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Nightwood
 
 

Nightwood [Paperback]

Djuna Barnes
3.5 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (21 customer reviews)

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Paperback, April 5 2007 --  

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First Sentence
Early in 1880, in spite of a well-founded suspicion as to the advisability of perpetuating that race which has the sanction of the Lord and the disapproval of the people, Hedvig Volkbein-a Viennese woman of great strength and military beauty, lying upon a canopied bed of a rich spectacular crimson, the valance stamped with the bifurcated wings of the House of Hapsburg, the feather coverlet an envelope of satin on which, in massive and tarnished gold threads, stood the Volkbein arms-gave birth, at the age of forty-five, to an only child, a son, seven days after her physician predicted that she would be taken. Read the first page
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Customer Reviews

21 Reviews
5 star:
 (9)
4 star:
 (3)
3 star:
 (3)
2 star:
 (2)
1 star:
 (4)
 
 
 
 
 
Average Customer Review
3.5 out of 5 stars (21 customer reviews)
 
 
 
 
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Most helpful customer reviews

1.0 out of 5 stars Don't belive the (T.S. Eliot) hype., Jan 19 2004
This review is from: Nightwood (Paperback)
Is Nightwood one of the greatest novels ever written by a woman? I sincerely hope not.

The book is ultimately depressing, a sad portrayal of humanity as a race of beings who, though they like to think they are capable of reason and controlling their own choices, are truly nothing more than complex parasites drawn to their host. At its best, Nightwood has all the makings of a great read, but those moments are few and far between. Barnes has written in true T.S. Eliot style and has masked everything important in a 'stream' of B.S.

If you want to feel as though you are sitting in a room with two people who are talking about something that you could not possibly care less about... then read this book. Otherwise, stay away. Nightwood is unbearably cerebral.

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1.0 out of 5 stars Don't believe the (T.S. Eliot) hype., Jan 18 2004
This review is from: Nightwood (Paperback)
Is Nightwood one of the greatest novels ever written by a woman? I sincerely hope not.

The book is ultimately depressing... a sad portrayal of humanity as a race of beings who, though they like to think they are capable of reason and controlling their own choices, are truly nothing more than complex parasites drawn to their host. At its best, Nightwood has all the makings of a great read, but those moments are few and far between. Barnes has written in true T.S. Eliot style and has masked everything important in a 'stream' of B.S.

If you want to feel as though you are sitting in a room with two people who are talking about something that you could not possibly care less about, then read this book. Otherwise, stay away. Nightwood is unbearably cerebral.

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4.0 out of 5 stars An elegant classic, Mar 22 2003
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This review is from: Nightwood (Paperback)
There are few books that can be safely called classics--and out of those, fewer are as deserving of the term as Djuna Barnes' 'Nightwood'. Elegant and mesmerizing, difficult and beautiful, it is a measured and balanced work of art.

Another reviewer said this wasn't a 'celebration of lesbian love'--this much is true. What makes this book truly remarkable is that it *doesn't* set any boundaries--hearts are fickle, hearts are cruel, and every character in the novel is inflicted with his/her own brand of emotional anxiety. Barnes makes no distinction between 'lesbian' love and any other--it is as normal, and as abnormal, as any other human affection. That alone makes this book a classic (but of course, the writing too is intoxicating). In fact, what is truly surprising (to me, at least!) is that despite her exquisite elegance, Djuna Barnes manages to take such a no-nonsense approach to human emotions. She never seeks to simplify anything--and makes her work difficult for the reader in the most rewarding of ways. (I mean that she doesn't let us get away with pre-conceptions or romantic illusions. She manages to make the imperfect reality as arresting as the myth of perfection.) Most of us, in our lives, don't *really* know what we're doing, or what we feel. Barnes makes her characters real by putting them through the same confusing maelstrom of experiences--where one emotion often morphs into another--love into indifference, respect into insecurity, and so on. There are no answers--there is only endurance--endurance of others, endurance of ourselves.

I don't want to be more specific and give out details of the plot. This book has to be experienced to be believed...

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