Lost Illusions [NOOK Book]

Overview

"Balzac [was] the master unequalled in the art of painting humanity as it exists in modern society," wrote George Sand. "He searched and dared everything." Written between 1837 and 1843, Lost Illusions reveals, perhaps better than any other of Balzac's ninety-two novels, the nature and scope of his genius. The story of Lucien Chardon, a young poet from Angouleme who tries desperately to make a name for himself in Paris, is a realistic and boldly satirical portrait of the social world of nineteenth-century France. Handsome and ambitious, though
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Lost Illusions

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Overview

"Balzac [was] the master unequalled in the art of painting humanity as it exists in modern society," wrote George Sand. "He searched and dared everything." Written between 1837 and 1843, Lost Illusions reveals, perhaps better than any other of Balzac's ninety-two novels, the nature and scope of his genius. The story of Lucien Chardon, a young poet from Angouleme who tries desperately to make a name for himself in Paris, is a realistic and boldly satirical portrait of the social world of nineteenth-century France. Handsome and ambitious, though naive, Lucien is at first patronized by the beau monde, but after being denied the social rank he thought would be his, he begins a long descent into the underside of Parisian life.

A cynical and panoramic view of 19th century Paris.

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Editorial Reviews

Jack Helbig
Best known for his epic series, La Comedie humaine, Balzac dabbled in the theater. Sadly always debt-ridden, he found playwriting did not pay nearly as much or as quickly as novel writing, so he abandoned the stage. At his death in 1850, the incredibly prolific writer--La Comedie humaine consists of 91 stories and novels--left only five complete plays. Of these, "Mercadet", which wasn't produced in Balzac's lifetime, is the best known, mostly because Samuel Beckett may have based his ever-absent Godot on a minor character in "Mercadet" named Godeau. This obscurity is a shame because "Mercadet" is a charming, likable, if rather light, comedy. True, its plot sounds like a bad sitcom episode: manipulative, money-mad financier Mercadet spins an ever more complicated net of lies to separate investors from their money and gets tangled in the web himself. The play is redeemed, however, by Balzac's gift for creating interesting, original, multilayered characters. In this edition, Robert Cornthwaite's translation is graceful and witty enough to make even the most time-worn plot twists seem fresh.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781442940284
  • Publisher: ReadHowYouWant
  • Publication date: 7/13/2009
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • File size: 979 KB

Meet the Author

Richard Howard is a Pultizer-Prize winning poet and translator. He has translated Baudelaire, Stendhal, and Gide, among others. He lives in New York City and teaches at Columbia University.

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Read an Excerpt

At the time when this story opens, the Stanhope press and the ink-distributing roller had not yet come into use in small provincial printing- houses; and, notwithstanding its paper industry, that linked Angouleme so closely with Paris printing, wooden presses-of the kind to which the figure of speech "to make the press groan" was literally applicable-were still in use in that town. Old-fashioned printing-houses were still using leather ink-balls, with which the printers used to ink the type by hand. The movable tables for the formes of type, set ready for the sheets of paper to be applied, were still made of stone and justly called marbles. The rapid spread of machine presses has swept away all this obsolete gear to which, for all its imperfections, we owe the beautiful books printed by Elzevir, Plantin, Aldus Didot, and the rest; so that some description is necessary of the old tools to which Jerome-Nicolas Sechard was almost superstitiously attached, for they play a part in this great story of small things.
Sechard had been a journeyman printer, a "bear", according to compositor's slang. The movement to and fro, like that of a bear in a cage, of the printers coming and going from the ink-table to the press, from the press to the table, no doubt suggested the name. In revenge, the "bears" used to call the compositors "monkeys keys", because of those gentlemen's constant employment in picking out letters from the hundred and fifty-two compartments of the type cases. In the disastrous year of 1793 Sechard, who was about fifty at the time and a married man, was passed over in the great conscription which swept the bulk of the workmen of Franceinto the army. The old pressman was the only hand left in the printing-house when the master (otherwise known as "the boss") died, leaving a widow but no children, The business seemed on the point of closing down altogether. The single-handed bear could not transform himself into a monkey, for, in his capacity as pressman, he had never learned to read or write. But, regardless of his incapacities, a Representative of the People who was in a hurry to spread the good tidings of the Decrees of the Convention issued a master-printer's licence to Sechard and requistioned the press. Citizen Sechard accepted this dangerous patent, compensated his master's widow by giving her his wife's savings, and bought up the press at half its value. But that was only the beginning; he was faced with the problem of printing, quickly and without mistakes, the Decrees of the Republic. In this dilemma, Jerome-Nicolas Sechard had the good luck to meet a nobleman from Marseilles who did not want to emigrate and lose his estate, nor, on the other hand, to be discovered and lose his head, and who in consequence had no alternative but to earn a living in in some kind of manual work. M. le Comte de Maucombe accordingly donned the jacket of a provicincial prtiner and set up read, and corrected, single-handed, he decrees that forbade citizens to harbour nobles, on pain of death. The "ber:, now "the boss", printed them off and had them posted up, so that both of them were safe and sound. By 1795 the mad fit of the Terror was over, and Nicolas Secahrd had to look for another jack-of-all trades for the job of compositor, proofreader, and foreman; and an Abbe (he became a bishop after the Restoration),who refused to take the Oath, succeeded M. Le Comte de Maucombe until the day when the First consul restored the Catholic religion. The Count and the Bishop met later when both were sitting on the same bench in the House of Peers.
Jerome-Nicolas Sechard could read no better in 1802 than he could in 1793; but by allowing a god margin for "materials" in his estimates he was able to pay a foreman. Their onetime easy-going mate had become a terror to his monkeys and bears. For avarice beings where poverty ends. From the day the printer saw the possibility of making a fortune sulfites brought out in him a covetous, suspicious, keen-eyed practical aptitude for business. His methods disdained theory. He had learned by experience to estimate at a glance the cost per page of per sheet, in every kind of type. He used to prove to his illiterate customers that big letters cost more to move than small; or if they wanted small type, that small letters were more difficult to handle. Compositing was the process in printing about which he knew nothing, and he was so frightened of cheating himself over that item that he always piled on the price. If his compositors were paid by the hour, he never took his eyes off them. If he knew that a manufacturer was in difficulties, he would buy up his paper stocks cheap and store them. He owned, besides, by this time, the premises in which the printing office had been housed from time immemorial.

Copyright© 2001 by Honoré de Balzac
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 29 )
Rating Distribution

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(15)

4 Star

(11)

3 Star

(2)

2 Star

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 30 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 29, 2015

    Mason

    Pulled out his twelve inch pen<_>is.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2015

    Amalia

    She grinned, watching.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2015

    Mason

    (xD) </p>
    <p> "huh." He stood, watching Ezzie from the corner of his eye.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 29, 2015

    Esperanza

    Ate pe<_>nis shaped pe<_>nisses.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 28, 2015

    Amalia to Lyric

    She recognized her uncle's friend. "Sure!" She said to both Lyric and Mason.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 29, 2015

    Mason

    That is OBVIOUDLY NOT me.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 28, 2015

    Pentagon

    He grinned a toothy grin. "Heyyo!"

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 31, 2015

    Ly

    She fell asleep.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 27, 2015

    Securan

    [ Psh. Don't listen to that person. We just moved here. ]
    <p>
    He nodded to Esperenza. "Yes. Of course."

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 27, 2015

    To Esperanza

    ((Sorry to disappoint you, but they're not very active.))

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2015

    Esperanza

    Sat down biredly under a tree.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2015

    Activeness test

    11:30

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2015

    Amalia

    The girl walked in. She was 13 now, and a startling image of her father. Her large white feathered wings were tucked back, the golden tips catching in the sunlight. She wore her long, dark hair up in an interesting style, in which a brain came down on her right sde, yet her hair also came up in the back of her head like ahigh pony tail-thing. She had thick gold earings, double on both sides. Her aquamarine eyes were bright, a curious glint still to be found. She wore a green cloak over her T-Shirt and jeans, and held an interesting staf made of gold. She walked around, excited. She would be 14 soon. She would be able to see hee parents.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2015

    Securan

    He sighed and sat on a rock, wondering what had become of Opalite.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2015

    Guliä

    She padded to the stream and lapped from it experimentily. 'The water is good.' She hummed, looking around.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2015

    Securan

    Sorry. I gtgbb..

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2015

    Eclipserain

    Flapped her wings and she flew out of the cave blowing a strong gush and landing in the river coming out of shadow form.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2015

    Securan

    He walked into the camp, glancing around with satisfaction. "Perfect!"
    <p>
    [ The camp is in a gorge with limestone walls dripping almost constantly and covered in moss and lichen. There are caves everywhere and the top of the gorge is lined with a thick forest. Running through the middle of the gorge is a stream, boulders and rocks lining it. A scraggily olive tree sprouts at the spring/pool from which the stream feeds. Behind it is a giant cavern full of glowing crystals and fungi. ]

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  • Posted December 6, 2011

    Panoramic post-Napoleonic Frnace

    This fat novel was written in 3 different sections at 3 different periods by Balzac, but holds together well as a look at early-19th century society and life in post-Napoleonic France. The characters cover the usual panorama of the struggling bourgeoisie up through the lesser nobility, both at home in the provinces and in the metropolis. Characters are drawn with some insight and subtlety (if few surprises), in appreciative but ironic prose. I'd only read "Cousin Bette" years ago, and wasn't impressed with Balzac; this one better displays his skill and reach. Admirers of Stendahl shouldn't expect the same intensity of feeling as the author's relationship to his characters feels more detached, though still moved by their motives, acts and fates. Fans of Dickens or even Trollope should feel at home.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 26, 2009

    No text was provided for this review.

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