When an epidemic threatens to destroy the silk trade in France, the young merchant Herve Joncour leaves his doting wife and his comfortable home in the small town of Lavilledieu and travels across Siberia to the other end of the world, to Japan, to obtain eggs for a fresh breeding of silk worms. It is the 1860s; Japan is closed to foreigners and this has to be a clandestin When an epidemic threatens to destroy the silk trade in France, the young merchant Herve Joncour leaves his doting wife and his comfortable home in the small town of Lavilledieu and travels across Siberia to the other end of the world, to Japan, to obtain eggs for a fresh breeding of silk worms. It is the 1860s; Japan is closed to foreigners and this has to be a clandestine operation.

During his undercover negotiations with the local baron, Joncour's attention is arrested by the man's concubine, a girl who does not have Oriental eyes. Although the young Frenchman and the girl are unable to exchange so much as a word, love blossoms between them, conveyed by a number of recondite messages in the course of four visits the Frenchman pays to Japan. How their secret affair develops and how it unfolds is told in a narration as beautiful, smooth and seamless as a piece of the finest silk. I never imagined I would like a book where the main character makes a living by buying silkworms. In fact, I not only liked it, I loved it. SILK is easily one of the top ten books I have read in the past eighteen months or so. It has a sparse writing style, and passages are repeated almost verbatim in no less than three different spots.

That Alessandro Baricco's first three novels constitute a 'trilogy' is not as yet a critical com- monplace, although. Insomma, la si poteva rivoltare mille volte, questa storia dei gioielli, ma una spiegazione definitiva. Be read as metaphors of the traditional figure of the artist as the isolated genius, the man with a vision, the.

The characters are there, fully realized, but at the same time, each character is a mystery or a ghost without definite shape. The prose is smooth, dr I never imagined I would like a book where the main character makes a living by buying silkworms. In fact, I not only liked it, I loved it. SILK is easily one of the top ten books I have read in the past eighteen months or so. It has a sparse writing style, and passages are repeated almost verbatim in no less than three different spots. The characters are there, fully realized, but at the same time, each character is a mystery or a ghost without definite shape.

The prose is smooth, dreamlike. SILK is an easy story to relate to: it is about the idea of love. Herve Joncour is a silkworm buyer who, at first, travels across Europe, past the Mediterranean, into Syria and Egypt to buy the precious silkworm eggs. However, an epidemic hits the silkworms of Europe, and before long, the epidemic spreads to the far reaches of Egypt.

Worried that this enterprise is in danger, a man named Baldabiou convinces Herve that to ensure a profit Herve needs to go a land that is known for only being at the end of the world: Japan. But Japan is closed to outsiders. In fact, it is closed off to anyone who leaves the island. Now, it would have been easy for the author, Alessandro Baricco, to bombard the reader with fascinating details about the politics of Japan, and the history of opening the island to outsiders. I would have really liked that. But Baricco had other ideas. He knew that if he heaped detail upon detail, during this part, the mystery and intrigue of the story would become lost.

Instead, Baricco uses only the least bit of detail to convey such a tumultuous time of Japanese and world history. And it is done in such a beautiful and remarkable way that this reader never felt as if important aspects of the novel were only glazed over. It is while in Japan that Herve has a realization of love. (I wish I could tell you about the woman and the impact she had upon Herve, but that would ruin the story for you.) Herve replays this journey four times.

Three of them are peaceful. On the fourth time, Japan is in the midst of a civil war. When Herve returns this last time, charred villages and a way of life that he remembers are black phantoms upon the landscape. (Not to mention the woman that Herve loves? Contributes to this bleak landscape in the form of silence.) Okay, I know the past two paragraphs have been cryptic, I apologize. I hate when other reviewers do that, but it seems secrecy is the only way I can explain how powerful this story is.

You see, the love Herve thinks he feels is not really love; it’s not not really love as well. And this is the beauty of Baricco’s storytelling. At only a 112 pages, this is an easy read. But when you have finished the story, I am willing to bet it will be a long time before the images and situations leave your mind. HIGHEST RECOMMENDATION POSSIBLE.

This read was a nice break after reading long books. Silk reads like a gauzy flowing breeze. An almost fairy tale with the exotic as background and with travel and some suspense as some of its most palpable elements, it is a not an easy book to put down, precisely because it is so easy to read. The next short chapter with big print draws you immediately in until you suddenly reach the end.

As a tale it also has an element of the oral tradition, with periodic repetitions to help its audience reme This read was a nice break after reading long books. Silk reads like a gauzy flowing breeze.

An almost fairy tale with the exotic as background and with travel and some suspense as some of its most palpable elements, it is a not an easy book to put down, precisely because it is so easy to read. The next short chapter with big print draws you immediately in until you suddenly reach the end. As a tale it also has an element of the oral tradition, with periodic repetitions to help its audience remember, repetitions which have bothered some readers, but which for me made the reading faster. It also has some historical pegs, such as 1861 and Abraham Lincoln and the American Civil War, or the effects of the earlier Treaty that Commodore Perry forced on Japan to open up its borders to Western Trade, or the geopolitical setting of an Asia as the theatre for the colonial wars between the various European powers, when the UK was selling arms to the Japanese government, while the Netherlands supported the rebels as the Japanese civil war erupted. We are also reminded of the opening of the Suez Canal, and more pertinent to the tale, the scientific discoveries of Pasteur related to parasites and silkworms. This was the age when a new explosion of trade changed the nature of the already long established Silk-Route.

But the historical content is just pegs. A different context could have also served for these historical components seem no more than a setting made of cardboard planks. The narration is not factual, but essentially evocative.

The language comes across in a poetic mode in the Spanish translation from the original Italian. Many sentences are left open and others are placed here or there, as if they were loose brushstrokes painted with Japanese ink. Seda or Silk, then comes across as a lyrical legend in which the underlying feeling or theme would seem to be Love. But to me it expressed the more general sentiment of Longing, the longing that is experienced in love, but also in other imaginary trips and landscapes and desires and yearnings.

Because Longing is as slippery and shiny and as smooth as silk. Very briefly: After seeing the unfortunate, movie tie-in edition’s cover, I had an Oh-No! It’s a Romance moment. So I read, disregarding the cover, defiantly at times. And all of the sudden, the airiness of the text, the nice use of iteration and variation, and as much as I hate to say, the plot, began working in my favor.

Quotes won’t really do for this one, at least not quotes of the sort I like to liberate. It’s the absence of text, the lightest hint of language, that m Very briefly: After seeing the unfortunate, movie tie-in edition’s cover, I had an Oh-No! It’s a Romance moment. So I read, disregarding the cover, defiantly at times. And all of the sudden, the airiness of the text, the nice use of iteration and variation, and as much as I hate to say, the plot, began working in my favor. Quotes won’t really do for this one, at least not quotes of the sort I like to liberate.

It’s the absence of text, the lightest hint of language, that makes it work so well. Comfortable language, cozy, gentle. If you wondered, it’s not a Romance, not really, it’s merely romantic. Five stars, without qualification. Right book at the right time.*********** This is not really a view. I have a tendency to picking up doom and gloom books.

But not this time, not this time. Silk evoked images of distant Japan and the girl which eyes did not have an oriental slant; elicited thoughts about things that couldn't happen and made me ponder over pain of longing and power of patience. Beguiled me with its ephemeral beauty and deceptive simplicity and I’m not even sure what it was. Was it a fable with its repetitive phrases and unreal aura? Was it a parable of human life wit I have a tendency to picking up doom and gloom books. But not this time, not this time.

Silk evoked images of distant Japan and the girl which eyes did not have an oriental slant; elicited thoughts about things that couldn't happen and made me ponder over pain of longing and power of patience. Beguiled me with its ephemeral beauty and deceptive simplicity and I’m not even sure what it was. Was it a fable with its repetitive phrases and unreal aura? Was it a parable of human life with all its ambitions and failures? Mr Ray Vst Keygen Generator. Or maybe just an unattainable dream? Whatever it was it was charming. Beautifully written, surrounded by a veil of mystery, fragile like silkworms eggs and delicate as silk thread.

Flaubert was writing Salammbo, electric light was still a hypothesis and Abraham Lincoln, on the other side of the ocean, was fighting a war whose end he would not see. Herve Joncour was thirty-two years old. He bought and sold. Silkworms Whimsical, ethereal, like air between your fingers, shimmering light reflected in the still waters of a lake at the end of the world, the flight path of a blue crane across a cloudless sky: Silk I don't want to write a long review, scrutinizing the It was 1861. Flaubert was writing Salammbo, electric light was still a hypothesis and Abraham Lincoln, on the other side of the ocean, was fighting a war whose end he would not see.

Herve Joncour was thirty-two years old. He bought and sold.

Silkworms Whimsical, ethereal, like air between your fingers, shimmering light reflected in the still waters of a lake at the end of the world, the flight path of a blue crane across a cloudless sky: Silk I don't want to write a long review, scrutinizing the plot or the characters motivations. The beauty of this prose poem lies in its minimalist brush strokes.

Barrico eliminates everything that is extraneous, superfluous or simply unnecessary until only the core of beauty and kindness is left to grace the page. Silk is a celebration of love, adventure and storytelling. It is intimate and sad and in the end it ask a question about what we want to be remembered for? A garden for the children to play in.

A tale of journeys to far places and of dangerous pursuits. A silk veil so fine it is almost transparent, tranforming the world seen through it into a space for dreams. In time he began to yield to a pleasure that in the past he had always denied himself: to those who came to see him, he recounted his travels. Listening to him, the people of Lavilledieu learned about the world, and the children discovered what marvel was. He spoke softly, staring into the air, at things the others couldn't see.

'I never even heard her voice.' And after a while: 'It is a strange grief.' Softly: 'To die of nostalgia for something you will never live.' I finished this in a matter of hours. My advice on this book would be: do not let that, nor its slim size, nor the whispering, simple voice that it adopts, fool you into thinking that it is insubstantial in any way.

The end got to me even after my short acquaintance with the book. At times, it may feel as if you don't understand the significance of each passing 'I never even heard her voice.'

And after a while: 'It is a strange grief.' Softly: 'To die of nostalgia for something you will never live.'

I finished this in a matter of hours. My advice on this book would be: do not let that, nor its slim size, nor the whispering, simple voice that it adopts, fool you into thinking that it is insubstantial in any way. The end got to me even after my short acquaintance with the book. At times, it may feel as if you don't understand the significance of each passing symbol or action.

In the end, it doesn't matter if you do or not. What matters most is the feeling you experience while you absorb it. I also recommend that you read it all in one sitting.

Let it work its charm over you and don't let the world interfere. Andrew Green Jazz Guitar Technique Pdf Writer there. You'll miss out otherwise. 'He wasn't much cut out for serious conversations.

And a goodbye is a serious conversation.' OK, for 125 pages I'm reading this thinking, 'three stars, nice little story, fast read; wish more novelists could tell a sweeping romantic adventure tale with such dispatch.

Vivid, enjoyable, and even educational, but no great shakes.' And then I get to the end, and realize the power of the wife's desire. What she does. How he realizes what she did, and how she had felt. How she knew about his inner life, 'He wasn't much cut out for serious conversations. And a goodbye is a serious conversation.' OK, for 125 pages I'm reading this thinking, 'three stars, nice little story, fast read; wish more novelists could tell a sweeping romantic adventure tale with such dispatch.

Vivid, enjoyable, and even educational, but no great shakes.' And then I get to the end, and realize the power of the wife's desire. What she does. How he realizes what she did, and how she had felt. How she knew about his inner life, and didn't want to be a surrogate.

Goddamn it hit me hard. Made me cry, it did.

I'm trying to say why it was good without being too specific and giving much away. (KR@KY, with slight fix in 2016). I found myself totally captivated by this odd yet hauntingly beautiful story of love. This short little book fills its pages with so much mystery, suspense and love that I found myself wanting to read it again and again, gaining more from it with each reading, yet never quite knowing it completely, never quite finding answers to my many questions, but able to accept that. I loved the author's use of repetition as emphasis as well as his sparse style of writing with prose that smoothly moves the I found myself totally captivated by this odd yet hauntingly beautiful story of love.

This short little book fills its pages with so much mystery, suspense and love that I found myself wanting to read it again and again, gaining more from it with each reading, yet never quite knowing it completely, never quite finding answers to my many questions, but able to accept that. I loved the author's use of repetition as emphasis as well as his sparse style of writing with prose that smoothly moves the story forward with a dream-like quality that lingers in your mind long after you finish it.

I'm very eager to now search out other books by this author. Highly recommend. The minute strands of silk weave themselves amongst our lives, betwixt day and night. We ache and breathe endlessly, yearning for that love, that love, that tempest of emotions that we cannot fathom nor control within ourselves. Those words that are etched on paper are not always what they seem from whom they seem. That same heart that grasped what he thought he felt, has been mistaken; an unspoken misery has befell this man with the demise of what he really wanted.

All She wanted was to be loved. Just now finished reading it and I wanted to write a terrific review for the work. But then I now realise that I lack words to describe my sentiments regarding the novel. Is it a love story?

Is it a story on a desire that is unfulfilled? Is it a story on obsession? Is it a story on silk?

The novel might answer positively to everything and still something would be lacking in it. At times, you look at a person and immediately you fall in love with that person or in a moment you begin to like a perso Just now finished reading it and I wanted to write a terrific review for the work. But then I now realise that I lack words to describe my sentiments regarding the novel. Is it a love story? Is it a story on a desire that is unfulfilled?

Is it a story on obsession? Is it a story on silk? The novel might answer positively to everything and still something would be lacking in it. At times, you look at a person and immediately you fall in love with that person or in a moment you begin to like a person more than anything for no reason at all.

And it can be a novel regarding that. Is it a novel on erotic obsession. It can be responded with Yes. But then is the erotic obsession only symbolic? And even for that the answer would be yes. I am still wondering at the ability of Baricco to convey everything I said and the other things unsaid into such a small novel divided into still smaller chapters. A novel that will always remain in mind and I would never forget the name of Helene.

Note: If you are a new person stumbling on this novel and is yet to decide whether to read it or not, I would say to you: 'READ IT.'

This study argues that the metaliterary aspect constitutes a fundamental and unifying concern within Alessandro Baricco's first three novels. This author's leaning towards a self-reflexive mode of representation is demonstrated by the endings of Castelli di rabbia and Oceano mare. However, this aspect pervades all the main thematic strands of both novels, amounting to a consistent vision on Baricco's part. This also relates to the author's views on the relationship of the general public with art and culture, as illustrated in Baricco's newspaper articles and musicological essays. A similar vision applies to the author's third novel, Seta, which, though it does not include an explicitly metafictional epilogue, can in fact be seen as a daring and coherent metaphor of the role and development of fiction in the last few centuries.