Elias Canetti presents this volume of fourteen short accounts from his brief stay in Marrakesh, around the 1950s. We hear of the beauty, pride, and poverty, of the markets, the camels, the beggars, the mad and confined, among many other topics. He has a great eye for the peculiarities of human nature, and the details particular to evoking this colourful city and culture.
The musing style and emotional openness of Canetti’s account of this city made me very much want to visit it. However as with all great tales of travel in days gone by, it probably is nothing like it was. All the more reason to preserve those glimpses here for readers in the future. ( )

Marrakesh in the '50s.

I had been wanting to read this book ever since I visited Morocco and wandered through the streets and market of Marrakesh. It's quite a short book and very atmospheric, but I didn't think it was particularly well written, given that Elias Canetti was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981.

Canetti visited Morocco in the 1950s but in many ways it is timeless. I particularly associated with the market stalls of very similar items: the row of handbag sellers, the section that sold carpets, another concentrating on herbs and spices. I bought a handbag from one of these sellers, having visited every stall before making my decision.

He commented on camels that had travelled through the desert for many days, just to be sold and slaughtered. A poor, starved donkey. I liked how he felt for these animals, a man with humanity. He was also touched by the beggars, one of whom sucked each coin before pocketing it, which was pretty disgusting.

He spent time in the Jewish quarter; being Jewish himself he identified with these people and felt at home. A young man attached himself to Canetti in the hope of securing a job from his American friend......so many snippets of experience, yet the book is also rather disjointed and doesn't really flow - not helped by my Pdf copy that had alternate blank pages.

I'm glad I finally managed to read this moment in time but unfortunately it's not going to encourage me to search out more from this author, in spite of his accolades. ( )

In general, I can say that I liked the book, and the style of writing. There is something fluid and languid about the manner of writing, and I must say that this is a style that I sometimes wish I could borrow. However, this is the voice of Elias Canetti, and not mine.

He does manage to paint a very nice portrait of the voices of the land, and the stories of the people. He does this with a grace, and an insight that is rare. So far, so good.

So, why did I give this a three star, and not more? The only reason that I gave it this rating, is that I felt that, while he was in the place, he was a detached observer. It seemed to me that he came away somewhat untouched by the sights and sounds of the place, and this is the part that I could not relate to.

If there was more feeling, more of him in the stories, then this would have been, for me, a masterpiece. ( )

Read this a bit earlier this year. Nice book. ( )

Collection of very short stories, that managed to bring me back to my memories of Marrakech. After a couple of pages read I was again able to smell the species, to distinguish the flavours, to follow the sounds. The slow rhythm of life and people catch somehow your spirit once again.
A master piece. Excellent prose.

Supuestamente Canetti era al alemán como Borges al castellano: incomprensible. Quizá fue la suerte del novato la que me trajo este libro a las manos, para abrir boca. El libro es una oda a los sentidos. Un viaje a Marruecos, a sus bazares, a sus terrazas, a sus sabores y colores, a sus sonidos, a sus mujeres tras las celosías. Una prosa deliciosa como pocas. ( )