Kafka Was the Rage: A Greenwich Village Memoirby Anatole Broyard
What Hemingway's A Moveable Feast did for Paris in the 1920s, this charming yet undeceivable memoir does for Greenwich Village in the late 1940s. In 1946, Anatole Broyard was a dapper, earnest, fledgling avant-gardist, intoxicated by books, sex, and the neighborhood that offered both in such abundance. Stylish written, mercurially witty, imbued with insights that are both affectionate and astringent, this memoir offers an indelible portrait of a lost bohemia.
“A memoir of a sensualist… Sentence by sentence, it’s as beautifully precise as any contemporary American work I know.”- Pauline Kael
“If you’ve ever been young, ever lived in or wanted to live in Greenwich Village, ever loved books or sex or both, you’ll savor this memoir.”- Detroit Free Press
“Full of Broyard’s wit, compassion and rich insight… His mind, his aesthetic, his view of the world, shimmer brightly in this memoir.”- Chicago Tribune
“Seductive, ardently written…a valentine with barbs.”- Washington Post Book World
- Crown Publishing Group
- Publication date:
- Edition description:
- 1st ed
Meet the Author
Anatole Broyard was a book critic, columnist, and editor for The New York Times for eighteen years. He is the author of the critically acclaimed Intoxicated by My Illness (Clarkson Potter, 1992). He died in 1990 in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
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I couldn't stop reading this book. Everything about it pulled me in, and it didn't leave my hands for the day and a half it took me to read it. I atually read it for one of my classes, and it has been one of the best reads I've had! The language, images, dialogue, etc. were truly amazing. When I got done, I wished there were about another 200 pages more!!!
This is the kind of book that gets passed from reader to reader with exhortations of 'You have GOT to read this....' It's the kind of book that develops acolytes--like 'Leaves of Grass' or WALDEN, it offers a passionate yet clear-headed design for living. Broyard was a literary sensualist, who saw the people in his life as characters out of a rich and teeming novel. He came to New York in the 1940s with peeled eyes, drinking it all in. He bought a bookshop, studied psychology and jazz and art, slept with a whole lot of women, and ate, drank and breathed literature. Broyard's sensibility is right on the surface--he doesn't pretend to be 'objective.' The people he knew are as he remembers them (40 years later), and his descriptions of them are dazzling. You want to meet these people and live this life. There isn't a single stale image or cliched passage. Every observation feels freshly thought-out. At the end I felt a sense of loss--not just for a vanished way of New York life, or because the book was cut short by Broyard's illness and untimely death, but because I was reluctant to leave the writer's mind.
To read your soul written by another writer is amazing to say the least. I enjoy Anatole, this is an amazing book.
If you love the Village and if you love New York City, this book will be a treasure.