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Colette was one of France's most distinguished writers. Though not a writer of massive books like Victor Hugo or Proust, or of psychological novels like Zola or Flaubert, she caught that French essence of individuality and quirkiness and the golden age of La Belle Epoque before World War One changed France forever. Her books are pure joy as are these short stories. If you have NOT read Colette, you are in for a treat. (And don't neglect Claudine or Cheri. )
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The "demimonde" or twilight or half-world, was the domain of paid courtesans, not prostitutes, but professional "artistes" who made their living as the paid companions of rich men. They often were dancers or actresses and didn't marry--"We never marry in our family" states Gigi's mother. The Belle Epoque ended with World War One and saw the revitalizaton of Paris by Hausmann and others, creating the city's magnificent architecture that we still love today.
Gigi is a young girl of 16. She falls in love with a rich gentlemen of 33, Gaston. But contrary to custom, she wants something quite different that her family has planned for her. This reflects the idealized dream that Colette had of love with a much older man. She herself pursued this dream disastrously by marrying the highly unsuitable Willy, and also assigned her alter-ego Claudine the same but happier dream in her Claudine novels.
Read this for the wonderful evocation of Paris in the gay 90's, and realize that it has little to do with the musical--this is about a way of life that has passed, along with horse drawn carriages, laced hourglass corsets, and women's hats the size of cartwheels.
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White was a contemporary of Woolfe and such Bloomsbury luminaries as Djuna Barnes. Yet she is relatively unknown to Americans. Thanks to Carmen Callil, who founded Virago Press and knew Antonia White, we can savor these classics which had been sadly in and out of print over the last years.
The Lost Traveller continues the story of Nanda, who is renamed Clara Bachelor in the second through fourth novels. We pick up her story as she finishes high school at St. Marks (really St. Paul's where White's domineering father Cecil Bottings was a classics master.)
Clara fears a career as a dried up female don at Oxford or Cambridge, though her talents in writing indicate she could follow her father's brilliant footsteps. In typically adolescent fashion, she gets a half-formed idea to go on stage after a stint at acting school. She has no real talent, but gets by on charm and good looks. She meets stage-struck, upper-crust and totally hopeless Archie and their fate becomes tangled together, despite her resistance to him and her crush on another actor, Stephen.
Clara moves aimlessly from acting to being a governess for an upper-class Catholic family. But tragedy strikes her there. While White also was a governess, this part of the novel is one of the few pure pieces of fiction she ever wrote. And it sets up the stage for "The Sugar House" and the return of Archie.
You should read "Frost in May" first, and fortunately, it is due to be reprinted soon. Don't miss these works of a minor master who sadly suffered from writer's block and left us all too little of her skillful work.
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Yet Nanda loves the hermetic routine, her companions and the age-old routine of the school. She begins to feel very at home, and excels her studies when she makes a terrible mistake.
The sensitive treatment of a young girl's feelings and attitudes, the recreation of the rarified atmosphere of a convent in pre-war England make this book a fine piece of literature. Antonia White wrote 3 more novels, all semi-biographical and then a few other short works. She was afflicted by writer's block and her output is slim, which is a shame. She was a tremendously talented writer, and every word is crafted perfectly.
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If they said this book was steamy, it certainly was, but, the steam came from me in having to read this mush. I think they should have announced this book as ANTI VICTORIAN literature since sensuality is hinted at but never touched. Thats why I rate this book with one star since you can't have serious relationships and marriage between people that are decades appart in age without some sort of spice. The fact that the man in the book is a scumbucket is even more reason to delvelop this as a reality...
Well yes theres the word .. reality .. which is what this book does not have.
"Experiences of a young girl growing to maturity" is what the covers says ... what it should say is that this is so boring and meant for readers that think watching grass grow is exciting!
First, I should say that this book was an incredibly breezy read; in spite of its over 500 pages, I read it in three days. It's brainless, easy, and more of a "beach read" than a classic.
Admittedly, I am not a fan of "beach reads."
Frankly, I don't understand how this book came to be a classic. I can only figure that Colette's later books, combined with her acting career and essays, made her a classic historical figure, which, in turn, made this book a "classic." On its own, the book is a silly lark. The characters and situations are completely unrealistic, their relationships seem forced, and the hand of Colette's husband, who pushed her to write these books and published them under his name, is painfully evident. Scenes of homosexuality are strained and feel slotted in to drive up the "raciness" of the text, and therefore it's saleability.
I'm glad I read this, if only to know more about the author and to say that I know her work. Would I recommend it? No. Was it a painful read? No. It just wasn't of classic or even literary caliber.
The first novel is perhaps the best -- Claudine a l'ecole -- while the latter ones occasionally lag, esp. the rather dull "Claudine en menage." "Claudine s'en va" (Claudine and Annie) is a strange experiment, with the narrator we've grown to love over three novels suddenly turned into supporting character, but it's quick and entertaining.
And these books are wonderfully decadent. Let the conservatives wail about how debased our times have become, and then read these products of 1900-1903, with their frank journeys into lesbian sex, adultery, drug use -- and view the rather jaundiced way the characters approach such sacred cows as religion and marriage.
Also, this compliation is not complete, as it is missing "La retraite sentimentale", the final Claudine installment.
Collette would get even better, but this is a fine starting point.
According to the introduction, this collection represents 100 stories taken from a dozen volumes published during Colette's lifetime. They are categorised as "Early Stories," Backstage at the Music Hall," "Varieties of Human Nature," and "Love." Some, like the Clouk/Chéri stories, appear to be fiction, while many, like "The Rainy Moon" and "Bella-Vista," seem to be taken straight from Colette's varied life and acquaintances.
Whether writing fiction or chronicling fact, whether writing in the third-person omniscient or in the first person, Colette herself is always a character-rarely as an influencer, that is, one whose actions or choices drive the plot. Colette's preferred role is as observer-and it is one for which she is well suited.
An inveterate sensualist and a former music-hall performer, Colette integrates her characters (real and fictional) with everything around them-their clothes (costumes), their abodes, dressing rooms, and haunts (sets), and their neighborhoods and towns (theatres). Much of Colette's writing, no matter how mundane the surface subject, is about art-the art of living and, notably, the art of loving. In "My Goddaughter," the subject tells her godmother how she injured herself with scissors and a curling iron and recounts her mother's reaction. "She said that I had ruined her daughter for her! She said, 'What have you done with my beautiful hair which I tended so patiently? . . . And that cheek, who gave you permission to spoil it! . . . I've taken years, I've spent my days and nights, trembling over this masterpiece. . . ."
Colette is attuned to everything, every sense, every nuance. "A faint fragrance did indeed bring to my nostrils the memory of various scents which are at their strongest in autumn." ("Gibriche") ". . . set in a bracelet, which slithered between her fingers like a cold and supple snake." ("The Bracelet") " . . . the supper of rare fruits, an[d]of ice water sparkling in the thin glasses, as intoxicating as champagne . . ." ("Florie") "Peroxided hair, light-colored eyes, white teeth, something about her of an appetizing but slightly vulgar young washerwoman." ("Gitanette")
Colette does not pretend to be an objective observer of human behaviour; she does not hesitate to express to the reader her weariness with certain individuals or situations, and her stories of her vain, pretentious, overbearing friend Valentine reveal her jaded and waning affection. She knows this woman so well that she sees her almost as Valentine sees herself-a drama queen acting out stories, roles, and games without depth of feeling for them. "What Must We Look Like?" becomes Valentine's driving philosophy, to which Colette responds with "a mild, a kindly pity." In "The Hard Worker," Colette says, "I can see she does not hate him, but I cannot see she loves him either." What Colette sees-and does not see-is to be respected.
Some stories, such as "The Sick Child," are vivid and imaginative and reveal Colette's amazing ability to think and dream like a gifted child. "The Advice," with its mundane beginning and premise and twisted, horrifying ending would enhance any collection of gothic or mystery tales. Other stories, like "Gibriche," several of the other music-hall stories, and "Bella-Vista," tackle topics that even today remain controversial. "Bella-Vista," in which Colette's moods seem to wane with every familiarity achieved with her hostesses, offers an ending that is heavily foreshadowed throughout but is surprising and gruesome nonetheless.
Most of the stories, whether fiction or nonfiction, seem to come from life in one way or another. The quantity of stories and the quality of the collection reveal the incredible scope of experience of Colette, the dry, often weary yet obsessive observer, interpreter, and chronicler of human nature. As Judith Thurman says in her introduction to Colette's work, The Pure and the Impure, "This great ode to emptiness was written by a woman who felt full." As well she should.
Diane L. Schirf, 27 May 2003.