I have just completed the autobiographical “Words” by Jean Paul Sartre in which he describes his early childhood. Having lost his father before ever gaining a conscious memory of him, JPS was highly indulged by his mother and grandfather. No wonder his writings are so self-indulgent!
His Oedipus complex oozes through in his verbose and constipated childhood. He “knew” he was going to be a writer from the age of five, and he notes not having a single childhood interaction until he was nine.
Having totally failed to complete his trilogy, although I had valiant stabs at Nausea and The Age of Reason. He is an author I find impossible to get into. I had the same problem with Joseph Conrad.
Aub´s Verdict: More indulgent moribund piffle
No comments:
Post a Comment