"I desire the things which will destroy me in the end." ― Sylvia Plath
When I picked up Death in Venice on a whim, I thought I was in for an exciting It"I desire the things which will destroy me in the end." ― Sylvia Plath
When I picked up Death in Venice on a whim, I thought I was in for an exciting Italian mystery. This was not that...
On holiday in Venice, a successful and severely repressed Gustav von Aschenbach fears his best years as an artist are behind him. But The Muses, with their wicked sense of humor, place Tadzio, an exquisite Polish boy, in his path. The events that unfolded placed it solidly in the category of a Greek tragedy. (Mann even threw in an abundance of God and Goddess references for good measure.) Having never experienced what he described as love, Aschenbach is utterly lost.
I asked myself: Can a deep admiration of another’s physical beauty to the point of life-altering obsession be classified as love? Aschenbach knew nothing about Tadzio. The boy could have been a vapid, passionless creature for all he knew. To me, love is something more profound, a connection of souls. And who knows, maybe a soul connection can happen without ever speaking a word? But I’m no love doctor.
The writing is elegant, the poetic prose conjuring some splendid scenes. That being said, the story itself didn’t set me on fire. It held my interest, but Mann’s beautiful writing was the hero of the piece. I give the story three stars and the writing five stars, settling in the middle at four stars. Silver-tongued Simon Callow expertly narrated the audiobook.
"It was the smile of Narcissus bending over the water mirror, the deep, enchanted, protracted smile with which he stretched out his arms to the reflection of his own beauty, an ever so slightly contorted smile—contorted by the hopelessness of his endeavor to kiss the lovely lips of his shadow—and coquettish, inquisitive and mildly pained, beguiled and beguiling."...more
"Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it."
I again traveled to Zafón’s Barc"Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it."
I again traveled to Zafón’s Barcelona with high expectations set on his sequel to The Shadow of the Wind. Discovering that it was a prequel was quite a surprise!
David Martin is a young man struggling to make a splash in the literary world. As he repeatedly takes one step forward and two steps back, the life he dreams of remains just out of reach. But young Mr. Martin has an ace up his sleeve—a rare talent that can make words come alive in a reader’s mind.
With a dismal career holding him back and his health failing by the day, David is flattered when wealthy publisher, Andreas Corelli, recognizes his unique gift and, to all intents and purposes, offers him a way out that is paved with heavenly banknotes. But has the money, along with its owner, oozed up from a darker place?
This is a story steeped in failure and fame, love and loss, mystery and misery. A devilish price must be paid when one plays The Angel’s Game…
After being completely swept away by The Shadow of the Wind, I settled in expecting the same level of enchantment that I had experienced in those pages. While The Angel’s Game was a terrific story that hints toward a Faustian deal, it was missing that sparkling something I found in the first novel. That being said, the writing is dreamy, and the story is Gothic gold. I would certainly recommend this book.
"A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price."
"Do you know the best thing about broken hearts? They can only really break once the rest is just scratches."
"Poetry is written with tears, fiction with blood, and history with invisible ink."...more
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