No podrΓa dar la lista de los libros que me han marcado la vida, pero recientemente el libro βEl peso de la sangreβ que es una compilaciΓ³n ensayista me hizo descubrir que no sΓ³lo somos los Hispanoamericanos como muchos creΓan los que tenemos βproblemas de identidadβ. Y si vamos a hablar de novelas, βEl corsoβ de Magda SzabΓ³ me hizo pensar que la protagonista pude haber sido yo pues tambiΓ©n vivΓ humillaciones en muchos aspectos pero no me avinagrΓ© como la protagonista y no terminΓ© como ella pero me hizo preguntarme cuΓ‘ntas personas sΓ.
I read it as a child in my native language and found it very morbidly fascinating. Would love to read it again in English.
The speaker is Death
There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me.Β She looked at me and made a threatening gesture,Β now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate.Β I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.Β The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went.Β Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threating getsture to my servant when you saw him this morning?Β That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise.Β I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.
I read this short of SM. Can you help me find it again? I remember a married woman. She is mourning for her dead lover. I might have romanticized it over time but I remember thinking this: She must hide her pain. From the society and from her (cold/evil?) husband. She must laugh and eat normally even though her heart is broken. She can't even grieve for the man she loves. I want to read it again having watched the painted veil yesterday. Any idea?
After reading I like to think about what a books tells me of life.
I just finished reading Of Human Bondage, I did not cry. It was well written, cajoling you into rooting for Philip and his first adventures in life and love, and then later making you want to scream at him for all his "bad" decisions. It is ironic really, that we become attached to him, while he becomes attached to Mildred. I say that this novel forces one to see one's own pestiferous attachment.
Here some thoughts and things I learned:
- In life, perhaps we should not try to get what we think we want, as this will lead to unnecessary suffering... The path of least resistance is inevitable.
- Fear of embarrassment can make you homeless. This is life saying: "Hey, stop making decisions based on what other people think or you will end up in the gutter"
- Learn to let go of that, and those who no longer serve you. Don't do something if the world is telling you not to. (don't let cunts ruin your life)
- A marriage or union, does not have to be from a spark of passion, but can be disinterested, unexpected, and may seem average.
- Don't live for instant whim and pleasure or your suffering will be meaningless
- Don't be ever living in the future. Accept the present for it is fleeting and it is life.
In a way this Novel reminds me of The Idiot by Dostoevsky.
It is well written. It is a good book. What are your thoughts?
Why dβyou read then?
βPartly for pleasure, and because itβs a habit and Iβm just as uncomfortable if I donβt read as if I donβt smoke, and partly to know myself. When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me, and it becomes part of me; Iβve got out of the book all thatβs any use to me, and I canβt get anything more if I read it a dozen times. You see, it seems to me, oneβs like a closed bud, and most of what one reads and does has no effect at all; but there are certain things that have a peculiar significance for one, and they open a petal; and the petals open one by one and at last the flower is there."
Love was like a parasite in the heart, nourishing a hateful existence on his life's blood; it absorbed his existence so intensely that he could take pleasure in nothing else. He had been used to delight in the grace of St. James's Park, and often he sat and looked at the branches of a tree silhouetted against the sky, it was like a Japanese print; and he found a continual magic in the beautiful Thames with its barges and its wharves; the changing sky of London had filled his soul with pleasant fancies. But now beauty meant nothing to him. He was bored and restless when he was not with Mildred. Sometimes he thought he would console his sorrow by looking at pictures, but he walked through the National Gallery like a sightseer; and no picture called up in him a thrill of emotion. He wondered if he would ever care again for all the things he had loved. He had been devoted to reading, but now books were meaningless; and he spent his spare hours in the smoking-room of the hospital club, turning over innumerable periodicals. This love was a torment, and he resented bitterly the subjugation in which it held him; he was a prisoner and he longed for freedom.
A merchant in Baghdad sends his servant to the marketplace for provisions. Soon afterwards, the servant comes home white and trembling and tells him that in the marketplace, he was jostled by a woman, whom he recognized as Death, who made a threatening gesture. Borrowing the merchantβs horse, he flees at great speed to Samarra, where he believes Death will not find him. The merchant then goes to the marketplace and finds Death, and asks why she made the threatening gesture to his servant. She replies, βThat was not a threatening gesture, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.β
(Appointment in Samarra, published in 1934, is the first novel by American writer John O'Hara (1905β1970))
"Don't be grieved, old friend," said Edward. "I haven't failed. I've succeeded. You can't think with what zest I look forward to life, how full it seems to me and how significant. Sometimes, when you are married to Isabel, you will think of me. I shall build myself a house on my coral island and I shall live there, looking after my trees - getting the fruit out of the nuts in the same way that they have done for unnumbered years - I shall grow all sorts of things in my garden and I shall fish. There will be enough work to keep me busy and not enough to make me dull. I shall have my books and Eva, children, I hope, and above all, the infinite variety of the sea and the sky, the freshness of the dawn and the beauty of the sunset, and the rich magnificence of the night. I shall make a garden out of what so short a while ago was a wilderness. I shall have created something. The years will pass insensibly, and when I am an old man I hope that I shall be able to look back on a happy, simple, peaceful life. In my small way I too shall have lived in beauty. Do you think it is so little to have enjoyed contentment? We know that it will profit a man little if he gain the whole world and lose his soul. I think I have won mine."
I had to read Maugham's work for a while. I chose "Rain and other stories from the South Sea" because I was attracted to the idea of ββshort stories. I really loved it. Maugham's style is really beautiful and transports you to that tropical atmosphere of Samoa. With each story and character, he achieves a deep portrait of the human condition and handles themes such as love, colonialism, religion and the weight of the decisions we make. I could not choose between any of the stories because they are all very good by themselves, none is a waste. I really think it is the best thing I read this year by far, and I totally recommend it. I can't wait to read more from this great author
