Goldberg: Variations: A Literary Tapestry Where Past, Present, Imagination, and Truth Intertwine - Softcover

Josipovici, Gabriel

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0060897236 ISBN 13: 9780060897239

Verlag: Ecco, 2007

Inhaltsangabe

At the turn of the eighteenth century, a writer—a Jew—enters an English country manor, where he has been invited to read through the night to his host until the gentleman falls asleep. What unfolds then are seemingly unconnected stories covering a vast array of topics—from incest to madness to a poetic competition in the court of George III. And what emerges by the end is a breathtaking tapestry in which past and present, imagination and truth, are intricately woven together into one remarkable whole.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

One of Europe's most innovative and admired thinkers and writers, Gabriel Josipovici has published more than a dozen novels, three volumes of short stories, several books of criticism, and plays that are widely performed throughout Europe. He lives in Lewes, England.

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At the turn of the eighteenth century, a writer—a Jew—enters an English country manor, where he has been invited to read through the night to his host until the gentleman falls asleep. What unfolds then are seemingly unconnected stories covering a vast array of topics—from incest to madness to a poetic competition in the court of George III. And what emerges by the end is a breathtaking tapestry in which past and present, imagination and truth, are intricately woven together into one remarkable whole.

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Goldberg: Variations

By Gabriel Josipovici

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2007 Gabriel Josipovici
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780060897239

Chapter One

Goldberg

We arrived at nightfall. Mr Hammond set me down at the manor and drove on to see his son. Mr Westfield was expecting me. His manservant showed me to my room. It is larger than our living-room and has a small bathroom attached, the whole elegantly panelled and freshly painted. The windows are large and look directly down on to the kitchen garden, but the big oak and elm trees of the park are visible beyond. It is altogether very pleasant and peaceful, and I am sure I will be able to do very good work here. There is a desk in one corner and Mr Westfield has provided me with every kind of paper, pencil, pen and ink.

I was given dinner in a little room adjoining the main dining-room. It was very abundant and well-cooked, with a bottle of excellent wine to go with it, and coffee to follow. This I declined, and asked instead for a cup of lemon verbena tea such as I am accustomed to at home, but this the maid could not provide. She promised, however, to fetch in a supply on the morrow, and furnished me instead with a cup of rosehip tea, pleasant to the taste though a little tart.

At nine o'clock I was ushered into Mr Westfield's rooms. He was lying on a chaise-longue, drinking coffee. He is a large, pleasant-faced man, florid in complexion and with a conspicuous wart on his nose. I did not like to tell him at this juncture that his problems might be eased if he did not drink coffee after six o'clock in the evening. He has presumably already been told this by his physician and chosen to disregard it.

I am to read to him till dawn or else till I am sure he is asleep, whichever is the first. I am to sit in the room adjacent to the bedroom, the very room where I had my first interview with him, in a chair close to the door leading into the bedroom, which will be open. Only when he begins to snore am I to stop. Steady, heavy breathing does not mean that he is asleep. Indeed, he points out that this would be the very worst moment to stop, as the sudden silence would immediately catapult him into wakefulness, even if he had been on the point of falling asleep.

I asked if he wished to hear me read, but he said he had made enquiries and had every confidence in my abilities. He wants an even tone of voice, but not monotonous. Do not try to read as though you were soothing me to sleep, he told me. I cannot abide that. Read in your normal manner, but do not let yourself be carried away by what you are reading. Only if I am compelled to attend will I be able to forget my own thoughts for long enough to fall asleep.

With that he dismissed me, instructing me to return with my book at midnight. I asked him if I should knock and he pondered a moment, then said that I should. However, he himself would not reply. Knock merely and then let yourself in, he said. The door will not be locked.

His room was in darkness when I returned, but he called out to me from his bed, and when I answered he asked me to be seated and to begin when I was ready. I settled myself in the chair, adjusted the lamp, and began. But after a while he called out to me again and asked me to enter the bedroom. The light from the lamp allowed me to make out the large four-poster in which I presumed he lay. I stood at the door, but his voice, coming from the recess of the bed, asked me to come forward and to sit at his bedside. When I had done this he lay for so long in silence I thought my simple presence there beside him had been enough to do what all the skills of my delivery had so far failed to do, but eventually he spoke, very softly, and asked me about you and the children. I answered all his questions as simply and clearly as I was able. He asked me then whether I myself had anything written I might choose to read from instead of the books I had brought with me. I answered that I had much, but not with me. I wondered whether he would suggest sending a servant to fetch these the next day, but he lay in silence for a while, and then asked whether I would be prepared to write some special thing to read to him, night after night.

—What kind of thing do you have in mind? I asked him.

He laughed at that, and said he was not himself a writer, and that he would leave such things to me. I understood the reason then for the desk under the window and the different kinds of paper and pen laid out upon it. I said I would try.

—I will not have anything other than a new composition of your own, he said.

He was silent again, and I wondered what I should do. Did he wish me to return to the other room and take up my reading again, or leave him altogether, or else to sit there in case he had other questions for me to answer. I was debating these different possibilities when he said:

—I have read all the books that have been written, Mr Goldberg, and it makes me melancholy. A terrible tedium comes upon me whenever I open again one of these volumes, or even when another voice renders me their contents.

—But would not a new book arouse your interest too much? I asked him, would it not have the effect of keeping you awake rather than the desired one of sending you to sleep?

Continues...

Excerpted from Goldberg: Variationsby Gabriel Josipovici Copyright © 2007 by Gabriel Josipovici. Excerpted by permission.
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Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Ecco
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2007
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0060897236
• ISBN 13: 9780060897239
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 208
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Product Safety Manager; enquiries@harpercollins.ie; ; HarperCollins, Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper; Dublin 1; D01 C9W8; Irland