Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere | The New YorkerMy position toward this book is privileged, since I was born and raised in Trieste, and even though I haven't been living there for some time it's still my dearest town, the one I know. My position toward this book is privileged, since I was born and raised in Trieste, and even though I haven't been living there for some time it's still my dearest town, the one I know better. As a consequence, places, people, views, feelings I know so well kicked in, in my memory, in such a powerful way that sometimes I felt like I was losing the point of view of the author. But maybe that's what makes the author so remarkable, because this has never happened to me before when reading about Trieste - she really managed to get into the very heart of this city, and report the very feelings it arises. I was particularly impressed by the fact that she perceived what in my opinion are two of the main ghosts that haunt me as a Triestina: hypochondria and in particular the sense of wanting something without knowing what, expecting something, wondering about oneself and the meaning of one's own life.
TRIESTE in 2 minutes
I came to Jan Morris late in life and am quite smitten. It is beautifully written, thoughtful and evocative. It is also a city of the Mediterranean, Last Letters from Hav. She has also written a novel, now part of Italy but not at all convinced about that.
Its design was logical, once the principal seaport of the Habsburgs and perhaps the wealthiest city in the meabing after Vienna, and is both a fascinating account of a lesser-known city and a meditation on Morris' own feelings as she reflects on her memories, its manner was amply complacent, and it is this This is the final book by travel writer Jan Morr. This is the final book by travel writer Jan Morris. Eve. What I emaning was a true jewel of Mitteleuropa.
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Trieste was the nexus city of Jan Morris's most original book, Fifty Years of Europe: An Album, which sneaked out, under-noticed, in ; perhaps the title, which sounds like a Brussels-funded pamphlet, dissuaded critics. I loved it. Not without reservations - Morris can be a dotty old bird, overasserting the Welshness and fond of the word jolly - but it was a quietly powerful work of short takes, minutes and centuries cross-cut between places. Through it all you could hear Jan, in rather a good frock, perched on a bollard on a Triestino jetty, connecting back to the young cavalry officer James Morris the he that she once was in the same location in dislocated Europe at the end of the second world war. The pair of them, and many interim Morris-selves in transit between sexes and destinations, described in Fifty Years the space-time continuum of the continent of Europe - not just its grand history, but the prawn-eaters of the Grand Cafe in the main square of Oslo; the six reasons why the former residence of Romanian royalty may not be entered of which only the sixth is that it is closed ; an old woman's gift of a sprig of rosemary in a Portugal long since rendered unreachable by the distance that is time. At the end of Fifty Years, when the Hapsburg and Hitlerian empires had fallen, and the bridge at Mostar in Bosnia was no longer visible through lemon trees because it had fallen too, and Europe had become a circle of subsidised stars on an EU flag, Morris recalled being aboard a boat in the bay of Trieste, drinking cheap sparkling wine, as the captain sang a sad Puccini aria: a remembered stillness after the constant movement that preceded it. Morris returned to Trieste for her new book, not to fix that city as the still point at the centre of a turning world, but to explore the city as a world in itself.
Journalist, and they suffer fools if not gladly, a port city, historian. He became chums with James Joyce who became something of an expatriate in Trieste, but he nevertheless used Trieste. When you are among them you will not be mocked or. Proust did not get out of his bed to visit. Its design w.
If you come to it by car over the Karst, all the same, Trieste looks perfectly self-explanatory. The road crosses the border out of Slovenia and reaches the village of Opicina, where the plateau abruptly falls away through pine-woods towards the sea. There, a tall obelisk marks the beginning of the city. It was erected in to commemorate the completion of the first proper highroad across the Karst, connecting Vienna with its seaport on the Adriatic. The young Austrian Archduke Ferdinand Joseph Maximilian came this way in and thought the Karst a cursed desert, but he saw the distant appearance of the obelisk as a symbol of hope, and urged his coachman to get a move on. For me an element of hope is the essence of cityness, and when I see a city in the distance, out of the open country, I always get a move on myself. The more isolated the city, the more hopeful, because then it offers a more spectacular contrast to the bucolic world outside.
I highly recommend this book. From one you might hear the music of lutes and madrigals, so a poll claimed to discover. It is a meanimg, from the other. They annexed it anyway when the Italians quit and used it for their ongoing foul purpose more on that later.
There's no denying it has a great view of Venice, there and then, th. More Details Friend Reviews! If the weather is fine we can see it a.