In the Absence of Men

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I feel I can put myself in their situation or have indeed experienced something similar in my own lifetime so that I can empathise. The object is not the end, it is the means through which one connects to the intrinsic beauty of life, where all dimensions and boundaries disappear. It certainly provided an interesting, and I think legitimate, portrait of Proust - and I am a sucker for epistolary novels, so the second section of just that was probably my favorite. Because until now, that's the vibe I have been getting whenever I pick up a piece of LGBT literature. Como conclusão diria que o modelo da obra e a escrita me encantou, a história ficou um pouco aquém mas foi um bom início de leituras neste mês do Orgulho LGBTI.

I felt there could’ve been more character building in part one or at least the author could’ve gotten us more engaged with the primary character as he came off rather unlikeable. In the Absence of Men is a stunning first novel to discover this pride season: in its daring in representation and celebration of gay sexuality, in the beauty of its prose and in its delicacy of feeling.

In the Absence of Men is a novel by Phillippe Besson published originally in French by Éditions Julliard in 2001.

This friendship and mentorship helps him grow more confident in his love for the soldier until news breaks about the true connections between these Parisian gay men. FRANK WYNNE has translated over fifty works from French and Spanish by authors including Michel Houellebecq, Patrick Modiano, Ahmadou Kourouma, Tomás González and Arturo Pérez-Reverte.Un Marie à bord duquel nous naviguons, sur des mers calmes ou déchainées, à la recherche de rivages paisibles ou accidentés. Then, when we haul ourselves out of our makeshift shelters we see the corpses everywhere, these bodies in curious poses, sometimes entwined as in some love scene which seems incongruous here, the frozen image of war. It is the most sensual of silences, one which says all there is to know about who we are, what binds us, what our future holds. Not with this writing, not with these characters, not with the predictable and rather embarrassing twist in the end.

I do not want to reveal what the climax was about, but once everything fits into place, one would just be swept away. It also dares to introduce an asthmatic middle-aged Proust into its masterfully manipulated plot and invents a series of deeply felt letters written by him to the novel’s young protagonist, Vincent de l’Etoile. Marcel, a middle-aged homosexual, helps Vincent as he processes his first time being in love with another man, a soldier he has known since childhood who is on leave from the Front. He is arrogant, full of himself and at the same time there is no charm behind it, no cheekiness even or merciless honesty, anything that would make me believe in the friendship between Vincent and Proust, much older than the protagonist. Sem saber do que se tratava, fiquei positivamente surpreso quando percebi que o Marcel que aparecia como personagem era ninguém menos que Proust - e quando a ficha caiu, o livro ganhou mais e mais camadas de significado.

My lips continue their descent, stop as then reach your lower abdomen, where the flesh is the firmest, where strength can be measured, where power resides and where, even so, it seems most vulnerable, where the risk is most evident because your defenses are down. Though an interesting tale of gay love and gay friendship, the form of this book is odd - the middle section is communicated through an exchange of letters that leaves much to be desired in terms of character development and plot. My only regret is that my current language ability does not allow me to read the book in its original French text. O amor - e as cenas de sexo - entre um adolescente - filho da alta burguesia -, de 16 anos e um professor de 21 anos (soldado na frente de batalha da I Guerra Mundial e filho da empregada da casa) está construído de uma forma pouco realista para o quotidiano da burguesia parisiense do início do século.

I know that this is pleasure, that there is no guilt, no sense of wrong-doing, not in this moment in which we offer ourselves. This book was brilliant and I just couldn’t stop reading it, I ended up staying up late so I could Finnish it.Vincent reveals more and more to Marcel about Arthur, as he also reveals to Arthur how Marcel has offered advice. The second part is written in the epistolary format, since both Arthur and Marcel leave Vincent in Paris. Maybe due to a rather lackluster translation, or the longueurs of the war-related sections, but it didn't seem to have the propulsive quality of his other two books -albeit at 166 pages it only took me a day and a half to read it. Marcel greatly loved his mother while she lived; Vincent is indifferent to his mother; Arthur is the only child with a strong mother/son love.