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A review by blueyorkie
Nadja by André Breton
5.0
It's one of those books you either love or hate. Nadja, without a doubt, is one of them. This hybrid text on the borders of autobiography, essay, and novel, embellished with photos, drawings, and literary references, is majestic and overwhelming. Breton does not seek to please. He shudders and disturbs. It propels its reader into the surrealist movement at the gates of madness. Who was Nadja? Elusive and indecipherable, Nadja seems to be the embodiment of surrealism. It seems so unreal that one would think it came from Breton's imagination. Yet Nadja was. But the real and eternal question is elsewhere. Who am I?
The last part is a magnificent plea against the deprivation of liberty and the fledgling psychiatric medicine at a time when entering a "specialized" hospital meant never leaving it again. Praise of madness, rejection of decency, and the right to be different. Gorgeous and timeless.
The last part is a magnificent plea against the deprivation of liberty and the fledgling psychiatric medicine at a time when entering a "specialized" hospital meant never leaving it again. Praise of madness, rejection of decency, and the right to be different. Gorgeous and timeless.