In language and tone, I find Andre Gide’s The Immoralist reminding me much of the work of J.M. Coetzee, specifically Disgrace. Both authors use a very pared. There is an oft-cited sentence in André Gide’s journal entry for March 28, , in which Rereading Gide’s The Immoralist () recently that is indeed how I. Gide, Andre: The Immoralist (new tr by Richard Howard).

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My breathlessness had made me take a deeper respiration than usual and the thing had suddenly come. Marceline found a place that was sheltered from the wind and sat reading an English book, which by good luck she had brought with her. I imjoralist need all of the above, and other things too, to be able to appreciate the exhilaration that Michel, the claimed immoral-man, is having when in Tunisia, by the sea, he decides to take off his clothes and feel the bright sun that warms his skin and limbs and illuminates him into embracing a new life.

Absolutely stunning portrayal of a French Catholic repressive confronting his homo sexuality at the turn of last century. The diligence was going on; the village was asleep; the lugubrious mass of the ruins lowered dimly through the dark immensity of the night; dogs were howling.

The Immoralist by Andre Gide | Quarterly Conversation

The day after he brought some marbles. Please help improve this article by adding citations to reliable sources.

At last Bachir seemed defeated and ex- plained that his mother wanted him that morning; he handed me my shawl sadly and I was obliged to go off by myself. I read the letter; I de- voured the book, the pamphlets.

We were already pressed for time; it was the season when the reaping of the crops leaves the fields empty for early ploughing. I am doing nothing — just looking at her. What did I hear? But he is not the one who ill-treats his wife, even after finding his new ways of joy. And now at last I realized that the monologue had come to an end. Have dinner with me tonight. I went and slept among fide. Then, suddenly, it occurred to me that I was leav- ing Marceline a little too much to herself.

The young tender flesh was and is plentiful and all for sale at very reasonable prices, we understand. Marceline was, I think, asleep. Their stupefaction was great when I read them the agreement I had myself drawn up, in which I not only refused to lower the rents but also withdrew from the farms certain portions of land, which I said they were making no use of. At gise, perhaps, this necessity for falsehood cost me a little effort; but I soon came to understand that the things that are reputed worst lying, to mention only one are only difficult to do imjoralist long as one has inmoralist done them; but that they become—and very quickly too—easy, pleasant and agreeable to do over again, and imoralist even natural.


The Immoralist

What would the wild rush of these upwelling forces become without the intelligent effort that banks it, curbs it, leads it by such pleasant ways to its out- come of luxury? I spoke truly, but no doubt I was still very weak, for it was not till more than a month later that I desired Marceline. And she listened while I told her of our ride, of the awakening of the fields, of the recom- mencing of the day’s labor. Jan 02, Rakhi Dalal rated it really liked it Shelves: One evening Bocage announced that he was expect- ing his son Charles the next day.

It was night time; I remember leaning over her, feeling my heart stop and go on again with hers.

This was a quick but grotesque read. He devotes his time to creating lectures, which ultimately prove controversial. Now I’ve dug a bit deeper, I doubt that statement. My foray into Frenchies continues with this peculiar, off-the-scale subtle novel about forbidden pleasures. This novel said it a long time before they did, and it got blasted for it. These overlays had to be shaken off. So far, I had listened indulgently to the very unconvincing reports which Bocage gave me from time to andrs of deaths, malforma- tions and diseases.

As Mar- celine had said, all these gardens were alike; and yet they were all different. After that touch from the wing of Death, what seemed important is so no longer; other things be- come so which had at first seemed unimportant, or immoralixt one did not even know existed. And every day my life grew richer and fuller, as I advanced towards a vide, more delicious happi- ness. I got up, dipped my hands and face in water, then, pushing immoralits the glass doors, went out. To his credit, he nurses and cares for an ailing wife in the same manner that she tended him during his own bout with dangerous illness, and then slinks off to join the company he prefers at night while she rests.

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On André Gide’s The Immoralist () | Fiction and Film for Scholars of France

Proponents of Africanism and Orientalism view the peoples and the cultures of Africa and Asia respectively through a Eurocentric lens. And yet, we had hardly left Marseilles, when memories came back to me of Granada and Seville, of a purer sky, of franker shadows, of dances, of laughter, of songs.


And as she was pouring it out, a little pale herself, but very calm and smiling, a kind of irritation seized me to think she had not had the sense to see anything. IV IN the meantime, Marceline, who saw with delight that my health was at last improving, had after a few days begun telling me about the immoralits orchards of the oasis.

Michel showed no signs of pleasure as he wel- comed us; he was very simple and seemed afraid of any demonstrations of tenderness; but on the threshold, he stopped and kissed each one of us gravely. On the couple’s honeymoon to Tunisia, Michel becomes very ill, and during his recovery he meets a young Arab boy whose radiant health and beauty captivate him. He is trying too ha This is a strange tale, almost a parable. He told me the names of his goats, told me that the little canals are called ‘seghias’; they do not all run every day, he explained; the water, wisely and parsimoniously distributed, satisfies the thirst of the plants, and is then at once withdrawn.

I did not then suspect how great a hold the early moral lessons of our childhood take of one, nor what marks they leave upon the mind. I came close to regarding honesty itself as no more than restriction, convention, timidity. Every now and then a great ripple suddenly stirred its surface and the brown backs of the disturbed fish came into sight. May your friendship, which has been so proof against absence, be equally proof against the story I am going to tell you. While traveling between, Tunis, Maltaand Syracuse, Michel realizes that he has changed.

We were both chilled to the bone when we arrived, and I was exhausted as well by the jolting of the carriage and by my horrible cough, which shook me even worse.

His self-exploratory texts reflect his search of how to be fully oneself, even to the point of owning one’s sexual nature, without at abdre same time betraying one’s values.