Imatge de l'autor

Henry Green (1) (1905–1973)

Autor/a de Loving / Living / Party Going

Per altres autors anomenats Henry Green, vegeu la pàgina de desambiguació.

16+ obres 3,881 Membres 82 Ressenyes 18 preferits

Sobre l'autor

Writing under the pseudonym Henry Green, Henry Vincent Yorke kept his life as a wealthy industrialist separate from his literary persona. Although he had friends who were authors, he did not travel in literary circles and refused to be photographed, to protect his anonymity. Yorke was born in 1905 mostra'n més in Gloucestershire, England, and worked as a laborer before becoming managing director of a food engineering firm. From the publication of his first book Blindness (1926), which was begun when he was 17 years old and a student at Eton, he was admired for his unfailing sense of dialogue and characterization for all classes of British life. Green's last novel, Nothing, was published in 1950. Although he is still relatively unknown in the United States, he is recognized by authors such as John Updike and W. H. Auden as a masterful storyteller and one of the greatest English writers of the 20th century. He died in 1973 (Bowker Author Biography) mostra'n menys
Crèdit de la imatge: Christopher Stine for
Black Lamb

Obres de Henry Green

Loving / Living / Party Going (1929) 826 exemplars
Loving (1945) 702 exemplars
Back (1946) 319 exemplars
Party Going (1939) 289 exemplars
Blindness (1926) 257 exemplars
Caught (1952) 227 exemplars
Living (1929) 218 exemplars
Concluding (1948) 210 exemplars
Nothing (1950) 198 exemplars
Nothing • Doting • Blindness (1926) 183 exemplars
Doting (1952) 172 exemplars
Pack My Bag: A Self-Portrait (1940) 158 exemplars
Caught • Back • Concluding (1803) 21 exemplars

Obres associades

New Writing and Daylight : Summer 1943 — Col·laborador — 1 exemplars


Coneixement comú



"Loving" is the story of the upstairs-downstairs goings-on at a Protestant-owned and -run manse in the first decades after the founding of the Irish republic. It's also a books I'd never even heard of before it showed up on the Modern Library's list of the twentieth century's one hundred best novels. I think it's a quality book, but not necessarily an enjoyable read. "Loving" might the longest two-hundred pages you'll ever read, and if you're going to get anything at all out of them, you'll have to read them carefully.

Some reviewers here have mentioned that the dialect is challenging, and, for many American readers, it may be. Although it's set during the Second World War, the language it's written in struck me as much older as less accessible. It makes no concessions to an American -- or even non-Irish -- audience. But what really slowed things down for me was the extraordinary intimacy of every conversation and interaction in the book. The characters here live lives governed by custom, even as they are they are, understandably, beset by the usual run of human passions, and they do so in such close quarters that they might as well be at sea. Sometimes I thought that there wasn't a single exchange in "Loving," no matter how practical or inconsequential, that couldn't be seen as uncomfortably intimate. It feels that these people have been living all over each other for generations. It's hardly surprising, then, that can be exhausting to read about.

Luckily, there are some memorable characters here to hold your interest. Charley Raunce -- the new butler, formerly the footman -- is the book's center, and I spent a lot of time trying to figure out if he was clever, a fool, a scoundrel or a sincere suitor. My estimation of him kept shifting as I read on, and, honestly, he may be all of these things. At any rate, his charisma is undeniable. There's also the maids: lovely Edith, roommate and complement to the more ordinary but still attractive Kate, both of whom display an easy, irresistible sensuality. There's a set of characters -- Nanny Swift, Miss Burch, and Miss Welch -- who seem as old and dug-in as the castle itself, and, finally, there's Mrs. Tennant, the lady of the manor, who displays the kind of eccentricity that only money and inherited privilege can produce.

In the end, to borrow from Joyce, this isn't just a novel about loving but also one about leaving. The house is mostly shut up, the business model that built it expired generations ago, and the castle's residents can only pretend that time hasn't advanced a second since the summer of 1914 for so long. What Green is describing here -- along with a complex web of professional and personal relationships -- is the slow undoing of an institution and a way of life. I didn't find this one easy to read or quite to my taste, but only a writer of real talent could have written it. Recommended.
… (més)
TheAmpersand | Hi ha 17 ressenyes més | Nov 2, 2023 |
Re-reading Henry Green into 2017 as NYRB reissues all nine of his novels.

First blog post on Henry Green as I re-read Caught, now up here.
proustitute | Hi ha 4 ressenyes més | Apr 2, 2023 |
If you start to read this novel with heedless attention, then you’re in for a surprise: after an endless stream of dialogues (200 pages on end) you come to the conclusion that there’s barely a storyline in this book. Place of action is a country estate in Ireland, inhabited by British aristocrats, in the midst of the Second World War. Green mainly focuses on the domestic staff, a motley crew who are more or less left to their own devices by the (usually) absent owners, and do almost nothing but bicker and speak ill of each other. On the surface, the setting seems to have a high “Upstairs, Downstairs” content, and “Dowton Abbey” inevitably comes to mind as well.
But as a reader you hardly get a grip on Green's story. He alternates intimate scenes with stiff ones, occasionally lets it come to a comedy of errors (about a lost ring, for example), and especially sows confusion with peacocks that appear at the most unexpected moments. The transitions between scenes are barely noticeable, and nothing is as it seems; the scenes between the love couple Edith and Charley, for example, are apparently charming, but at the same time there appears to be an enormous distance between them.
As a reader you are constantly wrestling with the question of what the actual purpose of the story is. But that clearly turns out to be the wrong attitude. I cannot put it better than Sebastian Faulks, who wrote an introduction to this book: “The inner shape of the novel in this way imitates our experience of living: it promises pattern, then withholds it, insisting on a formless banality; it describes intensity, but as part of a grudgingly accepted monotony; it glimpses poetry, but only from the corner of its eye.” In other words: life as it is. Nicely done, indeed, but with this book Green confirms his reputation of being a “writer’s writer”.
… (més)
bookomaniac | Hi ha 17 ressenyes més | Jul 16, 2022 |



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Autors associats

Sebastian Faulks Introduction
Daniel Kleinman Cover artist
John Updike Introduction
Edward Gorey Cover designer
Leonard Rosoman Cover artist
Jeremy Treglown Introduction
Michael Gorra Introduction
Sylvia Frezzolini Cover designer
Alan Ross Introduction
Sebastian Yorke Introduction


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½ 3.5
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