little snippets of mysterious shorts, all only a couple of pages long and since this is Machen the writing is meticulously intricate, he gives charm tlittle snippets of mysterious shorts, all only a couple of pages long and since this is Machen the writing is meticulously intricate, he gives charm to each sketch hence they all stand out in their own way, as if they were ornate in jade..
From Midsummer:
"The moon was mounting to a throne, in full splendour; below, at a little distance, there seemed the painted scene of a village, and higher, beyond the farm-house, a great wood began. And as he thought of the green retreats he had glanced at in the sunlit evening, he was filled with a longing for the wood-world at night, with a desire for its darkness, for the mystery of it beneath the moon. He followed the path he had noted, till on the wood’s verge he looked back and found that the shape of the farm-house had fallen into the night and vanished."
From Psychology:
“We lead two lives, and the half of our soul is madness, and half heaven is lit by a black sun. I say I am a man, but who is the other that hides in me?”...more
"I saw behind me those who had gone, and before men, those who are to come. I looked back and saw my father and his father and all our father and in f"I saw behind me those who had gone, and before men, those who are to come. I looked back and saw my father and his father and all our father and in front, to see my son and the sons upon sons beyond.
And their eyes were my eyes.
Then I was not afraid, for I was in a long line that had no beginning and no end and the hand of his father grasped my father's hand and his hand was in mine and my unborn son took my right hand and all, up and down that line that stretched from Time that Was to Time that Is and is not Yet, raised their hands to show the link and we found that we were one, that I was of them, they of me, and in me, and I in all of them."
Wow, what a fantastically written Bildungsroman! I feel no shame in admitting I sobbed at the end like a little girl. Last time I cried like this over a novel was in 8th grade, after reading Nobody's Boy. I still haven't recovered from that one.
But what a special book this is, it's hard for me to put into words just how much it spoke to me, how much little Huw spoke to me, how much I want nothing more than to plunge my feet in his river and just ... watch the mountain together.
Dearest, beautiful Wales... so far from Heaven, so close to England.
"How Green was my Valley that day too, Green and Bright in the sun."
(why do I have such a hard time talking/writing about books I love?)...more
All hail Arthur Machen - King of Mystery and a Welshman who loved London.
"I see you can find the picturesque in London; to me this great town is as I All hail Arthur Machen - King of Mystery and a Welshman who loved London.
"I see you can find the picturesque in London; to me this great town is as I see it is to you- the study and the love of life."
Busted creepy hands, eerie stories about occult rituals and the fae, confusion, lies, trickery- an excellent example of embedded narrative, but Machen bravely takes on at least five layers of intense, atmospheric stories within stories - a densely nested plotline that requires one's entire attention to separate possible facts from improbable realities - either that or one is left at the mercy of the author - an author whose idea of mercy is mystical madness.
"Still, you must be aware that living men do not possess dead hands."
Since this was published in 1895, it's easy to trace Machen's influence on Literature; from Lovecraft and Algernon Blackwood to Lord Dunsany, Tolkien and Borges, even Rowling and GRR Martin. Yet Machen somehow manages to stay more modern than the modernists. Commendable, not a writer to be taken lightly.
"I yield to fantasy. I cannot withstand the influence of the grotesque. Here, where all is falling into dimness and dissolution, and we walk in cedarn gloom, and the very air of heaven goes mouldering to the lungs, I cannot remain commonplace. I look at that deep glow on the panes, and the house lies all enchanted; that very room, I tell you, is within all blood and fire."...more
I'm giving this 5 stars as it was quite an accessible read; to read the history of the Welsh language is to read the history of the Welsh, to that extI'm giving this 5 stars as it was quite an accessible read; to read the history of the Welsh language is to read the history of the Welsh, to that extent this book was well structured to give a comprehensive rundown of how the Welsh language morphed into its current form. Plus I came across some good further reading source materials. I do recommend for Welsh language learners.
Digrif fu, fun, un ennyd Dwyn dan un bedwlwyn ein byd. Cydlwynach , difyrrach fu, Coed olochwyd, cydlechu, Cydfyhwman marian môr, Cydaros mewn coed oror, Cydblannu bedw, gwaith dedwydd, Cydblethu gweddeiddblu gwŷdd. Cydadrodd serch â'r ferch fain, Cydedrych caeau didrain.
„It was sweet, my love, a while To live our life beneath the grove of birch, More sweet was it fondly to embrace Together hid in our woodland retreat, Together to be wandering on the ocean's shore, Together lingering by the forest's edge, Together to plant birches – task of joy – Together weave fair plumage of the trees, Together talk of love with my slim girl, Together gaze on solitary fields.“
"Well! the Mithras Bull might bellow and bleed till it broke the adamantine chains of every tradition in the world! The important thing was the human "Well! the Mithras Bull might bellow and bleed till it broke the adamantine chains of every tradition in the world! The important thing was the human imagination that defied it: the human imagination that defied not only the Bull and the Slayer of the Bull, but the Crucified and the slayer of the Crucified, yea! and all the God-bearers and all the God-slayers from the beginning of the world unto this hour! The human imagination must never be robbed of its power to tell itself other stories, and thus to create a different future."
Tragically, this is a first Arthuriana book I struggled to finish, disappointed as I am familiar with Powys's literary criticism where he is clearly at his strongest.
The mythos is strong here, with countless gems of Arthurian and Welsh lore, just my cup of tea, but to read it is to drag ones feet through the deep swamp that is Powys's writing style, which isn't my cup of tea.
I kept thinking of Borges bragging that he reads books whilst others brag about writing them: ought one over-write only because one can? Is it worth falling into tautology?
Lady Selene
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