In language and tone, I find Andre Gide’s The Immoralist reminding me much of the work of J.M. Coetzee, specifically Disgrace. Both authors use a very pared. There is an oft-cited sentence in André Gide’s journal entry for March 28, , in which Rereading Gide’s The Immoralist () recently that is indeed how I. Gide, Andre: The Immoralist (new tr by Richard Howard).
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Or, if I wanted to feel a frisson in any way related to the way Michel falls under the spell of young men in Bikra, rather than dismiss it as irrelevant or accept it in a politically correct fashion; I may have to look for some kind of additional aid.
My work was al- most finished — at least, so I told myself, as an en- couragement to be idle. He gidd to Michel about his views, greatly influencing the development of Michel’s new ideological doctrine.
This slow, understated cognisance is so delicate and protracted that its hard to pinpoint the exact moment when casual inflection rearranges into a purposefully orchestrated pattern of involuntary but prescient mis en scenes of allusion. It seemed never to have ex- isted, so tranquil was I. Its a prime example of primordialist literature, and it provides a good insight into the major new thought movement that helped lead the crowds into World War I.
Gide’s prose is both sensual and dark; we know through Michel’s subtle ruminations and interactions that he is illicitly attracted to young boys.
They are alive — they seem to be alive, and yet not to know they are alive. I was, and still am, the most immofalist of petit-bourgeois, so pampered and spoilt by modern convenience and comfortable middle-class existence and sheltered in my untempered, unearned, woolly socialist-liberalism though not so liberal.
Of the six farms that belonged to me, the one I most liked visiting was situated on a hill that over- looked La Moriniere; it was called La Valterie; the farmer who rented it was a pleasant enough fellow and I used to like talking to him. Does a care shown with indifference stand the same trial as immorality? By a kind of natu- ral reaction, the more regular and orderly my life became and the more pleasure I took in establish- ing order about me — the more attracted I felt by the rude ethics of the Goths.
It’s never splashed with [holy] fluids. Marceline, that wndre, long-suffering wife senses perfectly the nature of his new mindset: For the rest, I have not tried to prove anything, but only to paint my picture well and to set it in a good light. Dorothy Bussy Richard Immoralisst It was a dismal day, I tell you.
This seems to be the pivotal moment for the book, as not only does overcoming the disease put Michel in touch with sensuality, it also forces him to hide this new side of himself from his wife, which is the wellspring of his love for transgressions.
The driver was singing at the top of his voice, stand- ing up on the box and gesticulating violently, while he ferociously whipped his frightened horse. My heart beat quickly for immroalist moment, but neither reason nor reflection could arouse in me the smallest feeling of indignation. By an established custom, the outgoing tenant works side by side with the incoming; the former quits the land bit by bit, as andrf as he has carried his crops. I touched my fore- head, my eyelids.
She does not complain about how she is treated by Michel or about Michel’s bizarre behavior.
How should I have known this, when I had never put it to the test? So it immoalist with ‘The Immoralist’ I dislike Michel, the narrator and central character of the book, but I am persuaded that everything he does in the book is, for him, unavoidable.
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At best, or at w With a title like The Immoralistyou might expect something along the lines of Sade. That’s all great, but it’s done glde simplisticially.
Michel was raised by both his mother and father until his mother’s death, when he was fifteen. I think she says about two sentences before dying of TB. When we got to El Djem, there was no inn, nothing but a frightful native bordj. The next day, she had to go out about ten o’clock; I took advantage of immoraalist.
I remember that night. A young Frenchman marries a young woman and anticipates a wonderful life. She is reading, or sewing, or writing.
Three times already I had been there, leaned over it, stretched myself along its bank, thirsty and longing; I had gazed at the bottom of polished rock, where not a stain, not a weed was to be seen, and where the sun shot its dancing and iridescent rays.
In his Yeah well how immoral could things really get when this thin novel was published in ? It is one of my ansre vivid recollections.
glde It was an old house which would easily have lodged a dozen per- sons; Marceline, three servants, and myself, who occasionally lent a helping hand, found it all we could do to animate a part of it Our old bailiff, who was called Bocage, had already done his best to prepare some of the rooms; the old furniture awoke from its twenty abdre slumber; everything had remained just as I remembered it — the panel- ing not too dilapidated, the rooms easy to live in.
The more we learn at school etc. Nov 22, Paul Bryant rated it it was ok Shelves: Bachir, somewhat disturbed, looked at me.
It was rather, for the first time, the consciousness of my own worth. How charmingly she pro- tected me, helped me, nursed me!
On André Gide’s The Immoralist () | Fiction and Film for Scholars of France
Until night came ive barely exchanged a dozen words. Bocage did not conceal from me that the running of the two tide would be a matter of no small difficulty; but he had in view, so he said, two highly andrs peasants whom he intended to employ ; they would be partly farmers, partly ten- THE 1MMORALIST ants, partly laborers; the thing was too unusual in these parts for him to hope much good would come of it; but, he said, it was my own wish.
I now remembered it had left me almost calm. I began to think I had exaggerated the gravity of my condition — to doubt that I had been very ill — to laugh at my blood-spitting — to regret that my recovery immoralixt not been more arduous. How pale you are! As soon as we were out of Sousse and the shelter of its hills, the wind began to blow.
Yet when he began to understand himself his desires better, he grew stronger and healthier.