Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar
I'm so sorry everyone! I fail at life deadlines bibliophages.
Like worldserpent, I couldn't really judge the historical aspect of the book, since I have only the vaguest knowledge of the Roman period. But taking the book just for itself, it's a very interesting novel that threatens to run into some problems but ultimately avoids them.
The Writing
jaebi_lit, who recced this book, said that she "zipped through" the book once she found a chunk of free time. I didn't (in fact, I haven't finished reading it yet); I found it to be one of those books for which I had to stop for a minute at certain points just to properly appreciate them. I stopped to savor images of particular beauty, like "a Leda trembling under the weight of the swan," or contemplate ones of particular horror, like "one of them dragged himself on his bleeding limbs as far as camp." As you may gather, I liked the writing style of the book; although I have no idea how much of the style is Yourcenar and how much is the translator, Grace Frick.
At other times, my stops were to consider a particularly fascinating idea. Part of what made the some of the ideas in the book so interesting or meaningful to me is my personal baggage at this particular point in time. However, I think that the themes that I find so meaningful are universal as well: life and fulfilling one's potential, death and the acceptance of it, the nature of love. (The first chapter contains what is, to me, one of the most believable explanations of what love is. "The slightest and most superficial of contacts are enough for us with most persons, or prove even too much. But when these contacts persist and multiply about one unique being, to the point of embracing him entirely, when each fraction of a body becomes laden for us with meaning as overpowering as that of the face itself...")
The book plays around with time more freely than the usual novel, skimming over years and lingering over moments, and going off into contemplative digressions that meditate on experiences from over the entire range of Hadrian's life. Ordinary novels told in the third person do some of this, of course, and novels told in the first person even more so since the silent implication is that the narrator is retelling the events years later. But the fact that the book's fictional format is explicitly that of the narrator's personal memoirs gives it almost complete license to move through time and space however Hadrian wishes to move in his recollections.
During Hadrian's meditative digressions, the writing (or perhaps Hadrian himself) sometimes threatens to become too pretentious. One wonders at the veracity of Hadrian's claim that "I have never bitten into a chunk of army bread without marveling that this coarse and heavy concoction can transform into blood and warmth, and perhaps into courage." (He's never munched absent-mindedly or distractedly on a piece of bread ever in his life? Really?) Still, it hovers at that edge of pretentiousness and over-philosophizing without ever actually crossing over, and stays within reasonable bounds for the reflections of a thoughtful, educated, intelligent man who has little else left to do but think.
(the characters - placeholder fake cut)
Like worldserpent, I couldn't really judge the historical aspect of the book, since I have only the vaguest knowledge of the Roman period. But taking the book just for itself, it's a very interesting novel that threatens to run into some problems but ultimately avoids them.
The Writing
jaebi_lit, who recced this book, said that she "zipped through" the book once she found a chunk of free time. I didn't (in fact, I haven't finished reading it yet); I found it to be one of those books for which I had to stop for a minute at certain points just to properly appreciate them. I stopped to savor images of particular beauty, like "a Leda trembling under the weight of the swan," or contemplate ones of particular horror, like "one of them dragged himself on his bleeding limbs as far as camp." As you may gather, I liked the writing style of the book; although I have no idea how much of the style is Yourcenar and how much is the translator, Grace Frick.
At other times, my stops were to consider a particularly fascinating idea. Part of what made the some of the ideas in the book so interesting or meaningful to me is my personal baggage at this particular point in time. However, I think that the themes that I find so meaningful are universal as well: life and fulfilling one's potential, death and the acceptance of it, the nature of love. (The first chapter contains what is, to me, one of the most believable explanations of what love is. "The slightest and most superficial of contacts are enough for us with most persons, or prove even too much. But when these contacts persist and multiply about one unique being, to the point of embracing him entirely, when each fraction of a body becomes laden for us with meaning as overpowering as that of the face itself...")
The book plays around with time more freely than the usual novel, skimming over years and lingering over moments, and going off into contemplative digressions that meditate on experiences from over the entire range of Hadrian's life. Ordinary novels told in the third person do some of this, of course, and novels told in the first person even more so since the silent implication is that the narrator is retelling the events years later. But the fact that the book's fictional format is explicitly that of the narrator's personal memoirs gives it almost complete license to move through time and space however Hadrian wishes to move in his recollections.
During Hadrian's meditative digressions, the writing (or perhaps Hadrian himself) sometimes threatens to become too pretentious. One wonders at the veracity of Hadrian's claim that "I have never bitten into a chunk of army bread without marveling that this coarse and heavy concoction can transform into blood and warmth, and perhaps into courage." (He's never munched absent-mindedly or distractedly on a piece of bread ever in his life? Really?) Still, it hovers at that edge of pretentiousness and over-philosophizing without ever actually crossing over, and stays within reasonable bounds for the reflections of a thoughtful, educated, intelligent man who has little else left to do but think.
(the characters - placeholder fake cut)