Nightwood |
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Editorial Review / Publisher's Information:
Product Description
The fiery and enigmatic masterpiece—one of the greatest novels of the Modernist era.
Nightwood, Djuna Barnes' strange and sinuous tour de force, "belongs to that small class of books that somehow reflect a time or an epoch" (TLS). That time is the period between the two World Wars, and Barnes' novel unfolds in the decadent shadows of Europe's great cities, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna—a world in which the boundaries of class, religion, and sexuality are bold but surprisingly porous.
The outsized characters who inhabit this world are some of the most memorable in all of fiction—there is Guido Volkbein, the Wandering Jew and son of a self-proclaimed baron; Robin Vote, the American expatriate who marries him and then engages in a series of affairs, first with Nora Flood and then with Jenny Petherbridge, driving all of her lovers to distraction with her passion for wandering alone in the night; and there is Dr. Matthew-Mighty-Grain-of-Salt-Dante-O'Connor, a transvestite and ostensible gynecologist, whose digressive speeches brim with fury, keen insights, and surprising allusions. Barnes' depiction of these characters and their relationships (Nora says, "A man is another person—a woman is yourself, caught as you turn in panic; on her mouth you kiss your own") has made the novel a landmark of feminist and lesbian literature.
Most striking of all is Barnes' unparalleled stylistic innovation, which led T. S. Eliot to proclaim the book "so good a novel that only sensibilities trained on poetry can wholly appreciate it." Now with a new preface by Jeanette Winterson, Nightwood still crackles with the same electric charge it had on its first publication in 1936.
Amazon.com Review
Nightwood is not only a classic of lesbian literature, but was also acknowledged by no less than T. S. Eliot as one of the great novels of the 20th century. Eliot admired Djuna Barnes' rich, evocative language. Lesbian readers will admire the exquisite craftsmanship and Barnes' penetrating insights into obsessive passion. Barnes told a friend that Nightwood was written with her own blood "while it was still running." That flowing wound was the breakup of an eight-year relationship with the lesbian love of her life.
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Customer Reviews:
• The Edge Of Attention
05 July, 2009
There is no question that Djuna Barnes' book is engaging. To begin to read it is to fall into a mania; descending word after word into the pathetic world of the four main characters - especially Dr. O'Conner, whose errant monologues expose the other characters while covering his own descent.
Is it well-written? No doubt; the descriptions are moving, the scenes (when there are scenes) are gripping, and the characters are alive. But it's easy to fall into the question: does all of the book matter? During some of Dr. O'Conner rambling tangents, for example, I could've flipped through another book or made myself some tea, coming back (as after a commercial break) to engage with the truly consequential passages. Of course it's difficult to know what matters in one reading, which makes "Nightwood," in its way, a bit of a trick.
It's short enough, at 180 pages, to speed through and see in hindsight almost before it's finished. This saves the book; the rush one feels reading it is both modern, and a signature of a paradoxical writer, reckless, but in complete control of the reader's attention - having O'Conner become interesting right before he closes the book.
Aside from my reading experience, "Nightwood" is a classic of lesbian literature, a modern marvel, and recommended by T.S. Eliot (so?).
So, decision time. Buy it? Check it out from the library? That depends. For the lover of conservative styles and plots, probably not. But for the edgy reader, into a little risk - "Nightwood" is it.
- Amazon Customer Review
• A Prose Poem...
09 January, 2009
... is T. S. Eliot's description of Djuana Barnes novel. It is that, and much more. I first read this novel almost 40 years ago; felt I understood very little of it. In the intervening time I have walked past, and patronized the Café de la Mairie, a backdrop for much of the action, on the north side of the square in front of St. Sulpice numerous times. Unquestionable a radically different café in the `30's, certainly not surrounded by the very chic shops of today. The Café "nagged" me into giving it a second try.
I am truly grateful that it was not a school assignment. I imagined a Professor expecting effusive praise, and that my report on the book would have to be filled with ramblings on "transgender identification," "anomie," "angst," "symbolism," "codependence," "transcendent wisdom" and of course, "stream of consciousness." And with a bit of luck, I might get a B -.
But when your main motivation is a pleasant café, and a "does-your-perspective-improve-with-age" attitude, then what? No question the prose is rich and dense, with wonderful insights, coupled with sheer and utter nonsense. Consider some of the wonderful passages: "Love is the first lie; wisdom the last." or "We give death to a child when we give it a doll--it's the effigy and the shroud; when a woman gives it to a woman, it is the life they cannot have, it is their child, sacred and profane:..." There is a wonderful analogy for love in the ducks in Golden Gate park so heavy on overfeeding that they cannot fly. But regrettably these oscillate with the utter nonsense of: "He had a turban cocked over his eye and a moaning in his left ventricle which was meant to be the whine of Tophet, and a loin-cloth as big as a tent and protecting about as much." And that is why so many readers, including myself, find the book such a difficult read. Brilliance, alternating with the drug-induced ramblings worthy of William Burroughs, NOT, James Joyce.
"Baron" Felix seems the best drawn, and most understandable of the characters. His child, Guido, likewise, for a minor character. The four central characters: Robin Vote, Nora Flood, Jenny Petherbridge and Dr. Matthew O'Connor all seemed far too opaque, motivation is clearly lacking for so many of their actions. True, a central theme is lesbian love, and its betrayals, with bit parts for transvestitism. All of which I am constitutional incapable of having deep insights into... but still, if reading is too illuminate, there was only a small candle glowing on these issues.
I was struck by the quality of the other reviews on this book, the best, by far, of any other book on Amazon. Many of their insights do not need to be duplicated in this one - one commenter in fact said there was no need to write one after reading Eric Anderson's. Yes, it is an excellent review.
Overall I settled on a 3-star rating. It is a provocative, radical book, particularly for the `30's, with some wonderful insights into the human condition. But it is so hard to stay focused when these are combined with the William Burroughs nonsense. (Sorry, "Professor.") It was with a sense of profound relief that I finished the book, realizing in the unlikely event I have another 40 years to go, there will not be a third try.
- Amazon Customer Review
• I Do Not Get It
15 November, 2009
I have tried to read this book several times over the past twenty years and never made it past page 25. I found the book to be stupefyingly dull. I find this vey puzzling because the list of Barnes admirers are legion. Everyone from T.S. Eliot to Samuel R. Delany to Herbert Read have proclaimed the book's greatness.Moreover, I have read and admired many abstrct and abstruse books. I don't get it. It must be some fault of mine that prevents me from appreciating this novel.
Maybe someone can leave me a comment that will put it together for me.
- Amazon Customer Review
• Breathtakingly Bad: As Art/life-affirming As A Steven Seagal Film.
03 November, 2009
This book is so embarassingly, jaw-droppingly, crosseyed-inducingly bad, I wonder what T.S. Possum was ever smoking when he agreed to write the preface for it (which is also badly written, go figure!).
My only explanation for how this book/writer ever became published/famous, is, most feminist readers simply do not read very much other than feminist writers, and so, alas, become woefully deluded as to even basic literary values (vide, gibbering eulogist reviews re Barnes romancière).
Perhaps the only justification a sane grown-up human being has in reading this turbid swill, is it is really, really (I mean, you-can't-make-this-stuff-up!) funny, to make fun of. If, in fact, you are like me -- somebody what feels like they have "read everything" and are moving on with jaded appetite to 4th and 5th tier litterati -- I actually heartily recommend "NightBoner" as a bracing cordial of pure giddy hilariousness. The blunders come so bewilderingly turgid and apace (literally every line would, if found singly, make you wince) that altogether they constitute a sort of big fun symphonic Blooper, like a gushing "Tour de Force, majeure" that not only absolves the reader of that once sacred trust -- in the basic daring, decency, and humanity of the writer -- but invites, even taunts, us to rubberneck along in a dazed and stupefying trance while this weird pretense-puffed creature self-implodes... leaving behind the lonely and incomprehensible void whence she came.
Perhaps people just shouldn't named their kid "Djuna" to begin with. Maybe it isn't an auspicious start for the orotund-prone.
I wonder if she was even aware that while she was indulging her florid, flailing, 10th-grade best on paper, writers like CĂ©line or Isak Denison or other 1930's leviathans were laboring, humbly and maturely and painstakingly, at the real Thing?
I am indeed somehow reminded of the local ping-ping champion who, in all his pride and innocence, had never heard of the chinese olympic team. But I suppose, at a certain point, it is just awkward to juxtapose, when it's not already obvious, nicht wahr?(oh yeah, attaching itty unneccesary bits of foreign lingua franca to mortar her crumbling Queen's English is one of Barne's favorite literary resorts. This troubles the real multi-linguist; she also likes words like juxtapose.)
Anyway, a person who actually is literate will perhaps find a similar fascination in another obscenely overrated, ex-pat, paname writer's romp: James Baldwin's "Giovanni's Room". It too is a They're-So-Bad-They're-Good, 5th-tier-book-club monstrosity.
I am serious though this type of fake writing is so depressing and pathetic and transparent, in its tinseled pomp and grotesque bungling and simpering aesthete foppery, that I am truly dumbfounded it has a following -- however PHD-thesis evolved and sustained she be.
- Amazon Customer Review
• Read It Twice (please) And Then Discuss It In Book Group
05 December, 2009
At the March 2008 meeting of the NYC LGBT Center Book Discussion group, we discussed "Nightwood" by Djuna Barnes.
We had a very small group that was surprised at the difficultly and rewards and incomprehensibility and pleasure of the novel. One reader brought his notes about Barnes' biography, which were very helpful. By discussing several aspects of the novel, we learned more about what was going on and made sense of much of it, including the "what just happened?!" ending.
We all agreed that it is much more understandable on its second reading. This may be a great novel (#11 on The Publishing Triangle's list of 100 Best Lesbian and Gay Novels), but it seems very odd and difficult to approach without knowing Barnes' life and having some additional tools to handle the text.
Why did I give this four stars? This is a three-star review for the book itself and a FIVE-STAR REVIEW for book groups considering reading it.
- Amazon Customer Review
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