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eBook Letters ePub

by John Barth

eBook Letters ePub
Author: John Barth
Language: English
ISBN: 0449900703
ISBN13: 978-0449900703
Publisher: Ballantine Books (March 12, 1982)
Subcategory: Literature
Rating: 4.8
Votes: 946
Formats: lrf rtf lit mobi
ePub file: 1460 kb
Fb2 file: 1505 kb

This book or parts thereof must not be reproduced. Designed by Helen Barrow.

This book or parts thereof must not be reproduced. in any form without permission. Published simultaneously in Canada. PZ. 284Le 1979 813’. Printed in the United States of America.

LETTERS is an epistolary novel by the American writer John Barth, published in 1979. It consists of a series of letters in which Barth and the characters of his other books interact. In addition to the Author and Germaine Pitt (or 'Lady Amherst', unrelated to any of Barth's previous novels), the correspondents are Todd Andrews (from The Floating Opera), Jacob Horner (from The End of the Road), .

Читать бесплатно Letters John Barth. Morgan had fortuitously recollected, from some transactions between his office and its counterpart in the state of Delaware, that Germaine de Staël was among the original investors in E. I. Du Pont de Nemours & Co. in the first decade of the 19th Century.

John Barth, being a writer, understands that, and in this novel he brings back that art for a brief time, with fictional characters. Imagine a book consisting of letters amongst the diverse characters from the author's other novels. Basically, he takes several people from his early novels and has them all starting to write to each other, and to him, their letters and experiences directing the plot. Technically, we are advised, it is not essential to have read these other books in advance, but for all intents it would seem a moderately strong expectation.

A: Lady Amherst to the Author. Inviting him to accept an honorary Doctorate of Letters from Marshyhope State University.

~ ~ 1: L. A: Lady Amherst to the Author. B: Todd Andrews to his father.

The stories include a Letters is John Barth’s most controversial work. Supporters hail it as a postmodern masterpiece, detractors deride it as self-indulgent to the point of unreadability. I think both characterizations are overstated; Letters is ambitious and sporadically brilliant, but also fails more than it succeeds.

John Simmons Barth (/bɑːrθ/; born May 27, 1930) is an American writer who is best known for his postmodernist and metafictional fiction. John Barth, called "Jack", was born in Cambridge, Maryland

John Simmons Barth (/bɑːrθ/; born May 27, 1930) is an American writer who is best known for his postmodernist and metafictional fiction. John Barth, called "Jack", was born in Cambridge, Maryland. He has an older brother, Bill, and a twin sister Jill. In 1947 he graduated from Cambridge High School, where he played drums and wrote for the school newspaper.

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A landmark of postmodern American fiction, "Letters" is (as the subtitle genially informs us) "an old time epistolary novel by seven fictitious drolls and dreamers each of which imagines himself factual. Seven characters (including the Author himself) exchange a novel's worth of letters during a 7-month period in 1969, a time of revolution that recalls the . s first revolution in the 18th century - the heyday of the epistolary novel.

fiction
Coiriel
This is an 800 page book, and a very complicated and involved one. If you can appreciate meta fiction, as I do, you will find it very entertaining, humorous, and clever, despite some tedious sections (narrated by a tedious character, A.B. Cook).

Although this novel is partly about making a movie (of an earlier novel by Barth), it itself could never be made into a movie. For close readers who appreciated word play, satire, hyper self consciousness.
Wanenai
Complicated epistolary novel incorporating several characters from Barth's previous novels. Difficult but worth reading.
Valawye
Letter writing is, for the most part, a lost art. In these days of e-mail and text messaging and instant messaging and cell phones, all communication has sped up to the point where we're just dashing off spurts of words to each other, dashing off the thoughts and leaving before we really have any time to ponder over what we wrote. This isn't a new thing, as technology has improved over the years, it's not necessary any more to put pen to paper to share your thoughts with someone. And yet, at the same time, it's fundamentally different than any other form of communication that we have. It's not so much the method as the process, the act of sitting there in front of the blank sheet of paper and organizing yourself, getting down everything you need to say and saying it just so, because you're not going to get an instant response. And then getting the response and poring over it, figuring out how to reply and add and expand. In this fast paced world, we don't really take the time anymore and being born after the heyday of letter writing (whenever that was, I know it's not now), I miss that. There's an intimacy to it that other forms don't have, that's different somehow.

John Barth, being a writer, understands that, and in this novel he brings back that art for a brief time, with fictional characters. Basically, he takes several people from his early novels and has them all starting to write to each other, and to him, their letters and experiences directing the plot. And what starts out as what could be a too-cute literary trick winds up being extremely revealing, as the characters pour themselves into the letters, regardless of whom they're writing to, as the plot skips and slips through time. On one level it acts as a sequel to those early novels, continuing their stories and although it's not really required to read those books, I'm not going to pretend it doesn't help. The best thing to do would be to read those old novels in one block and then move onto this . . . I read them some years ago so I was a little fuzzy on the finer points. But I picked it up. But Barth captures the voices of his old characters well and even if you didn't know who was writing what letter, you could tell. And thus they tell the recepient, and us, about their hopes and fears, they mingle together, they lie, they come unglued, and by the end you sort of get a tapestry of their thoughts. There's a plot weaving through here but sometimes it becomes hard to connect it with six different people discussing different angles of it with you, but I just went with it and enjoyed the writing for what it was. Some of the writers are better than others (Germaine's are uniformly good, Bray's are funny and nuts, especially how it keeps resetting, Andrews, written to his dead father, as strangely touching . . . only Burlingame's left me cold, with the long history lessons) and for the life of me I can't figure out why this book is seven hundred pages. But there's a definite sense of closure at the end and a further sense that there will be other letters, we just won't see them. Which Barth knows is true, that as dying as letter writing may be, no matter how communication changes, there will always be a place in this world for two people, separated by distance, to try and imbue a bit of themselves into a piece of paper, to soak themselves into the words and try to get that essence somehow across the gap.
Thordigda
I never heard of any epistelary novels until I read this one. Imagine a book consisting of letters amongst the diverse characters from the author's other novels. Technically, we are advised, it is not essential to have read these other books in advance, but for all intents it would seem a moderately strong expectation.
It helps that the books that one must read, Barth's early masterpieces, are of such genius as to take up a whole corner of the best of modern literature showcase. And if you are lucky enough to have stumbled onto Letters after already working through all the rest, than you can bask in the glow of the misconception that you are amongst some lucky few whose devotion to the writer has earned unexpected reward.
For this is a truely stunning piece of work, more elaborate than Vlad's Pale Fire, and more satisfying than anything this side of Pynchon. At his best, Barth had few peers.
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