Always fascinating and frequently macabre and chilling - welcome to the world of key French symbolist/decadent Marcel Schwob (1867-1905). In his ‘Imaginary Lives’ we encounter 22 portraits part fact, part myth, part author’s poetic fancy, where the individuals portrayed are taken from such fields as ancient history, philosophy, art, literature and even the worlds of crime and geomancy, such personages as Septima: Enchantress, Petronius: Romancer, Fra Dolcino: Heretic, Pocahontas: Princess, William Phips: Treasure Hunter, Captain Kidd: Pirate. Here are some quotes and my comments on 3 of the lives:Cyril Tourneur: Tragic Poet: “Cyril Tourneur was born out of the union of an unknown god with a prostitute. Proof enough of his divine origin has been found in the heroic atheism to which he succumbed. From his mother he inherited the instinct for revolt and luxury, the fear of death, the thrill of passion and the hate of kings. His father bequeathed him his desire for a crown, his pride of power and his joy of creating. To him both parents handed down their taste for nocturnal things, for a red glare in the night, and for blood.” So we read in Marcel Schwob’s first lines supercharged with mythos.On a slightly more mundane level, Cyril Tourneur was an English dramatist born in 1575, author most notably of ‘The Atheist’s Tragedy’ a play of revenge employing rich macabre imagery. But who wants to be constricted within the confines of so called historical facts? Certainly not a fin de siècle symbolist and decadent like Marcel Schwob.Each of the imagined lives is no more than several pages, but such lush, vivid language. Here is another excerpt from Cyril Tourneur: “For mistress he took a prostitute from Bankside, a girl who had haunted the waterfront streets. He called her Rosamonde. His love for her was unique. On her blonde, innocent face the rouge spots burned like flickering flames, and she was very young. Rosamonde bore Cyril Tourneur a daughter whom he loved. Having been looked at by a prince, Rosamonde died tragically, drinking emerald-colored poison from a transparent cup.Vengeance merged with pride in Cyril’s soul. Night came . . . “One last quote in hopes of further whetting a potential reader's appetite to feast on this finely crafted prose collection: “When Cyril Tourneur had thus satisfied his hatred for kings he was assailed by his hatred of the gods. The divine spark within him urged him on to original creation. He dreamed of founding an entire generation out of his own blood – a race of gods on earth.”In Lucretius: Poet we encounter the great Roman Epicurean who mixes reason and passion, particularly flames of love for a tall, languid African beauty. Lucretius reads his papyrus scrolls and contemplates the movements of the atoms throughout the universe. He also drinks deeply of a potion prepared by his African and because he is driven mad by the potion, he knows love in ways he never contemplated previously. And with such mad, intoxicating love comes, of course, a knowledge of another key facet of the universe -- death.Paolo Uccello: Painter --- Schwob’s tale of an artist who paints birds and beasts and who firmly believes through his powers of observation and an unflinching obsession with transforming all lines into a single ideal perspective, he will strike alchemical gold on canvas. Indeed, Schwob’s Uccello hopes to discover the secret heart of creating, creating, that is, as if through the eye of God. For many laborious years Uccello the painter toiled over his supreme painting, showing it to not a single soul until one day when he was an old man of 80, he uncovered his masterpiece for Donatello. The miracle was accomplished! But who had eyes to see?(This is a review, including the above quotes, of the 1924 translation by Lorimer Hammond.)
Es un libro elemental. El detalle y su equilibrio (detalle general y detalle único) aparece explicado en el prefacio de Marcel Schwob y retratado en las vidas imaginarias. La edición que yo leí es la de 1922 de cvltvra, colección dirigida por José Gorostiza y en traducción de Rafael Cabrera (si, el poeta). Sin embargo existe una mejor edición en Porrúa hecha por J. E. Pacheco (si, ese Pacheco)en la que viene una vida inédita y no tiene los errores de esta. Así que no hay excusa para no leerlo. Sobre la última vida (Burke y Hare, asesinos) hay una película con Simon Pegg (si, el Simon Pegg de Shaun of the dead y Hot fuzz). La película es buena pero Marcel Schwob define mejor a los personajes en 4 cuartillas. Increíble. Mi favorita fue la vida imaginaria de Paolo Uccelo, pintor. Me pareció que entraba en un mundo tan diferente que quedé maravillada, aunque atemorizada también. Nunca olvidaré la imagen que se formó en mi cabeza de la niña muerta y de los cuadros llenos de líneas. Se parece un poco a los mundos que crea Milorad Pavic. en fin, este libro no tiene desperdicio de ninguna forma.
Do You like book Imaginary Lives (1989)?
No sé qué me pasó con este libro, solo que no me conmovió en nada. Entiendo por que se habla de que a Borges lo influenció, porque es toda su onda, pero hay algo en todo eso, inventar, o no, vidas, con todo tipo de detalles que solo me causa un poco de desesperación. Yo se que estoy hablando de un intocable, por lo cual intentaré explicarme. Hay un recurso narrativo que me desespera un poco, bueno bastante, lea en donde lo lea. Y es el contar sueños. En un sueño se puede inventar tanto, y es tan caprichoso, que puede ser infinito, y no es que necesariamente se conecte con el resto de la historia, simplemente es un sueño que empieza y termina de una forma caprichosa, para mi, siempre, Lo mismo me pasó aquí, estos datos que suelta, sobre cada uno de estos personajes, no me conectan a nada, son como caprichos que no me dicen nada de los personajes, ni conectan con una historia, son solo datos. Igual y es simplemente que el estilo no me gusta. Y de una vez lo confieso: soy más de la poesía y los ensayos de Borges.Ya, listo, lo dije. (Igual en este estilo de libros, por ejemplo, si me gusta Bolaño, que a veces utiliza este recurso)
—julieta
L'intenzione dell'autore, preannunciata ma forse meglio sarebbe dire spiegata nella prefazione da lui stesso scritta, è senz'altro una rilucente idea letteraria, ma come insegnava il vecchio Platone, le idee stanno lì, in un qualche luogo iperuranio inarrivabile e incorruttibile e le cose stanno qui, divenute pallide ombre, già tutte insozzate di realtà.Così ammetto che se non avessi letto la spiegazione di Schwob – abilmente inserita all'inizio e non alla fine del testo – difficilmente avrei apprezzato, sfogliata l'ultima pagina, che l'intento che lo muoveva era quello di dare luce ai “frammenti singolari e inimitabili” delle varie biografie umane, alle anomalie che rendono quelle vite opere d'arte.Insomma, quella bella idea, se non del tutto lordata dalla sua realizzazione, tanto linda non è certo rimasta.Scrive ancora Schwob che “l'arte del biografo consiste appunto nella scelta. Non deve preoccuparsi di essere vero; deve creare entro un caos di tratti umani”: bene, bravo, condivido. Tuttavia mi tocca confessare sommessamente che alcune delle scelte dell'autore mi hanno in buona parte annoiato.
—pierlapo quimby
Un excelente ejercicio de imaginación. Recomendado por mi colega y compañero de merienda Carlos L. Gómez, es un alegre descubrimiento. Entiendo que este librito le facinara a Borges. Es casi una quintaescencia de Borges. Un Borges destilado de todo su tufillo gauchesco y limitado a su forma sentenciosa y pintoresca.Es a la vez su gran virtud y único defecto: la potencia imaginativa se limita a eso. Tan pintoresco y esperméntico que aunque da las risas y mide muy bien sus efectos estéticos, no pasa de ser precisamente eso: un producto genuinamente moderno. Una pura estética de lo efímero y lo masificado. Tal y como explica Schwob en el divertido y estimulante prólogo.Aún así es una pieza divertidísima y muy recomendable.Lo leí en una viejita edición de la extinta editorial catalana Bruguera, que aunque de corte de bolsillo no deja de tener cierto buen gusto.
—Alejandro Ortiz
