de lo más variopinto. Ahí está el poeta bohemio, la condesa, la anciana viuda, el príncipe, un agricultor y hasta una británica que colecciona campanillas, haciendo así honor a su apellido (Bell).
Respecto al título del libro, en español se ha traducido como azucena, que es también conocida como flor de lis o lirio, por ser esta el símbolo de Florencia.
Las características románticas están presentes en el libro: veneración a los cásicos (Dante, por ejemplo); el paisaje natural (la Toscana en Italia o el mar de Saint-Malo en Francia); libertad de normas poéticas y estéticas en las Artes; o la anteposición de sentimientos frente a la razón.
Sobre este último aspecto, el autor ahonda en la naturaleza humana, en las pasiones masculinas y femenina; ambas visiones opuestas en lo referente al Amor y, en consecuencia, la diferencia de roles según el sexo.
La protagonista de la historia es una mujer adúltera en medio de dos amantes atormentados debido a los pormenores de sus relaciones.
A pesar de este triángulo de amor y desamor, la trama gira en torno a un círculo social aristócrata donde se habla de temas elevados: pintura, escultura, literatura, política, la Belleza, la Revolución Francesa, etc. Todo ello da lugar a un ambiente de lo más cultural y selecto de París del S.XIX.
Los personajes son de lo más variopinto. Ahí está el poeta bohemio, la condesa, la anciana viuda, el príncipe, un agricultor y hasta una británica que colecciona campanillas, haciendo así honor a su apellido (Bell).
Respecto al título del libro, en español se ha traducido como azucena, que es también conocida como flor de lis o lirio, por ser esta el símbolo de Florencia.
September 3, 2023
The two previous Anatole France novels that I read took place during the Dreyfus Affair (M Bergeret a Paris) and the French Revolution (Les Dieux ont Soif). They had a lot of historical interest. This book is quite different. It's the story of a beautiful young, wealthy woman who is married to an older man with a high social standing in Paris in the 1870s. Her life is pretty empty. She has an understanding with her husband so long as both are discreet they'll live fairly independently. The novel chronicles two affairs she has both of which end unhappily. That's it. Its beautifully written but I couldn't bring myself to care much about her. Hence the two stars.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 3, 2018
Alguns aspectos do livro são muito bons. Adorei os discursos de Paul Vence e, principalmente, de Choulette, inclusive seus ideais para uma reforma do clero. Com relação à Condessa Martin, todavia, sinto que não há o menor laço de empatia. Muito me lembra de Constance Chatterley, personagem título do livro "O Amante de Lady Chatterley", com um espírito esmaecido, que não consegue se guiar ou guiar suas ações, à revelia dos atos e ideias dos homens a quem ela alega entregar seu afeto. Como alguém à deriva aguardando seu herói e salvador.
October 1, 2022
Неочаквано скучновата книжка – една история за пренаситена от удоволствия, безцелно живееща жена, проникната от студенина, нихилизъм и отегчение. Един неразбираемо обожаван мъж, чието основно качество е ревността. Аристократи, които си създават проблеми, там където няма нужда от такива. Едни прекрасни пейзажи на Флоренция и изкуствот�� й, засенчени от празни диалози, политически главоблъсканици и безлични герои. Явно не съм фенка на типичния персонаж „Анна Каренина“ при жените…какъв ми е късметът да попадам все на такива…
March 12, 2020
Живях с Терез и Жак, обичах ги, както се обича приятел и до последно не исках да стигам до края. Детайлите от френската и венецианската действителност ми звучаха красиво; любовта между двамата изживявах най-лично; вметките за изкуството и политиката не осакатяваха моето желание да съпреживявам. Един изключителен бисер - не само за времето си и не точно бисер, а рубинена лилия (вплетена в дрехата на графиня Мартен).
September 11, 2024
kocasını aldatan kadının sevgilisini de aldatması ve üçüncü adamın kıskançlığı. yazarken sıkıldım, okurken daha çok sıkıldım. aşk desen değil, romantizm desen değil, erotizm desen değil. ama mizojini akıyor, birden fazla karakterin ağzından "sevdiği kadını öldürme" arzusu filan, bana kitap daha çok yazarın kişisel kuyruk acısı gibi geldi ama bilemem.
aslında edebi olarak bir yıldız verirdim de, arada yazarın diyaloglara yedirmeye çalıştığı görüşlerden hoşuma gidenler var.
aslında edebi olarak bir yıldız verirdim de, arada yazarın diyaloglara yedirmeye çalıştığı görüşlerden hoşuma gidenler var.
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