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lizzyjane's review against another edition
1.0
I only read it to impress a horrid ex boyfriend.
It was terrible.
It was terrible.
alienclans's review against another edition
5.0
"I hate books and I hate anyone who likes books."
Same.
This book is a pretty and well worded version of life.
Same.
This book is a pretty and well worded version of life.
louiza_read2live's review against another edition
2.0
This book went down for me from 4 stars to 2.5-3 stars, but this one is from the books that I leave open the option of a later reread with fresh eyes. I like that it is thought provoking and realistically portraying the lives of people who are desperately and hopelessly lonely, unloved, and entrapped in their own minds and traumas more than in the geographical location of where they live. However, once I hit half way through, the monotone writing, the consistently awful, antipathetic characters without a hint of hope tired me out to the point that I dragged through the rest. Also, the story of the pedophiliac teacher was a point for me where it started going down fast and I couldn't stomach it anymore. I think the writing style was more what it eventually ruined it for me. Too monotone and eventually I felt I was always expecting something more and I was always at the same place... At some point, I started feeling as if I, the reader, and the awful characters, we were all part of a twilight zone episode: Realistically written stories, but none of the characters alive enough. I got too tired of the sameness, and I feel that was the point of the author after all; therefore, maybe another day, on a second reading, I'll feel differently and it'll get back its initial four stars. For now, I move on from Winesburg, so I can feel I can breath again.
konsgard's review against another edition
funny
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.0
vqdo's review against another edition
1.0
Jesus Christ, I never want to look at this book again. Six weeks of listening to my classmates read this aloud as if they'd never seen words on a piece of paper before. Then we read the summary of what we just read. Then we'd read the analysis. And after we turned the last page, we watched the movie. But oh no! That's not all! We then saw the movie about the movie.
I have no idea what this book is about. I'm sure it's fantastic. But I just can't take it anymore. When I close my eyes, I only see Hands.
I have no idea what this book is about. I'm sure it's fantastic. But I just can't take it anymore. When I close my eyes, I only see Hands.
vegantrav's review against another edition
4.0
The residents of Winesburg, Ohio, featured in the tangentially inter-connected short stories of this book bring to mind Thoreau’s description of those who lead “lives of quiet desperation.” These stories are lovingly, intricately crafted character studies. There is little action or drama here, but that’s not the point. The objective, so effectively accomplished, is to bring small-town Ohio to life. It’s not particularly riveting reading, but it is brilliant writing.
mafm22's review against another edition
5.0
Modern, very American, almost a hundred years old. Reads a bit like Fitzgerald or Steinbeck. The author left his wife, kids, and job to become a writer when he was about 40.
Stories about loneliness, frustration, and awkwardness in a country town.
Stories about loneliness, frustration, and awkwardness in a country town.
kingabee's review against another edition
4.0
When European artists want to place their symbolical tale in a setting that’s nowhere and everywhere they often settle for Central-Eastern Europe. There are so many countries there, the borders keep changing all the time, no one can keep up, so the artists can let their imagination run wild. They can even invent a whole new country and stick it somewhere between Hungary and Czech Republic. Poland is also a good place. A classic Spanish baroque play – Life is a Dream by Calderón de la Barca takes place in an imaginary Poland. The French Ubu Ori by Alfred Jarry also takes place in Poland (further explained by the author as ‘in Poland that is nowhere’).
The American equivalent of Central Europe is Midwest. It’s the nowhere and everywhere of the USA. If you looked at those maps on Buzzfeed where Europeans were asked to label American states, you saw that the whole of Midwest was usually covered with question marks.
Sherwood Anderson grew up in Ohio and invented a little town in Ohio to place his stories of sadness and grotesque. He subverts the received wisdom that loneliness is an affliction endemic to big cities, and questions the rhetoric that makes us believe that small towns are oases where humans are there for one another. Anderson proves that just because everybody knows each other’s name doesn’t make them feel any less alienated for this alienation is a condition endemic to all human kind.
And the greatest tragedy is that we all feel we are the only one suffering from it and we constantly compare ourselves to the other seemingly well-adjusted folks. All lies! We are all lonely and we all feel that life should be something else, something more. We are yearning for that je-ne-sais-quoi, as if someone made us a promise at the beginning of our lives and backed out on it.
"For a month his mother had been very ill and that had something to do with his sadness, but not much. He thought about himself and to the young that always brings sadness."
Anderson is a great poet of a small town, so generous towards his subjects, never sparing any effort to describe their inner lives in the greatest detail. Oh, the frustration of not being able to communicate with the others, to express those suffocating feelings! No wonder all the dialogues feel so stiff and stunted. Anderson takes his own advice (in the book voiced by a teacher):
"If you are to become a writer you'll have to stop fooling with words," she explained. "It would be better to give up the notion of writing until you are better prepared. Now it's time to be living. I don't want to frighten you, but I would like to make you understand the import of what you think of attempting. You must not become a mere peddler of words. The thing to learn is to know what people are thinking about, not what they say."
Sadly and ironically, the author could never reproduce the success of this collection. Although he tried and tried he only created washed-down and trite versions of Winesburg, Ohio and nothing quite as poignant as this book.
Doubly sadly, those that came after him, those that learnt from him and quoted him in their influences turned out to be superior and more talented.
"Thoughts came and I wanted to get away from my thoughts. I began to beat the horse. The black clouds settled down and it began to rain. I wanted to go at a terrible speed, to drive on and on forever. I wanted to get out of town, out of my clothes, out of my marriage, out of my body, out of everything. I almost killed the horse, making him run, and when he could not run any more I got out of the buggy and ran afoot into the darkness until I fell and hurt my side. I wanted to run away from everything but I wanted to run towards something too. Don't you see, dear, how it was?"
On a final note, let’s not forget how revolutionary this volume must have been at the time. Some of subjects discussed were: premarital sex, paedophilia, alcoholism, religious zealousness, physical desire, etc.
The American equivalent of Central Europe is Midwest. It’s the nowhere and everywhere of the USA. If you looked at those maps on Buzzfeed where Europeans were asked to label American states, you saw that the whole of Midwest was usually covered with question marks.
Sherwood Anderson grew up in Ohio and invented a little town in Ohio to place his stories of sadness and grotesque. He subverts the received wisdom that loneliness is an affliction endemic to big cities, and questions the rhetoric that makes us believe that small towns are oases where humans are there for one another. Anderson proves that just because everybody knows each other’s name doesn’t make them feel any less alienated for this alienation is a condition endemic to all human kind.
And the greatest tragedy is that we all feel we are the only one suffering from it and we constantly compare ourselves to the other seemingly well-adjusted folks. All lies! We are all lonely and we all feel that life should be something else, something more. We are yearning for that je-ne-sais-quoi, as if someone made us a promise at the beginning of our lives and backed out on it.
"For a month his mother had been very ill and that had something to do with his sadness, but not much. He thought about himself and to the young that always brings sadness."
Anderson is a great poet of a small town, so generous towards his subjects, never sparing any effort to describe their inner lives in the greatest detail. Oh, the frustration of not being able to communicate with the others, to express those suffocating feelings! No wonder all the dialogues feel so stiff and stunted. Anderson takes his own advice (in the book voiced by a teacher):
"If you are to become a writer you'll have to stop fooling with words," she explained. "It would be better to give up the notion of writing until you are better prepared. Now it's time to be living. I don't want to frighten you, but I would like to make you understand the import of what you think of attempting. You must not become a mere peddler of words. The thing to learn is to know what people are thinking about, not what they say."
Sadly and ironically, the author could never reproduce the success of this collection. Although he tried and tried he only created washed-down and trite versions of Winesburg, Ohio and nothing quite as poignant as this book.
Doubly sadly, those that came after him, those that learnt from him and quoted him in their influences turned out to be superior and more talented.
"Thoughts came and I wanted to get away from my thoughts. I began to beat the horse. The black clouds settled down and it began to rain. I wanted to go at a terrible speed, to drive on and on forever. I wanted to get out of town, out of my clothes, out of my marriage, out of my body, out of everything. I almost killed the horse, making him run, and when he could not run any more I got out of the buggy and ran afoot into the darkness until I fell and hurt my side. I wanted to run away from everything but I wanted to run towards something too. Don't you see, dear, how it was?"
On a final note, let’s not forget how revolutionary this volume must have been at the time. Some of subjects discussed were: premarital sex, paedophilia, alcoholism, religious zealousness, physical desire, etc.