Anita Brookner, Hotel du Lac

I am not a romantic. I am a domestic animal. I do not sigh and yearn for extravagant displays of passion, for the grand affair, the world well lost for love. I know all that, and know that it leaves you lonely. No, what I crave is the simplicity of routine. An evening walk, arm in arm, in fine weather. A game of cards. Time for idle talk. Preparing a meal together.

Anita Brookner, Hotel du Lac

I have been too harsh on women, she thought, because I understand them better than I understand men. I know their watchfulness, their patience, their need to advertise themselves as successful. Their need never to admit to a failure. I know all that because I am one of them.

- Anita Brookner, Hotel du Lac (1984)

Although benefiting from their intense and genuine if absent-minded sweetness I had always felt myself to be made of somewhat coarser material, liable to make more noise, to have more subversive thoughts than either of my parents were likely to entertain, and to be excluded from their particularly rapt communication, which to me (and I am almost sure to them as well) was untainted by any gross manifestation of sexuality. If they ever came together, as I imagine they must have done from time to time, it would have been in the nature of a pre-Raphaelite painting, in which two almost identical figures, barely distinguishable as a man and a woman, fully dressed, and with abundant flowing hair, press their faces together intently, and gaze into each other's eyes as if sealing a pact, as if after long travail, and as if attaining that unity which is the stuff of legend, of myth, and of religion too, whereas most lovers desire a certain otherness in their partners, and would look askance on the fairy sadness of these debilitated creatures, whose silent closeness they would nevertheless envy once their own more robust appetites were satisfied.

from dolly, anita brookner

At the Hairdresser's by Anita Brookner

Anita Brookner, Look at Me

“Siz bir romantiksiniz, Edith," diyerek sözünü yineledi Mr.Neville gülümseyerek.

"Yanılan sizsiniz," diye yanıtladı Edith.

"Ömrüm boyunca bu suçlamayı dinledim durdum.Romantik değilim ben.Ben, evcil bir hayvanım. Ahlayıp ohlayıp taşkın tutku gösterilerinin, büyük aşkların özlemini çekmiyorum, aşk için dünyayı hepten gözden çıkarmıyorum. Bütün bunları biliyorum ve bunun insanı yapayalnız bıraktığını da biliyorum. Hayır, benim can attığım şey rutin yaşamın yalınlığı. Güzel bir havada kol kola bir akşam yürüyüşü.Bir iskambil oyunu. Gevezelik etmek. Bir yemeği birlikte hazırlamak”

Anita Brookner

It was eight o'clock, a reasonable hour to wake, if one's day had no structure. --Anita Brookner, Hotel du Lac

The latest novel by Julian Barnes based loosely on his friendship with Anita Brookner.

“Guardatemi”, A.Brookner

Lo scrivere è nemico del non pensare,

del dimenticare.

Per lo scrittore non esiste l’oblio,

ma solo una memoria senza fine.

"Love imposes obligations..." #astartinlife #anitabrookner

“Love imposes obligations…” #astartinlife #anitabrookner

As I mentioned in my Flaming June post, I have finally made a start on reading Anita Brookner properly! I say properly, because up until now I’ve only ever encountered “Hotel du Lac” which I’ve read twice; once, back in 1984 when it won the Booker Prize, and more recently when I re-read in 2013. Both times, the book really didn’t work for me, but I *have* been told it isn’t necessarily her best…

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Ice waters

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"They lived like birds, on Hughie's allowance, enjoying their youth" —Anita Brookner, The Closed Eye

ANITA BROOKNER Hotel du Lac

And what is the most potent myth of all? The tortoise and the hare. In real life, of course, it is the hare who wins. Every time. You could argue that the hare might be affected by the tortoise lobby’s propaganda, might become more prudent, circumspect, slower, in fact. But the hare is always convinced of his own superiority; he simply does not recognize the tortoise as a worthy adversary. That is why the hare wins.

Gone, but not Forgotten Redux

  In 2013 I posted ‘Gone but not Forgotten’ in which I highlighted authors who made a strong vivid impression on me and who had recently died. Now, ten years later, it is time again to remember those who have left us recently. This is a personal list of authors who may or may not have been all that famous but who had at least one work that I found impressive. Günter Grass (1927 – 2015) The German…

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She eyed Edith again and smiled. 'You should buy yourself something pretty while you're here, dear. A woman owes it to herself to have pretty things. And if she feels good she looks good. That's what I tell Jennifer. I always see to it that she's fitted out like a queen. Don't I, darling?'

And she held out her arms to Jennifer who walked into them and snuggled her face against her mother's. 'Ah,' laughed Mrs Pusey. 'She loves her silly mother, don't you, darling?' And they embraced lovingly and walked to the door, still entwined, to see Edith out. 'Don't be alone, dear,' said Mrs Pusey. 'You know where to find us.' And the door had closed.

Edith found herself thinking about this conversation at various moments in the night when the Spartan firmness of her mattress made her normally light sleep more intermittent than usual. She thought too of the Aladdin's cave she had perceived in the Pusey's suite, with its careless deployment of pleasurable attributes. But most of all she thought of the charming tableau of mother and daughter entwined, their rosy faces turned to Edith. Seeing her, they had taken the full measure of her solitariness, and the implication of this condition showed in their expressions which had become quite innocent with surprise and pity. She had felt almost apologetic as, with a stiff little bow (and that was an association and a reminiscence in itself), she had bid them goodnight and made her way thoughtfully to her room. And had resolved to learn and do better, so that this particular complex of feelings might not be activated again.

just read hotel du lac. anita brookner you were craaazy for this one

My family was a source of many frustrations, which was why I invested so heavily in friendship.

At the Hair Dresser's by Anita Brookner