Wherein We Elect Our Favourite Novels of 1933

Trotsky wrote a glowing, but short and not particularly illuminating, review of Fontamara, had intended to read it on the back of that back in the 00s. Never followed up.

Silone tells a great story to add to the annals of stalinist fuckery: he and togliatti were summoned to Moscow and the comintern officials demanded they come out against an article by Trotsky about the disastrous comintern policy in China, the communists had aligned with the nationalists leading to a betrayal that lead to a massacre of thousands of communists and the destruction of the Chinese communists capacity for action (leading to the rise of Mao who had forged a more independent line and would only come to the fore after this huge setback), Silone and Togliatti stated that they hadn't read it so couldn't condemn the article, their interlocutors stated that they hadn't read it either,but nevertheless they must condemn it. Silone couldn't believe this and asked for confirmation by the translator. This ended in his rupture with the communist party

Frost in May: it's the first in a series of 4 books, but stands on its own -- very autobiographical novel about a young girl kind of ruined by overbearing Catholicism and trying to break free and become an individual; beautifully written. Elizabeth Bowen was a big fan, if that helps. I think it was the first book ever resurrected as a Virago Modern Classic, and it's kind of a perfect example of that series at its best.

Good Backlisted episode on Frost in May: https://www.backlisted.fm/episodes/112-antonia-white-frost-in-may

Thanks yall!

From a View to a Death wonderful and tragic. interested in JM’s point about it being a dry run for ADTTMOT. i think i see these wary comic novels as being entirely separate to, and tbh in many respects much better than, dance. (esp this, venusberg, and agents and patients)

Another year where I haven't read anything.

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Wherein We Elect Our Favourite Novels of 1934

I missed this thread, but I'd have voted for 'Frost In May' - my favourite novel by anyone.

It's so, so beautifully written. Like, look at this!

As a result of all this, Nanda developed a nice sense of piety. She really did begin to live all day long in the presence of the court of heaven. God the Father and God the Holy Ghost remained awe-inspiring conceptions, Presences who could only be addressed in set words and with one’s mind, as it were, properly gloved and veiled. But to Our Lady and the Holy Child and the saints she spoke as naturally as to her friends. She learnt to smooth a place on her pillow for her Guardian Angel to sit during the night, to promise St Anthony a creed or some pennies for his poor in return for finding her lost property, to jump out of bed at the first beat of the bell to help the Holy Souls in purgatory. She learnt, too, to recognise all round her the signs of heaven on earth. The donkey in the paddock reminded her that all donkeys have crosses on their backs since the day Our Lord rode into Jerusalem; the robin’s breast was red because one of his ancestors had splashed his feathers with the Precious Blood trying to peck away the crown of thorns. The clover and the shamrock were a symbol of the Blessed Trinity, the sunflower was a saint turning always towards God, the speedwell had been white till Our Lady’s blue mantle brushed it as she walked in the fields of Nazareth. When Nanda heard a cock crow, it cried: ‘Christus natus est‘; the cows lowed ‘Ubi? Ubi?‘ and the lambs down at the community farm bleated ‘Be-e-thlehem’.

But it's so smart, too, you really get a sense of the adult Antonia White too, watching with wry amusement the kind of child who cannot help being good