Ulysses
James Joyce (1882–1941), 1922
Ατμόσφαιρα: χιούμορ, θαυμασμός και μελαγχολία. Μιλά για την τέχνη, την ταυτότητα και την κοινωνία.
Σελίδες από το βιβλίο
Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shadow of a lowskimming gull. The man’s shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. At the lacefringe of the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. His snout lifted barked at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. They serpented towards his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves and waves. There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls them) evil memories which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heart but they abide there and wait. He may suffer their memory to grow dim, let them be as though they had not been and all but persuade himself that they were not or at least were otherwise. Yet a chance word will call them forth suddenly and they will rise up to confront him in the most various circumstances, a vision or a dream, or while timbrel and harp soothe his senses or amid the cool silver tranquillity of the evening or at the feast at midnight when he is now filled with wine. Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Horseness is the whatness of allhorse. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. God: noise in the street: very peripatetic. Space: what you damn well have to see. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man’s blood they creepycrawl after Blake’s buttocks into eternity of which this vegetable world is but a shadow. Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past. Βιβλία με παρόμοια αίσθηση
Περισσότερα βιβλία — James Joyce
Poetry
James Joyce, 1907
Τα ποιήματα που έγραψε ο Τζόις πριν από τον «Οδυσσέα»: ερωτικά λυρικά ποιήματα με ρυθμό τραγουδιού και, αργότερα, πιο σκοτεινά κομμάτια από την Τεργέστη και το Παρίσι, τόσο σύντομα που διαβάζονται όρθιος.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
James Joyce, 1916
Δουβλινέζοι
James Joyce, 1914
Δεκαπέντε σύντομες ιστορίες για απλούς κατοίκους του Δουβλίνου, από τον πρώτο έρωτα ενός αγοριού μέχρι ένα πάρτι που τελειώνει με μια ήσυχη ανατροπή. Η ακρίβεια της γραφής κάνει τις μικρές ζωές να μοιάζουν τεράστιες.
Πού θα το βρεις
Από κάποιους από αυτούς τους συνδέσμους παίρνουμε μια μικρή προμήθεια, χωρίς επιπλέον κόστος για σένα. Έτσι το BookFeed μένει δωρεάν.
Ερωτήσεις αναγνωστών
- Πώς είναι το «Ulysses»;
- Ατμόσφαιρα: χιούμορ, θαυμασμός και μελαγχολία. Μιλά για την τέχνη, την ταυτότητα και την κοινωνία.
- Τι να διαβάσω μετά το «Ulysses»;
- Αν σου άρεσε το «Ulysses», δοκίμασε «Middlemarch» (George Eliot), «A Midsummer Night's Dream» (William Shakespeare) και «Breakfast of Champions» (Kurt Vonnegut).
Μια γεύση από τη ροή
How hard it is to believe that other people are as real as you are.
We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder to feed our supreme selves: Dorothea had early begun to emerge from that stupidity, but yet it had been easier to her to imagine how she would devote herself to Mr. Casaubon, and become wise and strong in his strength and wisdom, than to conceive with that distinctness which is no longer reflection but feeling—an idea wrought back to the directness of sense, like the solidity of objects—that he had an equivalent centre of self, whence the lights and shadows must always fall with a certain difference.
Middlemarch · George Eliot
A description of a place so lush it can put a queen to sleep.
I know a banke where the wilde time blowes, Where Oxslips and the nodding Violet growes, Quite ouer-cannoped with luscious woodbine, With sweet muske roses, and with Eglantine; There sleepes Tytania, sometime of the night, Lul’d in these flowers, with dances and delight: And there the snake throwes her enammel’d skinne, Weed wide enough to rap a Fairy in.
A Midsummer Night's Dream · William Shakespeare
Τι συμβαίνει σε μια χώρα που περνά τη ζωή για ιστορία.
As I approached my fiftieth birthday, I had become more and more enraged and mystified by the idiot decisions made by my countrymen. And then I had come suddenly to pity them, for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, and with such abominable results: They were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.Why were so many Americans treated by their government as though their lives were as disposable as paper facial tissues?
Breakfast of Champions · Kurt Vonnegut
Διάβασε σελίδες από βιβλία σαν αυτό, μία τη φορά
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