1,99 €
Niedrigster Preis in 30 Tagen: 1,99 €
Niedrigster Preis in 30 Tagen: 1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: DigiCat
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
William Dean Howells' 'Staccato Notes of a Vanished Summer (from Literature and Life)' is a compelling collection of essays that blend fiction with reality, reflecting the author's unique style of literary realism. The book explores the themes of memory, nostalgia, and the fleeting nature of time through a series of vignettes that capture the essence of a bygone era. Howells' precise language and vivid imagery paint a vivid picture of a society in transition, making the reader see the past through a contemporary lens. This work exemplifies Howells' ability to craft stories that resonate with readers across generations. William Dean Howells, a prominent figure in the American literary scene of the late 19th century, drew inspiration from his own experiences and observations to create 'Staccato Notes of a Vanished Summer'. As a leading proponent of realism in literature, Howells sought to capture the nuances of everyday life and human relationships in his writing, a mission that is clearly reflected in this poignant collection. I highly recommend 'Staccato Notes of a Vanished Summer' to readers who appreciate finely crafted prose and thoughtful reflections on the passage of time. Howells' insightful essays offer a glimpse into the past while reminding us of the enduring relevance of literature in understanding the human experience.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Ähnliche
Staccato Notes of a Vanished Summer (from Literature and Life)
Table of Contents
I.
One says of every summer, when it is drawing near its end, "There never was such a summer"; but if the summer is one of those which slip from the feeble hold of elderly hands, when the days of the years may be reckoned with the scientific logic of the insurance tables and the sad conviction of the psalmist, one sees it go with a passionate prescience of never seeing its like again such as the younger witness cannot know. Each new summer of the few left must be shorter and swifter than the last: its Junes will be thirty days long, and its Julys and Augusts thirty-one, in compliance with the almanac; but the days will be of so small a compass that fourteen of them will rattle round in a week of the old size like shrivelled peas in a pod.
To be sure they swell somewhat in the retrospect, like the same peas put to soak; and I am aware now of some June days of those which we first spent at Kittery Point this year, which were nearly twenty-four hours long. Even the days of declining years linger a little here, where there is nothing to hurry them, and where it is pleasant to loiter, and muse beside the sea and shore, which are so netted together at Kittery Point that they hardly know themselves apart. The days, whatever their length, are divided, not into hours, but into mails. They begin, without regard to the sun, at eight o'clock, when the first mail comes with a few letters and papers which had forgotten themselves the night before. At half-past eleven the great mid-day mail arrives; at four o'clock there is another indifferent and scattering post, much like that at eight in the morning; and at seven the last mail arrives with the Boston evening papers and the New York morning papers, to make you forget any letters you were looking for. The opening of the mid-day mail is that which most throngs with summer folks the little postoffice under the elms, opposite the weather-beaten mansion of Sir William Pepperrell; but the evening mail attracts a large and mainly disinterested circle of natives. The day's work on land and sea is then over, and the village leisure, perched upon fences and stayed against house walls, is of a picturesqueness which we should prize if we saw it abroad, and which I am not willing to slight on our own ground.
