One of the strangest, most satisfying novels I have ever read. It pays to have an understanding of French, and at least an idea of the Latin authors referenced constantly throughout the book. ( )

A definitive Decadent text. There's no real plot to speak of, but that's not the point. The novel charts the dissolute anti-hero's mission to emmerse himself in an artificial, sensual world of his own creation. My favourite chapter is when he decides to travel to England, and stops off in Paris before his train leaves to dine at an English restaurant. He decides that this 'artificial' England is better than the real thing, and returns home satisfied. It's probably not a book you should start off with if you're unfamiliar with the Decadent movement and its ethos, but I love it. Also, it's the 'dangerous book' that Dorian Gray reads, and which contributes to his downfall. What's not to love?

Designed to repulse its audience with whimsical decadence this book has a sardonically modern appeal today. ( )

I picked out this book in the bookstore because of it's intriguing cover. Something about the expression of the man's face seemed lost and almost crazed. The novel did not disappoint me, and in Des Esseintes, Huysman's created a character who remains agonizingly out of reach. The descriptions throughout are magnificent, (a sort of exciting Dickens), and I found the protagonist at all times lovable and nauseating. The novel is beautifully crafted, but simultaneously seems to be teetering on the edge of total collapse and disintegration. That it doesn't is all part of its peculiar charm. ( )

1452 Against the Grain (A Rebours), by J. K. Huysmans translated by John Howard (read 20 May 1977) This is Huysmans' most famous work. It is pretty plotless. The Floressas Des Esseintes is a dissipated rake, who seeks every pleasure, and at the end of the book he sighs: "O Lord, pity the Christian who doubts, the skeptic who would believe, the convict of life embarking alone in the night, under a sky no longer illumined by the consoling beacons of ancient faith." It is a fantastic book: whole chapters given up to scholarly lists of Latin works (before the tenth century), colors, odors, etc. So much to know, so little time to know it. ( )

wow. a journey within a confined space. effete tastes refined beyond any pallet... a nutshell of infinite space. but allergic to nuts. ( )

I am a great fan of Huysmans, esoteric, mystic and hysteric that he was. In the closing years of the 19th century, fin-de-siecle literature was desperately trying to break free of naturalist modes, championed by its giant and erstwhile tutor of the young Huysmans, Emile Zola. Not possessing the virile protestant work ethic of his mentor, Huysmans wrote in starts and fits, "hysterically" one might say, and after dabbling in naturalism began pining for something more obscure, and more blatantly mystic and manichean. This is his opening salvo, and the decadent movement's overture against naturalism, an unapologetic rejection of the "real" world to turn, reclusively, towards the artificial and the arcane. Truly bizarre, this book is full of wonderful allusions to obscure artworks of all kinds and, not unintentionally in my opinion, will leave you dizzy if not nauseated by its irrepressible lists, cataloging the obsessional tastes of its immortal hero and dandy, des Esseintes. ( )

I am a great fan of Huysmans, esoteric, mystic and hysteric that he was. In the closing years of the 19th century, fin-de-siecle literature was desperately trying to break free of naturalist modes, championed by its giant and erstwhile tutor of the young Huysmans, Emile Zola. Not possessing the virile protestant work ethic of his mentor, Huysmans wrote in starts and fits, "hysterically" one might say, and after dabbling in naturalism began pining for something more obscure, and more blatantly mystic and manichean. This is his opening salvo, and the decadent movement's overture against naturalism, an unapologetic rejection of the "real" world to turn, reclusively, towards the artificial and the arcane. Truly bizarre, this book is full of wonderful allusions to obscure artworks of all kinds and, not unintentionally in my opinion, will leave you dizzy if not nauseated by its irrepressible lists, cataloging the obsessional tastes of its immortal hero and dandy, des Esseintes. ( )

Though dry and dragging, this is an interesting book to be at least familiar with. It is a quintessential depiction of the fin de siecle and the degenerate mode of literature. ( )

http://eloisebythebookpiles.blogspot.... ( )

The story of a man apart; a gorgeous, sickly anti-hero hermetically sealed from the common herd by an uncommon intellect. There is no plot as such, the book is a catalogue of things worth caring about (?): literature, art, beautiful things, jewels, perfumes. But where are all the people? Where is love? It's all very rarefied: Latin poets, Salomé, the black dinner, jewelled tortoises: all thrown into this golden baroque stew. Peter Greenaway could make a brilliant film from this. [Aug 1991][Jan 1997] ( )

grows better with age ( )

After reading this primary text of decadence, who wouldn't want a gem-bedecked tortoise of their very own? The Empyream of refinement is worth a visit, but I wouldn't want to live there!

This is an odd book - it reminds me of a musical tone poem, in that there is no real 'story' just beautiful impressions and word pictures. Since this novel was originally written in French, I can only assume that part of its original appeal was the prose.

The main character is a decadent aesthete who has only one real purpose in life – to live a cosseted and cloistered existence dedicated to his every fancy. It is a completely unreal lifestyle, and while at first the reader may feel jealous of someone who has the resources to indulge in such far-fetched whims, you are shortly left with the impression that if such a character was to exist ‘in real life’ you would ultimately feel sorry for them, as he seems to be such an aimless, purposeless man. ( )

A dandy retreats from society to ensconce himself in his lair of books, perfumes, flowers, art, etc. An amusing and entertaining read.

You can skim any parts you find dull, but Huysmans is a skilled enough writer that reading the protagonist's opinions about obscure Latin authors somehow became enjoyable.

In some ways a forerunner to American Psycho. ( )

I was really enjoying this book - the protagonist's fussy, over-educated langour, his decadent dismissals of classical literature, the sumptuous textures of the setting - until the bit about the jeweled turtle. And I thought I was unshockable! ( )

A total roll through the senses. At times the book was hilarious, sensual and fascinating. ( )

Wonderful ( )

This is the book that launched the Symbolist movement, Art Nouveau, the Decadents, and eventually, I suppose, Modernism. It’s hard now, post Aubrey Beardsley, post Mucha, post Wilde to see the originality of the book, but original it truly is, setting out most of the subsequent themes of the fin du siecle: extreme aestheticism, fears of degeneracy and weakness of blood (syphilis and Des Essientes watery aristocratic blood). Reading Huysmans is to have Wilde ruined for one –at least the Wilde of the dreadful Salome, and the appalling verse, which is worse. Reading Huysmans is to have the origin of Wilde of The Artist as Critic explained to one. Des Essientes is a weedy aristocratic aesthete with an unlimited budget who retires from the world in order to build his environment of artifice. He renounces nature and all that it includes –fellowship, the day- and immerses himself in reverie, his library, his art collection and a principled elevation of artifice over nature. The overriding symbol for this is his gilding and encrusting with precious stones of his pet tortoise, who subsequently dies unable to bear the dazzling luxury imposed upon it...

Read the full review on The Lectern.

http://thelectern.blogspot.com/2006/0... ( )

1ª Edição - 1987 - 280 pág.

At the end of the nineteenth century a young, decadent aristocrat indulges himself in multiple forms of depravity. Reading this made me feel like what I imagine opium dreams must be like. ( )