- Paperback: 176 pages
- Publisher: Hesperus Press (Aug 30 2002)
- Language: English
- ISBN-10: 1843910020
- ISBN-13: 978-1843910022
- Product Dimensions: 20 x 12.5 x 1.3 cm
- Shipping Weight: 200 g
- Average Customer Review: 5.0 out of 5 stars See all reviews (1 customer review)
- Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #561,786 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- See Complete Table of Contents
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Product Details |
Product Description
Review
'The high-octane energy of Foscolo's prose is brilliantly captured by J.G. Nichol's translation''Through these intelligently and elegantly produced volumes, English-speaking readers have new access to two of Italy's greatest writers of the nineteenth century.' - TLS
Product Description
Written as an epistolary monologue, Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis is a compelling portrayal of a troubled mind. Published here for the first time in the English language, it is presented with Foscolo's highly acclaimed poem, Of Tombs. Banished from his homeland and from the woman he loves, Jacopo Ortis lives with the insufferable feelings of disillusionment and betrayal. Gone are his youthful dreams of literary glory, and in their place only his embittered laughter at fortune, at men, and at God. In the anguish of his state he feels himself compelled to make one final, titanic, and tragic gesture to the rulers of his age.
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Most helpful customer reviews
5.0 out of 5 stars
Romantic whining of the most enjoyable kind,
By J from NY (New York) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis and of Tombs (Paperback)
While I cannot say that this book is for everybody, fans of Italian literature and those interested in colossally contradictory attitudes will be thrilled. Jacopo Ortis, a young romantic (Romantic with a capital R, as you'll see) manages to wallow whole heartedly in every imaginable feeling of alienation, exile, painful love, pessimism regarding man and nature, suicide, weakness that he can muster-- and muster them he does in his venomous letters to his friend. From the beginning, we realize that this guy isn't going to be around long. A love affair (not unrequited, surprisingly enough) with a woman named Teresa drives him to the extremities of self hatred, self recrimination, and self destruction. He alternately claims that all society is constructed on illusion, and yet goes on page-length rants about the singular beauty of Italy and its unjust occupation by whoever. In the tradition of Leopardi, he dissects every human belief as comforting illusion, all while feeling that there are sufficient reasons for him to off himself and exalting morality. Jacopo is a confused guy, but manages to cast a strange spell over others--Teresa's father, for instance. He exudes the sanctimonious air of a priest. This is literature, of course.The end is predictable. It is truly a touching work, but there is a point past which Jacopo's rantings become both depressing and annoying. Now we know why Nietzsche couldn't stand Rosseau. Still, there is a delicious self indulgent, tragic touch to it.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews on Amazon.com (beta) Amazon.com:
5.0 out of 5 stars (1 customer review) 11 of 11 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Romantic whining of the most enjoyable kind,
By J from NY - Published on Amazon.com
This review is from: Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis and of Tombs (Paperback)
While I cannot say that this book is for everybody, fans of Italian literature and those interested in colossally contradictory attitudes will be thrilled. Jacopo Ortis, a young romantic (Romantic with a capital R, as you'll see) manages to wallow whole heartedly in every imaginable feeling of alienation, exile, painful love, pessimism regarding man and nature, suicide, weakness that he can muster-- and muster them he does in his venomous letters to his friend. From the beginning, we realize that this guy isn't going to be around long. A love affair (not unrequited, surprisingly enough) with a woman named Teresa drives him to the extremities of self hatred, self recrimination, and self destruction. He alternately claims that all society is constructed on illusion, and yet goes on page-length rants about the singular beauty of Italy and its unjust occupation by whoever. In the tradition of Leopardi, he dissects every human belief as comforting illusion, all while feeling that there are sufficient reasons for him to off himself and exalting morality. Jacopo is a confused guy, but manages to cast a strange spell over others--Teresa's father, for instance. He exudes the sanctimonious air of a priest. This is literature, of course.The end is predictable. It is truly a touching work, but there is a point past which Jacopo's rantings become both depressing and annoying. Now we know why Nietzsche couldn't stand Rosseau. Still, there is a delicious self indulgent, tragic touch to it. |
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