Gone with the Windby Margaret Mitchell
A monumental classic considered by many to be not only the greatest love story ever written, but also the greatest Civil War saga. See more details below
A monumental classic considered by many to be not only the greatest love story ever written, but also the greatest Civil War saga.
"The best novel to have ever come out of the South...it is unsurpassed in the whole of American writing." The Washington Post
"Fascinating and unforgettable! A remarkable book, a spectacular book, a book that will not be forgotten!" Chicago Tribune
"Gone with the Wind is one of those rare books that we never forget. We read it when we're young and fall in love with the characters, then we watch the film and read the book again and watch the film again and never get tired of revisiting an era that is the most important in our history. Rhett and Scarlet and Melanie and Ashley and Big Sam and Mammy and Archie the convict are characters who always remain with us, in the same way that Twain's characters do. No one ever forgets the scene when Scarlet wanders among the wounded in the Atlanta train yard; no one ever forgets the moment Melanie and Scarlet drag the body of the dead Federal soldier down the staircase, a step at a time. Gone with the Wind is an epic story. Anyone who has not read it has missed one of the greatest literary experiences a reader can have." James Lee Burke, bestselling author of The Tin Roof Blowdown
"I first read Gone with the Wind in grade schoola boy of the upper South who'd seen the great movie and felt compelled to learn what lay behind it, all thousand-plus pages worth. No page disappointed me. What other American novel surpasses its eagerness to tell a great story of love and war; what characters equal the cantankerous passions of Scarlett and Rhett? Even Scott Fitzgerald spoke well of it. What more could I ask, even seven decades later?" Reynolds Price
"In my own personal life, I find many similarities to Scarlett's: The whole 17-inch waist thing notwithstanding, I do love a barbecue, both for the food and the menI have been known to "eat like a field hand and gobble like a hawg"I admit that at least on one occasion I may have feigned interest in some guy to further my own interestsI have fought tooth, toenail and tirelessly for my familyI learn slow but I learn goodand even so, I still adore the prospect of dealing with most things...Tomorrow." Jill Conner Browne, The Sweet Potato Queen, bestselling author of The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel
"In 1936 I was in E.M. Daggett Junior High in Ft. Worth, Texas. By some chance I was able to read Gone with the Wind early on. Then and now, I found it one of the great experiences of a young life. I still list it as one of my 10 favorite books." Liz Smith, nationally syndicated columnist
"Not just a great love story, Gone with the Wind is one of the most powerful anti-war novels ever written. Told from the standpoint of the women left behind, author Margaret Mitchell brilliantly illustrates the heartbreaking and devastating effects of war on the land and its people." Fannie Flagg, Academy Award nominated-author
"Let's say you've read Gone with the Wind at least twice, and seen the movie over and again. So, here's a thought. Buy this handsome paperback edition, just for Pat Conroy's preface. This passionate, nearly breathless love letter is a Song of Solomon to Margaret Mitchell, Scarlett O'Hara, and Conroy's beautiful, GTW-obsessed mother. Indeed, his luminous preface packs a durable wallop, just like the epic Pulitzer prize-winning work that inspires it." Jan Karon, author of The Mitford Years series
"GWTW is an indelible portrait of a unique time and place, American's greatest political and moral conflict, and the myths that surround it an all absorbing spectacle of a read even for postmodern readers. Mitchell vividly portrays the disillusionment and devastation of war, the ignorance of the uninitiated, and the transformation of arrogance into tenacity that shaped the first "new South." All the details of history and place come together as a rich backdrop for those unforgettable characters: shallow and selfish Scarlett, sincere Melanie, moony-eyed Ashley, and the sage, pragmatic, dashing, and rakish Rhett Butlerthe most enduring heartthrob of American literature has produced. I'd reread the book for the thrill of Rhett alone!" Darnell Arnoult, author of Sufficient Grace
"For sheer readability I can think of nothing it must give way before. Miss Mitchell proves herself a staggeringly gifted storyteller."
The New Yorker
Read an Excerpt
Gone with the Wind
By Margaret Mitchell
ScribnerCopyright © 2007 Margaret Mitchell
All right reserved.
The next morning Scarlett's body was so stiff and sore from the long miles of walking and jolting in the wagon that every movement was agony. Her face was crimson with sunburn and her blistered palms raw. Her tongue was furred and her throat parched as if flames had scorched it and no amount of water could assuage her thirst. Her head felt swollen and she winced even when she turned her eyes. A queasiness of the stomach reminiscent of the early days of her pregnancy made the smoking yams on the breakfast table unendurable, even to the smell. Gerald could have told her she was suffering the normal aftermath of her first experience with hard drinking but Gerald noticed nothing. He sat at the head of the table, a gray old man with absent, faded eyes fastened on the door and head cocked slightly to hear the rustle of Ellen's petticoats, to smell the lemon verbena sachet.
As Scarlett sat down, he mumbled: "We will wait for Mrs. O'Hara. She is late." She raised an aching head, looked at him with startled incredulity and met the pleading eyes of Mammy, who stood behind Gerald's chair. She rose unsteadily, her hand at her throat and looked down at her father in the morning sunlight. He peered up at her vaguely and she saw that his handswere shaking, that his head trembled a little.
Until this moment she had not realized how much she had counted on Gerald to take command, to tell her what she must do, and now -- Why, last night he had seemed almost himself. There had been none of his usual bluster and vitality, but at least he had told a connected story and now -- now, he did not even remember Ellen was dead. The combined shock of the coming of the Yankees and her death had stunned him. She started to speak, but Mammy shook her head vehemently and raising her apron dabbed at her red eyes.
"Oh, can Pa have lost his mind?" thought Scarlett and her throbbing head felt as if it would crack with this added strain. "No, no. He's just dazed by it all. It's like he was sick. He'll get over it. He must get over it. What will I do if he doesn't? -- I won't think about it now. I won't think of him or Mother or any of these awful things now. No, not till I can stand it. There are too many other things to think about -- things that can be helped without my thinking of those I can't help."
She left the dining room without eating, and went out onto the back porch where she found Pork, barefooted and in the ragged remains of his best livery, sitting on the steps cracking peanuts. Her head was hammering and throbbing and the bright sunlight stabbed into her eyes. Merely holding herself erect required an effort of will power and she talked as briefly as possible, dispensing with the usual forms of courtesy her mother had always taught her to use with negroes.
She began asking questions so brusquely and giving orders so decisively Pork's eyebrows went up in mystification. Miss Ellen didn't never talk so short to nobody, not even when she caught them stealing pullets and watermelons. She asked again about the fields, the gardens, the stock, and her green eyes had a hard glaze which Pork had never seen in them before.
"Yas'm, dat hawse daid, layin' dar whar Ah tie him wid his nose in de water bucket he tuhned over. No'm, de cow ain' daid. Din' you know? She done have a calf las' night. Dat why she beller so."
"A fine midwife your Prissy will make," Scarlett remarked caustically. "She said she was bellowing because she needed milking."
"Well'm, Prissy ain' fixing to be no cow midwife, Miss Scarlett," Pork said tactfully. "An' ain' no use quarrelin' wid blessin's, cause dat calf gwine ter mean a full cow an' plen'y buttermilk fer de young Misses, lak dat Yankee doctah say dey'd need."
"All right, go on. Any stock left?"
"No'm. Nuthin' 'cept one ole sow an' her litter. Ah driv dem inter de swamp de day de Yankees come, but de Lawd knows how we gwine get dem. She mean, dat sow."
"We'll get them all right. You and Prissy can start right now hunting for her."
Pork was amazed and indignant.
"Miss Scarlett, dat a fe'el han's bizness. Ah's allus been a house nigger."
A small fiend with a pair of hot tweezers plucked behind Scarlett's eyeballs.
"You two will catch the sow -- or get out of here, like the field hands did."
Tears trembled in Pork's hurt eyes. Oh, if only Miss Ellen were here! She understood such niceties and realized the wide gap between the duties of a field hand and those of a house nigger.
"Git out, Miss Scarlett? Whar'd Ah git out to, Miss Scarlett?"
"I don't know and I don't care. But anyone at Tara who won't work can go hunt up the Yankees. You can tell the others that too."
"Now, what about the corn and the cotton, Pork?"
"De cawn? Lawd, Miss Scarlett, dey pasture dey hawses in de cawn an' cah'ied off whut de hawses din' eat or spile. An' dey driv dey cannons an' wagons 'cross de cotton till it plum ruint, 'cept a few acres over on de creek bottom dat dey din' notice. But dat cotton ain' wuth foolin' wid, 'cause ain' but 'bout three bales over dar."
Three bales. Scarlett thought of the scores of bales Tara usually yielded and her head hurt worse. Three bales. That was little more than the shiftless Slatterys raised. To make matters worse, there was the question of taxes. The Confederate government took cotton for taxes in lieu of money, but three bales wouldn't even cover the taxes. Little did it matter though, to her or the Confederacy, now that all the field hands had run away and there was no one to pick the cotton.
"Well, I won't think of that either," she told herself. "Taxes aren't a woman's job anyway. Pa ought to look after such things, but Pa -- I won't think of Pa now. The Confederacy can whistle for its taxes. What we need now is something to eat."
"Pork, have any of you been to Twelve Oaks or the MacIntosh place to see if there's anything left in the gardens there?"
"No, Ma'm! Us ain' lef' Tara. De Yankees mout git us."
"I'll send Dilcey over to MacIntosh. Perhaps she'll find something there. And I'll go to Twelve Oaks."
"Who wid, chile?"
"By myself. Mammy must stay with the girls and Mr. Gerald can't -- "
Pork set up an outcry which she found infuriating. There might be Yankees or mean niggers at Twelve Oaks. She mustn't go alone.
"That will be enough, Pork. Tell Dilcey to start immediately. And you and Prissy go bring in the sow and her litter," she said briefly, turning on her heel.
Mammy's old sunbonnet, faded but clean, hung on its peg on the back porch and Scarlett put it on her head, remembering, as from another world, the bonnet with curling green plume which Rhett had brought her from Paris. She picked up a large split-oak basket and started down the back stairs, each step jouncing her head until her spine seemed to be trying to crash through the top of her skull.
The road down to the river lay red and scorching between the ruined cotton fields. There were no trees to cast a shade and the sun beat down through Mammy's sunbonnet as if it were made of tarlatan instead of heavy quilted calico, while the dust floating upward sifted into her nose and throat until she felt the membranes would crack if she spoke. Deep ruts and furrows were cut into the road where horses had dragged heavy guns along it and the red gullies on either side were deeply gashed by the wheels. The cotton was mangled and trampled where cavalry and infantry, forced off the narrow road by the artillery, had marched through the green bushes, grinding them into the earth. Here and there in road and fields lay buckles and bits of harness leather, canteens flattened by hooves and caisson wheels, buttons, blue caps, worn socks, bits of bloody rags, all the litter left by a marching army.
She passed the clump of cedars and the low brick wall which marked the family burying ground, trying not to think of the new grave lying by the three short mounds of her little brothers. Oh, Ellen -- She trudged on down the dusty hill, passing the heap of ashes and the stumpy chimney where the Slattery house had stood, and she wished savagely that the whole tribe of them had been part of the ashes. If it hadn't been for that nasty Emmie, who'd had a bastard brat by their overseer -- Ellen wouldn't have died.
She moaned as a sharp pebble cut into her blistered foot. What was she doing here? Why was Scarlett O'Hara, the belle of the County, the sheltered pride of Tara, tramping down this rough road almost barefoot? Her little feet were made to dance, not to limp, her tiny slippers to peep daringly from under bright silks, not to collect sharp pebbles and dust. She was born to be pampered and waited upon, and here she was, sick and ragged, driven by hunger to hunt for food in the gardens of her neighbors.
At the bottom of the long hill was the river and how cool and still were the tangled trees overhanging the water! She sank down on the low bank, and stripping off the remnants of her slippers and stockings, dabbled her burning feet in the cool water. It would be so good to sit here all day, away from the helpless eyes of Tara, here where only the rustle of leaves and the gurgle of slow water broke the stillness. But reluctantly she replaced her shoes and stockings and trudged down the bank, spongy with moss, under the shady trees. The Yankees had burned the bridge but she knew of a footlog bridge across a narrow point of the stream a hundred yards below. She crossed it cautiously and trudged uphill the hot half-mile to Twelve Oaks.
There towered the twelve oaks, as they had stood since Indian days, but with their leaves brown from fire and the branches burned and scorched. Within their circle lay the ruins of John Wilkes' house, the charred remains of that once stately home which had crowned the hill in white-columned dignity. The deep pit which had been the cellar, the blackened field-stone foundations and two mighty chimneys marked the site. One long column, half-burned, had fallen across the lawn, crushing the cape jessamine bushes.
Scarlett sat down on the column, too sick at the sight to go on. This desolation went to her heart as nothing she had ever experienced. Here was the Wilkes pride in the dust at her feet. Here was the end of
the kindly, courteous house which had always welcomed her, the house where in futile dreams she had aspired to be mistress. Here she had danced and dined and flirted and here she had watched with a jealous, hurting heart how Melanie smiled up at Ashley. Here, too, in the cool shadows of the trees, Charles Hamilton had rapturously pressed her hand when she said she would marry him.
"Oh, Ashley," she thought, "I hope you are dead! I could never bear for you to see this."
Ashley had married his bride here but his son and his son's son would never bring brides to this house. There would be no more matings and births beneath the roof which she had so loved and longed to rule. The house was dead and, to Scarlett, it was as if all the Wilkeses, too, were dead in its ashes.
"I won't think of it now. I can't stand it now. I'll think of it later," she said aloud, turning her eyes away.
Seeking the garden, she limped around the ruins, by the trampled rose beds the Wilkes girls had tended so zealously, across the back yard and through the ashes of the smokehouse, barns and chicken houses. The split-rail fence around the kitchen garden had been demolished and the once orderly rows of green plants had suffered the same treatment as those at Tara. The soft earth was scarred with hoof prints and heavy wheels and the vegetables were mashed into the soil. There was nothing for her here.
She walked back across the yard and took the path down toward the silent row of whitewashed cabins in the quarters, calling "Hello!" as she went. But no voice answered her. Not even a dog barked. Evidently the Wilkes negroes had taken flight or followed the Yankees. She knew every slave had his own garden patch and as she reached the quarters, she hoped these little patches had been spared.
Her search was rewarded but she was too tired even to feel pleasure at the sight of turnips and cabbages, wilted for want of water but still standing, and straggling butter beans and snap beans, yellowing but edible. She sat down in the furrows and dug into the earth with hands that shook, filling her basket slowly. There would be a good meal at Tara tonight, in spite of the lack of side meat to boil with the vegetables. Perhaps some of the bacon grease Dilcey was using for illumination could be used for seasoning. She must remember to tell Dilcey to use pine knots and save the grease for cooking.
Close to the back step of one cabin, she found a short row of radishes and hunger assaulted her suddenly. A spicy, sharp-tasting radish was exactly what her stomach craved. Hardly waiting to rub the dirt off on her skirt, she bit off half and swallowed it hastily. It was old and coarse and so peppery that tears started in her eyes. No sooner had the lump gone down than her empty stomach revolted and she lay in the soft dirt and vomited tiredly.
The faint niggery smell which crept from the cabin increased her nausea and, without strength to combat it, she kept on retching miserably while the cabins and trees revolved swiftly around her.
After a long time, she lay weakly on her face, the earth as soft and comfortable as a feather pillow, and her mind wandered feebly here and there. She, Scarlett O'Hara, was lying behind a negro cabin, in the midst of ruins, too sick and too weak to move, and no one in the world knew or cared. No one would care if they did know, for everyone had too many troubles of their own to worry about her. And all this was happening to her, Scarlett O'Hara, who had never raised her hand even to pick up her discarded stockings from the floor or to tie the laces of her slippers -- Scarlett, whose little headaches and tempers had been coddled and catered to all her life.
As she lay prostrate, too weak to fight off memories and worries, they rushed at her, circled about her like buzzards waiting for a death. No longer had she the strength to say: "I'll think of Mother and Pa and Ashley and all this ruin later -- Yes, later when I can stand it." She could not stand it now, but she was thinking of them whether she willed it or not. The thoughts circled and swooped above her, dived down and drove tearing claws and sharp beaks into her mind. For a timeless time, she lay still, her face in the dirt, the sun beating hotly upon her, remembering things and people who were dead, remembering a way of living that was gone forever -- and looking upon the harsh vista of the dark future.
When she arose at last and saw again the black ruins of Twelve Oaks, her head was raised high and something that was youth and beauty and potential tenderness had gone out of her face forever. What was past was past. Those who were dead were dead. The lazy luxury of the old days was gone, never to return. And, as Scarlett settled the heavy basket across her arm, she had settled her own mind and her own life.
There was no going back and she was going forward.
Throughout the South for fifty years there would be bitter-eyed women who looked backward, to dead times, to dead men, evoking memories that hurt and were futile, bearing poverty with bitter pride because they had those memories. But Scarlett was never to look back.
She gazed at the blackened stones and, for the last time, she saw Twelve Oaks rise before her eyes as it had once stood, rich and proud, symbol of a race and a way of living. Then she started down the road toward Tara, the heavy basket cutting into her flesh.
Hunger gnawed at her empty stomach again and she said aloud: "As God is my witness, as God is my witness, the Yankees aren't going to lick me. I'm going to live through this, and when it's over, I'm never going to be hungry again. No, nor any of my folks. If I have to steal or kill -- as God is my witness, I'm never going to be hungry again."
Copyright 1936 by Macmillan Publishing Company, a division of Macmillan, Inc.
Copyright renewed (c) 1964 by Stephens Mitchell and Trust Company of Georgia as Executors of Margaret Mitchell Marsh
Excerpted from Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell Copyright © 2007 by Margaret Mitchell. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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I am only 12 years old and i read gone with the wind when i was 11 and i absolutely fell in love with the book.The movie is also one of my favorites i truly recommend this book for everybody at any age!!! :)
Great story. A classic whether in book form or film. But how B&N can sleep at night charging so much for these classics is beyond me. People! Use your common sense! Save your money, go to the library! Or a used book store. B&N get real...make the classics or books that have been out for 10 years or more affordable to everyone that has purchased your nook. Encourage reading great books, it will be good for your business.
Gone With the Wind is a novel that takes place in the antebellum South. Scarlett O'Hara, a stubborn, strong-willed, lively young girl, is the main character. The beginning of the novel starts with her ordinary life: attending barbeques, flirting with her beaus, and worrying about what to wear. As the novel goes on, however, many trials, ultimately brought on by the war, turn Scarlett's world upside down, and all that she knows and takes for granted, disappears. These trials include escaping Atlanta when the Yankees come, remarrying twice, dealing with the death of her mother, and returning home to find that everything has changed. However, even though these would be a reason for anyone to stop living, the trials actually bring out how strong Scarlett really is, even though for the first 15-16 years of her life, she was pampered and lived in luxury. Through all of this, Scarlett believes she loves Ashley Wilkes, a boy from her childhood, brought up to be the epitome of 'good breeding'. She also has to deal with Melanie Wilkes, Ashley's wife, because in her despair, Scarlett rashly agreed to marry Melanie's brother, Charles. Most of Scarlett's main decisions are influenced by her infatuation with Ashley and her belief that they are supposed to be together. However, Scarlett's third husband, Rhett Butler, is the one she actually loves, although she doesn't know it. Rhett is the opposite of a gentleman in the eyes of the old-tradition Southerners, but his personality matches Scarlett. Both came from good families, but Rhett was disowned from his, and Scarlett goes against many of the lessons and etiquette she was taught. Underneath all the training, however, Scarlett is just as rebellious as Rhett and, she lets go of all her proper teachings to stay alive and support her family and relatives. She ends up not caring what others think, and holds onto the mantra of "I'll think of it tomorrow". Through her trials, she unwittingly comes to love and respect Melanie, even though she thinks she hates her for marrying Ashley. However, Melanie is the only woman in her life who actually really loved her. Also, Melanie is the one who makes Scarlett realize how much Rhett loves her, even though he never lets her know it. Because of this, Scarlett rushes back to Rhett, only to find that he "doesn't give a damn" anymore, but Scarlett's strong personality keeps her from breaking, and the novels ends with her words, "tomorrow is another day."
I first read this book when I was 13 and it instantly become my favorite! I'm 17 now and I've read it so many times since then. The sequels by other authors ("Rhett Butler's People" and "Scarlet") are good, but Margaret Mitchel's original story is definitely one of the best books ever written! The characters are believable, the plot is interesting, and it is historically accurate. Gone with the Wind is a much better love story than Twilight can ever be!
This is a book which has been greatly ruined for the current generation by the movie. Don't get me wrong, the movie is absolutely a classic and a great film in it's own right. However the FCC in that era caused a great deal of the richness to be removed from the characters as they appear in the novel and because of it's age there are a lot of young women who would never touch the book. This is a must, must, must read for anyone who enjoys period stories, epics, love, intrigue and a good heroine. Scarlet is a vibrant character who is much deeper than her jealous, preening, prattling on screen counterpart. She faces the gruesomely harsh realities of the Civil War in her backyard with more grit and ferocity than the men of the story offering an inspirational role model for women of all ages. The world around her and the supporting characters are as rich and beautiful as Scarlet, this is definitely one to add to a permanent collection!!
I just finished rereading Gone with the Wind and can I just say that I love Rhett? My Dad always called me Scarlett, a comparison that I often found unattractive, but now that I am older I think I understand. Scarlett is the one who kept her family together, she worked hard to save Tara - she sacrificed everything including her own happiness. Sometimes she was selfish and heartless but in the end, she always did what she believed was right. It's hard to imagine being so caught up in the idea of one man (Ashley) that Scarlett couldn't see what a good thing she had going with Rhett. The give and take between the characters of Rhett and Scarlett is electric. The reader knows that they are perfect for one another, and you keep hoping throughout the story that they will finally find a way to communicate their feelings to one another and get it right. Of course this wonderful love story is set against the backdrop of the Civil War where so much is changing, not only internally for the characters, but externally too. Scarlett's love for Ashley is like life in the South; quiet and austere on the surface but not built to last. Her relationship with Rhett is fiery, passionate and certainly never dull. Will Scarlett finally find the happiness that she is looking for? At the end of the book you know deep down that Rhett still loves Scarlett, that he will always love Scarlett. I guess he just couldn't handle the pain of thinking she didn't love him anymore. Do you think that in any potential relationship that there is always a "deal breaker"? That one thing that makes you walk away when you would rather not? I always wondered what happened after that. Knowing Scarlett, I am sure that she got her man in the end, at least I hope so. This book is simply - a MUST read.
This is a very detailed historical book. Scarlett and Rhett are facinating characters.
i cannot read boring literature, be it textbooks or tolkien (forgive me, i don't mean to offend anyone), if the language is too frumpy or too descriptive or without wit, then it is not for me... i was not sure how i'd feel about this because it was written so long ago, but i can honestly say i will probably read it many times in my life!
Gone with the Wind is a beautiful book and movie, please have some respect for Margret Mitchell and her work and write your stupid stuff elsewhere. Please. Sorry if I come off as rude but that stuff bothers me.
Gone With the Wind is one of the best books about the Civil War or the mid 1800's. Margaret Mitchell does not fail to tell a story about an era she grew up hearing about while capturing you into an epic novel and placing you into the scenes throughout the book and making you feel as if you were there while chaos occurs in almost every family in the South. Unlike most stories where the protagonist is flawless in both character and profile, you can hear and feel everything that is wrong with Scarlett O-Hara in both her actions and her thoughts while loving her all the same with her boldness and her determination to make things go back to the old ways. Though things might get rough in the story, Scarlett faces the challenges with her head held high and goes on to fix her problems (or at least tries to) without a complaint. The characters in Gone With the Wind are believable, with each one having an own personality and thought process, and it makes the plot thicker and more grabbing than it would be otherwise. I recommend anyone who willing to try to read this epic story about love, strength, determination, and loss.
Set against the dramatic backdrop of the American civil war, Maragaret Mitchell's magnificent tale of love and loss. Above all, it is the story of the beautiful,ruthless Scarlett O'Hara and the dashing soldier of fortune, Rhett Butler. On the whole it is an enticing tale woven by the redoubtable genius of Margaret Mitchell. It's mesmerizing language make it extremely succulent and a pleasure to read.
Better than the movie, Gone With the Wind gives you so much more insight into Mitchell's deep rich characters. This is a true American classic.
A true classic. The book left me to wonder about how the slaves felt about the Civil War and about the origins of the KKK. I never thought about how a black slave might have considered himself or herself better than "white trash" or how field slaves had less status than house slaves. I didn't remember from my reading of this historical novel in earlier years what a selfish and deplorable being Scarlette was. Nor did I recall what a tortured creature Rhett was. Most notable was Scarlette's ability to push away unpleasant thoughts and upsetting situations from her brain. Tomorrow never comes. Those experiences which we refuse to deal with today become true heavy-hitters later on in our lives. I liked the ending. I am not sure of the suitability of this book for pre-teen readers. I suspect those in high school will miss many of the subtle nuances in this book unless there is the careful guidance of a teacher or other adults. There are some adult issues presented-- abortions and miscarriages, both mental and physical adultery, the politics of slavery and Reconstruction. To black readers (and others) who find the use of certain words and the existence of certain sympathies in the book, I can only understand bits of it. But I am sorry for those things on your behalf nonetheless.
Five stars is not enough. This is the greatest book ever written and I have read a lot of books. I have the paperback, the hard cover (with broken back from repeated reading, and I am thinking the nook book is in the future. Scarlett and Rhett are the perfect match, while Melanie is the unsung hero in the book. What a great imagination Margaret had and true insight into the world around her during the most awful of times in the South. Read it and read it again you won't regret it.
I have to say the book like the movie is arguably the greastest ever written or filmed. Without a doubt, however, it is THE greatest soap opera ever written or produced. The movie holds attention for 4 hours while the book sustains interest for well over a1000 pages and still leaves you longing for even more. One of the all time great American novels.
I absolutely love this book this book is definately a classic and one of my favorites. Once you start reading you cant stop. You just fall in love with Rett and Scarlet. Now i would of love for it to end a little different but oh well. I would love to read more books like it so feel free to recomend me something like this book.
Good historical novel. Learned some things. Started to drag a bit at the end, but am so glad I read it.
Three words...BEST BOOK EVER!
This amazing saga of love and hardships felt by a young Georgian girl is possibly one of the best books I've ever read. There is so much double meaning and words to be comprehended. You are constantly thinking deeply about Scarlett and all of her morals and the question, "What would I do in her place?" Scarlett's Irish origins show in her strength and determination to "tote the weary load." When Scarlett's world collapses around her, she won't be another of the many Southerners who merely loses hope and dies out. She is determined to gain back all that the Yankees took from her. She will use everything in her arsenal to be able to laugh at those who doubted her and win the affections of anyone with enough money.As Scarlett toys with love, her life unravels and she finds her long awaited comfort in the places least expected.
This is the first book that ever made me genuinely cry. I love reading. Recently I've been reading works of literary importance and I just read this one . It was so amazing ; you would think that a vain, selfish character would hold the book back from being great but that is not the case. Absolutely stunning.
this book is my all time favorite. i first read the book when i was 12 years old, and have read it at least once a year since then. i am so grateful that it came out in e book version because my copy has fallen apart from so many readings. i would recommend it to anyone to read. scarlett and rhett have a love and hate relationship that is classic.
This is the best book I've ever read! Don't let the size scare you because you will wish that it keeps on going! There are so many emotions. It is an absolutly beautiful book. I recommend it to everyone. It is a classic!
Gone With the wind is a wonderful timeless classic! It takes you to the Civil War times in the South where Scarlett O' Hara is the main charcter who is very realistic and human. She can be incredibly prideful and infuriating but all in all she is a wonderful character qho has to adapt to poverty and war times. This book is very long so if you do not like to read 1000 page books, this is not for you. Also for younger readers (8-) this book does have swearing but it is mild. It also has heart wrenching pieces and the end leaves you pining for more. I love this book! Way better than the movie! (I love the movie too!) *:)
A few years ago I watched the movie and it did not make any impression on me and, "My Dear," all I could really remember was Rhett saying, "I don't give a damn." Why and when he said it, I could not recall. My elderly neighbour asked me if I wanted to read this old, yellowing book of 1001 pages, and I reluctantly took the book from her. Well, for five days my life was pushed to the backburner and last night I did not sleep a wink, because I could not put the book down. At times I loathed Scarlett for her pride and bull headedness and for loving the pitiful Ashley, when Rhett loved her so deeply. Why! I loved the history in the story and was totally immersed in the past. I grew to love Scarlett, Rhett and Melanie as if I knew them personally. I wanted the story to never, ever end and I was so hoping for a happy ending. If only the story was another hundred pages long so that it could have ended the way I wanted it to end, the way it was supposed to end. I am sorely depressed at the way it ended, I am totally miserable that it ever ended.
I really enjoyed this book and had a hard time putting it down but i was so disappointed with the ending it took away from the book for me. But i like fairytale endings too much. Plus ive always read how scarlett and rhett were one of the greatest love stories ever told but i question how in love with each other they really were. I just wish there was at least one point in the book where they realized they loved each other. I have never watched the movie but decided to read the book first. I was interested enough in the book to watch the movie now but i wish it ended different