Recensione:
This is one of the greatest novels ever written about grief, loneliness and isolation; and such subjects are, alas, always relevant these days. (Those suffering similar personal circumstances will find it remarkably consoling.) It is the kind of book, I kept thinking, that should have been turned into an opera by Debussy, along the lines of what he did with Pelléas et Mélisande, by Rodenbach's contemporary and fellow-townsman Maeterlinck. As it turns out, Erich Korngold did such a thing in 1920, but the Nazis banned it, and I'm not sure that he would have had the right musical attitude. If Debussy hadn't done it, Alban Berg would have been ideal. I keep thinking about music so much because so much music resides in the words, even in (the very able) translation. This is a book which is not only richly, almost oppressively, atmospheric: it is about atmosphere, about how a city can be a state of mind as well as a geographical entity. It has its shocks and its melodrama: but it is a haunting, and a haunted work. Congratulations to Dedalus for reviving it. --Nick Lezard's paperback of the week in The Guardian
A widower of five years, Hugues wanders Bruges in mourning. Heavy with a spectral misery, Rodenbach's symbolist novel, first published in France in 1892, is a compelling albeit flawed work. As Alan Hollinghurst remarks in his introduction, it is a novel 'by turns crude and subtle', but although not a classic, it is also significantly more than a curiosity. There is an opiatic quality to the writing which at its best hovers on poetry's border. Hugues's relationship with the dancer who closely resembles his dead wife provides the plot, but the book s real heart lies in the descriptions of Bruges itself, and its 'amalgam of greyish drowsiness'. --Chris Power in The Times
Dedalus should be treasured: a small independent publisher that regularly produces works of European genius at which the behemoths wouldn't sniff. If the corporations did care to look at this new work, they would find, on the surface, a precursor to W G Sebald, a Symbolist vision of the city that lays the way for Aragon and Joyce, and a macabre story of obsessive love and transfiguring horror that is midway between Robert Browning and Tod Browning. Bruges, 'an amalgam of greyish drowsiness', is the setting and spur; Hugues is a widower who finds a dancer nearly identical to his lost love. 'Nearly' is here the operative word. This is a little masterpiece, from a brave publisher. If only Scotland could boast the same. --S.B.Kelly in Scotland on Sunday
L'autore:
Georges Rodenbach (1855-1898) born in Tournai, spent most of his time in Ghent and later Paris where like his childhood friend and Flemish compatriot Emile Verhaeren, he rubbed shoulders with all the main players of the symbolist fin de siecle. But Rodenbach is forever associated with Bruges, the location for his most celebrated and enduring work. He also wrote a number of collections of poetry of which Le Règne du silence from 1891 in many ways prefigures Bruges-La-Morte. A further novel Le Carilloneur 1897 (translated by Dedalus as The Bells of Bruges) is also set in Bruges. Several books of short stories such as Hans Cadzand's Vocation and Other Stories (Dedalus 2011 ) , prose poems, and a range of essays on figures such as Rodin, Monet, Huysmans, Verlaine and Mallarmé attest to a prodigious talent. Rodenbach was a typical artist of the decadent period, unfailingly anti-bourgeois, solitary, an aesthete suffering some undisclosed malady of the spirit, a palpable ennui or spleen. But Rodenbach was very much a modern poet too and his precise, delicate, yet existentially muscular poems are still of much relevance today.
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