Winesburg Ohio, English edition

A Bantam Classic
With an introduction by Jeffrey Meyers
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A landmark work of American naturalism and a priceless chronicle of rural life, Winesburg, Ohio has been compared to the writings of Turgenev, Chekhov, Dreiser and Twain, and hugely influenced authors such as Steinbeck, Hemingway and Faulkner.
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Published in 1919, Winesburg, Ohio is Sherwood Anderson's masterpiece, a work in which he achieved the goal to which he believed all true writers should aspire: to see and feel "all of life within.” In a perfectly imagined world, an archetypal small American town, he reveals the hidden passions that turn ordinary lives into unforgettable ones. Unified by the recurring presence of young George Willard, and played out against the backdrop of Winesburg, Anderson's loosely connected chapters, or stories, coalesce into a powerful novel.In such tales as "Hands,” the portrayal of a rural berry picker still haunted by the accusations of homosexuality that ended his teaching career, Anderson's vision is as acute today as it was over eighty-five years ago. His intuitive ability to home in on examples of timeless, human conflicts—a workingman deciding if he should marry the woman who is to bear his child, an unhappy housewife who seeks love from the town's doctor, an unmarried high school teacher sexually attracted to a pupil—makes this book not only immensely readable but also deeply meaningful. An important influence on Faulkner, Hemingway, and others who were drawn to Anderson's innovative format and psychological insights, Winesburg, Ohio deserves a place among the front ranks of our nation's finest literary achievements.
Autor: Sherwood Anderson
Sherwood Anderson (1876-1941) spent most of his boyhood in Clyde, Ohio, the model for Winesburg, Ohio. And like the central figure of that work, Anderson left small-town life behind after his mother's death, when he was nineteen. After serving in the Spanish-American War, the mostly self-taught Anderson became successful advertising copywriter in Chicago. Then in 1912, torn between his responsibilities and his drive to create, he had a breakdown that has become legendary. Having become the owner of a small factory, Anderson abruptly walked from his office and wandered about for four days in a trancelike state before ending up in an Ohio hospital. Realizing he must devote his life to writing, he finally broke with his wife and family and joined Carl Sandburg and Theodore Dreiser, who were at the core of Chicago's literary group. By 1925, Anderson had demonstrated such talent that H.L. Mencken called him "America's most distinguished novelist.” A mentor of William Faulkner and Thomas Wolfe, Anderson was known for his colloquial style and his exploration of gender and sexuality in relationships. His works of fiction include Windy McPherson's Son (1916); Poor White (1920); The Triumph of the Egg (1921), a short-story collection; and Dark Laughter (1925). Also important are his autobiographical works: A Story Teller's Story (1924), Tar: A Midwest Childhood (1926), and Sherwood Anderson's Memoirs (1942). He died of peritonitis on a trip abroad when a broken toothpick perforated his intestines.
The writer, an old man with a white mustache, had some difficulty in getting into bed. The windows of the house in which he lived were high and he wanted to look at the trees when he awoke in the morning. A carpenter came to fix the bed so that it would be on a level with the window.
Quite a fuss was made about the matter. The carpenter, who had been a soldier in the Civil War, came into the writer's room and sat down to talk of building a platform for the purpose of raising the bed. The writer had cigars lying about and the carpenter smoked.

For a time the two men talked of the raising of the bed and then they talked of other things. The soldier got on the subject of the war. The writer, in fact, led him to that subject. The carpenter had once been a prisoner in Andersonville prison and had lost a brother. The brother had died of starvation, and whenever the carpenter got upon that subject he cried. He, like the old writer, had a white mustache, and when he cried he puckered up his lips and the mustache bobbed up and down. The weeping old man with the cigar in his mouth was ludicrous. The plan the writer had for the raising of his bed was forgotten and later the carpenter did it in his own way and the writer, who was past sixty, had to help himself with a chair when he went to bed at night.

In his bed the writer rolled over on his side and lay quite still. For years he had been beset with notions concerning his heart. He was a hard smoker and his heart fluttered. The idea had got into his mind that he would some time die unexpectedly and always when he got into bed he thought of that. It did not alarm him. The effect in fact was quite a special thing and not easily explained. It made him more alive, there in bed, than at any other time. Perfectly still he lay and his body was old and not of much use any more, but something inside him was altogether young. He was like a pregnant woman, only that the thing inside him was not a baby but a youth. No, it wasn't a youth, it was a woman, young, and wearing a coat of mail like a knight. It is absurd, you see, to try to tell what was inside the old writer as he lay on his high bed and listened to the fluttering of his heart. The thing to get at is what the writer, or the young thing within the writer, was thinking about.

The old writer, like all of the people in the world, had got, during his long life, a great many notions in his head. He had once been quite handsome and a number of women had been in love with him. And then, of course, he had known people, many people, known them in a peculiarly intimate way that was different from the way in which you and I know people. At least that is what the writer thought and the thought pleased him. Why quarrel with an old man concerning his thoughts?

In the bed the writer had a dream that was not a dream. As he grew somewhat sleepy but was still conscious, figures began to appear before his eyes. He imagined the young indescribable thing within himself was driving a long procession of figures before his eyes.

You see the interest in all this lies in the figures that went before the eyes of the writer. They were all grotesques. All of the men and women the writer had ever known had become grotesques.

The grotesques were not all horrible. Some were amusing, some almost beautiful, and one, a woman all drawn out of shape, hurt the old man by her grotesqueness. When she passed he made a noise like a small dog whimpering. Had you come into the room you might have supposed the old man had unpleasant dreams or perhaps indigestion.

For an hour the procession of grotesques passed before the eyes of the old man, and then, although it was a painful thing to do, he crept out of bed and began to write. Some one of the grotesques had made a deep impression on his mind and he wanted to describe it.

At his desk the writer worked for an hour. In the end he wrote a book which he called 'The

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Autor: Sherwood Anderson
ISBN-13 :: 9780553214390
ISBN: 055321439X
Verlag: Bantam Books
Gewicht: 130g
Seiten: 256
Sprache: Englisch
Sonstiges: Taschenbuch, 173.990xx mm
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