Elizabeth Bowen's account of a time spent in Rome is no ordinary guidebook but an evocation of a city – its history, its architecture and, above all, its atmosphere. She describes the famous classical sites, conjuring from the ruins visions of former inhabitants and their often bloody activities and speculates about the immense noise of ancient Rome, the problems caused by the Romans' dining posture, and the Roman temperament. She evokes the city's moods – by day, when it is characterised by golden sunlight, and at night, when the blaze of the moon 'annihilates history'.
A Time in Rome 1 csillagozás
Eredeti megjelenés éve: 1960
A következő kiadói sorozatban jelent meg: Vintage Classics Vintage
Kívánságlistára tette 1
Kiemelt értékelések
Nagyon kimerítő ez a könyv. Nemcsak benyomásokkal van tele, hanem történelmi anekdotákkal, amik valamiért megragadták az írónő képzeletét. Bár többször szabadkozik mesélés közben, hogy ez valójában nem útikönyv (és ebben hajlamos vagyok egyetérteni) azért örülök, hogy elolvastam. Végig próbál egy olyan nézőpontot kialakítani, ami objektív, mégis a végeredmény egy teljesen szubjektív látásmódú némafilm. (Szintén az írónő hasonlata)
Van benne néhány nagyon jó útvonal és sok-sok eldugott látnivaló, amik valamiért mégiscsak érdekesek.
Ami még megmaradt, hogy az írónő Rómát hímneműként képzeli el. (Ha valakinek muszáj nemekkel aposztrofálni egy várost…)
Népszerű idézetek
The hotel, from what I had seen of it, was estimable and dignified, nothing gimcrack. The corridor, dark and extremely long, had been lined with noble old-fashioned furniture, and in here was more of it, on top of me. Close to my pillows was the telephone, sharing the marble top of a commode with a lamp with the Camidoglio on its shade.
Page 4- The confusion
Talk of „entering” the past is nonsense, but one can be entered by it, to a degree. All happenings, whatever their place in time, must have as happenings something in common – whatever went on, goes on, in one form or another.
Page 11
The injuction to do when in Rome as the Romans do was superfluous: what else is there to do?
Page 27
One Roman pleasure, I found, is the holiday from Rome to be had in gardens. Apart from the Pincian and the Borghese, many are open to you and me- public. Private they formerly were, and they still seem so. Ownership now goes to whoever loves them.
Page 175
Next day, I changed my room for an outside corner one, a floor higher. This, with the freshness following on what seemed more absolute than a mere night's sleep, altered the feeling of everything like magic. I found myself up in a universe, my own, of sun-coloured tiled floor, sunny starchy curtains. Noise, like the morning, rushed in at the open windows, to be contained by the room in its gay tranquillity. Roses, bleached by seasons of light, rambled over the cretonne coverings of the two beds. The idea of Rome, yesterday so like lead, this noonday lay on me lighter than a feather.
Page 5
The quarter in which the Hotel Inghilterra stands is early nineteenth-century. It fills the slight declivity, shallow as the hollow of a hand, between the Pincio and the Corso, and its bisected by the de luxe Via Condotti, apart from which the quarter is unassuming.
Page 6
Rome seemed an often-shaken kaleidoscope. And a would-be attraction of the Pianta's is its featuring of principal monuments as drawings. Outsize façades blot out, each time, the street- network in their vicinity, so that ways of approach to them or departure from them cannot be traced. One id left to guesswork.
For this reason, I lost my way on leaving the Pantheon, my second afternoon.
Page 13
To the end, I never quite parted company with the Pianta; its uses however began to alter. Every evening, when it and I came back again to the hotel or the Antico Caffè Greco, I engraved that day's route on it in blue pencil, scoring the wretched paper with arrows, circles, x's, and stars.
Page 16
Rome, on Sundays and holidays, empties itself like a tipped-up bucket into Frascati, Tivoli, the Castelli Romani, on to the beaches, in anything like summer, or sheltered, made-musical lake shores.
Page 26
One thing wrong with a Roman day is the break, the utter blank, in the middle – announced by the clanging down of black iron shutters, which before owners go off to lunch they stoop to lock. No place of business reopens till half past three or four.
Page 36
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Összehasonlítás - Kate Quinn: Mistress of Rome ·
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Összehasonlítás - Mary Beard: SPQR (angol) ·
Összehasonlítás - Werner Eck: The Age of Augustus ·
Összehasonlítás